Title: Reasons For Living (1/1) Author: Samantha L. Caldwell Rating: G Category: Vignette/Angst Keywords: Post-ep Spoilers: up to "William" Summary: This is the absence of hope. Disclaimer: Their biological father was abusive, so I'm adopting them. Feedback: will be worshiped. A little encouragement is always *so* very appreciated! Send any and all comments to: sister_spooky@hotmail.com Archive: Sure, wherever, just please keep my name and e-mail, and it'd be nice if you'd let me know. Author's Notes: This is my first ever post-episode fic. I suppose I was never motivated to write a post-ep before now... but I just felt really sad after "William" aired and I realized that Scully had lost the two most important people in her life. I thought maybe writing this would help with my gloominess, and it did, so I figured I'd share it with all of you who felt the same. Also, I'm flying without a beta since I was trying to get this out quickly, so if it's unreadable or horrible, I'm sorry! Reasons for Living By: Samantha L. Caldwell You say this is living You feel so alive, Well, you know, everything dies I try to remember I try to remember When we weren't just running in place Reasons for Living by Duncan Sheik ~*~*~*~*~ I have survived many impossible situations. I have awakened from a coma after the doctors confirmed I had no chance. I have come within days of dying from a brain tumor. I have lost a child. I survived because of Mulder. I survived for Mulder. And then he was taken. I have knelt in the damp grass and touched the cold, still face of the one man who means the world to me. I have watched as that man was lowered into the frozen ground. I have buried my Mulder. I have said goodbye. I survived because of my baby. I survived for my baby. And then Mulder was returned. And when I again had to say goodbye, it was for them both that I survived. Through every hopeless situation I have ever been in, and for every time my life was cloaked in darkness, they have been the light. They were my strength and my faith. They are gone. I have survived many impossible situations. But it wasn't until this morning, when I kissed my child's soft forehead for the last time, that I finally understood what it is to be truly destitute. This is the absence of hope. ~*~*~*~*~ The shades are drawn tightly, the lights are off. Darkness permeates my bedroom, chilling the air. The streetlight is shining feebly somewhere down the road, seeping weakly through the shades and throwing veils of blue light across my bedspread and over the floor. I am listening for the soft sounds of my baby's even breathing on the monitor, still flicked to 'on'. The only thing I can hear is the irritating thudding of my heart in my ears. For a moment I worry that the monitor is broken. Then I laugh. God. I wish I could cry. I'm curled up under these heavy blankets with my suit on. Black blazer, white tank, black skirt, black nylons. I did manage to kick off my black pumps before I crawled up here, though. I know I'm ruining this outfit. I wish I cared. I haven't worn this suit for the longest time. Not since just after Emily. I laugh again. This must be my 'losing children' suit. I wanted to wear something nice when the lady from the agency came to pick up my baby. My baby. No. Not anymore. I wish I had something to drink. Something thick and bitter. Something that would sting sliding down my throat. Being drunk would feel so nice right now. Or... maybe it wouldn't. I can't see how anything could feel nice right now. I know I'll have to get up tomorrow. I have a class at 9:00. But until then I will indulge in these moments of stillness, when I don't have to think about how I'll never feel his warm weight in my arms again, or how I'll never see his first day of school, or his graduation, or hear him say "Mamma...". I will sit here, in my dark, cold bed, where I don't have to feel grateful when Monica offers teary hugs of sympathy, where I don't have to feel happy because I'm still alive and healthy, where I don't have to feel empty because I am utterly alone, where I don't have to feel anything but tired. And I'm so tired. I wish I could sleep. There's a noise now. A soft thudding. Desperate hope flares in my chest before I realize that it's only someone at the door. There will be no more soft noises in the night. I gave my baby away. The thudding is getting louder, but I have no real intention of getting up. Whoever it is can come back when I'm not dying. "Dana? Dana, sweetheart, open the door. It's Mom. Dana!" Oh. It's Mom. Slowly, on shaky legs, I rise. I avoid the mirror in the hallway as I pass it. I know I look bad. My mascara must be smudged under my eyes, my hair a tangled mess, my clothes wrinkled. I could at least pass a hand through my hair to straighten it. But I don't. "Dana," my mother breathes, in what could be classified as relief, when I open the door. "You're home." I nod, and she follows me inside. "What are you doing here, Mom? It's late." I know I should be grateful for her company, for her concern. But I'm having a hard time being anything at all. She looks at her watch. "Honey, it's only eight o'clock." "Oh." Time flies when you're having fun. I guess it slows to a crawl when you're not. "How are you feeling?" She asks as she makes her way into the kitchen and opens the cupboard, looking for tea. She turns to look at me, appraising my condition. "You look a little tired." "I'm fine, Mom." I sit heavily at the kitchen table, picking an apple from the fruit bowl and twirling the stem until it snaps off. She finds the tea and puts the water on to boil. Then she sits across from me. "Dana," she says gently, yet pointedly. "It's normal to feel depressed right now." "Normal..." I almost snort. "What's normal." It's not a question. Giving up the one thing that makes your life worth living, the one tiny person who means the most to you, because you can't save him from the stuff that goes bump-in-the-night isn't normal. "Normal," my mother tells me, "Is what you gave your son." I nod slowly, still staring at the apple I won't eat, avoiding her eyes. I'm still not sure if she believes I made the right decision or not, but I know she supports me either way. I know she is there for me. She's a good mother. She reaches across the table to lay her hand over mine. I start to cry just as the kettle begins to sing. The warm tears actually feel good against my cheeks. I don't bother to wipe them away, and they fall, splashing onto the smooth surface of the table soundlessly. There is a small toy sitting on the table beside the fruit bowl, a little plush dog that Skinner bought William just after he was born, and I pick it up, cradling the tiny thing in my hands. When she has fixed the tea, my mom places a mug of it in front of me, hands me a few tissues, and sits down again. "I know this is breaking your heart, honey. It's breaking mine too. But we'll get through this together. It'll be okay." I feel bad for her. She's spent so much time with William. She loves him more than life. I know this is killing her, too. But... he wasn't her only grandchild. He wasn't her last chance at happiness. He wasn't her miracle. He was mine. I shake my head, breathing deeply to control my voice through the tears. "I have nothing, Mom." My voice is hoarse and strained. "That's not true, Dana." "I have nothing left. The X-files aren't mine to care for anymore. William is gone. Mulder is gone." She stands up again, this time to come stand beside me. She bends slightly, stroking my tangled hair gently before she pulls me towards her and wraps her arms around me. "You don't know that." "I don't see how he could be okay. I don't know how he could be alive and not... not with me. He's been gone for so long, Mom." "Just because he's not here doesn't mean he's gone forever," she soothes softly. "You know better than I do all of the things that could have happened. Maybe he simply can't come home right now. Maybe he's trying to get home. Maybe... maybe he's already half way here." She pulls away so that she can look me in the eyes. "You can't loose hope, Dana. Fox is strong. We both know that." I feel myself nodding slowly. She's right. She is absolutely right. If there is any way, any possible way that Mulder could get back to me, he will find it. I have to help him find it. "Thank you," I whisper to my mother, squeezing her hands between my own before I pull away from her gently, drink down my tea in two gulps, and hurry to my bedroom. My mom follows me, staring in awe and confusion as I throw open my suitcase and start filling it with clothes. "Dana? What where are you going?" I cease my frenzied packing for a moment. I take a deep breath and then look up into my bedroom mirror, where I meet her eyes. I look bad. I really do. But I don't look... dead. And when I speak, when I answer my mother's worried question, my voice is strong and I feel more alive than I ever thought I would again. "I'm going to find Mulder." Before I close the suitcase, I place the one toy of my son's that I know I will always keep, on top of the pile of clothes. It's a small rag doll, her dress yellowed slightly with age, her stitching beginning to come apart where she was well-loved and well-hugged by the little girl who started it all. As I finger the doll's soft yarn hair, I am suddenly aware of the warm, tingly feeling swelling deep within my chest. This is hope. ~Finis~ ~*~*~*~*~ Did ya like it? Even a little? Let me know at sister_spooky@hotmail.com