Title :      Pinwheel (1/1)
Author:      Sue
E-Mail:      susieqla@yahoo.com
Website:     None.
Category:    Scullyfic/Vignette
Rating:      PG
Summary:     Maggie Scully becomes privy
             to her newest grandchild's
             irrepressible proclivity.
Archive:     Anywhere, fine.
Disclaimer:  I own nothing.
Spoilers:    FTF through Season 9


Pinwheel

~`'~`'~`'~

Maggie Scully was a patient woman when
it suited her, but today was up for
grabs.  Short-temperedness was something
she judged as a fault in others.  A
pet-peeve grieviously unbecoming in
herself.  She loved her grandson dearly,
that wasn't the issue.  The issue was
whether any of the strained spinach
would ultimately make it into his
uncooperative mouth.

It was Saturday, late in the blustery
day, and Scully scooted into
the kitchen, returning from brisk
last minute food shopping, and it
plainly registered in her droopy face.
Her harried mother was negotiating
some pablum into her babbly grandson's
messy mouth.  "Please, dear, mind
putting out the garbage?"

Not lending undivided attention with
her preoccupied mind liberally
dispersed amid disjointed thoughts of
Mulder's present whereabouts, Scully
set the cumbersome perishables down
upon the kitchen table, absently going
through the shopping bag containing
meat and poultry.  She spoke to
herself.

"The garbage, Dana?"

"Hmmm, Mom?  Did you say something?"
That was funny, she thought she'd
picked up another package of ground
beef for the wraps she'd promised to
make for the mini-soiree at Doggett's,
tonight.  Going *was* a good idea.
She needed a break, get out more.
The somber look in her eyes was
becoming a permanant condition.

The leaner ex-marine, whose bearing
always reminded Scully of a
clothesline of starched and ironed
sheets, had been considerate enough
to ask, but Scully had the feeling
it was Monica's persistence that had
won her an invitation, although she
could be reading more into the ex-NYPD
cop's reluctance than there really was.

Skinner saw no harm in going, neither
did she, so she was.  The A.D. was
picking her up over here in another
three hours.  She'd prepare the wraps
in her mom's kitchen, and heat them
up at Doggett's.

"Is it too much for you to put the
garbage out, Dana?"

Scully stopped fussing around in the
paper and plastic.  Her mother's
voice, scraping within her ear,
was unpleasant to hear.  When had her
mother begun sounding so short?
Counting on her sounding mildly amused,
to take some of her mother's edge off,
Scully said, "That used to be Billy's
or Charlie's job."

"Materialize either one, and the old
job is theirs," her mother said, a
whispery wisp of irritation coloring
her tone.  "The basket's nearly
overflowing with soiled diapers."

William was gumming his clenched left
hand's fist as he cooed.  Plentiful
dribble gushed from the upturned edges
of his munching mouth.

No mirth at the moment, as far as her
mother was concerned.  "Sorry, Mom,"
Dana replied, her sensitive conscience
fluttered.  Having her mother pinch
hit as babysitter, more times more
than less at a moment's notice, was
a godsend, and responsible for the
contrite tenor of her voice.

'Mind your mother like good troops,'
her father's non-arbitrary voice spoke
in her mind.  Their father's authority,
the hallmark of all that ran their
household, even beyond the grave
sometimes, induced her outside to the
Rubbermaid receptacle, without another
word, nor loaded glance.

"Thank you, dear."  Her mother's voice
entreated upon her return from the crisp
autumnal air.  "Feels like an early
frost."

Scully considered that flurry of truth,
and resumed sorting through the rest
of the groceries.

Maggie paused to smack her lips at
William.  "That's right, baby.  It's
good for you.  It will make you strong."

The little silver-plated spoon hovered,
waiting for the hangar to open.

Scully half-heard that last sentiment,
with a ripple of a wrinkle creasing the
fine, translucent skin of her forehead.
If you only knew, mom, she thought to
herself, seeing in her mind's eye the
eclectic bestowal of the Gunmen whirl,
unguided by the physical impetus of a
human hand, on a regular basis, at her
son's bedtime.

The first time she'd watched the mobile
spinning effortlessly upon the air,
subdued in half-tones above William's
bassinet, she had convinced herself that
that wasn't what she'd seen at all.
Why hadn't she thrown it out already?

Instinctively, a shaky hand drove itself
to the back of her neck.  Her fingertips
kneaded the embedded manifestation,
marring her, and fueling Mulder's
compelling reason for keeping him away
from the people who cherished him most,
and he them.

Summoning up the best of her mental
effort, Scully steered her mind clear
of those worrisome thought disruptors
which always had Mulder as their focal
point.  She encouraged concentration
on the upcoming social engagement
where, perhaps, unburdened laughter
might mingle.

Yet as she did, a recollection from
another time settled over her mind,
and gave her pause.  A mist of a memory
devolving upon an inoxious Gunmen
achievement begging to be admired.  The
virtual model of the Antarctic alien
spacecraft, loomed, overshadowing her
sensibilities.

The piercing cold, driving into her
like nails...

Mulder repeating her name like some
mystical mantra, bolstering his bid
for remaining conscious...  She,
struggling to respond, but powerless
to open her eyes, raise her head
from the numbing tundra pillow.
Impossible to croak him a writhing
acknowledgement above the howling
wind.

Mulder, back at the kerosene-heated
as well as illuminated installation,
insisting that it hadn't been the
howling of the wind, but rather of
alien propulsion going through its
paces.  "Gravatational forces are
strongest at the poles, Scully."

"Why do you always assume I don't
know indespensible factoids such as
that, Mulder?"
 
Scully blinked and shivered, suspended
within an arbitrary helix of mental
images and perceptions.

"Is everything all right, dear?" Maggie
Scully wondered what her bemused
daughter was going to do with the quart
of milk she was holding upside down.

Mulder had laid in a hefty supply of
his favorite Argentinian cash crops,
sunflower seeds, during their layover
in Rio Gallegos.  Then, he'd used a
portion of them drizzling their husks
on her, on the return flight from
Buenos Aires to D.C., and had kept
teasing her about never wanting ice in
drinks ever again...or three-minute
soft-boiled eggs.

If, by some meteoric miracle he were
outside her mother's door this very
moment holed up in an AJ Backhoe, she
wouldn't care if the drizzle of sunflower
seed husks escalated into a vertitable
torrent. 

"Dana, dear..."  Maggie delicately wiped
a little pablum from the dimpled corner
of William's driveled mouth.

Scully nodded, meandered to the fridge
to put the milk away.  Her mind
spinning.  Not tailspinning, but rather
wrapping itself around the height and
breadth of Mulder.  His absence now
every part of what there was to miss
about him.

"Where were you this time, honey?"

Several weeks removed, at her
apartment, getting nowhere with him.
His mind had been made up long ago.
"That obvious, hmmm, Mom."  Her hot
cheeks and bright eyes were there for a
reason.

Maggie pared the pablum down to a
tad over a full spoonful, and
waited for her grandson to settle
down.  "You've got your daddy's
determination, you sweet little young
man."  The hangar popped, reopening,
and the Maggie inertial guidance
system delivered the nourishing
payload.

After the requisite pause for the
baby's babbled, but intrinsically
perceptive response, which made his
grandmother remark again what a
remarkable child he was, Scully made
quick work of putting away what needed
to be, and scurried to get her wraps
underway.

"Oooh, I almost forgot this for you,
baby."

Maggie eyed the garish offering,
nodding her approval as she gently
undid the bib from her grandbaby's
neck.  "What a bright and shiny one,
with your favorite colors, dear."

She blew upon the enfolded handiwork
before laying it down upon the
counter of her child's highchair.
The plaything's movement held her
in captivation for moments.  "I think
they're William's too, Mom," Scully
said, thinking back to her baby's
squeals of delight while in the
throes of squeezing the bright red
with flaming canary-yellow bill
rubber duckie to death, even after
his bath water had swirled down the
drain.

William was squealing now as his
wiggling fingers thrusted for the
newest, fascinating novelty.

Scully pinched the snugly-wrapped
chicken thighs before making room
for them on the shelf next to the
already open mixed vegetables in
the freezer portion of the fridge.

Her hand lingered in the cold,
reliving the initial sting of
frostbite that had threatened the
removal of her pinky and its next
door neighbor, on both hands.
Closing the freezer door, she
finalized the thought about having
the Gunmen set up another website
exclusively for William's
developmental jpg's.  Eventful
development that was proving more
astounding, and unsettling, with
each passing day.

Maggie picked up the filigreed
pinwheel, blowing on it as well
after a few moments.  "How many of
these silly things did I buy for you
and your sister and brothers,
honey..."

"Loads."  Scully nodded while mincing
her way over to the drawer which held
the utilitarian cutlery.  Extracting
a three-pronged fork, she replied,
sounding nostolgic, "Guess it's where
I got the idea from."  Back at the
kitchen table, with a large white
bowl filled with hamburger, she said,
"My favorite one was the one that
reminded me of strawberry fudge swirl
ice cream, when I was six."

Maggie smiled, remembering how
'Starbuck' had even insisted taking
the gaudy plaything to bed every
night, up until the time Billy had
absconded with that pinwheel.  It was
the most close-mouthed her older
brother had ever been, even when
threatened on pain of going to bed
without supper for unlimited weeks, at
Ahab's sole discretion.

All circumstantial evidence that had
mounted had squarely pointed to
William, Jr. for being the culprit.

Baby William squealed again with
delight emanating from his contorted
face.

"He absolutely loves it," Maggie
noted, engrossed in her grandchild's
subsequent high-spirited laughter.
Thoughtfully, she picked up the
breath-dependent novelty from the
radiant counter, splattered with
dribs and drabs of baby food.

The kitchen darkened suddenly, with
the random scudding of murky
afternoon clouds which sobered the
bright color in the gingham curtains.

Dana was squishily kneading a hefty
portion of juicy meat, smiling over
at her winsome son, catching an
unruly strand in an updraft of breath
to puff it out of her face.

William pealed with snuffly laughter
again.  His grandmother's ended
abruptly as she stared, agape at the
pinwheel spinning seemingly of its
own accord.  Spinning and spinning,
faster and faster.  Were her eyes
playing some sort of erratic trick?

"Dana!  Look at this!"

With a mushy 'plop,' the marblized
meat fell from her right hand into
the bowl, and Scully shut her eyes
to the phenomenon on bold display
for her mother's wide-eyed wonderment
mingled with a building trepidation.

"Is little Will do-?"  Maggie shook
her head, as though scattering
cobwebs.  Her eyes first casted
about, trying to discover the source
of a draft, then quickly overcasted
with incredulous suspicion, because
there was none.  "Dana?"  The spike
in her voice upped in tensibility.
"He is, isn't he.  How can this be
happening?"  Impulsively, she thrust
out her hand, curtailing the
drivenness of the, now spellbinding
toy's, bewitched movement.

"I...I d-don't know how, Mom.  But,
he can.  He just *can*."

"He?  He's done this sort of thing
before, dear?"  Maggie's voice
seemed to echo within the kitchen.

Scully hesitated before nodding, and
as though discussing the extraordinary
over with herself said, "He puts on a
real show before bedtime with the
mobile."  What was the use of denying
what William was causing again?  Making
the pinwheel spin with a zest that
defied any fabric of denial?  Despite
her chargin, Dana quirked a half-smile
at her son, wishing Mulder were here
beside her.

"But, surely..."

"I know."  Scully's sigh was a breath
borne of protraction.  "I wish I could,
but I can't.  I can't explain it, Mom.
None of the amazing things Will's
capable of."

"What more is there of his list?"
Maggie spurted, while fitting the
smooth wooden stick into William's
chubby left hand whose fingers
wriggled like worms teeming in a can.

Standing by the sink now, the bemused
younger mother divided her mind between
rinsing vibrant green leafage and her
mother's wilted inquiry.

Scully held her breath, deciding what
more she wanted to divulge, what more
enlightenment she was willing to lend
to appease her scowling mother.

Before she could say anything further,
Maggie wondered out loud, "Dana, you
don't suppose this has anything
whatsoever to do with your bout with
cancer and its sudden, mysterious
remission?"

Scully shut the faucet off and laid
the water-beaded produce down in the
colander.  The pinwheel spun again
on the heels of the baby's ethereal
giggles.  "Mom, there are volumes I
can't say, because I have no answers.
Not yet, anyway, but soon...soon."

"When it's safe for Fox to return?"
Maggie arched.

Scully went for her child, and
lovingly plucked him out of his
highchair.  She leveled her forehead
against his downy temple, and said
within her throat, "I pray that'll
be very soon."  She directed a small
feather-light breath at the pinwheel
that had come to be motionless.
Gently, William butted his head
against his mother's and the plaything
began spinning once more...spinning,
and spinning, and spinning; blurring
out of control.

"Miracles never cease around here,"
Maggie observed, watching them both in
abject fascination, a misty veil having
formed in her eyes, as her daughter
hugged her son tighter.

In Scully's heart of hearts, the most
fervent miracle of all was something
she'd never give up on.

~`'~`'~`'~
End