Title:                  Scully, NORAD called ...
Author:                 dlynn
Feedback:               dlynn1550@my-deja.com
Category:               vignette, angst, MSR
Distribution:           I'll send to Gossamer. Others,
                        please link to my website if 
                        you want to archive the story.
                        Drop me a line so I might know. :)
Spoilers:               Existence
Rating:                 PG
Summary:                "Yeah, Dad ... tell us how it was." 
                        Scully raised her left eyebrow in the 
                        way that she did when she knew she 
                        had him. "I want to hear again about 
                        how you chased away fifty aliens ... 
                        it was fifty, wasn't it, Mulder?"
Disclaimers:            As always, I don't own them.



dlynn's novel-length, post-episode, and stand-alone 
stories are found at
http://home.mpinet.net/laster


~*~*~*~*
Scully, NORAD called ... 
~*~*~*~*

"Tell it again, Dad. About the night I was born."

"Yeah, Dad ... tell us how it was." Scully raised her left 
eyebrow in the way that she did when she knew she had him. 
"I want to hear again about how you chased away fifty 
aliens ... it was fifty, wasn't it, Mulder?"

"Fifty! No, Mom ... it was sixty. Right, Dad?" Will's blue 
eyes, the color of cornflowers, searched Mulder's face. 
"Sixty ... and they all were after me. And Dad, he came 
swooping-"

"-swooping?" Mulder mouthed over the top of his son's 
tousled auburn hair. 

"Beats me," Scully mouthed back.

"Swooping down in his helicopter! And then ... he lambasted 
the whole bunch of them, right there in the ghost town. 
Blew 'em all away. Laser cannons, Mom," Will said, the 
pride and import of it all so evident on his small freckled 
face.

"Lambasted?" 

"Yeah, Mom ... clobbered 'em, sent their scaly, bumpy hides 
heading for the hills."

"Mulder? What are you telling this child? Scaly hides-"

"The art of story telling, Scully. Realistic fabrication is 
an art form. The storyteller always occupied a position of 
great importance. Tribes would compete to see who could 
tell the best stories. Exaggeration became as much of the 
art form as telling the tale."

"But, Mulder, you are creating a myth - a new mythology 
with these stories. How's he going to be able to tell 
what's truth or not."

"Truth ... who's to say what truth is, Scully? From my point 
of view, when I got off that helicopter and I couldn't find 
you ... there were at least fifty aliens."

"Mulder ... laser cannons?"

"Scully, are you going to sit there and tell me that Paul 
Bunyon actually walked around with a HUGE, blue ox named 
Babe?"

"Nah, Dad, Babe's a pig. Right, Mom?"

"Bah-ram-ewe!" Mom and son chorused together.

Mulder grabbed one of the pillows beneath his head and 
swatted Scully. When he reached to get his pillow back, 
Scully plopped the feathered cushion underneath her arms
and glanced between her two men: Mulder, all rumpled and 
lanky, lying across the faded quilt -- his shirt untucked 
and sloppy, his jeans stained where Will's hands had wiped 
worm guts on his father's pants. Mulder's bare feet slid 
against each other as he rubbed the mosquito bites he'd 
accumulated last night fishing off the pier with their son. 
Will, the spitting image of his father, from the way he 
said, 'Oh, Mom' in the same plaintive voice that Mulder 
whined 'Sculleee' to the way he spit sunflower seeds with 
all the finesse of a pro, lay curled on his side, butted up 
against Mulder's chest. His wet hair stuck up like he'd 
been hacked with a wild weedwacker. Definitely, a Scully-
Mulder. 

Scully had just tussled Will into the bathtub where she 
scrubbed an inch of dirt off his hide, applied calamine to 
several bug bites and a bee sting, and pulled one splinter 
that was at least 'a mile long' from a thumb no bigger than 
her small toe. That had only been this evening's 
ministrations. This morning she'd fished a hook out of the 
fleshy pad of Mulder's palm when their son decided he could 
cast his fishing line all by himself. 

Scully spent the rest of the day deprogramming their five 
year old son who couldn't figure out what was wrong with 
'Shit! Shit! Shit!' since Mulder had said it - repeatedly 
and with great passion. 

Will loved words - all words, including those she'd rather 
he didn't know.

"It really hurt, huh, Mom? When I was born I mean." Will 
laid his small hand against her cheek. She placed her 
fingers upon his and captured another priceless moment just 
as she had so many others these past five years. 

"Yeah, Willie-boy, it hurt but hardly as much as the bee 
sting you got this afternoon." Scully kissed the offended 
end of Will's index finger. Mulder had thrown him into a 
leaf pile. Scully felt her son needed reinforcements so 
she'd pushed Mulder into the pile after him. Will - never 
one to miss an opportunity - had grabbed a handful of maple 
and oak leaves to shove down his father's collar. The bee, 
hiding in the fall detritus, took umbrage, and Will's 
finger received the penalty.

Scully couldn't forget how her chest had constricted when 
Will had howled and the tiny bee had fallen onto his blue 
jeans, still twitching. Mulder's assurances that 
'everything's okay, Scully' did little to bring her back to 
rationality. 

Will had finally looked at his mom, as though she was a 
three headed horse. "It's just a bee, Mom. I'm fine ... 
really. Hardly hurts at all," he'd said, sucking on his 
finger to prove his point. 

"Scully, it's just a sweat bee. See?" Mulder had held the 
small insect within a crumpled Maple leaf. She'd breathed 
again, and then run into the house for a baking soda 
poltice and a good cry in the kitchen. 

"There was a light, right, Dad? That's how you found us."

Will was obviously going to beat this horse well past its 
prime as he'd heard this story so often he could tell it.

"Yeah, son ... a light pointed me in the direction." Mulder 
encircled his son within his arms and pulled him tight 
against his chest. "I followed the light." 

Will, his voice touched with reverence and awe, whispered, 
"Mom said the light was Aunt Samantha ... that she was in the 
starlight, and that she led you to the house." 

"Mom's always been the romantic, Will. Hard to believe that 
I could get involved with a woman who puts stock in 
starlight and miracles, isn't it?" Mulder leaned across his 
son, squishing the small child for the briefest moment as 
he placed a gentle kiss at the corner of Scully's mouth. 
"But you know what I think, Will. I think the light was 
your mom's love ... for you, and it just had to go somewhere, 
so it burst outside the windows and lit up the whole sky." 

"Mulder. Now who's the romantic?" Scully leaned forward and 
laid her hand upon Mulder's left shoulder. With infinite 
tenderness, she nibbled at his lower lip and swallowed his 
exhale.

"I'm squashed!" Will's muffled voice roared into Mulder's 
tee shirt. 

Mulder and Scully broke apart and looked down at their son. 
His smile stretched from freckle to freckle.

"You're squashed, huh, buddy?"

"Yeah, Dad. All that icky stuff-"

"Okay, I'll stop, but hey, Will?"

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Want to see me make your mother melt?" Mulder waggled his 
eyebrows. "Smooth as butter she gets, want to see it?"

"Really? 

"Mulder, I can't melt. You know that if the body combusts 
you get a 'wick effect' and the inside fat of the body 
would slowly melt and seep into the outer clothing, causing 
the corpse to burn for hours. Anything more than that would 
require such an intense heat, and frankly, lover, you don't 
have it."

Mulder just stared at her, and then at their son, whose 
mouth gaped. "Mom, that is so gross! But cool."

"Scully, you really know how to suck all the romance out of 
a guy, don't you?" Mulder chuckled and leaned into Will. He 
cupped his hands around the boy's ear and stage whispered. 
Will's smile encompassed the earlier freckles and split for 
the ears. He wiggled out of his father's arms and scrambled 
across his mother, getting on the outside of the bed, where 
his small hands fluttered at her shoulders - a gentle 
restraint.

Scully eyed Mulder and the way he inched towards her. She 
felt the small breaths of Will as he giggled in her ear. 
Finally, Will backed up, and Mulder pounced, pinning Scully 
against the bed. 

"Watch, Will! Mommy's gonna melt!" Mulder bent his head to 
her neck and began a tender journey to her ear. He lathed 
the outer, fleshy ridge of her ear. He opened his mouth and 
began to suck, and nibble, and then blow gentle kisses down 
her jawline - finally reaching her mouth, where Scully 
greeted him with a twisted leer.

"Mulder, you can't-"

The phone rang; its strident bell was a rude interruption 
to their evening. Scully watched Mulder's eyes cloud over - 
gone was his teasing spirit. His body tensed with every 
ring. 

"Daddy, Mom's not melted yet. Want me to get the phone?" 
Will asked, puzzled by his parents' sudden change.

"No, Will, Daddy will get it. Why don't you go brush your 
teeth, buddy. Okay? I'll tuck you in after I get off the 
phone."

"Okay, Dad." Will hopped from the bed and ran into his 
parents' bathroom. 

Mulder mumbled against the phone's receiver, the hunch of 
his shoulders bore evidence to his frustration. He slipped 
the phone into the cradle and padded slowly back to 
Scully.

"When do you leave, Mulder?" 

"Tomorrow. Seems there's activity in Arizona." He settled 
against her on the bed, and she butted up against him, 
curled up on her side, just as Will had been earlier. 
"Hopefully it won't be as long this time, Scully." 

"I want to go with you. Last time ... I nearly died waiting 
for word." Scully whispered, her voice thick and choked 
with emotion.

"I know ... me, too." 

Mulder and Scully listened to Will's enthusiastic spitting. 
Scully imagined the mess she'd have to clean up later; he 
always spattered the mirror. 

"Please, be careful, Mulder." 

"Always." 

Scully rolled over into his arms. When Will came from the 
bathroom, there was no doubt that she had melted.

###

Scully stood outside on the pier. The water beneath her was 
placid, not a ripple ... not the merest whisper of movement. 
The leaves no longer fluttered; too many had fallen to the 
ground. She pulled her collar against her and felt the wool 
scratch at her neck. It would be a cold night. She was glad
she'd brought Will's winter coat when they'd come up for the 
weekend. She always felt closer to Mulder here than in 
the city.

Mulder had been gone three weeks. She'd done her job and 
helped keep the X-files open, while she'd secretly worked 
with the resistance. Each, on separate fronts, but always ... 
always together. As it had been for the last five years, as 
it would be ... until it was over.

Scully jolted. The inky black water reflected a vibrant 
luminescence. Scully looked to the sky, already worried what 
it might mean. But nothing. Just a few stars that peeked from 
somber clouds. 

As the light blossomed, spreading into the water ... and 
filling the night air, Scully turned toward the house. 
Every window exploded in brilliance, from the upstairs to 
the cellar. Even the porch lights had been turned on and 
the floods leading out to the garage. 

Scully ran. Her boots slapped against the wooden pier, and 
she stumbled against the uneven ground as she hurried to 
the house. 

Will!

She pushed through the front door and grabbed the key from 
her pocket, prepared to grab the lock box down from the 
shelf to retrieve her weapon. She looked through the foyer 
to the kitchen where Will huddled around a pile of candles. 
He had the firestarter down from the mantle and stroked the 
trigger with his thumb. His tongue edged out of the corner 
of his mouth as every bit of concentration focused on 
lighting the starter.

"Will!" 

Will threw down the starter and backed away from 
the table. 

Scully scooped him up in her arms. "Will, what are you 
doing?"

"I'm  ... I needed to get the lights going." He wriggled from 
her grasp until he stood before her. All three foot nothing 
of him in his slippered feet.

"What have I told you ... about playing with matches or 
fire?" Scully asked.

"I'm not supposed to... but I wasn't playing."

"No, you aren't. Why did you get the firestarter out, Will? 
And why are all the lights lit? Did you get scared? Did 
something frighten you?" 

Scully walked into the living room and reached up beneath a 
lampshade. As she flicked the switch, Will cried out, "No 
Mommy!"

"Will, what is it?"

"Just like Daddy said, Mommy. He followed the light. He 
said that you loved me so much that it had to go somewhere 
so it burst out all the windows, and that's how he found 
us. Remember?"

Scully felt the tears prick the back of her eyelids. 
"Honey, Daddy was using a metaphor. Love can't really light 
up the night."

"Mine can. Watch!" Will ran towards the front of the house. 
He planted himself on a window seat and stared out the bay 
windows. 

Scully paused; she had to talk to him. She would talk to 
him, but right now ... she'd sit with him, for a little bit.


###

Two hours later:

Scully woke, her neck felt pinched like she'd slept in a 
window seat. She pried open her eyelids and felt Will stir 
in her lap. All the lights behind her still burned as 
brightly as they did when they'd first sat down. She reached 
beneath her sleeping boy, prepared to carry him up the 
stairs, when she heard a crunch against the gravel. Holding 
her heart in her throat, she waited.

The front door swung open. A disembodied voice greeted her
with a hushed whisper.

"Scully, NORAD called. Apparently, a bright star has 
appeared in this vicinity."

Will stirred within her arms; his eyes twinkled as he 
watched his parents. "Told you, Mom. He always follows the 
love." 



~~~ The End ~~~


Okay, I wasn't going to do this, but something came over me
after dinner tonight. I suppose it could have been heartburn,
but I thought it might be inspiration. 

Goodnight, Mulder and Scully. I'll miss you.