TITLE: The Old Familiar Ways
AUTHOR: Christine Leigh
EMAIL: leighchristine@hotmail.com
RATING: G           
CATEGORY: Vignette
KEYWORDS: Pic Fic, as in the picture from People
Magazine.
SPOILERS: None.
SUMMARY: Three points of view over the years between
The Truth and now.
DISCLAIMER: All characters are the products of Chris
Carter. They also belong to Ten-Thirteen Productions and the
Fox Network. No copyright infringement intended. 
ARCHIVING: If you would like to archive anywhere, I'd 
appreciate a quick note first. 


The Old Familiar Ways
by Christine Leigh

He'd known there was a change sometime during the summer
of 2005.  They'd been in the tiny northern Montana town for
three months and it wasn't just the heat he noticed on that
July night that was wearying him.  No, wearying them.  He'd
seen it before in her visage, and undoubtedly she'd seen it in
his.  She was better at dissembling, he'd come to learn over
the past three years, so nothing was said of this draining away
of whatever they'd been running on.  Was this how it was
with couples?  And, yes, this is how he thought of them.  Did
she?  He often wondered.  Is this how it happened? You
awoke one day and said I don't know how to do this any
longer.  He remembered another life and sitting in a bar
listening to an old college friend cry in his gin and tonic
about the end of his marriage.  His wife had left him for
another man.  But that wasn't the case with them.  There was
no third party here.  If that possibility existed, and it didn't,
but for a second let's say it did, he'd fight for them.  So would
she.  This he knew.  That's not what had been going on.  He
still couldn't imagine life without her - doesn't want to
remember the time that he'd already spent away.  And yet the
idea that they can't go on like this won't let go.  And . . . and.

They had stayed together through Labor Day -- there had
been a parade and a picnic, and they'd gone to both.  They ate
deviled eggs and hot dogs that she had the audacity to eat
spread with Grey Poupon.  He'd teased her about that going
back almost 15 years.  French's, Scully -- it's the only way. 
There had been no teasing that day.  And not much else.  The
familiar had flown away.  

The postmark on her last letter a little over a year ago was
from San Francisco, a place of cooler summer nights.  

*****

There were days after when she couldn't remember who had
left whom.  That she was alone was no big deal, but that she
was alone because he possibly chose to leave, was.  She
would sit at the counter during her break and drink coffee like
a drug addict trying to sort it out.  She never succeeded. 

It had been an odd summer.  The man from whom she didn't
want ever again to be parted, had been fading.  Not the usual
tired, don't know what tomorrow will bring malaise, but
something else.  She remembered conjuring up the dread of
thinking him dead and buried, and that brought some relief. 
Whatever this was, it couldn't be worse than that.  Could it?

It had been Labor Day.  They'd gone to the picnic after the
parade.  It was all so Mayberry, she'd said.  He'd nodded in
agreement.  No joke, nothing about Barney Fife and one
bullet.  Nothing.  When she thought back, she thinks she
should have been paying more attention to the details of that
day.

The first letter came two months after.  Eventually, she wrote
back.  They were pen pals, it seemed.  How quaint.

His last letter was postmarked from a town in Wyoming. 
That had been a year ago.  

*****

When it happened, it wasn't exactly storybook.  Yet, to see
them, one might think it had been a reunion of perfectly
matched souls.  Ridiculous, unadulterated mush, I know.  All
I can say is that in this case the old adage is true -- you had to
be there.  I've not met with either of them yet, and while I'd
like to give them some more uninterrupted time together, I'm
thinking two more days is all that can be spared.  

I've been a voyeur and will admit that I've enjoyed it.  Not in
any perverted way.  The truth is, I think of them as family. 
It's been a sad life more often than not, and I'll come clean -
I've missed them.  Three nights ago, she sat in her car outside
his house for an hour and then left undetected.  She was
working up her nerve, and I suppose in her eyes got lucky
when he never came out.  No night sky gazing for him
anymore, apparently.  I know part of what's gnawing at her,
and him.  I know, and more than that.  Another day, another
whatever.  Remembering another time when their son was in
their lives.  Mulder had all of two days with the boy.  It
doesn't matter how many years have passed, that particular
elephant never left the room; of that I'm certain.  I don't know
how they did it, but they survived, and are back where they
belong.  So says the sentimental A.D.  There will be another
reunion.  If only that fact could be shared.  Not now, though. 
That chapter hasn't been written.  

So, as I've already said about yesterday, you had to be there. 
Or the next best thing -- look at the picture.
  

- end -


Author's note: I sincerely hope that Mulder and Scully do not
start out the new movie separated from each other, but this is
what came from gazing at that beautiful picture.  Wishing all
a happy July 25th and beyond!


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