Title: About Daddy
Author: Heather Riggall
Category: V 
Rating: PG
Summary: It's Samantha's favorite bedtime story once
again...

Disclaimer: Must I? We all know they don't belong to
me, and we all also know that I have no money for
which to be sued for. 

SEND FEEDBACK TO IceQueenXphile@yahoo.com


And now, our feature presentation....

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


"Mommy, tell me about Daddy."

A petite girl of about 6 or 7 rose to her knees. Her
long auburn hair fell about her shoulders as she
craned her neck to peek out of her bedroom door at a
small framed woman who was sat on their velvet brown
couch reading. The woman finished the sentence she was
on and turned her head slightly to see her daughter,
"Not tonight, Mommy's reading, ok?"
	
"Please," the little girl whined. Her mother had
already gone back to being immersed in her previous
action, and spoke, without glancing in the direction
of the child, "Tomorrow." The girl flung her blanket
off of herself, and cautiously stepped onto the
carpeting, her nightgown, decorated with delicate
lavender lilacs, falling to cover her ankles, then
toes. She made her way to her doorway and leaned to
the left side of it. "But I can't sleep. I can always
get to bed when you talk to me about him."
	
The woman pushed a strand of her flaming hair behind
her ear, and marked her place. "Ok Sammy, I'll make a
deal with you, alright?" Her daughter nodded. "I'll
tell you about Daddy tonight, but from now on, if
mommy's reading or trying to sleep or busy with
something else, you'll just have to get along with
some warm milk...deal?"
	
Samantha took a minute to make up her mind; she
shifted and looked down to wiggle her toes before
answering, "ok."
	
"OK, go get into bed and I'll be right there." The
girl's mother set her book on one of the cushions,
stood up, stretched her arms in front of her and paced
down a small hallway and into a room. She turned on
the lamp that was sitting on a small nightstand, and
opened the first drawer. Rummaging through various
papers, booklets, and stopping once to glance at a
small, black case that held identification reading
"Dana Katherine Scully" she brought out a medium sized
mahogany frame holding the picture of a well-dressed
man seemingly caught in a moment of brooding. She
outlined his profile with her right index finger
before shutting the drawer and walking out of the
room, picture in hand.
	
"Alright Sammy, are you ready?" announced Scully
before entering the girl's room.
	
Samantha snuggled down into her covers and when she
saw her mom come through the doorway said, "Hand me
Willy." Scully stopped and looked around in question
before spotting Willy and handing the small stuffed
alien to her daughter.
	
Scully eased herself onto the bed, and handed the
photo to Samantha, saying, "This is your daddy."
	
The girl took the frame into her small hands, "Yeah,
I know that...you know what, Mom?"
	
"Hmm?"
	
She tilted her head in thought, "Dad had a big nose."
Her mom gasped and then grabbed her to start tickling
her.
	
"Well," Sam said in between her fits of giggles, "he
did." Her mom stopped her attack and picked up the
picture that was now edging it's way to the foot of
the bed.
	
"No Sam, he was perfect," she leaned toward the
person wrapped in a comforter next to her. "He had the
most beautiful eyes. You can't see it in this picture,
but they were this hypnotizing shade of hazel and when
he smiled, you could make out these tiny flecks of
gold in them. Sometimes you could see right into him
by looking into his eyes."
	
"Wow, so Daddy had magic eyes?" Sam said, trying to
tilt her head in such a way that she could glimpse
these eyes the woman next to her spoke of.
	
"Yeah, he did," said Scully, turning to face Sam,
"You know, your daddy gave you his eyes. His magic."
Her daughter smiled in bashful gratitude.
	
The red-head went back to describing 'daddy.' "And he
was tall. Really tall..." <Or at least in comparison
to me> she thought.
	
"How tall?" Sammy asked, always hungry for more
detail.
	
"If you stood on our kitchen table, you'd still be
shorter than him," she smiled, "his hair was the
perfect brown, and when he stepped out into the wind,
little wisps of it blew into his eyes. And his
smile," she sighed, "his smile was even more magical
than his eyes, because you never glimpsed it when you
expected to. He used it in sarcasm, in satisfaction,
which sometimes crossed wires, " she stopped herself,
realizing that she could talk forever just about the
elusive curl of his lips. She breathed out, deciding
what to say about the smile without turning it into a
two hour discussion. "It was just...." she shook her
head, "beautiful."
	
Samantha took the frame from her mother and ran her
hands over it. Her expression changed from contentment
to puzzlement and she asked, "Why isn't he smiling in
the picture?"
	
"Well Honey, he didn't smile a whole lot."
	
"Why? Was he sad?"
	
Scully looked longingly at the image inside the
frame. " I guess he was sad."
	
"Why?"
	
She breathed heavily, "Well, his work made him sad,
and things that happened to him made him sad." She
continued, trying to avoid another round of
questioning, "At work lots of people wanted to stop
your daddy from doing what was right, because they
didn't believe in some of the things he told them. And
his sister made him sad because he hadn't seen her
since he was a little kid, and his father made him sad
because he died...and I made him sad."
	
"But how could you make Daddy sad if he made you
happy?"
	
Scully scooted closer to Samantha and put her right
hand on the back of her head, "Sometimes I wouldn't
listen to him because I was afraid of the things he
told me, and it make him sad that I was afraid, and--I
told you about when mommy was sick, right?" She felt
the girl nod her head. "That made him sad. Daddy
really wanted to help me, to make me better, and
sometimes I wouldn't let him try to, even though I
knew I needed his help more than anything."
	
Sam was still trying to let in fully sink it, to
understand it all, though somewhere in her she knew
she would never really understand everything.
	
"But Daddy did help you, right? Even if you didn't
want him to."
	
Scully was silent for a moment, remembering daddy's
obstinacy, his unwillingness to obey her wishes that had
pulled her from the threat of early darkness twice
(and more) before.
	
"He didn't help me. He saved me. But that's what he
did. He made it his job to save people. He would've
saved them all, too. But there were too many," she
clenched her teeth, "bad people. Too much that stood
in his way and stopped him."
	
The little girl saw her mom turn her head, so as to
try to avoid letting her tears run down her cheeks.
She looked at the picture again and then at Scully's
red hair flowing to meet the nape of her neck, and
knew, even in her young mind, that this was the
hardest thing for her mother.
	
"But it wasn't just his job, Mommy. He saved you
because he loved you." She spoke with the most wisdom
one of her age could have attained.
	
Scully let out a soft laugh and turned her head,
nodding, and spoke in a tear-strained whisper tone.
"Yeah, he loved me," she turned her head from side to
side, trying not to become a quivering mass in front
of her child, and said, gently poking Samantha in the
belly, "and he loved you."
	
"I think I would've liked Daddy."
	
"I'm sure you would," Scully replied, smiling, " I
think story time's up. Little girls need to get to
sleep and mommies," she stood up, "mommies need to
finish their books." She took the photo from Sammy,
and tucked her in before turning around.
	
"Can I ask one more question?" she called from the
bed. Her mom spun round slowly on her heel.
	
"All right, as long as it's not something like what his
favorite food was."
	
"Sunflower seeds."
	
Scully pointed at Sam, "Exactly. So what's the
question?"
	
Samantha looked at the ceiling, as if she was afraid
to ask. She reluctantly did so, though. "How...how did
Daddy die?"
	
"What?" Scully was surprised by such a question, and
realized that she'd never told her daughter why her
father was gone. Why they'd only been together for the
first three months of her life. "I never said he died."
	
"I-I know, but I just thought because you get so sad
sometimes when you talk about him." She searched her
mind for other reasons but there were none. She'd just
assumed. Why else wouldn't such a great father be
there with her every second of the day?
	
Scully once again placed herself on her daughter's
bed, "Your daddy didn't die. He had to leave." Sam
questioned her with her pale eyes. "His work, people
at his work make him leave for a while." That's all
she was going to say; she wasn't going to tell this
little girl how, after these "bad people" learned he
finally had a daughter and a true weakness, they
exploited it to the fullest. How they gave him two
choices: Live without any further interference into
his life, except with the knowledge that his new found
peace was the cause of his daughter and wife's early
graves, or come live within their tightly wound
conspiracy, knowing that his family would be
protected. That it wasn't a choice, it was a lose both
way proposition that the bastards would carry out, no
matter what the cost.
	
"Why would some one make him leave us?"
	
"I don't know, but," she looked around and picked up
a picture of herself from Sammy's dresser, "you see
that cross? Right there around my neck? Well, when
you're daddy had to go, I gave him my necklace, and he
promised me he'd come back, even if it was for just
long enough to give me that necklace." She put the
picture back and turned to face Sam again.
	
"But people break promises, right? What if he never
comes back?"
	
Scully gazed a little absent-mindedly at nothing in
particular, and slowly a slight smile appeared on her
lips, "He'll be back."
	
"But how do you know?" The questions never ended.
	
Scully's smile only broadened, she leaned down until
her forehead touched that of her daughter's and she
breathed, "A hunch."

	* * * * *

"I'm leaving, you have no hold over me anymore," a
man gripped the steering wheel in front of him with
his right hand and held his cell phone to his ear with
the other.
	
"Agent Mulder, " came a deep, cynical voice, "we had
an agreement."
	
"I've fulfilled that agreement, and now I'm finished
with you, with all of it."
	
"Mulder, you've lost years of your life. I hope you
understand that. And you've lost it to becoming part
of the game, part of the greater whole. What do you
think you have left? What could you possibly have to
do after all this time?" The voice spoke with the
calmest rhythm.
	
The man slowed for a stop light, "I've lost nothing
to you but time," he felt for and gripped a small
cross that hung from a chain on his neck, and smiled a
mysterious smile, "And I have a promise to keep." The
light turned green and Mulder slapped the phone shut.
	
On the end of the line, a figure, hidden in the
shadows of an empty street, heard the monotonous sound
of the dial tone. He shut off his own cellular, slid
it back into his pocket and squinted a bit as he took
one long drag on a cigarette and then ground it into
the cement.

The End

What'd you think??? Praise will be thanked, flames
will be cursed at....
===
"After years of gratuitous self-examination, you finally did it. You acted. I mean, I though you and Joey were going to draw out this whole 'will they, won't they' drama for at least another couple years 'cause ya know, Sam and Diane, they didn't get together for at least four seasons and Mulder and Scully, they haven't even kissed!" ~Pacey (sp?), Dawson's Creek

http://mulderscreek.com/nurseryfiles.html