"Epithalamion" by Juliettt@aol.com (June 25, 1995) (reposted with "Wonders Wrought" August 9, 1995) Okay, boys and girls, gather 'round! It's time to sing The Disclaimer Song! Those of you who know it already, join in on the refrain: In this story there will be some characters, many of whom you will recognize. Most of these belong to Chris Carter and Ten-Thirteen Productions and FOX Broadcasting, or some amalgamation of the three. I am borrowing these characters very lovingly but without a smidgen of permission. To those of you who would sue me for this, I paraphrase Cancerman: "Why? Look at me. No husband. No children. Some books. . . ." There will be a few other characters to which references will be made whom some of you will recognize. Jackie St. George and Martin Nantus belong to Sheryl Martin and borrowed both lovingly and with her permission. There will be several characters whom you probably will not recognize. These are mine, and I have given myself carte blanche to use them in any way I please. I'm copyrighting Bruce Cunningham in particular because he is wholly my creation and he will reappear in later stories. This story is also mine. If you write me and ask very nicely, I may give you carte blanche to use it as you please. STORY NOTE/WARNING: An "epithalamion" is a marriage song. The poetry appropriated here is the first five of eight stanzas of John Donne's exquisite 16th-century "Epithalamion Made at Lincoln's Inn." For those of you who read "Seduction By the Book," yes, this is the second time I have "gone to the well" on this one, and maybe someday I will write a story whose content demands the presence of the final three stanzas. ;-) A warning for the anti-romantics in the group: This story describes Dana Scully's wedding day and as such includes all the sentiment, though perhaps not the mush, that such a topic demands. However, I would rate it "SC" for "Squeaky Clean." Those of you who have stuck around this far, enjoy! ********************** "Epithalamion" Juliettt@aol.com ********************** The sun-beams in the east are spread, Leave, leave, fair Bride, your solitary bed, No more shall you return to it alone, It nurseth sadness, and your body's print, Like to a grave, the yielding down doth dint; You and your other you meet there anon; Put forth, put forth that warm balm-breathing thigh, Which when next time you in these sheets will smother There it must meet another, Which never was, but must be, oft, more nigh; Come glad from thence, go gladder than you came, Today put on perfection, and a woman's name. Dana Scully woke to sunlight streaming through the window of her bedroom. Not her D.C. room; the bedroom of her childhood home. She had agreed with her mother that it was only fitting she spend her last night as a single woman in the bedroom she had occupied as a girl. Her last night alone. She smiled at the thought. She might return here again, but it would never be the same. She still felt like a little girl whenever she visited her mother, but the next time she came home it would be with her husband and then, hopefully someday, with their children. . . . She stretched luxuriously. Today would be wonderful -- and for more than the obvious reasons. Today Jackie and Marty would be there, and Rosie and Amy and Bruce and Wendy -- all the friends she had not seen in months until this weekend. All her family, too, scattered as they were. And she had finally convinced Mulder to walk her down the aisle. Somewhat predictably, he had resisted. "That's the father's job, Scully . . ." he stopped short. "I'm sorry." She shook her head. "That's okay, Mulder. But obviously my father *can't* walk me down the aisle. And who else would I ask but *you*?" "What about Bill, Jr.?" "No way, Mulder. I want *you*." "It's not traditional, Scully. . . ." "Since when has that ever stopped us?" In the end, he'd agreed. Just as her mother had agreed to let her have her wedding in the small chapel instead of the church. And Melissa and her sisters-in-law had agreed to host a small reception instead of having a huge dinner catered. And *he* had agreed to a brief honeymoon in her father's hunting cabin instead of the European trip or cruise he had wanted to give her. "I don't want lavish trips and extravagance," she told him. "I just want *you*." He twinkled at her. "And besides, you just can't wait to get back to work on those moldy old X-Files with 'Spooky' Mulder, can you?" In fact, it seemed everyone was willing to let her have this day exactly as she had wanted it. "If I'd known this was all it took to have things the way I want them I would have gotten married a long time ago," she had laughed to Mulder just the other day. Daughters of London, you which be Our golden mines, and furnished treasury, You which are angels, yet still bring with you Thousands of angels on your marriage days, Help with your presence, and device, to praise These rites, which also unto you grow due; Conceitedly dress her, and be assigned, By you, fit place for every flower and jewel, Make her for love fit fuel As gay as Flora, and as rich as Ind; So may she fair and rich, in nothing lame, Today put on perfection, and a woman's name. She heard a light tapping at her door. It swung open and her mother peeked in. "Wake up, sleepyhead!" She laughed. "I am awake, Mom." Margaret Scully entered the room and crossed to the bed. "I know, darling. I just wanted to say that one more time." Her eyes danced. "From now on I'll have to stand at the door and knock." Dana's cheeks grew faintly pink. "Hey, Cat! You up yet?" Melissa poked her head in. She smiled. "Come on in, Mel -- join the party." Melissa made a risque remark about the *real* party not being until that night and laughed at Dana's deep blush. "Better get used to it, Dana -- you'll be getting it all day." Scully bit her lip and waited for the follow-up. It was not forthcoming. Well, maybe Mel *did* have some restraint in front of their mother. Melissa winked at her and stepped inside, her arms full of Dana's wedding dress. Their mother's wedding dress. . . . Dana stood up and hugged her mother. "Thanks again for letting me wear your dress, Mom." Margaret returned her embrace warmly and kissed her baby girl on the forehead. "Dana Katherine, I'm thrilled you could wear it." "Guess there *are* some advantages to being short," Melissa grinned. She was maybe an inch taller than Dana, but she never let her forget it. Margaret's eyes softened as she watched Dana stroke the dress, smiling. And she remembered that time, long ago yet not so long, when Dana had been dying and she had thought she would never see this day. And then she sighed. "I only wish your father. . . ." "I know, Mom," she said softly. "But I think maybe he will be able to see me. I hope so." "He used to talk about the day he would walk you girls down the aisle. . . ." She swallowed hard and tried to smile. Bill had missed Melissa's wedding day, too, but somehow this hurt more. "I finally convinced Mulder to do it," Dana was saying. "I know. I think that's wonderful." Scully smiled. Her mother thought *Fox* was wonderful. She sighed happily and moved to the mirror. Melissa was shaking her head at her sister's pajamas. "Geez, Cat -- you aren't taking those things on your *honeymoon*, are you?" Scully opened her mouth to reply in the negative but her mother jumped in first. "No, she most certainly is *not*," she said with some determination. Her eyes laughed at her two daughters. "Mom -- *what* did you do?" Dana asked. "Well, Jackie and I did a little shopping," she said. "At Victoria's Secret." Dana rolled her eyes. "I suppose I should be grateful it wasn't Frederick's of Hollywood," she groaned. "Well, I can't vouch for Jackie's gift. . . ." Dana shook her head and smiled wryly. "I should *never* have introduced you two." She walked to the bathroom. "Besides," she continued under her breath, a gleam in her eye, "I did my own shopping. . . ." Melissa turned to Margaret as the bathroom door closed. So her mother knew what was in her sister's suitcase. . . . "Mom!" she whispered loudly. "What?" "Tell me you didn't!" she hissed. "Didn't what, dear?" Her mother's blue eyes were too innocent. And then Melissa laughed. It had become a family tradition of sorts. Years before, when Margaret had married Bill, her mother and sisters had filled every available inch of space in her suitcase with rice. They were still picking it out years later on family trips and it seemed that they left a trail of rice to every new location to which the Captain was transferred. Melissa herself had eloped and she bet Dana had never gotten over missing the opportunity to cram her bags with rice and decorate the car. She reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a bag of wild rice. "Leave any room for me?" she asked. Dana smiled at her reflection in the mirror as she heard the peals of laughter issuing from her room. She sighed. Well, she thought with satisfaction, she wouldn't really need much. . . . The thought gave her goosebumps. "Hurry up, Dana!" her sister yelled. "We've got to 'get you to the church on time'!" And you frolic patricians, Sons of these senators' wealth's deep oceans, Ye painted courtiers, barrels of others' wits, Ye country men, who but your beasts love none, Ye of those fellowships whereof he's one, Of study and play made strange hermaphrodites, Here shine; this Bridegroom to the Temple bring. Lo, in yon path which store of strewed flowers graceth, The sober virgin paceth; Except my sight fail, 'tis no other thing; Weep not nor blush, here is no grief nor shame, Today put on perfection, and a woman's name. Across town, she knew, her husband-to-be was at his own careful ministrations. She thought of the gray morning-suits he and the groomsmen would wear and smiled again as her sister expertly piled shining strands of red hair on her head. Her mother was laying out the rest of her clothing -- silky underthings, gauzy stockings (no pantyhose today -- she hated them anyway), white shoes. "Now, Dana, before you put on that dress you need to eat something," her mother was saying. "I'm not hungry, Mom," she said stubbornly. "Dana Katherine Scully, you are a doctor. You know what happens when you combine stress with low blood sugar." "I thought it was always the groom who fainted at weddings," Melissa mumbled around the hairpins in her mouth. "Well, in that case Dana will need to be able to revive him," their mother insisted. Scully sighed. "All right, Mom. I'll have some juice, okay?" Margaret looked at her for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders and went downstairs to get the juice. Dana was her daughter and as such was just as stubborn as she was. *And* she was a Scully to boot. She smiled. "Ahab, you'd be proud of our little girl," she whispered. ***** Dana stared at herself in the mirror. The white dress swept low on her bare shoulders and hugged her waist, disappearing into soft folds to the tips of her shoes. The veil was hand-knitted lace -- it had been her great-grandmother's. Her hair was piled in soft curls on her head with a few wispy tendrils around her face and neck. Her blue eyes sparkled. The faint touch of lipstick -- she hardly ever wore much makeup, anyway -- was perfect. Excitement had brought a faint wild-rose blush to her cheeks. At her throat was the cross on the slim gold chain that her mother had given her for her fifteenth birthday. The pearls in her ears were a gift from Mulder. Melissa put her arm around her sister and gave her a squeeze. "He's gonna love you." Dana smiled softly. "He already does." Thy two-leaved gates fair Temple unfold, And these two in thy sacred bosom hold, Till, mystically joined, but one they be; Then may thy lean and hunger-starved womb Long time expect their bodies and their tomb, Long after their own parents fatten thee. All elder claims, and all cold barrenness, All yielding to new loves be far for ever, Which might these two dissever, Always, all th'other may each one possess; For, the best Bride, best worthy of praise and fame, Today puts on perfection, and a woman's name. They arrived at the church with a few minutes to spare. Even then Melissa insisted on steering her into the bride's room. "You cannot allow him to see you before the wedding!" she insisted. "Mel, this *is* the wedding," she hissed. "That is an old tradition used to keep the groom from either seeing the bride and changing his mind or absconding with her without paying the dowry. There is no dowry here because I am giving *myself* away. And I work for the FBI. If he tries to cut and run on me you can be assured that I will hunt him down and drag him to the altar myself." Sometimes it really amazed her the way Melissa combined her New Age philosophies with the oldest of traditions. Maybe it had something to do with superstition, she thought. "Yeah, I guess you'd be pretty good at tracking him down," Mel was saying. "You've had plenty of practice at that with Mulder." They smiled at each other. Margaret Scully bustled in. "Girls," she said, "they're ready." She gave them each a careful hug and kiss, handed Dana the bouquet of roses and white heather she would carry, and hurried back out to take her seat in the congregation. Dana turned to her sister. "Mel," she said, "thanks for understanding when I asked Jackie to be my matron of honor. . . ." Melissa waved away her apologies. "I'm perfectly content to be one of your attendants," she said. "Besides, miss an opportunity to see St. George in a dress? You have *got* to be kidding!" She squeezed Dana's hand and slipped out of the room to take her place in the procession. In doing so she missed Scully's grin. Melissa was going to be disappointed. She stood by herself in the middle of the room. "Ahab?" she whispered softly. "It's me -- Starbuck. Today's a big day for me, Daddy. I -- I had hoped you would be there for all my big days. Especially this one." She took a deep breath to steady herself. "Daddy -- I love you. And if I ever have a little girl -- or a little boy . . . I promise I'll tell them all about you. And I'll show them the stars." A single tear hung on her eyelashes and she quickly blotted it away. And then she was ready. She crossed to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it. Mulder was standing there, his hand raised to knock. He stared at her for a moment. Then his eyes and mouth widened into one of his rare smiles. She smiled back. He bent and gave her a quick, light kiss -- the last person ever to kiss Dana Katherine Scully. . . . "I'm still not convinced he's good enough for you," he said quietly. She smiled at him. "He is." He gazed at her for a moment and gently touched her cheek. "Ready?" She nodded her head and took his arm. They stood for a moment framed in the doorway of the chapel. The organ swelled and then began the Wedding March from _Lohengrin_. The congregation rose to its feet and turned expectantly. And then they were walking down the aisle. She concentrated on her feet and the calm strength of Mulder's arm through hers, glancing up once to see the priest standing in his vestments at the front. She was too short to see the attendants or the place where *he* would stand yet. She felt Mulder squeeze her hand. "Okay?" he whispered. She nodded. And then they were at the front. Mulder's arm left hers and he moved around her. The greeting and prayers and homily went by in a blur. She said "I do" at the proper times and heard the man by her side do the same. And then it was time for the vows. Her mind whirled. They had decided to memorize their vows -- what if she forgot them? And then she turned and looked into his eyes, those deep, beautiful, hazel eyes, and she forgot her nervousness, she forgot the assembled congregation, she forgot everything but her all-encompassing love for him, for this man, and her overwhelming joy at being here and able to say these words to him: "I Dana take thee Fox to be my wedded husband. . . ." Oh winter days bring much delight, Not for themselves, but for they soon bring night; Other sweets wait thee than these diverse meats, Other disports than dancing jollities, Other love tricks than glancing with the eyes, But that the sun still in our half sphere sweats; He flies in winter, but he now stands still, Yet shadows turn; noon point he hath attained, His steeds nill be restrained, But gallop lively down the western hill; Thou shalt, when he hath run the world's half frame, Tonight put on perfection, and a woman's name. *END* +++PLEASE GO TO SEQUEL, "WONDERS WROUGHT"+++ --This story is dedicated to my mother; who inspired the "rice" story (yes, this really happened to her!)-- -30-