Title: Maggie's Tale

Author:  MystPhile@aol.com

Distribution:  Gossamer, Ephemeral, Spooky, Xemplary, yes.  

Others, please inform.

SUMMARY:  Maggie (Daniel's daughter in all things) reveals what 

young Dana Scully was like.  Also includes the missing Maggie/Scully 

conversation.

Category:  V, Post-ep

Rating:  PG-13

Spoilers:  all things

Disclaimer:  Property of 1013

Feedback:  Welcome at MystPhile@aol.com

NOTE:   This is an unusual story for me.  If you read it, I'd like to 

know what you think.

WEBPAGE:  Thanks to Beaker:  http://members.xoom.com/MystPhile/

And many thanks to Galia:     http://galias.webprovider.com/mystphile.htm

And at Xemplary

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Most sixteen year olds are oblivious to anything not directly

in front of their noses.  Our hormones blind us at that age, them 

and our natural selfishness as we take center stage in our 

version of the universe.  But I think I must have been a 

particularly dense case.

Before "it" happened, I loved being sixteen.  It was all so totally 

absorbing---wondering if Joe Wentworth was going to ask me out 

again, considering how far we would go, thinking that if I 

married him, some fine day, I wouldn't even have to change my 

initials.  Chattering with my friends, being a part of the right 

crowd, in my case, the artistes, the ones who wore scruffy 

clothes, uncombed hair, and boots, always boots.  I don't think 

I even owned a skirt that year.

I was president of the film club, my big love in life (after Joe 

Wentworth).  I thought Bogie was the coolest guy who'd ever 

walked this earth.  I even sneaked unfiltered cigarettes and let 

them hang from my lower lip, frantically chewing gum before 

entering the house, where I knew my dad would kill me if he 

caught a whiff.

No, that's wishful thinking, one of the ideas I'm finally 

letting go.  Let's face it.  I could have walked into that house 

nude, with Joe Wentworth attached to my left tit, and Dad would 

have said, "How's it going, Mag," as he trotted out of the house 

to his latest emergency.  I doubt he knew that I was president 

of the film club or that I was practicing a whole hell of a lot 

that year to perform Mozart's clarinet concerto with the 

orchestra.  He wouldn't have known that I had three poems 

published in the literary magazine, or that in an effort to 

appear well-rounded for the college admissions process, I had 

taken up both track and field hockey.  I'd even joined the 

fucking chess club and fed the hungry in my four spare minutes a 

week.

I was, of course, also involved in keeping my grades up and 

scheduling a sufficient number of AP courses to impress the 

college admissions officers.  No wonder, in retrospect, my life 

fell apart before I realized it was in danger.  I was blind and 

Dad was treacherous.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Dana looked like an angel then.  Oddly, she was one of the few 

of Dad's protges who took an interest in me.  No.  It is not 

odd.  I must get realistic about this, take off the blinders and 

face facts.  And the fact is that most of the students he 

brought home could read him damned well---well enough to know 

that they would succeed by adoring and impressing him, kissing 

his ass with sufficient fervor, not by faking an interest in his 

ill-groomed, surly daughter.  But Dana was different.

She still looks good, I have to admit.  But then----her face was 

smooth and freshly pressed, her skin so smooth and satiny, you 

wanted to reach out and touch it to see if it were silk.  Her 

eyes were the brightest blue I have ever seen.  No sky could 

rival the warmth of the genuine interest that shone there.  Her 

hair was long and flaming, cascading over her shoulders like an 

unruly waterfall.  I think when she had time, she straightened 

it, but med students don't have much time, so she went natural.  

Like me, she didn't pay much attention to her clothes, either.  

Just made sure she was wearing good, comfortable shoes.  Nothing 

would have dimmed her beauty anyway---without makeup or 

elaborate grooming, even in scrubs, she was the most beautiful 

woman I had ever seen.

And the nicest, of the older women I knew.  Dad's other med 

students treated me like wallpaper.  Mom, of course, took a keen 

interest in me, all too keen and judgmental, I thought, in those 

days.  Same thing with my relatives.  But Dana actually noticed 

me and appeared to have a genuine interest.  Instead of fawning 

over Dad when she came to dinner at our house, she asked if she 

could see my room.  She asked about the posters on my wall, 

noticed all the shots from old films.  I opened up to her, told 

her how I really wanted to become a film maker, despite 

everyone's expectation that I would automatically go on to med 

school.

She nodded when I explained.  "My family really wanted this for 

me," she said.  "I know exactly what you're saying."

"And you're happy that you went ahead with this career?"

She thought for a moment, her beautiful face serene. "So far," 

she said, but her voice seemed to lack conviction.  I took away 

the impression (if I could spare enough attention to anyone else 

in those days) that she was not as ecstatic as the others, 

gathered downstairs at Dad's feet, licking away.  Her face 

reminded me of Ingrid Bergman's at the end of Casablanca---so 

sober, so beautiful, so to-die-for.  I remember thinking that if 

I were so inclined, I would fall for her right then and there.  

I don't know why I thought (if I was thinking at all) that my 

Dad would be any different.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

I was very slow on the uptake.  Dana showed up more and more 

frequently at our dinner table, even after graduation.  She was 

invariably beautiful and charming and often I was content just 

to watch the play of expression across her face.  I had a crush.  

One night, as she came back into the room after taking a phone 

call, I was astounded to see Dad leap up and rush over to seat 

her.  I shot a glance at Mom.  She looked pale and shaken.

Later, I asked Mom if she was okay.  This, I now understand, was 

a major move on my part since I'm convinced that it would have 

taken an earthquake to draw my attention away from myself in 

those days.  Poor Mom could have staggered around the house with 

an arrow sticking out of her boob without my noticing.  So, she 

must have looked really, really bad.  She didn't answer my question.  

I guess she wasn't okay at all.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Dana appeared no more.  I did not lay eyes on her for over ten 

years.  That meal was the last time I remember dining with my 

family in the normal way, when I could shovel in my food and 

push back my greasy hair with no thought of tensions eddying 

around our table.  The atmosphere in our house grew so tense 

that even I noticed it.  Mom grew thin and somber.  Dad was 

absent virtually all the time.  Sometimes I wondered if he was 

living with us at all.  Then, he wasn't.

By the time I was seventeen, he had moved out, and I felt 

abandoned.  I don't know why, really, when he'd never been there 

anyway, in the conventional sense.  Hell, I doubt he could tell 

you my birthday without prompting.  But at least, before, he was 

always rushing out of the house to go save someone's life, a man 

with a noble calling.  The house had been so full of adoring 

students and colleagues that I had bought into that image---he 

was the Healer.  If he didn't know what instrument I played 

or that I'd scored a goal or written a poem, at least it was 

because someone else's life depended on it.

Now came the dark time.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Why did he leave, I asked my skeletal mother, involved in 

selling the house and pinning a grotesque smile on her face for 

her friends, who'd always expected Dad to move on, it seems.  

Important medical men did not make it a habit to keep their 

tired old wives; they tended to trade up.  No one had told me 

or, apparently, Mom. 

She busied herself putting china away, her face averted.  

"Through the years," she said, "he's become infatuated with his 

students from time to time.  They're young and they treat him 

like a god.  Usually," she sighed, "it blows over.  This time 

he's decided that. . . that he really wants to be free."

"Which one is it?"  I held my breath.  I felt like hiding under 

the table.

She turned to face me.  "You know."

Of course I knew.  She's the one that I would have left my 

family for as well.  I would have followed her anywhere.  She 

was, as they used to say about fairy princesses, as beautiful 

as she was good.  Her goodness, now, was in question.  In my 

mind, she became the quintessential Homewrecker, the thief who 

had stolen my (already absent) father from his household.  The 

woman who had shrunk my mother to Concentration Camp-victim 

weight, who had etched dark circles beneath her eyes, which 

often swam  with involuntary tears.  The princess had stolen 

Mom's confidence and buoyancy along with her husband.

And she stole my youth, my innocence.

Never again would I fully trust.  I have not been able to be 

close to anyone for ten years now.  I was robbed.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< 

Drab years passed, my bitterness never glowing less brightly.  

It was like an angry furnace I kept stoked as I made my way through 

life.  It kept me going, kept me tough, kept me impervious to 

more pain.  It was my protective shield.

I was somewhat surprised that the Great Romance did not develop.  

The times I saw Dad through those years, after he relocated to 

the Northern Virginia-DC area, he gave no sign of being in 

contact with Dana.  Often, he had an even younger girl on his 

arm, the adoring eyes focused on him rather than on his bitter 

daughter.  I realized I was not attractive in either looks or 

personality, but I also had no desire to make myself attractive.  

That might, well, *attract* someone, and I didn't want to be 

drawn in and take a chance on being hurt.  It was as though I'd 

already filled my pain quota for life.

His leaving did relieve me of the necessity of arguing my way 

out of med school applications.  Instead, I did what I wanted, 

which was to attend film school at NYU and become a maker of 

obscure independent films.  I may not be a household name, but 

at least, I get to be in control---I call the shots, give the 

orders, and tell people when to come and when to go.  Suits me 

fine.

Mom moved to New York along with me but was smart enough to have 

me to dinner once a week and make a life for herself.  Within 

four years she remarried, a stockbroker who is also out of the 

house at all hours.  Once again, she gives the most splendid 

dinner parties.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

I don't know why I hopped a plane when Dad got the chest pains.  

Guess somewhere deep down I was flattered to be listed as next 

of kin.  I didn't feel any actual kinship until I arrived and 

saw him lying there, old and tired, the charisma and authority 

leeched away.

And then I heard her name.  Nemesis.  Dana Scully.  Shit.

I behaved badly, of course, reverting to my sixteen-year-old 

self.  She was the one who stole my daddy.  But little things 

kept coming out, adding up, shifting the picture.  She said 

she'd left to keep from making my life hell.  Did this mean that 

when he left home, he did *not* go to her?  He walked out at the 

mere prospect, or hope? 

She had changed too.  As I said, he looked old and powerless, 

even a bit pathetic, demanding that I call a woman he hadn't 

seen for ten years.  Still, he was puffed up at the prospect of 

having an interesting medical condition and being able to lord 

it over the other doctors and run his own treatment.  His 

arrogance had never truly deserted him.  But Dana was really, 

really different.

When she was young, no one had ever looked as glowing as she 

had.  Now she looked tired, and her manner had hardened.  Even 

her voice had lost its lively hum; she sounded exhausted.  I 

accused her of being too rational, of always thinking she knew 

the answers, but I don't think that was accurate.  Rather, she 

looked as if she would willingly *pay* for some answers out of her 

desperate need to know.  Know what?  The important things in her 

life, I guess.

I made a lot of accusations during those days.  I'd been caught 

in the past for ten long years and it certainly seemed a lot 

easier to yell at the woman who'd attracted Dad than to yell at 

the Great Man himself.  If I yelled at him, he might never love 

me!  Always, I wanted his love.  Always, I felt I could never be 

good enough, pretty enough, smart enough, anything enough, to 

deserve his attention, let alone his love.  He had snowed me as 

he had snowed the world, always cold and safe behind his medical 

barrier.  Until his heart betrayed him.  Why not?  His heart had 

certainly betrayed me.

Dana turned out to be more open than I thought.  Imagine, one of 

Dad's students importing a healer.  Cool.  I decided she was 

worth talking to, at that point.  I had taken her to my room, 

back in the old days, and opened my heart to her.  My heart had 

now been locked for so long that the key was rusty, but her 

gesture---bringing a healer who Dad, if he'd been awake, would 

have struck down in his tracks--- intrigued me.  I invited her 

back to my room.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

"I don't know what we have to say to each other, Maggie," she 

said.  "I never meant to hurt you.  I tried my damnedest to avoid it.  

Yet, here you are and I'm responsible.  I accept that responsibility.  

I'm sorry for . . . for all of it."  She waved her hand vaguely.  

"But there's no way I can undo it at this point."  Her face was 

calm as she leaned back in the armchair in my room and sipped a 

diet Coke.  The healing seemed to have done *her* some good, at 

least.  She was much more serene now than in the past day or 

two.  Or maybe it was because Hurricane Maggie had subsided.

"My life stopped at sixteen," I told her.  "I was never able to 

forgive, forget. . . go on."  I paused.  "I adored you, back 

then."

"And you thought I betrayed you," she finished.  "Yet, it wasn't 

till I talked to your dad in the hospital that I even knew that 

he'd left you and Barbara.  I walked away to prevent that 

happening, but as it turns out, it didn't save you any pain at 

all."

"It was ghastly."  It felt very strange to tell the truth after 

so many years.

She bowed her head.  The silence was not tense.  It stretched.  

She truly did seem healed.  All the pain and restlessness and 

doubt I'd seen in her face earlier were gone.  I think she could 

have sat in that chair forever, her eyes focused upon eternity 

like an Eastern statue.

"Dana?"

She looked up.

"Did you have an affair with him?"  I rushed on before she could 

rebuff me.  "I know it's none of my business, but it's something 

I need to know.  About him, really.  Not you."

She studied her hands.  Her voice was soft, like melting 

chocolate.  "I thought I was in love with him," she murmured.  

"A lot of the girls did.  He was remarkable, so magnetic and 

attractive.  A hero."  She sighed.  "I also knew he was married 

and I tried to keep a personal relationship from developing.  

But he was warm.  And so . . .  interested.  He'd ask about my 

family, my dreams, my aspirations.  It was so flattering that he 

seemed to care about me, young, insignificant me, as a person."

I was pissed as I contemplated Dad mining Dana's life for 

intimate detail while "forgetting" to attend the musical I 

directed.  Fucking bastard, I thought.  But she was continuing.

"He asked me out for meals.  Offered me rides.  Asked to come up 

for coffee when he dropped me at the apartment."  She paused.  

"I knew it was wrong.  I knew about you and Barbara and I knew 

that these gestures were crossing the line into . . . courtship, 

or wooing.  I couldn't rebuff someone that powerful in my life.  

I could not bring myself to tell him this was all wrong."

She paused to sip, still staring into the distance.  "I just . . 

. admired him so damned much, and he told me how brilliant I 

was, what a grand career I could have, how many lives I could 

save."  She met my eyes.  "Then, he shifted to the 'my wife 

doesn't understand me' line, how he'd been meaning for years to 

get a divorce and find someone more congenial.  He said I was 

that woman, the perfect woman for him.  We'd practice medicine 

together, save lives, talk every spare minute.  He said he loved 

me, that he would follow me to the ends of the earth.  Our lives 

would be full of healing and passion and excitement.  He said he 

wanted to be with me for all eternity.  I considered his offer 

very, very seriously."

She looked up.  "I wanted to believe," she confessed.  "But I 

wasn't comfortable with breaking up a marriage.  And of course I 

thought of you.  So, I decided, after a lot of agonizing 

thought, that the best thing for me was to change fields.  Which 

I did.  Which pissed him off inutterably, especially when I 

decided to go to work for the FBI.  He threw a tantrum fit for a 

four year old.  But I left anyway, despite his anger and 

ridicule."

I glared at her.  "You didn't answer my question."

She thought.  "Affair?  It depends on your definition.  Stolen 

kisses, frantic gropings in hallways, stuff like that.  One time 

in bed.  It . . . it brought me to my senses.  That. . . it 

wasn't me.  I had to remove myself before I got lost."

"That's the truth?"

She nodded.

"Maybe I can put it to rest," I said.  "I'd like it if he would 

live---now.  I'd like to get to know him as he really is, at 

this moment, not the man I thought he was, either the saint or 

the sinner."  I sighed.  "Do you think he can recover---or even 

wake up?"

She gave a slight shrug.  "It's really not in our hands."

"Are . . . are you," I paused, "happy now?  Did you put it all 

behind you?  Do you have someone?"

She met my eyes.  Suddenly, the blue of her youthful eyes shone 

out at me and years fell away from her face.  Her smile flashed, 

and once again, she was fairy-princess beautiful.

"I'm happier than I knew," she said, leaning toward me.  "Now 

it's behind.  Finally.  I thought it wasn't, but it is.  And, 

yes, I have someone."  

She set down her Coke and stopped to hug me on her way out.  "I 

hope he comes back, Maggie," she said softly.  "You want to talk 

to him, this time.  Open your heart.  Life is short."  The door 

closed behind her and I wished with all my heart that I would 

have a chance to know my dad as an adult.  With my eyes open.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

The next day, my wish came true.  

As Dana passed me on her way out, I knew she was now 

gone from my life, in all her forms.  As Homewrecker, as 

fairy princess, as my own adolescent crush, as the honest, 

healing woman she had become.  It was now time to 

make an honest woman out of me.

End

Feedback most welcome at MystPhile@aol.com.   Thanks for reading.