TITLE: Candy From a Stranger(1/1)
AUTHOR: Ana Vicente

RATING: PG
CLASSIFICATION: S, R
KEYWORDS: Alternate Universe, MSR, POV(Scully)
SUMMARY: Years ago, Dana Scully chose not to go to the FBI Academy. Now, after
meeting a strange man by the name of Fox Mulder, she is again confronted with
some choices.
DISCLAIMER: CC, 1013, Fox. You know how it goes.
SPOILERS: None, although I did reread the transcriptions of the teaser for EMILY
and of the diary entries from MEMENTO MORI. Plus, you may find some of the
walk-ins familiar.
FEEDBACK: To Thorn17@mailcity.com  or to alienmoon76@hotmail.com. You choose.
ARCHIVE: Just let me know where.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story was initially conceived as a part of another story
called WORLDS APART, but I decided to work on it as an independent story. When I
read the theme for the Ranatra Fuschra Challenge, I thought this story fitted it
perfectly.
Also, I'm not too sure that the words Mulder identifies as being from Francis
Bacon really are his. They may be from Roger Bacon. As for the Carl Sagan quote,
it's from his book Dragons of Eden.

------- * -------

We walk this earth unknowing. Steadily, we build ourselves improbable towers and
call them our world. In them we hide, though we know they're but mist ready to
be dissipated by the wave of a careless hand, sandstone dwindling under the
touch of unsettling waters.

More than anything, we fear the change. For change will shatter our safety and
bring down the wavering walls we so elaborately crafted. We cringe at the
thought of being left with nothing to show for an ill-spent life, and still we
hide, unheeding to possibility, seeing it only as the bearer of the emptiness we
have come to thought of as death before death.

And so it was, than when the time came when I too was forced to make the choice
between clinging to them crumbling walls of my perfectly planned world and
sacrificing my safety for the ethereal promise of what might lie ahead, i
hesitated.

Though I perceived the precariousness of my position, though I foresaw no
happiness down the path I was following, still I hesitated.

Until the moment I allowed myself to take candy from a stranger.

                      *

I have walked to the riverside as soon as my shift at the hospital ended.
Sitting on a bench, under the trees, I watch the night falling, gently covering
everything.

The river runs quietly, no breeze rippling its surface. It seems so peaceful,
but I an see the places where, just beneath the undisturbed surface, throbs a
fiery current.

Mesmerized by the river, wondering how its ever-changing beauty can seem so
permanent, I hardly move as the last rays of a blood-red sun disappear behind
the Washington skyline leaving the moon and the city lights to illuminate the
landscape. I watch the moon beams falling between the tree branches to form
undecipherable patterns at my feet.

And I'm reminded of another time, when my father was stationed somewhere where
the city lights did not exist. How different the night was then, with the
moonlight taking over everything, turning the colors into multiple shades of
black and white.

Street lights. House and car lights. Spotlights trained on monuments. They all
seem to come together to create a faint orange halo that dims the moonlight.

It is this paradoxically faint and all-engulfing luminosity that keeps me from
reading what the moon scribbles incessantly on the leaf-strewn ground. I find
myself idly wondering if in this most ancient arcanum I would find the answer to
the questions that drove me to this sanctuary of solitude tonight.

A shadow grows sweetly, caressing the floor, covering the moon-tainted leaves,
drawing my eyes upward. A man stands there, the smile across his deep hazel eyes
showing me what that strange quirk of his lips is supposed to be.

He stretches something in my direction, a plastic cup filled with ice-cream.
"You look like you could use this," he says.

I take it, stunned into silence by this unusual offer. His smile seems to
broaden a little, something between understanding and cumplicity washing over
his face.

Then, he walks away.

                      *

"He just walked away?"

Melissa and I are standing in a corridor at the J.Edgar Hoover Building. Missy
dragged me here to attend a lecture by an FBI Agent named Fox Mulder, and I've
been telling her about my meeting with the stranger by the river.

I nod in reply to her question, as I look around me. Quite a crowd has gathered
by the door of the conference room. I'm not surprise to see the acronyms MUFON
and NICAP repeated in t-shirts, caps and folders. The title of the lecture is
*Aliens and Supernatural Entities: Reality or Psychological Manifestations?*

"Mother would be very disappointed."

"Huh?" I look at my sister, not understanding what she means.

"You're not supposed to take candy from strangers," Missy recites primly.

We laugh. A bearded man, wearing glasses and a NICAP cap balancing on his curly
red hair   looks fearfully at me before disappearing into the conference room.
My eyes seem to roll of their own accord. Why do I let Melissa bring me to these
things?

She suggests we should be going in, before all the good seats are taken. I start
following her into the room, when I see him.

"That's him," I say, stopping her.

"Him?" Her face brightens. "You mean the ice-cream man? Where?"

I show her. He's standing a bit aside from the crowd, talking to three other
men.

"Which one?" Missy asks.

"The one in the grey suit, with the ugly tie."

"Nice. Very nice." She gives me a push. "Go talk to him."

"Missy!"

"Go. I'll wait inside." And she leaves me standing by myself, feeling like a
complete idiot.

Two men pass by and one of them almost dumps his coffee on me. He doesn't even
notice. He and the other man, both FBI agents from what I can tell, are talking
about the lecturer, Mulder, and why the brass lets him "get away with this".

Whatever "this" is, they gave me an idea. I buy two cups of coffee from a
vending machine and walk up to where the man I met last night is standing.

The three men he's talking too are certainly an odd bunch. One is wearing a suit
and his hair and beard are neatly trimmed. Another one looks nervously about him 
though his dark-rimmed glasses, his hands alternately toying with the brim of
his black t-shirt and pushing his unkempt blond hair away from his face. When
they see me, they quickly move away. The third one -- a short, bespectacled man
wearing a furry vest --  stops just long enough to give me a lewd once-over.

At first, the tall man with the hazel eyes doesn't seem to recognize me, and I'm
starting to think that maybe this wasn't a good idea. Then he smiles -- again
more eyes than mouth -- and asks, "feeling better."

I nod and hand him the coffee. "If this is going to be half the drag I suspect,
you'll need this."

His smile changes, like he's sharing a private joke with someone I can't see.
"Why did you come then?"

"My sister made me come." I realize how ridiculous this sounds coming from a
grown woman. I laugh awkwardly. "I mean -- I --"

"I know. Sisters have a way of making you do things you wouldn't other wise.
Still not sure if it's a bad or a good thing."

The amusement is gone from his face, replaced by something old and heavy. We
stand like that for a moment, staring into each other's eyes, and I know I've
touched something painful inside him.

Another man comes up to us. "If you're quite done, they're expecting us."

He lowers his head. " Be right there, Spender." He then shrugs at me. "See you
inside." And leaves.

I find Missy easily in the almost full room. She's sitting right up front and
has saved a seat for me. Her eyes are fixed on me as I take it.

"And?" she finally asks.

"He's an FBI agent," I say, "at least he's not wearing a VISITOR badge."

"So, what's his name?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know? How can you -- Oh."

Some of the people in the room have started applauding. I follow Melissa's gaze
and see the man I was just talking to take his place on the tribune. I'm trying
to decide whether to be amused or appalled as I realize that I've just told Fox
Mulder his lecture was going to be so boring he should have some coffee.

He starts speaking and I find my attention fully focused on his words. It's not
that I believe in any of this, but the passion and fervor with which he speaks
are fascinating.

Someone three rows behind me asks him if he thinks the FBI should be
investigating claims of vampirism, lycanthropy and such when in so many cases
they are connected with mental ailments.

I can't help but notice that he looks at me before answering. "Whether a person
is a werewolf or simply believes to be one takes on little relevance when the
consequences are the same."

As he goes on speaking, I notice that, though the lecture is about aliens and
supernatural entities, he seems to focus a lot more on the first. I find myself
shaking my head. How can he believe aliens do exist?

"You don't believe in aliens, Ms ... ?" I suddenly realize he's talking to me.
He must've seen me shaking my head, but it still feels like he read my thoughts.

"Dr.Dana Scully, MD," I say, at the same time wondering if that sounded too cold
--  or too stuck-up. "I don't see how I could possibly. The odds of all the
conditions necessary to the appearance of life occurring are already to slender.
If you triangulate that with the probability of the string of events necessary
to generate intelligence taking place, you'll come to the conclusion that the
existence of  intelligent and technologically developed life forms anywhere else
is a near impossibility."

"A near impossibility is still a possibility."

"Pretty much everything is possible, Mr.Mulder, but very little is probable."

"Sir Francis Bacon? Personally I prefer Sagan's position: The absence of proof
does not constitute proof of absence."

He pauses a moment, as if he expects me to continue the argument, but I say
nothing and he proceeds with the lecture.

Melissa leans towards me and whispers, "Well wasn't that interesting?"

I ignore her and listen as someone from SETI refers to my arguments to expound
on the improbability of extraterrestrial beings -- although being a reality -- 
coming to Earth.

Some people are starting to leave, they look mostly like governmental agents,
among them the two that almost doused me with coffee earlier. Soon, the lecture
is over. Melissa and I are leaving when I hear Mulder's voice calling me. He
hands three or four books and a card. "See what you think."

He walks away but, apparently remembering something, turns back. "If you're ever
in England," he tells me in hushed tones, "don't introduce yourself as MD."

                      *

I'm not sure how long I've been standing here, by the door of apartment 42. Many
times have I started the way back to the elevator, but I can't bring myself to
leave.

Something inside me has been restless for the past week. Ever since I realized
Craig is preparing to propose to me. Meeting Mulder hasn't helped.

The elevator doors slide open and a tall man walks out. He wears a thin beard
and there's something haunted about the way he looks at me.

He's probably wondering what I'm doing here, standing like an idiot in the
middle of the hallway. His eyes are still on me as he opens the door of the
apartment next to Mulder's.

I smile faintly as I knock on Mulder's door. No turning back now.

The door opens without as much as a "Who's there?". Mulder stands in the doorway
wearing a faded gray t-shirt and a pair of wrinkled blue cotton shorts.

I notice the discolored rings under his eyes. It looks like he hasn't slept
right in many nights.

"I brought your books," I say, "Except for one, I haven't finished reading it
yet."

He steps aside without a word to let me in. He doesn't seem to convinced that
I'm here, or maybe he's too tired to care. I turn to ask if maybe I should leave
when I notice the bandage appearing under his right sleeve.

I grab his arm and pull the sleeve up. "This needs changing. Where's the
bathroom?"

He points vaguely towards the other side of the small hall we're standing in. I
lead him to the bathroom and find what i need in the cluttered cabinet over the
sink.

Mulder sits on the edge of the bathtub, watching me as I change the dressing on
his wound. I look up and notice he has that amused look on his face again.

"I found you on the phone book," I say, "Not many Fox Mulders around, and the
phone number checked."

He doesn't say anything, just keeps staring at me. I swear the man is part
Chesshire Cat. I give a final tug at the gauze to make sure it won't come off.
"All done."

"Want some coffee? I just made a fresh pot."

I smile . "What? No ice-cream ?"

He grins as he shows me to the kitchen and pours me a cup of steaming coffee. As
I follow him back through the hall and into the living room, I wonder how he has
managed to find two clean coffee mugs in the haz-mat zone his kitchen resembles.

When I walk into the living room I decide the kitchen actually looked pretty
organized. Mulder starts picking up loose sheets of paper, folders and photos
from the floor. He looks up at me. "They're from this case I'm working on. It
helps me think."

I pick up one of the photos. It depicts a window, nothing more. I hand it back
to him.

"A little girl went missing," he says, staring at the photo like he can see
something in there I didn't. "Parents didn't hear a thing, no signs of forced
entry."

I notice the front page of the folder open on the coffee table. The big letters
read CASE CLOSED.

Mulder follows my gaze. "They think the parents are somehow responsible. Except
that they have no proof. So they just closed the case."

"And you think otherwise." I try to sound as neutral as possible as I say, "You
think she was -- how do you say? -- abducted?"

He sits on the coffee table. "I take it you didn't find those books convincing."

I push away some issues of Playpen magazine and sit in front of him on the
immense black couch. "You have to admit they have no real evidence. Considering
the line of work you're in, you should appreciate my doubts."

"You are a strange woman, Scully. You say you don't believe in UFOs and have no
interest in such things and still you allow your sister to talk you into going
to my lecture."

I pick up a framed photo from the coffee table. "My sister could talk a
refrigerator into roasting her a five pound side of beef."

The photograph is of a young girl, no more than ten. She looks a lot like Mulder
and for a moment I wonder if maybe she's his daughter.

I look at him. He has the same sad look I saw on his face when I talked to him
about Missy just before his lecture. And now I understand.

"Your sister?" I ask as he takes back the photograph.

He nods and I wait in silence, wondering if he'll tell me why he has a photo of
his sister as a child on display instead of a current one. He holds my hand and
toys with my fingers. He seems to be pondering how much he can't trust me.

Then, so softly I can barely hear him, he begins, "That photo was taken when I
was twelve and Samantha was eight, just a month or so before she disappeared."

So, that's why he's refusing to let go of a case his superiors have already
closed. "No signs of forced entry and no witnesses?"

"One witness."

He lapses back into silence. I don't know what to say. His eyes are fixed on me
and I again have the feeling that he is measuring me somehow.

"I was there when it happened," he says, "but I couldn't remember any of it, not
for many years. Except in my nightmares."

"You were so young."

"I went to a doctor, a specialist in hypnotherapy. He helped me remember.

"We were alone in the house, my parents were just next door. We were playing
some stupid board game, and bickering as usual. Then the lights came and I was
frozen in place. The door opened and the bright lights outlined a humanoid
figure, too elongated and too thin to be human.

"Samantha started floating out of the room, calling for me, for my help. But I
couldn't move. I couldn't move ... "

I run my fingers through his hair. He kneels before me and hides his face on my
lap.

I bend over and kiss the back of his neck. He looks up at me, and smiling pulls
me down to the floor. His smile disappears as he bends over to kiss me.

                      *

When I wake up, I notice that the light coming through the window has grown
softer. Dusk must be near.

I look around us for my watch, but can't find it. Mulder mutters something in
his sleep and moves a little away from me.

I watch him for a moment. We're still on the floor, between the couch and the
coffee table. We pulled some pillows down from the couch, as well as a blanket
that was conveniently at hand.

Too conveniently at hand. A little voice inside me starts to wonder about that
sister story. "How many do you think have fallen for it?" it asks.

I get up on one elbow, and stare at him. If that's what he did ...

The voice returns, "You mean make it easy for you to get exactly what you came
here for?"

I try to silence it by focusing my attention back on Mulder. His brow is
furrowed and the things he's been mumbling are getting louder and louder, as he
tosses and turns. He screams, "Samantha!"

I pull him to me and hug him, kissing his forehead lightly. Slowly he calms
down, and, to my surprise continues sleeping.

I remember the dark circles under his eyes. The nightmares must be a common
thing.

I find my watch; it was under the table, hidden beneath one end of the blanket.
Mulder's sudden movements uncovered it partially. It's over seven already.

Damn!

I suddenly remember. Bill is in town, I was supposed to be at my parents house
at eight for dinner.

Careful not to wake up Mulder, I get up and get dressed. Before I walk out, I
leave a calling card with a short message scribbled in the back.

As I drive to my parents house, I try as best I can to flatten my clothes. No
time to go home and change. I use the rearview mirror to fix my hair.

"Brilliant," I say out loud, "mother'll take one look at you and know exactly
what happened."

I hurry up the driveway, five minutes to eight. Well, at least I'm not late. I
knock on the door.

Craig opens it. Something else I'd forgotten about. He tries to hug me and kiss
me, I quickly elude his embrace.

Fortunately, I see Bill crossing from the kitchen to the living room. "There you
are," I say, "I missed you."

I see my mother's brief look at the clock before she joins us. "Dana, where were
you? We thought you were coming with Craig."

"Busy. Busy. Busy." I say, quickly moving into the living room to greet my
brother's wife.

"Doing what?"

I look at Melissa and grimace. "None o'your business."

Craig holds me by the arm. "I went by the house, you weren't there. You weren't
at the hospital either."

I smile. "What's this? Give Dana the third degree night?"

My father comes to my rescue. "So, when are we having dinner?"

I kiss him on the cheek as we take our seats. "Hello, Ahab."

"Your welcome, Starbuck," he says, "and, by the way, where were you."

I laugh and move to my seat, next to Craig, facing Missy. But I'm not happy at
all. I don't like lying. Not like this.

I eat in silence, listening to the others question Bill. Suddenly my cell phone
rings.

My mother makes her I-hate-those-things look. I give her an apologetical smile
as I answer it. "Scully."

"What did you have to hurry for?" Mulder's voice asks on the other side.

I feel myself turning red. "Family dinner."

"Oh." He lapses into silence.

"Did something happen?" I finally ask.

"Spender just called, we have to go to Chicago. New case. May take a while from
the look of things."

"Then, I'll give you that last book back when you come back," I say.

"Right, the book. Well, I'll call you when I return."

I find myself smiling when I realize he's actually asking for permission to call
me again. "Sure, see you then."

"See you then."

"Be careful."

He laughs. "I'm always careful." And hangs up.

"Who was that?" my mother asks me.

"Huh? A friend, huh, I have some books of his. he's going out of town ...

Missy gets up and starts lifting the table. "Anyone for desert? I think I'd like
some *icecream*. What do you say," she pauses deliberately and grins at me,
"Dana?"

"I'll help you."

When we're alone in the kitchen, she turns to me and lets it out. "I can't
believe you've slept with him."

I look away, pretensedly scrapping the dishes. "Who?"

She slaps my arm. "Don't you start that with me, you know who."

My mother comes into the kitchen. "What's taking you two so long? Everyone is
waiting for you."

Relieved, I move back into the dinning room. Craig stands up when he sees me
walk in. There's this look on his face I have no trouble identifying.

Oh, no. Not tonight.

He pulls a little box out of his pocket. "Since most of the family is here, I
thought we could take the chance to make things official."

I look at the ring, not knowing what to do. Finally I just blurt it out, "Craig,
I don't want to marry you."

It's like everyone stopped breathing. I hate doing this in front of everyone,
but I always thought he'd ask me when we were alone. And I couldn't possibly
lead him on, not as I stand here still smelling of Mulder.

Before anyone can react, I get my coat and bag and say, "I think I'll go home
now."

                     *

Tow weeks have passed since that night. I've had to talk to Craig, to my father,
to my mother, even to Bill, about refusing the marriage proposal. I have, of
course, not talked about it with Missy. She knows the truth.

Someone knock on the door. I answer it and find Mulder standing there, a
supermarket bag on his hands.

He hasn't called me once during these two weeks. On one side, I was quite
relieved at this, it gave me time to get things straight in my head. On the
other, I just think it was terribly inconsiderate of him.

"Can I come in?" he asks.

"You didn't call."

"I know."

We stand in silence for a moment. Then I step aside and let him in. "And you can
wipe that smile off your face," I say as he passes me.

I point at the bag. "What's that?"

He pulls me to him and kisses me, leading me to the kitchen area. "Dinner."

Mulder sets the bag on top of the counter and takes out a bottle of wine, a
quart package of strawberry ice cream, a vial of cherries and a can of whip
cream, and a little box of chocolate confetti. "Bowls and spoons."

"No, wait, just the spoons." He says, opening the icecream and dousing it with
whip cream.

For a long time, we sit on the couch, sharing the icecream and the wine, and
talking. I learn that he's been to Harvard and Oxford, and he tells me about his
assignment at the FBI: some section called The X-Files.

We wrestle with our spoons over the last cherry. I dropped my spoon and grab the
cherry, popping it in my mouth with a smug smile. Mulder kisses me, stealing
part of the cherry.

Suddenly, he bends over with a groan. "Oh, my stomach."

"Serves you right." But I have to admit I am a bit queasy myself.

I fix us some Alka-Seltzer. "We're not kids anymore," I say.

He hugs me. "No, we're not."

"Wanna lie down, for a while."

He gives me that crooked smile of his. "Not exactly what I had in mind."

Again he grabs his stomach, groaning. "But my stomach seems to agree with you."

I lead him to bedroom, and we lie down in each others arms. Mulder is soon
asleep.

Before I too drift off into slumber, the door bell rings. I get up and walk to
the door. Mulder just turns to the other side. He seems to sleep deeply when
he's with me.

My parents picked a fine time to visit. The worst part is, they've decided to
bring Craig along Why don't they get it?

"We're going out to dinner, Starbuck, thought you might like to come."

"I already had dinner," I say.

"Obviously." Craig is standing by the coffee table, staring at the empty
icecream package and at the two glasses. He picks one of them up. "Well, this
certainly explains a few things."

"I'm a free woman, I can see whoever I please," I say, taking the glass away
from him.

He looks at my robe. "I certainly would like to see who that is," he says,
moving to the bedroom.

I fight the urge to bar his way. "He's not here. He got called away when we were
eating."

I walk up to the door, opening it. "I have a long day tomorrow."

Craig gives a last look in the direction of the bedroom and storms out. My
parents leave after him, my mother giving me a look that means we'll have a long
talk sooner or later.

I close the door behind them and turn around to find Mulder standing there. It's
obvious from the look on his face, that he heard the whole conversation.
Probably thinks I'm ashamed of him, or something.

"I -- "

But he interrupts me. "Hey, I feel no need to get into a fight with some old
boyfriend of yours and this isn't exactly how I want to meet your parents for
the first time." He opens his arms, to give me a better look of the only thing
he's wearing -- a pair of black silk boxer shorts.

I kiss him. "Thank you for being so understanding."

"That's me -- Mr.Understanding."

                      *

I'm watching him sleep, now. He's peaceful, no nightmares.

I've been thinking about my life has changed since I met him. And wondering if
I'm in love with this man.

I'm still not sure. Maybe I am. What I feel about him is certainly different
enough.

But, whatever this feeling is, I certainly like it. I especially like the trust,
a trust that came so quickly between us.

The change has come. The change I've feared so much for so long. And I think
it's only just beginning.

But wherever it may lead, whatever it may bring, of this much I'm sure: this man
lying by my side, this stranger I seem to know so well, will be there for me.

Maybe it is love. Maybe that what love is in the end. Not permanence, but simply
being able to change. Together.

---