Title: Aeschylus' Wisdom Author: Evie Whiting Address: fishadam@hotmail.com Keywords: MSR, Scullyangst, religious undertones ( flee now if you hate anything to do with organised religion, even though this is a fleeting mention) Rating: R ( for language) Archive: Yes Please but do let me know Feedback: If you needed a liver and you'd sent me some feedback, I'd consider it a fair exchange Spoilers: Good general knowledge required,tiny one for HAD, also knowledge of Season 8 required. Author's Notes: I feel deeply about the way the writers(the show's might I add, not fanfic authors) are showing Scully dealing with Mulder's abduction. Yes I know in the show, Scully seems to have no problem with Dog, but in my version she has 'issues' with the whole set up. If you do not like Dog-bashing or even a bit of Skinner bashing, I suggest you do not read this. Also the fragment of the sermon I've used is real. I heard this at my Midnight Mass. Frankly I wish I could have written more, but to be brutally honest I've forgotten quite a bit *Hanging my head in shame*. Dedication: To Sarah, who gets an ear bashing each time we mention the Dog. This is my attempt to get it all out of my system. To Fish, always to Fish. And to my curveballs. Summary: Something's got to give. You would have recognized the warning signs. But then you had a seven year edge. My fault again really. You only became so proficient because I'd never let you know myself. You would have known classic Scully-in-Denial mode is always a precursor to whatever is brewing. The calm before the storm so to speak. They didn't have a clue. Maybe Skinner had a clue, but I think it eased his guilt to turn a blind eye. I'm not sure what the proverbial straw was. Maybe it was when I realized someone had replaced your chair for one which wasn't booby-trapped. Maybe it was Doggett calmly putting his hand on your spot. Or maybe it was just necessary for me to let go, to let them know I was not fine, and cannot be 'fine' till I have you back. It started as any other day. Correction. It started as any other day had, since the day I saw you off on that plane to Oregon. I woke up, I threw up, I refused to look myself in the eye, even if it was just to see my reflection. I donned my Donna Karen and Clinique suit of armor, forced myself to eat a breakfast I didn't want, then headed to work. The office was empty, and so for a few minutes I indulged myself in my newest hobby. Pretending you're not gone. I'm a champion at it already. But since denial has always been my forte, you could imagine it was an easy skill for me to acquire and cling to. Who said the safety blankets I wrap around me are healthy? I'm not sure how long this latest bout could have gone for. The longest I've ever managed was about half an hour. I convinced myself so well in fact, the game only came to an end when I tried to ring your cell phone. Still not too sure how to explain away my cell being smashed beyond repair, when I wasn't even on a case. This fantasy ended when I looked at your desk and saw your nameplate missing. I've been shot in the stomach but it hurt less than seeing that blank spot. It was obscene somehow, the fake grain of the wood, shiny and dust- free. An implicit accusation. Silent in it's reprimand, yet loud enough for me to turn my face in shame. I'm not sure, but I don't think I would have recreated Chernobyl if Doggett hadn't come striding in to the office just then. His brusqueness is just part of his nature, but at that point it was just too much. His presence, the lack of yours, everyone -including me- acting as if your disappearance hadn't happened, or even worse, as if you had never existed, grated my numbed soul into awareness . I could feel my chrysalis of denial melting around me. Blocking out Doggett's voice, I looked, really looked, at the office, our office. Only it wasn't ours anymore. You chair had been changed. The pencils were on the desk, not lodged in the ceiling. There was another desk, which had a nameplate on it. It looked like any other office in this goddamn cinderblock. I hated it, with a force which even then frightened me, and I hated Doggett with this same force. I hated him for his very presence in the room. I hated him because he was there and you weren't. I know it wasn't logical, but you know something, fuck logic. Don't think my Awakening made everyone sit up and notice. Far from it. No, this all happened while I was being hustled unceremoniously up to Skinner's office. Doggett buzzing around me, droning on about ...something. Just then, he bore a distinct resemblance to a bee, And you know how I feel about bees. In retrospect, an AD's outer office was probably not the best place to put to rest all the Ice Queen rumors, but I really didn't think about that. I didn't think at all. It was his hand on me that did it. God that sounds so lewd. Let me clarify. It was Doggett's hand just above my left hip, steering me imperiously into Skinner's office, that finally got the reaction everyone had been expecting of me since you first disappeared. I growled at him, Mulder. I literally growled. A feral, inhuman noise. Doggett was so shocked he just stood there, his fucking hand still pressed up against my hip. "Don't do that again. Ever." My words were jagged shards of glass. "What?" "Keep your hands off me. I might have to deal with you as my 'partner', but I will not tolerate you touching me again. Agent. " I spat at him. He recoiled instinctively. Thank god his instincts are better than his profiling skills. "Scully." Skinner barked from behind us. I swung around, Doggett looked distinctly relieved. "Yes?" I bit out. "Scully," he began again, modifying his tone, as they taught in Negotiating With Pscyhos 101 " Scully, you're being irrational." It was his eyes which shattered the remnants of my self-control. Pity was mixed in there, with a good dose of condescension to boot. Not even when we told him about my cancer did he look at me like that. "Turning into Mulder isn't going to help anyone." He was sorry the minute he said it. Through my rage even I could see that. It didn't matter. My fist had already made a satisfying crunch against his cheek. "Fuck you. Sir." I enunciated clearly. Only on my way out of Skinner's office did I see several agents gaping. A considerable crowd had gathered to watch the fireworks. Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure I didn't attempt to try and keep my voice down. Lots of them either made some money or lost a whole lot, depending on which pool they were part of. I liked the throbbing ache in my left hand. All of a sudden that theory about stubbing your toe to forget about a headache made a lot more sense. While I tried to figure out whether or not I'd damaged the delicate bone structure, I didn't have to think of the festering wound Skinner had just made worse. I didn't bother going down to the office, just headed straight for my car, and drove home. Your fish definitely looked eager, when I headed over to feed them I know they're only meant to have a three second memory span, but lately I've taken to hoping, somewhere in their fishy consciousness they recognize me. I need someone to recognize me, Mulder. Exhaustion is a factor you quickly learn to deal with when you're pregnant, but what I felt went beyond the usual brand of tiredness. Emotional Awakenings do that to you every time. Last time though, I fell asleep with your voice as a lullaby. Now, I made do with the burbling of your fish tank. I've been afraid to go to sleep since you left, Mulder. I keep having dreams. No, not dreams, visions, premonitions. Sleep was the only time my iron grip on Denial got loose. I'd wake screaming silently, cursing myself for not going with you, cursing Skinner for ever letting Krycek near you and even cursing you. Especially cursing you. Cursing you for your secrets. For not telling me about your illness, for all those cryptic sentences you'd throw around about "the dead being everywhere", and cursing myself for not figuring it out. Then I'd go back to railing at myself some more and so it would continue in an endless circle, like the tattoo on my back. This time, the dream was different. Hardly a dream at all. More like one of those damn slide shows you love to show me, only with sound. I was back at Midnight Mass, with my priest giving the homily. I went to Mass this year, more out of something to do than any religious obligation. But I think my subconscious must have been listening, since my dream contained some of his sermon, practically verbatim. " We are all made up of the dust of stars. The very red of our blood is iron billions of years old." The next slide clicked into place, and you were standing over me, watching me sleep on your couch. You bent down, stroked my hair, kissed my cheek and slowly faded into the black of your apartment. I woke, not suddenly for once, finding the ache in my heart somehow lightened. It was still there, but it didn't crush me anymore. The cold which has constantly enveloped me, had dissipated. The dream warmed my very blood and for the first time since that day I saw you off, I don't feel disconnected from you. I can feel you, in me. Not just in the baby, but in my very blood. Our blood has been together from the very beginning of time. And somehow, I've regained my faith. Faith in you, faith in myself, and faith that you will return to me soon A fragment of your favourite poet Aeschylus came to mind; "In our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God." It's a day of 'firsts'. After my shower, I deliberately scrutinized myself in your bathroom mirror. My eyes were sadder, I looked tired, and I definitely needed some good sun, but you know something, I recognized myself. That haunted, broken woman, who so terrified me, was gone. Dana Scully gazed steadily back, for the first time in a long time. Friend, lover, partner... mother.