Title: A Thimble for Peter: Tiny Arrow Summary: Set after A Thimble For Peter. M&S find that even the small things can rekindle big doubts. Authors' Note: We're back with our first companion piece to A Thimble for Peter. It's set about five months after the events of ATFP. We thank everyone who responded to our first story and hope this lives up to your expectations. "She lives,' Peter said briefly. Slightly cried instantly, 'The Wendy lady lives.' Then Peter knelt beside her and found his button. You remember she had put it on a chain that she wore round her neck. 'See,' he said, 'the arrow struck against this. It is the kiss I gave her. It has saved her life.' 'I remember kisses,' Slightly interposed quickly, 'let me see it. Ay, that's a kiss.' Peter did not hear him. He was begging Wendy to get better quickly, so that he could show her the mermaids..." -from "Peter and Wendy," by J.M. Barrie; Millennium Fulcrum Edition, (c) 1991. The sheets were damp from the open window. The pair lay wide awake, waiting for sleep, fighting off annoyance and frustration with not a small sense of gratitude for the small hurdles in life. Washington in late July was floating in heat and humidity which made life slow to a crawl. As Mulder lay next to Scully in their bedroom, he was loath to move for fear friction between his skin and the air would cause water to condense on the offending flesh immediately. They were miserable in the apartment and had been all day. Not twenty-four hours before, the air conditioning in the building had died a horrible, Greek-tragedy death. The inability to fight the temperatures had led to short tempers in their home this night and Mulder stared at the ceiling recalling the exchange between he and the woman next to him. She was doing the same. Yet, neither lay there in anxiety or fear. True, they made no move to touch the other in any significant way, save for Scully's delicate but strong fingers resting on the silky tender skin inside her husband's upper arm. Her thumb traced nonsensical patterns along his tricep. In truth, it was the only part of his body that felt cool to him at the moment. And it was due, without a doubt in his mind, to contact with her. Turning his head towards the source of his comfort, he found Scully's eyes open, but half-lidded. Each drank from the gaze of the other and a ripple of acknowledgement bounced briefly between them, repeating the longed for passion that they had silently agreed to pass on for the night. The decision was made in light of the unbearable heat and the added worry of the wimpering infant in the next room. Catherine, now at nine months, had decided screaming was no longer productive. Especially sense neither the presence of her mother nor father alleviated the pain in her right ear. So, she seemed to be content to lie in her crib rubbing furiously at the whorls and announcing to the Mulder home, over and over, that she was suffering. It was pitiful, both Mulder and Scully had to agree. The wimpering was broken from time to time with sobs, sniffles, and occasionally Catherine's only attempt at a word, "Ma." Except she tended to string them together in long outbursts as she was at that moment. "Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma." Coupled with her sadness, the murmurings were at once both irritating and heartbreaking. Yet, they had resigned themselves to being patient and comforting, especially in light of the evening's earlier events and words. Earlier... She was barely in the door before the wailing assaulted her. Drawn out screams and coughing whimpers were all part of the repertoire Catherine had chosen for expressing her pain. A pain her father was having no luck in easing from her. Mulder paced furiously in the den of their home, bouncing his baby girl as gently as possible in his arms while rubbing slow circles into her back. Scully could tell he was desperate. Ear infections could be a nightmare and this one was bad. Catherine tugged furiously on the right lobe while tears streamed down her round cheeks to soak the shoulder of Mulder's gray Henley t-shirt. The apartment was stifling and as a result, the whisps of strawberry curls which usually adorned the child's head were slick with sweat and clung to the nape of her neck. Scully took only the time to remove her shoes and set her briefcase by the door before moving to take Catherine from Mulder's care. But his words stopped her. "My watch says 7:30. You said 6:30, 6:45 at the latest..." He continued to pace, having no trouble issuing his thinly veiled accusation. Astounded, Scully replied, "The consult ran long. Traffic was bad. I'm sorry." Moving forward with more caution, she added her hand to Catherine's back thereby forcing Mulder to stand still. "She's not feeling well now, but the pediatrician said it would take some time for the antibiotics to work. I know the crying is bad and it must be irritating." At the back of Scully's brain, the anger began. Why should she be concerned about *his* feelings? Their daughter was sick for God's sake. "Irritating?!" His tone was insolent. "Richard Simmons infomercials are 'irritating', Scully." Patience bottomed out. "This is maddening! Mind taking your turn?" She stared at him stunned. The flagrant selfishness in his voice left the room feeling sterile. The rumblings of fear which Scully fought everday were chanting along with the anger quickly making its way to the forefront of her consciousness. He was tired, she thought. But she couldn't convince herself it was from the care he had been giving, but from the circumstances of their life. As irrational as the fear was, it still lingered. Plucking Catherine from his arms and turning away, Scully headed for the bedroom and a change of clothes. "I'm sorry," fell from her lips quietly but but confidently. It was then he knew what he had done. She had apologized not for being late, not for leaving him high and dry with a screaming infant, but for the baby itself. She had aplogized yet again for doing this to him and he knew she hated herself for it. Mulder stared at the closed bedroom door for a moment, suddenly aware of the walls closing in on him. His emotional restraint for the past several hours abruptly sagged under it's burden and he was blindsided by a pressing need for distance. To be free of the apartment, the building, the confines of his parental responsibility, and the incessant squalling and fussing of an inconsolable infant. With his baser insticts controlling his body more so than his brain, Mulder headed for the exit immediately. But once outside his anger and frustration waned with the slamming of the door, leaving little more than the stinging reality of guilt The warm, trapped mustiness of the hallway assaulted him as he made his way down he stairs and onto the front stoop. The night was still stiflingly hot, not even a breath of wind escaping the weight of the days earlier sweltering temperatures. He'd left the house with the intention of using the treads of his sneakers to beat away any and all possible thought. But as he reached the final step, he all but collapsed onto it, his emotions draining him of all energy except that required to batter himself with self-loathing. The harsh coolness of the cement picket offered only momentary comfort from the evening's oppresive heat as he lay his head against it and closed his eyes. She was just a baby. A tiny little thing feeling too sick to do anything but cry through her pain, yet he'd spent the better part of the afternoon and a good portion of the evening angry at her for being so helpless and so dependent. All he'd wanted, wished for was a moment's peace, some time to collect the thoughts rattling around in his brain, and take a momentary break to gather together the fraying threads of his patience and understanding. But Catherine hadn't allowed him even that much. So, he'd wandered the oven-like apartment with her in his arms willing her to sleep only to have her wake up mere minutes later when he'd finally rested himself exhaustedly on the couch. It was infuriatingly frustrating and that was why he had snapped at Scully. Not because he regretted their child or the consequential life they'd built, but because he was frustrated at feeling so helpless. A tight anger twisted it's way into his chest; Mulder let out a heavy curse and rose to his feet. Finally harnessing the energy he needed to run, he pounded his way down the street pondering the pain of words and regrets for the ease at which he'd said them. But they'd made a decision damnit and his expectation at the time was that Scully would abide by it. Not that he would have his life any other way than as it was at the moment. He loved Catherine with all of his heart and thanked the unknowns everyday for the little miracle that she presented to him by simply existing, but at the time the words had seemed so right. And now whenever he was irate or upset, all of the old doubts resurfaced. He could see it in his Dana's eyes: the pain, the contrition, the uncertainty. It was a horribly torn way to live, having to second guess yourself constantly. To have to validate your own emotions to yourself as well as the woman you loved. It required constant vigilance to the point of insanity, but the problem was it had become so common place that it was habit now. And it was a habit of blame they both needed to break. He was a father. He loved the role. It fed his spirit to know that he could care for someone so fragile. It also still terrified him, but he was working through that. He just wanted to be like any another dad; allowed his momentary frustrations without the guilt. Looking up at an overhead sign Mulder stopped and stared at the blinking neon words that intermittently flashed "24 Hour Pharmacy" like a beacon calling out into the night. Not knowing what they had to offer that he would actually need at the moment, Mulder stepped inside anyway and looked around. *Nope,* he told himself, *not one spare shrink to be seen lurking stoically in any of the corners.* Guess he was on his own. Beside the counter he spotted a pathetic looking figure standing amidst a river of cough medicines and do-it-yourself remedies. "I don't know which one to pick." The guy shrugged helplessly at the pharmacist. "My son, he's 8 months old. He's been crying all day.... " Mulder grunted at the familiarity, and turned to look at the stuffed animal display behind him as the pharmacist began outlining the pros and cons of each medication. Another father, minus the fault. None of the over-the-counter medications would help. Time was the only thing needed for Catherine. Once the antibiotics started to actually work she would be fine, but until then he needed a buffer to get them all through the present rough patch. That's when he spotted his saviour. It was a small box containing a noah's arc mobile. It was musical and entertaining. At least, that's what the box said. Lifting it off the shelf he checked out the price, and then brought it over to the counter. The pharmacist smiled at him as Mulder handed him his Visa card. "For your child?" Mulder nodded. "She's not feeling well, an ear infection." The pharmacist nodded knowingly. "They're the worst , and the smaller they are the more difficult it is." He lifted up the small box and placed it in a bag. "This should help a little. Keep her entertained while you get a break." He ran the card through the machine. "My wife always wanted to give away our kids when they were that sick - she said seein' them that way would drive Patton batty. You have just the one??" Mulder nodded. "We had five. All of them real close together, and when one got sick they all did." He passed Mulder the bag. "Misery loves company my friend." He looked at an exhausted Mulder and smiled. "Want some experienced advice son?" he asked, not really wanting a reply as he continued on. "Smile! It works.. You and your wife just smile through the tough times cuz kids are truly a marvel - when they're not sick that is." Mulder nodded his thanks and made it to the door before he turned around and passed the man three dollars for a bundle of daisies he had spotted sitting for sale in a pail of water. He was normal and his feelings were common, now he just needed to convince Dana... It was easy enough to slip back into the apartment. All the lights were out save a low orange glow coming from down the hall leading to the bedrooms. The crackle of the bag he carried snitched on his arrival. He held it more carefully and stepped lightly to the cracked door to his little girl's nursery. Prying it open with more than a little nervousness, Mulder saw Scully standing by the crib with their child in her arms. Strains of a lullaby reached him in the doorway. The low timbre of Scully's voice masked the true melody, but enough could be heard to make Mulder wish he could hear more. The artificial, blue-tinged light of the street lamp outside invaded his daughter's room and illuminated the pair as they swayed. While the light itself was harsh, it charged the cotton gown she wore and made it glow around the dark outline of her body. Brief flashes of reckless lovemaking flittered through his head before he mentally acknowledged again how beautiful she was. As he stood there and stole a private peek, Mulder was reminded of the fact that these two people made the air in his chest feel lighter. He thought of the moment in every day where the sky changes. Blue and green gives way to pink and orange as nature demands a transition. In the midst of that change, the world changes as well. Living things seem to pause in recognition and prepare themselves for the rest or thrill of nightfall. It is as if somewhere a universal breath is taken to mark the passing of a day and to relish the ability to savor it. That was the feeling this child and her mother had brought into even the daylight hours of Fox Mulder's life, the calm certainty of relishing another day. No matter how powerful, it was apparent he still failed at fully convincing Scully the feeling was real for him. He shifted from one foot to the other, a movement which caused the bag to crinkle again and give him away. Scully's head turned slowly to him with such calm that he knew she had been aware of his presence. Catherine remained still, her small head was turned away from him and lay on her mother's chest. She was asleep. Mulder sent a small nod of thanks to the unrecognized heavenly bodies that offered this miracle as Scully moved to settle the little one in her crib. Once she was certain the baby would not wake, she moved to the door and Mulder. Scully did not attempt to touch him in any way. He would get no olive branch easily. She was still angry and so disappointed in both of them. They walked solemnly to the den, Scully settling on the sofa which matched the decor and Mulder opting for the overstuffed chair next to it. He recognized the look on her face. It was time to talk about what happened. In the months following Catherine's birth, the typical cool Scully rationality and straightforwardness had bloomed in her again. It was the quiet determination that faced him now. Her countenance made what he wanted to say and to prove seem that much more difficult. But as he sat waiting in the humid air for the words to form, he considered again his moment in the doorway looking at her, and was rewarded with some place to start. "I saw you in her again," he began. She was startled by the thick sound of the simple words coming from this man. Scully had expected the standard apology they exchanged when mountains they were too weary to climb jumped between their lives. She saw the lines around his eyes, they were curled slightly upward to reveal a sincere smile just below the surface of his worry. Mulder's body was slumped in the chair before his wife as if he were surrenduring to her and about to relinquish the treasure he stored in a hidden fortress. It broke the stone in her chest to know he was about to speak real things to her, not quips or rationalizations. Just real things. As her anger melted, so did the rigid tightness in her face. Her own eyes softened while her body leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees. A small, precise hand reached for his kness and found a much larger one. Fingers wove. Scully listened. "It was today. This afternoon, really." The features in Mulder's face glided into a familiar position of bemused embarassment. "She was going nuts, Scully. The screaming sounded like it was hurting her. I...I got a washcloth from the kitchen and wet it just enough to make it damp." He was starting to chuckle enough to make any part of his T-shirt, that wasn't stuck to his skin, ripple in the low light. "Then I threw it in the freezer. After ten minutes or so I took it out and just covered her ear with it. Hell, maybe I thought it would numb it or something. As soon as it touched her head she jerked away from me and that's when you were there." His thumb now stroked any part of her hand it could reach. Mulder was all but laughing and dragging a grin from Scully as well. "She looked at me like you look at me when you know I've let go of reality. Her lips were drawn together, but still full. One eyebrow went down while the other shot up in mock indignation. It was as if her first words were going to be 'Mulder, you CAN'T be serious!'." Two feathery reams of laughter unfurled into the room. Soon, Mulder was staring unashamedly at Scully. The hand holding hers continued it's ministrations. The other rubbed languidly at his temples. Perched on his forhead in a sorry salute, it was as if he were squinting into the sun to see her. Her sun. He continued, lower than before. "It's the small things like that I don't savor enough. We speed past the small things, Dana. The small joys..." He shifted and from his back was produced a small bundle of more than slightly crushed daises. Scully had to let go of his hand to accept the gift. Her eyes were suddenly warmer than the room. His confession wasn't over. "...the small joys and the small problems." Shifting again, Mulder leaned forward to meet Scully between the two pieces of furniture. Both of his thumbs found their way to a pale expanse of cheek on each side of her face. "Maybe if you saw me collect those small times and keep them for myself, the small problems would be just that...small." Though she could feel the wetness of the flower stems in her hands, Scully wouldn't tear her gaze away from Mulder's to look at them. She offered what she could. It was important he know she understood. "Our life has been so epic, too epic." Mulder shook his head. His eyes flitted around the face in his hands, the one that no longer held anger. "I know. Maybe it's time we did ourselves a favor and not make anything in our private little world anymore epic than it has to be. At some point, Cate's crying just earns both of us the right to be frustrated and nothing more..." "Frustration does not have to equal regret." Scully surprised them both by interupting. "No. No it doesnt." He felt her cheeks expand and fill his palms as she smiled a radiant smile saved for their "private little world." Mulder leapt out of himself and into the huge, luminous eyes just inches from his. They were wide and happy and relieved and they called for him to enjoy a swim. The intimate smile he mirrored across his lips faded into something far more senuous. Rocking forward the last inch Mulder whispered, "But flowers, see flowers still mean I'm up to something..." The pressure of his lips and the faint scratch of late night stubble were as arousing as they were comforting. The pungent aroma of exercise rose from Mulder's t-shirt and became hot in her lungs and her head. It intoxicated her mind with the knowledge that their life had fired his need for any kind of release. His affection and need baited her own and Scully's arms snaked around Mulder's neck, her fingers threading through his damp hair. Still, the heat of the night couldn't be ignored. Scully pulled away first, leaving her husband barely reaching between them with his mouth for hers. She smiled her own sensual smile at the eagerness and spoke, "If we start this, I'm willing to bet we're interupted." "You think?" Mulder's question crackled with the delicious evil glitter that would usually guarantee he would get his way. The fingers of his left hand were busy stroking the palm of her right, caressing every line and fold. He was rewarded for his effort at seduction with a peck that suckled lightly and brought both of his lips out into a pout. "Yes," her voice was low and with the tinge of throaty bass that signified naughty thoughts were running amouk in her brilliant mind as well. But it dissolved into a smooth reassurance as she hung her head and grinned hoping Mulder would understand that in their sweltering apartment, the chance of abandoning themselves enough to enjoy making love was too much to expect. He did, but never let it be said Fox Mulder gave up easily. "You know, the tribal people of Africa probably don't allow a little thing like heat to interupt their sex life." He was reaching. She knew it. She loved it. "True Mulder, but this is the modern world and you didn't just get back from hunting zebra..." The yank on her wrist ended the sentence and brought Scully quickly into his lap, their foreheads resting against each other. "Why, would that turn you on?!" His decadently mischievious question couldn't mask the rustle of a certain bag which had followed him ever since he returned home. "The Scully Arch" crept into one of her brows while she craned her neck to see over the chair arm behind her. The multi-colored box of the Noah's Ark mobile came into view, boldly displaying that not one but two zebras were contained within. Scully allowed her head to fall onto his shoulder, the curve of Mulder's neck muffling her exasperated chuckles. "Leave to you, Mulder." She continued to rumble with laughter as she stood and offered her hand. Mulder took it and stood with her. Being pulled forward, he stumbled behind his wife into their bedroom where they would both rest and wait for more of the tiny things they would either handle or savor. Together. The End "I made this!" Archivist's note: The story continues, twenty years later, here A Thimble For Peter III. Back Through the Window
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