Title:      Closed Doors and Open Hearts
Author:     dtg
Email:      dgoggans@earthlink.net
Website:    http://home.earthlink.net/~dgoggans/
Rating:     PG
Category:   Vignette, post William, Character Death
Summary:    When God closes one door, He always 
            opens another.
Disclaimer: Anyone you recognize is the property of
            Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox. No copyright
            infringement intended.
Archive:    Sure, just let me know.
Author's Notes: It's sixteen years in the future. 
            I've never even considered writing this
            type of story before, but the finale has
            me in a weird mood. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Closed Doors and Open Hearts
            


She's studying her own reactions with a scientific 
detachment that would tickle him to no end. The 
greatest fear of her life has come to pass, and all 
she can do is nod politely. And smile. Don't forget 
to smile.

*Dana, I'm so sorry. If there's anything I can do...*

*At least he didn't suffer. You should take comfort 
in that.*

*It was God's will.*

That last one is the worst. As if God could have had 
a hand in this. It's a good thing she no longer 
carries a gun.

"Mrs. Mulder? Whenever you're ready."

Impeccable dark suit, pale skin, soft voice. This 
must be a line of work you're born to rather than one 
you choose. It would be impossible to adopt that 
manner voluntarily.

She looks up at him and smiles. Don't forget to 
smile. "Thank you. You can take him now." She grips 
the arms of her chair with both hands and comes 
slowly to her feet. 

The casket is blanketed with white roses. *Her* 
favorite, not his. Mulder would have chosen daisies. 
Or dandelions. She caresses the smooth wood that 
holds her heart. 

Sunflowers. She should have thought of sunflowers.

"Mrs. Mulder?"

She squares her shoulders. "We can go now."

The graveside service is brief and nondenominational. 
He believed in a higher power but not religion, 
though she tried for years to bring him around. She  
refuses to win the argument by default.

"Take as long as you need." 

She looks up, surprised to see that most of the 
mourners have gone. They must have all filed by her, 
offering comfort, but she has no memory of it. She 
hopes she remembered to smile.

It's a beautiful day. Warm and golden.

*Nice day for a funeral* 

It's as if he's sitting next to her, his voice is so 
clear, so familiar. She can see his smile, feel him 
nudging her with his elbow the way he's always done 
when he's trying to cheer her up. 

*It's not working, my love. Not this time*.

A pointed cough makes her look up. They're getting 
impatient to close the grave, she knows. It's time to 
say good bye, but she will never be able to do that. 
Instead, she stands at the casket and lets a flood of 
images from the past block out a present she cannot 
accept. From their first meeting, right up to that 
last morning two days ago, she would not trade a 
single moment. 

In the end, she leans down and touches her lips to 
the sun-warmed wood, whispers his name for the last 
time and stands up very carefully. She nods to the 
men who are waiting to lower him into the ground. She 
will not watch them do it.

"Dana Scully?" 

She turns toward the voice, squinting up into the 
afternoon sun that backlights its source. A man in a 
trench coat. She raises one hand to shield her eyes 
against the glare, trying to see his face.

"Yes, but it's Dana Mulder. Do I know you?"

He steps to his left, bringing his face out of the 
shadows. He's much younger than his voice sounds, 
probably no more than eighteen. 

"No, ma'am. I don't think so."

One of Mulder's students. They made up a good portion 
of the attendees at both the funeral home and the 
services. She extends her hand, and he shakes it 
briefly. A gentle grip. Long fingered and graceful.

"I--I think I might be your son."

There are no words for what she's feeling, even if 
she were able to speak. She takes a step backward, 
kicking a clump of moist earth into the grave with 
her heel, reaching backward to catch herself on his 
coffin. Her other hand is pressed to her lips.

She can see it now. The shape of his face, the thick 
dark hair falling over his eyes. His eyes. Mulder's 
eyes, right down to the concerned look she knows far 
too well.

Will takes her by the shoulders, leaning down to 
study her face, his head tilted in a way that 
threatens to break her heart all over again.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Sit down, please. I'm sorry."

He's babbling, his nervousness cracking his voice 
into a younger register. She's obviously scaring the 
shit out him. She recognizes the signs. 

"It's all right. I just need..." One hand braced on 
Mulder's casket, the other on his son's arm, she 
regains her balance and a semblance of control. She 
pulls gently from his grip. "How did you know?"

He looks back over his shoulder. "My mother--", he 
turns back to her with that awkward half smile she 
knows so well. "My mother drove me. I asked her to."

"How did you find us?"

His expression tells her that he's misunderstanding 
her reaction. As if he's intruding. The questions can 
wait. She reaches for his hand. "Would you like to 
say good bye to him?"

A nod, his fingers tighten over hers as he steps 
forward to stand by her side. Fate has granted her 
deepest wish, but at a price she will never be able 
to comprehend.  

Will's hands rest lightly on the casket, his head 
bowed, his eyes closed. "I was going to call you in a 
few months. I wasn't ready yet--" His voice falls to 
a choked whisper, achingly familiar. "I waited too 
long." 

She takes his hand. "He knows you're here,"  not sure 
if he can understand the strangled whisper her voice 
becomes with those words, with that thought. 

She's never been more sure of anything in her life.

~~~~~~~~~~

End