TITLE: BARE RUIN'D CHOIRS 
AUTHORS: Secret Squirrels
E-MAIL ADDRESS: Secret-Squirrels@yahoogroups.com  
DISTRIBUTION: Please ask. It's likely we'll say yes and be 
flattered, t' boot.
SPOILERS: Through Season 8 
RATING: PG-13 
CLASSIFICATION: S, MSR 

SUMMARY: Marriage is more than a union of bodies, minds and 
hearts. It is a joining of souls. 
  
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Chris Carter, FOX and 
1013 Productions. We use them to pay homage, not bills. 

Author's notes at end. 


BARE RUIN'D CHOIRS 
By the Secret Squirrels

PROLOGUE

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

That time of year thou may'st in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold;
Bare ruin'd choirs where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed, whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.

--William Shakespeare

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

ST. JOHN'S CATHOLIC CHURCH
ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA
MARCH 20, 2003 
10:23 AM


"Father McCue? It's getting late. Isn't it?" Mulder asks.

"It's not late," the priest assures him. 

McCue's words go unheard; Mulder's attention is fixed upon the 
opposite end of St. John's long aisle, where the door is open 
but there is no sign of the processional.

"Fox." McCue puts a hand on Mulder's shoulder, angling for his 
attention. "It's not late."

This time Mulder hears him, nods, and offers the priest a 
tentative smile.

"Sorry, Father. I'm a bit nervous." 

"Me, too," McCue confides. Mulder clearly doesn't believe him, 
so the priest continues, "I'm a little rusty, you know. Haven't 
officiated a wedding for quite a while...times being what they 
are." 

Mulder seems to understand. His attention wanders back to the 
door. McCue looks out over the congregation.

For fifteen years Father McCue has ministered this parish and 
the view from the pulpit has never ceased to stir his heart. 
St. John's is a large church. Its generous center aisle divides 
a vast nave, running more than fifty yards from transept to 
portal. This morning, only a handful of guests dot the foremost 
pews and the choir loft sits barren. Doesn't matter. They are 
here to celebrate. God is with them.

McCue considers the importance of their gathering. Marriage is 
a very serious, holy, and permanent event -- more than a union 
of bodies, minds and hearts. It is a joining of souls.

He suspects the souls of this particular bride and groom were 
mated long ago. A heavenly match, in the truest sense, divined 
by the hand of God. Today they are gathered to acknowledge 
this sample of His handiwork, praise His blessed plan, and 
officially marry Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. 

The groom is anxious to get started -- or to get finished -- 
and rocks from foot to foot. 

"'Through faith and patience inherit the promises,'" McCue 
quotes, hoping to calm him.

"I'm afraid God overlooked me when he was doling out patience, 
Father. It's never been one of my strengths."

"I think Dana might disagree. She--"   

"Daddeeee!" Mulder's young son, William, squeals from the front 
pew. As restless as his father, he sits squirming on Melvin 
Frohike's lap. 

Frohike whispers something into little William's ear and the 
boy bursts into giggles. While Frohike winks at Mulder, William 
chants "Daddeedaddeedaddee." 

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Part 1: FROHIKE'S STORY
By mimic117 

Who'da thunk it? Old wild man Frohike on diaper duty. Well... 
this is the little Scully-Mulder, after all. Soon to be just 
Mulder. Hey, big guy, settle down. Daddy's busy trying not to 
dirty his own diaper right now. Can't say I blame him. I'd be 
jumpy, too, waiting for a woman like Scully. A great day, huh 
Willy-boy?

Mulder and Scully's wedding day. I just can't believe it. 
'Course, I can't believe a lot of things that have happened 
lately. Damn, I wish Byers were here. He'd get such a kick out 
of seeing Mulder all sweaty and nervous. It's been ten months 
and still no word.  Either he found Susanne Modeski and hasn't 
been able to get back to DC, or... I don't even wanna think 
about it. Let's think about something more cheerful, Will. 
Like how much fun it is watching your old man sweat bullets.  
What's he got to be nervous about, huh? A beautiful woman who 
loves him, a terrific little kid, and me to keep him in line. 
Nope not a care in the world.

I heard Scully's brother say this is a stupid time to be 
getting married. But what time would be better? Why not 
celebrate life while we can? I can see Scully didn't get her 
personality from Bill Jr. Of course, he just doesn't 
understand how fleeting life can be, does he, Will? He's never 
been to 'Nam and seen how someone can be alive and vital one 
minute, and so much worm meat the next. If only I'd been 
there, ya know? If I'd been able to protect her the way a man 
should protect the one he loves, I could have had a day like 
this, too. Well, it would have been a peasant wedding, but I 
would have been married to the woman I loved. I could have 
brought her back with me, her and our baby. Just think -- if 
they were here, I could have a grandson about your age for you 
to play with, Willy-boy. Maybe we would have had lots of kids 
and grandkids by now. She was such a shining star. So loyal, 
and fierce, and brave. I saw her stand up to soldiers almost 
twice her size when they hassled the old people and children 
in her village. She didn't take shit from no one, amigo. I'll 
bet that's what happened in the end. I never did hear the 
whole story, but I'd be willing to bet good money on it. Loyal 
and brave to a fault, she was. Absolutely refused to go 
someplace safer when things started to heat up in the region. 
Said she wasn't gonna leave the old folks to fend for 
themselves. She probably went marching out there, looking to 
pick a fight over how they were treating the villagers. Some 
stupid green-assed fucker probably thought she was hiding a 
bomb under her shirt. My child -- a bomb. How idiotic is that? 
He just shot her down in the street. Killed her without any 
reason or question. I didn't hear about it for two weeks, you 
know. Two weeks when I still thought she was alive and waiting 
for me, and they were already cold and buried. No one would 
tell me who it was, Will. To this day I still don't know. God 
damned military bullshit. All they would say was "accidental 
shooting under suspicion of collusion." What the hell is that 
supposed to mean? She never colluded with nobody but me -- 
between the sheets. Bureaucratic government asshole 
motherfu...

Sorry, Willy-boy. Didn't mean to cry on you. No, old Frohike's 
okay now. Thanks for the kisses, big guy. Makes me feel a lot 
better. Let's just keep all the bad words to ourselves, shall 
we? No need to be spouting those off in the middle of the 
service, okay? Your mom is one scary lady when she gets her 
Irish up, and I think that would do it real fast. So mum's the 
word, right, hombre?

Wonder what's holding up the festivities? We should have 
gotten this show on the road about fifteen minutes ago. 
Wait'll you see your mom in her wedding dress, Willy-boy. 
Looks like an angel with a halo of fire, she does. Oh, that's 
right -- we were both there when she picked it out, weren't 
we? 'Course, you were too busy hiding from old Frohike in the 
dress racks to notice how she looked, but I noticed just fine. 
I hope you don't take this the wrong way, big guy, but your 
mom is hot. It was a long time after 'Nam before I looked at 
another woman, but as soon as I saw Dana Scully, I said "She's 
hot!" And I meant it in the most complimentary way, too. 
There's just something about a female who knows her own mind 
and isn't afraid to go after what she wants. She's got enough 
cojones for an entire Marine platoon. But when I saw her 
earlier today, she was all woman. I think I fell in love with 
her all over again, right there in the hall, as she handed you 
to me with that one eyebrow raised. "I hope you know what 
you've gotten yourself into," she says, "But I really do 
appreciate this, Frohike. We never would have made it this far 
without you."

Yeah, I'm gettin' a little misty-eyed again. Sorry, Willy. 
Your mom just has that effect on me sometimes. Watching you, 
while she's buying a dress or getting married or any other 
time, is the least of the things I'd do for her. I hope she 
knows that. I know your dad does.  He feels the same way about 
her. The difference is, that's the way she feels about him, 
too. Hell, I don't know how many times they've pulled each 
other's nuts out of the fire. He even went all the way to 
Antarctica to bring her back. I'd do the same if she'd let me, 
but I know what my place is. I'm content to do what I can 
whenever I'm needed. Somebody's gotta play Sancho Panza when 
your old man starts tilting at windmills. Scully's his 
Dulcinea, so I guess I'll just keep being Sancho. I seem to be 
made for the part.

Considering what Langly's got to look forward to, I think I 
got the better deal taking care of you, Will. Whatever 
possessed Mulder to ask him to do a reading? He's liable to 
get three chapters of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy instead 
of the Good Book. At least Langly had the sense to wear a 
suit. Well, after I tore that Def Leppard T-shirt off him, 
anyway. Sure does look uncomfortable in it, but his hair's 
clean and neatly ponytailed for a change. We should be 
thankful for small miracles, shouldn't we?

Speaking of miracles, if something doesn't happen soon, you're 
not the only one who's gonna need fresh britches, Willy-boy. I 
think your old man is about to lose a load from the strain. I 
don't think I've ever seen him with this big a case of the 
heebie-jeebies. It's not the good padre's fault, either. He'd 
be a comfort to your mom, but your dad is a real independent 
cuss. Can't seem to bring himself to trust in a higher power. 
Don't suppose he's had the best track record getting his 
prayers answered. That kind of thing can make you pretty 
bitter in the long run. But he's a good man, Will. Don't you 
ever doubt it. A redwood among mere sprouts. I told your mom 
that once when we both thought he'd bit the big one. Thank God 
we were wrong. I'd hate to think of a world without Mulder in 
it to drive us all crazy.

Look at him up there, Will. His love shines so bright it's 
blinding. I guess I don't mind losing out with your mom if 
it's your dad she wants. They belong together. Besides, if you 
were *my* kid, you'd never have a chance at a basketball 
scholarship. Better to have the old man you've got, huh? Yeah, 
that's what I think, too. And you'll have lots of stories to 
tell the other kids about how your dad whupped ET's ass, 
right, Willy-boy?  Damn straight, amigo.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Fists thrust into his pants pockets, Mulder repeatedly rises 
onto his toes to scan the back of the church. "If he's a no 
show, Father, I'm gonna whip his a--" He stops himself and 
gives McCue an apologetic glance. "Sorry, Father. It's just...I 
should've asked someone else."

"Give him time, Fox. This isn't easy for him." McCue stands 
confident, hands clasped loosely behind his back. "He'll show."

"I envy your faith." 

"There's no trick to it. When you want to believe, the rest 
follows, don't you agree?"

"Yyyyes, but..." Mulder looks again at the empty church door; 
his frown returns.

McCue is aware that Fox Mulder and Bill Scully, Jr. have struck 
an uneasy truce. Mulder extended an olive branch when he asked 
his future brother-in-law to stand as his best man. Not 
thrilled with the idea, Bill Jr. had not immediately accepted. 
McCue guessed that a little family pressure encouraged him to 
agree in the end, although now it looks as if Bill might be 
having second thoughts. The ceremony was scheduled to start 
more than twenty minutes ago. The guests are getting restless 
and Mulder has begun pacing small circles in front of the 
altar.

"Fox..."

Mulder suddenly stops, his eyes round with panic.

"He's got the rings, Father."

"It'll be all right."

"I'm not so sure." Mulder catches Langly's attention and draws 
him to the front of the church with a waggle of two fingers. 

Blond hair bouncing, a wide grin painting his face, Langly 
strides up the aisle.

"Yo, dude, whassup with your best man?" 

"I don't think he's coming."

Langly's expression becomes serious. "You want me to stand in? 
I--"

"It appears we're about to start," McCue interrupts, pointing 
down the aisle.
 
-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Part 2: BILL JR'S STORY
By Jacquie LaVa

I've been walking around outside the front of the church for 
about...forty-five minutes, I suppose. I should go in. I 
should walk in the damn door and face the music. I should go 
in the door, walk up to my sister, kiss her cheek and tell her 
I'm happy for her.

Then why am I walking in the opposite direction?

Well, other than being stubborn -- and an occasional asshole, 
according to my wife -- I can't pretend to be happy, not even 
for my sister. Not for the sake of my adorable nephew, either. 
I know the little tyke needs a daddy. His daddy. And I know 
his father loves him; I've seen them together. Mulder worships 
Will. Will worships Mulder right back. It's never been a 
question of love.

It's a question of safety, a question of assuring that safety 
and a question of maintaining said safety. In a truly unsafe 
world I need this kind of assurance. I've been the protector 
of my family for years now -- ever since my father died. Of 
uppermost importance in Dad's responsibilities as head of the 
Scully family was the safety of his loved ones. When he died, 
I watched it all unravel, helpless to do anything about it. 
First, my dad. Then I lost Dana to shit-knows-what -- I still 
don't fully understand, even after all these years. Then Missy 
was brutally murdered, and the one person who seemed to be 
nearby when all these events were happening...was Mulder. The 
father of my nephew. The lover of my sister -- Christ give me 
strength -- and soon to be her husband.

Look, I'm not saying he caused my father to die of heart 
complications. I'm not saying he pulled the trigger that 
fatally wounded Missy. I'm not claiming he was responsible for 
Dana being taken. What I insist -- have always insisted -- is 
that Mulder, by association with those goddamn "alien" 
windmills of his, couldn't help but toss my sister, and 
consequently some of our family, right in the path of harm's 
way. More so than she would have put herself, regardless of 
her need to work for the FBI. I never approved of her decision 
to join the Feds, any more than Dad approved. I always thought 
she'd be safer, happier and more successful as the doctor she 
was meant to be. And I was always proud of her 
accomplishments, though I know she thinks I'm not.

I just wish those wonderful deeds could have been the result 
of anything other than co-chaser of UFOs and cohort of Fox 
Mulder, profiler of the paranormal.

My mother defends him. Charlie warmed up to him the first time 
they met. My wife gives him hugs and my children crawl all 
over his lap like little monkeys, calling him "Uncle Fox." And 
Dana stares at him with glowing eyes filled with love.  

Maybe in another life, beyond all of the events that led up to 
the world as I know it today, just maybe, I could have found a 
friend in Mulder. As much as it pains me to say it, in many 
ways Mulder and I share some similarities. We're both in love 
with my family, both wanting just the very best for them and 
for their futures. I know Mulder has more or less adopted us, 
with no surviving family of his own; I suppose we're all he 
has left beyond those three nut-bird friends of his...and his 
ex-boss Skinner. He loves my mother. He dotes on my kids and 
he's sweet to Tara. He worships Dana.

Sometimes I want to punch his pretty face in.

I find myself pacing around the outer vestibule, outside in 
the deserted gardens that used to be so colorful in the 
summertime. I remember the way the nuns used to toil in here, 
planting marigolds, roses and begonias. Maybe a few other 
kinds of flowers whose names escape me now. Missy would have 
known the name of all those flowers, would have been able to 
point at them and rattle them off. Missy loved flowers... I 
wish I'd have sent her a bouquet or two more often...on her 
birthday or on Valentine's Day. I sent them to her on the day 
of her funeral, wonderful brother that I am...

Jesus, I'm an asshole. Thinking about death on my sister's 
wedding day. Tara would be pissed to the max if she knew my 
thoughts. Well, actually, she's already pissed at me; this can 
only add to the joy, so to speak. I'm on her shit list because 
this morning I was moving particularly slowly, not wanting to 
face the day, and she planted her hands on her shapely little 
hips and glared at me across the room.

She was already dressed and ready to go. I was still in my 
skivvies--

"BILL! Get some damn clothes on! Dana is getting married in 
three hours and we are *not* going to be late. What's the 
matter with you? I thought we talked this all out." She'd 
tossed me my dress shirt and added, "Your sister is happy, 
Billy -- please don't be anything but happy for her in 
return." A gold and onyx tie-bar in a little green velvet box 
was chucked at me, landing in my lap as I sat in my easy chair 
in our living room and stared at her mutely. Tara turned from 
her task of lacing up Matty's shoes and glared at me again.

"Billy, so help me..." 

I jumped to my feet, spilling the shirt and the little velvet 
box to the floor. I stood my ground and glared right back at 
my wife.

"Don't push it, Tara. I'm not ready for this. I don't approve 
of this, and you and Mom know it. Dana knows it. Even Mulder 
knows it, for crissake. Dana is making a mistake. She doesn't 
need that wacko to be happy. Will doesn't need somebody like 
that for a father, either..." My words had trailed off, dried 
up at the determined advance of Tara, self-proclaimed champion 
of Fox Mulder. She'd stood in front of me, and I had never 
seen her so angry -- and believe me when I say in the years of 
our marriage I have seen this woman angry.

"Bill...shut up. I mean it. Not another word. How conveniently 
and quickly you forget who saved your bacon just a few short 
months ago. Who kept us all from perishing. This has gone on 
long enough, and I should have put the kibosh on it years ago 
when you first started going off about Fox. Get it through 
your head, and keep it trapped in the space between your ears: 
Dana loves Fox. She has loved him for more years than either 
of us probably know. They have a history together; they share 
a child. Live with it; be happy for your sister because she 
has someone who adores her...and GET THAT DAMN DRESS MESS ON, 
NOW."

My wife then rose up on her tiptoes and brushed a kiss across 
my gaping mouth, smiled sweetly at me and left the room, 
dragging Matty behind her. I sank down in my easy chair and 
clutched my dress shirt in numbed hands.

Tara is a soft, sweet and utterly feminine woman. She can also 
be a bulldog when she feels passionately about something. Or 
someone. It's what I adore about her: that fierce 
protectiveness. And I love that she cares so much for my 
family, too. She lost her parents at such a young age, and as 
an only child she had always wanted brothers and sisters to 
love. Of course I'm happy she loves Dana so much. It means the 
world to me.

That she has also extended that bullish caring to 
Mulder...well, I suppose I have to live with it. I don't want 
to. I want to remain pissed off at him for the rest of my 
life. I want to blame him still, for everything that's gone 
wrong. Yes, it's ludicrous and unfair. But I can't seem to 
stop the way I feel.

Years ago I stood nose-to-nose with Mulder in a hospital 
corridor and called him a sorry son-of-a-bitch. He'd nodded; 
he'd goddamn agreed with me. Mulder knew exactly what I was 
talking about, even back then. He'd accepted my condemnation. 
But it didn't stop him from yanking my sister right back into 
it as soon as she regained her stamina and went back to work. 
That's why I remain set against Mulder to this day. That's why 
having to stand up with him in church, before God, and watch 
him join himself to my sister in the eyes of all I hold 
sacred, really grinds at me.

But I'll do it; I'll be Fox Mulder's best man. For my sister, 
Dana. For my sister, Missy, who also found a way to believe in 
the goodness she somehow found in him. For my mother, who 
loves him, God help me. For little William, who I know needs 
his daddy.

Mostly for Tara, who would have no conscience whatsoever about 
locking me out of the house -- and her body -- until I change 
my frigging tune.

I wander a little bit longer in the garden behind this church, 
and I notice the way overgrown weeds choke out what flora I 
see still evident here and there. I also see a bud and a 
young, strong stem mixed in with the weeds. I liken it to 
people -- the ones who have survived life as we know it and 
have popped up undefeated despite the rottenness apparent all 
throughout the world. Maybe Tara is right; maybe Mulder could 
be seen as some sort of savior. And maybe that's the most 
sacrilegious thought I have ever had. Honestly, I don't know 
any more. I only know that I have been battling for years 
against a man who in his own way cares for me a great deal. A 
man who has always been polite to me. A man who no doubt is at 
this very moment standing at the altar with Father McCue, 
sweating bullets and most likely trying to imagine creative 
ways of bashing my face in.

Part of me wants to cheer at the image of an off-balance Fox 
Mulder...and the other part of me knows that if I don't get my 
ass in that vestibule damned fast and escort my mother down 
the aisle, I am going to regret it.

Amazing how quickly a body can move in these damn hot and 
uncomfortable uniforms.

Three minutes later I am inside the vestibule. My mother is 
pacing, and she stops abruptly when I walk in and hurries over 
to me, taking my arm. Her eyes stare up into mine, worried and 
irritated all at the same time. I meet that stare with one 
studiously nonchalant, and it doesn't fool her for a minute.

"Bill, where have you been? You need to seat me -- now -- and 
then go up and take your place next to Fox." 

I fight to keep my gaze on my all-seeing and all-knowing 
mother, not wanting to get into it, again. I shrug and try to 
control the emotion in my voice.

"I was outside. I lost track of the time..." 

Mom's snort of disbelief dries up my excuse in record time. 
She faces me -- another petite woman with one hell of a 
determined agenda.

"Oh, baloney, Son. Give me a break. I'm far from stupid. 
Whatever lasting remnants of resentment you may have 
concerning Fox, I suggest you purge them, now. I will *not* 
have Dana upset on her wedding day and I won't let you carry 
this vendetta of yours any further." Mom grabs hold of my arm 
and briefly allows five of her sharp little fingernails to 
press into the wool covering my poor bicep. It's a warning, of 
sorts. I open my mouth to voice one more protest and my 
mother's frown withers the words in my throat. She turns me 
toward the wide double doors and urges me forward.

"No, Bill. I don't want to hear it. Don't make me remind you 
of the way Tara had to defend you to her uncle Mitch on your 
own wedding day. I for one will never forget it...and neither, 
I am sure, will Mitch. Think about how wonderful it's been for 
you, all these years to have Tara. And the children. Dana 
wants that happiness for herself, and Fox gives it to her. 
Please, Son...accept it. Accept Fox."

As my mother is lecturing me, she is subtly dragging me down 
the center aisle in such a way as to make it look as if I'm 
walking alongside her willingly. Somehow I manage to keep my 
face expressionless; somehow I put one foot in front of the 
other as we step down the carpeted walkway. All too soon we 
reach the small table that holds the Unity candle and Mom 
stops to light the two side candles assigned to her care. When 
she is finished, I escort her to her seat. 

Now I'm left to walk over with heavy steps until I reach 
Mulder's side. Damn it all, I hate this...

A funny thing happens when I raise my head and look at Mulder. 
I see a very nervous man. I see someone who reminds me a lot 
of what I must have looked like on my own wedding day when I 
stood in a similar spot and prayed with everything inside my 
heart that Tara's determination to marry me had not wilted in 
the face of her Uncle Mitch's dislike and disapproval of me.

In Mulder's eyes I see worry and anxiousness. I also see 
stubbornness -- no one in this world is going to take away his 
future. I see wariness when he looks at me and by the set of 
his jaw I detect anger, as well. He must have really been 
sweating those bullets, thinking I wasn't going to show.

And a sudden grin breaks over my face as I stand next to my 
future brother-in-law and keep watch over the back of St. 
John's. Both of us searching for signs of our women. I catch 
little William's delighted eyes and wink at him, grinning 
wider when he erupts into giggles. Frohike, seated next to 
him, gives me a thumbs-up. Well, what d'ya know, I have passed 
muster with one of Mulder's nutty buddies.

In some weird way it makes me feel...good. I shake my head 
slightly at the craziness of life, and out of the corner of my 
mouth I toss a carefully-careless remark Mulder's way.

"Congratulations, Mr. Mulder." I glance sideways when I hear 
Mulder's audible sigh of what sounds like relief.

"The name is Mulder, Bill...and thanks. For everything, but 
mostly for showing up. It means so much to your sister."  

I nod, turn just enough to meet his eyes, and I stick out my 
hand. Mulder stares at it in surprise for a moment, before 
slowly putting his own out to shake mine. The handshake we 
exchange is firm and manly and we don't say anything more.

We don't really need to, I guess.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Knife! Knife!" William points a tiny finger at Bill Jr.'s 
gleaming dress sword. "Look, Gramma!" He stands on the pew 
between Maggie and Frohike, eyes round and lips curved into an 
"O." Frohike grips the waistband of William's pants to prevent 
him from stumbling off the seat.

"Shhhhh," Maggie hushes her grandson. Her smile is tolerant. 
It's obvious she loves this child who looks so much like her 
own daughter. 

"Unc'Bill ouch Daddy?" the boy asks.

"No, Will, Uncle Bill and Daddy are shaking hands."

"Shake-ands?" The boy looks confused and waggles his hands.

"It means they're friends," Maggie whispers. She takes 
William's small hand in her own as if they were meeting for the 
first time and gives it a gentle squeeze.

"Unc'Bill an' Daddy friends?" William looks to Frohike to see 
if it's true.

Frohike clears his throat. "Uh...yeah, right. They're...um... 
amigos."

"Mee-goes." William repeats, convinced.

Father McCue watches Maggie and the boy, and is glad Bill was 
able to put aside past hurts and stand beside Fox today. The 
priest has ministered the Scully family for years and counts 
Maggie among the most genuine and faithful in his flock. He has 
listened to her confessions and absolved her of her sins -- not 
that they were many or severe. Still, he knows her heartaches 
and has prayed with her. Perhaps today will mark a change of 
fortune for her. For all of them. 
 
-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Part 3: MAGGIE'S STORY
By Bonetree 

Holding Will's hand, I can remember a time when it was only 
the sound of his laughter, the laughter of a child who knows 
nothing of danger, that sustained me. The dark months of 
waiting, watching the news every night. Of wondering about 
Dana and Fox and what would become of them.  

Sometimes I would go into Will's room at night and just watch 
him lying there and think: If we have this, we can go on. I 
know that's what Dana thought every time she looked at her 
son. It was, at times, the only thing to look on with that 
pure a hope.   

Sitting in St. John's, I remember the other thing that has 
sustained me through the darkness. It is all around me, built 
with brick and mortar and the small eyes of stained glass 
scattered here and there. My faith. In God. In my family. And 
in myself.  

It wasn't that I thought I wouldn't see this day come. Here in 
the pew before the altar, the situation feels more familiar 
than strange to me. Fox at the front, his eyes on the end of 
the aisle. Father McCue standing in the center as he has 
always done, the center of this period of my life that has 
been a terrible gyre. Bill standing there, looking for all the 
world like his father when he was young -- dignified and doing 
what is for him, I know, a hard duty.  

I was hard on him as we came up the aisle, I know. I've always 
had to be hard on him where Fox is concerned, where Dana is 
concerned. He's always been so protective of her, but he's let 
that drift into trying to make her decisions for her, or 
judging what she does decide for herself. I can't bear that 
today. Not when this decision is so right for her.  

I turn and face the back, releasing Will's hand, who seems 
content to sit in Melvin's lap now, calm for a moment as the 
time draws nearer. It's almost like even he can sense that 
something important is about to happen here, and he's quieter 
than he was.  

It's the same feeling that fell over me as I stood behind Dana 
in one of the anterooms, placing the veil on her head, letting 
the fine white mesh settle over her face. We were both looking 
at her in the partial mirror on the wall, the dress utterly 
flattering.  

I was surprised when she said she wanted a wedding dress for 
this. For some reason I'd always pictured her in a suit, when 
I pictured her marrying at all. For a while even that was hard 
to imagine. Before Will, when her career and the seemingly 
easy, unspoken connection with Fox had dominated her life. 
Vows to something other than that life she'd led with him 
seemed far away then.  

Her blind devotion to him and to her duty had been over her 
face like a veil then, partially obscuring things I knew she 
needed to see. Like her own need for a commitment to something 
she could believe in, to something permanent. That something 
was Fox, always right before her and beside her. It took Will 
to show her that, though for a time she looked at him through 
that gauzy haze, as well.  

It took the past months to truly lift it away, to make her 
believe what was in front of her own eyes all this time, to 
show it to her clearly. She sees it now.

It makes me smile to think of that.  

I smiled as I lowered the veil over her face again, looking at 
her face in the mirror through it. She looked somehow new, a 
shy smile coming from her. I told her the one thing her father 
never could say to her outright, what I hope he could say 
today. What he *would* say today, given all that she's done.  

That I was proud of her. And that I loved her.  

I turn back to the altar, looking at Fox and Bill standing 
there, Father McCue quiet between them.  

There was a time when I heard much talk in my family that it 
was Fox who caused Melissa to be lost, who caused Dana's 
illness and the dangers she'd faced in her life. And I'm 
ashamed to say that for a time some dim part of me believed 
it, despite myself.  

But now I look at Fox and I know that he also brought her -- 
and all of us -- to this place, this time, and this moment.  

I am proud of him for that, as well. And I love him, too.


-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Too bad about St. John's old pipe organ, McCue thinks as he 
waits for Scully to make her entrance. Nothing sounded better 
at a wedding. But the pipe organ no longer plays due to water 
damage from the recent fire. And there is no organist in any 
case. Frannie O'Donnel died more than six months ago. McCue 
recalls the heartfelt manner in which she used to play Bach's 
"My Heart Ever Faithful." Never a dry eye in the congregation. 
Including his own.

With no organ or organist, McCue had asked Mulder and Scully if 
they would care for recorded music during the ceremony.

"Something to keep tempo, Dana, while you're marching down the 
aisle."

"Bist du Bei Mir," she suggested.

"Too gloomy," Mulder said. "How about 'Blue Suede Shoes'?"

"No Elvis."

"What kind of wedding doesn't have Elvis?"

"The kind that takes place outside of Las Vegas."

McCue had steepled his fingers and smiled. "Perhaps we can come 
back to the question of music," he said. "Dana, have you given 
any thought as to who will walk you down the aisle?"

"My first thought was Bill, of course." She plucked at an 
invisible speck of dust on her sleeve.

"And now...?"

"There's someone else...someone who stood beside me during the 
darkest time of my life...when Mulder...when..." She closed her 
eyes and swallowed old sorrow. McCue knew she referred to Fox 
Mulder's disappearance, his presumed death and then his 
subsequent return to life. A true miracle, proof of God's power 
and His attention to prayer. Scully's eyes reopened, wet with 
tears. "Walter Skinner risked his reputation and his life for 
me. For both of us."

"Pulled my dead ass from an early grave. If it hadn't been for 
old Walt, I'd be pushing up daisies right now instead of 
watching Will blow out birthday candles." 

Scully reached for Mulder's hand and locked her fingers with 
his. "It would honor us both if Walter walked with me on our 
wedding day." 

An easy decision. Easier than the question of music.

Waiting for the procession to begin, McCue sways a little to 
the rhythm of "Love Me Tender." Abruptly the music changes. 
Handel's "Allegro Maestoso" filters through the church and the 
guests' heads crane to see the bride at the far end of the 
aisle. 

Dana Scully appears, more nervous than McCue has ever seen her. 
Veiled and gowned, she grips Walter Skinner's arm and locks 
eyes with Mulder at the opposite end of the church. Conversely, 
the groom relaxes at the sight of her. He stops his restless 
rocking, stills his fidgety limbs and waits patiently for 
Skinner to bring Scully to him.

As for Skinner, he is beaming.  
 
-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Part 4: SKINNER'S STORY
By Lara Means

I don't remember ever seeing her nervous. Anxious, afraid, 
worried -- but not nervous. She shouldn't be nervous. It's 
only her wedding day. She's been in far more dangerous, 
tenuous situations.

Professionally, anyway -- not personally. Personally... I 
don't think anyone could have gone through the things Dana 
Scully has and come out as strong as she is. In her case, that 
old saying "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" 
definitely applies. She's the strongest person I know. She 
should be able to handle getting married without being 
nervous.

I watch Mrs. Scully adjust the veil one last time, squeeze her 
daughter's hands, then grab her son by the arm. Bill Scully 
shoots me a scathing look before his mother drags him into the 
chapel with her. But I don't deserve his scorn. It's his own 
fault he's not walking his sister down the aisle.

When they asked me to dinner a few weeks ago, I had no idea 
what they were planning. I knew about the wedding, of course, 
and I was happy for them. If any two people deserve some 
measure of happiness, it's them.  I did feel a little pang of 
jealousy, though.

I love her.

Not like he does, of course. No one could love her like 
Mulder. But almost every man she knows loves her. I remember 
hearing that Agent Pendrell had a huge crush on her, and 
Mulder told me that Frohike's been smitten since the day they 
met. But I think I'm the only one who knows how John Doggett 
felt, because I saw it happen. I watched him fall for her 
while Mulder was missing, saw how alone he was when Mulder 
came back and she didn't need him as much anymore.

I know how he felt. I felt the same way.

I tried to maintain our friendship after William was born, but 
I knew neither of them needed me. All they needed was each 
other. Then, when all hell broke loose and we were working 
together again, the three of us became closer -- in my mind, 
anyway. I never really knew how close to me they felt, not 
until they asked me to dinner that night, and asked me to do 
this.

Dinner was relaxed and friendly. I felt comfortable, at home, 
with them. I'd brought an old bottle of wine I'd kept hidden, 
and Mulder produced a set of crystal goblets that had belonged 
to his mother. After dinner we played with Will -- who, 
unfortunately, has taken to calling me "Unca Wally" -- until 
his bedtime. Then the grownups adjourned to the living room 
for coffee, and I began to feel uneasy with them for the first 
time in a very long while. I was pretty sure they hadn't asked 
me to dinner for old times' sake, so I decided to take the 
bull by the horns. "Any particular reason you two asked me 
over tonight?"

They shared a look, and I could swear that an entire 
conversation took place within that look. Then they joined 
hands and turned back to me.

"Walter," Mulder said, "we want to ask you something."

"Something we'd like you to do for us," she added.

I said nothing, just looked at them as I did a thousand times 
when they were my agents reporting to me. They shared another 
quick glance, Mulder nodded to her, and she took a deep 
breath.

"We want you to walk me down the aisle at the wedding."

Nothing -- not Mulder's crazy theories, not Scully's eventual 
belief in them, not my own experiences -- could've prepared me 
for that. I looked from her to him and back again, almost too 
surprised for words.

Finally I stammered out, "I think it might be more appropriate 
for one of your brothers to give you away..."

Scully laughed quietly. "Well, first of all, that isn't 
exactly what the job is." I frowned, confused. "We don't feel 
that anyone needs to 'give' me to Mulder."

"We've belonged to each other for a very long time," he added, 
so softly it seemed he was speaking only to her. She heard 
him, acknowledged him with a tiny squeeze of her hand, then 
went on.

"We wanted someone who could understand that. Bill... Bill 
hasn't exactly been supportive." Mulder chuckled at that, and 
I remembered the first time I met Scully's brother -- when she 
almost died of cancer. He was very protective of her, and 
openly hostile toward Mulder, so I could see why he wouldn't 
be their first choice.

"You have another brother, don't you?" I asked.

"Charlie," she almost whispered. "Charlie..." She trailed off, 
looking to Mulder. He slipped an arm around her and turned to 
me.

"Charlie's MIA." She leaned against his shoulder as he told 
me, squeezing her eyes shut.

I didn't say anything for a few minutes. I caught his eyes and 
nodded, waiting as he comforted her. The loss still seemed 
fresh, raw.

After a moment she looked up, her voice a little shakier than 
before. "And even if Charlie were here, he... he doesn't know 
Mulder very well, he... he doesn't know us together."

"That's why we want you," Mulder told me. "You know us, 
Walter. What we've been through. You've been through it with 
us, almost from the beginning, and --"

"-- and you're a good friend," she finished. She reached out 
her hand to me, and I took it. "A very good friend."

I held her hand for a moment, considering what they'd just 
said. I understood them, knew what they've been through, and 
they considered me their friend. That was something I didn't 
know for certain, not until that moment.

Then she smiled at me. Her smiles are precious, not given 
lightly or often.

She squeezed my hand and smiled. How could I say no?

And right now, today, that's the least I can do for her.

She's pacing tiny circles here in the vestibule, fidgeting, 
trying to burn off her restless energy -- not an easy task in 
a wedding gown. I walk up to her and take her hands in mine, 
give them a gentle squeeze. It calms her -- for the moment, 
anyway.

"How are you doing?" I ask.

Her lips turn up in a tiny smile, but it doesn't quite reach 
her eyes. "I'm okay. Really. Just... nervous, I guess. I don't 
know..."

"Second thoughts?"

"No," she says emphatically. "No, this is right. It's the 
first thing that's felt right in a very long time." She shakes 
her head. "I'm about to marry the love of my life, the father 
of my child... and I can't stop my hands from shaking."

I open my hands to look at hers. "They're not shaking now."

That gets me a small grin, along with a slightly arched 
eyebrow. "No, they're not."

"Well, then..." I reach for the table behind her, where a 
single red rose lies. It's the only flower she wanted to 
carry. I give it to her, wrapping her fingers around the stem. 
"If they start shaking, you just hold onto me."

Her smile broadens, and her eyes are shining. She nods, then 
reaches up and puts her arms around my neck. "Thank you," she 
whispers.

I pull her closer, careful not to dislodge her veil. "That's 
what friends are for."

We stand that way through the last verse of "Love Me Tender," 
then Elvis gives way to Handel and I release her.

"Ready?"

She takes a deep breath, then nods once. "Yes."

With both her hands grasping my arm, the rose clutched between 
her fingers, we step toward the chapel entrance. She squeezes 
my arm and looks up at me.

"Walter... you are our dearest friend."

I can't help the smile that comes over me as we begin our walk 
down the aisle. I look at Mulder, waiting for her. And I know 
that no matter how many of us love her... he's the one she 
loves. 

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Skinner, pleased as punch, escorts Scully to the front of the 
church. Arm linked with hers, he takes measured steps, not 
hurrying their walk down the aisle. 

Scully's gown trails behind her. She carries a rose; its 
crimson color echoes the blush of her cheeks and the red of 
her nervous smile, visible beneath her veil. When she finally 
stands beside Mulder, she releases Skinner's arm and lifts her 
veil. Her face is pale and her hands shake a bit, which seems 
to amuse Mulder. His smile disappears, however, when Skinner 
leans close and whispers, "Mess this up, Mulder, and I'll kick 
your butt but good." 

Mulder nods, and Skinner moves to the front pew where he sits 
beside Maggie. William has crawled into his grandmother's lap 
for the moment. 

"Mumma's pretty," the boy tells Skinner.

"Yes, she is," he agrees.

Further down the pew, Frohike wipes away tears, seemingly 
unembarrassed that he is so affected by the sight of Scully in 
her gown. He accepts a tissue from Maggie and loudly blows his 
nose.

Father McCue clears his throat, drawing the congregation's 
attention. "Welcome, Dana, Fox, family and guests," he says, 
"Let us begin with a prayer."

There is a shuffle of feet as the congregation rises.

"Father, hear our prayers for Dana and Fox, who today are 
uniting in marriage before Your altar. Give them Your 
blessing, and strengthen their love for each other. Keep in 
our hearts all the many dear ones who are unable to attend but 
who are with us in Spirit. Amen."

"Amen." 

"Please, be seated," McCue invites. "Today we gather together 
in the presence of God and this company to join Fox William 
Mulder and Dana Katherine Scully in the holy bonds of 
matrimony. Marriage is an institution ordained by God. There 
is no tie on earth so binding and none so sacred as that which 
binds men and women in matrimony. Such a relationship should 
not be entered into thoughtlessly, insincerely or 
indiscreetly, but advisedly, thoughtfully, and in commitment 
to our Lord." McCue turns to Langly in the second row. "Mr. 
Langly, if you're ready, let's proceed with the Readings."

Langly pops up from his seat and makes his way to the front of 
the church, a handful of papers dangling from his fist. At the 
podium, he takes a moment to shuffle his notes. Unsatisfied, 
he reshuffles them.

"Vamonos, Langly," Frohike whispers.

"Cool your jets." Langly rearranges his papers one final time. 
"It's not like we're hacking into a DOD classified network 
node here. Some things can't be rushed."
 
 
-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Part 5: LANGLY'S STORY
By David Hearne 

I open my mouth to say, "Will the Lord cast off for ever? And 
will he be favorable no more?" In the back of my mind, I hear 
Lemmy Kilmister growl, "Two thousand years of misery, of 
torture in my name/ Hypocrisy made paramount, paranoia the 
law/ My name is called religion, sadistic sacred whore."

Ol' Lemmy's dad was a minister. Mine was a farmer. We both got 
religion from our fathers. Neither of us cared for what we 
got.

I was one of those people who used to look up during church 
prayer, and watch all the other people with their eyes closed 
and heads bowed. I would think, "What a bunch of slaves. Do 
any of you see God here? I only see that smug bastard of a 
preacher -- the guy who sneers at us if we move an inch from 
where he wants us to stay. If I hear him talk about the 
dangers of feminism and gays one more time, I'll puke into the 
collection plate." One of the best things about leaving home 
was not having to go to church anymore.

I wasn't the only one to feel this way in my little barren 
section of Oklahoma. I would meet fellow young outsiders who 
were as tired of small-town piety as I was. A lot of them 
struck me as being pretty dumb, though. First of all, there 
were the Satanists. You know, the whole black-clothes, black-
hair, black-fingernail-polish crowd. The people who know the 
words of Aleister Crowley by heart, all that wannabe medieval 
crap. To me, this bunch was little different than the actors 
pretending to be knights at the Renaissance Fair.

I even knew a few young Buddhists. They were always going on 
about how Buddhism was a religion of infinite compassion and 
so on. I wish I could meet them now. I want to ask them about 
the Dalai Lama being a paid agent of the CIA and a homophobe. 
(Wonder what Richard "gerbil-up-the-wazoo" Gere would think 
about that?)

That's one of the advantages of being an atheist, I guess. You 
get to piss on everybody's beliefs. When I was young, I wasn't 
interested in finding a new god.

I wanted to be one.

I first got a taste of being God when I began playing Dungeon 
Master for a local D&D competition. (And for your information, 
D&D is waaaaay different than a Renaissance Festival.) I was 
able to create this whole world with nothing more than pen, 
paper, dice and my own imagination. It was a great feeling, 
and I wanted to keep it going.

That's what brought me to computers. When I first laid hands 
on a keyboard, and the screen of an IBM monitor lit up before 
my eyes, it was like coming home. This is where I will rule, I 
thought. This is where a sarcastic farm-boy who hates his 
church and will never make the football team can build his own 
realm.

It didn't quite happen that way. I remember mouthing off to my 
dad about how computers were the future of the world. I was 
right, but I seriously overestimated my part in it. I wasn't 
going to be Bill Gates. I was going to be the guy who hangs 
around at computer conventions and helps people get free 
cable. There would be no empires with my name.

So I figured -- if I can't have my own empire, then I can 
nibble at what other people have. No longer would I be a king. 
I would be a freedom-loving anarchist with the Dead Kennedys 
and Minor Threat roaring in the background. I would not be 
God, but a demon breaking into your security system and 
snatching all your best secrets.

Yeah, well, that was the idea. Guys like me are big on talking 
about anarchy. We love playing those video games where you're 
this heavily-armed dude shooting up monsters in a post-
apocalyptic environment. Bring out the nukes, we cheer. Let's 
end all this bullshit once and for all. Tear down society and 
let's party.

The real thing wasn't as fun as a video game.

Recent events haven't changed my philosophy too much. I still 
don't believe in God -- at least not one that has any 
particular interest in what we do on planet Earth. However, 
here I am reading from the Book of Psalms.

"'Hear my voice, O God, in my prayer; preserve my life from 
fear of the enemy. Hide me from the secret counsel of the 
wicked...'"

Psalms are always good for a quote. My little speech starts 
out well with that. However, as I go along, I discover that 
I'm making a mess out of things. I'm rambling all over the 
place as I bounce from one literary reference to another.

I spent a lot of time researching this speech for nifty 
quotes. I didn't just take stuff from the Bible. I sniffed 
through Shakespeare, Donne, Plato, all the big names. I spent 
hours on internet libraries searching for high-minded words on 
love and honor and the rest of that cool crap. (They have just 
recently managed to get some of the Internet back on line.) 
And the thing is -- I've never read this stuff before. My poet 
laureates were Joe Strummer, Joey Ramone, Lou Reed and Johnny 
Rotten. I was just looking up Shakespeare because I needed 
something a little more classy than "I Wanna Be Sedated." Much 
to my surprise, though, I found out that these dead old poets 
and philosophers were *good* -- far better than what my boring 
high school teachers led me to imagine.

But I guess I should have spent a little more time on shaping 
all my research together into something manageable. That's the 
clear message I'm getting from the other people in the church. 
The priest is doing his best to stay appreciative. He reminds 
me of a Sunday school-teacher I had. Miss Holly would *always* 
consider what her students did to be wonderful.

Frohike isn't being so patient. He keeps squirming on the pew, 
bouncing lil' William in his lap. Every roll of his eyes makes 
me realize that I'm screwing up.

The looks on the other peoples' faces aren't much better. The 
Skinman has that quiet look of displeasure, which always 
unnerves me. That pretty new chick who has been working on the 
X-Files -- Monica what's-her-name -- is looking at her 
fingernails. Scully's mom is trying too hard to look 
attentive.

As for the bride and groom, they're giving me the kind of 
looks people give to dogs when they're acting silly. You 
indulge them because you feel affectionate to them.

God, I wish that Byers was here. He should be the one 
delivering this speech. Why did he have to go and run off?

Because of Susanne. Because he had to find someone he cared 
about.

Well, I cared about you, man. You were the most uptight guy I 
ever met, but you had guts. You stood up for what was right. 
The Lone Gunmen wouldn't have gotten anywhere without you. So 
why did you have to run out on your friends like that?

Yeah, well...he loved her.

And I love the people here.

Maybe that's what I should be saying now.

I fold up the shuffled papers, hold my hands behind my back 
and say, "Look...what we're doing now doesn't seem important. 
I mean, compared to everything else that's been going on, 
what's a wedding?

"Not to say this hasn't been a long time coming. I mean, we 
used to take bets down at the Lone Gunmen about when you two 
were going to get married. We had a pool and everything."

"Who won the pool?" Mulder asks with a smile.

I look at Frohike. He appears as uncomfortable as I feel. That 
gives Mulder and everybody else the answer. For a moment, it 
seems like a good idea to just sit down and shut up.

Then I take off my glasses and rub my eyes. "Man, it's tough," 
I mutter, then put my glasses back on. "You shouldn't have to 
deal with everything else on a day like this. We took those 
bets for a reason. We knew that you two would be perfect for 
each other. I still think that.

"Is that enough, though? Against everything else, does the 
happiness of two people matter? Seriously, does it?"

They all look at me for an answer. Weird. Why should I have to 
answer a question like that?

Because it's my job right now. So I search for a honest reply.

It takes me close to a minute. And this time, they're all 
paying attention.

Finally I say --

"Well...it's not just Mulder and Scully's happiness at stake. 
It's mine. And Frohike's. And little Will over there. Not to 
mention Mrs. Scully and Father McCue and Reese--"

"Reyes," the new chick says.

"Oh, yeah, Reyes. Sorry. What about you, Skinner? Do you want 
this wedding to happen?"

"More than anything else," he says in his blunt, Marine-style 
voice.

"Then...what more do we need? It's not going to change the 
world, but...for everybody here...it's the biggest deal of 
all. That should be enough for anybody."

I look straight at Mulder and Scully. "We want you to be 
happy, guys. Because you've earned it. Because the world is 
better with you two in it."

Mulder looks surprised and flattered at the same time. I guess 
that I'm not the kind of guy who normally says such things.

Scully mouths the words "Thank you" to me. I nod back, then 
sigh, "That's it."

I pass Frohike on my way back to my seat. "Nice save, hippie," 
he tells me.

"Thanks, dwarf."


-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Mr. Langly, thank you. Your choice of reading material was 
certainly...thought provoking," McCue says.

The priest waits for Langly to take his seat before launching 
into the homily. His Bible remains closed. This part of the 
ceremony flows from his heart.

"The mystery of Christian marriage, the dignity that wedded 
love holds, the grace of the sacrament and the 
responsibilities that married people possess -- these are 
common themes to discuss at a wedding. Because we find 
ourselves living in uncommon times, however, let us view the 
subjects of family, duty and love in a broader context today." 
McCue's face is set with a tender smile. He cares a great deal 
for this particular congregation. They have endured hardship, 
each in their own way, but perhaps none have sacrificed so much 
as this bride and groom. 

"For a long time world events have conspired against Dana and 
Fox, necessitating a postponement of 'normal' family life in 
order for them to serve a more altruistic purpose."

Sadness momentarily shadows the couple's eyes, and McCue sees 
in their expressions a hint of the pain they have suffered. 
Today's joy does not compensate their losses. Time away from 
loved ones cannot be reclaimed. Lost lives cannot be 
resurrected -- not on this side of Heaven.      

"Fox and Dana are proof that 'love is patient,'" McCue says, 
quoting from the thirteenth chapter of 1 Corinthians -- 
appropriate scripture to describe the bond between Fox Mulder 
and Dana Scully. "'Love bears all things, believes all things, 
hopes all things, endures all things.'"

The congregation nods. Sitting beside Langly, Monica Reyes' 
eyes are bright with tears. She doesn't search her pockets or 
her purse for a tissue, but lets her tears fall.   

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Part 6: REYES'S STORY
By Brandon D. Ray 

It's the first day of spring, and the whales are dying.

Try as I might, I can't get those two thoughts out of my head. 
Not even on this day of days.

We heard about the whales last night, just before the 
rehearsal. More accurately, *I* heard about the whales. The 
news arrived at the command center by messenger, as so many 
reports do these days. The experts say it will be at least 
another year before the ionosphere settles down enough to make 
long range radio transmissions dependable again. Thank God 
none of the bombs were detonated over inhabited areas ....

But the whales -- the whales have been discovered to be 
susceptible to the alien virus. It just takes longer to run 
its course in them than it does in humans. And so now ... now 
that we've won, after paying such a terrible, terrible 
price... now that victory is finally ours ... the whales are 
dying. And there's nothing we can do to stop it.

There will be no vaccine for the whales. There isn't even 
enough for all the humans who need it, nor do we have the 
resources to engineer a variant that would work on cetaceans. 
Even in our small group -- one of the nodes that played such a 
vital role in winning the ultimate victory -- there are those 
who do not qualify. Little Will is too young, and Mrs. Scully 
and Father McCue are too old, and the rules are very, very 
strict, and rigidly enforced. Mulder and Dana, of course, 
refused treatment, saying that their doses should go to others 
more in need, and relying on their own previous exposures to 
the virus to keep them safe.

So there will be no vaccine for the whales. There can't be, 
and I understand that, and I agree with the reasoning that 
leads to that conclusion. I helped write the damned rules, 
after all. But it still hurts.

I haven't shared the news with anyone. Not yet. I didn't have 
the heart -- not on Mulder and Dana's wedding day. They 
deserve a little happiness, after all the sorrow we've all 
been through. After their honeymoon -- all 48 hours of it, 
locked in their apartment together, alone, while Mrs. Scully 
takes care of Will -- is soon enough. There's so much work 
still to be done, and so little time for joy.

I force my attention back to the service. Mulder and Dana are 
entitled to that much, at least. Hell, they're entitled to so 
much more than that, but it's all I've got to give at the 
moment. Langly's speaking now, and from the expressions on 
some of the faces around the room, I don't think his words 
would make much sense to me even if I *had* been paying 
attention.

Which actually doesn't matter -- not in the least. What's 
important is that he's their friend, and he's here to witness 
their love. His eloquence -- or lack of it -- is beside the 
point.

I shake my head, and automatically reach for a cigarette -- 
but then quickly withdraw my hand. No smoking in the church, 
of course. Nor is tobacco as easy to come by anymore -- 
although I admit I was touched when Frohike, of all people, 
brought me several cartons of Marlboros after his last 
inspection tour. I guess rank does have *some* privileges.

But not here. Not now. Looking for a distraction, I turn my 
gaze on little Will, bouncing restlessly on Frohike's lap. 
He's such a cute kid, and his presence in our group has helped 
remind us all of what we're really fighting for -- the future.  
As always, I feel myself calming as I look at him, and in my 
mind's eye, I can see him as a grown man, tall and strong and 
proud.

I haven't had much opportunity to spend time with Will -- not 
with things being as they are. But I still have a major soft 
spot for the little guy. I delivered him, after all, and I was 
almost as terrified as Dana when the replicants gathered 
around, waiting for ... something ... to happen. Still, it all 
worked out, and in the end, Dana -- and Mulder -- were gifted 
with a beautiful baby boy.

But even here, my imagination begins to betray me. Yes, I can 
see Will as a grown man, but this particular grown man will be 
a soldier. That is already preordained, and has been since the 
moment the Invaders struck. We've beaten them back, yes; we've 
killed as many as we could, and driven the rest of them off 
this planet. But we have no means to pursue them, no way to 
destroy them utterly, and so we must assume that they might 
come back someday.

We will have to remain vigilant; we will have to watch for 
their return, our eyes lifted to the sky in fear rather than 
the awe and wonder that once was our birthright. We dare not 
lower our guard, even for an instant. And that means that our 
young men and women will have to give some of themselves in 
service of the greater good. There's no use pretending that it 
can be otherwise.

I wish John were here. I wish I were even sure that he was 
still alive. Part of me -- the professional part, the part 
that managed to survive more than a year of brutal guerilla 
warfare against alien Invaders -- understands that he must 
surely be dead. If he were still alive, he and his team would 
have contacted us by now, but they have not. Some humans did 
escape from New Haven on that last, horrible day, but John and 
his people -- Tom Colton, Kim Cook, and all the others -- were 
not among them.

At least we know they completed their mission. If they hadn't, 
none of us would be here today.

But then there's the other part of me -- the part that knows 
things without knowing how I know them. And *that* part is 
sure that somehow, somewhere, some way, John Doggett is still 
alive. It's irrational; there are no facts to back it up. 
Nevertheless, that still soft voice whispers, deep inside my 
soul -- it's true.

I wonder what John would think if he were here. I wonder what 
he would be feeling.

On one level, of course, I already know the answer. He would 
be happy for her. He would happy for *them*. He was -- is -- a 
generous man, and a true gentleman, and that's such a rare 
commodity these days. If he were here, he'd be smiling, 
gracious and friendly. He'd shake Mulder's hand, he'd kiss 
Dana on the cheek, and all of it would be completely and 
totally sincere, because he really would be feeling those 
things.

But down inside he'd be hurting. I know John. I know him 
better, perhaps, than anyone but Patricia, his ex-wife. And 
the first time I saw him with Dana, I knew where his feelings 
lay. I could see it in his eyes and in the set of his 
shoulders. I could hear it in his voice when he spoke to her. 
Hell, I could feel it radiating off him in waves whenever she 
entered the room.

He was in love with her.

I could also tell how she felt, and it was obvious that John 
knew, as well. Dana has room for only one man in her life, and 
it was perfectly clear who that man was. Even after we found 
Mulder's body, that didn't change. I made two trips to 
Washington during the three months that he was dead, and both 
times Dana was completely closed off, emotionally speaking. No 
one could get close to her. Not John, not Skinner -- not even 
Frohike. And they all tried. They wanted to be there for her, 
in whatever capacity they could. But she would not allow it.

And then suddenly Mulder was alive again, and everything 
changed once more. When I came back to D.C. for the Dukes 
case, I saw immediately that Dana's universe had reoriented 
itself, and I would have had to have been blind not to see who 
was at the center. I'm sure John saw it, too -- hell, he knew 
her better than I did at that point. He must have been 
expecting it. But that wouldn't have made it hurt any less.

But John was bigger than that, I remind myself. He was quite 
possibly the best man I've ever known. I'm sure he would have 
felt the pain of seeing somebody he cared for turning to 
someone else, but he would have overcome it. In the end, his 
pleasure -- no, his *joy* -- at their mutual happiness would 
have won out. Yes, that's how it would have been.

I'm sure of it.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Dana and Fox," -- McCue looks from Scully to Mulder -- "you 
have come together in this church so that the Lord may seal 
and strengthen your love in the presence of the Church's 
minister and this community. Christ abundantly blesses your 
love. He has already consecrated you in baptism and now he 
enriches and strengthens you by a special sacrament so that 
you may assume the duties of marriage in mutual and lasting 
fidelity. And so, in the presence of the Church, I ask you to 
state your intentions."

The congregation rises to its feet. Skinner's jaw sets and he 
straightens his shoulders. Maggie's eyes glisten with unshed 
tears. Reyes smiles from the second row, as does Langly.  
Frohike holds William high in his arms so the boy can see his 
mother and father when they answer McCue's questions and make 
their promises. 

"Fox, Dana, have you come here freely and without reservation 
to give yourself to each other in marriage?" 

"I have."

"Yes, Father."

"Will you love and honor each other as husband and wife for 
the rest of your lives?"

"I will."

"I will, Father."

"Will you accept children lovingly from God and bring them up 
according to the law of Christ and His Church?"

Mulder looks past Scully to William. The boy's face is solemn, 
his eyes wide and blue, and he looks so much like Scully that, 
for a moment, Mulder cannot speak. 

Finally, he nods. "Yes."

"I will," Scully agrees.

"Since it is your intention to enter into this marriage, join 
your right hands, and declare your consent before God and His 
Church."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Part 7: McCUE'S STORY
By aka "Jake"

Two weeks ago, I met with Dana and Fox to discuss their 
wedding. We gathered at Dana's apartment and I brought up the 
subject of the vows.

"'Til death do you part' hardly applies to us, Father," Fox 
said. "Uh...at least, not to me." 

I took his point. "You're under no obligation to recite 
conventional vows. The purpose is to declare your consent 
before the Church. You're free to choose your own words."

"Hear that, Scully? How about this: 'You can knock me down, 
step on my face, slander my name all over the pl--'"

"*No* Elvis."

"But Father McCue said--"

"No."

"Trade ya' one line of 'All Shook Up' for an 'I promise to 
obey--'" 

"No."

We decided to move on to the subject of Fox's faith. Because 
Fox Mulder is not a Catholic, it's necessary to send an 
application of Dispensation to Marry to the Bishop before 
joining these two in holy matrimony. However, before the 
application can be sent, Dana and Fox must answer a couple of 
questions, satisfying the Church that their intentions are 
earnest and informed.

"Fox, are you aware of the Catholic Church's attitudes toward 
marriage?"

"I've been briefed." He smiled at Dana.

"Dana, do you fully understand the obligations you must 
undertake as the Catholic partner in this marriage, such as 
your responsibility for the faith of your children?"

"I do, yes." 

I believed her -- she had attended to William's christening and 
brought the boy to church whenever she was able to come 
herself. Those times when she could not come, which 
unfortunately were quite often, Maggie brought the boy. 
William's soul was in good hands. I had no intention of 
refuting dispensation; I was quite satisfied this couple's 
motives were sincere.

"Where would you like to hold the ceremony?" I asked.

"At St. John's," Dana answered. "I wouldn't consider any place 
else." 

"But..." 

St. John's. It's not the church it once was. So much has been 
lost... 

So much has been lost everywhere. Hundreds of thousands of 
human lives... 

We can't know why God allows bad things to happen. It's a 
difficult concept, even for the most devout Catholic. "God has 
His reasons," "He works in mysterious ways" -- these are 
shorthand answers we clergymen offer to those who suffer, while 
in our hearts we, too, grapple with the impossibility of 
iniquity as part of God's Plan. We would prefer to dole out 
real hope, not mere platitudes, yet sometimes God leaves us 
with nothing on which to hang our hats. We can only cling to 
our faith and pray for His divine wisdom.

A difficult thing when facing an inhuman enemy. 

Believing God had a purpose for us, individually and 
collectively, I badgered Him to divulge His reasons: Why allow 
these terrible attacks on our loved ones? Why allow innocents 
to suffer and die while evil goes unpunished? Is this invasion 
part of Your plan? Where are You, God?

Where are You?
 
Viaticum, Anointing of the Sick, Last Rites. I've repeated the 
psalms and canticles so often in the last sixteen months, the 
verses lace my dreams at night and sleep has become no respite 
from the days' living nightmares. Two wax candles, holy water, 
and a scrap of communion-cloth have been my constant 
companions.     

Pax huic domui. 

Et omnibus habitantibus in ea. 

Have mercy on me, O God... Have mercy.

During the conflict, thousands turned their backs on God, 
certain He had turned His back on them as well. I'm ashamed to 
admit that my own faith wavered. This crisis tested me as 
sorely as anyone, and I found I am not immune to doubt and 
anger.

Who are these aliens? Where did they come from? From Hell? Or 
from the hand of God? If I am a part of God's Plan, aren't 
they, too? 

How am I to reconcile the Scripture with the things I have seen 
with my own eyes? How am I to believe God is behind this 
tragedy?

Mankind has fought a terrible war against an unthinkable enemy. 
Faith shaken, many turned against their own brothers. Lost 
souls with nothing but despair in their hearts launched their 
anger against each other and the Church. 

Last month, St. John's was set afire. Not by the alien 
invaders, but by human men, worn down by war and fueled with 
their fear of a Godless universe. 

"God is a traitor," the faithless shouted as they lobbed 
bottles of gasoline at the roof. "You lied to us." In their 
eyes, the Church seemed a false prophet, conspiring with an 
uncaring God while spreading untruths and false hopes.  

I watched the flames engulf St. John's, I saw the hopelessness 
in the dissidents' eyes, and it was the final straw. I, too, 
overflowed with despair. For the first time in my life, I felt 
alone, cut off from God. I was suddenly afraid He had fled like 
a coward from my heart, leaving us all vulnerable and lost. 
Anger flared in my breast and burned hotter than the fire that 
devoured the church roof. Smoke plumed skyward and I choked on 
the memory of every Blessed Sacrament, every Miserere, every 
Asperges I had recited over the past year and a half. In my 
mind's eye, I saw the hundreds of dying faces, one following 
the next, friends, neighbors, loved ones, hopeful to the end 
that my benediction would send them home to God. Was my role a 
fraud? Had I misled these souls? Had my prayers, all mankind's 
prayers, gone forever unheard? 

At that moment, I hated God. I hated Him.

Have mercy on me, O God...blot out my transgressions. 

Have mercy on me, O God...blot out my transgressions. 

Have mercy on me, O God...blot out my transgressions.

Mercy...it started to rain. Not a gentle rain, but a downpour, 
a sleety deluge that caused the burning roof to hiss and spit. 
The angry crowd dispersed to search for shelter. In their place 
stood a phalanx of kind neighbors, armed with buckets of water 
and an unshakable belief in the munificence of God.

We labored together to dowse the fire at St. John's, while at 
the same time heroes around the world fought to save mankind. 

Over the next few days, rumors of victory trickled in. We 
celebrated by hauling rubble from the nave and scrubbing ash 
from the pews. 

"Can I give you a hand with that, Father?" asked one of the 
many good volunteers. He pointed to the trashcan I wrestled 
down the side aisle. I nodded and together we hefted the barrel 
to the front vestibule.

"Messy business," I said. We were blackened from head to toe 
with soot. The cold February wind blew ash everywhere through 
the roofless church.

"Watch your step," he warned. Slivers of stained glass littered 
the floor around the door. It crunched loudly beneath our feet 
no matter how we tried to dodge it.

As I reached for the door handle, a delicate note sounded from 
the broken pipe organ at the front of the church. Then a second 
note played, and a third.

"Hear that, Father? Someone's got the organ working!" His broad 
smile seemed extraordinarily bright against the black of his 
face.

It hardly seemed possible the organ could be repaired. But 
three more notes wafted from the organ's clogged pipes. I swear 
it sounded exactly like--

"My heart ever faithful..." my helper said and sang the first 
line of the familiar hymn.

We abandoned the trashcan to return to the nave. The playing 
continued and I half expected to see Frannie O'Donnel sitting 
at the organ, warming up for Sunday's service, although I knew 
that was impossible. I had prayed with Frannie in Georgetown 
Memorial Hospital six months ago, performed the Blessed 
Sacrament, and watched her die -- another victim of the alien 
virus.

I can't put into words the surprise I felt when I came to the 
organ, where no one sat, yet music vibrated from the pipes.

"Must be the wind causing it," one of the volunteers suggested. 

It was true, the wind gusted through the roofless church, 
across the organ, but... The tune was unmistakable.

The volunteers put down their mops and dust-cloths and began to 
sing along, never doubting the miracle in front of us.

"My heart ever faithful, Sing praises, be joyful, Sing praises, 
be joyful, Thy Jesus is here..."

God was speaking to us, and my frozen heart thawed.

Many might say the pattern of notes was coincidental. Others 
might claim we heard only what we wanted to hear. Those are 
logical arguments. 

Yet, that was the last time the pipe organ in St. John's 
played. And that was the last time I doubted God's benevolence.  

As I listened to God that day, I realized we are in His care 
every hour of every day. We live, we die, we suffer, we exult 
at His behest. His reasons elude us, but we can be certain He 
stands with us. He directs our purpose, He divines our meaning, 
He watches over us at all times. From the moment we are 
conceived until the hour we return to His bosom, He guides our 
lives and sanctifies us with His love.

St. John's vaulted ceiling is gone, but a roof is only shingles 
and nails, and has little to do with the human spirit. 

God's grace is sufficient to shelter us. 

I stand here today in St. John's Church to celebrate Fox and 
Dana's wedding day, a day of hope, a day of love, a miraculous 
day. The enemy has fled. Our heroes are returned to us. We 
mourn those who have died and hold close those who are still 
here. 

Our gathering is small -- no more than thirty people or so. 
There are many who would want to be here who are not. They are 
missing and we pray they are not dead. 

Charles Scully. 

John Byers. 

John Doggett. 

"As for man, his days are like grass; he flourishes like a 
flower of the field; for the wind passes over it, and it is 
gone, and its place knows it no more." 

I look past the charred beams of the church's upper stories to 
the tree branches beyond -- bare ruin'd choirs, obsequious in 
the March wind.

Budding leaves dot the branches. A scattering of warblers 
perches in the treetops, celebrating this fine spring morning 
with a clear, hopeful song.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Scully's hand rests in Mulder's palm. The guests are quiet and 
Mulder softly clears his throat, ready to recite his vows.

"Dana Katherine Scully," -- he pauses to fold her hand between 
his -- "You bring orderliness and certainty to my life; you 
fix my feet to the ground; you are the refuge I return to 
again and again. I balance my heart upon the cornerstones of 
your spirit: Trust, Loyalty, Honesty, Faith. You prop me up. 
You make me a better person. With you, I am able to forge 
ahead; with you, I am strong and confident. Today, in front of 
these witnesses, I promise to stand beside you always, and if 
you are somehow lost despite my diligence, you know I will 
climb mountains, or travel to the ends of the earth to find 
you. My love for you is as far-reaching as the stars and as 
eternal as their celestial glow. You are my Truth and the 
miracle of our love lies in the path we have chosen together. 
I ask that you continue to walk this path with me. Be my 
partner, my friend, and my lover, as I am forever yours."

All of Scully's nervousness melts away at Mulder's words and 
she smiles back at him. Respect and love shine in her eyes. 
She grips his hand and offers him her vows.

"Fox William Mulder, you bring surprise, wonder and awe to my 
life; you open my eyes to broader possibilities; you help me 
accept what I cannot see and understand what I cannot prove. 
You show me the meaning of Belief while you lead me to Truth. 
Today, in front of these witnesses, I promise to walk with you 
on the path we have chosen. Come health, happiness, and 
success, I will be with you; come illness, trouble, or 
failure, I will be with you. I will join my life to yours as 
your partner, your friend, and your lover. I will be the 
shoulder you lean on, the rock on which you rest, the 
companion of your life -- as you are mine. Whatever we 
encounter, you are my love, and I will make my home in your 
heart for as long as we both shall live."

Sniffles from the congregation punctuate Scully's promises. 
The priest takes a deep breath and smiles broadly.

"You have declared your consent before the Church. May the 
Lord in His goodness strengthen your consent and fill you both 
with His blessings. What God has joined, men must not divide. 
Amen."

"Amen," the congregation repeats.

Bill Jr. digs into his pocket and removes twin wedding bands, 
which he places on Father McCue's prayer book. 

McCue makes the sign of the cross over them. "May the Lord 
bless these rings which you give to each other as the sign of 
your love and fidelity. Amen."

"Amen."

Mulder selects the smaller of the two rings. Scully raises her 
hand and he slips the ring over her finger. "Take this ring as 
a symbol of my love and fidelity." His voice is soft and 
weighted with his love. 

Scully picks up the second ring. Mulder offers his hand and 
she slides the band onto his finger. "Take this ring as a sign 
of my love and fidelity, in the name of the Father, and of the 
Son, and of the holy Spirit. Amen."

"Amen."

McCue tilts his head toward the Unity candle. Mulder takes his 
cue and steers Scully to the side table with one palm. He 
watches his feet, careful not to tread on her gown. 

At the table, he chooses one of the burning side candles and 
lifts it from its holder. Scully takes the other and they 
bring the two flames together over the Unity candle's unlit 
wick. Wax drips from the tapers, and the two separate flames 
join as one, glowing bigger and brighter when the third candle 
ignites. Once they are certain the candle will remain burning, 
they fit the tapers back into their original positions. 

McCue gestures to them to return to their places for the final 
Bidding Prayer. When they stand in front of him, he begins. 
"To guide our steps into the paths of peace, let us beseech 
the Lord.

"Lord, have mercy."

"To dispel from our midst all thoughts of evil, let us beseech 
the Lord."

"Lord, have mercy."

"To keep us under the shelter of His Almighty hand, let us 
beseech the Lord."

"Lord, have mercy."

"Let us commit ourselves to the Lord God Almighty. Amen."

"Amen."

William has had enough. He wriggles in Frohike's arms, wanting 
to be released. "Amen-amen-amen-amen," he chants.

Mulder catches his son's eye and holds a finger of warning to 
his lips. William mimics the gesture and whispers, "Shhhhhh."

"We're nearly through," McCue assures William and the others. 
"Fox, Dana, in consideration of these solemn and sacred 
pledges, I am authorized by the laws of the state of Virginia 
and by the laws of God in His Holy Word, to pronounce you 
husband and wife. As I do, let me remind you that henceforth 
you are one: one in interest, one in reputation and above all 
else, one in affection." McCue pauses for effect before he 
announces, "Fox Mulder, you may kiss your bride."

"'Bout time." Mulder grins and laces his fingers with 
Scully's. He leans close and, under the watchful eyes of their 
friends, their family and the smiling priest, he presses his 
lips to hers in a gentle kiss.

"'Bout time," little William repeats, his voice loud and 
matter-of-fact. "Look!" He claps his hands, and then points 
and giggles. "Mumma an' Daddy is mee-goes!"
   

THE END


AUTHORS' NOTES:

Bonetree: To Brandon, Jacquie, Jake, David, Lara and mimic.... 
Thanks for welcoming me into the nest with such open arms. I've always 
been nervous about collaborative projects, and now I'm not 
anymore after working with such funny, smart, caring people. 
The world of fic has the potential to be a place where egos 
could grate, and it's been wonderful being in on a project 
where seven people didn't care about such petty things and 
just wanted to tell a story -- together -- for the fun of it 
and for the sake of the readers. Thanks for a good time. It's 
been great getting to know you all through this experience.

Brandon D. Ray: I want to 
agree with everything everyone else has said. I mean -- 
*everything*. These people are just so incredibly helpful and 
friendly. For example, when Jake said we should all do an 
author's note, and I observed how much I hated doing that, and 
asked if anyone wanted to write mine for me, you know what 
response I got? Jake offered to beta read my author's note -- 
and you have to have received beta notes from Jake to really 
understand what it was she was, er, offering. Mimic said I 
could, well, mimic one of her old author's notes (notice the 
thrift factor there!), and Bonetree made a suggestion that is 
probably best not repeated in polite company. You see the 
pattern developing here? You just can't buy loyalty like 
that!  ;)

Jacquie LaVa: As soon as we started 
working on Choirs, I knew it was going to be a very special 
project for all of us. Each one of us brought something to the 
collaboration that everyone else could relate to and even with 
seven different writing styles I was amazed at how wonderfully 
it blended.

My co-writers are six of the finest writers in X-fandom. To be 
asked to join them on this project meant a great deal to me, 
and I am so proud to be called Fellow Squirrel amongst them! 
Thank you Jake, Bone, Brandon, Lara, David, and my darling Mims 
-- for thinking enough of me to include me!

aka "Jake": Squirrels, to 
say it's been a pleasure working with you is an understatement 
of gargantuan proportions. You have provided me with support, 
inspiration and friendship. You are talented, classy and caring, 
and I'm honored to know you all. Virtual hugs to each of you.

Virtual hugs, too, to fanfic readers -- you encourage me with 
every letter you write and every rec you make. "Bare Ruin'd 
Choirs" is a thank you for your dedication and kindness.

To anyone of Catholic faith, please accept my apologies for any 
errors in my representation of Father McCue or this wedding 
ceremony. I did my homework, but I am not Catholic. Please, let 
me know where I have erred so that I might learn.

David Hearne: I've seen 
how collaborative projects have gone wrong. This one went 
right. It was done in an atmosphere of mutual respect where 
each participant was equally valued. I was glad to join it.

Lara Means: Working 
with these incredible writers has been an amazing, delightful 
experience. The camaraderie between us, the easy friendships 
that have developed, the simple chemistry I've felt as we 
developed the story... This has been one of the most positive, 
uplifting writing experiences I've ever had. Thanks, guys.

mimic117: This has been the most incredible project I've ever 
done. Just having the chance to work with a group of authors 
who represent the best in fanfic writing has been a worthwhile 
experience. Thank you so much for allowing the new kid to play 
in your sandbox. The fact that you didn't steal my shovel or 
kick sand in my face was greatly appreciated. I've learned so 
many things from working with you, but mostly I've learned 
what a classy bunch you are. Everyone should have a chance to 
stretch their writer's wings under the nurturing gaze and 
support of a group like this. I'm so glad I got that chance.

READERS: Please send feedback to Secret-
Squirrels@yahoogroups.com. We'd love to know if you enjoyed 
"Bare Ruin'd Choirs."