End of Winter by Emma Brightman Disclaimer: Not mine Category: VA, MSR Rating: PG Spoilers: Through 'Closure' Website: http://honeybeehive.net Feedback: emmabrightman1013@yahoo.com Summary: The end of the road doesn't mean the end of the journey. Deepest thanks to Cucumberspy, JET, and Lilydale for their kind and generous help. * * * * * * * California winters are colder than she remembers from her childhood. Back then, when the temperature dipped below sixty, the other girls in school put on thick tights beneath their school uniforms, and wore their rabbit-fur jackets at recess as if expecting a blizzard. Scully, on the other hand, had simply thrown on the sweater her mother insisted she wear, and kept on playing. After all, who could be cold in a state where the sun shines brightly over 300 days a year? She's never felt cold in California, until tonight. The air is still, with hardly a hint of wind to stir her hair, but Scully shivers anyway, and rubs her hands together. She feels like ice, as if she's freezing from the inside out. Her bones ache. In the bright light of the motel parking lot her breath is visible, if only for an instant, ethereal and a little sparkly, like the stars peering down at her from between the thickening clouds. She moves her hand through the mist she creates, as if by capturing it she could hold her life's essence, examine it under a microscope, and see what part of her remains now that Mulder's quest is over. "I'm free," he'd told her, gazing at the sky. In that moment, seeing peace fill his eyes, she hardly recognized him. "I held her, Scully," he said, reaching out to take her hand in his. "She was so beautiful." Scully had looked at his hand clasped in hers, then lifted her eyes to his with an expression he must have mistook for skepticism, when she was really thinking that she'd held his mother's heart in the same hand just a few days before. "I know it sounds crazy, but you have to believe me," he said. His voice was as calm as his face, without any of the desperate edge it usually contained when he wanted to convince her of something important to him. "It's over, Scully. After all these years, it's finally over." He tugged her toward him and gathered her in a hug. He felt solid and real with his beating heart pressed to hers, but she kept her arms at her sides, some part of her imagining he'd disappear into the ether if she wrapped her arms around him, just as Samantha had with him. All at once a gust of wind startles her out of her thoughts, tangling her hair and slicing through her clothes. She fumbles with icy fingers to button her jacket, the leather straining to reach around the layers of clothing she'd put on before coming outside. Looking up she sees clouds rolling in to block out what little light the moon and stars provide. Her heels crunch against the gravel of the parking lot as she walks toward the manager's office, the tramp of her boots the only sound except for the whistle of a train in the distance. No cars zoom past on the road in front of her, and no voices carry from the row of motel rooms behind her. She can't remember the last time she felt so alone, and she knows this has less to do with middle-of-the-night silence than with the feeling that Mulder has moved on without her. He is changing while she remains the same, and she wonders how long it will be before he doesn't need her at all. "End of the road," he'd told her, and though his peace is what she's prayed for since the long-ago night he told her about Samantha, she can't help wondering where they'll travel next and whether or not he'll need her beside him. As she approaches the office door, she squints to read the note on the darkened window. The single porch light outside the door has grown dim with dirt and the corpses of insects, and she can hardly make out the words. "Office closed after 2:00 a.m.," it says in block lettering on a piece of motel stationery, followed by a list of emergency telephone numbers. Scully feels a flash of annoyance at Mulder for choosing to stay in a mom and pop motel instead of a national chain where someone would have been available at three in the morning, then cringes guiltily at herself. How can she feel anything but sympathy for him right now, after all he's been through in the past few days? He hadn't known her heater would break in the middle of the night, and if he knew now he'd insist she stay in his room. She'd been thinking of knocking on his door all night, even before the heater sputtered to its death, but she was afraid of interrupting his communion with his sister's soul, afraid of waking him if he was asleep, afraid of letting him see how lost she feels right now. Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she trudges back across the parking lot, through the covered walkway between the two single-story buildings and into the motel courtyard. Swimming pools seem mandatory for hotels in California, no matter how small, and this one is no exception. Moonlight filters through the clouds, bruising the murky water with blue-black shadows, and a few dead leaves float on the surface, swimming around the kidney-shaped pool as they're buffeted by the growing wind. Untended during the winter months, the pool's water has evaporated until it hovers half a foot below the row of tiles on the inside wall. What she really needs, she thinks, fighting back a yawn, is some time to rest and think. Not just a long weekend spent soaking in the tub or lunching with her mother, but a real break, with time to reassess her life and her priorities. The chances of that happening anytime soon are slim, however, so she settles for sitting in a poolside chair for a moment, not bothering to wipe the dewy moisture from the seat. Tipping her head back against the headrest, the hard plastic digs uncomfortably into the flesh between her skull and neck as she tries to see the stars. The heavy reality of gathering rain clouds obscures her view, though, and at last she gives up and closes her eyes. She tries to envision Samantha as Mulder saw her, but the few pictures Scully has seen give no clue about how she moved, or what her voice sounded like. She's surprised how sad it makes her that she'll never know. When she feels the first drop of rain fall on her face, followed by another sliding down her skin like a tear, something breaks open inside her, rising up like a living thing, choking her until her breath hitches and a sob finally escapes against her will. It echoes loudly in the empty courtyard, bouncing against the surrounding motel walls. Startled, she clamps a hand over her mouth and leans forward, elbows on her knees, crying into her trembling hands until she's able to get control of herself again. She breathes deeply, letting the sharp ache of cold air in her lungs distract and calm her. Someone treads up the path toward her as she's wiping her eyes with a tissue she found crumpled in her jacket pocket. She recognizes the sound of Mulder's footfall and quickly shoves the used tissue back into her pocket, brushing through her messy hair with her fingers. "Scully, what's wrong?" he asks nervously, moving to sit on the small, wobbly chair in front of her. "I was looking for you and you weren't in your room." He takes in her disheveled appearance and frowns, his forehead creased with worry. She can only imagine how awful she must look. "I guess I wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep," he says. She takes a deep breath and sits back, trying to get further away from his inquisitive gaze. "I'm fine, Mulder. The heater in my room broke. I went to see if the office was open so I could get a new room, but they closed at two." "And you just thought you'd camp out here tonight? It's starting to rain," he says. "Why didn't you come to my room?" He pulls his seat closer to her, taking her hands in his, chafing them to warm them up. "I just needed a little air," she replies, pulling her hands from his. "Let's go inside, Mulder. It's late and we've got a flight in six hours." Before she can stand and walk away, however, the clouds part enough to let a little moonlight escape, and Mulder gets a better look at her tearstained face. "You've been crying," he says quietly. His eyes grow soft with understanding, and she has to turn her head away from the gentleness she sees there before she begins to cry again. "Mulder, I'm fine. I just need to sleep and get warm." "Scully..." She chances looking at him again and notices for the first time that he's only wearing a t-shirt and jeans, no jacket, and that his bare feet are stuffed into untied tennis shoes. Goosebumps make the hair on his arms stand up, and he's beginning to shiver, but he doesn't seem to notice. "Is this about Samantha?" he says, though he already seems sure of the answer. "About what I told you tonight? Scully, I know it must seem impossible to believe, but you have to trust that what I told you was true." A tear slides down her cheek, and she brushes it away before speaking. "I'm happy you have your answer, that you're free. That's all I've ever wanted, Mulder. For you to have some peace." "I know that, Scully," says Mulder, reaching across the space between them, cupping her cheek in his hand and wiping away a tear with his thumb. "I know." She covers his hand with her own and pulls it away from her face, but doesn't let go, instead letting their joined hands rest together on her knee. "I'm sorry," she says. "It's just been a long few days." "It's been a long few years," he sighs. "It's been my whole life. I've been lying there in bed all night, trying to figure out what to do next. I always had my life planned out, Scully, and for years the plan was 'find Samantha'. That's all there was." "Nothing else matters," she says, and he shakes his head ruefully, remembering his words to her on their first case together. "It didn't take me long after that night to realize that wasn't entirely true, you know," he says, sounding a little embarrassed at the single-minded man he was then. "Still, it was always there, always so important, and now...now I'm wondering what's next. What do I do with the rest of my life?" "I wish I had an answer for you, Mulder. I've been walking around here wondering the same thing, myself." His thumb stroking across her knuckles is so gentle, and whether it's her exhaustion or his tenderness causing her to open up, she can't stop the words coming out of her mouth. "She was your sister, but this...your search became my life, too. I just wish I could believe the way that you do." She sighs, shaking her head. "I know I don't have the right to feel this way." Mulder stands, pulling her up too, and into his arms. Wearily, she rests her forehead against the soft cotton covering his chest. "Of course you have the right, Scully. Of course you do." His breath is warm against her hair, and hearing his words she draws him closer to her, turning her head until she can hear his heart beating quickly beneath her ear. "I know you wanted the truth just as much as I did," he says. "After all this time...I know you cared about her. In a way she was your sister, too." Scully pulls back to look up at Mulder, who gently covers her mouth with his fingers when she begins to protest. She couldn't have spoken anyway, not with the lump in her throat. She licks her lips when he takes his fingers away, and tastes salt on her tongue. He's eating sunflower seeds again, she thinks vaguely as he moves toward her, closing the gap between them until his mouth is on hers. He kisses her, just the lightest pressure against her lips. A chaste kiss, but lingering enough to remind her that, though Samantha may be her sister, he is not her brother. "I told you once that I owe you everything, that I couldn't do the work without you, and it's still true. Nothing's going to change that." "Mulder..." "I know you, Scully," he says, kissing her forehead before resting his against hers. "You didn't have to say it." They stand together as they had in his hallway on a day that seems so long ago now. Their breaths steam mistily between them, intimately mingled, and they breathe each other in. "Whatever has happened, and whatever will happen, I'll always need you," he says, his voice soft with emotion. "You're my partner." She nods. "I know that," she whispers, and for the first time that night she believes it. "It's the same for me." Drizzle changes to a light, cold rain, and finally Scully leans away from him, brushing water from his stubbled cheek. "Let's go to bed, Mulder," she says. Mulder's eyes crinkle with a hint of amusement, despite the seriousness of their conversation, and she wonders if there will ever be a time he won't tease her at every opening she gives him. She hopes not. "I'm tired and it's freezing," she says, letting her lips turn up slightly in the first smile she's worn in days. "And it won't be long until it's time to go home." He returns her smile and nods, taking her hand as they walk back to his room. The door is unlocked, and Mulder opens it to let her go in first, the rush of warm air on her face welcome and comforting. The overhead light and the television are both on, and Mulder turns both of them off while Scully pulls two towels from the bathroom rack and hands one to him. They dry off and change clothes in the dim light coming through a gap in the curtains. While Mulder removes his jeans and slips into loose yellow pants, Scully unwraps herself, until all that remains are the flannel pajamas she'd kept on beneath her clothes. Mulder runs his eyes over her appraisingly and chuckles. "What?" she says, glancing down at the blue and gray stripes. "It's cold out there, Mulder. It's called layering." Mulder brushes a few sunflower seeds off the bedspread and peels back the covers, waiting for her to climb in before crawling in after her. "I guess I just never imagined that the first time I slept with you you'd be wearing flannel pajamas," he says, lying on his back close to her, his side barely brushing hers. Scully feels herself flush and turns onto her side, facing away from him. This is what's ahead of us, she realizes, pressing her warm cheek into the cool pillowcase -- this touching and talking and focusing on each other. Here is the new road, stretching out before them. She knows his eyes are on her and glances back toward him with a small smile. Mulder takes it as the invitation she'd intended it to be, moving over to curl his body around hers. His embrace is relaxed but reassuring, and before long she is drowsy and pleasantly warm, ready to slip into the restful sleep she's missed in recent days. As her eyes slip shut she hears Mulder's voice, low and raspy in her ear. "Did I ever tell you about the day Samantha was born?" Mulder asks. She's heard the story before, years ago, but she shakes her head no against the pillow anyway. "My father was in Washington when Mom went into labor almost three weeks early. The two of us just got in the car and she drove to the Vineyard hospital, even though she'd planned to have the baby in Boston. She almost had Samantha on the side of the road, Scully. I was so scared...and excited..." Scully feels gentle fingers brushing her cheek, and Mulder kisses her temple. Soon, Mulder, she thinks as he continues to speak, his voice lulling her to sleep. Soon. * end *