By Christine Leigh
Summary: Scully POV on the eve of William's fifth birthday. Follows the canon of the series through Requiem. Possible CD.
May 19, 2006
"Another, please." Before the drink is put before her she has placed the money on the bar. Two is her limit. When it comes she takes a quick sip and the cold vodka sliding through her is a liquid metaphor for her being at this moment, providing seconds of false warmth in a perpetual chill.
She stares through the rows of bottles to the mirror behind them, and the reflection of the rain falling outside the window behind her. It has been sunny for the past week, but the forecast for today had changed and the rain started falling this afternoon. The light outside is a pearly hue, and as she continues to sip she thinks of the increased humidity, a conditioned response to the fact that it is always a bigger battle to contain her hair in this weather. Mulder likes it curly, but she does not. Liked, rather.
It's been nearly six years, but some of the time she will still think of him in the present tense, like today -- he'd been all around today. She'd looked up three times from a report she'd been writing, almost certain that she'd see him sitting there. Hence, the self-imposed two drink limit. Tomorrow she will be William's mother; tonight she is Scully.
She has no empirical proof that Mulder is dead, but the only way she has been able to exist is to believe that he has somehow left this world. After four years, she'd had to say to everyone, enough. Her son was almost three at the time, and she could no longer look at him with the uncertainty that was grinding and reshaping her into someone else. The fact was that she already was someone else, and that was Will's mother. It was time for Scully to exit the scene. Which she had done, except for the times that the shame that seared her for taking these steps showed its face. More specifically, her face. Viewing herself is not a good thing on those days. That's when she comes here.
She looks at her watch. Monica is with Will. She'd stay the night if necessary, but it won't be. Tomorrow is Will's fifth birthday, and she must be ready and happy. Time to call a cab. She finishes her drink and finds her phone. As she stands inside the entrance to the bar, waiting, she once more remembers that they never did say good-bye. Whenever one or the other of them was leaving, good-bye was one thing they didn't often say. And certainly not on that last morning. She'd been too superstitious to not treat it like any other day.
The cab pulls up to the curb and she walks into the rain.
~ End ~
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This story is (c) Copyright 2006 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.