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From: db561@FreeNet.Carleton.CA (Alexandra Holbrook)
Subject: NEW:  The Gift (1/1)





   OK, this is my first story posting... I hope it works.  I wrote 
this about a year ago but never got around to posting it, and today I 
decided it's not going to get any better just sitting in my disk 
drive, so here it is.  It is nothing special, no sex, no spoilers, no 
violence, a little mild swearing.  Again, this is my first one, so go 
easy on me, ok? :)  Enjoy!  All comments to wookiee@freespace.net.

   Thy disclaimers, ladies and gentlemen:
   I own nothing... I am dust on the ground... I kiss the feet of Mr 
Chris Carter and all his friends (okay, now I'm just being bitter :)
The characters Dana Scully, Margaret Scully, William Jr. Scully, 
Melissa Scully, heck, all the Scullys, belong to Chris Carter and I'm 
just borrowing them for a while... but you can have them back, sir!

*********************************************************************

    THE GIFT

    by Alexandra Holbrook
    ---------------------

    Dana Scully burrowed deep under her covers, stretching her toes 
all the way to the end of her bed.  She shivered; it was cold down 
there.  She curled back up again in a fetal position, ready to settle 
back to sleep.  Something tickled at the back of her mind...  she 
poked her head out and looked at the clock beside her bed.  It was 
6:57.  
    And it was February 23rd.  
    <I'm fifteen.> Realization finally broke through her sleepiness, 
and she was suddenly wide awake.  <Hell, the alarm's going to go off 
in three minutes anyway... might as well get up.> 
    But truth be told, she was too excited to go back to sleep.  It 
was silly, she knew; after all, it was just another birthday.  <It's 
not like anything comes with being fifteen,> she half-grumbled to 
herself, becoming a little grumpy from the cold, < I still can't 
drive and I can't see restricted movies at the theatre.>  She snapped 
on the light and looked in the closet for her dressing gown, passing 
the mirror on her wall.  She sighed as she appraised herself:  
Complexion fairly clear, but no better.  Freckles dusting her nose 
like spilt cinnamon.  Red hair disheveled and tangled.  Unbecoming 
pillow creases crisscrossing her cheek. <And I'm still five foot two.  
Same old Dana.> 
    Her kitten Chewie padded in as she pulled on her dressing gown.  
"Hello, little furball," Dana said as she picked him up.  He purred 
in her ear, and she fancied him wishing her a happy birthday.  
    "Thank you," she murmured back.  
    She spotted her diary on her nightside table where she'd left it 
the night before, and remembered to hide it in the narrow space 
behind her bookcase.  She shuddered at the thought of all the sappy 
last-night-of-being-fourteen crap she'd written there, along with 
something stupid about Mark Wilson... she hoped no one ever read it.  
<Hah.  It'd take an FBI agent to find that thing.> 
    She carried Chewie down to the kitchen with her, tiptoeing past 
her siblings' rooms.  She could hear snoring from behind Missy's 
door.  <I wish I had a tape recorder.  I could prove it to her once 
and for all,> she thought wistfully.  
    The lights were on in the kitchen when she came down, the radio 
announcer reading the morning's news.  Her mother stood at the stove 
scrambling eggs, her hair almost as rumpled as Dana's.  She smiled 
broadly at her daughter.  
    "Happy birthday, honey," she said, kissing Dana's forehead.  Dana 
smiled back.  <Here it comes.>  
    "How does it feel to be fifteen?"  Mrs. Scully continued.  Dana 
tried hard not to laugh.  
    "Not much different from being fourteen," she said casually, 
letting the cat down gently and scratching behind his ear before he 
strolled away.  "You're up early, Mom," she added.  
    "I thought I'd join you for breakfast.  I've hardly seen you the 
last few days."  She touched Dana's cheek, gazing at her as though 
trying to find some familiar feature in a face that, at times, seemed 
so foreign.  
    Dana pulled away just slightly, feeling a little guilty.  She'd 
been avoiding the entire family as much as possible for some time, 
especially Dad.  He'd been getting on her back about her grades, 
about calling home when she was going to be late, about playing her 
radio too loud, about doing better in school sports, about how she 
never listened to the minister's sermons in church... <Why does it 
always have to be what I'm doing *wrong* instead of what I'm doing 
*right*?  It's like I've joined the navy already.  Swab the deck, 
sailor.> 
    As Dana got her breakfast, she noticed a package on the table, 
wrapped somewhat hastily.  
    "It's from your dad.  He got called in late last night...  he 
doesn't know when he'll be back.  He said you could open it this 
morning," explained her mother.  
    Dana tore off the wrapping paper to reveal a dark leather 
baseball glove.  She hadn't played in almost a year, and she realized 
she missed it.  The glove was warm, and not stiff at all... she 
couldn't resist slipping her right hand into it.  She found a note 
there, and pulled it out.  
  
            SPRING TRAINING BEGINS IN THREE WEEKS, STARBUCK.

                                            AHAB

    She had to smile in spite of herself.  She always had to, when he 
called her Starbuck.  The leather smelled of promise, as though it 
were itching to receive a ball... <Right *there*,> Dana grinned as 
she thumped a fist into it dead centre.   
    Margaret Scully studied her daughter, her baby girl.  She knew that 
look... the look of a young girl challenged to do things most of her 
female peers didn't do.  It wasn't just the fact that she was an army 
brat... Margaret winced at the cliched term.  <My daughter is no 
brat.>  Dana was her own person.  She needed her independance and her 
individual strengths to deal with being a middle child in a family 
that never seemed to have enough time for itself.  Maybe Missy would 
have an easier time making friends with other girls, but she would 
never shoot a gun, or rough and tumble with her brothers in the yard, 
or help them build a raft the way her sister would.  Dana had grown 
up a tomboy, and though Mrs. Scully worried about her, she was 
thriving, and there was no need to curtail her in makeup and dresses. 
    "Well... why don't you eat your breakfast.  The boys'll be down 
soon." 
    For once, Dana couldn't wait for them to get up, though her 
reasons were pretty selfish: she knew what William Jr. had gotten 
her.  She'd been hinting at Billy Joel's last album for almost a 
month, and she could depend on her older brother to secure her a copy 
from the music store where he worked.  
    She'd unconsciously been humming Vienna and stopped short when 
her mother held out a small hinged box to her.  Her face was solemn, 
the way it was when she was concentrating, the way it was when she 
prayed.  
    "What is it?" Dana asked, suddenly a little apprehensive.  
    "Open it," Mrs Scully pressed.  Dana did as she was told, lifting 
the cover of the case.
    She picked up the thin gold chain nestled in the velvet lining of 
the box.  She held it in her palm, touched the fine metal, cool 
against her fingers... <A necklace?  I don't even wear makeup.  
Why...>  Then she saw the tiny gold cross that hung from the chain.  
it seemed so small, yet could feel its power, its unyielding 
sternness.  
    She smiled, but inside, her heart sank.  <How do I tell her I 
don't believe?> 
    "Thanks, Mom.  It's beautiful." 
    Mrs. Scully smiled back briefly, then her tone took on the same 
gravity as before.  "I think it's important that you understand... 
that you always have this strength with you if your own should ever 
fail.  There may come a time when that happens, Dana.  Life's hard; 
things can seem so hopeless sometimes..." Mrs. Scully stopped, unable 
to explain furthur to a girl who couldn't yet know the meaning of 
pain.  She shrugged.  "You just need to have faith in something." 
    The words passed over Dana like a light breeze that barely 
ruffled her hair.  <If there were something to have faith in, we 
wouldn't have moved away from Portland.  Or New York.  Or Maryland.>  
Tears came to her eyes, unbidden.  <God, I prayed every night that we 
wouldn't have to leave.>  Dana blinked furiously, trying to keep the 
childish burning out of her cheeks.  
    <I prayed that we'd find Patches when he ran away.  I prayed that 
Grandpa wouldn't die... big deal.> 
    "I think you'll understand better as you get older," Mrs Scully 
said, turning to attend to her coffee.  Dana nodded, backing out of 
the room with a forced smile to spare her mother's feelings.  
    "Thanks," she whispered again, waiting until she was out of her 
mother's sight before bolting to her bedroom.  She closed the door 
and let herself sink down to the floor.  Tears ran hot down her face, 
bitter, angry, shameful.  She hadn't cried in months, not since their 
last move.  <But when will the next one be?>  A rush of new tears 
made its way down her cheeks.  
    Soon Dana heard her brothers getting up, stomping around 
sleepily, throwing pillows at each other.  She really wanted to throw 
some pillows too, but they would see she'd been crying.  Wiping her 
eyes on her sleeve, she saw the necklace lying on her bed where she'd 
dropped it.  She fingered it, not nearly so angry as she'd been 
before.  She sniffled.  Maybe crying helped a little more than she 
was willing to admit.  
    She stood up and walked to the mirror.  Hesitantly, with 
trembling fingers, she fastened the chain around her neck.  <Isn't a 
guy supposed to do this for me?> some part of her asked herself.  
<Shut up,> the rest answered.  
    She arranged the necklace so that it hung under her shirt.  She 
could see part of the gold chain at her neck, but the cross was 
hidden.  
    <There.  Now I'm wearing it, but I'm not wearing it.>  She smiled 
with satisfaction, feeling better.  Mom would be happy and Dana 
wouldn't have to go around looking like a new recruit for the 
nunnery.  
    Dana searched her drawers for her favorite pair of jeans, seeking 
something comforting and familiar.  As she dressed, she was all too 
aware of the cross brushing above her chest... <...and if only Andrea 
and Natalie would stop talking about their goddamn cup sizes, I could 
stop trying to walk around with my shoulders hunched.> Dana shrugged 
the thought away.  <Who cares.>  She sighed deeply, her throat sore 
and nose stuffy from crying.  She decided to get her books ready, to 
stall for time until she could try to face the day again.  

                      *    *    *    *    *

    The rest of Dana's day was great.  Everyone was in a good mood, 
because a thick layer of packing snow had fallen during the night.  
She joined in the snowball fight at the bus stop and nailed Greg 
right across the back of his head.  Some of the other girls looked at 
her funny, but she put it down to jealousy.  She got an A on her 
science test, then a hat trick in the floor hockey game at lunch.  
There was a school assembly in the afternoon, so she got to miss 
History.  The bus driver even let Dana play her new tape of The 
Stranger on the bus speakers.  It raised her to hero status in the 
eyes of the other kids; Mr. Benson had a penchant for playing Frank 
Sinatra on most days.  
    Dana was smiling when she got off the bus.  She'd loosened her 
coat for the trip home and was about to zip it up when she heard 
footsteps running to catch up with her.  
    Mark's infectious grin caught her off guard.  
    "Hi, Dana," he said.  
    "Oh, hi, Mark, " Dana answered.  <Oh, great,> she thought, 
feeling the blush rise up above her collar.  "I didn't see you 
there." 
    "Me and my brothers have to visit my grandma this afternoon so 
I'm going your way," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets as 
they trudged along the road together.  "Oh yeah, happy birthday." 
    "Thanks," she said, reaching again to zip up her jacket against 
the chilly wind.  
    Mark spotted something glinting in the sunlight.  "Hey, is that a 
new necklace?" 
    <Oh, double damn.>
    Without waiting for an answer, he pressed on.  "Can I see?" 
    Dana shrugged as though it didn't matter.  Holding her breath, 
she pulled the chain out from under her shirt.  She stopped as Mark 
examined it, gently turning the cross between his fingers.  
    "That's cool, Dana," he said, impressed.  "D'jer parents give it 
to you or something?" 
    "My mom did," Dana said, hiding the chain again and breathing a 
silent sigh of relief.  <He doesn't think it's silly.> 
    "I didn't know you were religious," Mark continued.  
    <I'm not.  Well, not really.  Just my parents.  But you know how 
it is.>  
    Dana's mind and voice failed to connect.  "Yeah," she said 
neutrally.   
    "That's cool," he said again.  "It's too bad we don't have more 
classes together, huh?"  Mark suddenly looked up.  His brothers were 
calling him from up ahead.  "Come on, Mark, quit talking to your 
girlfriend," they hollered.  
    "Aw, shut up!"  he howled back.  But he was grinning.  That wry, 
gentle grin.  "See ya, Dana."  
    Then he took off down the road.  Dana watched him run to catch up 
with his friends... and was suddenly very alone.  She shivered from 
the cold and pulled her coat more tightly around her.  
    And as her toes froze, only the small part of Dana Scully 
registered that the cross felt warm against her skin.  
                                                              
  *FINE*



--
"Okay... you have to stop the Q-Tip when there's RESISTANCE!!!"
						- Chandler Bing
Thank you, that was my sig :)
Alexandra Holbrook, Esquire Nutcase