The Truth Will Set You Free
by bugs

Email:  bugsfic@gmail.com
Characters/Pairing: Mulder/Scully
Genre: Angst, Drama, Romance
Spoilers: Through 'The Truth' and a touch of IWTB
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3,200
Summary: Another happy holiday for Scully.



~*~

"Dad would get the words wrong to *Frosty the Snowman*
every time," Bill Scully explained to his youngest son who'd
never met his grandfather. "I mean, how do you screw up a
song like that?"

Everyone laughed on cue, although Maggie watched all the
faces around her dining room table intently. She'd cooked her
traditional meal, from the crusted ham to the green bean
casserole, with the pecan pies cooling in the kitchen. The red
table linens had been starched. The candles lit. But it could all
go wrong in a single slip of a tongue. 

Every chair was filled at the table, but there were two shadows
on either side of Scully, cast long by the cold winter light from
the window behind her. No matter how bright the candles,
Maggie could see them. 

"It was Melissa's fault," Charlie said. "She'd make up these
funny lyrics and Dad would believe they were right!"

He leaned back in his chair and bellowed out: "Frosty the
snowman was a jolly sappy soul, with a corndog pipe and a
banana nose.." 

"That was one of the cleaner versions," Bill said, innocently
enough, but Maggie gripped her wine glass stem. Would he
start in about Melissa's problems?

Scully noticed her mother tense. Turning her sharp gaze to Bill,
she dared him to say more. He raised his pale eyebrows as an
unspoken reply. She took a deep sip from her wine glass and
kept watch on her brother, whose petulance had not softened
with age. 

She had missed too many of these Christmas gatherings in the
last eighteen years. Despite the emotional turmoil right beneath
the surface, she had decided not to miss this one. So far, no one
had dared comment on the wayward Mulder. Scully had called
to caution Maggie and she assumed her mother had given out
her own warnings to the rest of the family. 

"Are you sure you want to come, dear?" Maggie had asked.
"You don't need to make an appearance just for me. We saw
each other last week--"

Scully had replied--perhaps a bit abruptly This year, Mulder's
issues weren't going to take precedent and she made that clear
to her mother. 

She looked around the table. Bill's oldest daughter, who looked
so like Melissa, needed advice which her thrice a week
Mass-attending mother would not offer. Charlie's son wanted to
tell his father that he planned to drop out of college and travel
with a band. And yeah, he probably wouldn't be marrying
Charlie's business partner's niece next June either.

At the family table, none of this was discussed. Maggie cut off
any conversation which veered into politics, religion, sexual
mores of the times, and where Fox Mulder was *this* year.

Bill finally gave it a try.

"He gotten a job yet?" he asked, as though Mulder was
basement-dwelling slacker, still living at home at twenty-five.

Maggie cleared her throat. "I've put in over three hundred daffs
this year. I can't wait for the spring to see the display."

Her son opened his mouth again, and her gaze turned on him
like a lighthouse's white beam.

Scully took another sip of wine.

"Do you still do those stem cell experiments?" Tara Scully
asked, in a tone as though Scully was Dr. Mengele's
handmaiden.

"And tulips," thundered Maggie. "I've put in at least a hundred
of those."

"Cool, Grandma," said Charlie's son Eric, before swallowing
half a roll in one gulp. He was trying to help. All the children
had grown up with these scenes and knew their roles.

Scully's cell phone rang, giving her a merciful exit. She rose
from the table, leaving her napkin by her plate. She would
return, no matter what was the phone call was about.

Bill whined, "I thought we had a no cell at the table rule."

"She's a doctor," hissed their mother as Scully left the dining
room.

She knew it wasn't the hospital. She answered, "Scully," not
"Doctor Scully."

"Nothing yet," said Skinner. "No hits on his phone's GPS, no
credit card use, no passport out of the country--"

"He hasn't left the country."

"Then you know where he's gone," said Skinner, sounding
slightly peeved. Scully acknowledged this with a hum of
appreciation. After all, he was spending yet another holiday
chasing after Mulder too.

"I've got a pretty good idea where he is. I'll head out there
tomorrow morning."

No, Scully was not going to rush off into the night. She was
going to unwrap the presents under the tree, enjoy her eggnog,
and sleep in the bed where she'd spent her teen years. Perhaps
there would even still be an old Harlequin romance tucked
between the mattress and the box spring to read until three a.m.

She had had a prick of worry when he hadn't returned home by
Christmas Eve. His disappearance on the nineteenth, although
not unexpected, had hurt more than she'd anticipated. Then
she'd gotten angry. Now she was resigned. Like the owner of a
dog which runs away every time the gate is left ajar, this time
she was accepting that he may already be dead in the street, and
there was no need to hurry her search.

She returned to the dining room in time to intervene in a heated
discussion about gun control.


The day after Christmas, she rose early, and came downstairs
for the traditional breakfast of French toast eaten around the
kitchen table, ignoring her mother's gaze darting repeatedly to
the clock.

"Don't you want to be getting on the road soon?" Maggie
finally said.

"Why? Traffic doesn't start until about three." Scully took her
plate to the sink and rinsed it off before putting it in the
dishwasher.

Maggie couldn't contain herself. "I thought perhaps--"

Scully turned to face her mother's worried expression. "You
thought what, Mom?"

"Nothing, I guess." Maggie pushed around an uneaten bite on
her plate.

"I'm sorry," Scully said, forcing herself to smile. "I just wanted
you to have a good Christmas."

"It was lovely. Any time you're here--"

"Exactly." Scully brought the sponge over to vigorously wipe
up a stray drop of syrup.

"But I understand if you and Fox need to get away--"

"Mom, we haven't been going to Aruba all these years," Scully
said, exasperated at her mother's excuses for Mulder's behavior.

"Maybe you should go one of these times," Maggie said with
that deadly honesty she possessed.

Scully plopped down in the chair beside her mother and leaned
her forehead on the older woman's shoulder. "Yeah," was all
she could find to say.


When she finally did leave her mother's, Scully took her time
driving home, mindful of traffic and poor road conditions.
Once she arrived and found a still empty house, she checked
the airline schedules and seat availability. Terrible, as expected.
She called in one more favor from Skinner and got a
government agent's standby seat to Albuquerque with a waiver
to carry a weapon, turning down his offer to accompany her.
Then she packed a bag and sat in the living room listening to
the grandfather clock tick until it was time to leave for the
airport.


After securing a rental SUV, Scully drove to Roswell, the
setting sun pressing at the back of her head, heavy and hot.
She'd called ahead to reserve a room at the Chaves Motel, but
didn't ask if a tall, dark-haired man was staying there under one
of Mulder's aliases. She preferred to keep guessing. If he wasn't
there, it would be she who would commune with the desert
spirits for a few days before continuing her search.

The motel was only half-full. Scully showed her expired FBI
identification card, holding her thumb over the validity date
and asked about any guests matching Mulder's description.
There'd been none recently. Ignoring the way her heart lurched,
Scully checked into her room and slept with the TV on
infomercials, even though Mulder wasn't there to need that
particular sleep aide.

Dawn came with a pale pink sky and low fog clinging to the
desert sage. Scully downloaded back country maps to her
vehicle's GPS and filled her daypack with water bottles, a
sunhat despite the freezing temperatures, and her sidearm.

She drove to the remote Anasazi ruins, surprised that she
remembered the way ten years later. There was only one other
car in the small parking lot. At last, a lead. It was their Ford
Taurus, missing with Mulder.

Scully got out and slowly circled the Taurus. The doors were
locked but she'd brought the spare set.

Once open, she found a Starbucks cup in the cupholder with an
inch of curdled milk sludge at the bottom---a peppermint
mocha. She curled her lip at Mulder's secret weakness of the
holiday season.

There was a faint but sickening, familiar odor in the interior.
She opened the ashtray---a single Morley was stubbed out in
the bottom. She quickly checked the rest of the car. A couple of
empty water bottles were on the back seat floorboards, one
half-filled with urine. She rolled her eyes. A habit he thankfully
had not picked up while they were still working cases.

The trunk held half a flat of full water bottles and a small
disposable grocery bag of Mulder's dirty clothes. His slide-on
moccasins sat beside the water.

Shading her eyes from the strengthening sun, Scully looked
around. She doubted that he'd signed into the trailhead's hiking
log book, but before striking out, she did, then tugged down her
her hat low and slung her pack over her shoulders. A dry river
wash served as a trail. The park service had closed the road
since the helicopter attack on the ancient dwellings. 

The sandstone ruins were stark and ominous against the bold
blue sky. She resisted the urge to call out for Mulder. The
damage from the missile strikes had not been repaired but
numerous signs warned against progressing any further because
of the danger from falling rocks. She passed them without
another glance. As each piece of shale clattered down while she
clamored up the slope, she expected to hear a challenge from
above. His weapon had been missing along with the car.

When she reached the entrance to the chamber where the
Smoking Man had been found, she settled in a spot of shade
and wiped her sweaty forehead and neck with a handkerchief.
Gulping down a bottle of water, she waited. She could smell
Morley smoke in the usually clean, crisp desert air but heard no
sound.

Finally a voice came from the deep shadows within: "What are
you doing here, Scully?"

"My mother missed you at Christmas dinner."

"I wouldn't have been good company."

"I told her that, but you know how she is."

The responding chuckle was rusty, as though he hadn't laughed
in days.

She got right to the point. "If the world was going to end,
Mulder, wouldn't you have wanted me there?" She was
surprised at the amount of hurt she heard in her voice.

"The world wasn't going to end."

"And yet you came here anyway."

Only silence for a reply this time.

Finally she heard footfall and Mulder came to the entry,
blinking in the bright light. He tossed a half-smoked cigarette
down and rubbed his stubbled cheek as though just noticing his
disheveled state. Perhaps he was. 

Scully nodded toward the smoldering cigarette. "Getting into
the mind of your suspect, Mulder?"

"No." He leaned against the rock wall. "Summoning his spirit, I
guess? While sitting on his eternal grave."

"Why--"

"Because he is my father. You remember saying that to me
once?"

Scully swallowed a thousand protests. 

"I was so envious of what I heard in your voice."

"Bill Mulder loved you. He was your father. I gave William his
name to try and show you that, even if you couldn't see it." 

Mulder sighed. 

Scully wondered why they always needed to have these sort of
discussions in the most uncomfortable places possible.
Groaning with pain, she shifted on the rock, working the kinks
out of her joints. 

"We should go home," Mulder said.

"So you found what you expected?" she asked.

"Of course not." The resignation was familiar but no less
irritating. 

"Then what the hell are you doing out here, Mulder?"

"Camping."

"You hate camping."

"Never too late to start," he said flippantly. 

"Some things are best avoided for a reason," she pointed out.
Her tone was sharper still when she said, "But some things you
come back to again and again."

"I'm sorry, Scully--"

"Don't ever say those two words to me ever again," she ground
out, fighting to keep from striking at him like an angry child. "I
don't appreciate being lied to."

"I *am* sorry."

"Then it's worse than lying. If you couldn't understand why you
had to come out here--"

He folded his arms. "So why'd I have to come out here, Doctor
Scully?"

"You wanted to believe that the dead speak to us, that they will
give us the power to save ourselves, although why you'd want
to hear anything that old bastard had to say--"

"We can't choose what our fathers will say. Your father has
spoken to you again and again since his death, wouldn't you
say? He speaks through you; in your strong beliefs, your
tenacity, your honesty and deep love..." Mulder dropped his
head. "You hear so clearly, but all my life, it's been nothing but
whispers I couldn't make out. Secrets, lies, tangled messes--"

Scully nodded, both understanding and hating what he was
saying. She slapped the wall behind her. "So no profound truths
came out of this rubble on the twenty-first?"

"Nope. Not a peep." Mulder tossed a rock to the gully below.
"Thought he might have some advice, one deadbeat dad to
another."

"Mulder, you are not a deadbeat father!"

"Patterns repeat themselves, one generation to the next. It's
amazing," he mused.

Scully balled her fists on her knees. "What happened between
that man and your mother is nothing like the situation with
William."

"More like Samantha and William, true."

She shook her head in frustration. After taking a deep breath,
she tried again. "Okay, it's the twenty-six. When the dead didn't
speak on Friday and the earth kept rotating, why didn't you
come home?"

The breeze ruffled his hair as he peeped at her over his
shoulder like a guilty little boy caught with his hand in a cookie
jar.

"Mulder, you son of a bitch, you were waiting for me to show
up?" 

He didn't answer the question directly. "Hey, why don't we get
married?"

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," she said rather
unromantically. 

"Why not?"

"Why?"

"Maybe that's what he's saying to me. Not the words of wisdom
I was expecting to hear, but it's just what came out of my
mouth."

"Oh, that's really going to make me agree--hearing the Smoking
Man wants it. I blew him off the other time he tried to fix us
up--"

Mulder raised his eyebrows comically and Scully humped her
back, as reticent as a desert tortoise pulling into her shell.

"Your wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of your
life, right? I feel pretty happy right now."

Shocked, Scully gaped up at him. "You're happy...After all
this...And nothing?"

"Yep. *Nothing* happened, Scully."

"You were afraid something would happen," she said slowly.
"Even as every shred of scholastic evidence and even common
sense told you it would not."

"That's it." His wide grin reassured her. He wasn't just saying
this to get out of another fight. 

He yanked her back to the present with: "So what'da yah say?"

"Let's not rush into anything here, Mulder," she said primly.

"Okay, fine." He perched on the rock beside her like a
floppy-haired heron. He peeked at her again, worrying on his
shoulder with his teeth. "Wanna fool around?"

Scully peered into the dark chamber where he'd been sleeping.
"My days of sex in sleeping bags are long gone. You missed
your chance, buddy."

His grin was bright enough to bring tears to her eyes. He
tugged her over to nestle under his arm. Tipping her chin up, he
pooched out his lips, but didn't kiss her. 

"Well?" she challenged him.

"Haven't brushed my teeth in days."

"I'm tough."

"You are," he said with wonder. 

Grabbing a fistful of his worn tee shirt, she twisted the fabric
tightly, drawing him close enough to kiss. He made up for his
ripe breath with the soft caress of his tongue, his warm exhale
tickling her cheek. Even the rasp of his beard felt good. So their
life together had been a series of painful partings and emotional
reunions...She'd take it in this intense, singular moment.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck. "How about the
car?"

She rose with a cracking of her knees, pulling him with her.
"The car, Mulder?" She looked him up and down. "Well, with
my short little legs, I can manage it, but you--"

He feigned a wince. "Damn, Scully, you never let go of
anything--"

"I guess that's why we love each other." She wrapped her arms
around his waist. "We're the same under it all."

He kissed the top of her head. 

"The bed at the motel is surprisingly comfortable," she
announced. She felt his smile against her temple.

Gazing out across the barren desert, she asked, "Are you done
here?" 

His hand cupping her shoulder tightened. "Yeah," he breathed.
"I'm done here."

She squinted up at Mulder. The sun was high in the sky over
his head, putting his face in shadow; she couldn't see his
expression. But she truly believed him, for the first time. 

"Okay. Let's go home," she said and lifted her pack. She
glanced at the ruin again. "Did you have anything you need to
bring?"

"Not a thing." 

She picked up a shard of sandstone. Thin layers of color,
signifying thousands, even millions of years, striated the rock.
"Just one thing," she said, handing it to Mulder.

His smile softening, he tucked it in her pack. Taking her hand,
he led the way down the slope from the blackened rubble. 

They paused at the base for water and to catch their breath. 

Scully wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes."

"Yes? ...Yes," Mulder said carefully.

Scully nodded. 

"Can I get you a ring?" he asked next.

Tugging her hat down tighter, she replied, "No." She headed
down the dry river wash toward the parking lot.

Matching her stride, Mulder fell into step beside her. "Just
thought I'd ask." 

"Thanks anyway."

"Anytime, Scully."

"Maybe for the next end of the world," she suggested. "When's
that gonna be, Mulder?" Her tone was challenging, but she
didn't slow down.

"I have no idea," he said, righteous.

"Bullshit." She snagged a sprig of sage as she passed a bush,
bringing it to her nose. 

His hand slipped in with hers. "I guess, if you really wanted to
know, I could possibly do some research..."


~*End*~