Title: Thoughts From Beyond The Sea 1/1

By (the incomparable and modest and oh so facetious) Teagan Riley

Rating: G. There is nothing about this fic that makes it less than friendly to all ages. Come on! Bring the kids!

Category: Vaugely MSR Vignette Angst

Disclaimer: Lookee here y'all: If I owned these characters we would not be sitting here writing stories in which these two finally admit the obvious. The would have admitted it long ago and would be busy pumping out those beautiful children you know they'll have someday and you know will be used against them in some manner at some point in time. No, they belong to Chris Carter, in fact all of the X-Files family does. So, to help further placate the lawyers of the world I add to my don't sue my clause this tidbit of information: I am recieving no monetary compensation for having written this.

Distribution statement: Anywere you want as long as I'm informed and this header is kept attached to it. I want everyone to be subjected to my weird disclaimer and author's note.

The afore-mentioned author's note: Yes, I know, I write weird stories.

First that whole 180 degrees around an Angel thing where Melissa Scully ended up with Skinner and was loved by of all people Krycek and now this. What can I say? I'm unconventional and I like to be that way, gosh darn it. Just felt I'd share.

Dedication: Oh gosh, I guess I dedicate this, as usual, to my lil' sis

Emmy. I'd also like to say THANK YOU to anybody who's every sent ANY

author feedback ever. It really makes a person's day. (Translation: Send me more. <G>)

Feedback (which I KNOW you'll send me, won't you? That's right. <G>) goes to atr48@iname.com

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As you sleep, I sing to you softly. The words of an old, familiar lullaby soothe me more than they do you. I know you cannot hear me, and yet I continue to sing as I stand here, raging against my inability to comfort you now, as I have so many times before. The light filters through the partially closed blinds, bathing your face in shadows. In the dark, the lines that crease your forehead are relaxed and the brittleness of your hair is not visible and your skin is not so pale. In the dark, you do not look like you are dying.

Softly, I stroke your hair, needing that contact, needing to know that in this minute, you are still here. My voice breaks in mid verse, as once again I feel how much you're suffering. Laying my hands on either side of your face, I take as much as of your pain as I can upon myself. My heart breaks;I cannot spare you all of it, Starbuck.

When you were a child, you were always a restless sleeper. You would toss and turn, and sometimes you would cry out in your sleep. When I was home, I would stay awake until I was certain that you would sleep throughout the night. I would sing this same song to you, over and over and over. It was always enough then. Now, however, it isn't enough for me. As the last note of the melody hangs gently in the air, I begin to pray.

Once before I stood by your bedside. Once before I watched you as you teetered in between the balance of life and death. I knew then, as I do now, that you will live. I am thankful for this; you have much living left to do. But it is your pain that I now lament. I could never stand to see any of my children hurt. I find myself cursing by turns my inability to help you, medicine's inability to relieve your pain and the cancer itself.

You stir and your eyes flutter open, the same crystalline blue that greeted me from the nursery on that fateful February morning in 1964. Starbuck, even then you were a charmer. You had the biggest bluest eyes I'd ever seen and the sweetest face. Out of all of my children you were the most beautiful baby. You were also the most independent, the strongest, but also so sensitive and shy.

You look right at me, without seeing me and smile. I tell you I am proud of you. You cannot hear me. But I know you know. The only reason I ever objected to your choice to join the Academy was that I never wanted to see you hurt. Being an FBI agent is a dangerous job, and I feared for you. I reach out and touch your cheek, letting my love for you radiate as strongly as I can. Sleepily, you smile again.

"Go back to sleep, Dana. I'm here." I whisper. You close your eyes and drift back into a nourishing slumber. Holding your hand, I continue my vigil, praying to the kind and merciful God that gave you to me to spare you the pain. People drift in and out. I watch as the doctor and nurses check your chart. They cast glances your way and murmur darkly. They don't think you have much time left. I want to yell at them: "Don't you underestimate my daughter! She'll pull through this!" But as they leave, I realize that such words would be lost on them. They, like you, sometimes put too much faith in science and not enough in themselves. I am still holding your hand as your partner cries by your bedside. A long time ago I came to accept this man as your partner. It was at another hospital, but the same bedside. Now, as I watch him sob, anguished, I finally understand him. He loves you. In this moment, I welcome him. He is a good man, Starbuck. I am pleased.

I am still here, still praying as you wake. Father McHugh arrives and the two of you talk. I almost burst with joy as you return to your faith. You have returned to your roots, returned to your family and yourself. I hope you can feel the pride I try to show you. As you grip the rosary beads in your hand, I put both hands on your shoulders, hoping to bolster your strength. As your mother walks in, Father McHugh leaves.

Oh, Starbuck. I never thought I'd see your mother again, and here she is. She is still beautiful. I can see how the tragedies have changed her face, and every little line hurts me. I wish I could absorb her pain and yours...

The doctor enters the room once again. This time his face is alight with good news. He says what I already know...Your going to live, Starbuck. As the family crowds about you in celebratory joy, I leave your room for the first time since you have been admitted. Once again, your partner is crying..this time it is not anguish that fuels his tears, but relief. I can feel his love for you, his need for you,strongly as weeps. I lay a hand on his back and say " Thank you, Fox Mulder, thank you for loving her." As he continues to cry, I walk down the hall. I am leaving you now, but I'll be here always, Starbuck. Whenever you need me. I love you.