Title: Cleaning My Room
Author: Rhiannon R
Dislaimer: I don't own Mulder or Scully, but I do own Samantha (not Mulder's sister! The character's name just happens to be Samantha also...)
Spoilers: Requiem
Classification: V - Vignette

Summary: Scully's daughter reflects on what her mother as been through.

Rating: G

Dedicated to: luna_goddess and Shadow Dancer, who are more obsessed than I am (/wink)

Notes: I got the inspiration for this story while cleaning my room, as you'll be able to tell. I loved "Requiem," and this is just what would happen if Scully never found Mulder. Which, now that I think about it, would be very sad. But it goes good for my story. Enjoy!

"Samantha Katherine, are you cleaning your room?" my mother asked from the hall.

"Ye-es!" I answered, adding more annoyance to my voice than I'd intended. Mom walked to the doorway and gave me a Look.

"Don't take that tone with me, young lady."

"Sorry, Mom."

She lingered a bit longer, hesitant to enter my room. I put away a few notebooks and CDs before I turned to face her again. She was looking for an excuse to say something, and I was all ears.

"How was school?" Mom inquired finally.

"Boring, as usual."

"Any boys I should know about?"

"Mom!" I laughed, even though I was embarrassed. She smiled, titling her head slightly.

"You sound just like your..." Within a second she stopped herself and the smile faded. "Never mind. Finish cleaning your room."

My laughing, too, subsided. Mom walked back down the hall. I heard the TV turn on; a soft crying came from the living room not a minute later.

I don't know much about my father. Mom won't tell me. I know she was once the famous Agent Dana Scully of the FBI, and he was Agent Fox Mulder. I know I was named after my aunt; his sister, Samantha, who was "taken". And, so was my father. Mom spent years searching for him, but gave up when she realized she wasn't spending any time with me...and that he couldn't be found. I'm all she has left of him now.

But Mom won't tell me anything else. She misses him too much, and the memories always make her cry. You'd figure, I'm sixteen, I can take it...she just won't open up to me.

And as much as I want to go in the living room, sit beside her on the couch, and hug her, I know that's not the best idea. Because, according to the picture Mom gave me when I was twelve, I look like my father, too.

So all I can do is finish cleaning my room. Just like mom told me to.

The End

What did you think? It's my first published fic...be kind... If you wanna send me comments, feel free to do so: greengoddesslita@yahoo.com


Mulder: You know, I think I'm beginning to see the problem here. You say that most people make the wrong wishes, right?

Jenn: Without fail. It's like giving a chimpanzee a revolver.

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