NEW: Monday, Monday (1/1) by Vickie Moseley
Date: Fri, 12 Mar 1999

Title: Monday, Monday
Summary: They didn't show all the people affected by the day.
One mother's view.
Spoiler for Monday
Rating: G
Category: V A character deaths (but maybe . . .)
Disclaimer: 10-13 owns the characters, the Mamas and the Papas
own the title and I don't know who owns On Eagles Wings but I'm
sure they're gonna play it at my son's First Communion and I'll cry
all the way through it again. I disclaim any infringement on any
copyrights.
Bless you Susan and Brandon for looking it over. Susan indicated
a TISSUE WARNING might be in effect <G>
Thanks to everyone who begged for a fill in the blank. This is just
one possible, one I hadn't seen yet.
Started Mar. 10, 1999, finished March 11, 1999.

Monday, Monday
by Vickie Moseley
vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

I knew this day would come.

Oh, I'd prayed that I wouldn't live long enough to see it. And in
my prayers, I wished that maybe it would never come, whether I
was alive to witness the events or not. But in the back of my mind,
in the darkest corner of my heart, I knew.

Mr. Skinner must have seen our car approach. I understand why he
sent another agent to come to my home, to get me here. Mr.
Skinner had called me, of course. Almost immediately, I suspect.
Before the dust had time to settle on the ground.

He's coming toward us now. I have seen that look. It's the same
look Fox has had in his eyes. The look he turned toward me time
and again when Dana was missing. The look he tried to keep
guarded from her, from me when she was so sick with cancer. Just
recently, that look was back when we both flew at breakneck speed
to a hospital in New York.

Mr. Skinner feels responsible for this.

I want to reach out, take his hand, as I've often done with Fox.
Tell him that this is not his fault. That this was a freak mishap, that
it was a horrible accident. But I know he'd never listen to my
words.

He reaches out to touch my shoulder. I know he's not expecting it,
but I put my arms around his chest and let the tears fall, just for a
moment. That's all the time I can spare. Just a moment. There is
too much work to be done right now. The dark months of grief
stretch before me, but today, I can push them back, hold them at
bay while I concentrate on what must be done.

I pull back and look up at him. "Have they recovered the bodies?"

He bites his lower lip, chews it in a fashion that I can see will make
it bleed soon. He shakes his head slowly. "I'm sorry. They were .
. . they must have been . . . very close to the bomb."

I hold back another sob. I never expected this. I never expected
that the destruction would be so complete that I wouldn't even
have her body to say goodbye.

"Were they," I start, but have to swallow back my words with my
tears. I try again. "Were they together?"

Mr. Skinner nods quickly. His sad eyes giving me that much
reassurance. She wasn't alone in the last moments. He was with
her. And her with him. That thought all by itself is enough to give
me some comfort.

"Have you contacted his mother?" I ask. If not, if they haven't
gotten hold of her yet, I think it might be better if I was the one to
call. But he stares out into the grime filled day and nods yes again.

"She . . . she took it fairly well. I've sent an agent from the Boston
office to be with her. She should be arriving sometime later
tonight."

I nodded, knowing that it's one meeting I had hoped would occur
under different circumstances. I'd never met the woman who had
given life to the most important person in my daughter's life. Now,
I would be meeting her only to plan two funerals. The irony makes
my stomach ache and roll.

"The Bureau will hold a memorial, of course," Mr. Skinner is
saying over the noise of the rescue crews and the sounds of the
firemen putting out the remnants of the blaze that followed the
explosion. "My assistant, Kim, will be happy to talk over any
special hymns or prayers . . ." He stops and I can tell that for him,
this isn't just a part of the job. My daughter and her partner meant
something to this man. I've lost a child and a friend today. He has
lost two people in his life, too.

I put my hand back on his arm. "Thank you. I think, I think I
know of a song that Dana would want at such a service." The
song, in my daughter's voice, comes to me out of the fog of smoke
and dust. 'And He will raise you up on eagle's wings, bear you one
the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun and hold you in
the palm of His hand.' A sob clutches my chest and I have to let it
out.

Have I gotten her back only to lose her forever?

"Why, Mr. Skinner?" I ask, not really expecting an answer. "Why
couldn't she have . . ." I leave the sentence open. How could I
possibly end it? With what event in her life would this outcome
have been changed? If she never entered the FBI? If she'd never
been teamed with Fox Mulder? If she'd never walked into that
bank this morning?

Mr. Skinner's face seems to crumple just for a split second. I
realize that it hurts him more to show emotion than to feel it and I
regret my words said in callousness and need. But he speaks, in
tightly controlled words with a voice like steel.

"I wish I knew, Mrs. Scully. They've been through so much. I
thought they'd finally made it. We were at a meeting. A stupid,
bureaucratic meeting that was already two hours too long. I can't
tell you at what point it went wrong, at what point we could have
changed this fate. All I can tell you is, if I had it in my power, I
would surely do anything to stop this, to avoid it from ever coming
to pass. If only I had the power."

An agent, standing near the rubble of the bank entrance, calls to
him. He jerks his head in their direction and nods slowly, tiredly.
He looks at me for a moment, begging my forgiveness for his
departure. I nod and with my eyes give him leave.

As he leaves, I bow my head and pray for the power to change the
way things are. To have this day back to do over again, to make it
all right.

As I pull my head up, a young woman is staring at me from the
crowd. Blond hair disheveled, tears streaking down her face. Blue
eyes so bottomless that they appear without hope. She's lost
someone, too, I can tell. I don't know her, but she's looking at me
with a sadness and a recognition that chills me to the bone. As I
give her a questioning look she smiles, rather slightly and mouths
these words to me.

"I'm trying."

the end.

"Monday, Monday.
Can stop that day.
Monday, Monday,
sometimes it just turns out that way.
Monday morning, you gave me no warning
of what was to be.
Oh Monday, Monday how could you leave
and not take me."

Mamas and the Papas

I seem to be stuck on songs from the sixties. Maybe it was the total
absence of disco <G>. But of all of the songs I could think of, this
one fit the best.

Vickie

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

May the road rise up to meet you
May the wind be always at your back
May the sun shine warm upon your face
and the rains fall soft upon your fields
And, until we meet again,
May God hold you in the Palm of his Hand

Happy St. Paddy's Day

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^