Date: Fri, 8 Jan 1999 13:15:25 -0500 (EST)

From: Laura Jacquez Valentine 

To: post+alt.tv.x-files.creative@andrew.cmu.edu

Subject: NEW: Spooky Little 1/2





This is what you get when you listen to oldies radio on the way to work,

and "Spooky" comes on.  It's also an aberration for me, since I usually

write slash (and then mostly Star Trek slash, although some X-Files).



Author: Laura Jacquez Valentine (laurav@stones.com)



Title: Spooky Little



Rating: PG. (for themes)



Classification: How the hell should I know?



Archive: No



Spoilers: Through Dreamland II, maybe.



Disclaimer: 1013 and Fox own the X-files, lock stock and barrel.  I'm just

a penniless weasel who owns this story.



Summary: Mulder's spooky little secret becomes not-so-secret.  I suppose

this becomes an A/U, since Terms of Endearment doesn't happen in this

universe (except for the Ginsberg scene, which is hysterical).



----



"Mulder, where are you?"  Even over the bad transatlantic connection, Dana

Scully sounded worried.



"London."



"Why the hell are you in London?"



"I need you to do me a favor, Scully."



"Kersh is going crazy here, Mulder."



"I requested emergency leave.  He refused.  I told him I was going anyway.

What can he do about it?  I'll be vindicated if he tries to punish me for

it."



"Mulder--"



"Scully, I need you to go buy me a bed."



"A what?"



"A bed.  A twin bed.  Make it white wood, and get a mattress and box

springs for it, and sheets and pillows and stuff.  Light blue or yellow

checks if you can find them.  I'll pay you back as soon as we get home.

Put it in my apartment, in the den.  And a dresser.  Matching if you can

get it."



"We?"



"Gotta go, Scully.  Thanks."  Fox Mulder hung up the phone and rubbed the

bridge of his nose, then walked into the next room and knocked on a door.



"Sarah?  Are you ready to go, hon?"



The door opened to reveal a six-year-old girl.  "I'm ready, Daddy."



---



Two weeks later, Fox and Sarah Mulder stepped off the plane in DC.  The

funeral for Sarah's mothers, Susanne and Beth, had been awful, but packing

up their flat had been worse.  To top it off, he felt horribly guilty for

uprooting Sarah.  She'd lived in that flat for most of her life.  But she

was his daughter, and she had no where else to go but with him.



He sighed and held her hand tighter.  She leaned into him, hiding in the

folds of his coat.  "I'm scared."



"I know, hon.  Come on, let's go get our bags and rent a car."



"Don't you have your own car?"



"Nope.  I usually use FBI cars.  But I'll have to get my own now, I

think."



They picked up their luggage and headed to the rental counter, where Sarah

asked for a green car and Fox asked for a mid-size sedan.



The drive to Fox's apartment in Alexandria was quiet.  Sarah seemed

fascinated by the odd location of the steering wheel, but she soon lay

down in the back seat and fell asleep.



Fox carried her into the apartment and came face-to-face with his irate

partner.



"Scully, what are you doing here?"



"Setting up that bed you wanted.  Who the hell is that?"



Fox sighed and walked over to the couch, where he set Sarah down

carefully.  "Be quiet, Scully, she's tired."  They moved to the other side

of the room.



Fox took a deep breath.  "She's my daughter, Scully."  He held up a hand

to forestall her questions.  "I met her mothers at Oxford.  Mothers,

Scully.  A *very* nice lesbian couple.  We kept in touch.  About seven

years ago they wanted to have a baby and they asked me to be the father.

I agreed, with certain provisions.  Like, if they both died, she was mine.

And three weeks ago..."  He pressed his lips together and looked away.

"They didn't get along well with their families.  They both had me listed

as next of kin.  So."



"So that's why you needed the furniture."



"Yes.  Her name is Sarah.  I--I'm having her things shipped in, but she's

going to need some stuff before it gets here--she can't live out of an

overnight bag for long.  I need to--rearrange the apartment, hide my

tapes--"



"I'll say," Scully said, and frowned at him.  "I had to move your

TV and video stuff out here to fit the bed in the den, anyway.  How

come you never told me about her?"



"It was private.  I mean, unless something happened, you'd never meet her.

Who needed to know?  The Bureau doesn't know, although I suppose I should

tell them--and I'm sure the smoking bastard has always known.  She won't

be in any more danger now than she was before.  I don't think.  My mother

does know.  She'll take Sarah if anything happens to me.  She agreed to

that years ago.  I need to go shopping, buy food.  I can't raise a kid on

takeout.  I need--"



"You're babbling, and you need rest.  Her bed's set up.  We can move her

in there, and I'll hide the tapes and go buy you some food.  OK, Mulder?"



"Sure.  That's fine.  I--"  Scully placed a hand over his mouth, and he

shut up and moved his daughter into her new room.  He could hear Scully

laughing quietly as she starting sorting a rack of  videos into "classic

film" and "pornography" piles.



When he came back into the room, she was holding "Breakfast at Tiffany's"

in one hand and "Breakfast of Tiffani" in the other.  "Mulder," she said,

"you're a sick, sick man."



"Comparative research," he said, and stretched out on the couch to watch

her.  After a few minutes, he fell asleep.



When he woke up, he smelled something very tasty coming from the kitchen.

He followed his nose and discovered Scully making potato soup.  "My mom's

recipe," she explained.  "Just right for you and Sarah.  I brought in

your bags, too, and your more questionable videos are in your bedroom."



"Thanks, Scully.  I'll go wake her up for dinner."



He headed to the former den, feeling better than he had since he'd gotten

the phone call telling him Susanne and Beth were dead.  Scully's

relentless practicality was refreshing.  "You could use a little

practicality yourself, Mulder," he muttered.  "Learn from your partner.

Take care of Sarah.  Don't go running off to Nevada."



As he sat on the bed to shake his daughter awake, he knew he could do it.



---



End.



laura jacquez valentine -+- http://www.andrew.cmu.edu/~jacquez 

"Prozac? Grape-flavored. Chewable. Mmm."  --Goats 

Jesus is a meme. -+- http://www.memepool.com/