TITLE: Cherry Blossom Tears (1/1) AUTHOR: Avalon EMAIL: avalon@fuse.net RATING: PG SPOILERS: Up through DeadAlive, but this is not really a post-ep. CATEGORY: VMSRA KEYWORDS: Mulder Scully romance, baby mentioned but NOT babyfic, angst, Doggett and Reyes mentioned but NOT prominent, Scully POV DISCLAIMER: They are not mine. They are Chris' creations. Please don't sue. FEEDBACK: Always welcomed and answered, thanks. ARCHIVES: Spooky's, Gossamer, Ephemeral, anywhere, really, but if you aren't one of those, please let me know where so I can visit. SUMMARY: "I miss him. I miss her. My arms ache to hold them both." WEBSITE: www.creativewriting.cc/avalon/ AUTHOR'S NOTES: This was written in response to Kimberly's Element Challenge on the I Want to Believe Fanfic List. The elements are listed at the end. This one's for you, Kimberly! Cherry Blossom Tears (1/1) I sit and remember. That's all I have left now. The Files are gone. They were taken away from us, from Doggett and Reyes and me. The office was cleaned out, and it is locked now, stuffed full of dusty, ancient equipment that will probably never be used again. They transferred Doggett to Violent Crimes and shipped Reyes back to her New Orleans field office. And me? It's a good thing I work with corpses at Quantico. The numbness I have helps me relate better in my profession. They won't even let me teach. They are afraid of me still in some subversive, silent way, thinking perhaps that I will suddenly begin spouting secrets about government conspiracies to a group of fresh, wide-eyed students. So they just ship me bodies, and I autopsy them. It is something to keep me occupied. Some days it is enough. It takes my mind off the other losses. His letter came three days after he left. I imagine he wrote the very first night. I envision him holed up in a nameless motel, the Gunmen out on some errand or asleep on the floor at his feet. Perhaps the baby stirred as he wrote, and he had to pick her up and cradle her on his shoulder as he worked. His writing was smudged, either by his hand or his tears. It was hard to tell which: 'Scully-- We are safe. Know that I only did this to keep her safe, to keep you both safe. I couldn't risk losing either of you. I will do my very best for her. I will protect her with my life. We all will. I will never let her go. She is forever in my heart, as you are. I love you. I will come back for you. Mulder' I lost the damn letter, too. I have pictures of him. At night, I often sit in front of my fireplace, surrounded by photo albums, searching for the few photos that show us together. There is one in particular that I love. It was taken the morning that the baby was born, by Frohike, I think. In it, I am holding her in my arms, swaddled against the chill of the hospital room. I am looking down at her, and my face glows red and shiny from the exertion of her birth. Mulder is leaning over the bedrail, his hand splayed on top of the bundle, its expanse nearly as big as she is. His eyes are lit with something I have only seen on rare occasions, and he is smiling. He is beautiful, just like his daughter. When he was returned, he scared me to death. He opened his eyes and said, "Who are you?" For a moment, I felt my world tilt, and I realized that he had changed. Then the lines around his eyes deepened into that smile of his, and I laughed with him. But he had changed, and so had I. I understood at that moment what a fool I had been to keep him at arm's length when we were partners, friends, lovers. I vowed silently to open my heart completely to him, to never let him go again. I did let him go. I let them both go. I had no choice. I sat with him in that hospital room after he had awakened, my head resting on his chest until he fell back to sleep. When I was sure he had drifted off, I went into the hallway, knowing that Doggett stood there, waiting and watching. I asked him to go to Mulder's apartment to bring him some clothes. He would be going home again, but he would be staying with me. I stood as close to the door to his room as I possibly could. I didn't want him out of my sight. I didn't tell Doggett that. He nodded at me and left without a word. When I slipped back into the room, his eyes were open, somehow sensing that I had left him, and they dropped down the length of my body, coming to rest on the bulge so prominent at my waist. I stopped, watching him. His eyes fluttered momentarily, and he swallowed. His hand trembled as he reached it out to me, and I took it quickly, not knowing if it was emotion or exhaustion that made him shake. But he squeezed my fingers again, and his voice was full of feeling when he spoke the same words I had when I returned from my abduction: "I knew there was a reason to live." I pulled his hand to my stomach and clutched it there, choking back the tears in my throat that threatened again. "We made a miracle, Mulder." He smiled and moved his palm over our child, caressing me, caressing her. It was intimate and beautiful and filled me with a longing that I couldn't deny. I stood there like that for a long time, both of us silent, just looking and touching and loving. Three days later, he muttered obscenities as he rummaged through the duffel bag Doggett had brought, trying to dress to go home. Doggett had forgotten to pack his boxers, or else they had been lost en route to the hospital. I grinned foolishly and hugged him around the waist from behind, bumping our baby between us. "I guess you'll have to go bare underneath," I teased. He grunted and turned in my arms, capturing my face between his hands. The look of love, of utter devotion, in his eyes sobered me. He had not kissed me since he had been healed, perhaps waiting until I sent him the right signal. When our lips touched then, it ignited a desire so strong in me I gasped against him. He opened his mouth over mine and plunged hungrily into me, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, the feel of his skin against my fingers singing in my senses. He was alive, and that knowledge and the press of him against me nearly overpowered me. I clung to him, raining desperate kisses on him, sating us both. Our lovemaking that night was like nothing I have ever experienced. I don't know if I ever will again. He fled on a Saturday. I was gone to a doctor's appointment, and I rationalize now that they knew, that somehow someone had found out I would not be there and had come for the baby. They figured that they could overpower him, since he was still somewhat weak from his ordeal and disoriented from the frantic schedule the baby had introduced into our lives. Perhaps they had even planned to kill him, to make sure that this time, he was really dead, not to be resurrected. They would shoot him once at point-blank range, the rapport of the gun muffled beneath the wails of the baby, and then they would take our daughter. He foiled their plan. When I arrived at the apartment and pushed open the door, the place was completely demolished. Books, clothes, papers, everything in my life, were scattered in utter madness around me. I rushed to our bedroom, a scream on my lips. The crib was empty. There was a streak of blood down one slat of the headboard, right where she usually lay. He had bled as he reached in to pick her up. His bloody fingerprints were on the closet door where he had retrieved her carrier and the blankets we kept there. These were the only things he took with him. Just enough to keep her safe until he could get away. The window next to the fireplace had been shattered from the inside, so whoever came for them had escaped through there. The blood in that spot did not match Mulder's. The perpetrator had gotten away, but not before Mulder had inflicted some damage of his own. He had taken her to the Gunmen, and together, they had left town. I tried in vain for days to reach them, patrolling their lair and leaving desperate messages on their machine. I never received an answer, until his letter came. It was postmarked Loveland, Ohio. I was giddy to see a place named something so beautiful. I knew they would be gone again before I could reach them. So I wait now. I sit on this bench, our bench, the one where we used to meet so many years ago, when we were younger and more idealistic. I watch as the cherry blossom trees weep their snowy blooms into the reflecting pool, and I cry along with them. I miss him. I miss her. My arms ache to hold them both. I go home and play my messages, hoping for a reprieve, praying that his voice will be there, telling me that they are safe. Only my mother greets me, asking in a worried tone if she can come over, if she can help. I erase her before she can finish. I sleep again on the couch, not wanting to lie in the sheets that still carry his scent. I cannot bring myself to go into the bedroom, facing the empty crib and the stain that I so furiously tried to scrub away. He comes to me in my dreams, holding his arms open as I rush to him. Our daughter is strapped to his back like a papoose, and she watches me with her father's eyes, a wet smile on her face. He rocks me back and forth, and I hear him murmur in my ear. "The letter. You lost the letter." "Yes," I reply, soothing myself in the motion of his body. "It doesn't matter. My words are here, in your heart. You haven't lost anything. Not even us." In my dream, I know I cry. My cheeks are damp as I awaken, blinking at the rising sun. Its rays press the promise of the new day into the silent room and onto my heart, where his words echo with sweetness and life. ***End*** Challenge Elements: 1. Mulder's reaction to Scully's pregnancy. 2. Cherry blossoms 3. A long open mouthed deep kiss 4. Lost undergarments 5. Photo albums 6. A lost letter found (well, sort of, in an esoteric way!) I had a great time writing this one. I originally didn't anticipate this story being so angsty, but my Muse apparently had other ideas. Hope you enjoyed it. Feedback is always appreciated: avalon@fus.net. Hope to see you again soon!