Disclaimer: Dana, Maggie, Missy, Bill Jr., Charles, and Capt. Bill Scully all belong to Chris Carter. Herman Melville (or some heir of his) owns any mention of Moby Dick. The situations surrounding Capt. Scully's death are also the property of Chris Carter, in that they came from (appropriately enough!) "Beyond The Sea". I am not writing this for monetary gain (as if!). Feedback to BeyondDSea@aol.com.
Author's Note: In all the time I have been watching "The X-Files", "Beyond The Sea" has been my favorite episode. Never once did I think I would come so close to being in Dana Scully's shoes. This story is dedicated to my father, Randy, who had a heart attack after dinner on this Christmas Day, 1996. Thankfully, my father is alive, and I have always known that he is proud of me. How do I know? He's my father. =)
"Dear Daddy"
2:23 a.m.
December 26, 1993
Annapolis, MD
Dana Scully sat down at her computer. She had wanted to go to her parent's house, to be with her mom, but Maggie had pointed out that she would be busy with the funeral arrangements. Dana knew her mother was still in denial. And so was she.
"Dana, we, umm...we lost your dad. He had uh, a massive coronary about an hour ago. He's gone."
Not her dad. Not Ahab. She had almost hung up on her mother, convinced it was a bad dream. After all, hadn't she just seen her father sitting there, across from her? That was something she didn't want to think about right now. She had too much else to process.
It wasn't fair. There had been so much left unsaid between the two of them. As if her going away to college had just created a gap between them that had yet to be filled. She was an adult, but that didn't mean that she no longer wanted to be Daddy's Little Girl.
She would never forget the look on his face when she said she had been accepted to the F.B.I. Academy. She hadn't even told her parents she was applying. But he had said nothing. And that is what bothered her. He hadn't been angry, he didn't rant and rave about money wasted on Medical School. He simply told her to do what would make her happy. But he had never indicated that he was supportive of her choice, or proud of her. Merely that he accepted it. That hurt her more than she could put into words.
After that, she had drawn away from her folks a bit. Not that she avoided them. But after 14 grueling weeks at Quantico, she hadn't needed any additional mental strain. And after her assignment to The X-Files, life had been turned upside down. Before that Christmas dinner, she hadn't seen her parents in nearly two months. On Christmas Eve, she had accompanied them to Midnight Mass, along with Missy and their brothers. Add in her brothers' families and there just wasn't a chance to talk.
Christmas Day dinner was her idea. It would give her all day to cook, and her parents all day to visit friends in the area. Charles and Bill Jr. were going to be spending the day with their wives' families, and Missy was going to visit an old friend. Scully only had to drop by Mulder's with his gift.
Mulder had been in an uncharacteristically jovial mood, but that could have been attributed to the alcohol she smelled on his breath. She knew this had to be a hard time of the year for him. As she had things to do to get ready for her parents' visit, she hadn't stayed long. The tie had just been a gesture. Although it was quite a bit nicer than any he already owned, she would never say that to him. Mulder surprised her by presenting her with a new leather-bound notebook for case notes and a new pen. She smiled when she realized that he had actually put some thought into her gift.
Pulling herself up out of the memories, she reached down and switched on her computer. She had never been able to talk with her father before his death, and somehow, that made everything she accomplished mean nothing. She waited a few moments as the monitor flashed to life, and opened her word processing application.
December 26, 1993
Dear Daddy:
I will never be able to tell you again that I love you. You may never know how much I miss you. And I will never know if you were truly proud of me.
All I ever wanted to do was study medicine. I wanted to help people. And you knew that. You supported me. When the F.B.I. recruiter was at our school, I felt I was doing something that you would approve of. Using my knowledge to help solve crimes and to bring answers to people who were grieving for lost loved ones.
Well, Daddy, where are my answers? How will I know that you were proud of what I did? Who will put their arms around me and hug me, and tell me, "You are my favorite girl, Starbuck."
You're gone, Daddy, and part of me died with you. I will think of you every moment I breathe, and I will cry for you for a long time. But I will also do my damnedest to make things right in this world. And I hope that, wherever you are, you look down, and you smile on me.
Watch over me, Daddy. Keep me safe. Keep Mulder safe. You would have liked Mulder, and I think he would have liked you. Who didn't like you?
It was good sailing with you, Ahab. I just never dreamed the white whale would catch up to you so soon. I look forward to joining you again, Daddy...somewhere...
Your Starbuck-
Dana
Tears filled her eyes as she saved and printed the letters. She knew that her father wanted to be cremated and returned to the sea he loved so dearly. As the printer softly finished, she picked up the letter and took it to the kitchen. She pulled out a bowl and a book of matches, and proceeded to set the letter on fire.
Her tears mingled with the ashes floating down into the bowl. When the paper was finished burning, she transferred the ashes to a small plastic bag. She wanted the letter mixed with her father's ashes. She wanted him to hold this letter with him forever. She wanted him to know that she did everything to make him proud.
Drying her eyes, she set the ashes next to her purse, and went down the hall to get ready for work. There were people out there who still needed answers.
Author's Note 2: There are plans for at least two more "Dear Daddy"s... Writing letters, even if they never get sent, is a good form of therapy, and even Scully can't deny that.