SUMMARY: No parent should have to bury their child.

She takes the flowers off the coffin and I turn away. This is private, her way of saying goodbye to her daughter. I hear the lid being opened. My head turns to see her staring at the coffin. With one hand, she slowly reaches down inside and pulls out something. It takes me a moment to realize that it's her cross, the one she gave to Emily. It dangles from her hand as looks at it with an expression of infinite sadness that breaks my heart.

She closes her eyes as she brings the tiny cross up to her face, her hand now firmly clutching its chain. Her shuddering gasp of a breath brings to my attention the tears running down her face. I can't bear to see her like this, and once again I turn away from her. God, it kills me to see her cry. She's suffered so much already - the death of her sister, her cancer, and now the loss of her only daughter. Her :daughter:.

A week ago, I couldn't have imagined the possibility of Dana Scully having a child. Now, standing here before this tiny coffin, knowing that such a child did indeed exist, I have a glimpse of Scully's deepest hopes, desires, fears, and sorrows. She wanted most what she couldn't have, and when she finally did get her wish, it was snatched from her in the blink of an eye. Discovering that she had a daughter, only to lose her days after their first meeting, is such a sadness I can't even begin to fathom.

I blink and am surprised to feel wetness on my cheeks. Who are these people, I ask as I let the tears come. Who are these bastards who think to play God with us, who give life, only to take it away as easily as snuffing out a flame? She was only a child, for God's sake, yet they murdered her as thoughtlessly as if she were some test animal.

I told Scully that Emily was a miracle that was never meant to be, but deep inside, I hoped against hope that Emily was a gift to Scully. A gift that would give her something that has all but disappeared from her life: Joy. Happiness. The ability to laugh and smile. And for a few brief days, I firmly believe that Scully had found it. As she sat next to Emily on the floor in the children's ward, helping her color that potato, I saw it - the love that only a mother could have for her child.

I glance over at Scully. She's kneeling before the coffin now, her head resting against its polished edge, her hand still grasping the cross. Memories of my own mother flash before me. When Samantha disappeared, there was no funeral, no memorial, yet I see my mother's grief-stricken face mirrored in Scully's.

I choke back a sob. No parent should ever have to bury their child. I bring my hand up to cover the tears that now fall freely, my body shaking in silent agony. I cry for all that has been lost to us. I cry for my sister. I cry for Emily. But standing here, watching her say goodbye to her child, I cry for Scully. FIN