Date: 11 MAR 1998 18:39:14 GMT From: RN500 Subject: NEW: "Alpha & Omega: Finale" by L. Phillips TITLE: Alpha and Omega: Finale AUTHOR: Linda Phillips RATING: PG CLASSIFICATION: V / R KEYWORDS: Mulder / Scully married SUMMARY: Not summarized at author's request. Companion piece to "Alpha and Omega", and "Alpha and Omega: The Beginning". DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and it's characters belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Television. No infringement intended. ******************* Comments to Linda at FKAM06A@prodigy.com ******************* My eyes snap open for the third time tonight, and I glance over at the clock. 4:13 a.m. With a sigh and a little struggling, I push off the covers and make my way out of bed. There's no sense just lying here. I know I won't be able to get back to sleep for a while. I turn on a small light in the kitchen and put the teapot on. Yes, I know. With all the new gadgets out there, why do I still insist on using a teapot? Because I just do. The tea tastes better, I don't care what anybody says. As I wait for the water to boil, I head to the bathroom for one of my increasingly frequent night time visits. I wouldn't mind getting old so much if there weren't so many damn annoying tricks that your body plays on you. As I wash my hands, my gaze is drawn upward to my reflection in the mirror. It's strange, but sometimes it's still a surprise to see myself as I know others do. In my mind, there aren't near as many wrinkles as I see now, and my hair is still vibrant and not streaked with gray. But I'm not bad for an old broad, or so my friends tells me. Especially when they're encouraging me to get out and "date". I can't help but chuckle at that idea. A woman my age, "dating"! I wasn't any good at it when I was young, I certainly can't imagine that I'd be any better at it now. Besides, I could never marry again. I can't even conceive of another man kissing me, holding my hand, sleeping next to me. No. The whistle of the teapot disturbs my musings. A steaming cup of herbal tea is just what I need. It's chilly tonight, fall seems to be coming early this year. I turn up the thermostat and the heat kicks on as I carry my mug to the living room. I always used to sleep better when it was cool. I piled warm quilts on top of me, and I could feel the heat from his body warming mine. I don't know why we ever bought that king size bed. We both always slept on my side anyway. Gathering my robe close around me, I settle into the oak rocking chair. This chair and I, we've weathered many storms together. My hand runs along the armrest, smoothed from so many years of my sleeves rubbing against it. I remember when we bought this chair, and a smile still comes to my face. Those first few weeks, so full of hope, ripe with a miracle that we thought could never happen. We brought this chair home and rocked in it together, imagining what it would be like in a few months, soothing a crying baby with it's gentle sway. But it was not to be. That was a sad time for us. Yet when I remember now, in my later years, it's not the grief that I recall first. What I remember most is the joy at hearing the news, the look in his eyes, the blissfulness we both felt for those few short months. Suddenly my eyes are wet, and I dab at them with the sleeve of my robe. Oh, Mulder. I miss you so much. Ten months. I finally stopped counting it in weeks and days. I can't believe that soon I'll start counting it in years. It seems at once raw and so distant. He's still here, in every corner of this house. And yet the essence of him is gone. His scent no longer lingers in our closet, on the towels in the bathroom, the pillows on our bed. But sometimes I think I detect it anyway, just for a moment, although I know it's only my mind playing tricks on me. It's not a bad thing, actually. Perhaps this is one of the benefits of old age. I forget what I was doing an hour ago, but I remember perfectly how he looked on the day we were married. I remember his face that Christmas morning when I gave him the puppy, our sweet Johnny, now gone at least fifteen years. I remember the last night we danced together, two years ago at Nathan's wedding. He was still so handsome, standing tall and strong, his dark hair just lightly touched with gray. He told me how beautiful I was, and I shushed him and laughed as I always did. Oh, but my insides would melt every time he said it, even after all those years. I rock gently as I sip my tea. From here I can look out through the big bay window and across the yard to the lake. The trees sway softly in the breeze, their branches outlined by the moonlight. I knew as soon as I saw the view from this window that I wanted this house. Twenty eight years we've been here, and I never tire of taking time to sit and look out this window. Sometimes deer will come up in the yard with their babies, or rabbits or raccoons, foraging for food. It's a beautiful site, and I feel God when I see it. Mulder would often sit with me, although he never could stay still for too long. Except in those last few months. We spent a lot of time here then, and I treasure those memories. He never was angry, like I was. He took it so calmly. The doctor outlined a plan for agressive treatment of the cancer, but Mulder just smiled and shook his head. He just wanted to come home, and that's what he did. I understood. But I was angry. Oh, not at him. At the unfairness of it. To think of how many times he survived close calls while we were in the Bureau, only to have his body turn on itself this way. And because I had always planned to go first. It wasn't right. But right or not, that's what happened, and he took it with more grace than I. He didn't get very ill until the last few weeks, luckily. That would have been the final insult, to see a man of his strength and passion slowly dwindle away. But, though his body weakened, he stayed with me till the end. I never had to face him looking into my eyes and not really seeing me. That would have broken my heart. That morning, the hospice aide came to help him bathe. Mulder had insisted on that, although I would have gladly done it. I had made some homemade vegetable soup the day before, and I heated some up for his lunch. He only ate a few spoonfuls before he leaned back on the sofa and closed his eyes. "Want me to read to you, honey?" I asked. That had become a favorite pastime for us both in the last few weeks of his life. He opened his eyes and nodded. I sat down and picked up "Treasure Island", opening it to the page we had left off on the day before. "Come closer," he'd said. I moved my chair near enough so that he could reach out and touch me, which he did. His hand rested on my thigh, stroking it softly with his thumb. I smiled at him. He just looked at me. "You're so beautiful, Dana." I chuckled. "Oh, hush! You don't even have your glasses on." "I don't need my glasses to see how beautiful you are." My eyes suddenly got watery, and I put my hand over his. "Oh, Mulder. I love you." He smiled. "I love you too, and I always will. Don't ever forget that." I sniffled and turned back to the book, blinking to clear my sight. He closed his eyes again, and I began to read. Jim had just given the slip to Long John Silver when a strange chill came over me. I knew even before I looked over at him. I could feel it. For a moment I felt panic rise in my throat, and it was hard to breathe. Then I forced air deep into my lungs and turned my head. I watched his chest for a minute, waiting for it to softly rise and fall. But it didn't. The book fell to the floor and I dropped slowly to my knees. I ran my hands lightly over his face, his arms, wanting to remember the feel of him before death changed it. I lay my cheek over his heart and pulled him close to me. The thing I remember most vividly is that I couldn't believe that strong heart could stop, just like that. There were no tears then, only that heaviness in my chest, the dread of going on without him. I held him like that for a long time. My nephew Matthew came up and helped me with the funeral arrangements. He was so upset. He'd always loved Mulder, much to my brother's chagrin. And Mulder doted on him. Oh, Mulder was good with all the children in my family, but he and Matthew always seemed to have a special rapport. I was so glad to have him here. I don't like to think about the day of the funeral, it was much more difficult than I imagined it would be. Matthew didn't leave my side for a minute. I think he needed me as much as I needed him. A few days afterward, he tried to talk me into coming to California to live with his family. But I won't ever leave this place. This is my home, *our* home, and the memories are what keep me going. His daughter Amy called me just a few weeks ago. She wanted to come and live with me after she graduates from high school next year. What about your plans for art school? I asked. She told me that she'd decided to take some time off before starting school again, and she was very convincing. Always had a flair for the dramatic, that girl. I thanked her and told her what a sweet child she was, which is true. But I don't want anyone coming to take care of me. I don't want anyone intruding on what little I have left with Mulder. Not that I sit around talking to the walls all day. I putter in the garden, read, go to lunch with my old lady friends. I make sure I take my medicine and eat, although my heart isn't in it and nothing really tastes good anymore. But I'm not a quitter. I'll keep going until the good Lord tells me otherwise. My tea is finished, so I'll try to get a little more sleep. My slippers make an echoing scuff-scuff sound as I wander back to our bedroom. I think the same thought that I do almost every time I step into the bedroom, that that bed is too damn big and lonely and I ought to get rid of it and get a smaller one. But even as I'm thinking it, I know I never could. My knees creak in protest as I drop down on the pillow at the side of my bed, and I repeat the same prayer that I've said each night for the past ten months. Thank You for giving him to me. And if it is Your will, when my eyes open again let them see Mulder and my sweet baby waiting for me. Amen. ********************* End Comments to Linda at FKAM06A@prodigy.com