From: P. Lacuesta (lacuesta@mnl.sequel.net) Date: July 4, 1997 - Wed (oh yeah, happy Fourth of July to all of you!) Subject: NEW: "Mea Culpa" (1/1) Title: "Mea Culpa" Author: P. Lacuesta E-Mail: lacuesta@mnl.sequel.net Rating: PG Category: SA Spoilers: "Paper Clip", major Scully eps Keywords: Mulder-Scully friendship. Summary: Scully deals with her sister's death and an overwhelming load of guilt. DISCLAIMER: Not a single one of these characters are mine. Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and Mrs. Margaret Scully don't belong li'l ol' me, they're the official property of Chris Carter, Fox Television, and 1013 Productions. I'm using them purely for entertainment; no pro- fit is being made from this. Please don't anyone sue. Can't afford it if you do. Okay, I'm he-ere with another bit of fanfic! Another angsty story, taking after "Dark Dreams" (also here at Gossamer). Although I am of- ficially a 'Shipper, this story is safe for nonshippers, just a friendly bit of Scully-Mulder bonding. Hope everybody likes it! PLEASE SEND FEEDBACK!! I'm ready and willing at lacuesta@mnl.sequel.net to receive all sorts of criticism, comments, suggestions, and even flames. They say you learn best from your mistakes... Thank you more than I could ever say to: my dad, for being there for me and all of us; my mom, who puts up with me and even pays for my inanities; my brothers for teaching me about "the wonderful world of high technology" and fixing my computer ; to everybody with "The X-Files" for bringing such a beautiful show to us; to Gillian Anderson and David Duchovny for being such great ac- tors and people; all the X-Files fanfic-writers Out There for in- spiring me so incredibly much; everybody with the Gossamer Project for archiving this, 'specially Adam who's been very indulgent with me; and of course, the Man Himself, God, and Everybody Up There for everything. Ya don't have to be Catholic.... Happy Three-Month Wedding Anniversary (in advance), Tea and David! :) And also very GREAT and GRATEFUL thanks to Beth and Nora and Ashley and Nicolette who've all been so VERY kind to me, sending me fun e-mail and lots of other good stuff. Everybody check out Greenfish's stories right here at Gossamer, especially my favorite, the Lovecalls series.... ;D Okay, here we go! And a-one, and a-two, and a--- x x x MEA CULPA by P. Lacuesta "You sure you're going to be all right?" Fox Mulder asked gently. He and Dana Scully stood in the open doorway to her apartment. Silence had reigned, thick, heavy silence, throughout the long drive home from the hospital where Melissa Scully had died. Dana almost flinched at the word. Missy had died because of her, because of Dana Katherine Scully. It was her fault her sister had died. The fatal bullet to the head that Melissa had taken had been meant for her. Her fault. All of this was her fault. "I'll stay with you if you want me to," Fox added softly. Dana swallowed painfully, managed a wan smile. "It's okay, Mulder," she murmured. "Really. I'll be fine. I..." She sighed, and leaned her forehead against the wall. The concrete felt soothingly cool to her fevered skin. "I just need to think some things out, you know? Sort it all out in my head." Fox laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, forced her to look up at him. "Okay, Scully. If you're sure. Just.... Call me if you need any- thing. I'll be here," he said simply. He flashed his wry half-smile again. "I'll probably be awake all night anyway, knowing me." She smiled at him gratefully. "Thanks, Mulder." She pushed him away playfully. "Now go on home. It's nearly midnight, for Pete's sake." "Okay, okay, I'm going." His gray-hazel eyes were warm with concern as he looked at her one last time, before turning and walking away, down the hall, his shoes squeaking on the floor. Dana heaved a weary sigh as she stepped into her apartment and closed and locked the door behind her. She was exhausted -- limp and worn out with grief, having had no rest at all in over thirty-six hours. It took an effort to drag herself and her tired, numb, heavy body along, dream- ing longingly of tumbling into her nice, warm, cozy bed and wrapping her- self in the blanket and just hibernating blissfully for a month. Shrug- ging out of her coat, she turned to hasg it up on the coat tree-- This was where she'd been shot. Fresh tears welled in Dana's eyes, already red-rimmed and aching from the day's sorrow. Missy had come over to the apartment, looking for her. The moment she'd stepped through the threshold... Bang, just like that. Amazing how a single night, a single moment, a single bullet could change someone's entire life. Dana couldn't stop the torrent of hot, bitter tears that burned their way down her cheeks. She'd wept very little at the hospital, beside the cold, impersonal bed where her sister had lain. The shock had been too great for mere tears; it had left her cold and dead and numb. But now Dana wept bitterly, silent, painful sobs that racked her slight body and left her crumpled and trembling on the floor, Dana wept for sister, for her stupid, senseless death, and for herself. Missy... How could I have done this to you? If only she'd told Missy not to come over... If only she hadn't been so damn pigheaded and driven out to meet her on the road instead... If only she hadn't one with Skinner to Mulder's apartment... The list went on and on. Missy... I'm so sorry. It's all my stupid fault, my stupid fucking fault. None of this would've happened if not for me. You'd still be alive if not for me.... Dana cried and cried and cried, curling her hands into tight fists against the pain and grief of it all, feeling her fingernails bite into her palms. This pain was better than the other pain, she thought dully. This was raw, physical, tangible. So much easier to bear than this hollow, gnawing ache of guilt and sorrow lurknig inside her heart. It should've been me, Dana Scully screamed. It should've been me. She didn't know exactly how long she had been sitting there, huddled miserably against the door, but at long last her painful sobs shuddered to a halt and she managed to stand up and go to the kitchen. She knew she had to eat. She hadn't had much of anything in over twelve hours. Dinner had been a couple choked-down bites of a sandwich and a few sips of lukewarm coffee, taken only to appease an anxious Mulder. But now she just wasn't hungry. "Who knew I'd be so pathetic?" she muttered dryly to herself as she stood in the kitchen, staring listlessly at the contents of the ref- rigerator. Finally she sighed and warmed a glass of milk in the microwave and went to her bedroom. She had to sleep, too. It was twelve-thirty in the morning and she hadn't slept in a long, long time. Her very bones were exhausted, and her tired muscles twitched and spasmed. She couldn't sleep. Instead she listlessly began to pace the room and stopped to pick up a piece of jewelry on her nightstand. It was a small piece of clear crystal dangling from a leather thong. Absently Dana held it up to the light; the crystal glimmered rainbows and dancing pink light. Melissa had given it to her when she'd awakened from the coma following her disappearence. Missy had said that the crystal was meant to imbue the wearer with a sense of stability, a sense of calm and peace. Dana had almost never worn it. She kept it carefully hidden in her nightstand, kept it out of respect for Missy. Suddenly she laid aside the necklace and went to her desk, pulling open a drawer to reveal a fat bundle of letters and cards, neatly tied together with satin ribbon. Old Christmas cards. Birthday greetings. Just keep-in-touch letters. Although the two sisters had sometimes been apart for long periods of time, each going her own way, they had managed to keep in touch. Dana, sitting down on her still-made bed, carefully read the simple messages and the long letters over and over, treasuring every word, cherishing all the memories they brought with them. It was Missy in all of them. It was something to hold on to. She was still there, every kind word, every friendly question, every sisterly memory, her gentle wise spirit present even if her body was not. Dana must have nodded off at one point, because the next thing she knew she was opening her eyes and feeling refreshed and recharged all over again. Yawning, she laid aside the letters and glanced over at the clock. It was six-forty-five in the morning. She carefully packed away all the cards and letters in a small bag and laid it in her suitcase, adding several changes of clothes, some toiletries, and other necessities. Then she had a quick, hot shower, changed into fresh clothes -- her black clothing was a detestable sight -- scribbled a quick note to her mother and Mulder, then picked up her suitcase and left in her car. Suddenly she needed to get somewhere real soon. Fox Mulder was getting worried. Well, actually, he'd been worried the whole seven days she hadn't reported for work. Of course, as he told himself sternly, it was only natural that she should choose to disappear from the world for a while after all that had happened, but then again, he'd never been a good non-worrier. Especially when it came to Scully. He suspected he'd always and forever be worrying about Scully: whether she was okay, whether she was happy and healthy, whether she needed someone's help, preferably his. She was strong, he knew, infinitely stronger than him, that was for sure. She had a special, uniquie kind of soul-strength and courage that had borne her well through all kinds of crises, including all the horrible sorts of things that just came with working for the FBI. Especially working with *him.* Heck, if she could stand *him,* then she could stand just about anything. Still, Fox didn't know nothing if he didn't know that everyone had limits. Strength and courage and will went a long way, but the journey had to end sometime, somewhere. And then nothing would be left and you would be left alone, naked and vulnerable and alone. So very, very alone. He didn't want her to ever feel that way, ever. Not her, not anybody. Nobody should ever have to go through that kind of misery. He'd gone through it himself, several times before in his life, and those experi- ences had only strengthened his resolve not to let anyone else go through it again. Not if he could help it. It had been seven days. At first, his worrying had been about normal -- at least, normal for him. The occasional call got invariably picked up by her answering machine. He left several messages. By the end of the weel, however, with no word at all from Scully -- no e-mail, no letters, no phone calls, not even rumors or secondhand in- formation -- his mind was starting to come apart at the seams with anxiety. Heck, even the Lone Gunmen couldn't help him, and that was saying something. He had to admit he'd been kind of avoiding visiting Scully, wanting to give her time and space to heal by herself, the way she was accustomed to heal. But now, as he sat staring in a kind of gloomy anxiety at the empty desk across the room from his -- a habit he'd grown to have over the past several days -- he finally decided it was time to *really* check on her, no excuses. Standing up resolutely, he grabbed his coat and slammed out of the office. "Scully? It's me." Knock knock knock. "Scully, you there? It's me, Mulder." Knock knock. There was a quiet *snick* as he unlocked her door with the key she'd given him long ago. Prepared for any horrifying scenario, hand tense on gun, he stepped quietly into the apartment, his wary gaze sweeping the neat, empty living room. Calling her name, he began to search the apartment. Her kitchen was spotless, as usual, everything in place aside from an empty glass on the table with dried traces of milk in it. The bathroom was clean and looked as if it hadn't been used in a long time. The bed was still neatly made, albeit wrinkled sheets. Scully wasn't home. Where was she?? What could have happened to her??? At last, he stood frustrated in the middle of her room, not knowing what else to do, breathing hard after his frantic ransacking. Far past caring for her privacy he'd also checked her answering machine. It ran through a complete seven days' worth of messages: several worried calls from her mother, a couple of calls from some garage guy, and about twenty calls from him. He felt more and more embarrassed with each consecutive message that played, each one more worried and frantic than the last. He couldn't even remember calling that much. Finally, frustrated, he caught up the phone and dialed a number. A warm, anxious voice answered. "Hello?" "Mrs. Scully?" "Fox?" The disappointment in her voice was unmistakable, although she was obviously struggling to conceal it. He winced and smiled sadly. Poor Mrs. Scully. "I'm at Scully's apartment," he said gently. "She hasn't been to work in a week. Even Skinner doesn't know where she is. I've tried her cellphone, but it must be turned off." He sighed, and glanced around at the neat, empty room. "Her suitcase is gone, and so's her car and some things of hers. There's a note, but it doesn't say much, and it's not even dated, so I don't know where she went or even when. She hasn't talked to you?" "I last called yesterday. I got her machine, but I assumed it was just part of her healing process. It's natural for her to just cut herself off from the world for the moment, but-- do you really believe something's wrong, Fox?" Fox sensed with pain the quaver of worry in her voice and knew what Margaret Scully was thinking. It's too soon after losing Missy.... "No, I don't think we have anything to worry about, Mrs. Scully," he said hurriedly. "It's just that -- well, I'd like to know where she is. Just in case." Lame lame lame. Right, that'll really calm her down. There was a sad, tense pause. "Stay there, Fox. I'm coming right over." "Where could she have gone?" Mrs. Scully looked up at the tall mad who was beginning to wear a hole into the carpet with his pacing. "Calm down, Fox, and sit down. You'll only feel even worse." He flung himself down into an armchair and downed half a mug of tea in one gulp. He stared intently at the swirling liquid. "Where could she have gone?" he repeated desperately. Mrs. Scully looked at him with a reassurance she wished she had. "Wherever she is," she said as quietly and firmly as she could, "I'm sure she's all right. Dana can talk care of herself." Fox smiled spiritlessly and finished his tea with little ceremony. There was a long silence before anyone spoke. When he finally did, he looked up at her with liquid moss-green eyes, and Mrs. Scully could feel his love and concern fairly radiating from his very body. "It's how she is emotionally that I'm worried about, Mrs. Scully," he said softly. Despite Mrs. Scully's insistence that he call her "Mom" just like her own children did, he refused to do it. For some reason he felt a little guilty: he wasn't even a blood relation of hers. He didn't think he had the right to call her by such an intimate name. He looked down at his empty mug for a moment before continuing, his voice soft and filled with pain. "When Samantha was abducted I -- I didn't know what to do with myself. The guilt and the pain were unbearable. Somehow I.... I felt that it was all my fault. I was her older brother, I was supposed to protect her, to take care of her. And I... I didn't." He closed his eyes, swallowed hard. "My parents' attitudes didn't help very much, either. They didn't accuse me or yell at me outright, but somehow I always had the feeling that they were holding me responsible for her disappearance. That I was why Sam was taken away, and that if not for me, Sam would still be... with us." He sighed. "Scully's lucky to have such great people like you to support her and love her in spite of everthing, not like my parents and me, but.... Still, I just don't want Scully to feel that it's her fault, that she's to blame for what happened to her sister. And I don't want her to be alone in all of this -- in this pain, in this grief." He looked up at Mrs. Scully then, and instantly saw his mistake. Involuntarily, warm blood rushed to his cheeks in shame. "I mean, I'm *not* saying you're doing that," he said hastily, "honestly, I'm not--" "No, I understand. It's all right." Mrs. Scully smiled sadly. "I know what you're trying to say, Fox. And I thank you for it." She drew a deep breath and lay a gentle, motherly hand on his arm. "And I'm sorry you had to go through that when you were just a child." "Hey." He made a feeble attempt to grin and failed. "It's history." There was another awkward, heavy silence. Absently the two watched as the afternoon sun shed orange light on the clouds, tainting the deepening sky a rosy hue that deepened to purple as the sky went deeper into evening. Clouds shifted and raced over the smog-hazed city. Finally Mrs. Scully broke the silence. "I think I might know where she is." Birds twittered sleepily in the trees, preparing for the night, and the wind rustles restlessly through the leaves, as the tall, lanky man and slight, dark-haired woman got out of the car and began walked down a cemented path. For long moments neither spoke, entranced by the serene autumn beauty at the park, dimly illuminated by the setting sun. Only their quiet footfalls, crunching on the dry leaves, broke the late-afternoon silence. Occasionally someone hurried by, and once two lovers ambled past, murmuring sweet nothings into each other's ear, too absorbed in one another to notice the woman and man. Involuntarily Fox turned his head, smiled at the whispering couple. Mrs. Scully watched him keenly with a soft, tender smile of her own. "This was where Dana and Missy grew up," she murmured, tears creeping into her dark eyes. She looked around affectionately as the precious memo- ries came flooding back. "We stayed here for over eight years. That was the longest we ever stayed in one place, while Bill was being reassigned. Missy and Dana would come here and play almost everyday." She sighed, smiled. "Dana was in second grade and Missy in third when we moved again." Seeing his questioning glance, she explained, "Dana skipped half of kindergarten." "The kids loved this place," she continued dreamily, running a slender, smooth-skinned hand -- so like her daughter's! -- up the smooth white bark of a birch. "Every afternoon Dana and Missy would run off to play by themselves. Sometimes they'd stay outside even until after dark. We had to come and pick them up here." She smiled again. "Dana--" "Shh," he said softly. They had rounded the path past a dense stand of trees, and the old park playground was revealed. Time and weather and too many children had stripped off some paint, revealing the older paints underneath, but the park workers had taken care of them and had maintained the sets so they were still attractive and functional. And there, all alone, with her black-coated back to them, sat Dana Katherine Scully in a swing. Mrs. Scully's trembling hand found Fox's, and he held it reassuringly. "You go first this time, Fox," she whispered, after a moment to recollect herself. He nodded, once, in understanding, and left the woman to wander the old park by herslf, pull herself together. As for himself, for a moment he hesitated, then started slowly toward the still figure on the swing. At the sound of his feet on the dew-wet grass, she turned, a slight, wan smile on her face. "I see you found me," she said simply. He shrugged and grinned back. "Easy. Just looked up your coordinates in the transporter room." She smiled and turned away again, and he stepped closer hesitantly, unsure if this was the right thing to do at the moment. For a moment he stood there uncertainly, then finally moved to sit in the swing next to her. Silence hung sad and sympathetic between them. "Your mom's here," he ventured at last, almost shyly. "She was the one who directed me here. She... told me to go first." Dana nodded, and said nothing. "Are you okay now?" She looked off into the distance, avoiding his gaze. For a long time she was silent. Then, "I think so." Fox began to breathe again. Her eyes were a sad, thoughtful gray. "I'm halfway there, I guess. This has been such a shock, though, that I..." She sighed, and looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap. "...I don't suppose I'll ever really get over it." She looked up at him, then, and smiled weakly. "Then again, with this kind of thing you never really do, do you?" He smiled and shook his head. "I don't think so." She sighed and closed her eyes. "I -- I just can't help feeling that somehow I'm responsible for her. Dying. That if it weren't for me none of this would have happened, we'd still all be alive and happy, just like we'd always been." "Now you know how I feel about Sam sometimes," Fox murmured. She opened her eyes and looked at him until he just about drown in their sad, stormy gray depths. "I do," she said simply. Then she sighed again and looked away. "But -- I think this is a little different, Mulder. When your sister was... taken, you were both asleep in your beds, and when you woke up, you were paralyzed. You couldn't hope to move and help Samantha. You didn't have a choice. You were immobilized." She drew a deep, shivering breath. "But me," she whispered, "I wasn't paralyzed. I was completely calm and -- and conscious -- and I just stood by and let the bastards kill my sister." "Scully--" "I had a *choice*, Mulder!" Her eyes flared. "I could have -- I *should have* done something! I could have helped! I'd been warned, I'd been told people would try to kill me--" "You had a lot on your mind--" "*BS*, Mulder! I've been in worse situations -- been kidnapped, held at gunpoint, had a killer mutant trying to eat my liver -- and still been able to think and act fast and well. I've saved lives because of that. Why couldn't I have done the same for my own sister--" her voice faltered and broke off, and new tears brimmed up in her eyes. She turned her face away from him, refusing to let him see her cry. Mulder sat helpless, not knowing what to say, how to act. He could only watch in silent frustration as his partner -- his best friend -- wiped furiously at tears that were streaming faster and faster down her cheek. "Okay, Scully, maybe you weren't able to save Melissa," he whispered at last, his voice harsh with tears of his own. "But you did what you could. At that moment, at least, you knew what you were going to do and you believed you were right in doing it. It isn't, it has never been your fault that your sister died. You both did what you believed to be right, and you were only in the wrong places at the wrong time. The only ones at fault here are whoever killed your sister." She was silent. "I believe in fate, Scully. I believe that there is an ultimate master plan to everything. That somehow this is all part of some kind of divine scheme and that everything has a point in happening. Have you noticed all the problems, all the pitfalls in life have served to make us stronger? Better people? It's from our mistakes that we learn and we grow, Scully. Melissa's death would never have been allowed to happen unless you would learn and grow, too, because of it. Unless there would also be some kind of strange benefit." He shrugged. "Maybe I believe in God, too." "And Missy?" "I bet she's having a lot more fun than we are in her present state." She actually laughed. "And that would be in... sunny California?" At the welcome sound of her light, easy laughter, he let out a deep, relieved breath. This was more like it. Easy and humorous and light- hearted. Even though he may just have delivered a stellar oration on fate and the cosmos, he still didn't think he was equipped well enough to deal with major emotional breakdowns like this. "And why *aren't* we having fun, Agent Mulder?" She was still smiling. Miracle. "Because you're sitting here all depressed and I don't know what to do about it and besides, it's freezing out here." He shivered and wrapped his coat more snugly around him for emphasis. Dana nodded. "Good point." They stood up and began walking back. Mrs. Scully appeared on the path, smiling at her daughter. Dana smiled back and waved. Then she turned, looked back toward the old playground. There was no wind, but the swings were moving ever so slightly, and the seesaw squeaking slowly up and down. Joyous, innocent childish laughter floated faintly on the crisp autumn air. Dana blinked. "You okay?" "Hmm? ...Oh. Uh-huh." "You kind of zoned out for a minute there." "Just thinking." She drew a deep breath, still turned half away from him, gazing thoughtfully back at the empty playground. "So much has happened, Mulder. In such short time. Your father, my sister. You nearly died. We came so close to losing our faith in each other, our faith and our trust.... And, somehow, we've managed to pull through it all. Still alive, still together. -Mulder..." A pause. "Thanks." He smiled awkwardly and shrugged. "That'll be two hundred dollars, Miss Scully." "Put it on the tab with the others, Doctor Mulder." So, didja like it? I seem to be in an angst rut at the moment, but... don't worry, I'll be bouncing back. Mood swings and hormones and stuff like that. You might not have to wait long before you get another, lighter story. Whadja think? Whatever ya got, throw it at me... I can take it! ;) Gabby Lacuesta A '98, DS '98, BIL 129 http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Forum/2625 lacuesta@mnl.sequel.net ICQ number: 385668 Internet pager: http://wwp.mirabilis.com/385668