FF: The Rusted Wheel of Things (4/6)
Title: The Rusted Wheel of Things (Chapter 4)
Author: Ellie elliestories
Rating: R
Category: SRA
Timeline: Post-"Requiem", AU
Further headers and information in Chapter 1
****
Chapter 4
Homecoming
****
Few words passed between them as she took his meagre bag of belongings and helped him into her car, allowing him to balance against her shoulder as he settled into the leather seat of the silver Audi station wagon. He didn't know exactly where they were going, but as long as he was with her, it would be all right.
Only after they'd hit 395 and started passing signs for the Alexandria exits did she glance away from the road to look at him askance, and break the silence. "I never asked...would you have rather gone somewhere yourself? Somewhere familiar? So much has changed, and it's been so long, and even before, we weren't...." She trailed off as she maneuvered around a slow-moving bus.
He watched her, waiting for her to look back over to him. When her focus remained on the highway as they passed Glebe Road and King Street, he answered her half-asked question. "I can't think of anywhere I would rather go than home with you. But if you don't want me there, just say the word, and I'll figure something out."
"No! No, Mulder, I want you home with us." She flicked her bright eyes from the road to his face before continuing, "But it's been a long time. I don't know what your perception of the passage of time was like, how long it feels to you. There's a child you knew nothing about. And as much as I've missed you, I don't think I can just...pick up where we left off."
Her voice was calm, controlled, the way she sounded when truly, deeply nervous. He'd felt adrift since the moment he woke up in the hospital, but he'd been so consumed with putting things right in his own mind that he hadn't considered how shaken up her life must feel. One hand slowly reached across the wide front seat to rest on her hand, where white knuckles belied her stoicism. "Scully, in the last few years, while I've been gone, it seems like you've gotten your heart's desire. A good life, with a daughter and a dog and a house. If I don't fit into that, it's okay. I never really expected to fit into that kind of life."
She shook her head, eyes still on the road as she maneuvered to the right lane approaching the exit. "Mulder, I wanted those things, but I didn't want them alone. I only have them because of you, and I wanted you to be a part of them. Having a daughter has been the most amazing experience of my life, but I didn't want to do it alone. Having a home is lovely, but I never wanted it because I sold two of your parents' houses after you were declared dead."
They were both silent as she waited to make a left from the exit ramp, watching the steady stream of foreign sedans and glossy SUVs pass by.
"Having anything at the expense of you being declared dead was a higher price than I wanted to pay. But having you living with us is going to be an adjustment for everyone, and it's going to take some time to figure things out." Her voice was quiet and steady, but he could see tears threatening to spill over.
"Only two of their houses?" he asked after a few beats, hoping to lighten the mood.
She nodded, a thin smile playing at her lips. "Mmmhmm. I kept the Chilmark house. We actually spend a lot of time up there, over school breaks. I thought that it was the one that was most meaningful to you. That Hannah should have to know you."
"That Hannah should have?"
"Everything of yours went into trust for her, except what I used to buy our house. She's your daughter, it was hers, not mine. If you want me to sign the house over to you, and change the accounts--"
"No! No, you don't need to do that. I never intended to touch any of that money anyway."
"I assumed as much, from talking with your accountant," she said wryly, tone lightening. "No wonder you were broke all the time, paying for upkeep and taxes on three houses without dipping into the money your father left you. Why, Mulder?"
"I didn't want anything to do with that money. I didn't do anything to earn it and didn't want to think about what he did for most it. But I just couldn't bring myself to sell the houses, even when they didn't have any meaning for me."
They were quiet as she turned off the main road and into an older community of modest traditional homes surrounded by lawns big enough for kids to play, shaded by mature trees.
"I'm glad you kept the house on the Vineyard. Hannah likes it there?"
"She loves the whales and the seals and the sea. I took her out sailing for the first time last summer. There are friends who live next door. But at her age, she's also happy to sit and dig holes on the beach with the dog. It's full of good memories for her, Mulder."
That sentiment floated in the warm air of the car as she turned a corner, then slowed, pulling into the driveway of a red-brick colonial. Trim boxwoods lined the short driveway, and a couple of old maples flanked the front lawn, just-budding branches reaching for the grey late-winter sky. It's exactly the house he would have imagined her choosing, understated and classic.
He was out of the car before she has the chance to step around and assist him, but he wordlessly grasped her offered arm as they made their way up the flagstone walk to the front door. As she fumbled with her keys, he stared at the gleaming brass knocker on the white wood door, no name engraved there, a plain black mat with no 'welcome' underfoot.
With a swing of the wide door, warmth and light rushed out to greet them, and all feelings of generic suburban sterility were erased as he stepped inside to be greeted by the patter of stockinged feet on hardwood and the clamor of tiny claws racing for purchase on the same.
"You're here!" A pair of arms surround his waist, then bounced away to scoop up a salt-and-pepper bundle of fur, trimmed in a sparkling pink rhinestone collar. "Glinda and I have been waiting for you to get home."
The dog, held up above Hannah's head so that it was nearly eye-level with him, waggled her tail and reached out a tongue to lick his nose. He couldn't help but grin then, apprehension and concerns at least momentarily abandoned. He had dreamed of a daughter and a dog and a house, too, once upon a time.
The magic spell was broken as the exuberant dog gave a full-body wag, releasing her from Hannah's grip, and, off-balance, the two tumbled to the floor together in a giggling heap. The dog bounced from side to side, trying to lick the girl's face between peals of laughter and half-hearted pleas to "Sit! Please sit!"
"Sit, Glinda."
Mulder was not at all surprised to find that the tone of Scully's that struck fear and instant response in law enforcement and lab techs for years was also highly effective on scruffy little dogs.
"You're just encouraging her, rolling around like that. Now, please get up and show your father around the house while I put his things away and see what your grandmother's made us for dinner." Her tone remained serious, but Mulder recognized the smile playing at the corners of her lips. Perhaps her years around him had better prepared her for motherhood than he realized.
Scully tucked coats into the closet and disappeared upstairs, the dog following on her heels with a firm "come". Mulder didn't have much chance to watch her go, before Hannah took his hand and pulled him left, into the dining room.
"We only eat here for special occasions. You're here now, so that's special, and I set the table myself. I got to help make dessert, too. Apple cobbler. Mom said it's your favorite."
He surveyed the table, large enough for a dozen Scullys clustered around it on Thanksgiving. Far too big for two; no wonder they rarely ate in the room. The place settings were painstakingly neat, even if the napkins and spoons were on the wrong sides of the plates. "My very favorite. I'm glad you know how to make it for me now."
She shook her head then, laughing. "No, I'm not allowed myself. You'll have to help, because Mommy yelled at me when I tried to use the stove myself to make pudding."
"If you do the mixing, I'll do the cooking, how 'bout that?"
With a nod, she grabbed his hand and drug him across the foyer. "Come see my piano now! I can play for you."
"I would like that very much. What do you want to play?"
Mulder recognized the sofa and chairs from the living room of Scully's apartment, though they now had matching throw pillows and a few juice stains. The upright piano stood against the wall, opposite a modest television in the corner.
"That's the little TV Mom watches news on in the morning. The good TV I get to watch Saturday morning cartoons on is downstairs. It's way better," declared Hannah, seating herself at the piano and opening the keyboard. "I like this one, because we get to sing it in French class at school sometimes."
For a few bars, he simply watched her play and listened to her singing "Frere Jacques," with a voice that was no better at carrying a tune than he or Scully, but had blissful childish enthusiasm working in its favor. After a moment, he couldn't help but inspect the collection of photos on the mantel. A few he recognized, of Scully's parent's wedding day, of all the Scullys the day Bill graduated the Naval Academy. There was one of the two of them, a candid one of the Gunmen must have snapped at some point, judging from the blur of wires and lights behind them, looking so young. Most of the pictures were of Hannah, and he couldn't breathe for a moment, staring at the baby picture of her, swaddled in pink and so tiny. Looking at her, a toddler on the beach, little girl in a ruffled tutu, sitting under a blossoming cherry tree holding her puppy, plunking carefully at the piano behind him as her fingers stretched for the chord, he realized how much he'd truly missed.
Without pausing, Hannah launched boisterously into "When The Saints Go Marching In." He watched for a minute, then crossed the room to join her on the piano bench. He fumbled for a moment, trying to finger chords with his missing fingertip, until giving up on his left hand and using his right to pick out a few deeper bass chords along with her irregular rhythm.
"You can play too?" she asked, abruptly stopping at the end of the verse.
"Not really," he said, shaking his head. "But my grandfather, your great-grandfather, he made pianos a long time ago, before he immigrated to America. When he moved here, he brought one along, but here he made furniture, not pianos. His piano used to be in the house where I grew up."
Hannah tapped middle C a few times, then asked, "Was his piano big, like the ones they use at concerts? But brown, not shiny black?"
Mulder nodded. "It was. Walnut, very dark, but not black like a concert grand. My father said it was a ridiculous thing to have hauled across the ocean, and complained about how much it cost to have brought to our house after Grandfather Kuipers died."
"It's still at your house. I get to play it when we go there. It's a lot louder than this one, which I like, but Mom says the neighbor's don't."
Laughter still caught him by surprise, but it felt so natural here and now. "My mom said the same thing about my playing it when I was your age."
"What's so funny?" asked Scully from the edge of the foyer, the dog sitting half a step behind her.
"Hannah tells me you're not a big fan of my grandather's old Bosdendorfer."
"I didn't know it was your grandfather's. How did they ever get it into the house? I kept it because no one could figure out how to get it out the doors. I told Hannah that if we kept it, she had to learn to play it."
"They had to tear out the French doors to the back deck. I remember the day they did it. It was like two men moving a midsize sedan into the living room."
"I didn't know you played. Mom's been giving Hannah lessons when she picks her up Wednesdays."
Mulder shook his head. "I never really learned. Mom played, and Sam. I don't think it was ever even tuned after.... I'm glad you enjoy it, Hannah," he said, turning back to her.
"Did your grandfather really make it? It must take a long time to make a piano."
"Not all by himself. It takes a lot of people working together a very long time to make something like that, and one of them messed up a little, so the very highest C has something wrong with it, it won't tune right. So it couldn't be sold, and my grandfather brought it home for his family."
"Dinner!" called Maggie Scully from the dining room, and the dog took off first, claws skittering across the wood as the rest of them followed the aroma of shepherd's pie.
*
Scully had gone upstairs to put Hannah to bed twenty minutes ago, and Maggie Scully had departed an hour before. He was left sitting alone in the living room, the idea of moving off the sofa too overwhelming to contemplate. The stairs were certainly beyond him at the moment. So he sat, alone, and realized he was staring down at a chessboard on the coffee table. The pieces were lined up neatly, ready for a game, and the longer he stared, the more familiar they looked. He picked up a rook and inspected it, so focused he startled when Scully sat down beside him.
"Up for a game? You look more like you're ready for bed," she said.
"I don't know where my bed is. But I know these. Where did you find them?"
"They were in a box at your father's. I tried to keep some things like this, from your family. I didn't know any of the stories, like with the piano, but..." she paused, searching. "I didn't think she'd ever have you in her life, but I wanted her to have something of you, something of your family."
Mulder sat the rook back down on its square, then turned one of the knights to face him. "My grandmother--my father's mother--came from the Vineyard originally, from a family who owned a whaling fleet. These are carved from whale teeth. I guess some were carved by family members, but most of them just by bored sailors looking to make a little extra money."
"I didn't know that. I didn't know much about your family at all to tell her. Or that I'd want to tell her." She picked up the white queen, examined it for a moment, then returned it to the board. "No wonder she likes the water so much, so many seafarers in the family tree."
He rose from the couch slowly, feeling the ache of half a day's use of muscles long dormant, joints popping in his shoulders and spine. He looked down at her, sheepish, before asking, "Will you help me upstairs? I can't...."
She didn't give him the chance to finish the thought before she was standing beside him, right arm strong around his waist. "I'm sorry. Come on, you've got to be exhausted."
With a nod, he draped his left arm across her shoulders, leaning into her more than he wished as they made their way up the stairs. She said nothing the two times he stopped, catching his breath and allowing his trembling legs to still. Her hand remained at his waist, arcing in a gentle caress that swept his new t-shirt and sweater across his skin. While the warmth of her hand felt just as electric as it once had, his skin, desensitized by scars, barely registered the scratch of the wool.
Only at the top of the stairs did she fuss over his breathing, turning to face him and press two fingers against his carotid. "Are you all right, Mulder?"
A nod of the head allowed him a moment to catch his breath before saying, "Yeah. We'd been working on stairs in PT, but I've been doing a lot more today than I'd been doing at therapy."
"This will be good for you then. You'll be back in shape in no time going up and down every day." She gave his shoulder a squeeze, then a gentle tug forward, and he followed her to a door, slightly ajar, framed by a nightlight's glow. "This is Hannah's room."
Even in the dim light, it glowed warmly pink, with ruffled curtains and a canopy bed. A miniature canopy rested on the floor, where the dog slept, a dark shadow in the pink froth. Low bookcases stretched along one wall, ending at a turreted Barbie mansion in the corner. Glinda raised briefly raised her head to look at them, then snuffled back into a smaller ball, rustling against her satin bed.
Scully drew him back into the hallway with a hand on his elbow. "The bathroom's here. Assume anything that isn't pink is for you to use." Two steps further, just where the hall turned, she stopped them in front of another doorway, open and dark. "This is the guest room. I...I thought at first you could stay here. For now."
Clearly nervous, she stiffly reached into the room, flicking on the lights to illuminated a pale blue room, with framed prints of lighthouses on the walls, navy and white striped coverlet on a bed he remembered from her bedroom, before. He walked in and sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh, closing his eyes and reaching a hand out for her. After a moment, he felt her cool hand in his, letting him draw her in to stand between his knees. "This is perfect, Scully." His thumb traced the arc of her wrist.
"Okay. Good." She heaved a sigh herself, seemed to grow a bit taller. "I picked up some things for you, they should be in the dresser. More t-shirts, and the like. We can go out this weekend and let you pick some other clothes out. I'm right down the hall." He wasn't expecting it when she tipped forward just a fraction and pressed her lips softly against his forehead, just at the long jagged scar that traced the edge of his hairline.
Before he could open his eyes again, she was retreating out the open door, disappearing down the hall. He fell back into the soft duvet and took a few steadying breaths before listing up off the bed, in search of pajamas.
****
Chapter 5
Author: Ellie elliestories
Rating: R
Category: SRA
Timeline: Post-"Requiem", AU
Further headers and information in Chapter 1
****
Chapter 4
Homecoming
****
Few words passed between them as she took his meagre bag of belongings and helped him into her car, allowing him to balance against her shoulder as he settled into the leather seat of the silver Audi station wagon. He didn't know exactly where they were going, but as long as he was with her, it would be all right.
Only after they'd hit 395 and started passing signs for the Alexandria exits did she glance away from the road to look at him askance, and break the silence. "I never asked...would you have rather gone somewhere yourself? Somewhere familiar? So much has changed, and it's been so long, and even before, we weren't...." She trailed off as she maneuvered around a slow-moving bus.
He watched her, waiting for her to look back over to him. When her focus remained on the highway as they passed Glebe Road and King Street, he answered her half-asked question. "I can't think of anywhere I would rather go than home with you. But if you don't want me there, just say the word, and I'll figure something out."
"No! No, Mulder, I want you home with us." She flicked her bright eyes from the road to his face before continuing, "But it's been a long time. I don't know what your perception of the passage of time was like, how long it feels to you. There's a child you knew nothing about. And as much as I've missed you, I don't think I can just...pick up where we left off."
Her voice was calm, controlled, the way she sounded when truly, deeply nervous. He'd felt adrift since the moment he woke up in the hospital, but he'd been so consumed with putting things right in his own mind that he hadn't considered how shaken up her life must feel. One hand slowly reached across the wide front seat to rest on her hand, where white knuckles belied her stoicism. "Scully, in the last few years, while I've been gone, it seems like you've gotten your heart's desire. A good life, with a daughter and a dog and a house. If I don't fit into that, it's okay. I never really expected to fit into that kind of life."
She shook her head, eyes still on the road as she maneuvered to the right lane approaching the exit. "Mulder, I wanted those things, but I didn't want them alone. I only have them because of you, and I wanted you to be a part of them. Having a daughter has been the most amazing experience of my life, but I didn't want to do it alone. Having a home is lovely, but I never wanted it because I sold two of your parents' houses after you were declared dead."
They were both silent as she waited to make a left from the exit ramp, watching the steady stream of foreign sedans and glossy SUVs pass by.
"Having anything at the expense of you being declared dead was a higher price than I wanted to pay. But having you living with us is going to be an adjustment for everyone, and it's going to take some time to figure things out." Her voice was quiet and steady, but he could see tears threatening to spill over.
"Only two of their houses?" he asked after a few beats, hoping to lighten the mood.
She nodded, a thin smile playing at her lips. "Mmmhmm. I kept the Chilmark house. We actually spend a lot of time up there, over school breaks. I thought that it was the one that was most meaningful to you. That Hannah should have to know you."
"That Hannah should have?"
"Everything of yours went into trust for her, except what I used to buy our house. She's your daughter, it was hers, not mine. If you want me to sign the house over to you, and change the accounts--"
"No! No, you don't need to do that. I never intended to touch any of that money anyway."
"I assumed as much, from talking with your accountant," she said wryly, tone lightening. "No wonder you were broke all the time, paying for upkeep and taxes on three houses without dipping into the money your father left you. Why, Mulder?"
"I didn't want anything to do with that money. I didn't do anything to earn it and didn't want to think about what he did for most it. But I just couldn't bring myself to sell the houses, even when they didn't have any meaning for me."
They were quiet as she turned off the main road and into an older community of modest traditional homes surrounded by lawns big enough for kids to play, shaded by mature trees.
"I'm glad you kept the house on the Vineyard. Hannah likes it there?"
"She loves the whales and the seals and the sea. I took her out sailing for the first time last summer. There are friends who live next door. But at her age, she's also happy to sit and dig holes on the beach with the dog. It's full of good memories for her, Mulder."
That sentiment floated in the warm air of the car as she turned a corner, then slowed, pulling into the driveway of a red-brick colonial. Trim boxwoods lined the short driveway, and a couple of old maples flanked the front lawn, just-budding branches reaching for the grey late-winter sky. It's exactly the house he would have imagined her choosing, understated and classic.
He was out of the car before she has the chance to step around and assist him, but he wordlessly grasped her offered arm as they made their way up the flagstone walk to the front door. As she fumbled with her keys, he stared at the gleaming brass knocker on the white wood door, no name engraved there, a plain black mat with no 'welcome' underfoot.
With a swing of the wide door, warmth and light rushed out to greet them, and all feelings of generic suburban sterility were erased as he stepped inside to be greeted by the patter of stockinged feet on hardwood and the clamor of tiny claws racing for purchase on the same.
"You're here!" A pair of arms surround his waist, then bounced away to scoop up a salt-and-pepper bundle of fur, trimmed in a sparkling pink rhinestone collar. "Glinda and I have been waiting for you to get home."
The dog, held up above Hannah's head so that it was nearly eye-level with him, waggled her tail and reached out a tongue to lick his nose. He couldn't help but grin then, apprehension and concerns at least momentarily abandoned. He had dreamed of a daughter and a dog and a house, too, once upon a time.
The magic spell was broken as the exuberant dog gave a full-body wag, releasing her from Hannah's grip, and, off-balance, the two tumbled to the floor together in a giggling heap. The dog bounced from side to side, trying to lick the girl's face between peals of laughter and half-hearted pleas to "Sit! Please sit!"
"Sit, Glinda."
Mulder was not at all surprised to find that the tone of Scully's that struck fear and instant response in law enforcement and lab techs for years was also highly effective on scruffy little dogs.
"You're just encouraging her, rolling around like that. Now, please get up and show your father around the house while I put his things away and see what your grandmother's made us for dinner." Her tone remained serious, but Mulder recognized the smile playing at the corners of her lips. Perhaps her years around him had better prepared her for motherhood than he realized.
Scully tucked coats into the closet and disappeared upstairs, the dog following on her heels with a firm "come". Mulder didn't have much chance to watch her go, before Hannah took his hand and pulled him left, into the dining room.
"We only eat here for special occasions. You're here now, so that's special, and I set the table myself. I got to help make dessert, too. Apple cobbler. Mom said it's your favorite."
He surveyed the table, large enough for a dozen Scullys clustered around it on Thanksgiving. Far too big for two; no wonder they rarely ate in the room. The place settings were painstakingly neat, even if the napkins and spoons were on the wrong sides of the plates. "My very favorite. I'm glad you know how to make it for me now."
She shook her head then, laughing. "No, I'm not allowed myself. You'll have to help, because Mommy yelled at me when I tried to use the stove myself to make pudding."
"If you do the mixing, I'll do the cooking, how 'bout that?"
With a nod, she grabbed his hand and drug him across the foyer. "Come see my piano now! I can play for you."
"I would like that very much. What do you want to play?"
Mulder recognized the sofa and chairs from the living room of Scully's apartment, though they now had matching throw pillows and a few juice stains. The upright piano stood against the wall, opposite a modest television in the corner.
"That's the little TV Mom watches news on in the morning. The good TV I get to watch Saturday morning cartoons on is downstairs. It's way better," declared Hannah, seating herself at the piano and opening the keyboard. "I like this one, because we get to sing it in French class at school sometimes."
For a few bars, he simply watched her play and listened to her singing "Frere Jacques," with a voice that was no better at carrying a tune than he or Scully, but had blissful childish enthusiasm working in its favor. After a moment, he couldn't help but inspect the collection of photos on the mantel. A few he recognized, of Scully's parent's wedding day, of all the Scullys the day Bill graduated the Naval Academy. There was one of the two of them, a candid one of the Gunmen must have snapped at some point, judging from the blur of wires and lights behind them, looking so young. Most of the pictures were of Hannah, and he couldn't breathe for a moment, staring at the baby picture of her, swaddled in pink and so tiny. Looking at her, a toddler on the beach, little girl in a ruffled tutu, sitting under a blossoming cherry tree holding her puppy, plunking carefully at the piano behind him as her fingers stretched for the chord, he realized how much he'd truly missed.
Without pausing, Hannah launched boisterously into "When The Saints Go Marching In." He watched for a minute, then crossed the room to join her on the piano bench. He fumbled for a moment, trying to finger chords with his missing fingertip, until giving up on his left hand and using his right to pick out a few deeper bass chords along with her irregular rhythm.
"You can play too?" she asked, abruptly stopping at the end of the verse.
"Not really," he said, shaking his head. "But my grandfather, your great-grandfather, he made pianos a long time ago, before he immigrated to America. When he moved here, he brought one along, but here he made furniture, not pianos. His piano used to be in the house where I grew up."
Hannah tapped middle C a few times, then asked, "Was his piano big, like the ones they use at concerts? But brown, not shiny black?"
Mulder nodded. "It was. Walnut, very dark, but not black like a concert grand. My father said it was a ridiculous thing to have hauled across the ocean, and complained about how much it cost to have brought to our house after Grandfather Kuipers died."
"It's still at your house. I get to play it when we go there. It's a lot louder than this one, which I like, but Mom says the neighbor's don't."
Laughter still caught him by surprise, but it felt so natural here and now. "My mom said the same thing about my playing it when I was your age."
"What's so funny?" asked Scully from the edge of the foyer, the dog sitting half a step behind her.
"Hannah tells me you're not a big fan of my grandather's old Bosdendorfer."
"I didn't know it was your grandfather's. How did they ever get it into the house? I kept it because no one could figure out how to get it out the doors. I told Hannah that if we kept it, she had to learn to play it."
"They had to tear out the French doors to the back deck. I remember the day they did it. It was like two men moving a midsize sedan into the living room."
"I didn't know you played. Mom's been giving Hannah lessons when she picks her up Wednesdays."
Mulder shook his head. "I never really learned. Mom played, and Sam. I don't think it was ever even tuned after.... I'm glad you enjoy it, Hannah," he said, turning back to her.
"Did your grandfather really make it? It must take a long time to make a piano."
"Not all by himself. It takes a lot of people working together a very long time to make something like that, and one of them messed up a little, so the very highest C has something wrong with it, it won't tune right. So it couldn't be sold, and my grandfather brought it home for his family."
"Dinner!" called Maggie Scully from the dining room, and the dog took off first, claws skittering across the wood as the rest of them followed the aroma of shepherd's pie.
*
Scully had gone upstairs to put Hannah to bed twenty minutes ago, and Maggie Scully had departed an hour before. He was left sitting alone in the living room, the idea of moving off the sofa too overwhelming to contemplate. The stairs were certainly beyond him at the moment. So he sat, alone, and realized he was staring down at a chessboard on the coffee table. The pieces were lined up neatly, ready for a game, and the longer he stared, the more familiar they looked. He picked up a rook and inspected it, so focused he startled when Scully sat down beside him.
"Up for a game? You look more like you're ready for bed," she said.
"I don't know where my bed is. But I know these. Where did you find them?"
"They were in a box at your father's. I tried to keep some things like this, from your family. I didn't know any of the stories, like with the piano, but..." she paused, searching. "I didn't think she'd ever have you in her life, but I wanted her to have something of you, something of your family."
Mulder sat the rook back down on its square, then turned one of the knights to face him. "My grandmother--my father's mother--came from the Vineyard originally, from a family who owned a whaling fleet. These are carved from whale teeth. I guess some were carved by family members, but most of them just by bored sailors looking to make a little extra money."
"I didn't know that. I didn't know much about your family at all to tell her. Or that I'd want to tell her." She picked up the white queen, examined it for a moment, then returned it to the board. "No wonder she likes the water so much, so many seafarers in the family tree."
He rose from the couch slowly, feeling the ache of half a day's use of muscles long dormant, joints popping in his shoulders and spine. He looked down at her, sheepish, before asking, "Will you help me upstairs? I can't...."
She didn't give him the chance to finish the thought before she was standing beside him, right arm strong around his waist. "I'm sorry. Come on, you've got to be exhausted."
With a nod, he draped his left arm across her shoulders, leaning into her more than he wished as they made their way up the stairs. She said nothing the two times he stopped, catching his breath and allowing his trembling legs to still. Her hand remained at his waist, arcing in a gentle caress that swept his new t-shirt and sweater across his skin. While the warmth of her hand felt just as electric as it once had, his skin, desensitized by scars, barely registered the scratch of the wool.
Only at the top of the stairs did she fuss over his breathing, turning to face him and press two fingers against his carotid. "Are you all right, Mulder?"
A nod of the head allowed him a moment to catch his breath before saying, "Yeah. We'd been working on stairs in PT, but I've been doing a lot more today than I'd been doing at therapy."
"This will be good for you then. You'll be back in shape in no time going up and down every day." She gave his shoulder a squeeze, then a gentle tug forward, and he followed her to a door, slightly ajar, framed by a nightlight's glow. "This is Hannah's room."
Even in the dim light, it glowed warmly pink, with ruffled curtains and a canopy bed. A miniature canopy rested on the floor, where the dog slept, a dark shadow in the pink froth. Low bookcases stretched along one wall, ending at a turreted Barbie mansion in the corner. Glinda raised briefly raised her head to look at them, then snuffled back into a smaller ball, rustling against her satin bed.
Scully drew him back into the hallway with a hand on his elbow. "The bathroom's here. Assume anything that isn't pink is for you to use." Two steps further, just where the hall turned, she stopped them in front of another doorway, open and dark. "This is the guest room. I...I thought at first you could stay here. For now."
Clearly nervous, she stiffly reached into the room, flicking on the lights to illuminated a pale blue room, with framed prints of lighthouses on the walls, navy and white striped coverlet on a bed he remembered from her bedroom, before. He walked in and sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh, closing his eyes and reaching a hand out for her. After a moment, he felt her cool hand in his, letting him draw her in to stand between his knees. "This is perfect, Scully." His thumb traced the arc of her wrist.
"Okay. Good." She heaved a sigh herself, seemed to grow a bit taller. "I picked up some things for you, they should be in the dresser. More t-shirts, and the like. We can go out this weekend and let you pick some other clothes out. I'm right down the hall." He wasn't expecting it when she tipped forward just a fraction and pressed her lips softly against his forehead, just at the long jagged scar that traced the edge of his hairline.
Before he could open his eyes again, she was retreating out the open door, disappearing down the hall. He fell back into the soft duvet and took a few steadying breaths before listing up off the bed, in search of pajamas.
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Chapter 5