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. XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX "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 XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX Thanks for reading - let me know what you think. ElanorG@yahoo.com http://www.geocities.com/elanorg/