Loneliness of Evening (1 of 1)
By: Tess
E-mail: tnv099@aol.com
Distribution: Please ask first
Spoilers: Post Requiem
Rating: G
Content SAR
Keywords: V MSR
Disclaimer: Characters contained herein
are the sole property of 1013, CC and Fox.
This is a hobby and I'm making no money
from it. Similarly, I have no tie to the song,
other than the fact that I think it's lovely.
R&H get all the credit.
Summary: She waits and prays
Author's notes: This is number 11 in my
series inspired by the works of R&H. I hope
that as you read the stories, you read the
lyrics to the songs first. While I don't insert
the songs into the actual plot, I do think that
they help to set the mood. And they're
wonderfully romantic songs.
I wanted to write a story that would explore
how Scully's faith might sustain her through
this troubling time. For those of you who
don't know what a novena is...the short
answer for lack of a better term, is that it is a
prayer service held by Catholics (and
maybe other faiths, I don't know). Over the
course of 9 days or 9 weeks, you offer up
prayers for a special intention
Loneliness of Evening
By: Tess
E-mail: tnv099@aol.com
http://acovington.home.mindspring.com/tess
/index.html
Loneliness of Evening
I wake in the loneliness of sunrise
When the deep purple heaven turns blue
And start to pray as I pray each day
That I'll hear some word from you
I lie in the loneliness of evening
Looking out on a silver flaked sea
And ask the moon, oh how soon, how soon
Will my love appear to me?
Rodgers and Hammerstein - Cinderella
Loneliness of Evening (1 of 1)
By: Tess
E-mail: tnv099@aol.com
She awoke with the dawn, listlessly
watching the sky turn from purple to pink
and then to a brilliant blue. It was going to
be a beautiful day. How can that be, she
wondered. How can the sun shine so
brightly when my world is falling apart?
Early mornings and late evenings were the
worst time for her. Their relationship had
changed for the intimate only a few months
before he was taken from her, but she
keenly missed Mulder as if she had spent
the last 36 years wrapped in his arms.
Scully rested her hand on the swell of her
belly where their child was sleeping.
Sheltered. Protected. Nurtured. Safe. The
doctor in her knew that the baby was
healthy and developing normally. The
mother in her was anxious. She worried
that despite the care she took - eating
properly, getting enough sleep and resting
when her body demanded it - that her
melancholy was somehow hurting the baby.
The moments of joy and exhilaration that
came with this pregnancy were
overshadowed by a nearly overwhelming
sense of despair as the weeks and months
dragged on without Mulder.
Heaving a sigh, she forced herself out of
bed, pulling Mulder's T-shirt over her head
as she stepped toward the bathroom to
begin getting ready for the day. She
glanced at the clock, noting that her mother
would be arriving within the hour.
When Mulder had first disappeared, she
had taken to begging God for his safe
return. As the weeks passed without any
sign of him, she turned to cursing God. She
had pretty much returned to begging,
although this time in a more orderly and
structured way. Eight weeks ago, she
began attending a novena with her mother.
It was held at her mother's parish every
week after the Saturday morning Mass.
She had one more week to go. She didn't
know what she expected to gain at the end
of this devotion. Peace? Acceptance? A
miracle? Her heart was begging for the
miracle, but her head cautioned that peace
and acceptance would be a more realistic
blessing. Their baby was such an
unexpected miracle. Did she have the right
to hope for a second one?
+++++++++++
Seeking to ease the strain on her back,
Scully leaned her hips against the hard
wooden pew behind her. She was
peripherally aware of all that was familiar -
the worn, cracked vinyl of the kneeler under
her knees; the lingering scents of sulfur and
melting wax from the rack of votive candles
flickering along the side altars; the clicking
of rosaries laced through folded hands; the
rise and fall of the parishioners' voices in
prayer. All of these sights sounds and
smells faded into the background as she
focused her attention on the serene face of
the statue of the Madonna staring down at
her.
Please, she pleaded. You know what it is to
be unexpectedly and inexplicably pregnant.
I don't know what will happen when this
baby is born, she thought. Will I be able to
protect my child? Keep him or her safe
without Mulder? She raised imploring eyes.
I love him, she entreated simply. I need
him. I miss him.
++++++++++++
She awoke in the dark. The moon hung low
and heavy in the sky and she stared
lethargically at it, wondering if Mulder could
see the same moon wherever he was.
Suddenly the moon's light was blocked as a
silhouette moved in front of the window.
She lurched back, fear clutching her throat.
"Scully?" She gasped as his familiar voice
washed over her. "Scully, it's me."
"Mulder," she cried as she awkwardly
scrambled to her knees in the middle of the
mattress. He sank to floor next to the bed,
reaching out and pulling her across the bed
and into his arms. She buried her face in
his neck, sobbing his name. His hands
moved feverishly over her back as he
crushed her against his lean body. Long
minutes passed before he pushed her back
slightly to raise incredulous eyes to hers.
He lifted his hands and settled them over
her belly, pressing his fingertips into the
hardened mound that sheltered their child.
The baby moved suddenly and he drew
back, startled.
"Elbow," she whispered, tears spilling down
her cheeks.
"Ohhh," he breathed in wonder. He gently
urged her to lie back and stretched out next
to her. He swept his hand over her hair and
down her throat, lingering at the pulse
beating madly beneath his fingertips. He
brushed his fingers over her breasts and
back down to her stomach, where it
lingered. The cross that she had fastened
around his neck so many months ago
swung out of the open collar of his shirt,
glimmering as it was caught in the light of
the moon spilling into her bedroom.
+++++++++++++++
She kept watch over the man sleeping
peacefully in her arms. Her eyes traced a
path over the beloved features of the face
pressed contentedly against her breasts.
She stroked one hand over his hair and
smoothed the other across her swollen
belly, closing protective fingers around her
two miracles as she whispered a fervent
thank you.
End notes:
Thanks goes to Char for advice and hashing
out the details of this story with me. And to
the Sisters Spooky for taking it out for a
test-drive.
This and all of my other stories are hosted
by the kind and wonderful Aly. Thanks Aly!
http://acovington.home.mindspring.com/tess
/index.html
I had not intended to write another Requiem
piece, at least not right now. But this song
seemed to fit so well. As with my previous
Requiem piece, I didn't attempt to explain
where Mulder was. I can't even begin to
imagine. This story was terribly short, but
I'd love to know what you thought of it at:
tnv099@aol.com
(
geocities.com/area51/quasar) (
geocities.com/area51)