In the Pink
By Pebbles
Rated G, but don't hold it against me
Spoilers for Requiem
Classification, vignette
Thanks to Brandon, Robbie and Shannon for killer beta and to Brynna for
my new web page!
Archive?  I'm easy.  Just ask nicely.
Feedback greedily consumed at pebblesb@earthlink.net
 

In the Pink
by Pebbles
 

Seven years.

You've been gone now for the same length of time I'd known you when you
were taken.

From me.

From us.

Your son looks at me through smoky green eyes, his hair dark and shaggy
and hanging across his brow in a manner I often saw on you.  Yet he has
inherited my complexion, soft and fair, and his nose is covered with the
most charming freckles in the history of mankind.  I call them angel
kisses, because I look at him and know without doubt that my faith has
not led me astray.

He's such a miracle, enough to make me believe again in divine
intervention. I'm convinced that at the moment of his conception, our
union was blessed. Every time I look at him, my heart explodes with joy
at what we created, the perfect culmination of all we had come to mean
to each other.

He doesn't miss you the way I do, of course, having never actually known
you, but he absorbs the pictures that I show him, and the nightly tales
of our epic adventures.  Despite the heavy editing most of them require,
I still try to paint an accurate vision of you for him to know and love.

Since he was a tiny nursing baby we have had our time in the twilight of
the day.  As he grew older, he would look at the rosy glow outside as
the day was coming to an end, and herald the arrival of The Pink.

The Pink indicated the beginning of The Children's Hour, as he called
it.  The Pink always began with Longfellow, and then he would request a
story about his father.

So I tell him, Mulder.  I tell him how it felt to be stranded on a rock
with you in the middle of Lake Nowhere, Georgia, tentatively touching on
a subject most sensitive, that of your father and mine.  It's then that
I'm most compelled to elaborate on your attributes, tell him how proud I
am of the
man you became despite the obstacles you had to overcome.

I tell him of spending a dark and spooky night under a crystalline sky
in the Apalachicola National Forest, holding your wounded body close to
mine to share my warmth, and of your heroics in bearing with my singing,
although you had asked for it.

I tell him of the times that you saved my life, and I yours, and I tell
him of the tremendous faith that we have in each other.

Yes, *have*, not *had *.  I still believe you'll come back some day.   I
want our son to know you when you walk through that door.  I want him to
love you and admire you the way I do.  I want him to know his father for
the wonderful man he is, and not be afraid to go up and take his daddy's
hand.

He tugs at my hand now, his face shiny clean, his just-brushed teeth
gleaming in a cheeky grin, his dark hair damp and slicked back against
that perfect little head.  I run my hand along the back of his scalp,
caressing.  "Is it time?" I ask.

He turns and points out the bay windows, where The Pink is indeed
creeping its way across the sky.  Smiling, I take his hand and allow him
to lead me into his room, where the lights have been dimmed except for
the reading lamp beside his bed.  The walls of the room are studded with
iridescent stars and swirling galaxies; from his ceiling hang Star Wars
models and a pint-sized Goodyear blimp one of the Gunmen found for him
at an undisclosed location.

He climbs into bed, and I smooth the covers over his slender but sturdy
little body.  I can see already that he will grow to be tall, at least
as tall as his father.  I nurture the vision of him as a grown man, and
can see more of you in him with every passing day.  Again I realize my
blessing.

He begins our nightly poem.

"Between the dark and the daylight..."

"When the light is beginning to lower," I fill in.

"Comes a pause in the day's occupations," he grins around the big word.

"That is know as The Children's Hour."

The Pink is here, Mulder, and I'm reciting Longfellow to our son,
followed shortly thereafter by a story of us.  Tonight I'm going to tell
him how you followed me to the ends of the earth and brought me back.

Tonight, when I go to bed, I'm going to make up my own story.  The one
where I follow you outside the boundaries of earth, and bring you back
to us.  Then I'll get up in the morning and hold it down deep inside.

I've learned to be a dreamer.

And I'm determined to make this dream come true.

- End -

*****************

Acknowledgments to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Michael Hedges for
their inspiration, and in thanks for the many times their words have
helped ease my bubs into peaceful slumber.  Special thanks to my little
Bman for those lovely green eyes, and to Mamu for coining the phrase
while pointing out The Pink to his harried mama.

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