<![CDATA[
*REPOST*
"A Mother's Words" (1/1) by Karen Rasch
krasch@delphi.com
I'm really sorry if I'm bombarding the newsgroup with posts, but I
keep getting "failure" messages each time I try to send this.
(Yeah. Like I really need to hear *that* from my server . . . <g>)
ANYWAY
Well, here it is the second Christmas to be celebrated in the Words
universe, and this story comes courtesy of a really nice guy named
Patrick who wrote to me and suggested that we take a look at Mulder
and Scully through the eyes of Mrs. Scully. In addition, he had always
been curious about a conversation to which I alluded in "The Gift
of Words" (last year's Christmas entry), and wondered if maybe a
second Christmas story might somehow kill two birds with one
stone.
Sounded like fun to me! :)
As with everything else that gets posted on this group, let me assure
you, that I in no way own these characters or profit from them. They
belong to Fox, 1013, CC, and the rest of the gang. I just take them
on every once and awhile.
I'd like to take this opportunity to wish all the really wonderful people
I've come into contact with as a result of this newsgroup a safe and
happy holiday season. You guys are the best. Thanks for making a
girl feel welcome.
And finally, with Patrick as my inspiration, I'd like to dedicate
this particular story to all the guys who have taken the time to write
to me over the past year or so. Not to slip into any sort of heinous
gender-based stereotypes here, but judging from the mail I receive,
I don't believe as many men tend to go for my type of File story as do
women. Still, the guys who have taken the time to drop me a line
are fab. Thanks to Patrick, Henry, JohnBear (I swear I'll be more
careful about ammunition the next time around. Honest!), Antony,
Angus and all the rest. It's always good to get your side of the story. ;)
FOR THE ARCHIVES:
I guess I would consider this an SRV (with a decidedly XMAS bend to
it <g>.) No NC-17 here. Strictly G. Appropriate for all audiences.
Summary: One Christmas Eve, Maggie Scully contemplates her life
and the lives of her loved ones.
Peace.
*********************************************************
"Now listen, you two--don't stay up all night. Morning is going
to come awfully early. And believe me, the children are not going to be
at all shy about making you aware of that fact."
Dana Scully chuckled at her mother's mock sternness. "Don't
worry, Mom. We won't be long."
"Good," Maggie Scully said with a small smile from her place
at the foot of the stairs, her hand resting lightly on the banister. "Don't
forget to make sure the fire is out before you come up, and close the flue.
Oh!--and turn off the tree, too."
"We will."
"Good night, Mrs. Scully," said another voice, one whose
owner didn't bear the surname of Scully.
"Good night, Fox," the older woman said, her eyes warm as
she gazed at the man sitting so closely on the sofa beside her younger
daughter, his arm draped familiarly around her shoulder, both his profile
and Dana's caressed by shadows. Soft flickering firelight and a tree full
of tiny white bulbs provided the room's only illumination; the resulting
mood, intimate, cozy. She did not imagine that the couple on the couch
would ultimately miss her company too terribly much. "See you in the
morning."
"'Night, Mom," Dana called quietly after her as Maggie turned
and padded wearily up the stairs.
Margaret Scully had always enjoyed the holidays; looked
forward to them as a time of family and sharing. Yet, she wasn't as
young as she used to be, and the preparations for all that family and
sharing seemed to take more out of her with each passing year.
Much to her annoyance, she found that nowadays, all the shopping
and the wrapping and the decorating and the cooking seemed far
more taxing than it had when her children had been the ones rousing
her from bed at an ungodly hour.
Yet this year, it would be her grandchildren playing heralds
of the dawn. Her modest two-story home was packed to the gills with
visiting relatives. Bill Jr., his wife and two boys had all found a place
to rest their weary heads in her remodeled basement. Charlie, his wife
and their young daughter were all settled in what would normally be
Maggie's own bedroom. She had given up the master suite for the sake
of family harmony. After all, it was the largest of the upstairs rooms.
Dana was in the room she always stayed in when she visited, the one
with the antique spindle bed that was right next door to her mother's
own holiday sleeping quarters.
And Fox Mulder was housed just down the hall from his
partner in a room of his own.
When the tall, good-looking government agent had learned
just how cramped accommodations were going to be, he had vigorously
protested what he perceived to be his preferential treatment.
"Mrs. Scully, this is nuts," he had said with a measure of
chagrin. "Dana never mentioned that her entire family was going to be
staying with you. You're going to need every available bed. We'll just
. . . we'll do this some other time."
But there was no way in hell that Margaret Scully was going to
let Fox Mulder get away. Not when she had waited an entire year to see
the man she had grown to love as one of her own coupled with her
darling Dana. Not as her daughter's co-worker. Not as her friend.
But as her lover.
Or whatever the hell young people called their boyfriend or
girlfriend this day and age.
"Don't be silly, Fox," she had said briskly, blithely anticipating,
then deflecting any and all arguments the man had attempted to offer.
"Around here, the creative sleeping arrangements are half the fun. The
kids love it; they look at it as one big slumber party."
"I'm sure your grandchildren enjoy it," he had allowed with a
small nod, his brow furrowed with embarrassment. "However, I don't
imagine that Dana's brothers and their wives are going to be all that
crazy about it."
"They'd be even *less* crazy about it if I told them that you
had bailed on us over something we've all taken for granted for years,"
she had assured him with a motherly pat on the arm. "Honestly. This
is no big deal. Besides, Christmas isn't about sleeping. It's about
spending time with those you love. We want you here, Fox. I want
you here. Dana wants you here."
That had done it. Maggie knew the soft spot Fox Mulder had
for her. The way he tended to view her as a sort of surrogate mother;
someone he respected and treated with the same affection with which
he treated his own mother. But, she was even more well aware of his
feelings for her daughter. Had, in fact, sensed the depth of his
attachment to Dana long before the poor man had come to terms with
it himself. She doubted that there was little he could deny the woman
he loved. Thus, regardless of how awkward he might find the notion of
bedding down with a house full of Scullys, Maggie had an inkling that
with the combined influence of both she and her daughter, the man her
youngest girl insisted on referring to as 'Mulder' would, when all was
said and done, accept their invitation.
And she had been proven right.
"Okay," he had finally mumbled with a sheepish shrug, caving
in with the same grace with which he seemed to do most things. "That's
very kind of you. Of all of you. I appreciate it. With my mom in Florida
this year for the holidays, I had wondered what exactly to do with myself."
Maggie wished she could take credit for the idea. But the plan
had been Dana's from its inception.
"Mom, would you mind if Mulder spent Christmas with us?"
Dana had asked without preamble one Saturday afternoon in November
as she had sat at her mother's kitchen table slicing up vegetables for
Maggie's famous chicken noodle soup.
The older of the two women had felt her heart do a little
cartwheel inside her chest.
"Mind?" she had echoed as casually as she could manage.
"Why would I mind?"
Dana had shrugged. "I don't know. I just wanted to ask. His
mom is going to spend the last couple of weeks in December down in
Sarasota with some friends. So, he's going to be alone this Christmas.
And . . . well, if it's all right with everyone, I'd like to invite him to
spend the holidays with us."
"Well, you know he's welcome, Dana," she had murmured as
she had thoughtfully stirred the simmering kettle of chicken and water
and herbs. "But, don't forget--you invited him last year and he didn't
come."
"I know," her daughter had said with a small nod of her head
and a wry twist of her lips. "I know. But, it was new then. We were
new. Now is . . . different. I think he might. I really think he might."
And from what Maggie could see, Dana was right. Now was
*different*. Somehow. Although she couldn't quite put her finger on
why she believed that to be so. Sometimes she thought she was kidding
herself. After all, it wasn't as if she had exactly been afforded the
opportunity to watch the couple together in the past. To get an accurate
sense of how they interacted. To be able to gauge what precisely was
considered 'normal' for the two of them. True, she had learned last
Christmas of the shift in their relationship. Dana had shared with
her the knowledge that she and her partner had come to care for each
other in more than strictly a platonic sense. But, they certainly hadn't
invited her along to chaperone their dates.
Or did those two ever even go on *dates*?
Maggie shook her head with amusement as she softly opened
the door to her room and fumbled for the wall switch. Although she
and Bill had purchased this particular house nearly a decade ago, she
still wasn't entirely certain where things were in the dark. Especially
not in this room, which usually served as more guest quarters than
anything else. The chamber would sit empty for months at a time until
one of the boys swung through town with his family. When springtime
rolled around each year and she busily marched from room to room,
pulling down drapes for the wash and moving pieces of furniture to
vacuum behind them, she often wondered why in God's name she and
her husband had ever chosen to move into a house this size when they
had reached a point in their lives when it had really been just the two
of them.
Well. One, now.
Then, she would sit in her garden with one of her daughter-in-
laws, sipping lemonade and gossiping about one family member or
another. Or would lean over the back of one of her tall kitchen chairs,
gazing at a piece of paper filled with multi-color crayon swirls and
wondering just what precisely the little one had chosen to draw *this*
time.
And she would remember.
Every family needed a place to roost.
Her baby birds may have flown the nest, but from time to
time, they returned. Not as regularly as those swallows out in
Capistrano. But, as devotedly.
Having successfully conquered the problem of the bedroom
lights, Maggie paused for a moment, eyes narrowed against the sudden
brightness, and smiling a trifle sadly at her metaphor. Bill had always
teased her about her and her *chicks* when the children had been
growing up. He had always claimed that she tried too hard to shelter
them. "Kids are kids, Maggie," he would tell her with a fond twinkle
in his eyes. "You've got to let them skin their knees. Try and fail.
That's how they learn. How they grow up. You can't always protect
them, sweetheart. I'm not even sure you should attempt to."
She ruefully shook her head as she slowly changed from her
faded jeans and bulky wool sweater into her nightgown. Brave words
from a man who had routinely subjected any boy contending for his
daughters' affections to an interrogation reminiscent of a Navy court-
martial, she thought, her love for the man with whom she had spent
more than half her life undiminished by time or loss. Oh, her Bill had
talked a good game, but he was as fierce a defender of his family as she.
As all the Scullys were for each other.
What would Bill have made of Fox Mulder?
Maggie swallowed a girlish giggle as she tiptoed down the
darkened hall to the bathroom, a quilted robe covering her flannel
night wear, her slippered feet silent as they tread upon the faded
hallway runner.
Strange to think that Fox, who had played such an important
role in Dana's world for so many years, had never met the other most
important man in her daughter's life.
Her Ahab.
Maggie had few illusions on that account. As close as she
and her only remaining daughter were, as much love as they shared
between them, Dana had always been, and perhaps would always be,
her daddy's girl.
Much to Bill's delight.
Yes, he had gotten quite a kick out of their closeness. That
special bond that sometimes developed between a parent and child.
His sweet Starbuck. How proud he had been of her. Of her intelligence,
her drive, her warmth, her grit. Hmm. How would the doting father
have taken to the man who had in so many ways stolen his little girl
from him?
Well, perhaps *stolen* is a bit harsh, Maggie mused as
she peered into the vanity mirror and began removing what scant
make-up she wore. But in many ways, Dana's decision to join the FBI,
which of course had led to her partnership with Fox, had taken her from
her family.
And not just in the literal sense.
First of all, it had sparked the rift between Dana and Bill.
He couldn't believe that after all the years, all the study, all the student
loans, that his daughter the doctor would choose not to practice. Then,
to add insult to injury, she had decided that she was going to try her luck
in a job that not only would pay her a fraction of what she would have
been making as a physician, but could put her life in jeopardy as well.
"Where the hell is the sense in that?" he had grumbled
heatedly to Maggie upon hearing the news.
And yet, there had been no fight, no out-and-out knock-down-
drag'em-out. Instead, her husband and daughter had both chosen to
merely withdraw into themselves; the defense, a Scully trait. Lord knew
that the gene had =not= come from her side of the family. Her loved
ones had been ridiculously civil to one another; so much so, that at times
she longed to take the pair and knock their two politely smiling noggins
together. But there had been strain. Unmistakable, even in its reticence.
And that had only been exacerbated when Dana had left
Quantico to pair with Fox.
"You know that this guy is a flake, Dana," Bill had warned her.
"Your old man hasn't been an employee of Uncle Sam all these years
without making a few contacts along the way. I asked around. He
hunts spaceships, sweetheart. =Spaceships=. Are you going to tell me
that you left medicine to chase colored lights in the sky?"
It went without saying that her father's derision had only fueled
Dana's determination.
The petite redhead had inherited her father's stubbornness as
well.
"It's true that Agent Mulder does have certain . . . unorthodox
interests," she had calmly retorted. "But he is an excellent investigator.
I know I'll learn a lot from him."
Oh, honey, Maggie silently lamented as she, with cupped
hands, splashed water onto her face to rinse it. Why is it that I fear
sometimes that Fox has taught you things you would both be better off
not knowing? Eyes shut, she stretched out her hand, blindly searching
for the towel hanging over the toilet. Succeeding with her objective,
she pressed the terry cloth to her face.
Much as part of her felt like a traitor for entertaining such
thoughts, she couldn't help but wonder from time to time if her family
wouldn't have been better served by never having been introduced to
Fox Mulder and his 'unorthodox interests.'
After all, if not for the X-Files, she and her family wouldn't
have to suffer through this second Christmas without Melissa; her
beautiful free-spirited eldest daughter.
"Missy," Maggie whispered on a sigh, her throat clenching as
the single word flowed gently past her lips, the towel clutched tightly
in her hands forgotten in her reverie.
Does it ever get any easier, she wordlessly queried, studying
her reflection in the mirror as if the answer might be found there.
And indeed it was.
Her eyes told the tale.
No. It never does.
Having been forced to bury two beloved family members in
such a short period of time had challenged the faith of even so devoted
a church-goer as she. She couldn't begin to count the hours she had
spent talking with her Lord; at church, and in bed at night before she
had finally escaped her sorrow in sleep.
Why, she would ask her strangely quiet deity, the question
shaded with less humility than she knew perhaps was proper or just.
Why would you ask this of me? Of our family? What have we done
to deserve this?
And yet, even as she had cried out her indignation to the
heavens, Maggie had known her queries would ultimately be without
answers. The Lord moves in mysterious ways. How long had that
truth been drilled into her head? First, by her own devout mother.
Later, by the nuns who had taught her not only dignity and grace and
strength, but spelling and math and geography. And finally, by a
succession of sincere, well-meaning priests who had echoed the
platitude from the pulpit Sunday after Sunday throughout her life.
Ours is not to question, child. But to accept.
Accept.
But it was so hard.
Hard to say goodbye to the man who had been her constant
companion since girlhood. Hard to think about all the maybes and the
might-have-beens; all the bright shining possibilities that her older girl
had never been given the time to explore or fulfill.
Maggie sighed, feeling the sadness that never entirely left her
well up inside of her like the tide, lapping at her heart, filling her eyes
with salt water, stinging like the spray from the ocean.
"Enough of that," she murmured as, turning from the mirror,
she neatly folded her towel, the action something she completed
without conscious thought, and hung it over the bar where it belonged.
Wishing didn't change anything. This, she knew. And besides, she
and her family had so very much for which to be thankful. So many
blessings to consider.
She and Bill had enjoyed the best of marriages. The greatest
of friendships. She had years and years of memories stowed away to
cherish in her twilight.
She still had three children. Three offspring whom she
dearly loved and who returned her affection unendingly.
Out of these three, she had three more Scullys to love. Three
more innocents to play with, marvel over, and guide to adulthood.
And even though she had confronted God during the worst
of her losses, upbraiding him for her travails and her pain, he had not
forsaken her. For, in the midst of the great tragedies the past few
years had wrought, she had been granted a miracle. Her littlest girl,
taken without true motive or explanation, had been returned to her.
And yet the return hadn't proven the actual miracle.
The recovery had.
Because, almost as if it were a test of some kind, a trial of
Maggie's belief, of her trust in a power greater than herself, Dana had
been allowed back into her life in only the most tenuous of ways. Her
lovely, vibrant daughter had been found alive, yes. Yet, only just so.
A spark of life.
But little more.
And so Maggie had commenced to mourn even as she had
rejoiced.
But not alone.
No. Melissa had been there, coming home to her family after
years of searching, of looking for something both within herself and
without. Something that her traditional mother and father had been
unable to provide. Having her prodigal daughter return to the fold had
been one of the few good things to come from that time, Maggie readily
acknowledged.
And getting to know Fox Mulder--really know him--was
another.
Prior to those desperate hours, Maggie had known *of* him,
of course. In addition to Bill's less than kindly assessment of the young
agent, she had been privy to Dana's far more approving comments.
Well, perhaps *approving* wasn't quite the right word.
"It's weird, Mom," her daughter had confided one day at lunch
not soon after being partnered with the man who would change her life.
"There are days when I want to take Mulder by the throat and absolutely
. . . =throttle= him, he makes me so crazy."
"That sounds a bit extreme," Maggie recalled murmuring
mildly in response.
Dana's brows had lifted, the corners of her lips quirking as
well. "Yeah. Well . . . it's probably a good thing that I don't. Because
no sooner are my hands twitching to do the deed than he'll say
something. Something so . . . so off the wall, and yet so =right=, that I
end up just . . . just standing there shaking my head."
"In a good way?" Maggie had queried with a gentle smile,
already fairly certain of the answer to her question.
Dana had ducked her head as if a trifle embarrassed by her
admission. "Yeah. Yeah, in a good way."
And that was how it would go. During those all too rare
instances when Dana would talk about her work, she would always
mention her partner. That in and of itself, of course, wasn't particularly
odd. They were a team. Maggie would have found it unusual had her
daughter =not= discussed the man with whom she worked.
But rather, it was the =way= that Fox Mulder without fail found
his way into the conversation. Dana would invariably begin by blowing
off a little steam--mentioning an argument the two of them had had, or
a particularly preposterous theory her partner had proposed, or an
outlandishly foolhardy risk the man had taken. Then, almost before the
words were even out of her mouth, she would double back on herself.
The thing about Fox Mulder that had initially made her most insane
would somehow transmute into the thing she most admired. Like the
alchemy of old. Lead being transformed into gold. Maggie remembered
at the time wondering if Dana even realized that such a change was
taking place. If she had any idea of the way her face would come to
life when she spoke of him. Her eyes flashing with exasperation. Her
lips curving gently into the most rueful, yet fondest, of smiles.
Maggie herself had noted it.
And had been intrigued by the mystery man.
She had hoped one day to meet him.
But never under the circumstances that had occurred.
She doubted few women could boast that they had first met
their daughter's beau right smack dab in the middle of a crime scene.
A crime whose victim was the person responsible for bringing
them together in the first place.
And yet, it had been in Dana's darkened apartment that she
and Fox Mulder had been introduced, the scene lit by the garish strobe
of flashbulbs and police lights. Her daughter's blood quite literally on
her frightened partner's hands. But despite the pain and horror under
which they both had labored, the fear and the anguish she had seen
shining so plainly in the young man's expressive eyes, she had recognized
immediately what had so attracted her daughter. Not Fox's face. Nor
his form. But instead, the core of virtue the man had within him. The
strength and the kindness that had steadied her when her world had
been so violently rocked. First, by the abduction and, then later, by the
return of her youngest girl.
They had turned to each other during that hellish time, she and
Fox. She had sought him out for news as to Dana's whereabouts.
Updates on the case. Reassurance that, despite the lack of clues, someone
somewhere was still looking for her child. Still missed her. Still needed
her.
And although he had never said as much, had never intimated
as to the depth of his own despair, Maggie Scully had known that Fox
Mulder had indeed mourned the loss of her daughter. Perhaps as much
as she herself.
Perhaps more.
Maggie chuckled sadly, the sound little more than a gentle
rumble in her throat as she opened up the medicine chest and rummaged
around for her toothbrush. No. When Dana had been missing, Fox
had refused to share his grief with her. Instead, he had chosen to be
her rock, the one who could be counted on to preserve hope in the midst
of the most hopeless of situations.
And in return, Fox, what did I give you, she silently mused as
she located the half empty tube of toothpaste and squeezed its contents
carefully onto her brush. Why did you put up with the phone calls and
the visits and the questions that couldn't be answered?
She paused for a moment, brush in hand, and considered the
question. Other than the man's inherent decency, what had prompted
his indulgence? Why make time for a woman he had barely known?
A glance in the mirror provided the answer once more.
She had given him Dana.
True, the gift had only been a pale imitation of the real
thing; comprised of memories and shared emotions and the faintest of
physical resemblances. But she suspected that such a phantom had
indeed been welcome when the original had been lost. At least she
hoped that she had provided that comfort. After all, she had owed him.
She honestly didn't know what she would have done if Fox Mulder
had not been there for her.
Neither, she fancied, did her daughter.
Oh, no way would Fox ever take credit for having rescued
Dana, Maggie wordlessly recognized, the frustration that insight
provoked adding speed and vigor to the manner in which the brush
in her hand made contact with her teeth. If anything, her daughter's
partner blamed himself for her abduction. Maggie knew that. And
that knowledge made her own earlier musings regarding the wisdom
of having Fox Mulder as a friend seem almost piercingly cruel and
petty in retrospect. But regardless of the misgivings which drifted
through her mind every once in awhile like miasma, Maggie believed
in her heart that it was because of that young man that her little girl
had opened her eyes once more.
After all, he had been the one to sit with her on that night
before she had awakened.
That night when everyone, including Fox Mulder, had
believed that Dana Scully was breathing her last.
Maggie recalled returning to Dana's bedside after having
been coerced by Melissa and Doctor Daly to lay down for a few hours.
Her exhaustion had caught up with her. And those few hours had
turned into overnight. She had awakened near dawn, disoriented and
terribly frightened upon realizing that her daughter had been left alone.
Afraid that without something with which to anchor her, Dana had
stolen from the world. Like morning mist being burned from a field by
the sun. The passing soundless, gradual.
Irrevocable.
To this day, she could remember stumbling back to Intensive
Care, some little understood part of her urging her to hurry, taunting
her with the fear that she would, in the end, be too late to say goodbye.
Only to come upon someone else saying their farewell.
No.
Although she had no way of proving her theory save to ask the
man outright, she somehow doubted that Fox Mulder had given up on
his partner even then.
It was funny, Maggie thought as she brought her oddly brisk
brushing to an end by rinsing her mouth and stowing her gear back
in the medicine cabinet. She couldn't say why, but finding Fox seated
beside Dana's hospital bed had surprised her somehow. So much so,
that upon discovering him there, she had hung back for a moment
and taken in the scene.
He had been slumped in his chair. Sitting still. So very still.
Dana's small hand clutched in his. His face shuttered against the world.
Against the pain. Closed. Almost as if it had been carved in marble.
Like the grave marker he had gone with her to pick up.
All except for his eyes. They were soft. And shimmering
with grief.
Their gaze trained on Dana's pale complexion.
Maggie had stood there for a time, watching him watching her.
Then finally, feeling like a voyeur, she had crossed to stand in back of
his chair, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder. His eyes had
flickered in her direction, but he didn't move.
"Dana is fortunate to have a friend like you, Fox," she had
told him quietly, hoping he would somehow understand how much she
valued him as well.
"I'm the lucky one," he had whispered, his eyes still refusing
to leave the face of the woman Maggie had known in that instant he
loved. "I'm the lucky one."
Poor Fox, she mournfully mused as she snapped off the
bathroom light and retreated back down the hall to her temporary
bedchamber. He must have felt anything but lucky that morning. The
Lord knew how lacking in good fortune she had believed her life to be
that chilly November dawn.
And yet, how wrong they both had been. How utterly
unfounded had been their fears. Because, against all odds, a few short
hours later, Dana had returned to them. Weak, but awake. Alive.
And judging by the look on Fox Mulder's face when he had
arrived at her home that Christmas Eve night, not a day went by when
he didn't say a prayer of thanks for that particular blessing.
Did Dana even realize the way that man looked at her, Maggie
silently queried as she crawled gratefully into bed. Did she note the
way his hazel eyes seemed loathe to leave her? The manner in which
he sought her out in a room full of people, searching for her like a
touchstone. Did she sense how he tended to check with her, even when
speaking of the most mundane things, as if seeking her approval, or
perhaps merely her acknowledgment?
Did she know how much he loved her?
Maggie smiled as she nestled under the covers, impatient for
the icy sheets beneath her to absorb her warmth and thus transmit the
heat back to her. Yes, when it came right down to it, she had a
feeling that her little girl was well aware of her partner's emotions.
After all, she mirrored them.
That, Maggie knew for a fact.
"Mom, what do you think of Mulder?" Dana had asked her
over spiced cider nearly one year ago to the day. The boys had been
out in the snow playing touch football with their sons. The women in
their lives had been watching the game from the comfort of the kitchen
window seat. Maggie and her daughter had enjoyed the living room
all to themselves.
And Dana had apparently decided to make good use of the
opportunity.
"Well, I like him, Dana," Maggie had replied to the
unexpected query, her mug nestled between her palms for warmth.
"You know that."
Dana had grimaced with chagrin. "Yeah, I do. It's just . . .
well, I guess I was wondering more what you thought of him as a
person."
"What I think of his character?"
"Yeah. I suppose."
She remembered having taken a slow sip of her drink as she
had ordered her thoughts, her brain whirring as she strove to figure
out where precisely Dana was going with this line of questioning.
"He's a good man," she had carefully said at last. "He's
honest. Intelligent. He cares about you. Worries about you. Respects
you. I don't imagine that you could ask for much more in a partner."
Dana had smiled at that. "No, I don't imagine that I could."
"Why, honey?" Maggie had inquired gently. "Are you
and Fox having some sort of problem?"
"No," Dana had answered swiftly, a chuckle blurting out
along with the single word. "No, not at all. I just . . um, I just needed
to know."
"Why?"
For the longest time, Dana had said nothing, Maggie recalled.
Instead, her eyes had grown seemingly fascinated by the steam rising
in airy little wisps from her cider. Finally, she had whispered, "I love
him, Mom."
Although there was nothing in the world wrong with Maggie's
hearing, the mother in her had needed that simple phrase to be repeated.
"What did you say?"
And her little girl had raised her eyes, and looked at her
head on, the emotion shining in her gaze nearly blinding the older
woman with its intensity.
"I love him."
"You do?"
"Yeah. I do."
"And he makes you happy?"
"Oh, Mom. . . . Yes."
"And he . . .?"
"Feels the same."
"Then the rest is just logistics."
Burrowing under the covers as she tried unsuccessfully to get
comfortable, Maggie stifled the urge to laugh out loud at her naivet�. Oh,
Maggie, old girl. Something tells me that the relationship Dana and Fox
share is a good deal more complicated than what you and Bill had faced.
Of course, that was purely speculation on her part. Dana had given her
only the sketchiest of details. She knew that the feelings the two young
people had for each other had been revealed in a moment of crisis. That
they had admitted their love while on a case. Dana would tell her no
more. But, she had impressed upon her mother the need for secrecy.
"Please, Mom, whatever you do, =don't= breathe a word of
this to anyone. Not to the boys. Not to anyone."
"Honey, you know that I won't," Maggie had assured her.
"I know," Dana had hurriedly replied. "That's why I felt as if
I could tell you. It's just that . . . it could be dangerous if anyone found
out. Mulder and I could be separated. The X-Files themselves could
be shut down."
"You don't think--"
"No. No, I don't," Dana had swiftly averred, the very speed
with which she hastened to placate her mother making the older woman
all the more nervous. "I really don't think there's anything to be worried
about. But Mulder and I just want to be safe, you know? Take the proper
precautions."
Maggie had nodded, not at all convinced, but determined to be
supportive. For Dana's sake.
For the sake of them both.
For =heaven's= sake, what in God's name was the thermostat
set at, she felt like wailing. Her feet were like ice. This was ridiculous.
Was that ratty old patchwork quilt still stashed in the hall closet?
Sighing with a combination of resignation and determination,
Maggie slipped from beneath the covers, retrieved her slippers from the
foot of the bed, and quietly stepped into the hall. Cautiously, she made
her way to the closet and, wincing upon hearing the door's tattletale
squeak, pulled open the cupboard's portal.
Drat!
Forget about the comforter. There in the corner of the closet
leaned one of her oldest grandson's gifts. An air rifle, secreted away
because of the distinctive shape and size of the present's packaging.
She had planned on putting the gift out once the boys were asleep, but
had totally forgotten. Thank goodness the old house was drafty.
Otherwise, she might not have remembered about this most wished-for
item until it was too late. Bill Jr. would have killed her.
Not to mention how disappointed his son would have been.
Smiling as she anticipated the look on the boy's face when he
got a gander at what 'Santa' had left behind, Maggie walked swiftly yet
silently to the stairs, and just as carefully descended.
Well, this way, I can kill two birds with one stone, she thought
with satisfaction as her slippered feet came to the end of their downward
trek. Not only can I deposit this little item beneath the tree, but I can
shoo Dana and Fox upstairs where they belong.
That musing, however, came to an abrupt halt the moment she
rounded the corner of the sofa and got a good look at the pair in question.
They lay on the couch, tangled in each other's arms, lost in
sleep. Fox was wedged in the corner, his tousled head cushioned by one
of the throw pillows, his legs hanging half on, half off the piece of
furniture. He had her daughter clasped to him, his grip no doubt
loosened by slumber, his arms looped around her slender back. Dana
rested on her side, her head tucked beneath his chin, her weight wholly
supported by her partner's lanky frame, one hand curled against his chest,
the other laying limply in her lap, palm up, like that of a baby. The child
she once had been. The couple's chests rose and fell deeply, evenly, their
breaths overlapping one after the other like an endless series of echoes.
Dying firelight kissed their cheeks. They looked young. And beautiful.
And at that moment, so heart-breakingly innocent that it made Maggie's
eyes ache just to look at them.
But look at them she did.
Just for a second or two.
Merry Christmas, sweetheart, she whispered in her heart, not
even certain for whom precisely the wish was intended.
And for an instant, she found it far from impossible to imagine
that a ghostly pair of lips brushed against her cheek. Warm, like her
memories of the man whose kiss she craved. Soft, like the tumble of
auburn hair she had so often brushed and braided for her eldest girl.
Please, dear Lord, she entreated, her eyes tightly shut against
the tears that were stubbornly seeking their freedom. Let them be as
happy and as blessed as we were.
And scooting her gaily wrapped package beneath the room's
sweetly scented pine, she reached over and softly shook out the old
crocheted afghan she kept over the back of the room's antique rocker.
With small silent steps, she crossed to the sofa and gently settled the
throw over the slumbering pair. They didn't feel it.
That should keep out the evening's chill well enough, she
reasoned as she crossed to the switch that operated the tree's festive
lights and flicked it off. After all, the fire would probably smolder
for another hour or two. True, with the flue still open, a draft would
inevitably trickle in. And yet, she imagined that in the end, the faint
chill would only offer her daughter and the man she loved even more
reason to snuggle closely together.
Maggie knew that had it been she and Bill on that sofa,
that would have been *their* solution to the problem.
No. Let them stay there, she thought with a smile as she
climbed one last time up the stairs to a well deserved rest. She'd just
set her alarm and make sure they were up before the children. They
could all take naps tomorrow.
And she had a feeling she knew who would be calling dibs
on the sofa.
* * * * * * * *
THE END
Merry Christmas, you guys!! And a very Happy New Year!!! :)
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