SPOILER WARNING: Beyond the Sea; Momento Mori; Redux II
RATING: PG-13, for language, and for a suggestion of adult sexual situations
CONTENT WARNING: Character death (not M or S, if it matters)
CLASSIFICATION: SRA; MSR; Maggie/Bill, sr; MaggieAngst
SUMMARY: Bill, jr, arrives at his mother's home unexpectedly, and receives an unpleasant surprise.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a continuation of what I suppose we should start calling the "Silver Bracelet" series. The stories so far are Transfiguration, As I Knew He Would and Faith and Acceptance. And as much as I usually try to make each of my stories stand on its own, that's not possible in this case; you need to have read the other three stories to understand what is going on here.
I should also note that this story is in no way related to my two other "Bill Scully" stories ("Insurmountable Opportunities" and "Seven Days in November").
DEDICATION: I should acknowledge the debt I owe to Helen Wills, whose wonderful story "One Sorry Son of a Bitch" reminds us all that Maggie Scully is a tough woman who does not tolerate nonsense from her children (to put it mildly). Naturally, I am not attempting to compare my own story to Helen's; my work must stand or fall on its own. But you really ought to read her story; it is available on Gossamer, and I highly recommend it.
Reconciliation
by Brandon D. Ray
Margaret Scully awoke at her usual time on the day after Christmas. For just a moment she snuggled against her pillow, and considered staying in bed. There was really no reason why she should have to get up, and the bed was so soft, so warm.
Then she remembered. The dishes from Christmas dinner. She should have done them last night, but she'd been so tired, having stayed up all night the night before. She briefly considered the possibility that Fox and Dana might have done them after she went to bed, but she suspected that they had had other things to occupy their time.
She shivered as she remembered the events of the last two days. It had been such a hard time for both of them, and there had been so little she could do. Still, things had seemed to be working out when she'd excused herself and gone to bed the night before. They still hadn't opened up to each other, but Fox had come to Dana, as Maggie had known he would, and she had hoped that once they had a chance to be alone together, they would find the necessary words. The fact that the still, soft voice that lived deep inside of Maggie had allowed her to go to bed, and then drift off to sleep, was a good sign.
But now it was morning. The dishes. With a sigh, she threw back the blankets and climbed slowly out of bed. Time was, I would have rolled out of bed,>> she thought. But I'm getting older.>> Not that it bothered her overmuch; her aching joints (so far just in the mornings, when she first woke up), and all the other little signs that her body was gradually running down, just meant that she was that much closer to being with Bill again.
A small part of her, carefully suppressed in the back of her mind, longed to go to him now. That part was always there, whispering to her, but she knew better than to listen to it. The fact that the Church would not approve was only a small part of her reason for not listening; although she and Bill had both always been devout, they had never allowed anyone's dogma to interfere with doing what they thought was right.
The more important reason to resist the voice was her promise to her husband, that horrible night five years before. She closed her eyes for a moment and let herself remember.
# # #
They had had dinner with Dana in her apartment. It had been a short visit, shorter than Maggie had wished, but Bill had seemed anxious to get home, and she had let him take the lead, as always. Maggie would wonder, later, if things might have been different if they had stayed. Maybe her daughter's medical skills could have saved the man they both loved. But there was no way of knowing, no way of going back.
The promise had come while Bill lay dying in her arms, during the terrible, lonely wait for the paramedics. His face was pale and sweaty, his breathing harsh and labored. She held his head, crying and praying, tears streaming down her face. The still, soft voice was quiet, and that scared her even more than the obvious agony her husband was experiencing.
"M-Maggie..." Bill's voice was soft, so soft she could barely hear him.
"Shhh," she replied. "Don't try to talk. Save your strength. Help is coming."
He moaned, and a new wave of pain crossed his features. "No...no time," he gasped.
"No, Bill! Please, no! You've got to hang on. I can't live without you!"
That seemed to get his attention. He turned his head slightly, and looked up into her eyes. "Maggie," he repeated, his voice still a whisper.
"Yes, Bill. I'm here, Bill. I'll always be here. Just...try to hang on." Her voice cracked, and she let a single sob escape.
"Maggie..." he gasped, and tried to suck in air through his mouth. "Can't...breathe." Another gasp. "Can't...."
"Yes, you can! Oh, Bill, you CAN breathe. You must!"
"No. Time's...up."
His eyes closed, and she felt terror rising in her throat. She shook his shoulder, gently, and In the distance, she heard a siren. "Bill," she begged. "Don't go, Bill! Please don't go."
His eyes fluttered open, and somehow she knew that it was for the last time. "Can't breathe," he repeated. "Maggie...love. You..." he stopped again, and gasped for air one last time. Then: "You've got to breathe. For both of us."
And then he was gone.
Maggie closed her eyes and cried; long, wracking sobs. The siren in the distance grew louder, and then the paramedics were pounding on the front door. She didn't want to move, she didn't want to go to the door. She just wanted to hold her husband; she didn't wanted to admit the men who would tell her what she already knew: that Bill was gone forever.
The pounding on the door was repeated, and she knew she had to answer it, or they would break it down. With a sigh, she opened her eyes, and for just a moment she let her gaze caress Bill's features. She felt all the love and longing of more than 30 years of marriage, and she gently brushed her fingers against his cheek. "I promise, Bill," she said. "I'll breathe for both of us. I promise." And she got up, gently laying his head on the floor, and went to answer the door.
# # #
Maggie sighed and opened her eyes again. Sometimes she needed that. Sad as it made her to remember that night, sometimes she needed the catharsis. She took a tissue from the box on the nightstand and wiped her eyes, then pulled on her robe and went out into the hall.
She frowned as she saw the door to the guest bedroom standing open. Fox Mulder had never struck her as being a morning person, an impression Dana had confirmed to her on several occasions. She stepped over to the open door and looked inside, and her unease deepened.
The bed had not been slept in. Nothing had been disturbed; nothing was out of place. There was no sign that anyone had been in the room at all.
She wondered if things had perhaps not gone well the night before, after all. Perhaps Dana's walls had been too high and too strong, or Fox's own pain had been too great, and he had finally turned and walked away. She tried to listen for the still, soft voice, but it wasn't saying anything to her at the moment, and that also worried her.
Well, nothing to be done about it now, if that was indeed what had happened. Nothing to do but to pick up the pieces. Assuming it was necessary. And it still might be okay; they might just have fallen asleep on the sofa downstairs, as Dana had on Christmas Eve.
She walked down the hallway towards the front stairs, then stopped again as she came to her daughter's old room. The door was closed, and Maggie stood looking at it for a moment, wondering if she should knock. A wild thought crossed the back of her mind, and she took another step closer to the door, and cocked her ear to listen, holding her breath. Then she smiled.
She heard voices, softly murmuring to each other. And then she heard Dana laugh.
# # #
Thirty minutes later she was up to her elbows in dishwater. Fox and Dana had still not come downstairs, and she had no intention of disturbing them before they were ready. She knew that Dana was probably nervous, especially about having allowed Fox to spend the night in her room. Maggie and Bill had always been strict on that topic: No visitors of the opposite sex in their childrens' bedrooms. And while Maggie had to admit, at least to herself, that the situation made her a little uncomfortable, she wasn't about to interfere with something that so obviously made Dana happy.
Her little girl was happy. What a profoundly wonderful thing. Such a welcome change.
The doorbell rang. Maggie raised her eyebrows; who on earth would be out ringing doorbells at five minutes until eight in the morning on the day after Christmas? Stripping off her rubber gloves, she made her way to the living room and opened the front door.
"Billy!" In a flash she was wrapping her arms around her son's waist and giving him a warm, affectionate hug, before releasing him and allowing him to enter the house. "It's so nice to see you! What a wonderful surprise. I thought you were going to be at sea until after the first of the year."
He smiled as he shut the door. "So did I. But the sea trials were a total bomb. They are at this moment TOWING the ship back to Charleston. I guess that'll teach them not to schedule trials over a holiday." His smile broadened. "And *I* copped a 72 hour pass."
"Oh, that's wonderful," Maggie said, leading him over to the sofa. "I mean, it isn't wonderful about the problems with the ship, but it's wonderful to have this opportunity to see you. Are Tara and the baby coming?"
He shook his head. "No. They're still in Seattle with her folks, and it didn't seem worth it to have them fly all the way out here just so we could have one day together. Besides, airline reservations are almost impossible to get on short notice, this time of year. I'll see them soon enough." He sat down on the sofa next to his mother. "By the way, I tried to call Dana when I passed through Washington, but got no answer. Any idea where she might be?"
"Oh, yes. She's here," Maggie replied, then felt a slight tremor of apprehension as she suddenly realized the potential for conflict in the situation.
Bill was already rising to his feet. "That's great," he said, heading for the stairs. "I suppose she's still in bed. I'll just go up there and drag her downstairs."
Maggie rose to her feet and ran after her son, catching him at the foot of the stairs and laying a hand on his elbow. "Bill," she said. "Wait a minute."
He turned to look at her, and his smile suddenly disappeared as he took in the look on his mother's face. "Mom? Is something wrong?" He glanced up the staircase, then back at Maggie. "She isn't...she isn't sick again, is she?"
"No, Bill, she isn't sick," Maggie said quietly, and a shiver went through her in spite of herself as she remembered those horrible times. "Come here. Sit with me for a minute." She led him back to the sofa and they both sat down again.
Maggie wondered how to begin. There really wasn't any good way to say this, and she knew that Bill's reaction to the change in the relationship between Dana and Fox would not be positive. Still, better for him to find out about it this way, and at least have a few minutes to prepare himself, rather than being taken completely by surprise.
"Bill," she said, choosing her words carefully. "Normally, this is not something I would wish to discuss with you. As you know, once you kids reached adulthood your father and I felt that it was not our place to interfere in your personal relationships, either within the family or outside of it. Naturally, we always hoped that our children would be friends with one another, and of course we wanted only your happiness in your relations with others, as well. However, as I said, we did not feel it was appropriate for us to interfere."
She paused, and looked at her son for a moment; he nodded for her to continue. "That's why this is so difficult for me to say," she went on. "Because I am about to...interfere in your relationship with Dana. But that is only because I foresee problems, if you are not forewarned of something." She shrugged her shoulders. "It may be that I am doing you a tremendous injustice in anticipating these difficulties. If so, I wish to beg your forgiveness in advance."
Bill shifted uneasily in his seat. "Mother? What are you getting at? What's going on? You said Dana's not sick..." He trailed off, a questioning look on his face.
"Dana is not sick," Maggie agreed. "She is fine. In fact, she is better than she has been in a very long time." She stopped, unsure of how to go on. She was sorely tempted to back away from this; she really did feel uncomfortable at the idea of meddling in her childrens' lives. But she had to do this. She couldn't just let Dana and Bill walk into a potential firestorm unawares -- nor would it be fair to Fox.
"So what's the problem?" From his tone, it sounded like Bill was becoming defiant. That was his standard reaction to anything he didn't understand: Defiance and anger. She loved her son dearly, more than life itself, but that didn't stop her from seeing his flaws, nor did it stop her from blaming herself for every single one of those flaws.
No choice but to meet the matter head-on. "Bill," she said, taking one of his hands in both of hers. "I know you don't get along well with Fox Mulder."
His eyes narrowed. "What's he got to do with this?"
"He's here, too, Bill."
He stared at her for a moment, then shrugged angrily. "So? I mean, you said it yourself: I can't stand the man. But if you chose to invite him to your house, that's your business. I know you didn't expect me to be here this weekend." Another shrug. "I'll do the best I can to be civil. As long as HE does the same."
Maggie shook her head. "It's not that simple, Bill. First, I did not invite Fox over here -- although I have no objection to his presence, and I have invited him to visit me in the past. I like Fox very much, and I value his friendship; I wish he would visit me more often. I know that he has flaws, but they are more than outweighed by his good qualities, and it grieves me that you can see only the former, and not the latter."
"Mother!" Bill said in exasperation. "What's this all about?"
She sighed again. "Bill, he's upstairs with Dana."
He stared at her again, and his eyes narrowed further. "What...what exactly do you mean by that?"
"He's upstairs with Dana," she repeated. "In her room. He's been there since last night."
Her son's eyes widened, and his cheeks started to redden. Then came the explosion. "Jesus, Mother!" And he jumped from the sofa and strode rapidly towards the stairs.
"Bill!" Maggie sprang to her feet and went after him again, but this time he shrugged her off and started up the stairs. She clapped her hands together sharply. "William Matthew Christopher Scully! Come back down here this minute!"
He froze. For an agonizing moment, she thought he might disobey her. Finally, however, he turned around, and slowly descended back into the living room. He allowed himself to be led back to the sofa, and the two of them sat down again.
They sat staring at each other for a pair of minutes. Finally, Bill said in a low tone of voice, "Why did you stop me, Mother?"
"Because you were about to do something all of us would regret."
"Speak for yourself, Mother," he said coldly. "I was going to enjoy it."
They sat in silence for another moment. Then Maggie said, "May I ask what, exactly, you thought you were going to do?"
"I was going to break it up, get him out of there." He looked at her, amazement on his face. "Hell, Mother, I was only going to enforce your own rule."
"That was a long time ago, Bill, and it was a rule for teenagers. Dana is no longer a teenager, and she is no longer my dependent. She makes her own rules, just as you and Charlie do. Just as Melissa did."
"You can't tell me that you approve of this!"
She shook her head. "It's not for me to approve or disapprove. Dana is a grown woman, and she makes these decisions for herself now." She thought about it for a moment. Then: "And no, to be perfectly honest, I am not entirely comfortable with the situation. I wasn't raised that way, and your father and I tried not to raise our children that way. But times change, and there's no use in trying to hold back the tide. And I respect Dana too much to second guess her on such an important matter, in any case."
"Even under your own roof, Mother? What a bunch of politically correct bullshit!"
She looked at him for a moment in silence, trying to decide what to say, and when she did speak her voice was very quiet. "Bill, are you under the impression that this is the first time something like this has happened in this house?" Suddenly he didn't seem to want to meet her eyes. "Or, to put it more precisely, are you under the impression that *I* think this is the first time something like this has happened?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't you?" She arched an eyebrow at him. "Did you really think your father and I didn't know what was going on between you and Tara, 'under our own roof', for nearly two YEARS before you married her? Did you think we were blind, or merely stupid? Or perhaps you thought I had no sense of smell. *I* was the one who did all the laundry, as you may recall." He shifted uncomfortably, and still he refused to meet her eyes. "Or perhaps I should mention the time I found a pair of Tara's underpants tangled up in your bedclothes."
Now he did look at her, and his eyes were big and round. "You...you found --" He licked his lips nervously. "What did you do with them?"
"I washed them and gave them back to her. What would you expect me to do?"
"Why...why didn't you just give them back to me?"
She smiled slightly. "Well, they pretty clearly weren't your size, Bill." More seriously: "And in any case, you quite obviously did not wish for me to know what was going on, and I did not wish to make you uncomfortable by rubbing your nose in the fact that I DID know. You see, I respected your decision, Bill, just as I now respect Dana's."
"The two situations are totally different," he muttered.
"You're damned right they are!" she said, suddenly angry. "Do you want me to tell you how they're different? They are different because Dana is considerably older now, and much more mature, than you were then. The other difference is that you have this irrational hostility towards Fox Mulder, while she was never anything but gracious and friendly towards Tara. Even though I am pretty sure Dana knew what was going on, as well. And those are the ONLY differences, Bill. The only ones."
Her son pulled back from her slightly, apparently stunned at her outburst. He just sat there for a moment, looking at her, his eyes large, wounded circles. Finally, his voice very low, and with a tremor in it: "Mother....what is it you want me to do?"
Maggie felt her anger melting away. More than anything in the world, she wanted just to reach out and take him in her arms and comfort him, as she had so many times when he was a little boy. But much as her arms ached to hold him, she knew that if she did she would risk undoing whatever good had just been accomplished. So instead, her hands folded carefully in her lap, she said, very softly, "What I want, Bill, is for you to be the kind, generous, loving man than I know you really are."
She paused for just a moment, then went on. "I want you to be a friend to Dana, and I want you to be gracious to Fox. And I want you to remember that while he is close to your sister, and very important to her, he is also close to ME, and that he is a guest under my roof. That's what I want, Bill."
He sat silently for a moment, and she watched while his internal conflict played out across his features. Finally, he shook his head. "Mother..." But his voice trailed off, and he seemed unable to finish the sentence.
At that moment, Maggie heard a door open and close upstairs, followed by the sound of voices and laughter.
"Bill," she said urgently, reaching out and touching his hand again. "Bill, we are out of time. In about thirty seconds Dana and Fox are going to be coming down those stairs, and you MUST decide." Still he didn't speak. Desperately: "Bill, listen to them. Listen to HER. Listen to how happy your sister is. Listen to her, and tell me when the last time was that you heard Dana laugh like that."
That did it. Bill's face seemed to crumple inward, and his shoulders sagged. He closed his eyes, and took a shaky breath, then opened them and looked up at her again. "All right, Mother," he said, the words obviously costing him a great deal, and Maggie felt a moment of pride at this demonstration of his strength of character. "All right. I'll try."
"You're a good boy, Billy," she said, and she hugged him briefly and fiercely. "You're a good boy." Then she released him, and together the two of them rose from the sofa, and went to meet Dana and Fox.
Fini