Title: Healing
Author: Trixie
Email:scullymulder1121@hotmail.com
Category: V
Archive: Anywhere, just keep my name & email attached
Spoilers: Emily.
Summary: Uhhhhhhhhhhhh. . . Bill Scully's thoughts, during a 'missing' 
scene from the episode. . . .?
Feedback. Please? Writer will beg for feedback.


'Healing'

He’s in love with her, I think.

I can’t be sure. I won’t let myself examine things, further than I 
already have. It’s already stretched my sanity, to the point of 
snapping, just having him in my home, these past couple days.  Strides 
into Dana’s life, like he has a right to be there. Like he isn’t 
responsible, for her almost losing it. For this child, that it’s killing 
Dana to lose, right now, that she holds, refusing to release, even after 
she’s died.

Like he isn’t responsible for killing Melissa.

Bastard. Stupid, sorry, son of a bitch. Mom sits behind Dana, afraid to 
touch her, to disturb her. And where is he? On the other side of the 
bed. Sitting in a chair, his hand resting on top of the kid’s head. 
Emily. Dana’s daughter. Touching her, his eyes filled with tears, face 
contorted, like that of a grieving father.

Yea, right. Like he has any right to grieve. It’s Dana’s loss, not his. 
Although how it’s effecting her, this deeply, I’ll never know. She 
barely knew the kid. And yet. . . she can’t let go. The machines 
stopped, nearly an hour ago. And still, she hasn’t released her, hasn’t 
found it inside herself to let go. We all came in, after the Doctors 
told us she was gone. Dana barely seemed to notice. 

She hasn’t cried yet. 

That’s something about my baby sister, not everyone understands. Just 
because she isn’t crying, doesn’t mean she isn’t feeling. We’ve never 
blubbered, we Scully’s. We never believed Dad would have stood for it. 
And that’s all Dana’s doing now. Refraining from displays of unnecessary 
emotion. Being a good little trooper. A good little soldier. 

But sometimes. . . 

Sometimes, I knew Dana wanted to let go. That she wanted to curl up into 
a ball, and cry, when something hurt her. When she got dumped, for the 
first time, when she was seventeen.  Letting her lower lip tremble, and 
a few tears spill, when her puppy was hit, when she was twelve.  Letting 
go, after Dad died. At the funeral, she never shed a tear. She just 
stood there, stoic and upstanding, as she’s always been.

As I look back on it, I don’t think Dad would’ve minded the display. I 
don’t think he would’ve minded her letting go, cleansing herself by 
crying. Maybe it would’ve healed her.

Imagine that, Dana Katherine Scully, experiencing the cleansing release 
of tears.

Never. She’s too good for that. Too strong. And it’s only gotten worse 
since she started working with Him. Mulder. His name’s like a curse to 
me.  A plague, that’s seeped into every facet of my life, infested it, 
rotted it. He made a light, go out of Dana’s eyes. He’s distanced her, 
from the family. Dana swears it was her choice, nothing to do with him, 
that it’s her life, and none of my God damn business.

I think she’s in love with him, too.

God knows I *certainly* can’t let myself contemplate that one. Nor can I 
understand it. I look at him, and I see a loser. And obsessed, driven, 
insane, loser. She looks at him, and sees some kind of tarnished hero. A 
white knight, with a few dents in his armor. I know she sees the 
insanity. How could you miss it?  But she doesn’t fear it, like a normal 
person would. Hell no. She embraces it. Stands beside it. Respects it. 
Defends it. 

Believes in it.

How can you have faith, in insanity?

He’s moving now, reaching his hand over Emily, to Dana. It lands on her 
shoulder, and for the first time, I see her look up, her eyes meeting 
his.

What is so fucking special about him, that she’ll react, to *his* touch, 
and not Mom’s? Not mine. 

I feel my hand enclosed, by a much smaller, but far more steady, one. I 
look down slightly, Tara’s gentle presence infesting my soul. I offer 
her a tight smile, squeezing her hand back. My wife, so small, but so 
strong. She’s kept me from killing Mulder, a thousand times now.  I will 
never be able to repay her that debt. Because I know, if I actually 
killed him, Dana’d come after me, with a ferocity of a mother, 
protecting her young. 

It’s a sad state of affairs, indeed, when a man knows his sister would 
choose another man over him. 

"Scully."

That’s another thing. He can’t even call her by her first name. It’s 
Scully this, and Scully that. Sure, he tries to cover. He calls her 
Dana, when he’s speaking to others about her. When he’s speaking to me, 
as rare as that occasion is. But when speaking directly to her, it’s 
always Scully. Just like he’s always Mulder to her. Fuck, she instructed 
both Mom, Tara, and me, to call him Mulder, years before I’d ever laid 
eyes on him. 

"Scully."

Again. Softer this time. I almost didn’t hear it. Wouldn’t have, if I 
hadn’t been watching the scene before me, so intently. There’s genuine 
agony in his voice. Sympathy. Love.

I ignore it, safe, secure in my beliefs. Mulder is bad. He doesn’t 
deserve to have my baby sister in his life. Doesn’t deserve to have her 
look at him, with those eyes she has, to smile at him, to save his ass, 
to give a shit about him. He doesn’t deserve any of it. 

"Scully, look at me." The voice is firm, as he rises, and moves, moving 
past Mom. Who the fuck does he think he is? Pushing Dana’s mother out of 
the way, so he can. . . . what? Tell her she has to let go of her dead 
daughter, so she can help him chase little green men, prove to the world 
he isn’t as insane, as everyone knows he is?

Not my sister buddy.

But before I can do anything, Mom has moved, letting him pass her, 
easily, looking almost grateful for his interference. Dana’s face is 
away from him, still focused on Emily. Eyes closed, I could almost 
deceive myself into believing she’s only sleeping. But I know better. We 
all do. 

Mulder leans over her, his position such, that I can see both their 
eyes. He moves further, almost, but not quite, obscuring his gaze from 
my vision, his entire being focused on Dana. "Scully," he whispers 
again, his hand returning to her shoulder, a million things I can’t 
begin to hear, or understand, spoken with the two syllables of the name, 
he calls her by. "Scully, you have to let her go."

"I can’t. Mulder, I can’t."

I feel my heart seize, then stop, inside my chest. I’ve never heard that 
much pain, that much hopelessness, in my sister’s voice. My heart goes 
out to her, so much, that I barely even feel the sting, that she 
responded to his voice, when she wouldn’t to mine, or Mom’s. 

"You have to," he tells her firmly, so firmly, I find myself agreeing 
with him. 

"But Mulder, how can I leave her?" she asks, and I hear the pleading, 
the desperation, in her voice.  "How can I leave my daughter?"

How can she leave her daughter?

It’s as simple as that. How can she? I couldn’t. I look down at Tara’s 
over-extended middle. If it were my child, I’d be bawling like a baby, 
clutching he or she tightly. Dana’s stronger than I am though. She had 
released Emily, shortly after the girl died. She’s just been lying 
there, facing her, watching her, almost as though willing life back into 
the little body. 

And then, Mulder does the damnedest thing.  He moves a hand to her chin, 
and forcibly turns her head, to look up at him. I can only see their 
profiles now. I expect her to hit him, for daring to turn her head. 
Instead, she just stares at him, silently, almost waiting for him to 
give her permission to react. 

"She isn’t here anymore, Scully," he tells her, his voice quiet, 
intense, so much so, that once again, I’m inclined to believe him.

Jesus, is that how she’s drawn into his delusions? Does he hypnotize her 
with his voice.

"She isn’t here anymore," he repeats again, his eyes flickering to the 
lifeless little body, beside Scully. Her eyes follow his line of vision, 
focusing once again on Emily. I am almost shocked to see her lower lip 
tremble, ever so slightly, her face beginning to contort in pain.

"She’s here," he continues, still quiet, still intense, a wealth of 
emotion, and affection for her, in his voice, as he moves a hand to her 
chest, placing his palm over her heart. "And here," he adds, running the 
same hand to her temple, placing two fingers there, gently, almost as 
though taking her pulse. 

Dana’s breath hitches for a moment, and I see her eyes well up with 
tears. Still, she doesn’t allow them to spill over. Still, she persists 
in being strong, in not letting go. 

"It’s time to go Scully," he whispers, and I watch her control slip just 
a little bit more, his fingers staying at her temple, just barely 
stroking. "It’s time for you to leave this behind, and live your life, 
with her inside you. Not here, but with you. Always with you."

And she cracks. The first tear spills down her cheek, then another, then 
another. And he’s helping her sit up, sitting on the end of the bed, 
pulling her against him, her head on his shoulder, his hand stroking her 
hair, while she cries. Dana, my little sister, who’s never cried, not 
since she was eight years old, not in front of me, at any rate, begins 
softly, quietly crying, just holding him, the cries soon turning to 
sobs, then disappearing all together, the tears, just flowing, 
constantly. 

As I watch him hold her, I feel the jealousy begin. The hate. The 
contempt. He’s responsible for so much pain. So much death. And she 
loves him more. She chooses him, to be the one she lets her defenses 
down with, the one she clings to.

The one she heals with.

And then I push it away. I make myself forget who she’s letting hold 
her, who she’s letting be with her, who she’s healing with.

I focus on the fact that my baby sister, is healing.

~~~~

END