TITLE: In the Mail
AUTHOR: Shannon O'Connor
DATE: 2 January 1998
E-MAIL: shannono@iname.com
DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere; just let me know where, please!
RATING: PG
CLASSIFICATION: S, A
SPOILERS: Redux II
CONTENT WARNING: **SPOILER WARNING** If you haven't
seen the fifth season through "Redux II," don't even read these
comments, much less the story!! Actual content: Mulder angst, no
overt romance (although it's open to interpretation).
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully friendship/UST.
SUMMARY: Mulder gets an unexpected letter, and Scully helps him
deal with the aftermath.
DISCLAIMER: I'm making no money off Mulder, Scully, and the
other characters and backstory used here. All that stuff belongs
to Chris Carter, Fox, and 1013, as well as to the actors.
COMMENTS: In "Redux II," Mulder never tells Scully he saw
Samantha, or who offered him the deal he turned down. So,
I wanted to write one where she finds out, and this idea just
popped into my head.
DEDICATION: This one's for all those people who have e-mailed
me since my first postings and encouraged me to write more. Hope
you like it!

**********
In the Mail
By Shannon O'Connor

Fox Mulder slipped through the side lobby of the J. Edgar Hoover
Building and headed down on the first available elevator. It was a
Thursday afternoon, getting late in the day; he and Scully had
arrived back from another assignment around noon, and they
planned to meet back in their basement office to start in on their
reports.

Mulder was actually in a pretty good mood, to his own surprise. He
caught himself humming absently as he stepped from the elevator
and started down the hall. Grinning to himself, he switched to a
whistle as he reached the office.

The door was still locked, so he let himself in, tossing his briefcase
onto his desk with intentions of starting a pot of coffee. But the action
scattered the top section of a stack of mail sitting on his desk, and he
stopped whistling long enough to curse under his breath as he flicked
on a light and bent over to start gathering up the envelopes.

Most of pieces were standard "official business"-looking letters, some
addressed to him, some to Scully. A few were less standard, most
likely a crackpot or two claiming they had seen or experienced some
unexplainable phenomenon and trying to get the FBI to investigate.
Of course, some of those could be valid, so he'd read them, too.
Later.

As he was straightening up, his gaze fell on another non-standard
letter, sitting just under the edge of his desk. He reached for it -- a
plain, cream-colored, square envelope, addressed simply to "Fox
Mulder, FBI Headquarters, J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington,
D.C." He turned it over; no return address.

Curious, he dropped the other letters back onto his desk and lowered
himself into his chair. Ripping the envelope open, he extracted two
sheets of matching cream-colored paper, filled with lines of neat
handwriting.

Pulling out his glasses and putting them on, he leaned back in his
chair and started to read:

"Dear Fox,

"I don't really know what I want to say to you right now, but I just felt
like I needed to write. I am still trying to sort out everything that's
happened.

"I suppose you know by now that my father is dead, or at least the
man who has been a father to me for so long. I know you think he
lied to me, about you and about Mom. But I can't believe that. He
was so good to me, Fox. He made sure I had the best of everything.
And he really cared for me. I know he did.

"I know you said he knew where you were for a long time before we
met in the diner that night. But I believe if he did, he must have had
his reasons for not telling me. Good reasons, Fox, not pages from
some agenda.

"I just can't believe he's gone, Fox. No matter what you think of him,
he was good to me. He really loved me. I hope I can make you see
that, someday.

"I don't know how long it will be before I write again. So much has
happened, and I'm having trouble dealing with it all.

"I hope you can be happy, Fox. And I hope we can find each other
again someday.

"Samantha."

Mulder stared at the words, as if he could change them by sheer force
of will. He reread the short note, then, almost compulsively, grabbed for
the envelope again, scrutinizing the postmark. Washington, D.C. Which
meant it could have been mailed from almost anywhere in the metro area.

Mulder dropped envelope and letter on the desk and hunched
over, his elbows on his knees and his hands tangled in his hair, as his
excellent memory replayed that late-night meeting in the diner. Scully
had been so sick then, the cancer invading her body bit by bit. And
Mulder would have done anything to save her.

Then that man had told him he'd set up a meeting. And he'd brought
Samantha. She was incredulous at seeing her brother again, had told
him the man was her father and that he'd told her he'd just found Mulder.

Once the shock had dulled, Mulder managed to tell her the man had
lied to her. "He's known where I was for a long time," he said.

She hadn't believed him. She told him not to try to find her, that she
needed space and time to think. And she'd left.

He knew then the price he'd have to pay to see his sister again: Scully.
He'd have to go in with the conspirators, give up the X-files, give up his
relationship with her. And he'd been ready to do it, ready to leave Scully
behind. To save her life. "The truth will save you, Scully," he'd told her,
not so long ago.

That night, he had the truth in his grasp. Samantha. And Scully's cure.

He wasn't sure when, exactly, saving Scully's life had moved to equal
terms with his search for Samantha. But when that Smoking Man,
whoever he was, had offered him "what you want most," his first
thought hadn't been of his sister. It had been of Scully. "The cure for
Scully's cancer," he'd said, without hesitation, and without surprise
at his own words.

The man had told him he already had that, and sure enough, the vial
he'd found in the Pentagon's secret basement storage warehouse had
contained a tiny implant, probably the same one removed from Scully's
neck. Whether or not the implant was the cause for her remission was
questionable, but the fact remained that with it, she was healthy, at least
for now.

Then, Samantha. She had been brought to him, offered to him as a
prize for his loyalty to her "father." And he was close, so close, to
going over, even if Scully hated him for it, because at least she would
live. Then Blevins had shown his hand, tried to take down Skinner,
and Mulder knew he couldn't do it.

<But that wasn't the only reason you couldn't do it,> a little voice told
him ...

Scully for Samantha. It was a deal he couldn't make.

His thoughts returned to the letter on his desk, and he was startled to
see the last few lines fading, as if they were being washed away. And
they were, he realized, feeling the tears running down his cheeks.

He yanked off the glasses and swiped at his eyes brutally, then sat for
another few moments. Finally, he grabbed up the letter and his
briefcase and fled the office, not bothering to lock the door.

**********

When Scully reached the basement office a short while later, she
assumed Mulder must be there, since the door was unlocked and a
light was on. So she was puzzled when she walked in and he was
nowhere in sight. A stack of mail sat precariously on the corner of his
desk, and she absently pushed the envelopes further onto the desk so
they were more secure. She looked toward the coffeepot in the corner;
empty and silent.

A chill went through her, for reasons she couldn't fathom, and she felt
a sudden urge to call him. She turned toward her chair, and a sheet
of cream-colored paper on the floor caught her eye. She placed her
briefcase on Mulder's chair and bent to retrieve the paper. The few
lines were faint, and the page was wrinkled, as if water had been
spilled on it.

As Scully stood, her eyes skimmed over the words, and she froze,
rereading what was apparently the end of a letter:

"... before I write again. So much has happened, and I'm having trouble
dealing with it all.

"I hope you can be happy, Fox. And I hope we can find each other
again someday.

"Samantha."

Scully realized she was holding her breath and let it out in a rush.
*Samantha*? A letter from Samantha. And Mulder had apparently
already read it, and had left, to go ... where?

A sudden tightness in her chest snapped Scully into action, and she
fairly leapt across the room and grabbed for her phone, punching the
first speed dial button. After the seventh ring with no answer, she hit
the release button, then hit the second speed dial number. This time,
after four rings, a voice came through the line: "This is Mulder; please
leave a message."

At the beep, her words came out in a rush. "Mulder, it's me," she said,
her voice sounding strained, even to her own ears. "Please pick up."
She paused; no response. "Mulder, I know you're there; please pick
up the phone!" Pause again; still nothing. "Mulder, I'm on my way
over, and if you don't let me in, I'll use my key."

She hung up, grabbed her briefcase and the page from the letter, and
left.

**********

Scully made the drive to Mulder's Alexandria apartment building in record
time, she was sure. She left her briefcase on the front seat, picked up
the sheet of paper, and headed inside. At Number 42, she paused
briefly, then knocked. No response. She knocked again, louder, and
said, "Mulder, it's me. Let me in."

Another silence, and she started to pull out her keys, but then she heard
a footstep, and the door opened slightly. She slowly pushed it fully open,
revealing a room lit only by streaks of sunlight from the window. A lanky
figure was lowering itself back onto the end of the couch.

She took a step forward and pushed the door shut behind her, peeling
off her coat and tossing it on the chair opposite the sofa. She stepped
around the end of the coffee table, the letter still in her hand, and sank
down next to him.

He was slouched down so far in his seat that his head rested on the
top edge of the couch. He still wore his slightly wrinkled suit pants and
dress shirt, and she could see the jacket and tie piled on the floor near
the door. On the table in front of him sat a cream-colored envelope, a
single sheet of paper -- and a blood-stained photograph, one she had
seen before in his apartment. Fox and Samantha, smiling at the
camera, just a short time before her disappearance.

Scully reached out and placed the sheet she held on top of the other.
She felt, rather than saw, him tense slightly. Then he reached forward,
picked up the small pile, and dropped his hand onto the couch
between them, still clutching the papers.

She waited for him to speak. When he didn't, she leaned toward him,
pushing back the unruly hair from his forehead, and cupped his cheek
with her hand. Slowly, he turned his head and met her concerned gaze.
His eyes were red from crying, and the despair she saw there brought
tears to her own eyes. She smiled slightly and said, "Do you want to
talk about it?"

He held her gaze, then dropped his eyes to the letter and photo in his
hand. He exhaled, then said huskily, "It was my choice. My choice,
Scully." He looked back at her, an almost desperate gleam in his eyes,
and his voice became more strained. "I made my choice. I gave her
up."

The questions showed on Scully's face, but she waited for him to go
on, her hand still on his face. He took several deep breaths to steady
himself, then leaned forward, breaking the contact between them.
She dropped her hand to her lap as he moved his long arms to rest on
his knees and wrapped both hands around the photo and letter.

Finally, just as Scully was about to break the silence, he spoke again,
his eyes on the sheets in his hands. "I didn't tell you everything that
day in the hospital," he said, his voice flat. "I told you I wasn't taking
the deal I was offered, but I didn't tell you what the deal was."

He stopped again, and she lifted her hand to his arm. "Tell me,
Mulder," she said softly.

He looked at her again, then away. "It was him," he said. "Cancer
Man, or whoever he was. He wanted me to join him."

Her sharp intake of breath seared his ears, and he had to fight to
continue. "He offered me a deal. If I went in with him, he'd give me
what I wanted most."

Scully's voice was small when she spoke. "Samantha?" she asked

Mulder exhaled raggedly. "That's what he thought," he said. "But
that's not what I told him."

Another long pause, and this time Scully did break the silence. "Then
what?" she asked.

He looked at her, wanting to see her reaction. "I said ... I wanted the
cure for your cancer."

She didn't breathe, didn't move, and he saw so many emotions play
across her face -- surprise, puzzlement, wonder, caring. He waited
for her to respond, and finally, she did.

"He gave it to you," she said, a statement rather than a question.

Mulder looked away. "No," he said firmly. "No, I already had it. He told
me that. I had it, and I just didn't know it." His eyes focused somewhere
on the wall across the room. "But he did offer me something else."

"Samantha," Scully breathed.

"Samantha," Mulder confirmed. "He brought her to meet me. And I do
believe it was her." He looked at her again. "That's why I was going to
take his deal. You would be safe, and I could have Samantha again."

He stopped talking, and the silence grew between them until Scully
spoke again. "Why didn't you take it, Mulder?"

His eyes dropped to her hand, still on his arm, and he moved his
other hand to cover hers. She was sure he wasn't going to answer,
and then he did.

"I couldn't do it," he said simply. "I wanted to, I really did. But I realized
I couldn't, and not just because Blevins tried to take down Skinner." He
looked back into her eyes, which were now glistening with new tears.
"I couldn't do it because you would never have forgiven me. I couldn't
give you up," he finished.

Scully felt her cheeks growing moist as the tears fell. She blinked
several times, then swallowed and said softly, "You didn't give her
up, Mulder. You can still find her." She reached to run a finger along
the letter in his hands. "She's still trying to find you," she said, then
closed her fingers around his.

Mulder's eyes followed her hand, and his voice was faint when he
spoke. "I still hope so, Scully," he said, sliding out one hand and
placing it over hers. "But I've lived without her for almost 25 years."
He caught her eyes again. "I don't want to live that long without you."

Scully smiled softly, then leaned to rest her head on his shoulder.
"I'm not going anywhere," she whispered, as he lowered his head
on top of hers.

They simply sat for a few minutes, looking at their intertwined hands.
But then Scully shifted and said, "I do have a question, Mulder."

"What's that?" he asked.

She drew back her hand and head from him, sat up straight, and
then reached to pull the photograph from his hand. "Tell me about
this," she said.

Mulder stared at the photo for a long time, and Scully waited for him
to answer. Finally, he did. "Skinner gave it back to me at the hospital,
the day we found out your cancer was in remission," he said. "He
told me the Smoking Man was dead, and said they found this at the
scene."

Scully started, staring at him. "He had your picture? But how? Why?"

Mulder sighed. "I don't know how, although I'm sure he could have
gotten it pretty easily," he said. "But as to *why* ... well, when I saw
Samantha, she said ... she told me that man was her father."

A sharp intake of breath from Scully. "Her *father*?" she asked,
incredulous.

Mulder dropped the letter back on the coffee table and leaned back
against the couch again, resting his head against the wall. "That's
what she said," he said. "She said he told her Mom was dead and
that he didn't know where I was until just recently. I told her he was
lying, but she didn't believe me."

Scully sat stiffly, in shock at what he had said. When she found her
voice again, she said, "Is it the truth? Is he her father?"

Mulder turned his head toward her and gave a half-smile. "What is
the truth?" he asked ruefully. "I don't know if it's true. But she said
she'd been living with him since she was taken, or at least until she
was grown. She really has no idea what kind of man he is, or was."

They sat in silence, staring at the letter and photo, the revelations
hanging in the air around them. Finally, Scully dropped the photo
back onto the table and reached for his hand again, pulling it into
her lap. She looked at him, waiting for him to meet her gaze. When
he did, she smiled softly and said, "You will find her, Mulder, and
she will find out the truth. You will get her back." She dropped her
eyes to their hands. "And you'll have the last laugh on Smoking
Man. Because you'll have the truth ..." -- she raised her eyes back
to his -- "... and you'll still have both of us."

Slowly, Mulder returned her smile, even as fresh tears ran down
his face, and they moved to embrace.

They stayed that way for a long time, their arms around each other,
as the sunlight faded. He drew her closer as he leaned back
against the cushions, and she felt his breathing even out as he
gradually dozed off.

She waited a while longer to be sure he was asleep, then pulled
away and carefully coaxed him to stretch out on the couch. She
slipped his pillow under his head and unfolded a blanket over him,
then leaned down, cupped his face in her hand again, and softly
kissed him on the cheek. As she was leaving, she stopped in the
doorway, looked back, and whispered, "Sweet dreams."

For once, they were.

**********END**********

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