Title: We'll Live on the Moon
Author: Maureen S. O'Brien
Rating: G
Spoilers: Christmas Carol, Emily
Archive: Yes, any.
Summary: Mulder sings and Scully listens.
Author's Note: This is a sequel to my story "On Christmas Day in the
Morning" (written before "Emily" played), but it's not necessary to
read that story to understand this one. Timeline I'm not sure about,
though it's probably after "All Souls". "I Don't Want to Live on the 
Moon" was written by Jeffrey Moss, and I do have a philosophical 
disagreement with it. Mulder not being available for comment, I
wrote the filk. 

Dedication: Jeffrey Moss passed away on September 27, 1998. He 
helped create Sesame Street and wrote "Rubber Duckie" and many other
great songs. This story is now dedicated to his memory.
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Bill's back screen door creaked. Loudly. A fact of which Mulder was
apparently unaware. She hadn't been able to sleep, but she could tell
from the snores down the hall that Bill and Tara were both well and
truly zonked. At six months, Matthew wasn't able to make that complete 
of an escape, so it had to be Mulder.

She sighed, slipped on her shoes, and with careful speed stepped on
only the non-creaking bits of the stairway. Then she was taking off
after Mulder. Even he didn't usually go jogging in the middle of the
night, and he certainly never took his gym bag with him when he did.

He didn't go far. Just a mile or so to the parish church. Great. He
must be meeting an informant, because there was nothing else to draw
him there.

Except the old graveyard, still open to a few burials, like those of
the Sims and their adopted daughter. She sighed as Mulder drew out a
bundle of flowers. She had visited her daughter's grave this trip, but
she had gone alone, refusing all company. The yellow rose she'd put on
Emily's grave was now joined by a bouquet of something she couldn't
identify in the darkness. He also put something on both Sims' graves.
Her cheeks burned. She had forgotten to bring anything to them. Bad,
since she was at least partially responsible for Mr. Sims' death.

She retreated behind a cryptomeria tree.

"Why am I doing this?" Mulder suddenly said. "Your body's not here. If
there is such a thing as a soul, it's certainly not here. You're
probably haunting your house as a ghost, or gurgling through your
latest reincarnation somewhere. Food gifts for the symbolic
nourishment of your wandering soul, toys for your possible amusement,
or donations to the cause of adopted children's rights, would all seem
more practical than bringing you a bunch of plant reproductive organs.
And yet, that's what I did.  No doubt all burial customs are more for
the benefit of the living than the dead. So I apologize if you don't
like the bouquet."

He touched the headstone gently. "Looks like Scully cleaned this thing
off pretty well. Clipped all the grass...." He looked more closely.
"No, somebody's been doing this for a while. A friend of the Sims?"

Bill, actually. "He doesn't want anybody to know," Tara'd said, holding
Matthew in one arm, a bottle and the mail in the other, but insisting 
that she didn't need help with any of it. "I think he feels guilty
that he didn't get to know his...niece...while she was still with us.
He was so worried about me, half-convinced that we'd lose this baby
just like the others...he couldn't make room in his heart for anybody
else's pain or joy but his own. And neither could I."

And neither could I, thought Scully, as she watched Mulder talk to 
a little girl's tombstone. Cenotaph, really, since there was no body
beneath. It was becoming a Scully tradition. A Mulder one, too.

But Mulder could.

"I've got a song for you," he said quietly. "I used to sing it to
Samantha, and I was going to sing it for you, when you got home with
Scully. And you would have gone home with Scully, I guarantee. I
know people. Matheson may not be able to help with the scary stuff, 
but he'd still help me with your adoption. And all those child-
killers we've stopped have given us some pretty good cred with 
certain agencies. I never got a chance to tell Scully, because by
that time, it was becoming obvious that you weren't going to be
with us much longer. But if you have little brothers and sisters out
there, and we find one who needs a good home...."

Scully bit her lip.

"But I digress. I was going to sing you that song." He smiled. "Sam
used to watch Sesame Street a lot. So did I. We were both a little
old for it but it had Muppets. Anyway, Ernie sang a song...you 
remember the Ernie I gave you?...and I liked the song, but I didn't
like the sentiment. I mean, who wouldn't want to live on the Moon?
So I made up my own words."

Scully lowered her head, containing the laughter that threatened to
overcome her. Mulder. As a kid. Writing a children's song. She 
couldn't wait to hear what he'd come up with.

And then he sang. Not a great voice, but hey, she couldn't talk.
It sounded pleasant to her.

"When we grow up, we'll live in the sea.
On the deep ocean floor, subs will park
And you'll sit in the dome next to me,
And we'll watch the fish glow in the dark.
And we might find Atlantis. I read in a book
That the city's still there, if you know where to look.
If you'd like to go down there with me,
When we grow up, we'll live in the sea."

Scully's expression lightened. Once upon a time, when she was a
kid, she had spent the requisite hours reading about UFO's and
Bigfoot and the monster in the loch. She had loved the part of
_Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_ when Nemo takes his 'guests'
on a tour of the lost city. 

And she suddenly had a vision of a wetsuited Muppet Mulder, doing
a Jacques Cousteau.

"When we grow up, we'll live on the Moon.
We'll look up at the Earth every night.
When we walk, we'll both bounce like balloons
'Cause the gravity there is so light.
So we'll build ourselves wings, and I bet if we try
We can flap 'em a little and learn how to fly --
And we'll both be grown up very soon.
When we grow up, we'll live on the Moon.

"When we grow up, we'll go to the stars
And although we'll go home now and then,
When we're tired of cities and cars,
Then we'll fly to the stars once again.
In the sea, on the Moon, in the heavens above,
You know everywhere's home with the people you love --
So you know that I'll never be far.
When we grow up, we'll go to the stars."

She cried then -- silently, as she did so many things.  

The birds woke up and began to squabble, houselights began to 
flick on, and the first few engine rumbles could be heard in the 
streets beyond. 

Mulder got up from beside the grave. Their eyes met. He walked 
over and put out his hand to help her up.

"That back door's pretty noisy," he said, seeming unsurprised to
see her. "Think Bill's got some WD-40 to put on it?"

"Maybe." She took his hand and rose to go. 

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