TITLE – A Friend In Need AUTHOR – Green Eyed Soul E-MAIL – removed at author's request ARCHIVE – anywhere you like, just e-mail me RATING – PG CATEGORY – S SPOILERS – mentions about Emily, ‘Existence’, ‘William’ KEYWORDS – Scully/Reyes friendship SUMMARY – An old friend of Monica dies and she has to cope with three orphaned children. Dana has to help Monica, as well. DISCLAIMER – neither Monica, nor Scully as well as everyone X-filish mentioned here belongs to me. They’re all Chris Carter’s. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Buckbeak belong to J.K. Rowling. A. Alexin belongs to himself. AUTHOR’S NOTES – English is not my mother-tongue, so please be kind. Thank you very much Politic X for help and encouragement. Enjoy reading! *** *** *** FBI Headquarters September 14, 2002 11:15 am I’m heading to the basement office from the elevator. How long has it been since I've been here? Ages I guess. And god I missed it! Maybe I am a more active person than I used to think. I feel something missing from my life – not just Mulder or the X-files, it’s all the excitement of the job, all the people I meet and all the knowledge and experience I get from our investigations. The one who had said “Live and learn” was right. Well in my case. Such a familiar smell… coffee. I’ve drank thousands and thousands of cups down in here. “Damn!” I hear from the inside. That isn’t familiar. I open the door to see Monica furiously shaking her left hand in the air. “Monica! What’s up?” “Uh nothing serious. I’ve just spilled my coffee.” She’s smiling sheepishly rubbing her hand. Looking at her you’d never think she’s so clumsy. It’s so strange - the way things are combined in her: elegance of a woman, and spontaneity of a child. She can be two different people, one minute laughing her ass off of a silly joke, and the other studying autopsy reports with no hint of a giggle. “Let me have a look at it. You could have burned it,” I say touching Monica’s hand. I try not to hurt her but she makes a wry face. “Sorry.” There is no actual burn, though, and I say with my best doctor intonation, “It’s ok. You just put it under the cold water; it’ll take pain away”. Monica hesitates looking at the wet papers on her desk. “Go on! I’ll clean it up for you.” Monica smiles her thanks and goes out to the corridor. I look for a cloth to clean and start with Monica’s phone. It is all in coffee. Guess she would be able to smell it for months. Seconds later the phone rings. “Dana Scully” “Hi! Could I speak to Monica Reyes please?” “Sorry no. She’s out right now. Can I take a message?” “Yes, please. Tell her that it is Julie Cates from New York social service. I’m calling about Lindsay and Michael Lockhart. I will call back later, is that okay?” “Sure. I’ll tell her” “Thank you” “Goodbye” I get back to the dirty table and am almost finished with it when I hear a loud bang. “Damn!” that’s Monica again. I think she has just crashed into the door… “It’s not my day I guess”, she says facing me, a smile on her face growing sad, “I’ve overslept, couldn’t find the keys for half an hour, spilled my coffee and now… well you’ve seen.” “Yeah,” I answer pretending sympathetic, but I crack and smile at Monica. She looks so fragile, so child-like that I want to hug her, pat her on the shoulder and say everything’s going to be ok. But instead I ask, “How’s your hand?” looking at her rather reddish hand clutched to the other. “Much better. Thank you dr. Scully”, she says smiling, “Someone called me?” “Yes. It was some Julie Cates from social service,” or was she Catie Jules? “She said this has something to do with Lindsay and Michael Lockhart. She’ll call you back in ten minutes”. “Right… So what did you come down here for?” she asks sitting down on the desk. “Well since John is sick I thought you could use some help,” I should’ve said ‘I could use some help’. “My students have a week off so there’s nothing I can do… you’re not finished with that crop circles case, are you? Mulder and I had some experience, that could come in handy.” I can’t say I’m willing to deal with vampires and zombies, but it’s all better than to sit at home reading “Pride and Prejudice” for hundredth time… “Sorry to disappoint you but I am. It was a mockery - some local kids were having fun”, she lets out a little sigh; I have to admit I understand her, “But you’re always more than welcome to help. I’m sure there soon will be another case.” She smiles to me apologetically. The phone rings again – it must be this woman from the social service. Monica picks up, still looking at me. “Monica Reyes,” she lowers her eyes and grabs a pencil from the desk, starting to twirl it in her hand. “Yes I know her,” she suddenly stops twirling the pencil. “She what?” I look at Monica; she looks at the receiver astonished as trying to see the face of the speaker. “You’re saying that… Oh god!” she exclaims dropping the pencil and not caring to pick it up. “Tell them I’ll come this evening.” I am almost afraid to look at her face, it’s so grim and dark. I’ve never seen her so. “Yeah thanks. Bye.” The conversation is apparently finished, but she keeps the receiver near her ear, and I hear the engaged tones. She slowly puts it down and looks absent-mindedly over the room, not noticing me. “What is it Monica? Everything’s okay?” She doesn’t reply. What the hell did that woman tell her? “Monica?” I ask again. “Yeah?” she finally focuses her gaze on me, but I have a feeling she’s looking through me. “Are you okay?” another pause; she blinks once, twice, then says, “Yeah… sort of,” she does worry me; I’ve never seen her so shocked, not even when she was left all alone with me in Georgia to deliver William and fight these super-soldiers. “It was from New York. They said my friend – my best friend – Lindsay died. Last night. In a car crash. She and Michael. Both.” “Oh Monica! I’m so sorry!” I exclaim, but she doesn’t even look at me, just stating facts. “They have three daughters,” she continues, looking down at the desk as if reading her speech from there. “Alex is sixteen, Casey’s six and Ashley’s just turned ten.” She softly smiles at the memory, but then gets grim again, and for the first time looks at me straight in the eye. “Oh Dana! What’s gonna happen to them?” I don’t know what to say, how can I? She covers her face with both her hands. She’s not sobbing or crying, just staying still. I approach the desk and gently take her hands off her face, trying to comfort her. I want to say something, but what? Tell her it’d be ok? It’s hypocrisy. I squeeze her hand a little, and feel her hand squeezing mine in return. “Look,” she says, rising her eyes to me, her voice tense and deep, coming inside of her chest, “I have to go to New York, and I wonder if you could stay here instead of me?” I let go of her hand, “I’ll be happy to, Monica,” I answer, “Take your time.” She smiles, but it’s none of her smile; there’s no life in it, no joy. Her friend took Monica’s smile with her. She grabs her coat, and is about to leave, when I say, “If you need something just call me. You know my cell.” Monica smiles again, and again it’s not her smile, and again I want to hug her and tell her she’ll be alright. But I don’t. I just stay in the middle of the room watching her closing the door. “I mean it!” I shout, but she probably didn’t hear that. *** *** *** New York City September 14, 2002 07:55 pm “Hey! Are you gonna get out or something?” a gruff voice asks into my ear. I jump on my seat, realizing I am in a taxi. Nodding my head, I reply, “Yeah of course”. I hand the money to the taxi-driver and get out of the car. I am in front of a rather small house, with a couple of bushes in each side of the front door and a sign: Welcome to the Lockharts on it. I sigh heavily and cross the road. There are four steps to climb to knock at the door. I pass the two of them and stop. I don’t want to come in. I don’t want to find girls alone. I don’t want to know Lindsay is dead. She just can’t be. From all the people I know she’s the last one to die so stupidly. She’d fight for her life, wouldn’t give up so easily. As a teacher, she had always taught her students to live life to the max, to enjoy every moment of it. She said life is our greatest treasure. And yet she’s dead. I know nothing will change if I say she can’t be dead, even if I scream it, not even if I cry it at the top of my lungs. She’s dead. I’m helpless here. I climb the two last stairs and knock. For a long minute no one answers and I lift my hand to knock again and harder when the door opens, and a small blond woman in a black suit appears in the doorway. “Hi can I help you?” “Hi my name’s Monica Reyes, I am Lindsay’s friend. They called me from the social service…” There is a moment of silence. “Well, come on in. I’m Julie Cates, I talked to you on the phone,” she continues while closing the door behind me. “We’ve contacted Michael’s brother, he’ll come tomorrow and arrange everything.” I take off my coat and accompany Ms. Cates to the living room. All the pictures are on their places, a blue toy elephant is sitting near the piano as it had for past four years, a pile of copybooks is waiting for Lindsay to check it up. Everything is as it used to be, but there’s no Lindsay appearing with two cups of coffee saying ‘So great to talk to you!’ Instead Ms. Cates asks, “Want to see the children?” “Yes.” I say. I look around the room – nothing has changed, not a little bit, since I’ve been here last time. I notice red button shining on the phone – there must be an unheard message. Not quite realizing what I’m doing I press it and hear, “Hi Lindsay. This is Hannah. I wonder if we could go shopping Sunday morning. Call me when you can, ok?” I want to scream, “She’ll never go shopping anymore!” but I can’t. It is like time has stopped, and all my feelings have stopped too. I know that the tears will come later, when I am alone. I know that the pain will come next along with the tears, but yet it’s nothingness, and this is what scares me most. *** *** *** Alex’s bedroom is upstairs. I get to the closed door with a road-sign Stop! Yeah, this sign may be very useful when you have two smaller sisters I guess. It may be very useful if you live in the Lockhart family to tell the truth. Every time I got here doors were slamming, music was shouting from one of the girls’ bedrooms, and laughter was heard from another, and phone chatting from the third, television was on, and every moment someone was rushing around the house asking: “Have you seen my book? Have you seen my new shirt? Have you seen my Barbie doll?” Now the house is so quiet. So different. No music, no shouts, no laughter, no TV on, all the doors are closed – even Casey’s, and I’ve never seen it closed before. Everything is dead like Lindsay and Michael are. I sigh heavily and knock at Alex’s door. “Alex?” There’s no reply. “Alex?” I ask again. Still nothing. “Alex that’s Monica. Can I come in?” There’s finally a reluctant answer, “Get lost Mon! I don’t want to see anybody!” I sigh again but open the door and step into the room. At first I don’t even understand where I am. So dark. The shades are down and the light is off. I wander around the room with my eyes and finally spot Alex. She’s sitting at the corner of her bed clutching an old teddy bear – it is the one I gave her for her fifth birthday. I want to approach her, and though I haven’t yet made a move, she shouts, “Get lost I said!” Now I do approach her. “You ever learned to read?” she shouts again, but much less sure and much quieter. I sit down on the edge of her bed and look at her. She doesn’t cry or anything like that. She just sits here silent and not moving. I look in her eye and see nothing in it – no emotions, no feelings. That is scary you know. She’s just 16, she should be crying, rushing around saying, ‘It’s not fair! I don’t believe it!’ She should *do* something. I remember her small very well. She was, and is, a copy of Lindsay – the same dark curly hair, brown eyes, slim figure. And she reminds of Lindsay in talking, dancing, watching TV, in everything she does. I remember the first time I saw her – she was four then. I met Lindsay at a hairdressers’ and we had talked for quite a long time when I felt someone touching my hand asking, “Will you read to me?” I looked down and saw a small dark-haired girl handing me a book. I glanced at Lindsay, as she was the nearest to me, with confusion, but she smiled and explained, “Monica, meet my greatest treasure, Alex.” Alex solemnly shook my hand and I couldn’t help smiling. “Mom won’t read to me,” frowned Alex, “she says I am too big and have to read myself”. She was so serious, and it was so touchy. I smiled again, but Alex said, “Why are you laughing? I am four years old!” and she showed four fingers to me. I smiled again and said, “No dear I’m not laughing. You better tell me what book you have.” “This is The Wizard of Oz. Will you read to me?” and with these words she handed me rather a shabby book with the Emerald City on the cover. “See what I mean?” Lindsay pointed at the torn pages with the spots of cereal and god knows what else on it. “I’ve read it to her for billions of times. And she herself read it for billions of times”. I took the book from the little girl and opened it, starting reading. I wish I could open this book again and make Alex feel better. I don’t know how much time has passed since I came into this room. It could be a second, a minute, an hour, but it feels like eternity. I’ve been back to the time when Alex could hardly read and Lindsay didn’t curl her hair and I didn’t work in the FBI. I’ve been to a happy world. I wish so much I could bring a part of it – just a small – to this house now. Alex hasn’t moved at all. I look at her instantly, wanting her to look at me, but she seems not to notice. I gently put a hand on her forearm and ask, “Alex.” She glances at my hand, but keeps her eyes on the wall. “Alex. Please talk to me.” She finally looks at me, not saying a word. “Alex. Say something.” She jerks her head up and snaps, “What do you want to hear Monica? What?” I hear tears in her voice. “That my parents are dead? That I’m all alone with two sisters now? You want to know how I feel?” She looks angrily at me. “How would you feel if it were *your* parents?” Her eyes are filled with tears by now, but she doesn’t let them spill. ‘Honey, I love you so much. You’re my daughter too. I want to ease your pain, I just don’t know how. Help me!’ my heart cries, but my mouth is silent. I simply outstretch my arms and grab Alex’s shoulders, pulling her to me and wrapping my arms around her back. She tries to get out of my hug, but I hold her tight. For a couple of seconds she keeps fighting with me, but then she gives up and sinks in my embrace. I slowly rub circles on her back whispering, “Ok, sweety. It’s ok.” Alex sobs quietly on my chest, muttering something. About half-an-hour past and I’m still rocking her. I look down at her face and see her closed eyes, realizing she’s asleep. I get up and gently put her on the bed, covering with a blanket. Her cheeks are wet with tears, and I brush them away, kissing her. “Good night honey,” I half-smile and leave the room, soundlessly closing the door behind me. *** *** *** Scully’s residence Later this evening I want to call Monica, to check how she is. She looked so … so out-of-character in the office. I worry about her. Will it be okay to phone her? Or will I sound too inquisitive? I’ll better wait for a little bit. I’ll read. It has always calmed me and put my mind in an order. I look over my bookshelves, deciding what to read. My eyes come across a thick book with a beige cover. I don’t recognize it. Pulling it from a shelf I look at the cover. It says, ‘A. Alexin. Short stories.’ It’s a Russian writer, if I’m not mistaken. Mulder lent me this book and I still hadn’t read it. Mulder. Where are you now? Are you safe? Are you injured? Do you miss me? Do you miss William? Do you still remember us? No, no. I won’t think of him now. I’ve spent enough time thinking about him. It’s just too much. I said I was going to read, so I’ll read. I open the book searching for the contents, but it opens in the middle. I glance at the bottom of the page and read, ‘You don’t need an excuse to come; you need an excuse to leave’. I reread this phrase once again. Is it addressed to me? “I don’t need an excuse to come,” I say aloud, and, without further thinking, pick up the phone. *** *** *** Aw, the phone. Not now, please! I don’t want to hear anyone. If it’s not urgent, I’ll kill the man. “Hello?” “Monica?” It’s Dana. “It’s Dana.” “Hi. I knew it was you.” “Really!” she says with a strange voice. “I just wanted to know how you’re doing.” “I’m fine.” I reply quite dryly. If not sharply. “Oh great,’ she says with what I think is embarrassment. “Goodnight then, I just wanted to know how you were doing,” she repeats again. All of a sudden I feel sorry about my unkind reply. “Dana, hang on a second,” I ask, clutching the receiver to my left ear. “Sorry I’m - ”. “Don’t be. It’s actually me calling you in the middle of the night,” she chuckles quietly and I answer her with a small grin. “How are you? Really?” “Well”, I mumble. How can I tell her what I’m feeling? “I’m rather good. I… I think I hadn’t had time to realize Lindsay’s gone. I’ve been busy with the girls since I’ve come here.” “Are they okay?” she asks with sincere concern. “Um Alex fell asleep sobbing in my arms; and Casey and Ashley… Casey doesn’t really understand what’s happened. She keeps asking, ‘When will mom come home?’” I’ m afraid my voice is going to betray me. “I don’t know what to answer her,” I say and hope my tears aren’t evident to Dana. Something wet is streaming down my cheek. “And, Dana, you know what frightens me?” Now I feel a wet line on my other cheek, too. “It’s Ashley. She hasn’t let a single tear, behaves like nothing has happened. She’s so calm.” “It’s shock.” “Huh?” “It’s shock, Monica. She doesn’t want to accept what’s happened. Or…” she stops in the mid-sentence. “Forget it.” “No, tell me what you think.” “Hm. You remember I told you about my daughter, Emily?” I nod, but realize she can’t see me, and slowly answer, not getting what she is about. “Yeah.” “She died when she was three. But she was ever so calm… even when she knew her parents were dead and she was dying she stayed calm. It was so strange. Guess she was a very strong person. And perhaps, so is Ashley.” “I see. I see what you mean. But I don’t think it’s about Ashley. She would cry for an hour about a scratched knee and…” I wave my hand in the air. So bad Dana isn’t here to talk to me. It is difficult to make words into sentences, and Dana can read my body language so good, better than anyone I’ve met in my life. “Well,” she says. “She’ll get over it. She’s just a kid yet. Give her some time.” I nod. Oh hell I am supposed to say something. “Yeah, you may be right.” There’s a silence. “Hm, I better be going now.” She finally says. “Call me if you need anything.” I close my eyes in response. “I mean anything.” “I will.” I say. “Bye.” “Bye.” I nearly put the receiver down, when I suddenly grab it back and almost yell, “Dana?” “Yeah?” She asks. Thank god, I thought she’s already disconnected. “Dana, thank you for calling.” “You’re welcome,” she says and I hear a smile in her voice.