Title: Ceremony (1/1)
Author: Elanor G
Email: ElanorG@yahoo.com
URL: http://www.geocities.com/elanorg/
Distribution: Wherever you wish! Please send me an
e-mail, just so I know.
Spoilers: Post-ep for SUZ/Closure. Mild references to
Orison.
Rating: PG
Classification: post-ep vignette
Keywords: Angst, UST

Disclaimer: The X-Files is the property of Chris
Carter, Fox, et al. I'm writing this simply to amuse
myself - and a few others, I hope.

Summary: With Scully's help, Mulder fulfills an
obligation.


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"Thank you for coming," Mulder says for the fourth time
that day.

Scully glances at him briefly, then turns her attention
back to the road. "Mulder, it's okay. I wanted to
come." 

They drive through the gray day mostly in silence.
Mulder watches the scenery pass: brown winter fields,
bare trees in a monochromatic landscape. Not much
traffic this time of year, not like summer, when this
road is packed with people making the trek from
Washington or Baltimore to Ocean City. The roadside
fruit stands are boarded up and the small towns along
the way are turned inwards. At a sharp bend in the road
they pass a stark white church and a graveyard. The
graves in this marshy place are weighed down with flat
stone slabs. 

Scully looks at him again as he gazes out the window.
They ended up taking her car, with Scully doing the
driving. She told Mulder that he might like to use the
time to think and rest. And privately she thought it
might be safer that she do the driving today. There is
still something fragile about him.

They turn off the highway before it reaches Ocean City
and take the road to the National Seashore. Across a
low bridge, and they are on Assateague Island. A group
of wild ponies grazes on marsh grass near the entrance,
looking up with passing curiosity. At the park entrance
Scully hands the admission fee to the forlorn ranger
waiting in the booth. They drive further down the
windswept road. It is a flat and empty place - no
buildings, no people. Sand has begun to drift onto the
blacktop, and the long grass whips madly in the wind.

Finally they pull into a day use parking area. The
engine cuts off but neither moves immediately to leave
the warm car. At last Mulder shifts. "Put this off long
enough," he says, opening the door. He strides away
across the dunes, carrying his burden. Scully opens the
trunk and retrieves a beach towel before trudging after
him. The wind, smelling of sea and marsh, tosses her
hair and her calf muscles ache slightly from walking
through the sand.

On the crest of the last dune, Mulder sets it down near
his feet. He folds his arms and watches the dark waves
pound against the shore. Not big, not violent, just
persistent. The beach is desolate. To the north is
Ocean City, but its Ferris wheels and boardwalk and
kitschy motels are boarded up for the winter, and the
city is only a faint presence on the horizon. 

Scully comes to stand next to him. He turns and looks
at her, at her bright hair tangled by the wind and her
flushed cheeks. "I'm sorry, Scully," he says suddenly.

"Mulder," she chides. "I told you I wanted to come."

"No, I don't mean that." He looks back out at the
churning gray ocean. "I'm sorry...for not believing
you."

Scully's forehead creases in puzzlement. "I don't
understand."

"I'm sorry for every time I didn't listen to you. I'm
sorry for every time I didn't believe you," Mulder
says, choosing his words carefully. Hands in his
pockets, his kicks at the sand. "You've had...you've
experienced things that I didn't understand and didn't
take seriously. I'm sorry for that."

Her puzzlement is replaced with disbelief. She folds
her arms and kicks at the sand herself. "You have
nothing to apologize for, Mulder," she says. "I've been
disbelieving you for years. I hold you to pretty
rigorous standards and I expect you to do the same for
me. It's not exactly easy for me to be on the receiving
end," she says, and the corners of her lips turn up
slightly. "But I wouldn't expect anything less. Maybe
it's been good for me to get a taste of my own
medicine, so to speak."

"Ah, but that's the problem, Scully. I *haven't* held
you to the same standards. You've always taken me
seriously. But I can't say that I've always done the
same for you." A brief, rueful smile crosses his face.
"When it comes to you, when it comes to your faith, I
seem to have a blind spot."

"Mulder, why are we talking about this now?" Scully
asks gently.

"Because I saw my sister," he answers simply. "And
because I'm here today, and I'm supposed to do this
thing, and I have no idea what to do. No idea. I don't
know what to say or how to feel." Again his rueful,
ironic smile. "I could talk for days about the ancient
Egyptian view of the afterlife. I could tell you
anything you ever wanted to know about Navajo funeral
rituals. But I can't tell you the simplest thing about
my own mother's faith. She asked me to do this in her
will, but I don't understand why. I thought it was
prohibited. I have no idea what she really believed."

Scully remembers standing on another shore a few years
ago, on another gray day. She remembers asking her
mother the question that haunted her then, that haunts
her still. And then, with some resentment, she
remembers Teena Mulder, distant and elegant. Teena
Mulder, meeting her son's questions with silence. Teena
Mulder, trapped for so long in her dark and isolated
circle that she would rather die than try to break
free. She never gave you the chance to understand her,
Scully wants to say to him. Instead she reaches out and
squeezes Mulder's hand. 

Mulder sighs, rubbing the back of her hand with his
thumb. "Maybe I should have done more for her. I should
have listened to her. She had so many secrets. I wonder
if she knew about Samantha, in the end. Now I'll never
know. It's too late."

"You can't think that way. You can't let yourself get
caught in that trap, always wondering what you should
have done," Scully says with sudden urgency. "Please." 

Mulder nods. "I'll be fine, Scully." And he really
thinks he will be. He has looked inside himself these
past few days, trying to understand the change. Grief
is there for his mother, for the waste of her life.
There is grief for his sister, a little girl of distant
memory, both loved and resented. There is discomfort
with the unfamiliar ritual he must perform today. 

Despite this, something has been lifted from him. He
thinks of the times in his life he's been injured,
sick, shot: One day waking up to find the pain and
discomfort have finally faded away. Gingerly touching
the injured place and expecting pain, but feeling none.
And instead of relief at first, an odd, tentative
feeling. He tries to explain this to Scully. "There was
never anything I could have done for my sister or my
mother. I know that now. But always, always at the back
of my mind was the idea that Samantha was alive, maybe
suffering, and that I was never doing enough for her.
Now that's gone. I think I'll feel relief soon, but
right now it's just strange not to have that nagging
feeling anymore. Maybe I don't quite believe it yet."
Mulder bows his head. 

Scully thinks for some time, as they stand there, still
hand in hand, wind swirling around them. Finally she
says, "*I* believe you. I believe that you saw your
sister." Mulder looks back up, meeting her eyes, and to
Scully his changing eyes are the exactly the same color
as the dark gray sky. "I think that we all come to that
place eventually. It's...it's a thought that comforts
me sometimes. I know that my father will be there, and
your father, and your mother. And...and Emily. And
Samantha." She catches a deep breath. "And you'll be
there. And so will the answers to all of our questions
I believe that. I have to."

He can't think of anything to say at first so he
gathers her in his arms. Scully leans gratefully into
his warmth. Her hair brushes against his face, her
familiar scent mixes with the salt of the ocean. "So
why should we even bother looking for answers now, if
they'll be revealed in the end anyway? Why go through
all the trouble?" he asks with gentle skepticism.

"I..." Scully pulls away from him slightly to look him
in the face. "Well. I'm still working on that question
myself."

He pulls her close again. "We won't have to wait for
that. We'll find the rest of the truth," he says in her
ear. "We'll find it. We'll expose the people who hurt
Samantha and you, the people who hurt me. I promise
you." Gradually he releases her. He gives her that
smile again, and she returns it with one of her own.
Then they both look down at the burden still resting on
the sand near Mulder's feet. "Now," he says. "How, uh,
should I do this?"

They both examine the container for several minutes
until Scully figures out how get it open. Mulder looks
down at it apprehensively, then at the waves.
Decisively he sits on the log, pulls off his boots, and
peels off his socks. He rolls up his jeans above his
ankles. Then he picks up his burden and walks toward
the water.

At the first touch of the cold, cold winter sea Mulder
hesitates. Strands of seaweed swirl around his pale
feet. He shuts his eyes for a moment, feeling the
soothing rhythm of the waves. The beach is always a
calming, good place for him. She loved it too, he
thinks, and so it is fitting. Better here than the
empty memorial back in Connecticut, full of distant
friends and estranged relatives. In her will she had
only specified the ocean. Mulder decided on Assateague,
away from the scenes of the tragedies that had marred
her life. Silently he repeats his promise to her. 

As he wades in further, he thinks back to the time
before she became numb and withdrawn. He remembers the
strong young woman who taught him how to swim. He
remembers watching her come down the stairs in her
black cocktail dress, and feeling awe that this was the
same woman who walked with him and his sister on the
beach, all sunburned and sandy, poking into tide pools
and picking up crabs.

He remembers how her fleeting touch from a dream felt
briefly like peace.

Mulder looks back at the beach, all grays and browns,
where Scully waits with a towel so he can dry his feet.
Scully, the only color in a monochromatic world. 

Then, very carefully, he begins to scatter his mother's
ashes over the dark waves.


End


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In honor of the upcoming reruns.
Thanks for reading - let me know what you think.
ElanorG@yahoo.com
http://www.geocities.com/elanorg/