Title: Aeschylus' Wisdom
Author: Evie Whiting
Address: fishadam@hotmail.com
Keywords: MSR, Scullyangst, religious undertones ( flee now if you
hate anything to do with organised religion, even though this is a
fleeting mention)
Rating: R ( for language)
Archive: Yes Please but do let me know
Feedback: If you needed a liver and you'd sent me some feedback,
I'd consider it a fair exchange
Spoilers: Good general knowledge required,tiny one for HAD, also
knowledge of Season 8 required.
Author's Notes: I feel deeply about the way the writers(the show's
might I add, not fanfic authors) are showing Scully dealing with
Mulder's abduction. Yes I know in the show, Scully seems to have no
problem with Dog, but in my version she has 'issues' with the whole
set up. If you do not like Dog-bashing or even a bit of Skinner
bashing, I suggest you do not read this. Also the fragment of the
sermon I've used is real. I heard this at my Midnight Mass. Frankly
I wish I could have written more, but to be brutally honest I've
forgotten quite a bit *Hanging my head in shame*.
Dedication: To Sarah, who gets an ear bashing each time we mention
the Dog. This is my attempt to get it all out of my system. To
Fish, always to Fish. And to my curveballs.
Summary: Something's got to give.
You would have recognized the warning signs. But then you had a
seven year edge. My fault again really. You only became so
proficient because I'd never let you know myself.
You would have known classic Scully-in-Denial mode is always a
precursor to whatever is brewing. The calm before the storm so to
speak.
They didn't have a clue.
Maybe Skinner had a clue, but I think it eased his guilt to turn a
blind eye.
I'm not sure what the proverbial straw was. Maybe it was when I
realized someone had replaced your chair for one which wasn't
booby-trapped.
Maybe it was Doggett calmly putting his hand on your spot.
Or maybe it was just necessary for me to let go, to let them know I
was not fine, and cannot be 'fine' till I have you back.
It started as any other day. Correction. It started as any other
day had, since the day I saw you off on that plane to Oregon.
I woke up, I threw up, I refused to look myself in the eye, even if
it was just to see my reflection. I donned my Donna Karen and
Clinique suit of armor, forced myself to eat a breakfast I didn't
want, then headed to work.
The office was empty, and so for a few minutes I indulged myself in
my newest hobby. Pretending you're not gone.
I'm a champion at it already. But since denial has always been my
forte, you could imagine it was an easy skill for me to acquire and
cling to.
Who said the safety blankets I wrap around me are healthy?
I'm not sure how long this latest bout could have gone for.
The longest I've ever managed was about half an hour. I convinced
myself so well in fact, the game only came to an end when I tried
to ring your cell phone. Still not too sure how to explain away my
cell being smashed beyond repair, when I wasn't even on a case.
This fantasy ended when I looked at your desk and saw your
nameplate missing.
I've been shot in the stomach but it hurt less than seeing that
blank spot.
It was obscene somehow, the fake grain of the wood, shiny and dust-
free.
An implicit accusation. Silent in it's reprimand, yet loud enough
for me to turn my face in shame.
I'm not sure, but I don't think I would have recreated Chernobyl if
Doggett hadn't come striding in to the office just then.
His brusqueness is just part of his nature, but at that point it
was just too much.
His presence, the lack of yours, everyone -including me- acting as
if your disappearance hadn't happened, or even worse, as if you had
never existed, grated my numbed soul into awareness .
I could feel my chrysalis of denial melting around me.
Blocking out Doggett's voice, I looked, really looked, at the
office, our office.
Only it wasn't ours anymore.
You chair had been changed. The pencils were on the desk, not lodged
in the ceiling. There was another desk, which had a nameplate on
it.
It looked like any other office in this goddamn cinderblock.
I hated it, with a force which even then frightened me, and I hated
Doggett with this same force. I hated him for his very presence in
the room. I hated him because he was there and you weren't.
I know it wasn't logical, but you know something, fuck logic.
Don't think my Awakening made everyone sit up and notice. Far from
it. No, this all happened while I was being hustled unceremoniously
up to Skinner's office. Doggett buzzing around me, droning on about
...something. Just then, he bore a distinct resemblance to a bee,
And you know how I feel about bees.
In retrospect, an AD's outer office was probably not the best place
to put to rest all the Ice Queen rumors, but I really didn't think
about that. I didn't think at all.
It was his hand on me that did it. God that sounds so lewd. Let me
clarify. It was Doggett's hand just above my left hip, steering me
imperiously into Skinner's office, that finally got the reaction
everyone had been expecting of me since you first disappeared.
I growled at him, Mulder. I literally growled. A feral, inhuman
noise. Doggett was so shocked he just stood there, his fucking hand
still pressed up against my hip.
"Don't do that again. Ever." My words were jagged shards of glass.
"What?"
"Keep your hands off me. I might have to deal with you as my
'partner', but I will not tolerate you touching me again. Agent. "
I spat at him.
He recoiled instinctively. Thank god his instincts are better than
his profiling skills.
"Scully." Skinner barked from behind us. I swung around, Doggett
looked distinctly relieved.
"Yes?" I bit out.
"Scully," he began again, modifying his tone, as they taught in
Negotiating With Pscyhos 101 " Scully, you're being irrational."
It was his eyes which shattered the remnants of my self-control.
Pity was mixed in there, with a good dose of condescension to boot.
Not even when we told him about my cancer did he look at me like
that.
"Turning into Mulder isn't going to help anyone."
He was sorry the minute he said it. Through my rage even I could
see that. It didn't matter. My fist had already made a satisfying
crunch against his cheek.
"Fuck you. Sir." I enunciated clearly.
Only on my way out of Skinner's office did I see several agents
gaping. A considerable crowd had gathered to watch the fireworks.
Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure I didn't attempt to try and
keep my voice down. Lots of them either made some money or lost a
whole lot, depending on which pool they were part of.
I liked the throbbing ache in my left hand. All of a sudden that
theory about stubbing your toe to forget about a headache made a
lot more sense. While I tried to figure out whether or not I'd
damaged the delicate bone structure, I didn't have to think of the
festering wound Skinner had just made worse.
I didn't bother going down to the office, just headed straight for
my car, and drove home.
Your fish definitely looked eager, when I headed over to feed them
I know they're only meant to have a three second memory span, but
lately I've taken to hoping, somewhere in their fishy consciousness
they recognize me.
I need someone to recognize me, Mulder.
Exhaustion is a factor you quickly learn to deal with when you're
pregnant, but what I felt went beyond the usual brand of tiredness.
Emotional Awakenings do that to you every time. Last time though, I
fell asleep with your voice as a lullaby. Now, I made do with the
burbling of your fish tank.
I've been afraid to go to sleep since you left, Mulder. I keep
having dreams. No, not dreams, visions, premonitions. Sleep was the
only time my iron grip on Denial got loose.
I'd wake screaming silently, cursing myself for not going with you,
cursing Skinner for ever letting Krycek near you and even cursing
you. Especially cursing you.
Cursing you for your secrets. For not telling me about your illness,
for all those cryptic sentences you'd throw around about "the dead
being everywhere", and cursing myself for not figuring it out. Then
I'd go back to railing at myself some more and so it would continue
in an endless circle, like the tattoo on my back.
This time, the dream was different. Hardly a dream at all. More
like one of those damn slide shows you love to show me, only with
sound.
I was back at Midnight Mass, with my priest giving the homily.
I went to Mass this year, more out of something to do than any
religious obligation. But I think my subconscious must have been
listening, since my dream contained some of his sermon, practically
verbatim.
" We are all made up of the dust of stars. The very red of our
blood is iron billions of years old."
The next slide clicked into place, and you were standing over me,
watching me sleep on your couch. You bent down, stroked my
hair, kissed my cheek and slowly faded into the black of your
apartment.
I woke, not suddenly for once, finding the ache in my heart somehow
lightened. It was still there, but it didn't crush me anymore. The
cold which has constantly enveloped me, had dissipated.
The dream warmed my very blood and for the first time since that
day I saw you off, I don't feel disconnected from you. I can feel
you, in me. Not just in the baby, but in my very blood. Our blood
has been together from the very beginning of time. And somehow,
I've regained my faith. Faith in you, faith in myself, and faith
that you will return to me soon
A fragment of your favourite poet Aeschylus came to mind;
"In our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the
heart until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom
through the awful grace of God."
It's a day of 'firsts'. After my shower, I deliberately
scrutinized myself in your bathroom mirror.
My eyes were sadder, I looked tired, and I definitely needed some
good sun, but you know something, I recognized myself.
That haunted, broken woman, who so terrified me, was gone.
Dana Scully gazed steadily back, for the first time in a long time.
Friend, lover, partner... mother.
(
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