Collage by Nessie - archived at The ARTchives

TITLE:  Contact
AUTHOR:  Lara Means
E-MAIL:  LaraMeansXF@aol.com 
CLASSIFICATION:  SA, implied R
RATING:  PG
ARCHIVE:  Gossamer, NO; Spookys, NO (I'll submit directly to 
both); Ephemeral, YES; Xemplary, YES; anywhere else, YES, but 
please let me know so I can visit

SPOILERS:  Beyond the Sea, Tooms, Little Green Men, The Host, 
Paper Clip, Memento Mori, The Unnatural, Requiem.  (Post-ep for 
Requiem; sequel to my story "Someone I Once Knew.")

SUMMARY:  Twelve-year-old Sara Anne Mulder wants to meet her 
father.

DATE POSTED:  07/25/00

FEEDBACK:  Encouraged and welcomed at LaraMeansXF@aol.com

DISCLAIMER:  "The X-Files" is copyright Twentieth Century Fox 
Television and Ten Thirteen Productions.  The show, its premise 
and characters were created by Chris Carter and are used here 
without permission.  No copyright infringement is intended, no 
profit will be realized.  (I've also borrowed the name of a 
character from Carter's "Millennium" as a pseudonym.  Same 
disclaimer applies.)

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  Special thanks to Nic Simpson and Dawn for their 
help, encouragement, and excellent beta services.  Also, thanks 
to everyone who sent me feedback on "Someone I Once Knew," 
whether you liked it or not.  ;-)

While the domain names are real, all e-mail addresses referred 
to herein are fictitious.

Additional note at the end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CONTACT

written by Lara Means

NEWS PRODUCER KILLED, 2 OTHERS INJURED IN 
MEMORIAL DAY CRASH

[Tuesday, May 28, 2013]  Fox News Channel producer Ethan 
Minette, 53, was killed in a traffic accident yesterday just 
outside of Philadelphia.  His wife, Dana, and their 12-year-old 
daughter were slightly injured in the crash.

The driver of the other vehicle, 22-year-old Jason Thomas, was 
not injured, although he was arrested and charged with vehicular 
manslaughter and driving while intoxicated.  Thomas' blood 
alcohol level was 0.12, more than twice Pennsylvania's legal 
limit of 0.05.

Minette was executive producer of the Fox News Channel weekend 
series "Fox News Watch," which turns a critical eye on the 
broadcast media.  Minette joined Fox in 2007 from NBC's 
Washington bureau, where he had been a producer of "Meet the 
Press."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

To:  tlg-mf@hotmail.com
From:  SAM-31501@aol.com
Subject:  Flowers
Date:  07/06/2013

Dear Uncle Frohike,

I know it's been forever, but I wanted to say thanks so much for 
the flowers you guys sent.  They were really beautiful.  I know 
Mom was really touched, and glad you understood that she wanted 
to keep the service small & private.  Don't know if she's sent a 
thank-you note yet -- I asked if she wanted me to help her, but 
she just shook her head.  She's been real quiet lately, Uncle 
Fro.  I'm kinda worried about her.  Which is why I'm e-ing you.

I want to get in touch with my father.

Yes, I know all about what happened, even though I'm not 
supposed to.  And I know that you're the only person who knows 
where he is and how to get in touch with him.  But I'm not 
asking for me.  I'm asking for Mom.  (But she doesn't know I'm 
asking, so don't tell her, 'kay?)

She's missed him for a very long time, and I think it's time 
they saw each other again.  And before you think I'm morbid, 
it's not just because Ethan died.  I think for the past few 
years, Mom's been thinking about him alot.  It started around my 
8th birthday, when my father sent me that cross necklace.  (I 
know he sent it, so don't try to deny it.)  It meant something 
special to her that he sent it, and ever since then she's been 
kinda sad alot of the time.

So I want to get in touch with my father.  Can you help me, 
please?

Luv,
Sara

- - - - -

To:  SAM-31501@aol.com
From:  tlg-mf@hotmail.com
Subject:  Re: Flowers
Date:  07/07/2013

Hey kiddo --

I won't ask how you found out about all this.  You are, after 
all, Dana Scully's daughter -- and his.  So I know you're 
inquisitive and resourceful, not to mention sneaky.  (Have 
Langly and Byers been teaching you about hacking again?  I'm 
gonna kick their asses.)

BUT -- I don't think this is a great idea, Sara.  If you do know 
the whole story, you know that he did what he thought was best 
for you and your mom.  He thought about it, agonized over it, 
for a long time.  He's at peace with his decision.

If you nag me, I'll probably give in eventually -- but for now, 
I just can't.  Sorry, kiddo.

Love you,
Uncle Fro

- - - - -

To:  tlg-mf@hotmail.com
From:  SAM-31501@aol.com
Subject:  Re: Flowers
Date:  07/07/2013

Dear Uncle Fro,

<< If you nag me, I'll probably give in eventually >>

...nag nag nag...

Luv,
S.

- - - - -

To:  SAM-31501@aol.com
From:  tlg-mf@hotmail.com
Subject:  Re: Flowers
Date:  07/08/2013

<< ...nag nag nag... >>

...giving in...

I'll forward your original e-mail to him and let him decide -- 
but you have to promise me that you'll respect whatever decision 
he makes, okay?  And don't breathe a word of this to your 
mother, or she'll kick my ass.

Take care, kiddo,
Uncle Fro

- - - - -

To:  SAM-31501@aol.com
From:  fmulder@ncmec.org
Subject:  Hi...
Date:  07/10/2013

Dear Sara,

Wow.  I never thought I'd be doing this.

Hi.  I'm your father.

But you knew that, right?

You told Frohike you know all about what happened.  Do you?  
What did your mother tell you about me, and about what happened?

It isn't that I think she might not have told you the truth -- I 
know she would have.  It's more a question of, I want to know 
what you know, so I don't tell you things you already know.  
Does that make sense?

I don't think we should tell your mom that we're in touch -- for 
now, anyway.  She was really angry with me for a long time, and 
she's been through so much lately.  I don't want to upset her.

So.  I guess it comes down to this.  I'm glad you wanted to get 
in touch, I really am -- as for seeing your mother again, let's 
just see how it goes for now.  Okay?

Fox Mulder

P.S.:  I was very sorry to hear about Ethan.  How's your mom 
doing, is she all right?  I remember when her father died, and 
her sister Melissa.  She got through those sad times by working 
very hard.  Try not to let her hide what she's feeling, and call 
her on it if she just says she's fine.

- - - - -

To:  fmulder@ncmec.org
From:  SAM-31501@aol.com
Subject:  Re: Hi...
Date:  07/10/2013

Dear... Dad?  Father?  Fox?  (Oops -- Grandma Scully once told 
me you didn't like to be called that, except by her!)

WOW is right!!!

If you can't tell, I'm *REALLY* excited about this!  LOL

Well, let's see, what do I know about what happened...

I know that you and Mom worked together at the FBI for *forever* 
before you *finally* figured out that you loved each other.  I 
know you were in some little town in Oregon investigating a case 
just before Mom found out about me, and you were abducted by 
aliens.  (Mom didn't tell me that last part, Uncle Frohike did.  
Were you really?)  I know you came home when I was four, after 
Mom had been married to Ethan for about a year.  I know you 
decided that the best thing for Mom and me was for you to step 
aside and let Ethan be my dad.  I know you sent me that cross 
necklace for my 8th birthday.

I also know that Mom still loves you.

And even though we haven't actually met yet, I love you too. <g>

Now... what should I tell you about me?

I'm 12 years old and I'll be in the 6th grade this fall -- 
middle school, FINALLY!  My best friend is Theresa Caldwell, who 
I met when we first moved to NYC (she lives in our building).  
My favorite subject is math, which Theresa just can't 
understand. <g>  (Her favorite is social studies -- okay, but I 
like the puzzles in math.)  I like to read, and I like computer 
games (the Gunmen keep me supplied with new stuff -- don't tell 
Mom!).  I'm not into girly stuff -- Mom says I get that from 
her, cuz she was a tomboy when she was my age -- except for 
stuffed animals, I do like those.  I like some sports, mostly 
basketball and baseball.  I tried out for Little League this 
year but didn't make it.  I like the Mets (kidding!), and I 
*LUV* the NY Liberty!  Ethan used to take me to the games 
sometimes -- his network showed their games.  Oh yeah, the 
Knicks are okay too. <eg>  (Uncle Fro said to say that!  LOL)

Anyway, the main reason I wanted to get in touch with you... well, 
I guess you could figure that out from my e-mail to Uncle Fro.  
I've been trying to get Mom to talk to me about stuff, like 
Ethan dying and you and everything, but it's not easy.  Like you 
said, she likes to hide how she feels about stuff, keeps saying 
she's fine (glad I'm not the only one who can see right thru 
that!).  I really think it would do her a lot of good to see you 
again.  Do you think you might want to do that?  If I could 
convince her, that is?

Let me know, 'kay?  (And let me know what to call you!)

Luv,
Sara Anne Mulder
(Yep, I use that name now -- not long after Ethan died, I asked 
Mom if it was okay with her, and she said yes.  Is it okay with 
you?)

- - - - -

To:  SAM-31501@aol.com
From:  fmulder@ncmec.org
Subject:  Re: Hi...
Date:  07/11/2013

Dear Sara,

Yes, it's okay with me that you want to be Sara Mulder again.  
I'd like that a lot.

It would seem that you do know just about everything that 
happened between your mom and me when I came home.  But I need 
you to understand something, Sara.  I did what I did because I 
wanted you and your mom to be happy.  I loved her very much, and 
her happiness meant everything to me.  A lot of bad things 
happened to your mom because of me, and with you and Ethan she 
finally had a chance to be happy, to have a normal life.  I 
didn't mean to hurt her, or you, by what I did.  I just did what 
I thought was best for you both.

I do still love your mom.  And even though we haven't met yet, I 
love you too.

The last time I saw her, your mom gave me a photo album, with 
pictures of you from before you were born right up through not 
long before I came back.  I got to see you two hours after you 
were born, your first bath, your first birthday, your first 
steps, your first Christmas, etc.  And she's sent me pictures 
for the last eight years too -- all your birthdays and 
Halloweens and Christmases, etc.  So I feel as if I've been able 
to watch you growing up, and I'll always be grateful to her for 
that.

Okay, having said that -- I'm not entirely sure it would help 
her right now for us to see each other again.  Like I said 
before, she was angry with me for a long time -- I don't know if 
she's past that yet.  So please, don't say anything to her about 
this.

Sorry you didn't make Little League -- next time for sure.  (I 
played baseball in high school -- right field.  What position do 
you play?)  The Liberty's a good team, but the Knicks are better 
(and NOT just because they're guys -- give me a little credit, I 
like the WNBA).  And you'd *better* be kidding about the Mets!  
Math's a good favorite subject, but don't write off social 
studies, it can be very useful too.  And most important -- do 
not let the Gunmen give you anything they obtained illegally!

As for what to call me -- hmm.  I think either Dad or Mulder, 
but I'll leave it up to you.  Your Grandma Scully's right, I 
don't really like my first name much and she's the only one who 
can get away with calling me Fox.  How is she, BTW?  I always 
liked her a lot.

Love,
Dad / Mulder

- - - - -

To:  fmulder@ncmec.org
From:  SAM-31501@aol.com
Subject:  Re: Hi...
Date:  07/11/2013

Dear Dad,

I think I like that the best. <g>

About Grandma Scully... <heavy sigh>  I think she was madder at 
you than Mom was.  She told me once that she thought you were 
being pig-headed and that you didn't realize how much Mom loved 
you, even though she was married to Ethan.  Grandma Scully loved 
you a lot, Dad, but now I think it'd be harder to win her over 
than Mom.

I play first base mostly, sometimes shortstop.  I love baseball, 
and I'm getting better at it.  Mom helps me work on my hitting 
-- we go to the batting cage a lot.  Hey... is "hips before 
hands" from you?  Mom gets this funny little smile on her face 
sometimes when she says that.  I bet there's an interesting 
story that goes along with it... <beg>

I'm glad Mom gave you pics.  That way, when (not if, *when*) we 
finally meet, you'll know me.  (However, I am *mortified* that 
*anybody* has a pic of me taking a bath!!!)  I think I'll know 
you too, cuz I have a few old pics of you and Mom together.  I 
used to have them out on my dresser, but when we moved to NYC I 
put them away -- I didn't want Ethan to be jealous.  I loved 
Ethan, and he was good to me -- but I always knew he wasn't my 
real father.

I do understand about why you did what you did.  Really, I do.  
I know it was important to you for Mom to be happy, but I think 
it hurt you alot to do it.  I don't think Mom understood that, 
though.  If she did, she wouldn't have been mad at you.  And 
honestly, Dad, I don't think she was as mad as you think she 
was.  I think she was more hurt than anything else.  Now I think 
she's just sad.

I know you wanna take it slow, Dad.  And we will if that's the 
only way you'll keep in touch with me.  But... I love my Mom very 
very much.  Just like you, I want her to be happy.  And she's 
not happy right now.  I have a feeling that she's not ever gonna 
be really happy again without you in her life.  In OUR lives.

So... think about it.  Please?

Luv,
Sara

- - - - -

To:  fmulder@ncmec.org
From:  SAM-31501@aol.com
Subject:  Um... Hello?
Date:  07/13/2013

Dear Dad,

Haven't heard from you in a couple of days.

Did I make you mad?  Did I push too hard?  If I did I'm sorry, I 
didn't mean to.

PLEASE write back!

Luv,
Sara

- - - - -

To:  fmulder@ncmec.org
From:  SAM-31501@aol.com
Subject:  Sorry
Date:  07/15/2013

Dad,

I knew it.  I pushed you too hard.

I'm sorry.  Really, really sorry.  If you don't want to hear 
from me ever again, I won't e-mail you anymore.  I was just 
trying to do what I thought was best for my Mom.

Sara

- - - - -

To:  SAM-31501@aol.com
From:  fmulder@ncmec.org
Subject:  Re: Sorry
Date:  07/15/2013

Dear Sara,

I'm so sorry you haven't heard from me in a few days.  I had 
some serious thinking to do.

You didn't make me mad, and you didn't push too hard.  And I 
*don't* want to lose touch with you!  Sara, I love you so very 
much -- I never knew how much it would mean to me to finally be 
in contact with you after all this time.

Please, go ahead and talk to your mom.  Tell her we've been in 
touch.  Tell her that I want to see her, and you, if it's okay 
with her.  I'll respect her wishes if she doesn't want that -- 
and if she does, I'll leave when and where up to her.

I love you, sweetheart.  I really, really do.  And I'm sorry I 
scared you by not responding sooner.  I won't do that again, I 
promise.

Love,
Dad

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It's been two hours since I read his last e-mail, and I've been 
scared to death ever since.  For one thing, I can't believe he 
actually said yes.  For another, I have no idea what I'm going 
to say to my mother.

I haven't said a word all through dinner.  I've just pushed my 
meat loaf and macaroni around on the plate.  She's been cooking 
more 'comfort foods' since Ethan died, but I'm not sure if 
that's for her or me.

I jump when I hear her fork hit her plate and she fixes me with 
that penetrating stare of hers.  At least she hasn't given me 
the eyebrow yet.

"Okay, spill it."

I play ignorant.  "Spill what?"  That gets me the eyebrow.

"Come on, Sara.  I know that look.  You've got something on your 
mind.  Out with it."

I take a deep breath and study my fingernails for a minute.  
When I finally look up at her, she's still staring at me, so I 
dive right in.

"Okay.  For a couple of weeks now, I've been exchanging e-mails 
with my father."

Wow.  She looks completely stunned.  "Really."  She gets up and 
refills her coffee cup while she thinks of something to say.  
When she comes back to the table, she sits close and puts her 
hand on my arm.  "Sara... Sweetie.  It's only natural, at your 
age, for you to be curious about your father... and since 
Ethan..."

"It's not just curiosity, and it doesn't have anything to do 
with Ethan dying."  Well, that's not entirely true, but I'm not 
going to tell *her* that.  "Look, I just wanted to get in touch 
with him.  To meet him, maybe."

The eyebrow rises another millimeter.  "Meet him?"

"Yes.  I asked him if he was willing to meet me -- and see you 
again."

There's that stunned look again.  She doesn't say anything right 
away, but eventually she whispers, "What did he say?"

"He said he wants to -- but it's up to you."

She takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly, staring at some 
midpoint between us.  After what seems like forever, she looks 
at me.  She still doesn't say anything, and I'm starting to get 
nervous.

"Mom?  You wanna see him again, right?"

"I... it's not that easy, Sara."

"Why not?"

She opens her mouth to speak, then sighs and shakes her head.  
She's avoiding.  Well, I'm not gonna let her.  Not today.

"Why not, Mom?"

That gets me a hint of a smile from her, and I wonder if my 
insistent tone reminds her of him, or of herself.

"It's been a long time, Sweetie.  Eight years..."

"And five years before that, and before that seven years of 
pretending you were just friends."  I'm on thin ice here -- I've 
never called her on her crap before.  "You love him.  You have 
always loved him.  And he loves you.  He told me so."

There goes the eyebrow again.  Try as I might, I can't do that 
nearly as well as she can.  "He said that?"

I nod.  "Quote, I do still love your mom, unquote."  She told me 
once I had his photographic memory.

She's silent for a long time, then she gets up and goes into her 
room, closing the door behind her.  After a few minutes I figure 
out that she's not coming back, so I clear the table and load 
the dishwasher.  On the way to my room I pass hers, and I hear 
her talking on the phone.

"...don't know what to do, Mom...  Yes...  But I *want* her to 
have a relationship with him, you know that...  No, she did...  
I'm not sure I want to do that...  I'm not sure I want to do that, 
either...  That's why I called you, Mom, to help me figure out 
what the hell to do!"

I continue on to my room.  At least I've got her thinking about 
it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A day and a half.  Thirty-six hours since I asked her.  Of 
course, she was at the hospital for eighteen of those hours, but 
that didn't make it any easier to wait for her to decide what to 
do -- or to tell me, if she's already decided.

There are times when I wish she was still teaching, or even 
working at the coroner's office -- yesterday was one of those 
times -- even though I know how much it means to her to be a 
regular doctor.  I just thank God she'll be done with her 
residency in a few months and she can start a little family 
practice somewhere... maybe Baltimore, close to Grandma... maybe 
wherever Dad lives...

I haven't e-mailed Dad since I heard from him last -- I don't 
want to until I know something for sure.  But she hasn't said 
anything about it, so I finally decide to just cut to the chase 
and ask her.

She's folding towels when I come into her room and sit down on 
the bed, my arms crossed.  "Well?"

She glances at me, continues what she's doing.  "Could you be 
more specific?"

I groan and flop back onto the bed, disturbing her careful stack 
of towels.  "Mom!"

She sighs and flops onto the bed next to me.  A bunch of towels 
fall on the floor.  She doesn't pick them up.  She also doesn't 
look at me -- she stares at the ceiling, like I do.

"Part of me wishes you'd never known that Ethan wasn't your 
father."

"It was way too late for that by the time you married him, Mom.  
Daddy's fishies, remember?"

She nods, and her voice gets soft.  "I wanted him back so badly, 
Sara... I was determined to find him, to keep looking for him as 
long as I had to."

"You did, Mom.  You found him."

"No."  The word comes out with a sob, and for some reason I'm 
surprised that she's crying.  "I didn't find him.  He just came 
back.  If I hadn't been at the office that day, if I had quit 
the FBI when Ethan wanted me to, if I'd accepted the transfer to 
Violent Crimes...  The phone rang, Sara, and he was just *back*."  
She pauses for a second and I glance at her.  She's letting the 
tears fall, not trying to brush them away.  "But I had already 
given up on him."

I hesitate to ask, but this is something I need to know.  "Mom?  
Why did you marry Ethan?"

She lets out a shaky breath, finally reaches up to wipe her 
eyes.  "You.  I thought I was doing the best thing for you."  I 
lean up at that, but she won't look at me.  "It was just before 
your third birthday.  You were at day care, the Bureau's day 
care at the Hoover Building, and one of the older kids started 
teasing you."

Suddenly I remember.  "About Daddy.  He was teasing me about 
Daddy being gone, about flying saucers and aliens."

She nods and looks at me then.  She smiles gently, reaches out 
to me -- I'm *really* surprised to learn that I'm crying too.  
"He was bigger than you, but you came out swinging.  Gave the 
poor kid a black eye."  We both laugh a little at the image.  "I 
can't tell you how often I've wanted to do that to some... 
*jerk* who talked about him that way."  She gets serious again.  
"That's when I knew, Sara... I couldn't put you through that 
anymore.  I couldn't let you grow up at the FBI day care center 
as Spooky Mulder's daughter."

"But I *am* Spooky Mulder's daughter -- and Mrs. Spooky's 
daughter."  I sit up on the bed and face her.  "I understand 
that you thought you were protecting me from a life of... 
something.  But that doesn't tell me why you married Ethan.  Did 
you... did you love him?"

"Not like I loved Mulder."

"That's not an answer, Mom."  It's also past tense.  I hope she 
doesn't mean it that way.

She sits up and faces me, our legs crossed, our knees touching.  
It's comforting, being close to her like this.

"Ethan offered me everything I always wanted.  A home, a family, 
something approaching a normal life."  His e-mail flashes into 
my mind -- that's what he wanted for her, for us.  A normal 
life.  "And Ethan loved me -- loved us both.  He wanted to make 
us happy.  I loved him for that, for wanting to give us that.  
And it was enough.  We had a good life."  She smiles sadly, 
takes my hands in hers.  "Leaving the FBI, moving to New York -- 
that helped.  Getting away from the familiar, settling into a 
new routine.  Teaching, spending time with you -- you were still 
my little girl then..."  She smooths my hair back and we share a 
smile.

"I was six, Mom."

"You still called me Mommy."  She leans forward and kisses me on 
the forehead.  "You're so grown up now.  It scares me a little."

"Scares me too."  Her eyes land on the tiny gold cross around my 
neck.  "It was this, wasn't it?  When I was eight and he sent me 
this."

She nods slightly, touches it.  "It meant... it meant that he was 
still out there, that he still cared.  All the letters, the 
pictures, not knowing if he ever got them..."  Her voice starts 
to break and her face crumbles.  This is affecting her a lot more 
than I thought it would.  I think it's official that I'm an 
idiot for not realizing it.  "It hurt so much that he didn't 
want to be with us.  And I knew, Sara, I knew it was my fault.  
I gave up on him, I shut him out of your life before he even had 
a choice in the matter."

I move to sit next to her and hug her tight, letting my mother 
cry in my arms.  I stroke her hair and hold her, like she does 
for me when I'm sad or upset or have a bad dream.  I think, for 
her, this is all three.

"Mom?  I don't think he saw it like that."  She shifts in my 
arms, sitting up and looking at me.  "It wasn't that he didn't 
want to be with us.  It was that he wanted us to be happy.  He...  
When I asked him if he would see us, he didn't say yes right 
away.  He thought you were still mad at him for what he did."

"He thought..."  Another sad smile.  "Of course he thought that."

"Are you?"

She shakes her head.  "Not anymore."

I actually breathe a sigh of relief.  "So does that mean we can 
see him?"

She looks at me, her brow furrowed.  I can't tell what she's 
looking for.  "Sara, what do you want from this?"

I'm confused.  "I wanna meet my Dad."

"No, I mean... in the best of all possible worlds, what would 
be your ideal eventual outcome?"

I hate it when she talks like that, full of logic and reason.  I 
study my fingernails -- I can't look into her eyes and lie to 
her.  And I have to lie to her.  I can't tell her that my ideal 
eventual outcome would be for the three of us to live happily 
ever after.  I can't tell her that my hope for this first 
meeting is that she and Dad will rush into each other's arms and 
declare their undying love.  And I know my voice will falter 
when I lie -- it always does.  So I mumble, "All I want is to 
get to know my father."

She puts a finger under my chin, lifts my face so I have no 
choice but to look at her.  "Is that all?"

Damn.  I can't hide from those eyes.  "For now, yeah."

She holds my eyes for a moment, then nods.  "Okay."

"Really?"  She nods again, smiling.  I throw my arms around her.  
"Oh, Mom... thank you.  You don't know what this means."

"I think I do."

"He said when and where is up to you."

We negotiate a little -- I want it to be tomorrow, she wants to 
wait a few days.  Well, she says we *have* to wait a few days, 
because she has to work.  We eventually settle on Saturday.  
Even though today's only Wednesday, I grudgingly accept it.  
Then comes the question of where.  Dad hasn't said where he 
lives, and I haven't asked.  Mom thinks about it, then decides.

"Washington."

"Anyplace special?"

She smiles.  It's the same smile she gets when we play baseball.  
"Tell him... tell him, our bench along the river."  My eyebrow 
arches reflexively.  She notices, squeezes my hand.  "He'll 
know."

Hmm.  Okay.  I give her another hug and a kiss, then hurry off 
to e-mail Dad.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I wait another entire day for him to respond, but when he does, 
it's good news.  He does indeed know what she means by 'our 
bench,' and he can't wait to see us.

I don't know if I can wait another whole day and a half, either.

I leave his latest e-mail open in my palmtop so I can read it 
again before bed.  It's not a long one compared to some of the 
others we've exchanged, but it's confirmation.  The chance I 
took paid off.  Now I can only hope that things turn out the way 
I want them to.

Glancing at my alarm clock, I see that it's way past my bedtime.  
I grab my PJs and head for the bathroom, passing Mom's room on 
the way -- she's sitting on her bed, staring off into space.  
Thinking.  Remembering, maybe.  I like that.

I decide not to bother her and slip into the bathroom, taking my 
time in washing up and brushing my teeth and everything.  Her 
door is open when I pass it this time, but she's not there.

Because she's in *my* room.

She's holding my palmtop, reading that last e-mail from him.  
And there's a tiny smile on her face.

"Reading my mail?"

She looks up at me and her smile grows bigger.  "Moms are 
allowed to snoop."

"Since when?"  I try to sound stern, but my smile gives me away.

She taps the little computer with her fingernails, then glances 
at me.  "I'd like to read the others.  If it's all right with 
you."

I consider her request for a minute.  I don't hide much from my 
mother -- we developed an honest, open relationship early in my 
life, and it's valuable to me.  Did I write anything in those 
e-mails that I really wouldn't want her to know?

I give her a half-shrug/half-nod.  "Everything's in the folder 
marked 'Dad'."

She nods, closes the computer, holds onto it.  Then she sits on 
my bed, watches as I finish getting ready -- putting my dirty 
clothes in the hamper, moving the stuffed animals off the bed, 
feeding the fish.

Mom stares into the aquarium as the fish swoop up to grab the 
flakes, smiling faintly again.  I look at her curiously.  
"What?"

She just shakes her head, holds out her arms for me.  I sit next 
to her, letting her hug me tight.  She's been doing that a lot 
more since Ethan died -- guess she needs the contact.

"You mean there's no story about feeding his fish?"

She laughs a little.  "Of course there is.  Feeding his fish 
saved our lives once."  I raise an eyebrow and she hugs me 
tighter, recognizing herself in me.  "One of the times we were 
separated, early in our partnership.  He was missing, I was 
trying to find him, people followed me to his apartment.  I had 
to make up a story about why I was there, and get back a piece 
of paper I'd printed out from his computer.  He'd just gotten 
the aquarium, so I took advantage of it."

There are tons of little stories like that.  Moments from their 
life together, back when they told themselves they were just 
'partners' or 'friends.'  Most of them have something to do with 
one of them saving the other's life, or vice versa.  I'm trying 
to get her more comfortable talking about this stuff.  She never 
really did before -- Ethan didn't like her remembering those 
times.  Ethan didn't like her remembering *him*.  So I ask 
questions now.  To let her know it's okay to remember, to talk 
about him.

Neither of us has said anything for a minute.  We just sit there 
together, hugging each other, watching the fish.  Then she says 
quietly, "You can take them out, you know."

Again, my eyebrow inches up.  "Mom, I'm not sure if you realize 
this, but fish tend to croak if they're not in water."

She kisses the top of my head, strokes my hair.  "Your 
pictures."

My pictures of them.  Of her and Dad.

I get up and go to my desk, take them out of the bottom drawer.  
There aren't that many, just a few.  But for twelve years, 
they've been all I've really had of my father.

She comes to stand next to me and we look at them together.

"I always liked this one.  He had it on the wall in our office."  
They're standing together outside someplace, both wearing black 
jackets with 'FBI' on the back in big yellow letters.  It's 
windy, and her hair is in her face.  They're looking at each 
other.  And I can tell from their body language that they didn't 
know the camera was there.  If they had, they probably wouldn't 
have looked at each other like that -- like two people in love.

I put it on a mostly empty shelf in my bookcase.

The next one goes on my desk -- they're in their office, and 
they look like somebody caught them by surprise.  They stand 
close together, a file in his hands.  He's wearing glasses and 
her hair's longer than in the other picture.  They both look 
really young.  She looks at it and grins.  "He's so sexy in 
those glasses..."

I try to suppress a giggle, but she's right.  My Dad was a major 
babe back then.

I save my favorite one for the best place, on the nightstand 
next to my bed.

It's just of him.  Outside again.  He's crouched down, no coat, 
his sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, collar open.  His elbows 
are on his knees and he stares off, a faraway look in his eyes 
and the ghost of a smile on his lips.  I don't know what he's 
looking at or thinking about.  I want to believe it's her.

Mom picks up the picture and looks at it, traces a finger along 
the lines of his face.  I can almost hear her whisper his name 
before she puts the frame back on my nightstand, angled so I can 
see it when I wake up.

"Mom?  Do you still love him?"

The eyebrow.  Man, I'm beginning to hate that, even when I do 
it.  Then she smiles a little.  "Yeah.  I do."

Good.  Wouldn't want to think I couldn't read her.  "So when do 
I get to hear the story about the bench?" I ask as I climb into 
bed.

She leans over and kisses me goodnight.  "I think I'll let him 
tell you that one."

And now it feels real.  I'm actually going to meet him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Today's been a hurricane of activity.  Mom's been on the phone 
most of the day -- plane reservations for tomorrow morning and 
Sunday evening, hotel reservations for Saturday night.  Talking 
to Uncle Frohike.  Talking to Grandma again.

Finally we get a chance to talk at dinner -- pizza.  Neither of 
us want to cook, we have too much to do.  I hesitate a minute, 
then ask if she's mad at Uncle Fro.

She gives me a look, then grins.  "I should be, don't you think?  
I asked him hundreds of times, and he never told me."

"Well, you're not his goddaughter."  That gets me a laugh, which 
gives me the courage to ask my next question.  "What did Grandma 
say?"

Mom gets really quiet at that.  She sighs, shakes her head.  
"Grandma's still angry."

"After all this time?"

She nods.  "She never wanted me to marry Ethan, she wanted me to 
wait for Mulder.  When he came back, she... she couldn't 
understand why I didn't leave Ethan for him.  Then when he 
decided to..."  She stops, takes a deep breath, then goes on.  
"She wanted him in your life.  She wanted me to fight his 
decision more than I did."

"But he wants to see us now.  Why is she still mad at him?"

She grabs a mushroom off my pizza.  "Something you'll figure out 
as we both get older, Sweetie -- moms aren't always logical."

"You're kidding!" I gasp, and return her smile.

We eat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, then I 
struggle to hide a yawn.

"Tired?"  I nod, and she pushes my hair off my face.  "You 
finished packing?"

"Can't decide what to take, what to wear.  Jeans, shorts, a 
dress, I don't know.  I mean, I'm meeting my dad for the first 
time.  I want to make a good impression, I want him to like me."

"He already likes you.  He already *loves* you, Sara.  He's 
loved you from the moment he found out about you.  Doesn't 
matter what you wear, just be yourself."

I can't help it -- I lean over and give her a kiss.  "I love 
you, Mom.  Thanks for doing this."

She shoos me off to finish packing.  When I glance back, I see 
tears in her eyes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mom's been quiet ever since we got on the plane -- but she's 
tapping her nails on the armrest.  I don't like it when she's 
nervous -- she makes *me* nervous.  And I want to know a little 
more about her and Dad, so I risk it.

"Mom?  When did you know you were in love with Dad?"

She glances at me, her eyebrow raised.  "When I knew I was in 
love with him, or when I knew he was in love with me?"

Good, she wants to talk.  "Both."

"Hmm.  Okay."  She smiles, stares off into space.  "I think I 
fell in love with him early on.  I know I was in love with him 
by the time they separated us that first time.  When I didn't 
get to see him every day, I missed him terribly, missed having 
him in my life."  She pauses a moment, remembering.  "Not long 
before that, there was one case...  We were under scrutiny, I 
wasn't doing what I was supposed to do..."

"What were you supposed to do?"

"Discredit him.  Debunk his work.  I didn't do that, I couldn't, 
not when the evidence wasn't there.  Anyway, he was staking out 
a suspect, someone we'd put away before, when he'd come after me 
-- Mulder saved my life that time.  I wanted to help him with 
the stakeout, but it wasn't authorized.  He said I was putting 
my career at risk just sitting in the car with him.  I told him 
there wasn't anybody else I'd put myself on the line for.  Just 
him.  That's when I knew that he was much more than just a 
partner to me."  She smiles again, a dreamy smile she's been 
wearing more and more the last few days.  "I should've brought 
iced tea."

"Iced tea?"

She gives her head a little shake, and I realize it's a private 
thing between them.  Maybe like that 'hips before hands' thing.  
He never did answer me about that.  Or about the aliens.

"When did you know he was in love with you?"

"For years there were little things -- looks, touches, things 
he'd say, all those times he saved my life.  I could tell he 
cared about me, but I wasn't certain how he felt until... until 
the cancer was diagnosed."  The brain cancer that almost killed 
her.  Him too, from what I've heard.  "He was the first person I 
told, even before I told my mother.  He was heartbroken.  
Disbelieving.  Desperate to find a cure.  And I... I couldn't 
handle it.  I pushed him away.  I knew he loved me, and I loved 
him, but I didn't want us to pursue something that couldn't 
last.  I didn't want him to watch me die, I couldn't put him 
through that."

"So you cut yourself off from him."

She looks at me, and I make sure neither of us looks away until 
she gets it.  It doesn't take her long.  She nods, swipes at a 
tear running down her cheek.

"You two are so much alike it's scary."  She laughs at that, and 
puts her arm around me as the flight attendant's voice tells us 
we're about to land at Reagan National.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jeez, who knew it was so hot in Washington?  Yeah, I know it's 
late July, but still...  And there's thousands of people here, 
wandering among the monuments and memorials.  I hope we can find 
him in this crowd.

We're both jittery.  Neither of us knows what to expect, how to 
feel.  All we can be right now is nervous as hell.

We get closer to the Potomac and Mom starts scanning the 
benches.  I hear her counting under her breath -- she's trying 
to find the one that was 'their' bench.

But I see him before she does.

He's sitting alone, staring off toward the river.  Leaning on 
his knees.  Jeans, a Yankees tee-shirt.  His hair's got some 
gray in it, mostly at the temples, but I recognize the deep 
brown.  And the glasses.

I smile.  Mom thinks he's sexy in his glasses.

She still hasn't seen him, so I tap her arm and point.  "Is that 
him?"

She takes in a sharp breath when she sees him, gives a tiny nod.  
She takes a step or two forward, then stops.

"Mom?"

She turns to me, fusses with my clothes, my hair.  "You go."

No.  Oh, no.  This is not how this is supposed to happen.  
"Mom..."

"I'll wait right here.  You go talk to him.  I'll join you in a 
few minutes."  I try to protest, but she cuts me off.  "This is 
for you, Sara.  I know what you said in your e-mails, but... 
this is for you.  Go on."

She gives me a gentle shove in his direction, then steps back.  
Now I'm more nervous than I was before.

I approach him slowly, not knowing exactly what to say, how to 
do this.  Luckily, I'm saved from having to figure that out.  As 
if he senses my presence, he turns to me.  And he smiles.

"Sara?"

I nod, and I can't hold back my own smile.  "Dad?"  It's as if 
we have to confirm what we already know.  He nods, stands -- and 
opens his arms.  I can't stop myself -- I run across the last 
few feet separating us and throw my arms around him.  We just 
stand there, wrapped up in each other's arms, and I squeeze my 
eyes shut tight to keep the tears from falling.  I can feel him 
stroking my hair, and he leans down to kiss the top of my head.  
After too short a time, he pulls back a little.

"Let me look at you."  He holds me at arm's length for a minute, 
smiling.  "You are so beautiful... the pictures don't do you 
justice, Sara."

"You look the same.  I mean, my pictures are old, but... you look 
just the same."

He laughs, leads me over to the bench and we sit.  Close.  
Holding hands.  "Oh, no, Sweetheart... I've gone gray, I've put 
on weight, I have to wear these stupid glasses all the time 
now..."

"Mom likes you in your glasses."

There's an unreadable expression on his face -- happy, sad, 
apprehensive?  I can't tell.  "Where is your mom?"

"She's... she wanted to give us some time alone."

He nods, and I figure out what that expression is -- pensive.  
"Good.  That was a good idea."

"I think she's afraid... she's worried about how you feel."

"How I feel?"  He frowns, glances around like he's looking for 
her -- I don't think he sees her.  "I... I love her, Sara.  I 
love you both, I told you that."

"Yeah, but... are you still mad?"

He opens his mouth to say something, then turns it into a smile 
and shakes his head.  "You are definitely our child."  He 
reaches out and caresses my cheek -- man, I love that.  I could 
get real used to that.  "I was angry.  When I came back, I 
expected...  I don't know what I expected..."

"You expected things to be like you left them."

He looks at me, I think still surprised at how easily I can read 
him, then he nods.  "I couldn't remember anything..."  His hand 
trails from my cheek to lift my cross, and he runs his thumb 
over it.  "The last time I'd seen her, she put this around my 
neck and kissed me goodbye.  Then I came home and she..."  He 
lets go of the cross and strokes my hair again.  "So yeah, I 
was angry."

"Are you still?"

His hand slips around my shoulder and he draws me close for 
another hug.  I snake my arms around his waist, and we just sit 
there together like that.

"I know what you want, Sweetheart.  You want this to be perfect.  
You want everything to be just like it was thirteen years ago -- 
with one significant difference."  He kisses my head again, and 
I burrow my face into his chest.  I know what's coming... I 
dread what's coming.  "I would like that, too.  But Sara... we 
have a lot of history between us, your mom and I.  It took us a 
long time before we could tell each other how we felt, before 
we..."  Another kiss, this time on my forehead.  "...before we 
made you.  Then it was taken away from us.  It's going to take 
time to get it back."

"But you want it back, right?"

His arms tighten around me, mine tighten around him.  "Yes, 
Sweetheart, I do."

We sit like that for a long while, long after I've lost the 
battle to keep from crying.  I'm getting his shirt all wet.  I 
hope he doesn't care.  Then he loosens his hold on me and I feel 
him lift his head.

"Scully."

"Mulder."  She's smiling.  So is he.  That's a good sign, right?

I sit up and wipe my eyes, watching as they reach out their 
hands to each other.  He releases me and gets up, and they move 
into a hug -- it starts out kind of awkward, then they relax 
into it and hold each other.

And that's it.  No passionate embrace, no kisses, no 
declarations of undying love.  They just hold each other.

It isn't everything I wanted.  But it's enough for now.

END

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

END NOTE:  The reader reaction to "Someone I Once Knew" was 
overwhelming.  Most of the people I heard from said they loved 
the story and it made them cry, but they didn't like the way it 
ended.  (One person said it was 'beautiful but wrong,' which I 
guess is accurate.)  Some asked if I was planning a sequel; I 
hadn't, until I realized that I didn't really like the way the 
story ended either.

Don't get me wrong, it ended the way that story had to end -- 
I'm a firm believer in listening to the Muse when she tells you 
how something's supposed to be.  But the more I thought about 
it, the more it became clear to me that there was more to tell 
here.  This story resulted, and there's another one to follow.

Lara Means

--------------------

"I've been called a lot of things, Detective.  Skeptical, 
however, is not one of them."
   - Mulder, 'Mind's Eye'