TITLE: Magnolia on a Rainy Day (1/1) AUTHOR: Tinka (tinka100@hotmail.com) CLASSIFICATION: S, MSR, Minor Character Death RATING: PG SPOILERS: All pre-S6. Should be safe for all. SUMMARY: Dying words unlock lonely hearts. ARCHIVE: Bluefroggie & Gossamer, yes. All others, please ask. DISCLAIMER: Nope, not mine (apart from Nicola). NOTES: This one's for Penelopody. She knows why. -- "Tell Day that I love her. I never stopped loving her." The words come from a hospital bed. A man says it so quietly that I fear for a second that I misunderstood him. I dislike the patients saying things like that. It means they are giving up hope of recovery. They are giving up their will to fight for their lives. I never thought this guy would pull through, but I prayed he would. It is one of the worst sins to commit as a nurse, but I have let myself become attached to him. A woman brought him in two weeks ago. She had found him by the roadside. Another random shooting. Money and watch stolen. We found his driver's license and quickly matched it with his records. He had no next-of-kin, no one to notify. At least his records were blank, and so was his memory. He could talk coherently for the first week. I felt sorry for him. I liked the way that his hair fell down on his forehead. I liked his intelligence, his humor. It is hard to believe that no one has ever cared for him. Despite his wounds and his critical condition, he was still a special guy. His eyes danced merrily when I brought him supper and spent an extra little time arranging his pillows. So, he has loved someone. Day. I watch him as his eyes shut and his mouth contracts from the pain. He will not last the night. I know the signs so well. The ashen skin, the eyes slowly becoming opaque. I cannot help myself as I gently intertwine my fingers with his. He sighs softly and mumbles a thank you. His words are becoming unintelligible. And I should know better than to cry over him, but my tears fall down upon our joined hands. -- Their heads turn in unison as I enter their office. One brown head and one red. Instinctively they're presenting a united front against me. I understand. I'm their boss. "Agents." Mulder acknowledges me with a nod, while Scully merely leans back against the table waiting for the latest bad news. I have one hell of a thankless job. "I'm afraid I have bad news." She is not surprised. Mulder looks almost bored. I try to remain calm, although I know the impact my next words are going to have. "Agent Scully. A fax has just come through to my office. Your brother Charles Andrew Scully is dead." Another family member lost. They hardly have anyone left. I suppose they have each other, although *that* is just another rumor. I look at her with my best tough guy demeanor. She is pale, but appears unfazed. I shouldn't be surprised at her reaction, she has always remained calm under pressure. But, Jesus, it's her brother. "Can I see the fax, sir?" "Sorry, but that is impossible Agent Scully. It is highly confidential. I can show you his medical report. That is all I am .." "Confidential?" Mulder is quick to catch what I have tried mumbling. For some odd - and in these circumstances incredibly uncomfortable - reason, the Higher Powers have labeled it confidential. I tried digging a bit earlier on, but red tape prevented me going any further. But I'm never going to admit that to my agents. "Yes. I cannot give you any further information. I'm sorry." I think I've apologized more in the space of five minutes than I have for the last five years. But it is a hell of a message. And she just looks at me. Mulder is doing his best protective stance coupled with a fair bit of paranoia. She just looks at me. -- I asked whether I could participate in his funeral. The coroner looked surprised but agreed saying no one else would show up. It rains as my patient's coffin is lowered into the ground. The raindrops hide my tears for a man I never knew. The ceremony quickly draws to close and I put a magnolia by the tombstone. Its creamy, silky petals caress the rough stone. Charles Andrew Scully 1963-1999. "And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from." My patient had that quote written on a piece of paper tucked away in his purse. Perhaps it was his favorite quote. Perhaps not. Who am I to say? My shoes are filling up with rain and I stare up at the skies as if searching for answers. He had no one. Much like me. I have lived here for two years, and all I have is a semi-furnished apartment with a damn goldfish. I bite back the tears like I always do. At least I can pay last respects to a nice guy by being here. Perhaps that makes a slight difference in the big picture. -- "This reeks, Scully." I am fuming and I know it. She is stoically preparing dinner for us, while I go over her brother's death certificate again and again. Caucasian Male. Shot to pieces on a highway in the middle of nowhere. It says so much in nice, precise medical terms. It is signed by a doctor who has worked in the hospital for the past 26 years. It all adds up so neatly that I am on the verge of throwing up. Another Scully bites the dust. I cynically count how many family members Scully has lost while working with me. Three. Four, if you count little Emily. And I think you should. She keeps slicing and dicing the vegetables, but her shoulders shake a tiny bit. I walk over and wrap my arms around her. She puts her knife down and starts to cry. I softly kiss the tears away. I hate to see her cry - it nearly undoes me every time - but Scully should be crying at a time like this. Her knees give way beneath her and I catch her, like I once promised her I always would. She is so small, so tiny. I carry her to the sofa, where I sit down drawing her close. I can hear her heart beat. She curls up in my arms and I just wish I could protect her from the world. My leg accidentally brush the brown folder marked 'Scully, C.A.' off the table. She notices and her crying subsides, as she picks up the papers. "I want to see him, Mulder. I need to." I sigh and slowly rocks her like you would rock a child. "Are you sure it's a good idea?" "No, but it's the only idea I can hold in my head right now." -- I never take any unnecessary risks. Mulder knows and Scully knows it. Yet, I'd be willing to risk almost anything for her. It is a weakness that I hope will not come back to haunt me. Scully materializes on our doorstep one late night. She is holding a bag of doughnuts and her face is scarred by a worried frown. She quickly explains the murky situation. Damn, another Scully wiped off the face of the earth. Naturally I offer our assistance. She should never expect anything less. And my heart shatters as she hides her face in her hands. We call Mulder when she will not stop sobbing. I think Charlie was her favorite brother - not surprisingly, if you ask me. Bill's a bastard. How's that for alliterative skill? So, Mulder comes over. We keep looking for truths that can not easily be found. Working a bit of that computer wizardly magic, to use Langley's expression. And I go out on a limb. Scully has calmed down and is curled up sleeping on our sofa. Mulder's eyes are expressionless as we finally stumble across Charlie's file. Of course it is placed in a way that anybody who wanted to trace us could easily do so. But they don't. And we have survived once more. She lies with her head in his lap, as Mulder reads the print-outs. Charlie wasn't an angel, pardon the pun. A high-ranking guy in the CIA. Shady connections in both the States and Europe. I wonder what he had told his family about his job. More or less the same that Scully tells them, I bet. Six months ago, Charlie wanted to leave. He was told he couldn't. He disappeared voluntarily, and remained out of sight until he turns up dead. Mulder fixes his eyes on me as he finishes reading. "What do we tell her?" I suddenly concentrate on eating the last remaining doughnut. I am honored that he wants my opinion, but I don't know what to do. I look at Mulder's hand gently stroking her hair. The easy rhythm of his hand. I don't know what the hell we should tell her. Lies will come back to haunt us all, truths will bruise her memory of Charlie. After a minute's silence, Mulder closes his eyes and looks older than he is. He bends his head and kisses her ear. She stirs, looks up at him and smiles sleepily. My buddy clears his throat. "Scully, we have found something.." I leave the room. It is not my place to be right now. It is theirs. It is Scully's. -- I think I knew it the moment I first saw her. The hair is nearly the same color and the eyes are definitely the same. She is leaving the hospital, just as I am on my way to work. Sometimes I believe in Fate. I pick up my courage and approach her. "Are you Day?" Her mouth opens and closes, and I would have laughed had it been under different circumstances. A tall guy bounces down the stairs, but starts scowling when he sees her pale face. "Who are you?" He is virtually barking at me. "I'm Nicola Martyn. I'm a nurse here." I keep my chin up, being used to arrogant doctors. The woman lays a hand on his arm, and his scowl nearly disappears. What an unusual couple. "Yes. Yes, I'm Day. How did you know?" She speaks in a quiet, measured manner. I think she is used to dealing with strangers. There is nothing unsure about her. I check my watch. "I have to go to work. Can you come back tomorrow?" She hesitates. Her voice drops a notch. "Actually, I can't. Please. It is important to me." Her friend interrupts her. "Scully, I'll go see if Nurse Martyn can be excused for an hour or so." Scully. So I was right. It is a close relation. A sister, most likely. I extend my hand and she smiles for the first time. -- We walk around the park. Scully and the young nurse walk in front of me. I'm discreetly watching their backs. I have no idea what I had expected to find here. CIA agents running around shooting everybody in sight? Skinner's silences and Frohike's computer magic had me imagining a battle field. I am so used to interpreting absences and erased words that I jumped to the worst conclusions. I am glad to say I was wrong. We were both wrong. There are no CIA agents, no foul air. Only a young, lonely nurse. Scully is asking questions about her brother. The young nurse is trying her best to answer them and asks her own questions in turn. My Scully explains that Charlie had been in the military for a long time. Somewhere along the way, they had lost contact. He was supposed to be looking for a ordinary job now. At least he had told their mother as much. Nicola Martyn looks sad. I suspect that she had been a bit too emotionally involved with her patient. She'll soon learn to hide her emotions - to keep them in check. I'm happy that she was around Charles Scully in his last minutes. I hope she gave him a bit of comfort. I hope she was a ray of light. Scully is tentatively asking to be shown his grave. The young nurse smiles understandingly. She says she was the only one to attend the funeral. Only I can read the heartbreak on Scully's face. Nicola Martyn does not notice, but starts walking towards the far end of the park. Scully waits for me and I place my hand on her back. Together we follow the nurse. I can no longer control myself as Scully kneels down by the graveside. I have seen her too many times in this situation. A single white magnolia graces the grave and I do not need to look at the young nurse to know who placed it there. A nice, thoughtful gesture. It would have been much worse to see an unadorned grave. And yes, I shed a tear alongside Scully. -- So it all ends, although all ends are just new beginnings, like Charles Scully's scrap of paper said. I waved goodbye to his sister and her friend as they went home after paying their respects. He was not unloved after all. He had people who cared and who loved him. Maybe there is hope for me. The end is where I start from. -- MORE NOTES: David Gray & Jeff Buckley provided my soundtrack on a lonely, Sunday night. T.S. Eliot provided the gravestone's epitaph.