TITLE:  Sara Mulder Stories: Daddy's Girl
AUTHOR:  Lara Means
E-MAIL:  LaraMeansXF@aol.com 
WEBSITE:  www.geocities.com/larameans_2000
CLASSIFICATION:  SRA
RATING:  PG
ARCHIVE:  Gossamer, Spookys, NO (I'll submit directly to both); 
Ephemeral, M&S, Xemplary, YES.  Anywhere else, please ask.  I'll 
say yes; I just like to know where the kids are at the end of 
the day.
FEEDBACK:  Please?
DATE POSTED:  03/01/01

DISCLAIMER:  U.S. copyright law says that the studio is the 
author of a movie or television show, not the writer or creator.  
Which means that "The X-Files" ultimately belongs to Rupert 
Murdoch, even though it was created and brought to life by 
people with WAY more talent.  No infringement intended.

SPOILERS:  Pilot, Sein Und Zeit, Closure, Requiem.  Season 8 
does not exist.

SUMMARY:  Mulder learns to be a father.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  This story is the fourth in the "Sara Mulder 
Stories" series.  The first three can be found at 
http://www.geocities.com/larameans_2000/sara_mulder_stories.htm 

More notes at the end.

This story takes place during November, 2013.

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

DADDY'S GIRL

written by Lara Means

"Daddy?  Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, sweetheart."

When I first found out about her, I used to imagine sitting with 
my daughter as she asked me questions.  Only, in my imagination, 
she was about three and the questions were along the lines of 
"why is the sky blue?"  The reality is, she's twelve -- almost 
thirteen, she would correct me -- and the questions are much 
more complex.

"When you first met Mom... what did you think about her?  Did 
you think she was pretty?"

I'm sitting behind her, brushing her hair before she goes to 
bed.  Her mother does this, and on her third night here she 
asked me to.

Leaving home -- leaving Scully -- was hard on her.  We weren't 
sure if the circumstances of the move would make it easier or 
worse.  Scully had just taken a job as an attending physician at 
Boston Mercy Hospital, so she was moving too, and Sara was 
feeling especially vulnerable.

The first few days we just hung around home, spending time 
together and playing with the dog.  After she started to feel 
more secure, we settled into a routine -- which includes me 
brushing her hair every night.  It took me a while, but now I 
understand why it's important to her -- it gives us a chance to 
talk, to connect.  And it gives her a chance to ask questions.

I don't mind the questions.  I like them, really.  I don't know 
everything Scully's told her -- about me, about us.  And I don't 
know much at all about Sara.  I mean, she's almost thirteen, on 
the verge of adolescence, and I missed all the build-up to this 
point -- I want to know my daughter, and the nature of her 
questions tells me a lot about her.

Sara glances over her shoulder, an eyebrow raised in a perfect 
imitation of her mother.  "Well?"

"Sorry, I was thinking.  Did I think she was pretty?  Yes, 
absolutely.  I mean, how could I not think she was pretty?  
Those bright blue eyes, that gorgeous red hair..."  I lean in to 
get a good look at her.  "You look just like her."

She giggles.  "I do not."

"Do too.  Her chin, her mouth, her nose..."

"Your eyes.  Your hair color."

I stare into her beautiful hazel eyes, and I can see myself 
there.  I run my fingers through her long, thick, chestnut 
hair... and I think of Sara's aunts.  Melissa and Samantha both 
had long, wavy hair -- Melissa's was a darker red than Scully's, 
and Samantha's was a deep brown.

Not for the first time, I wonder what Sara knows about them, and 
I wonder if Scully sometimes sees Melissa in her.  I know I see 
Samantha.  Not the eight-year-old Samantha, the one in my old 
photographs.  The fourteen-year-old Samantha, just a little 
older than my Sara.  The one who came running to me in that 
field so long ago.  The one whose diary I still read sometimes.  
The one who told me everything was all right, who forgave me for 
not saving her... who set me free.

I caress Sara's cheek, and she smiles at me.  "I think you got 
the best of both of us."

She gives me a kiss and turns around, and I resume brushing her 
hair.  After a moment she asks again.  "So what did you think of 
her?  Did you like her right away?"

Tenacious, my little girl.  "Nope."

"Why not?"  She doesn't turn to look at me.  She thinks she 
knows the answer to this, she's just seeing how truthful I'll 
be.

"Why would I?  I knew why she's been sent.  She was supposed to 
invalidate the X-files and shut me down."

"But she didn't."

"No, she didn't.  Because Dana Scully has more integrity than 
anyone I've ever known.  She had no agenda other than seeking 
justice and finding the truth.  Once I figured that out..."

"*Then* you liked her."

"Nope.  Then I *respected* her.  I had to respect her, and trust 
her, before I could like her."

Sara doesn't say anything for a moment, then she gives me a 
thoughtful look.  "That's nice."

"What?"

"That you didn't just like her right away.  You thought she was 
pretty, but it took some time for you to like her."

"Pretty doesn't matter.  That's just a bonus."  I run the brush 
through her hair once more, then hand it to her as she turns to 
face me.  "I didn't start to like your mother because she was 
pretty.  I respected her because she was her own person, and 
because she trusted me.  Then I started to trust her a little.  
Over the years... she became the only one I could trust.  You 
have no idea how important that was."  Sara slips a hand into 
mine and gives it a squeeze -- maybe she has an idea after 
all.  "Of course, it didn't hurt that she's the most beautiful 
woman I've ever met."

Sara gives me a big grin.  "When did you know you were in love 
with her?"

I get up from the bed, planting a kiss on her head.  "That's 
another question for another night."

She grumbles, but she slips under the covers.  Spooky, our black 
Lab, wanders in and jumps up to the foot of the bed, flopping 
down as if she's exhausted.  I'll admit she *has* been more 
active since Sara's been here -- Sara likes to take her out 
after school, and they burn a lot of energy on the beach.

"Come on, Spooky, off the bed."  Typically, she ignores me.

"She's okay there.  Just leave the door open a little."

I nod, give Spooky a pat on the head, and Sara a kiss on the 
cheek.  "Goodnight, sweetheart.  Sleep well."

"'Night, Daddy."

I pause next to the door, my hand on the light switch, and look 
back at her.  My daughter.  *Our* daughter.  "I like that."  She 
raises that eyebrow, questioning.  "Daddy.  I like being your 
daddy."

Sara just shrugs.  "The more I know you, the more it seems to 
fit."  She smiles at me as I turn off the light.  "Love you, 
Daddy."

"I love you too, baby."

It's only been a few weeks since she came to me, but it's 
impossible for me to catalogue the changes in my life -- in all 
our lives.  I'm still scared shitless of screwing up -- being 
too strict, too permissive, too smothering... trying too hard to 
make up for lost time.  But Sara's faith in me, her love for me, 
prop me up when I'm feeling inadequate.

My daughter means more to me than I ever thought possible.  I 
loved getting to know her, even though it was only as a weekend 
father.  Sure, I wanted more, but I never dreamed Sara did, not 
until Scully told me.  But it's one thing to pick her up for a 
ball game then take her back to her mother -- it's another thing 
entirely to be totally responsible for her all the time.  Yeah, 
she's twelve, she's not exactly a toddler -- but she's twelve, 
she's not exactly a teenager either.  She's... she's my child.  
My responsibility.

I'm not completely alone in this -- I talk to Scully a lot, 
every couple of days, just to check in.  It would be so much 
better if she were actually *here*, though.  Maybe that's why 
she said no.

It took me a long time to figure that out -- and to be honest, 
I'm not sure I've figured it out completely yet.  Maybe I was 
thinking that everything would be okay with Sara and me if 
Scully were here too.  Maybe I've just been so goddamn lonely 
for the past eight years, I've missed her so much, that I 
subconsciously said yes to Sara coming as a way to get Scully to 
come, too.  I'd like to believe I'm not that selfish -- but 
maybe, on some level, that's exactly what I was thinking.

But Scully, as always, knew what would be best.  She knew that, 
if she were here, I'd rely on her instead of on myself.  She 
wanted to give me a chance to become the kind of father she 
believes I can be.  The kind of father I want to be.

I don't work much since Sara moved in.  I think she needs the 
time with me, and I know I need the time with her, so I took a 
leave of absence from my work with the National Center for 
Missing and Exploited Children.  I'm just a consultant anyway, 
counseling recovered children, sometimes helping with the 
investigation when a child goes missing.  I love my work -- I 
prefer working with the kids, because profiling still does a 
number on my mind -- but as much as I know I can help these 
kids, I don't want to leave Sara.  They keep me updated, and I 
help as much as I can by phone or e-mail -- but my priorities 
have changed.  Sara comes first.

I've started writing a little to fill the hours while she's at 
school, about our work on the X-files.  I copied all the files 
before I retired -- not strictly legal, but I figured they owed 
me -- and I've been going through them off and on for a while 
now.  Some of the cases Scully and her team worked during my 
absence were interesting, but I think I'd rather concentrate on 
our time together -- the work, of course, but how our 
relationship developed over the years.  Sort of a paranormal 
love story...

I didn't stay with the FBI long after I was returned, just long 
enough to be reinstated and get some back pay, pension and 
medical issues resolved.  Skinner understood that I couldn't 
stay -- it was just too damn hard for the both of us.  He felt 
responsible for what happened to me.  Guilt and I are old 
friends, and I knew he wouldn't be able to forgive himself and 
move on until I moved on.  I hope he did -- we lost touch after 
I retired and came to the Vineyard.  I know he stayed in contact 
with Scully and Sara, and Sara still e-mails him.

I'm trying to limit the time she spends online, and I make sure 
her homework comes first, but my girl has e-mail buddies 
everywhere -- not just Uncle Walter, but Uncle Frohike, Uncle 
Langly and Uncle John too, not to mention her friends in New 
York and her mom.  She exchanges e-mail with Scully every day.  
I don't know what they say to each other -- I don't ask.  That's 
their private communication.  Sometimes, though, I get a glimpse 
of their conversation in the questions she asks me before bed.

"Daddy, when did you know you were in love with Mom?"

"Daddy, when did Mom save your life the first time?"

"Daddy, when did you and Mom have your first kiss?"

"Daddy, what was Samantha like?"

Okay, that last one's because of me.

Brushing her hair tonight, she says something about how tangled 
it gets and how long it takes her to brush it out in the morning 
before her shower.  So I grab one of her little elastic scrunchy 
things from her dresser -- she looks skeptical.

"I've tried that.  It doesn't help."

"Now, how do you know what I'm going to do?"  She gives me a 
huge sigh and presents that long, thick hair to me again.  I run 
the brush through it a few more times, then divide it into 
thirds and begin to braid it.  I haven't done this in a very 
long time, but I don't think I've lost my touch.  When I finish, 
I put the scrunchy thing around it, leaving a couple of inches 
unbraided at the bottom.

Sara gets up and checks it out in the mirror, then gives me a 
smile.  "How'd you do that?"

"My mom taught me.  She used to do it for my sister, and she 
taught me how so she wouldn't have to do it every night."

Sara comes back to the bed and sits down cross-legged in front 
of me.  "What was she like?"

"Mom?  She was... my mom," I tell her with a shrug.

She shakes her head.  "Samantha."

My mouth falls open and I blink at her.  "Oh."  She's never 
asked me anything about my family.  I heard her ask Scully once 
if I was close to my father, but she's never asked me anything.

She misconstrues my silence, drops her eyes, looks away from me.  
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"No, it's okay," I tell her, taking her hands.  "She was my 
sister.  I want you to know her."

So I tell her.  Everything.  About our lives when we were kids, 
the teasing and affection.  About her abduction.  About the 
hypnotic regression that helped me remember.  About my search 
for her, finding psychology and the paranormal.  About finding 
the X-files, and Scully.  About the lies and deception we 
encountered along the way.  About getting close to the truth 
only to have something or someone I loved ripped away from me.  
And finally, about the LaPierre case and finding out what really 
happened to Samantha.  About seeing her in that field.  About 
her diary.

Sara's been sitting in front of me all this time, holding my 
hands and listening, sometimes crying a little.  When I finish, 
she unfolds her legs and kneels on the bed, putting her arms 
around me and hugging me fiercely.  Fighting my own tears, I 
hold her tight and pull her into my lap.  She loosens her hold 
on me and snuggles close.

After a few minutes, she fingers the tiny gold cross she always 
wears.  "Is that why you sent me Mom's cross when I turned 
eight?"

I nod, my voice tight with emotion.  "I wanted you to have it.  
I thought... I hoped it might help keep you safe."

She leans up and kisses me softly on the cheek.  "Thank you for 
telling me, Daddy."

I give her another hug and a kiss, then she slides under the 
covers.  "Love you, Sara."

"Me too."

When I reach the door and flip off the light, she stops me.  "Do 
you still have her diary?"  I nod, and she continues.  "Do you 
think I could read it?"

I hesitate.  There's a lot in there I didn't tell her tonight, 
about the tests and the pain my sister endured.

"Please?  I really want to know."

"Let me think about it, okay?"

She nods, satisfied with that for now.  "Good night, Daddy."

"'Night, baby."

Leaving the door open a bit in case Spooky wants to go in, I 
scrub my face with my hands and head downstairs.  In my bedroom, 
I pull open the nightstand drawer.

The little red book lies there.  I take it out carefully, just 
holding it a moment, feeling closer to my sister.  I wonder for 
the millionth time since I turned twelve what our lives would've 
been like if Samantha had never been taken.

Would I have met Scully, then?  I just told Sara that Samantha's 
abduction was the defining moment in my life -- it led me to the 
X-files, to Scully.  To Sara.

I shake my head.  Speculation has no place in my life now.  Now, 
my life is about Sara.  But I want her to know my sister.  I 
open her diary, turning the aging pages carefully until I reach 
one of Samantha's last entries.

'I think I had a brother with brown hair who used to tease me.  
I hope someday he reads this and knows I wish I could see his 
face for real.'

I leave the diary on my nightstand to give to Sara in the 
morning.

In so many ways, Sara reminds me of Samantha.  Smart, athletic, 
confident... but where Samantha was gregarious and outgoing, 
Sara is quiet, almost shy sometimes.  Part of it, I know, comes 
from being an only child -- Samantha had me to keep up with, to 
tease her out of her shell.  And I know part of it comes from 
the situation she's in now.

Adjusting to a new school has been difficult for Sara.  Not only 
did she have to transfer in the middle of a semester, she's 
making that big-city-to-little-town transition.  The schools on 
the Vineyard are some of the best, but they're still very 
different from what she was used to in New York City.

She's diligent about her studies, doing her homework every 
afternoon without my reminding her, but I worry about the other 
aspects of school -- sports, clubs, friends...  I've tried to 
talk to her, but more often than not she just gives me her 
mother's trademark "I'm fine."

Today when I spot her standing on the sidewalk after school, I 
know I have to try again.  She's alone, hugging her books to her 
chest, a trace of hurt in her eyes, watching a small knot of 
girls a few yards away.  The other girls are laughing and 
nudging each other, generally clowning around, and I can tell 
Sara feels left out and lonely.

The car door slams as she gets in, tossing the other girls a 
last look.  She lets out a big sigh and I pull away from the 
curb, trying to figure out how to do this.

"How was your day?"

She shrugs.  "Fine."

Right.  Fine.  I press on.  "The geography test go okay?"  She 
shrugs again.  "Sara?"

"It was fine, Dad."  Her voice has an edge to it that I don't 
care for.  I take a deep breath and try again.

"Did you decide what you want to do your history paper on?"  She 
shakes her head.  "Do you want to talk about some ideas later?"  
She shakes her head again.

She's staring out the window, absently chewing on a fingernail.  
I know she gets that from me -- I've never seen Scully do that.  
As much as Sara reminds me of my sister, I can see a lot of her 
mother in her as well -- but Sara's definitely her own person.  
I realize that, while I could usually engage Scully with talk of 
work, Sara's more inclined toward the personal.

"One of those girls you were standing with -- wasn't that Mark 
and Elaine McCallister's daughter?  What's her name?"

"Lindsey," she spits out.  Ah.  Now we're getting somewhere.  I 
decide to push it a little, to see if she'll open up.

"Right.  Lindsey.  We've seen them at church sometimes, haven't 
we?"

"I guess so."

"You know, they live just a few blocks over from us.  I could 
talk to Mark and Elaine, see if we could start a car pool..."

"*No*."

"No?"  I try to keep my tone light.  "Why not?"

I can see her jaw working, her eyes narrowing.  Finally she just 
blurts it out -- "Because Lindsey McCallister's a stuck-up 
bitch!"

I'm so stunned I nearly run us off the road.  I'm tempted to 
give her one of those full-name scoldings -- 'Sara Anne Mulder, 
such language!' -- but when I glance over at her, I see there 
are tears in her eyes.  So I wait for her.

"I'm sorry, but it's the only word that fits."

"Okay," I tell her cautiously.  "But *why* is Lindsey 
McCallister a stuck-up bitch?"

Her lips twitch in a slight grin at my use of her word, but she 
still holds on to her anger.  "She doesn't like me."

"And that makes her a stuck-up -- "

"No!"  She lets out an exasperated breath.  "The only reason she 
doesn't like me is 'cause I'm smarter than her."

I don't say anything, waiting for her to go on.  She doesn't.  
She just goes back to staring out the window.

I pull into our driveway and turn off the ignition.  Neither of 
us makes a move to get out of the car for a moment, then I turn 
to her.  "Sara..."

She yanks open the car door and slams it behind her, heading 
inside the house.  I watch her go, still trying to figure out 
what the hell is going on and what to do about it.

The back door is standing open, the cold wind blowing in off the 
ocean.  Sara's taken Spooky out.  Terrific -- she's in full 
avoidance mode.  I close the door and open the living room 
drapes so I can see them when they come back, then settle in to 
wait.

I glance at the phone, tempted to call Scully for advice.  She'd 
know what to do, how to help our daughter.  I even go so far as 
to pick up the phone and start to dial.  Then I spot Sara 
through the window.  She's sitting on the beach, hugging her 
knees to her chest.  Spooky's next to her, sometimes licking her 
hands or her face.

I put down the phone and grab my coat.

Spooky runs up as soon as she sees me, and I realize she's not 
on her leash.  As I get closer to Sara, I see it in her hands -- 
then I see that she's crying.  I gently take the leash and hook 
up the dog, then I sit down next to Sara.  She turns her face 
away, swiping at her tears, but she doesn't say anything.  
Neither do I.

After a minute or two she shivers -- she's wearing her coat, but 
it's damn cold out here.  I put my arm around her shoulder, 
wrapping my own coat around her.  She stiffens momentarily, then 
she scoots a little closer... then she slips her arms around my 
waist and burrows against my chest, letting the tears flow.

We sit together like that for a long time.  Maybe this is a part 
of being a parent that the books and magazines don't tell you 
about -- just holding her while she cries.

Eventually she pulls away a little, sniffles and wipes her face.  
Then she looks up at me.  "You gonna punish me for the b-word 
thing?"

"You think I should?"

Sara surprises me -- she nods.

"I'll get back to you."  She nods again and pulls away 
altogether.  "You want to talk about it?"

She shakes her head, hugs her knees again and turns away.

"Let me rephrase that."  I tilt her face toward me, seeing fresh 
tears threatening.  I know she's hurting, and I try to be 
gentle, but I need to know what's wrong.  "Talk to me, Sara.  
What's going on?"

She sniffles again and stares off toward the ocean, not looking 
at me as she speaks softly.

"It's stupid."

"You're upset.  It can't be *that* stupid."

She smiles a little, thank God.  "Well, it's gonna *sound* 
stupid."

I don't say anything -- I know she'll go on when she's ready.  
Soon enough, she sighs and starts talking.

"Lindsey's in a bunch of my classes.  She's never been all that 
nice to me... I tried, really I did, but she just... she doesn't 
want to be friends."

A shiver runs through her and I wrap her up in my coat again.  
In my arms again.  I give her a kiss on the top of her head, 
then she continues.

"We had an algebra test yesterday, got our grades today."  She 
glances up at me shyly.  "I got a hundred."  I smile and nod, 
and she goes on.  "Mr. Barnes was talking about how I was the 
only one to get a perfect score, then when he gave Lindsey her 
paper he said she was slipping, she only got a ninety-five.  
Everybody laughed, and I kinda smiled at her, you know, I mean a 
ninety-five is great, but she...  Daddy, she looked at me like 
she *hated* me!"

"Oh, sweetheart... I'm sure she doesn't hate you."

"Yeah, well, she started saying things, teasing me..."

"What did you do?"

"I tried to talk to her at lunch, tell her I was sorry about Mr. 
Barnes, but she and her friends just... they ignored me.  It's 
like I wasn't even there."

I hug her tight, and I feel her shivering against me.  I coaxed 
her into the house with promises of hot chocolate and figuring 
out what to do about Lindsey McCallister.

"I'm sure Lindsey isn't being deliberately hostile.  It's 
probably just hard for her and her friends to accept somebody 
new into their little circle."  Sara's built up the fire, and I 
bring our cocoa and a plate of her favorite peanut butter 
cookies to the sofa.

"Well, it still hurts."  I can tell it does, I can hear it in 
her voice.

"I know that, baby."  God, I'd forgotten how drastic everything 
seems when you're a kid.  This is such a big thing for her, for 
this girl to like her.  "When your mom was your age, she moved a 
lot -- her dad was in the Navy.  Maybe she -- "

She shakes her head.  "We talked about it before I moved.  All 
she said was not to do what she did -- she kept to herself and 
didn't make friends.  Mom didn't want that for me."

Neither do I.  I don't want her to withdraw into herself.  I 
think that's why it took so long for Scully and me, for our 
relationship to develop -- she was so used to being closed off, 
it was hard for her to open up.

"I've never been where you are, Sara.  I only changed schools 
once, when my parents divorced.  But I've been where Lindsey 
is."  She looks doubtful.  To be honest, I'm a little doubtful 
myself.  I'm not sure I remember the story...

"When I was about ten, we had this new kid at my school.  Of 
course, nobody liked him, nobody wanted to be his friend, nobody 
wanted anything to do with him.  He was the New Kid."

"But you were nice to him, right?"  So skeptical, my Sara.  I 
know she didn't get that from me.

"I ignored him, same as everybody else.  Wouldn't have been cool 
to talk to him," I tell her with a grin.  She rolls her eyes at 
my use of the antiquated term 'cool,' but she's relaxing a 
little.  "The thing was, though, he didn't seem to care that 
nobody talked to him -- he talked to *us*."

"About what?"

"Stuff," I shrug.  "Every day at lunch or recess, he'd just go 
up to somebody and start talking.  At first we just thought he 
was weird.  But he wouldn't give up.  Then one day he asked me 
how I thought the Yankees were gonna do that season -- it was 
just before Opening Day, so my mind was on baseball anyway..."  
I steal a glance at Sara and see a grin forming -- she shares my 
baseball addiction.  "And we just started talking.  By the time 
school was out for the summer, we were best friends."

She still looks skeptical.  "So I should just keep trying to 
talk to Lindsey till I find something we have in common?"

I nod and reach out to stroke her hair, needing the contact.  
"You're gonna have to be really persistent and not let it get to 
you.  Think you can do that?"  She nods and scoots closer on the 
sofa, slipping her arms around my waist.  "I can help, if you 
want.  We can make a point to talk to Lindsey's parents at 
church on Sunday."

"As long as you don't do that 'my kid wants to be friends with 
your kid' thing -- Mom tried that once, right after we moved to 
New York, and it was a complete disaster."

Laughing, I plant a kiss on her forehead.  "I promise.  Feel 
better?"  She gives me a big smile and a nod.  "Homework?"

Sara lets out a huge, long-suffering sigh and drags herself from 
the sofa.  She reaches down to pet Spooky, who's been sitting at 
our feet the whole time.  "C'mon, Spooky, homework."  And 
they're off up the stairs.

Sara and I go to church every Sunday morning, a 
nondenominational church close by.  Sara's religious education 
is important to Scully, and I think she was a little worried 
that it wouldn't continue once Sara moved here.  But since 
coming home, spirituality has become important to me.  Maybe 
it's just getting older, maybe it's the added responsibility of 
a child... maybe it's what happened to me thirteen years ago.

I've never talked to Scully about it, not since those few days 
in the hospital... and not even then, really.  I didn't remember 
anything -- didn't *want* to remember anything.  She'd suggested 
trying to recover those memories, but I never did.  Slowly, over 
the years, bits and pieces have come back to me.  Pain, mostly.  
Deep, intense, soul-searing pain.

When the pain stopped, when I was returned, when I found out 
about Sara... I knew that I'd been blessed.  Since then, I've 
been exploring theology and spirituality.  The church we go to 
focuses on that, rather than on any one interpretation of 
religion.  It works for me, and Sara seems to like it -- and 
Scully doesn't mind, which surprised me.  I was certain she'd 
want me to find a Catholic church for her, but she's glad Sara's 
happy.

Every day I see more and more of both of us in Sara.  She has 
Scully's faith in God, and mine in extreme possibilities.  Her 
clothes end up on the floor as often as in the hamper, but she 
keeps her room neat.  She'll stay up late sometimes to watch 
cheesy movies with me, but only after her homework is done, and 
she's always up early the next morning.

That's why I'm worried today.  We weren't up late last night, in 
fact she went to bed pretty early.  But she's still asleep when 
I get out of the shower.

"Sara?"  The room's still dark, and Spooky sits next to her bed, 
watching me.  I come closer and sit on the bed next to her -- 
God, I can feel the heat coming off her.  I quickly snap on the 
bedside lamp, put a hand to her forehead -- she's sweating, 
burning up.

"Sara, sweetheart, wake up."

Sara groans a little as I shake her, then mumbles, "Don't feel 
good."

Shit.  She said something about feeling achy when she went to 
bed last night.  "I know, baby, but I need you to wake up for 
me.  Come on, Sara, please..."

She groans again and opens her eyes, squinting against the lamp.  
"Don't feel good, Daddy."

Suddenly she coughs, a harsh, hacking sound -- damn, she was 
coughing last night too, and sniffling.  I should've seen this 
coming.

"Is your throat sore, baby?"  She nods, whimpering a little -- 
God, she's really sick.  "You feel achy, stuffy?"  Nodding 
again, she tries to snuggle back into her pillows.  I pull her 
up to a sitting position and shake her a little, trying to keep 
my growing panic to myself.  "Sara, I know you feel bad, but can 
you stay awake for me for just a few minutes?  Huh?"

"'Kay."  She opens her eyes and focuses with difficulty, then 
gives me a tiny smile.  "Hi, Daddy."

I'm inexplicably relieved that she recognizes me.  "Morning, 
baby.  Stay right there, okay?"  Another nod.  She seems more 
awake now.  As much as I want to sit here next to her until 
she's fully recovered, however long that may be, I rush into her 
bathroom for a damp washcloth.

When I come back she's still sitting up, but her shoulders are 
slumped and her eyes are closed again.  I call her name as I 
return to my place next to her, and she blinks at me sleepily.

"Can I stay home from school today?"

I have to smile.  Scully was sick once, and she was just as out 
of it.  "I think you'd better."  Sara nods again as I wipe off 
her face and neck, smoothing her hair back.  "Your pajama top is 
all sweaty -- I'll get you a clean one, you can change while I 
go get the thermometer, okay?"

"Okay."  Her eyes drift shut and she moves to lay back down.

"No no no -- come on, Sara, just a little bit longer..."  She 
groans, clearly feverish, but she takes the pajama top from me 
and smiles weakly.

I sprint down the stairs to get the first aid kit.  Thermometer, 
Tylenol, water... maybe some juice.  Apple juice -- orange would 
probably hurt her throat.  I know I have a tray around here 
someplace.

By the time I get back to her, she's changed her PJs and kicked 
off her blanket.  I set my tray down and pull the blanket back 
up around her.  "Come on, Sara, you've got to stay warm."

"Too hot," she grumbles, and we battle for a moment over the 
covers.  Finally she gives up and lays back, a pout on her lips 
that would be cute if she weren't so sick.  I check her 
temperature -- 101.4.  High, but not too high.

"You have to stay warm, baby, you've got a fever."  I hand her 
the Tylenol and water.  "Take these... and I brought you some 
apple juice."

"Thanks."  She sips her juice and sinks down into the pillows, 
and I'm struck by how very young she is.  My Sara's so intuitive 
and intelligent, sometimes I forget that she's just a little 
girl...

"Drink your juice, then go back to sleep.  I've got to make some 
phone calls, and I'll be back to check on you in a bit."  I give 
her a kiss and turn off the lamp.  Her small voice catches me at 
the door.

"Daddy?  Could you ask Lindsey to get my homework?"

That's my girl.  Always conscientious.  "Sure, sweetheart.  Get 
some rest."

I call the school and tell them she'll be out, then I call 
Lindsey's mom about car pool and homework.  I consider calling 
Scully, but there's nothing she could do from Boston and I'd 
just worry her.  I decide to call her tonight.

When I come back upstairs, she's had half her juice and has gone 
back to sleep.

I spend most of the day in the study, so I can hear if she needs 
me.  I try to write a little, but I find I can't concentrate on 
anything but Sara.  I can tell Spooky's concerned too -- she 
hardly leaves Sara's room all day.

I look in on Sara about once an hour, restraining myself from 
taking her temperature too often.  I wake her up to take more 
Tylenol and cough syrup, to get her to drink more water or 
juice, but otherwise I let her sleep.  Everything I've read 
about taking care of sick kids says that's the best thing to do.

In the evening she's awake enough to eat a little -- soft 
scrambled eggs and toast, what my mom made for me when I wasn't 
feeling well.  She asks about going to school tomorrow, but I 
tell her she should stay home another day -- she doesn't argue, 
which tells me she's still pretty sick... well, that and the 
fact that her fever hasn't gone down.

She's feeling a little better the next morning, enough to get 
grumpy when I tell her to stay in bed.  I take her temperature 
-- 101.8, a little higher than this time yesterday -- and she 
relents.  I bring her a cheese omelet and some magazines, and 
she sleeps most of the afternoon.

Later she moves to the downstairs sofa and we watch a movie over 
tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, another of my mom's 
comfort foods -- and Sara's mom's too, she tells me.  She says 
something about meat loaf and macaroni, and I promise to make 
that tomorrow night.

Her temperature's down the next day -- 100.6.  She's still tired 
and achy, but her cough is better and she's not as stuffy.  
She's well enough to spend the whole day on the sofa, and to 
stay by herself while I go out for supplies.

When I get back, she's on the phone -- to Scully.

Shit.

I was going to call her two days ago.

I watch and listen as I put away the groceries and medicines.  
It takes me a while, but I finally figure out they're talking 
about next week, Thanksgiving.  I know Sara's been looking 
forward to the three of us spending the holiday together.

"Well, maybe Dad and I can come to Boston.  It's a four-day 
weekend from school...  I know, but..."  A slow smile begins, 
and she glances at me.  "I think we can do that."  I nod to let 
her know that Thanksgiving in Boston is fine with me.

"Yeah, I feel a lot better.  Dad's taking good care of me.  He's 
making meat loaf and macaroni tonight...  I dunno, he's a pretty 
good cook..."  She grins at me as I join her on the couch and 
give her a kiss on the forehead, subtly checking her fever in 
the process.

"He just got back, you wanna talk to him?"  I reach for the 
phone, but Sara holds up a finger.  "I'm gonna go take a bubble 
bath, give Dad some time alone in the kitchen.  I'll e-mail 
tonight... okay, tomorrow night.  Love you, Mom!"  She hands me 
the phone and kisses me on the cheek.  "Love you too, Daddy."

With Spooky trailing her, Sara heads upstairs slowly, listening 
as I begin my conversation with her mother by apologizing.

"Scully, I'm so sorry I didn't call..."

"It's okay, Mulder.  You were busy."  I can almost hear her 
smiling now.  "So you've weathered your first 'oh God my kid is 
sick' crisis -- how's it feel?"

I smile too, realizing that as frightening as it was, Sara's 
illness was a parental moment we can share.  "Let's just say my 
panic face got a real workout at first.  But right now... it 
feels terrific."

Her voice gets softer.  "See?  I told you you could do it."

"Yes, you did," I whisper.  "Thank you for believing in me, 
Scully."

"I've always believed in you, Mulder."

I think about that for a minute, in light of what's happened 
over the past month.  Sara and me, together and on our own, and 
the sacrifice Scully made for us.

I swipe a hand over my face before I can continue.  Even then, 
my voice is still tight.  "Thanks for letting me learn to 
believe in myself."

Scully doesn't say anything, but I think I hear a sniffle on the 
other end of the line.  Before we both dissolve into our own 
private crying jags, I change the subject.

"So.  Thanksgiving in Boston, huh?"

"Yeah, I've only got a couple of days off.  I'm at least ten 
years older than any of these people I work for, but they still 
treat me like the new kid.  It annoys the hell out of me."

I suppress a laugh at her choice of phrase.  "It's okay for us 
to come, though?"

"You'd better!" she says with a giggle that sounds oddly like 
Sara's.  Then her voice gets soft again.  "God, Mulder... I've 
missed you both so much."

"We've missed you too... I..."  I take a deep breath.  "I miss 
you, Scully."

Neither of us speaks for a moment, then she whispers, "Me too."

With a smile and a sigh, I look ahead to next month.  "Christmas 
on the Vineyard, then?"

"Yes," she says firmly.  "Christmas on the Vineyard.  The three 
of us."

I like the sound of that.

My heart is racing ahead to our first Christmas together as a 
family, while my mind plans a meat loaf dinner with our 
daughter.

My daughter.

My Sara.

END

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

END NOTES:  Don't worry, there'll be more to this series! <g>

Many thanks and big hugs to Diana Battis and Nicola Simpson for 
excellent and reassuring beta.  Thanks to IWTB for constant 
inspiration.