Forty-Two by Emma Brightman emmabrightman1013@yahoo.com Disclaimer: Not mine Classification: VA, MSR Rating: PG Spoilers: Through "The Truth" Feedback: Yes, please. Deepest thanks and many bags of candy corn to Lilydale and JET for advice and kindness. I'm extremely grateful to you both, as always. More notes at the end. - - - Love, how the hours accumulate. Uncountable. The trees grow tall, some people walk away and diminish forever. The damp pewter days slip around without warning and we cross over one year and one year. - Li-Young Li, "Braiding" - - - Piney Inn New Waverly, Texas October 13, 2003 Autumn finally arrives in Texas on the morning of Mulder's 42nd birthday. Scully shivers and pulls the velour motel blanket up from the foot of the bed, covering Mulder's bare shoulders before curling up beneath it herself, her back pressed into him for warmth. A crisp wind causes the drapes to twitch and part with each gust. Through the gap Scully catches glimpses of dried leaves eddying in the motel parking lot and notices that the sky is promisingly salmon pink, strewn with high, wispy clouds. The local weatherman was right the night before, when he forecasted a cool, gorgeous back-to-work Monday. It isn't back to work for Mulder and her, however. Their after- hours foray to Johnson Space Center in search of information on recent UFO activity was another dead end. All they accomplished was a narrow escape from security guards and the fastest trip out of Houston possible in Sunday night traffic. Still, she's grateful for the early autumn beauty, for the breeze rustling through the trees outside their window. They give her the illusion of peace and calm, at least. Scully rolls over as carefully as she can, trying not to wake Mulder, but needing to see him. It seems impossible that he is 42 years old today. A decade has passed since he first challenged her in the basement office, that cocky, vulnerable young man, all fluffy hair and smooth golden skin and lean muscle. The man sleeping beside her is still beautiful, but he's lost his youthful leanness, becoming broad-shouldered and softer-bellied as the years wore on. His skin is tanned from recent days spent out in the summer sun, but there are lines around his mouth now, and deep crinkles around his eyes when he smiles. His hair is soft and full, but gray has crept in at the temples, and even the ridiculous goatee he's grown during the past few weeks is speckled with white. Something clutches at her heart as she looks at this face that's become so beloved to her. Her throat begins to ache, and she sniffs and brushes tears out of her eyes before they can fall. The last thing she wants is to wake Mulder on his birthday with her morose weeping. She's not sure what has her so emotional this morning. She'd like to blame it on hormones and the time of the month, or on the cool, dry autumn air that reminds her of playing hopscotch with Melissa in the early twilight, of the cozy warmth of her mother's hand-knit sweaters, of the crunch of leaves beneath her feet as she followed Mulder into the woods on a case. She'd like to think it's simply nostalgia for days gone by. The truth is less pleasant. What makes her want to hide her face and cry is the realization that she has now known Mulder for more years than they may have ahead of them, if the date for colonization is set. She might not get to see Mulder at 52, and the thought infuriates her. She wants the chance to grow old with him, to see him lose the hair on his head and grow some in his ears. She wants to watch him get wrinkly. She wants to listen to his early morning groans as he drags his creaky old bones out of bed, and to be listened to in return. She blinks against the stinging in her eyes, her fingers skimming lightly over Mulder's nose and down his cheek. She lets her thumb gently stroke his soft lips, which turn up in a sleepy smile. She returns the smile, hoping her sadness doesn't show, as his eyes flutter open. "Good morning," Mulder murmurs. Beneath the covers, he reaches for her, wrapping his hand around her waist and pulling her closer to him. "Happy birthday." Scully replaces her thumb with her lips, giving him a gentle kiss. "Sleep well?" "Mmm, yeah." Seeing her face, his eyes lose their drowsy lack of focus, and two deep furrows appear between his eyebrows. If he senses that something's the matter, though, he doesn't say so. "It's gotten cool in here." "Want me to shut the window?" She begins to scoot out of the bed, grateful for the excuse to escape Mulder's scrutiny, but he shakes his head and pulls her back toward him. "Uh-uh, it's nice," he says, wrapping his flannel-clad legs around her and holding her tight. "Gives us an excuse to warm each other up." Scully rubs her cheek against his chest and tries not to notice that there are gray hairs there, too. "Yet another reason to be glad it's not summer anymore." "Oh yeah," Mulder says, rolling her onto her back, holding her head in his hands as he kisses her. Scully wraps her arms around him and strokes his back, feeling the muscles move beneath his skin, the way his ribcage expands and contracts as he breathes. She closes her eyes, trying to let go and enjoy the sweet thoroughness with which he is tasting her, but her mind rebels against her, filling her head with memories. It's all passed so quickly, ten years of pain and joy elapsing in what seemed nothing more than a heartbeat. The next nine years are sure to pass just as quickly, and then what? She tries to imagine a future for them, to envision the two of them old and gray, visited on their front porch by their son and a few chubby grandchildren. Instead she finds her mind blank and her eyes full of tears. She sniffs, and Mulder stops kissing her. "Scully, what's wrong?" She turns her head toward the window, noticing that the sky has turned a clear, piercing blue. Mulder turns her head back toward him with a finger on her chin. Worry shows in his eyes, but he tries to keep it light for her sake, which only makes her feel guiltier. "Surely my morning breath isn't that bad." Scully sobs and laughs at the same time. "It's nothing, really." She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "I'm okay." "Scully--" "I'm sorry, Mulder, I don't mean to get your birthday off to a bad start." She wipes her eyes. "Honestly, I'm fine." "Scully, I woke up to find you looking at me like you were about to burst into tears. Now I kiss you and you do burst into tears. That's not fine." He kisses her temple. Scully sighs and shakes her head. Her hair crackles, staticky against the pillowcase. "I'm being ridiculous and maudlin I know, but...it's your 42nd birthday, Mulder." "You're upset about my birthday?" She nods, feeling embarrassed and pathetic. "I'm getting too old for you, I knew it," he teases gently, stroking her hair. "You're leaving me for the pizza delivery kid from last night." Scully rolls her eyes, finally smiling a little. "What's with this continuing insecurity about pizza delivery guys?" "They make more dough than I do?" Mulder waggles his eyebrows like Groucho Marx and she groans. "Don't worry, Mulder, I'm stuck on tall men with bad senses of humor and obsessions with the paranormal." "That narrows it down," he says, pretending to be relieved. She nods. "Considerably." Mulder takes her hand in his, stroking her knuckles with his thumb. "So why does my birthday upset you?" "I just..." She sighs, trying to find a way to explain herself. "I started thinking that I've known you since you were only 32 years old. And in spite of all we've lost along the way I've loved being with you. Watching you grow into this man who means so much to me. I've known you for ten years, Mulder. Ten years." Mulder's nods slowly. "And you realized that we might not have another ten together." She doesn't reply, but her silence seems to give him the answer he's waiting for. "This is why I didn't want to tell you, Scully." He gnaws nervously at his lower lip. "I was afraid of what it would do to you, and now--" "Mulder," she interrupts, "I thought we settled this a year and a half ago. I'm not about to give up, and my spirit isn't crushed. It's just a little...dented this morning." She gives him a small, rueful smile. "Most of the time I feel hopeful, and I know we're doing the what we can. It's just sometimes..." "I know, Scully, it gets to me too. Sometimes I think I'd have lived my life differently if I'd known how short it might end up being. Sometimes I wish I'd grabbed you and kissed you that first night in Oregon, when you came to my motel room with the mosquito bites." "I'd probably have slapped you and reported you to Blevins for sexual harassment." "Really?" he chuckles. "I don't know. Maybe, maybe not." She smiles. "Depends how good a kisser you were back then." Mulder smirks and gives her a quick reminder of his present kissing skills. Outside, someone walks past the window, shoes clacking on the asphalt of the parking lot. The world and its inhabitants carry on, she thinks, oblivious to the knowledge that weighs so heavily on the two of them. "It's not the past I want to change though, Mulder." For the millionth time she wonders where William is, what he's doing. "Not most of it, anyway." Mulder nods, understanding. "I just hate to think that this might not last," she continues. "That I won't get to grow old with you." "I feel the same way," Mulder says. "But there aren't any guarantees for anyone. It's a cliche, but one of us could be hit by a bus tomorrow..." "I know," Scully sighs. "I know." For a while they hold each other, listening to pigeons cooing outside the window, to travelers loading their trunks with suitcases and noisily revving the engines of minivans and RVs. To the noises of another day moving inexorably forward. Finally, Scully props herself up on one elbow, running a finger down Mulder's chest. She smiles, determined to get rid of the pall that's descended over the room. "So, what do you want for your birthday?" Mulder smiles back, a wicked glint in his eyes as he too attempts to shake off the gloom. "I think you know what I want, Scully." "Well, that's a given," she says, eyebrow lifted. "I was thinking more along the lines of cake and ice cream. Maybe a present of some kind." "Cake and ice cream sounds good." He takes her hand from his chest and kisses it. "Being here with you is enough of a gift, though, Scully. Having you tell me what's really on your mind? That's plenty." "You are so easy," Scully says. She attempts to sound flippant, but somehow she thinks the hoarseness of her voice gives her away. "Don't you know it," he replies. He nibbles her ear and she shivers. "So, what do you want for my birthday?" Scully sighs as he unbuttons the top few buttons of her silky pajama top, all the while kissing her neck. "I get a present for your birthday?" she asks. "Why?" "Why not?" he says, his hand roaming beneath her shirt. "Mmmmm," she hums. She finds it hard to concentrate when he touches her like this, but eventually what she wants comes to her. "Well, there is a little something you could do for me, Mulder. I'm not sure you're going to like it, though." He stops kissing her, looking at her with curiosity. "Um, okay. Lay it on me." Scully smiles and sits up against the headboard. She gently grasps Mulder's chin between her thumb and forefinger, stroking the bit of hair right beneath his lower lip. "It's about this goatee thing. I kind of wish you'd shave it off." Mulder lifts his eyebrows, looking honestly surprised. "Really? It's all part of my laying low persona, Scully. Special Agent Fox Mulder would never have had this look." "Thank God," she mutters, leaning forward to kiss his cheek, his nose, his other cheek. "Wait a second," he says, gently pushing her away. He turns his head from side to side to show the beard off for her. "You don't think it makes me look scruffy and sexy?" "Don't take this the wrong way," she says, pulling him back toward her for another kiss, "but I think it makes you look like a pimp on a rerun of Starsky and Hutch." Mulder laughs -- guffaws, really -- and suddenly looks as young to her as the day she met him. "That just makes me want to keep it even more, Scully!" She can't help laughing too, especially when Mulder grabs her and begins to tickle her until she's begging for mercy. They both gasp for air as they recover, untangling sheets and blankets and pulling them up around themselves again. "Okay," he finally says, spooning up behind her and rubbing his hairy chin on her shoulder. "The mack daddy look is history." "Thank you," she says. She turns in his arms until she's facing him, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tightly. "Thank you for understanding." "It's just a little facial hair," he says lightly, but she knows he realizes she's thanking him for more than just the promise to use a razor after he takes his morning shower. "I think I know what I'd like for my birthday," he says, giving her a squeeze to get her attention. "What's that?" she mumbles into his chest. "We passed a nice park on the way to the motel last night. Plenty of benches, big swings, lots of trees. What do you say we pick up some lunch and that birthday cake you mentioned and have a picnic? It looks like it's going to be a beautiful day -- it'd be a shame to spend all of it in bed." "It would?" she says incredulously, peeking up at his face. Mulder smiles. "The fresh air will do us good. Anyway, I'm sure we can put our blanket someplace secluded where we can make out." "That's more like it," she teases. "I was about to get worried and check your neck for a bump." "Not funny," Mulder says, his chuckle belying his words. He kisses the top of her head, and Scully feels calmer and more contented than she has in a long while. "I love you," he says quietly. "Whether the world ends tomorrow, or in nine years, or in nine million years, I will always love you. That much I know." To her his words sound like a prayer, like the tender, tenuous hope that their love is enough. For now, at least, she believes that it is. end - - - We turn not older with years, but newer every day. - Emily Dickinson - - - Author's Notes: This story would never have been written if not for an early cool snap, a photo (http://duchovny.net/morephotos3/hod/hod025.jpg), and a dear friend's fabulous sense of humor (and '70s TV knowledge ). So thank you Mother Nature, David Duchovny, and JET. A special note of gratitude to Sarah and Mara, two young and lovely birthday girls who provided title ideas. :) Feedback would be wonderful: emmabrightman1013@yahoo.com