NEW STORY: Of Sand and Starlight
by Pam Gamble
SUMMARY: I didn't mean to write a Closure post-ep, it
just happened.
FEEDBACK: Ooh, yeah...! eksphyl@yahoo.com
DEDICATION: To the MNL--Viva Las Vegas!!
Special thanks to Kasey for the title, and for
posting. By the way, Kase...would you mind posting
this?:)




I would not tell her until we were alone.

This man, this seer, he needed to know. He already
knew, I think.

She had no idea. And I couldn't do that to her.

So I waited until now.  

We came back to the motel. She sits in my room, on the
edge of one of the beds. 

You would think I'd be a little more disturbed that
I've just come to the odd and rather abrupt end of a
lifetime of searching. Some objective part of me knows
that.

Maybe I already knew too.

There is a part of Scully that accepts what I saw. I
know that. Not just to humor me or to placate me, but
because she knows I wouldn't just give up. I believe
that I saw her.

"I saw her." My voice seems too loud, bouncing off the
oversized window beside me.

She tilts her head, not looking at me. "I know." She
seems to be watching her own reflection in the mirror.
Perhaps trying to recognize the person she has become.
"She's dead." It is almost a question, not quite a
challenge.

"Scully."

She turns to me, probably expecting some philosophical
rant that will give us both something to reflect on
while we cry our eyes out as soon as we're alone. And
there will be that moment, for both of us, I'm sure. 

But it is not now, and I will not leave her alone in
this.

I've been quiet too long. "What is it, Mulder?" 

I could just not tell her. But she owns this, as much
as I do. She has had just as much invested in our
search, in my sister's eventual fate. 

And so, I owe her the truth.

"I saw her."

She walks over to me and crouches, one hand resting on
my thigh. "I know, Mulder." And it melts my heart to
think that she wants to comfort me, when I am about to
cause her so much pain.

I am shaking my head, and the look of concern on her
face almost does me in. My chest caves in, my head
falls forward, and I reach for her hand. It is my only
connection to the faith she has in me. And it is all I
can give her right now.

I meet her eyes. I must meet her eyes. She has to
believe me.

"Not Samantha." She is confused, and I feel my own lip
tremble in anticipation of her tears. Why must she
suffer when I have found such peace?

"Not just Samantha, Scully. There were so many
children there. I wouldn't have seen her if Sam hadn't
shown me."

"Do you mean Amber Lyn?" she asks gently, and I know
she thinks I am in shock.

I lick my lips and shudder out a deep breath. "I saw
Emily."

For a moment my world--all 5 feet 3 inches of
it--stands still.

Then her face crumples, in anger, in confusion. She is
shaking her head, standing up to move away from me. 

I lose my grip on her hand.

"No." She is backing away from me, stopping only when
she hits the far wall. "No." Her voice is dark and
full of tears. 

I don't take my eyes from hers. If she would just look
at me, she would know I am telling the truth. But she
will not allow herself to see. She isn't ready.

"Scully, please. Listen to me." I stand up, but keep
my distance. "She was there. She was coloring, just
like the day I met her."

She is shaking her head, eyes closed. I'm surprised
she hasn't covered her ears, so effectively is she
shutting me out.

"She knew my sister, Scully. I got the impression Sam
watches out for her. I don't think time means much,
but she has been there for so long."

"She's dead. They killed her."

"Maybe not. There was no body, Scully."

"But we saw..."

"We didn't. We left the hospital. We couldn't be there
when they let her go. Anything could have happened."

"You didn't...you couldn't...she's..." The long gasps
that will waterfall into tears become shorter and
shorter. Her body shudders against the wall as the
doubt and anger leave her being, like a spirit drawn
away to the heavens.  

She slides slowly down the rough stucco wall, coming
to rest on the floor. Knees gathered into her body,
she refuses to let any more of her self go. It is,
after all, all that she has left. 

That, and me. If she'll have me.

I move cautiously toward her, lowering myself to the
floor before her. I cry for her. For what she has
lost, and for what I have found.

I wish I could give her the faith I have, that what I
have seen is real.  

I wish I could give her the sight to behold the vision
with her own eyes, but I know it must come from
within.

Then, from the murky blackness into which she has
fallen, my Scully finds a way for me to give her that
faith. Or at least a little piece of it. 

"How do you know it was her? There were others, we
don't know how many..." Her eyes are those of a child,
both in their trusting innocence and in the startling
shade of blue so recently etched in my memory.

"Scully...a parent knows their own child." I bite my
lip. Unable to stop the fresh cascade of tears, I
nearly choke on the words. "And she was mine, too."

She crawls forward, into my arms, and we rock
silently. Cradling the memories of children who will
forever remain children. Of little girls we never
really knew, but who defined us, define us. Who became
our strengths and our weaknesses.  

Having found them, we must now complete our search,
awakening to find what we need in each other.

The End