Title: A New Life
Author: Trixie
Email: scullymulder1121@hotmail.com
Rating: I'd say this one's safe at PG
Spoilers: Not that I know of
Classification: Ehh . . . SA. Character Death. It's a post colonization fic folks . .
Archive: Please :) Just keep my name & email attached.
Summary: Ruminations from a next generation's voice.
Feedback: Puh-lease!! :)


In that Book Which is my memory On the first page Of the chapter that is the day When I first met you Appear the words Here begins a new life

"Mulder, I'm pregnant."

I suppose life was never quite the same for them after she spoke those words. They always told me so. Mom and Dad. It seems almost odd to call them that. They always referred to one another as Mulder and Scully. Everyone else did too. I was the only one who called them something different. I wonder if that didn't effect how I viewed the world. I knew I was different then. They told me so.

I was special you see. The only one who'd be able to save the world. I'm sure someone told them that too, once. In fact, Dad told me it was his mother's dying words. "Fox," she'd said, tears in her eyes, "I'm so sorry for all I've done." Something to that effect. Dad was never specific - I could tell he found her deathbed reticence almost nauseating. Anyway, she says she's sorry, and then she has the nerve to say, "It's up to you now, Fox. You have to save the world."

Can we say 'bitch'?

No, we can't, because when I tried, Mom would chastise me and Dad would give me a look that clearly said 'not in front of Scully'. So I backed off and stopped broaching the subject of my other grandmother. My real grandmother (as I take to calling her) didn't die until years after that. Of natural causes, Mom has always been fond of pointing out. Maggie was cool. She taught me how to bake cookies - God knows Mom couldn't boil water - and how to put on makeup.

Mom taught me how to fire a gun and hit what I was aiming at.

Dad taught me how to kill a man, using only my pinkie.

Maggie's skills may have been more fun to learn, but I've applied Mom and Dad's a hell of a lot more in my life.

But I'm losing track of the point of my story.

So Mom told Dad she was pregnant. It was back before The Date. That's how they always said it. Before The Date. Like the colonization of the planet was some cosmic bad date from hell. It was two years before The Date, to be exact. So I suppose some of my life was lived under semi-normal circumstances. Not that I remember much of it. Mostly I remember Dad singing old Elvis tunes off key when I wouldn't fall asleep at night. That and Mom checking me all the time - examining me for spots, needle marks or anything else, even though one of them was around me twenty-four seven and there was no conceivable way anything could've -

But again, I'm losing track.

After it began, things didn't change much for everyone else. After all, the Syndicate wasn't stupid. They knew what they were doing. Slow and subtle wins the race. They began to remove the problem people - people like Mom and Dad. Like Skinner and the Three Stooges (known as Byers, Langley and Frohike to everyone but me - I just call 'em Larry Moe and Curly. The damnedest thing is they never know whom I'm talking to - one of 'em just responds like they share the same brain or something. Freaky.)

That's when we went underground.

Dad was always in charge - because he had built up a reputation, the others followed him easier than they would've followed Mom. Which was find with her - she was happier in the lab, anyway. She'd spend hours on end in there, searching for a vaccine. Testing this, studying that. Sometimes I'd sit in the lab with my dolls (Yea, I had dolls - I wasn't a completely abnormal girl) and watch her. I like science, in theory. That what we don't know, we can discover. But I like Dad's science better - what can be imagined, can be achieved. Mom says he stole that from her - he claims she stole it from his subconscious before he got a chance to say it out loud.

They had lots of arguments like that. They had lots of arguments period, but mostly stuff like that. Stuff that sounds totally insane when taken out of context, as it no doubt does right now. I assure you, they didn't have an unhappy life together - they were very happy, in fact. I think they even got married, though I'm not sure you'd consider it legal.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The point is, I'd always believed my parents had a good life together - I figured they were like anyone's parents - met, fell in love, decided to have a kid. But I was wrong. So wrong.

What they had was so much bigger than that. I don't think I realized until today just how much they meant to each other - and to me. It never quite sunk in exactly what they were to each other. Words like 'friend', 'partner', 'companion', 'lover', and 'spouse' run through my mind - words that are highly insignificant to describe who my parents are - were.

Were damn it.

They died almost three years ago to the day and I still can't believe they're gone.

I still remember when Larry and Moe came to tell me. Curly was still doing massive damage control - assuring the rebels not to panic or give up hope - just because Don Quixote and his Dulcenia were dead didn't mean the resistance was over. We would not serve - we would never serve. And as long as one remained who wouldn't serve, they would not - could not - win.

They hadn't gone quietly, that's for sure. Of course I doubt they ever could. I'd heard them fighting the night before they left - Dad telling Mom he didn't want her there. Saying I needed her too much. She'd counter that I needed him just as much. Which was true. They were both the most important beings in my life. Which was ironic, given how little time they were able to spend with me. They made it good time, though. That was one of Dad's arguments - that Mom had more time with me. Which is true, in theory.

A theory Mom shot down. Dad used to say she was always so good at shooting down his theories.

They fought for maybe another five minutes and then the room got really quiet. It did that a lot when they fought. They'd stay in there for almost an hour and then they'd come into my room and explain to me - sometimes they'd explain what they were fighting about and sometimes they'd just say they'd been fighting and I wasn't to worry about it - nothing was wrong.

That night they couldn't say nothing was wrong.

That night they came into my room and sat on either side of me. Daddy wrapped his arm around my shoulders and Mommy took my hands. In very quiet voices they explained to me that the future of the world was depending on what they did in the next few hours. Daddy told me he needed Scully with him. He couldn't do what he had to do alone, and there was a great chance that they might not be coming back.

I asked where they'd go. I remember that. It's about all I remember of my own reaction to hearing my Dad say that.

Mom answered me - she stroked my hand with her fingers and gave me an honest answer. She said they'd die if they didn't come back. Because only death would keep them from me. Or something like that. I don't remember the exact phraseology - only the meaning.

Always the meaning.

I remember the fear that bubbled up inside me. Followed by the disbelief - Mom and Dad couldn't die. Mulder and Scully couldn't die. What would the world do without them?

What would I do without them?

I might've said some of that out loud - as I said, I don't remember.

And then Mom and Dad lay down with me, curling themselves around me, as though that alone could protect us all from what was to come. And Dad started singing off key to old Elvis songs. Then Mom joined in and it sounded even worse. They sang to me for almost an hour. I fell asleep in the safe, loving embrace of my parents.

I awoke alone and frightened, knowing I'd never see them again.

True to those sometimes-spooky hunches I got, Larry explained that Mom and Dad had 'run into some problems'. That's exactly how he phrased it - he always was the diplomatic one. I remember I looked at him and said 'they're not coming back'. I had waited for confirmation - even though I knew it, for some reason I needed confirmation from him.

Moe had shaken his head. "No, they're not," he'd told me gravely. "They died," he'd elaborated, as though I needed it.

I'd snapped at them. Said something to the effect "of course they're dead. They'd be coming back if they weren't."

I don't remember now.

I was eleven then. Much too young, Skinner told me when he arrived back four days later, to lose both parents.

Skinner looked older every time I saw him. The first time, when I was three, he'd looked Dad's age. Then later, when I was seven, he'd looked at least ten years older. I saw him again when I was nine and he came to stay with us for three months. That was when he really became a friend, and not just the man who came to see Mommy and Daddy.

Good 'ole Wally (as I called him only when I really needed his attention) taught me how to lie. Through my teeth, totally convincing to anyone but my parents. They always knew when I was lying and taught me never to do it to them.

So from the time I was eleven until now four men raised me. Three of them were certifiable and one of them probably had every syndrome ever constructed for soldiers. And believe me, I've read about them all in the books Daddy left me.

Which brings me to my point.

Mom and Dad both left me a lot of books - books they always told me they wanted me to read. Well, I started reading them. An Abnormal Psychology book, American Medical Journals from God only knows when that I somehow know most of, anyway. I think it's because Mom and Dad both were always talking to me, telling me things I'd need to know someday.

So today for no apparent reason I pull out one of the books from Mom's pile and flip through it.

And I realize it's a journal.

But not just your normal run of the mill journal - hell no. This is something she started writing in the night she found out she was pregnant. And she didn't stop until the day I was born. The last entry is my very first birth date.

I don't cry. I didn't cry when my parents died, I haven't cried since I was three years old. Somehow I had this crazy notion that if I started I'd never stop.

Somewhere between the first entry and the last my entire face became soaked with salty tears. I'd almost forgotten what they tasted like.

I've already made copies of and sent the pertinent details to the Stooges - the stuff Mom had probably forgot she ever wrote down. But right now I'm not interested in saving the world, or finding a way to distribute the vaccine Mom painstakingly recreated. Right now I want to read the words my Mother wrote to me before she'd even met me.

Right now I just want to miss my parents.

~Hi Sweetie,

I'm new at this so bear with me.

I haven't told Mulder - that's your Daddy - that I'm pregnant yet. I'm unsure as to how he'll take the news. It's not that he won't be happy - I know he will. It's that I wasn't supposed to be able to get pregnant.

But that's not the point of this. The reason I'm writing this is . . . just in case. Call it a precaution - I've picked up paranoia from Mulder. We live a very dangerous life, your father and I. I very much want you to know us - I want you to know how much you are loved and wanted. In the event that we aren't there to tell you, to show you, I want you to have this to hold onto - to believe in. Everyone needs something to believe in.

I hear Mulder. I'll let you know how it goes.



Hell of a first entry, huh? But that was Mom. She did get better at it though. Not that I think that was bad - just brief. That's the thing about Mom - she could express things on paper incredibly well. So long as it wasn't her own emotions - trying to put into words her love or her faith was always nearly unthinkable to her. But she did get better.

At least, I thought she did.

~Hey baby,

Mulder knows. He took it about as well as I can expect - he went through the stages I knew he would - disbelief, denial, acceptance and joy. He went through them rather quick, too. His reaction makes me wish something for you, with all my heart. I pray you find a man whose voice soothes and protects you, whose arms wrap you in safety and warmth. I pray you find a man who will die for you, who isn't afraid to live for you and who will accept you for the beauty and eccentricity I'm sure you will possess.

You will never be like the others. I'm as sure of this as I am of Mulder's love. But you will be great. Special and beautiful, gifted and wise, loved and wanted. You will always be wanted. No matter the hardship we may face, you must always know not a moment passed that your father and I didn't want you with every fiber of our beings. You are our miracle and our truth.

Tonight I pray that you know us well enough to understand exactly what that means.


That's the first thing that got me. That's what got the first tear to fall. Because I did know them well enough. I knew exactly what that meant. That she was able to say it that early on staggers me. It makes me thank God for letting them be my parents. It makes me feel sorry for those children whose parents weren't as strong, those who didn't fight for their children. Those who served to preserve the life instead of resisting to preserve the living.

Damn, that sounded like something Mom would say. I bet she'd be proud.

~I'm sorry it's been so long since I've written - three entries in and I've already screwed up.

Mulder tells me The Date is set. Actually, he's been telling me this for years. Only now he says he knows exactly when it is. The Christmas after next. One of his shadow informants told him. At least you'll have your first Christmas in relative safety. I suppose I should be grateful for that.

There's something else I need you to know; something I've told Mulder but he refuses to believe. I've never blamed him. Not once. I doubt you'll understand what I'm referring to; I just needed to write it down. Maybe in the hopes that he'll read it and believe it once it's written down, as he never has when I've told him to his face. We both tendered our resignations from the Bureau today. FBI Agents no longer. Glorious freedom.

To celebrate we're going to drive cross-country while we can still do it without fear. I'd like to see the Pacific Ocean again and neither Mulder nor me is willing to trust air travel - not after what went on this year. I'll give you some notes from the road. ~

There's something about Mom that I love and absolutely annoys the hell out of me at the same time. Did she actually think I was going to know what was up with air travel when I was still in the womb? No. In fact, I'm willing to put money down on the fact that she completely forgot who she was talking to - she was just writing whatever popped into her head. That's what's so precious about this journal to me. It's pure, uncensored Scully. None of it is propaganda to make me feel better about where I came from.

I like that.

~Hey, what do you know, I married your father.

Sort of. I count it as marriage. It may not be legal in the eyes of the state, but the state is going to collapse in a year and a half so what does it matter, really?

A very nice Spanish priest in an authentic Spanish church married us at daybreak this morning. I think Mulder planned it, although I can't be sure. I can never be sure how much he sets up and how much just works out in his favor. He is one of the luckiest son of a bitch's alive. He came up with the most beautiful wedding vows, worthy of a poet. He told me I was his truth, some odd combination of Sancho Via and Dulcenia to his Don Quixote, helping him to temper his madness. And he promised that wherever we traveled beyond today, we would travel together.

For my part I told him he was my line, between dark and light, between sanity and insanity, my undeniable proof in magic. And I promised him that day that if I was his Dulcenia, then I was also proof that Dulcenia is real and she and Don Quixote dance somewhere among the stars, fulfilling quests and writing the destiny of lovers everywhere.

What can I say? I felt unusually prone to romantic mush today.

We danced our first dance naked, under the moonlight to 'Fools Rush In' sung by the one and only King (Elvis, if your father hasn't poisoned your mind) on a beach in Baja California. A '57 Cadillac's ancient radio cranked out the tunes and we stayed all night to watch both sunset and sunrise over the ocean. ~

You know what got me most in this one? The dancing among the stars. She knew they'd be dead when I read this. She knew they'd be dead and I'd be left when she made those vows to him. Just like he knew it when he promised they'd travel together. That's how I like to think of them. Traveling among the stars, stopping every now and again to dance and occasionally writing the destinies of a few star-crossed lovers down here on earth.

I think they're still saving the world. They're just doing it through other people. Through me.

~Guess what we did today?

Mulder and I went through everything - the home computers, the stuff at the Gunmen's, everything - and we put it all on a few disks. Ready to run if need be. Compact travel. I've catalogued all the specimens we've collected, including the sample that proves the existence of EBE's to be sent to the Washington Post upon

I Dana Katherine Scully believe in the existence of extraterrestrials.

I know that line looks grossly out of place. Mulder made me write it down when I wrote the above paragraph. You'd think he didn't trust me or something . . . He does though. I know he does. And I pray that through some twist of fate you find a man half as good as your father. Just thinking about it now cause a few tears to well. I blame the hormones. Mulder pretends to believe me.

I love you,


After that, I realize I can't go through everything here - it would be too painful. So I'm going to skip ahead to the next significant entry. My entry, to be specific.

~It's time. I always thought when I went into labor I'd lose all capability to think or even string together coherent sentences. But here I am, nearly fifteen minutes into it and I'm writing to you. I think my control should be applauded. The pain isn't nearly as bad as I'd thought it'd be, either. Of course I haven't broken my water yet. As a Doctor I know the pain intensifies the further into it you go.

I called down to Mulder. He said he'd be here in a minute. If he knew why I was calling he'd be here already, trailing the Gunmen and Skinner behind him. I'm really uncomfortable with the prospect of giving birth in front of Skinner. Not to mention Frohike. I asked Mulder if it'd be possible to keep it a secret, just him and me. He could deliver the baby, I'd cajole. And he'd give me a patronizing look - I swear he's only ever patronized me since I became overly hormonal - and oh-so-kindly inform me that by the time the contractions were five minutes apart, I'd be screaming too loud to keep anything secret.

Well I'll show him. I won't make a sound during labor. Look how steady my hand is right now? I'm writing for God's sake and Woah. My water just broke. What do you know

Hey little Scully-Mulder,
This is Dad. Sorry Mom had to go earlier. She was busy not screaming or feeling an ounce of pain. She's going to get really mad at me when she finds out I'm writing in 'her' book, but I couldn't help myself. There are just a few things I want to tell you.

You're here. I delivered you myself, Scully shouting orders and instructions on exactly how to birth your properly the entire time. I think she forgets sometimes that I do have a rudimentary understanding of the medical field. You both fell asleep while she was nursing you. I've temporarily vacated my spot behind Scully, watching you both slumber to write this little note to you.

I have never loved like I love the two of you. You are a gift to us both, my little Scully. It's as though I gave Scully my heart and she gave birth to it and now she's free to walk around and find her own way in life. A life that will no doubt someday mean you'll leave us.

But I don't want to think about that now. I can't. I shouldn't even be writing in this, Scully is going to kill me. I just . . . I needed to say hello. I needed you to hear something in my voice; something that could give you proof that your Dad loved you very much. And that I was always proud of you, no matter what. That I loved you and was proud of you for no other reason other than that I was your father. Know that. Trust it.

You are our salvation, our hope. We've saved each other so many times that we'd just about lost the strength to do it any longer. And then there was you. And suddenly we had a whole new world to save. Scully would say that the Lord works in mysterious ways. That He sent you to keep us alive, to keep us honest, to keep us from giving up when we the days grew just a little too long.

I say, you just knew. Somewhere, your spirit was restless, and you knew we needed you. Even if we didn't know it ourselves.

Thank you, my little love. Thank you for saving us.


That was the last entry. I think Mom approved. She obviously didn't kill him, unless that man who raised me wasn't Mulder. I always knew they were proud of me - they told me so enough. I always knew they loved me - they told me that every day. I always knew I was wanted - they said that on occasion. But I never knew until I read this that I'd saved them. I never knew I meant to them exactly what they meant to me. I never realized that, in my own way, I'm responsible for them saving the world.

Because I saved them first.

I can hear Curly playing one of Dad's old Elvis CD's. I think I'll go dance naked under the moonlight tonight.

~~~~ END

Read More Like This Write One Like This
Post-Col Childhoods
Non-Canon Kids
William's 13th Birthday Challenge
2012 & 2012 Revisited Challenges

Return to The Nursery Files home