XF: MSR: G/PG: Resurfacing
Title: Resurfacing.
Author: Gibson
Date: December, 2005 (Posted 07/17/2007)
Pairing: MSR
Rating: G/PG
Disclaimer: The X-Files and the characters thereof
are owned by a great many people. None of them are
I.
Summary: Some times you can't leave the past behind
you.
Author's Notes: Thanks to Sallie and Mimic for the beta.
Thanks also go to recs_fics, for helping with the
unsolvable problem. All errors of grammar, plot,
and characterization are mine. This fic was both
for the BtS photo-Manip. Challenge and the Secret Santa.
Dedication: For Toni. Because she cares so much.
%^%^%^%^%^
It had been a long day.
There'd been a bad accident on 35. Four car pile-up:
five dead and two children seriously injured. One
of the dead was a child, a baby really, only 15
months old. Days like today made Sarah Alexander
wonder why she'd ever decided to be a medical
examiner. There were so many other things she could
have done; she'd always been considered bright.
Sighing, she eased out of her lab coat and picked
up her shoulder bag. John would already be home
from the high school; maybe they'd go out for
dinner. He was always up for Chinese and she
couldn't face the thought of cooking.
She walked out to her blue Toyota Camry and drove
home. That was one thing about moving to Crystal
Springs two years ago; their commute was almost
non-existent now. The high school was about two
miles from their ranch home and she was only three
miles away at the County Coroner's Office. Most
days they still carpooled, as they kept similar
hours, but today she'd planned on staying late to
finish some paperwork from last week.
Less than ten minutes later, she pulled into the
driveway and walked through the garage door to the
kitchen. The blue walls cheered her as did the
almost total lack of clutter. John tended to be
messier, but she'd trained him well in this area.
He knew that clean, neat spaces calmed and cheered
her and he confined his clutter to his office--where
he was currently holed up.
He looked up as she walked into his den, swiveling
in his chair to face her when he saw her expression,
"Everything alright Sarah?"
"How does Chinese sound?" was her only response.
"Let me send a reply to Scott while you change."
Turning, she went into their bedroom as he returned
to the computer screen. They used to see Scott
nearly every day before they moved; now they spoke
only through the Internet and the rare phone call.
When people asked who the man in their wedding
photo was, they said he was John's brother--though
there was no family resemblance.
Sarah went into their bedroom, the green room, and
its old heirloom quilt centered her as she changed
into her favorite blue jeans and a green sweater--
the one that John said brought out the green in her
eyes. She thought it made her look like a walking
holiday advertisement, with her naturally red hair,
and she generally refused to wear it in December
for that reason.
Finished changing, she briefly ran a brush through
her hair and reapplied the lipstick that she'd
chewed off around one o'clock, when the first
bodies started appearing. Looking at her reflection,
green eyes staring back at her, she knew she'd
never get used to these new contacts. Satisfied
that she was presentable, she grabbed her bag and
headed back into John's office.
%^%^%^%^%^
He drove them to the Lotus. He usually drove when
they rode together. He claimed it was easier for
his longer legs to reach the pedals. Once she would
have verbally slapped him for that, but now it was
a fond reminder of their earlier days.
So many things had changed when they'd moved to
Crystal Springs. She hadn't wanted to move here
originally, but John had said it would be better.
They "needed to have a normal relationship." They
would have died if they'd stayed, or gone to
another big city he'd said, and now, looking back,
she had to agree.
This was the best choice for them. In Crystal
Springs they were John and Sarah Alexander--high
school history teacher and medical examiner for the
county. They had a great relationship--far better in
some ways, and definitely more normal--than the one
they'd had in D.C. And, they were safe. Here the
most unusual thing about them was the fact that
they had no children.
They told those people uncouth enough to ask that
they were waiting, and sometimes they told a
version of the truth: "We lost our son," or "Sarah
can't have children anymore." Usually the pushy
neighbor or over-familiar co-worker paused then and
realized that they'd crossed a line, apologized and
left. Word must have spread through the town
because now, two years after they'd moved there,
they didn't get asked about children anymore.
Still, days like this one, with the senseless loss
of a young life, hit them both hard.
%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^
John pulled into the parking lot and stopped,
waiting for Sarah to come back to herself from
wherever she'd gone. He knew today had been hard
for her: someone who'd known her as long and as
well as he had couldn't have missed it. It was days
like this that made him wish she could still talk
to her mother. Mothers were better at dealing with
the pain of eternal grieving. She hadn't told him
yet what had happened, but he knew. Sarah could
face almost anything, but the premature death of a
child always hit her in the barely scabbed over
place where her own grief rested. They'd have
dinner and talk, maybe watch some mindless
television and then they'd turn in early. They'd
lie there briefly and then turn toward each other
and hold tight until their grief receded enough for
sleep to come lapping at the edges of their
awareness like the tide, and carry them away.
"John?" Sarah was looking at him, concern in her
green eyes. "Are you ready?"
When he nodded, they opened the car doors and went
into the restaurant. Once they were comfortably
seated in their booth and they'd placed their
orders, Sarah started talking.
"It was a car accident. Two children."
She didn't say anymore; she didn't have to. They
talked about his classes, the track team, the fact
that they'd asked him, again, to coach the team.
He'd stalled them, he couldn't accept a commitment
like that, a year in advance. They didn't know
where they'd be in a year.
They talked about the new Tom Cruise movie coming
out and whether or not they'd go see it this
weekend. Dinner was good; they were lucky to have a
good Chinese (really Asian, John was a stickler
about the distinction) restaurant in town. They
mourned their usual place in D.C., but the Lotus
wasn't a bad spot to get some decent food.
After dinner, they held hands on the way to the car.
A natural act for them now, though in the past it
was completely alien. The move, their lives now,
allowed for a relationship that they'd never have
managed back home. At home there was always the
threat of an emergency, and the risk of their
relationship becoming public was enough to keep
them apart. There'd always been rumors of course,
but nothing could come of the talk if they never
did anything to confirm it. And, from the beginning,
they'd been unusually close--most people thought
they'd been together within weeks of meeting. They
hadn't been of course, but the persistent jokes and
rumors had both helped and hurt them. Her loyalty
had been questioned early on, her loyalty to those
they were responsible to that is. Her loyalty to
John had been established that first night in the
hotel and had never faltered. The immediate
intimate nature of their relationship had perplexed
many and been misunderstood by almost all. Only
Scott and her mother seemed to have any real
understanding of what they meant to each other.
Still, those assumptions and rumors had proven some
sort of shield when things had deepened between
them. After all, they were only doing and becoming
what many had long considered an established fact.
The result of being thought together actually
shielded them from the actual risks of being
together. Still, in the end, it had been too risky
to stay. They'd married in D.C. before they left,
with Scott taking care of all of the legal issues.
They had been preparing for this eventuality for
several months now. The paperwork was already
finished and waiting--it was inevitable that they'd
have to leave eventually. They would never be
completely safe, and no one could truly protect
them.
Scott and her mother had served as witnesses as
they became John Alexander and Sarah Alexander.
So, they'd been ready, when after the trial, it was
clear they couldn't stay in D.C. They'd come to
Crystal Springs for the normalcy, and because there
had been an opening for a medical examiner. Sarah's
line of work had fewer opportunities than his, and
he could always sub for a while if it was necessary.
%^%^%^%^%^%^
John looked at Sarah again, lost in thought, and
said, "Sarah, we're home." She startled, turned and
smiled. "Oh, sorry; just thinking about home."
John knew she wasn't referring to the pale blue
sided ranch they rented but rather the colorless
room that they'd met in, with his farcical poster
on the wall behind them. He smiled at her. "Miss it
that much?"
She knew he wasn't referring to the city, or even
really, their work. It was their old lives, their
old friends that he was referring to.
"Sometimes," she said. Then she grinned and opened
the door.
They entered the house, and John turned on the TV.
They never watched the news; the news that never
contained anything new and frequently trafficked in
conspiracy and lies. All the true news, Scott made
sure they received. John, however, was fond of the
Sci Fi channel. His frequent outbursts about the
credibility of the programming and their sources
notwithstanding, he watched the shows, able to lose
himself in the inaccuracy and myth. She lost
herself in the images and the closeness of him and
his arm, loosely, carelessly draped over her
shoulder. They sat there, his arm over her small
shoulders, her hand casually on his knee--their
position speaking of their intimacy, their comfort
for and with each other.
Although their physical relationship wasn't old,
this casual intimacy was. It was this that had
started all of the rumors back in D.C.
She was tired. Her day had started early, at 5:30
AM, and she was exhausted by the day's emotions and
reflections. She moved closer, into John's embrace
and closed her eyes.
"Sarah, Sarah," a nudge and a light kiss on her
forehead. John was sitting up, pulling her to bed,
the TV already off. Since they'd married, he slept
in their bed with her, and the TV was off at night.
As she changed into one of his old t-shirts and he
stripped down to his boxers, she muzzily thought of
the daughter she'd never had and the son they'd had
to let go. This was why she'd been so affected by
the accident, and why all evening her thoughts had
been consistently drawn back to the city where so
much of her life still remained. She pulled back
the covers, crawling in and feeling the warm length
of John behind her. He pulled her close and she
drew her legs up. His movements, as always, echoed
her own, or maybe she predicted his. At any rate,
he was warm, comforting and alive at her back, and
wrapped in his arms, she knew that she'd had to
leave to keep this man at her side, and she knew
there had never truly been any other choice. As she
drifted back to sleep, she heard him murmur her
name and in a forbidden gesture of love, she
sleepily murmured his in return, "Mulder."
Fin.
Author: Gibson
Date: December, 2005 (Posted 07/17/2007)
Pairing: MSR
Rating: G/PG
Disclaimer: The X-Files and the characters thereof
are owned by a great many people. None of them are
I.
Summary: Some times you can't leave the past behind
you.
Author's Notes: Thanks to Sallie and Mimic for the beta.
Thanks also go to recs_fics, for helping with the
unsolvable problem. All errors of grammar, plot,
and characterization are mine. This fic was both
for the BtS photo-Manip. Challenge and the Secret Santa.
Dedication: For Toni. Because she cares so much.
%^%^%^%^%^
It had been a long day.
There'd been a bad accident on 35. Four car pile-up:
five dead and two children seriously injured. One
of the dead was a child, a baby really, only 15
months old. Days like today made Sarah Alexander
wonder why she'd ever decided to be a medical
examiner. There were so many other things she could
have done; she'd always been considered bright.
Sighing, she eased out of her lab coat and picked
up her shoulder bag. John would already be home
from the high school; maybe they'd go out for
dinner. He was always up for Chinese and she
couldn't face the thought of cooking.
She walked out to her blue Toyota Camry and drove
home. That was one thing about moving to Crystal
Springs two years ago; their commute was almost
non-existent now. The high school was about two
miles from their ranch home and she was only three
miles away at the County Coroner's Office. Most
days they still carpooled, as they kept similar
hours, but today she'd planned on staying late to
finish some paperwork from last week.
Less than ten minutes later, she pulled into the
driveway and walked through the garage door to the
kitchen. The blue walls cheered her as did the
almost total lack of clutter. John tended to be
messier, but she'd trained him well in this area.
He knew that clean, neat spaces calmed and cheered
her and he confined his clutter to his office--where
he was currently holed up.
He looked up as she walked into his den, swiveling
in his chair to face her when he saw her expression,
"Everything alright Sarah?"
"How does Chinese sound?" was her only response.
"Let me send a reply to Scott while you change."
Turning, she went into their bedroom as he returned
to the computer screen. They used to see Scott
nearly every day before they moved; now they spoke
only through the Internet and the rare phone call.
When people asked who the man in their wedding
photo was, they said he was John's brother--though
there was no family resemblance.
Sarah went into their bedroom, the green room, and
its old heirloom quilt centered her as she changed
into her favorite blue jeans and a green sweater--
the one that John said brought out the green in her
eyes. She thought it made her look like a walking
holiday advertisement, with her naturally red hair,
and she generally refused to wear it in December
for that reason.
Finished changing, she briefly ran a brush through
her hair and reapplied the lipstick that she'd
chewed off around one o'clock, when the first
bodies started appearing. Looking at her reflection,
green eyes staring back at her, she knew she'd
never get used to these new contacts. Satisfied
that she was presentable, she grabbed her bag and
headed back into John's office.
%^%^%^%^%^
He drove them to the Lotus. He usually drove when
they rode together. He claimed it was easier for
his longer legs to reach the pedals. Once she would
have verbally slapped him for that, but now it was
a fond reminder of their earlier days.
So many things had changed when they'd moved to
Crystal Springs. She hadn't wanted to move here
originally, but John had said it would be better.
They "needed to have a normal relationship." They
would have died if they'd stayed, or gone to
another big city he'd said, and now, looking back,
she had to agree.
This was the best choice for them. In Crystal
Springs they were John and Sarah Alexander--high
school history teacher and medical examiner for the
county. They had a great relationship--far better in
some ways, and definitely more normal--than the one
they'd had in D.C. And, they were safe. Here the
most unusual thing about them was the fact that
they had no children.
They told those people uncouth enough to ask that
they were waiting, and sometimes they told a
version of the truth: "We lost our son," or "Sarah
can't have children anymore." Usually the pushy
neighbor or over-familiar co-worker paused then and
realized that they'd crossed a line, apologized and
left. Word must have spread through the town
because now, two years after they'd moved there,
they didn't get asked about children anymore.
Still, days like this one, with the senseless loss
of a young life, hit them both hard.
%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^
John pulled into the parking lot and stopped,
waiting for Sarah to come back to herself from
wherever she'd gone. He knew today had been hard
for her: someone who'd known her as long and as
well as he had couldn't have missed it. It was days
like this that made him wish she could still talk
to her mother. Mothers were better at dealing with
the pain of eternal grieving. She hadn't told him
yet what had happened, but he knew. Sarah could
face almost anything, but the premature death of a
child always hit her in the barely scabbed over
place where her own grief rested. They'd have
dinner and talk, maybe watch some mindless
television and then they'd turn in early. They'd
lie there briefly and then turn toward each other
and hold tight until their grief receded enough for
sleep to come lapping at the edges of their
awareness like the tide, and carry them away.
"John?" Sarah was looking at him, concern in her
green eyes. "Are you ready?"
When he nodded, they opened the car doors and went
into the restaurant. Once they were comfortably
seated in their booth and they'd placed their
orders, Sarah started talking.
"It was a car accident. Two children."
She didn't say anymore; she didn't have to. They
talked about his classes, the track team, the fact
that they'd asked him, again, to coach the team.
He'd stalled them, he couldn't accept a commitment
like that, a year in advance. They didn't know
where they'd be in a year.
They talked about the new Tom Cruise movie coming
out and whether or not they'd go see it this
weekend. Dinner was good; they were lucky to have a
good Chinese (really Asian, John was a stickler
about the distinction) restaurant in town. They
mourned their usual place in D.C., but the Lotus
wasn't a bad spot to get some decent food.
After dinner, they held hands on the way to the car.
A natural act for them now, though in the past it
was completely alien. The move, their lives now,
allowed for a relationship that they'd never have
managed back home. At home there was always the
threat of an emergency, and the risk of their
relationship becoming public was enough to keep
them apart. There'd always been rumors of course,
but nothing could come of the talk if they never
did anything to confirm it. And, from the beginning,
they'd been unusually close--most people thought
they'd been together within weeks of meeting. They
hadn't been of course, but the persistent jokes and
rumors had both helped and hurt them. Her loyalty
had been questioned early on, her loyalty to those
they were responsible to that is. Her loyalty to
John had been established that first night in the
hotel and had never faltered. The immediate
intimate nature of their relationship had perplexed
many and been misunderstood by almost all. Only
Scott and her mother seemed to have any real
understanding of what they meant to each other.
Still, those assumptions and rumors had proven some
sort of shield when things had deepened between
them. After all, they were only doing and becoming
what many had long considered an established fact.
The result of being thought together actually
shielded them from the actual risks of being
together. Still, in the end, it had been too risky
to stay. They'd married in D.C. before they left,
with Scott taking care of all of the legal issues.
They had been preparing for this eventuality for
several months now. The paperwork was already
finished and waiting--it was inevitable that they'd
have to leave eventually. They would never be
completely safe, and no one could truly protect
them.
Scott and her mother had served as witnesses as
they became John Alexander and Sarah Alexander.
So, they'd been ready, when after the trial, it was
clear they couldn't stay in D.C. They'd come to
Crystal Springs for the normalcy, and because there
had been an opening for a medical examiner. Sarah's
line of work had fewer opportunities than his, and
he could always sub for a while if it was necessary.
%^%^%^%^%^%^
John looked at Sarah again, lost in thought, and
said, "Sarah, we're home." She startled, turned and
smiled. "Oh, sorry; just thinking about home."
John knew she wasn't referring to the pale blue
sided ranch they rented but rather the colorless
room that they'd met in, with his farcical poster
on the wall behind them. He smiled at her. "Miss it
that much?"
She knew he wasn't referring to the city, or even
really, their work. It was their old lives, their
old friends that he was referring to.
"Sometimes," she said. Then she grinned and opened
the door.
They entered the house, and John turned on the TV.
They never watched the news; the news that never
contained anything new and frequently trafficked in
conspiracy and lies. All the true news, Scott made
sure they received. John, however, was fond of the
Sci Fi channel. His frequent outbursts about the
credibility of the programming and their sources
notwithstanding, he watched the shows, able to lose
himself in the inaccuracy and myth. She lost
herself in the images and the closeness of him and
his arm, loosely, carelessly draped over her
shoulder. They sat there, his arm over her small
shoulders, her hand casually on his knee--their
position speaking of their intimacy, their comfort
for and with each other.
Although their physical relationship wasn't old,
this casual intimacy was. It was this that had
started all of the rumors back in D.C.
She was tired. Her day had started early, at 5:30
AM, and she was exhausted by the day's emotions and
reflections. She moved closer, into John's embrace
and closed her eyes.
"Sarah, Sarah," a nudge and a light kiss on her
forehead. John was sitting up, pulling her to bed,
the TV already off. Since they'd married, he slept
in their bed with her, and the TV was off at night.
As she changed into one of his old t-shirts and he
stripped down to his boxers, she muzzily thought of
the daughter she'd never had and the son they'd had
to let go. This was why she'd been so affected by
the accident, and why all evening her thoughts had
been consistently drawn back to the city where so
much of her life still remained. She pulled back
the covers, crawling in and feeling the warm length
of John behind her. He pulled her close and she
drew her legs up. His movements, as always, echoed
her own, or maybe she predicted his. At any rate,
he was warm, comforting and alive at her back, and
wrapped in his arms, she knew that she'd had to
leave to keep this man at her side, and she knew
there had never truly been any other choice. As she
drifted back to sleep, she heard him murmur her
name and in a forbidden gesture of love, she
sleepily murmured his in return, "Mulder."
Fin.