TITLE:		Crown of Thorns and Stars (1/1)
AUTHOR:		Avalon
EMAIL:		avalon@fuse.net
RATING:		PG-13 for some violence and adult
		situations
SPOILERS:	Up through Season 8, although I did
		ignore one later in this season.  
CATEGORY:	SMSRA, but a happier ending
KEYWORDS:	Mulder Scully romance, baby involved
		(but NOT babyfic), villain appearance, 
		Lone Gunmen appearances, Mulder POV
DISCLAIMER:	No, they don't belong to me.  Thank you,
		Chris, for creating them.  Thank you, Muse,
		for helping me to play nicely with them.
		No infringement intended.
FEEDBACK:	Always welcomed and answered, thanks.
ARCHIVES:	Gossamer, Spooky's, Ephemeral, anywhere, 
		really, but if you aren't one of those, 
		please let me know so I can visit.
SUMMARY:	"I wish suddenly for Scully.  She would
		 understand it all. She would know what to do."
WEBSITE:	www.creativewriting.cc/avalon/
AUTHOR'S
NOTES:		This story is a sequel to "Cherry Blossom
		Tears."  You do not have to read that story
		to understand this one.  This is for all the
		people who wrote me and asked for the next
		part of the story.  I tried to make it a happy
		ending, just like Mulder wants.  Thanks for
		making me work for it.


Crown of Thorns and Stars (1/1)


Frohike reads the hotel-issue Bible aloud to calm her.  His 
voice is rich and melodious, and he sounds like he was made 
to preach:

	"Then a great and mysterious sight appeared in the 
	 sky.  There was a woman, whose dress was the sun 
	 and who had the moon under her feet and a crown of
	 twelve stars on her head.  She was soon to give 
	 birth, and the pains and suffering of childbirth 
	 made her cry out.
	 Another mysterious sight appeared in the sky.  
	 There was a huge red dragon with seven heads and 
	 ten horns and a crown on each of his heads.  With
	 his tail he dragged a third of the stars out of 
	 the sky and threw them down to the earth.  He stood
	 in front of the woman, in order to eat her child
	 as soon as it was born."

I don't know about the seven heads and the ten horns, but 
the rest of the description sounds hauntingly like Krycek.

He had come to Scully's apartment while she was gone.  
The baby napped in her crib after her late morning feeding, 
and I dozed in the living room, my feet propped up on the 
coffee table, the holster sheathing my gun nudging my 
ankle.  He was next to me before I sensed him, and he would 
have killed me if she hadn't whimpered at that moment, her 
tiny voice crackling through the baby monitor next to my 
weapon.  His shadow fluttered across my eyelids, and I 
lunged forward, knocking everything off the table, with the 
sound of his missed shot ringing in my ears.

We grappled through the apartment, making a shambles of it 
all, trying to gain the advantage over each other.  I managed 
to knock his gun away and to slam his head backwards once, 
twice, into the edge of the mantle above the fireplace.  He 
slumped to the floor, and I backed away, watching him, the 
blinding red of my rage melting as my own blood seeped 
into my eyes.  I scrubbed at my forehead and turned from 
him, running to the bedroom where the baby wailed.  I 
picked her up, feeling her heart beating wildly with my own, 
and fled.

That was a week ago.  I sent a letter to Scully, risking that it 
would be traced.  It was a chance I had to take.  I had to let 
her know that we were safe.

We have kept moving, all the way across the country, 
traveling mostly at night in the Gunmen's minibus.  They 
take turns driving, and I sit with the baby, holding her 
nestled in the warmth of my lap, trying to think of a way to 
end this all.

I can think of a lot of ways to end it.  But I want a happy 
ending.  I haven't thought of one of those yet.

Scully comes to me in my dreams almost every time I sleep.  
She wraps me in her sweetness, and I tunnel into her 
warmth, feeling safe and loved and cherished.  She murmurs 
assurances into my neck, telling me that we will all be fine.  
She blesses me with her forgiveness, absolution for taking 
our child away, for leaving her alone, for making her cry 
with a longing that is palpable, a longing that resonates deep 
within us both. And her kisses promise, "Soon, soon," soon 
we will be together again.

"Read the next part, Frohike," I hear myself say.  He glances 
at me through the thick lenses of his glasses, holding my 
gaze for a moment, and then continues:

	"Then war broke out in heaven.  Michael and his 
	 angels fought against the dragon, who fought 
	 back with his angels; but the dragon was defeated,
	 and he and his angels were not allowed to stay in 
	 heaven any longer."

He stops there and addresses the wide-eyed beauty balanced 
in his lap.  "See, honey?  The good guys always win."

I hope to hell he's right.

*****

The mission stands on the edge of the sea, the Pacific 
churning its salty spray below it.  It is a place Byers 
remembers from his childhood, isolated from society and 
peopled by silent monks who glide mysteriously from place 
to place.  He had spoken quietly to the friar in charge, 
motioning to the baby and me, showing him my F.B.I. 
badge that had been tucked in the pocket of my jeans that 
Saturday morning when we had escaped.  The conversation 
was shorter than I had imagined, and the monk had opened 
the iron gates for us to drive through.  He had watched 
wordlessly as we followed a brother monk through the 
courtyard to a set of stone steps, and as we climbed into the 
tower where we would stay, I felt a sense of certainty settle 
over me.

We would be safe here.  Here, on these sacred grounds, I 
would find a solution.

I have never been a faithful man, at least not in the sense 
that Scully calls faith.  I believe in many things, but that 
faith in God that she holds so strongly has eluded me all my 
life.  But as I curl my daughter closer to my body and watch 
the ocean roil below me, I begin to think that perhaps the 
greatest truth, the one that has dodged me for so very long, 
begins and ends with this faith so foreign to me.

I wish suddenly for Scully.  She would understand it all.  
She would know what to do.

The Gunmen leave to purchase items they think we will 
need.  As I lay the baby down in a crib fashioned from an 
old milk crate, I tell Langly quietly to find me a gun.  He 
raises his eyebrows, but he doesn't question me.  The last 
thing I want to do is have a shootout in a monastery, but I 
need to protect my child.

The quiet envelops me as I watch the baby sleep, peaceful, 
unaware.  She doesn't know what has brought us to this 
place, what pain her mother and father have endured to 
bring her into this world and to keep her here where she 
belongs.  If I have anything to do with it, she never will.

I long for things I never thought I cared about.  A house 
with a flower garden and a manicured lawn.  A golden 
retriever with a bandana tied around his neck.  A Scully clad 
in a long-skirted dress, her bare arms tanned from playing 
tag and hide-and-seek in the sun, her bare feet slapping on 
the sidewalk as she runs to greet me when I come home.  
Behind her, our daughter giggles with her siblings, building 
castles in the sandbox, the summer breeze lifting the titian 
hair she inherited from her mother.  She is beautiful, just 
like Scully. 

My heart twists painfully at the daydream.  I back myself 
against the stone wall of the room and trail down it until I 
am sitting, facing the door, facing whatever may come 
through it, whatever unknown horror may be lurking next.  I 
nod off to the cries of seagulls, a sound from my childhood 
that somehow soothes me and brings me some peace.

*****

She is standing among the dunes, her hair long, like the first 
day I met her.  It is tied back with a pink satin ribbon, and 
her face is young and fresh.  The long beach grass ripples 
around her, tickling her bare legs beneath her flowing skirt.  
Her hair glitters in the sunset, and I realize that stars encircle 
her head, casting a glow around her whole body.  She is 
pregnant again, and I wonder if this is a new baby we have 
made together.  Her hands encircle her belly in a cradle, and 
she smiles at me as only Scully can smile.

I try to move toward her, but I am frozen in place.  I struggle 
for a moment until I hear her voice.  "Stop moving, 
Mulder," she tells me.  It is bittersweet to hear her words 
and not be able to touch her.  "I am coming."  She takes a 
step forward toward me, and I see her shadow fall behind 
her.  In it, something moves, something massive and scaly 
with many heads.  Fear grips me, and I thrash again, trying 
to tell her, trying to protect her.  "Stop moving, Mulder.  I 
am coming."  The words echo again and again as I open my 
mouth to scream her name.

*****

That yell reverberates in my ears.  Underneath it, I hear 
footsteps on the stairs outside the door.  I try to push the 
dream away, shaking my foggy head.  The baby is crying, 
and I stop, befuddled, my mind clouded with sleep and 
shadows, wondering if I should pick up the baby or open the 
door.

Instinctively I reach for her, and she quiets as I hoist her up.  
The oak door swings open.  I turn, and I am stunned to 
recognize the silhouette there, so much like the woman from 
my dream.  The sun glances off her hair, firing it into its 
deepest shade of red, and a stunned smile starts on my face.

It's as if she heard me calling her, through the frequency of 
sleep.  She has come.

She moves into the room, and the light falls across her face.  
Her eyes are sunken from her worry and her grief, but they 
shine blue and hopeful as she catches sight of us.  She is 
wearing a long overcoat that seems to engulf her, and I start 
toward her, wanting nothing but to feel her against me.

A movement behind her stops me.  His silhouette is easy to 
recognize, too. 

Krycek.

He stands there, blocking the doorway with his body, the 
darkness of his clothes matching the black look in his eyes.  
He smiles at me, and I feel my own melt away.   The baby 
starts to coo, as if she senses her mother nearby.  I tighten 
my hold.

Scully steps closer to me, and she unfolds her arms.  I 
realize that she wants me to give her our daughter.

"Scully."  My voice is shaking.  "Why did you bring him 
here?"

"Give her to me, Mulder.  It's the only way."

I look down at the baby.  She is watching me with her hazel 
eyes, the same eyes that look at me in the mirror every 
morning.  I feel my chest clutch as she chortles and clasps 
my finger in her tiny fist.  I look back at Scully, not 
surprised to find her blurring as my vision swims in tears.  
"No."

She is next to me now, and she gently scoops the baby out 
of my arms.  She smiles at her and presses a kiss to her 
brow, and I see her own face is wet.  She glances up at me, 
and I choke back a sob when she brushes a kiss across my 
jaw.  "It will be alright," she whispers.  She backs away and 
turns toward the door.

I watch as she moves, everything seeming to slow down to 
almost imperception.  She swings her hand out from under 
the baby, but not before I catch a glimpse of the gun that she 
pulls from beneath the long sleeve of her overcoat.  Krycek 
is crumpled in the doorway of the room before the noise of 
the gunshot even registers in my brain.

Scully lays the baby back in her makeshift bed, soothing her 
startled sobs with clucks and coos.  She walks to Krycek's 
side and bends over him.  I can see that his eyes are still 
open, and he wheezes with the pressure that the bullet has 
produced in his chest.  She brings the gun up to his temple, a 
grim look on her face.  "Do svidan'ya," she whispers, and I 
shut my eyes before she squeezes the trigger.

*****

The Gunmen have to step over his body when they return.  
Scully is holding the baby and watching out the window.  
Byers looks at her, stunned, and her voice is commanding 
when she addresses him.  "Make him disappear," she says as 
she rocks our daughter against her small body.  "Then make 
us disappear, too."

*****

She hung a crucifix above our bed, one she found in an 
antique store near the bike trail.  Sometimes, when I open 
my eyes in the morning, I can see it above me if my head is 
tilted just right.  The crown of thorns Jesus wears glints 
silver in the morning light, and it makes me think of 
sacrifices.

She says her God is forgiving.  I hope so, for both our sakes.

We have become new people.  New names, new address, 
living in a little suburb called Loveland, Ohio.  Scully 
wanted to come here, enthralled by the name of the town.  
She believes here, we can make a new start.  We can 
become what we have only dreamed about.

She doesn't remember that she's been here, to this town, 
before.  She saved a little boy named Kevin Kryder.  She 
saved him with her faith, and her love.  Just as she has saved 
me, and our daughter.

The Gunmen were successful in transferring my family's 
fortune into my new accounts.  Scully has begun a 
laboratory in the basement of our house, where she studies 
genetics and tries to figure out the enigma that is our 
daughter.  She is vehement about finding a way to stop the 
end of the world.  She is sure this is why Krycek wanted the 
baby.  I don't argue with her.  I am thankful to have her 
back, no matter how much time we have left together.

We pack a lunch and walk the trail to the park, spreading out 
in a secluded spot surrounded by lush greenery.  We are 
alone, and the baby dozes on the checkered blanket beside 
us.  Scully looks beautiful, even as a brunette.  She dyed her 
hair, but she wouldn't let me grow a moustache.  I have to 
settle for allowing the silver in my hair to grow out, 
covering most of the brown.  It wasn't hard; it was in 
plentiful supply after my abduction.  She teases me about it, 
but then I show her as best as I can that she is not coupled 
with an old man.  She seems pretty pleased most of the time.

She settles against me in the sun, her skin cool against mine.  
Her mouth is next to my ear, and she whispers, her breath 
kissing me there.  "Let's make another baby, Mulder."

Her voice stirs that fire in me easily.  "Here?" I ask, keeping 
my voice low.  "Scully, you are a wanton woman."

"I am," she agrees, and she pushes me down to the ground, 
moving to straddle my lap.  She kisses a path down my neck 
and rubs against me like a cat.  She raises her head and 
smiles, and above her in the sky, I can see the steeple of a 
nearby church.  The metal cross slices through the air just 
over her shoulder, and for some reason, it comforts me.  

I have never been a faithful man, but I have some now, 
along with a shimmering hope, embodied in the baby 
sleeping on the blanket beside us.  Hope, and faith, and love.

But the greatest of these is love.   


***End***

AUTHOR'S NOTES:  This one was much more difficult to write.  I
had a lot of people respond positively to "Cherry Blossom Tears,"
wanting to know what happened next.  But that question begged a 
lot of other questions, at least in my mind.  I resolved some of
them as best I could while still writing in a similar style to 
the original story.  

This one is my love letter to Loveland, Ohio, a town I have become
more familiar with in the past year and have grown to like very 
much.  It is also a testament to faith, no matter what kind of faith 
one professes.  I was surprised to see so much about faith coming
through in this story, but I suppose it needed to be written.

Thanks for reading. Feedback is always welcomed and answered:
avalon@fuse.net.  Hope to see you again soon.

Biblical references:  Revelations 12:1-4; 7-8
		         I Corinthians 13: 13