Disclaimer: All characters seen or mentioned on the X-FILES belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Production, FOX network, DD, GA, etc. and are used without permission. The song UNTOLD STORIES by Kathy Mattea is also used without permission. The characters of Kelvin and Virginia Thacker, Mark Lacey, Ray and Linda Chandler belong to me. If I had any money, somebody might want to sue me for this...but since I don't... This is part 5 of a 12 part series, a sequel to TWELVE RITES OF PASSAGE. If you haven't read that story, you may want to read it first. No sex, light romance...for now... TWELVE DEGREES OF SEPARATION No. 5: January Untold Stories by Anne Haynes At the ripe old age of 37, Fox Mulder was experiencing a bout of very childish self-pity. If Scully were here, he thought, she'd punch my arm and tell me to get over it. But Scully wasn't there, so Mulder indulged the urge to feel sorry for himself. After all, the sister he'd sacrificed the greater part of his life to find had just told him he wasn't going to walk her down the aisle at her upcoming wedding. "Fox, I'm sorry." She lay her hand on his arm, her hazel eyes apologetic. "But Ray Chandler has been my father since I was twelve. He's been good to me, and I owe him this much." The anguish in his sister's eyes pulled him out of the worst of his hurt. "I understand, Samantha. I really do. I just--" She hugged him fiercely. "I know. And I want you to be a groomsman. Preston does, too." She looked up at him, smiling slightly. "You know, the groomsmen will be escorting the bridesmaids down the aisle. If you're really nice to me, I can arrange your pick of the bridesmaids." Mulder smiled. "Well, when you put it that way...." "So, you going to sit out here in the cold all night?" She released him and pulled her jacket more tightly around her. "Just a few more minutes." He managed a smile. "Go on back in; I'll be there soon." She left him alone on the veranda of his mother's Greenwich cottage. Mulder slouched a little deeper into the Adirondack chair, propping his feet up on the cedar railing that circled the porch. The mid-January night was icy cold, but he felt better out here than he did inside that warm room, watching his sister laugh and talk with the Chandlers, the people who spent all those years with his sister while he was going out of his mind trying to find out where she was. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. They'd had her all along. It was his turn. The door opened and shut behind him, and he heard light, limping footsteps approach. The soft, floral scent of his mother's perfume filled his nostrils, and he felt her hand in his hair. "It's cold out here, Fox." "I'm okay." She continued to stroke his hair, reminding him of so many times so long ago when her hands had been able to wipe away the tears and the hurts. "I feel terrible for being jealous, Fox. I can see what good care the Chandlers took of Samantha. But I should have been the one--" He leaned his head back against his mother's stomach. "I know." "I thought if we ever found her again, we would just pick up from where we left off. I never really thought about her having another life, another family." The wistfulness in his mother's voice made him unutterably sad. He sighed. "I thought that when I found her, everything would be like it was before. I guess I convinced myself that finding her would bring my family back together again." "I'm so sorry, son." She shifted behind him, and he felt her lips against his temple. "I have been such a bad mother to you, haven't I?' He stood and hugged her tightly. "No. I haven't been a good son." "You have. I'm so proud of you, Fox. I've never told you that enough, but I want to start now." She looked up at him, her hazel eyes like mirrors of his own. "Maggie Scully told me about the time when Dana was missing. How you helped her cope with the fear, with not knowing. I never let you do that for me. My anger and grief shut me off from you when you needed me--and when I needed you. But I won't do that anymore. I love you, Fox. I want you to know that you've always been in my heart since the day I found out that I was expecting, and that you will be in my heart until the day I die." He hugged her again, fighting the urge to cry like a baby. "I love you, too, Mom." Caroline stepped back after a moment, laughing softly through her tears. "Look at us, Fox. This isn't a typical Mulder family moment, is it?" He threw back his head and laughed, feeling a lot better. When their laughter subsided, Caroline put her hand on his arm. "Coming back inside?" "In a minute. I'm going to make a phone call, then I'll be right in. I need to check on some unfinished business I left in Boston." "All right." Caroline squeezed his arm and went back into the house. Mulder pulled out his cellular phone and dialled Kelvin Thacker's home phone. Thacker's wife Virginia answered. "Hi, Ginny, it's Mulder. Is Kelvin around?" "Sure, just a minute." A moment later, Thacker's velvety voice greeted him. "How's Connecticut?" "Cold. Did the report from Concord ever get there?" "Yeah. It was a false alarm. Cause of death was anaphylactic shock from a spider bite." Mulder frowned, unconvinced. The body found that morning in Concord, New Hampshire, had shown all the signs of the retrovirus. "Who was the M.E.?" "They called in an FBI pathologist, Mulder. Somebody you might know--a Dr. Dana Scully?" Thacker's voice rippled with laughter. Mulder relaxed. "Then it was a spider bite. Did you get to talk to her?" "No. Apparently they just flew her in for the post mortem-- she'd sent out an advisory to all the field offices on the East Coast, asking for a consult when bodies showed symptoms like the ones that turned up here back in November. I think she was supposed to be heading back to D.C. tonight." Damn, Mulder thought. Concord was less than two hours drive from Boston. If he were home, she might have been tempted to visit. But Scully knew this was the weekend he and his mother were meeting Samantha's adoptive family. "Well, okay, Thacker. I guess I'll see you Monday." He hung up the phone and tucked it in his jacket pocket. The night sky was clear and sprinkled with stars; he leaned over the railing to get a better look. He'd always been fascinated by space, by the utter infinity of it. Though the past few years had made him aware that extraterrestrial lifeforms were not responsible for a great many of the activities he'd always thought, he remained convinced that life existed beyond this small planet in the vast universe. He'd seen far too much to go back now. The truth was out there. He missed the X-Files more than he expected. Having Samantha back hadn't quenched his thirst for answers, only whetted his appetite to know more. He wanted to know exactly who had taken her from him in the first place--that question had never been answered fully. He wanted to know what had happened to Scully. What they had done to her. Whether she was really all right or if there was some time bomb ticking away inside of her, waiting... waiting. He shivered. God, what would he do if something happened to Scully? The telephone in his pocket burred softly. He answered. "Mulder." "Hi, it's me." "Scully." Her voice, tired and soft, warmed him nevertheless. "I was just thinking about you." "Good thoughts or bad thoughts?" "Depends on how you define 'bad,'" he answered, leering with his voice. He could almost hear her eyes rolling. "How are things in Greenwich?" "Um, interesting. I'll tell you about it later. Are you still in Concord?" "How'd you know I was in Concord?" "I talked to Thacker. We heard about the body in Concord and thought the indications were--interesting. But just a spider bite?" "Well, it was no ordinary spider, Mulder. It was a glass viper spider--extremely rare and not indiginous to the Northern Hemisphere, so I wouldn't rule out murder." "How'd you figure it out?" "The glass viper burrows into its victim, lays eggs and dies. Then the larvae feed off the dead flesh after the poison kills the victim." "Mmm, nice." "I found the spider still there under the victim's arm. I've passed things along to the Concord P.D. and it's up to them to figure out who'd import a rare spider just to kill a pickpocket." Mulder sat in the Adirondack chair again, frowning. Something was wrong. "Are you okay, Scully? You sound strange." "Just tired. I'm fine, Mulder." Scully's three favorite words, he thought. "Are you about to fly back to D.C.?" "Actually, I'm about twenty minutes out of Boston. I thought I'd catch a plane out of Logan tomorrow. That's why I'm calling--would you mind if I stayed at your place tonight? I could get a motel, but--" "Sure, Scully, mi casa es su casa. But are you sure everything's okay?" "I just--" She sighed softly. The sound made Mulder's stomach curl into a knot. "I met Mark Lacey today." Mulder searched his memory. "The guy who sent the Christmas card to Melissa last month?" "I wrote him back after Christmas to tell him what happened to Melissa. He called me a couple of days ago. He said if I ever got up to New Hampshire to give him a call. The Concord consult seemed almost like an omen--if I believed in such things, of course." Her self-deprecating tone of voice calmed him a little. At least she was feeling well enough to make fun of herself. "So you saw him." "Yeah. We had a good visit." So why didn't it sound that way? Mulder wondered. "Scully, you want me to drive back to Boston tonight and meet you there?" "No, Mulder. I'm fine. I'll tell you all about our visit later, okay? Stay. Have a good time at your mom's. I'll even clean up your place when I get there. Call it my rental fee." "Ha ha. It's in halfway decent shape, lucky for you. Don't shave your legs with my razor or anything." She chuckled softly. "Thanks, Mulder. I owe you." Not in a million years, he thought. He was so far ahead of her in the favor-owing game that she'd never catch up. "Make yourself at home. And call me if you need anything." "I'm fine, Mulder." He rolled his eyes. "You always are, Scully." He hung up the phone and went back inside his mother's house. Samantha sat on the couch, sandwiched between her adoptive parents. Their animated conversation made him feel like an interloper. He caught his mother's worried glance and wiped the grim expression from his face as he retreated into the kitchen. Caroline followed him, her eyes still concerned. "Is something wrong, Fox?" He shook his head. "No. I just talked to Scully and--" He shook his head again. "She had to go to Concord today for an autopsy consult, and she's staying at my place tonight and catching a plane out of Logan in the morning." "And you wish you were there instead of here?" Mulder looked at his mother, expecting a guilt-trip, only to find gentle understanding and acceptance in her expression. Where is my real mother, he thought with a hidden smile, and who is this alien taking her place? "I guess--yeah. I wish I were there." "Why don't you drive back to Boston? You're not comfortable here--" "Mom, it's not you--" She nodded. "I know. It's hard for me to see Samantha and her--her parents, too." "I feel like a selfish ass. The Chandlers are good people, and half of me feels like kissing their feet for taking such good care of her." "And the other half wants to ask why they didn't try harder to find out who she was and where she really belonged." He nodded. "I know that's not fair. I assume they tried." "She wasn't supposed to be found, Fox. THEY made sure of that." Caroline's voice took on a hard edge that surprised him. For a second, she sounded like Scully at her toughest. "We're lucky that she found us." "We can thank Scully for that," Mulder murmured, remembering his partner's fierce race to save Samantha from the burning warehouse in Baltimore once she'd figured out who the mystery woman really was. "I think I have a lot to thank Dana for." Caroline smiled. "You know, she's not what I expected. When I found out you had given up the woman we thought was Samantha for your partner--" Caroline's eyes clouded. "I didn't know how you could have done that. What could make you choose your partner over your sister." "It wasn't supposed to be a choice. I thought I could save them both." Caroline put her hand on his arm. "I know that. And now that I know Dana, I can understand why you took such risks. She's special." He nodded. "She kept me going, Mom, all those years. When things were so bad--I was so alone, but Scully was there for me when I had no one else--" He stopped, seeing the stricken look in her eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean--" She blinked back tears. "No, Fox. We've all hidden from the truth for too long. Maybe it's time we stopped. I know I wasn't there for you when you needed me. But I'm here for you now. I hope you know that." He hugged her fiercely. "I do." "So forgive me for a little motherly meddling, but why are you still here? Shouldn't you be on the road back to Boston?" He looked down at her. "Think Samantha will be upset?" "I'll tell her Dana's waiting for you," Caroline said. Yeah, knowing Samantha, she'd fetch his coat and start the car for him. "Are you sure? This weekend will be hard enough without me ditching you." "Do you think Dana needs you?" Not as much as I need her, he thought. "She sounded upset." "Then go to her." He kissed his mother's cheek and went to pack. * * * * * The journal was small, bound with floral print muslin, and smelled like cedar. Mark must have stored it in a chest. Scully ran her fingers down the spine of the book, trying to find the courage to open it and read the darkest secrets of her sister's soul. "I wouldn't give you this if I didn't think she'd want you to read it," Mark had told her. At first glance, he'd been exactly what Scully expected--tall, lean, long hair the color of wheat, honey-gold eyes, tanned and weathered by outdoor work. He was a laborer by day, a painter by night, and the shimmery white crystal around his neck indicated his spiritual leanings. But he was more than that, she'd found out. He was a kind man, an intelligent man. And a lost man. Lost without Melissa. He was grieving her death as if she'd walked out of his life yesterday instead of six years ago. Knowing now what had driven the wedge between them, Scully could understand why they had had no contact in that time. But being apart from Melissa had done nothing to quench his love for her. The strength of his devotion made Scully's breath catch in her throat. For it was familiar. Achingly familiar. "What we lost is what lay between us, in the end. It ripped a hole in the middle of us, and in the end, Mel and I couldn't build a bridge across it." Mark's eyes were old and tired, even though he wasn't too much older than Scully. Something about the look reminded her of Mulder, who'd seen too much pain in his life, too. Mark had gestured at the journal. "She'd want you to have that." Scully had protested. "She didn't even tell us--" "She was going to wait until afterwards. And then afterwards--" Mark shook his head. "Then she couldn't talk about it. But she'd want you to know." Scully tucked her legs under her, settling deeper into the leather cushions of Mulder's sofa. She could almost feel his presence here, giving her courage, as she took a deep breath and opened the journal. * * * * * Mulder glanced as his watch as he neared the I-395 interchange south of Worchester. Almost ten o'clock and he was still well over an hour out of Boston. He thought about calling Scully to let her know he was on the way, but he knew she'd try to talk him into turning around and heading back to Greenwich. Better to just present her with a fait accompli and deal with the fall out in person. He didn't like the way she'd sounded on the phone. Sad and tired. She hadn't sounded so discouraged since-- Since Melissa's death. She'd gone to see Melissa's friend in New Hampshire. She'd said the visit was a good one, but he didn't really believe her. Something was wrong. He'd known Scully too long for her to be able to fool him. Of course, the flip side of that was that he couldn't fool her, either. Before the night was over, he'd have to spill his own sad story, admit his feelings of jealousy and listen to her calm refutation of his irrationality. He couldn't wait to get home. * * * * * Tears slipped down Scully's cheeks as she read her sister's journal. All Missy's hopes and dreams for the future, she'd put in this book as a keepsake for the child she was carrying. The child Scully had never known about. August 6th, 1992 "I saw you today, little spirit. So tiny, just a little seed growing inside me. But I know you will be beautiful and strong and good. Scully women are like tigresses, you know. And you will be another, the doctors say. Another Scully woman. Will you have red hair, too? September 15, 1992 "Your daddy and I have such plans for you, my love. And we laugh about them as we speak, for we know that you'll have to make your own way, just as we did. I suspect that like our parents before us, we'll want to shape you to fit ourselves, but I promise, little spirit, that I will let you follow your own path. Your daddy calls you Daisy because he knows that daisies are my favorite flowers. But I think I want to name you after two people who will come to love you as I do. I think I want to call you Dana Margaret, after your aunt and your grandmother. They are formidable women, sweet spirit. From your grandmother may you inherit her passion and love, and from your Aunt Dana, her strength and intelligence. And from me, my love, may you learn to always embrace the light." December 24, 1992 "I talked to your grandmother Margaret and your Aunt Dana today. I haven't told them about you yet. I almost did, but I want to wait, to present you to them whole and beautiful. On your birthday I'll call and tell them. The doctors say February. Maybe you'll share your birthday with your Aunt Dana." January 29th, 1993 "Soon, my love. The doctor tells me that you will be here soon. I can hardly wait. I think I will call your Aunt Dana when I go into labor with you. She's a doctor, and I think she'd want to be here. She'd tell everyone what to do and make them all crazy, but I know she would take good care of you, and that's all I care about." That was the last entry. Scully closed the journal and tucked her knees up to her chin, tears streaming down her cheeks. Two days after that entry, Mark Lacey told her, Melissa had begun to bleed profusely, and the doctors had induced labor. The baby was full term but fatally flawed; a hole in her aorta and a perforated colon proved too much for even the best doctors. After two emergency surgeries and a valiant two week struggle, Dana Margaret Scully-Lacey had exhausted all her strength. The doctors could do nothing more. And Melissa had taken her baby home to die. "After that," Mark had told Scully, "things between Mel and me fell apart. She couldn't bear to talk to me, to touch me. She had locked up so much grief that I feared for her. Then one day, she left. I never heard from her again." Somehow, Missy had been able to pull herself back together. When she'd told Scully to stop running from her fears and grief after she'd thought that Mulder had been killed, Missy had been speaking from her own experience. She'd found the strength to fight her own demons and reclaim herself. That was what she'd wanted Scully to do, too. The tea pot on the stove whistled, and Scully unfolded herself from the couch and poured herself a cup. She carried the tea over to Mulder's couch and curled up against one arm, listening to the soft strains of the song on the CD, one of several Mark had given her. Melissa's favorites, he'd told her. "All those untold stories All those silent lies We'll never know each other Keeping them deep inside Let's wash away the troubles Keeping us apart Tell those untold stories Let the healing start It's been so long ago that We went our separate ways Now maybe time has changed us And worn the hurt away You look the same as ever I'm glad you're here with me Take a look into my eyes and Tell me what you see. Mark must've held onto this CD in the hopes that one day, Melissa would return to him. Thinking about her sister, about the sadness she'd sometimes seen in the depths of Missy's eyes, Scully wondered if Missy might have found her way back to him in time--if she'd only had more time? Guilt filled her heart with a bitter ache. Scully curled into a tighter ball, enveloped in the softness of Mulder's Patriots jersey. Though it was clean, she imagined she could smell his warm, unique essence clinging to the fibers. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel his strong arms around her, reminding her that she wasn't alone. A soft, furtive sound danced at the edge of her consciousness. For a second, she considered ignoring it. Then her training kicked in and she snapped her eyes open and listened. Someone was outside the door. She heard the softest of footfalls, saw a shadow break the faint thread of light coming from under the door. Heart racing, Scully reached for her gun. She pulled the Sig Sauer from the holster and held it steady in front of her. The door knob rattled, and she cocked the gun. * * * * * Mulder turned the door key as quietly as he could, not wanting to wake Scully if she was already asleep. It was almost 11:00 pm, and Scully's day had probably been tiring. But as he cracked the door, he heard the soft click of a gun cocking. He froze. "It's me, Scully. Don't shoot!" He heard the faint bumping noise that told him she'd put her gun on the coffee table. "Mulder, what are you doing here?" Her soft voice was tense. He slipped inside and closed the door behind him. Scully stood in front of the sofa, her hands on her hips, curvy form outlined by light from the lamp on the table behind her. Mulder's breath caught in his throat as he saw what she was wearing. His Pats jersey. His black silk boxers. They'd never looked better. "Over the phone you sounded like you could use some company." He tore his gaze away from her and turned to lock the door behind him. "I told you to stay at your mom's." "I needed some company." "You had company." "Not your company." She sighed, a tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She sat down on the sofa and tucked her feet up under her. Mulder had seen Scully emerge from an elevator like a Valkyrie, sweeping to his rescue when he was inches from certain death. He'd seen her face down Army generals and gun-wielding crazies without batting an eye. He'd known for a long time just what a formidable woman Dana Scully was. But looking at her now, curled up on his couch, wearing his clothes--his underwear!--her heart-shaped face soft and vulnerable, he knew he'd never before known just how dangerous she really was. And, in a Mulderesque display of recklessness, he ignored the warning bells in his head and crossed to sit next to her. Her solid warmth next to him felt so good. So right. Her gaze moved over his face as if trying to read his expression. Though her own pain was starkly evident in her sea-mist eyes, she wouldn't tell him what was wrong until he told her his own troubles. Scully had always been the "show me yours and I'll show you mine," type, he thought with a wry twist of his mouth. "Tough day at the old homestead?" she murmured. He sighed. "Nothing like meeting the people who had your sister all those years you spent tearing your gut out looking for her." She touched his arm. "You didn't like them?" "No, I did like them. That's the problem. I can't properly resent them because they're such nice people and they were so good to Samantha." He grimaced. "Hell, considering what a whacked-out family I came from, she was much better off being raised as Sarah Chandler." "You don't mean that, Mulder." He raked his fingers through his hair. "I don't. Not really. No matter how nice they were to her, it doesn't change the fact that somebody took her from us. She should've been with us." Her fingers played lightly at the base of his skull, sliding through his hair. He knew she meant the gesture to be soothing, but it was quickly becoming--not soothing. Downright inflaming. Resisting wayward feelings about Scully seemed so much harder these days. Was it the separation? Or was it the memory of her sweet Christmas kiss? He could still remember the buzz of electricity that had shot through him when her soft lips moved slowly, sweetly over his. Maybe it had just been the mistletoe. Or a potent combination of too much emotion and eggnog. He could think of a dozen perfectly plausible reasons why she'd kissed him--and why it had been nothing more than an aberration, never to be repeated. After all, Mulder wasn't a romantic man--on the contrary, his cynicism toward the idea of true love had served him quite well in the past. But when he looked at Scully, he suddenly found he wanted to believe. Now, more than ever before. * * * * * Scully took the cup of coffee Mulder offered her, knowing that neither of them was likely to sleep. With their emotions so bruised, they would both have nightmares anyway. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I know you wanted to walk Samantha down the aisle." "It makes more sense for Ray Chandler to do it." She tucked her hair behind her ear, smiling at his words. He sounded like a little boy trying very hard to be brave even though his heart was breaking. She'd always had a soft spot for little boys. "We're not talking about what makes sense, Mulder. We're talking about how you feel." He grimaced. "You know what they say, Scully." "What?" "The best way to paralyze a roomful of men is to start talking about how you feel." She chuckled. "I'll admit, I'm a lot better talking about other people's feelings than I am my own." "Speaking of your own feelings, are you ever going to tell me about meeting your sister's friend?" She looked down at her hands. She didn't want to talk about this, not even with Mulder. The pain was so raw, so new. She feared losing control in front of him, feared that he would lose respect for her. "I need to know, Scully." His voice was low and caressing. She closed her eyes and let its rough warmth wash over her. "Tell me." She took a deep breath to gather her strength. "Mark and Missy were in love. They were living together in Billings, Montana, six years ago when Missy discovered she was going to have a baby." Once she started, the whole story spilled like floodwaters through a broken dam. She bit back the tears at first, trying to relate the details as if she were reciting the contents of a casefile. But when Mulder took her hands in his, stroking her palms with his long fingers, she felt her control slip. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she choked out the last sad details of Melissa's secret life. "They buried the baby in a plot in the back of their cabin." She gently tugged her hands out of Mulder's grip and wiped the tears streaking down her cheeks. "She never told any of us about it." He touched her cheekbone, brushing away a stray tear. "I'm sorry, Scully. I'm sorry she never told you." "Was it my fault? Did I make her think that she couldn't tell me about her baby? Did she think I would be harsh or unforgiving? Is that how she saw me?" He shook his head. "Missy knew you better than that, Dana." His use of her first name caught her by surprise. Even though Mulder was her closest and dearest friend, he seldom called her by her given name. The unexpectedness was enough to make her catch her breath. He smiled, as if recognizing his slip. "Maybe the pain was too much for her to talk about. It wasn't that she couldn't trust you with it. Maybe she just didn't think she could trust herself." Scully understood. She had kept things from Mulder over the years, not because she didn't trust him but because she didn't want to add to his own emotional burdens. Missy had come back to them at a vulnerable time for the family. Ahab had been gone for such a short time, and Scully herself was in the hospital, one breath from death's door. "We WERE going through one crisis after another," she said aloud. "Dad's death, my brush with death, all the danger you and I were in--" She sipped her coffee, grimacing as she realized it had grown tepid. Mulder took the cup from her and put it on the coffee table. He turned back to her and opened his arms. "Come here." She crawled forward, curling up in the shelter of his arms. Beneath her ear, his heartbeat was loud and steady, reassuring her. "Maybe there was just never a good time to tell us. You and I were gone so much that year, on one horrible case after another. And then there was the digital tape and New Mexico--" She shuddered, and his arms tightened around her. "Maybe Mark's Christmas card wasn't a coincidence," he murmured. She lifted her head to look up at him, arching her eyebrows. He smiled. "Maybe this was Missy trying to finally tell you." She looked into his warm hazel-gray eyes, glad she'd told him everything. Instead of pitying her weakness, he merely lent her his strength, just as she'd done for him time and time again. Partners through thick and thin. The bastards may have separated us, she thought, but they haven't destroyed the bond we have. She was beginning to wonder if there were any force on earth that could. End of #5