By Jake
nejake@tds.net
Rating: PG-13
Classification: S
Spoilers: Everything through "This Is Not Happening." No
spoilers for unaired episodes.
Summary: ReturnFic, DivergentPlotFic,
You'llNeverSeeThisFromCCFic, call it what you want. The gist is
this: Mulder returns. Danger follows. He needs a place to hide.
We learn lots of stuff CC has neglected to mention.
Disclaimer: Are these characters really the property of Chris
Carter, FOX and 1013 Productions? If so, no copyright
infringement intended. Entertainment, yes. Profit, no.
Author's notes: This story contains absolutely no hanky-panky
or inappropriate feelings between a certain g-man and the
mother of his love-interest. Thought I should make that
categorically, undeniably and irrefutably clear before we
begin. This is not *that* kind of story.
THE WIDOW AND THE ORPHAN (1/2)
By Jake
St. John's Catholic Church
Alexandria, Virginia
Day After Thanksgiving
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been one week
since my last confession." Margaret Scully leveled her
shoulders and tried to still her nervous hands. Usually she
felt at peace in the confessional. Her sins tended to be run-
of-the-mill things, acts that weren't likely to anger God even
on his strictest days.
"You have a sin to confess?"
"I do, Father. I-I stole something."
"What did you steal?"
She gnawed at her frayed lower lip. "A coat. And a boxed
lunch."
- - - - - - -
Margaret Scully Residence
Two Days Earlier
11:57 PM
If Maggie had been watching TV rather than reading, she would
have missed the fragile knock on her door. The sound was almost
no sound at all. More delicate than the frost dusting her
driveway, more hesitant than the leaves seesawing through the
autumn dark, the knock whispered, "I am here."
"Who in the world...?"
Sliding a marker into her book, she rose from her favorite
chair to cross the room and answer the door. She wasn't
expecting a visitor. The family wasn't due to arrive until
tomorrow afternoon for their Thanksgiving dinner. Unprepared
for company at this hour, she wore her bathrobe and slippers,
planning to go to bed as soon as she finished her chapter.
She flicked on the hall light. The late night caller worried
her. Not so much because she was a woman living alone, but
because she had spent far too many years as a military wife and
mother, dreading an unwelcome knock on her door. She'd been one
of the lucky ones, losing neither her husband nor her sons to
war, but dread proved a relentless habit to conquer.
With the world at relative peace, her fears turned from her
sons to her only surviving daughter. And to her daughter's
unborn child, still almost two months away from his expected
birth date.
Ridiculous. Dana would phone if there had been a problem. She
wouldn't show up on the doorstep in the middle of the night.
But then who...?
Maggie drew aside the curtain on the window beside the door to
peek out onto the step. Lit from behind by a distant streetlight,
the stranger was unrecognizable, his face obscured by his own
shadow. He shifted from foot to foot, shivered in the cold. He
wobbled a bit as if drunk. The streetlamp glowed around his
bowed head like a divine halo.
*Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby
some have entertained angels unawares.*
Lord, the light must be playing tricks on her. For a split
second she thought this was Gabriel, dropped to earth on her
doorstep with some glorious announcement.
She shook off the idea, but still the light gilded the man's
slumped shoulders, his twitchy hands, his downy flanks.
For goodness sakes! He was nude! A naked man stood outside her
door at midnight. Maggie was about to step back, phone the
local PD when the stranger's head turned and she recognized the
profile.
Great Father in Heaven. It was Fox Mulder.
But it couldn't be. Could it? She had attended his funeral
weeks ago, saw his coffin lowered into the ground. Afterwards,
she held Dana in her arms and they both had cried.
Unlatching the door, Maggie prayed this man who looked like Fox
wouldn't turn out to be a ghost and disappear in the scant time
it took her to let him in.
Fox, stay Fox, please Fox, stay.
She swung open the door, allowing cold air to sift into the
hall around her ankles. The chill pierced the fabric of her
bathrobe. Goosebumps ruffled her arms. A fog of breath chuffed
from Fox Mulder's blue lips and relief threatened to collapse
him at her feet.
"Fox, is it really you?" She tugged at his icy arm. He
staggered two steps, three, enough for her to shut and lock the
door behind him. "You're freezing. You're..."
Now in the light of her hall, she saw he was hurt. Bloodied and
bruised, his scarred limbs trembled with fatigue. His chest
heaved from recent exertion. She could see the pulse of his
heart beating in the veins of his neck. His eyes carried
nothing but exhaustion as he stared at his filthy feet,
avoiding the shocked look on her face.
Where in heaven had he come from? Back from the grave like
Lazarus? Or maybe he'd never been dead in the first place.
No. No, Dana would not have made a mistake like that. She's a
forensic pathologist, for goodness sake. Not to mention this
man's partner, friend, lover. She would know if the corpse in
the coffin had not been Fox. It simply wasn't possible she
could have been fooled. But then, who in God's name was this
man?
"Come in." She propelled him toward the sanctuary of her
livingroom. He passed the sofa, stiff-limbed and reticent, and
she lifted an afghan to his bare shoulders. She hovered around
him, tucking the blanket's edges into his hands. "Sit down. Sit
down."
He continued to stand. Had he gone deaf? Or was he undecided
about staying?
She seized his elbow, steered him to the couch and prodded him
to sit. Hugging the afghan to his chest, he dropped onto the
cushions. His eyelids fluttered shut. Two uneasy tears escaped
his lashes to drift down his cheeks and plummet from his
unshaved jaw. He drew in a great, rattling breath of air, but
said nothing at all.
"Fox, how...how did you get here?"
Exhaling slowly, he kept his eyes squeezed shut.
"Fox? Fox, can you hear me?"
His chin dipped toward his chest.
"I'm calling an ambulance." She stepped backward, hand reaching
for the phone.
His eyes snapped open and he pinned her with a pleading stare.
His panic took her breath away. "No." The word puffed from dry
lips. "No hospitals."
"You're bleeding. You need medical attention." She indicated
the dark streaks of blood that circled his wrists, oozing from
puncture wounds in his arms.
He followed the line of her accusing finger and almost smiled.
Almost. "*You*...help me."
"You need more than my help. You need a doctor."
He nodded. Again a smile teased his lips. "Know a good one?" No
longer able to hold himself upright, he eased onto his side and
curled up on the couch. "Call Skinner," he said, eyelids
drooping. "Have him pick up Scully...bring her here. Don't
explain. Too...dangerous..." Before he could say more, he was
swallowed by sleep.
* * *
"Mr. Skinner? This is Margaret Scully, Dana's mother." Maggie
spoke into the portable; she paced in front of the couch, her
gaze fastened on the man who slept there.
"Mrs. Scully? Is everything all right?" Skinner's voice
tightened with startled phone-call-in-the-middle-of-the-night
impatience.
"I need your help. I need you to bring Dana here."
"What's wrong?"
"I...I can't explain. But it's very important for the two of
you come."
"Where are you?"
"I'm at home. Please. And hurry. I wouldn't ask if--"
"I'll get dressed."
* * *
Crystal City to Georgetown, then out toward Baltimore. Traffic
would be light, but even at this time of night it would take
Skinner and Dana at least half an hour to cross town. Fox
continued to sleep, a faint snore rolling from his chest.
Maggie dressed upstairs in her bedroom. Hurrying, so as not to
leave Fox alone for too long, she yanked a turtleneck over her
head. Static electricity plagued her hair and she tried to
tame it with a swipe of her hand. She selected a warm sweater
from her bureau drawer -- a pretty lambs wool, a gift from her
late husband -- and slid her arms into the sleeves. The
sweater made her feel closer to Bill. After eight years, her
heart still ached to see him.
Imagine Dana's relief when she sees Fox.
Where had he been all this time and how had he managed to
escape? Maggie tugged on a pair of socks and slipped into her
shoes. Why come here rather than go straight to Dana's?
"Too dangerous" he had said.
Somebody must still be after him. His pursuers would probably
expect him to go to Dana's or his office or even his own
apartment. But not here.
Who were they, these people who had captured him and hidden
him from the FBI for six months? When Fox disappeared last
May, the Bureau had launched a full-scale manhunt. The search
finally ended when Fox was discovered in the woods...dead.
Dana's heart all but broke in two, burying the father of her
unborn child.
Maggie knew Fox loved her daughter, had loved her for years.
His feelings had been crystal clear, you only had to look at
the two of them together to see it. Never once had Maggie
suspected Fox ran off, abandoning Dana and his child.
He must have been taken against his will.
"Mrs. Scully?" The voice startled her. Fox stood at the
threshold of her room, shivering beneath the afghan. How had
he managed to climb the stairs? "Could I...I need to use your
bathroom. Please."
"Of course. This way." She led him along the hall to the next
room. Turned on the light for him. He seemed uncertain what to
do next. Everything in the small room glistened and he
squinted against its brightness.
The glare spotlighted terrible wounds on his face, his hands
and legs. Unhealed injuries peeked from beneath the hem of the
afghan, drawing Maggie's eyes to the tattered skin of his
ankles and calves. A cipher of scars pocked his dirty skin.
This man had suffered unimaginable harm. His captors had
drilled holes into his flesh and his spirit. He was every inch
vulnerable.
"Let me find something for you to wear." Surely there must be
*something* in the house to cover his nudity and his
mistreatment. Hadn't she discovered a pair of sweats in the
drier, left behind by Bill Jr. during his last visit? Where
had she put those? No shoes, certainly. No socks either. Or
underwear. She'd donated all her husband's clothes to Goodwill
the month after he had passed away. There might be a T-shirt
in the ragbag.
"Will you be all right?" She worried he would stumble or
faint, knocking himself out on the counter or the tub.
"I-I think so." His fingers caressed the faucet. She guessed
he hadn't bathed in weeks.
The realization brought tears to her eyes. Father of her
grandchild. Love of her daughter's life. Under better
circumstances, he would be her son-in-law.
"I'll be right back," she assured him and went searching for
the sweat pants.
Dana could heal him. Outside and in, if only she would hurry.
* * *
Fox returned to Maggie and the livingroom wearing Bill Jr.'s
sweats and the wrinkled T-shirt she had left for him outside
the bathroom door. He had washed his hands but went no
further; he hadn't the strength to attempt a more thorough
scrubbing. The afghan still warmed his shoulders.
"How is she?" The question wheezed from his lungs. Adjusting
the afghan, he lay down on the couch again, drew his knees to
his chest and closed his eyes.
Sitting across from him in her chair, Maggie knew without
asking who he meant by "she." Dana was the only woman in Fox
Mulder's life. The only person who mattered to him at all.
He didn't know yet about his baby.
"We thought you were dead, Fox."
"I'm not dead."
"We buried you."
"Wasn't...me." He was so exhausted, sleep snared him once more
and her questions had to wait.
* * *
A loud knock launched Maggie from her chair and startled Fox
from his sleep.
"Too soon," he warned.
Maggie checked her watch. Fewer than twenty minutes had passed
since she had phoned Skinner. Was it possible the AD had
driven to Dana's and then on to Baltimore so quickly? Another
knock shook the door, more insistent this time.
"Don't turn on the light, Mrs. Scully."
Fox's suspicion prickled the back of her neck. She tiptoed the
length of her dark hall and stopped at the door. Who could
possibly be on the other side but Skinner and Dana?
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Bypassing the curtained window, she put an eye to the
peephole.
Oh God.
It wasn't Walter Skinner. Or Dana.
It was Fox! But it couldn't be. Could it? What in God's name
was going on? Dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, the man
who looked like Fox raised his knuckles to the door again.
"Mrs. Scully?" he yelled.
"We have to go," Fox whispered from the opposite end of the
hall.
"But...?"
"He isn't me."
The man outside called to her again. He sounded like Fox. He
also sounded concerned.
Nothing made any sense here.
"How can I know for sure?" Her brows peaked beneath her
flyaway hair. "You were dead and now you're not. A man who
looks just like you is standing on my front step. Prove you're
who you say you are."
"There isn't time. Please, Mrs. Scully, we have to go." He
reached out a hand.
"Mrs. Scully!" shouted the man outside.
Trapped between these implausible twins, she shook her head,
uncertain what to do. What was the truth here?
"Mrs. Scully..." Fox stepped toward her, causing her to grab
the doorknob. "Wait," he hissed. "Uh...John I, chapter five,
verse seven. Do you remember it?"
Her hand fell away from the knob and a clot of tears glazed
her gray eyes. *The Spirit is the Truth* -- Dana's premature
epitaph.
"I went with you that day. You told me a story about a snake
and we stood over her gravestone. I told you it was too soon
to give up. Would anyone else know that?"
"No." No they wouldn't. This really was Fox. It had to be.
"Do you have a car, Mrs. Scully?"
"In the garage. We can go out the back."
She snatched her purse from the hall table and towed Fox by
the hand toward the kitchen. She worried about his bare feet
and the fresh blood that dripped from his arms. He would
collapse soon. Where could she take him? How far would they
get?
- - - - - - -
Maryland-Delaware State Border
2:05 AM
Fox slumped in the passenger seat, his head propped against
the window. Maggie wasn't sure if he slept or if he had passed
out. His skin was so pale she was reminded of the spotless
starched white uniforms her husband wore when he was alive.
Dana must be at the house by now. What would she find there?
God, please keep her safe.
Pulling up beside an ATM, Maggie rolled down her window. Fox
groaned in his sleep but didn't move. With a shaky hand, she
jammed her debit card into the slot and punched in her code.
This was the third machine she'd visited since they'd left
Fox's double staring after them in her driveway.
Damn the withdrawal limit. She gathered three hundred dollars
in twenties and shoved them into her overstuffed purse.
Shifting the car into drive, she headed for the next ATM. She
could see a branch of Cradock Marine just down the street and
she planned to empty her checking account at the next stop.
"You've done this before. Run from something." Fox read her
intentions through closed lids. His voice rumbled through the
car's dark interior and the sound reminded Maggie of the far
away Iowa storms of her childhood.
"Yes."
"When?"
"Years ago. I never told the children. I was nineteen at the
time."
"What were you running from?" He looked at her now, surprised
by her confession.
"It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago." Releasing the
steering wheel, she patted his hand. "The important thing is I
learned a thing or two."
"Such as...?"
"Number one: take plenty of money." She nodded at her purse.
"Number two: if you don't want to be found, don't leave a
trail. Back then I didn't have credit cards. Nobody did. It
was 1962. I didn't have to worry about computers tracking my
every purchase, phone call or withdrawal. It's different today
so as soon as I make one last stop, we'll be using cash."
He nodded. She had a realistic picture of their predicament.
"The car..." he began.
"We'll ditch it." God, she sounded like a gangster's moll.
"Skinner, Scully--"
"I'll call Dana from a payphone. I want to get you somewhere
safe first. You need sleep. And those wounds need cleaning.
Were you shot?" She scowled at the punctures in his arms.
"No." He tucked his hands into his armpits to hide the
injuries. "I was crucified...on a Barcalounger."
She didn't understand what he meant and she misread his
gesture. "Are you cold?" Groping for the car's temperature
controls, she was bothered by the thin T-shirt he wore. He
needed a jacket. And shoes.
"I'm fine. Where...where did you go -- the last time you were
on the lam?"
"I hitchhiked from Fontanelle -- that's in Iowa -- to Omaha,
where I caught a train to Norfolk." The dash lights tinted her
face pink, making her appear younger and flushed.
"What happened when you got to Norfolk?"
"I was rescued by Sister Katherine of St. Clement Catholic
Church. Up until that time, I'd been a Methodist. Here's the
ATM." Maggie slowed the car. "This withdrawal will empty my
account."
"I'm sorry--"
"Don't apologize, Fox. This isn't your fault."
- - - - - - -
Elsmere Motor Inn
Wilmington, Delaware
"I'd like a room, please." Maggie clutched her purse and
forced a smile at the flabby, red-eyed clerk behind the
counter. He flicked a drooping ash from his cigarette and
stared back at her. She waved off his smoke. "Non-smoking,"
she added, "and away from the street."
He dawdled through the obligatory paperwork and finally slid
the clipboard across the cracked counter for her signature.
"Number 37, 'round back. That'll be forty-two dollars."
"For half a night?" The cost was more than she wanted to pay,
especially for a seedy rattrap like this. It was robbery. The
lobby carpet stuck to her shoes. The air smelled like a roach
bomb. The only thing the place had going for it was the all-
night convenience store across the street and the payphone out
front.
"Not my fault the night's half over, ma'am. Take it or leave
it. Checkout's at eleven."
She picked up the clerk's pen and signed the sheet: Mrs.
Katherine St. Clement. Pocketing the room key, she returned to
the car.
Fox looked worse, as if he might throw up at any minute. His
skin had changed from white to gray and he shivered
uncontrollably. She was certain he had a fever. Lord only knew
how hungry he must be, although he had refused her offer to
stop for a hamburger, claiming he didn't want anything. Even
so, she suspected he hadn't eaten in a very long time.
Sliding behind the wheel, she woke him with the touch of a
finger to his arm. "We're here. I'm going to pull around back,
as near to the door as I can get. Can you walk?"
"Yeah, I think so."
She steered the car around the long, low building and into a
space that faced door number 37. The lot was only half full.
Every window was dark.
"I'll come around and help you." She pulled the keys from the
ignition and stepped from the car.
He fumbled with his seat belt, his fingers missing the
release. She rescued him by opening the passenger door and
reaching across his lap. The belt undone, she hooked his arm
around her neck and pulled him from the car. He leaned heavily
on her shoulder, threatening to topple them both with his
unsteady gait.
A sleety rain began to fall as they hobbled from the car to
the room. God, his feet must be frozen. "Hang on, Fox, we're
almost there." She waited for him to balance himself between
her and the doorframe before she slid the key into the lock.
"Home, sweet, home," Fox murmured when she swung the door
inward to reveal a musty room with a king-sized bed and a pair
of mismatched dressers. A garish spread covered the bed with a
kaleidoscope of faded colors. A bolt protruded from one wall,
suggesting the room at one time included a television set.
"Come on. You need to lie down." Maggie wrestled him across
the room to the bed.
"I feel..." -- his knees buckled and he dropped onto the
mattress with a moan -- "...like crap."
"I know. You go ahead and rest." She went to the far side of
the bed and folded the comforter over him. "I'll be right
back."
"Where are you--?" He tried to grab her arm and missed.
"There's a payphone out front. I want to call Dana."
"Don't--"
"Fox, you need help."
"Not safe. You'll put her in danger."
She leaned over the bed and traced her thumb across the
strange scar that dotted his cheek. "Shhhhh. I'll just be a
minute."
"That man...who looked like me..."
"It's okay, Fox. Everything's going to be okay." She stroked
his face to calm him. She waited for his eyes to flutter shut
and his breathing to slow before she left the room, locking
the door behind her.
* * *
"Dana? It's Mom." Maggie hunkered close to the phone, wishing
phone booths were still booths and not these half-sized
things. Sleet pinged against the glass and every word plumed
from her chapped lips.
"Mom, where are you?"
"I-I can't say. Are you all right, sweetie?"
"Yes, I'm fine. But what about you? Why did you call Skinner?
Why aren't you at home?"
"We couldn't stay. We had to leave."
"We? Who are you talking about? Who is with you?"
"Honey, Fox showed up tonight...at my house." Her breath rose
and vanished in the cold.
"M-Mulder...came to your house?"
"Yes. He's with me now."
"That's impossible."
"Maybe so, but he is here."
"May I...may I speak with him?"
"Well, he's not right *here.* Honey, someone is after him. A
man who looks just like him."
"Mom, listen to me, listen to me. That man is very dangerous.
You...you have to tell me where you are."
"I-I can't do that. Fox says it's too risky."
"Mom--"
"Honey, I have to go. I'll call you when I can."
"Mom--"
"Bye-bye, sweetheart. I love you." Maggie hung up the phone.
Tears swamped her eyes making the lights of the convenience
store across the street appear to shimmer and sway. She
lurched toward the late night oasis and swiped at her cheeks.
Pull yourself together, Maggie. You can do this. You have to.
She hurried across the road. The falling sleet melted as soon
as it hit the pavement. She tracked muddy water from the
street into the store. Grabbing a shopping basket, she
followed a previous customer's gray footprints down an aisle.
Peroxide. Bandages. Tylenol. She tossed them into her basket.
Turning down the next aisle, she scanned the shelves. How long
would she and Fox need to run?
Toothbrushes. Paste. Bath soap.
Wouldn't it be best to let Dana know where they were?
Juice. Two boxes of breakfast bars.
Who was the mysterious man who hunted Fox and looked just like
him, too? How was such a thing possible?
Carrying her purchases to the counter, she paused at a summer
clearance bin. Buried in the jumble of sunscreen, flyswatters
and charcoal lighter fluid, she spotted a pair of red flip-
flops, size large. Not the best footwear for November, but
better than nothing. She added them to her basket.
* * *
"Fox?" Returned to the room, Maggie blinked at the empty bed.
"Fox?"
"In here," he groaned from the bathroom, just before he
vomited. She listened to him retch and when it seemed as if
his stomach would never empty, she went to him, carrying her
bag of supplies.
"Fox..."
On his knees, he panted over the toilet. Sweat streaked his
face in zigzagging lines from his hairline to his neck. His
skin looked as gray as the sleet outside.
"Mrs. Scully..." He gulped, trying to hold down a wave of
nausea. "I...sorry..."
"Fox, I've had four children. I've seen vomit before." She
deposited the bag on the counter and reached to flush the
toilet. The bowl was splattered crimson. "You're vomiting
blood."
He nodded, looking as if he might throw up again.
She placed her palm over his forehead. "You're burning up. Is
the blood something new?" She snatched a washcloth from the
towel rack and ran it under cold water.
"No. Couple of weeks." He sat on the floor, leaning his back
against the tub. Mildew darkened the tile beneath his legs.
Dust clung to the pants he wore. Maggie crouched beside him
and washed his face with the cool cloth.
"Weeks?" The idea made her scrub harder, as if she could scour
the neglect off him the way a mother wipes strained peas from
her baby's food-stained lips. "No wonder you're so pale."
She stood to pick through her shopping bag. Withdrawing the
Tylenol, she uncapped the bottle and shook three pills into
his palm. "Take those." She filled a glass with water and
handed it to him. While he swallowed the pills, she ripped the
soap free from its wrapper and uncapped the peroxide. His ill-
treatment ticked her off. What kind of inhuman monsters had
done this to him?
"Let me see your wrists."
He held out his arms. Circular scabs marked both sides of each
wrist. The wounds were pink with infection and they wept a
gory mix of pus and blood.
She soaped the washcloth under scalding water, working up a
generous lather.
"This will probably sting."
"No doubt."
He grimaced when she blotted the wound with her cloth. She
took her time, gently swabbing the lesion clean. When she was
satisfied that she had removed as much dirt as possible, she
doused the injury with peroxide, causing him to wince from
pain.
"Sorry." She opened the package of bandages and covered the
wound. "One down, three to go."
He sat silent while she repeated the procedure on his other
wrist and then on each ankle.
"You really could use a bath." She patted the final bandage
into place. "But this will have to do for now. You okay?"
He nodded and she clutched his elbow to help him stand.
"What happened to you, Fox?"
Wobbling to his feet, he gripped her for support. "Believe me,
you don't want to know."
"I do." She shouldered his weight and together they staggered
to the bed. "Tell me."
"Nnnnnn-uh-uh." He sank onto the mattress. "How 'bout you tell
me a story."
"What story?" She eased him onto his back and drew the
bedspread up to his chin. Sitting on the bed next to him, she
tucked the spread around his shoulders and arms, hoping to
prevent the heat of his body from leaching away. His eyes
closed, so sunken and tired his lashes all but disappeared
into the reddened crease of his lids.
"Why were you on the run in '62?" he asked.
"Nnnnnn-uh-uh," she mimicked his own answer. "How about a
cheerier bedtime story?"
A tiny laugh huffed from his lungs and he peeked at her
through one eye. "Okay, Ma. Wouldn't wanna give anyone
nightmares."
"Did you ever hear the story about the day Dana was born?"
This opened both his eyes. "No. Tell me."
Settling more comfortably beside him, she smiled. "Dana was
born two weeks late, did you know that? I was as big as a
house. With Bill at sea and two small children demanding every
minute of my attention, I was anxious for Dana to arrive. For
months she'd been kicking and rolling and dancing the Twist
inside my stomach; I couldn't believe it when her due date
came and she didn't. The pummeling stopped, worrying the life
out of me. Knowing her as I do now, I realize she was simply
weighing the pros and cons before making her move."
A crooked smile nudged Fox's cheek. "As early as that?"
"Mmmm. Just after midnight on February 23, 1964, the labor
pains started. My bag was packed. I called the kids' Uncle
Dan."
"The amateur magician."
"Yes. How did you know that?"
"Everyone's uncle is an amateur magician. Aren't they?"
"I don't know. Are they?"
"Scully told me about him," Fox admitted. "More or less. To
explain why she ate the bug."
"Dana ate a bug?"
"Not really. We were investigating a circus sideshow serial
killer--"
"What?"
"The details aren't important. What is important is that I
thought Scully ate a bug, but it was a trick, a sleight of
hand. She never actually ate the bug. She said her uncle
taught her stuff like that."
"Really? I'll have to ask her Uncle Dan about that. Anyway,
Dan drove over, packed the kids into the car with enough gear
to last them a week while I was in the hospital. Then he
packed me into the car, too -- not an easy task considering my
size. By the way, are you hungry, Fox? I bought juice and
breakfast bars."
"No thanks." He patted his stomach. "I don't think I could
manage it right now. What happened next?"
"We started for the hospital."
"Started?"
"That's right. We never made it. Dana decided to come into the
world right then and there, in the front seat of her Uncle
Dan's brand new Chevrolet."
"Yikes."
"Dana was born at 10:23 a.m. Her older brother and sister were
horrified. Dan, too. As for Dana...Dana blinked at us with the
most startled expression I've ever seen, as if she couldn't
believe she'd been so off the mark with her pro vs. con
deliberations. I don't think we were at all what she was
expecting."
"I've seen that look."
"I'm sure you have. As for me, I fell head over heels in love
with my new daughter. She was everything I'd hoped for and
more."
"That's a nice story, Mrs. Scully." Fox rolled onto his side.
His cheek sunk into the pillow, burying one eye beneath the
bedding's not-so-snowy surface. "Was Dana named for Uncle
Dan?"
"Yes, she was." Maggie patted Fox's arm. "Get some sleep, Fox.
We'll need to leave early." She rose from the bed and snapped
off the nearest lamp. "Goodnight." Slipping into the bathroom
to wash up, she closed the door behind her and plunged him
into darkness.
* * *
Maggie checked the clock on the nightstand again. Five-
sixteen. One minute later than the last time she'd looked. She
lay on the bed, still dressed in yesterday's clothes. An arm's
length away, Fox slept curled in a ball, cocooned within the
twisted blankets with his back to her. She hated to wake him.
It hadn't been three hours since she finished her story and
Fox fell immediately to sleep.
She had barely slept at all, arguing with herself through the
night about the best coarse of action to take. Before his
look-alike had appeared on her doorstep, Fox had urged her to
call Skinner and Dana. After the strange impersonator arrived,
Fox changed his mind, adamant that calling Dana would place
her in grave danger.
Dana was a trained FBI agent, but she was also seven months
pregnant. The same as Maggie had been in '62 when--
The situations were not the same.
In 1962 an ordinary man chased her from Fontanelle to Norfolk.
A monster chased Fox Mulder.
Poor Fox. His injuries were serious. The fever, the blood,
those terrible holes in his arms and legs. There would be no
cross-country train ride for the two of them. She had to get
him to a safe place soon.
She rose from the bed. Dipping into her purse, she dug out
enough change for a phone call.
* * *
"I'd like a taxi, please." Maggie spoke into the phone and
drummed her fingers on the Wilmington Yellow Pages. A cab
would be harder to tail her own car. She watched the sky
lighten in the east over the convenience store and shivered.
"You're location, ma'am?"
"Elsmere Motor Inn."
"Destination?"
Well, that was the question, wasn't it? Airport? Bus Station?
Amtrak? No, Fox was in no shape to travel any distance.
"I haven't decided yet, but there will be two fares."
"All right, ma'am. A cab will be around in ten minutes."
Maggie thanked the dispatcher and hung up the phone.
The sleet had stopped, but it was colder this morning than it
had been last night. She hugged her sweater across her chest
and watched her breath disappear like a ghost above her head.
Across the street at the convenience store, a beer-bellied man
with a heavy beard stepped from a pickup. Before going into
the store, he removed his wool coat and tossed it onto his
front seat.
The coat would fit Fox.
Taking the coat would be stealing, of course.
Fox needed a coat...more than the bearded man needed one.
Maggie crossed the street. It wasn't as if she hadn't done
this type of thing before.
Keeping her eye on the store, she went straight to the truck,
opened the door as if she owned it and grabbed the jacket. Act
natural and no one will question you, she thought over and
over again in an effort to stay calm. She draped the coat over
one arm and walked boldly back across the street to the motel.
Following the sidewalk around the building, she stopped short
at the corner when she saw a man peering into her car. Oh,
God, it was Fox. Or rather, it was the man who looked like
Fox. He wore the same jeans and leather jacket he wore last
night. Circling her car, he eyeballed room 37. She ducked
behind the corner and wondered what to do.
Damn it! Fox was trapped inside the room. Should she go to
him? Or run for help?
Waiting on the sidewalk certainly wasn't going to do any good.
She decided to return to Fox and fight with him, even if it
meant they'd both be killed. Sucking in a lungful of air, she
stepped out into the open.
"Mrs. Scully." The words hissed in the distance behind her.
Spinning on her heel, she saw Fox -- the real Fox -- standing
beside the payphone, waving her back. How the hell had he
gotten out of the room?
"Hey!" Fox's double shouted from the opposite direction. He'd
spotted her.
She broke into a run, heading away from the imposter and
toward the real Fox. Praise be to God, their taxi turned into
the motel entrance just as she reached him. She grabbed his
arm and hauled him toward the cab.
"Get in!" she yelled, yanking open the door and shoving him.
He collapsed into the back seat while she tumbled in after
him. Slamming the door behind them, she yelled at the
cabdriver, "Go! Head north!"
"Where to?"
"Just north! Do it!"
"Yes, ma'am."
The cabbie took off and Maggie spun in her seat to watch Fox's
double out the rear window. She hoped to throw him off track,
fool him into thinking they would continue traveling north
when actually they would double back and head south. That was
the most logical thing to do, wasn't it? The thing he'd least
suspect? He chased them as far as the payphone before turning
around, presumably to get his car.
"That was damn impressive, Mrs. Scully." Fox nodded in
appreciation from the far end of the bench seat.
"Here. This is for you." She tossed him the wool coat.
"Did you...?" He stared at the coat and mouthed the words
"steal this."
"Put it on, Fox. It's cold outside."
He plunged his arm into a sleeve. "She thinks she's my
mother," he explained to the cabby.
"Lucky you."
"Head north on 141," she ordered the driver in a tone that
wiped the smirk from his face. "When you hit the Concord Pike,
take a right. Get on I-95 at exit 8 and then go south."
"How far?"
"I'll let you know." She folded her arms across her chest and
leaned back in her seat.
"She thinks she's everyone's mother," Fox told the cabby. He
was pleased with the coat. Zipping it up, he offered Maggie a
tired smile. "Mrs. Scully, why are we gonna go south?"
"It's the most logical thing to do."
"It is?"
"Fox, who in their right mind would believe we'd drive half
the night to Wilmington only to turn around and head right
back to Baltimore?"
"Not me."
"You see? It's a diversionary tactic."
"Where did you learn about diversionary tactics?"
Twisting to check the rear window again, Maggie scanned the
road for Fox's twin. She tried to recall if a car had been
parked next to hers back at the Elsmere Motor Inn. A Crown
Victoria? Dark blue? Maybe black.
"Who is he, Fox?" She turned to face him. "How is it possible
he looks exactly like you?"
Fox glanced at the driver before lowering his voice. "He's not
what you think, Mrs. Scully. He's not...a man."
What in the world was Fox talking about? "He's a woman?"
"No. He's..." Fox lowered his voice even further. "He's an
alien."
"I hope you're talking about immigration and green cards--"
"No, Mrs. Scully, I'm not. I'm talking about..." He took a
deep breath. "I'm talking about an on-going government plot to
conceal the truth about the existence of extraterrestrials.
I'm talking about a global conspiracy, with key players in the
highest levels of power, reaching down into the lives of every
man, woman, and child on this planet. I'm talking about alien
invasion--"
"You're talking nonsense." She placed her palm over his
forehead, checking his temperature. "Your fever feels worse.
Were you able to grab the Tylenol before you left the room?"
"No." He shrugged out from under her hand and gave the
cabdriver an embarrassed look.
"How did you get out of the room anyway?"
"When you left, I went for ice. Thanks for the flip-flops, by
the way." He waggled a toe at her.
"You're very welcome."
"The ice machine was at the far end of the building, a fact I
didn't appreciate at first. I saw him...me...whatever, get out
of his car -- which is *not* following us, by the way, so you
can stop looking over your shoulder. I hid at the end of the
building so he wouldn't see me. While he was nosing around
your car, I went around front looking for you."
"So you don't have my purse?"
"No."
"Or the food I bought last night?"
"No. Shit."
"Exactly." They had nothing to eat and no money to buy a meal.
Or pay the cabdriver.
"So what next, Mrs. Scully?"
"I told you, I've been in situations like this before. We'll
be fine."
"Sister Katherine isn't here to rescue us this time."
No, she wasn't. Dear Sister Katherine had died more than
thirty-five years ago, not long after Maggie first met her.
"Tell me about her, Mrs. Scully. We have some time to kill."
She had never told anyone her story. Not even Bill knew all of
it. She glanced at the driver and then at Fox.
It was time to tell the truth.
"Bill was my second husband." She could see this news
surprised him. He nodded, eyebrows rising toward his hairline
while she continued. "I married a man, a boy actually, named
John Parker when I was seventeen. I married him because I was
pregnant. Don't look so shocked, Fox. Unmarried girls get
caught all the time."
"I'm not judging."
She leveled a glare at him. You better not be, young man.
You've got a little surprise of your own waiting back at home.
"He was a handsome boy. Smart. Passionate. Determined to make
something of himself."
"So what happened to him?"
"Eventually he became a lawyer for the Morley Tobacco Company.
But it was on the day of our wedding that I realized I'd made
a terrible mistake. Have you ever heard of BWS?"
"Battered Wife Syndrome."
"Yes. Our relationship was like that. My mother told me I had
to make the best of it. Like many women without a whole lot of
options, I hoped John would change after the baby was born. He
didn't."
"I'm sorry."
"Me, too. When our son was about a year and a half old, John
smacked the boy so hard, he broke the baby's arm."
"Jesus. Is that when you ran away?"
"Yes, I packed my son and all the money I could scrape
together -- enough for train fare and not much else -- and
headed for California."
"I thought you said you went to Norfolk."
"I did. I accidentally boarded the wrong train. Looking back
on it, I realize God was watching out for me. I think He set
me on a path to Sister Katherine on purpose. You see, I was
seven months pregnant with my second child at the time."
Maggie could see Fox doing the math in his head. "That's
right. Melissa and Bill Jr. are Dana's half-siblings. Bill
Jr.'s name wasn't Bill back then."
"They, uh...they've never suspected?"
"Bill and Melissa? No. Although, I'm surprised Dana hasn't
figured it out. At her father's funeral, I accidentally let it
slip that Bill proposed to me when he returned from the Cuban
Blockade."
"October of '62. Dana was born in early '64."
"That's right. Dana must have been distracted by her grief --
or by her fears about her father's perceived disappointment in
her. She didn't put two and two together." Maggie plucked a
piece of lint from her sweater. "Four years ago Dana sent for
Melissa's DNA records."
"To compare them with Emily's."
"The PCR tests. When the results weren't conclusive, Dana
ordered a more comprehensive test, a...a..."
"RFLP."
"Yes. I was worried sick she would learn the truth. But when
the results of the second test came back claiming Emily was
Dana's daughter and not Missy's, well...Dana never thought to
compare her own DNA to her sister's. She was interested in
proving Emily's heritage, not her own, or Missy's. I'm ashamed
to admit this, Fox; it's so selfish. At first I was relieved
Dana believed Emily was her daughter. Emily distracted her
from digging any deeper into my family secret."
"Mrs. Scully, would it have been so terrible for her to find
out the truth?"
"Oh, Fox, how could I tell my children I had lied to them all
their lives? How could I tell Bill and Melissa their father
was a wife-beater, a *child*-beater?" Maggie gazed out the
window at the passing traffic. Low clouds threatened to let
loose another shower of freezing rain. "Fox, every time Bill
Jr. loses his temper, I'm reminded of John. I keep my secret
because I don't want my son to become like his father. Thank
God, he hasn't. He's so good with Matthew. So loving to Tara."
Tears rippled the landscape beyond the window and Maggie's
hands trembled in her lap.
"Where did Sister Katherine come in?"
Maggie wiped at her cheeks as tears overflowed her eyes. "I
arrived in Norfolk with nothing. No money, no food, no place
to stay. I'm ashamed to say Sister Katherine caught me
stealing."
"Stealing?"
Maggie turned to tug at Fox's wool coat. "The beginning of my
life of crime. She caught me stealing a boxed lunch left
unattended on a park bench. I wanted the food for Bill."
"What did she do?"
"She took us back to St. Clement's and fed us. Oh, God, that
food tasted good. While we ate, I was frightened to death
Sister Katherine would call the police, or even worse, contact
John and have him come get us. But she didn't." Maggie reached
across the seat and squeezed Fox's hand. "Fox, she was a
Catholic nun, but she ignored the Church's views on marriage
and did what she could to help me escape my husband. She
understood my desperation."
The cabbie cleared his throat, interrupting them for the first
time. "Ma'am? We, uh...we're about to cross the Susquehanna.
You wanna keep goin' or should I turn off at Havre de Grace?"
"What's your name?" she asked the cabby.
"Um...Harold Peterson, ma'am."
"Keep driving, Harold." She patted the cab driver's shoulder
and smiled through her tears. "You're doing fine."
The cabby reached across the front seat and dug through the
contents of the glove compartment. "Here." He passed Maggie a
clean paper napkin. "For your..." He waved a hand at her runny
nose.
"Thank you." Maggie took the napkin and gave her nose a good,
strong blow. She sniffed a couple of times before continuing
her story. "Fox, Sister Katherine watched over me. After
Melissa was born, Katherine found me a job. She introduced me
to Bill Scully. I owe her for all the happiest moments of my
life." Pocketing her tissue, Maggie tugged at the neck of her
blouse. From beneath the turtleneck she withdrew a shiny
pendant. Not a cross like Dana wore, but a small anchor
dangling from a fine gold chain. "Do you know what this is,
Fox?"
He shook his head.
"It's the anchor of St. Clement."
"I don't know the story."
"Clement succeeded St. Peter as Bishop of Rome not long after
the death of Christ. A sedition arose against the Christians
and Clement was arrested. He was condemned by the Emperor to
work in the marble quarries. Clement found many Christians
among his fellow convicts, and he comforted and encouraged
them as they hauled drinking water each day from the only
spring, six miles away. One day while they fetched water,
Clement saw a lamb scraping a hoof at the soil. He took it as
a sign, so he dug and found a spring. His discovery went a
long way toward converting many pagans to Christianity.
Clement's popularity, however, displeased the Prefect who
ordered him to be drowned at sea with an anchor attached to
his neck. Clement became a martyr after his death and he's
often represented in art by an anchor." She twirled the tiny
symbol in her fingers. "My marriage to John was like an anchor
around my neck. It would have drowned me -- and my children --
sooner or later. Sister Katherine gave me this, not to weigh
me down, but to lift me up. St. Clement's anchor lightened my
load, thanks in large part to her kindness." She tucked the
dainty necklace back into her collar. "Two years after she
gave me that necklace, Katherine died and I christened Dana
with her name."
A determined look settled across Maggie's watery features.
"Stop at the next exit," she told the driver. "I need to make
a phone call."
- - - - - - -
St. John's Catholic Church
Alexandria, Virginia
"Maggie! Here, let me help you." Father McCue nudged her out
from beneath Fox's arm. Putting his shoulder to the task, he
and the cabby escorted Fox down the wide aisle of St. John's
Church. Maggie trotted after them, her head swiveling left and
right to be sure they weren't followed. "This way," Father
McCue directed, leading them along a row of cherry-wood pews
and past the crucifix. Christ drooped on the cross the same way
Fox hung with arms outstretched between Father McCue and the
cabby. Jesus appeared to watch them through half-closed lids as
they passed his bleeding feet.
"I don't know how to thank you, Father. I don't know where else
I would have turned."
"You came to the right place, Maggie. 'God gives the desolate a
home to dwell in,'" the Priest quoted Psalms 68.
Psalms 68. Yes. God in His holy habitation. Protector of
widows. Father of orphans.
The Priest guided the group into his library, a small room in
the transept beyond the nave. The refuge was crowded with a
large wooden desk and a couple of chairs. Several hundred books
lined the walls on shelves that stretched from floor to
ceiling. An oversized window depicting Mary at the foot of the
Cross reflected a rainbow of colors onto the hardwood floor.
Father McCue helped the cabdriver lower Fox into a chair beside
the desk. "I called Dana, just as you asked. She should be here
soon with the FBI's Assistant Director. They're bringing
reinforcements to keep Mr. Mulder safe."
"Thank you, Father."
"Maggie, you know I'm always here to help."
She gave him an uncertain smile. "I'm glad to hear you say
that. I'm hoping you could do me one more favor."
"Anything. Name it."
"I've lost my purse. Could you...could you perhaps pay Harold
for the taxi ride?"
"No, no, no, ma'am." Harold Peterson argued, throwing up his
hands. "I won't take a penny."
"But--"
"Nope. Consider it a gift." Harold backed up, ready to be on
his way. "You've been through enough, ma'am."
Maggie stopped him before he could escape out the door. "Thank
you, Harold." She rose on tiptoe and placed a soft kiss on his
unshaved cheek. "You're a very nice man."
"Aaww, ma'am, it's...it's nothing." Cheeks blazing crimson, the
cabby stumbled across the threshold. His disappearing footfalls
were lost in the clatter of approaching heels. Fox held his
breath and Maggie's eyes widened.
"That must be Dana," Father McCue guessed. "I'll check, just to
make sure. Excuse me."
Left alone, Maggie went to Fox and brushed a fallen lock of
dirty hair from his forehead. "Are you doing all right?"
"Yeah. Kinda tired. Do you think...do you think she'll run away
screaming when she sees me?" He ran his fingers down his
scarred cheek.
"No, Fox. I think she'll be very glad to have you home. As a
matter of fact--"
A gasp at the door drew Fox's attention from her next words.
Dana stood at the doorway, as big as a house and as shocked as
Maggie had ever seen her -- with the possible exception of the
day she was born. Fox looked equally surprised by Dana's
enormous belly. Maggie felt as hopeful as she had on the day
Sister Katherine slipped St. Clement's anchor over her head.
This was her family: a pregnant, unwed daughter and the man who
claimed to be abducted by aliens. The rest -- her two sons,
their wives and children -- waited with ghosts at her house in
Baltimore for Thanksgiving dinner. She would go home soon, tell
them how much she loved them, and then explain the truth about
a stolen boxed lunch. Then she would ask their forgiveness for
her lies.
Tomorrow, she would go to confession and ask God to forgive her
for stealing a coat.
THE END
Author's notes: IMHO, Margaret Scully is underutilized by CC. A
compelling character, we know virtually nothing about her. What
little we've been given, however, doesn't quite add up to the
picture-perfect family life we might hope for her. Check out
the evidence:
During Bill Scully Sr.'s funeral in the episode "Beyond the
Sea," Maggie tells Dana the song "Beyond the Sea" was playing
when Bill's ship returned from the Cuban Blockade. "He marched
right off, up to me...and he proposed." Oddly, this didn't
raise any red flags for Dana. Perhaps she was lost in her own
grief and regrets. If she had been in full investigative mode,
she would have realized that the Cuban Blockade took place
between October 18 and 29, 1962.
We know Dana was born on February 23, 1964.
We also know her older sister Melissa was shot to death in
April of 1995 by Luis Cardinal, as seen in the episode "The
Blessing Way." In "Apocrypha," Scully and Mulder visit
Melissa's grave and her tombstone reads "Melissa Scully,
beloved sister and daughter, 1962-1995."
1962? Uh, oh.
Now, we are all aware that CC is not very good at math or
continuity (After all, Scully has been pregnant for nearly a
year, but has yet to show the slightest swell) and nobody
likes a math geek, but from the dates we're given, Melissa was
born, or was about to be born, just around the time that
William Scully popped the question to Maggie.
And then there's Bill, Jr., the oldest. How does he fit in?
"The Widow and the Orphan" is merely speculation about
Maggie's unknown past, based on the meager clues gleaned from
CC's gappy, sometimes inconsistent timeline.
By the way, my husband accuses me of too many unhappy endings
in my stories. This is a concession to his desire for "they all
lived happily ever after."
Constructive feedback, good or bad, is welcome on this or any
of my stories. Send comments to nejake@tds.net
You can find all my fic at
http://cindyet.philedom2k.com/