TITLE: The Last Day of Summer SPOILER STATEMENT: Biogenesis RATING: PG CONTENT STATEMENT: M/S married. Sexual situations, but nothing you wouldn't see on prime time. CLASSIFICATION: VRA SUMMARY: A Making It Personal story. Four months after their escape from Baltimore, our heroes are ready to return to the fray. This is an epilogue to the main storyline, and the last in the series. THANKS: To Brynna, Lena, Paulette, Robbie and Shannon. For the usual. ;) The Last Day of Summer by Brandon D. Ray I awaken before my usual time on the last day of summer. Despite the early hour, Mulder is already up and active, which I know by the humming inside my head even before I reach sleepily across the bed to find his spot empty. I sigh, regret mingling with contentment, and snuggle a little further into the bedclothes, happy in the knowledge that there's no schedule to keep today. Two weeks ago I gave my notice to the Sheep's Head Cafe, and yesterday was my last day. This morning Mulder and I will have a leisurely breakfast, load our few possessions into the car, and start heading east at last, and back into the fray. There's no timetable for our departure, though; this one last day we can pretend we're on vacation. There's no real reason why we have to leave today, for that matter. But we've been discussing our future plans for several weeks now, and today is as good a day as any -- and the symbolism of the change of season has played a role in this decision as well. We've rested long enough; just as summer gives way to fall and vacations end, so our sabbatical from our proper work must also draw to a close. As the smell of coffee drifts in from the other room of the efficiency apartment which has been our temporary refuge, I let my thoughts drift back over the events of the past four months. So much has happened in that time -- and yet the basics remain the same. After we left my mother's home we headed west. We had no particular destination in mind that morning, other than putting as much distance as possible between ourselves and anyplace our enemies might think to look for us. We also hoped that by leaving we might draw pursuit away from our friends and families -- a goal which has met with mixed success, unfortunately. Eventually we settled in a small university town on the banks of a river in the upper Midwest. The pace is slower here; the lifestyle is less intense than what we'd been accustomed to. The people are friendly without being pushy or intrusive, and the student population is sufficiently transient that no one took particular notice of two more strangers arriving unexpectedly from nowhere -- nor are they likely to miss us when we leave. We've made a few acquaintances and engaged in some socializing, but we've deliberately kept it casual and remained a little distant. When I found out about the cache of money and forged identification papers Mulder had in the trunk of his car, I didn't know whether I should be appalled or grateful. He told me he'd put the packet together the morning after the X-Files were burned, and on the whole I'm glad -- it certainly has stood us in good stead. The money tided us over until we could settle on a place to hide and find jobs; the new identities, courtesy of the Gunmen, have allowed Fox Mulder and Dana Scully to disappear without a trace. We hope. All of which has given us the time and space we needed. When we left my mother's home in Baltimore, four months ago, we still had many issues in need of resolution -- issues both personal and professional. We haven't settled everything, and I don't suppose we ever will. But at least we've had the chance to catch our breath, and some things have slowly become clearer. The small part of me that remembers being a law enforcement officer still cringes every time I use Betty Bruchstein's I.D. to cash a check, but as a practical matter I have little choice. And in any case, the list of things I won't do for Mulder and for our quest has been shrinking steadily ever since I walked into that basement office so many years ago. I draw my hand from under the covers and lightly touch Mulder's class ring where it hangs from the chain around my neck. I feel a fresh surge of affection, both for him and from him, as I remember the night he gave it to me, and for at least the thousandth time I'm grateful that this, at least, is no longer in doubt. We went through so much pain and suffering and heartache to get to this point, and much as I might wish some of those things had happened otherwise, I can't make myself regret the chain of events that finally led us to each other. As I continue to hold Mulder's ring in my hand, my fingers brush against my cross. This, too, has become more coherent and intelligible while we've rested here. I've been reading the Bible a lot since we arrived, and I've done a lot of praying. My faith is still not as strong as it once was; it's not even as strong as it was after my remission, and nowhere near where I would like it to be. But at least it hasn't left me entirely. Or more accurately, I haven't left it. Somewhat to my surprise, Mulder has joined me in my Bible study. He hasn't volunteered his reasons for this, and I haven't asked -- but despite his numerous questions and frequent skepticism, I do sense a warm feeling of contentment from him whenever we read Scripture together. I don't know whether that's because he recognizes the comfort I find in it, or because he takes pleasure in our spending time together, or even because he's doing a little spiritual exploration of his own. Perhaps it's a combination of the three. The one thing I do know is that I feel less alone, because Mulder is with me -- just as he always is. Three weeks ago Langly and Byers passed through town in the guise of Jehovah's Witnesses, bearing news of the outside world -- news which Mulder and I had not dared seek out, for fear of drawing attention to ourselves. Unfortunately, all of it was bad. The night after we left Baltimore, my mother's house burned to the ground. The fire was ruled to be an accident, and no one was home at the time, but none of us believe it can have been anything other than a warning. No further incidents seem to have been directed at my family, but of course the threat remains. The X-Files have been closed again, of course. That was inevitable, once we had to go into hiding, and as much as the confirmation saddened both of us, it's not the worst thing that could have happened. At least this time our work has not been burned, or handed over to a Consortium agent. We can hope the Files will still be there, waiting for us, when we finally return. If we're ever able to return. Not surprisingly, Diana Fowley has dropped out of sight again -- but this time Walter Skinner and Teena Mulder have also disappeared. So far as Langly and Byers have been able to determine, no foul play was involved. The three of them are simply -- gone. But whether that's for good or for ill is impossible to say. The worst news is that no one has heard from Frohike since the night we were forced to flee. After calling us with the warning the Gunmen split up, each going into hiding in a separate, confidential location. They had plans to find each other once again, but when Langly and Byers arrived at the rendezvous point Frohike wasn't there. We still have hopes he may appear, but at this point they are only hopes. But hope is one of our most important remaining resources. Hope is what allowed Mulder and me to find each other at last, after the disaster at El Rico. Hope is also what allowed us to heal and become stronger during our sojourn here. Rather than simply burrowing into the ground and giving up, we've held each other and cared for each other, building some happy memories to go with all the bad. And now on the last day of summer we're finally ready to continue the battle. I'm drawn out of my reverie by the sound of Mulder's footsteps in the short hallway between the bedroom and the living area, and a moment later the shower comes on. I feel his thoughts, suddenly erotic and inviting, and I smile as I throw back the covers and climb out of bed. By the time I reach the bathroom I've already stripped off my clothes. Now I'm standing just outside the cramped little shower stall, a slight smile on my face, waiting. This is a game we play from time to time. Mulder knows I'm here, and of course I know he's there; the object is to see which one of us will give in first, and finally open the door. It doesn't matter which of us it is, of course, because either way we both win. The shower door swings open at last and I step forward into my husband's arms, ready to make one more happy memory before it's time to go. Fini And that's the end -- of the story, and the series. I may revisit this universe again in the future, but not right away. I hope you've enjoyed the ride.