|
Title: Maria de los Dolores Summary: A common Catholic name in Spanish-speaking cultures, it means "Mary of Sorrows." Author's Note: Aw, don'cha love it, the "title - foreign phrase; summary - definition" format? I can't do angst that well. Not so that it's believable. But all the angsty scenes happen, I swear it. But rather than forcing you to read my flawed representation, I'll leave it up to the imagination of the reader. But if ever the characters should seem callous - they're not, that's just me not knowing how to portray deep emotional scarring. Also, I've never been to Argentina, am not a practicing Catholic, and don't speak Spanish. Why, then, did I choose the setting that I did? Dunno. Your guess is as good as mine. My Latin also happens to be rusty, so I apologize for that, too. Oh yeah, I also have no knowledge of medicine. Sad, I know. Why am I even writing this story??? I guess I just really wanted to see Scully looking for Mulder instead of sitting on her ass, and I thought of ways she could do that, so that that evil, albeit sexy, bastard Krycek couldn't use the baby against her, and so on. Enjoy. Maria, vollo ut matrem tuam tu convenias. Mary, I want you to meet your mother. I dreamed that Mother Isabella would say these words to me, her low, loving voice making the Latin gentle as no other voice could. Her giant form a mountain of black bending over. Her kind, wrinkled face made level with mine. Brown eyes, the color of hard caramel candy, joyful. And, of course, the moment I've waited for all of my life. Would she be tall or short? Brown hair like mine... Blonde? Caput rubrum? Would she have blue eyes like mine...? Would she have missed me...? Terror. Terror blindly driving her to an empty cabin in the woods. To Canada. Terror. Paranoia. Seeing not the cabin in the woods. Seeing through the wood walls, through the snow, seeing men that were dead, faceless men. Seeing the future, seeing the past. Seeing men that would come and follow her. Seeing a partner gone. Seeing a daughter with the face of an angel dripping green disease. Seeing tests. Seeing... a trade on a bridge. Her distant and lonely partner, so sad... Come to rescue her. The pain that was almost over. And then, the face she would not look at. Couldn't help looking at it. She knew who it was, who it must be, before she turned and saw. Saw a little girl in a picture inside a woman on a bridge. To the car. To wait. To think about the pain being over. Soon, it will all be over. No need to think about the woman on the bridge. But then she fell, and Mulder's heartbroken confirmation echoing off the water beneath the bridge. "Samantha!" A trade. A deal struck using the baby that was inside of Dana Scully. She thought of this, and terror gripped her heart. Her pale hands clutched protectively her domed stomach. Never! her tortured brain screamed. Never! Her ice-blue eyes saw a daughter already gone. Emily, the brain wept. Her angel. A test subject, a lab rat. Too terrible a fate - she had experienced it - not for any daughter of hers, she had thought, then. If there is one thing I can protect her from, it is that fate. "If you could save her?" he had asked. "No." She had chosen once, chosen for the little girl with angel eyes. Emily, would you prefer death or servitude? I don't want to die, mother. Never again! Dana Scully thought. Never, Ever Again! Terror, guilt, paranoia. These drove her away. Drove her into hiding in Canada, away from the everywhere-eyes - imagined, everywhere-eyes - where the mother could make her plans in peace. How to protect her daughter? How to save her, so that they'll never, never find her. How to hide her? Hide her so well... Dana ran, ran with bloodstained hands from an imposter miscarriage. Plans were being carried out, and more plans. She had to protect her baby. Had to find the father, or they would never be together and safe. Ran. For she wasn't supposed to be pregnant. How to hide her baby? Kill the child Scully and Mulder made. Bear, instead, a nameless orphan. Chicken's blood on her hands, between her thighs. Run. Katarina Maria de los Dolores D'Angelico, the name they gave me. "Katy," the letter said. "Katarina" was the only "Katy" the Argentian Sisters knew. Katy, Katy, darling, I love you. I know that in the time ahead you may not believe that. But I do. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone else, more than I love even your father. Darling, if I kept you, you'd grow up knowing what I've done and you'd hate me. No, sweety, I'm sorry. You'd forgive me. But I'd never forgive myself. I have to go. I love you. Your father, sweety, he loves you, too. Goodbye. -Mother I learned English by that letter, mumbling the definitions Sister Carlos gave me as I traced the foreign words. I could read that letter before I could read even the most rudimentary Spanish sentences. My tears fell onto the ink, fading it so that now her writing is a pale baby blue against the orange of the paper. I am the only one who has a letter. Other girls can only hope that their mothers love them. But maybe my situation is worse. As Teresa pointed out, she could have been lying. She abandoned me, didn't she? Other girls, their mothers died. Mine left a cryptic message, not even giving me a full name. I know some English names. I know what they're like. My name is "Katherine." But because she left me, I am Katarina. Sometimes, I hate my mother. I hope that she is dead. The baby dead. "Mom, I've got to get away." Don't think of Mom. Don't think of Skinner. Don't think of their disappointed faces. Don't think of the lies. You're leaving them alone. Just run to a rented cabin in the woods, a false passport, a fake name... She sold her assets, many of Mulder's, too, sold the property on the lake she had never used. Ahab left it to her. She and the gunmen, secretly, oh so secretly, introduced manufactured documents into the hospital's records. Easy, really. She and the doctor in one room, the guys in another, hacking, hacking. And she had run. Now, the empty nights called to her, calling his name. His eyes looked out at her, from the darkness. Time she had never had, to miss him. All her failures. All the ways she could have made his life better, instead of making him miserable. All the times she didn't find him, he had had to find her. She was never quick enough. Never smart enough... And the baby. If only I didn't have to have this baby, she thought. I wouldn't have to hide. I could search for him out in the open. And Mulder accused her with his eyes for wanting to kill his child. But Mulder wasn't there. She wished he was there, to hate her, to accuse her. Anything but leave her with the awful silence. And she wanted to leave her cabin and crawl back home to her mother, crying. She wanted to leave the baby in the cabin in the woods. She wanted to kill herself, violently, and kill her baby, too. Rip open her womb, like the victims of that alien... thing... But those moods always passed, and they came less and less often. She had a grim purpose. She kept in contact with the gunmen. Together, they searched for Mulder. There was so much information. Abduction cases, the like. They pirated all the medical records, but nothing, nothing like what Mulder had had. Scully bided her time, ate well, exercised when she could. Meanwhile, with the gunmen, she made plans and more plans. "Don't tell me," she said. "I don't want to know. I can't know." Byers understood. He didn't even tell Frohicke and Langly. Wondered if he should disappear, like Scully had, to keep the secret safe. He laughed, thought of his friends if he didn't come back. He thought of Skinner being shot by Krycek after Scully left. 'How many people will have to die for this child?' Byers thought. He pictured Mulder, then, and became grave. As many as it takes. I pray at least six times a day, counting grace. More on Sundays. We children are taught to beg grace for our parents. Right now it's fashionable among us older girls to hate our parents. I think I started it. Can't say I'm ashamed. Maria, si vis, parentes benedice, we pray in Latin. Bless them. Forgive them, Mary, for leaving us. Though we don't. My name is Mary of Sorrows. Mother Isabella named me that when I was brought here, eleven years ago. She says it was on the suggestion of a priest, the red-headed, American priest who brought me to D'Angelico's enormous gate in the middle of the night. Father Adams. His name is written in the great registry of foundlings. I am curious about Father Adams, but he left as mysteriously as he came. Stayed to talk with Mother Isabella that night, gave her money for my upkeep. He did the same thing as dozens of other priests, bringing a foundling baby to the cathedral. They, too, usually leave something with the baby. Usually, a rosary with the name of their church inscribed on the back of the Virgin Maria. Father Adams, he placed a golden cross around my neck, kissed my forehead, and said, "Goodbye, Katy," in English. I have asked Mother Isabella to describe this night to me many times. Unlike other priests, Father Adams did not leave the address of a church or a charity where he could be reached. Did not ask for regular updates about the child. After he bid me goodbye, he straightened, looked intently into Mother Isabella's eyes, and walked back outside, into the rain. He left me in Mother Isabella's arms, the letter in her hand, money in cash on the desk. They've never seen him since. A doctor delivered the baby. Scully didn't give him her name. There was no birth certificate. Her eyes begged the doctor to understand. Reluctantly, he agreed. Katherine Samantha Mulder was born in a hotel room, the doctor and Mrs. Dana Mulder the only ones present. Scully bled a little, after the birth, but wouldn't let doctor Wilkens call an ambulance or drive her to the hospital. Her determination frightened her. How would all her plans work if she died? Would Wilkens do as she asked, left with a newborn and a corpse? The bleeding stopped. Wilkens and Scully breathed deep sighs of relief. He left them both, slowly, reluctantly. He turned back from the door of the motel room to see Scully sitting amongst rumpled, blood-stained sheets, the baby whose first name he didn't even know suckling at her breast. He thought for sure Dana would be sleeping, crying, or looking at her baby. But when he looked at her face her wide blue eyes were staring right at his. 'Silent,' they said. 'Be silent.' They commanded, the same as a gun pointing at his heart would command. Frightened, not speaking, Wilkens closed the door and obediently left. Scully breathed her second - no, third - sigh of relief, and turned her blue eyes to her daughter. The thoughts whirling through her head teamed up with her exhaustion to overwhelm her. After a few moments of silence, Scully broke down and sobbed, quietly. Two months later, Scully, clad in black, looked down at the bundle in the basket, murmuring her goodbyes to Kate. Byers was due in twenty minutes. Scully was strangely calm. 'What will it feel like to lose you?' Scully wondered. She began to worry that something might happen to Byers before he delivered her... wherever he was delivering her. They'd wait until the moment Scully's back was turned... But that was a ridiculous, suicidal way to think. "You're going on a trip, Katy." Where. Where - the million dollar question. And she had worked to hard to keep the answer out of the wrong hands. The whole reason for the charade was to keep that secret. She had dyed her hair brown. Too many familiar faces around Washington D.C. She had even left some red hair dye for Byers in the basket, along with the money. A bit paranoid, perhaps, but if he was travelling... She left him two fake passports, as well - Father Patrick Adams and Mr. Roger Daniel Valentine. Too much, Dana thought. Too much. All of this - would it be enough? Where would he take her? Could he hide her? But it didn't seem so bad. Scully had been making progress in the search for Mulder. As invisible as these men were, they left traces. Things no one else would notice, but if you were familiar with what you were looking at... She had three or four leads she could check up on now. 'Just a little while, Katy. Just a little while for me to find your Dad, and then we'll be a whole family again.' Scully was already anticipating the day she could say, "That's it, boys. I'm through. Tell me where my daughter is." Scully didn't think about leaving Katy, abandoning her, didn't think about the prospect that she might never see her again. She couldn't really look at the tiny face. She felt the breakdown inside of her, the surrender, the giving in. You can't take my daughter, Byers. Clinging and never letting go. The need to have this child always. Beneath that, the love, the heartbreak. Scully didn't think about those things. She chanced a glance at Katy, the small lips, the trusting eyes. Scully bit her lip, was about to pick up the basket and go. Run to her mother's - it wasn't far. Confess the whole thing and be with Katy always. She was a breath away from it, but then Scully looked up and saw a man's shape on the other side of the pool coming closer. Another second and she was sure - it was Byers. He had come. Scully held the basket in her arms and stood. Byers was too far away to see the expression in his face, but she knew he saw her. She placed the basket down on the bench, turned around, and jogged to the taxi that was waiting for her. Facing strictly forward, Scully was driven away. Byers jogged up to the bench, staring after Scully. He sighed deeply. He hadn't had a chance to see her, speak to her. And she - surely she wanted to wish the baby goodbye. The baby. Byers sat down on the bench, peering at the squirming bundle. From what he could tell, it bore no resemblance to Mulder or Scully. He lifted it out of the basket, cradling it to his chest. Amazingly, it didn't cry. There were more things in the basket - red hair dye, baby formula, bottles, money in a paper bag - a lot of money - and two letters. "Katy" written in Scully's neat handwriting on one of them, "John" on the other. His was heavier. He opened it and discovered two passports inside. Byers, Here are two passports, in case you need them. Please use the hair dye. Be careful. How terse that sounds. I'm sorry, Byers. I'm so sorry - for everything. I've fallen out of the habit of talking with people. And online, we, all four of us, have to be so careful. I've become more paranoid than Mulder and you three put together, and I know it. Please bear with me. I'll be contacting you again. If all goes well, no one will know that little Katy exists, and we can be more open about our business. They expect me to search for Mulder. It was only with Katy that I was afraid... Well, you know. Tell me when you've delivered her. But after that, don't accept any information about her. They're watching you, Byers. They know you three are there. Be careful. Remember, we'll find him. I have every confidence in that. Believe that, all three of you. It will make you feel better. Thank you, John. Thank you from me. Thank you from Mulder. Thank you from Katy. You're her first friend. Give Frohicke my love, and tell Langly he still owes me a VCR. - Dana Katherine Scully P.S. Katy's name is Katherine Samantha Scully Mulder, but for obvious reasons she can only be "Katy." My gold cross is hers. For a while, I regretted not giving it to Mulder, but now I think Katy needs it even more than he does. Look out for me contacting you, soon. Burn this letter. -DKS Byers looked back down at the baby in his arm, putting the letter back in the basket. The arrangements were already made. He had had a friend, once, in college. Gorgeous woman, an exchange-student. She had been raised in the D'Angelico convent in Argentina. She spoke well of it, though of course it couldn't replace being raised by a family. Sister Isabella had been her favorite nun. Byers didn't dare go to the batcave with the baby. Scully was right. If they were being surveilled... All he had to do was call the airport and say that a Mr. Valentine would be travelling in his stead. Couldn't let Scully's hard work be for nothing. He pulled out the cellphone he had recently bought, then changed his mind and headed for a payphone, carrying Katy in the basket. Byers' years studying Spanish in high school and college finally paid off. It rained the entire five days that he spent in Argentina. Scully's eyes and Mulder's mouth, he finally decided. The End "Everybody asks me hows she's doing j_mindy@hotmail.com Feedback, baby. Sequel on the way.
|