"She's Always a Woman to Me" by Erin McCole Cupp (CathyLex@aol.com) One knows it's time to repost an X-Files fanfic when one sees that one has misspelled the word "trust." CLASSIFICATION: M/other date, then MSR, V, H, AU RATING: G (for General fluffiness, and for "Good heavens, I can't believe I'm writing something that could be called songfic!") SPOILERS: Small one-liner for the movie XFFTF. If you haven't seen the movie, you probably won't even notice it, so go ahead and read. The same for "Christmas Carol/Emily." Small but negligible. SUMMARY: Mulder has a date with another woman. DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Mom Scully belong to Chris Carter, 1013 productions, and the Fox Network. Neither do I own any of the songs mentioned herein. Please don't sue. I have a negative net worth. ARCHIVING: Gossamer, please ARCHIVE THIS VERSION!!! All others, just email me and make sure my name & addy stay attached. FEEDBACK: Helps me grow big and strong! Via CathyLex@aol.com NOTE: So this is what happens when I listen to too much Billy Joel and go stargazing at a mountain drive-in movie theater with my best friends... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ They had been growing apart lately. The psychologist in him knew this was inevitable, healthy even. Nevertheless, the growing rift between them did not make him happy. It made him nervous -- nervous about the future in general, and about tonight in particular. But she had asked him to go with her, and he'd agreed, and he would never break a promise to her if he could help it. Apparently, he was not the only one around the candlelit table experiencing that kind of nervousness. Across the table from them there was Frank O'Brien, a divorced and since-remarried stockbroker who had flown in from New York just for the occasion; his smiling quietude spoke of good-natured estrangement with the young woman who sat by his side. To O'Brien's right sat Allan Farzetta, also divorced, who had left his second wife behind in Colorado Springs for the weekend. To Mulder's left were the well-dressed but ill-at-ease Edlings, with Mr. Edling looking like a constipated fish in an obvious toupee. One Ben Gausz and date were to Mulder's right, and Mulder knew better than to laugh at the way the female Gausz's eyes frequently rolled at the middle-aged man's mannerisims; if Mulder laughed, he knew he himself would be the next victim of someone else's youthful giggles. Well, he already was by the looks of it. The girls around the table headed for the dance floor once the music started, leaving behind five men in varying states of graying and baldness. "//Au revoir//, Mulder," she told him. "Don't have too much fun without me." The other four snickered at how she called him by his last name. "Aren't you coming back?" He kept his voice from sounding childish and helpless. "Have to," she smiled at him impishly, her turquoise eyes twinkling at him in the low light. "You're my ride home." Ditched. So this was how Scully felt. He made another mental note never to do that to her again. Strangers, the five men who had been left behind looked awkwardly at each other for a few minutes, then down at the dessert plates that had yet to be cleared. Soon, though, conversation inevitably turned to "So, what do you do?" Taking a sip of water from the glass in front of him, Mulder answered simply, "I work for the FBI." No more explanation was needed or asked for, thank God. Funny enough, he had never given his date much more explanation than that either, and in her innocence she'd never thought to demand more. She'd never imagined there might be more to demand. Was that what had provoked him to keep her at some small distance all these years? Was that the reason she had lost her former devotion to him? They had always been rather close, but lately.... A new kind of guilt twinged in his stomach. There was so much he had never told her. The DJ was making an effort to get some of the older folks in the crowd to get out and cut a rug. "What Would You Say" by the Dave Matthews Band started to play, and Mulder watched across the room as his date wrinkled up her nose at the somewhat familiar music. He saw her mouth forming the word, "Oldies," and he couldn't help but chuckle to himself. Then, the music got slower, first with a current "slow dance," during which she left for the bathroom with the rest of her female tablemates. Then, a second song came over the sound system, and Mulder automatically smiled, wiping the beads of condensation off of the water glass in front of him. This song always made him think of Scully. Or, at least parts of it did. "...She can lead you to live She can take you or leave you She can ask for the truth But she'll never believe you..." Then again, many things made him think of Scully. Especially the tall, coltish girl walking back to the table from the bathroom as the song played. Epecially her, with those expressive blue eyes of hers, her stubbornness, her ever-blossoming indepencence... She kicked off her awkwardly high heels and nudged them under the table as she took her seat beside him. "Hey, Mulder." "Hey, Mulder," he completed their customary exchange. Suddenly, she stood back up again, tugging on his arm. "Come on, Mulder. I'm going to teach you how to waltz." His initial impulse was to blurt out, "Oh, no you're not," but he realized that for the first time in a long time, she was the one reaching out to him instead of the other way around. Someone in a developmental psych class had once told him that teenagers are like clams; they only open up either to accept nourishment or to eliminate wastes. So which was this? He looked up at her smirk and thought of Scully again. "Since when do you know how to waltz?" She shrugged. "I took a semester of Social Dance for PE. Coach said it would improve my grace." He sighed. "Come on, Mulder. You can do it. Don't tell me you're chicken!" He puffed out his cheeks as she took his hands and pulled him off of his chair. Not even Scully could have coaxed him into waltzing to Billy Joel; only she, the one who had finally taken his name and wore it with more grace than any of those who had gone before her with the name "Mulder", could have managed this -- his arm around her waist, his hand in hers, both of them counting together, "one-two-three, two-two-three." "I'll lead," she informed him, and he let himself follow. "...Oh-she takes care of herself She can wait if she wants She's ahead of her time..." If Scully made him a whole person, she made him a better one. "Oh-and she never gives out And she never gives in..." Unwittingly, she had even gotten him to throw out his old video collection when she had declared at the tender age of thirteen that she wanted to be an actress. "...She just changes her mind..." Miraculously they stopped stepping on each other's toes and fell into a comfortable rhythm. One-two-three, two-two-three... "...But she'll bring out the best And the worst you can be..." He thought of the first time he ever had held her. She had seemed so small then. He had gazed at her, spellbound, while Scully had started laughing, even through her pain and fatigue. "What's so funny?" He had asked. Scully had wiped her eyes with one hand and her sweat-beaded brow with the other. The gold ring on her left hand glinted in the flourescent light. "She looks like Ahab." He had looked down at the strawberry blond hair, still damp, which was thicker around the sides of her head and sparse on top. So she did look like a little old balding Navy captain. "Ahab Scully," he had laughed back at her, "or are we still naming her after your mom? Margaret Grace Scully, right?" Scully suddenly grew quiet. "Mulder." "What?" She shook her head. He hadn't understood her use of the name just then. It wasn't a call but a correction. "Margaret Grace Mulder." The hands that held the baby then began to tremble ever so slightly. He had assumed that since she kept her maiden name that their unlikely child would be a Scully as well. She surprised him with this additional gift, and he was overwhelmed. Even tonight he was still overwhelmed by the gift. He tried not to tremble now at the memory, and he tried not to tremble as Meg Mulder laughingly put her feet on her father's as they waltzed along. "Remember when we used to walk around the living room like this when I was little?" She asked him. He could only nod back at her. "...Blame it all on yourself Cause she's always a woman to me..." She wouldn't be a little girl much longer. Truthfully, she wasn't one anymore. He and Scully had hidden things from her to keep her safe, to protect her from the truth until she was old enough to understand. But would she ever be old enough to understand? He was fifty-six and he wasn't sure *he* was old enough. The song came to its end, and Mulder warmed gratefully as the miracle who was his daughter put her arms around him in an impulsive hug. Then the dreaded strains of "The Electric Slide" came over the sound system. Even time could not kill some things. "You okay, Mulder?" Her voice was curious and slightly worried. He looked back into those blue eyes, so much like Scully's, and chuckled. "I'm fine, Mulder." As they left the banquet hall that night, passing underneath the banner that read "Class of '17 Father-Daughter Dance," she asked him optimistically, "Can I drive?" He shook his head. "You never let me drive!" This time, he had a valid excuse. "When you get your license, then you can drive." She rolled her eyes. "I have my permit." He elaborated. "When you can back out of the garage consistently without getting the car stuck sideways, then you can drive." She bit her lip, embarrassed. He took her out to an all-night diner for ice cream. When the waitress came to ask them for their drink orders, she ordered a coffee. He swallowed his surprise, and he did not laugh as she stirred eight packets of sugar into the steaming black liquid. She still winced at her first sip, and he bit his lip to keep from embarassing her with more of his laughter. "What?" Her eyebrow arched at him suspiciously, another echo of Scully. Mulder shook his head and smiled. "You're just so much like your mother." She blushed and made a "pft" noise of derrision. "What's that for?" She was shaking her curls, which had long since grown in honey-bronze. "I'll never be that pretty." He stared at her in disbelief. "What ever makes you say *that*?" She shrugged, jabbing her spoon about the coffee mug. "It's six weeks to the prom and I *still* don't have a date." She was confiding in him. He soared in her trust, so rarely given to him as of late, but he didn't want to scare her off either. He shrugged back nonchalantly. "Why don't you ask somebody?" "I was hoping I'd get asked first." "Well," he said, "time is running out, isn't it?" Strange that he chose those words; he could have said the same thing to himself. Guilt chewed at him some more. "And," he added, as the waitress brought their ice cream, "you are the prettiest girl I've ever seen, so don't let some idiot guy make you think otherwise." She laughed a little, Scully's laugh. "Yeah, but you have to say that kind of thing to me. You're biased." He flicked a glance at her across the table. "Just because I'm biased doesn't mean it's not true." He could practically hear her blushing. "Thanks, Mulder." "Any time, Mulder." As they left the diner, he went to open the car door for her. Her face was turned up to the sky in wonder. "Wow. Look, Daddy," she said, pointing at the full moon, at the clear sky filled with sparkling stars. He envied her wide-eyed innocence, her ability to look into the sky and see something amazing and wonderful instead of extreme and horrible possibilities -- extreme and horrible probabilities. That made up his mind. He had to find a way to tell her the truth, before it was too late. They were silent the rest of the ride home. Mulder began formulating something in his head. He'd have to talk it over with Scully first, of course, but he had a feeling she'd approve. Speaking of whom, the living room light was on as they pulled up the driveway. "Mom waited up for us," Meg observed. They walked in and Scully was curled up on the couch watching a movie. "Hey. How was the dance?" Meg walked over and kissed her mother on the cheek. "It was good." "Did he step on your toes?" "Only three times. Grandma went to bed already?" Scully nodded at Mulder's date. "Hours ago. It *is* one o'clock." Meg rolled her neck around to pop the vertebrae back into place. "Yeah, I should get to bed too. I have track practice at nine." "Do you need a ride?" The elder Mulder asked. "Nah. Tasha's picking me up at quarter of. Well, g'night." She kissed her mother on the cheek once more, then walked over to her father to say goodnight to him with a hug and a quick peck on his cheek. "Night, Daddy." "Good night, Miss Molly." He hadn't called her that in a while. She broke into a huge smile before turning to leave. He watched her take off her shoes again and trot up the steps to her bedroom, then he sat down on the couch next to her mother. "So, did you have a good time?" Mulder nodded and closed his eyes as he he kicked off his own shoes. "Did you know she drinks coffee now?" Scully shook her head, her eyes wide with silent surprise. "She is growing up fast." Mulder nodded again. An hour later, Mulder sat on the couch by himself, the television providing background noise as he fumbled with a pen in his hand and an open notebook on his lap. He chewed thoughtfully on the pen, cracked his knuckles, then forced himself to begin. "Dear Meg," It was a start. But where should he really begin? With the truth. "Since the day we found out you just might be born, everything we have ever done has been to protect you." It was a good start. END ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Me: And when people get upset, Mr. Bigglesworth DIES!!!!!! Andy: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Angel, you are h**l and gone from Cartaghena."