ENVELOPED

Classification: Stand-alone vignette. Takes place sometime around season 5.
Summary: Answer to a challenge - write about a love letter from one character to another.

***

12:55 p.m.
Office of A.D. Skinner

***

He fell in the line of duty.

That was the drill when someone called the office and asked for him. Regret to inform. Line of duty. Even after three days, Kimberly's voice cracked as she uttered the words. Today was worse, for she had to add that the services would be held at two o'clock at the Rock Creek Cemetery.

The cardboard boxes, smelling of basement dampness and paperwork gone to ash, left brown flakes on her sober black suit. With a grimace, she brushed at the offending detritus but it clung to the wool. Stubborn, just as he had been, and at the thought Kimberly felt her eyes mist over for the hundredth time that day.

Her boss had been the hardest of the hard-asses in a building known for men with glutes of granite. Field agents and ASACs alike had been known to pace this anteroom, chewing their nails and wishing for a cigarette.

Even the ones who didn't smoke.

Nonetheless, Kimberly found herself turning down offers to assist other executives at the Bureau, even turning down a small promotion in the process. The downturned mouth that terrified seasoned agents didn't frighten her, because she heard words of gentle sympathy emerge from it when she told him of her mother's death. Others talked in whispers of the imposing physique, the terrifying strength of the arms and chest, but Kimberly held a fond memory of those muscular arms bared under rolled-up sleeves as he changed a flat tire for her one rainy, cold day.

Sighing, she gave up on trying to remove individual scraps from her jacket and walked slowly to the door to his office. The doorknob seemed colder, somehow, as if it had shared his life force and was now as chill to the touch as he.

Kimberly opened the door. There was still so much to be done, so many books to pack and personal effects to dispose of, that no one had thought to empty his desk. She knew that a clothes brush was in the bottom left drawer - it had been her present to him at Christmas, a dark mahogany one, not a plastic roller with sticky sheets on it, such as a gentleman would use.

Feeling as if she were disturbing a grave, she pulled the drawer out and peered inside. The clothes brush was there, resting on top of some papers. Kimberly took it without looking into the drawer, inhaling the final remnants of his masculine scent, almost hoping to find a stray hair on the brush, something of his.

Stop it, she told herself firmly. She pressed the red velour surface to her sleeve and began a downward pull, her eyes following the path of the black fabric, bringing into her line of vision a manila envelope sitting squarely in the middle of the drawer.

An envelope with a name on it.

Fox Mulder.

Kimberly dropped the brush, not hearing it bang against the desk on its way to the floor. She picked up the envelope. It was heavy, as if it contained more papers, and she could feel the outline of a second envelope within.

For a moment she considered calling Mulder's basement office, but then she looked at her watch and saw that it was after one. He would be on the way to the funeral, and it was time for her to go, as well.

***

2:27 p.m.
Rock Creek Cemetery

***

Scully was among those who crossed themselves as the bronze coffin was lowered into the ground. She had been given the folded American flag to hold, as there was no family to mourn the passing of this man, and she clutched it to her chest in a gesture of fierce pride.

Mulder stood close by as he always did, his long shadow blending in with her smaller one. His body seemed tightly coiled; he felt anxiety radiating out of him like fever heat, directed toward the woman at his side.

He dipped his head to ask if she were all right, and her answering nod completed the circuit of non-verbal conversation. Scully closed her eyes as the minister intoned the final benediction, then crossed herself once more and her lips moved in a silent prayer.

Mulder needed to touch her, to ground himself in the reality of her living flesh. It was not difficult for him to lean over her small frame and slip his fingers into her hand for just a moment. They both needed comfort.

Senses on alert, he heard footsteps coming toward them across the manicured lawn and looked up to see the pale, tear-streaked face of Skinner's assistant. "Agents," she said in a thick, sorrowful voice.

Scully smiled slightly when Mulder offered his handkerchief to Kimberly and waited for her to dry her tears. "Are you going to be all right?" he asked in a carefully measured tone, as he refolded the cloth and put it into his breast pocket.

"Yes. It's just...I spent the morning cleaning out my desk, and I needed something from his...his office." Kimberly took a deep breath. "I found this, Agent Mulder." She handed him the envelope, her finger trailing over the strong handwriting one last time.

"What is it?"

Kimberly shrugged. "I don't know. It just turned up while I was looking for something else."

"An ass-kicking from beyond the grave?" The tone was more regretful than impudent, and he was gratified to see smiles light on the faces of both women. He turned slightly away and slid one finger under the flap of the envelope. A piece of note paper fell out and he picked it up. The familiar script brought a lump to his throat as he started to read.

"Mulder,

"It may be a day since I passed, or months. Nonetheless, I give the contents of this envelope to your keeping. I believe you know the story all too well. I leave it to your discretion whether to show it to Agent Scully.

"Skinner"

The day was not cold, but Mulder found himself hunching over into his jacket to ward off a sudden chill. He had known Skinner's secret for years, had kept it to himself at his superior's request, and now his restless fingers caught hold of the written record of a man's deeds, to be turned over to the woman who had been the focus of them all.

His lips moved around her name but no sound came out. He saw her watching him with her head tilted in that peculiar way that meant she was intensely curious.

There was nothing he could do but offer her the truth.

Mulder brushed his palm across Kimberly's arm. "Thanks," he said in a low, soothing voice. "I'm grateful to you for this. For everything. Is there anything we can help you take care of?"

"There's not much to do, really. I'm taking a couple of personal days and I'll be reassigned when I come back. His...things will be cleared away by then. But I appreciate the offer." She started to walk away, but turned back to say one last thing. "He enjoyed you. I know it didn't always look like it, but..."

Scully flashed a genuine smile at her. "I'm so glad," she whispered. "Take care."

Kimberly nodded and headed away from the burial site. Mulder and Scully watched her take longer and longer steps, her head coming up high and proud. "I think she'll be okay," Scully said.

"I hope she will. I hope we all will." He tapped the envelope and motioned for her to hold out her hand.

She frowned a little. "What's it about, Mulder?"

He put the envelope in her hand, his fingers traveling upward to her forearms and resting gently on the soft skin. His voice caught slightly. "It's about you."

***

Dana Scully's apartment
4:36 p.m.

***

She sat on the sofa, her bare feet tucked neatly under her. It had been nearly an hour since she got back home from the cemetery, yet the envelope lay on the coffee table, untouched.

Mulder had said that it was about her, but he told her nothing else. They left the funeral in separate cars with no mention of when they would meet again. She was not in the least surprised that he got to her apartment before she did. He followed her in and waited in the kitchen, making himself as unobtrusive as possible while managing to keep her in his sight at all times.

Scully took a deep breath. Picking up the envelope, she opened the flap and let the second envelope, the small, legal-sized one, fall into her lap. She slid her fingernail along the top and pulled out the letter.

It was hand-written rather than typed, and she was oddly moved by that fact as she began to read.

"Agent Scully,

"I remember the day you were assigned to the X Files. I watched from my office door as you went into Blevins' office, all fresh-faced and spit-polished, and I felt like I'd been kicked in the gut. It was all a set-up and I knew even then that bad things were going to happen to you.

"I just had no idea HOW bad.

"Over and over you came to me for help and I was only able to dole it out in dribs and drabs. When the smoke cleared, so to speak. I wrangled information in secret rooms and elevators, only to find myself on the business end of your gun when you thought Mulder was gone and you had nothing left to lose.

"Then they took you and I felt that first slide into the fiery pit.

"When you were returned, Mulder went crazy. I managed to keep him in the Bureau, but only by the skin of my teeth. Once you recovered, so did he, and I thought we were on the right track.

"Just after that, I got the news that your sister's murder file was being closed and I had to face you yet again. I remember the contempt in your eyes and I knew at that moment that I'd do anything to earn your respect. I took a slug and you forgave me, and I let myself believe that the worst was over. I was wrong.

"Not in my worst nightmares did I ever imagine you'd come into my office and tell me you had terminal cancer while Mulder paced in the background like a trapped cheetah.

"He demanded a deal. A meeting with the smoking man. I told him to find another way and for once he listened to me. What he didn't know was that I made a deal. While he was getting you out of that hospital in Pennsylvania, I was sitting opposite that man, promising him anything if he'd save you, if he'd save you without taking Mulder in exchange.

"When you were in the hospital for tests, I performed a task for that bastard. Mulder caught me - almost shot me, in fact - and I had to tell him. To his credit, he never told you. I asked him not to. Mulder is a pain in the ass, as you well know, but you also know that he's almost insanely loyal.

"I'm probably damned, Scully. I've done a lot of things in my life that would earn me a one-way ticket to Hell. But I'm not afraid of damnation in the afterlife, because I've faced it in this one. It was the moment you fainted at the hearing about Mulder's 'death,' the moment you looked me in the eyes and said, 'You.'

"You thought I was your executioner, and it damn near killed me.

"Mulder pulled me out of that one, and when I went to see you after you'd gone into remission, your eyes absolved me of my sins. Even the ones you didn't know I'd committed.

"The ones I'd do again in a heartbeat just to see a flash of respect in your eyes. I hope to see that someday, Dana, someday before you have the opportunity to read this letter.

"Walter Skinner"

She placed her hand over her mouth and let her tears drip over her fingers. For her. He'd sacrificed his honor for her, refusing to place Mulder in harm's way. For her. For them both.

She wept soundlessly, not noticing that the day had turned to night. A vague impression of a chair scooting along the kitchen floor ran past the perimiter of her hearing, but she did not respond to it.

"Scully, are you all right?" Mulder's voice was laden with concern as he entered the living room and crouched next to the sofa. "Did you..."

"I read it. He told me about...cancer man. About the deal."

Mulder was silent for several seconds. "I'm sorry I never told you."

"No, it's okay. He asked you to keep his secret." Her breath hitched and she felt an aching tightness in her chest. "I can't believe I ever doubted him." She handed Mulder the letter and watched as he read it, watched his lips tremble at the last words.

He folded the letter with great care and pressed it into her hands. "I'm sorry, Scully. But now...now you know."

"Now I know." She wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist. "I just wish I could thank him. He did so much, Mulder. I can't believe he's gone, and I never...I wish he'd sent this to me before."

"I don't think he could," Mulder whispered. "I think he was afraid to send it."

She leaned forward, her face a study in confusion. "But...why?"

There was a moment of complete silence, thick and heavy.

"Scully, I think...I think it was a love letter."

One sob, one lone cry, broke the stillness and Mulder gathered her in his arms with the letter still clutched in her fingers, rocking her gently back and forth as her tears turned the ink into a rivulet of blue-black blood.

***
END
***

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