Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 17/17
Author: Somogyi
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com
Category: SRA
Rating: R for language, adult situations
Spoilers: Through Season Six
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing
each other first?
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no
profit is being made.
*****
Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water
by Somogyi
somogyi02@yahoo.com
Epilogue Part 3
After dinner, Dana and Mark ended up taking a leisurely moonlight stroll on the
beach by her hotel. The full moon suffused the pale sand in a soft glow. She had
removed her shoes, and was now savoring the sensation of the cool sand beneath
her feet and between her toes. A gentle breeze wafted through her hair, and made
the temperature perfect. They slowly walked down the strip of beach side-by-
side, their arms softly brushing against one another from time to time.
Dana was more relaxed then she could remember feeling in a long time. The
nervousness of earlier that evening had finally abated. Though she suspected it
was because of all the sake and puffer fish she had consumed, she nonetheless
preferred to think that it was because their frank dinner conversation had put
her at ease.
She felt really comfortable with Mark. He was easy to talk to--about any topic.
Work. Politics. Books. Movies. Their many travels. They seemed to have more in
common than she would ever have imagined. And at the same time, there were many
ways in which they were complete opposites--which made getting to know him
better all the more interesting. She found that when she talked with him, she
felt as though she could be herself--let her guard down and speak her mind. And
that was fine by him. He was one of those people you could talk to and feel as
though you had known him for years.
"I can't get over how beautiful the view is," Dana sighed.
"Funny, I've been thinking the same thing all night."
Dana looked up at Mark and saw that he was staring down at her. Flushing, she
quickly looked away. "Flatterer," she murmured.
"Can't blame a guy for stating the obvious."
He was buttering her up, plain and simple. And Lord help her, she was falling
for it--hook, line, and sinker.
"Come on now, Dana, you must be used to this by now. Don't tell me guys aren't
complimenting you all the time. You must have to fight 'em off with a stick."
She laughed at that. "Not quite. Let's just say it's been a while since I've had
to resort to violence."
"Well, then the men you work with must have an inordinate amount of self-
control."
"I wouldn't go that far. It's just . . . well, I have a reputation of being
somewhat of a . . . cold fish."
"You've got to be kidding me. Even back when we met in the cave, it was obvious
what a compassionate person you are. People must just be misinterpreting your
professionalism for indifference."
"Exactly. It's as though, just because I'm a woman, they expect me to be warm
and emotional, to wear my heart on my sleeve. Some people just don't seem to
understand that it's possible to beempathetic while still maintaining an air of
professional decorum."
He nodded in agreement. "It really is a double standard. Society claims to treat
women equally in the work place. And yet, when a woman is career-driven and
assertive, when she shows the least bit of ambition to succeed--qualities which
are highly valued in a man--she's suddenly condemned as unfeminine and
unemotional. As though the two aspects of one's personality must be mutually
exclusive. I still don't get that."
Dana was impressed. Sure, it occurred to her that he could be feeding her an
elaborate line, playing up a feigned feminist viewpoint simply for her benefit.
But her gut feeling told her that his words were genuine. There was a stark
sincerity in his voice, a real embitterment at the injustices he seemed to have
witnessed first-hand.
"You know, Mark, if more people could see professional women through your eyes,
there'd be many more of us in positions of authority. For starters, there'd be
many more female agents in the bureau. If more people had an open mind like
yours, there'd be more women in the armed forces, too."
"Well, actually, that I'm not so sure about."
"What?" She looked up at him, brow furrowed. "Don't tell me you don't support
the idea of women in the military?"
He hesitated.
"Of course! Why should it surprise me? Mr. Big Macho Navy SEAL would never be
able to accept a small, frail, helpless woman as a soldier."
"It's not that, Dana."
"What, then? Afraid she can't tote her share of gear? That she can't jump from a
plane or fire a gun?"
"No, not at--"
But Dana did not hear him. She had worked herself up into a small tizzy, unable
to let this drop. "Think a woman doesn't have the heart to kill when it comes
down to it? That she'd be too soft, and unable to pull the trigger when her
fellow soldiers' lives were--"
"For God's sake, Dana!" he all but shouted at her. "If you'd let me get a word
in edgewise, I could try to explain my viewpoint."
She clamped her mouth shut. Then she looked down at her feet sheepishly. "Oh . .
. I'm, uhm . . . I'm sorry about that. I guess I'm kind of used to having to
argue a bit to get my point heard and taken seriously. Go ahead."
He smiled at her. "That's okay. You're awfully pretty when you're angry. Your
cheeks get all flushed, and your eyes flash, and you get this little crease
right between your eyes."
Folding her arms, she could not refrain from quirking her mouth. "Thank you. But
don't think you'll be able to charm your way out of this one by changing the
subject. I still want to hear what you have to say."
"Heaven forbid. Well, the reason that I'm hesitant about allowing women to serve
in the military is not because of them per se. There are plenty of women out
there who are perfectly capable of pulling their weight. Hell, look at you while
we were in the caves. On a mission, I'd feel confident having you cover my back.
In my time, I've seen some damned good women soldiers, who could take certain
guy soldiers in a fight any day of the week. It's not them I have a problem
with."
"Well, what then?"
"It's more an issue of the men. Not so much in accepting the fact that a woman
is perfectly capable of being a warrior. With time, I think it's possible to
view certain women in that light. It's just that for the most part, the majority
of women that a man deals with are nothing like that. More often than not, when
a man sees a woman, he thinks of his mother, or his sister, or his girlfriend.
Women that he cares about, of whom he's protective. In a field situation, were a
woman to fall into danger--if she were to become injured or captured--the
average Joe's natural gut instinct is going to be to protect her from harm, to
keep her safe. Never mind that she might be tougher than Xena and able to hold
her own. It's just human nature. It may be socially constructed, but it's human
nature all the same. And that kind of thinking is going to make a man get
sloppy. Which means he's going to get himself and his teammates killed."
"Well, that has nothing to do with women's capabilities as soldiers."
"No, it doesn't. Not at all. But it does affect the men's. And when one
soldier's judgment is brought into question, the entire team is compromised.
Which means they won't be able to get the job done. So, in answer to your
question, I think that women may be ready to join the military, but I think that
men have got a ways to go before they'll be prepared to deal with women as
fellow soldiers."
For one of the rare times in Dana's life, she was speechless. Mark had a very
good point. It was a logical, well-thought-out argument. She might not like it,
she might not agree with it, but it made good, logical sense and went a long
ways toward explaining the actions and the mind set of a great many military men
she had come to deal with over the years. Simply the fact that Mark acknowledged
a woman's ability to serve as a capable soldier was a huge leap forward in the
thinking of a man in his position, she realized.
*We really have come a long way, baby.*
Dana smiled then. It had been a long time since she had been able to find a man
with whom she could carry on intelligent conversation, with whom she could
debate issues like politics and societal values and personal philosophies.
Someone who would listen to her arguments intently, and give them serious
consideration, and yet also offer his own perspective, without tying to force
them on her. A person who did not feel threatened by her intellect or her strong
opinions, but rather welcomed them as a vital part of her personality.
There was Mulder, of course. He had always treated her as an equal during their
intellectual conversations. It was in other matters of consideration that he was
sorely lacking. And as a result, their pedantic exchanges had long since fallen
to the wayside.
With Mark, it was different. They seemed able to connect on so many levels.
There was the intellectual, as now. There was also a great deal of physical
attraction, a definite chemistry that flowed between them. But in addition to
his mind and his good looks, there was something more. Perhaps it was because of
his line of work, but Mark was, without a doubt, something of a daredevil, a
definite risk-taker. "RB" seemed to say it all. He was brave and bold and
headstrong. And there was just something about that undaunting recklessness that
appealed to her.
Being with him, feeling the energetic spirit practically radiate off of him,
brought up her own feelings of rebellion and audaciousness, buried since her
teenage years. And now that she had gotten a taste of that forbidden fruit--the
ideas and notions she had denied herself for so long--she was no longer willing
to forget them again quite so easily. When she was with him, she wanted to take
chances, to try new things, to live life a bit closer to the edge. It made her
feel powerful. Vibrant. Alive. More so than she had in years. She felt as though
she had found a piece of herself that she had lost a long time ago. And she
liked that. She liked it a lot.
"Dana?" She felt him lightly touch her arm.
"Hmm?" she asked, turning to face him.
"You still with me? For a minute there, you seemed a million miles away."
"Did I? Sorry about that. I was just thinking," she said, resuming their
leisurely pace.
"Penny for 'em."
She hesitated. "They're not worth that much, I'm afraid."
"I get it. You don't want to share. That's fine. I understand."
"Well, a girl's got to maintain some air of mystery. I tell you all my secrets
on our first date, there'll be nothing left to talk about next time."
"Next time, huh? I take it that means you're having a good time, that you'd
consider going out again?"
"I'm having a wonderful evening, and yes, I'd love to see you again."
He smiled. "Great. I really enjoy being with you, Dana. I haven't had
conversation this good in a long time."
Conversation, huh? Is that what he saw when he looked at her: the chance for a
good chat, a nice opportunity for a heated discussion? That seemed to be the
story of her life.
Just as her spirits began to sink, he did something to quickly put an end to
that notion.
As he walked, Mark's arms were swinging slowly at his sides. During an upswing,
his arm glided past hers, just as it had many times that evening. But this time,
he slid her hand in his, curled his fingers around it, and did not let go.
For a moment, Dana tensed, so surprised was she by his action. But as she
realized what had happened, she forced herself to relax. She bent her own
fingers, and held tight to his hand as they continued walking, never losing
pace.
"How are your lips doing?" he asked her.
"My lips?"
"Still tingly?" He stopped then, and turned to face her. He stood not a foot
away, looking down at her face.
If his nearness were any indication, conversation was the furthest thing from
his mind right about then. Dana definitely felt tingly--though the sensation was
in no way limited to her mouth, nor due to the sushi she had eaten.
"I think there might be some residual numbness. It's hard to tell."
"Well, perhaps we ought to test them out. To ensure there's no permanent
damage."
Before Dana even had the chance to reply, she felt his mouth on her own.
Considering it was a first kiss, it was anything but hesitant. There was a
power, an urgency, to it. She felt his hands come up to cradle her face. Her
eyes drifted closed, even as her lips parted in response to the insistent urging
of his tongue. He made no hesitation at the invitation she offered, and plunged
inside her mouth--exploring, touching, tasting as he caressed first her teeth
then her own tongue.
For her part, Dana was anything but passive. She met him stroke for stroke,
movement for movement, tarrying first with his tongue, and then moving into his
mouth for her own exploration. That seemed to excite him as much as it did her,
for she felt his hand move to the nape of her neck, his fingers tangling in her
hair and pulling her closer.
Dana gladly would have gone on for hours, but, ultimately, her need for oxygen
won out. They reluctantly pulled apart, each gasping for breath. His hands slid
down her face, one coming to rest where her jaw met her neck, the other on the
curve of her shoulder. She stared up at him through hooded eyes, chest heaving
up and down as she drew the cool night air into her lungs. He held her gaze. She
watched as he licked his lips, and she wondered if he could still taste her
there.
"Wow," was all he could manage in a wavering voice.
Dana smiled in return. She could not have said it better herself. "So, did I
pass the test?"
"With flying colors. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Just
proceed directly to the head of the class to collect your prize."
"And what might that be?"
"Anything you want--so long as you promise we can do that again sometime," he
said, caressing her cheek with his thumb.
"I think that might be arranged," she replied, leaning into his touch. Looking
up at him, she watched as his eyes dipped down, no doubt to watch the rapid rise
and fall of her chest above the plunging bodice of her dress. Dana felt her skin
flush--not so much with embarrassment as with desire. It had been a long time
since her body had reacted this way. Probably because she could not remember the
last time a man had kissed her with such passion, such intent. She did not want
these intense sensations to end. She was nearly overcome with a sudden longing
for his hands to follow his gaze, to touch and stroke her sensitized flesh.
A moment's hope quickly turned to disappointment as she felt his hand continue
its downward path along her neck and shoulders, as he slowly stroked her arm
until he reached her hand, which he took in his own.
She felt his other hand leave her, and she bit back a sigh of frustration. But
then she saw his fingers heading toward her chest, and she nearly gasped. Her
brow furrowed as she realized that his angle of approach, though too low to be
meant for her neck, was nonetheless too high to be intended for her breast. Her
eyes once again closed, and she held her breath in sweet anticipation.
She felt the feather-light touch of his fingers just below her collar bones.
"That's a beautiful necklace," he said.
Opening her eyes, she looked down to see him holding her tiny gold cross in his
fingers.
"I've been admiring it all night."
Dana slowly let out the breath she had been holding. Though she still found his
touch arousing, from the tone of his voice, she knew that the intensity of the
moment had passed. She realized, however, that by maintaining light yet
deliberate contact, he was being sure to tell her 'I'm still interested. Let's
just take things a little bit more slowly.'
That notion only seemed to stoke the growing fire within her. His consideration,
his courtesy to not take advantage of what was obviously impassioned desire on
both sides, of wanting to get to know her better before taking things any
further, only made her want him more. It was funny how showing a little bit of
respect could get you exactly what you wanted.
For a moment she wondered if that was exactly what he was doing. If this was all
part of some large, preconceived scheme to get her into bed. He had obviously
played the field before. Perhaps this was no different; just a more challenging
notch to carve into his belt.
She quickly dismissed the idea. She remembered his honest declaration earlier
that evening--of wanting to find the right woman with whom to settle down,
someone with whom he could share his life, a family. If he really did think that
they connected so well--and she was sure he did--he would not take that chance
by advancing too quickly.
Although as far as she were concerned, the way her body hungered for him
needily, he could toss her to the ground and take her right here, right now. She
wondered what he would do with such knowledge.
*That is exactly the kind of situation he's trying to avoid, Dana. He's trying
to be a gentleman because he obviously holds you in high regard, and all you can
think about is jumping his bones.*
Almost of its own accord, her eyes wandered down his chest to his crotch. She
wondered if he was as hard right now as she was wet.
*For God's sake, Dana, stop it! You're hornier than a schoolgirl! It's been a
while, but that doesn't mean you have to jump him on your first date. You'll
scare away your first chance at a decent man, at a healthy relationship. Take a
deep breath, and just calm down.*
Closing her eyes, she tried to clear her head of any remaining carnal thoughts.
She tried to focus on his words. He was saying something about her cross.
". . . really is lovely. It's simple, which is what makes it so elegant."
"Thank you," she said, surprised she was able to find her voice. "My, uhm . . .
my mom gave it to me, years ago, when I was a teenager."
"And you still wear it?"
"I've rarely taken it off since. And even then, more often than not, it wasn't
really by choice."
"If you don't mind my asking, are you a very religious person?"
"Uhm. . . ."
"I'm sorry, Dana," he said, letting go of her necklace. "I didn't mean to pry."
"No, Mark, that's okay. It's not that I don't want to tell you. It's just not a
simple answer."
"Well, c'mon, then," he said, giving her hand a gentle tug. "Let's walk some
more, and you can try to explain it."
"Okay," she smiled, falling once again in step beside him. "Well, I was raised
Catholic. When I was a kid, we went to church every Sunday and holidays. I don't
know how much I believed in it back then. When I was younger, I did. But then I
hit that teenaged rebellious streak most kids do, and I resisted it. As I got a
little older, though, and started to question things--life, my place in the
world, that sort of thing--the church drew me back. When I went to college, and
was away from the watchful eyes of my parents, I lapsed again. And then in med
school, there barely seemed enough time for eating or sleeping, let alone going
to church. So although I still believed, I became an infrequent worshiper. The
big holidays, when I visited my parents, that sort of thing.
"Around the time I finished med school, when the bureau was trying to recruit
me, I found myself returning. I spent some long hours talking to our priest,
sitting in the pews waiting for some sort of divine inspiration. It seemed that
those days I was seeking counsel wherever I could get it. I was torn between
going the route my parents wanted--practicing medicine--and following the other
path which seemed to be calling me."
"You obviously chose the latter."
"Ultimately, yes. Believe me, it was no easy decision. But I knew that whatever
I chose, God would still be there, to watch over me. He'd let me know in those
mysterious ways of His, if I had chosen the right path. But then I got caught up
in my work, in trying to carve a niche out for myself, in a new relationship,
and I let my faith waiver again. There were a few occasions, during my work on
the X-Files, when I was drawn back to the church. One involving a 'miracle man'
that could seemingly heal people with his touch. Another involving a boy who
displayed stigmata."
"The wounds of Christ? Geez, you really do get your share of weird happenings."
Smiling, Dana nodded. "After each of those cases, I found myself questioning my
faith. But along the way, He seemed to give me signs that He was still there. He
helped see me through some very difficult times."
She paused, trying to decide whether to say more--to reveal some very private,
very painful events. One glance up at Mark--at the concerned, attentive look on
his face as he gazed back down at her--made the decision for her.
She took a deep breath, searching for the strength to continue.
"Several years ago, I was abducted. I'm still not certain by whom, or where I
was taken. I have almost no recollection of what happened--which is probably for
the best. I was missing for three months."
"Dana, I'm so sorry," he said, genuine sympathy softening his voice, as he
squeezed her hand.
She nodded her appreciation, but kept on speaking. Talking about this was not
easy, and now that she had begun, she felt the words rushing from her lips,
needing to get out, to be said and heard.
"When I was finally returned, I was in a coma, on the brink of death. During
that time, I had . . . I guess you could call them out-of-body experiences. I
remember my father--who had been deceased for over a year--talking to me,
telling me it wasn't time for me to join him yet. I also recall a kind woman, a
nurse, watching over me, taking care of me. Only, when I regained consciousness
and finally asked about her, they told me no such person ever worked at the
hospital."
"So you think she was some kind of guardian angel, sent to protect you, to guide
you home?" Surprisingly, there was none of the expected incredulity, no sense of
mocking, in his tone.
"I realize how silly that must sound."
"That's not silly at all, Dana. I've known men who have almost died--who
actually *have* died, but were resuscitated. Many of them have had similar
experiences, similar stories. Not just the stereotypical bright light. But loved
ones pushing them away, or kindly people leading them home. It's certainly not
unheard of. I have no doubt that you experienced something similar."
"To this day, I'm still not sure what to believe. All I know is that for a time,
I had my faith renewed. But then, the biggest test came a few years ago."
Something bigger? Mark wondered incredulously. Hell, being kidnapped for three
months seemed like the mother of all life-altering events. What could she
possibly have been through that could top that?
"As a result of my abduction--and of the tests they performed on me--I had
contracted a rare form of cancer. I was diagnosed with an inoperable
nasopharyngeal tumor."
He stopped dead in his tracks, turned to face her. Even in the moonlight, she
could tell that he had gone a shade lighter. "Holy shit. I-I don't know what to
say. But you're okay now, right? You're not sick anymore?"
She was deeply touched by the level of concern in his voice. "I'm fine. I've
been in remission for over two years."
"I can't even imagine. It must have been a difficult time for you."
"It was. For a while I was in denial. I felt fine, and I didn't want to believe
that I was dying. I learned a few months later that the cancer had metastasized.
So far as I knew, it was only a matter of time. One night, my mom had a dinner
party. Invited her priest, Father McCue. She went so far as to sit him next to
me, hoping he would counsel me, minister to my faith. But at that point in my
life, I was so angry--at the world, at God. I was angry at the injustice of it
all. I pushed Father McCue--and God--away.
"Then things took a sudden turn for the worse, and I was hospitalized. My doctor
began an aggressive experimental treatment as a last-ditch effort. Nothing
seemed to be working, and everyone seemed to be fearing the worst--myself
included. During that time, spending countless hours lying in that hospital bed,
gave me plenty of opportunities to think. And I realized that all along, I had
been going about things the wrong way. My entire life, I had accomplished so
much, gotten through many crises, on simple faith. Except, at that time, when I
needed it most, I pushed it away. I thought I was doing everything in my power
to try to heal myself. But the truth of the matter was, I was not getting
better. I was dying. And I had never been so frightened.
"It was then that I realized how much I had come to rely on my faith, on my
religion, on God, my whole life. When everything else failed, that was the one
reliable thing to fall back on. I remembered this cross--" she took the small
charm in her fingers--"and why I wore it, what it symbolizes to me. And I knew
that if I were to get through this, if I were to see my illness through to the
end--whatever that end might be--I needed to call on that faith. And so Father
McCue came to me, and together we prayed. Only then did I feel that I had done
all I could, exhausted every possible resource."
"And the treatments--they cured you?"
"To this day, I don't know if it was the medical treatment, an alternative
remedy we attempted, or even a miracle that saved me. To tell you the truth, I
don't care what did it. It doesn't really matter. What does is that I was given
a second chance. It was almost like I was tested. When I was at the lowest point
in my life, I asked God for help. And He answered me. I know now that no matter
what--if I ever lose my way again, have more doubts in myself, in others, in the
world--He'll always be there. Waiting.
"So, you asked me if I consider myself a religious person. Well, religion is
very important to me. My faith is an integral part of who I am. Right now, my
faith is strong. I believe."
He looked down at her, and shook his head in amazement. "Dana Scully, you are
one incredible woman. During that time in the cave, I could tell that you were a
strong person. But I had no idea how strong. To have been through all that--the
abduction, the cancer--to have carried on and managed to overcome it is
remarkable in and of itself. But to have been able to have learned from it, to
have given it meaning in order to improve your life. . . . it's incredible. As
is your spirit." He gently reached to stroke her cheek. "As are you."
She smiled. More often than not, when people learned of her cancer, they offered
her sympathy and sadness, regret and pity. But never before had someone truly
appreciated her struggle, the inner turmoil her illness put her through. She did
not think it possible for someone to completely comprehend what she had been
through without having been there.
Mark had not even known her before her cancer, and yet he was still able to
recognize how the experience had changed her, helped make her into the woman she
was today. Somehow, he understood.
At that moment, she felt another connection to him. Not only had they managed to
connect on both a physical and an intellectual level, but now she also felt an
emotional--no, a spiritual--tie to him. More than anything, she wanted to get to
know him better, to obtain a peek into his heart, just as he had managed to see
into hers.
"What about you?" she asked, taking up the slow pace again. "Does religion
factor at all into your life?"
He gave a soft chuckle. "Well, believe it or not, Dana, I was actually born and
raised Catholic. I guess you can say that I've lapsed. Can't remember the last
time I was in a church. No, wait, I lie. It was probably for my nephew Nate's
christening, oh about six years ago."
"What made you give it up?" she asked gently.
After her revelations of the importance of her faith to her, he was thankful
that her tone was not accusatory, but merely curious.
"Let's just say I became disillusioned at a very early age. When I was still in
grade school--about seven or so--my mom got really sick. Cancer, actually. For
well over a year, she was in and out of the hospital. It was a horrible thing to
watch, especially for a young kid like me. She was slowly wasting away, her body
turning on her, and eventually her spirit giving up. My older sister, Amy, was
incredible. She was a senior in high school at the time. Not only did she help
nurse my mom when she was still able to live at home, but she also took over all
the household chores. I was too young to make much of a contribution. And my
dad--well, with his work and all, he was away half of the time. Eventually, Mom
went into the hospital, and she never came home again."
"Oh, Mark, I'm so sorry," Dana said, taking his hand in both of hers. "It's hard
enough to lose a parent when you're an adult. I can't imagine what it would be
like for a young child."
"Yeah, I was pretty devastated. But Amy, she held the family together. She
became like a surrogate mother to me. Kept me on the right track. Made sure I
did my homework, ate my vegetables, stayed out of trouble. She clothed me and
fed me and loved me. Hell, she pretty much raised me. After she graduated from
high school, she got a job in a bank so that she would be home by the time I was
out of school. She gave up her own dreams to ensure that I was well taken care
of. By the time I got to high school, she was able to get a better job as a
secretary in a different department. That's where she met her husband Alan,
actually--he was her boss. But anyway, she kept me on the up and up, instilled
in me the importance of a good education. She was always encouraging me. She was
behind me one hundred percent when I decided to apply to the naval academy at
Annapolis. Unfortunately, Dad died of a heart attack during my freshman year.
But on graduation day, Amy was there to cheer me on."
"She sounds like a pretty incredible woman."
"Oh, she is. She was sister and mother and friend to me. Amy always had
traditional family values. Mom instilled them in her, and after her death, Amy
felt obligated to pass them on to me. Things like respecting your elders,
staying out of trouble, working hard at school, and going to church every
Sunday. It was a weekly ritual. We never missed a service. I think it was her
faith in God that helped see Amy through it. I remember seeing her praying a
lot, especially around the time mom got really sick. In her unwavering belief,
she found the strength to carry on.
"For me, church did just the opposite. I became embittered toward God. I
couldn't understand how a supposedly all-powerful being could be so cruel, so
heartless. How he could make my mother have to suffer so, and take her away from
me and my family. Why he would make my sister--one of the most devout and pious
people I've ever known--have to make so many sacrifices.
"Amy gave up so much for me. Ever since she was a little girl, she had played
the piano. Mom taught her. And Amy was really good. She had dreamed of going to
Julliard, of becoming a concert pianist. But when mom got sick, she had less
time to practice. She still played--Mom was constantly asking her to because
hearing Amy's music always helped take her mind off of the pain. But after Mom
died, it was all Amy could do to finish her requirements so that she could
graduate. She never bothered to apply to any college because she felt it was her
duty, her obligation, to take care of her family. She gave up her dreams for me.
And never once did she complain. Rather, she was always smiling, always
laughing, always happy. She made the best of any situation.
"Still, I never thought it was fair, all she had to give up on account of me.
She deserved better. I blamed God for all of it. When I lived at home, I still
went to church every Sunday, but only because Amy asked me to. I could never say
no to Amy--still can't, actually. But it was just going through the motions. I
no longer believed in God. I renounced any and all faith in His power. I guess
that makes me an atheist, huh?"
"Losing your faith in God and not believing He exists are not one and the same,"
Dana stated gently. "I can see why you would come to doubt, even to hate Him,
for what you perceived to be incredibly unjust wrongs to you and your family.
The same way I can see how the same circumstances produced the completely
opposite effect on your sister. In her pain, she turned to God for help, whereas
you shunned Him. Both are completely understandable reactions to the type of
tragedy you've had to endure. Hell, I think I've followed both routes at
different times in my life. Ultimately, I found my way back to Him. Who knows,
one day you might, too."
He shook his head. "Somehow, I doubt it. The pain's too deep, the wound too old.
Some grudges can never be forgiven."
"Fair enough. For what it's worth, Mark, I'm truly sorry for all the loses
you've had to endure."
"Don't be. I'm sorry I never really got to know my mother, and I'll always miss
her. But for the most part, my childhood was good. It was happy. Amy made sure
of that."
"She really does sound like a remarkable woman." There was sincere admiration in
Dana's voice.
"Oh, she sure is. I wouldn't be the man I am today if not for her. You know,
Dana, in many ways, you remind me of her. I don't just mean your persistent
faith. You're both strong, spirited. Determined. Undaunted in whatever you put
your minds to. Compassionate."
Given the way Mark had described Amy--the heartfelt adoration and nearly devout
regard in which he held her--Dana was deeply touched. In fact, she felt truly
honored. If he held her in half as much esteem as his beloved sister, she
considered herself lucky indeed.
She smiled at him warmly.
"Maybe someday you two could meet. I'm sure she'd come to know and care for you
as much as I do."
"I'd like that, Mark. I'd like that a lot." Dana found the idea of meeting this
woman who had played such an integral role in shaping Mark's life a wonderful
opportunity.
"Me, too." He looked into her eyes, held her gaze. "Thanks for listening to me
ramble on, Dana. I hope I didn't bore you too much."
"Not at all. I'm glad you told me. I think hearing about your childhood, about
your sister, helped me to understand you a bit more. Get to know more about what
makes Mark Riskey tick."
"Same here. I'm glad you told me about your fight with the cancer, and how it
changed you. Most of all, I'm glad you beat it. That I've gotten the opportunity
to meet you. And, I hope, to get to know you even more."
A strong, cooler breeze blew past then. Dana felt it straight through the thin
fabric of her sweater, and shivered.
"The wind's starting to pick up," Mark said, glancing around. "We should
probably head back to the hotel."
"Yeah, it's getting late," Dana said, glancing at her watch. Her eyes suddenly
grew round. "My God, is that really the time?"
Mark looked at his own watch. "Ah geez. You've got an early flight tomorrow--er,
today--don't you?"
Smiling sheepishly, Dana nodded. "No big deal. I can sleep on the ride back to
D.C." *And it'll save me the trouble of having to make small talk with Mulder.*
"All the same, we should probably get back," he said, holding out his hand.
As another stronger breeze whipped through her, Dana quickly took his hand and
they made their way back up the beach the way they had come.
"You cold?" he asked.
"A l-little," she muttered, teeth beginning to chatter.
"I'm sorry I don't have a jacket to offer you. Guess I'll just have to
improvise." He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close.
"You Navy SEALs sure are a resourceful lot." Dana encircled his waist, huddling
into the warmth of his body as much as she was able.
Twenty minutes later, they were approaching the doorway to her hotel room.
"Well, here we are," Dana said, stopping a foot or so in front of the door. She
looked up at him and smiled. "You, ah, want to come in for a while?"
For the briefest of moments, he hesitated, a hint of temptation crossing his
features. "I'd love to, Dana, but it really is getting awfully late. I don't
want to keep you up--I'd hate for you to oversleep and miss your flight on
account of me."
"Yeah, I guess you're right." She hoped she did not sound too terribly
disappointed. "So, you going to be sticking around the island for a while?"
"Probably at least till the end of the week--until the docs spring Robbins. I
like for us to all travel together if I can help it."
She nodded. "I guess you and the guys will manage to find some way to pass the
time."
"Yeah, I'm sure we'll have some fun. It's too bad you can't stick around a while
longer."
"And so goes the life of a federal employee," she remarked with a dramatic sigh.
They laughed.
"You'll just have to soak up some rays for me," she told him.
"Sure thing."
There was a moment of silence.
"I had a really great time tonight, Mark."
"Me too. Hopefully, we can do it again some time."
"I'd like that."
"Would it be okay if I called you when I got back to the states?"
Her smile lit up her entire face. "Sure. Let me just give you my numbers." She
rummaged through her purse, managed to find a business card and a pen, and
scribbled on the back of it. "Here you go," she said, handing it to him. "The
card has my office and cell numbers, and I've added my home one. You should be
able to reach me at one of the three."
"Busy lady."
"They keep me on my toes."
Another moment of silence.
"Well, have a safe trip back."
"Thanks again, Mark. Good night."
Key in hand, she paused a moment before preparing to turn toward the door.
In that moment, he gently cradled her face in his hands and bent towards her.
Her eyes slid closed just as she felt his lips touch hers in a soft, gentle
kiss. He slowly pulled away, leaving her standing there, unable to find the
strength--or the will--to move from the spot.
"Good night, Dana," he whispered.
She opened her eyes, and watched as he backed slowly down the hallway, waving.
Smiling, she waved back before letting herself into her room. As she closed the
door, she leaned back against it, sighing contentedly. She stayed there for a
while, mind a million miles away.
Reluctantly, she walked over to the bed, slipped out of her sandals and her
sweater. She was about to go into the bathroom to wash up when she caught sight
of her reflection in the mirror. She almost did not recognize herself--so big
was the smile on her face. She could not remember the last time she had felt
this happy, this relaxed. It was a feeling she could get used to.
Slowly, she reached up to her ear, and gently removed the flower from her hair.
She brought it to her nose and inhaled deeply its sweet aroma, letting it
permeate her senses.
For the first time in a long while, Dana Scully looked forward to tomorrow, and
what new surprises lay in store for her.
Finis
*****
Hope you enjoyed this! More to come soon, so stay tuned!
*****
Deep Water
by Jewel
You find yourself falling down
Your hopes in the sky
But your heart like grape gum on the ground
And you try to find yourself
In the abstractions of religion
And the cruelty of everyone else
And you wake up to realize
Your standard of living somehow got stuck on survive
When you're standing in deep water
And you're bailing yourself out with a straw
And when you're drowning in deep water
And you wake up making love to a wall
Well it's these little times that help to remind
It's nothing without love
You wake up to realize your only friend
Has never been yourself or anyone who cared in the end
That's when suddenly everything fades or falls away
'Cause the chains which once held us are only the chains which we've made
When you're standing in deep water
And you're bailing yourself out with a straw
And when you're drowning in deep water
And you wake up making love to a wall
Well it's these little times that help to remind
It's nothing without love, love, love
It's nothing without love
We've compromised our pride
And sacrificed our health
We have to demand more
Not of each other
But more from ourselves
'Cause when you're standing in deep water
And you're bailing yourself out with a straw
When you're drowning in deep water
And you wake up making love to a wall
Well it's these little times that help to remind
It's nothing without love, love, love
It's nothing without love
It's nothing without love
Author: Somogyi
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com
Category: SRA
Rating: R for language, adult situations
Spoilers: Through Season Six
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing
each other first?
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no
profit is being made.
*****
Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water
by Somogyi
somogyi02@yahoo.com
Epilogue Part 3
After dinner, Dana and Mark ended up taking a leisurely moonlight stroll on the
beach by her hotel. The full moon suffused the pale sand in a soft glow. She had
removed her shoes, and was now savoring the sensation of the cool sand beneath
her feet and between her toes. A gentle breeze wafted through her hair, and made
the temperature perfect. They slowly walked down the strip of beach side-by-
side, their arms softly brushing against one another from time to time.
Dana was more relaxed then she could remember feeling in a long time. The
nervousness of earlier that evening had finally abated. Though she suspected it
was because of all the sake and puffer fish she had consumed, she nonetheless
preferred to think that it was because their frank dinner conversation had put
her at ease.
She felt really comfortable with Mark. He was easy to talk to--about any topic.
Work. Politics. Books. Movies. Their many travels. They seemed to have more in
common than she would ever have imagined. And at the same time, there were many
ways in which they were complete opposites--which made getting to know him
better all the more interesting. She found that when she talked with him, she
felt as though she could be herself--let her guard down and speak her mind. And
that was fine by him. He was one of those people you could talk to and feel as
though you had known him for years.
"I can't get over how beautiful the view is," Dana sighed.
"Funny, I've been thinking the same thing all night."
Dana looked up at Mark and saw that he was staring down at her. Flushing, she
quickly looked away. "Flatterer," she murmured.
"Can't blame a guy for stating the obvious."
He was buttering her up, plain and simple. And Lord help her, she was falling
for it--hook, line, and sinker.
"Come on now, Dana, you must be used to this by now. Don't tell me guys aren't
complimenting you all the time. You must have to fight 'em off with a stick."
She laughed at that. "Not quite. Let's just say it's been a while since I've had
to resort to violence."
"Well, then the men you work with must have an inordinate amount of self-
control."
"I wouldn't go that far. It's just . . . well, I have a reputation of being
somewhat of a . . . cold fish."
"You've got to be kidding me. Even back when we met in the cave, it was obvious
what a compassionate person you are. People must just be misinterpreting your
professionalism for indifference."
"Exactly. It's as though, just because I'm a woman, they expect me to be warm
and emotional, to wear my heart on my sleeve. Some people just don't seem to
understand that it's possible to beempathetic while still maintaining an air of
professional decorum."
He nodded in agreement. "It really is a double standard. Society claims to treat
women equally in the work place. And yet, when a woman is career-driven and
assertive, when she shows the least bit of ambition to succeed--qualities which
are highly valued in a man--she's suddenly condemned as unfeminine and
unemotional. As though the two aspects of one's personality must be mutually
exclusive. I still don't get that."
Dana was impressed. Sure, it occurred to her that he could be feeding her an
elaborate line, playing up a feigned feminist viewpoint simply for her benefit.
But her gut feeling told her that his words were genuine. There was a stark
sincerity in his voice, a real embitterment at the injustices he seemed to have
witnessed first-hand.
"You know, Mark, if more people could see professional women through your eyes,
there'd be many more of us in positions of authority. For starters, there'd be
many more female agents in the bureau. If more people had an open mind like
yours, there'd be more women in the armed forces, too."
"Well, actually, that I'm not so sure about."
"What?" She looked up at him, brow furrowed. "Don't tell me you don't support
the idea of women in the military?"
He hesitated.
"Of course! Why should it surprise me? Mr. Big Macho Navy SEAL would never be
able to accept a small, frail, helpless woman as a soldier."
"It's not that, Dana."
"What, then? Afraid she can't tote her share of gear? That she can't jump from a
plane or fire a gun?"
"No, not at--"
But Dana did not hear him. She had worked herself up into a small tizzy, unable
to let this drop. "Think a woman doesn't have the heart to kill when it comes
down to it? That she'd be too soft, and unable to pull the trigger when her
fellow soldiers' lives were--"
"For God's sake, Dana!" he all but shouted at her. "If you'd let me get a word
in edgewise, I could try to explain my viewpoint."
She clamped her mouth shut. Then she looked down at her feet sheepishly. "Oh . .
. I'm, uhm . . . I'm sorry about that. I guess I'm kind of used to having to
argue a bit to get my point heard and taken seriously. Go ahead."
He smiled at her. "That's okay. You're awfully pretty when you're angry. Your
cheeks get all flushed, and your eyes flash, and you get this little crease
right between your eyes."
Folding her arms, she could not refrain from quirking her mouth. "Thank you. But
don't think you'll be able to charm your way out of this one by changing the
subject. I still want to hear what you have to say."
"Heaven forbid. Well, the reason that I'm hesitant about allowing women to serve
in the military is not because of them per se. There are plenty of women out
there who are perfectly capable of pulling their weight. Hell, look at you while
we were in the caves. On a mission, I'd feel confident having you cover my back.
In my time, I've seen some damned good women soldiers, who could take certain
guy soldiers in a fight any day of the week. It's not them I have a problem
with."
"Well, what then?"
"It's more an issue of the men. Not so much in accepting the fact that a woman
is perfectly capable of being a warrior. With time, I think it's possible to
view certain women in that light. It's just that for the most part, the majority
of women that a man deals with are nothing like that. More often than not, when
a man sees a woman, he thinks of his mother, or his sister, or his girlfriend.
Women that he cares about, of whom he's protective. In a field situation, were a
woman to fall into danger--if she were to become injured or captured--the
average Joe's natural gut instinct is going to be to protect her from harm, to
keep her safe. Never mind that she might be tougher than Xena and able to hold
her own. It's just human nature. It may be socially constructed, but it's human
nature all the same. And that kind of thinking is going to make a man get
sloppy. Which means he's going to get himself and his teammates killed."
"Well, that has nothing to do with women's capabilities as soldiers."
"No, it doesn't. Not at all. But it does affect the men's. And when one
soldier's judgment is brought into question, the entire team is compromised.
Which means they won't be able to get the job done. So, in answer to your
question, I think that women may be ready to join the military, but I think that
men have got a ways to go before they'll be prepared to deal with women as
fellow soldiers."
For one of the rare times in Dana's life, she was speechless. Mark had a very
good point. It was a logical, well-thought-out argument. She might not like it,
she might not agree with it, but it made good, logical sense and went a long
ways toward explaining the actions and the mind set of a great many military men
she had come to deal with over the years. Simply the fact that Mark acknowledged
a woman's ability to serve as a capable soldier was a huge leap forward in the
thinking of a man in his position, she realized.
*We really have come a long way, baby.*
Dana smiled then. It had been a long time since she had been able to find a man
with whom she could carry on intelligent conversation, with whom she could
debate issues like politics and societal values and personal philosophies.
Someone who would listen to her arguments intently, and give them serious
consideration, and yet also offer his own perspective, without tying to force
them on her. A person who did not feel threatened by her intellect or her strong
opinions, but rather welcomed them as a vital part of her personality.
There was Mulder, of course. He had always treated her as an equal during their
intellectual conversations. It was in other matters of consideration that he was
sorely lacking. And as a result, their pedantic exchanges had long since fallen
to the wayside.
With Mark, it was different. They seemed able to connect on so many levels.
There was the intellectual, as now. There was also a great deal of physical
attraction, a definite chemistry that flowed between them. But in addition to
his mind and his good looks, there was something more. Perhaps it was because of
his line of work, but Mark was, without a doubt, something of a daredevil, a
definite risk-taker. "RB" seemed to say it all. He was brave and bold and
headstrong. And there was just something about that undaunting recklessness that
appealed to her.
Being with him, feeling the energetic spirit practically radiate off of him,
brought up her own feelings of rebellion and audaciousness, buried since her
teenage years. And now that she had gotten a taste of that forbidden fruit--the
ideas and notions she had denied herself for so long--she was no longer willing
to forget them again quite so easily. When she was with him, she wanted to take
chances, to try new things, to live life a bit closer to the edge. It made her
feel powerful. Vibrant. Alive. More so than she had in years. She felt as though
she had found a piece of herself that she had lost a long time ago. And she
liked that. She liked it a lot.
"Dana?" She felt him lightly touch her arm.
"Hmm?" she asked, turning to face him.
"You still with me? For a minute there, you seemed a million miles away."
"Did I? Sorry about that. I was just thinking," she said, resuming their
leisurely pace.
"Penny for 'em."
She hesitated. "They're not worth that much, I'm afraid."
"I get it. You don't want to share. That's fine. I understand."
"Well, a girl's got to maintain some air of mystery. I tell you all my secrets
on our first date, there'll be nothing left to talk about next time."
"Next time, huh? I take it that means you're having a good time, that you'd
consider going out again?"
"I'm having a wonderful evening, and yes, I'd love to see you again."
He smiled. "Great. I really enjoy being with you, Dana. I haven't had
conversation this good in a long time."
Conversation, huh? Is that what he saw when he looked at her: the chance for a
good chat, a nice opportunity for a heated discussion? That seemed to be the
story of her life.
Just as her spirits began to sink, he did something to quickly put an end to
that notion.
As he walked, Mark's arms were swinging slowly at his sides. During an upswing,
his arm glided past hers, just as it had many times that evening. But this time,
he slid her hand in his, curled his fingers around it, and did not let go.
For a moment, Dana tensed, so surprised was she by his action. But as she
realized what had happened, she forced herself to relax. She bent her own
fingers, and held tight to his hand as they continued walking, never losing
pace.
"How are your lips doing?" he asked her.
"My lips?"
"Still tingly?" He stopped then, and turned to face her. He stood not a foot
away, looking down at her face.
If his nearness were any indication, conversation was the furthest thing from
his mind right about then. Dana definitely felt tingly--though the sensation was
in no way limited to her mouth, nor due to the sushi she had eaten.
"I think there might be some residual numbness. It's hard to tell."
"Well, perhaps we ought to test them out. To ensure there's no permanent
damage."
Before Dana even had the chance to reply, she felt his mouth on her own.
Considering it was a first kiss, it was anything but hesitant. There was a
power, an urgency, to it. She felt his hands come up to cradle her face. Her
eyes drifted closed, even as her lips parted in response to the insistent urging
of his tongue. He made no hesitation at the invitation she offered, and plunged
inside her mouth--exploring, touching, tasting as he caressed first her teeth
then her own tongue.
For her part, Dana was anything but passive. She met him stroke for stroke,
movement for movement, tarrying first with his tongue, and then moving into his
mouth for her own exploration. That seemed to excite him as much as it did her,
for she felt his hand move to the nape of her neck, his fingers tangling in her
hair and pulling her closer.
Dana gladly would have gone on for hours, but, ultimately, her need for oxygen
won out. They reluctantly pulled apart, each gasping for breath. His hands slid
down her face, one coming to rest where her jaw met her neck, the other on the
curve of her shoulder. She stared up at him through hooded eyes, chest heaving
up and down as she drew the cool night air into her lungs. He held her gaze. She
watched as he licked his lips, and she wondered if he could still taste her
there.
"Wow," was all he could manage in a wavering voice.
Dana smiled in return. She could not have said it better herself. "So, did I
pass the test?"
"With flying colors. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Just
proceed directly to the head of the class to collect your prize."
"And what might that be?"
"Anything you want--so long as you promise we can do that again sometime," he
said, caressing her cheek with his thumb.
"I think that might be arranged," she replied, leaning into his touch. Looking
up at him, she watched as his eyes dipped down, no doubt to watch the rapid rise
and fall of her chest above the plunging bodice of her dress. Dana felt her skin
flush--not so much with embarrassment as with desire. It had been a long time
since her body had reacted this way. Probably because she could not remember the
last time a man had kissed her with such passion, such intent. She did not want
these intense sensations to end. She was nearly overcome with a sudden longing
for his hands to follow his gaze, to touch and stroke her sensitized flesh.
A moment's hope quickly turned to disappointment as she felt his hand continue
its downward path along her neck and shoulders, as he slowly stroked her arm
until he reached her hand, which he took in his own.
She felt his other hand leave her, and she bit back a sigh of frustration. But
then she saw his fingers heading toward her chest, and she nearly gasped. Her
brow furrowed as she realized that his angle of approach, though too low to be
meant for her neck, was nonetheless too high to be intended for her breast. Her
eyes once again closed, and she held her breath in sweet anticipation.
She felt the feather-light touch of his fingers just below her collar bones.
"That's a beautiful necklace," he said.
Opening her eyes, she looked down to see him holding her tiny gold cross in his
fingers.
"I've been admiring it all night."
Dana slowly let out the breath she had been holding. Though she still found his
touch arousing, from the tone of his voice, she knew that the intensity of the
moment had passed. She realized, however, that by maintaining light yet
deliberate contact, he was being sure to tell her 'I'm still interested. Let's
just take things a little bit more slowly.'
That notion only seemed to stoke the growing fire within her. His consideration,
his courtesy to not take advantage of what was obviously impassioned desire on
both sides, of wanting to get to know her better before taking things any
further, only made her want him more. It was funny how showing a little bit of
respect could get you exactly what you wanted.
For a moment she wondered if that was exactly what he was doing. If this was all
part of some large, preconceived scheme to get her into bed. He had obviously
played the field before. Perhaps this was no different; just a more challenging
notch to carve into his belt.
She quickly dismissed the idea. She remembered his honest declaration earlier
that evening--of wanting to find the right woman with whom to settle down,
someone with whom he could share his life, a family. If he really did think that
they connected so well--and she was sure he did--he would not take that chance
by advancing too quickly.
Although as far as she were concerned, the way her body hungered for him
needily, he could toss her to the ground and take her right here, right now. She
wondered what he would do with such knowledge.
*That is exactly the kind of situation he's trying to avoid, Dana. He's trying
to be a gentleman because he obviously holds you in high regard, and all you can
think about is jumping his bones.*
Almost of its own accord, her eyes wandered down his chest to his crotch. She
wondered if he was as hard right now as she was wet.
*For God's sake, Dana, stop it! You're hornier than a schoolgirl! It's been a
while, but that doesn't mean you have to jump him on your first date. You'll
scare away your first chance at a decent man, at a healthy relationship. Take a
deep breath, and just calm down.*
Closing her eyes, she tried to clear her head of any remaining carnal thoughts.
She tried to focus on his words. He was saying something about her cross.
". . . really is lovely. It's simple, which is what makes it so elegant."
"Thank you," she said, surprised she was able to find her voice. "My, uhm . . .
my mom gave it to me, years ago, when I was a teenager."
"And you still wear it?"
"I've rarely taken it off since. And even then, more often than not, it wasn't
really by choice."
"If you don't mind my asking, are you a very religious person?"
"Uhm. . . ."
"I'm sorry, Dana," he said, letting go of her necklace. "I didn't mean to pry."
"No, Mark, that's okay. It's not that I don't want to tell you. It's just not a
simple answer."
"Well, c'mon, then," he said, giving her hand a gentle tug. "Let's walk some
more, and you can try to explain it."
"Okay," she smiled, falling once again in step beside him. "Well, I was raised
Catholic. When I was a kid, we went to church every Sunday and holidays. I don't
know how much I believed in it back then. When I was younger, I did. But then I
hit that teenaged rebellious streak most kids do, and I resisted it. As I got a
little older, though, and started to question things--life, my place in the
world, that sort of thing--the church drew me back. When I went to college, and
was away from the watchful eyes of my parents, I lapsed again. And then in med
school, there barely seemed enough time for eating or sleeping, let alone going
to church. So although I still believed, I became an infrequent worshiper. The
big holidays, when I visited my parents, that sort of thing.
"Around the time I finished med school, when the bureau was trying to recruit
me, I found myself returning. I spent some long hours talking to our priest,
sitting in the pews waiting for some sort of divine inspiration. It seemed that
those days I was seeking counsel wherever I could get it. I was torn between
going the route my parents wanted--practicing medicine--and following the other
path which seemed to be calling me."
"You obviously chose the latter."
"Ultimately, yes. Believe me, it was no easy decision. But I knew that whatever
I chose, God would still be there, to watch over me. He'd let me know in those
mysterious ways of His, if I had chosen the right path. But then I got caught up
in my work, in trying to carve a niche out for myself, in a new relationship,
and I let my faith waiver again. There were a few occasions, during my work on
the X-Files, when I was drawn back to the church. One involving a 'miracle man'
that could seemingly heal people with his touch. Another involving a boy who
displayed stigmata."
"The wounds of Christ? Geez, you really do get your share of weird happenings."
Smiling, Dana nodded. "After each of those cases, I found myself questioning my
faith. But along the way, He seemed to give me signs that He was still there. He
helped see me through some very difficult times."
She paused, trying to decide whether to say more--to reveal some very private,
very painful events. One glance up at Mark--at the concerned, attentive look on
his face as he gazed back down at her--made the decision for her.
She took a deep breath, searching for the strength to continue.
"Several years ago, I was abducted. I'm still not certain by whom, or where I
was taken. I have almost no recollection of what happened--which is probably for
the best. I was missing for three months."
"Dana, I'm so sorry," he said, genuine sympathy softening his voice, as he
squeezed her hand.
She nodded her appreciation, but kept on speaking. Talking about this was not
easy, and now that she had begun, she felt the words rushing from her lips,
needing to get out, to be said and heard.
"When I was finally returned, I was in a coma, on the brink of death. During
that time, I had . . . I guess you could call them out-of-body experiences. I
remember my father--who had been deceased for over a year--talking to me,
telling me it wasn't time for me to join him yet. I also recall a kind woman, a
nurse, watching over me, taking care of me. Only, when I regained consciousness
and finally asked about her, they told me no such person ever worked at the
hospital."
"So you think she was some kind of guardian angel, sent to protect you, to guide
you home?" Surprisingly, there was none of the expected incredulity, no sense of
mocking, in his tone.
"I realize how silly that must sound."
"That's not silly at all, Dana. I've known men who have almost died--who
actually *have* died, but were resuscitated. Many of them have had similar
experiences, similar stories. Not just the stereotypical bright light. But loved
ones pushing them away, or kindly people leading them home. It's certainly not
unheard of. I have no doubt that you experienced something similar."
"To this day, I'm still not sure what to believe. All I know is that for a time,
I had my faith renewed. But then, the biggest test came a few years ago."
Something bigger? Mark wondered incredulously. Hell, being kidnapped for three
months seemed like the mother of all life-altering events. What could she
possibly have been through that could top that?
"As a result of my abduction--and of the tests they performed on me--I had
contracted a rare form of cancer. I was diagnosed with an inoperable
nasopharyngeal tumor."
He stopped dead in his tracks, turned to face her. Even in the moonlight, she
could tell that he had gone a shade lighter. "Holy shit. I-I don't know what to
say. But you're okay now, right? You're not sick anymore?"
She was deeply touched by the level of concern in his voice. "I'm fine. I've
been in remission for over two years."
"I can't even imagine. It must have been a difficult time for you."
"It was. For a while I was in denial. I felt fine, and I didn't want to believe
that I was dying. I learned a few months later that the cancer had metastasized.
So far as I knew, it was only a matter of time. One night, my mom had a dinner
party. Invited her priest, Father McCue. She went so far as to sit him next to
me, hoping he would counsel me, minister to my faith. But at that point in my
life, I was so angry--at the world, at God. I was angry at the injustice of it
all. I pushed Father McCue--and God--away.
"Then things took a sudden turn for the worse, and I was hospitalized. My doctor
began an aggressive experimental treatment as a last-ditch effort. Nothing
seemed to be working, and everyone seemed to be fearing the worst--myself
included. During that time, spending countless hours lying in that hospital bed,
gave me plenty of opportunities to think. And I realized that all along, I had
been going about things the wrong way. My entire life, I had accomplished so
much, gotten through many crises, on simple faith. Except, at that time, when I
needed it most, I pushed it away. I thought I was doing everything in my power
to try to heal myself. But the truth of the matter was, I was not getting
better. I was dying. And I had never been so frightened.
"It was then that I realized how much I had come to rely on my faith, on my
religion, on God, my whole life. When everything else failed, that was the one
reliable thing to fall back on. I remembered this cross--" she took the small
charm in her fingers--"and why I wore it, what it symbolizes to me. And I knew
that if I were to get through this, if I were to see my illness through to the
end--whatever that end might be--I needed to call on that faith. And so Father
McCue came to me, and together we prayed. Only then did I feel that I had done
all I could, exhausted every possible resource."
"And the treatments--they cured you?"
"To this day, I don't know if it was the medical treatment, an alternative
remedy we attempted, or even a miracle that saved me. To tell you the truth, I
don't care what did it. It doesn't really matter. What does is that I was given
a second chance. It was almost like I was tested. When I was at the lowest point
in my life, I asked God for help. And He answered me. I know now that no matter
what--if I ever lose my way again, have more doubts in myself, in others, in the
world--He'll always be there. Waiting.
"So, you asked me if I consider myself a religious person. Well, religion is
very important to me. My faith is an integral part of who I am. Right now, my
faith is strong. I believe."
He looked down at her, and shook his head in amazement. "Dana Scully, you are
one incredible woman. During that time in the cave, I could tell that you were a
strong person. But I had no idea how strong. To have been through all that--the
abduction, the cancer--to have carried on and managed to overcome it is
remarkable in and of itself. But to have been able to have learned from it, to
have given it meaning in order to improve your life. . . . it's incredible. As
is your spirit." He gently reached to stroke her cheek. "As are you."
She smiled. More often than not, when people learned of her cancer, they offered
her sympathy and sadness, regret and pity. But never before had someone truly
appreciated her struggle, the inner turmoil her illness put her through. She did
not think it possible for someone to completely comprehend what she had been
through without having been there.
Mark had not even known her before her cancer, and yet he was still able to
recognize how the experience had changed her, helped make her into the woman she
was today. Somehow, he understood.
At that moment, she felt another connection to him. Not only had they managed to
connect on both a physical and an intellectual level, but now she also felt an
emotional--no, a spiritual--tie to him. More than anything, she wanted to get to
know him better, to obtain a peek into his heart, just as he had managed to see
into hers.
"What about you?" she asked, taking up the slow pace again. "Does religion
factor at all into your life?"
He gave a soft chuckle. "Well, believe it or not, Dana, I was actually born and
raised Catholic. I guess you can say that I've lapsed. Can't remember the last
time I was in a church. No, wait, I lie. It was probably for my nephew Nate's
christening, oh about six years ago."
"What made you give it up?" she asked gently.
After her revelations of the importance of her faith to her, he was thankful
that her tone was not accusatory, but merely curious.
"Let's just say I became disillusioned at a very early age. When I was still in
grade school--about seven or so--my mom got really sick. Cancer, actually. For
well over a year, she was in and out of the hospital. It was a horrible thing to
watch, especially for a young kid like me. She was slowly wasting away, her body
turning on her, and eventually her spirit giving up. My older sister, Amy, was
incredible. She was a senior in high school at the time. Not only did she help
nurse my mom when she was still able to live at home, but she also took over all
the household chores. I was too young to make much of a contribution. And my
dad--well, with his work and all, he was away half of the time. Eventually, Mom
went into the hospital, and she never came home again."
"Oh, Mark, I'm so sorry," Dana said, taking his hand in both of hers. "It's hard
enough to lose a parent when you're an adult. I can't imagine what it would be
like for a young child."
"Yeah, I was pretty devastated. But Amy, she held the family together. She
became like a surrogate mother to me. Kept me on the right track. Made sure I
did my homework, ate my vegetables, stayed out of trouble. She clothed me and
fed me and loved me. Hell, she pretty much raised me. After she graduated from
high school, she got a job in a bank so that she would be home by the time I was
out of school. She gave up her own dreams to ensure that I was well taken care
of. By the time I got to high school, she was able to get a better job as a
secretary in a different department. That's where she met her husband Alan,
actually--he was her boss. But anyway, she kept me on the up and up, instilled
in me the importance of a good education. She was always encouraging me. She was
behind me one hundred percent when I decided to apply to the naval academy at
Annapolis. Unfortunately, Dad died of a heart attack during my freshman year.
But on graduation day, Amy was there to cheer me on."
"She sounds like a pretty incredible woman."
"Oh, she is. She was sister and mother and friend to me. Amy always had
traditional family values. Mom instilled them in her, and after her death, Amy
felt obligated to pass them on to me. Things like respecting your elders,
staying out of trouble, working hard at school, and going to church every
Sunday. It was a weekly ritual. We never missed a service. I think it was her
faith in God that helped see Amy through it. I remember seeing her praying a
lot, especially around the time mom got really sick. In her unwavering belief,
she found the strength to carry on.
"For me, church did just the opposite. I became embittered toward God. I
couldn't understand how a supposedly all-powerful being could be so cruel, so
heartless. How he could make my mother have to suffer so, and take her away from
me and my family. Why he would make my sister--one of the most devout and pious
people I've ever known--have to make so many sacrifices.
"Amy gave up so much for me. Ever since she was a little girl, she had played
the piano. Mom taught her. And Amy was really good. She had dreamed of going to
Julliard, of becoming a concert pianist. But when mom got sick, she had less
time to practice. She still played--Mom was constantly asking her to because
hearing Amy's music always helped take her mind off of the pain. But after Mom
died, it was all Amy could do to finish her requirements so that she could
graduate. She never bothered to apply to any college because she felt it was her
duty, her obligation, to take care of her family. She gave up her dreams for me.
And never once did she complain. Rather, she was always smiling, always
laughing, always happy. She made the best of any situation.
"Still, I never thought it was fair, all she had to give up on account of me.
She deserved better. I blamed God for all of it. When I lived at home, I still
went to church every Sunday, but only because Amy asked me to. I could never say
no to Amy--still can't, actually. But it was just going through the motions. I
no longer believed in God. I renounced any and all faith in His power. I guess
that makes me an atheist, huh?"
"Losing your faith in God and not believing He exists are not one and the same,"
Dana stated gently. "I can see why you would come to doubt, even to hate Him,
for what you perceived to be incredibly unjust wrongs to you and your family.
The same way I can see how the same circumstances produced the completely
opposite effect on your sister. In her pain, she turned to God for help, whereas
you shunned Him. Both are completely understandable reactions to the type of
tragedy you've had to endure. Hell, I think I've followed both routes at
different times in my life. Ultimately, I found my way back to Him. Who knows,
one day you might, too."
He shook his head. "Somehow, I doubt it. The pain's too deep, the wound too old.
Some grudges can never be forgiven."
"Fair enough. For what it's worth, Mark, I'm truly sorry for all the loses
you've had to endure."
"Don't be. I'm sorry I never really got to know my mother, and I'll always miss
her. But for the most part, my childhood was good. It was happy. Amy made sure
of that."
"She really does sound like a remarkable woman." There was sincere admiration in
Dana's voice.
"Oh, she sure is. I wouldn't be the man I am today if not for her. You know,
Dana, in many ways, you remind me of her. I don't just mean your persistent
faith. You're both strong, spirited. Determined. Undaunted in whatever you put
your minds to. Compassionate."
Given the way Mark had described Amy--the heartfelt adoration and nearly devout
regard in which he held her--Dana was deeply touched. In fact, she felt truly
honored. If he held her in half as much esteem as his beloved sister, she
considered herself lucky indeed.
She smiled at him warmly.
"Maybe someday you two could meet. I'm sure she'd come to know and care for you
as much as I do."
"I'd like that, Mark. I'd like that a lot." Dana found the idea of meeting this
woman who had played such an integral role in shaping Mark's life a wonderful
opportunity.
"Me, too." He looked into her eyes, held her gaze. "Thanks for listening to me
ramble on, Dana. I hope I didn't bore you too much."
"Not at all. I'm glad you told me. I think hearing about your childhood, about
your sister, helped me to understand you a bit more. Get to know more about what
makes Mark Riskey tick."
"Same here. I'm glad you told me about your fight with the cancer, and how it
changed you. Most of all, I'm glad you beat it. That I've gotten the opportunity
to meet you. And, I hope, to get to know you even more."
A strong, cooler breeze blew past then. Dana felt it straight through the thin
fabric of her sweater, and shivered.
"The wind's starting to pick up," Mark said, glancing around. "We should
probably head back to the hotel."
"Yeah, it's getting late," Dana said, glancing at her watch. Her eyes suddenly
grew round. "My God, is that really the time?"
Mark looked at his own watch. "Ah geez. You've got an early flight tomorrow--er,
today--don't you?"
Smiling sheepishly, Dana nodded. "No big deal. I can sleep on the ride back to
D.C." *And it'll save me the trouble of having to make small talk with Mulder.*
"All the same, we should probably get back," he said, holding out his hand.
As another stronger breeze whipped through her, Dana quickly took his hand and
they made their way back up the beach the way they had come.
"You cold?" he asked.
"A l-little," she muttered, teeth beginning to chatter.
"I'm sorry I don't have a jacket to offer you. Guess I'll just have to
improvise." He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close.
"You Navy SEALs sure are a resourceful lot." Dana encircled his waist, huddling
into the warmth of his body as much as she was able.
Twenty minutes later, they were approaching the doorway to her hotel room.
"Well, here we are," Dana said, stopping a foot or so in front of the door. She
looked up at him and smiled. "You, ah, want to come in for a while?"
For the briefest of moments, he hesitated, a hint of temptation crossing his
features. "I'd love to, Dana, but it really is getting awfully late. I don't
want to keep you up--I'd hate for you to oversleep and miss your flight on
account of me."
"Yeah, I guess you're right." She hoped she did not sound too terribly
disappointed. "So, you going to be sticking around the island for a while?"
"Probably at least till the end of the week--until the docs spring Robbins. I
like for us to all travel together if I can help it."
She nodded. "I guess you and the guys will manage to find some way to pass the
time."
"Yeah, I'm sure we'll have some fun. It's too bad you can't stick around a while
longer."
"And so goes the life of a federal employee," she remarked with a dramatic sigh.
They laughed.
"You'll just have to soak up some rays for me," she told him.
"Sure thing."
There was a moment of silence.
"I had a really great time tonight, Mark."
"Me too. Hopefully, we can do it again some time."
"I'd like that."
"Would it be okay if I called you when I got back to the states?"
Her smile lit up her entire face. "Sure. Let me just give you my numbers." She
rummaged through her purse, managed to find a business card and a pen, and
scribbled on the back of it. "Here you go," she said, handing it to him. "The
card has my office and cell numbers, and I've added my home one. You should be
able to reach me at one of the three."
"Busy lady."
"They keep me on my toes."
Another moment of silence.
"Well, have a safe trip back."
"Thanks again, Mark. Good night."
Key in hand, she paused a moment before preparing to turn toward the door.
In that moment, he gently cradled her face in his hands and bent towards her.
Her eyes slid closed just as she felt his lips touch hers in a soft, gentle
kiss. He slowly pulled away, leaving her standing there, unable to find the
strength--or the will--to move from the spot.
"Good night, Dana," he whispered.
She opened her eyes, and watched as he backed slowly down the hallway, waving.
Smiling, she waved back before letting herself into her room. As she closed the
door, she leaned back against it, sighing contentedly. She stayed there for a
while, mind a million miles away.
Reluctantly, she walked over to the bed, slipped out of her sandals and her
sweater. She was about to go into the bathroom to wash up when she caught sight
of her reflection in the mirror. She almost did not recognize herself--so big
was the smile on her face. She could not remember the last time she had felt
this happy, this relaxed. It was a feeling she could get used to.
Slowly, she reached up to her ear, and gently removed the flower from her hair.
She brought it to her nose and inhaled deeply its sweet aroma, letting it
permeate her senses.
For the first time in a long while, Dana Scully looked forward to tomorrow, and
what new surprises lay in store for her.
Finis
*****
Hope you enjoyed this! More to come soon, so stay tuned!
*****
Deep Water
by Jewel
You find yourself falling down
Your hopes in the sky
But your heart like grape gum on the ground
And you try to find yourself
In the abstractions of religion
And the cruelty of everyone else
And you wake up to realize
Your standard of living somehow got stuck on survive
When you're standing in deep water
And you're bailing yourself out with a straw
And when you're drowning in deep water
And you wake up making love to a wall
Well it's these little times that help to remind
It's nothing without love
You wake up to realize your only friend
Has never been yourself or anyone who cared in the end
That's when suddenly everything fades or falls away
'Cause the chains which once held us are only the chains which we've made
When you're standing in deep water
And you're bailing yourself out with a straw
And when you're drowning in deep water
And you wake up making love to a wall
Well it's these little times that help to remind
It's nothing without love, love, love
It's nothing without love
We've compromised our pride
And sacrificed our health
We have to demand more
Not of each other
But more from ourselves
'Cause when you're standing in deep water
And you're bailing yourself out with a straw
When you're drowning in deep water
And you wake up making love to a wall
Well it's these little times that help to remind
It's nothing without love, love, love
It's nothing without love
It's nothing without love