The Girl Who Laughed at the Rain
by Christine Leigh

Summary: Post-series.  She does not laugh anymore . . . She is
careful.  Her broken heart quota has been met.
Rating: G
Category: V
Keywords: Angst
Spoilers: Pilot, Detour, Existence
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


There are mornings when Mulder is reluctant to get up, or when he
doesn't want to awaken Scully (so he tells himself) and on these
occasions he finds himself becoming increasingly indulgent.  The
man who used to be at his desk by 7:00 a.m. now allows himself to
dream, or half-dream as he contemplates starting his day.  He never
returns to sleep completely, but if he is diligent his mind will travel to
places he long ago left behind.  The greater his distance grows from
the world he knew, the more frequent are his visits there.  In a way
it's like having his own twilight zone.

"Agent Mulder . . . "   

As she spoke those two words, he'd turned to look at her.  This
was their first meeting, and it is difficult for him now to recall that
there was ever a time that he didn't listen for the sound of her voice. 
If it is not in his actual presence, it is always just around the corner. 
Their years together have all but obliterated what came before, and
he sometimes will have the most vivid dreams that depict
conversations with her during times of his life that occurred long
before she was in it.  He would once again be at the junior prom
with Carol Leland in his arms, but it was *her* voice that
whispered in his ear.

Recently in these reveries he has taken to hearing the sound of her
laughter.  That night in the rain at the cemetery they had both
laughed like a couple of crazy people, and while an argument could
be made that it was borderline hysteria that drove them to it, this is
one of his dearest moments to recall.  It was as though she had
been freed from everything and was letting all that she held inside of
her loose as she became one with the water that was pouring down
upon her face.  This was no longer an adult woman before him or a
fellow agent, but a girl -- a girl who laughed at the rain as though
she hadn't a worry in the world.  He remembers how amazed he
felt while witnessing this.

She doesn't laugh anymore.  Gentle smiles on occasion, never
wistful.  She is careful.  Her broken heart quota has been met. 
There are times he would like to talk about their loss, but he knows
that doing so might break her.  It might break him.  Yet, he often
thinks of the infant boy he held intermittently over the course of a
day, and who is never far from his heart. 

*What are you going to call him?*

*William.*

Their life is not one that either of them wants.  They work when
they can find employment, and when neither can do that, they
become regular customers at the nearest food bank.  They live in
dwellings that cause them to long for the apartments that they
apparently took for granted.  They are thinner and older looking. 
She's still beautiful -- that will never change in his eyes.  Her hair
hasn't been red for three years, and he misses it terribly.  Her voice,
though, is the same, and he takes selfish comfort in that.  To hear
her speak is his favorite music.  She says she can't sing, but he
would listen to her all night if she ever were to change her mind.  He
knows that the chance of that happening is slim, though.  It isn't the
recollection of the forest that night and her arms around him as she
caved to his request and sang to him that is holding her back -- no,
that memory is a good one.  He guesses that she sang to William. 
It tears him up to even think about it, but he's fairly certain that this
is the barrier.  So he understands why he hasn't heard her sing since
that night so long past.  

Were they lullabies -- her songs to their son, he wonders?

It cannot be said that William was never part of their plan since
they'd never had one.  He was their most beloved surprise, and his
absence has left a space in their lives that will never be filled.  One
night, some days after Scully had explained to him how she came to
bear his child and he had acknowledged fully what was happening
to the two of them, she'd told him of the joy she'd felt upon learning
she was pregnant.  She'd had a few hours, give or take, of pure
happiness, she had said.  Then Skinner had arrived.

They were in bed and the room was dark as she relayed the story,
and he'd cried upon hearing it.  It was a cleansing of a sort and the
morning following had brought a fresh start to them.  Now, as he
thinks of this time, he remembers it as their happiest.  They were
filled with awe, wonder, and anticipation -- all the things he'd
observed in other prospective parents.  For lack of a better word,
he thinks of this as their 'normal' period.      

*****

It had been an unremarkable day for the most part.  Mulder arrived
home first -- his shift at Lucky's Diner cut short. Business had really
been down lately and he is certain that his days there are numbered. 
Frankly, he doesn't care.  He has a cold that has been trying to
escalate into some sort of bronchial thing for nearly two weeks, and
today had been bad.  However, he was able to bring dinner home
with him, so it hadn't been a complete waste of time.  He shoved
the food into the refrigerator and then fell onto the couch in the tiny
living area.  He just needed a nap.  Soon, or so it seemed, he heard
her.

"Mulder.  Mulder, wake up."  

She is tapping his shoulder.  He is freezing.  He struggles and then
finally opens his eyes.  

"Mulder, you're burning up, and you were breathing quite heavily."  

"I'm sorry, Scully.  I just wanted a nap."  His words sounded fuzzy.

"Mulder, we need to get you to bed.  Can you stand?"  

"Yeah."  Scully gripped him with both arms and together they got
him upright.  She held him tight as they walked to the bedroom. 
She helped him to sit on the bed.

"Let me take your shirt off."  She unbuttoned and removed the
garment, and then helped him up so that she could turn down the
bed.  

"Scully, I just need to sleep."

"Mulder, have you eaten anything since this morning?"

He shook his head.

"I'm going to get you a glass of juice and some acetaminophen." 
He nodded again and watched as she left the room.  Then he took
his shoes off and crawled under the covers.  If she would just hurry
back, he'd be all right.  It was getting dark outside, he noticed.  He
must have slept longer than he'd intended.

"Can you sit up once more, please, Mulder?"

She'd brought juice, some saltine crackers, and two Tylenol tablets. 
He pulled himself up and she handed him the juice first.  

"Just sip it and then try to eat a cracker."

They sat in silence as he drank and bit off half of a cracker.  He
handed the other half back to Scully and then set the glass down on
the bedside table.  

"No, you need to take these."  She handed him the pills and he
picked the glass back up.  She handed him the two small white
tablets and he dropped them into the glass, and drained the
remainder of its contents.  Scully placed her hand beneath his head
as he lowered himself to the pillow once more.

"Mulder, I'm worried.  This cold isn't abating."

"I thought I was getting better, but I'm so tired."

"If you can sleep, I'll watch you.  And if I hear anything I don't like,
we're headed to the clinic, no arguments."

"Just stay with me, Scully.  I'll be fine."  

She kicked her shoes off and crawled onto the bed next to him. 
Then she sat up and laid her hand against his cheek.  They didn't
speak, and she hoped he would sleep.  She'd been so concerned
about him over the last two weeks, but he'd kept insisting it was
nothing.  He opened his eyes.  She saw this and bent down close to
his face.  

"Scully, do you remember the time in the woods in Florida?"  

Did she remember?  Of course she did.  Leaving off subsequent
events in her life that were tied to the memory, this was one of her
happier moments with Mulder -- the night she had sung.  She had
not wanted to at all, but something odd had happened once she'd
started.  She'd always been a very self-conscious singer, but
suddenly after a few lyrics, she'd been fine.  As she sat there with
his upper body in her lap and listening to his breathing, she had
been downright giddy inside.  Part of it was due to the aftermath of
her remission, but the rest came from the pleasure she felt in holding
him.  She remembers thinking the next day that she would sing for
him anytime.  She remembers the joy.  She remembers the song. 
And, she remembers the other times she sang it.  

"Mulder, would I ever forget?"

"No, I suppose you wouldn't."  Her hand felt so soothing upon his
cheek.  "I felt like a warrior was protecting me that night, Scully."

"A warrior with an off-key alto."

"I loved hearing you sing.  You weren't that off-key."

"You were injured at the time, remember?" 

"My ears were fine.  I love your voice, Scully."

"Mulder, you need to try to sleep."  Her tone was gentle. 

"Scully, tell me a story."

"I'm a lousy storyteller, Mulder, and besides I don't know any
stories.  Honestly, given a choice, I'd rather sing."

"Okay."   

"Mulder, I don't have a large repertoire."

"I like the song you sang in Florida."

Something inside her gave way at hearing him say this.  She didn't
want to cry, but couldn't help herself.  She turned away for a
moment but there was no escaping his notice. 

"Scully, I'm sorry.  What's wrong?  Forget about the singing."  He
reached for her and she turned to him.  She pulled him onto her lap. 
They were in the woods again.  He heard her sniffle and draw a
deep breath, while holding him tight.

"No, Mulder.  I'm sorry.  I can't let myself do this."

"It's all right."  It wasn't, but he didn't know what else to say.

"It's been awhile since it hit me like that.  And you don't need this
now.  You're sick and you need to rest."

"Scully, I need you to cry, if that's what you want to do."

"But I don't want to.  I want to be able to think about him without
tears."

"You do that, Scully.  Most of the time we both do that.  But there
will always be the other times when we won't be able to do that,
and it's all right."  He felt her squeeze him even tighter as he spoke. 
And then almost imperceptibly, he felt her rocking him.  Seconds
later she stopped, and he sensed that she'd moved beyond the
crisis, at least for now.  Then he heard her.  Her voice was low and
beautiful, just as it had been in Florida:

"Jeremiah was a bullfrog . . . "

Soon, he slept.  In the arms of the girl who had laughed at the rain.


- end -