The hyacinths are beautiful. She had indulged herself on the way home from her visit to the doctor, and the periwinkle blue flowers in the vase on her desk bring her a measure of comfort. In the weeks or perhaps months to come, she will search for this wherever she can find it. Next to the vase, there are two small, framed photographs, and if she hadn't a mirror available to check her own visage, she would think she had turned into her mother or grandmother, so sentimental has she become.

Mulder looks much younger than she remembers him ever appearing. The picture was taken on a whim one day in the office and he has a hint of a smile. She will sometimes enter the room and hear him as though they were right back there where they'd started all those years ago. Once, she'd even spoken aloud to him. It hadn't been very long after, that she'd made her decision.

The picture of William is one of many that were taken his first Christmas. At just past seven months he'd been the apple of everyone's eye. She'd stopped praying years ago, but in recent weeks had found herself starting to think about him, and to hope that he was alive and safe, and leading a good life. The horrible pain, too, had returned. She had forgotten just how it seared her and once again, there were words that she could not hear without wanting to scream or cry uncontrollably -- future, love, Mulder, William, truth. In her hand she held a vial containing the second chip.

Let it begin; let it end.

The hyacinths are beautiful.

~ End ~

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This story is (c) Copyright 2005 by Christine Leigh. "The X-Files" and its characters are the property of the Fox Network and Ten-Thirteen Productions and are borrowed here without profit or intent for profit.