A World of Fragile Things
by Christine Leigh

Summary: Mulder looks back on a terrible, wonderful
time in their lives.
Rating: G
Category: V
Spoilers: Memento Mori
Disclaimer: All characters are the products of
Chris Carter. They also belong to Ten-Thirteen
Productions and the Fox Network. No copyright
infringement intended. 
Archiving: If you would like to archive anywhere, I'd 
appreciate a quick note first.
Email: Feedback is always welcome, leighchristine@hotmail.com


For Lidia on her birthday.  


It's strange, he supposes, that when he remembers
everything that happened in that time, that some of
his clearest memories should be of the saddest
days.  That was a terrible period in their lives
and he'd jettison it in a heartbeat if it were
possible.  Yet, he doesn't mind remembering.  

These memories come out of nowhere lately it seems,
and tonight he is remembering the day he dropped
the teacup.  He knew she wouldn't say a word about
it, but the slivers of fine china that were strewn
all over her kitchen floor served as the perfect
metaphor.  She was one of the strongest persons
he'd known, and now that her strength was gone, if
she were to fall, she'd break every bit as easily
as the cup.  He saw this every time he looked at
her.  The bones were more prominent; her skin once
radiantly translucent, too thin and stretched.  

It was a pretty cup, forget-me-nots painted on
delicate white, and he wondered whose it had been. 
Her own dishes were contemporary, but the cup and
saucer he'd found sitting on the counter were
straight out of someone's china closet -- from her
mother or grandmother he wondered?  She had asked
for tea, and so naturally he'd thought to bring it
to her in the cup that was now in smithereens.  The
world they inhabited was so fragile, and he needed
to be more careful.

"Mulder, is everything all right?"

Her voice was weak, but still beautifully musical. 
The low notes were the ones he loved to hear best. 
This last round of chemo had been the worst so far,
and she was calling to him from the living room
where she rested on the couch.  That she'd asked
him to be here is alternately a comfort and pure
torture.  

"I dropped the cup that was on the counter.  I hope
it wasn't too special."  

"Don't worry.  There's a broom in the closet."

He found it and made quick work of cleaning up the
mess.  Then he started over, and as he carried the
tea to her, he tried to sound relatively upbeat.

"Here you are, Scully.  Sorry about that."  He set
the mug on the coffee table as she tried to sit up. 

"Are you okay to be up?"

"I don't know.  We'll find out."  She patted her
hand gently on the space next to her, motioning him
to sit.  He complied and picked up the mug of tea
to hand to her.  She took it and just held it for
several seconds and then sipped, finally.

"Thank you, Mulder.  It tastes good."

"There's soup, too.  I think I'm up for the
challenge."

"Not right now."  She paled even more at the
mention of the soup, so they just remained quiet
for a bit.  After a few more sips she set the mug
down.  He could sense a slight hesitation in her
and then she surprised him by laying her head on
his shoulder.  There was no hesitation on his part
as he put his arm around her.  It was as if they
sat like this every night together.  

"Scully, are you sure you wouldn't be more
comfortable in bed?"  

"No.  I like it here."

He gave her a gentle squeeze.

"Mulder, why haven't we done this before?"

"I don't know, Scully.  I never . . . "

Never thought about it?  Not true. He thought about
it often, even before her diagnosis.  Now, the time
they spent together had become so precious, but he
didn't want to upset her.  She wanted to know about
this, though -- about them.  He couldn't refuse.

"I was always worried that things between us, as
they were professionally and as friends, might be
ruined.  It was a delicate balance, but it seemed
to work.  Well, most of the time.  And I was so
obsessed with finding Samantha."  He almost choked
on his next words.  "I always told myself that
there would be time later for us."

"Later."  

Her voice was sorrowful as she uttered the word,
and she closed her eyes.  He stroked her cheek and
felt her tears.  He faced her now, and if she
should open her eyes, she'd see his. 
  
*****

He turns to look at her.  She's fast asleep, her
back to him.  It has been a strange and wonderful
ride they've had.  The years that came before her
don't really register with him fully anymore.  He
knows why he doesn't mind remembering that time;
knows why as well as he knows why the sun still
rises each day.  It was because of the one thing --
the most important gift of all that he had been
given during that time.  

He knows that this is when she'd come to love him.  


- end -