"When Pigs Fly" by Marie Endres 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. "Come on. 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 cannot 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 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!