Human by Tessa Moore Rating: PG-13is (Just a few bad words!) Disclaimer: They're not mine! Really! Description: There's something so profound about seeing a parent, and someone you highly admire, in actual light for the first time. As a human being. Please do consider sending feedback -- I love it! tess.moore.xf@gmail.com --------------------------------------- I'm not a fan of West Virginia. This is the first I've been, and it will be the last. Everything was fine until I got lost. Then, the gray trees and icy roads came back to haunt me like a son of a bitch while I tried to change out a flat tire in evening light. There's so much damn snow... no human being could have seen that rock. Now, morning again, and after a very mediocre night spent in a hotel and honky-tonk, I'm on my way again. The bright afternoon sun beats against the snow, but still cannot melt it. The overwhelming reflection causes me to squint from behind my sunglasses. What is it that she likes about this place? Make no mistake, I've never understood her, but that doesn't mean I don't stop to wonder. When we were growing up, I never told Dana that I thought we were really the same. I was a teenage boy - handing potential compliments to my little sister wasn't in any way cool and therefore they remained in my head. Now, I still think we're the same. I've still never told her. Our similarities were always blanketed by our mutual obstinance, and my admitted need to always be superior. A man who's seen his 50th birthday can admit these sorts of things. I remember the year Dana brought some smart-ass FBI instructor home for Christmas. It was shocking - the darling of the Scully family dragging a man nearly twice her age to a family gathering, tainted by his bad attitude and thinning hair. I could see the quiet upset in my father's eye while he watched the two of them together. I'll never know what Dana was thinking. I still don't know what Dad said to her later that night, but Dana snuck out quietly, refusing to open Christmas gifts with the family that year. I remember that Mom didn't speak to Dad more than necessary that Christmas. No one knew, but that I year I met a gorgeous Psychology professor who worked near base. We met at the bowling alley bar, of all places. It was long before I met Tara and we hit it off immediately. Her name was Claudia, and she was the very definition of the 'handsome woman', with her well-set dark hair, classic features and tailored clothing. I took her out a handful of times, but we spent more time in bed. She was fifteen years older than I was. She was too kind to say it, but she was using me, and there was no reason to make a public fuss over it. I was a young sailor -- no one heard me complaining while her long, spidery legs wrapped around my hips. While I made love to this glorious woman, I saw what Dana saw. The worldliness and surety in her own skin was one of the most attractive things about Claudia. I wondered what Dad would think if I brought her home. In the back of my mind, I was certain I wouldn't have received the same dressing-down Dana did. Patriarch Scully would have simply said it was a 'phase'. I would grow out of it. Sex without marriage is ok for a boy, especially with such an esteemed woman. Sex with his little girl before marriage would never be ok - the cards were stacked regardless of the player. In a way, I'm glad Dad died before he could ever meet Fox Mulder. --------------------------------------- Funny thing about Dana, she never really understood the effect she had on men. As her brother, it feels fundamentally wrong for me to say this, but my sister always had a way with men. She was always a little too smart for them - it kept them from asking her out. But, she was the perfect picture of a future wife, with a mysterious look and rare red hair. The curiosity was there, and many a friend of mine had asked. I would glower and flex, declare that my sister was off limits. It was my job, and I took it very seriously. I always thought Dana had more to do than marry a man. One year, right after she joined the FBI, a high school friend of mine got back in contact with me. He asked about Dana, what she was up to. I was sold by his sincerity, his telling me that he'd always liked her in school, and that he was intrigued by her turn with the FBI. So sue me, I gave him her number, then called Dana to give her some fair warning. As expected, I got my ass handed to me by my little sister over the phone. It was the first time adult Dana had told me with all certainty that I was an asshole. And I was -- I should have called her first. And so it began; The annoying brother Bill had morphed into the man who couldn't do anything right. I regret not being more accepting of my sister. I would rather die than tell her that, but it's the truth. A couple months later, I was denied a promotion in rank. I almost cried when Dad found out. Sitting in his study, head slung low, and a feeling that I was about to be whipped and left for dead, I told him the entire story without puking my guts out. My father was a hard man when it came to his profession. First and foremost, he was a groomer of good sailors. He'd told me that time and again growing up, reminding me of what it meant to make a commitment to my country. I was sick at the thought of my set-back. I listened in utter shock while he told me of his own set-backs. He, very gently, reminded me that failure was a part of life, and that all I could do was keep my eye on the goal. I think I grew up a little that night. There's something so profound about seeing a parent, and someone you highly admire, in actual light for the first time. As a human being. That year, Dana didn't make it to Easter dinner. She was busy with an important autopsy. I don't remember anything about it anymore, but I remember my stomach rolling at the realization of what my baby sister did for a living. Her absence was felt at dinner, her chair sad and empty in the corner of the oversized table. Dad would stop eating every now and again, looking to the chair as though he'd meant to ask Dana a question. He missed her more than he cared to explain. I watched while Mom's hand snuck across the table and she caressed his arm with such love. He smiled back at her, silently expressing his thanks. ---------------------------------- I pull up to the unremarkable gate, tethered with a simple hook. There's only one 'No Tresspassing' sign, and it strikes me as funny. Paranoia was a staple in the Scully-Mulder household. I'd always figured that Dana would live somewhere like a compound. It would be her home, but only after it was hidden behind large fences, barbed wire, volts of electricity. Maybe 10 signs declaring 'Private Property!', 'Beware of Dog!'. Instead, the entrance to her home was a simple ranch-style fence that any person willing could open. My car very nearly doesn't make the slog to her house, though. The driveway is hundreds of yards long, the house not even visible from the main road. It's un-plowed, and I feel the wheels of my vehicle fighting to remain on even ground. When I make it to the house, I'm greeted with a very plain wrap-around style home with two very plain sedans parked out front. I think the house might have been yellow at one time, now grayed and aged. I can't say how, but the house is fitting for my sister. It looks like something she would go for - she always did have a penchant for strays and charlie-brown trees. "Bill?" She comes out of the house, moving fast. Her brow is furrowed in concern, maybe a little confusion. I didn't call before I came. I only asked Mom for the address, but refused to tell her why I needed it. Its been close to a decade since I've seen Dana. Hermitted in her little house in West Virginia, she makes it to family outings very rarely. Mom told me a harrowing story about Mulder, how he'd hidden in that house for years, under penalty of death had he been found, but now made a free man by a shafty deal with the FBI. A friend in high places confirmed as much for me. More importantly, my friend could confirm that Mulder was, in fact, an innocent man. In her long, messy hair and weekend clothing, she looked like Melissa. With her flighty idealism and new-age approach, Melissa had never quite measured up in Dad's mind, but there was no doubt about it - Melissa had completed Dana in a way that I don't think either woman understood. She'd always forced Dana to experience life instead of examining it. My closest sibling, Melissa was a source of comfort for me. Fleeting memories of high school waft through my mind when I think of Missy; a time before any of us had to worry about the pitfalls of life these days. I miss my closest sister, and I miss the Dana that Melissa made. As she comes closer, I can see her face more clearly. Dana was always a little more porcelain, frecklier, and with more intensity in her eyes. I can see the years in her face, now more defined and with worry lines that weren't there before. Suddenly, I wish I'd made more of an effort to see her. "Bill..." She doesn't hesitate before reaching out to me for a hug, and it surprises me. While I hug her, time melts away a bit. She feels just as she did the last time I hugged her, a tiny ball of energy, tethered to me in the most fundamental way one can be. "What are you doing here?" "I needed to talk to you, Dana." She looks bewildered when I speak. "I have information for you. Is Mulder home?" "No... He's attending to some business." She's suspicious. I can't blame her. "That's ok -- I would rather talk to you alone. Can we go inside?" I'm freezing, though she seems perfectly comfortable in her light sweater and shirt. She turns and walks back to the house without preamble, and its like old times again. ------------------------------- Its dark again by the time I get on the road, Dana's shocked face still frozen in my mind. It's time to help my sister again, and my heart beats nervously in my chest. I know the danger I've placed on myself, and Dana. I feel the guilt settle into me when I think of how I used to ridicule Dana. Her work was never important in my eyes, after I first heard the rumors. Rumors that my genius little sister wasted her career chasing aliens with a lunatic. And how could he be not be a lunatic for the number of times he'd nearly gotten my sister killed? Or the time he did get my other sister killed? In my office at sea, I was a powerful man, drunk on it. I was ready to lord that power over all I saw fit to. I was ready to not only walk in my father's footsteps, but to BE him. He didn't approve of Dana's choices, and I found myself slowly deciding that it was my job to take over my father's disapproval. Looking back, I don't know what the hell I was thinking. Dana first told everyone about her plans to join the FBI at a family dinner. Every week, we had dinner on Sunday - it was the ritual, with everyone out of the house except Charlie. I didn't always make it, but I tried. She said it so simply. "I've decided I'll be entering the FBI Academy in August." It was as though she was announcing tea. I'd dropped my fork and stared at her in confoundment. I thought it might have been a joke, her placid face denoting no passion or fear. She'd seen the reaction coming, I'm sure. Dad raged silently at her from across the table. I could see that he would have plenty to say later - he always preferred to air his grievances from the comfort and privacy of his study. Thank God he was never into spanking. I tried not to eavesdrop, but the heated debate was too much to handle as it floated from that very same study later that night. I heard wisps of Dana's frustrated tears while Dad told her he didn't spend money on Med School only to throw it away at the FBI. He insisted that she would be killed. He said something terrible: "Dana, God Damnit! You're going to get yourself killed, and waste everything!" I gasped a bit. I knew he didn't mean it the way it sounded, but an angry young person could only hear the accusation: If you die, my money will be wasted. Instead of simpering like a teenager, Dana stomped out of the study with her dignity in tact. It was January. Dad would continue to harp on Dana until August, when it was made real - Dana was going to be an FBI agent. Sunday meals at the Scully house had become tense and, sometimes, angry. I should have said more to Dad; told him how I felt. I was as put-down as Dana was by his behavior. Did he only approve of my career because it was his own? Was he only happy when his children did exactly what he expected of them? More importantly, I wondered what that said about me. That June, I was wandering around town on an off-base day. I happened across a pawn shop and thought I would take a look around. I've always appreciated a bargain. I meandered through shelves of clothing, shoes, and jewelry, not terribly impressed. On my way out, my eye was caught by flash of silver just behind the gun counter. Sitting in a case of its own was a little hand pistol, simple but for its engraved butt and pristine, shiny barrel. It was a swift-shooter style, small and sly. It looked more like Dana than anything I'd ever seen. I paid for it without haggle and drove three hours to see her. "Fuck Dad, Dana..." I handed her the wrapped box and watched in glee while she took in the simple beauty of the weapon. "I'm proud of you." And it's in the same spirit that I drove to West Virginia to deliver a simple yellow envelope. What's the use of friends in high places if they can't help? What's the use of being a woman's brother if I can't do something to help her? I've been coordinating the efforts for months. One night, a friend at the DOD had put a bug in my ear about colonization efforts. I called bullshit on him, only to end up listening to a rant the size of the Grand Canyon. Everything Fox Mulder had ever worked for was worthy if it might someday save my Children. It all started with a little boy living in the middle of nowhere with two unsuspecting parents. I felt pride swell in my chest while I watched Dana read the paperwork. A location for this supposedly normal little boy, and reports about all the extraordinary people who quietly watch him from above, from the side, from cameras, while at school. The plan to make sure that boy disappears at just the right moment. That is, unless someone is to intervene. I smile as I slip a little on a particularly icy patch of road. Thank God this shit-forsaken state is practically deserted. I decide I need to stop for a good night's sleep and a drink in the next town before I catch my flight home. Its January, 2012, and we all have a lot of work to do. ------------------------------- The End! Please do send feedback! tess.moore.xf@gmail.com The End.