Title:  Not Quite Strangers
Author: phileandforget
Date:  Feb 02, 2002
Keywords:   Post-episode, Trust No 1, S/R friendship, implied DRR & MSR
Summary:"Could you let down your hair and be transparent for
a while – just a little while, to see if you're human after all?  Honesty is a hard
attribute to find, when we all want to seem like we got it all figured out." –
Lifehouse, "Trying"
Archive:XFMU, Gossamer and others with permission.

Author's Note:  Beyond the obvious, there were two moments in Trust
No 1 that really struck me.  The first was when Scully abandoned Mulder – that
is, first his letter, and second, his Golden Rule – upon seeing Patti, a total
stranger, in distress.  Her uncharacteristic (or perhaps *profoundly* characteristic) act of
random kindness epitomized the subtle shift in her nature since the birth of William
(though perhaps extending as far back as since "all things"): she *wants* to trust
people.  She is wary, reluctant to trust too much – but yet willing to take the first step.
Why she chose Patti, was because she saw in her another young mother – someone with
whom she could identify.  To me, this implies that Scully is seeking a female
friend, a confidant.

The other moment that struck me as particularly poignant was the 
shot of Scully sitting on the bench at the train station, trying to
overcome her disappointment after Mulder's train had passed.  Her head is down,
shoulders hunched – she is the picture of dejection.  But in this scene, it was
not only Dana who captured my attention and my sympathy – it was also the woman
beside her, Monica Reyes.  Her grave vigil nearly broke my heart; knowing Scully
was incapable of consolation at that moment, her quiet compassion spoke
everything that mere platitudes could not.

Thus, it was from those two moments came this story, a dialogue 
between two woman that captures the essence of each – at least
insomuch as she can bear to show it to the other...

Not Quite Strangers
phileandforget
(webmaster@withinrach.com)

"Could you let down your hair and be transparent for a while,
Just a little while, to see if you're human after all?
Honesty is a hard attribute to find,
When we all want to seem like we got it all figured out.
Let me be the first to say that I don't have a clue,
I don't have all the answers, ain't gonna pretend like I do.
Just trying to find my way, trying to find my way the best I know
how.
Well, I haven't got it all figured out quite yet
But even if it takes my whole life to get to where I need to be
If I should fall to the bottom of the end,
I'll be one step back to you."
Lifehouse, "Trying"

"Do you drink herbal tea?"

It's late, almost one-thirty in the morning, and I'm sitting in
Dana's living room, feeling about as out of place as a cactus in a rainforest.  She
hasn't spoken much, but I feel like she needs some company right now, after the bitter
disappointment of tonight.  At any rate, she invited me over and I'm not sure how I
feel about leaving her alone right now.  John volunteered to wrap things up with the
local police, helping them deal with the fallout from one murdered man and his
mysteriously missing murderer – I think his volunteering was largely a pre-emptive
strike against Scully offering her services.  He dropped us off at the station and
indicated for me to take her home, then basically booted us out of the car before either
of us had a chance to protest.

For a guy who purports to be so straight-up, John can really be quite
manipulative when he tries.

Regardless, I wasn't about to complain: a) because I didn't have to
stick around that gruesome mess all night, and b) because I sensed the same thing he
did, that Dana probably shouldn't be alone tonight.  I don't mean to imply that she
isn't capable of looking after herself, or anything like that – I just mean that I
don't think either John or I could sleep easily knowing that she's crying herself to sleep. 
So when she invited me in, I undertook to keep her mind firmly off Mulder and
their lost opportunity.

Now, I'll be the first to admit this – I don't know Dana very well. 
The first time I met her was when John called me in on the Fox Mulder case (although
it feels strange to refer to it as that, having found Mulder and even met the
man several times).  My first impression of her wasn't particularly positive – I
thought she was cold, close-minded and so deliberately distant as to be almost rude. 
I can't say I liked her all that much, despite John's forewarning me.  I hadn't
been quite sure what to expect of his new partner, but I was expecting, I think, someone a
little more personable than Dana Scully.

However, the more we ended up working together, the more I started to
see the Dana Scully that John had talked to me so often about.  In part, it was
because she started to loosen up around me – as though something had shifted and she
began to start trusting me.  But largely, I think it was because *I* changed – I
stopped trying to see her through John's eyes and started looking through my own.  Only
then did I begin to perceive her in the way that he meant, the way he hadn't been able
to fully convey to me.  I started seeing her as a scientist and doctor, grounded
first and foremost in cold logic and facts.  I started seeing her as an agent, fearless and
devoted to the pursuit of her missing partner – and, as John intimated to me, friend
and lover.  And father of her unborn child.  Only then did I begin to understand the
magnitude of what she had lost, in losing Mulder, and her desperation.  The more I
learnt about Dana, the more fascinated I became with her, this woman who had
worked – indeed, co-founded – the controversial X-Files division.  I suppose that,
especially in the early months after I began working the X-Files with John, I looked up
to her as a role model, someone to guide me through all the ambiguity and paradoxes of
the cases.  I was naοve, she was not.

Despite all that, however, the most significant thing I've learnt about Dana in all 
these months is simply this: she is, at heart, a complex person, and difficult to get to 
know well.  I tried so hard to be nice and friendly, to be a good agent, to be a friend, 
but I always felt her gentle rebuffs, her unspoken "thanks, but no
thanks."  So it shocked the hell out of me when she told me, seemingly out of the
blue, that I reminded her of her late sister.  I suppose I'd been starting to
think that she didn't have the same feelings that I had – that she simply didn't feel fear,
or fatigue, or failure.  I had been thinking, "Of course she's scared, how could she
not be?"  But she never showed it, and slowly I've begun to learn that that's just
her way.  She doesn't show her emotions readily – whereas I tend to have trouble
concealing mine – but that doesn't mean she doesn't have them.  (As John once told
me, using a metaphor you could only expect from a former Marine, "Not all
drownin' sailors can be easily seen from a 'copter, Monica – sometimes ya gotta get wet to
see the ones that really need a hand.")

Still, none of that stops me from feeling awkward and out of place
here, sitting on Dana's pristine cream couch in my dark suit.  I've only been here a
couple of times, and never for a social visit.  It's pretty and neat – the kind of
apartment I could imagine her decorating herself, in her all-too-infrequently snatched
moments of downtime.  I've only been here a short while – we first stopped by
her mother's to pick up William.  (I waited in the car while she spoke to her mom;
whatever she told her, I didn't feel it was my place to intrude.)  When we got back
here, she invited me up.  At first I refused, saying that she must be tired and should go
to bed.  Then she shrugged and replied that she probably wasn't going to get much sleep
tonight, but that she shouldn't be so selfish, and I must need my sleep, too. 
That was really the clincher – I just looked at her, and replied that it wasn't for my
own sake that I'd wanted tonight to work out so badly.  If she felt like company, I
said, it wasn't like I was going to be sleeping tonight, either.

So here we are.  She just made us two cups of chamomile tea, and sat
down in the single couch on my left.  After a little nervous small-talk, I can't
help but smile.  I've never seen Dana nervous before.  Worried, angry, focussed, upset and
edgy, yes – but nervous?  That's not really a word I'd think to associate with
her (and I'm all about word associations).  However, it makes me smile for a moment,
and suspiciously, she asks what's so funny.  I say honestly: "Does this
make you uncomfortable – me being here?"

She looks at me curiously for a moment, then replies slowly, "No."

"Good, because you can kick me out any time – but I'm getting kind of
fond of your couch here."  I don't know why I say that, my face burns with the
evidence of a classic "Moronica" moment – but for whatever reason, it makes her
smile.

"Hm.  Everyone seems to love my couch.  I should probably be offended
but then again, I do get them to myself most of the time."  Was that a joke? 
I smirk.  Dana pauses, then adds, almost as an afterthought, "Except when Mulder's
around."

Already, I thought, not sure quite how to respond.  Ideally, I'd like
to steer away from that particular topic.  "Oh, he'll get it back..."

"Not before William drools all over it."  She casts an indulgent
smile down at her son, sleeping beatifically in his bouncer at her feet.  I'm reminded
of our Mother smiling down on Jesus Christ, and the warm affection in her eyes.

"Maybe, maybe not."

She nods, accepting that.  "Tonight, you know – it's no big deal,
really."  I look at her with gentle disbelief, and she adds, "I didn't really expect it
would work out.  The timing is all wrong – we both knew it was a long shot."

"The heart wants what it wants," I reply lightly.  It bothers me a
little that she can find so many justifications for something that is so obviously a
disappointment to her – can't she see that she's allowed to feel the injustice of it as
much as she damn well wants?  I have a feeling, though, that the only reason she offers
those justifications is because they're more manageable than the truth, and like I said, we
really don't know each other very well.  Yet.  I can understand how she might not
want to cry on my shoulder, even though it's on offer to her.

Still, she seems to reflect on that for a moment.  "Yeah.  But it
can't always *get* what it wants – I suppose that's all there is to it."

"There's a difference between being happy and making do with one's
lot, though."

"True.  But maybe there are more important things than being
happy..."  Seeing my skepticism, she shrugs.  "Agent Reyes – I'm fine.  I don't want you
to think I can't be alone tonight.  Don't feel obliged to stay."

"Dana – I know you're fine.  You're always fine, you're fine more
often than I'm late for work.  More often than John loses his keys to the filing
cabinet."  Having been his partner for a time, that really should mean something to
her.  Seriously, I add, "I'm not staying to protect you against yourself."

"Then why *are* you staying, Agent Reyes?"  I shrink from her tone –
direct, demanding an honest answer.

"Because you invited me?"  It really is more of a question than an
answer.  Timidly, I add, "Because neither of us is going to sleep tonight, and I don't
have anything better to do right now than talk to you.  Oh, and – then there's your
couch…"

That elicits a nod of agreement – and, surprisingly, an apology. 
"I'm sorry.  I don't meant to be so...  I mean, I'm...  Thank you.  Thank you for
staying."  The words come out in a soft rush, like she's not sure quite how the sentence
will come out sounding on her tongue.

I smile.  "Thanks for having me...  I don't think we've ever really
talked all that much."

Scully shrugs.  "I don't tend to talk to anyone all that much – in
case you hadn't noticed, I'm not the most sociable person you'll ever meet."

Phew.  I smile, recalling a certain incident that her admission
brings to mind.  "Yeah, John led me to expect that..."

"What?  He told you?  About the – the –"

"The water incident?  Yeah, he mentioned it."  I grin wider, and she
seems genuinely embarrassed.  A crimson blush has crept over her cheeks, moving
slowly towards her nose.  "Personally, though, I'd say he had it coming."

"No, he didn't deserve that," she murmurs softly, still pink.  She's
starting to smile, though.  "I can't believe he told you about that."

"Well, he wasn't too impressed," I admit.  In truth, he'd been pissed
as hell.  He called me that same night, to tell me about the heinous bitch he'd
been assigned to work with.  "Feisty," was how he described her, along with a few
other choice terms that I'm sure he'd be mortified for me to recall.

When John told me he'd actually been *assigned* to the X-Files
division as Dana Scully's partner, I gave it two weeks.  Little did I suspect they'd
find so much common ground after that regrettable first meeting – or that one day,
she and I might, also.

"And when he call you in on – the case?"  I am relieved when Scully
sidesteps the M-word.

"I was... hesitant..."  In truth, the only reason I went was because
John pulled out all the stops – he missed me, he said, it was about time for a visit. 
The weather was "beeeautiful" (a blatant lie, I might add).  I should see his new
house.  I should meet his new partner.  It was ritual abduction, right up my alley.  And
hadn't I always wanted to work an X-File before?  "Aw, c'mon, Monica, c'mon, say
you'll do it..."

I thought I was being sucked in.  Little did I know.

"I don't blame you."

Dana's wry acceptance of that admission surprises me.  Chagrined, I
hasten to add, "Not that I didn't *want* to do it.  The X-Files division has always
fascinated me – I mean, it's always been kind of a dream of mine to – well, you
know..."

"Work on them?"

"Yeah."  Now it's my turn to be embarrassed.  She must think I'm such
a retard, but it's the God's-honest truth.  I've always wanted to work on the
X-Files division, ever since I joined the FBI and overheard two classmates discussing it at
the Academy.  Spooky Mulder and Dr. Scully working the unsolved cases down in the
basement.  It sounded like just my cup of tea – and failing that, I'd always held
out the hope of being involved in an X-File case.  Just to sate my curiosity, I
suppose.  I've always been fascinated by the occult.

"And John?"  Dana raises an eyebrow.  She seems mildly astonished
that anyone would choose to work the X-Files division – I don't think she's aware
of quite how much competition there was for my new assignment.

I wince.  "I can't speak for him, but...  I'd be guessing not!"

Amused, she agrees.  "No, I can't imagine it being a career goal for
him."

"What about you?  How did you get involved in them?"  The thought
just occurs to me.  The division had only been open a couple of years by the time I
joined the Academy.  She would have been terribly young back then – not much
older than me.

"Oh, no."  She shakes her head, still smiling.  "I wanted to be a
field agent, something more than a scientist in a laboratory, teacher in a
classroom or medical examiner in a morgue, but...  I had actually never considered the
possibility before I got the assignment."

Now my curiosity is piqued.  "Really?  Never, not even once?"

"Not even once."

"Then how did you...?"

She shrugs.  "Luck of the draw, I suppose.  I didn't apply for it, if
that's what you're implying."

"Oh, no, I–"

"I knew that I wanted to move on from teaching at Quantico, but The
X-Files...  I don't know – I just received a call from the Assistant Chief's
office, and – it was strange, actually.  I was given to understand they wanted me to
debunk the project, shut it down."

"But you didn't."  I'm starting to see a whole new side to this
woman.  I wonder who else has heard what she's telling me now.  Mulder?  A.D. Skinner? 
John?

She smiles sadly.  "No, they didn't need *me* to do that, and as it
turned out, I ended up doing pretty much the opposite.  In the end, I...  I don't
know.  I suppose I started to enjoy it, somewhere along the line.  Working with Mulder
was... gruelling.  Exhausting.  But – endlessly fascinating, too."

"Lucky you – and my partner just drives me crazy," I reply dryly.

Dana grins, then, and I'm struck by how pretty she is when she smiles
like that.  "Oh no," she says quickly.  "Mulder drove me crazy too.  He still does,
actually, but back then...  He'd call me in the middle of the night with a new case, or
an idea for a case, or because his TV wasn't working and he wanted to complain to
somebody about it.  He...  he ate sunflower seeds and left the shells everywhere –
everywhere!  I'm still finding them in the most unusual places.  And the pencils..."  She
trails off, shaking her head, a little embarrassed.  "I don't know why I'm telling you
all this."

Pencils?  Huh.  "That explains it!"  I burst out, like I've just
discovered the meaning to life.  In truth, it's nothing near as profound – but it's been
bugging me for weeks.  Scully just looks at me in blank confusion, and I point up.  "In the
ceiling.  All those pencils – that was Mulder, right?"

She nods.  "Yeah.  That was him.  I, um, took some time off, once,
and he, um..."

"...couldn't live without you?"

"Something like that.  He kept calling me, and I was so sick of him,
but-" she trails off, suddenly chastened.

"If it's any consolation, I'm sure he got sick of you sometimes,
too...?"  It's supposed to be a humorous deflection – since all partners give each
other the shits sometimes – but Dana nods in wholehearted agreement.

"Yes.  And then he'd usually get it into his head to go off somewhere
without me, but even though it annoyed the hell out of me when he did it, I can
count the number of times he didn't end up needing me to pick him up, bail him out,
save his ass and/or sew him back together."  She seems to take just a little pride
from this fact.

"And it didn't teach him?"

"Nope."

I'm starting to relax now, feeling an easy camaraderie with her –
she's so…  I don't know.  Sincere – serious, but sincere.  And a little sweet, too, I'm
surprised to find.

"Too bad you're not still working with John," I comment, and at her
puzzled expression, add, "he seems to have a talent for that foolhardy stuff,
too."  Or perhaps it's just a macho thing.  (Then again, I have to admit that he's
already saved my ass a few times over, and we've only been partners for a couple of months.)

Dana nods.  "Yeah, he's like Mulder in that way – when he's onto
something, he just doesn't give up."  I have a sneaking suspicion that she's thinking
about John's recent bureaucratic crusade.  Then she shakes her head.  "Still, I think
John's somewhat better at staying out of trouble, at least for the most part.  And
those other times, well – he's lucky to have you."

"I guess."  Sometimes I still wonder whether he'd be better off – or
happier – working with Dana.

Curiously, she asks me, "Had you worked with him before the X-Files?"

I'm a little surprised that she doesn't already know.  I can't
remember whether I've already told her, but she doesn't seem the type to forget very much. 
It occurs to me that either she's never discussed this with John, or she hasn't
ransacked my personnel file, or she's done both but wants to talk about him.

Either way, there's only the one story to tell.  "No.  We, um, we met
during the investigation into Luke's abduction."  Her expression softens
sympathetically.  "He was NYPD, then, and I was fresh out of the Academy."

"How did you get to know one another?  I mean, if it's not too-"  She
seems a little flustered, and I realise that she doesn't want to be intrusive.

I shake my head, "No – no, of course not.  John and I, um...  Well,
he was having problems with his wife, I was fighting with Brad, and then, with
everything that was going on, we, um..."

"You had a… relationship?"  I know what she's implying.

"No – well, I wouldn't call it that.  We just...  got to talking, I
guess.  We had dinner together a few times, nothing serious.  He just needed someone to
talk to, I guess.  And I was there."

She nods.  "I'm glad of that.  I can't even imagine what it must have
been like."

"It was bad," I say honestly.  God, was it ever.  "I've never worked
a case as bad as that before; it was just so...  so hopeless."  I neglect to mention
that it was around that time I started seeing things – horrible things, things that John
saw as well.  Ultimately, it was my feelings about those visions that led me to
Luke.

"You found the body."  It wasn't a question.

I nod.  "Yeah, I found it."  I'll never forgive myself for that.  I
let him down – we were *so close*, and I let him down.  One day earlier, and everything
might have been so different.  Instead, I saw him from a distance, and my heart
just sank – I knew it was him.  It's hard to mistake the body of a child lying
face-down in the dirt, no matter how badly you want it to be something, anything, else. 
"The first thing I saw," and I'm hardly aware that I'm speaking, "were his sneakers,
sticking up out of the grass.  I didn't even realise, until I got closer, that they were
attached to his feet.  He was just lying there.  I started shouting out – "He's over here!"
– and checked his pulse.  It was – there was none, we were too late."

I hear Dana sniff and glancing up, realise that she's crying.  Or
rather, tears are welling up in her eyes, which are fixated on my face, and starting to
overflow.  She doesn't seem aware of them, and I'm touched by her compassion for my
friend and partner.  I should know by now, though, how deeply Dana internalises
pain.  Even when it's not her own.  You can see it on her face – in her eyes.  So
much pain.

I wipe away my own tears and continue.  "Everyone came running, as
though there was still hope for him, but Luke...  He was beyond our help, and our
hope."  And as they came to realise that, the men formed a circle around his little
body, on top of that mound of dirt, and took off their hats in a silent salute.  It
was as much a gesture to their colleague as to his murdered son.  I was touched, and
heartbroken – and suddenly conscious that John was not among us.

So where was he – hadn't he heard me calling?  I didn't see how he
couldn't have.  I turned then, seeking him out, and finally saw him standing a short
way off.  Just watching us, his eyes haunted and empty, as though he were somewhere
else entirely.  As though he'd just stumbled into this God-awful nightmare
in which we were all strangers to him.  But then he recognised me.  I couldn't
help the tears that started to fall, as soon as our eyes met.  He looked so utterly lost.
Devastated.  Then he just turned and walked away – he didn't even want to see the body,
he knew it was bad news.  The worst.

"John was... shattered."  Belatedly, I realise that the words stopped
flowing a few sentences ago.  "He didn't want to see the body.  His wife ended up
giving us the ID.  John was – I've never seen him so distraught.  I –"  I'd sooner die
than see him in that much pain again, is what I wanted to say.  But the words didn't
come.  "He didn't say a word all afternoon, all evening.  I don't think he even
knew what was going on, so, um…  I took him home.  He was living alone by that
point, his wife was staying with her sister.  So I stayed with him, but later… 
later…"

Suddenly, my throat constricts and I can't say it.  I shouldn't tell
her – she has no right to know.  And yet, somehow I sense that she does.  She cares
about John, I can tell that, and I know that she'll keep the confident.  Dana is
nothing, I have learnt, if not loyal.  It's why John trusts her so much – it's why I want so
badly to.

"What?"  She leans across and touches my hand.  "Later what?  I – I
need to know."  Tears are streaming down her cheeks, and her eyes seem unnaturally
bright and blue.  Fierce, too, as though her whole life depends on knowing the horrible
truth of that night.

Although I want to tell her, the words are hard to find, and harder
yet to say.  I take a deep breath and try to be detached about it, pretend like it wasn't
as bad as it was.  "I went to say good night and – I couldn't find him.  I – I looked all
over the house, calling out, and he wasn't answering.  He didn't seem to be anywhere.
 I got worried, and then – then, I found him."  I pause, and then the words come out
in a rush: "He was in Luke's room, and he was about to eat his gun."

The words send a chill down my spine and I find Dana's hand gripping
mine like a vice.  "He – I don't believe that."  Her flat-out refusal falls just
shy of being comical, it's so heartbreakingly stubborn.  I recognise it as a textbook
coping strategy, the need to cling to perceived facts, what one knows to be true, rather
than open oneself to the possibility of something more disturbing.  Of course that
would be Dana.  And now, she has every right to believe that, that John would never do
such a thing.

But she didn't know him back then.  And no one knew him like I did.

"It was a long time ago now," I tell her, trying to be gentle.  I
don't blame her for not wanting to believe it, but I'm not lying.  She wanted the truth. 
"You – you wouldn't have recognised him back then, he was...  Different."

"How was he different?"

I consider that for a moment.  "He was – younger.  More...  naοve. 
He thought he could do anything if he just worked hard enough.  When things started
to – go... he couldn't understand it.  He was trying so hard to keep it all
together, to be a good husband, and father, and cop – he was trying to be everything to
everyone.  He didn't believe in failure, only laziness."

Through her tears, Dana smiles sadly.  "No – that sounds exactly like
John."

I smile too, then, wistfully.  "I wish he'd known you back then."

She shakes her head.  "I don't think so…  I was different back then,
too – time changes us all."

Although she doesn't say it, I know that what she means is, she used
to be like John was – and like him, she's been changed by her own experiences.  I
don't want to ask, but as I regard her, I wonder what she's alluding to.  Did she lose a
child, too?  Or did she come to learn that there are even worse things that can
befall a person?  Furthermore, I perceive that she thinks *I* was the right person to
have been there that night, with him.  I don't know.  It still gives me nightmares,
sometimes.

"That's true – but however it changes us, it's only natural. 
Ultimately, we're just leaves on the tree of life – we play our role in the infinite cycle,
but we don't get to dictate how the wind will blow, or when the branches break."

Dana smiles at that, though I feel a little foolish for telling her. 
It's my own private philosophy – I've never voiced it to anyone before.  "Monica... 
You'll never know her, but...  God, I wish you could have met my sister, Melissa.  She
was so much like you."  Dana's voice is choked, hardly a whisper, and I wonder whether
this was the tragedy that changed her so.

"How old was she – when she died?"

"Thirty-four."

"Oh, God.  I'm so sorry."  My thoughts go immediately to my childhood
best friend, who also died young.  Tragically young.  Her name was Gloria, and she
was the closest thing I ever had to a sister – it's nearly ten years later,
but there are still days when I miss her like crazy.

"Don't be.  I'm the only one who should be sorry.  She, um..." Dana
breaks off, and wipes the tears off her cheeks.  Staring resolutely at a picture on
the wall, of a young woman I can only suppose to have been Melissa, she says, "She died in
my place."

"What?  Oh – no, you can't believe that, Dana."

She casts me a sharp, pained look, and I realise that she'll never
believe otherwise.  "I was at a funeral during the day, and as I was leaving afterwards,
a man came up to me.  He warned me it would happen.  I didn't believe him, of course,
but that night...  I got a little creeped out.  So I called Missy, and she offered to
come over and stay with me.  As soon as I hung up, I realised it was a mistake, and I
had to get out.  So I called her back – but she didn't answer – and...  I left anyway."

"Oh, God, no.  She was murdered – you – you couldn't have known."

"I didn't pull the trigger, but she wouldn't have been there if it
hadn't been for me."

"Was she – did she have a husband?  Children?"

"Not even that."  Dana's voice is calm and soft, and her eyes stare
off into space.  "She always wanted a family.  I – I never did."

"But something changed, didn't it?  I mean, you have William, now. 
And Mulder."

"Yes.  And Emily, for a time..."

I have to strain closer to her to hear the name.  It doesn't ring a
bell – was she a daughter?  Another sister?  "Who's Emily?"

"She was...  It's a long story."  Wryly, she adds, "My life's full of
them."

I shrug.  "We have all night.  Unless you want to go to bed..."

"Not really."  She takes a deep breath, then says, "In my first year
on the X-Files, I was abducted for several weeks.  I have little recollection of that
time, but Mulder believes that I was subjected to experiments using alien technology."
 I can't believe this.  Scully continues, "Some time later, I was diagnosed with
cancer – a brain tumour.  We traced it back to a chip in my neck, which I'd had
removed some months earlier."

"Wait a second – in your neck?  Like the super-soldiers?"

"Maybe.  In retrospect, I think it had something to do with that,
with those experiments.  But regardless, I was luckier than most, and by some
miracle or luck, made it through."  Knowing Dana, she must have an explanation – but
she spares me it, and I sense she's coming to a point.  "It wasn't until a couple
of years later that I realised that I would never be able to have children.  Presumably
during my abduction, they had taken – harvested – my eggs.  Mulder...  he
actually found a sample of them, in – well, it's another long story.  But by the time
he finally told me, I knew – that was...  it was the one thing I wanted."  She glances
down, then, at her baby son.

"And Emily?"

"It was a coincidence, how we met.  A couple of years ago, around
Christmas time, Mulder and I came across her during a case.  She looked *remarkably*
like Missy when she was a baby, and I…  I leapt to the conclusion that she had
to be Missy's daughter.  I had some tests run, but when they came back, I realised
– she wasn't Missy's daughter.  She was mine."

"Your own – but how did you –?"  What went wrong, I want to ask. 
Instead, I hold my tongue.

"Mulder and I realised that she's been born from the eggs they took
from me – that she may have only been one of several, or many.  All mine."  Dana
pauses, but I don't say a word, sensing that she has more to tell.  After a period
of reflective silence, Dana continues, "I wanted to adopt her.  I wanted it so bad,
but…  Emily was a very sick little girl...  She died not long after."

"I'm sorry."  Hasn't this woman had enough pain in her life?

"So am I.  But…"  She looks down at William again.

"Now there's William.  How did you – in vitro?"

"We tried."  I assume she's talking about herself and Mulder.  "It
didn't work.  The eggs were dead.  All of them."

"But something must have worked..."  I incline my head towards the
child at her feet, who is at this moment sleeping blissfully.  Obviously, something
worked!

"Yeah.  It was something, all right."

I suddenly realise that this is the reason she so rarely refers to
Mulder as William's father.  It's not that she's sure he isn't, or in denial – it's that
she genuinely doesn't know.  She can't explain how it happened.  No wonder she was so
hostile towards Shannon McMahon and her outrageous allegations about super-soldiers –
and William's unique status among them.

Lightly, I offer, "You know, cases of divine conception are extremely
rare – one every two thousand years or so."

She smiles.  "I'm aware of that.  I don't think – well, I don't know
– whether my pregnancy was a gift from God or men...  It was still a gift."

"And the daddy-?"  I already know what she'll say.

"Mulder is his father," Dana asserts.  "For all intents and purposes.
When William is a little older, we'll run some tests, but for the time being – Mulder
loves William, and although he's never been what you might call a family man, the
idea's grown on him."

"It must be nice," I say enviously, thinking of my own family.  My
birth parents, who I never knew, and my adopted parents, down in Mexico.  When I was
younger, I used to want my own family so badly – I wanted the husband, the kids,
the pets, the mortgage, everything.  But then my life seemed to veer off onto
another path, and the older I get, the less likely that family seems.

"What part?"

"To have a family.  To be… loved like that."  To belong, I add
silently.

She nods.  "Yeah.  It is..."  Almost as an afterthought, she adds,
"But, you know – I never expected things to work out this way.  I mean, any of it. 
Becoming a mother, losing the X-Files, Mulder..."  I notice that she doesn't ascribe
anything in particular to Mulder, as though she's referring to everything about him, and by
association, their relationship.

"I wish I could say the same – that things have worked out for me,
the way they have for you."

"I'd hardly say they've worked out," Dana replies, and I know she's
thinking about tonight's events, and those of the past couple of days.  "But I think
I know what you mean."

"I guess time will tell, for me."  I shrug.  I don't really want to
spill my guts on that particular issue – it makes me feel all of fourteen again.  I'd like
to think I have a more sophisticated view on life now, having had experience with love,
and without, and not all of those experiences being good ones.  Still.

The heart wants what the heart wants.

Dana echoes that sentiment, then adds, "Can I ask – how have things
been working out with Brad?"

"Oh...  They haven't," I reply lightly.  It's the truth.  "I've
hardly seen him these past couple of weeks – only ever when he calls John and I up to give our
reports, or when we run into each other accidentally.  It's...  It's strange to be
working together, again."

"You worked together in New Orleans, right?"

"No, before that – New York.  I was seeing him around the time
Luke... disappeared.  It wasn't long after that case, though, that he had me transferred to
New Orleans."

"*He* had you transferred?  Why?"

"I don't know.  I suppose the opportunity arose, and..."  I shrug.

Dana regards me carefully for a moment.  "Were you and John close,
back then?"

I shrug.  "I suppose so.  We – talked a lot – after the case.  He
took it pretty hard, what happened with Luke, but then his wife served him divorce papers,
too, and...  It was a dark time.  I helped him through it."

"Did you ever think that that's why you were transferred?"

Um?  "I – no.  It hadn't really occurred to me.  Brad's not – he
wouldn't have – he's not like that," I finish lamely.  Dana narrows her eyes suspiciously,
almost comically.  "I mean – not that he doesn't get jealous, but... 
Well...  I know for a fact he missed – having me around the office."

At that, Dana chuckles.  "You mean literally, right?"

"Um, yeah." Now it's my turn to blush bright red (and like Dana, my
skin's so pale that when I blush, it goes right down to my marrow.)

"I suppose I could understand *that*."  What?  *Dana*?  "But still,
don't you think it might explain what he's got against John – and why he moved here so
soon after you started working on the X-Files?"

"Maybe.  I don't know, I – don't tend to think the worst of people."

"Like me?"  I don't know whether she's serious or joking.

Either way, my response is the same: "I didn't mean that!"  She
raises an eyebrow, and I stammer, "But well, um, anyway..."

"You don't see yourself picking up again, though, with Brad?"

I shake my head decisively.  "No.  He's not – the one.  To tell the
truth, when I left New York, I was already starting to have my doubts about us.  He's
very...  Well, we're very different people.  It just took some time for me to
realise that."

"And John?"  Her tone is sly, insinuating.

Play dumb, Monica, I tell myself.  "What about John?"

"Oh, nothing."  Is she always like this?  I suddenly feel a pang of
nostalgia for my friends back in New Orleans – I miss being able to talk like this,
openly.  It feels good.  I really haven't had a chance to meet many people in D.C. yet
– since I started on the X-Files, they've just become... consuming.  <Don't lie, Monica
– you know why you stay late every night.  It's more than just the files that
get your attention.>  The thought pops up, unbidden, and I hush it into submission. 
Dangerous territory.  "Nothing at all."

I mock-glare at her.  "Exactly."

Just then, we hear a soft grumble at our feet.  William is stirring. 
His little legs kick out impatiently, and he stretches like a little cat, letting out a
huge yawn.  I know how he feels.

"Oh, he must be hungry," Dana sighs, leaning down to take him out of
his little bouncer.  His eyes open and fixate on her as, bleary with sleep, he
tries to figure out what just happened.  "Honestly, this kid must take after Mulder for
midnight snacks."

I grin at her unconscious double entendre.  "Same flavour?"  I ask
innocently.

Dana looks up sharply, then laughs out loud.  "Um, I didn't mean
that, but yeah, that's probably hereditary, too."  And probably more than I needed to
know about Fox Mulder, I add silently.  Thanks, Dana.

Still sleepy, William has just started to rouse himself to cry by the
time Dana's unbuttoned her blouse.  He barely gets out a wail before she has him
preoccupied.  Expert, I think.  I wonder if I'll ever get the chance to be like
that.  I'm such a sucker for babies.

"How late is it?" she asks suddenly.  "It must be getting on."

I glance at my watch.  "Yeah, it's late.  Three-twenty."

"Oh, is that all?"

I roll my eyes.  "Just because *you've* learnt to live without sleep
doesn't mean *I* won't be taking advantage of the weekend."

"Yeah, yeah."

"I should probably go call a cab," I offer, standing up and
stretching my stiff muscles.  Dana's couch is comfortable, but at the end of the day (or
night), it's still a couch.

"You can stay here, if you like," she offers.  "I really don't mind."

I consider it, but really, I'm bone tired and I'd like nothing better
than to fall into my own bed.  And sleep until Sunday night.  Besides, Dana looks
exhausted – it occurs to me that this probably wasn't her first sleepless night this week. 
Technically, that should be a good thing, though, since it means that she'll probably –
hopefully – crash as soon as I leave.  "Thanks, but it's okay," I tell her. 
"I'll give John a call too, though, and see where he is now."

"In bed, I hope," she grimaces.

Padding out into the kitchen, I locate my phone in my handbag and
speed-dial a cab.  After that, I call John.

"...mm'ello?"  His voice is gruff and tired.  I must have woken him.

"Hey, it's only me," I say softly.  He doesn't answer, so I add,
"Just checking you got home all right."

"Wh-  Oh, yeah.  Yeah.  Hey, where are you now?"  He seems to be
waking up.

"I'm at Dana's."

"Still?  What's – it's – damn, Monica, it's late!"  Okay, *now* he's
awake.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry."

"Nah, s'kay.  How's Dana?"

"She's fine.  We've just been talking."

"Huh.  About me?"

"Yeah, about you, John."  Dana looks up and smiles, rolling her eyes.

"Oh.  Well, um," he lets out an almighty yawn, "call me when you get
in, 'kay?"

What, and wake him up again?  "I don't think so," I tell him. 
"You're too much of a grouch.  But call me tomorrow, okay?"

"Fine.  'Night."  He hangs up and I find myself listening to a dial
tone.  Bemused, I just shake my head.

Dana stands and walks over to me, little Will down for the count over
her shoulder.  "Everything's okay?"

"I assume so," I reply.  "He was just tired – and grumpy as hell."

"So what's unusual about that?" she smiles.

"I see your point.  Anyway," I stand by the door, with my coat in one
hand and bag in the other, "thanks.  Thanks for having me."

"Thanks for coming over."  She pauses, then adds, "I don't think I
would have slept much tonight, but um...  Yeah, I'm about ready to crash."  She looks
it, I think.  She smiles tiredly.

"Good.  Me too."  I open the door and step out into the hallway, but
she calls me back.

"Monica?  Do you need a ride out to the station tomorrow, to get your
car?"

I figured John would be able to give me a ride, so I shake my head,
"Oh, that's okay, it's-"

"-no big deal.  Really."

I suppose we could always swing past John's house on the way, find
out how things went with him tonight.  And it's really sweet of her to offer... 
"Well, um – sure.  I mean, that would be great."

"I'll give you a call in the afternoon, then?"

"*Late* afternoon."

She smiles.  "Fine.  Take care."

"You too, Dana."  I smile and as I turn, hear the door close softly
behind me.  I walk slowly down the stairs to my waiting cab, mulling over the
possibility that I just might have made a new friend tonight.  Or at the very least, even if
we're not yet quite friends, I feel like we're on the way to becoming them.  We're
not strangers to each other, anymore.  And with Dana's propensity for casual
intimidation, and mine for self-inflicted humiliation, that must be some kind of achievement
– especially at three in the morning.

But I suppose trust has to start somewhere.

End

Author's Note (this one will be shorter, promise):  I wasn't sure of
Melissa's age when she died, but if Scully was born in 1964 and Melissa is a few
years older, I would guess that she was around thirty-four.  Apologies for any
inaccuracies there.  Aside from that – thanks for reading!  And oh, I lurrrve feedback. ;)

Feedback: webmaster@withinrach.com