Title: Intermission
Author: Exley_61
Feedback: exley61@yahoo.com
Category: Angst,
Distribution: You want it, just let me know where
I can visit it.
Spoilers: Up to season finale of season 6
Summary: Scully has just found out she is pregnant
and alone. So she's gone to the one person
who won't let her hide from even herself.
Disclaimers: As always, I don't own them, but I treat
them nicely.
Author's Note: This is the first story I've completed in
almost a year and a half. After some gentle
prodding from a few inquisitive readers, I've
come back to stay a spell. Thank you, in
particular, to Clarissa.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Intermission
by
Exley_61
exley61@yahoo.com
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
It hurts to watch her. To talk to her and
notice her gaze slid away and peer at something
you can't begin to see. Memories overcome her
more than she knows, more than I would dare to
point out.
I wish I could say I understand, that I've been
there. . . but I can't. Not that I wouldn't. . . No,
it's just. . . in order for me to say those words
to her, she'd first have to tell me where it is
she's been.
You see, I know my sister. . . and because I
do, I am just as sure that she knows me. Meaning:
She knows she can't hide behind too wide eyes
and an easy smile. I think she came here
to be discovered, to be pushed into answers
that others were unable to pry free. That is, if
they even knew they were there to be found.
"Dana, are you going to the mall with
Miranda?" I ask coming down the stairs and
into the living room. I carry my son, Jordan, hiked
over my shoulder. He growls against my back as
I hold him fireman-style while walking into the
room.
His mother wanted him downstairs ten minutes
ago and unfortunately for him, Play Station was
going to get a breather. His fingers grip my
waist, grabbing at the love handles that dared
to sneak up on me.
"Jordan, quit it or the birdman will be comin' to
rest on you," I threaten, leaning over to let him
slide off of me. When he stands before me, his eyes
are twinkling, daring.
"Don't look to Aunt Dana for help," I admonish,
shaking my head when I catch him glance her
way. "You're in my territory now!"
Without further ado, I grab him, craddling
him against my body as my fingers dance over
his stomach and neck, making sure not to miss his
most sensitive fronts, the arm pits.
"You can squirm all you want, but nothing
escapes the Birdman, CAW!!" I tease. His giggles
and gasping fill the air.
"Charlie! Please, Dana is watching TV," Miranda
admonishes as she comes back into the house. The
dogs, Maggie and Mindy, lop past her and into the
kitchen to their awaiting dinner bowls, their
nails scratching against the linoleum.
"It's fine, Miranda, I'm not really watching," Dana
replies from behind us. Finally I release Jordan,
or rather he slides down my legs into one big heap
of kid.
"Jordan, your sneaks are in the den. Go get
them. We have to be back here by no later
than 5:45. That gives us forty-five minutes
to eat before your soccer practice. Now,
let's go, mi hijo."
"But Mom I don't wanna go today?"
"Don't 'But Mom' me, you're the one that
wanted to be on this team, Si? So you
are, which means you're going to
practice."
"But Aunt Dana's here."
"And she'll be here when you get back, stop
arguing with your mother. Go get your shoes,
now," I order, stepping in with that pointed
stare and Ahab's trademark tone.
I hear him stomp off to the den, muttering
complaints with every foot fall. I smile. I'd
realized soccer wasn't for me about the same
age. Like father like son, I guess.
"Charlie, did you give Roger Martins the money
for the vacation bible school?" Miranda asks,
walking into the kitchen. Her hand holds the
swinging door open for me to follow.
I cast a glance over my shoulder at Dana
for a moment, gesturing to Miranda that I
can't possibly leave Dana alone. She just
narrows her eyes and smiles, shaking her
head.
Busted.
"I thought that wasn't due till next
Thursday," I offer, ready to meet my wife's
counter offer as I follow her into the
kitchen. I watch her check on the pot
'something' cooking in the stove.
"No, amore, next Thursday our part of Aunt
Pilar's birthday money has to be given over
to my sister for her fiftieth, remember?"
I sidle up behind her and kiss her neck
as she washes her hands in the sink.
"Oh yeah," I murmur, waiting to see the
goose bumps rise along her olive skin, which
they do. "How could I have forgotten?"
Miranda shivers as I lift her black hair out of
the way, giving me access to kiss the side of her
neck. I reclaim my favorite spot. . . that ittle
apex of her jaw and throat. "Will you forgive me."
"Eww Gross!"
I shake my head,letting it rest against Miranda's
shoulder before she slides around me.
"You find your shoes? Good. Let's go.. we are
outta here, pronto."
Jordan continues to make gagging sounds as he
follows Miranda out of the kitchen and into the
living room where Dana is sitting on the couch.
I cuff him on top of his head, ruffling his hair
and point my finger at him. "You know, one day
you'll understand."
Jordan just rolls his eyes before going over to
Dana to lay across her lap in one quick jump.
The sound of her breath wooshing out of her as
Jordan plays dead is tinges with the ring of
laughter.
I can't help but smile and meet Dana's gaze,
shaking my finger at her. I think she's told him
one of my stall tactics that I used to do with
Mom.
"Let's goOOoo," Miranda says, grabbing her keys
out of the hallway dish. She walks over to me
and I give her a quick peck on the lips wriggling
my eyes and promising much more later.
"You gotta deal," she whispers, giving me a smile.
Did I neglect to mention that my wife is one hot
lady? I knew I was glad for having been stationed
in Puerto Rico once upon a military career.
"I can't move," Jordan drones, sprawling out
in all his eight-year-old glory, " I'm a dead
bug. . . see?"
"Well you're gonna get squashed if you don't
get your fanny movin' this very minute, comprende?
Now let's get going. Ships leaving."
Jordan sighs before sitting up on Dana's lap. He
turns to look at her. "You're not going with us
to the stupid mall?"
"Maybe next time," she offers gripping his chin
and placing a kiss on his forehead. I wait for him
to wipe it off but he doesn't. Instead he hops off
of her and follows after Miranda who has just
brought the mini van to life out in the drive way.
"See ya later, sport." I call out from the door
before shutting out the receding view of my
family.
The door closes with a snick and suddenly I feel
the weight shift in the room. Dana exhales,
coloring the air in tones that don't resemble
soft sighs of contentment.
Again, It hurts me to watch her, but watch
her I do because she lets me and has always
let me. I walk back into the living room, sitting
down in the overstuffed chair beside the couch.
"Lesbians and their secret male lovers, next
on Springer," is heard from the TV. I reach
over to the coffee table and snag the remote,
shutting off Jerry.
"You're not going to tell me you're a Lesbian
are you?" I ask, trying to break her mood if
only for a moment. "Because, I can put that
back on if you want?"
Dana rolls her eyes before staring down at
her lap again. I settle back into my chair
and wait, taking up my best therapist pose which
Dana notices.
"You're not going to psycho-analyze
me, Charleston, I'm not one of your
patients," she attacks right out of the
gate.
I lean forward and place my hand on her
knee. "You don't have to tell me that, Dana.
You are far more disturbed than my regular
caseload."
"Very funny."
But somehow it's really not. I drop the
teasing. I notice that she's thinner than
I last saw her, which was Jordan's remission
celebration only four months ago.
He'd contracted Acute Lymphetic Leukemia
at five years old. We'd celebrated the
end of his treatment when everyone could
get together. Dana had come with Mom. She seemed
the happiest I'd seen her in a long while, or
rather 'heard' in a long while as phone calls
where more frequent than visits.
"Talk to me, Dana. . . you know you can talk
to your Charleston Chew," I whisper, cocking my
head. She meets my questing gaze and grins, but I
can see her eyes submerged beneath a flood of emotions.
"I . . . I don't know where to begin," she
murmurs, looking away and wiping at her face. She
gives a wry laugh and tosses her head. "I mean, I
do know where to begin. . . but I am not quite sure
that I can start."
I stand up and grab her hand. "Come on, let's go
play."
She is so up-ended by this response that she lets
me easily drag her through the Victorian,
cutting through the den and library to the back yard.
Something tells me that this is the right thing
to do.
"Oh Charlie," she gasps, amazed, walking down the
last few steps of the deck. In the center of the
yard is our humongous oak tree. Existing between
its large and gnarled branches is a replica of a
tree house we'd built on base in San Diego. It had
been my favorite place as a child, and
Dana's . . . and I wanted my son to have the
chance to make it his favorite, too.
I tug her hand and smile. "Well, let's go."
I don't give her a chance to refuse, pushing
her ahead of me to the ladder resting against
the trunk. With only a slight pause, she shrugs
her shoulders before gripping the ladder and
climbing her way up and inside. I follow close
behind her.
It's warm, but not too warm. I can see through
one of the windows. Dark clouds are crawling
toward us. They'll arrive just in time to cancel
soccer practice. Jordan will be so pleased his
prayers were answered.
"Charlie, this is incredible. It's almost
exactly like our old one," she gasps, running
her gaze over the two large windows,
shelves and rocking chair. . . and she's right.
"Look above the shelves, next to the
window," I tell her, pointing to the spot.
Dana crawls over the braided throw rug to get
a better view. She gasps, a hand coming to rest
over her lips. "This is..."
"Incredible, right?" I finish for her.
In a ten by eight lamenated glossy is a collage
of Dana, Me, Billy and Melissa from our old tree
house. Mixed in with the photos of us are pictures
of Dad and Mom, particularly that time when
Dad had become our prisoner on the Spanish
Armada and we it's Pirates.
Mom had let us use her eye liner. . . or we
swiped it, I can't recall. We had done ourselves
up in our meanest faces, stealing the booty:
Dad's barbeque fork.
We ransomed it back to him at the price of fifty
cents for each of us. It was a big victory. Mom
made us pose for a zillion pictures after
the great battle while Dad barbequed our
dinner.
"Where did you get these?" she asked, her
voice incredulous.
"Mom gave them to me when I was going
through one of our photo albums. I'd used the
pictures with a dash of memories to design
this tree house.
She shook her head before leaning back to
sit on a pile of pillows propped against the
opposite wall. It was the farthest she could
actually get from me within the seven by six foot
area.
"I feel like I've stepped back in time," she
whispers, looking over at me before her eyes turn
downcast again. "But. . . but we haven't done
that, Charlie, we haven't."
"That's true enough, Dana bear," I answer
softly, careful not to frighten her quiet. You
don't push with Dana, not if you want to let her
really speak, explain. Time was what she always
needed, and so that's what I give her now.
New tears trickle down her cheeks but she
ignores them, so I do, too. "Charlie. . . so
much. . . so much has happened that I don't know
where to begin. And I hate this...."
She bangs her fist against a pillow. "I hate
this crying, this confusion. . . this anger!"
"Talk to me."
"He's gone," she whispers, biting her lip and
giving a slight shake to her head.
She doesn't have to explain who she means. There's
only been one person who drives her to the limits
of her endurance, and that's where she is.
Dana had always pocketed away her hurt,
closing the bruised compartments within herself
using an usually impenetrable sealer. She always
tried to make sure that whatever pain she
was going through was not to interfere with
whatever she wanted. So if the binding started
to crack and emotions leaked out, she'd be sure
to shore them up again with the sheer force of
her will.
Ahab had that influence on her, on all
of us, really. It took my boy getting sick
to make me realize I had to demolish those
barriers and reprioritize my world. I had to
change. I had to give myself to my family,
the pain and joy and everything else in between
or I'd lose them all in one way or another.
I could see Dana had come to her precipice
of change now, too.
"I'm pregnant, Charlie," she throws at me. I
catch the information square in the chest.
onfusion crowds over me but I hold my tongue
as she provides answers to questions I've barely
had time to form.
"I don't know how it's happened. Infertile.
That's what I was told, but I guess I never
really put it to the test till recently."
Recently, that was noteworthy.
"But he left you?" I ask, and maybe anger
tinges my tone a little. I can't help it,
she's my big sister.
"No, Mulder didn't leave me. He's gone. There's
a difference," she replies.
A difference, okay. . . seems the same in my
book but I hold that thought to myself. . . by
the skin of my teeth, that is.
"I can't explain it any further. . . not in
a way that you would understand or accept."
I feel my skin flush with anger. Dana sits
crumpled before me, shattered in pieces that
I can't even begin to help glue back together
again and it's then that I realize that it isn't
all of a sudden, that it's been slowly happening.
She's been chipped and cracking for a long time. Her
edges just now finally sharp enough to cut into my
attention.
I crawl over to her and crush her to my chest.
Her silent tears become wails that bleed my
heart. I place my hand over her head,
running my fingers through her hair as I
whisper words of comfort against her. I can
feel her hands gripping my arms, squeezing
them with the force of her pain.
I don't know how long we sit there, but it's
long enough for her to regain her composure and
that threat of rain to become a reality. It
pitter-patters against the leaves in pregnant
droplets.
Pregnant.
I squeeze her against my chest even harder. Dana
sighs heavily as I continue to stroke her hair.
"Why is it that I always feel the safest with
you, Charlie?"
I rub her shoulder and kiss her foreheard.
I know why. I am not blind to the fact that
I'm a virtual cardboard cut out of our
father, but maybe it's a little bit more than
that as well. "I don't know, Dana bear."
She sits back and looks up into my eyes,
searching them for at least one answer to
the whirlwind of questions and doubts fracturing
her life. She seems to find it before shuddering
out her next words. "I'm afraid, Charlie."
She says the one thing I have never heard her
admit -- and perhaps that unnerves more than it
should. This is my big sis, the little terror of
a girl who would dangle a spider between her fingers
and threaten to toss it on me.
She was the teenage girl who would sneak a pack of
Melissa's smokes and think no one had caught her
puffing away behind the garage.
But, most of all, she was the woman who would dare
to defy our father's wishes by joining the FBI. Which
leaves me pondering this one question?
Who was this woman now?
My leg starts getting pins and needles and I try to
supertitiously shake it back to life, but Dana
feels the movement and leans away from me. I
bite the inside of my cheek as the tingling sting
of circulation returns.
She cracks a weak smile at my obvious discomfort, forever
more being a bit of the bratty sibling we all have
left in us.
"Laugh it up," I grimace, twisting my ankle in a
circle, and pulling my thigh to my chest.
She snorts and I break free of my concentrated
efforts of avoiding gange green to look at her.
A low rumble of thunder sounds off in the
distance, mixing with the constant rain fall. Yet,
all of that plays background music to the sound
of her laughter and the sight of the first true
smile that has laid claim to her face since
she'd arrived at my doorstep late last night.
Maybe I know who this woman is after all.
"I needed this, Charlie," she whispers, looking
around the tree house before staring at her jean-
clad legs. She looks up, meeting my gaze as she
clasps my hand, squeezing. ". . . to be here, with
you. I needed to be allowed to remember where I
came from, who I am. . . not the woman that
people and circumstances have tried to shape
me to be."
I give her hand a little squeeze in return. All
the things I want to say, all the things I want
to rail against on her behalf, all the things I've
been struggling on how to say or if I even
should, evaporate.
It all comes back to one thing for us
Scullys. Family. I don't know how I let myself
so quickly forget. Even in our weakest moment,
there is strength to be found in that one constant.
I can't help recalling another rainy day over
three years ago. Having escaped outside an
emergency waiting room and feeling broken, lost
and alone when I wasn't, I'd felt her hand grip
my shoulder and another my arm.
She leaned against my hitching back, the rain beginning
to soak us both. That was where I first began to shed
the man I'd always played at being to become the
father/husband, brother/son I always wished I could be.
I let out a staggered sigh, shaking my head in
understanding.
I move to sit beside my sister, our backs
against the wall while I hold her hand and let
her just be her -- letting another Scully take
their leave of the stage, because really. . . that's
what she needs, that's what she wants. I understand
now and I "have" been there before. So, I give
her what she's come to me for, even if that's
only for a small intermission. It's enough.
"Thank you, Charlie."
I smile, blinking a few tears from my
eyes. "Anytime, Dana bear."
She snuggles against me and I wrap an arm
around her. We sit there just listening to
the rain fall and watching the lightening cross
the sky for a while. The sound of the mini
van returning and Miranda carouling Jordan
into the house is the only interruptions.
I smile before whispering in her ear. "You
know, I've always been partial to the name,
Charleston."
She snorts, shaking her head against my
shoulder. "I thought that 'torture' ended with
you. I mean, you spared Jordan."
I laugh shaking my head, busted for a second
time today. "Well, things change."
Maybe that's an understatement at this time. So
many things that I can't even begin to know, things
that she won't let me know, have brought her to
where she is right now. I accept that. Yes, things
may definitely change, but the one constant I pray
she knows is that I will always be there for her.
"Not all things change," she whispers, meeting my
gaze with an emotion-laden smile. I return it.
I guess. . . I guess my prayer is answered.
~fini~
devour feedback at: exley61@yahoo.com
Author: Exley_61
Feedback: exley61@yahoo.com
Category: Angst,
Distribution: You want it, just let me know where
I can visit it.
Spoilers: Up to season finale of season 6
Summary: Scully has just found out she is pregnant
and alone. So she's gone to the one person
who won't let her hide from even herself.
Disclaimers: As always, I don't own them, but I treat
them nicely.
Author's Note: This is the first story I've completed in
almost a year and a half. After some gentle
prodding from a few inquisitive readers, I've
come back to stay a spell. Thank you, in
particular, to Clarissa.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Intermission
by
Exley_61
exley61@yahoo.com
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
It hurts to watch her. To talk to her and
notice her gaze slid away and peer at something
you can't begin to see. Memories overcome her
more than she knows, more than I would dare to
point out.
I wish I could say I understand, that I've been
there. . . but I can't. Not that I wouldn't. . . No,
it's just. . . in order for me to say those words
to her, she'd first have to tell me where it is
she's been.
You see, I know my sister. . . and because I
do, I am just as sure that she knows me. Meaning:
She knows she can't hide behind too wide eyes
and an easy smile. I think she came here
to be discovered, to be pushed into answers
that others were unable to pry free. That is, if
they even knew they were there to be found.
"Dana, are you going to the mall with
Miranda?" I ask coming down the stairs and
into the living room. I carry my son, Jordan, hiked
over my shoulder. He growls against my back as
I hold him fireman-style while walking into the
room.
His mother wanted him downstairs ten minutes
ago and unfortunately for him, Play Station was
going to get a breather. His fingers grip my
waist, grabbing at the love handles that dared
to sneak up on me.
"Jordan, quit it or the birdman will be comin' to
rest on you," I threaten, leaning over to let him
slide off of me. When he stands before me, his eyes
are twinkling, daring.
"Don't look to Aunt Dana for help," I admonish,
shaking my head when I catch him glance her
way. "You're in my territory now!"
Without further ado, I grab him, craddling
him against my body as my fingers dance over
his stomach and neck, making sure not to miss his
most sensitive fronts, the arm pits.
"You can squirm all you want, but nothing
escapes the Birdman, CAW!!" I tease. His giggles
and gasping fill the air.
"Charlie! Please, Dana is watching TV," Miranda
admonishes as she comes back into the house. The
dogs, Maggie and Mindy, lop past her and into the
kitchen to their awaiting dinner bowls, their
nails scratching against the linoleum.
"It's fine, Miranda, I'm not really watching," Dana
replies from behind us. Finally I release Jordan,
or rather he slides down my legs into one big heap
of kid.
"Jordan, your sneaks are in the den. Go get
them. We have to be back here by no later
than 5:45. That gives us forty-five minutes
to eat before your soccer practice. Now,
let's go, mi hijo."
"But Mom I don't wanna go today?"
"Don't 'But Mom' me, you're the one that
wanted to be on this team, Si? So you
are, which means you're going to
practice."
"But Aunt Dana's here."
"And she'll be here when you get back, stop
arguing with your mother. Go get your shoes,
now," I order, stepping in with that pointed
stare and Ahab's trademark tone.
I hear him stomp off to the den, muttering
complaints with every foot fall. I smile. I'd
realized soccer wasn't for me about the same
age. Like father like son, I guess.
"Charlie, did you give Roger Martins the money
for the vacation bible school?" Miranda asks,
walking into the kitchen. Her hand holds the
swinging door open for me to follow.
I cast a glance over my shoulder at Dana
for a moment, gesturing to Miranda that I
can't possibly leave Dana alone. She just
narrows her eyes and smiles, shaking her
head.
Busted.
"I thought that wasn't due till next
Thursday," I offer, ready to meet my wife's
counter offer as I follow her into the
kitchen. I watch her check on the pot
'something' cooking in the stove.
"No, amore, next Thursday our part of Aunt
Pilar's birthday money has to be given over
to my sister for her fiftieth, remember?"
I sidle up behind her and kiss her neck
as she washes her hands in the sink.
"Oh yeah," I murmur, waiting to see the
goose bumps rise along her olive skin, which
they do. "How could I have forgotten?"
Miranda shivers as I lift her black hair out of
the way, giving me access to kiss the side of her
neck. I reclaim my favorite spot. . . that ittle
apex of her jaw and throat. "Will you forgive me."
"Eww Gross!"
I shake my head,letting it rest against Miranda's
shoulder before she slides around me.
"You find your shoes? Good. Let's go.. we are
outta here, pronto."
Jordan continues to make gagging sounds as he
follows Miranda out of the kitchen and into the
living room where Dana is sitting on the couch.
I cuff him on top of his head, ruffling his hair
and point my finger at him. "You know, one day
you'll understand."
Jordan just rolls his eyes before going over to
Dana to lay across her lap in one quick jump.
The sound of her breath wooshing out of her as
Jordan plays dead is tinges with the ring of
laughter.
I can't help but smile and meet Dana's gaze,
shaking my finger at her. I think she's told him
one of my stall tactics that I used to do with
Mom.
"Let's goOOoo," Miranda says, grabbing her keys
out of the hallway dish. She walks over to me
and I give her a quick peck on the lips wriggling
my eyes and promising much more later.
"You gotta deal," she whispers, giving me a smile.
Did I neglect to mention that my wife is one hot
lady? I knew I was glad for having been stationed
in Puerto Rico once upon a military career.
"I can't move," Jordan drones, sprawling out
in all his eight-year-old glory, " I'm a dead
bug. . . see?"
"Well you're gonna get squashed if you don't
get your fanny movin' this very minute, comprende?
Now let's get going. Ships leaving."
Jordan sighs before sitting up on Dana's lap. He
turns to look at her. "You're not going with us
to the stupid mall?"
"Maybe next time," she offers gripping his chin
and placing a kiss on his forehead. I wait for him
to wipe it off but he doesn't. Instead he hops off
of her and follows after Miranda who has just
brought the mini van to life out in the drive way.
"See ya later, sport." I call out from the door
before shutting out the receding view of my
family.
The door closes with a snick and suddenly I feel
the weight shift in the room. Dana exhales,
coloring the air in tones that don't resemble
soft sighs of contentment.
Again, It hurts me to watch her, but watch
her I do because she lets me and has always
let me. I walk back into the living room, sitting
down in the overstuffed chair beside the couch.
"Lesbians and their secret male lovers, next
on Springer," is heard from the TV. I reach
over to the coffee table and snag the remote,
shutting off Jerry.
"You're not going to tell me you're a Lesbian
are you?" I ask, trying to break her mood if
only for a moment. "Because, I can put that
back on if you want?"
Dana rolls her eyes before staring down at
her lap again. I settle back into my chair
and wait, taking up my best therapist pose which
Dana notices.
"You're not going to psycho-analyze
me, Charleston, I'm not one of your
patients," she attacks right out of the
gate.
I lean forward and place my hand on her
knee. "You don't have to tell me that, Dana.
You are far more disturbed than my regular
caseload."
"Very funny."
But somehow it's really not. I drop the
teasing. I notice that she's thinner than
I last saw her, which was Jordan's remission
celebration only four months ago.
He'd contracted Acute Lymphetic Leukemia
at five years old. We'd celebrated the
end of his treatment when everyone could
get together. Dana had come with Mom. She seemed
the happiest I'd seen her in a long while, or
rather 'heard' in a long while as phone calls
where more frequent than visits.
"Talk to me, Dana. . . you know you can talk
to your Charleston Chew," I whisper, cocking my
head. She meets my questing gaze and grins, but I
can see her eyes submerged beneath a flood of emotions.
"I . . . I don't know where to begin," she
murmurs, looking away and wiping at her face. She
gives a wry laugh and tosses her head. "I mean, I
do know where to begin. . . but I am not quite sure
that I can start."
I stand up and grab her hand. "Come on, let's go
play."
She is so up-ended by this response that she lets
me easily drag her through the Victorian,
cutting through the den and library to the back yard.
Something tells me that this is the right thing
to do.
"Oh Charlie," she gasps, amazed, walking down the
last few steps of the deck. In the center of the
yard is our humongous oak tree. Existing between
its large and gnarled branches is a replica of a
tree house we'd built on base in San Diego. It had
been my favorite place as a child, and
Dana's . . . and I wanted my son to have the
chance to make it his favorite, too.
I tug her hand and smile. "Well, let's go."
I don't give her a chance to refuse, pushing
her ahead of me to the ladder resting against
the trunk. With only a slight pause, she shrugs
her shoulders before gripping the ladder and
climbing her way up and inside. I follow close
behind her.
It's warm, but not too warm. I can see through
one of the windows. Dark clouds are crawling
toward us. They'll arrive just in time to cancel
soccer practice. Jordan will be so pleased his
prayers were answered.
"Charlie, this is incredible. It's almost
exactly like our old one," she gasps, running
her gaze over the two large windows,
shelves and rocking chair. . . and she's right.
"Look above the shelves, next to the
window," I tell her, pointing to the spot.
Dana crawls over the braided throw rug to get
a better view. She gasps, a hand coming to rest
over her lips. "This is..."
"Incredible, right?" I finish for her.
In a ten by eight lamenated glossy is a collage
of Dana, Me, Billy and Melissa from our old tree
house. Mixed in with the photos of us are pictures
of Dad and Mom, particularly that time when
Dad had become our prisoner on the Spanish
Armada and we it's Pirates.
Mom had let us use her eye liner. . . or we
swiped it, I can't recall. We had done ourselves
up in our meanest faces, stealing the booty:
Dad's barbeque fork.
We ransomed it back to him at the price of fifty
cents for each of us. It was a big victory. Mom
made us pose for a zillion pictures after
the great battle while Dad barbequed our
dinner.
"Where did you get these?" she asked, her
voice incredulous.
"Mom gave them to me when I was going
through one of our photo albums. I'd used the
pictures with a dash of memories to design
this tree house.
She shook her head before leaning back to
sit on a pile of pillows propped against the
opposite wall. It was the farthest she could
actually get from me within the seven by six foot
area.
"I feel like I've stepped back in time," she
whispers, looking over at me before her eyes turn
downcast again. "But. . . but we haven't done
that, Charlie, we haven't."
"That's true enough, Dana bear," I answer
softly, careful not to frighten her quiet. You
don't push with Dana, not if you want to let her
really speak, explain. Time was what she always
needed, and so that's what I give her now.
New tears trickle down her cheeks but she
ignores them, so I do, too. "Charlie. . . so
much. . . so much has happened that I don't know
where to begin. And I hate this...."
She bangs her fist against a pillow. "I hate
this crying, this confusion. . . this anger!"
"Talk to me."
"He's gone," she whispers, biting her lip and
giving a slight shake to her head.
She doesn't have to explain who she means. There's
only been one person who drives her to the limits
of her endurance, and that's where she is.
Dana had always pocketed away her hurt,
closing the bruised compartments within herself
using an usually impenetrable sealer. She always
tried to make sure that whatever pain she
was going through was not to interfere with
whatever she wanted. So if the binding started
to crack and emotions leaked out, she'd be sure
to shore them up again with the sheer force of
her will.
Ahab had that influence on her, on all
of us, really. It took my boy getting sick
to make me realize I had to demolish those
barriers and reprioritize my world. I had to
change. I had to give myself to my family,
the pain and joy and everything else in between
or I'd lose them all in one way or another.
I could see Dana had come to her precipice
of change now, too.
"I'm pregnant, Charlie," she throws at me. I
catch the information square in the chest.
onfusion crowds over me but I hold my tongue
as she provides answers to questions I've barely
had time to form.
"I don't know how it's happened. Infertile.
That's what I was told, but I guess I never
really put it to the test till recently."
Recently, that was noteworthy.
"But he left you?" I ask, and maybe anger
tinges my tone a little. I can't help it,
she's my big sister.
"No, Mulder didn't leave me. He's gone. There's
a difference," she replies.
A difference, okay. . . seems the same in my
book but I hold that thought to myself. . . by
the skin of my teeth, that is.
"I can't explain it any further. . . not in
a way that you would understand or accept."
I feel my skin flush with anger. Dana sits
crumpled before me, shattered in pieces that
I can't even begin to help glue back together
again and it's then that I realize that it isn't
all of a sudden, that it's been slowly happening.
She's been chipped and cracking for a long time. Her
edges just now finally sharp enough to cut into my
attention.
I crawl over to her and crush her to my chest.
Her silent tears become wails that bleed my
heart. I place my hand over her head,
running my fingers through her hair as I
whisper words of comfort against her. I can
feel her hands gripping my arms, squeezing
them with the force of her pain.
I don't know how long we sit there, but it's
long enough for her to regain her composure and
that threat of rain to become a reality. It
pitter-patters against the leaves in pregnant
droplets.
Pregnant.
I squeeze her against my chest even harder. Dana
sighs heavily as I continue to stroke her hair.
"Why is it that I always feel the safest with
you, Charlie?"
I rub her shoulder and kiss her foreheard.
I know why. I am not blind to the fact that
I'm a virtual cardboard cut out of our
father, but maybe it's a little bit more than
that as well. "I don't know, Dana bear."
She sits back and looks up into my eyes,
searching them for at least one answer to
the whirlwind of questions and doubts fracturing
her life. She seems to find it before shuddering
out her next words. "I'm afraid, Charlie."
She says the one thing I have never heard her
admit -- and perhaps that unnerves more than it
should. This is my big sis, the little terror of
a girl who would dangle a spider between her fingers
and threaten to toss it on me.
She was the teenage girl who would sneak a pack of
Melissa's smokes and think no one had caught her
puffing away behind the garage.
But, most of all, she was the woman who would dare
to defy our father's wishes by joining the FBI. Which
leaves me pondering this one question?
Who was this woman now?
My leg starts getting pins and needles and I try to
supertitiously shake it back to life, but Dana
feels the movement and leans away from me. I
bite the inside of my cheek as the tingling sting
of circulation returns.
She cracks a weak smile at my obvious discomfort, forever
more being a bit of the bratty sibling we all have
left in us.
"Laugh it up," I grimace, twisting my ankle in a
circle, and pulling my thigh to my chest.
She snorts and I break free of my concentrated
efforts of avoiding gange green to look at her.
A low rumble of thunder sounds off in the
distance, mixing with the constant rain fall. Yet,
all of that plays background music to the sound
of her laughter and the sight of the first true
smile that has laid claim to her face since
she'd arrived at my doorstep late last night.
Maybe I know who this woman is after all.
"I needed this, Charlie," she whispers, looking
around the tree house before staring at her jean-
clad legs. She looks up, meeting my gaze as she
clasps my hand, squeezing. ". . . to be here, with
you. I needed to be allowed to remember where I
came from, who I am. . . not the woman that
people and circumstances have tried to shape
me to be."
I give her hand a little squeeze in return. All
the things I want to say, all the things I want
to rail against on her behalf, all the things I've
been struggling on how to say or if I even
should, evaporate.
It all comes back to one thing for us
Scullys. Family. I don't know how I let myself
so quickly forget. Even in our weakest moment,
there is strength to be found in that one constant.
I can't help recalling another rainy day over
three years ago. Having escaped outside an
emergency waiting room and feeling broken, lost
and alone when I wasn't, I'd felt her hand grip
my shoulder and another my arm.
She leaned against my hitching back, the rain beginning
to soak us both. That was where I first began to shed
the man I'd always played at being to become the
father/husband, brother/son I always wished I could be.
I let out a staggered sigh, shaking my head in
understanding.
I move to sit beside my sister, our backs
against the wall while I hold her hand and let
her just be her -- letting another Scully take
their leave of the stage, because really. . . that's
what she needs, that's what she wants. I understand
now and I "have" been there before. So, I give
her what she's come to me for, even if that's
only for a small intermission. It's enough.
"Thank you, Charlie."
I smile, blinking a few tears from my
eyes. "Anytime, Dana bear."
She snuggles against me and I wrap an arm
around her. We sit there just listening to
the rain fall and watching the lightening cross
the sky for a while. The sound of the mini
van returning and Miranda carouling Jordan
into the house is the only interruptions.
I smile before whispering in her ear. "You
know, I've always been partial to the name,
Charleston."
She snorts, shaking her head against my
shoulder. "I thought that 'torture' ended with
you. I mean, you spared Jordan."
I laugh shaking my head, busted for a second
time today. "Well, things change."
Maybe that's an understatement at this time. So
many things that I can't even begin to know, things
that she won't let me know, have brought her to
where she is right now. I accept that. Yes, things
may definitely change, but the one constant I pray
she knows is that I will always be there for her.
"Not all things change," she whispers, meeting my
gaze with an emotion-laden smile. I return it.
I guess. . . I guess my prayer is answered.
~fini~
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