Title: And They Lived Happily Ever After
Author: Alanna Guinevere
Feedback: Please! Please! Please send feedback! Please!!! firstname.lastname@example.org
Keywords: Pre XF
Summary: Pre X-Files. Young Fox Mulder comforts his sister as their parents fight.
Disclaimer: Once upon a time, far, far, away...oops, wrong part. Chris Carter (and this is your cue to grovel) is part of a blessed trinity which includes FOX Television and 1013 Productions, and sadly, not me. They own Fox and Samantha. I hope I haven't mangled them too badly. If I have, blame Ellen Emerson White, she was my inspiration, but please, don't sue either of us. I can't afford it, she has no idea I'm writing this, and, well, I can't afford it. Sir Laurence is mine, but you can borrow him if you ask me very, very nicely.
Archive: Anywhere and everywhere. Just drop me a line so I can come visit y'all.
Notes: Not much to say about this little ditty, kiddles. Actually, nothing to say. How unusual for me.
And They Lived Happily Ever After
by Alanna Guinevere
They were fighting. Again. 12 year old Fox Mulder sighed. If his parents were fighting, that meant that Sam would be-
He did his best to keep his sigh inaudible.
His sister Samantha always got scared when his parents fought. Mostly he just pulled his pillow over his head and tried to tune out, which was what he was doing now. Sam hadn't learned not to listen yet, maybe because she was only eight, so she came into his room every time they got into one of their patented screaming matches. He couldn't remember if they'd been this bad when he was eight...it felt like it'd always been this way.
"Go back to bed, Sammie. They're just fighting again," he said.
"But I'm scared!" she protested.
"Sam-" he pulled his head out from under the pillow to look at her and his anger faded. She really did look scared, standing there with her stuffed bear. He sighed and made his tone gentler. "Sam, it's no big deal, it really isn't. The Bill and Teena Mulder all-purpose fight. You could trade one for the other and never know the difference."
"But-" she stopped and wiped her cheeks. Oh, damn, Fox thought. She hadn't been CRYING. "But, it's so loud."
"I know, I know. Just- I don't know- ignore it or something." Oh good, Fox. How comforting.
"How come it doesn't bother you?"
Well. "Oh Sam, it does bother me."
She looked up at him. "Really?"
"Well-yeah. I mean, I'd be kind of a jerk if it didn't."
"You don't act like it bothers you."
If I act like it bothers me, then who's going to make sure it doesn't bother you? Good, Fox, tell her that. "I'm just used to it, that's all."
"Well," Sam looked like she was about to cry again. That would not be good. He never knew what to do when she cried. "Is it about us?"
He sighed. "No, it's not about us."
"Then what's it about?"
"I don't know- look, Sam, go back to bed. I'll come and tell you a story."
Sam looked hopeful. "With a princess?"
Amazing how easy it was to resolve eight-year-old emotions. "Sure."
"Well, come on then." He got up and steered her down the hall and into her bedroom. Poor kid. This stuff really did get to her. Once she was safely settled in her bed, he started the story he promised.
"Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful princess. She loved horses and painting and..." he spent the next hour filling the story with dragons and unusually valiant knights in shining armor, throwing in some castles and kings for good measure, making everything up as he went along. Around the time when Sir Laurence was about to save the princess, he realized Sam was asleep. He got up quietly, half-expecting her to ask impatiently "And then what happened?"
He paused at her doorway, listening to the angry voices downstairs. "And they lived happily ever after," he whispered.
Silently, he walked back to his bedroom.
End notes: For Julia, who told me about this cool show about two FBI agents who travel around the country investigating aliens and crop circles and junk that was based an actual documented accounts, and didn't even get mad when I laughed and said it sounded stupid and refused to watch until two years later when I was bored and had nothing else to do, upon which time I was instantly hooked. And hasn't stuck her tongue out and said "I told you so." Yet.
How did we get here?/How the hell.../pan left-close on the steeple of the/church/How did I get here?/How the hell.../Christmas/Christmas Eve- last year/How could a night so frozen/be so scalding hot?/How could a morning this mild/be so raw? -Jon Larson "RENT"
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.