Daughter Dana
By Shoshana

The door swings open and forty-five pounds of Matthew Scully barrels
into me, then grips me tightly around the waist.

"Auntie!" he screechs.  I reach down and stroke his bright red hair,
then gently release his hands so I can kneel on the floor beside him.

"Hey there, Matty," I say, kissing his forehead and placing my hands
on his little shoulders.  He smells like a boy his age should,
slightly sweaty, with a hint of morning breakfast potpourri.

He flings his arms around my neck and I look beyond him to see Bill
and Tara standing next to one another in the entranceway.  Tara looks
worried, Bill concerned.

I hazard a look to my right and see that Mulder is leaning against
the narrow staircase leading to the second floor.  He won't look at
me at all.

Do they all think this will send me into a catatonic state of
longing for my son?  Do they think I have no self-control, no desire
to enjoy my nephew for who he is?  I douse incipient tears and try to
stifle my unreasonable anger.

No one moves or speaks until Matthew gets tired of hugging his aunt
and notices the strange, quiet man leaning against the banister.

"Who are you?" he asks, in that angelic tone peculiar to little boys
when they are on their best behavior.

I open my mouth to introduce Mulder, but he beats me to it.  He's
recovered from whatever possessed him to stare at the floor and is
crossing the distance to kneel beside me and my nephew.  His nephew,
now, if you want to get technical.

Bill and Tara move also, their bodies unfrozen by Mulder's soft
greeting, "Hi Matt, I'm Sean."

They steal quietly into the kitchen with their paper sacks,
breathing again now that they see I haven't lost it.  I guess I can
imagine why they would think this would be difficult for me, seeing
Matty for the first time since I had to give William up for adoption.
It's not as easy as I though it would be, but I'm doing the best I
can.

"Hi, Sean," Matty says politely, extending his little hand.  He's
not only gotten taller, but more polite since last Christmas.

I finally notice Mom, standing by the door.  My frame of mind had
blinded me to her temporarily, blocking anyone but Matthew, his
parents, and 'Sean.'  I move quickly to rectify that, rushing over
with open arms to greet her.

"Mom," I whisper softly into her shoulder.  She seems smaller since
I last saw her in May.  It's only been a few months, has my 'death'
diminished her so?  I pull back and look at her smiling face, tears
racing down her cheeks.  No, she hasn't withered with age at all;
I've just never noticed how petite she really is.  I'm not much
taller, especially today, in my running shoes.

"Katharine, you look beautiful."  She touches the brown, curly hair
that tickles my shoulders now.  I knew she'd notice the change
immediately.  I wasn't sure she'd like it.  It's taken me a few weeks
to not be spooked by the stranger in the mirror.

"Thank you.  You do, too, M--Maggie."

I told them not to use our given names while here at the beach
house.  We're still not sure if we are being watched.  It's probably
an exercise in futility to try to hide when with our closest
relatives.  Anyone who knows us would recognize our body types,
something we can't conceal with hair dye or different clothing.

"Are you Auntie's husband?"

We both turn to see an openmouthed Mulder, struggling to honest with
this little boy.  "Yes," he fibs, "I am."  Someday we'll explain to
Matthew why we wore wedding rings before we got married legitimately.
Today is not that day.

I turn back to my mother and see disappointment in her eyes.  Oh,
no.  I must disabuse her of the notion we've left her out in the
cold.  We will get married someday, in the eyes of God and everyone
else.  We'll have to wait until we can use our real names on the
marriage license.  I don't mind our undercover names, I chose them.
However, reciting them in what I consider sacred wedding vows would
be a travesty, for me and for my family.

I put my arm around Mom and whisper in her ear, "You haven't missed
anything, Mom.  We'll make sure you're there, you know it."

She leans over and kisses my cheek, "I knew that, Katherine."

I smile back and lead her over to the kitchen where Bill and Tara
have finished bustling about putting food in the refrigerator and
elsewhere.

"Want something to drink?"  I look at the all the adults and then at
Matthew, who is fascinated with Mulder's beard.  Mulder is being a
good sport, letting Matt test its authenticity by pulling on it.

The others notice this too and I can hear Bill chuckling.  "Come on,
Matty, leave the poor man alone."  Matt giggles and runs over to
Tara, hiding his head against her shorts in a sudden attack of
shyness.

"Hey, Sean, how about we watch some baseball?"  Bill says.

"It's eight o'... Oh..." Mulder says as he realizes that Bill wants
to give Mom and me some privacy.  "Yeah, that sounds great, Bill.
The Yanks are going to trounce the Indians today.  Come on, there's a
great family room on the other side of the house."

We hadn't discussed any agenda for today and I suppose Bill still
feels like the head of the family, the one who orchestrates what
happens and when at family gatherings.  Bill takes Matty by the hand
and follows Mulder out of the kitchen.  Tara reaches into the
refrigerator and grabs a liter of bottled water, then some plastic
cups from the package on the counter.

"I think I'll join them, ladies.  Just to keep the peace, of
course," she says with a wink.

I know she's kidding, of course.  I doubt that Bill will tear into
Mulder for any slights against his sister, real or imagined.  I'm
just grateful the Yankees aren't playing the Padres today.

We watch Tara walk in the general direction of the TV room.  It will
be a cinch to find; we can hear the muffled voices of the male
contingent from here.

"Let's sit down," I say, motioning toward the comfy-looking rattan
furniture in the breakfast nook.  "Would you like anything to drink,"
I ask, opening the refrigerator and peering in.

"Whatever you're having, sweetheart."

I pull a large jug of iced tea out of the fridge and crack the seal
on it.  The cups are already handy and I pour them with a steady hand
as my mother sits and smiles affectionately.  I don't think either of
us has stopped smiling since she walked in the door, to tell the
truth.

After I sit down, there a few minutes of silence as we sip a little
tea.  It's early in the morning but our whole family loved caffeine,
morning, noon, and night.  I had no problem habituating myself to a
coffee addiction in college and medical school.  The FBI and Mulder's
strange work hours fed that dependency for many years, until I became
pregnant and quit cold turkey.

"You look good, Katharine.  Rested and fit.  You even have a tan.
You never used to tan well," Mom says.

"We run in the early morning hours, sometimes catch a swim in the
ocean, too," I tell her, shaking my head.  "We took a road trip to
San Francisco and caught a little sun.  It rained most of the time
though."

We are making small talk and I know it's not enough.  I can tell
when Mom has something important to say, something churning beneath
our pleasantries.  We have all day and probably tomorrow but I don't
want to spend the entire time playing a guessing game.

I grab hold of her hand and she lifts her eyes from the placemat she
was inspecting.  "You can speak freely, Mom.  We swept the house when
we arrived here, earlier this morning.  I insisted on the names so
Matthew wouldn't be confused if this charade goes on very long, but
we're alone now..."

Mom smiles at me and says, "I like calling you Katharine, may I keep
doing so?"

I smile back, gently squeezing her hand.  "Of course."

"Sean is a fine name, also.  Did you get to choose them this time?"

"Yes, finally.  He never looked like a Rob, don't you think?"

"I would never have chosen Laura either, dear.  He does have a
strange sense of humor sometimes."

My mother's steel trap mind remembered my Falls at Arcadia dilemma!
I told her about that case one night last winter when she was
stranded at my apartment.  Her car wouldn't start and I didn't want
to drive home in the bad weather we were having, especially not with
William in the back seat.

I catch my breath at the image of him in his carseat, giggling at
the snowflakes on the window.  He was always fascinated by snow.
It's painful to think of him now but I cherish every memory I still
have.

"Dana?" my mother says softly.

I look up from my lap and realize I've zoned out for a minute or
two.  I feel so relaxed with my mom beside me.  It's not that I can't
kick back with Mulder now that we're settled in LA.  Being with him
brings me a sense of serenity no one else can, but he also has an
edge to his personality, a drive to do more, discover more.  On the
other hand, Mom makes me feel safe inside, no matter where we are.

We've been through some tough spots in the last few years, most
notably the adoption.  She never wanted me to give up William.  I
don't think she ever really reconciled herself to it.  I'd like to
tell her how I feel now, how I know I did the right thing.  Mulder
and I can't keep a child safe right now; there is too much at stake
for us to stop fighting colonization.  That's our job, no one else in
the world can do it.

"Sorry, Mom.  I'm finally calmed down after that rousing welcome
Matty gave me.  He's grown so tall and he weighs a ton all of a
sudden."

"He's great, isn't he?  I'm tempted to move out here to see him more
often, but I think Bill said something about not knowing when he was
going to be reassigned.  If he comes back to the East Coast, then
I'll have Charlie and Bill--"

"I hope we can see you at Christmas, Mom," I interrupt.  I smile and
continue, "I didn't tell you about my new job yet.  It's at a clinic
in LA.  Most of the people are poor.  They really needed another
doctor."

Mom nods her head.  "I'm glad you'll get a taste of a different
lifestyle, dear.  I just want you to be happy, you know that, don't
you?" she asks, with hope in her eyes.

"I will," I say, patting her hand.  "Mul--Sean will get a job soon,
I'm sure.  Our friends, you know, the ones who died... together..."
She acknowledges their memory with a sad nod and I continue, "They
made sure we had the right credentials before they passed..."  I
can't talk about this anymore.  A tear follows a crooked path down my
cheek and I brush it away quickly.

"Katharine, you don't have to explain.  I know you both are trying
to make the best of a difficult situation."  She pauses and takes my
hand again.  "I have something important to talk about with you,
something I spoke with Mr. Skinner about before I left DC."

My heart beats faster with dread, has something happened to William
already?  Is my mother the messenger of bad news?  She sees my
obvious discomfort and pulls her chair closer to mine.

"No, Dana.  Don't think that, there's nothing wrong with William.  I
wouldn't make you wait for news like that!"

I close my eyes and let out a sigh of relief.  I'm a little ashamed
I let my imagination run wild and when I look at Mom again I smile
sheepishly.  "I know, Mom.  I... you know, I don't know what to think
anymore..."

She sits a little straighter in her chair and puts her hand on my
shoulder to soothe my apprehension.  Her fingers stroke down my arm
and interweave with my own.

"Sweetheart, here's what he had to say... now, remember, I didn't
want to believe you were really gone... and I knew he wouldn't reveal
the truth about that to me.  I had to lie to Tara last night when she
asked me questions about the adoption.  She was curious and I
couldn't tell her--"

"Tell her what, Mom, what?" I ask, beside myself with worry.

"The adoptive parents have been told your story.  By Skinner's
intermediary.  They were willing to release William to me."

I was shocked to the core.  The couple would agree to that?  Weren't
they wary of the circumstances?  Hadn't they formed an attachment to
William?

I shook my head in disbelief.  "They must be very good people, Mom.
I can't imagine anyone agreeing... and you say Skinner never told you
we were alive?"

"No, and I don't think he could.  I think he could tell me about
William, but not about you."

Puzzled, I frown and think this through out loud.  "It doesn't make
much sense unless he believes he's being followed by intelligence.
Maybe Spender was wrong, Mom... maybe they don't want William if
Mulder is presumed dead.  Maybe that's the deal he was working on."

My excitement builds as it all becomes clear to me,  "We assumed the
'deal' was about amnesty for us and it revolved around William
instead.  He wouldn't chance telling us this through usual
communication channels.  My God, Mom!  This means he could be with
you!"

I am crying in my mother's arms, mumbling about how much this will
mean to Mulder and me.  Someday we will see our boy again.  Someday
we will be a family.

I pull back from her embrace and question her, still unsure whether
this is real, "You'd do this for us?  Take care of him until we can
come back to DC?"

"I will," she says.  "I will."

Tears streak both our faces.  I don't know what to say or do next.
I believe my mother, but I fear Skinner has been duped or even forced
into this plan.  Krycek is dead but others knew about the
nanotechnology.  I have to talk to Mulder.  I have to talk to him
now.

"Mom?  You can understand how nervous this makes me, can't you?"

"I know, honey.  Mr. Skinner asked me if I would be willing to go
into a witness protection program if he felt it was necessary.
That's why I haven't told Bill or Tara."

"You'd leave them behind, for William?"  I whispered, squeezing her
hand tightly.  I was trying to get a hold of myself so Bill and Tara
wouldn't hear my sobs.  How would we ever keep this a secret?  Would
they ever understand?

"Yes.  I know you have your doubts, but I believe Mr. Skinner knows
what he's doing.  I wish William could be with you, darling, but I'm
not decrepit yet... I think I could handle this."

My mother amazes me.  She is determined to make this work.  She will
raise William by herself if she has to do so.  She didn't even know
we were alive until last night.  I don't have any more words to give
her, so I hug her to me, telling her softly how much I love her for
taking this dangerous route.

Finally, we let go of one another and she says, "Honey, you better
tell, Mulder.  You're going to look like the cat that ate the canary
if you don't get it out of your system.  I hate the fact we can't
tell Bill and Tara, but that's how things must be.  Go, get him from
the family room.  Or if you prefer, I will."

"Would you, Mom?  Would you tell him to meet me upstairs? Please?"
I am not sure I can compose myself enough to speak his name, even his
new one.

A few minutes later, Mulder appears at the door of the bedroom we
have been using, looking worried as hell.

"What's up, Scully?"  He comes closer and notices I've been crying.
His fingertips skitter across my cheek and come to rest just below my
ear.  His thumb caresses my face tenderly as he says, "Your mom
seemed happy.  What's going on?"

I close my eyes and pat the mattress beside me.  I thought I had
enough time to compose myself, but I'm evidently still shaken by what
Mom told me.  Mulder sits down and leans over to kiss me on the
forehead.  I open my eyes and he moves just far enough away so we can
converse and hold hands at the same time.

He waits patiently as my mouth opens and closes like a guppy in his
fish tank.  The one we probably won't see for a very long time.  Just
like our son.

I reject that sudden burst of pessimism and tell him all my news
breathlessly,  "Mom's getting William back because the adoptive
parents gave up custody and she's going into hiding and we can't tell
Bill or Tara."

I anxiously await his reaction which is immediate and not what I
expected.  His brow knits with consternation; he's definitely not
pleased.

"You believe this?" he asks, not quite confrontational, but close
enough.  Our hands are no longer joined as he withdraws from me, at
least physically, for now.

Anger infuses me and I can't hold back my terse response, "Do you
doubt my mother's word?"

Mulder sighs heavily, then closes his eyes and bites at his bottom
lip.  I know he's fighting back an ascerbic retort.  Sometimes our
arguments go from bad to worse in thirty seconds or less.  I'm
powerless to retract what I've just said and the question hangs
between us like a lead weight.

He rubs the palms of his hands across his thighs, a nervous gesture
I recognize from most of our more animated disagreements.  His eyes
open to me and there is concern there, but also abundant love.

"Did Skinner tell her this?" he asks, no trace of emotion in his
monotone.

I nod and tell him, "Yes, just before she left.  She still had no
idea we were alive.  He only told her that the adoptive parents were
willing to transfer custody after his representative approached
them."

"He wants her to go into a witness protection program?"

"Yes, as soon as possible.  Bill and Tara can be told later but I
don't think Mom wants to deal with any resistance at this point.
They would try to talk her out of it."

He reaches for my hand and I gladly let him take it.  "Your mom is
willing to possibly never see them again?"

My lips purse thoughtfully as I consider this worst case scenario.
Certainly I assumed she would be able to have visitors, but it might
not be possible for a very long time.  Mom's enthusiasm for the plan
has blinded me to its downside.

Playing with his thumb, I respond, "I guess that's one possibility,
Mulder.  I don't want to believe that's what will happen.  I want to
see my son and I know you do, too.  This exile cannot go on
indefinitely.  We know what the outstanding obstacle is and we'll
have to tackle it head on."

He nods and stares at our joined hands.  It's a minute before he
speaks, "Will it be enough for you, Scully?  To know he's with your
Mom?  To see an occasional picture, know what bedtime story she tells
him at night?"  He lifts his eyes to meet mine.  "I'm not sure it's
enough for me."

I start to cry and he closes the gap between us, embracing me
tightly.  I sob unreservedly, no reason to preserve a wall between us
when it comes to our son.  Mulder comforts me with words and tender
kisses and I realize he's been shedding silent tears when I pull away
from his sheltering arms.

I smile at him weakly and tell him, "If it's all we have, I'll have
to accept that, Mulder.  Someday we'll be able to see him again.  I
won't give up that hope."

He tries to smile, and the result is bittersweet at best.  We should
be so happy now, but it's hard not to imagine all the repercussions
of this arrangement.  My brother may never speak to us again.  My
mother may pass away while acting as William's sole caretaker.  I
hope to God we never see that.

Mulder strokes my cheek with his thumb, catching a few stray tears
that persist in falling.  "Why don't you go clean up?  I'll use the
other bathroom.  We shouldn't hide up here like this and pique their
curiosity.  I'll meet you downstairs, okay?"

I assent to this with a loving kiss that forebodes many more to
come.  Eventually we will be alone tonight, after Bill and Tara
retire for the night.  It will be difficult, but not impossible to
conceal Mom's intentions from my brother and his wife.  They might
possibly understand, and then again...

In any case, there's no way we can include them in our decision.
Mom would not be influenced by Bill's opinion in this matter.  She's
fearless, as much, or more than Dad was.  And that's saying a lot.

In the bathroom, I try to wash away all evidence of this past hour's
emotional outburst.  I dry off with the hand towel and think I'll be
just fine--until I glance in the mirror and see what I've been hiding
behind a facade of stoicism.  I ache for William, I yearn to touch
his soft, sweet-smelling skin.  I may miss so much by the time I get
to see him again.

Thoughts of our separation invite real, physical pain, clenching my
stomach into knots.  It's surprising how quickly the agony recurs.  I
thought I had deflected the worst of it, but I recognize the
psychosomatic result of my distress.  Even now, now that I know my
William will be safe, I'm not prepared for the sense of loss I feel.

I breathe deeply, in and out, a cruel imitation of my Lamaze
exercises.  I will do this.  I can do this.  I have to get it
together or we can't go on.

A knock at the door, as I brace my hands against the countertop.

"I'm fine," I lie, and open the door to go downstairs.
 
fin

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