Title: Waiting for 216 Author: Laura Castellano laurita_castellano@yahoo.com Completed: February 14, 2000 Disclaimer: Not mine, never were, never will be. Rating: PG Keywords: MSR, Angst Spoilers: Nary a one Summary: Mulder waits for Scully's flight to arrive. Thanks to arctic for the beta advice! Archive: Sure ---------- WAITING FOR 216 by Laura Castellano Her flight was late. Mulder stretched his long legs out in front of him, yawned, and idly wondered how many hours they had spent waiting in airports over the course of their careers. By now it must add up to at least a year, he decided sleepily. She was supposed to be on the late flight, landing at 12:03 a.m., coming in from California. She'd gone out to visit her brother--actually taking a short vacation--and had been gone for an entire week. It had been the longest week of his life. Since becoming involved with Scully--*really* involved, physically involved--he had been taken aback by his sheer need of her presence. Oh, he'd always known he needed her--hadn't he nearly died of grief when she was missing?--but this kind of need was different. Terrifying in its depth and intensity. For the first time in his life, Mulder truly felt that if he lost this person, he simply could not go on. His will would have been taken from him entirely. "Flight 216, direct from San Francisco, will be landing in ten minutes at gate seven," came a mechanical, female voice over the loudspeaker, and Mulder breathed a sigh of relief. At last. He stood, nodding at the young man in the next seat, with whom he had struck up an earlier conversation, and moved toward the big picture windows that overlooked the runways. Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd be able to see her plane land. He had always been fascinated with flight anyway, but the importance of this flight was not the airplane, but the passenger which it carried. "Is that Mommy's plane?" asked a young voice beside him, and he looked down, smiling, at the son of the man, the one he'd spoken with. "Waiting for my wife," the man had confessed, trying to comfort his young son, who had by then grown tired and grumpy. "She was supposed to be on an earlier flight, but she changed it at the last minute so she could spend a few more hours with her parents. She's been gone a week." That was how long Scully had been gone, Mulder mused, as he dimly heard the young father tell his son that no, this couldn't possibly be Mommy's plane, not yet. When he was younger, the weeks had flown, and as he grew older they passed almost unnoticed. He met Scully and time seemed to stand still, until she wasn't there. Then each day, each hour, seemed to take a lifetime to pass, and all his attention was focused on the clock, the calendar, the day and hour that would bring her back to him. The plane in question landed on the far runway, and Mulder watched as it taxied to a gate to the far west side of the terminal. 'Next one,' his mind told him. 'Next flight.' "There it is!" crowed the young boy, pointing toward lights in the sky, and Mulder smiled again, a real smile this time because yes, this had to be her flight. "Here comes Mommy," said the father, swinging the child up into his arms, and Mulder watched with a feeling of envy. This would never be him. He wouldn't ever want to be with anyone but Scully, and that had been taken away from her. From them both. Turning his attention back toward the lights of the plane, quickly approaching, Mulder felt his heart begin to beat faster. His hands, he noticed with awe, were trembling. He felt like a schoolboy again. He smiled ruefully at himself and turned to make his way toward the gate, planning to grab Scully as soon as she emerged from the doorway and hold her as tightly as he could. He had taken two steps when the child behind him gave a scream of pure terror, and there was an audible gasp in the room. Later, Mulder would swear he heard those things before he heard the explosion. Time slowed, nearly stopped, and he turned back to the window as if underwater. Where there had been an approaching airplane only seconds before, now there was nothing but burning debris falling to the ground. "It just--" the young father gasped, his face as white as the wall against which he sagged. "--just blew up," he finished helplessly. "No." Mulder said the word positively, feeling outside himself, dimly grateful for the numbness that had overtaken his body. "No." "Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm," came a voice over the loudspeaker, but the groundswell of emotion in the crowd was only beginning. Mulder pressed his face against the glass, searching the sky for the parachute that must have surely rescued Scully from this sudden, unexpected turn of events. There was always a parachute, or a rope, or a ladder, or a vaccine, or something, *something* to save them from losing one another. This simply could not be, not now, not after all they'd endured. He stayed at the airport for hours, wanting mutely to comfort the small child who had watched as his mother's plane exploded in mid-air, but too wrapped in his own grief to offer empty platitudes or even heartfelt sympathies. The pain, which he had carefully kept at bay for as long as possible, was beginning to seep in around the edges of the wall he'd erected to protect his heart. Cracks were appearing in the defensive armor, and Mulder knew that when the wall collapsed, so would he. "Terrorists." "Engine trouble." "What could have happened?" All these snippets of conversation tried to enter his consciousness as he made his way, sleepwalking, back to his car. Key in the door. Twist to unlock. Key in the ignition. Now what? Turn. Turn the key to start the car to drive away from the only person he had ever known he couldn't live without. He stopped to pay at the parking booth, and the attendant, seeing the grief on his face, waved him on without a word. Mulder navigated the near-empty streets homeward without seeing a thing. The only vision his eyes knew was that of Scully when he'd kissed her goodbye at the airport, that same airport, only a week earlier. "I'll miss you," she had sighed, wrapping herself in his strong embrace. "Call me every night," he made her promise, and with a nod, unobtrusively blowing one last kiss his way, she had turned and walked away. Walked away forever. Park the car. Turn the key to stop the engine. Wait--brake. Now what? Take the key out of the ignition and go upstairs to face an apartment that had never seemed more empty and would never be the same. Her mother. He had to call her mother. Maggie probably hadn't heard, was probably sleeping peacefully, thinking that in the morning she would have a reunion with her only remaining daughter. Mulder entered the elevator, staring at the buttons for a full thirty seconds before realizing he had to push the '4' in order to make it move. The elevator creaked upstairs, taking forever, taking no time at all, taking him to a home that would never be a home again. Pull the key out of your pocket. Flip through the keys for the right one--oh god the key to her apartment, can't think of that now, can't--slip the key into the lock. Turn the key and enter an apartment that is cold with the chill of death. He leaned against the door, fighting back the tears, not wanting to lose control just yet. He had to call Maggie first. Then he could collapse into his bed--*their* bed--and let all the tears of his life escape. He would smell her scent on the pillow that he'd been hugging to himself all week long. It was the last thing he would ever have of her. He slipped out of his coat and dropped it on the floor as he walked, not even realizing. The answering machine was beeping indicating he had a message. Maggie knew, then. She had to have heard, maybe slipping out of bed late at night to make herself a cup of cocoa, or perhaps deliberately staying up late to watch an old movie, waiting for the clock to strike the time when she knew Dana would be safe at home, safe in his arms, and a mother could rest. For a brief moment, he considered ripping the plug from the wall and throwing the machine out the window, but rage would buy him nothing now. Scully would want him to be calm. She would want him to talk with her mother, soothe Maggie if he could, and then--then he could break down, in privacy. Alone. Alone forever. He started to pick up the phone, then realized he should listen to Maggie's message first. He could know better what to say if he knew what she already knew. As if any words would do in this situation. His finger hesitated, his eyes closed in pain for a moment, then he jabbed at the 'play messages' button with a finality that cut deep. And heard the five most beautiful words in the English language. "Mulder, I missed my flight." END