Little Sister Had a little trouble posting, sorry if this shows up twice. --------------------------------------- | | - Keep as is. - | L i t t l e s i s t e r | Monday, February 25, 2002 | | | by d.LiNeAtE | | [d.lineate@yahoo.com] | | | --------------------------------------- * Archive: Ephemeral/ yes - Gossamer/ yes - Anywhere else/ please ask * Rating: PG * Category: V * Keywords: M/S (partnership) - Scully POV * Summary: Another letter. Is it really Samantha's this time? Disclaimer ---------- The X-files characters are not my creation and I lay no claim to them. They belong to that 'awesome guru' Chris Carter, to 1013 Productions, 20th Century [FOX] Broadcasting. This story is fan fiction. No money is made from this. No infringement intended. Creative effort: mine. =========== I open the door to find him slumped in his office chair. "Take a look at this, Scully." "What is it, Mulder?" "Letter." "Another one?" He nods. Extends his arm toward me, letting go of the thin piece of paper as it falls into my hands. "It's her this time, Scully. I know it is." "What makes you so sure?" "I ... I just know it's her." I hate what this is doing to him. Each time he gets one of these letters, he believes it's her. This time, though, he seems somehow more convinced. I lower my eyes to the single page, worn, and pick up the brand-new, torn envelope. The handwriting is frantic, hurried, and oddly enough, it matches his own. Mulder knows this is not good enough to convince me, but I indulge him in this. As far as his sister Samantha's concerned, I always do. I feel I owe it to him. Standing in front of his desk, I read. It's horrendous. Incredible. Moments later, I reach up and brush tears away, my own, careful to not let them spill on the letter. It's so damn precious. "You believe it's her, don't you?" I ask again, already knowing the answer. "Why are you crying?" He looks at me in disbelief, convinced of many things, but not of the fact that I might be able to accept that this one letter is actually hers. "What she's described, Mulder, it's--" He simply nods, then buries his head in his hands. I don't know why I believe it's her this time, really I don't. The way this is phrased, it is almost as if Mulder could have written it himself. Don't get me wrong, I'm not accusing my partner, not in the least. I don't think he's that desperate, or even able to trick himself this way. A terrible feeling takes hold of me. It all fits, I can practically taste the truth. Seeing him like this, it pulls at me. I ache for him. Poor Samantha. So sad. The date on the letter indicates she must have written this at age sixteen. And it is not so much the things she has now informed him of, but the way she went about it. Gentle. Innocent. Telling her story the way a child would. The decision to mail this letter to him now, after all this time, to not rewrite a single sentence, to leave her words exposed and naked, honest, open ... It must have been so hard on her. I feel bad for having read this, for invading their space. "She suffered, Mulder." He lifts his head from his hands, nods. "She suffered terribly." I repeat. I don't know how this letter reached him in the first place. Why was this sent to him now? Did she send it? How can we really be sure? Maybe someone else did. I take another look at the page, then the envelope, comparing the handwriting. The writing on the letter does match the envelope, with the difference of a number of years. Why did she send this letter to him now? And did she, really? "How come she--" He looks up at me. "Remembers what happened, when I don't. How come she remembers me?" That's not what I meant to say, but there's more on his mind now, and so I agree. I go with it. "Yes." The words come gradually, one by one. "I don't know, Scully. I can't be sure that the things she's described are ... that they really happened." He's blown away by all of this, I can tell, as am I. Some of the things his sister mentioned do not match the neat, clean version of American family life he knows. Maybe that's the real source of his nightmares, his inability to accept the truth. "Abuse, Mulder." I finally say. "She's clear about that. Who--" Surely not him. "I don't want to discuss it." His face seems pained, troubled. He lets his body fall back into the chair, relaxing into it. He looks lost, defeated. How much of this did he know? I let my eyes wander over the letter. How much of this did he forget, and how much did he choose to forget, hiding it away in his own mind, so comfortably, so adamantly within the story of alien abduction. How badly can one man refuse to face the truth. So ironic. How could I not have seen it? How could he have been this blind? Why? How could he not have seen that she was taken away because ... "This is terrible." His voice breaks on a sob. "I know." I say, desperately wanting to lighten the mood, but the words I need refuse to surface. "I know, Mulder." I turn the envelope around, open it, and find a small note inside. "What is it?" "It says Samantha's been wanting to contact you for a few months now. She's known for years who she is, who you are, where you live. She's afraid that you might hate her for leaving you." "Leaving me! Leaving me? I can't believe this." Tears fall from his eyes, liberally. "How can she feel guilty about leaving me?" I wish I knew. I try to make him see, even though I know he'll never stop blaming himself. "She obviously loves you very much." "How can she ..." This is getting too difficult for him, I can tell. "Mulder," I start, but he won't let me finish. "I love her." His voice cracks. "Why would I hate my own sister, Scully? It doesn't make sense. It ..." Words fail him. He looks up at me, uncertain. Hurting. Hurting because she doesn't trust him enough to come to him. After all these years, a single letter, explaining. "Perhaps she's in no position to trust anyone. Have you considered that?" He laughs. "Runs in the family, doesn't it." He shakes his head suddenly, fighting the tears but not succeeding. "It's okay." You can tell me, Mulder. You know you can. He gets up out of his chair, and faces me. Angry. He's shouting at me. I let him. He needs to get it off his chest. "I was supposed to look out for her, remember. My parents trusted me, because they knew I had a close bond with my sister. Don't you understand! They ... They trusted me, and I betrayed that trust." He hits the filing cabinets next to me with a closed fist, and I jump at the sound. How could this one event have almost completely wrecked his life like this? "Damn it! One time, one time I turn my back on her. Just one time and this happens." He's taking this too far. "You were close, she knows you didn't mean to let her out of your--" He nods vigorously. "We were close, Scully. Really close. I doubt that I can explain to you how close. She ..." "I know how much she means to you, Mulder." "She means more to me than you'll ever know, Scully. This goes beyond ... I love her. I treasure her. You know why? She looked up to me, she admired me." He smiles through the tears. "I used to tease her all the time." His face grows animated with memory. "She used to love it." Then his face darkens. "Even my parents, they couldn't understand why I was so fond of her. Or why she responded to me the way she did. I remember her looking up at me, gazing at me. Smiling. Big innocent eyes. She ... And I was supposed to be there for her. I let her out of my sight once and ..." "Why did you?" "I don't know. Friends teased me, picked on me. Boys don't drag along their little sisters." He pauses, takes a deep breath. "I was suddenly tired of her following me around like a, like a puppy dog, and I tried to ignore her for a while. She cried. I pretended not to care. And then it happened." "Mul--" "Scully! I shouldn't have left her alone like that. They took her. And. She, she was unable to talk. She screamed, Scully. Screamed like I've never heard anyone scream in my entire life. It's like they were killing her. Her little hands reached out for me, begging me to save her. And I just stood there. Didn't move. I didn't help her, Scully. You understand! I didn't help her. I let them take her." "Mulder, I'm sure she--" "I can't forget the screaming, Scully. Nightmares. I keep hearing her scream at me, just scream, accusing me of not helping her. And I can't ... can't get rid of it. That voice. And sometimes ..." "Sometimes you hate her for it?" He nods again. I understand. This is hard on him. Still is, even after all those years. So much guilt. So much pain. And for what? "Mulder. Mulder, look at me. Mulder. It's not your fault. You were a boy. What could you have done? Nobody, least of all your parents, should have given you that responsibility." "Yeah, but they trusted me." "You were a boy, Mulder. A boy. No one has the power to prevent bad things from happening to the people they love. No one. Bad things happened to her, things you could not have foreseen. You looked out for her the best you could. You love her. She knows that, believe me. I don't think she's ever forgotten. She knows you love her, and I'm sure she loves you very much. She doesn't blame you." I'm vaguely reminded by the soft faded paper in my hands. "Look." I hold up the letter to him. "Proof." I never thought I'd feel so good saying that. A soft smile curls his lips. I gather up my courage. Enough of this. I wipe the tears away brutally, my left hand almost attacking his face, determined to get it straight once and for all that he shouldn't feel guilty about any of it. "Listen to me, Mulder. I am sure she understands. All these years, you never gave up looking for her. She knows that." "Does she?" He takes the letter from my hand. "I'm sure she does." He nods, looks at the date on the letter. "Have you read this, Mulder. Really read this? Opened your mind to it?" I'm sure it's a silly question to ask, but the emotions might have been too much at the time to fully comprehend the things she's been trying to say to him. He nods once again. "She loves you very much, Mulder. You have to know that." "She doesn't want me in her life. She could have--" "That's not what I read. That's not what this is about." "It's not?" "I think it took a lot of strength to write to you. Wherever she is now, I think that remembering all of this, what happened to her, saved her as well as you." It looks as if he might believe me. "Mulder, I don't understand why they took her from you. All I know is that, because of what happened, she probably went through hell to get this to you. She doesn't blame you at all, that's why you should not blame yourself." "I do. I can't help it." "Mulder, there's no reason to. She wants you to know that. I think she sent you this now to make sure you know what really happened. Are you ready to face what really happened, Mulder? To believe it?" He simply looks at me. "I don't know if I can, Scully. It's--" "The most difficult thing you've ever done? But you have to face this, Mulder. She's had to. I think she wants you to go on with your life, so she can go on with hers. Wherever she is." "You think so?" I smile up at him gently, nod once. "You think it's as simple as that, Scully?" "Yes, Mulder." I take his hand in mine and lightly squeeze. "I really do think it's as simple as that." I look at the note, turn it around and smile, then lift it up for him to see. "Phone number." He takes the note from my hands, stares at it. "Why don't you give her a call?" I whisper. I know he will, though it might take him a while to make up his mind about this. "She's my little sister, Scully." Mulder suddenly says. Relieved, I can tell. Proud. He's laughing through the tears as if he's just made a marvelous discovery. "I know, I know." I pull him into a hug. "She found me." "Yes. Yes, she did." =========== Marleen Garcia (aka d.LiNeAtE) http://bluneon.gq.nu