"Old Habits Die Hard" by Juliettt@aol.com (September 29, 1995) Yup, this is another Dana and Margaret bonding story. I personally find the Scullys facinating, and Margaret is *wonderful*. The basic premise for this story arose out of my memory of the scene from "Beyond the Sea" when Boggs "remembers" an event out of Scully's past that seemed, somehow, strangely incongruous with her character as we know her. I started thinking about that scene and that event from Scully's childhood and this is what became of it. It takes place about six weeks into Scully's and Mulder's marriage, a couple of weeks after the lunch in "Girls' Day Out." And of course, Dana Scully (Mulder), Fox Mulder, Margaret Scully, and any other characters you recognize belong to Chris Carter and Ten- Thirteen Productions and FOX Broadcasting, or some amalgamation of the three, as well as to Gillian Anderson, David Duchovny, and Sheila Larken, et al. I don't have any permission to use these characters or the premise of _The X-Files_, but I don't intend any offense, either. I do, however, intend to convey a lot of gratitude and respect. This story, however, does belong to me, such as it is. **************************** "Old Habits Die Hard" by Juliettt@aol.com **************************** They were having lunch again, but this time when Dana walked up to her mother the love in her eyes was mingled with fear. When Margaret smiled at her, her eyes clear and joyful, the younger woman gave a sigh of relief that seemed to emanate from her toes and practically collapsed in her chair. "Thank God," she murmured, only now realizing the physical as well as the emotional stress under which she had been since receiving her mother's tearful telephone call a week earlier. She moved her shoulders and neck in slow circles in an attempt to relax the muscles. "Mom, I was so worried. . . ." "I know, darling. I'm sorry." Margaret eyed her daughter with love and concern. "I never should have burdened you with this." "No! You absolutely *should* have shared this with me! Mom, *promise* me you won't ever try to keep anything like this from me 'for my own good.' I don't think I could take the perpetual worry that something might be wrong and you might not be telling me." When she saw Maggie hesitate, then nod in assent, she relaxed slightly. "You know, that used to be one of my biggest fears." "What? Cancer?" Maggie said softly. Dana's eyes shadowed momentarily. "No -- well, yes, that. But I was so afraid while I was away at med school and then the academy that something would happen to one of the family -- Gran or Gram or Granddad -- and you wouldn't tell me until it was too late. My roommates and I used to talk about it, and they were afraid of the same thing -- calling home and being told that somebody had died and then, when they promised to fly home immediately, being told, 'oh, we buried them yesterday'. . . ." Margaret was horrified. "Dana -- I had no idea." The notion that her baby girl, who had always taken so much upon herself, had also shouldered this sort of an emotional burden, pained her beyond words. "Why didn't you ever tell us?" "Because I figured if you knew I was worried about it it would just make you more likely to keep things from me." Maggie shook her head. "You should have known better." Dana nodded wryly. "My *head* did. But my heart did some very strange things." She sighed. "Sometimes we felt so isolated there in school. Not that we weren't surrounded by people," she hastened to add, "but med school was always slightly -- surreal, you know?" Margaret nodded. "I'm sorry. I wish I had known." Scully shook her head with a smile. "'Sokay. No way you could have known. So," she said, changing the subject back to the reason for their meeting, "you obviously met with the doctor -- and everything's okay?" Mrs. Scully nodded. "It was a shadow -- probably from insufficient compression on the first mammogram." Dana closed her eyes momentarily in relief. "Oh, Mom -- I was so scared. . . ." She choked off, unable to speak. As a doctor she knew that even cancer could be treated, but her clinical objectivity went out the window whenever one of her loved ones became ill. She could be as fiercely overprotective as Mulder, which was saying much. Her mother reached over and took her hand and they sat for a moment in silence. The waiter who had been about to approach the table recognized their need for privacy and turned to refilling water glasses. Finally Margaret pulled her hand away and spoke again, this time with a smile. "Dr. Rubin says it's a good thing I stopped smoking so long ago." Scully nodded. "You stopped -- when? Twenty years ago?" Margaret nodded. "September 23rd, 1979 -- cold turkey." She smiled a moment, looking at her daughter. "And I have you to thank for it." Scully's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?" Her mother's eyes twinkled. "I know you snuck out on the porch one night when you were fifteen and smoked one of my cigarettes." Dana's eyes grew wide and then she blushed. "Oh, really?" She didn't even consider denying it, although she was normally a very good liar. She had never been able to lie to her mother. Or, rather, she *had* been able to lie, but some inborn sense of morality had always led her to "tell on" herself, even when she could have gotten away with whatever it was she had done. Her parents had joked when she was younger that if the world were made up of Danas there would be no need for police or judicial systems; you could just leave a set of keys next to the jail door and they would simply lock themselves up out of guilt. Margaret nodded again. "You only smoked a little bit of it -- I found it lying in the rosebushes one day while I was pruning. And your nightgown reeked of smoke when I did the laundry." She grinned. "And then there was the fact that you took one of the last two cigarettes in the pack -- *and* you ripped practically a whole row of matches out of the book. I guess you were so nervous about being caught. . . ." She shook her head. "Sweetheart, for a future FBI agent you were *not* very discreet." Dana blushed again but said nothing. Margaret looked at her thoughtfully. "I figured you probably *wanted* to get caught." Scully gaped. "What?" Her mother regarded her tenderly. "Sweetheart, you wanted to rebel -- you wanted to break out of that 'good little girl' image so badly, but you just couldn't, because that's who you *were*. You had a built-in sense of right and wrong stronger than any other child I have ever seen. You didn't follow the rules because you were *afraid* of us -- except for maybe of disappointing us. You just rationally looked at every situation and decided for yourself what was right and *did* that. Usually -- though not always," she amended with a grin, "that cohered with what we wanted you to do." Scully snorted. "Makes me sound like a pretty dull kid." Margaret shook her head. "Oh, no. You weren't dull at *all*. You were as much of a challenge as your brothers and sister, just of a different quality, is all." She smiled again. "Good thing, too, because if you had been another Melissa Brian probably would never have been born." Dana couldn't help herself. She laughed. Margaret joined her and the waiter came over for their order. Margaret took another sip of her iced tea. "You know, I never would have caught Melissa smoking," she said, shaking her head. "Not that she didn't. . . . I have an idea, from what she's told me and the way she acted as a teenager, that she was in to all kinds of things." She sighed a little in relief at the thought of her elder daughter all grown up and with a wonderful husband and successful, reponsible career of her own. "She was the real rebel, but she was also always predictable." She shook her head again. "Whatever we said, we always knew Melissa would do the exact opposite. Now you," she grinned over her salad, "*you* were much more . . . creative." "Oh?" Scully asked around a mouthful of lettuce. "Do tell." "Well," Margaret said, laying down her fork, "you would go along with practically everything we said. Good thing, too," she reminisced, "because Melissa took up practically all of our energy there for awhile -- not to mention Bill, Jr." She resumed her story. "But every once in awhile we would come up against that Scully stubborn streak in you. You would make up your mind about something and you just would *not* back down." She considered for a moment. "Funny thing, too -- it was practically always on some sort of moral issue or something about which you felt very strongly. You didn't buck us often -- you chose your battles and didn't disobey us simply for the purpose of disobeying, as Melissa did. But boy, when you did. . . ." She shook her head in amusement and chagrin at the memory. Scully toyed with her fork for a moment. "You know, I -- later -- I regretted it." She sighed. "I know I hurt Dad -- and you. I didn't mean to; I just. . . ." Margaret smiled at her daughter. "Sweetheart, you were growing up, becoming your own person. You had to learn to think for yourself, and sometimes that meant opposing us." She sighed now, herself. "Not that that was much comfort at the time. . . ." Scully laid down her own fork and took a deep breath. "I've always regretted the last argument Dad and I had. We never really made that one up, you know?" When Margaret looked up she bit her lip and hesitated. "Dad -- we argued about my joining the FBI, and I never really got a chance -- no, I was too stubborn, I guess -- to try to explain to him why I did what I did. I know he thought I was just rebelling against you, but . . ." she broke off again, pain in her eyes. It had been years since Ahab's death but the ache was still there. The anguish of things said and things left unsaid. Margaret smiled at her daughter. "Sweetheart, I know you and your father -- said some things that hurt one another. But he understood." Scully nodded slowly. "I know that now. I just wish I had told him before it was too late." She knew that he had loved her, had been proud of her. For so long she had been unsure. And she had craved his acceptance so much, even after his death, that she had gone to great lengths to secure it, taking risks she perhaps had ought not have taken. She remembered Boggs and his long- ago promise to her and shuddered. The "message" he had promised her had finally come, she was certain, during the coma in which she lay after her abduction. She still could not remember everything, but she had awakened knowing that he had been there, that he loved her -- had always loved her, and that she had made him proud. She only wished she could have told him how proud she was of him. "You know, when I got that ring," she continued slowly, "at first I thought it had been his way of . . . I dunno . . . giving in because he saw that it was already too late." "Give in? *Bill*?" Margaret snorted. "Dana, you and your father were cast in the same mold as far as your temperament goes. Your brothers and sister are more like their grandfather. But you and he," she shook her head, "you tend to hold things in just a wee bit too long and then explode. *And* you're both stubborn," she grinned. "So don't you think that your father would ever just *give in* on *anything* he considered important. And he definitely considered *you* important." "I know," Dana said softly, remembering. "He finally realized where you were coming from, sweetheart. I think he realized that in your own way you were doing what he was doing in his -- trying to make the world a better place." She smiled gently. "Dana, he was just so worried about you. He was a strong man in so many ways, but deep down he was just terrified that something awful would happen to you. He could never reconcile your carrying a badge and a gun -- oh, not that he didn't know you were a good shot and could take care of yourself." After all, Bill had been there the first time Dana had shot a B-B gun, so many years ago, hitting the mark on her very first try. It had always been a source of pride with her younger daughter that she was a better shot than either of her brothers. "But you were his baby girl. It became obvious early on that Melissa would go her own way, and the boys -- well, they were boys. Your father was never a sexist," here Dana nodded, knowing that this was true -- he had always told her that she could do anything Bill and Brian could do, had even on occasion, she now remembered, suggested to her that there might be *more* for her to do, something *special*, because she had been gifted with abilities far, far beyond the average. He used to tell her that "To whom much much has been given, much will be required." The adage had frightened her at one time, but he had assured her that the adage worked both ways: because she had been given so much she would have much to do, but she had also been given the gifts to achieve the work set before her. It was this confidence of her father's in her that had gotten her through so many of those all-night study sessions and thirty-six hour shifts as an intern. "But Dana, he also knew that you were a woman, and small. He knew life could hurt you, and he did not want to see that happen." Not for the first time was Margaret grateful that Bill had not lived to see Dana's abduction. Fox had been bad enough. She pushed the memories of that awful time away and turned her mind back to the conversation. "He loved you, and despite what you might think -- despite what he may have said to you -- he *was* proud of you. He told me so, that night -- the night we left your apartment. He felt badly that we had left so abruptly. I wish he had had a chance to tell you himself . . . I know he wished it, too. . . ." Scully nodded, tears in her eyes. "Thank-you, Mom. I -- really needed to hear that." And she did. The understanding was one thing; but the knowledge that he had actually said the words filled an old, empty place in her soul. She laughed, then, and wiped her eyes. "Just look at us, Mom. Here you have this wonderful news to tell me and we end up crying anyway." Margaret laughed, too. "We are a sorry pair," she admitted. "No more weepy stuff, agreed?" "Agreed." They settled down to pasta and iced tea. "So -- where is Fox today?" Margaret smiled, noticing that Dana was still chewing. "Had some errands to run," she replied as soon as she could speak. "An oil change for the car -- dry cleaning to pick up. Stuff like that. He said he might drop by if he got done in time, instead of just meeting me." Margaret smiled. Fox was her favorite son-in-law and she hadn't seen him since the open house a week earlier. "I hope so. I'd love to see him again. How's work working out?" Dana positively grinned. "Wonderful. You'll have to come by and see the new office. Offices. Hard to remember they're separate." She chewed for a moment and then went on. "In fact, we're using the same office again." Margaret lifted her eyebrows in mute inquiry but made no comment. Scully nodded. "We -- umm -- moved Mulder's desk into my office and the rest of the file cabinets into his." "Kind of defeats the purpose of having two offices," Margaret said drily. "Yeah, well -- we spent all our time in there anyway," she shrugged, winding angel hair pasta around her fork, "so it only made sense. And we have more room this way." "What about Skinner?" Scully grinned again. "He doesn't know -- yet. And what he doesn't know can't hurt us, right?" She took another sip of tea. "I know what you're thinking, and it's not overkill. We spent all of our work hours together for years -- practically all of our waking hours, really." She grinned mischievously. "Now we just spend all of our . . . sleeping hours together as well." Margaret nodded thoughtfully. She supposed Dana was right -- married couples who then attempted to work together might have felt the intrusion, but Dana and Fox had been work partners for so long that it would have seemed strange for them suddenly *not* to be working together. Still, she knew, Fox Mulder -- and her daughter as well -- could be very intense, and she wondered whether either of them felt the strain of coming home to one another -- of coming home *together* -- every night and never getting away from all that intensity. Then again, they took short breaks from one another, like this lunch and others like it. And she knew her daughter -- and, by now, her son-in-law. They were not likely to remain silent about something that truly bothered them, particularly something that might harm their relationship. She shook her head slowly. She didn't know whether she had ever seen two people more in love than Fox and Dana. And they had been containing themselves for so long -- at first she had been a little concerned; such passion could quite possibly burn itself up very quickly, leaving nothing but ashes. But then the passion they felt for one another was simply one aspect of a deep, all-encompassing love and that love, she knew, would last. And then, too, they were pretty good at controlling themselves. For years they had hidden their more personal feelings for -- and from -- one another and converted all that passion into work energy. Now that power could be unleashed on one another and on their relationship. It might take a little work to keep all the pieces together, but they could do it. Together they could do practically anything. Scully noticed her mother shaking her head. "Mom? Anything wrong?" "No -- just thinking about how things have turned out," she responded. "Pretty well, I'd say," Scully said with a grin. "Oh, definitely. In fact, I think . . ." Scully never knew what it was her mother thought, for just at that moment she caught a glimpse of a well-known profile and her face lit up, the wide smile on her lips echoed in her shining eyes. Margaret recognized that look on her daughter's face and turned to the restaurant's entrance, knowing what she would see. And there he stood, her tall son-in-law, speaking briefly with the hostess, who quite evidently relished the task of seating this handsome man. Margaret saw Mulder say something and the woman's face fell. She grinned herself, knowing even before she saw the other woman peek around Mulder's back in the direction in which he was walking what he had said. Scully was on her feet before he reached the table, and he wrapped her in his arms. She relaxed there for a moment, enjoying the security and sense of *rightness* she always felt in his arms, before reaching up to return his kiss. He smiled down at her and released her to come around to Margaret's side of the table and kiss her on the cheek. "Hi, Mom." "Fox," she said, kissing him back. He grinned and took the chair between them. The waiter approached and before he could speak Dana piped up. "Could you please bring my husband a glass of iced tea?" Margaret intercepted the look that passed between them and permitted herself a small, satisfied smile. No, it didn't look like the passion was in any danger of burning itself out any time soon. Unseen, she lifted her own glass in a small salute. *End* Juliettt's Marriage Series: "Epithalamion" "Wonders Wrought" (2 parts) "The Last of the Chambord" (to be posted) "Waking" "On the Road" "Girls' Day Out" "Old Habits Die Hard" "Watching the Storm" "The Madness of an Hour" (in editing process) "Life Changes" (2 parts) "Mother's Day" (in editing process) "Nursemaid" (in editing process) "Success" "Cherish" "Childhood Lullabies" (in editing process) "Lullaby For a New Generation" "Room Service" (in editing process)