From: Nancy Lemieux Date: Sun, 10 Oct 1999 13:10:52 -0400 Subject: Re-edited and formated stories Source: revision Catharsis Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Margaret Scully belong to the lovely world of Chris Carter, TenThirteen Productions, and Twentieth Century Fox Television. No infringement intended. It's just that you leave so many scenes out of your show that we just have to fill in the blanks somehow. This story was written in about 30 minutes after having read a post on fictalk that no one ever made Margaret Scully human, and that they were sick of her 'ever patient saint' image. Well, hope you like this, 'cause it's dedicated to you-whoever you are. Please excuse any spelling grammar mistakes present. I (probably unwisely) decided to short-circuit my usual route of asking my editors to check out my story. It pushed to get out, and I let it-despite the fact I should be in bed 'cause I have to be up at 6:30 tomorrow morning. Since the topic is still fresh on fictalk, I thought now would be a good time to have it out. I promise I'll let my editors have a crack at it before I give a final copy to the archive. Okay? :) TITLE: Catharsis AUTHOR: The Dragon Lady EMAIL ADDRESS: nlemie@po-box.mcgill.ca DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT:Gossamer only SPOILER WARNING: Memento Mori RATING: PG-13 for swear words and harsh context CONTENT WARNING: none CLASSIFICATION: V A SUMMARY: Margaret Scully reacts to Fox Mulder's request to bring Dana some personal belongings to the hospital. Set during Memento Mori. Catharsis by The Dragon Lady (nlemie@po-box.mcgill.ca) The phone hit the wall at the opposite end of the room, making a cracking noise as it bounced off it and landed on the hardwood floor. "Damn it! Damn you! How could you do this? HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO MY DAUGHTER?" The last of her screams died and for a split second she heard the faint echo of her voice reverberating off the glass door buffet. The silence that followed broke her. Her back against the wall, she slid to the floor. Her feet slipped out from under her. "My baby. My daughter. Why God? WHY????????" A fresh pain tore through her chest, making her go blind with rage. She grabbed the tumbler that had fallen out of her hands when Fox Mulder told her about Dana. Her baby Dana. Cancer. Inoperable. The tumbler flew across the room and landed in the glass door of the buffet, shards crashing to the floor in a strange parody of a wind chime. "No. No! No! NO! NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!" She threw herself forward, resting on her knees and elbows as she began beating the floor with her hands. Beating, hitting, pounding. Trying to drown the pain in her heart with a pain she could control. "Not her. Not my baby. Not Dana. You can't do this, God. No. What have we done to you? What has Dana done? What have I done? Why are you turning away from us? My baby. My Dana. My last living daughter. You can't do that to her. You can't do that to us. You CAN'T!!!!" She lost the feeling in her limbs, crumpling to the floor. Resting on her side while her body instinctively curled up into a foetal position. Her breath came in harsh gasps, her lungs fighting for the precious air that was needed after such exertion. Even now, she was still talking, although her speech had become stilted and incoherent. "No... Dana... not... God... why?... but... Missy... help... my baby..." She froze as she heard a distant sound. A clang of metal on metal as the mailman made his delivery. The sound, so familiar, yet suddenly an anomaly in her world. How could the mailman go on to the next house and drop envelopes in a box when her daughter was dying? Why wasn't the world screeching to a halt? It was this final thought that broke her down completely. The tears came. They poured hotly down her cheek, pushing uncontrollably out of her as she felt her body begin to shake. Then came the sobs. The pent up anger and frustration controlling her. Forcing her to wail and convulse as the darknessof the world caved in on her. Misery. Merciful misery that numbed the pain to the point where she began to wonder if she were alive herself. Yet life itself was more cruel than that as the sobs slowly subsided. The tears refused to fall, and all that was left was the dull aching pain in her chest. Emptiness. Fear. This was her life now. Time? What time was it? Margaret forced herself to lift her head and look at the clock. Half an hour. She'd been on the floor thirty minutes, yet it seemed like both a lifetime and an instant. Dana. She had to pick up some things for Dana. She had to go to Dana. See her. Touch her. Feel her pulse. She was alive. She had to be. Her baby daughter. She would be strong for her, the same way Dana was strong. Sitting up, a flash of light caught her eye, and she saw the pieces of broken glass strewn across the dining room floor. She'd have to clean that up, but it would have to wait. Dana needed her. She'd go see her and be strong. Finally standing up, she headed for the front door, pausing only to pick up her purse and keys on the way out to Dana's apartment. Passing by the hallway mirror, the movement of her reflection startled her and she turned to look at herself. Wet, red eyes with hollows beginning to form under them. Face flushed from the crying. Hair dishevelled and with a piece of lint she'd picked up on the floor hanging off one lock. She was a mess, and it didn't matter. Only Dana mattered. Grabbing onto the doorknob, she took a breath and opened the door. Still holding her breath, she mentally steeled herself for the drive to the hospital. She would get the things and then go to her baby. Dana needed her. The end. Feedback always welcome, and flames stored for the long winter months to come. :)