From: r a c h Date: Sat, 2 Feb 2002 14:34:44 -0800 (PST) Subject: NEW: Not Quite Strangers 1/1 Source: xff Reply To: webmaster@withinrach.com Title: Not Quite Strangers Author: phileandforget Date: Feb 02, 2002 Keywords: Post-"Trust No 1," S/R friendship, implied DRR & MSR Summary: "Could you let down your hair and be transparent for a while just a little while, to see if you're human after all? Honesty is a hard attribute to find, when we all want to seem like we got it all figured out." Lifehouse, "Trying" Archive: XFMU, Gossamer and others with permission. Author's Note: Beyond the obvious, there were two moments in Trust No 1 that really struck me. The first was when Scully abandoned Mulder that is, first his letter, and second, his Golden Rule upon seeing Patti, a total stranger, in distress. Her uncharacteristic (or perhaps *profoundly* characteristic) act of random kindness epitomized the subtle shift in her nature since the birth of William (though perhaps extending as far back as since "all things"): she *wants* to trust people. She is wary, reluctant to trust too much but yet willing to take the first step. Why she chose Patti, was because she saw in her another young mother someone with whom she could identify. To me, this implies that Scully is seeking a female friend, a confidant. The other moment that struck me as particularly poignant was the shot of Scully sitting on the bench at the train station, trying to overcome her disappointment after Mulder's train had passed. Her head is down, shoulders hunched she is the picture of dejection. But in this scene, it was not only Dana who captured my attention and my sympathy it was also the woman beside her, Monica Reyes. Her grave vigil nearly broke my heart; knowing Scully was incapable of consolation at that moment, her quiet compassion spoke everything that mere platitudes could not. Thus, it was from those two moments came this story, a dialogue between two woman that captures the essence of each at least insomuch as she can bear to show it to the other... Not Quite Strangers phileandforget (webmaster@withinrach.com) "Could you let down your hair and be transparent for a while, Just a little while, to see if you're human after all? Honesty is a hard attribute to find, When we all want to seem like we got it all figured out. Let me be the first to say that I don't have a clue, I don't have all the answers, ain't gonna pretend like I do. Just trying to find my way, trying to find my way the best I know how. Well, I haven't got it all figured out quite yet But even if it takes my whole life to get to where I need to be If I should fall to the bottom of the end, I'll be one step back to you." Lifehouse, "Trying" "Do you drink herbal tea?" It's late, almost one-thirty in the morning, and I'm sitting in Dana's living room, feeling about as out of place as a cactus in a rainforest. She hasn't spoken much, but I feel like she needs some company right now, after the bitter disappointment of tonight. At any rate, she invited me over and I'm not sure how I feel about leaving her alone right now. John volunteered to wrap things up with the local police, helping them deal with the fallout from one murdered man and his mysteriously missing murderer I think his volunteering was largely a pre-emptive strike against Scully offering her services. He dropped us off at the station and indicated for me to take her home, then basically booted us out of the car before either of us had a chance to protest. For a guy who purports to be so straight-up, John can really be quite manipulative when he tries. Regardless, I wasn't about to complain: a) because I didn't have to stick around that gruesome mess all night, and b) because I sensed the same thing he did, that Dana probably shouldn't be alone tonight. I don't mean to imply that she isn't capable of looking after herself, or anything like that I just mean that I don't think either John or I could sleep easily knowing that she's crying herself to sleep. So when she invited me in, I undertook to keep her mind firmly off Mulder and their lost opportunity. Now, I'll be the first to admit this I don't know Dana very well. The first time I met her was when John called me in on the Fox Mulder case (although it feels strange to refer to it as that, having found Mulder and even met the man several times). My first impression of her wasn't particularly positive I thought she was cold, close-minded and so deliberately distant as to be almost rude. I can't say I liked her all that much, despite John's forewarning me. I hadn't been quite sure what to expect of his new partner, but I was expecting, I think, someone a little more personable than Dana Scully. However, the more we ended up working together, the more I started to see the Dana Scully that John had talked to me so often about. In part, it was because she started to loosen up around me as though something had shifted and she began to start trusting me. But largely, I think it was because *I* changed I stopped trying to see her through John's eyes and started looking through my own. Only then did I begin to perceive her in the way that he meant, the way he hadn't been able to fully convey to me. I started seeing her as a scientist and doctor, grounded first and foremost in cold logic and facts. I started seeing her as an agent, fearless and devoted to the pursuit of her missing partner and, as John intimated to me, friend and lover. And father of her unborn child. Only then did I begin to understand the magnitude of what she had lost, in losing Mulder, and her desperation. The more I learnt about Dana, the more fascinated I became with her, this woman who had worked indeed, co-founded the controversial X-Files division. I suppose that, especially in the early months after I began working the X-Files with John, I looked up to her as a role model, someone to guide me through all the ambiguity and paradoxes of the cases. I was naove, she was not. Despite all that, however, the most significant thing I've learnt about Dana in all these months is simply this: she is, at heart, a complex person, and difficult to get to know well. I tried so hard to be nice and friendly, to be a good agent, to be a friend, but I always felt her gentle rebuffs, her unspoken "thanks, but no thanks." So it shocked the hell out of me when she told me, seemingly out of the blue, that I reminded her of her late sister. I suppose I'd been starting to think that she didn't have the same feelings that I had that she simply didn't feel fear, or fatigue, or failure. I had been thinking, "Of course she's scared, how could she not be?" But she never showed it, and slowly I've begun to learn that that's just her way. She doesn't show her emotions readily whereas I tend to have trouble concealing mine but that doesn't mean she doesn't have them. (As John once told me, using a metaphor you could only expect from a former Marine, "Not all drownin' sailors can be easily seen from a copter, Monica sometimes ya gotta get wet to see the ones that really need a hand.") Still, none of that stops me from feeling awkward and out of place here, sitting on Dana's pristine cream couch in my dark suit. I've only been here a couple of times, and never for a social visit. It's pretty and neat the kind of apartment I could imagine her decorating herself, in her all-too-infrequently snatched moments of downtime. I've only been here a short while we first stopped by her mother's to pick up William. (I waited in the car while she spoke to her mom; whatever she told her, I didn't feel it was my place to intrude.) When we got back here, she invited me up. At first I refused, saying that she must be tired and should go to bed. Then she shrugged and replied that she probably wasn't going to get much sleep tonight, but that she shouldn't be so selfish, and I must need my sleep, too. That was really the clincher I just looked at her, and replied that it wasn't for my own sake that I'd wanted tonight to work out so badly. If she felt like company, I said, it wasn't like I was going to be sleeping tonight, either. So here we are. She just made us two cups of chamomile tea, and sat down in the single couch on my left. After a little nervous small-talk, I can't help but smile. I've never seen Dana nervous before. Worried, angry, focussed, upset and edgy, yes but nervous? That's not really a word I'd think to associate with her (and I'm all about word associations). However, it makes me smile for a moment, and suspiciously, she asks what's so funny. I say honestly: "Does this make you uncomfortable me being here?" She looks at me curiously for a moment, then replies slowly, "No." "Good, because you can kick me out any time but I'm getting kind of fond of your couch here." I don't know why I say that, my face burns with the evidence of a classic "Moronica" moment but for whatever reason, it makes her smile. "Hm. Everyone seems to love my couch. I should probably be offended but then again, I do get them to myself most of the time." Was that a joke? I smirk. Dana pauses, then adds, almost as an afterthought, "Except when Mulder's around." Already, I thought, not sure quite how to respond. Ideally, I'd like to steer away from that particular topic. "Oh, he'll get it back..." "Not before William drools all over it." She casts an indulgent smile down at her son, sleeping beatifically in his bouncer at her feet. I'm reminded of our Mother smiling down on Jesus Christ, and the warm affection in her eyes. "Maybe, maybe not." She nods, accepting that. "Tonight, you know it's no big deal, really." I look at her with gentle disbelief, and she adds, "I didn't really expect it would work out. The timing is all wrong we both knew it was a long shot." "The heart wants what it wants," I reply lightly. It bothers me a little that she can find so many justifications for something that is so obviously a disappointment to her can't she see that she's allowed to feel the injustice of it as much as she damn well wants? I have a feeling, though, that the only reason she offers those justifications is because they're more manageable than the truth, and like I said, we really don't know each other very well. Yet. I can understand how she might not want to cry on my shoulder, even though it's on offer to her. Still, she seems to reflect on that for a moment. "Yeah. But it can't always *get* what it wants I suppose that's all there is to it." "There's a difference between being happy and making do with one's lot, though." "True. But maybe there are more important things than being happy..." Seeing my skepticism, she shrugs. "Agent Reyes I'm fine. I don't want you to think I can't be alone tonight. Don't feel obliged to stay." "Dana I know you're fine. You're always fine, you're fine more often than I'm late for work. More often than John loses his keys to the filing cabinet." Having been his partner for a time, that really should mean something to her. Seriously, I add, "I'm not staying to protect you against yourself." "Then why *are* you staying, Agent Reyes?" I shrink from her tone direct, demanding an honest answer. "Because you invited me?" It really is more of a question than an answer. Timidly, I add, "Because neither of us is going to sleep tonight, and I don't have anything better to do right now than talk to you. Oh, and then there's your couch" That elicits a nod of agreement and, surprisingly, an apology. "I'm sorry. I don't meant to be so... I mean, I'm... Thank you. Thank you for staying." The words come out in a soft rush, like she's not sure quite how the sentence will come out sounding on her tongue. I smile. "Thanks for having me... I don't think we've ever really talked all that much." Scully shrugs. "I don't tend to talk to anyone all that much in case you hadn't noticed, I'm not the most sociable person you'll ever meet." Phew. I smile, recalling a certain incident that her admission brings to mind. "Yeah, John led me to expect that..." "What? He told you? About the the " "The water incident? Yeah, he mentioned it." I grin wider, and she seems genuinely embarrassed. A crimson blush has crept over her cheeks, moving slowly towards her nose. "Personally, though, I'd say he had it coming." "No, he didn't deserve that," she murmurs softly, still pink. She's starting to smile, though. "I can't believe he told you about that." "Well, he wasn't too impressed," I admit. In truth, he'd been pissed as hell. He called me that same night, to tell me about the heinous bitch he'd been assigned to work with. "Feisty," was how he described her, along with a few other choice terms that I'm sure he'd be mortified for me to recall. When John told me he'd actually been *assigned* to the X-Files division as Dana Scully's partner, I gave it two weeks. Little did I suspect they'd find so much common ground after that regrettable first meeting or that one day, she and I might, also. "And when he call you in on the case?" I am relieved when Scully sidesteps the M-word. "I was... hesitant..." In truth, the only reason I went was because John pulled out all the stops he missed me, he said, it was about time for a visit. The weather was "beeeautiful" (a blatant lie, I might add). I should see his new house. I should meet his new partner. It was ritual abduction, right up my alley. And hadn't I always wanted to work an X-File before? "Aw, c'mon, Monica, c'mon, say you'll do it..." I thought I was being sucked in. Little did I know. "I don't blame you." Dana's wry acceptance of that admission surprises me. Chagrined, I hasten to add, "Not that I didn't *want* to do it. The X-Files division has always fascinated me I mean, it's always been kind of a dream of mine to well, you know..." "Work on them?" "Yeah." Now it's my turn to be embarrassed. She must think I'm such a retard, but it's the God's-honest truth. I've always wanted to work on the X-Files division, ever since I joined the FBI and overheard two classmates discussing it at the Academy. Spooky Mulder and Dr. Scully working the unsolved cases down in the basement. It sounded like just my cup of tea and failing that, I'd always held out the hope of being involved in an X-File case. Just to sate my curiosity, I suppose. I've always been fascinated by the occult. "And John?" Dana raises an eyebrow. She seems mildly astonished that anyone would choose to work the X-Files division I don't think she's aware of quite how much competition there was for my new assignment. I wince. "I can't speak for him, but... I'd be guessing not!" Amused, she agrees. "No, I can't imagine it being a career goal for him." "What about you? How did you get involved in them?" The thought just occurs to me. The division had only been open a couple of years by the time I joined the Academy. She would have been terribly young back then not much older than me. "Oh, no." She shakes her head, still smiling. "I wanted to be a field agent, something more than a scientist in a laboratory, teacher in a classroom or medical examiner in a morgue, but... I had actually never considered the possibility before I got the assignment." Now my curiosity is piqued. "Really? Never, not even once?" "Not even once." "Then how did you...?" She shrugs. "Luck of the draw, I suppose. I didn't apply for it, if that's what you're implying." "Oh, no, I" "I knew that I wanted to move on from teaching at Quantico, but The X-Files... I don't know I just received a call from the Assistant Chief's office, and it was strange, actually. I was given to understand they wanted me to debunk the project, shut it down." "But you didn't." I'm starting to see a whole new side to this woman. I wonder who else has heard what she's telling me now. Mulder? A.D. Skinner? John? She smiles sadly. "No, they didn't need *me* to do that, and as it turned out, I ended up doing pretty much the opposite. In the end, I... I don't know. I suppose I started to enjoy it, somewhere along the line. Working with Mulder was... gruelling. Exhausting. But endlessly fascinating, too." "Lucky you and my partner just drives me crazy," I reply dryly. Dana grins, then, and I'm struck by how pretty she is when she smiles like that. "Oh no," she says quickly. "Mulder drove me crazy too. He still does, actually, but back then... He'd call me in the middle of the night with a new case, or an idea for a case, or because his TV wasn't working and he wanted to complain to somebody about it. He... he ate sunflower seeds and left the shells everywhere everywhere! I'm still finding them in the most unusual places. And the pencils..." She trails off, shaking her head, a little embarrassed. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this." Pencils? Huh. "That explains it!" I burst out, like I've just discovered the meaning to life. In truth, it's nothing near as profound but it's been bugging me for weeks. Scully just looks at me in blank confusion, and I point up. "In the ceiling. All those pencils that was Mulder, right?" She nods. "Yeah. That was him. I, um, took some time off, once, and he, um..." "...couldn't live without you?" "Something like that. He kept calling me, and I was so sick of him, but-" she trails off, suddenly chastened. "If it's any consolation, I'm sure he got sick of you sometimes, too...?" It's supposed to be a humorous deflection since all partners give each other the shits sometimes but Dana nods in wholehearted agreement. "Yes. And then he'd usually get it into his head to go off somewhere without me, but even though it annoyed the hell out of me when he did it, I can count the number of times he didn't end up needing me to pick him up, bail him out, save his ass and/or sew him back together." She seems to take just a little pride from this fact. "And it didn't teach him?" "Nope." I'm starting to relax now, feeling an easy camaraderie with her she's so I don't know. Sincere serious, but sincere. And a little sweet, too, I'm surprised to find. "Too bad you're not still working with John," I comment, and at her puzzled expression, add, "he seems to have a talent for that foolhardy stuff, too." Or perhaps it's just a macho thing. (Then again, I have to admit that he's already saved my ass a few times over, and we've only been partners for a couple of months.) Dana nods. "Yeah, he's like Mulder in that way when he's onto something, he just doesn't give up." I have a sneaking suspicion that she's thinking about John's recent bureaucratic crusade. Then she shakes her head. "Still, I think John's somewhat better at staying out of trouble, at least for the most part. And those other times, well he's lucky to have you." "I guess." Sometimes I still wonder whether he'd be better off or happier working with Dana. Curiously, she asks me, "Had you worked with him before the X-Files?" I'm a little surprised that she doesn't already know. I can't remember whether I've already told her, but she doesn't seem the type to forget very much. It occurs to me that either she's never discussed this with John, or she hasn't ransacked my personnel file, or she's done both but wants to talk about him. Either way, there's only the one story to tell. "No. We, um, we met during the investigation into Luke's abduction." Her expression softens sympathetically. "He was NYPD, then, and I was fresh out of the Academy." "How did you get to know one another? I mean, if it's not too-" She seems a little flustered, and I realise that she doesn't want to be intrusive. I shake my head, "No no, of course not. John and I, um... Well, he was having problems with his wife, I was fighting with Brad, and then, with everything that was going on, we, um..." "You had a relationship?" I know what she's implying. "No well, I wouldn't call it that. We just... got to talking, I guess. We had dinner together a few times, nothing serious. He just needed someone to talk to, I guess. And I was there." She nods. "I'm glad of that. I can't even imagine what it must have been like." "It was bad," I say honestly. God, was it ever. "I've never worked a case as bad as that before; it was just so... so hopeless." I neglect to mention that it was around that time I started seeing things horrible things, things that John saw as well. Ultimately, it was my feelings about those visions that led me to Luke. "You found the body." It wasn't a question. I nod. "Yeah, I found it." I'll never forgive myself for that. I let him down we were *so close*, and I let him down. One day earlier, and everything might have been so different. Instead, I saw him from a distance, and my heart just sank I knew it was him. It's hard to mistake the body of a child lying face-down in the dirt, no matter how badly you want it to be something, anything, else. "The first thing I saw," and I'm hardly aware that I'm speaking, "were his sneakers, sticking up out of the grass. I didn't even realise, until I got closer, that they were attached to his feet. He was just lying there. I started shouting out "He's over here!" and checked his pulse. It was there was none, we were too late." I hear Dana sniff and glancing up, realise that she's crying. Or rather, tears are welling up in her eyes, which are fixated on my face, and starting to overflow. She doesn't seem aware of them, and I'm touched by her compassion for my friend and partner. I should know by now, though, how deeply Dana internalises pain. Even when it's not her own. You can see it on her face in her eyes. So much pain. I wipe away my own tears and continue. "Everyone came running, as though there was still hope for him, but Luke... He was beyond our help, and our hope." And as they came to realise that, the men formed a circle around his little body, on top of that mound of dirt, and took off their hats in a silent salute. It was as much a gesture to their colleague as to his murdered son. I was touched, and heartbroken and suddenly conscious that John was not among us. So where was he hadn't he heard me calling? I didn't see how he couldn't have. I turned then, seeking him out, and finally saw him standing a short way off. Just watching us, his eyes haunted and empty, as though he were somewhere else entirely. As though he'd just stumbled into this God-awful nightmare in which we were all strangers to him. But then he recognised me. I couldn't help the tears that started to fall, as soon as our eyes met. He looked so utterly lost. Devastated. Then he just turned and walked away he didn't even want to see the body, he knew it was bad news. The worst. "John was... shattered." Belatedly, I realise that the words stopped flowing a few sentences ago. "He didn't want to see the body. His wife ended up giving us the ID. John was I've never seen him so distraught. I " I'd sooner die than see him in that much pain again, is what I wanted to say. But the words didn't come. "He didn't say a word all afternoon, all evening. I don't think he even knew what was going on, so, um I took him home. He was living alone by that point, his wife was staying with her sister. So I stayed with him, but later later" Suddenly, my throat constricts and I can't say it. I shouldn't tell her she has no right to know. And yet, somehow I sense that she does. She cares about John, I can tell that, and I know that she'll keep the confident. Dana is nothing, I have learnt, if not loyal. It's why John trusts her so much it's why I want so badly to. "What?" She leans across and touches my hand. "Later what? I I need to know." Tears are streaming down her cheeks, and her eyes seem unnaturally bright and blue. Fierce, too, as though her whole life depends on knowing the horrible truth of that night. Although I want to tell her, the words are hard to find, and harder yet to say. I take a deep breath and try to be detached about it, pretend like it wasn't as bad as it was. "I went to say good night and I couldn't find him. I I looked all over the house, calling out, and he wasn't answering. He didn't seem to be anywhere. I got worried, and then then, I found him." I pause, and then the words come out in a rush: "He was in Luke's room, and he was about to eat his gun." The words send a chill down my spine and I find Dana's hand gripping mine like a vice. "He I don't believe that." Her flat-out refusal falls just shy of being comical, it's so heartbreakingly stubborn. I recognise it as a textbook coping strategy, the need to cling to perceived facts, what one knows to be true, rather than open oneself to the possibility of something more disturbing. Of course that would be Dana. And now, she has every right to believe that, that John would never do such a thing. But she didn't know him back then. And no one knew him like I did. "It was a long time ago now," I tell her, trying to be gentle. I don't blame her for not wanting to believe it, but I'm not lying. She wanted the truth. "You you wouldn't have recognised him back then, he was... Different." "How was he different?" I consider that for a moment. "He was younger. More... naove. He thought he could do anything if he just worked hard enough. When things started to go... he couldn't understand it. He was trying so hard to keep it all together, to be a good husband, and father, and cop he was trying to be everything to everyone. He didn't believe in failure, only laziness." Through her tears, Dana smiles sadly. "No that sounds exactly like John." I smile too, then, wistfully. "I wish he'd known you back then." She shakes her head. "I don't think so I was different back then, too time changes us all." Although she doesn't say it, I know that what she means is, she used to be like John was and like him, she's been changed by her own experiences. I don't want to ask, but as I regard her, I wonder what she's alluding to. Did she lose a child, too? Or did she come to learn that there are even worse things that can befall a person? Furthermore, I perceive that she thinks *I* was the right person to have been there that night, with him. I don't know. It still gives me nightmares, sometimes. "That's true but however it changes us, it's only natural. Ultimately, we're just leaves on the tree of life we play our role in the infinite cycle, but we don't get to dictate how the wind will blow, or when the branches break." Dana smiles at that, though I feel a little foolish for telling her. It's my own private philosophy I've never voiced it to anyone before. "Monica... You'll never know her, but... God, I wish you could have met my sister, Melissa. She was so much like you." Dana's voice is choked, hardly a whisper, and I wonder whether this was the tragedy that changed her so. "How old was she when she died?" "Thirty-four." "Oh, God. I'm so sorry." My thoughts go immediately to my childhood best friend, who also died young. Tragically young. Her name was Gloria, and she was the closest thing I ever had to a sister it's nearly ten years later, but there are still days when I miss her like crazy. "Don't be. I'm the only one who should be sorry. She, um..." Dana breaks off, and wipes the tears off her cheeks. Staring resolutely at a picture on the wall, of a young woman I can only suppose to have been Melissa, she says, "She died in my place." "What? Oh no, you can't believe that, Dana." She casts me a sharp, pained look, and I realise that she'll never believe otherwise. "I was at a funeral during the day, and as I was leaving afterwards, a man came up to me. He warned me it would happen. I didn't believe him, of course, but that night... I got a little creeped out. So I called Missy, and she offered to come over and stay with me. As soon as I hung up, I realised it was a mistake, and I had to get out. So I called her back but she didn't answer and... I left anyway." "Oh, God, no. She was murdered you you couldn't have known." "I didn't pull the trigger, but she wouldn't have been there if it hadn't been for me." "Was she did she have a husband? Children?" "Not even that." Dana's voice is calm and soft, and her eyes stare off into space. "She always wanted a family. I I never did." "But something changed, didn't it? I mean, you have William, now. And Mulder." "Yes. And Emily, for a time..." I have to strain closer to her to hear the name. It doesn't ring a bell was she a daughter? Another sister? "Who's Emily?" "She was... It's a long story." Wryly, she adds, "My life's full of them." I shrug. "We have all night. Unless you want to go to bed..." "Not really." She takes a deep breath, then says, "In my first year on the X-Files, I was abducted for several weeks. I have little recollection of that time, but Mulder believes that I was subjected to experiments using alien technology." I can't believe this. Scully continues, "Some time later, I was diagnosed with cancer a brain tumour. We traced it back to a chip in my neck, which I'd had removed some months earlier." "Wait a second in your neck? Like the super-soldiers?" "Maybe. In retrospect, I think it had something to do with that, with those experiments. But regardless, I was luckier than most, and by some miracle or luck, made it through." Knowing Dana, she must have an explanation but she spares me it, and I sense she's coming to a point. "It wasn't until a couple of years later that I realised that I would never be able to have children. Presumably during my abduction, they had taken harvested my eggs. Mulder... he actually found a sample of them, in well, it's another long story. But by the time he finally told me, I knew that was... it was the one thing I wanted." She glances down, then, at her baby son. "And Emily?" "It was a coincidence, how we met. A couple of years ago, around Christmas time, Mulder and I came across her during a case. She looked *remarkably* like Missy when she was a baby, and I I leapt to the conclusion that she had to be Missy's daughter. I had some tests run, but when they came back, I realised she wasn't Missy's daughter. She was mine." "Your own but how did you ?" What went wrong, I want to ask. Instead, I hold my tongue. "Mulder and I realised that she's been born from the eggs they took from me that she may have only been one of several, or many. All mine." Dana pauses, but I don't say a word, sensing that she has more to tell. After a period of reflective silence, Dana continues, "I wanted to adopt her. I wanted it so bad, but Emily was a very sick little girl... She died not long after." "I'm sorry." Hasn't this woman had enough pain in her life? "So am I. But" She looks down at William again. "Now there's William. How did you in vitro?" "We tried." I assume she's talking about herself and Mulder. "It didn't work. The eggs were dead. All of them." "But something must have worked..." I incline my head towards the child at her feet, who is at this moment sleeping blissfully. Obviously, something worked! "Yeah. It was something, all right." I suddenly realise that this is the reason she so rarely refers to Mulder as William's father. It's not that she's sure he isn't, or in denial it's that she genuinely doesn't know. She can't explain how it happened. No wonder she was so hostile towards Shannon McMahon and her outrageous allegations about super-soldiers and William's unique status among them. Lightly, I offer, "You know, cases of divine conception are extremely rare one every two thousand years or so." She smiles. "I'm aware of that. I don't think well, I don't know whether my pregnancy was a gift from God or men... It was still a gift." "And the daddy-?" I already know what she'll say. "Mulder is his father," Dana asserts. "For all intents and purposes. When William is a little older, we'll run some tests, but for the time being Mulder loves William, and although he's never been what you might call a family man, the idea's grown on him." "It must be nice," I say enviously, thinking of my own family. My birth parents, who I never knew, and my adopted parents, down in Mexico. When I was younger, I used to want my own family so badly I wanted the husband, the kids, the pets, the mortgage, everything. But then my life seemed to veer off onto another path, and the older I get, the less likely that family seems. "What part?" "To have a family. To be loved like that." To belong, I add silently. She nods. "Yeah. It is..." Almost as an afterthought, she adds, "But, you know I never expected things to work out this way. I mean, any of it. Becoming a mother, losing the X-Files, Mulder..." I notice that she doesn't ascribe anything in particular to Mulder, as though she's referring to everything about him, and by association, their relationship. "I wish I could say the same that things have worked out for me, the way they have for you." "I'd hardly say they've worked out," Dana replies, and I know she's thinking about tonight's events, and those of the past couple of days. "But I think I know what you mean." "I guess time will tell, for me." I shrug. I don't really want to spill my guts on that particular issue it makes me feel all of fourteen again. I'd like to think I have a more sophisticated view on life now, having had experience with love, and without, and not all of those experiences being good ones. Still. The heart wants what the heart wants. Dana echoes that sentiment, then adds, "Can I ask how have things been working out with Brad?" "Oh... They haven't," I reply lightly. It's the truth. "I've hardly seen him these past couple of weeks only ever when he calls John and I up to give our reports, or when we run into each other accidentally. It's... It's strange to be working together, again." "You worked together in New Orleans, right?" "No, before that New York. I was seeing him around the time Luke... disappeared. It wasn't long after that case, though, that he had me transferred to New Orleans." "*He* had you transferred? Why?" "I don't know. I suppose the opportunity arose, and..." I shrug. Dana regards me carefully for a moment. "Were you and John close, back then?" I shrug. "I suppose so. We talked a lot after the case. He took it pretty hard, what happened with Luke, but then his wife served him divorce papers, too, and... It was a dark time. I helped him through it." "Did you ever think that that's why you were transferred?" Um? "I no. It hadn't really occurred to me. Brad's not he wouldn't have he's not like that," I finish lamely. Dana narrows her eyes suspiciously, almost comically. "I mean not that he doesn't get jealous, but... Well... I know for a fact he missed having me around the office." At that, Dana chuckles. "You mean literally, right?" "Um, yeah." Now it's my turn to blush bright red (and like Dana, my skin's so pale that when I blush, it goes right down to my marrow.) "I suppose I could understand *that*." What? *Dana*? "But still, don't you think it might explain what he's got against John and why he moved here so soon after you started working on the X-Files?" "Maybe. I don't know, I don't tend to think the worst of people." "Like me?" I don't know whether she's serious or joking. Either way, my response is the same: "I didn't mean that!" She raises an eyebrow, and I stammer, "But well, um, anyway..." "You don't see yourself picking up again, though, with Brad?" I shake my head decisively. "No. He's not the one. To tell the truth, when I left New York, I was already starting to have my doubts about us. He's very... Well, we're very different people. It just took some time for me to realise that." "And John?" Her tone is sly, insinuating. Play dumb, Monica, I tell myself. "What about John?" "Oh, nothing." Is she always like this? I suddenly feel a pang of nostalgia for my friends back in New Orleans I miss being able to talk like this, openly. It feels good. I really haven't had a chance to meet many people in D.C. yet since I started on the X-Files, they've just become... consuming. The thought pops up, unbidden, and I hush it into submission. Dangerous territory. "Nothing at all." I mock-glare at her. "Exactly." Just then, we hear a soft grumble at our feet. William is stirring. His little legs kick out impatiently, and he stretches like a little cat, letting out a huge yawn. I know how he feels. "Oh, he must be hungry," Dana sighs, leaning down to take him out of his little bouncer. His eyes open and fixate on her as, bleary with sleep, he tries to figure out what just happened. "Honestly, this kid must take after Mulder for midnight snacks." I grin at her unconscious double entendre. "Same flavour?" I ask innocently. Dana looks up sharply, then laughs out loud. "Um, I didn't mean that, but yeah, that's probably hereditary, too." And probably more than I needed to know about Fox Mulder, I add silently. Thanks, Dana. Still sleepy, William has just started to rouse himself to cry by the time Dana's unbuttoned her blouse. He barely gets out a wail before she has him preoccupied. Expert, I think. I wonder if I'll ever get the chance to be like that. I'm such a sucker for babies. "How late is it?" she asks suddenly. "It must be getting on." I glance at my watch. "Yeah, it's late. Three-twenty." "Oh, is that all?" I roll my eyes. "Just because *you've* learnt to live without sleep doesn't mean *I* won't be taking advantage of the weekend." "Yeah, yeah." "I should probably go call a cab," I offer, standing up and stretching my stiff muscles. Dana's couch is comfortable, but at the end of the day (or night), it's still a couch. "You can stay here, if you like," she offers. "I really don't mind." I consider it, but really, I'm bone tired and I'd like nothing better than to fall into my own bed. And sleep until Sunday night. Besides, Dana looks exhausted it occurs to me that this probably wasn't her first sleepless night this week. Technically, that should be a good thing, though, since it means that she'll probably hopefully crash as soon as I leave. "Thanks, but it's okay," I tell her. "I'll give John a call too, though, and see where he is now." "In bed, I hope," she grimaces. Padding out into the kitchen, I locate my phone in my handbag and speed-dial a cab. After that, I call John. "...mm'ello?" His voice is gruff and tired. I must have woken him. "Hey, it's only me," I say softly. He doesn't answer, so I add, "Just checking you got home all right." "Wh- Oh, yeah. Yeah. Hey, where are you now?" He seems to be waking up. "I'm at Dana's." "Still? What's it's damn, Monica, it's late!" Okay, *now* he's awake. "Yeah, yeah, sorry." "Nah, s'kay. How's Dana?" "She's fine. We've just been talking." "Huh. About me?" "Yeah, about you, John." Dana looks up and smiles, rolling her eyes. "Oh. Well, um," he lets out an almighty yawn, "call me when you get in, kay?" What, and wake him up again? "I don't think so," I tell him. "You're too much of a grouch. But call me tomorrow, okay?" "Fine. Night." He hangs up and I find myself listening to a dial tone. Bemused, I just shake my head. Dana stands and walks over to me, little Will down for the count over her shoulder. "Everything's okay?" "I assume so," I reply. "He was just tired and grumpy as hell." "So what's unusual about that?" she smiles. "I see your point. Anyway," I stand by the door, with my coat in one hand and bag in the other, "thanks. Thanks for having me." "Thanks for coming over." She pauses, then adds, "I don't think I would have slept much tonight, but um... Yeah, I'm about ready to crash." She looks it, I think. She smiles tiredly. "Good. Me too." I open the door and step out into the hallway, but she calls me back. "Monica? Do you need a ride out to the station tomorrow, to get your car?" I figured John would be able to give me a ride, so I shake my head, "Oh, that's okay, it's-" "-no big deal. Really." I suppose we could always swing past John's house on the way, find out how things went with him tonight. And it's really sweet of her to offer... "Well, um sure. I mean, that would be great." "I'll give you a call in the afternoon, then?" "*Late* afternoon." She smiles. "Fine. Take care." "You too, Dana." I smile and as I turn, hear the door close softly behind me. I walk slowly down the stairs to my waiting cab, mulling over the possibility that I just might have made a new friend tonight. Or at the very least, even if we're not yet quite friends, I feel like we're on the way to becoming them. We're not strangers to each other, anymore. And with Dana's propensity for casual intimidation, and mine for self-inflicted humiliation, that must be some kind of achievement especially at three in the morning. But I suppose trust has to start somewhere. End Author's Note (this one will be shorter, promise ;): I wasn't sure of Melissa's age when she died, but if Scully was born in 1964 and Melissa, who died in 1995, is a few years older, I would guess that she was around thirty-four. Apologies for any inaccuracies there. Aside from that thanks for reading! And oh, I lurrrve feedback. ;) Fanfiction: http://www.withinrach.com Feedback: webmaster@withinrach.com ===== [ http://www.withinrach.com ]