Title: Saying Goodbye (1/1)

Author: Tess

E-mail: tnv099@aol.com

Distribution: If you want it, sure.  I'd like to know where first.  

Spoilers: Closure

Rating: Maybe R for slight sexual imagery.  

Content: MSR

Classification: R, A  Scully POV

Disclaimer: Well I think it's pretty well established that they belong 

to 1013 Productions, CC, Fox and the gang. Not mine. Not making any

money here. Guess I'm just bored. Or desperately seeking the proper 

resolution to these stories.

Summary: Mulder says goodbye to the last of his family





Saying Goodbye

By: Tess





The black dress and matching jacket are lying across the bed.  I'm 

reaching into the bureau drawer for my underthings when I feel his 

strong arms slip around me. Looking up into the mirror over the bureau, 

I watch as he wraps one arm across my shoulders and slips the other 

hand inside my robe. His fingers stroke the bare skin of my belly 

softly. He drops his chin onto my shoulder.



"I can't wait for this day to be over," he whispers.



I place both hands on the forearm banded across my chest and turn to 

face him, wrapping my arms around his neck. He clasps me tightly 

against him and I lift myself up on my toes, trying to get closer to 

him.



"I love you," I breathe against his cheek.



He nods against my hair and clutches me closer for another second or 

two before lowering me back on my heels.



I step back and run my thumb across his cheekbone in a gentle caress.  



"We should get dressed.  It's almost time to leave," I remind him.



Mulder nods and steps through the connecting door to 'his' motel room.  

Although we have been sharing a bed for almost a year now, we continue 

to create the illusion for others that nothing has changed in our 

relationship. We're convinced we're safer that way.



Mulder returns to my room shrugging into his overcoat. His spiky hair 

has been tamed into place and he smoothes his tie nervously as he 

waits for me to finish getting ready. I turn to the closet to grab my 

wool coat and Mulder takes it from me. He holds it out as I slip my 

arms into it and then he turns me to face him. Solemnly, he begins to 

fasten each button from the bottom to the collar. As he reaches the 

last button he tugs on the collar, pulls me close and drops a quick 

kiss on my lips. Resting his forehead against mine, he closes his 

eyes and inhales deeply.



"Ready?" he asks.



I nod and slip my hand into his as we walk out of the door.



* * * * * * * * * * * * * *



There is no place, I decide, as cold as a February in New England. 

Okay, maybe Antarctica. An icy wind blows across the cemetery and the 

small gathering of mourners shivers in its wake. I am standing close 

to Mulder, my shoulder brushing his arm. I long to gather him close, 

but we are in public.



We had spent the trip back from California discussing the funerals and 

what plans should be made. We flew directly to his mother's home and 

spent the first day with the funeral director choosing the right casket, 

a dress to bury her in, flowers and a tombstone. My eyes drift over the 

casket draped in a blanket of lilies and roses and settle on the 

tombstone. Teena Mulder's name is etched there along with the dates of 

her birth and death. Just below that is Samantha's name. The words 

'beloved daughter and sister' had been engraved in lieu of the dates.  

An arrangement of daisies and pink roses was nestled against the 

gravemarker--innocent flowers for a girl who will remain forever young.



The minister concludes his service and the funeral director begins to 

hand out flowers for the mourners to place on the casket in farewell.  

I watch as several of Mulder's aunts, uncles and cousins file past the 

casket, followed by Mrs. Mulder's friends. My mother, the Gunmen and 

Skinner have all made the trip north and they too each dutifully place 

a flower on top of the others. My mother pauses briefly at our side 

and squeezes Mulder's hand. Finally, Mulder and I are the only ones 

left. As the others stand a respectful distance away, I lead him 

forward. He watches me carefully. Instead of leaving a flower behind, 

I take one beautiful red rose from Mrs. Mulder's casket and one soft 

pink one from Samantha's arrangement. I lower my head and breathe a 

quiet prayer asking God to grant peace and rest to Mulder and these 

two women he loved.  



I watch Mulder through a veil of tears as he presses his hand to his 

mother's coffin. I see his lips moving and I know he is talking to her 

silently. He turns and crouches before the gravemarker and his fingers 

gently trace his sister's name. I hear his breath hitch and see his 

shoulders shake with suppressed sobs and I know that I cannot stand 

here pretending to be friend and partner and no more. I move toward 

him and stroke my fingers through his hair, bending down to whisper 

in his ear.



Mulder lurches to his feet and for the second time today, gathers me 

close in a crushing embrace. I croon softly to him, soothing him with 

my voice and touch, pressing tiny kisses across his cheek. No one 

watching can mistake our embrace for anything less than what it is. 

And I don't care. Let them know. Let everyone know. I'm tired of 

hiding my feelings for Mulder. We'll deal with the consequences 

together.



I slide down so that my feet are flat on the grass and cup his face in 

my hands. My thumbs brush away his tears and I draw his lips down to 

mine in a tender kiss.



Taking his hands I step back, drawing him with me.



"Come on, Mulder.  It's time to go."



Mulder nods and moves toward me.  He stops again and turns back to the 

gravesite. 



"Goodbye," he whispers and straightening his shoulders, he clasps my 

hand and we walk back to our car. I help him settle into the passenger 

seat and carefully lock the seatbelt into place. I rub my fingers 

through his hair, ruffling it back into the spiky look that oddly is 

beginning to grow on me and smile softly.



"Okay?" I ask.



"Yeah."



I slip into the driver's seat and wait for the cars ahead of me to 

begin to move. One of Mrs. Mulder's friends had offered to host a 

small luncheon for the mourners and we were heading back to her house. 

As we loop through the winding roads of the cemetery, I see Mulder 

turn his head for one last look at the gravesite. When we pass through 

the gates and onto the main road, he scrubs his hands over his face, 

takes a deep breath and blows it back out. He swivels his head toward 

me and I glance at him. He takes my right hand in his own and lifts it 

to his lips.



"Thank you," he says.



I shrug. "I love you," I tell him simply.



* * * * * * * * * * * * *



The black dress is hanging in the closet. I'm curled up in a chair 

wearing my robe and an old pair of flannel pajama bottoms, idly 

watching the eleven o'clock news. Skinner and my mother were catching 

the same flight back to D.C. this evening and our boss had offered to 

see her home. Mulder and the Gunmen are in the connecting room, 

laughing over something Frohicke has said.



I smile. The human spirit is amazingly resilient. I had forgotten what 

a relief it can sometimes be when you leave the cemetery behind. The 

luncheon, as is often the case, was a time for a few tears, but mostly 

a chance for family and friends to catch up and begin to let go of the 

burden of the preceding days. After a few hours of becoming reacquainted 

with them, Mulder had begun to relax.



I can hear the guys getting ready to leave as Mulder shepherds them 

toward the door. They say goodnight and I hear the click of the door 

closing and being locked. A moment later, Mulder appears in the 

doorway between the rooms.



"Hey," he calls.



I look up from the television and smile at him. "Hi."



Mulder strolls across the room and flops down onto the bed, back 

resting against the mattress, arms flung out to his sides, his feet 

planted firmly on the floor. He rotates his head toward the television.



"Anything interesting on the news?"



"Um, murder, murder, fire, car accident, lots of commercials, 

information about the newest diet fad. More commercials. Corruption in 

City Hall..." my voice trails off.



He flicks his eyes to mine and grins. "Anything else?"



"Breaking news! It's cold outside." I deliver the weather report with 

an air of false excitement and then allow a note of boredom to enter 

my voice. "Oh yeah, the Knicks won, pitchers and catchers are getting 

ready to report for spring training, blah, blah, blah."



He heaves his body to a sitting position and rubs the heels of his 

hands against his eyes, groaning. He looks over at me and I see the 

sadness lurking behind his eyes.



I turn off the television and pad across the room to stand in front of 

him.



"Tired, huh?"



He groans again as my thumbs dig into the tight muscles of his neck and 

shoulders. "It's been a long day."



"Long week," I add.



He nods in agreement.



I stop the impromptu massage after a couple of minutes and let my hands 

rest on his shoulders.



"Want to get ready for bed?" I ask.



He shakes his head no and lifts his hands to the sash of my robe, 

fumbling with the knot until it comes loose and the robe falls open 

around me. He trails the knuckles of one hand softly between my breasts, 

down to my stomach, playing with the drawstring of my pajamas for a 

moment. Pushing up my pajama top, he curls one arm behind my waist and 

forces me to arch back slightly at the waist, pushing my breasts closer 

to him. Leaning forward, his mouth latches onto one breast, lips tugging 

gently on the tip.  The room is quiet except for the soft, wet sound of 

his mouth at my breast.  My fingers tangle in his hair as I cradle his 

head close.



Mulder releases my breast and captures my face between his palms. He 

draws me down to his kiss. His lips are soft as they meet mine in a 

series of wet, tender kisses. Finally though, he breaks free and stares 

at me from beneath drooping eyelids.



I stroke my fingers through his hair, tipping his head back so that I 

can drop one last kiss on his lips.



"Why don't we go to bed?"



He nods but makes no move to begin undressing. Reaching out I begin to 

undo the buttons of the dress shirt that Mulder is still wearing. I tug

Mulder to his feet and he stumbles blearily, fatigue and the long day 

finally catching up to him.  I steady him and help him step out of his 

pants, tossing them onto the chair across the room.



I guide Mulder between the sheets of the bed and walk around the bed, 

sitting on the edge of the mattress. Turning off the lamp, I shrug out 

of my robe and slip into bed. Mulder is curled on his side and I scoot 

backwards until I am fitted to the curve of his body. He drops one arm 

across my waist and pulls me closer.  



Mulder fidgets for a moment or two and then he pulls on my shoulder so 

that I am lying on my back. He squirms around and then lifts himself 

up on one elbow. Pushing up the hem of my pajama top, he nestles his 

cheek against my stomach.  



"Goo'night Scully," he slurs sleepily as he drifts off. "Love you."



I cradle him with my body and pray his dreams are sweet.



"I love you too," I whisper into the darkness.



The End





Author's Notes:  Yes, another country heard from on Closure.

But, really, how could I not?  This was my first attempt at a 

Scully POV. Don't know if I got her voice right or not.





Feedback, please at tnv099@aol.com