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Title: Maria de los Dolores, Part II Summary: A continuation of "Maria de los Dolores". Author's Note: This really makes a lot more sense if you read part I. "Pay you dues, I think it really hit me that Dana wasn't coming back when Charles started yelling at me like it was my fault. I yelled back every argument Daney had ever used against me - she was a grown woman with her own life, who could make her own choices, etc, etc. And I remembered how I had shrunk away from Dana during those arguments, how I had scowled and let her alone, instead of sticking in there and finding out what was really wrong, like an older brother should have. It was like I wasn't even family any more to her, just an annoyance that distracted her from what she cared about, her job. Hurt, angry, I washed my hands of Daney. I avoided her after the fiasco that Christmas, barely talked to her since. So, of course, I yelled back that I wasn't the one who had left the country. I hadn't been in Japan during her cancer. And at least I had seen her daughter. If only Chuck knew how dishonest I was being. I had never refered to that girl as Dana's daughter until Chuck came back. Charles, he took it like a true Scully, that is, he got even angrier. It would've come to blows, except Mom came between us. Just seeing that we were causing her pain was enough to freeze us both - she looked hagard, worn, twenty years older than she really was. Her eyes were tired, her voice a whisper, as she asked us to stop. She looked... devastated. She was taking this harder than anyone else in the family, and yet, she seemed to understand it, seemed to have expected it. I swear to God, I never thought Daney's partner meant so much to her. I just figured she was being stubborn and Irish, as usual, when she defended him. I never thought that she loved him enough to chase after him when he died, just like Missy running to California. Charles, poor Chuck, seemed like a lost and bewildered little boy again. Dane had been his stone, his comfort, always there to run to when Missy or I bullied him. She had given him her blessing when he left for Japan. I don't think he would've gone if she hadn't thought it was a good idea, grown man though he was. And what's this about a miscarriage? I can't think about it. It's too confusing, too sad. Charles left, Missy died - she had been my favorite - and things began to slowly fall apart. I ostracised Dana; I see that now - never forgave her for Missy's death. And now Dana's partner is dead, and Dana? Gone. Gone as she was five years ago, when Mulder said she was abducted. Gone as Missy was when she ran away. Like Missy, Dana chose to leave. My sister, I'm sorry. I should've protected you. I forgive you for Missy's death. I should've done that a long time ago. "Maria de los Dolores," Mother Isabella's voice slow and solemn, the way she said my name when I was sadder than sad and she wanted to make me happy. Maria de Doloribus, slowly, seriously, speaking in Latin, matrem tuam convenia. Mary of Sorrows, meet your mother. The cheering up I've always needed these eleven years, my childhood in the convent. Mater - the means to mend the hole in my heart. 'I'm going to find Mulder!' she exults. The words pump through her brain with every step, every heartbeat. 'I'm going to find him!' A plea, a promise. A prayer that she believes. Scully can hardly keep the smile from her stony face. It fights the frown, fights the lines etched by despair. Five long months of searching, hoping, losing hope. Knowing that her daughter is only a phone call away, but she must not call! Contact with Katy would give them all away. It would take away every hope of ever finding Mulder. He would be gone, unless They chose to deliver him. Anger over her abduction years ago boils in Scully's heart, blocking the bond with her daughter. Scully had been delivered back peacefully, stealthily, comatose to the hospital. No memories, no evidence of what had been done to her except a chip in her neck. Delivered because of Their whim, to show Their power over her and Mulder. And Mulder? What would they do to him? How long would they wait? Would it be years? Would she have gray in her hair when she opened her front door one morning to find her long lost lover unconscious on her doorstep? 'No,' Scully thought. 'No!' She will take him, rescue him, see with her own eyes what they are doing to him. And they will walk out, together. Dana exults. For those bastards are not invisible. The traces are there, if you only know where to find them. And a blip on Canada's air defense radar, though passed off as an anomaly, recalls to Dana Scully's mind a like anomaly that she experienced in Antarctica. She has investigated, and her suspicions have been confirmed. 'There!' she exults. 'There! I've found Mulder! I'm going to get him!' And then, 'Soon, Katy, soon.' Her daughter must be a big girl by now, seven months old. If she's anything like Mulder, she's a terror to whoever's taking care of her, whining, pouting. 'Soon, Mulder. Soon.' He will see his daughter. And to Scully, Katy will be so changed... The quiet little angel she had hidden. Her pearl. Will she remember her mother? But Scully pushes those thoughts aside. There is work to be done, before she can even think about fetching Kate. She knows where Mulder is now. First, though, she has to get him. Virgin Mary, Mother of God, sacrificed her son. She suffered seven sorrows. Her doings are remembered today, and she is loved for them. Can love make up for loss? Are our prayers comfort to her holy ears? People ask so much from Mary, but they can never give. She is beyond worldly comfort, the mother of Jesus dead these past two melennia. Or not dead - forever undying in the beliefs of the Catholic faith. 'God, give me the strength to go on,' Dana Scully prays. She has found entrance into the alien ship, if she dares to take it. She is excited, anticipating only the moment she will see Mulder again. It has been over a year since she saw him last, before he left for Oregon. She misses his arms, his warmth, and she can feel him, oh so close. 'Soon. Soon.' Gone is the terror, the guilt, the aching loneliness. Now, she can feel him. He is so near. She dreams of Kate. She knows Mulder will love their child. Even better than her finding him again will be his face when she tells him - "Mulder, you have a daughter!" And Kate, she won't have to disappoint Kate any longer. Kate will have a father - her own, real father. They will be presents for each other, the happiest presents of their lives. Mulder and Katy. Mulder, holding Katy in his arms... 'Soon, God. Soon! Let it be soon!' She wishes it could be immediately, but of course, the situation is delicate. It takes planning. It takes time. She and the gunmen, though, they have a way to crack the system. She and the three men, they're quite a team! In only five and a half months, to have come this far. Almost there. Soon, so soon. Maria, mater Dei... I say my prayers out loud. I do not pray to Mary for my parents. In the face of her sacrifices, our mortal ones are petty. Think of all you have, the Sisters say. You are blessed, to know the comfort of God. Mary's son died, just as my mother might have, my father might have. Mary's son died, and other girls' mothers have died. Mary and I, we understand each other. We understand loss. I do not pray to her for my parents, because she could not save her son. I think the Sisters, even Mother Isabella, would think that understanding Mary is hubris. They don't understand my heretic streak, my maudlin streak. But sometimes, I think my fate suits me. After all, my mother abandoned me. My father, in all likelihood, abandoned Mother. The priest who found me suggested that I be named after "Mary of Sorrows." Maudlin me for a maudlin fate, and Mary and I understand each other with our sorrows. A trap! The gunmen, tagging after Scully, but always a safe distance away, know it the same moment she does. Sitting silent, mouths gaping, in "Mission Control" as she affectionately dubbed it, know it. 'A trap! Of course! So stupid! We should've known...' They slowly take off their headphones, staring at their monitors inside their unmarked white van. And Scully? A strangled cry was the last thing they heard, the only indication that she knew her fate. A strangled, gurgling gasp, and then nothing. The lines of communication have been severed. She is lost to them. Lost. Disbelief. Shock. A throbbing, painful loss. They have not yet closed their mouths. She was so brilliant, like a star. They never lost hope as long as she had it, and she was so sure... Scully smiling. Scully, the mother, the lover. About to bring her family together, once and for all. The three gunmen cannot believe the loss. A trap! Oh, she should've known. Some part of her - the part she adopted from Mulder - always knew it. Knew she couldn't have that much happiness. A part of her knew when she was telling Mulder goodbye - the part of her that told her she was telling Katy goodbye. Mercifully, she hadn't listened - had believed, all these months, that she would see Katy again. Some strange part of her knew that with Emily died any chance for raising a child. A trap, and she had known it, intrinsically, unquestionably, all along. But perhaps see will see Mulder again after all. I have often dreamt of a red-headed priest. Father Adams - the man who brought me to the convent when I was only an infant. The dream is similar to my daydream. Mother Isabella is there, though I don't see her. I'm waiting for news about my mother, expect to see her, even, out of the corner of my eye. To my left is a tall, red-headed priest. He looks Irish. He wants to tell me something, but I'm not paying attention. I'm looking for my mother. She would be there, if I were having my daydream. Maria, Maria cara... "Mary, dear Mary..." Mother Isabella starts. I'm still not paying attention. And then the priest speaks: Maria de Doloribus, his voice stern, commanding attention, then softer, regretful, apologetic - Infans cara... Sunt mortui. "Mary of Sorrows. Dear child... They are dead." The End j_mindy@hotmail.com "I like the idea that Katarina - Katy - is hidden somewhere deep inside Maria, knows what her mother looks like." Post Scriptum - a little extra. ... "Maria, what do you see?" Maria, now in her early twenties, is dreaming, but awake. She can hear the therapist's instructions. She answers him in Spanish. "I see white breasts with pink tips - Mother. She's warm and cozy. Home. I look up, and there's her chin. It's white, sharp. Her nose... Bright red hair that falls over her shoulders." "Good. How old are you?" "Tiny... Mother's bending down to look at me. Ooh, she has bright blue eyes. They're the brightest things I see. The skin around Mother's eyes crinkles - she's smiling at me. She says, 'Katy, my little love.'" "Good... Good..." "Mother hums to me. We're happy." "Do you see anything later? A time just before you saw your mother for the last time..?" "Mmm..." Maria struggles in the dream, but at last comes to a place where she can speak. "Mother is wearing black. Her hands, her arms, her breasts... I am below her, at her hip, looking up at her. She's far away... She's delicate and strong. I see the angle of her chin. I'm used to seeing her chin. "Mother looks down at me, and her eyes are cold. She doesn't see me. I start to squirm in my blankets, staring up at her chin, her cheek, her eyelashes... Something's wrong with Mother's hair. It's in a hat, and it's the wrong color... "Mother looks at me again, and sees me this time. Her eyes are warm. She looks like she's about to talk to me - I can always tell when Mother's about to talk, she does it so rarely. But then she turns away - must've heard something. Her body gets tense. "We lift up. Mother's looking away. And then she sets me down wherever we were sitting - I can't see it. I... I don't see her again. "And... And the priest comes, except his hair is a dull color. His eyes are big, like a cartoon animal's. He's not scary. That's... That's all." Later, when she has woken up, the therapist says, "Good, Maria. Very good. And, of course, there are private detectives, genetic analysts..." "I think... I think that this is enough," Maria replies. "Well," he says, taking a deep breath, happy after a successful session, "it's up to you." Maria smiles at him gently, leaving the therapist's office with her recording of the session carried in a plastic bag.
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