Title:  New Millennium:  Cleaning Up
Author:  Vickie Moseley
Summary:  Continues NM:Closure.  Mulder's thoughts as 
he and Scully clean out his mother's house.  They 
find a little comfort along the way.
Rating:  R.  Nothing graphic and they are married ;)
Category:  AU, MA, SA, RST, married
Disclaimer:  This is so far removed from Carter's 
universe I doubt he would recognize it, so I'm not 
that worried about copyright infringement, but what 
the hey?  I won't profit from this work of fiction.  
No infringement intended.
Archives:  yes
Authors notes:  We seem to be back on track now ;)  
Both Ten and I would like to thank all the faithful 
who have gentle nudged us and who welcomed us back 
with such enthusiasm after Snakes and Saints Alive.  
We will be going somewhat parallel to the series in 
the next few stories, but don't bail yet.  We have 
some twists we have planned <G>
Thanks to Ten and dtg for keeping me in line <g>

Cleaning Up
By Vickie Moseley
vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

It was time.

I woke up that morning and knew it was time.  Scully 
had been wonderfully supportive, letting me know that 
it was up to me.  She'd given me time, almost a full 
week since we'd scattered Mom's ashes and set the 
headstone in the cemetery.  But it would be a lot 
longer before our lives would fall back into the 
realm of what we consider normal. I knew she was 
silently growing impatient at my avoidance of the 
subject.  So when I realized I'd waited long enough, 
I picked a quiet lunch on the Mall to bring up the 
subject.

"I think it's time to clean out Mom's house.  We can 
get it on the market.  In a couple of months it'll be 
summer and that's the best time to sell a house.  We 
should be able to get a buyer before school starts in 
September," I said around bites of my hotdog as we 
strolled under the full canopy of leaves near the 
Museum of Natural History.  As if I'd been reading 
the real estate books that she'd surreptitiously left 
on the corner of my desk at the apartment.  Like this 
had been my plan all along.

"Besides," I added, sipping at my almost warm can of 
Pepsi, "If we close soon enough, that would give us 
enough time to find someplace in Georgetown and put 
down a down payment.  Apparently we won't get hit 
with capital gains tax if we put the money into 
another house right away."

She stared at me over her hotdog.  It was the first 
time I'd brought up the idea of us finally getting a 
place of our own.  Since my place was essentially 
unlivable, we spent the majority of our time, 99.9 
percent of the time, at her place. For appearances, 
mostly for the prying eyes at the Bureau, I'd kept my 
lease, but the landlord was ready to evict me anyway.  
All I really had there were a bunch of my out of 
season suits and some ties Scully had summarily 
banned from my neck forever.  I was more than ready 
to leave Hegal Place behind me.  Besides, the 
refrigerator should have been donated to the National 
Institutes of Health.  Or maybe the Centers for 
Disease Control and Prevention.  I'm sure there was 
at least a few 'miracle cures' growing in my 
vegetable drawer.

"You want to sell your mother's house?" she asked, 
bringing me back to the first fast ball I'd thrown 
her way.  The hardest one for me to deal with, quite 
frankly.

"Yeah.  I mean, we're never going to settle in 
Greenwich, Scully.  Geez, the place is a goldmine.  
Real estate values in that neighborhood are through 
the roof.  We might as well sell the place and then 
use the money to get a place of our own.  I'm tired 
of . . ."  I trailed off.  I was tired of so many 
things.  Tired of having that damned house hanging 
over my head.  Tired of living in two apartments, so 
that the one clean suit I really need was at the 
other place.  And more than anything, tired of hiding 
our marriage behind two addresses and wearing our 
wedding rings on chains from our necks and the whole 
load of crap that has been a regular part of our 
lives since New Year's Day.

"To sell it, we need to clean it out first," she 
pointed out reasonably.  I wasn't that surprised that 
she was leaving the discussion of our living 
arrangements for a future time.

"We have a ton of personal time stored up," I 
countered.  We did.  All the cases we'd been on 
lately had slid over into the weekends.  And when we 
finally decided to take a day or two, we wouldn't 
have done much more than stay in bed.  Not that I've 
ever been opposed to that idea.  I tried hard to get 
my mind back on the topic at hand.

"OK," she said with a curt nod, the one that meant 
there were a thousand things she wanted to say but 
she knew I wasn't ready for any of them.  "I'll see 
about getting some boxes together and renting a truck 
for the weekend.  We can go up on Friday night, get 
an early start on Saturday."

My gut tightened as she listed off the very practical 
details of this little endeavor.  Somehow I'd hoped 
we could get by with a couple of garbage bags and a 
quick run-through.  Furniture, appliances, all that 
stuff could be sold with the house.  Let the realtor 
handle it.  But Scully has always been more down to 
earth than I've been.  And, although money is hardly 
a problem for us, it probably was a good idea to 
salvage some of the more expensive furniture pieces.  
For all I knew, Scully might actually want some of 
that stuff.  Mom had great taste.

But I really dreaded going into that house.  The 
memories were strong and painful from the safe 
distance of 250 miles.  I didn't want to deal with 
them up close and personal so soon.  But one look 
over in Scully's direction and I knew I couldn't 
chicken out.  This was too important, and it had to 
be done.

Friday came much too quickly for me.  Scully had 
done everything, conned someone in the clerical staff 
into saving a dozen empty copier paper boxes-with 
lids, arranged for a Ryder truck, and even contacted 
the Greenwich Goodwill for the directions to the 
nearest drop-off.  I, on the other hand, chewed down 
half an economy bottle of Tums when I was fairly 
certain she wasn't looking and tried very hard not to 
think about the weekend.

"Let's head to the apartment, change and pick up the 
truck," Scully announced as she powered down her 
computer at 4:30 on the dot.  "We have to be at the 
truck rental place before they close at 6:30."

I felt my intestines tie themselves into knots.  
Could a person die from dread?  I knew they could, 
I'd seen it in Puerto Rico.  But I realized there was 
a world of difference between poor old Jorge 
Concepcion and my situation.  Jorge was facing terror 
from the stars.  I was just facing terror from my 
past.  

Then, a hand was on my arm and I stared down into 
eyes so blue and huge that I thought I could drown in 
them.  Those eyes were filled with so much 
compassion, so much love, I felt the knot in my gut 
slowly loosen.

"Are you OK?" she asked quietly, giving my arm a 
squeeze.

For a moment, I remembered the last time, when I'd 
had to clean out Dad's place.  How much I'd dreaded 
that, too.  How alone I'd felt, going through those 
memories.  But in the end, Scully had been with me, 
and I'd faced my demons, even faced my memories of my 
father.  And this time, she'd be there beside me, a 
safe haven when the seas got too rough.

"Yeah," I assured her.  I really did feel better, 
knowing she would be there with me.  "I'm good to 
go."

She grinned.  "Great.  Let's get this show on the 
road."

Ramada Limited
Arch Street Exit
Greenwich, CT
12:45 am

I'd never been so happy to see a motel sign in my 
life.  No one had told me that rental trucks are 
restricted to driving 5 miles slower than the posted 
speed limit.  The trip to Greenwich usually took me 4 
hours, 4 and a half if the traffic was bad.  We left 
the Ryder store at 5:30 and between the reduced speed 
and the inordinate number of semis on the New Jersey 
Turnpike (another restriction-no cars only lane!), we 
pulled in the parking lot of the Ramada well past 
midnight.

Scully had fallen asleep somewhere on the Brunkner 
Expressway, about 45 miles from our final 
destination.  She'd been a trooper the whole trip, 
regaling me with tales of all her family's moves.  I 
could see Maggie, list in hand, giving orders to the 
kids as they loaded boxes and crates into a truck not 
unlike the one I was driving.  According to Scully, 
her mom had done most of the moves while Captain 
Scully had been at sea.  In short, she'd done them by 
herself and it just made me admire the woman all the 
more.

After Scully fell asleep, I remembered the one and 
only move my mother had made by herself.  My parents 
never fought, no that would have required effort.  A 
silence, deep and cold, settled over the house in the 
days before the divorce.  Mom didn't say a word to 
me, either, until the last minute.  One day, after 
school, there was a moving truck in our driveway.  
Mom had a bunch of boxes already packed and stacked 
by the front door.  She pointed to them and said 
"Fox, take these out to the truck.  Then get started 
on your room."  That was the only way I knew we were 
moving out.  She said nothing to me, except give 
directions, for the next two days.  

Finally, when all the boxes and furniture had been 
brought into the new house, and the beds were made, 
she sat me down in the living room and told me that 
she and Dad were divorcing and they'd agreed they 
would share joint custody of me.  I'd be living with 
her during the school year, going to school in 
Greenwich and Dad would be selling our old house and 
moving somewhere else on the Vineyard.  I'd spend 
every other weekend and 6 weeks each summer with Dad.  
End of discussion.  I never got to say a word.

I let Scully sleep while I ran in to the motel and 
got our key.  She was awake when I got back and was 
standing by the truck, our bags in her hands.  I 
tossed her the key and then ran across the parking 
lot to the 'Big Foot' gas station and grabbed a bag 
of seeds and a couple of bottles of iced tea. We'd 
stopped for a burger on the road, but I was still a 
little hungry.  When I got back to the room, Scully 
was in the shower.  I wiggled out of my clothes and 
joined her.

It was steamy in the small bath and when I pulled the 
curtain back, she jumped a foot.

"God, Mulder, give me a heart attack!" she muttered 
as she made room for me to slide behind her.

"You should have locked the door.  I could have been 
Normal Bates," I scolded her, taking up a washcloth 
that was hanging from the soap dish and using the 
quarter sized soap to work up a good lather.  I 
proceeded to scrub her back, smiling as she leaned 
into my efforts.

"That feels wonderful," she purred, dipping her chin 
so the water sprayed down on the crown of her head.

"Yeah, well if it's that good, it's my turn," I said, 
handing over the cloth and soap and turning so she 
could give my back the same treatment.  She got into 
her work, massaging as much as scrubbing.

"Oh, god, Scully, you should have been a masseuse," I 
sighed.  All the tension and bad memories of the last 
few miles slipped away with the soapy water and ran 
down the drain.  She worked on my back for a few 
minutes, paying special attention to the muscles at 
my neck and shoulders, then her arms encircled me and 
she started to scrub my chest and stomach.

"That feel good?" she asked, the little minx.  Like I 
would dare to tell her 'no' as her hands and the 
washcloth dipped further and further down my stomach, 
careening dangerously close to the territory south of 
my belly button.  I couldn't answer if I wanted to, 
all I could do was moan.

"Your choice, Mulder.  We finish here or in bed, but 
one way or another I'm going to have my way with 
you."

I turned and took her face in my hands.  Just before 
I leaned in for what was sure to be an earth-stopping 
kiss, I let her know who was boss.  "Why get 
perfectly good sheets wet?"

"Good answer," was the last thing she had a chance to 
say.

Saturday morning
8:15 am

I love waking up on Saturdays.  I used to dread them, 
or at best, consider them just another workday.  That 
was back in the old days, when the only possible way 
I could find to see the love of my life was to coerce 
her into working on what should have been her day 
off.  But not anymore.  Oh, we still go into the 
office-occasionally-on a Saturday.  More often than 
not, we work on weekends because we're on a case.  
The rest of the Saturdays have fallen into a pattern.  
A pattern that I would like to make a tradition, if I 
could.  

I wake up first.  Not from any desire to get out and 
run 5 miles, although eventually, I do get around to 
that.  No, my first inclination is to reach over and 
grab my softest, cuddliest, most beautiful sleeping 
partner.  I pull her close to me, take in a deep 
breath so I can smell that shampoo she spends so much 
of our hard earned paychecks on and just lie there, 
content.  For about five minutes.  If I'm good, and I 
always try to be good, Scully shifts in my arms, 
unburies her face from my shoulder and starts kissing 
me.

The rest of the ritual varies, but suffice it to say 
it's never boring.  It almost always entails one or 
the other of us calling up our favorite deity, 
usually in a loud voice.  I would never have pictured 
Scully as a screamer, and she claims that before me, 
she never was.  I take an inordinate amount of pride 
in that simple accomplishment.  As she takes pride in 
the fact that she reduces me to a panting heap of 
gibberish every Saturday morning.  And then promptly 
kicks my ass out of bed to go get her favorite 
croissants at the bakery exactly 2.4 miles from the 
apartment.  Serving Scully breakfast in bed has 
become my second favorite Saturday morning tradition.  
And the 'thank you' I get is always memorable.

But there was no breakfast in bed for us, even though 
Scully very obligingly skipped ahead to the 'thank 
you'.  The night before in the shower was excellent, 
but we came pretty close to topping it in the bed.  
When I finally regained enough strength to roll out 
of bed and head for the bathroom, I heard Scully 
crawling after me.  "Go back to bed, Scully.  I'm 
going for a run, see if I can scrounge up some eats," 
I told her.

She shook her head.  "Mulder, we have to get going.  
We can grab some bagels on the way to your Mom's 
house.  And you don't need to run this morning.  
You'll get plenty of exercise today, believe me," she 
added as she grabbed her toothbrush and headed for 
the sink.

It hit me.  That tight cramp in my gut.  My chest was 
tight, too.  Suddenly it was too hot in that tiny 
bathroom.  I turned on my heel and headed back to the 
bed.  She found me there a few minutes later, curled 
up under the covers in a classic fetal position.

I felt her hand start combing through the hair at the 
top of my head.  Her other hand came to rest on my 
cheek.  "Mulder, I know this isn't your idea of a 
good time . . ." she started.

I huffed out a snort in recognition of such a vast 
understatement.

"But I thought we agreed.  It's time to do this.  And 
I'm here.  I'll be here all day and I'll hold you all 
night tonight.  You know that you aren't alone, 
right?"

I didn't realize it until the words were out of her 
mouth, but in many ways that was exactly what I was 
frightened of.  Mom was it, as far as family was 
concerned.  With the revelation that Samantha had 
'crossed over' years ago, and Mom's death just 
recently, I hadn't had a chance to come to grips with 
my new status.  I was the last Mulder.  The last one 
of my family.  It was more than frightening-it was 
terrifying.  And so incredibly lonely.

But what Scully was making me understand, with her 
gentle stroking and her quiet words, was that I might 
be the last of my old family, but I had a whole new 
family to take its place.  She and I were a family.  
And beyond her, her mom, her brothers, hell, even 
Bill was now a part of my family.  I needed her as I 
said goodbye, and I knew she would be there to catch 
me if the way got too rough.  I wasn't alone at all.

I uncurled from my poor imitation of a pillbug and 
kissed her hand where it cupped my face.  "I know 
that, Scully.  I know I'm not alone."  I pulled her 
down to kiss her on the lips.  "I love you," I told 
her.  "You have no idea how much you complete me."

She smiled at me and kissed me back.  "Yeah, well, I 
kinda like having you around, too," she grinned.  
"Especially when I can see you sweat," she added with 
her patented Scully leer.  Oh yeah, she knew how to 
get me going.

"You like your men sweaty, do you, Agent Scully?" I 
purred as she pulled me to my feet.

"Sweaty . . . tanned . . . and naked," she growled 
low and I almost pulled her back into bed, but she 
stopped me short with a hand on my chest.  "After a 
good day's work, Mulder.  After!  We had playtime 
last night and this morning, it's time to get the 
lead out."

I could tell I would not be getting any breaks for 
the rest of the day.  None at all.

As we pulled up to the house, I had to swallow down 
the panic attack.  But after a minute or two, I 
looked at the place.  It looked so . . . normal.  
Just a nice little two-story house on a nice little 
tree-lined street.  It didn't look like I remembered 
it when we moved here.  But then, my memory has a 
weird way of dealing with those days.  I can remember 
the actually moving in, but nothing else that 
happened that day.  I can remember leaving the school 
building on my first day in attendance but couldn't 
tell you how I got to that place.  It was like those 
days were taken and shaken and some of the pieces got 
lost.  Like the Rubic's cube I tried to work years 
ago.

"This will make a nice home for somebody," Scully 
commented as we walked up to the door.  I didn't know 
what she was talking about until I looked where she 
was looking.  Down the street, four or five little 
kids were already out, riding bikes and scooters.  
One little red haired girl had a bucket of chalk and 
was making a masterpiece on the driveway.  I looked 
over at Scully and just caught the wistful smile on 
her face, the tear that hung to a few lashes.  I 
leaned over and kissed her.  I wasn't the only one 
with a past to live with.  We were still waiting to 
hear about the tests from the infertility clinic.  We 
had yet to speak of our recent appointment and the 
options the doctor had laid out.  But somewhere in my 
heart I knew there had to be a way.  I was prepared 
to do whatever it took to make our dream a reality. 

The house still smelled like, well, like Mom's house.  
Some floral air fresheners mixed up with the smell of 
coffee long ago brewed.  Unfortunately, my grief and 
fear had added a few pounds of 'redwop' to the 
wallpaper.  I winced when I saw it, not only for the 
embarrassment of being wrong about my mother's cause 
of death, but also because I just didn't want to be 
reminded of that day.

"I think we can get this off with some cleaner.  I'll 
go look in the kitchen, see what your Mom had under 
the sink."  Scully started off, but then turned on 
her heel.  "Why don't we do this systematically.  We 
start in the front room and work our way back, then 
do the same upstairs."

"I bow to the master mover," I said, trying to shake 
the image of walking into this house with all the 
forensics team swarming over it.

"Why don't you go grab some boxes, at least three, 
and while you're sorting, I'll work on the walls," 
she added.

Three boxes, it turned out, were to categorize.  It 
was beginning to remind me of the day Scully demanded 
that we clean out the file cabinets in the basement 
because Accounting had rejected our request for an 
additional one.  She made me put things in three 
piles:  archives, return, and circular.  We stored 
some files, put others back and I discovered twelve 
empty sunflower seed packages, fourteen cardboard 
backs to legal pads, five pens that no longer 
functioned-it was quite a revelation.  Amazingly 
enough, we found we had two whole drawers free by the 
end of the day.

"OK, goodwill, keep, recycle-trash goes in a bag," 
Scully nodded to the boxes.  "Unless you want to have 
a garage sale or auction?"  I must have really 
grimaced because she nodded.  "Goodwill it is, then.   
Start with the small bookcase."

Mom was never the book hound Dad had been.  She 
preferred to get her books at the library, read them 
and return them.  I found a neat stack that needed to 
be returned and put them near the door.  The bookcase 
was mostly little figurines and vases with artificial 
flowers.  I put all of those in the 'Goodwill' box.  
Some old magazines ended up in the recycling box.  I 
started getting the hang of it.  By the time I 
stopped for a breather, Scully had managed to not 
only get all the fingerprint powder off the walls, 
but had rolled up the area rugs and set them aside.  

"What do you want to do with this furniture?" I asked 
her as we surveyed our accomplishments in the one 
room.

"It's beautiful, Mulder."  I could tell she really 
liked it, but she was gauging my reaction.  How would 
it be to have this sitting in 'our' living room?  
Could I handle that?  

"Most of these pieces Mom picked up after I left for 
Oxford.  They are really expensive.  I guess it would 
be a shame to just give them away.  But do you like 
the colors?  Nothing here really matches our stuff."  

"'Matches our stuff', Mulder?" Scully asked in 
surprise.

The shocked expression on her face made me laugh.  
"Hey, Scully, I'm a guy, but I'm not a complete goon!  
I may not look like it, but I know what color scheme 
you have going in your living room.  You like creams 
and beige and all those brown-based neutral colors.  
Mom was into pink, rose, all the stuff that looks 
vaguely like gray to me because they're based on red.  
Or maybe it's all green, but I know it doesn't match 
with the furniture you have."

She was trying not to laugh at me, shaking her head.  
"OK, here's what we do.  My mom knows a really good 
upholstery shop in Rockville.  We'll change the 
fabrics so that everything matches."

It sounded like an incredible amount of work, not to 
mention some expense, but it was fine by me.  "OK, 
so, everything here goes out to the truck?"  She 
nodded, so I went out to get the furniture dolly.

As I was bringing the dolly out of the truck Mrs. 
Delbert met me at the foot of the ramp.  Mom's 
neighbor and best friend.  Probably knew more about 
Mom than I did because she held her power of 
attorney.  I was right on the verge of demanding to 
know what Mrs. Delbert knew about Mom's illness, but 
held my tongue.  You just don't browbeat an old lady.  
My Mom raised me better than that.

"Hello Fox.  I see you're moving your mother's 
things.  Are you selling the house?" she asked 
kindly.  It was impossible not to like Mrs. Delbert.  
She'd been a good neighbor to my mother and was a 
godsend after the stroke, getting her mail and 
watching over the house while Mom was in the 
hospital.

"Yes, we are," I agreed.  She looked a little 
confused and then I realized my mistake.  "I mean, 
yes, I am."  Sweet soul that she was, Mrs. Delbert 
gave me a sympathetic look.  She must have thought 
the 'we' was mom and me, not Scully and me.  I left 
it at that.  

It dawned on me, as we stood there, that maybe Mrs. 
Delbert would like to keep a memento of Mom.  "My 
partner is helping me clean the place out," I 
explained.  "We really don't know what to do with 
most of it.  I'm keeping the furniture, but Mom had 
so many little . . . 'things'."

"Nick Knacks, dear.  We call them nick knacks," Mrs. 
Delbert supplied with a smile.

"Well, she had quite a few.  Would you like to come 
in, see if you might like a few of them.  Or all of 
them for that matter," I stumbled.  "You were such a 
good friend to Mom, I know she'd want you to have 
something."

As luck would have it, Mrs. D took all the 'nick 
knacks' off our hands.  The United Methodist Church 
down the street was having a 'white elephant' sale so 
she said she'd save a couple of pieces and donate the 
rest.  I started to ask what the heck they were doing 
selling white elephants, but Scully wisely chose that 
moment to remind me we had more work to do and so I 
just carried the box over to Mrs. D's.

She showed me a place on a bench in her garage so I 
set the box down and started to leave.  I didn't get 
very far when she called my name.

"Fox," she said, looking at me with indecision in her 
eyes.

"Yeah, Mrs. Delbert?"

"Fox, I just . . . I wanted to tell you how much I 
miss your mother.  She was such a dear woman and to 
have her gone so suddenly . . ."  Mrs. D stopped and 
I was pretty sure she was going to break down.  I 
really wanted to get back to the house, back to 
Scully and the safety of mundane tasks like reaching 
the top shelves and moving the furniture to the 
truck.

"She loved you so much," Mrs. D continued.  I really 
wanted to run back, I didn't want to hear the words 
and yet something deep inside craved to know what 
this woman, a stranger, could confide so easily and 
what I'd always wondered at.  "She was so proud of 
you, of your accomplishments with your job.  And she 
liked your little partner, Dana, isn't that her 
name?"

I nodded dumbly.  Mom spoke of Scully?  

"To be honest," Mrs. D said, dropping her head as if 
to share a secret, "I think your mother rather 
fancied that one day you'd come to your senses and 
ask the young lady to be your wife."

The look on my face was probably easy enough to 
mistake for embarrassment. It was shock, plain and 
simple, but Mrs. D didn't know that.

"I hope I'm not telling tales out of school, Fox.  
It's just your mother hated to see you so alone.  She 
wanted happiness for you, dear.  Only happiness."  A 
single tear streaked down her wrinkled cheek.  She 
reached out her hand and squeezed my arm.  "There's 
still time, Fox.  Find happiness.  It's what she 
would have wanted."

"I-I-I ha-have to g-g-go," I stammered and all but 
ran across the driveway to the door of Mom's house.  
Scully must have thought the hounds of hell were 
nipping at my heels as I took the stairs two at a 
time to the relative seclusion of the second floor.

I didn't even know where I was running.  I hit the 
last door on the left of the hallway, instinctively 
ending up standing in a nearly empty closet.  After a 
couple of minutes I realized I was standing in the 
closet of the spare bedroom.  My room when I lived 
here, now converted into a sewing room or something.

I have no idea what caused me to run there, but I 
stood there in the darkness, listening to my heart 
hammer in my chest.  What had scared me about the 
fact that my Mom had mentioned Scully?  Why was I 
suddenly so panicked at the thought that she'd spoken 
casually of my partner to her dearest friend?

But she hadn't just casually mentioned Scully.  She'd 
obviously had some rather lengthy discussions about 
my partner, the fact that Mom liked her, liked her 
enough to consider her a good match for her son.  

It came to me what was bothering me.  I would never 
get the chance to tell her.  All the time we'd been 
married, I never got the nerve to do it.  Everyone in 
Scully's family knew about the marriage and my own 
mother went to her grave never knowing that I had 
found the happiness she dreamed for me.

I slid down the wall of the closet, hot tears 
streaming down my face and clogging my nose so that I 
could barely breathe.  The door opened suddenly and 
the light caused me to drop my face to my hands, 
sobbing all the harder.

"Mulder?" Scully's voice came to me through my 
anguish.  "Mulder, what's the matter?  What 
happened?"

I wanted to tell her, to find the words, but they got 
caught in my throat and choked me.  I coughed and 
sputtered and cried all the harder.  I felt her arms 
go around me, pulling my head to her shoulder.  I 
didn't want to hurt her, but I wrapped my arms around 
her and clung to her for dear life.  That's what she 
is to me.  Dear life.

After hours or minutes, I couldn't tell which, I was 
able to breathe again, could feel more than my heart 
tearing, could sense Scully's fingers comb through 
the short hair on the back of my neck.

"It's OK.  I'm here.  It's OK."  She kept saying it 
over and over again, a short mantra, a lullaby.  I 
swallowed what was left of my tears and pulled away, 
wiping my face on the edge of my shirt.

"Can you tell me what happened," she asked softly, 
taking my hand and holding it so I stopped rubbing my 
face so hard.

"Mrs. D-D-Delbert," I said, my voice hitching with 
hiccups from my tears.

"Did she say something?  Something that upset you?"

I could tell Scully wanted to shake me to make me 
answer, but she was being so patient, so gentle.  It 
made my heart fill and I almost started crying again 
just at the fact she loved me so much.

"She told me . . . she told me that Mom liked you," I 
said, my voice sounding rough and torn.

Scully's eyes lightened and she smiled tenderly at 
me.  "I liked your Mom, too, Mulder," she assured me.

"They talked about us," I explained further, shifting 
and pulling my wife on my lap.  How could I tell her 
what I'd learned?  It would hurt her, too, I knew it 
would.

"Mulder, we've been partners for a long time.  I'm 
sure your mother mentioned us once in a while," 
Scully said, kissing my cheek and putting her arms 
around my neck.

"Mom wanted me to ask you to marry me," I said 
finally.  Scully went completely still in my arms.  
"That's what Mrs. Delbert told me.  That Mom had 
wished I would 'come to my senses' and ask you to be 
my wife."

It was hard to tell at first in the half-light of the 
open door of the dark closet, but slowly Scully's 
face crumbled into tears and I joined her.  We sat 
there for a long time, clinging to each other, our 
tears mixing and falling on our shirts, pretty much 
soaking our clothes.

"We tried, Scully," I told her.  "We tried a couple 
of times."

"We should have tried harder.  Oh, God, Mulder, my 
mother knew about us the day of the wedding.  Your 
mom never . . ."  She choked on her next words, 
burying her face in my shoulder.

"I know.  I know.  We can't change that, Scully.  
What's done is done.  But I do think Mom would be 
happy if she found out.  I really think you were 
right before.  She just wanted me to be happy.  She 
didn't want me to hurt anymore.  I believe she'd be 
relieved that you'd agreed to marry me."

"Relieved?" Scully asked, pulling her head back and 
regarding me through the tears on her lashes.

"Face it, if not you, who else would put up with me?" 
I said and got the desired result, a stunning Scully 
smile.

"You are high maintenance, Mulder," she said with a 
poke to my upper arm.  "C'mon.  We're burning 
daylight."

I lifted her up with me as I stood, then set her on 
the ground and followed her back down the stairs to 
get back to work.  I spared a glance back in the room 
that my Mom had used as a sewing room.  I searched it 
hard, hoping to see just a glimpse, a vision of her.  
I wanted to know that she knew, that she'd seen us 
and knew we were happy and together.  Finally, I 
followed Scully down the stairs.

The kitchen took very little time.  Scully found 
Mom's china and decided we had to keep it, along with 
the good silver that I was almost positive had 
belonged to a great-grandmother somewhere on Mom's 
side of the family.  I could see why, I mean we don't 
own china and probably never will think to buy real 
silver.  A complete set of both for 12 people is sort 
of hard to come across.  I dutifully took them out to 
the truck and placed them in the trunk Mom stored 
them in.

Next came the bedrooms upstairs.  I didn't want to 
walk into Mom's bedroom.  Too many memories there, 
and most of them too painful to think about.  Scully 
offered to clean it out for me, but I know that was a 
bad idea.  She'd been just as affected by this as I 
was, and although I loved her for wanting to spare 
me, that's not what we're about.  We're partners.  
She'd be supporting me by just being in the room with 
me.  So, together we carried a couple of boxes, a 
handful of trash bags and a great deal of trepidation 
and went into that room.

Scully stripped the bed and took the sheets down to 
the washing machine. The bedding was going to 
Goodwill.  She liked the furniture, I could tell she 
did, but she was also afraid of what my reaction 
would be.  Did I really want to sleep in the same bed 
my mother sat on when she destroyed all her memories 
of our family?  It was a question I couldn't help 
asking myself.

We worked for an hour in our own silence.  Scully was 
taking care of the closet, I was going through the 
dresser drawers.  It wasn't as hard as I thought it 
would be, I didn't let myself think too much about 
what I was doing.  Grab a handful of cloth, shove it 
in a Goodwill Box.  Simple, clean.  Don't think about 
the last time Mom wore that blouse, the last time she 
folded that pair of slacks.  Just grab and shove, 
grab and shove.  In no time at all, I was finished.

I hadn't heard Scully's voice since she entered the 
closet.  The closets on the second floor were built 
into the dormers, there was always a lot of space 
back there in the back, if you could get there 
without banging your head.  I'd just hauled the last 
of my packed boxes down to the truck and decided food 
was in order, since it was already after 2 in the 
afternoon.  I called her name as I entered the 
bedroom, but I didn't get an answer.

"Scully?" I called out again, approaching the closet.  
Had she fallen asleep back there, I wondered.  I 
remembered falling asleep in that very closet, the 
weekend we moved in.  It was quiet and Mom was 
downstairs and she couldn't hear me crying.

"Scully?" I asked again, stepping into the closet.  
I'd forgotten that Mom had installed a light back 
toward the back and turned the small area into a 
storage closet of sorts.  I just caught sight of my 
partner and bride at the back, sitting next to an old 
trunk.

She looked up, and there were tears on her cheeks 
that caught the light from the old bulb overhead.  
"Scully?  What did you find?" I asked quietly.  I 
couldn't figure out what was upsetting her but was 
almost afraid to ask.  If it had Scully crying, 
chances were I'd break down into a blubbering idiot 
over it.

After a minute, she held out her hand.  On her right 
hand ring finger sat my Grandmother's opal ring.  
Square cut, set in gold.  It looked dull, not like I 
remembered it, but along the center, in a diagonal 
was a vein of translucent green that sparkled just a 
little under the light. 

I squatted down beside her and held her hand up to my 
face to see the ring better.  I smiled.  "Grandma 
Kester's ring.  Pretty, isn't it?"

Scully nodded and then her face broke into tears, 
full-fledged crying and my heart hit the floor.  She 
was this upset over a ring?  It wasn't making sense.  
Finally, she handed me a couple of sheets of paper, 
fine writing paper that crinkled as I held it.

"My dearest Dana,

This is my mother's birthstone ring.  When I was 
younger, I'd hoped to give it to Samantha.  I still 
ache that my dream of that day will never come to 
pass.  But I decided that if I ever had a daughter-
in-law, I would give it to her.

Dana, you are as close to my son as any wife.  You 
care for him when he lets no one near.  You watch out 
for his interests in a way his own father never 
could.  You love him.  I've seen it in your words, 
your deeds, your touch.  And I am so very grateful 
that he found you and has you in his life.

The ring hides its brilliance unless it's cared for.  
Much like my son.  He'd hide himself away, if not in 
that dingy basement office, then in his locked 
apartment.  Buff this ring with a little olive oil, 
put it on your finger and you will see it shine.  
Take Fox out into the sunlight, smile at him, hold 
his hand and watch him glow.  This I know for a fact.

For all these reasons, I give you this ring.  You may 
not have had a ceremony to mark the occasion, but I 
feel you are as committed to my son as any law or 
religion could make you.  Please keep him safe and 
love him for me.

All my love
Teena"

I'm surprised that I didn't crumble like Scully at 
Mom's words.  They sounded so true, so right.  I 
understood in that moment that even if Mom never knew 
we were married, it was OK.  She knew I was loved, 
and that I loved someone back.  That was all she 
really needed.

"It looks pretty bad right now, but it really is 
pretty when it's shined up," I told Scully, as I 
wiped the tears from her cheeks.  Somewhere in this 
old closet I must have brushed against some cobwebs 
and I left them in gray streaks across her cheek.  
She looked so cute, dirt streaked and smiling up at 
me.

I leaned down, kissing her gently on the mouth.  She 
kissed me back and before I knew it, our clothes were 
scattered beneath us and I was sliding into her, 
feeling her hold me, welcome me as she always has.  
We made love on the floor of my mother's closet.

I rolled us over, her on top of me.  When I could 
finally speak coherently, I looked into her eyes and 
smiled.  "Wow.  Another fantasy laid to rest," I told 
her with a grin.

"You've had fantasies about us making love in a 
closet?" she asked, one eyebrow reaching for her 
hairline, which was nicely mussed, I might add.

"Well, making love in this closet.  Yeah," I admitted 
sheepishly.

She put on her patented 'I'm not buying your 
bullshit, Mulder' face and nodded.  "Was this before 
or after we'd become partners?"

Caught red handed.  Or red faced, as the case may be.  
"Umm, well, it was a bit before then."

"You were, what, fifteen, sixteen years old at the 
time," she asked, continuing the interrogation, but I 
knew behind the severe mask she wore she was loving 
every minute of it.

"Fourteen, actually."

"Still think about 'her'?"  It was an accusation as 
much as a question.  But it was accompanied by her 
index finger drawing small circles on my stomach and 
reaching lower.  The woman knows me all too well.

"Her who?"  And that ended the conversation, a second 
time.

We came out of the closet about 5:30.  My stomach was 
growling and Scully said it was starting to scare 
her.  We decided to grab dinner and head back to the 
motel for a night of snuggling and watching bad cable 
channels, just like when we're at work.

As we walked through the room, Scully stopped to 
admire her ring in the sunlight.

"It looks good on you," I told her.  "Look, it's 
starting to sparkle."  It was looking brighter.  That 
could have been the light from the window, but I also 
read somewhere that body heat caused the brilliance 
to come out in opals.  Well, it had gotten pretty hot 
in that closet.

"Mulder, can we keep this bedroom suite?  It's really 
very pretty."  She grabbed my hand and squeezed.  "I 
don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything," 
she added quickly.

I looked around the room.  It was my Mom's room.  I 
remembered coming in here and checking on her, coming 
in here to make sure she was awake when I left for 
school or she'd sleep the day away.  I remembered 
bringing up laundry and putting it in the dresser, 
hanging her dry cleaning in the closet we'd just 
vacated.  Could I stand to have all that in my house, 
reminding me every day for the rest of my life?

I felt Scully's hand squeeze mine harder.  Just 
enough to let me know she was there, wherever I'd 
gone off to in my mind.  I closed my eyes and slowly 
opened them.  It was furniture.  Nice furniture.  I'd 
always liked the style my Mom had.

"As long as it goes in the guest bedroom," I told 
her.  

She grinned.  "I wouldn't have it any other way."  
She looked down at the ring, admiring it.  It made me 
smile.  I could see in my mind my Mom smiling at her 
too.  I felt like we'd made a connection at long 
last.

"Hey, Scully.  I think I saw some olive oil in one of 
the kitchen boxes.  Want to polish that ring?"

She grinned at me and then stood on her tiptoes to 
reach in close to my face.  "After we polish the 
ring, Mulder, I can think of something else we could 
do with that olive oil.  But it might require a 
shower afterwards," she whispered low and lusty in my 
ear.

Hey, back at the motel, well, they weren't our 
sheets.

The end