#cricket universe

msr | Cricket Universe | words: 920

He remembers the last time he did this. Sitting in a darkened theater with Scully next to him, smelling buttery popcorn and frizzy drinks. He’s expected to pay attention, to feel proud, and to make it through the whole thing. People around him are having a wonderful time, and he should too.

Scully wears her hair in a bun tonight instead of those clips she wore the last time. She looked so cute with her hair like that, so carefree and happy. He had aimed to max out the credit card Skinner let them use that evening on limo rides, exquisite food, shopping, room service, maybe even mail a few special cheeses and wine home as souvenirs, but Scully, his logical and sensible Scully reminded him that they were still spending taxpayer’s dime and they should at least spend a little wisely.

So yes to limo, yes to dinner, yes to cheese and wine, yes to a little special delivery to her brother in San Diego and yes to room service, but no to shopping, show, shoes, or silky underpants.

He had a load of fun without them, anyways. All he needed was Scully and time.

Her kisses were all bubbly that night. What a wonderful time that was.

Mulder is certain that the after-party tonight would be very different.

There are so many things that’s different from that evening they had nearly two decades ago. For started, Scully has a toddler on her lap, which is pretty normal given that so many other people have taken their children here too; there are children laughing, babbling, and occasional shushing from mommies and daddies. Their daughter sleeps like her momma does, drooling on her shoulder with a fist of her shirt. Mulder has opted to hold the refreshment on his lap so he gets to feed his wife. A dinner and a show, they certainly know how to make a few bucks.

Second, he’s not in a monkey suit tonight, and Scully’s far from looking like a night out on the town. She’s donning a long sleeve t-shirt and jeans, looking sophisticated and graceful. Mulder feels proud, too, so much so that he’s strutting a little.

They’re also not watching something on the big screen. It’s a high school play to be exact, in the school’s surprisingly large auditorium. This play is written by his son, and it’s about him and Scully.

That little detail is not so different from that stupid movie they saw in the spring of 2000.

The dialogues of this play are witty. The plot has both romance and action. It of course carries a paranormal element; the custom design and the make-up are spot-on. Mulder can almost overlook the fact that the guy playing him on stage is 17 and awkward and a big fool in love.

“That’s you,” Mulder whispers to his wife, “the girl is too tall.”

“Shh.”

“I didn’t know they can show that much skin in high school,” he points at the young man on stage. “The make-up is fantastic. Very believable.”

“Millie did that,” Scully whispers in his ears, “Youtube has tutorials on everything.”

Mulder looks impressed as he sinks back into his little chair. He is indeed proud of this; they actually have reserved seating and tickets, not to mention the best seats in the house. Of course, the lobby outside has other fundraiser goodies which pretty much cleaned out all the cash in his wallet, but he feels so damned proud that his son, his boy, his offspring has made this whole thing happened, and it’s coming together beautifully.

At the climax of the play, when the gawky boy springs back to life, the whole audience remains quiet, waiting to hear the first words he speaks to his girl. Mulder reaches over to grab his wife’s hand.

“…Who are you?” The young actor whispers and the whole theater reacts with gasps. The woman behind him says, oh no!

“Don’t…do that to me…” The young actress cries and laughs at the same time.

The whole theater sighs with relief. Mulder does too, and notices his hand being squeezed by Scully as he leans closer to kiss her temple.

Some minutes later, the lights dim and the final act is over. Mulder finds himself clapping like all the other parents and cheering for the drama club as he can’t whistle like the other folks in the audience. Scully stands, and he gets up too, knocking off all the goodies on his lap; he swiftly grabs the curious-eyed Cricket from her mommy so Scully can clap.

They begin calling out names amidst the noises from the crowd. For Mr. Causey the Drama teacher. For Mrs. Brownson on the piano. It’s a sea of applause as they call out William Scully-Mulder, and his son walks on center stage in a ratty baseball cap, waves both shyly yet somehow suavely at the same time. William squints at their direction and grins as he acknowledges his parents’ presence. He waves.

“We would like to thank everyone for coming to tonight’s performance, Jefferson High’s original play, The Post-Modern Frankenstein, will be…”

Mulder’s eyes are glued to the stage; he’s trying to think if he’s ever felt this particular feeling in the past 5.7 decade. His eyes sting a little as he keeps looking at his son on the stage, his hands clapping like they are programmed that way. He tries not to cry.

“Must be the lights, Daddy” Scully pats his cheeks tenderly and smiles sweetly.

“Must be.” Mulder smiles too and waves back at his son.

 Tagging@today-in-fic,@mulderscreek, thank you!

“I thought you went out?” Mulder enters the living room and asks his son.

“Nah, we’re playing video games.”

“People still play these things?” Mulder’s amused, “this looks…old.”

“Yep, we finishedXI; it’s pretty good so we ordered the older ones from the internet.”

Mulder looks at the children, the game on the screen, and back at the kids again.

“You know…” His eyebrows knot together, “this lady looks a lot like mom. She used to wear her hair just like that.”

“You’ll have to excuse my dad.“ William says Milie, "He thinks about my mom, like, all the time.”

msr | words: 960

She had laughed out loud the first time she saw it.

It was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. The whole thing made her want to cry, because she thought of Missy. How Missy would stare at the scene with disbelief in her eyes and with cringe written all over her face.

Her sister would cry abomination. She would claim that they have broken the cat. Broken to the point beyond repair. Broken! she would curse aloud with all the bad names she knew and throw a dirty look at anyone who asked her to calm down.

She could almost hear it. Mom! The fifteen-year-old Missy would scream, Dana and her boyfriend broke the cat! Mom! Do somethin’!

Missy was the mellowest one of all the Scully siblings. It took a lot to get her mad, and this would certainly done it for sure.

Mulder had trained their cat to shake hands.

Sherlock was a tiny calico they had found in a park. Sherlock practically grew up on Mulder’s palm. Sherlock was his cat baby, the one who he had nursed back to health with the help of his children. He fed her milk and kept her warm in the fleece beanie William was wearing as they couldn’t find something soft enough by Mulder’s standard. Mulder was so doting toward the kitten that Scully worried their children would grow jealous of the furry monster.

And he raised his kitten like a dog. With Mulder’s patience and Sherlock’s trust in her daddy, the cat knew to come, sit, andmeow on demand. But it was really something when he taught the cat to shake hands.

“What’s next, Mulder,” Scully asked, “roll over and play dead?”

“Nah,” he grabbed her left arm and held it like a cat, “too morbid. I didn’t save this one from death so she could play dead.”

Scully looked at him tenderly as he petted her hand like it was the head of a cat.

“Maybe something a little more functional. She’s a bit too small to bring me the mail or open the fridge.”

Mulder had never taught their three dogs any tricks. She didn’t know why he had tried with their first cat; she almost wanted to keep an observation journal for she was so fascinated with it. Itbeing Mulder the husband, not Sherlock the cat.

“You know what’s the best thing I like about Sherlock?” He began, “Besides naming her Sherlock, of course.”

Scully turned her arm around so she was cradling his arm instead, and his other arm reached over to roam slowly on her thigh. She smiled, “Enlightened me, Cat Daddy.”

“She has the cutest little feet only second to yours.”

Scully gave him a fake glare.

“You know I love tiny feet. Yours and hers both. I thought your feet were so capable, the way—”

She smacked his arm unexpectedly, “If your sentence ends with ‘reach the break’, Mulder…” She did not finish her warning, knowing it was more effective that way.

“They’re delicate with all their piggys. I love it when you paint them pink. It’s so cute.”

She rolled her eyes for show.

“And it gets you so angry so easily. You got a thing for your feet, Scully, you’ve always had. But I have nothing but fondness over it. My feet look like they belong to an alligator when they’re placed next to yours. Alligator feet.”

She scoffed lightly and her hand reached up to caress his jaw.

“You know the best thing I like about Sherlock?” Scully began like he did just a moment ago, “that you raised her like a dog, and that she… I mean, Mulder, you taught a cat to shake hands! What’s next? I’ve never seen a cat do that.”

“Says the Master,” Mulder muttered, and cleared his throat: “you taught a Fox to love. I’ve never seen myself do that.”

Scully let her small smile grow into a beaming one. After thirty-five years, he could still say just the right thing to make her swoon.

“And I can shake hands, too, Master.” Mulder held out his hand with a goofy yet devoted look on his face, and she moved her lips to cover his grinning ones.

Tagging@today-in-fic, thank you.

msr | Cricket Universe | words: 750

It was his sister Cricket who brought this to his attention. How his parents shared everything. Desk, shirts, a necklace, bananas.

It was kind of a crazy notion.

Cricket thought it was normal behavior, and as the self-proclaim and self-proposed guide to his little sister’s only chance on having an normal life, William waited no time to tell her the Truth. Normal people don’t share things like their parents do. Heck, his other parents didn’t even share a bedroom.

It was odd that they shared the desk. Dad’s desk was family business. William could use it, Cricket’s welcomed to use it too, and more than a couple of time he saw his parents playing Battleship on Dad’s desk, with Mum saying I sunk your Battleship and Dad giggling.

His parents were strange folks, that was for sure.

William was not so sure about the shirt-sharing. Of course, he had seen it on TV and in the movies. He let his girlfriend wear his jackets from time to time, but Mum and Dad took that on a whole new level. She wore his old jerseys; some of them looked as old as Dad, and William never understood why Mum liked to lounge around on weekends in Dad’s old sweatshirts, it’s not like they didn’t have money.

The cross necklace was a special thing between his folks; that he understood. He gave his cross necklace to his girl when she went away, and got her chanting beads in return. He wore it like a devote Buddhist, and knew that the cross necklace meant a lot to Millie even if they never talked about it.

Something you just can’t talk about in words, William realized.

He didn’t really believe Cricket when she claimed that their parents shared food. He looked at them all the time, but he had never noticed it until she had brought it up.

“Like the tip of the banana, like the first bite of anything. The first bite of everything, even ice cream cones!” The child stressed. “Everything, Bullfrog! Dad gives Mommy the prefect spoonful of everything.”

He wasn’t going to say anything about it until she concluded: “When I grow up, I’m gonna marry someone who does that to me, too.”

Now William saw that as a problem. He felt like he needed to get to the bottom of this. But first, he had to make sure that what Cricket said was true. Could this really be happening for the past decade right under his nose? God, they were in their freaking sixties. They couldn’t be acting like silly teenagers in love, could they? Man, even he and Millie didn’t do that, and they’re in love.

“You should do that for Millie,” Cricket suggested.

“No way,” William shook his head, disagreeing. “I always make sure that each of us to get a whole one. We don’t need to share.”

Cricket just looked at him as if she, at nine years old, already knew something he didn’t.

“It’s not that, Bullfrog. It’s not about the money.” She insisted; he doesn’t get it.

William felt like he must witness it for himself. Now, how was he gonna do that? It’d be the weirdest thing for a twenty-something-year-old man to ask his parents to…share a banana, wouldn’t it?

William imagined the scenario and shuddered a little. He suddenly recalled when he first came home and got an earful of his parents’ love for each other. It was disturbing. Actually, he and Millie bonded over his parents’ oddness, the only difference being that Millie thought it was super sweet and he thought it was pretty cringe-worthy.

In the end, it wasn’t like William had to wait too long. One morning, when he was over at his parents for breakfast, he witnessed it first-hand. Indeed, it was something they had always done, but somehow, he’d never paid much attention to it.

Dad casually picked up a banana, peeled it, and offered it to Mum. Now, in the past, William had always thought Dad just simply peeled a piece of fruit for her; he didn’t realize that after Mum took a bite of the perfectly pointy banana tip, Dad took the piece of fruit back and ate the rest.

He waited for another proof, and watched Mum peeled a tangerine, selected one perfect-looking segment, and fed it to Dad.

Hummm, William observed and contemplated. Maybe there’s something about it. Sharing. He told himself that he’s gotta try that with Mill sometime.

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msr | william | words: 990

They have agreed to talk about this in their office, even though Mulder is dying to start the conversation. He starts mentioning it in the car, but Scully stops him with a stern look and brings half of a strawberry-and-cream-cheese-topped bagel to his lips.

She’s always known the best ways to shut him up, Mulder muses.

“There’s no time like the present.”

She leans against the back of her chair, and stares at the pencil-studded ceiling. “How do you get them to stay up there?”

Clearly Scully doesn’t want to talk about this.

“Stop beating around the bushes, honey.” Mulder tries again. “Tell me, what does our son look like to you. Describe him.”

She lets out a long, frustrated sigh. “Before I start, Mulder, I just want to say I feel iffy about this.”

He gives her a rolling hand gesture, prompting her to carry on.

“He is a little taller than me. His hair’s too long and covers his eyes most of the time. I think he’s lost a lot weight while being on the road, or maybe he doesn’t like my cooking very much. He’s got a… sizeable nose. Pale skin like mine. Your mouth and… Charlie’s eyes.” She keeps her eyes on the ceiling as if her son’s face is hidden somewhere up there.

“Wanna hear my version?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “At first, he’s as tall as me, sometimes it even seems like he’s taller than me, but this is at first. Blue eyes, dark brown hair, parted in the middle, kinda dorky looking. Delicate cheekbones like yours, eyes like yours, noselike yours. And Scully, to be completely honest? A while ago, before he came home, I remembered thinking that our son looked more like he’s 26 than 16.”

“How come it sounds like we’re describing two different people?” She finally looks down from the ceiling.

“Well, this isn’t the first time we saw things differently, it’s like that case in Tex—”

“Don’t say it, Mulder!” She puts up a hand to protest, “we’ve agreed to never mention that case.”

Mulder also puts up a hand to show that they’re on the same page. “But this is different.” He begins, “Remember at that gas station, when he appeared…Asian? What if… What if the Jackson we see is the image of what he wants us to see?”

“Mulder…” Scully sighs, her hands rubbing her eyes. “What I said yesterday… It was more like a joke. At least that’s what I thought at the time…”

Mulder gets up from his chair and walks to stand next to her, “No, I think you’re onto something there; I agree that Jackson looks different now. I got someone from the Casper Office to send us a digital copy of the yearbooks from his high school. Though I wouldn’t be surprised that, if he’s anything like his old man, he might not have a yearbook photo.”

“Oh Mulder, you didn’t—“ She looks at him, tenderly and mockingly at the same time.

“Oh, yes and yes. And if that kid in Capser is good with his phone, which I think he is, he’ll send the pictures to me this morning. And I was so unhappy with my Freshman school picture that I faked being sick on Picture Day for the next three years.” He grins proudly.

“Is that what’s in store for us, Mulder?” Scully is evidently in a better mood after his jokes. “That our son’s always gonna come down with somethin’ when he wants to get outta somethin’?”

“I’ll share with him about how well the hemorrhoidal condition has always worked for me, but he might be too young for it.” Mulder says while nodding reassuringly and she tries not to laugh.

“My theory is that…” Suddenly, he kneels close to her and softens his tone of voice, “Our son was so afraid that we’d feel disappointed when we see him, so he made us see what he wanted us to see, which was a mature young man who was capable and could take care of himself. He didn’t want to be a child, didn’t want to be a burden. I think he had imagined what we wanted in a son and tricked our minds to see that. When I first saw him, all I could think of was how much he looked like you, but now I see more of my features on his face. I feel the longer he lives with us and feels more confident about being himself, he’ll let us see him as who he really is, which is a 16-year-old boy in a new environment.”

Scully chews her lower lip while listening to him, and he continues, “I wouldn’t be surprised that this is his defense mechanism. He’s a little too socially awkward to have two girlfriends, but… if he looked like what they wanted…Like Luke Skywa-”

“Oh my God,” Scully suddenly recalls another case they’ve worked on over 20 years ago. They’ve also agreed to never speak of that case again.

Mulder’s phone vibrates on the desk and he reaches for it without standing up. He glances at it and places the phone, facing down, on Scully’s thigh; he picks up her hands.

“When I picked him up from school the other day, he looked like a kid. I mean, he might have lost 15 pounds on his journey back to us, but he’s even gotten shorter. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me until I remembered he’s the ultimate trickster.”

“You think very gradually he’ll gonna let his true self out?” Scully asks hopefully.

“I think he’s beginning to trust us.” Mulder concludes. “And one day we’ll find out if he’s got my nose or yours.”

She smiles at him and moves the phone onto the desk. They will never find out that like his old man, Jackson had always been absent on Picture Day, too.

Tagging@today-in-fic&@mulderscreek, thank you.