"When Pigs Fly"
by Marie Endres
[email protected]

Classification: MSR, SA

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Through Cancer Arc

Summary: See title

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully are not mine.
They belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting.
No infringement is intended.

"When Pigs Fly"

She went to the car first, leaving Mulder behind to finish the last
few questions with the witness. It was nothing he could not handle on
his own. Nothing he would not have to handle on his own some day in
the near future.

There. Slithering into her consciousness like a cunning serpent, the
knowledge, the fact of what her cancer meant. It would find its way
into every day, shading even the sunniest of days, dampening an
enthusiasm that once seemed bottomless. It was an unrelenting
suitor, this thing called fear.

The rain began to pick up with intensity as she made her way to the
car. The wind drove the wet drops into her face and it was so very,
very cold. It was a to-the-bones sort of dampness and it made Scully
long for home or at least an umbrella to shield her from the
elements. It was then she heard Mulder beginning a war with the
object of her affections as he left the building.

"C'mon. Open, you dam-" Mulder said as he fought a losing battle
with the umbrella that was being buffeted and turned inside out by
the same winds as were blowing on Scully and the rest of the area. He
threw it into the trash and added a disgusted kick to the hapless can
for good measure.

"Hey, Scully, Wait up," he called as he loped toward her.

I can't wait, she thought to herself. I have to keep moving.
Don't
you know that yet? If I stop-

His heavy, strong hand upon her shoulder interrupted her thoughts as
he caught up to her, turning her to face him.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She thought about giving him a different response, but didn't.
"I'm fine. I just want to get to the car," she said as she turned
back to her determined trek through the now-driving rain.

He nodded and walked beside her at the same rate, trying to avoid the
puddles that were everywhere. A car sped by them, splashing parking
lot grit onto both their shins, just making the afternoon that much
more wonderful.

"Scully, do you think we've found the sixth ring of hell?" Mulder
asked.

"Then it would at least be warm," Scully said without enthusiasm.

The Bureau-issued car was the last one in the row, and they were fast
approaching it, a fact that caused Scully to give thanks to God and
whatever saints may still be listening.

Mulder went to the driver side, opened it and unlocked Scully's door
from the inside. She slid inside, and wondered if she had enough
energy to close the door. The constant rain was finally enough of a
motivator to heave the door shut. Mulder started the car, and Scully
for once, was happy that he took the wheel without even a discussion.

He guided the car out of the parking lot, and turned on the radio.
The announcer was in the middle of a weather report.

"Welcome everyone to Hurricane Sallie's visit to the Del-Mar
peninsula! We expect driving rain and gale-force winds to continue to
batter the area for at least the next 4-5 hours. Stay tuned for more
details."

The man was way too cheery, Scully thought.

"Scully, have I ever told you about the flying pigs of Martha's
Vineyard?" Mulder asked as he navigated his way through the river-
like roads leading to I95.

"No, but I'm sure you're going to," Scully replied with the hint of a
smile.

"Ah, it's good to be known so well," Mulder said, while turning onto
the entrance ramp.

He began his story, telling of strong winds and Indian legends, and
the windshield wipers gave a constant backbeat to his words. His
words were spoken softly, much as one would when telling a child a
bedtime story. Scully began to catch about every other word, and then
about every fifth or sixth. Her eyes closed of their own volition.

"So, there we were, Samantha and I, wishing and hoping . . ."

Scully could see them, so young and innocent, full of hope, not too
unlike herself when she first walked into that basement office so
long ago.

She wished she could have known him before everything, before he lost
part of himself along with his sister.

"My mother had brought out the candles, because the power was sure to
go . . ." he continued.

Scully remembered the trust of lighting candles as a child. They
would burn with her prayers before a loving, listening God. She
wondered why she could not bring herself to light one for herself now.

"And Mom let us make our own peanut butter sandwiches, but we were
too excited to eat. . ."

Like Christmas morning, waiting at the top of the stairs, holding
back Charlie so they wouldn't all get in trouble. I want to go back,
Mulder, and start all over again, to savor each and every moment, she
thought. I want to be alive, I want to make love at least one more
time. I want you to touch me and not just wait beside me like an
incredible bottle of wine that I just can't open. While you wait,
time is slipping away. But she gave no voice to her words.

The miles sped by and Mulder kept telling his tale, while Scully was
lulled by his words and her thoughts.

Mulder pulled off the interstate as they neared DC. It was dark and
Scully had been asleep for the last half hour. He pulled up to the
curb outside her apartment and killed the engine.

"Scully, we're here," he said softly so as not to startle her awake.

She made her way up through the haze of memory, fear, and desire. Her
eyes fluttered open to see that night had fallen as she slept. She
also noticed that they were not back at the Bureau.

"Mulder, you brought me home," she stated, her voice still soft with
sleep.

"Yeah, you seemed a little tired," he said as he smirked with his
understatement. "I'll pick you up in the morning and you can drive
your car home tomorrow," he said.

This was where she would bid him a safe trip home. Now was when she
should have left the car and made a run for the building so as to
elude the ever falling rain. Yet, she waited. She waited because it
seemed like such an idea of the past- to wait, to hesitate is not
something one does if she has inoperable cancer. It's something
people who have all the time in the world do.

Her waiting was courageous, then, and it seemed to poke at Mulder
like yet another unanswered question. His hands left the wheel and
settled in his lap. "Yeah, we never did get to see if those pigs did
fly over the island, Scully," he said as his gaze scanned the sky
seemingly in search of them still.

"But it was a good summer," he finished. He turned to face her, as
she looked straight ahead.

"Scully, do you need me to help you inside?" he said, his voice
tinged with a pinch of worry.

No, I need you.

I just need you.

Inside.

"Was Samantha disappointed?" she asked as she turned to face him,
diverting her immediate thought.

"Yes, but when you're eight, life is full of possible chances to see
the fantastic. So, yeah, she got over it," he said, his voice
trailing off into that soft valley of knowing that there were no more
chances after that summer.

"Mulder, did you know that from the top of my building, I can see a
good portion of DC?" Scully said.

"Scully, are you saying what I think you're saying?" he said with a
mixture of shock and delight.

She reached across that chasm of too many years apart, and rested her
hand on his. "I just want my chance, Mulder."

He did not hear the "before it's too late" that hung in the air
between them in the confines of that company car. He didn't have to.
He nodded, squeezed her hand in reply, and got out of the car.

She met him at the door to the apartment building, and using her key,
ushered him in.
Climbing each step up the inner flights reminded her of just what she
was doing, as she continued a journey began long ago.

First flight, brought back a single trust, listening to his story in
that Oregon hotel room, believing him, in him, when no one else
would.

Second flight, seeing him relieved beyond words that she had been
returned to him.

Final flight before their rooftop appointment, telling him of her
cancer, when all she wanted to do was flee. Trusting him. It was
always about that.

"I don't know about this, Scully," he said with a little
disappointment.

"What do you mean?" she said, turning to face him.

"I think the wind had died down. The conditions just may not be right
and your nosey neighbors will start talking about you," he said with
mock fear.

"C'mon, Mulder, I want to believe," she said while pushing open the
heavy door that led outside to the rooftop.

The rain had slowed to a quiet patter, and the air was a little mild
as they stood just under the small awning that hung over the door.
Scully placed her handbag as a wedge between the door and the frame
so as to keep it slightly open.

"Now, we should look toward the northeast, since they usually start
their flight there," he said with all seriousness.

She hesitated for a moment, not remembering the direction they were
facing currently. He sensed her indecision, and placed his hands
firmly on her shoulders, to turn her toward the northeast sky. He did
not remove them once she was in place.

Rather, he very gently pulled her closer to him as they stood and
watched out into the inky, cloud-covered night. She felt his nearness
and it warmed her more than an hour-long soak in the most luxurious
of bubbles.

He used his right hand to point out into the night. And as he voice
came out as soft puffs of warmth against her cheek, he said,

"Now, if there weren't so many lights from the city, we might be able
to see, well, maybe at least, a little curly tail," he said, with a
smile that she could see even without turning to face him.

"I can't see anything, Mulder," she whispered, a little laugh
escaping her lips.

"Yeah, I fear we missed our moment," he replied, dropping his hand
from its directing. She caught it within her own as their fingers
intertwined and held tightly for a moment.

She turned around to look up at him, and then let go of his hand. "I
don't think we did," she said as she looked at him, promise and
warning, and love in her gaze.

His hand, with very gentle fingers, cupped the side of her face. "And
we won't," he said definitively.

She looked away, not able to muster the courage to continue down this
road that made her feel desperate and satisfied all at the same time.

One of his fingers came up under her chin, tilting her face up, once
more to meet his gaze. "When we're looking together in the same
direction, Scully, there's no doubt in my mind that the most
fantastic things are still to be. Believe that," he said, while
drawing her to himself, holding her close.

She moved back slightly so as to look into his perfect face once
more. "And what direction is that, Mulder?" she asked, wondering
where to point her inner compass.

As he lowered his lips to hers, he said, "The direction where even
pigs can fly."

END

Feedback: More incredible than airborne pork:
[email protected]

Notes and Thanks: First, to Sallie, who has inspired me, comforted
me, prayed for me, and been a dear friend and online Mom, I send my
loving thanks. This story would not exist without you! Truly. She
offered these elements for my creative disposal: a rain storm without
an umbrella or a broken umbrella, either Mulder or Scully being
splashed by a passing car, candles, a bottle of wine that will not
open, peanut butter, a nosey neighbor, and a character named "Sallie"
thrown in for good measure.
                  And as always, dearest Georgia, who knows my heart
and just happens to be an incredible beta reader, too. You bless me
daily, dear friend!