Keywords: MSR
Category: VRA
Summary: It's been six years since the death of Scully's father.
Spoilers: General Scully knowledge, Beyond the Sea if that counts as a spoiler any longer.
Feedback: Loved and always answered at: [email protected]
Rating: G
Disclaimer: The X-files and all properties thereof belong to Chris Carter and 1013 productions. This is intended only for reader enjoyment and no money has exchanged hands.
Distribution: You want it, you got it. Just keep my name and email addy attached.
*Special Thanks go out to Barb, Nicole, and CoryG for the lovely beta job! :-)*
My father died six years ago today, and yet the pain is still fresh in my heart.
I had always been 'daddy's girl'; Mom still has the pictures of me in my bib that prove it. My Ahab was an ever constant in my world; no matter how tough, chaotic, and strange life was moving from base to base to base, I always had my father there to guide me and keep me strong. I inherited my stubbornness from him; once I am set on an issue it takes a lot to make me back down. Choosing to enter the FBI against my parents' wishes made this painfully apparent. I still remember the all night and into the morning 'talks' we held over my decision, when after the last of them my father walked away without a backward glance, and I left to fill out the final forms for enrollment in Quantico.
For some time life with me in the FBI was ok, Ahab even made grudging attempts to ask me about my studies and later my work. I know he was secretly thrilled when I was given a teaching job, rather than a 'dangerous' field position. Mom told me later that the first words out of his mouth after learning of it had been, "Thank God, Maggie." Later that night I had joined them for dinner, and afterwards Ahab called me over, and said, "Bring me a book, Starbuck." So it was that in my twenty-eighth year of life my father still read to me.
It hurts me to think that I thought it silly, him reading to me, when that would be the last time I ever heard Moby Dick from his mouth. I cannot now remember how the childhood tradition began; probably with my being upset at Daddy going away, and his comparison of himself to Ahab and myself to Starbuck, his chief mate. I remember being secretly pleased that *I* was his chief mate, not Bill, or Melissa, or Charlie. Little Dana was Daddy's chief mate, and that was that.
On the day that Ahab died, I knew that something was wrong. All through dinner with my parents, and even later, I didn't feel right. I felt as if something were nagging at the back of my mind, something I just could not place. And, then, seeing Ahab in sitting in a chair, in my apartment, part of me already knew, although I refused to believe it.
My father was dead.
Surrounded later by my mother, my brothers, my sister, and the assorted extended family, I had never felt so alone. I ran, I left my family and began an unbreakable chain of things to come.
I ran to Mulder.
I find it ironic that the man who has, and had by that point, become so important to me is the perfect personification of Melville's Ahab. Mulder with his unending quest and a Starbuck for a chief mate. Being with Mulder then, through the Boggs' case and beyond, I realize that I can never be truly alone, not with him by my side.
At my behest, however, Mulder has been away today, leaving me alone in my apartment with my memories, good and bad. I have poured through old family scrapbooks, home movies, and Christmas cards. Mom was over for lunch and we spoke of Dad, both quietly remembering the man who meant so much to us.
Late in the evening, I have changed into comfortable pajamas and have pulled my tattered copy of Moby Dick off of my shelf. I smile to see my Christmas tree still lit in the corner, remembering Ahab's teasing me over it. As I begin the shuffle down the hall to my bed there is a knock on my door. I smile a silly smile to myself. I'd been wondering how long it would take.
I usher Mulder in quickly, receiving a light peck on the lips for my effort. He takes in my worn, comfy attire-pajama pants and one of his old tee-shirts. He opens his mouth to speak but I silence him with a finger to his lips, and lead him to my bedroom. Receiving my unspoken message he strips to his boxers and undershirt, and climbs into my bed. I sit the book down on the night table and join him, content to snuggle up and be warm for the first time all day.
"Scully?" he asks, smoothing the hair from my forehead and looking at me, "Are you ok?"
I nod and offer him a smile. "I'm much better now." Craning, I reach over him and grab my book. I hand it to him and look up at him a bit uncertainly. "Will you read to me?"
"Are you sure, Scully? I mean..." Again I put my finger to his lips.
"Please." I say quietly.
Hesitantly he begins, "Call me Ishmael. Some years ago-never mind how long precisely-having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on the shore, I thought I would sail about a little..."
I fell asleep to his strong voice reading me the words my father had first read to me. Although
Dad may be gone he didn't leave me alone. Mulder, my constant in this chaotic world, is by my side. My last sleepy thoughts are of Ahab sailing along, smiling at Mulder and me.
Notes: I can't seem to leave sap territory. I think I'll build a nice house here. :-)