Title: Dear Charlie: Love Mom (part 1 of 4) Author: abbeydore e-mail: abbeydore@aol.com Spoilers: Hmm, gonna blanket myself here and say through Three of a Kind (but here, it happened before The UnNatural) Rating: PG Category: MSR, H Disclaimers: Not mine. Chris's. 1013's. Fox's. But not mine, I say again. Feedback: yes, please; need to know what I did right and wrong; first-timer here. Distribution: ok, as long as I know about it Dear Charlie, Something is different with Dana. I know my daughter - admittedly not as well as I once did, but I know when something is different. Something happened. That I know. Saturday night. And I *know* it was Saturday night, because I was with her earlier that evening when she received a mysterious phone call. We were having dinner together. You know, I've long since given up trying to find her a nice young man among the sons of some of my friends. What with her job, her hours . . . her partner .. . . A social life is all but impossible. And she seems content with that, and, so, who am I to intrude. I love Dana enough not to interfere. Nearly losing her: 1) when she disappeared a few years back, and 2) just this past January when she had that case in New York, and 3) whatever that was last summer when she came back manifesting all the symptoms of someone who just went out in a snowstorm sans clothes made me realize that as much as her job terrifies me, it is *her* work and she loves it. So, I will keep my opinions to myself. But, anyway, I've stumbled off track. Dinner at Angelo's, one of our favorite haunts. I'd noticed recently that Dana had been calling me more often, for dinner, lunch, just to chat. She half joked that it was to reassure herself that she wasn't so lonely. I wondered. Thinking about it later I realized that all of that had started right after that case, involving the writer (enclosed is the article about those gruesome murders. Did you ever get that article about that water monster? It had a lovely mention about how she delivered a baby in the middle of that hurricane. Dana said her newspaper friends were going to send you an article about that case. Poor Fox. I thought those marks on his neck were never going to fade away, or *go* away for that matter). Anyway, apparently this writer had been stalking Dana and developed quite a fascination with her. Fox told me about what happened, in hushed tones when I went to his apartment, while Dana slept in his room and the authorities were searching the building. Now, before you start turning into your brother - with a vendetta and a pent up rage against Fox, a man you have never even met - let me tell you what I know: I received a call from Walter Skinner (you remember, Dana's boss). Immediately I tensed - remembering the last call I had received concerning Dana had been her near fatal gunshot wound in January - but he assured me that both Dana and Fox were 'fine' (i.e. not dead) and that I may want to go to Fox's apartment. There had been an 'incident.' It took me sometime to get there. Then I saw the police cars . . . lights flashing . . . and, oh, Charlie, my heart sank. Mr. Skinner was waiting for me, and I followed him up to the 'crime scene' - or, as I later found out 'one of the crime scenes'. As we were going up in the elevator, he said, "Mulder wanted me to call you, thought you should be here, but . . ." And then I heard her, as I stepped off the elevator. Dana. Crying. Not crying. Sobbing. I stood in the doorway, and I saw her. With him. Clinging. Grasping. Burrowing. She couldn't get close enough to him. Clawing her fingers into his back as he pulled her still closer to him, like he was holding his world in his arms. And then I noticed the blood. On the floor. On him. On her. Soaking her shirt. It was hers, I was sure of it. Neither of them saw me at first. He murmured inaudible, soft assurances into her ear, kissing and stroking her hair. Then as if waking from a nightmare - which, I guess, was what she was doing - she lurched back from his embrace on the floor, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. "Mulder, that man, he --" "Ssh, there's nothing there. I checked, remember? Before the police and Skinner got here. Blood, no wound." He took her hand in his and placed it over her chest, her heart. "See? Still beating." Gingerly, she leaned forward again and rested her head on his chest, listening. Then sighing, she said softly, "You, too." He kissed the top of her head again and whispered with a touch of humor, "Looks like you made into yet another X-File. You're such an overachiever, Scully." She laughed into his chest, faintly. "You wanna get cleaned up now? What I wouldn't give to see you prancing around my place in nothing but my Knicks shirt." Another stifled giggle and mumbled, "Mul-der . . ." And she hugged him closer. Then Fox saw us standing in the doorway. Dana sensed the change in him as he stiffened in her arms. Looking up, seeing me, she immediately sought and found her resolve. Her tears had already stopped, but her eyes were red, making the blue flash vibrantly. Nearly broke my heart when she politely refused my offer to help her clean up - after a quick hug. She asked Fox to help her. Once she was settled in his bed, asleep - at his insistence - Fox came back out to tell me what had happened. His explanation was . . . well. . . along with that newspaper clipping you'll see Fox's account to the police about what happened. When you're reading it, just keep reminding yourself that Dana's fine. Anyway, the next day, Dana was back to normal. She's resilient, like all the Scullys. Getting back to Saturday night. We were enjoying our meal. I was suggesting to her that she really should consider lightening up her wardrobe. I don't know if you're aware, Charlie, but lately your sister has been wearing black. All black, all the time. Very unsettling. Oh, well, there was the one exception when she and Fox had to go undercover on that case in California, when they had to pose as a married couple. Fox sent these adorable pictures of them - the pictures that they had to have in their house to kind of help with their cover. Anyway, she looked lovely in those lighter colors and her hair all soft and curled. Very cute pictures. Would you like to have one? It just occurred to me that you don't know what he looks like, do you? Those newspaper pictures never do him justice. And whatever you do, don't mention that assignment to your brother. Dana 'neglected' to mention to him that she'd be staying in San Diego on her job related visit, fearing any confrontation. But I digress. Dana excused herself from the table to go and check her messages since she'd left her cell phone at home recharging. When she returned, I knew something was up. She had this secretive, bemused smile, with a faintly furrowed brow. "Ah, Mom--" I know that tone. She had to go. Before she left she assured me that it wasn't a case, at least she didn't think so and that same little smile. There would be no late night flights she insisted, followed by a mumbled, "I learned my lesson on *that.*" No midnight autopsies for my little girl. So, I decided to call her later that night and see if she'd be going to church in the morning. I called at ten. Got the machine. I tried calling her cell phone at 10:15, just in case. No luck. After getting no response at 11, I gave up for the evening. And went to bed. She wasn't at church. I arrived home to a brief, vague message that she'd call me later in the week. Tuesday morning, I finally gave in myself and called her at work, inviting her over for dinner. She accepted happily. My suspicions crept up on me again. Just a feeling. "And Fox is invited too, of course." "*Mulder*, Mom - and he has, uh, he has other plans already. Cheese steaks with some . . . friends (that last word was sort of ground out through clenched teeth). Thank you for giving me an out to *that*. I was going to give you a call tonight, anyway." I wasn't so sure. Dana inherited your father's lying skills, or lack thereof. I suspected she would have been perfectly happy having cheese steaks with Fox, regardless of the 'friends.' The moment I saw her, I *knew*. Whatever happened Saturday was responsible for her mood. It was prom-night-with-Marcus euphoria. Internalized, of course. You know Dana. As she helped with the salad in the kitchen, I asked her what was her meeting Saturday night. What did she do. And she blushed. She blushed. Even with her head bowed low, I noticed how her lips quirked into the faintest of very satisfied smiles, "Playyy . . .d . . . bayy . . . sbll." "What?" I couldn't believe she mumbled. And I couldn't believe what I *thought* she had mumbled. "What was that, Dana?" "Uh, played baseball. . ." And that little smile again, with pink cheeks. Played baseball? My mind repeated over and over in my head. Dana HATED baseball. Missy actually had liked it, but not Dana. You know how much she hated that sport above all others. Seeing her . . . embarrassment, I decided to let her little revelation slide, for the time being. Halfway through dinner, her constant inanimate companion (her cell phone) chirped from her jacket in the hallway. She excused herself with a put upon, resigned sigh - purely for my benefit I have no doubt - and a low, soft apology. Maternal instincts kicking in, I walked over to listen - just in case she was being called away and our dinner was being cut short, and for no other reason, Charlie, so get that look off of your face. I'm your mother, I know when you're feigning shock. She answered with, "Scully." Very no nonsense. Then her voice got all soft and sweet, airy almost. ". . . mmm, me too." And she laughed. Dana laughed outright. I'd forgotten her laugh. "What? . . .Frohike's kung fu is better than you-. . . Oh, Langley's. Well, that's completely different . . . No. . . You *know* I can't . . . *Mulder* -" Now things were getting interesting. "-- yeah, I'm still at my mother's. . . Hmm? . . . Oh, yeah, *Fox*, you were definitely part of our conversation. Ah, . . . Mulder?" Something had caught her attention. "What is Frohike saying about me? . . .Besides that. . . Besides *that*. No, Mulder, just now. What did he call me? 'Party Girl'? What is with this 'party girl' thing? Mulder, we're going to have to develop a code word so I don't get duped into another partially lost weekend with *your* friends. And I'm still waiting for them to reimburse me all - and, hey! You know, I just thought of something. You weren't very clear about your whereabouts that weekend. So where the hell were you? . . . '*Scully* Golightly'?! I am *so* gonna kick their asses. . ." I peered round the corner to look at her. Her posture was tense. She meant it. Who was Dana so angry with? Fox didn't seem to be taking her threat too seriously so he was in the clear. ". . . Uh-uh. Where were you? And don't tell me: searching fifty year old New Mexico obituaries for anomalies . . . Oh, Mul-der--" Charlie, my word, she practically *purred* his name. Not something I was comfortable listening to, but this conversation was so intriguing and increasingly revealing. She laughed again, murmuring several 'uh-huhs' that were gradually making me feel just a little bit uneasy overhearing. "Mulder, you're mixing your sports metaphors. We already had a little one on . .. . yes, I remember. Make contact, let it fly. . ." A dramatic pause. "Hips before hands. . . Is that some sort of universal --" She gasped, then sighed with absolute affection. "Bastard. . . Uh, Mulder, where are you now? . . .And the guys are there because . . .? Oh, and, ah, how many did they find? . . . Really? Guess we're popular this week. . . You tell Frohike to stay the hell away from my lingerie drawer. . . So, the place is clean now? . . . Is that them leaving? . . .Good. Tell them thanks, but I still owe them that ass-kicking. . ." Another laugh. "How do *you* know if I wear that to work or not? . . . May-be. . .Mulder, I told you before. Mom and I- . . . No, I didn't tell her--" I had to lean forward to hear this because she lowered her voice. "-- why I didn't answer the phone Saturday night. I told her about the baseball, and even that was too much. . . Because she- I used to hate baseball as a kid, okay? . . .Noooo. Well, Saturday, I had a very good coach. . . No, I'm not going to- . . . You're mixing your sports metaphors again. *That's* basketball . . . Wrestling, huh? . . . Hey, that's right. Well, as I recall you didn't want to. You were kinda out of it, Mulder, what with being attacked by that mothman and all. We could do that, I suppose. . . In the woods, again? .. . .You think you can take me?" Was my thermostat working? "Yeah, that was a freebie. So - Oh, so you found my stash of non-fat tofutti rice dreamsicles?" Sometimes, I wonder, Charlie, why can't she indulge in some good old fashioned fattening real ice cream. You can't live forever, so why *not* live a little? I'm just relieved she's off that whole bee pollen kick. What was that about? Her voice got all low and airy again. I really had to strain to hear. ". . . very good authority that the air in your mouth does taste better than a non-fat . . . tofutti . . . rice . . .dreamsicle . . . Yeah . . . uh-huh . . . hmmm, oh, God, Mulder . . . I - me, too, but I . . . hmmm. Okay, soon. . . I love you too. I -- " Busted. As you used to say. She saw me. "Ah, Mulder, gotta go." Flipping the phone shut, her cheeks flushed crimson, she stammered out, "Ah, M-mom, s-s-sorry 'bout that. It's just--" "Go home, Dana." How many times have you been able to say that you rendered Dana speechless? It had been awhile for me but it still felt good. Finally she managed, "Huh? But, Mom--" I repeated, "Go home, Dana. . ." Confusion mixed with fear, wondering just what and how much I'd overheard, swept over her features. So, I enlightened her. ". . . and be sure to taste some more of his air. A lot more." Her blush deepened, if that was at all possible, as she grabbed her jacket and headed out the door. Yes, Charlie, something is different with Dana. She loves and is loved by a wonderful man (And don't listen to your brother. He doesn't know the whole story. Only they do.). That in itself is not a surprise. You need only to see them together to understand how they feel about each other. But, love, Charlie. That's what happened to Dana. And it's about time. That they finally realized it, that is. Love, Mom P.S. Keep the news of Dana and Fox's new relationship to yourself, if you don't mind. In other words: don't tell Bill. I expect your sister wants to be the one to tell him. I only hope that I'll be there to run interference and offer support. What else could a mother do? P.P.S. Oh, and Charlie dear, keep your calendar open later this year. How do you feel about attending a fall wedding? Recommend Dear Charlie: Love Mom Respond to (abbeydore@aol.com) (Part 1of 4) ------------------------------------ ------------------------------------ Previous: Big Blue Blues (2 of 2) Next: Dear Charlie: Bill's $.02 (part 2 of 4)