From: "Abbey McCartney" Date: Mon, 14 Aug 2000 15:15:23 PDT Subject: The Long and Winding Road (1/9) Source: direct TITLE: The Long and Winding Road AUTHOR: Abbey R. Chandler E-MAIL: abbey_rhode@hotmail.com DISTRIBUTION: Drop me a line first, so I know where to visit. FEEDBACK: Compliments and constructive criticizim are more than welcome. However, Flames will be squashed and extinguished immediately. SPOILERS: Everything up to Milagro RATING: a solid R rating CATEGORY: MSR, S,R,A, Scully POV KEYWORDS: Pre-XF, Scully/Other (past), Mulder/Scully Romance, Most likely considered to be an 'Alternate Universe' SUMMARY: Mulder discovers that Scully's involvement in the X-Files, goes just as deep as his. It sounds like a case-file, but it's really not. It's more of a character study/relationship piece. DISCLAIMER: I'm borrowing Mulder and Scully, and the rest of the X-Bunch from the illustrious Chris Carter. Also, I have a few references to lyrics from The Beatles in here. Sadly, they do not belong to me either. * * * * * * * * The Long and Winding Road that leads, to your door They'll never disapear, I've seen that road before. It always leads me here, leads me to your door. The wild and windy night that the rain washed away. Has left me full of tears, crying for the day... Don't leave me standing here, let me know the way Many times I've been alone, and many times I've cried. Many ways you'll never know, and the many ways I've tried. And still it leads me back, to the long winding road. You left me standing here, a long, long time ago. Don't leave me waiting here, lead me to your door. "The Long and Winding Road"- The Beatles (1970) * * * * * * * * October 3rd, 1999 I've seen my share of heaven and hell in my 35 years of life. A wild, recalcitrant roller coaster could accurately be described as a tangible metaphor for my life. I've survived my father, and my older sister. I've sat on a cold, examination table, while given a detailed explanation of why I couldn't bear children under any natural pretenses. I've witnessed a life-altering, heart-shattering dissolution of a four year old little girl whom I barely knew personally, but who meant more to me than I would ever come to know. I've been mocked by my peers, and labeled 'The Ice Queen'- or 'Mrs. Spooky'- I've been laughed at behind my back, and I've had my heart constantly smashed in whenever Mulder looks at me with his gorgeous hazel eyes, and walks away from me; or when he speaks so highly of Diana Fowley. There was a time though.... A time where my life wasn't a incessant jumble of confusion, and pain. There was once a time when I felt a flutter of enchantment, and bliss in my heart, and completeness with in every stride I took. As much as I hate to say this; as much as it hurts me to admit this, this happiness, and this joy I once felt was in a time before Mulder. Granted, working with Mulder was purely my choice, joining Mulder and his quest was entirely my decision, and sticking by him all seven of these years, was absolutely my desire. But now I fear to say that staying through this quest is no longer my desire. Upon reflecting on my life, I no longer hold the same zeal for my line of work, as I once did. I lied to Mulder, and told him that I had to leave for a dentist appointment in Georgetown. He told me to enjoy my weekend, and I left; carrying the burden that I lied to Mulder on my shoulder. My appointment was not at my dentist. My appointment was with my ex-husband. * * * * * * * * November 11th, 1982 He's so mysterious. I barely know anything about him. I've been dating him for about a month and a half now, and I still don't know much about him. He remains a mystery to me. I suppose that's why I'm so attracted to him. The fact that he completely contradicts my previous boyfriends is why I like him. I needed to get away from what I was in high school. I'm a different person now. Or at least I'm trying to be. I'm trying to branch out from 'Daddy's little Starbuck' or 'Adroit Red'. (As nickname I gained in the sixth grade, and still sticks with me to this day.) He wiggles his eyebrows at me, and I can't help but smile. "I like when you smile." It's a simple comment with a mound of complexity behind it. "I've been thinking...." his voice trails off as he tries to formulate what he's trying to say. "I have the entire day off tomorrow, and I was wondering if I could take you somewhere." "Where?" "Somewhere special." He grins softly, and shakes his head. "I want it to be a secret. Is that okay with you, Miss Scully?" I cross my arms over my chest, and nod. "Just as long as it doesn't include anything that would in any way force me to be hospitalized, or leave with a criminal record." He pauses for a moment, pondering what I have just said. "Tempting as that sounds, I think that I'm gonna stick to my original plan." He takes my empty hand, and our fingers lace together with nonchalance. "I'm going out on the terrace for a smoke. Join me?" I add curiously. He nods enthusiastically, while grabbing his package of ciggs off of the table. The rest of our evening is spent discussing unadorned, and simple things that I'm not used to discussing with him. Usually, our conversations are about great British Literature, political items, important historical events, and other intelligible things he thinks of first. This time we talked about the Baltimore O's, and the death of Led Zeppelin drummer, John Bonham. * * * * * * * * October 3rd, 1999 Sometimes Mulder drives me crazy. Sometimes when he shoots one of his insane, super-dooper improbable theories and knows that I won't agree with him, he makes me want to do evil, evil things to him. Sometimes he makes me want to grab a fistful of those cinnamony colored strands on his head, and yank like a little devil. Sometimes he makes me so angry, it almost looks like steam is coming out of my ears, like a little cartoon. Sometimes Mulder makes me loose faith in him. Sometimes (ironically a lot more often) when Agent Fowley comes back into our lives, and he chooses to follow her around like a little puppy dog; he makes me want to run to the nearest bathroom to scream to the heavens, cursing out everything that Mulder and Diana believe in. Sometimes when he thinks about only himself, and ditches me, I have very strong feelings of being reassigned. Sometimes Mulder makes my heart literally melt. Sometimes when he kisses the top of my forehead in a safe refuge of finding comfort in each other; I feel like we're the only two people on the earth. Sometimes when he whispers words of comfort into my ear after a difficult case, warmth begins to rise through out my body, and I have to resist to the urge of grabbing his body close to me, and whispering a few words of my own. Sometimes working with him isn't good enough. Sometimes I want more. Sometimes I want to get away from him. Sometimes I can't even make up my mind. Sometimes it feels like my life is standing still, while everything else is jumping forward. Even Mulder. I have feelings that are too enigmatic and questionable. It feels like I'm stuck in the eye of a tornado, with nowhere to go. As much as I try and convince myself to stay, I don't think I can anymore. I need to approach a new avenue in my life, or else I fear I will have a break down just like Mulder did a couple of months ago. * * * * * * * * January 12, 1983 "Maggie, Melissa, and Dana! We're going to be late!" my father roars from the foot of the stairs. I follow behind my sister, and my mother at my back as we charge down the stairwell, dressed in our finest evening attire. My father is waiting impatiently, while he stands directly in back of my dad, and Missy's date- Gavin? Garth? Garret? stands next in line. "Where's Bill and Charlie?" My mother asks from behind my shoulder as I reach the bottom step. "They went to go pick up Tara and Rachel. We were going together, but we were a little behind schedule." "Oh, quit your complaining, Bill. I bet you twenty dollars Tara and Rachel won't be ready yet either." My mother throws a black silk wrap around her shoulders, and checks her appearance in the mirror. "You look fine, Mag. Let's go," my father pushes as he takes a hold of my mother's shoulders, and escorts her through the door. We follow shortly behind my father's lead, and cram ourselves into the rented stretch limo. I look across the limo, to see him staring back at me. He smiles, and his mouths opens. He starts to say something, but he mouths it instead. You- Look- So- Beautiful. Yep. I'm pretty sure that's what he said. I smile at him, and mouth 'I love you' back to him. He placed his right hand over his heart, and leaned his head against the back of the seat. I love him. I really do. I've- I've never felt this way before. It's something new, and exciting, and I'm so happy about it. I love the way that love feels. My heart thumps wildly out of control whenever he nuzzles the side of my neck with his nose and mouth. My head spins around like a battery operated toy when ever he slowly teases me with his mouth and his hands; slowly bringing me to places and heights that I've never been to before with any man. Not that I have much experience in this field. It's only been a total of two for me, and I can assure you that he's twice the joy that my high school boyfriend was, in the back of his 68 Mustang Convertible. I can't get over the feeling of how 'adult' this all feels. My parents look gleaming and proud as they begin to interrogate Missy's date, Owen. I don't have the faintest idea why I mistook it for Gabe, or Garret, or whatever. Missy is in my parent's conversation, and she has an utter look of horror across her face. Boy, can I relate. My parents hound our dates, and then, and then they have to go through Bill. That's an even worse fate. For the next twenty minutes of sitting through Washington DC traffic, we manage to get it to the chapel in Alexandria just on time. My father ushers us all into the monstrous chapel, and we take our seat in the third to front row, where Charlie and Bill have saved for us. My parents sit in towards the isle. Bill and his girlfriend, Marie are next. Missy is right next to Marie, with Owen. I sit next to Owen, and he sits next to me, with a strong arm around my shoulder. Right after us is Charlie and Rachel. We happily manage to take up the entire pew. Pachabell's 'Cannon in D' washes over the chapel from the front. The orchestra comprised of three violin players, two pan flutes, three alto saxophones, one soprano sax, one tenor sax, two clarinets, and two recorders. It's absolutely beautiful. I've never heard anything so beautiful. My aunt's four bridesmaids march down the isle in accordance to the orchestra's steady beat. They are dressed head to toe in royal purple. Their full body dresses with spaghetti straps are royal purple, the bows and berets in their hair is royal purple, and even their shoes and knee highs are royal purple. As Cannon in D comes to a sharp halt, the recorders begin to play the Irish contemporary wedding march, with the violins accompanying as the harmony. Everybody in the room turn their focus to the back, where my aunt slowly makes her descent down the red carpet-clad isle. She looks like a Gaelic princess, as she wears a traditional grass crown, with delicate blue lilies around it. She's dressed from head to toe in a hand-woven white dress. A white diamond necklace is around her neck. I instantly recognize that. It's my mom's. It must be the completion of her outfit as something borrowed. After she approaches the altar, the priest begins to read scriptures from the holy bible, and suddenly- I feel his arm around my shoulder tighten. Leaning into his ear, he whispers delicate words of love that surprise me. "I love you so much, Dana." He kisses the outer shell of my ear, and I feel his warm, gossamer-like breath sneaking into the canal of my ear. "You look so beautiful today," he adds, kissing my earlobe. He leans his forehead against my temple, and sighs. Oh my God. It feels like my heart is going to thump right out of my chest. I'm serious. He nuzzles his nose into my ear, and I swear to God, it feels like I'm going to die from an excruciating, heavenly feeling. * * * * * * * * October 3rd, 1999 This particular Starbuck's is laced with green ivy, and protected around a rod iron gate. Outside, there are patrons who are leisurely sipping their hot beverages, while talking, smoking, or reading. It's almost dark outside, and there are candles lit on every table outside. I glance cautiously around, through the window, and then I spot him. He is sitting outside. He's in the corner, with a cigarette lighting in the ashtray, a large coffee centered by the candle, and A Midsummer's Night Dream in his dominant hand. I doubt that he sees me. He's too engrossed with his book. "Hello." He folds the page in his book, but his eyes never reach mine. "Hi, Dana." His voice is almost a whisper. "So it's Dana now. I see." I pull out the green iron chair, and sit down across from him. His eyes reach across the table, to find mine. He smiles slightly, and nods. "It's good to see you again." I remain silent as I signal the waiter. He runs to my motioning hand, and pulls out his writing pad from the left pocket of his apron. "Large low fat white mocha," I tell him instantly. "And a multi-grain blueberry muffin." He nods, and disappears into the coffee shop. "I miss you." "I don't." I lean back into the chair, stare into his eyes honestly. He clears his throat, and sets down his book on the table. "I deserved that." "You deserve a lot more." "I know." "No, you don't." He runs a hand through his spiky dark brown hair. "Look- Dana, I know that my actions in the past have been unforgivable....." "Your damn straight they've been unforgivable. Even after our marriage, you continued to make my life hell. You don't know how much you've hurt me. You don't have any idea at all." He remains silent as our waiter sets my muffin, and my coffee down next to each other, to disappear in a hurry. He licks his lips as the waiter is no longer in our presence. "I can say sorry hundreds of times, and it still won't make it better." "I know that." "I asked you here to talk about Rory." "I don't want to talk about her." "Dana-" "I said that I don't want to talk-" "I found her," he immediately interjects. "....about her- What?" "I said that I found her." "You bastard. You're a liar." He shakes his head, and licks his lips again. "No. I found her. She's alive. She's been living in California. Berkeley, to be exact. Her name is Zoey Monteraux." I look through his eyes, and shake my head. "I don't believe you. I don't have any reason to." "Her foster father was killed in a car accident. The foster mother disappeared when Rory was six. Rory only knew here for three years, too." That last comment made me glare angrily up at him. "She's going to be awarded to the state in a week if you don't do anything, Dana." "She's your daughter too. Why don't you do something?" "Because I fear my involvement will get her killed. You know that." "Yeah. I do. Your *involvement* came close to killing me twice, now." "Dana-" "Do you even have proof that this girl- whom you claim to be Rory, is actually her?" "Now that's the Dana that I remember." He places a file folder right in front of me. "What's this?" I ask him, my eyes not even bothering to look down. "Open it up and find out." So I do. I have nothing else to lose. Inside the manila folder is a white paper, with three transparencies behind it. I skim over the white paper first, and then I realize that the transparencies are DNA tests. "You match her DNA up with mine. How ever did you get my DNA?" I added a hint of sarcasm for the effect. "Resources," he replies instantly, taking a drag off of his cigarette. "I'll bet." I close the paperwork into the folder, and edge it towards him. "I still don't believe you. All you know are lies." "Believe what you wish, Dana." He shakes his head, and squishes the burning cigarette into the porcelain tray, and it makes a low hiss in the process. "Look, you know me, Dana. I know I don't deserve your respect, or your trust. I don't expect you to believe me either, but Dana...." his voice trails off. "It's her. She's your only chance now." Instantaneously, I look up into his eyes, and glare into them. "And whom shall I blame for that?" "Dana- please. You'll never forgive yourself if you don't see her. You lost her once. You don't want to loose her again." "What about you, huh? You lost her too. Didn't she mean anything to you? She was our daughter!" "She meant everything to me. You know that. But if I step into her life, I'll sign her death certificate the next day. I won't risk her life like that." "They won't let me adopt. I tried to adopt Emily....." "That's because Emily was a special care child. She required your undivided attention. Rory's 16 years old." "Fifteen. She'll be sixteen December 24th," I corrected him. My hands move on their own volition down my face, and twist through my hair. "I've already lost her. That was hard enough. Don't do this to me again, Alex." * * * * * * * * May 5th, 1983 Loud brass instruments blare into my ear as I try to make my way through the crowd. It's hard to walk through everybody when you're clutching a plate of Mexican food in one hand, and a mudslide virgin daiquiri in the other. Alex is waiting for me across the lawn, in an isolated area by the swimming pool. People seemed to have gathered around the mariatchi band, dancing, and laughing together. I know Alex doesn't like big crowds, but he's the one who insisted on coming tonight. He smiles up at me, and pulls me into his lap, right after I get the opportunity to set the food down. He nuzzles his nose into the base of my neck, and his arms slip around my waist. "You smell good." "I know." He kisses a sensitive patch of skin right below my ear, and I practically jump out of the chair. "Whoa, I love that." "You better play nice. I brought you a taco." "Thank you." He starts peppering the side of my neck with gossamer-light kisses, and soft nips. I turn my head around, and we meet halfway in a sloppy kiss. "Hey- you're not old enough to have this." He picks up my beverage, and stares at it. "Neither are you. Besides, I had Missy make this one special for me. It's a virgin." "No it's not." "Yes it is. Taste." I shove it up into his face. "Oh- I was under the impression that you were referring to Melissa." "That's cute," I tell him with a grin. "Hmmm," he mumbles into my hair, squeezing my left hip. "I'm hungry." I grab the plate, and reach for a taco. "Feed me," he whines. "Feed yourself." I bite into the crispy shell and all of its contents. "Love you." "I know." I can sense his grin from behind me. "Such a smart ass." "I know." "I was thinking- Day.... If you're feeling adventurous tonight, we could take a naked dip in the pool. I can't tell you how much I love seeing you naked. And wet. And both. Whadda you say, babe?" "Oh my God." "Like my idea?" I scramble off of his lap, and stumble on the ground. "I have to go to the bathroom." "It's like- your eleventh trip today!" he calls out as I head in the direction of the house. * * * * * * * * October 3rd, 1999 The rain is sloppily falling against my windshield. Tears are sloppily falling down my face. I feel helpless, and weak. It almost feels like my life is spinning recklessly out of control, and there is not a single thing that I can do about it, except crash. Crash. Crash into the deep, meaningless pit, resulting in the cease of my existence. This can't be real. The past two hours must have been a dream. I'll wake up in Nowheresville, Nebraska, with Mulder right next door. I feel as if the remaining control of my life is hastily slipping out of my grasp. I can't handle this anymore. I can't even pretend to think I can. I hear a ringing in my head as I contemplate all of this information. The X-Files. Mulder. Rory. Alex Krycek. The FBI. My family. Rory. Mulder. Rory. Mulder. Rory. Mulder. The X-Files. Rory. Mulder. Rory. Mulder. Rory. I notice it all boils down to them. But then I come to realize that the ringing is not in my head. It's my cell phone. "Scully." I already know it's Mulder. "How was the dentist appointment?" "It was a dentist appointment, Mulder." "Where are you? Are you driving?" "Yeah. I'm coming back from Baltimore." "Did you visit your mom?" "Yeah." I'm sorry, Mulder. I really am. "I just wanted to see if you're okay. You've been acting kind of weird lately." "I've been tired." "Yeah. Me too. Well, I'll see you on Monday, then." "Yeah. Monday. "Have a good weekend." "Mulder- wait." "Hmmm?" his tone almost sounds sleepy and subdued. "I won't be in the office on Monday. You better make it Wednesday. I'm going to Berkley to visit some family members." "Oh really? I'm glad. I think I could use some time off. Have a nice time." I hear the click of the line going dead. I'm going to hell. It's official. * * * * * * * * May 12th, 1983 Babies are all over the place. Where ever you go, babies are bundled up in strollers as their parents push them around. They're tucked away in baby seats when you're passing a stressed out mother in a grocery isle, reading nutrition labels. Toddlers are at the park, with smug expressions of satisfaction across their face as they make their poor mothers run after them. They're at restaurants, nestled in their little wooden high chairs. I can't go out into the world with out seeing babies. Alex is happy about this. I'm pregnant, and he's happy. I can't believe this. I cannot fucking believe this shit. I'm a 19 year old pre-med student. I have dreams. I wanted to be a doctor. I wanted to help people. I don't want to end up a 43 year old housewife, who has memorized Sesame Street Sing-Alongs after watching it over and over again for the benefit of my seven children. I don't want to be a housewife to begin with. That's not who I am. That's not who I'm supposed to be. Tears begin to well up in my eyes as I think about this. This wasn't supposed to happen. * * * * * * * * October 4th, 1999 The flight to the San Francisco International was long. I was sandwiched in between a snooty business woman, and a snoring old man. I had a headache through the duration of the 8 hour flight, and because of that, I didn't get a wink of sleep. After collecting my luggage all by myself, and grabbing my rental car, I had to purchase a map at a gas station not far away, because I had no idea where the hell I was going. It took nearly two hours to get through the magnitude of morning rush hour traffic on the Bay Bridge. By the time I got back to my hotel in Berkeley, I was far gone. Last night after I got home, I was in a frenzy trying to get the next possible flight out, and packing. I feared telling my mother because I know that telling her about this would be way to much to handle if the outcome would only be a failure. My brain is now a fuzzy mass as I weigh out the options. It's almost eight o'clock, and the sun is about to fade away from the evening sky. I feel tired and hungry at the same time. I am fortunate and melancholy at the same time. I am so sick of the ups and the downs. From my hotel room, I can clearly see a couple snuggled up on the park bench. They are holding each other; it's such a simple act. They are in love. It seems arrogant, and pretentious of me to assume this, since I have both denied and lied about such an accusation. But Phillip Padget was right. I am already in love. I love him. Mulder. Yes, that's right. I'm in love with Mulder. Padget was right on the target. When I cried in his arms for those few precious moments, he tried to calm me down by kissing the side of my head, and whispering soft words into my ear. And at that moment, I knew that everything would be okay. I knew that I was safe, and that Mulder was safe. It was the oddest sensation reveling in the feel of his arms around me, and being absolutely positive that nothing could touch me at that moment. I felt like crying all over again. So I did. And he held me. But I just can't do that anymore. I've come to realize through the events of the past couple months that I can't continue to wear this facade of bravery. I cannot. I refuse to. That's why I went to go see Alex. Before, I've always chose to ignore his invitations of reconciliation. But now, it didn't seem to matter. I figured that I should get on their good side before departure from the X-Files. Maybe if I did, they would give Mulder a partner who deserves to be there, instead of a spy. Maybe Diana was a spy. He accused me of being a spy. It only seems logical. I know how deep her involvement runs. I know that she is in cahoots with Cancer Man and all of his little cronies. His little cronies. Ha. It's more like a secret boys club, with secret little rules, and even a secret little hand shake. I begin to tire of thinking about the past, so I decide on grabbing my coat to head across the street for dinner. It was cold, no doubt, but it was pleasant. The weather hit me like a surprise, and a comfort. I spent the first two semesters of my freshman year at Berkley. My father was stationed around here, and I remember loving the atmosphere of the Bay Area. The ocean, the diversity of cultures, the people, the way that San Francisco is shaped; I loved it all. This was a time before the decadent mayhem began. This was a time before I had to deal with my daughter's disappearance, and my ex-husband's involvement as an assassin. This was a time before I had to worry about Mulder. As I try to pull my brain back from it's wandering thoughts, I enter the restaurant which is crowded with college students. They are all over the place. They're snuggled inside the booths, they're sharing seats that are meant to be for one, some are on the floor, and some are settled on friends laps. This makes me smile, recalling a time where I was once in the middle of a crowded booth, or sharing a seat with my best friend, or sitting on the floor with Missy, or settled upon my boyfriend's lap. The line seems to move at such a rapid pace, judging by how many people are here, and were in line. "Hi, can I help you?" The chances of her being a Cal student are as good as the odds are for being an unnatural blond. I fire off my order of clam chowder, and a side of battered shrimp, and another likely Berkeley student slides it on the counter seconds later, packaged into a paper bag. I hand her a ten dollar bill, and I am given my change. She tells me to have a good night, and I tell her to have one too. I take one preliminary glance around the restaurant, and head back to my hotel room back at the Holiday Inn across the street. Back on the streets, the couple is still snuggled on the bench, wrapped up in a warm embrace. I only smile, and turn my head to leave them with privacy. They are in love. end (1/9) TITLE: The Long and Winding Road (2/9) AUTHOR: Abbey R. Chandler E-MAIL: abbey_rhode@hotmail.com (see the first part for additional information) * * * * * * * * August 23rd, 1983 People always look at me when I'm walking. It doesn't fail. It's as if being pregnant is a rare form of life. My mother tells me that it's because I look like I'm 11 years old. That's not my fault that the only casual attire that they sell for petite pregnant women are overalls. There is the option of stretchy pants, but they make my thighs look weird. My dad is still furious with me, and especially with Alex. I can respect that. I have to. I know I've let him down. I can respect that as well. But he has to respect my decision to keep this baby. If I were to go down to an abortion clinic, I could never forgive myself. Charlie and Missy are supporting me. I've been on the phone with the both of them a lot, because they're always checking up on me. They've got a bet going on about the gender. Missy's stuck on a nephew, and Charlie is set on a niece. I haven't told dear old Bill yet. He's at sea right now, and I wouldn't dream of disturbing him for something he would only chew my head off for. My mother seems to support me. She's always telling me that she knows that I'm strong, and that I have made the right decision. She has faith in me. She's the reason why I continue to carry the baby. She's the reason why I have decided to keep it. Because she has faith in me. When I went home one night after having dinner with my mom, I began to think, and I realized that she had Bill in 1960, and in 1960, she was 19 years old. I am going to another doctor's appointment. I am walking there, since it is only a few blocks away, and people are staring. I don't care. Let them think I am eleven. I can't help but smile. Today I'm supposed to find out the baby's gender. To be totally honest, I'm hoping it's a girl. Alex is hoping for a boy, but he said it didn't really matter to him, just as long as it is healthy. He surprises me. When we first began to date, I had my doubts and suspicions about him. Because of his dark, and mysterious complex, I made several of assumptions about him. Alex Krycek as a fatherly figure was definitely not under one of those assumptions. I suppose that Alex Krycek is just a bundle of surprises. He's supposed to meet me at the hospital. He had to come straight from work, and has to return right after the appointment. I slowly run my hand down my abdomen in a circle as I approach the elevator. Inside the elevator, there are is a variety of people, ranging from a variety of ages. Some are doctors, some could be patients, and far in the back corner is another pregnant woman. Our eyes lock, and I smile back at her. She's has to be between 25 and 30. I bet she doesn't get stares as she walks through Annapolis. The elevator beeps to signal my floor, and I have to squeeze by the doctors and other patrons to get off. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the woman in the back doing the same. This floor has an earthy feel to it. There are several of greens and blues, and browns as I walk down the corridor, and to the offices. Behind the desk stands a woman with mousy brown hair, and thin blue eyes. She smiles weakly at me, and asks for my name. "Dana Scully. I'm here to see Dr. Gallagher." A different smile forms across her face as she nods. "Your husband is in there with her." My husband? "I don't have a husband." The attendant shrugs nonchalantly. "Dr. Gallagher is the fourth door to your left." I thank her with the little effort, and charge off towards her office. I knock first before I hear Dr. Gallagher's voice telling me to come in. So I do. And sure enough, Alex is sitting directly across from her. She is leaning on the desk, and he is leaning back in his chair. They both look towards me, and I take a seat next to Alex. "How are you doing today, Dana?" "I'm okay." "Good." She smiles, and crosses her leg over her lap. "How are you feeling?" "Better. The morning sickness has been very rare lately." "That's good." She asks me a couple more questions about my back, and my breasts, about my eating habits, and then about my sex drive. Alex chuckles when I stumble over the word 'intercourse.' But then she leads us into the examination room, and orders for me to pull down the flap on my overalls, and push up my white T-shirt to expose my stomach. She tells me to lie back on the bed after I'm done. I do what she asks, with Alex watching me. He talks the entire time about some names, and I listen attentively, because I really have nothing else I can say. He has limited his suggestions down to a list of five. Robert seems to be up there, along with Chaunecy, Pembrooke, Thatcher and Clayton. I finally comment about his choice of names, and poke at the first four names. I know that the fifth is his middle name, which isn't so bad. If it was going to be a boy. But I know it's going to be a girl. I just do. Call it a hunch, or a mother's intuition, but I know. So I tell him my five choices, which happen to be: Kennedy, Janeane, Stella, Zoe, and Tabitha. He begins to protest to my names, but the door rattles from the impact of somebody's fist. Dr. Gallagher enters the examination room, with her lab coat on, and a pair of latex gloves covering her hands. She begins by smearing a cold, jelly-like substance on my stomach, and I squeal from the shock. Alex chuckles, and then squeezes my hand. After a few minutes of adjusting her equipment, she places these plastic paddles on my stomach. I gasp when I see the picture of my- our baby on the monitor. There is a grand smile across his face as he watches the monitor. "Do you want to know the sex?" "Yes," we both answer instantaneously. "It's a girl." Alex bends his neck down to kiss the middle of my forehead, and I can do nothing more than close my eyes. * * * * * * * * October 5th, 1999 There was a police car in front of the house when I pulled up to the driveway. I had to take slow breaths in and out while walking up to the porch. I extended my hand to ring the door bell, and almost seconds later, a male came to the door, who was dressed in dark blue jeans, and a comfortable blue oxford shirt. "Are you Special Agent Scully?" I nod my head, and produce my badge for him. He nods back, and stepps aside so I can pass. "She's up in her room." He points, and I head up the stairs, and to her room. I can hear music from behind the door, but it's too soft to distinguish the artist, or even type. I bring my fist down on the door twice, and take a slow breath in. The door opens, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek from crying. All of these emotions that I've had for the past 16 years are beginning to surface physically. "Hi, Zoey. I'm Special Agent Dana Scully." I pull out my badge, and show it to her carefully. "Can we talk?" She nods her head, and moves aside for me to pass. I look around her room, and she invites me to have a seat on the computer chair. She takes a seat on her bed, and grabs the remote to her stereo. 'One thing I can tell you is you've got to be free..... Come together, right now. Over me.' John Lennon wails through the speakers before she puts it on mute. "Detective Roberts said that you wanted to talk to me about my foster placement." I nodded, and folded my hands on my lap. "We have to run a couple of tests before we can..." I start before her expression drops. "What's the matter?" "Why do you have to run tests to place me into another foster home?" "DNA tests. I think that I may have found your biological mother." She flinches at my words, and I swallow the lump that's invading my throat. "They tried that 13 years ago after I was taken. Why should it work now?" Her blue eyes fix on mine, and I have to close my eyes momentarily. She pushes back her dark, wavy auburn hair into a makeshift ponytail. I try looking up at her, and I finally gain the composure I once had. "Maybe they didn't try hard enough." * * * * * * * * * October 5th, 1983 We've decided on the name Rory. Rory is the feminine form of Robert. Melissa likes it. My mother thinks it's strange. Charlie is all for it. My dad thinks it sounds to masculine. And Bill doesn't have an opinion, because Bill still doesn't know. I like it. Rory. It's lucid and humble. Rory Arabella Krycek-Scully. Yes. Krycek-Scully. We won't be married until after Rory is born. Married. That's a big step. I don't know if I'm ready for it. Which is ironic, because I know I'm ready for motherhood. I've been preparing for it for the past five months. I've read every book possible out there on being a new mother. I've taken a new-motherhood class at the town hall. I even quit smoking. Yep. When I found out about Rory, I threw my pack of cigarettes in the garbage, and haven't picked up one since. I'm very proud of myself. I want the best for my daughter. I want to be the mother that I know I'm capable of being, even at 19 years old. I jump, and scream when I feel two arms encircle my waist, and warm lips at the base of my neck. I realize it's Alex when he chuckles against my neck. "Asshole," I say as a statement. He nods his head, and rubs his hands over my stomach. "Scardy-cat." I tilt my head backwards, and lean it against his forehead. "Where have you been all day?" I ask curiously. "At my parents." "Happy Birthday." "Thank you." His lips trail towards my ear, and he leaves a sloppy kiss in the inner shell of my ear. I arch back into his embrace. "Love you," he tells me firmly. I have to pause and think about that. I've repeated those words before, why should it be any different? "I love you too." * * * * * * * * October 5th, 1999 She sits in the passenger seat. We've managed to catch 5 PM traffic on the bridge. Jesus, and I thought DC traffic was bad. She hasn't spoken since we left the hospital. By the way that she looks at me, I think she's afraid of me. She has to know that I fear her the most. She scares me. She scares the shit out of me. What would happen she was really my daughter? Would she even want to accept that? How would I tell my mother? It was traumatic on her when Rory was taken. How would I even begin to explain to Mulder that I was once married to his greatest enemy? I was married to the person whom he despises the most. I married a murderer. I married the man who murdered his father. I sighed, and she looked over at me, and blinked twice. "You know my mother, don't you." It wasn't a question. It was a statement. "Yes." "Did you know me before I was kidnapped?" "Yes," I reply meekly. "Can I ask you some questions?" "Of course." "What is my real name? The one that appears on my birth certificate?" "Rory Arabella." "How did you know my mother?" She asks bluntly. And what shall I say? Should I lie? Should I tell her the truth? Should I- The shrill sound of my cell phone calls to my attention. She reaches inside the glove box, only to hand it to me. I thank her, and answer it. "Hi, Mulder." There was a slight pause before he broke the silence with his sleepy-tone voice. "How'd you know it was me?" "Who else would it be?" He chuckled softly, and instantly, that sound brought a smile across my face. "Are you still in California?" "Yeah. But I think Wednesday might be pushing it, Mulder. Um- I think I'm going to have to take the entire week off." "The entire week? What exactly are you doing there?" "I already told you." He makes a humming sound, and I suddenly have this towering desire to wrap my hands around his neck. I can't stand it when he makes odd sounds after I've said something. "Okay. Are you sure?" "Mulder-" "Okay. Fine. I believe you." "Have you got any new cases?" "Oh- yeah, that's what I called you about." "Did you get it from Skinner?" "No. It's not really an X-File. Two girls were found dead in a sewer. It appears as if the manner in which they were murdered was executioner style." "What does that have to do with you? Why are you investigating it?" "Diana asked if I could help. Since your not back, I figured that I could spend a couple of days in the VCS." Oh. Diana. How lovely for him. "That's wonderful. I have to go now. It's difficult to listen to you, and drive through heavy traffic." I pressed the off button, and threw the phone against the cushions of the back seat. "Sanctimonious dickhead," I muttered under my breath, just before realizing that I wasn't alone in the car. Her lips were curled up into a half-smile as she turned to face me. "Was that your partner?" she asked curiously. "Yeah." "Do you get along well?" "Sometimes," I replied truthfully. "I don't remember it very well because I was real little, but my mom worked for the FBI, and she hated her partner." Her mom. "Did they not get along?" "No. I still recall her screaming at him over the phone. I would just sit and watch her." "I don't mean to be rude- but when did your mom leave?" "You're not being rude. She died when I was six. I only knew her for three years, so I really wasn't that emotionally attached to her. I didn't get the chance to know her, since she was always away on her cases." I must have my facts all screwed up, because I could have sworn that Alex said that her foster mother disappeared. * * * * * * * * November 25th, 1983 "Your brother is going to be here. I just know it." "Stop worrying. I told you, he's at sea," I shot back as he pulled into my parent's street. "He's going to kill me." "He's not even-" I began to protest loudly before he parked on the curb of my parent's house. "He's here," I said emptily, gazing at his car parked right next to my sisters. "I told you. I think that we should go back-" he began before the screen door swung open. He groaned, and I watched Melissa come out with Charlie. They charged towards the car, and opened my side of the door. "Bill's here," Melissa proclaimed. "I know," I grumbled. "Has anybody told him yet?" "Oh no. We're waiting for you to do that." "I won't have to tell him once he sees me." "Yeah. I'm sorry," Charlie said in a mock-tone as he tilted his head to the side. "Maybe I should go," Alex offered up suddenly. I shook my head, and turned to him. "No. You shouldn't have to. I want you to stay." He simply nodded his head. With a sigh, I hoisted myself out of the seat of the car, and stretched my arms out. Bill has always been protective of me. Actually, overprotective. From the first time I've ever made friends with somebody of the opposite gender, he's always been watching like a protective hawk. I didn't start to mind it until my sophomore year of high school when Bill *accidentally* walked in on my boyfriend and I, whose head was buried between my breasts at the time. In some retrospect, the situation was almost comical because of the way Billy's face seemed to light up like stadium lights. It was also partly funny the way Jeremy's head retracted back from my chest like a spring, and the way Bill caught his head, and threw him to the ground. Bill hollered a couple of special verbs and adjectives at Jeremy as he ran from our house. I saw him a couple of times across campus, and he always managed to duck away from me, and disappear into the crowds of people. It's been like that ever since. Before, when I had close guy friends, I thought it was nice that my big brother would watch after me. and protect me. But after Jeremy, it kept on getting worse, and it was a nightmare. One after the other, Bill would *inadvertently* manage to walk in on something private that my boyfriend and I would be doing. It didn't matter what it was. If it involved hands or mouths, Bill would throw a tantrum, and scare them off. And when they weren't scared the first time, Bill would bully them. About a year ago, in the middle of my senior year, I was all alone at home with my boyfriend, Marcus. My parents, and my little brother were halfway across the country visiting my grandmother; Melissa was in New York with a couple of friends. I didn't think that Bill would be an issue, since it was a Friday night, and he lived in his own apartment. I had made dinner for Marcus, and I was rubbing some menthol oil on his shoulders, because he got tackled pretty hard during football practice. One thing lead to the next, and we were doing it in front of the fire he had made, on my parents' fur blanket. The door was locked, and Bill had a key. We didn't hear him at first, but we eventually did when the load of laundry he brought dropped to the ground with an audible plop. That time, Bill didn't say anything. He didn't yell, he didn't scream, and he didn't resort to violence. He looked down at me, and left. Marcus scrambled into his clothes, apologized, even though he had nothing to be sorry about, thanked me for a great dinner, said he'd call me tomorrow, and he left. Later on, Bill came back, and we had a huge fight. He was yelling, I was yelling, he stomping hands and feet against walls, so was I; he was screaming, I was screaming, he threw things, I threw things, he started firing off past boyfriends and different varieties of certain activities, while I screamed more. And then he crossed the line. He called me a very foul name, and I punched him. I don't mean any old punch, I mean a punch so hard, he flew backwards from the force, and broke my mom's rocking chair from the acceleration. The house was a mess. Shards of broken wood were scattered amongst the floor, magazines, books and remote controls were strewn about in the act of trying to hit each other. Bill left shortly after I punched him, leaving me to clean up all of the mess. I cried that night, because he made me made me feel like I was nothing. Bill had been on my side up until then. He always defended me, always protected me, and when he accused me of being a whore, it felt like I was empty inside. Our relationship changed that night. He didn't hold the same respect for me as he once did. Since then, he's always been looming over my life like a sordid shadow. And since then, I've always seen him as a fatherly figure. Someone who won't go away, even though he's trying to help. He's a phantom over me. He used to be a friend, and a brother, but now he's a headache. Alex and I walk behind Charlie and Melissa, up into the house. My dad is there when he first go in. He slaps Alex roughly on the back, and he almost chokes as he follows Charlie up the stairs. My dad bends his head down to my forehead, and kisses it. "Your brother is here." His voice is firm. He doesn't bat an eye when I nod my head. "Nobody has told him yet." "I know." He briefly smiled, and sighed. "I'll be upstairs taking a nap if you need me, Starbuck." He marched up the stairs, and I rubbed my stomach. "Hey Charlie- the Packers are up by a touchdo-" I heard Bill shout as he walked through the threshold of the kitchen and into the foyer. He paused the minute he saw me, and his eyes widened. The can of beer that was in his grasp slipped, and bounced against the hardwood floor, and splattered down into a little river of beer. "WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!" * * * * * * * * October 6th, 1999 The TV is on, and she's watching a rerun of 'Friends' when the doorbell rings. I sit patiently as I can distinctively hear Detective Roberts answer the door, and the messenger asking for me. I knew who it was before he answered the door. She looks back at me, and puts the television on mute, while I head in the direction of the door. A tall man, holding a large manila envelope is waiting for me. "Are you Dana K. Scully?" I nod my head, and he asks me to see my drivers license. I have to run up the stairs, and retrieve my wallet from where I left it. I unfold my wallet flap, and he gazes at the card behind the plastic covering for a while. "Please sign here," he requests, while handing me a form out to me. I sign my name to the piece of paper. He nods, thanks me, and leaves. "Are those the test results?" Detective Roberts asks. I nod my head, and untack the folder. Rory- Zoey, I mean, has entered the living room, and is leaning against the frame of the entrance. Slowly, I slide both of the transparencies out of the folder. I sigh, and place of the transparencies behind each other. My lip is trembling as I gaze at the results. I can feel the pressure of my tears surging behind my eyes. I try so hard to hold them in, to hold all of the emotions back, but I can't. Tears flow freely from the corners of my eyes, and I'm shaking. My lips are squeezed together tightly. The transparencies drop from my grasp, and fall to the floor. She steps closer to me, and she is about an arm's distance away. "You're..... you're my mother.... Aren't you?" she asks quietly. TITLE: The Long and Winding Road (3/9) AUTHOR: Abbey R. Chandler E-MAIL: abbey_rhode@hotmail.com (See the first part for additional information) * * * * * * * * December 24th, 1983 I can't move. I dropped the remote control, and there's nobody here to fucking pick it up for me. I've been feeling helpless lately. That's because I've been here, on the couch watching bad talk shows. I hate talk shows. They're so pointless. But there's nothing else to watch, and nothing else to do. My mom has been joining me everyday until I decided to go and stay at their house for Christmas. Alex is with his parents, and it's kind of nice to get away from him. Sometimes I can only stand so much of one person. He has exceeded his limit. "Charlie!" I call. I think he's home. "Missy!" I think she's home too. Nobody answers, nobody comes. I still can't get that goddamned remote. I carefully rub my hand around the swell of my stomach. I cannot wait until the day that she comes out, because to be honest, I can't stand being pregnant any longer. It will be any day now until she comes out. She was supposed to come out Monday. It's now Saturday. Christmas Eve, to be exact. I have to get that remote because MASH is on, and I can't stand it. Slowly, I scoot off to the edge of the couch, and inch my way down to the ground. Just a little more..... Damn it! I'm on the ground. I hate this. I really hate this. "Somebody!" I yell, sounding absolutely, and utterly helpless. I jam my palms against the carpet-clad ground, and whimper. "That's a sight that you don't see everyday," a very smug, and sassy female voice says from the doorway entrance. "I knew you were here," I hiss, pointing at her. Missy smiles, and stretches her arms outwards to me. I latch onto her arms, and she pulls me up. I let go a gentle sigh of relief as my back arches backward, and ripples like a tide with a series of cracks. "I thought I heard you calling for me, but I was in the shower." "It's okay," I reassure her softly as I bend forward. "So are you up for lunch and a movie? My treat?" Oh my God. "Dana?" It's happening. "Dana!" she screams. The sound echos off of the walls like a canyon. "Homigod!" Her breathing begins to increase, as she runs up the stairs. I hear some shuffling, and the sound of her frenzied voice. Moments later, I hear the thudding of her feet tromping down the stairwell, and back into the family room. She waves her hands in the air as she notices the pool of blood around my ankles. "Oh my God! I'm gonna be an auntie!" she exclaims with glee. * * * * * * * * October 6th, 1999 "I really tried to find you." "I know that you did." She pushes her hair back, and sniffles. It's the first thing we've said to each other since we both stopped crying. After the detectives left, she sank to her knees, and cried. I cried too, because she was crying. So we cried together. It was something we both needed to do together. She rubs her palms flatly down her face, and sighs. "I know that this doesn't mean much now- but I'm so sorry," I whisper. I run my hand down the back of her head, and she looks up into my eyes. Her beautiful hazel eyes are red, and puffy. She shakes her head. "Tell me what happened. Please?" I lick the side of my lip, where a tear has fallen. "Are you sure?" She nods again. "I need to know." * * * * * * * * December 24th, 1983 "Oh my God!" my mother enters my hospital room, and her eyes widen. I an only smile. She wraps her arms around me in a warm embrace, and presses a gentle kiss on the top of my head. "I saw her. She's an angel." I nod my head. "Yes she is," I answer back. My mom takes a seat, and begins to pat down the matted auburn strands of hair. My hair is sweat-slicken, and I am pale. I look like a sodden mouse. "Where's Daddy?" "He was in Virginia Beach, but I phoned him. He's trying to get back as fast as he can." "Where's Alex?" "With Melissa in the nursery." "Charlie?" "At work. He'll be here in about a half an hour." I paused before even thinking about asking my next question. "And Bill?" She licks her lips, and sighs. "He's not coming." All I can do is nod. But my lip is trembling. "Oh, Dana," she whispers before tilting her head to the side, to kiss my temple. I can't help it. I cry. I cry because I hate how he makes me feel. I hate the power that he holds over me. I hate the way that he thinks. I hate the fact that I have a dick for an older brother. "Dana, don't cry," she says softly, stroking my hair. "I hate him," I manage to muffle in between sobs. "I hate him." "I know, sweetheart." She kisses my forehead. "I hate him too." I smile in between the tears, and wipe them from my face. "I still can't believe that I'm a grandma now." A new smile forms across my face, as I squeeze her hand. "I still can't believe I'm a mommy now." "You're going to make a wonderful mom, Dana." "I hope so," I say softly, as I absently play with the hem of my blanket. She sighs, and throws her hands into the air. "I have a Christmas Eve Grandbaby. I still can't get over that fact." "Yeah. A Christmas Eve Baby." * * * * * * * * October 7th, 1999 Outside, the sun was nowhere to be seen. The clouds were invading the sky, and the wind was blowing hard enough to knock a grown man off of his feet. It was a day in the life of Edgar Allen Poe, or Emily Dickinson. It was almost dark enough to be night. "Dana!" I hear a feminine voice call from upstairs. I immediately run to the call, and see her struggling to close a window that is forcefully opened by the stamina, and might of the wind. I run to the window, and we both manage to close the window, and lock it. "Thank you," she sighs, her breath slightly ragged. "I'm almost done packing." "Zoey, I've been thinking." I pause to formulate what it was that I wanted to say. "I don't want to push you into moving to Georgetown with me. I mean, I really didn't give you an option. I know that your grandparents are still alive. It wasn't fair of me to assume that you wanted to live with me." "Dana, I've been looking for you for my entire life. I've been hoping that you would find me. I hated the fact that I didn't know where I came from, who I was, and how I came to be the person I am now. My disappearance has always haunted me." She took an opportunity to push her hair back from her face. "I want to start everything over, and I want to move to Georgetown, and I want you to be the mother that you didn't get the chance to be." Zoey's tongue swipes across her lips, as she shrugs. "That is, if you haven't changed your mind." I move across the room, and we hug. God damn it. If I ever get the chance to meet the asshole who took her from my life, I swear to the heavens up above that I will strangle him with my bare hands. "Of course I haven't," I tell her softly. "I just wanted to make sure that this is what you really want. I wanted to give you the option." "I'd also like the change my last name." She swallows nervously, and steps out of my embrace. "I know this sounds, odd, but Zoey Monteraux is dead. She died with her dad. Now that this new revelation has come into my life, it's almost like a rebirth." I can only smile, and nod slowly as a sign that I know exactly what she means. "I understand." "So is it possible to get my last name changed back to Scully?" I feel two tears of joy fall down my face, as I nod. "Yeah. I can take care of it." She smiles, and I notice that her own eyes have the tell-tale signs of tears brimming around the edges. "Let me help you pack," I add. She nods her head solemnly, grabs the night stand drawer, and dumps it out on the outspread comforter on her bed. There are tapes, CD covers, books, a couple candles, and some picture frames that have been turned down from the fall. She starts with the first photograph, and flips it around. It's a picture of a little Zoey, a man and a woman. The man is semi-tan, and has loose brown hair. Brim-wire glasses hang loosely on the bridge of his nose. When I study the woman, I think that I am bound to faint. "Who is that?" I ask instantly, pointing to the woman in the photograph. "Diane. My foster mother." "The one that died when you were six?" She nods her head, and then her eyebrow arches upwards. "Why?" I shake my head, and my eyes inadvertently slip shut. I bring my palms up to cradle my face. "Dana- what's wrong?" I groan out loud, and ball my fists up as tight as I can. God damn it, I knew it. I fucking knew it. "I know who she is, Zoey, and believe me, she isn't dead." * * * * * * * * June 29th, 1985 He lied to me. He's been lying to me this entire time. Since the beginning, since day one. He's told me nothing but lies. How do I even know that his real name is Alex? I married a stranger. I slept with a stranger. My daughter's father is a stranger. I don't know him. I don't know him at all. He's a liar. A cheater. A murderer. He's my husband. What have I done? He doesn't know that I know about him, yet. He isn't aware of the knowledge that I have about him. How could I be so fucking stupid? How could I be so blind? How could I not know about what he really is? Two hours ago, I was down by at the marina with my dad, at his house boat. He went down the stairs the check up on the engine. I was simply gazing around, and I saw a black limousine pull up. He got out of the car, as well as two other men. I knew that my eyes hadn't deceived me, because of what he was wearing at the time. I saw what he was wearing when he went into work this morning. Or where ever the hell he went this morning. I saw him talking with one of the men. The other, older man, stood next to Alex, holding a cigarette in his hand. The man was pleading with him, and he was down on his knees. I didn't know what exactly was going on, until Alex pulled out a gun from his jacket, and shot him twice. In the head. I had to bite my lip, and use both of my hands to cover my mouth to prevent myself from screaming. He looked to the left, and to the right, to make sure nobody was around, and then he kicked the body into the water. Alex turned to the other man as if nothing happened, and pulled out his phone. I went downstairs, and cried in the bathroom. What have I done? I married a murderer. There's a part of my brain that's trying to convince me that it was somebody who looked incredibly like him. Maybe it was. Maybe I'm overreacting, and that person who I saw down by the docks wasn't Alex. Then I witnessed a murder. I had to breath slowly as I processed all of this information all at once. It was too much to understand. It was too much that I wanted to understand. I rubbed the bridge of my nose, in hopes that the ringing in my head would disappear. Oh. But it wasn't ringing in my head. It was my daughter's cry of attention. I quickly ran across the kitchen, and into the family room, where she was trying so very hard to remove her boots from her feet. A pliant laughter escaped my lips as I caught the expression across her face. "Rory," I mumble, as I grab her off of the ground, and lifrt her into the air. "Mommy," she says confidently, as we both sit down on the couch. I grace the top of her head with a gentle kiss, and slowly begin to unlace the strings that are attached. Rory is able to say eleven different words. Mommy. Daddy. Crayon. Applesauce. Juice. ChochaChip. Down. Up. Ernie. Pease. Missa. Missa was Melissa. Pease is Please. She can't quite get the "L" in there yet. She only knows Melissa's name, because she appears in a lot of phone conversations in the duration of her feeding time, and she spends a whole bunch of time with her as well. In fact, I believe that she will go over there tonight while I have a talk with daddy. Lastly, Ernie is her favorite character on Sesame Street. She gets very excited when Ernie appears across the TV screen. "There," I say triumphantly after I finish working at her shoes. She kisses me gratuitously, and throws her shoes over at the other side of the couch. "Down," she says quietly. I grab her waist, and carefully set her down on the carpet. She crawls over towards the TV, and clasps her hands together as she focuses her attention back on the rerun of Scooby Doo. A heavy sigh escapes my lips, as I pick up the phone, and punch in Melissa's number quickly. It was a matter of seconds before I heard the click of the line, and her subtle, and satiny voice. "Hey, it's me. I need a favor, Missy." "Depends on what it is, Day." "Can you watch Rory?" I asked her softly, the timbre of my voice escalating into a more desperate sounding tone. "Of course. Why? Big plans with your husband?" There is sarcasm in her voice. "Yep. Something like that." * * * * * * * * October 8th, 1999 "Ms. Scully, I understand that you've attempted to adopt, prior to Zoey." She looks down at her file, and her eyebrow arches upwards. "She was your daughter too." Zoey's social worker folds her hands on the table in front of her. "Tell me, Ms. Scully. How is it possible for one to lose both of their children, and want them back?" I sigh loudly, and tuck a strand of my hair behind my ears. "Zoey was taken from her bedroom when she was three years old. I tried searching up until I found her. I tried so hard, you couldn't even begin to imagine how hard, Ms. Peters. That's why I joined the FBI. On a whim, I was hoping that by some chance she would turn up in one of my case loads. I tried." I shake my head angrily. "And Emily... She's a special exception." "Why is that?" "Emily wasn't born under any natural circumstances. She was created in a lab. I wasn't aware of her existence until I stumbled across a case involving her foster mother. Emily's mother was murdered, and her father was soon taken into custody under suspicion. He committed suicide, and Emily was placed in protective care. That's when I tried to adopt Emily." "I'm not understanding you, Mrs. Scully. How is it that Emily is your daughter, and you weren't aware of her? And how was she created in a lab?" I briefly take the opportunity to rub my eyes with my left hand. I feel as if my eyes are on fire. I don't want to get into full detail with this woman, because she doesn't need to know what my innermost secrets are. She has no right to intrude on this, but I know that if I wanted her to even consider me as an adoption candidate, I would have comply with her orders. "My ova was used against my consent a cruel experiment that some men conducted. Emily was the product of one of those experiments." "What men, Ms. Scully?" I shrug. "I was abducted a couple of years ago by those men. Nobody knows who they are. They just exist, hiding with in the levels of the government, and the FBI." Her expression reads as if she is freaked out by the information I have given her. That was the last of my intentions. The last thing I want to do is scare off this woman. She removes her glasses, and begins to clean them off with her breath, and the cloth on her sleeve. "Your job requires a lot of your attention." "Yes, it does. But not enough where it would be impossible to spend time with Zoey. I can work around it, and take a cut from work if that's what it takes, Ms. Peters. I have every intention to care for Zoey with the best of my ability." "I understand that Emily was a special care child, and that was why you were denied permission to adopt her." "That's correct. But Zoey isn't a special care, 4 year old. Zoey is 15 years old, and very healthy." "I'm not going to lie to you, Ms. Scully. Your lifestyle is not recommended when your applying for adoption, but since you are her birth mother, the courts will have no choice other than to grant you permission to adopt Zoey." She scratches the side of her chin. "But I can assure you that social workers in Maryland will continue to check up on Zoey, making sure that your lifestyle isn't jeopardizing her health, education, or well-being." I nod slowly, while reveling with this piece of information. I'm going to be a mother again. And when I get back to Washington, I'm going to have a chat with Special Agent Fowley. * * * * * * * * June 29th, 1985 "Dana, I'm home!" I hear after the door shuts behind. "Dana?" he calls out, before stopping as he notices me on the couch. He smiles, but it quickly fades when he notices the seriousness of my expression. "Have a seat, Alex." "Dana?" "Have a seat." He flinches, and then takes a seat next to me. I have no other option than to turn to face him. "I don't want you to lie to me. I want you to tell me the truth, Alex." "What is this about?" "Where were you today?" I can already detect the uneasiness in his expression; the way his nose twitched, and the way that he opened his mouth to say something, but stopped short. "I was at work." "Work." I sigh heavily. "Dana?" "I saw you, Alex." My tone is stern. I look up and I know that tears are falling from my eyes because I can feel the familiar burning in my eyes. I feel the wet path that the tears leave behind as it falls down my cheek. His shit-eating expression falls, and he looks bewildered, and frightened at the same time. I glare at him, until he sees right through me. He knows what I saw. He can see it through my eyes, I know. I see the dismay, and the fear through his brown eyes. It was him. He is the one. I manage to tear my gaze away from him. "How?" His eyes fix back on mine. "Why?" He takes in a deep breath in, and shakes his head. "I don't know what to say." "Neither do I, Alex." I grab my purse off of the coffee table, and slam the door on my way out. * * * * * * * * October 9th, 1999 I had time to think during the flight back to Dulles. I thought about my mother, Mulder, Zoey, and of course, Diana Fowley. Diana Fowley was the key to all of this. That picture was all the proof that I needed. I just can't believe that she.... There are a couple of things that still continue to leave me in bafflement. I'm not sure why, or how she plays into Zoey's disappearance, because she didn't meet Mulder until three years after she was Zoey's... foster mother.... Maybe Diana Fowley was actually married to Zoey's foster dad, and actually loved him. Maybe Diana Fowley has nothing to do with her disappearance. Or maybe her foster father was just as much a part of her disappearance as Diana. Or maybe I'm just paranoid. And then, I know that I'm in up to my knees in shit when Mulder finds out about Zoey. I can almost feel the fight that will come on. And I don't blame him. First of all, I really should have told Mulder about Alex that night after he brought him to me during the autopsy. But I didn't. I feared that Mulder would lose my trust if I told him about our previous marriage, and our daughter. It just would have been for the best if I told him first. Now I fear Mulder turning to the arms of Diana Fowley, and seeking the trust that was lost through me. My mother. She's an entirely different story. I can still remember that one fateful night that we discovered that Rory was no longer in her crib. She was so reluctant to face the truth. Or to deal with the truth. She refused to believe that she was missing. Out of everybody, my mother took her disappearance the hardest. That night, part of my mother died. Bringing Rory, or Zoey, back into her life could possibly bring that part of her back to life. "Dana?" I suddenly hear from the left. I turn to face her and she folds her hands in front of her on her lap. "You never told me about Diane," she says quietly; she points to the picture. "What do you want to know about her?" I ask her softly. "You said that she wasn't dead." "No. She's not. She's very much alive, in fact." "Why would my dad lie to me? Why would she leave?" "I think that maybe your dad was only trying to protect you. Maybe he felt that you couldn't deal with it. Maybe he couldn't deal with it himself. As for her leaving-" I shook my head. "I don't know why anybody would want to leave you." She closed her eyes, as she anticipated the kiss I softly planted on her forehead. I don't know what came over me, but it was something that I felt compelled to do. It was a giant step I took, and she embraced it. "Do you think she has anything to do with my disappearance?" I shook my head. "I hope not, Zoey." TITLE: The Long and Winding Road (4/9) AUTHOR: Abbey R. Chandler E-MAIL: abbey_rhode@hotmail.com (See the first part for additional information) * * * * * * * * July 4th, 1985 Fireworks slammed through the sky with intensity and burst into miniature pieces of light, astonishing and amazing bystanders. The air was filled with the rich aroma of barbecue sauce. My dad put barbecue sauce on everything he grilled. It didn't matter if it was chicken or a piece of bell pepper from a shishkabob. It was a way of life we all learned to accept way before when we were all little. My father, and a couple of my uncles are hovering over the grill, with his spatula, and a bottle of my dad's special-made barbecue sauce. A group of women, including my three aunts, my mother, and my grandmother are camped out a couple of feet away from my dad. Charlie, Bill, and a couple of my cousins are playing football all the way by the field. My little cousin Erica is down at the lake with her boyfriend, and God only knows what those two are doing. And Missy, my cousin Natalie, and I are sitting on a blanket, and they're both playing with Rory. Missy is curious about Alex, but she doesn't ask yet. She's been out of town in Boston up until yesterday night, and I was staying at her apartment. She knows that I'd prefer to discuss this issue in private, with out Natalie. Natalie is great, and wonderful, mind you, but my issue with my husband is nothing that she needs to know. Rory points in the direction of the park. Natalie asks if she can take Rory over to the park, and I give her my permission. She's off with my daughter in a moment, and Melissa cocks her head to the side. "So- are you going to tell me why you've been at my apartment for the past few days?" I take in a deep breath, and nod. Melissa leans forward, and runs a hand down my left arm. "Tell me, Day. I'm worried about you." "We're having a lot of problems." "How serious is this?" "I went to go see an attorney yesterday." She gasps in surprise, and covers her mouth instantly. "Dana," she whispered, as she gazes around the park. "I married a murderer, Melissa." * * * * * * * * October 9th, 1999 The sound of my fists against the large metal door made a slight rattling sound. Soon after my knock, Langley's head appears in the video screen directly above the door. "Let me in, Langly." "Byers is on his way." Seconds later, the door is answered, and a cheery-faced, clean-cut Byers stands in the threshold. "Come in, Scully." I make my way past Byers. He escorts me up the stairwell, and into the lab. "What can we do for you, Foxy Mama?" Frohike asks with a clandestine grin plastered across his little face. "A lot, hopefully." I take a deep breath in and out. "I have to tell you something that I haven't told anybody. Not even Mulder. You have my trust, gentlemen." They all look around curiously at each other, and nod their head. "I have a daughter. I had her before I even thought about the FBI, before I even knew about the X-Files. I had her when I was 19, but she disappeared from her crib when she was three years old." They all have the same empathetic expression across their faces. I take the opportunity to smile, and then proceeded. "But here's the hook, Gentleman. Get ready to shit in your pants, because my ex-husband, is Alex Krycek." Frohike falls from his chair, and lands on the hardwood floor with a loud thud. Langly fires off a series of harsh coughs, and Byers' eyes widen. "What?" Frohike exclaims. I reach into the depths of my pocket, and slide a photograph of the three of us across the table, and stop in the middle. Langly is the first to snatch the photograph from the middle. His jaw drops at the sight of the photo. Both Byers and Frohike spring towards him, and loom over his shoulder, like a pair of hungry wolfs. "So you all know my deep dark secret that I have. Now, this is where I need your help, gentlemen." They all tore their gazes from the photo, and they settled upon me. "I found my daughter, who was living in Berkeley with her late adoptive father. He was killed in a head on car collision. Her adoptive mother disappeared in 1989. I didn't think much of it, until I got a glimpse of her in an old picture." I remove the picture of Zoey, Diana and her father from my pocket, and slide it to the middle. Langly stretches his arms out, and grabs it. The two of them anxiously look down, and three different sets of startled gasps escape from their mouths. "That's right. Diana Fowley seems to play a part in this, and I want to know who the hell this woman is. Apparently, she went by the name Diane Monteraux, before 1989." "Oh- Scully," Byers says softly. "I'm so sorry," he adds. "I have a very big feeling that Alex Krycek didn't come into my life 17 years ago by accident, and the fact that Zoey's foster mother is Diana Fowley is not a coincidence as well." * * * * * * * * November 5th, 1985 The wooden gavel slammed against the wooden pallet, and my eyes slipped shut from the boisterous sound ricocheting through the court room. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I knew it was my mother. I looked up to see her impressionable face staring back at me. "We'll meet you back at home, okay?" I nod my head slowly, as if time were at a standstill. She tugs on my father's arm, and leads him away. Melissa gives me one final glance, before disappearing. My eyes lock on his. He looks down, and then back up at me, before crossing the space between us. "I'm sorry. I know this doesn't mean anything- but I'm sorry. For everything, Dana." I nod slowly, pushing my self up from the desk. "So am I, Alex. So am I." * * * * * * * * October 10th, 1999 "It seems as if Special Agent Diane Coleene Monteraux disappeared off the face of the Earth. It was last recorded when she used her Master Card to purchase a direct flight from the San Francisco International Airport, to JFK, on December 27th, 1989. After that, nobody heard from her, nobody ever saw her again," Langly said, folloing a sigh. "Diana Elizabeth Fowley seemed to appear in the Washington DC area when she first used her credit card at the DC Mariot on January 4th, 1990. She moved into an apartment in Arlington, and lived there for two years. She worked with Mulder for a year and a half, until February 19th, 1992, she was last seen outside her apartment by a neighbor, and vanished. Evidently, she told Mulder that she was offered a job in Europe, and the next day, she disappeared. She hasn't been heard of since she came back to the DC area," Byers informs us. "Well, I ran a finger print check on her prints that I found in the FBI data base. Two different alias popped up as possible matches. Diana Fowley was number one, Diane Monteraux showed up as number two, followed by Dyan Miller, and Deidree Fawcett." "Damn it. I knew it." * * * * * * * * December 31st, 1986 I've been husband-free for over a year now. Since I have full custody over Rory, I haven't seen much of my ex-husband. All he has to do is come over, and he can see Rory, but he hasn't made the effort as often as I thought. It's kind of strange. The enthusiasm he unmasked during my pregnancy, and the lack of participation he has in his daughter's life now makes me think. Or maybe it's just for the best. I mean, he pays his child support with punctuality, and usually adds a little extra into the check. A couple of months before the divorce, we had an argument about what I saw that day by the marina. He professed that all of it was true. All of the names I called him, all of the thoughts and suspicions I had about him- they were all true. He told me that he had been working with this certain group of people ever since he got out of high school, and even if he tried, he wouldn't be able to leave. I began to cry, and he tried to comfort me, but I wouldn't let him. I wouldn't let him touch me. That night I told him I wanted a divorce. I felt betrayed, abandoned, and violated. How dare he. How dare he falsify the truth. How dare he let me believe all of his lies. The thought still makes me so angry. I told him that he could see his daughter if he came by, and I was there. He got mad because he couldn't see his own daughter with out supervision, but he didn't make an argument about it. Since last year, he's been by a total of once a month. Once a month for 1 to 2 hours. What the hell is that? If I lost my daughter to my ex-husband, I would move into his apartment building, and I would be over there every chance I got. My thoughts drift away as my date puts his arm around my shoulders, and pulls me into him. I smile weakly up at him, and sigh. It's just another year gone by. I overhear some girl talking about her resolution to get married this year. What are my resolutions? I suppose that it was a miracle that I got my bachelors in science. I also believe it's a bigger miracle that I got accepted into a respectable medical school. One of my resolutions is to secure my strength. I need it for the rest of *single* motherhood, and med school at the same time. Another resolution would be to stand up to Bill. He's continuously on my case about how I failed. I'd like to throw him back one just as good, and I'd like to tell him that I am so sick of his bull shit. I sigh as I think that it's just another year gone by. * * * * * * * * October 9th, 1999 She's a lying, deceiving bitch. I knew it. I fucking knew it. I just had no idea that her involvement went as deep as that. God damn it, I'm going to have a few words with Diana. Diane. Dyan. Deidree. Who ever she really is. I have to take deep breaths in and out to restrain my anger. I am so furious that I actually felt sorry for this woman. I am so furious that I actually believed Mulder when he sided with Diana. Diane. Dyan. Deidree. Whatever. How far does this actually go? How far was I pulled in? How far did they go? Since I found out about her other *personalities, I've tried to rack my brain for possible places that I could have seen her from, right before Zoey's disappearance. Maybe she was the one who took her. Before abandoning my daughter, that bitch pretended to be her mother for years, and she tried to take the X-Files from me. My foot presses down on the accelerator as my anger elevates. How stupid could I be? How I could I not know? I reach for my cell phone on the cushion of my passenger seat. I punch in the familiar set of numbers that dials my home number. There are three rings before she answers. "Hello," she says ethereally into the receiver. "It's Dana. I was just checking up on you, making sure you're okay." "I'm fine. Have you talked with Diane yet?" "Nope. I had to see a couple of friends to make sure my suspicions were correct." "Were they?" "Unfortunately they were. I'll be back soon." "Okay. Bye." "Bye." I tuck my cell phone into the pocket of my leather jacket. She will answer me. She'll answer me, even if I have to shove the barrel of my sig down her throat. * * * * * * * * February 23rd, 1987 Today is my birthday. It is most certainly not a joyful day, however. I am not compelled to celebrate my life, if I cannot have my daughter with me. I've lost her. She's gone. Somebody took my daughter. I put her down to bed exactly one month ago, and the next morning, she was nowhere to be found. Nowhere to be seen. She was gone. She disappeared. I accused Alex of taking her. I went to his apartment, broke in, and he was astonished to see me. He was sitting at his coffee table with a dirty blonde woman sitting across from him. I yelled, of course. I yelled. I screamed. I cried. I pushed him. He tried to calm me down, and he told me over and over again that he had no idea where she was. After hearing it over and over from his mouth, and inspecting his apartment, I had no other choice than to believe him. We both went down to the police department after he gave me a sedative to calm me down. I started to cry, and he was there. He stood by he, held me, and I believe that tears formed across his face. I was so confused. I had no idea where my baby girl was. I wanted her back, and she was gone. They came to my apartment to dust for fingerprints, and of course, they came up with nothing. I was left standing in the dust. For a week, I refused to come out of my apartment until she was found. My mother was there for that entire week. We sat by the phone, waiting for the detectives to call. We watched bad soap operas together, ate together, read together, and cried together. She was my shoulder. My only source of comfort. I don't know what I would have done with out her. Since then, I can only pray that she will turn up, safe and alive. She's been gone for a month, and there is nothing I can do about it. "Dana," I hear from above. My sister is hovering above me, holding a single cupcake, with one candle in it. She offers me a sheepish smile, and then she shrugs. "Happy birthday," she tells me softly, while handing me the treat. I return the gesture with a fragile smile, and a nod. "Thank you." The cupcake is topped with thick cream cheese frosting, and chocolate chips that border the outline of the top. "I didn't want to make you a cake, since we both know that mom will only bring you one tonight," Melissa says softly, before lighting the candle with the fire from her lit match. "Make a wish, Day." My eyes inadvertently slip shut, and I think about it all. She knows what I am about to wish for. The wish was only inevitable. I breath in, and then back out. My breath extinguishes the flame, and she claps her hands. "Is it okay?" "I love it." I sink my teeth into the top, and chew at the cupcake. "Wow, the big 23. Is it any different from being 22?" "Yeah. My 22nd birthday was a lot happier." "I know, Day. I'm so sorry." Yeah. I know. So am I. * * * * * * * * October 9th, 1999 I had this entire battle plan all mapped out. I was going to storm up to her apartment, and demand an answer to my demanding inquiry. I was all heated up, until I passed by her apartment building, and saw Mulder. It looked as if he was carrying something in his arms. It almost looked like a bottle of- alcohol. And that's when I didn't acknowledge my quest, and moved on back to my apartment. I didn't even look back. I didn't want to know what he was doing there. I didn't care why he was there, because I had a grave hunch why he was there. I didn't realize that as I got on the freeway ramp, tears were streaming down my face. This time, my grief wasn't about my daughter. This time, it wasn't the issue. It was about Mulder, and his breach of trust. I'm not sure if I trust him very much right now. I have no reason to. He's consorting with Diana Fowley; a lying, deceitful, conniving, contemptuous, detestable, obnoxious bitch. I'm know that it wasn't his intention to cause me pain. I'm sure he knows nothing close to what I know. But the truth is, he is the secondary source for all of my pain right now. My tears are the substantial evidence of my pain. I have a right to feel this away about Diana Fowley. It's not like I hate her for no reason. Now. I have reasons. Now. Before Zoey even came back into my life, I admit that I didn't even have a reason for detesting Diana Fowley, other than the substantial evidence I had against her. The same substantial evidence that Mulder blatantly refused to believe even before I showed it to him. Damn him. Damn him, and fuck her. No. Just don't let Mulder fuck her. A ponderous sigh escapes the confines of my mouth as I pull my vehicle into it's parking spot in the garage of my apartment complex. At least I have one more hope in my life to look forward to. Zoey is parked on my couch with my thick afghan wrapped around her shoulders. She's focused on the images that are flickering across the screen. "What are you watching?" I ask her in earnest, as I hang up my leather jacket on my coat rack. "Charmed," she replies candidly. I cross the room, and move my hair into a make-shift ponytail. "What's going on in the episode?" "They went into the future, and Phoebe is about to be burned at the stake for murder." She shifts her body weight to the left, and crosses her legs into an Indian style position. "So did you talk to her?" I shake my head, and sink the upper column of my teeth into my lower lip. "I couldn't- after I saw my partner going up to her apartment to visit her." "Are you sure it was him?" I take the opportunity to pause for a moment, while I take the question into consideration. Was it really him? I saw a man who looked incredibly like him, but am I certain? Of course I am. I'd know Mulder anywhere. "Yes. I know it was him." She shifts once more to the side, and folds her hands on her lap. With a swift move of her arm, she wraps herself in the afghan, as if it was a tortilla, and she were the burrito filling. "So tell me.... what you found out about Diane?" "I have a question first.... Did she ever bring home people from work? Anybody that you remember in particular?" Zoey shakes her head. "I barley knew her. I saw her- once a week, sometimes once a month. When she came home, she brought a couple of people over, but I don't recall if they were from work, or if they were friends of hers." I nod my head, before getting up to fetch a blanket. Cold air had invaded my apartment. This was a generous indicator that it was time to get my heat system fixed. "So- what you find out from your friends?" she suddenly pipes up from the living room. I settle myself back on the couch with a spare comforter that I grabbed from my linen closet. I carefully wrap the blanket around my entire body, and sigh into the frosty air of my apartment. "I found out more than I expected." * * * * * * * * June 24th, 1988 I'm beginning to believe that I'm going through a early life crisis. No. Don't laugh. I'm very serious. I know that this sounds crazy- but I'm beginning to believe that I made a seriously horrible mistake when I chose my career path. I've considered the alternatives. I've weighed out the options. I know the consequences that lie ahead if I even dare to travel down that road. But ever since Rory's abstruse disappearance, medicine is now an extinct dream. When I was driving through downtown DC the other day, I found myself parked in front of the J. Edgar Hoover building, looking at the agents that left, and entered the building. My eyes danced over the American flags that bordered the upper perimeter of the building. I was fascinated. That was the scariest revelation. I was fascinated with a building that I have only seen from a distance while traveling through DC. This scares me. The thought of making a gigantic decision like this scares the hell out of me. Making a decision that could make or break the rest of my life scares the hell out of me. Not to mention my father. He would be so disappointed in me. I've let him down so much in the past 10 years. First with the pregnancy. It all started when I found out I was pregnant. The chain of events soon followed with the divorce, Rory's disappearance, and now my decision to drop medical school for the FBI. God, I miss my daughter so much. Today, she is four and a half. I would give anything to get her back into my life. Anything.