Partners

The Dinner Guest (Sequel to Man Without a Face)

Author: PhileyX
E-Mail: phileyxback@yahoo.com
Web-site: https://www.angelfire.com/id/phileyx
Rating: PG
Category: DSR (no D does not stand for Doggett), Maggie Scully's POV
Spoilers: Requiem, Man Without A Face, The Matchbox
Disclaimer: All the characters here do not belong to me.

Author's note: The prequels to this story can be found at:
https://www.angelfire.com/id/phileyx/Face.html
https://www.angelfire.com/id/phileyx/Matchbox.html
Intro: This story takes place after the Requiem. Two years after his disappearance, a man appears claiming to be Mulder, with a catch; he just didn't have his face. Scully finds out he really is her ex-partner the unconventional way. And now, Margaret Scully meets the other man in her daughter's life.

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The Dinner Guest

Excerpts from the song ‘Mercury’ by The Counting Crows.

No infringement of copyright intended.

My daughter asked the mechanic to dinner.

I can hardly believe it but it's true. And I am finally forced to acknowledge what I have been too afraid to before, that it was time to move on. She had been showing the signs of the change for the past week but I have diligently justified them with other plausible explanations. However, this omen was just too enormous to ignore.

She had been somewhat distracted lately. Not Mulder distracted, but someone else distracted. At first I thought it was because of a case, a particular one that raised my suspicions on the day of Melissa's death anniversary. The one that took her out in the middle of the night, returning only in the late afternoon the next day. The one I called Doggett to check up on her.

It seemed like a rational explanation when she stepped into the house. He was an informant who needed a favour to which she eventually agreed. And in return, he insisted on giving her car a free tune up. Sounded innocent enough. Until today when he sat with us at the dinner table.

He was tall and good looking. With the added tight jeans and a well-muscled body, they were good enough reasons for a single young woman to invite him for a meal. Then again, I'm not talking about my elder daughter here. I'm talking about my younger one. Dana Katherine Scully, FBI.

For one thing, this particular daughter of mine does not usually allow a total stranger anywhere near the house. I don't know if it's paranoia rubbed off from her ex-partner but that's the way it has been for two years since I've moved in. Her special concern for privacy has mostly to do with protecting William. From whom or what, I dare not ask. But I trust in her decisions and respect them.

Another thing, Dana has a heart protected by the Great Wall of China. How on earth Fox Mulder wriggled his way in was absolutely beyond my understanding. But he had and the man had taken asylum there since, or so I thought.

So inviting an informant over for dinner took me by surprise. As a matter of fact, I was rendered speechless most of the time. And thus dinner was rather quiet. Between my daughter and Mr. Dole, with the occasional unintelligible phrase from Will, a conversation was carried on.

Once or twice, I received a stern disapproving look from her. It was rather comical actually, considering that I was her mother and she was warning me to behave. But it was really Dana's own fault. After living almost like a recluse in our quiet suburban home, I now find it terribly disconcerting having an unfamiliar person in the house.

Despite my reservations, I liked him. He was a nice boy, polite and shy, fairly conscious of himself most of the time. Perhaps it was due to my lack of participation in the chat during dinner or my rather undivided attention, bordering to a rude stare. I could not help myself. There was something familiar about him that I could not put my finger on, nor understood.

Whenever my scrutiny was forgotten, he preoccupied himself with obsessions of his own. One of them was my lovely daughter. He gazed at her quite often and sometimes if she looked up at the same time, I swear I could almost see an electrical charge run across through the air. It came to the point where I was afraid to reach out for the pot roast in case I got electrocuted in my quest.

His second point of interest was my grandson. Will captured his attention as if he was the only two-year-old he had ever seen in his entire life.

<For the restlessly abandoned home
The tired and weary ramblers bone
Stay beside me where I lie>

When dinner was over, I could almost hear a collective sigh of relief from both my daughter and him. It was then that I began to feel guilty. Why am I so bothered with his presence? Yes, it did mark a new era in my daughter's life but shouldn't I be the one encouraging her to get on with her life. After all, it has been two years.

Maybe I want closure. When Ahab died, I found myself waiting. For what, I wasn't sure but I expected him to walk through the front door and pull me in his arms. It was as if I was treating his death like a sudden order out to sea and that he would return soon. But the vision of his ashes floating in the wind onto the seas soon seeped into my consciousness and before long I accepted the loss.

Likewise, I want closure with Mulder. But there is no body, grave or ashes to close this chapter of my daughter's life. And I am surprise that she is letting him go before I am ready to even contemplate it.

Mulder has been her one and only for seven years. He loved my daughter dearly and never gave up on her although I did once. I never forgave myself for that and maybe that is why I refuse to give up on him now. It's what I owe him.

But the question remained, what if he didn't come back?

While clearing the dishes, I suppressed a slight start when my daughter picked Will up and deposited him into Dole's novice arms. He was clearly uncomfortable with the task but an encouraging smile from her gave him the confidence he lacked. He then proceeded to carry him away into the living room.

I almost dropped the dishes and ran to grab my grandchild from this stranger but I stopped myself. Instead, I told myself not to interfere. I've always trusted Dana's instincts and she has never failed me before.

She seemed to sense my discomfort but did not say a word. And we both cleared up the kitchen in silence. It took me a while to understand her forced patience while drying the dishes. But before long, I soon realized that she was purposely taking her time, as if giving the grown man in the living room extra time with her son. The thought was bewildering and my face must have shown it because she looked at me cautiously.

I finally voiced out my fears. "What's going on, Dana?"

She hesitated. "We'll talk about this later, mom."

What could I say? I just nodded.

A muffled voice called from the living room. "Hey Scully, you gotta see this!"

She immediately replaced the dish in the sink and walked out of the kitchen. Meanwhile, I found myself in a state of shock. All throughout dinner, he had addressed her as Miss Scully but hearing him call her now by her last name put everything in a different perspective.

Still in a daze, I walked to the door and pushed it open. I watched her sit next to him on the couch. Will was comfortably seated on his lap, facing three reading cards laid flipped on the table.

<She's entwined in me
Crazy as can be
Yeah, she's all right with me>

"Look at what he can do." Dole slowly picked up one of the reading cards and told the boy. "See, this card has ball on it." Then he shuffled the three cards like a hustler would on the streets. "Now where's the ball, Will?"

My grandson gleefully pointed to the card on the far right. Dole picked it up and revealed that it was indeed a ball. Grinning, he held it out to my daughter. "Amazing, huh?"

Her raised eyebrow changed into a playful condescending look. "Dole, these are reading cards. I can't believe you're teaching my son the art of card hustling with them!"

"It's just a game." He defended himself and added excitedly. "But he picks the ball every time. It's like he's psychic or something."

Rolling her eyes, she grabbed the cards away from him. "For God's sakes, Dole! He is not psychic. He's just very, very bright."

He gave her grin. "Yeah, like his mother."

She smiled back.

<She's all right
She's all right with me
She's all right with me
She's all right with me
She's all right with me>

As I take in the playful banter between them, the way their knees touch gently as they sit beside each other and the way they call each other by their last names; the familiarity of it all hit me suddenly like a ton of bricks.

Mulder.

Now I understand why my daughter asked the mechanic to dinner.

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End of The Dinner Guest (Part One of One)

All feedback will be inspirational for further sequels
E-Mail: phileyxback@yahoo.com
Web-site: https://www.angelfire.com/id/phileyx