Title: Unfolding Author: mimic117 Email: mimic1172@gmail.com Rating: PG-13 Category: S, H if I'm lucky, tiny A perhaps, established relationship Setting: Season 7-ish with minor references to episodes Summary: Just when you think you know someone... Special Note: For those who can't get their minds around the possibility of Mulder having a Jewish background, you might want to wander off and read something else. This story assumes that his father was at least half Jewish and that he had a close relationship with his Jewish relatives which resulted in exposure to Yiddish. I know -- it's a lot to assume, but work with me here. While doing research into Yiddish for this story, I found a lot of variation in the way some of the words are spelled, so I decided to stick with one site and use those spellings exclusively. I've included a link to that site at the end for anyone who wishes to check out the meanings of words used here. Beta thanks to bellefleur and my Twinsy for jumping into my usual mess without complaining. Special thanks to Audu2 for being my maven and Jewish mother. If this story is fercockt, it's my fault, not hers. Also major thanks to Kara for reading and liking it. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Unfolding by mimic117 42 Hegal Place Tuesday 7:45 PM Mulder's breath puffed warm against the side of Scully's neck. His arms circled her waist from behind, large hands roaming inside the front of the shirt he'd just unbuttoned. She knew he loved to see her wearing his clothes, but every time she indulged him, they didn't stay on her very long. Mulder was well on his way to making her naked. Again. At this rate, she was never going to finish washing the few supper dishes they'd dirtied. He'd already "interrupted" her once, right before supper. That led to a very enjoyable hour between the sheets, followed by a quickly-thrown-together meal. Yet here he was behind her at the sink, trying for a repeat performance. The man was insatiable sometimes, and she loved it. There was no reason for her to tell him that, though. "You know, at YOUR age--" She was cut off by knocking in the apartment hallway. "Mulder, there's someone at the door." "If we don't answer, they'll go away." He palmed her breast and deliberately jabbed her back with his erection. "What were you saying about my age?" She ground her ass into his groin, just to hear him hiss. "It's a moot point, now. And when did people start going away simply because we want them to?" The knocking returned, louder. Mulder growled. "If that's the guys, I'll pitch them out the window, one right after the other. They knew we were coming back today, but I told them we'd be too busy for visitors." Scully looked over her shoulder in alarm. "The guys are coming here?" "They're not supposed to be." Mulder gave her breast a lingering squeeze, then stomped off toward the door. Scully pulled the edges of the shirt together and scampered toward the bedroom. She needed to put on more clothes before talking to Frohike. Good friend or not, one look from him was capable of making her feel like a porn star, even in her work suits. Her current state of undress would probably have him setting up a video camera. She quietly shut the bedroom door at the same time Mulder was opening the one in the hall. She shucked Mulder's shirt and put on her underwear while she looked for the blouse she'd worn home. It was draped over a basketball on the floor. It took her another second to find her slacks on the other side of the bed. Properly dressed once more, although shoeless, she eased the door open to avoid giving away her presence, in case it was the guys. It wasn't. Mulder never hugged any of his friends like that. He was standing just inside the closed door, with his arms around another man. They were patting each other on the back. The man was shorter than Mulder, but he definitely wasn't Frohike. Mulder broke the embrace and held the other man by the shoulders, at arm's length. "What are you doing here?" "Hello to you too, Foxilla. I drive all the way from Brooklyn and this is how you welcome me? I should have stayed home, maybe." The man's voice had a heavy New York accent, overlaid with a strong Jewish cadence. He was elderly, stocky, gray haired and a bit stooped, his eyes surrounded by deep laugh wrinkles visible behind thick glasses. She thought she could detect a family resemblance around the mouth, but more especially in the nose. She'd always wondered where Mulder's nose came from. He certainly didn't get it from his parents. Mulder shook his head. "You know I'm happy to see you, but where's Howie? Don't tell me you drove here by yourself." "My grandson Howard is an old woman, kvetching about this and that and the other. What he doesn't know, he can't complain about." "You ditched him?" "Ditch, schmitch. I'm retiring to Florida. He said he'd shlep me next week. I wanted to go now. I should flap my arms and fly there?" "Uncle Chaim, you're eighty-four years--" "Almost eighty-five!" he exclaimed. "This is meshuggina! You can't drive all the way to Florida by yourself!" Scully cleared her throat. Mulder jumped. He obviously hadn't noticed her behind him. She hated to intrude on his family reunion, but it was either that or hide in the bedroom, which could get awkward. She had a feeling this wasn't going to be a quick visit. Mulder guided the older man into the living room as he gestured her to follow. "Come here, Scully. I want you to meet my father's uncle, Chaim Bachman. Uncle Chaim, this is my partner, Dana Scully." "Ah! This is the Scully you told me about. Nu?" He clasped her hand in both of his. "Such a shayner maidel, you never said, though." She shook his hand. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Bachman." "Please, call me Uncle Chaim." He patted her hands. "Except for the red hair, you remind me of my granddaughters. All this mister stuff makes me feel old." Mulder led the way to the couch, where he seated his uncle in one corner and sat down in the other himself. Scully took the armchair on the opposite side of the coffee table. In the past, Mulder had mentioned having a great-aunt and uncle in New York City, but he'd never talked about them by name. They didn't come up in conversation very much, but she'd gotten the impression that Mulder had happy memories associated with them. Scully assumed the man in front of her was the same uncle. She really didn't know much about him other than the fact that he'd owned a bakery. She watched as Mulder's great-uncle looked at her rather intently for a moment. The elderly man leaned toward her and earnestly said, "The belly wound. It's all better now? Oy-yoy-yoy, what a horrible thing. When I saw it on the news, I called Fox to see how you were." Scully's eyes grew wide. "I was on the news?" That was something she hadn't heard. "Shu, big news, one FBI agent shooting another, not to mention an unarmed civilian. When they said who was shot, I called. Handy tchotchkas, these pocket phones. He was already in the city by then, so I told him to come see me." She directed a hard stare at Mulder. "You never told me you'd gone to see your great-uncle." "Yeah, well, you had other things on your mind at the time, like surviving a gunshot to the gut." His return stare was defiant, yet still harboring traces of the panic she knew he'd experienced during her first days in the hospital. Chaim slapped his hand on the arm of the sofa. "It should only happen to that Ritter person. Such tsoriss, a lovely woman shouldn't know." His indignation was touching. Scully smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Bachman. And to answer your question, yes, the wound is healed now." He waved her off. "Again with the mister. I told you. Call me Uncle Chaim. Even when I owned Bachman's Bakery, I was always Uncle Chaim. I should change, now that I'm retired?" She inclined her head in defeat. "I'll try. I promise." She looked at her watch, then caught Mulder's eye. "I'll get out of your way now. You'll want some time to relax and catch up with each other." Chaim started to rise. "You should stay. I don't want to be a noodge. You must have important, hush-hush things to do. I'll find a room for the night." Mulder put a hand on his shoulder and pressed him back down onto the sofa. "You aren't butting in. We were just finishing up the reports for a case. You won't be in the way. Really." "I can get a hotel," Chaim insisted. "This town of yours, it has hotels. No?" "No!" Mulder pointed a finger in admonishment. "You're staying here with me and I don't want any of your lip about it." Chaim rolled his eyes. "Just like my Rifka." Mulder smiled. "Where do you think I learned? I certainly heard it often enough." "But I don't want to put you out of your bed for some alter cocker who can find a hotel." "You're not an old fart and you're not putting me out of my bed. I usually sleep on the couch anyway." "Gay avek!" Scully understood the tone more than the words. "It's true," she interjected. Mulder sent her a look of gratitude for her support. "He sleeps on his couch all the time. I think it's so he can be closer to his TV." Gratitude changed to a glare. Chaim nodded. "Oy, that TV show he always watched. That Star Dreck show. Even the reruns, he had to see!" "Trek, Uncle Chaim." Mulder moved his glare from Scully to his uncle. "Star *Trek*." The old man shrugged. "Trek, dreck. Who can tell the difference?" "You're staying here," Mulder intoned firmly, "so don't change the subject." As the two men continued the argument, Scully mentally cataloged all of her toiletries in the bathroom, as well as her overnight bag on the dresser and the rumpled sheets that probably still smelled of her perfume, not to mention their pre- dinner activities. When the discussion seemed to be winding down, she caught Mulder's attention and quirked an eyebrow. "I'll go change the bed and... tidy up. Why don't you and your uncle get his suitcase from the car? Once you're back, I'll head on home." It took Mulder a second to catch her meaning. "Oh, right! Yeah, we'll do that. Come on, Uncle Chaim. I don't think my pajamas would fit you." Especially since you don't wear them anymore, Scully thought. She watched as they headed out the door, thankful for Chaim's slow gait. It would give her more time to gather up the evidence of her occupation in Mulder's apartment. She wasn't about to apologize for sleeping with him, but she also didn't see any point in making his great-uncle uncomfortable. She quickly gathered her clothes and toiletries back into her overnight bag, setting the luggage unobtrusively behind the front door before tackling the sheets. When the two men returned, Mulder showed his uncle to the bedroom, then shut the door. He moved over to his desk and pulled a small book from the middle drawer. Thumbing through it, he walked back to her side. She picked up her bag, then rose on tip-toe for a kiss. "I'm really sorry, Scully." Mulder rubbed the back of her neck and sighed. "I don't want to kick you out, but--" She raised a hand to interrupt. "You're not kicking me out. I'm leaving because it's the right thing to do under the circumstances. You're not getting rid of me for long. We still have reports to turn in tomorrow." "Shit!" He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I'd better ask for some time off. At least a couple days. I can't let him just hop in his car and leave." "Are you going to drive him to Florida?" "I'd love to, but the department audit is Friday. I'll have to make other arrangements because I'll be damned if he's going to drive himself any farther." Mulder waved the book he'd taken from the desk. "But first I need to call Howie, before he realizes his grandfather is missing." "Your uncle doesn't live with him, does he?" "No, Howie's just the closest to him, geographically, so he's been keeping an eye on the old guy for a few years. Howie's father is going to have to fit when he finds out Chaim managed to give him the slip." Mulder started flipping through the address book again. There was a question Scully had wanted to ask for years, ever since the Luria case, but she'd always figured it was none of her business. Now seemed like the perfect time to get an answer without it seeming like idle nosiness. She cleared her throat. "I never knew you were Jewish, Mulder." He was still turning pages and didn't look up. "Hmm? Oh. I'm not." "What?" She looked over at the bedroom door. "But, your father's uncle..." Mulder finally looked up and followed her gaze. "Is Jewish, yes. My father was Jewish. I'm not." "How--?" He stuck his finger in the book. "Sorry. I didn't realize... Judaism is passed through the maternal line. If your mother is Jewish, so are you. My father's mother was. Chaim is her brother. MY mother is Protestant." Scully nodded. "So you're not Jewish. You seem really close to your great-uncle." "Samantha and I stayed with them in Brooklyn for a couple weeks every summer. After Samantha was taken, I continued to visit. The stability and familiarity helped, plus they weren't afraid to talk about her." "So that's why you went to see him when I was in the hospital up there?" He looked back down at the book. "It took me a while to get a flight. After I arrived, they wouldn't let anyone except family in to see you for another twenty-four hours. I wasn't exactly on my best behavior. When Chaim called, I took it as a sign that I should step back for a bit and calm down." Scully reached for his hand. "I'm glad he was there for you. I wish you'd brought him to visit me." "I suggested it, but he felt he'd be intruding." "He seems like a good man." She smiled. "A lot like someone else I know." "Well this good man would never try to drive the length of the country at an advanced age." "Of course not. You'd jump on a plane to Idaho without a moment's notice because somebody thought they saw Bigfoot." She picked up her purse from the table, preparing to leave. "I'll come over in the morning and we can decide what to do. I'll ask for a couple days off, too. Maybe we could take your uncle sightseeing, since we'll be in town dropping off the reports anyway." "Sounds like a plan. I'll ask him what he'd like to see." He started to turn away, then clicked his fingers and spun back to face her. "Could you stop at Gottlieb's Deli on your way here tomorrow, around eight o'clock? They're two blocks before the turn for this street, right-hand side. I'll call in an order as soon as they open. All you'll have to do is pick it up. I don't have much food at all right now, let alone anything kosher." She could tell that he was already distracted, thinking about all the things he needed to do, now that his great-uncle was his responsibility. "Sure, I can do that. I'll let myself out now. You go call Howard and take care of your uncle." Mulder leaned down for another kiss. "Thanks, Scully. I'll make it up to you this weekend. Okay?" "Deal. Now let me get out of here before he catches us making out on the table." "You're a cruel woman with a twisted sense of humor. Go already, before I lose all sense of decorum and decency." "You can't lose what you never had, Mulder." He walked toward the living room, flipping her a sarcastic wave. She opened the door as he dialed the phone. "Hey, Howie? It's Fox. I think you may be missing a certain alter cocker." Scully grinned and quietly closed the door behind her. "Mulder, you just keep unfolding like a flower." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Wednesday 8:15 AM Scully eased open the door to Mulder's apartment. She didn't expect his uncle to still be asleep but she didn't want to disturb him if he was resting. When she glanced into the living room, she found both men sitting on the sofa, a Star Trek episode running in the background. They were more engrossed in their conversation than the TV and didn't notice her come in. Scully hoisted the large box of food and separate bag full of meat she'd picked up on her way over. The box was so heavy and awkward, she'd needed to set it on the hallway floor while she opened the door. She didn't know how long he was expecting his uncle to stay, but it looked like he'd ordered enough to last through a siege. Scully unashamedly eavesdropped while she carried the food into the kitchen. It sounded like she'd arrived right in the middle of their conversation. Chaim was saying, "No, I don't go to temple every week anymore. I think the last time was when you came to see me, but not so much these days. Then, I went to pray for your Scully. Now, I talk to God at home, where I'm comfortable. God listens no matter where you are." Mulder snorted. "God and I haven't spoken much in the past twenty years, Uncle Chaim, you know that. Maybe He does listen, but He just doesn't care." As she passed through the dining room, Scully saw one of Mulder's suit jackets draped over a chair at the table. He'd obviously had the same thought as her: since they needed to go to the Hoover building, to turn in the reports and ask for time off, they'd both dressed for work. She'd chosen to wear a less- severe pants suit and lower heels than usual, in case they did a lot of walking while sightseeing, but it was still a work outfit. "I thought that, too," Chaim replied. "After Rifka died, I was angry. SO angry! I stopped going to temple for a very long time. I asked God, 'How could you let this happen? She was a good, kind, pious woman, hurting no one and helping many. How could you take her and not the drunken schmuck that ran her down? Why not smite him instead?'" "And what did God say?" "It took years before I heard him again, but I know He cares. When someone we love is hurt or dies, He's there, crying as hard as we are. What? After giving us free will, he's supposed to take it back and do things for us? No. He expects us to do what's right, and when something bad happens, He's just as sad as we are. He was there when Rifka died and when Samantha disappeared. He was there when your parents divorced and your partner was shot. He didn't abandon them, and He hasn't abandoned you, either. He's there when you need Him, whether you know it or not." They sat for a moment in silence while Scully quietly started the coffeemaker and put the food away. Perishables went into the refrigerator, the meats in the freezer, the rest on the counter. The clerk at the deli had given her very helpful and explicit instructions on how to avoid cross-contamination between the dairy and meat products. It was an interesting mini-education in the intricacies of kosher eating. She heard Mulder say, "I'm sorry I wasn't able to get there after Rifka died. We were on the other side of the country and it was almost a week before we got home. I should have come up when I found Howie's message on my answering machine, but --" "The phone call was enough, boychick. I didn't expect you to sit shiva with me." "You and Rifka have always been very special to me. I don't know what I would have done without you after Samantha was gone. I should have been there for you." "I know, I know. It's natural you should feel that way. But your work is important. To just leave? Even if you'd known, you couldn't. Besides, all you missed was your cousin Howard drinking too much and getting sick all over his father's car. Such a sight, no one needs to see." Mulder's chuckle seemed like a good segue. Scully popped her head around the kitchen doorframe and caught his eye. "Anybody ready for breakfast? I don't know what half this food is, never mind how to prepare it. I suspect it won't be kosher anymore if you leave me to deal with it on my own." Chaim looked at his great-nephew in surprise. "You eat kosher?" "No, but you do." Mulder helped him to his feet, then headed toward the kitchen. "And besides, I just got back from a case, so the fridge needed restocking. I thought I'd use you as an excuse to buy the good stuff." "You have a kosher deli in this neighborhood?" "Sure. Sometimes I stop there on my way home from work. They make great chicken soup. Plenty of matzo balls, just like Rifka made it. We can get some for supper later if you want." Chaim tilted his head forward expectantly. "They have cheese blintzes. No?" "Yes!" Mulder walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a white box. "With containers of applesauce, strawberry or blueberry toppings. I ordered lots, so dig in." Scully set out plates and utensils while Mulder simultaneously put away some of the groceries and set out others. By the time he was done, there were bagels, cream cheese (he called it "shmeer"), the blintzes, and a couple other containers on the counter. They helped themselves to the food and coffee, filling their plates before carrying them out to the dining room table. Scully snagged a blintz and strawberry topping. She'd only ever had the pale, limp cheese rolls they called blintzes at various business conferences and seminars. They were okay when eaten with liberal amounts of fruit topping, but nothing to write home about. This one looked different. Rather like a cross between a burrito and a crepe, it appeared to have been fried after rolling. She picked it up, dipped one end in the strawberry topping, and took a bite. Good lord! Her mouth exploded with the smooth flavor of cheese, a little sweetness, and the tang of strawberries combined with the crunch of the blintz itself. Her arteries were probably screaming in protest but damn, it was good! This tasted nothing like what she'd had at conference breakfasts. She looked at Mulder, eyes wide. He saluted her with an applesauce-coated blintz. Chaim tapped Mulder's arm. "Foxilla, do you remember Rifka's blintzes? You and Samantha would have eaten them every day if she'd made them for you." Mulder nodded, mouth full of blintz, then swallowed. "Of course I remember. They were to die for!" He waved the roll in his hand. "I kid you not, Scully, they were perfection. These are good, but they're not Rifka's." She'd have to take his word for it. Gottlieb's tasted pretty damned yummy, as far as she was concerned. It was hard to imagine anything better. Mulder and his uncle talked as they ate, tossing around words Scully didn't understand, like "latkes," "sweet kugel" and "knishes," but she got the gist of what they were saying. Rifka had been a wonderful cook. Mulder seemed to have a lot of fond memories associated with the food he'd eaten during his long-ago summer vacations in Brooklyn. Scully hadn't seen him so relaxed in a long time. She decided to see if she could find recipes for some of the dishes they'd mentioned. Or find out if Gottlieb's made them. It wouldn't be Rifka's cooking, but maybe he'd enjoy it anyway. They took their time over breakfast, with Mulder urging them to "Eat, eat! There's plenty of food. You go away hungry, it's your own fault." Chaim laughed and Mulder grinned at him. Scully had a feeling it was one of Rifka's sayings. Her presence was strong in the room, her influence on Mulder's childhood evident in the recollections he shared. It was bittersweet, watching him revert to an obviously happy time in his life, knowing how much things had changed since then. Chaim pushed back his empty plate and patted his stomach. "Not bad, not bad," he declared. "Could have been better, but we won't die from it." Mulder nodded. "Nobody could cook like Rifka, so we have to make do. Still, it could have been worse." "That reminds me, Foxilla," Chaim said. "Why don't you sing that song you always liked so much?" Scully nearly laughed. Mulder suddenly wore a panic face to rival the one in Dallas. "I don't remember, Uncle Chaim." "Sure you do," the old man insisted. "Maz Mazah. You used to sing it all the time for Rifka." "But it's a Passover song." "What's with this? You used to sing it in the summer! Passover, not Passover, didn't matter. Sing sing sing! Come on. Sing it." Mulder sent Scully a pleading glance, but she shook her head. She wanted to hear this song, too. He wasn't much of a singer, other than an occasional outbreak of Elvis tunes. She once told him if she had to listen to "Blue Suede Shoes" one more time, she was going to buy him a pair. That shut him up. For a while. His shoulders slumped for a moment, then he tilted his head back slightly, closed his eyes, and sang. "Mazah, mazah, maz mazah maza a ti ma za Maza ah De ki ka Shvira Prihah Khorim yesh ba Ho Ma a az mazah, Maz Mazah" The song was lovely. Scully couldn't understand the words, but it was obviously a children's tune, the melody simple and airy, the words few and repeated often as he sang it through more than once. Mulder's normally gravelly voice was pitched high, clear and sweet. Maybe because he wasn't goofing around, the way he usually did with Elvis's songs, but his voice sounded so different, so innocent, it brought tears to her eyes. She could imagine him sounding exactly like that as a child, young Fox singing for his beloved great-aunt. When he was finished, the two men sat for a moment, smiling at each other with tears glistening in their eyes. Scully swallowed the lump in her throat as unobtrusively as she could. She hated to ruin the moment, but it was getting late and they really needed to leave soon. She quietly began gathering the dirty dishes, motioning Mulder and Chaim back into their seats when they rose to help. "You two visit for a few more minutes. Then we'll talk about plans for the day." Chaim waved his hand in dismissal. "No no! You need to go to work. Just drop me off somewhere. I'll be fine looking around on my own." Mulder leaned forward. "We discussed this last night. We'll stop at work to drop off the papers, then we'll see the sights. You are NOT going anywhere on your own. Not in DC." The pout on Chaim's face was reminiscent of many Mulder had directed at her. "I'm such a zeyde I need a keeper?" "Maybe. Mostly I thought it might be fun to show you around myself." "But you need to work. No? So, you should work." Scully waited as they continued to wrangle for several minutes, back and forth, lobbing attacks and counter-offensives left and right. She finally held up a hand in mid-squabble. "Did you two always bicker like this?" "Yes," they answered in unison. Both of them chuckled sheepishly. Chaim patted Mulder's shoulder. "Such a shaygets, always asking questions, being the big know-it-all. It's nice to see things don't change." "Hey!" Mulder looked thoroughly outraged, but Scully could see a twinkle in his eye as the two men dove back into the argument. Scully picked up the dirty breakfast dishes and finally headed for the kitchen, leaving the two of them to duke it out. She was really looking forward to the rest of the day. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ United States Holocaust Memorial Museum Washington, DC Third Floor 4:25 PM "That is where they died, all four of my grandparents." Chaim's knobby finger pointed to a steel banner above the walkway. "'Arbeit macht frei.' Not if you ended up at Auschwitz." A brown building loomed up on their left. The sign said it was a reconstructed barracks from the concentration camp. They stopped in the doorway for a moment, but didn't go inside. "They never made it this far," Chaim said. He started walking again. "Right from the railcar to the gas chamber they went." The next display included a photo montage of people arriving at the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp titled "Who Shall Live and Who Shall Die." Scully studied the faces in the pictures, knowing that most of those people had probably been killed in the same manner as Mulder's great-grandparents. Chaim continued walking. "We didn't find out what happened to them for over twenty years. By then, I was running the bakery and married, with a family of my own. My mother and younger sister, Fox's grandmother, were the only ones left to cry with me. Mama didn't last more than a year after that." They slowly moved past a wall of mug shots from the camp. Men, women, even children, all with their heads shorn, some wearing badges like the ones on display which identified their nationality. Mulder stopped before a set of children's photos. "Did *any* of your family survive, Uncle Chaim?" he asked. "Shu, a few lived--a second-cousin here, a fourth-cousin there-- but only a few. None of the aunts or uncles. All were lost to the concentration camps and gas chambers. Papa and his brother had plans to send money back home, to bring the mishpocha, the extended family, to America. Their bakery did well until the Great Depression, then the orders slowed to a trickle. They were only making enough to feed their own families. By the time things got better, Hitler was marching across Europe. They lost contact. Letters went out, but answers never came back. All we could do was ask and wait." Mulder turned to him. "You never told me any of this before." Chaim shrugged. "It was hard to talk about, and you were a child. Now, you can understand and honor their memories with me." Mulder put an arm around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. "We need to talk more." As they continued around the room, Scully found herself unashamedly wiping away tears at the enormous loss of humanity. Even after all the horrors she'd seen in the field and the autopsy bay, she was still moved by the scale of brutality and misery on display. And she was only seeing it secondhand! She couldn't imagine what it must have been like to live through it, with it. To escape and continue on, carrying the knowledge that most of your family hadn't survived. "Did your parents come here to get away from the war?" she asked. "No no," Chaim replied. "I was five already when we arrived in New York, my parents, my older sister and me. That was in 1920, well before the war started. Even so, my parents thought life would be better for Jews in the great United States of America. I remember when we got to Ellis Island, Papa was worried that we wouldn't be allowed to stay. Doctors stood at the top of the long stairs and 'examined' everyone in the few seconds it took them to walk up. God be praised, we passed. We only spent about five hours in that huge building before Papa's brother came to get us. Many who were there when we arrived were still there when we left." They stopped in front of a different type of display: a scale model of Crematorium II at Auschwitz-Birkenau. It depicted Nazi soldiers and workers removing bodies from the gas chamber. Even recreated in plaster miniature, it made the hair stand up on the back of Scully's neck. Piles of emaciated corpses waited to one side of the open doorway as workers dragged others out. They looked like Mulder's description of the bodies inside the boxcar in which he'd nearly been incinerated. Another exhibit farther along told about the mobile killing squads. There was a picture of a pit full of people, with armed soldiers standing along the side. Scully flashed back to the Hansen's Disease Research Facility and the bodies at the supposed leper colony. Illegal medical experiments gone wrong, according to the heavy-set man she met there. Experiments like the ones carried out in some of the concentration camps? The parallels were too strong and horrifying. Scully's mood was somber as they walked back outside, into the sunlight. The sudden brightness made her squint, creating a blurry transition from the hushed, dim interior into the raucous bustle of downtown DC. She looked over her shoulder at Mulder as he and his uncle followed her out. She felt like she should say something, but she didn't know what. Chaim shuffled up next to Scully and gently patted her shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to see such awful things." She stopped walking and took his hand. "Please, don't apologize. I understand why you wanted to come here. Everyone needs to visit this place. It should never be allowed to happen again." "From your mouth to God's ears." The old man pointed skyward. "Although I don't know what He can do about it if no one will listen to history." Scully squeezed his hand. "Well thank you for bringing us here. It's hard to believe we've worked nearby for years and never visited." "Eh, no one goes to the tourist places in their own town. There's a Holocaust Museum in New York and in my whole life, I never went! I always planned to come to this one someday, though. I was here already, I figured now was my best chance. Once I'm locked up in that old peoples' state, they'll throw away the key so I can't get out maybe." Mulder snorted. "More like they'll be begging for someone to come and take this vilda chaya off their hands." Scully raised an eyebrow at him. "Vilda chaya?" "Wild animal," he replied. "I heard THAT a lot growing up, too." The playful dig broke through the lingering, dark mood. His uncle gasped in pretend shock and turned to Scully in appeal. "You see how I'm respected in my old age? If I jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge, then he'd be happy." Scully threaded her arm through the crook of his elbow and started walking again. "Well you can talk to me, and we'll ignore him." "Hey!" Mulder yelped. "No fair kibitzing!" She looked at Chaim with wide eyes. "Did you hear something?" He cocked his head to listen. "The wind, maybe? Nothing more." Scully glanced over her shoulder, lips pressed together against the laugh that bubbled in her throat. Mulder walked behind them with his hands jammed in his pants pockets, brows lowered, but eyes sparkling. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. The teasing continued all the way to their car, making the slow walk more tolerable. At least for Scully. Despite the melancholy history she'd witnessed in the museum, she'd really enjoyed herself all day. Chaim was by turns sharp-witted and silly, much like his great-nephew. It was fun to see Mulder's sense of humor turned against him for a change. He rarely got the better of his great-uncle, but took each little jab with a roll of the eyes and a smirk. Their first stop after breakfast had been the J. Edgar Hoover building. Chaim was suitably impressed by their office, although he did let out a puzzled "Nu?" when he found out they were in the basement. Mulder answered questions about the bulletin board news articles and pictures, showed his uncle around the files and generally held his audience spellbound until Scully regretfully announced that it was time for their meeting with Skinner. Chaim flirted with Kim while they waited to see the AD, turning on a charm that Scully found very familiar. Bringing the elderly man along had worked out well for them. With physical proof before him of why they wanted time off, Skinner accepted their reports, reminded them about the audit, and signed the vacation request forms right there. Scully was sure Skinner could still hear them when, as they left the office, Chaim admonished his nephew, "Such a mensch, your boss. You should be more like him." She was certain the old man knew Skinner could hear him, too. Scully was enjoying her recollections so much, she missed the conversation in the front seat until Mulder stopped the car at a red light and looked at his watch. "Why didn't you say something earlier?" he asked his uncle. "The bank will be closing soon." Chaim shrugged. "I'm old. I didn't remember earlier. So sue me already." "Are you still using the same bank you always have?" "Shu shu. They're a bank. Why should I change?" Mulder checked his watch again. "Okay. There's a branch not too far from my apartment. We'll stop there so you can pick up funds for the rest of your trip, then we'll go back to my place and have dinner. Deal?" "Such a plan, it should come from the lips of Solomon himself." In the backseat, Scully snickered, earning herself a raised eyebrow in the rearview mirror from Mulder. Chaim turned to grin at her, peering over the tops of his glasses. She grinned back. The beginnings of rush hour made the drive to the bank a little longer than it would have been any other time of the day. Thankfully, it was still open, although not for much longer. Mulder hustled Chaim into line with the other latecomers. "I'll wait over here." Scully pointed toward a counter, off to one side, with pens and withdrawal slips laid out for customer convenience. She'd just picked up a brochure on certificates of deposit when the doors to the bank burst open with a loud smack. She caught a glimpse of hooded faces, hands waving guns, and Mulder's startled eyes locking with hers for an instant. Scully quickly dropped to the floor, pulling her feet behind the wide, flat pedestal supporting the table. Had she been fast enough or had they already seen her? Gasps and screams mixed with shouted instructions. "Hands up!" "On the ground! Face down!" "NOW! Get down!" Three distinct voices, which meant there was probably a fourth sitting in a car outside. Thankfully, they didn't appear to realize she was hiding. Good. They had a chance, then. Scully lost no time pulling out her cell phone with one hand and quietly sliding her weapon from the holster with the other. She dialed 911, muffling the noise inside her coat. When a voice finally spoke, she whispered, "This is Special Agent Dana Scully. Bank robbery in progress at Craddock Marine, Arlington branch. Three armed gunmen inside, possible driver in a get- away car. My partner and I are in the bank and also armed. I'll leave this phone open on the floor. Send silent reinforcements. Understood?" A quiet "Affirmative" let her know the dispatcher would follow her instructions. No lights, no sirens, but hopefully some skilled backup, and soon. In the meantime, Scully planned to see if there was anything she could do. Her attention diverted from the phone call, Scully realized that it was still rather noisy. By all rights, the bank should be relatively quiet by now, yet there were people talking. The robbers, certainly, but they weren't shouting any longer. In fact, they were laughing. And over top of their amusement were voices Scully recognized. Alarmed, she peeked cautiously around the counter's pedestal. Two of the gunmen were facing away from her, toward the bank interior. A third masked man was going from one teller window to the next, thrusting a bag at the employees. The customers lay on the floor, arms stretched above their heads. All except Mulder. And Uncle Chaim. Mulder's hands were raised, but the old man was simply standing there, a puzzled expression on his face. He looked from the guns waving in his direction to his great-nephew and back again. "Oy vey," he said. "Oy vez mear. Vus machs da?" Chaim was suddenly showing his age. The elderly man sounded totally confused, unaware of the danger he was in. Scully expected to see Mulder's panic face again. To anyone else he would appear nervous, wide eyes rapidly shifting from person to person, body tense, voice soft and conciliating as he murmured to his uncle. Scully knew better. Mulder was focused, poised to turn the tables at the first opportunity. His gaze flicked to hers, holding for a couple of seconds. Be ready, she read. Wait for it. She drew back behind the pedestal and listened. "Oy gevalt," Chaim moaned. "A messa mashee af deer." "It's okay, uncle," Mulder crooned. His next words appeared to be addressed to the gunmen. "Give me a minute. He's just confused. He wants to know what's going on." "You tell him what's going on is a hold-up, and if'n he don't get down on the floor where he belongs, we'll *put* him down, if you know what I mean." "A brokh tsu dayn lebn," Chaim grumbled. "Ver derharget, momzer." "You're right, you're right." Mulder again. "But let's not make things worse. Okay? Let's get down on the floor *now*." That was the first signal. Scully quietly scooted out from under the counter and rose, gun firmly gripped in a Weaver stance. Several customers gasped. She hoped the noise would be lost amid the shenanigans of her partner and his uncle. Scully shook her head, taking one hand off her weapon just long enough to tap a finger against her lips in a shushing motion. Keeping an eye on the robber with the money bag, she waited for Mulder's next sign. The two gunmen were so busy laughing at the old man, they didn't notice her creeping closer behind them. The shorter of the two stepped forward to poke Chaim in the shoulder with his gun. "He sings awful perdy. Maybe we should make the old geezer dance, too," he chortled. Chaim's forehead crinkled in confusion. "Gai kakhen afenyam. Zolst ligen in drerd!" Mulder nodded, once, twice-- "I couldn't agree more, Uncle Chaim"--three times. NOW. Scully took one step closer and drew a bead on the masked man with the bag at the same time he turned from the last teller window. "Federal agents! Drop your weapons!" The two other would-be robbers jumped and turned, which gave her partner the time he needed to pull his gun and train it on them. "Drop it NOW!" Mulder yelled. "Hands on your heads. Lace your fingers." Three handguns clanked to the floor amid soto voce curses. Scully made sure Mulder had the two gunmen covered before she sidled behind them to where the bagman was standing, glowering at her. She motioned him onto the floor, then planted a knee in the guy's back with her full weight behind it. She recited a Miranda warning as she slapped on the cuffs. Once secure, she hauled him to his feet and marched him over to where Mulder was watching the other two. She sat the bagman on the floor, legs crossed, before turning to her partner. She wanted to ask him what had just happened, but they needed to secure the scene first before calling in the reinforcements. Scully pulled the masks off the remaining robbers. They only had one more set of cuffs. Mulder inclined his head toward the man who appeared older. Young criminals were often easier to control, restrained or not. She maneuvered the older gunman onto his stomach, then borrowed Mulder's cuffs to secure him. She read both of them their rights, then moved the newly-cuffed man next to his confederate. "You boys have just bought yourselves a one-way trip to an eight by ten foot cell," she said. "Hope you're not claustrophobic." The youngest robber blanched. "It wasn't my idea!" He turned to Mulder. "Honest, it wasn't my idea. I had no clue what they were planning. I wouldn't have hurt anyone. I swear!" The bagman yelled, "Shut up, damn you!" but the damage was done. Mulder's instincts were good. This one was going to sing like a choir boy. Scully headed back to her phone, leaving Mulder with a sympathetic expression pasted on his face and false assurances of help rolling off his lips. Standard Bureau rhetoric to divide the perps and create a handy source of information for the police, but Mulder always played the role of "new best buddy" so convincingly, even with a gun still trained on the bad guy. Scully took a moment to scan the bank interior. The customers were helping each other up from the floor, brushing off their clothing. Mulder's great-uncle appeared to be checking on the cashiers. Or maybe he was still confused. She decided not to worry about him at the moment. He was inside the bank and incapable of being hurt now. It was time to see if their back-up had arrived. She picked the phone up from its hiding place on the floor and was relieved to find it still on. "Operator, this is Agent Scully. Are you there?" she asked. "Yes, agent. The get-away driver has been apprehended and I have reinforcements standing by outside the bank." Well that was a relief. "Be advised my partner is still covering one perpetrator but the scene is secure and suspects are under control. Please send in the back-up and thank you for your assistance." Before the operator could finish saying, "Roger that, agent. Back-up going in," the bank had filled with shouting police officers. Mulder was waiting for them, badge open and raised for easy visibility, weapon never wavering from its bead on the youngest gunman until he was cuffed. The robber was still babbling away as Scully strolled back to join her partner. "Thanks, man. You put in a good word for me, I'll make it worth your while. Okay? You're FBI. They gotta listen to you. Right? I mean, you're a fed and all. They'll do what you tell 'em." A voice said "tuches lecker" right next to Scully's ear. She jumped. She hadn't noticed Mulder's great-uncle returning to join them. Mulder's eyes widened. "Uncle Chaim!" "Well he is! Kissing up to the important FBI man to make himself look better, cut a special deal. Honor among gonifs? Ha!" "Let's leave my tuches out of it, shall we?" Mulder holstered his weapon and waved over one of the officers. "Talk to this upstanding member of DC's finest so we can get out of here faster. They'll need our statements before we can leave." "Shu, shu, whatever you say, Foxilla. You're the big man with the gun, after all." Both of them moved to meet the officer, leaving Scully standing on her own, at a bit of a loss. She wanted an explanation for their little stunt earlier, but Mulder was right. They needed to give their statements, plus this probably wasn't the best place to hold the discussion she anticipated. Scully flagged down another police officer to get things started. She planned to downplay Chaim's part in the proceedings. She just hoped Mulder would be able to curb his uncle enough to do the same. If word got out that an elderly civilian played a major role in foiling an armed bank robbery, they'd all end up on the local news. It was well past seven o'clock when they were finally free to go. By the time they left, Scully's stomach was so empty it was tying itself in knots and Chaim looked a lot closer to his age. Yet, once they were in the car, Mulder didn't start it. Instead, he turned in his seat and looked at Scully. It was time for that discussion. She took a deep breath. "So, Mulder, what the hell did you think you were doing in there?" "Don't look at me," he replied. "Chaim started it. I would have been belly-down with the rest of the victims if he hadn't launched into his spiel." The old man beamed, all traces of doddering confusion gone. "Just like old times. Eh, boychick?" Mulder rounded on him. "This is not the bakery and those men weren't a group of tourists! What you pulled was dangerous and could have gotten people killed." He pouted. "What? It worked, didn't it? I knew you'd remember and be able to use it to stop those robbers." "That's not the point," Mulder insisted. "Scully and I are trained for these types of situations. You should have gotten down on the floor with the other customers and let us handle it." Chaim opened his mouth to reply but Scully held up a hand to forestall him. "Before you two get embroiled in another of your never-ending arguments, I'd appreciate an explanation of exactly what happened." She looked at Mulder's great-uncle. "First, what were you saying? I know it was Yiddish, but what did it mean?" Mulder pinned the old man with a hard stare. "Would you like to tell her what you said?" Chaim fidgeted in his seat. "I can't say those things to a woman. It wouldn't be right." The two of them sat in silence for a moment, Mulder glaring and Chaim trying to avoid his pointed look. Finally Mulder sighed. "Fine. She's heard worse come out of my mouth. Just remember, you chose to say these words, not me." He shifted to face her again. "Well, he told the gunmen to drop dead." "Twice!" Chaim interjected. Mulder quelled him with another look. "Yes. Twice. He wished them a miserable life, told them to go shit in the ocean, cursed them to a horrible death, then called one a bastard and an ass licker. Have I missed anything?" Scully goggled at Chaim. "You said all that right to their faces?" He shrugged. "I should have said it in English?" "What made you think it would work?" She looked back and forth between him and Mulder, not caring which one answered. Her partner responded. "It's an old game we used to play at the bakery. We were rather famous for it. Whenever I was in town, more people than usual would hang out in the store, just in case we had the chance to use our shtick." "Good for business!" the old man declared. "Yes," Mulder agreed reluctantly, "sales did tend to go up during my visits. The way the game worked was similar to what you saw in the bank. Chaim would speak to me in Yiddish and I would translate to the customer. Then I would translate their English back into Yiddish for Chaim. Only what both of us said in Yiddish and what I translated into English weren't necessarily the same thing. If the conversation went on long enough, it got hard to remember which language I was supposed to use with whom. It was great training in being quick-witted, but I nearly got caught saying the wrong thing to a customer a couple times." Scully blinked and looked at Chaim. "You made fun of your customers?" "Not the regulars!" he hastened to assure her. "Just strangers, tourists usually, who didn't know any different. It was harmless fun." "It sounds a bit rude." Chaim squirmed. "So, rude but harmless. We never picked on nice customers, only the ones who threw their weight around demanding special treatment, or assumed because I'm Jewish, I don't speak English. Oy! Always shouting or talking slowly, or both, as if that would make me understand. I just gave them what they expected." Scully mulled it over for a moment. She understood why Chaim had pulled the stunt, but still... "I have to agree with Mulder. What you did was very risky and could easily have backfired. I'm thankful it didn't but you probably shouldn't try that again." Chaim crossed his arms and hunkered down in his seat. "So, next time I'll be a good hold-up victim and faint." Mulder barked a laugh. "I doubt that. You never did lack chutzpah." He put the keys in the ignition and started the car. As they pulled away from the bank, his uncle suddenly sat up. "Hey!" Chaim exclaimed. "I still need to get money for my trip, you know. On good looks, I'll only make it as far as Richmond, maybe." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Thursday 10:15 AM Scully snickered at the picture of a six-year-old Mulder with his mouth full. Chaim's blunt finger tapped the photo. "Blintzes!" he exclaimed. "I told you. If Rifka made them every day, he'd eat them every day. And never gain weight, either. We should all be so lucky." "Amen," she replied. She turned another page of the album and waited for Chaim's narration. They'd been having a great time looking at pictures ever since Mulder closed himself in the bedroom fifteen minutes ago. As soon as the door shut, Chaim had laid his suitcase on the coffee table and dug out an old photo album. Moving from place to place as a child, Scully hadn't grown up with a lot of extended family. Whenever they lived within a couple hours of a relative, they might be able to visit once or twice before having to move again. She couldn't imagine what it must have been like for Mulder, knowing he would see certain members of his family every year, even if only for a couple of weeks. There was a stability and comfort in the idea that appealed to her. She found herself drawn to Mulder's elderly great-uncle, wishing he was able to stay longer so she could get to know him better. She was certain that, through knowing Chaim better, she would know her partner better as well. How smug she'd been to think she knew everything about him. She was really enjoying the chance to see Mulder in a new way, to learn things she never would have heard directly from him. It had been a busy morning for Mulder. By the time she got there, he and Chaim had already eaten breakfast and been to the bank. The old man's suitcase was sitting next to the couch, along with a bag that Mulder indicated was "a little nosh for later." When she took her partner aside to ask about travel arrangements for his great-uncle, Mulder simply said he had it covered, then retreated to his bedroom. Scully suspected he was talking to his cousin again, making sure someone would be waiting for the elderly man at the end of his journey. She was glad she hadn't said good-bye last night. They'd stopped for supper on their way back from the bank, so it was really late when they finally reached Mulder's apartment. Scully hadn't bothered to go in with them, letting Mulder know that she would return in the morning instead. She could see how tired Chaim was from all the excitement. Now she was appreciating their private time and his funny reminiscences about summers with a Fox Mulder she'd never met. Scully pointed to a picture on the last page. Mulder looked to be about ten, mugging for the camera with his sister in front of a window. The word "Bachman's" was painted on it. "Is that your bakery, Uncle Chaim?" He leaned back and slapped a hand on his knee. Scully glanced up, startled. "What?" she asked. "NOW you call me uncle?" he replied. "I'm such an ogre you couldn't say it before?" "W-well," she stammered, "you're related to Mulder, not me, and I didn't want to presume..." "I wouldn't be surprised if I was almost YOUR uncle too. Nu?" He peered over his glasses at her. "You should move all your womanly trappings back in today. I'm sure Fox's bed would be cold without you." Scully felt her face flush. "What do you mean?" "You think I was always this old?" He tapped the side of his sizable nose. "Mazel tov to the both of you. It should only happen to everybody, finding someone who loves you as much as you love them back." "And here I thought we were being so devious and secretive." He opened his arms for a hug, which she gladly leaned into. It surprised her to think how much she was going to miss him after such a short time together. It was like seeing Mulder in another forty years or so. She gave him a gentle squeeze, then leaned back again. "The effort counts," Chaim assured her. "I needed a place to stay, Fox needed a chance to miss you for a little while. That's a good thing to remember. No?" Mulder emerged from the bedroom just as a knock sounded on the apartment door. He grinned when he saw them still sitting with their arms around each other. Scully smiled back. "Absolutely, Uncle Chaim. A very good thing to remember." Chaim patted her shoulder. They separated so he could pack away the album again while Mulder opened the door. This time, it really was Frohike. Scully gave her partner a questioning look as he escorted the little man into the living room. "Uncle Chaim," Mulder said, "this is my friend, Melvin Frohike. He's going to keep you company all the way to Florida. Let him drive. He likes it." Ah. So this was his alternate travel arrangement. Chaim peered at his nephew over the top of his glasses. "What? You think I need a babysitter now?" Mulder leaned into his face and mimicked his expression. "Think of him as your personal chauffer." The two of them stared at each other for a few seconds, until Chaim chuckled. He reached up and patted Mulder's cheek. "You're such a yenta, you and Howard. So, you're both right. I'm not getting any younger and listening to myself talk is boring." Mulder helped the old man off the couch and gathered him into a hug. "Send me your new address. We'll visit the next time we're in Florida." Chaim pulled back and shook a finger in Mulder's face. "Just don't bring any monsters. Fershtay?" "Yeah, I got it. Although with the way you handled those robbers, I'd feel sorry for the monster." "Funny man, you are." He slapped his nephew's face gently. "So? When do we leave already? I'm not getting any younger standing here." Mulder picked up the suitcase and handed it to Frohike, then walked with his uncle to the door. Scully followed, indulging in one last hug for herself before Chaim headed out into the hallway. She and Mulder watched as the men slowly moved toward the elevator, voices drifting back to the doorway. "So, Melvin," Chaim said, "a nice Jewish boy. Yes?" "Only my moyl knows for sure," Frohike replied. Chaim threw his head back and laughed. "I like you, young man. So how do you know Fox?" "We've served together in the trenches, so to speak." "Comrades in arms, eh? Did you know I helped him break up a bank robbery?" "When was this?" "Yesterday!" "You don't say! I hadn't heard anything about that." "Shu, shu. It was a big tummel, but Fox and Dana got the bad guys, with my help." "They're good at what they do, your nephew and his partner." "Such a mensch, my Foxilla. I taught him everything he knows." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ THE END All Yiddish words and phrases were taken from this site: http://www.sbjf.org/sbjco/schmaltz/yiddish_phrases.htm With thanks to Marty Fiebert who compiled the original list: http://www.csulb.edu/~mfiebert/yiddish.htm You can find the words of the song Mulder sings along with a midi file of the tune here: http://www.well.com/~zagit/pesach.html#mazmaza The United States Holocaust Memorial Museum is located at 100 Raoul Wallenberg Place, SW, in Washington, DC http://www.ushmm.org/ Feedback: mimic1172@gmail.com Homepage: http://mimicsmusings.com/fics