Subj: Poconos (4/7) by Jess
Date: 8/10/99 7:18:39 PM Central Daylight Time
From: jessica@amazon.com (Jessica Mabe)
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TITLE: Poconos (4/7)
AUTHOR: Jess
EMAIL ADDRESS: jessica@amazon.com
RATING: NC-17
Summary in Part One.
Feedback makes me all mushy inside.
Sitting in the car at the town's lone stoplight, air blasting, Mulder
chewed a sunflower seed and stared at the heat mirages in the road
ahead.
Scully had taken her jacket off, and was now smoothing her hair by
licking her index and middle finger and then dragging them down a few
strands at a time. It was driving him mad.
"Scully?" he asked suddenly. "Do you believe that if you want something
bad enough, it'll happen?"
She glanced over at him, pausing with one hand still tangled in her
hair.
"You mean, for instance, if I'm Carmen Cratched and my husband beats me
and maybe I wish he would just die… and then he does, is it partly
because I wanted it so badly?"
"Exactly."
"Nope. Don't believe that."
"Of course not," Mulder said with a grin. "Why would you? It just makes
sense."
She glared, but not too deeply. "What to hear what I think happened?"
He nodded, fascinated by her busy fingers.
"I think mean old Bob Cratched fell into his septic tank with three
people watching, but because the man was, to coin a phrase 'a
wife-beating, dog-loving, stupid sonova bitch', no one raised a hand to
help him. Put it this way, Mulder. If you fell into a septic tank, I
would at least wander over to see if you were ok."
"Gee, Scully, I'm touched."
She smiled, and then began finger-combing the hair. Suddenly he was
picturing doing the same thing to her as she slid slowly down his body…
he stepped on the accelerator and aimed for the motel.
"So Mulder, if you could have anything you wanted, what would it be?"
He felt his entire body go limp.
"Anything?"
Pondering it for a moment, she shook her head.
"No, I guess… it has to be selfish. Something for you, you know? Not
anything for Samantha or your dad or world peace. Something I would
never be able to guess at."
She leaned back and looked carefully at him.
"Will you have to answer this too?" he asked.
"Absolutely. I'll even answer it first, if you like."
He nodded wildly. "I like."
"Ok, Mulder. If I could have anything I wanted… let's see… I guess I'd
just want to be happy."
He felt as if the bottom had dropped out of his world.
"You aren't now?"
She smiled at him, not entirely seeing his suffering. If Scully wasn't
happy… God, it didn't even bear thinking about how deeply that hurt.
"Of course I am, in a way, Mulder. But I'm not totally fulfilled, if you
see what I mean. I guess I'd like to settle down a bit, maybe not today
but sometime, with the man I love… have kids… or adopt them, whatever.
Have a dog. Maybe two dogs. You know… stop chasing mutants. Stop
worrying about alien abductions and cancer man and just have a garden
and maybe a chicken or two…"
Scully had never, ever expressed a desire for a "chicken or two" to him.
Of course, he thought miserably, he'd never actually asked her.
"So you'd want to quit the x-files," he said, unable to mask the anguish
in his voice.
She laughed softly.
"Oh, Mulder. I said someday. I'd just like to believe that my life isn't
going to end one day in an alien ship or a tube of green goo or even
lying on the pavement with a bullet in my heart. I'd like to think I
could end up dying of old age in my bed."
"You're never going to die, remember?" He said it fiercely, with
passion. He meant it.
"Mulder..." She grabbed his hand and kissed it; a chaste little kiss
that made his head pound. "Now it's your turn. If you could have
anything, what would it be? Honestly."
God, to honestly answer that… he thought, why not? What harm could it
do?
"I would want you to never, ever have even the smallest chicken."
She looked stunned.
"I'm not sure whether to smack you or be flattered. What have you got
against chickens?"
"It's supposed to be a selfish wish, right? So there it is. I wouldn't
want to lose you to a garden and some uber-husband and little kids and
dogs and… God, I'm a complete fuck, aren't I?"
"Mulder…" she stilled him by squeezing his hand. "It's just a little
fantasy, ok? I'm not leaving for the country life anytime soon. Besides,
you might like chickens, if you gave them half a chance."
And just what, he thought, did she mean by that?
The church was completely packed. Scully fanned her face sleepily with a
program, the slight breeze barely enough to keep her from passing out.
There were times when being an elegantly dressed g-woman really stank,
in more ways than one. As long as she didn't have to take her jacket
off, she reasoned, she'd be fine.
Next to her, Mulder sat with his elbows on his knees, examining his
hands as if they were the most fascinating things he'd ever seen. She
could feel the boredom coming off him in hot little waves.
"Mulder," she whispered, "when do you think this thing is going to
start?"
"Never," he moaned softly. "This is hell. We're still in that fucking
mushroom and this is hell."
That would make waking up that morning to find him practically
smothering her a hallucination, and she was pretty sure she didn't want
it to be. It had been damn nice to be possessively snuggled, even if she
was supposed to be asleep and completely unaware.
"Wait," she said. "Someone's doing something."
A thin woman in sweat-stained black wool, was being escorted down the
aisle by two grim older men. She took her seat in the front row,
sniffling and nodding to those around her.
"That's gotta be Mrs. McGillicudy. Now maybe we can get this show on the
road," Mulder murmured.
"Shhh." Scully watched one of the grim men ascend to the podium and bow
his head.
"Ladies and Gentlemen…and…" he hesitated and looked right at her,
"visitors… please join us in saying a prayer for the departed."
The men and women around them stood and supported one another gently.
"Lord, you have seen fit to take another fine man from the bosom of his
family and friends. We do not pretend to know the reasons behind your
actions… we are not worthy of explanation. We can only come together in
this, your house, to offer comfort as best we know how to those who are
bereaved. When, as is the case with every death in this community, we
are all the bereaved, we must gather our strength, rely on each other
for comfort, and move bravely on, knowing the good soul of the departed
lives on with you in heaven. Hear our prayer, Lord, and grant us the
ability to be the rock on which the good widow McGillicudy and her
family depend in this time of sorrow."
The church murmured their Amens and everyone sat back down.
Scully looked around at the bereaved parishioners and was struck by how…
well, pleased many of them looked. They didn't seem like a community
united in sorrow, and yet here everyone was, dressed in black and
sweltering in the standing-room only church.
Another man, obviously a friend, stood up and walked to the podium. The
reverend smiled and nodded to him.
"Mr. Jim Barrons will give the Eulogy."
Jim Barrons was a big man, and he labored up the steps in the heat.
Mulder's eyes were glassy and unfocused. He was obviously one step away
from simply sliding down under the pews like jelly.
"I didn't know Albert McGillicudy all that well…" Mr. Barrons began, and
Scully looked up in surprise, "… I don't think most of us did. But what
we did know is that he was a kind and gentle man, with a good heart, who
provided for his family. He liked to look to the stars, too, though I
don't think we'll ever really know why. Maybe it was appropriate that he
died stargazing, doing what he loved. Anyway, I know you will all do
your best for his widow, Sarah. We, as a community, have a
responsibility to those who lose someone, and I believe you will all do
the utmost to see her stay here is as comfortable as possible. Thank
you."
Mulder was also watching the speaker, and he turned to her as the man
stepped slowly down from the stage.
"What did he mean, 'her stay here'? Doesn't his wife live with him?"
Scully leaned over, conscious that others were watching.
"That explains why it took so long to find the body."
Mrs. McGillicudy was making her way up to the stage as someone behind
them whispered "hush, the widow."
"My name is Sarah McGillicudy. I know you don't know me, and since my
husband recently moved here after the separation, I suppose you didn't
know him well either. But I want you to know, Albert was a good man.
Just because he and I… well, it's not important. He always tried to do
his best for all his friends, and I'm sure he would be touched to see
all of you here today. I know you have been an invaluable support to me
now, and I thank you for it. I only hope your community is spared any
more need to comfort the living."
As she was gently escorted back to her pew, Mulder leaned carefully over
and whispered in Scully's ear "this is damn weird, doncha think?"
She nodded. Why would the entire town turn out for the funeral of a man
they hardly knew? Why would they go out of their way to help a woman
they'd never met? She knew people must be bored, but it simply didn't
explain this level of "community". Shuddering slightly, she realized
that the people of Clement, Pennsylvania gave her the creeps. They were
just a little too helpful.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, if no one has anything further to say regarding
poor Albert, I would like to say a few words to the congregation as a
whole and then we can convene to the wake."
A contented hum rose from the pews as people prepared to leave.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, please," the preacher called. "This is serious
business."
The noise stopped.
"We are all familiar with God's edict to turn the other cheek. Heck,
most of us live with it every day. When someone, perhaps someone who
doesn't know us well, interferes in our life, causes us pain, we are
told by God that we must not act in our own defense. The will of the
Lord in this case is great, saving us from anger with our neighbors or
friends over trivial arguments and mistakes."
The congregation nodded in unison, looking to each other to affirm the
preacher's words.
"But what is the word of the Lord when the attackers turn to the House
of God himself? What are we called upon to do when the threat is not
upon ourselves, but to our beloved church? I ask you, parishioners of
this holy community, what are we to do?"
Mulder poked Scully in the ribs. "Think he's talking about us?" he
whispered. She glared.
"I tell you now, people of this House, God is not so forgiving of those
who seek to destroy his places of worship, no no. He calls for
vengeance, for strife upon them. I say this, not to incite you to
violence…"
"Oh no," Mulder murmured sarcastically.
"…But to remind you to be vigilant, to protect what is ours from those
who would harm it. To take into your own lives, into your own hands, the
salvation of the Church on which we have all come to depend so greatly.
This is a time for extra care in how we talk to strangers, to those who
don't understand the importance of the church in our lives. I issue a
warning to the men and women of this parish: protect this church, or
lose what makes our lives complete in these dark times…." The minister
clapped his hands, making Scully jump. "Now, let's go celebrate the life
of Mr. Albert McGillicudy."
If the funeral had been strange, the wake was even stranger. She and
Mulder stood to one side, watching the festivities like wallflowers at a
school dance. The entire town mingled, drank, danced and toasted Albert
McGillicudy several times, generally making merry. The widow McGillicudy
sat on a raised platform like the bride at a wedding, and in truth, that
was closer to the tone of the occasion. Mulder glanced at Scully and
found his partner sweaty and annoyed. She obviously disapproved.
Truthfully, he didn't find the idea to be all that sinister. That folks
would celebrate someone's life appealed to him. He could only hope if he
were to die, his family and friends would gather and allow themselves to
get very, very drunk. Especially Scully, he thought, watching his small
partner's tense face. Especially her. But of course he knew that if he
were to die, Scully would gather herself up like a snail into its shell,
and he rather liked her the way she was now: one cautious antennae
waving in the breeze. Ruefully he noted that he'd just have to live.
Even if it meant living with chickens.
The people of Clement, however, were not celebrating the life of a
beloved friend or relative. They were, in fact, celebrating nothing he
could quite put his finger on, except maybe the joy of celebration
itself. That wasn't so terrible, he thought, unless the need for
celebration created a need for something to celebrate, and that created…
he sighed. Even his muddled head decided that it would just be too
weird, and he knew Scully would never go for the theory that the people
of this town, this church, were willing death to come to them.
From across the room, he spotted Sally, weaving her way through drunken
adults toward them. She planted herself in front of him and smiled.
"Dance, Agent Muldurn?"
The music was slow and sexy. He groaned inwardly.
"Mulder," he said. "Um…"
Scully was looking at him, amused and triumphant. He shrugged.
"Sally, I think Agent Scully has usurped you."
end part 4 of 7
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Date: Tue, 10 Aug 1999 16:00:26 -0700
From: Jessica Mabe
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