Comments, complaints and just plain talk to sheryl_martin@tvo.org
Summary: Scully ponders her life...
Musings of a Skepticby Sheryl Martin
It was a cold, miserable day. Well, it would have been if she hadn't decided to call in sick and snuggle down deeper in the thick comforter covering her bed.
"You all right, Scully?" Mulder had actually sounded concerned.
"Yah. Just tired. Maybe the flu or something."
"Okay. Well, I'll see you tomorrow." His voice lifted up on the last word as if to make it a question.
She smiled. "Sure. I'll see you in the morning." The almost inaudible sigh of relief comforted her in some way that she didn't know how to describe. Putting the phone down, she closed her eyes again and drifted back into sleep.
The clock read 9:45. Really sleeping in there, Dana. Padding to the bathroom in bare feet, she grimaced at the tangled hair reflected back at her in the mirror. Definitely a mental health day.
With a yawn she poked a finger at the coffee maker as she made her way through to the living room; now securely wrapped inside the comforter and warm slippers on her feet.
Click.
"And now, the ultimate cubic zirconia ring for you women looking for an engagement ring..."
Click.
"Oh, but you almost guessed correctly! And if you had gotten the right answer you would have won this new car..."
Click.
"And who says there aren't angels in everyone's life; looking over their shoulder to help them survive the daily troubles we all go through..."
The interviewer's voice followed her through to the kitchen, where she poured a huge cup of coffee and added a bit of cream.
"Well, one of the theories proposed is that the angels around us are just manifestations of alien beings; appearing in a form that won't frighten us as badly as if they appeared in their true form."
Click. Did not want to see that. Did not want to hear that.
Because it made her think. And sometimes that was a Bad Thing.
Television off.
Sipping her coffee, she stared out the far window. When she had joined the Bureau she had fought bitterly with her mother over the simple fact of refusing to attend church with the family anymore; using the excuse that she didn't have the time.
"Dana Katherine Scully, I don't think it's a lot to ask for you to take a few hours out of your life to at least accompany me and your father to Mass!" Margaret Scully turned off the tap water, wiping her hands on a dishtowel as she watched the dishes dry. "And don't tell me that they won't let you. Even in the Navy your father always was allowed to worship..."
"It's not that." Dana shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "It's that I just don't... well, I don't want to go."
"Is it because of your father?" Her mother's voice dropped a notch. "I know you two still are a bit rocky about the Bureau - but one of the reasons you go to church is to try and mend fences; to forgive. It's a place of peace."
"It's not Daddy." She shook her head. "It's me. I just don't... I can't..." She spread her hands helplessly, looking for the words. "I just can't do it."
A deep sigh came out of her mother's chest, breaking two hearts. "I see. Well, you're welcome to come by afterwards for dinner. Always. And don't worry about your father - I can handle him." A smile twisted one edge of her mouth. "Always have."
One finger twisted the thin chain around her neck as Dana took another sip of coffee; curled up at one edge of the sofa. And now what did she believe?
That aliens were here; had been here for years and that they were corrupting/corrupted/invading/invaded her government; her country; her world?
That her government was involved in covert operations that nonchalantly murdered and crippled hundreds, if not thousands of people yearly with perverse medical and unethical experiments?
That she had been abducted by either group and experimented on; probably leading to a premature death by something unnatural?
Putting her mug down, she put her head down on the pillow and closed her eyes. Either theory presented avenues that were just too dark and evil to contemplate. Along with plenty of blanks to disprove and disbelieve.
And that's what pulled her along this path; what kept her circling around Mulder like an errant asteroid pulled into orbit around a planet.
The need.
The need to know; to believe.
Or disbelieve; disprove and rip away the costumes to show what lay under the masks.
She shuddered, falling back asleep with a quiet prayer for no dreams.
Because she was so afraid of what she would see under the masks.
Or who.
*****************
"In order to live free and happily, you must sacrifice boredom. It is not always an easy sacrifice."Richard Bach - "Illusions"