Scully struggles with her faith
Fox Mulder's Office
"All this because I didn't get you a desk?"
I looked him straight in the eye. "Not everything is about you, Mulder. This is my life."
"Yeah, but it's..."
I waited for him to continue, cocking my head slightly to encourage him to finish. But he didn't. Instead, he looked away, almost embarrassed.
I looked away as well, watching as my fingers fondled the dry rose petal I had left on his desk days earlier. Before Philadelphia. Before Ed. Why hadn't he thrown it away? Why had it still been sitting where I had left it, clearly in sight? Hell, while I was asking myself these questions, why had I left it there in the first place?
I was dying. Like that rose petal, I was slowly shriveling up and dying. But I couldn't tell Mulder this, not when I had no proof. Just a few severe headaches, a couple of bloody noses, and a cancer-eating madman telling me I had something he needed. What I needed to do was to make an appointment for an MRI. I had refused one in Philadelphia, though the ER doctor had wanted me to have one, if only to insure I had not received a concussion in my battle with Ed. I knew what they would find if they took those images, and it wouldn't be any bruising of the brain. I wasn't ready to accept it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
So instead, the doctor had requested I spend the night, under the watchful eye of other medical professionals. I had agreed, waking the next morning to find my room full of colorful balloons and a couple bouquets of flowers. The sight had made me smile, and my headache had flown away. The flowers were from my mother and AD Skinner, and the
balloons were from the Lone Gunmen. I had tried to keep my disappointment at finding nothing from Mulder under control. He was probably still on his soul-searching vacation, learning about himself; he probably didn't even know what had happened to me. Which was a good thing, since I could already hear his lecturing voice in my head, complaining how I should never had let myself get into the trouble I had found myself in last night. How I was smarter than that. How I could be dead right now and then where would he be? Just like a...
Father.
I hated that comparison, but I couldn't deny how true it was. In most instances, Mulder acted like a domineering big brother, and at times he acted like a spoiled child, expecting me to mother him through the rough times. At all times he was my friend, but it was the times when I found myself in dire striates without him that he became paternal, chastising me for my stupidity just like my father had years ago. This behavior had first appeared, ironically enough, shortly after the death of William Scully, when I had nearly gotten myself in too deep with one Luther Lee Boggs. Mulder had been angrier than I had ever
seen him when he had discovered how I had believed Boggs' psychic description of a crime scene and had investigated it by myself. I had been startled at the time, and secretly pleased. Mulder held himself so aloof from me, and it was nice to see I could create such strong emotion in him, negative though it was.
I have since learned to despise those emotional tantrums, however, and told myself I was pleased Mulder hadn't come to visit me at the hospital during my stay in Philadelphia.
Then I had learned that he had visited. He had been there to see both Ed Jerse and I. Jerse was under police guard in the burn unit, one floor above me. Mulder had been to my room, the nurse told me, but I had been asleep. He had not awakened me.
I don't know whether this made me angry or sad, or even if I felt anything anymore. Entering his office the next day, he had been his usual cool self. Well, maybe he was a little colder, a little more sarcastic. Make that a lot more. I wanted to feel anger at his words. I wanted to quench the hurt that slithered through me at his attitude; knowing deep inside he was only acting the way he was to keep his own hurt at my behavior from showing.
Not everything was about him. And yet, it was. Everything in my life, anyway. Even my brief 'fling' with Ed Jerse had been about him, though I would never admit it out loud. I had wanted to establish my independence from my partner, even though I had given in and done as he asked, going to Philadelphia. His incredulous response to the possibility that I might have a date had been the final straw. I wanted a life, a life separate from him.
Not only had that decision nearly gotten me killed, but it also brought about an astounding realization. I loved my partner. Almost as much as I hated him.
With a deep sigh, I stood from my chair, the painful silence of the office making my head ache. Carefully, I dropped the rose petal in the trashcan at the side of the desk, knowing Mulder was watching me. "I don't feel so good, Mulder," I said softly. "I think I'll take the
rest of the day off."
At any other time, had I said this, Mulder would immediately become concerned and ask after my well-being. But not today. Today, he knew it was just an excuse to be away from the office...away from him. Without looking at him, I turned on my heel and walked out of the office, proud I had managed to keep the tears that came so easily to my eyes these days at bay.
I was dying.
And it wasn't just from a cancer in my brain, but from a cancer of the heart.
*****
St. Boniface Catholic Church - Georgetown
I stared up at the cross that rose above the small church that sat on the corner of Madison and Alexander. It was tiny compared to several of the crosses that decorated other churches in the area, unassuming, like the church itself. I had often passed by it, curious about it, wondering how such a small church like this could thrive in the heavily populated area. There were many other churches, both Catholic and others, throughout the Georgetown area, all of them very modern and up-to-date. I had never attended any of them, though I had visited a few on occasion on cases. Whenever I attended Mass nowadays, I went with my mother to her church.
So, I'm not sure why I stopped at this little, forgotten chapel, its older architecture standing out among the much newer townhouses surrounding it. The sign out front said that Mass was held daily at 9 AM, and it was well past Noon now. Reconciliation was held before Mass, though I was sure I could speak with the priest directly if he wasn't busy. Did I want to? Did I feel the need? To what? Confess my fear of dying? Confess my dark and dangerous thoughts of late? Confess my lust for my partner?
No. I had no desire to talk to a priest, but I did feel like I had to face God. I looked up at the cross again, its metal surface shining despite the gray winter day. I knew just where I could find Him. Taking a deep breath, I headed for the door.
The woman walking out of the front doors was a stranger to me, but the tears running down her face caught my attention nonetheless. Startled, I watched as she rushed by me, wondering what on earth she was so upset about. Facing the church doors once again, with a little more trepidation this time, I proceeded forward.
The entryway was warm and comforting. And quiet. Churches always seemed to be quiet, even when there was noise. I often wondered how this was possible. Maybe I should go back to the office and ask Mulder if there was an X-File on the subject. The thought made me smile slightly and I moved through the entryway toward the main body of the church. I heard the soft voice of a man just before I reached the archway that led into the main chapel. A priest stood at the pulpit, and about thirty people sat in the pews listening to him intently. I was filled with confusion for a moment, but then I saw the casket sitting just off to the right of the altar. Suddenly, the woman's tears made sense. I had interrupted a funeral.
With downcast eyes, I made my way to the right of the chapel, quietly trying to steal my way toward the area beside the altar, where I instinctively knew I wanted to be. I felt a few curious eyes follow my progress, but the priest's voice never faltered and I never looked up. Finally, I was there.
It was another altar, different than the one the priest stood at. Several candles burned in front of it, and an old woman with a black, lacy veil on her head kneeled in front of the candles, praying. I swallowed nervously. It had been years since I had prayed in front of
the Blessed Sacrament, and I couldn't help but feel as if I wasn't welcome there anymore. And yet, I was drawn to it. Carefully, I moved forward, finding a place a few feet away from the old woman, and kneeled on the, thankfully cushioned, bench.
The priest's voice faded away. The presence of the woman beside me also faded. The faint smell of incense floated about me, drawing me deeper into myself. Or was it myself? If I were to believe everything I had been taught since I was a child, I was literally in the physical presence of Jesus. Maybe...maybe I was being drawn into Him.
To this day, I don't remember what I prayed. I don't remember what I thought. I couldn't prove to anyone that I ever received an answer, either, but when I was alerted to my surroundings once again, I was far calmer and much more peaceful than I had been upon arriving at the little church. I looked about me, noticing for the first time the ornate sculpture of Jesus that sat above the Blessed Sacrament. It was astoundingly beautiful, and I couldn't understand why I had not seen it when I had fist kneeled down. I frowned up at it, concentrating.
"You look confused."
I jumped at the voice off to my left and jerked my head around. The old woman was gone, as was the small congregation of people that had been at the funeral in the chapel just beyond. The gray-haired priest I had seen at the pulpit stood beside me now, his hands folded in front of him. His face was kind, his manner gentle.
"Not confused, really," I told him. "Just...a little amazed."
"Amazed?" he asked, his head tilting to the side in curiosity. "Amazed that God still recognized your presence?"
"How...?" I stopped, startled. "It has been a while," I confirmed softly.
"And why is that?"
I sighed and looked down at my hands, which were still folded in prayer in front of me. "I haven't exactly been leading the perfect Christian life lately."
I felt rather than saw the old priest smile. "That is when Mass, prayer and reconciliation are the most important. It helps ease the guilt."
I faced him again. "And if I refuse to change the way I live? What good does going to confession do if you don't plan on never again committing the sin you're being forgiven for in the first place?"
"And what great sin are you guilty of?"
I shook my head. "Telling you would only be making it real."
His eyebrows rose, his curiosity even stronger now. "Have you killed a person?" he asked, and then added before I could answer, "In anger? Not self-defense."
I had killed, but only in the line of duty. I shook my head.
"Have you stopped loving God? The people around you? Have you become a soulless individual who cannot feel guilt?"
Again, I shook my head.
"Jesus himself said that the greatest Commandment is to love God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. Then you shall love all mankind as you love yourself. If you obey these two Commandments, then the others are much easier to obey."
I grimaced, and I knew the look on my face must have shown him my skepticism.
"If you love God and believe in him, all other sins can be forgiven. Even murder."
So that was what he meant. I took a deep breath and looked back toward the Blessed Sacrament. "I do love Him. And I know He loves me. I just don't understand why He does the things he does." I looked back at the man next to me.
"Would life be as interesting as it is if we could understand everything?" The priest's creased face became even more wrinkled as he smiled.
I snorted. "Sometimes I wish my life was a little less 'interesting'."
"You may think that now," he said in response. "But you would regret it in the future." He stood straighter. "I'll leave you to your prayers now, but if you need to talk more, my door is always open." He glanced at the altar. "I have a feeling the answers you're looking for
may not be here." He looked back at me. "Prayer will give you the strength to find them, however. God bless." He turned to the Blessed Sacrament, genuflected and crossed himself, then turned away.
I heard his footsteps become fainter and fainter as I faced the altar once more. I closed my eyes and bowed my head, the familiar words of a prayer I had avoided for the last several years running through my head. Before I knew it, I was reciting the prayer out loud.
"Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee. Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of-" I stopped suddenly, my heart contracting as a stabbing pain hit me behind my left eye. I barely suppressed a moan as I
reached up with my hand to massage the area next to my eye. It didn't help.
I looked up at the icon above me once more. The priest was right, I wasn't going to find any answers here. With a sigh, I stood, wincing as the pain sharpened. It was time to see a doctor. The science of medicine, my real religion, was my only hope now.
*****
The Next Day-Fox Mulder's Office
My appointment was scheduled for nine a.m., so I had come in early to finish up my report on the incident in Philadelphia. The pain in my head was an almost constant companion now, and early this morning I had had another bloody nose. Anti-inflammatories and pain killers
would help, I knew, but I needed to know what it was that was causing the pain and pressure first. Not that I didn't already know. I just needed proof.
Mulder walked in, stopping suddenly when he saw me typing away at his computer. I glanced at him, recognized the wariness in his eyes, and then turned back to the monitor in front of me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him move closer, his movements almost cautious. A part of me wanted to smile. The part that was dying.
"I've got a doctor's appointment in an hour," I said instead. "I should be finished with this in a few minutes."
"Take your time," he told me, seating himself in one of the chairs opposite his desk. "I've got a few files to go over anyway." He set said files on the desk top, picked one up, then leaned back and began to read. I continued on with my typing, but wasn't surprised when he asked, "Why?"
I looked up and over at him. The wariness had been replaced by concern. I would have preferred the wariness. "I've been having some headaches lately," I told him as nonchalantly as I could. "I figured I better get them checked out."
"Since Philadelphia?" he asked.
"No," I said quietly. "I've had them off and on for a month or so." Before Leonard Betts' statement not so long ago, I had just figured the symptoms had been due to a sinus infection and had ignored them. Betts had made sure I couldn't ignore it any longer.
"Why didn't you let the doctors in Philadelphia check them out?" he continued, not ready to drop the subject. He was just like a dog with a bone. "I noticed you had refused an MRI."
I shrugged, finishing the last line on my report and clicking the mouse to print it. "I wanted to go to someone I know." I did know more doctors here in D.C., if only from working with them in the past.
Mulder was silent as I took the printed report and signed it. I looked up to find him staring at me intensely, his hazel eyes unreadable for once. I hated it when he hid his emotions like that.
"What?"
"Did you find what you were looking for at St. Boniface yesterday?"
I stood slowly, as if preparing for a quick escape, but shock held me silent for a moment. "You followed me?" I asked incredulously.
"You didn't look well when you left here," he said with a shrug. "I was worried."
I didn't know whether to be angry or touched. Sadly, it was easier to be the former. "Thanks, Dad," I said sarcastically.
He had the grace to look embarrassed. "You have to admit," he continued doggedly. "You haven't been yourself for a while-"
"Whoa!" I nearly shouted. "Just how do you know?" I demanded. "You think you know me that well?"
His eyes never left mine. "Yes."
I was shaken by his confidence. I felt my whole body, which had tensed at his entrance, wilt. I took a deep breath, gathering my emotions close to me, hiding them. "No, I didn't find what I was looking for."
"I'm sorry." He seemed sincere. "I know how much your faith means to you."
"Really?" I challenged, letting my anger turn to ice. "Could have fooled me." We had butted heads more than once in the past over the validity of the Christian faith. From the beginning of our partnership, Mulder had never hidden the fact that he held little respect for Christianity. Which only served to confuse me, because he knew the bible better than I did. Maybe it was true that you learned to hate that which you knew best. I often wondered if he hadn't been raised to worship Jesus, as I had been, but had become disillusioned after Samantha's abduction.
He didn't back down. "We all have our fai-"
I held up my hand and interrupted him. "Please, save me from your excuses and arguments, Mulder. I'm not in the mood." I opened my briefcase, tucking the report inside. "And if I don't leave now, I'll be late." Grabbing the briefcase, I walked around the desk and toward
the door.
"Scully?"
I stopped and faced him, my eyebrows raised in question.
"I hope everything's okay."
I felt the tears gather in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I nodded sharply at him, then turned and left, still angry. Only I wasn't sure what I was really angry about: His disregard for Christianity, or my fear that I, too, had lost my faith.
*****
Ten Months Later-Trinity Hospital
I lay back against my pillows, silently picking at a loose thread in the bedspread covering me, waiting. My mind was far from quiet, however, as I ran the recent conversation with Doctor Zukerman over and over in my head. All my life I had believed in the possibility of
a miracle, but now that I needed one of my own, I had refused to allow myself to pray for it. Did I not find myself worthy? I did I simply stop believing? Dr. Zukerman believed, though he had admitted he would never call anything he had witnessed a miracle. I supposed it was harder for people of science, doctors especially, to admit in the possibilities of anything paranormal. Was that my problem, then?
Another recent conversation came to mind, one I had had with Mulder not so long ago. "If someone could prove to you the existence of God, would it change you?" he had asked me.
"Only if it had been disproven," I had responded. Faith didn't need proof. Mulder, of all people, should have understood that. He believed without proof. He believed without question. Just as I had, once upon a time. So, what had happened?
The door to my room opened, and I turned to face my mother.
"Dana? Dr. Zukerman called. He uh... He said you wanted to see me?"
I looked at my her as she entered the room, concern and worry evident in her eyes, though she was trying to hide it from me by avoiding my gaze. It made the ache in my body intensify, watching her pain. It was bad enough that I knew I was near death's door, it was worse watching those I loved watch me die.
The tears that came so easily of late began falling once more, and in response my mom moved quickly over to the bed, enfolding me in her arms. I hugged her tight, as a drowning woman would hold onto a life preserver.
"I'm so sorry," I moaned, feeling her tense. "I fight and I fight and I fight... but I'm so stupid."
She pulled back slightly. "What? What is it?"
Taking a deep breath, I tried to explain. "I've come so far in my life on simple faith, but when I need it the most, I just push it away." My tears were still falling, making it hard to talk. I hated to cry, but I couldn't seem to stop. "I mean why...why do I wear this?" I grasped the tiny cross that hung around my neck and lifted it up to her view. "Why do I wear this, Mom?" I dropped it, continuing to verbalize my confused thoughts. "I put something I don't even know or understand under the skin of my neck. I will subject myself to these crazy treatments, and I keep telling myself that I'm doing all that I can, but it's a lie!" I was almost yelling my frustration now.
"You have not lost your faith, Dana." Her voice was steady now, firm.
"But I have," I argued. "In a way." I paused, remembering a moment only a few short days ago. "When you asked Father McCue to dinner to administer to my faith, I just closed off to him." I clearly remembered my words to him, lies telling him that I hadn't felt the need for prayer. Telling him I had strength from another source. That part, at least, hadn't been a lie. Mulder was my strength.
But I now knew that not even Mulder was strong enough to beat this.
"What's important now is that you save your energy." She was trying to comfort me, not understanding what I was saying. I wasn't sure I understood it myself.
"I'm not getting better, Mom."
"You don't know that-"
"Yeah," I told her. "The PET scan shows no improvement."
Mom didn't even try to hold back the fear now. With a sob, she pulled me close, and I let her, taking what little comfort her embrace gave.
"I know you're afraid," she said through her tears. "I know you're afraid to tell me...but you have to tell someone."
*****
The Next Day
"Good morning."
I looked over at Mulder, surprise mingling with the delight I felt at his presence. "What are you doing here?" I demanded. "You have a hearing."
"Yeah," he said, sitting down on the bed at my side. "I came by last night, but I...I didn't have the heart to wake you."
It appeared he liked doing that, visiting me in the hospital while I was sleeping. "Came by for what?" His eyes, I noticed, were shifting. As if he was afraid I would see into his soul if he let me look into them. "Mulder, what is it?"
"I was lost last night," he started. "But as I stood here, I thought I'd found my way." He took a deep breath. "I've been...ah...I've been offered a deal, a deal that could save my life in a way. And though I'd refused the deal earlier, I left here last night with my mind made up to take it."
"A deal with who?"
He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I'm not taking the deal. I'm not taking any deal. Not after what happened this morning."
"What happened this morning?"
"Section Chief Blevins directed me to implicate Skinner, to name him as the man inside in the FBI, who may have deceived us both. And if I name him, they'll protect me." He spat out the last sentence as if the very words he spoke were poison. I knew how much he had come to trust Skinner in the last few months, and I assumed he had a reason for it, but Mulder had been deceived by friends before.
"Are you going to name him?"
"No."
The tears I had finally managed to control last night threatened once again. "Then they'll prosecute you."
This really didn't seem to bother him. "Yeah. They have evidence against me. They know I killed that man."
Though I knew it was hopeless, I tried once more to convince him of the plan I had decided on several days earlier. "Mulder, even with the ballistics evidence, I could still be the shooter."
He shook his head vehemently. "Scully, I can't let you take the blame. Because of your brother, because of your mother," he paused. "And because I couldn't live with it. To live the lie, you have to believe it. Like these men who deceive us, who gave you this disease." He paused, his hazel eyes dark with intensity. "We all have our faith," he said, repeating what he had once tried to tell me so long ago. "And mine is in the truth."
Somehow, his words comforted me. "Then why'd you come here if you'd already made up your mind?"
My heart did a girlish flutter as his rare but beautiful smile appeared. "Because I knew you'd talk me out of it if I was making a mistake," he said with a laugh.
I smiled through the pain, both physical and emotional. What would become of him after I was gone? I could only pray he would go on...
Father McCue entered the room, his expression slightly wary as he spied Mulder. I had no idea what my mother, or more importantly, my brother had told him, but at that moment I didn't care.
I reached for Mulder's hand and squeezed it. "You'll be in my prayers," I whispered.
Mulder leaned in towards me. "Have the Father say a few Hail Mulders for me," he said softly, kissing me carefully on the cheek. His gentleness and his humor were my undoing, and the tears began to fall. He backed away slowly, but I didn't let go of his hand. I couldn't.
Stay with me...
Don't go...
I don't want to die alone...
Mulder, I love you...
The words in my head never left my mouth. His hand slipped from mine, and with regret shining in his eyes, he left the room.
Father McCue came forward and gave me a sad smile. "Dana?"
I took a deep breath, wiping the tears from my cheeks. I had asked Mom to let the Father know I wanted to speak with him. The Anointing of the Sick was allowed for any member of the Church who felt their life was threatened, whether due to sickness or surgery. I had avoided it for almost a year, ever since the day it was confirmed I had cancer...the day after my visit to a little church in Georgetown. I had been convinced I could manage on my own, with the comforting, almost paternal support of my partner.
Now, I was falling on the grace of my heavenly father.
"Would you like to confess?" Father McCue asked. Confession. Communion. The anointing. Then we would pray the Rosary. It seemed like so little. And yet, I suddenly knew it had to be much more than that.
I nodded and crossed myself. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."
THE END
*****
Author's Notes: Well, I hope I didn't bore anyone or make anyone angry, but I have forever been obsessed with Scully's apparent loss of faith during her cancer, and her finding it again in 'Redux II.' I guess I kind of wanted to discover what she was thinking and feeling during those times. I have no idea if I'm even close, but being Catholic myself (and rediscovering my faith in college), I felt I had a bit of an edge that some of the writers of the series did not. In the final, we hear that it was the chip that saved Scully, causing her cancer to go into remission, but I will always remember Mulder's words to Skinner at the end of 'Redux II' when the AD asked what turned it around. "I don't know. I don't think we'll ever know." It could have been the chip. Or it could have been Dr. Zukerman's unconventional treatments. Or maybe it was more than either of those earthly things. I have always believed in the latter...and I think Scully does, too.
Virtues and Vices-March 2003
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