Eve Of The Half Moon
by Mischa
mischablue@iprimus.com.au
Rating: G
Category: VA
Spoilers: Nothing specific; general knowledge up to NIHT.
Summary: Each candle represented a life, evaporating into
time.
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine; they are the
property
of 1013 and co, and no infringement is intended.
Archival: All you have to do is drop me a line and ask.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The last time she had stepped into a church on Christmas Eve
had been years ago. What was once a tradition had become a
sporadic event. Scully breathed in the rich thick scent of
melting wax as strains of carol singing reached her ears. A
wry smile quirked at her lips. If she could carry a tune,
she might have joined them.
She knelt at the aisle and placed William's bassinet beside
her, crossing herself in front of the hanging crucifix.
Smatters of people lined the pews. Not as many as she last
remembered from church services, but perhaps they were all
at home with their families, commemorating. //Or opening
presents//, she amended, almost smiling again.
Christmas Eve came with a half moon this year, promising the
new with the old, the light with the dark. Standing outside
the small church with William in her arms, staring up through
the clouds at the moon suspended in the sky, she remembered a
time when lunar phases were clearly marked in her calendar.
When telescopes were a gift hard earned. Snow had patted her
upturned face with its soft flakes, and she could have stayed
out there until she shivered. William had stirred in her arms,
grasped for the tiny flakes of white, and Scully had taken that
as her cue to move inside.
"Gloria, gloria, in excelsius deo..."
A clear, round soprano note soared above the voices of the
choir as Scully rose and lifted the bassinet. She could have
spent Christmas with her family this year, with Skinner, with
John, with Monica who had apparently organised quite the
gathering. Perhaps she would join one of them later... but somehow
she felt the need for this solitary time, a return to her roots.
Maybe it was the half moon that triggered it. A crossroads
between old and new, and she was standing on the threshold.
She remembered conversations with Missy by campfires, years ago.
"Do you think a moon could ever be half-empty, Dana?"
"That's the pessimist's view, isn't it?"
"Yeah, but if they call a bright moon a full moon..."
"If they call no moon a new moon, wouldn't this be half-old,
too?"
"Half old, half new, empty, full, who cares, really? It's
the halfway mark. It's the bridge."
"Yeah. The bridge."
Even as she faced more situations in her work that made her
question her beliefs, Scully refused to escape her upbringing.
There was a comfort in the ritual of the church as much as
there were restrictions within it. She found herself recalling
all the old doctrines and habits with ease. Still a doubt
remained that she couldn't easily pray away. She had seen...
many things... how could she still believe? What did she
believe in now? How much of what she had lived on once had
been based on blind belief, and how had her need for evidence
compromised that?
She thought of a rubbing of a mysterious metal panel with
strange powers, of how it represented Genesis and the human
genome. The foundations of religion and science, combined
in a single alien craft. Scully wondered if she was just a
hypocrite for staying here, for continuing to utter prayers
to a deity she didn't completely believe existed anymore.
Scully ducked into one of the rear pews, rocking William
slightly as he dozed. Her gaze drawn to the small but
conspicuous signs dotting the aisles.
//Keep your belongings safe and with you at all times,// she
read. //Professional beggars operate here.//
Scully knew she had faced worse than professional beggars
before, but she was glad of the forewarning as much as the
thought saddened her. As the few church attendees stepped
forward to take communion, she considered her options in
taking William and the carry case up with her.
She ended up taking everything up with her, feeling more
awkward than she had in months. Scully felt eyes on her
as she approached and lifted her chin proudly. Yes, this
was her son. Yes, she was alone. But Dana Scully could
survive, and so could William; she wouldn't have it any
other way.
She accepted the communion, and as she did so felt its
responsibility press on her heart.
//Lord God I am not worthy to receive you, only say the word
and I shall be healed.//
Blind belief, yet she continued to rely on evidence.
The father leaned over and blessed William, and Scully felt
tears pricking at her eyes. They shared a smile and Scully
stepped to the left to acknowledge the crucifix hanging along
the far wall, crossing herself again as her child cooed.
"Shh," she hushed him, and moved back towards the pew to
utter a quick prayer.
Scully found herself staring speechlessly at the flawed wood
of the pew in front of her, mind blank of a prayer. In her
mind instead came an apology, a wave of regret. Her eyes
fluttered closed.
//I *wanted* to say a prayer, but only this came: I would
fight to keep us all safe, even if the notion no longer
exists.//
She was at another bridge, right there.
Between belief, and something... something else.
She swallowed past the dull ache in her throat and quickly
gathered her bag and her son, heading towards the small side
room containing a statue of the Virgin Mary and the altars of
candles.
"You see that, William?" she whispered to him, gathering him
in her arms and resting the empty bassinet against her feet.
"Look at all those lights..."
Scully had always loved the candles, the idea that each of
them somehow represented a life that could be prayed for.
Billy had tried to scare her when she was young, saying
that guidance only lasted as long as the candles did.
Although she had believed it for a time, it also meant she
visited the local church far more often to keep their
candles burning.
Charlie had been the one to find out about the real reason
for her frequent trips outside the home, and when Bill found
out Dana was renewing his own candles he stopped being a
bully for a week or two. By then, Father McCue had pulled
her aside and listened to her fears.
"I'm afraid, Father."
"Of what, Dana?"
"That if I let the candles burn out, God will stop
watching."
Yet even now as she lit every wick she still believed each
candle represented a life, evaporating into time. Her father,
Missy, Emily, Mom and Bill and Charlie. Monica Reyes. John
Doggett. Walter Skinner. Fox Mulder.
"May God keep you safe," she whispered.
She lit a candle for herself. When the wick on William's
candle flared alight Scully couldn't help but hope it never,
ever extinguished.
As she departed, the line of candles continued their soft
weeping. Ivory teardrops slid to the warm metal supports. In
time, they would all melt into one, brought together by the
truth that they were all mortals, made of the same blood and
flesh. In time, they would be replaced by other candles, by
other wishes, by other truths.
The doors closed behind her with a solid thud. She looked up
at the bright patch in the grey sky, where the moon was
concealed by the passing clouds.
"It's half-full, Missy," she said. "Merry Christmas."
Swaddled in his blankets, William mumbled something in that
universal, unknown tongue that all babies spoke. Scully
looked down at him and smiled. Perhaps she would stop by a
friend's place tonight, to bring together solitary worlds.
They could reminisce.
She nodded, and moved down the broad stone steps towards her
car. Dana Scully was a woman with purpose, and she couldn't
stand around and watch the candles cry.
~ END
I wish a safe and happy holiday season to all. Thank you for
reading. :-)
by Mischa
mischablue@iprimus.com.au
Rating: G
Category: VA
Spoilers: Nothing specific; general knowledge up to NIHT.
Summary: Each candle represented a life, evaporating into
time.
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine; they are the
property
of 1013 and co, and no infringement is intended.
Archival: All you have to do is drop me a line and ask.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The last time she had stepped into a church on Christmas Eve
had been years ago. What was once a tradition had become a
sporadic event. Scully breathed in the rich thick scent of
melting wax as strains of carol singing reached her ears. A
wry smile quirked at her lips. If she could carry a tune,
she might have joined them.
She knelt at the aisle and placed William's bassinet beside
her, crossing herself in front of the hanging crucifix.
Smatters of people lined the pews. Not as many as she last
remembered from church services, but perhaps they were all
at home with their families, commemorating. //Or opening
presents//, she amended, almost smiling again.
Christmas Eve came with a half moon this year, promising the
new with the old, the light with the dark. Standing outside
the small church with William in her arms, staring up through
the clouds at the moon suspended in the sky, she remembered a
time when lunar phases were clearly marked in her calendar.
When telescopes were a gift hard earned. Snow had patted her
upturned face with its soft flakes, and she could have stayed
out there until she shivered. William had stirred in her arms,
grasped for the tiny flakes of white, and Scully had taken that
as her cue to move inside.
"Gloria, gloria, in excelsius deo..."
A clear, round soprano note soared above the voices of the
choir as Scully rose and lifted the bassinet. She could have
spent Christmas with her family this year, with Skinner, with
John, with Monica who had apparently organised quite the
gathering. Perhaps she would join one of them later... but somehow
she felt the need for this solitary time, a return to her roots.
Maybe it was the half moon that triggered it. A crossroads
between old and new, and she was standing on the threshold.
She remembered conversations with Missy by campfires, years ago.
"Do you think a moon could ever be half-empty, Dana?"
"That's the pessimist's view, isn't it?"
"Yeah, but if they call a bright moon a full moon..."
"If they call no moon a new moon, wouldn't this be half-old,
too?"
"Half old, half new, empty, full, who cares, really? It's
the halfway mark. It's the bridge."
"Yeah. The bridge."
Even as she faced more situations in her work that made her
question her beliefs, Scully refused to escape her upbringing.
There was a comfort in the ritual of the church as much as
there were restrictions within it. She found herself recalling
all the old doctrines and habits with ease. Still a doubt
remained that she couldn't easily pray away. She had seen...
many things... how could she still believe? What did she
believe in now? How much of what she had lived on once had
been based on blind belief, and how had her need for evidence
compromised that?
She thought of a rubbing of a mysterious metal panel with
strange powers, of how it represented Genesis and the human
genome. The foundations of religion and science, combined
in a single alien craft. Scully wondered if she was just a
hypocrite for staying here, for continuing to utter prayers
to a deity she didn't completely believe existed anymore.
Scully ducked into one of the rear pews, rocking William
slightly as he dozed. Her gaze drawn to the small but
conspicuous signs dotting the aisles.
//Keep your belongings safe and with you at all times,// she
read. //Professional beggars operate here.//
Scully knew she had faced worse than professional beggars
before, but she was glad of the forewarning as much as the
thought saddened her. As the few church attendees stepped
forward to take communion, she considered her options in
taking William and the carry case up with her.
She ended up taking everything up with her, feeling more
awkward than she had in months. Scully felt eyes on her
as she approached and lifted her chin proudly. Yes, this
was her son. Yes, she was alone. But Dana Scully could
survive, and so could William; she wouldn't have it any
other way.
She accepted the communion, and as she did so felt its
responsibility press on her heart.
//Lord God I am not worthy to receive you, only say the word
and I shall be healed.//
Blind belief, yet she continued to rely on evidence.
The father leaned over and blessed William, and Scully felt
tears pricking at her eyes. They shared a smile and Scully
stepped to the left to acknowledge the crucifix hanging along
the far wall, crossing herself again as her child cooed.
"Shh," she hushed him, and moved back towards the pew to
utter a quick prayer.
Scully found herself staring speechlessly at the flawed wood
of the pew in front of her, mind blank of a prayer. In her
mind instead came an apology, a wave of regret. Her eyes
fluttered closed.
//I *wanted* to say a prayer, but only this came: I would
fight to keep us all safe, even if the notion no longer
exists.//
She was at another bridge, right there.
Between belief, and something... something else.
She swallowed past the dull ache in her throat and quickly
gathered her bag and her son, heading towards the small side
room containing a statue of the Virgin Mary and the altars of
candles.
"You see that, William?" she whispered to him, gathering him
in her arms and resting the empty bassinet against her feet.
"Look at all those lights..."
Scully had always loved the candles, the idea that each of
them somehow represented a life that could be prayed for.
Billy had tried to scare her when she was young, saying
that guidance only lasted as long as the candles did.
Although she had believed it for a time, it also meant she
visited the local church far more often to keep their
candles burning.
Charlie had been the one to find out about the real reason
for her frequent trips outside the home, and when Bill found
out Dana was renewing his own candles he stopped being a
bully for a week or two. By then, Father McCue had pulled
her aside and listened to her fears.
"I'm afraid, Father."
"Of what, Dana?"
"That if I let the candles burn out, God will stop
watching."
Yet even now as she lit every wick she still believed each
candle represented a life, evaporating into time. Her father,
Missy, Emily, Mom and Bill and Charlie. Monica Reyes. John
Doggett. Walter Skinner. Fox Mulder.
"May God keep you safe," she whispered.
She lit a candle for herself. When the wick on William's
candle flared alight Scully couldn't help but hope it never,
ever extinguished.
As she departed, the line of candles continued their soft
weeping. Ivory teardrops slid to the warm metal supports. In
time, they would all melt into one, brought together by the
truth that they were all mortals, made of the same blood and
flesh. In time, they would be replaced by other candles, by
other wishes, by other truths.
The doors closed behind her with a solid thud. She looked up
at the bright patch in the grey sky, where the moon was
concealed by the passing clouds.
"It's half-full, Missy," she said. "Merry Christmas."
Swaddled in his blankets, William mumbled something in that
universal, unknown tongue that all babies spoke. Scully
looked down at him and smiled. Perhaps she would stop by a
friend's place tonight, to bring together solitary worlds.
They could reminisce.
She nodded, and moved down the broad stone steps towards her
car. Dana Scully was a woman with purpose, and she couldn't
stand around and watch the candles cry.
~ END
I wish a safe and happy holiday season to all. Thank you for
reading. :-)