Disclaimers: None of the characters belong to me, except for Dante (I
came up with her before Chris Carter had any similar thoughts, so she's
mine ;-)).

Category: SRA

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Up through Season 8 so far, oddly enough

Archive: Gossamer, Ephemeral and Spookys, please. Everywhere else, just
ask first.

Keywords: Post-XF, Post-colonization. Rotating first person POV (except
for flashbacks)--think Faulkner, only hopefully more interesting. ;-)
Each section's narrator is indicated at the beginning of it. MSR,
Scully/Skinner, Scully/Krycek friendship--something for almost everyone,
just not all at once. Character deaths warning...but NOT WHO YOU THINK.
(Hint: If I don't specifically say they *died*, they may still be alive.)

Note: Interestingly enough, the first part of this story and almost half
of the second were both written just after the movie "Elizabeth" came
out. Which was, in case anyone didn't know, two years or more BEFORE
"Requiem" and Season 8. And yet, to my own surprise, I only had to
change about three sentences in those earlier parts to make it fit with
the current direction of the show. (Spooky, huh?) Which is why, even
though I'm an avid Doggett fan, he's barely even mentioned in this one.
That being said, that's also why I'm posting the story now--'cause I
know my sticking-with-canon luck is gonna run out in about a week. ;-)
(I'm already disregarding the thoroughly impossible timeline that's been
set out for this season!) But, anyway, when you try to picture
Dante...fix an image in your mind of Cate Blanchett, since she was the
inspiration for both the character and thus, by extension, the story.
:-) Ironic, isn't it, that she's currently starring in "The Gift"? (And
not because of the episode of the same title...you'll understand when
you read. )

Acknowledgments: My beta reader, Michelle.

Dedication: To prufrock's love, for penning the breathtaking "Hiraeth"
series, and to the maintainer of the Hiraeth archive. Thanks to you both
for everything you've both done to help forward understanding of this
beautiful word and its beautiful meaning. And to all the
'Shippers...with thanks for your company along the journey.

Summary: Dante was only a child when her mother, The Chancellor,
negotiated a peace treaty with the alien invaders that insured the
survival of mankind. Now, twenty years later, she is about to learn why
her mother believes that her greatest triumph was also her greatest
betrayal.


"Dante's Prayer"
by Julie L. Jekel


Part I

Twenty-five years into the future, the invasion of Earth has taken
place. But mankind has survived, thanks to the extraordinary efforts of
one woman, a woman known only as The Chancellor, even to her daughter,
Dante. It was the Chancellor who led the Resistance when the Colonists
came, and when the fight came down to a stalemate, it was The Chancellor
who negotiated the peace treaty that would allow two dying races to
peacefully cohabit the same planet. To the human population she now
leads, The Chancellor is a heroine, but she considers herself humanity's
greatest betrayer. And now, on the cusp of assuming her own role in this
new society, Dante is going to learn for the first time what her
mother's betrayal was...

*****

November 21, 2025
The Chancellery [f.k.a. Buckingham Palace]
Congress Island, off the coast of Humana
Earth


Dante:

Mum would laugh if she knew, but the first time I See her each day awes
me. She comes sweeping by to begin the business of governing what's left
of Earth's native race, never even knowing that her only child, the
greatest mystery in her now legendary life, is using the immature stages
of her Gift to Watch this grand entrance.

Her hair is starting to grow out: the gleaming silver-white roots show
at the crown of her head, beneath the oil-black hair dye. I wonder what
color her eyes were before the Change gave them the same platinum shade
as her natural hair. I feel certain they must have been dark--everything
about my mother is dark. Is it any wonder people whisper that I am not
her child by birth, with such a contrast?

When the entourage has passed, only then do I emerge. No one turns back
to see me--only Mum has the ability to know I am Watching, but her mind
is preoccupied. This is why I Watch from behind the door, because though
I love the joy that colors her eyes when she sees me, I know she does
not yet need the distraction I always am.

She is flanked, as always, by Uncle and the Russian. They are the
triumvirate of power in this new world, the guarantors of our survival,
as my tutor, Michaelmas, constantly reminds me. Unlike most of the
Survivors, he does not worship this larger-than-life triad, but he
believes in them, and in what they have accomplished. And even my
sensible tutor has fallen under my mother's spell, despite escaping the
mystique of the other two.

I imagine, though, that even he doesn't know if I am really my mother's
child. Until my Gift matures, all I can do is imagine, never know. Not
that he doubts that I am her heir--no one questions that I will be the
one to assume Mum's responsibility for the human race when she dies, and
no one but me doubts my ability. Which is fine--I have enough doubts for
all of us. Still, never has anyone looked at me and seen my mother in my
face or form. When my Gift matures, then my eyes will change to be the
same silver that stares out of her face, but now we have nothing in common.

When she has passed, I open the door and step through it, into the
palace that once housed royalty, but is now the last bastion of human
government in a divided world.

Sometimes I wish I could remember Before. When others wish that the
Invasion had never come, they can wish for that old life of freedom that
they recall. When I wish for it, it is the selfish wish of a child
afraid of the responsibility her future holds. A child who wishes her
mother had never saved the human race, never led the Resistance, never
negotiated the Treaty, never been the first human to willingly undergo
the Change, and never become the Chancellor.

"There you are. Dante Victoria Mulder, you were supposed to be with me
for lessons an hour ago!"

I turn to see Michaelmas glaring at me, his human-colored eyes
nevertheless scouring my soul as if he had a Gift like my mother's. I am
glad that the Colonists never offered the Change to all the Survivors--I
don't even want to imagine if my tutor could read the rebellious
thoughts that sometimes romp through my mind during his lessons!

"I'm twenty-four years old, Michaelmas," I snap. "Before, I would have
been done with college two years ago!"

"Before, you would never be expected to shoulder the responsibility of a
world," Michaelmas scolds in return. "But this isn't Before, and you
don't even remember that time, so don't expect to use that as an excuse.
You still have a lot to learn, Dante. When you've grown into your Gift,
then you can do whatever you want."

A sudden thought strikes me and I turn to him fearfully. "Michaelmas,
you don't think Mum will turn things over to me as soon as I come into
my Gift, do you?"

He looks frightened for a moment, but quickly shakes his head. "No, I
think the Chancellor knows she is still needed."

I nod. The Chancellor. That is all anyone ever calls her anymore, except
me. And even I don't know my mother's name, or if she shares my surname,
Mulder. I asked her about it only once, as a child, and I still remember
her answer: "People in our business give up any right to a name."

Sometimes I think she was quoting someone when she said that. Other
times, I think she wanted me to remember, to search out the answer. To
find out what 'our business' is, since I know it is not the business of
governing. My history lessons have taught me the names of countless
kings and presidents. Queen Elizabeth II, the last ruler of Great
Britain in the time Before, lived in this very palace, once called
Buckingham, now known as the Chancellery.

"Dante," Michaelmas' exasperated voice severs the thread of my thoughts
and I grudgingly turn back to him.

"I wanted to See Mum open the Congress."

"You could See that from anywhere in the Chancellery," he scolds.

"I know," I admit. "But when I'm close to her...it's clearer."

His face softens and he reaches up to stroke his beard, which is as
silver as Mum's natural hair. He looks at me with a nostalgic expression
and I find myself wondering what his name was Before. Many of the
Survivors changed their names after the Invasion in recognition that
this world they were going to have to live in was completely different
than the one they knew. Michaelmas chose the long-ago, mostly-forgotten
holiday that the signing of the Treaty happened to fall on.

"Did you know Mum, Before?" I ask.

As always, his eyes veil over when the words pass my lips. No one speaks
anymore of who or what the Chancellor was Before. Just as no one speaks
of my father. "Come on," he changes the subject. "I have a treat for you
at lessons today."

*****

Michaelmas:

She won't be distracted much longer. I sigh as I lead her through the
halls of what was once Buckingham Palace to the room that has become our
school. As she continues to grow into her Gift, into the ability which
almost killed her father over twenty-five years ago, it will become more
and more difficult to hide things from her. And I'm so afraid she won't
understand.

We aren't the same people we were Before. That's why we don't speak of
it. Because those people are as dead as our fallen comrades. Those of us
who remain barely consider ourselves human anymore--we are Survivors.

Dante's so much like her father. Always pushing to learn things people
don't want her to know. But Mulder could never have been a Survivor. He
came damned close to it, once, but he could never really have given in
like we did. If we had forced him to live, he would have hated us for
what we became. Like he hated the Russian and the man we all call Uncle
now.

My thoughts are becoming dangerous so I push them aside. Thinking about
the past always is. History, I can handle. I can teach that to Dante
because it is names and dates and figures, and our names disappear by
the time we enter into it. Sure, the work we did Before was what enabled
us to enter the annals of history, but as I said, we were different
people then.

Different people with different allies, different loyalties, different
lives. People who would never have done what we have done to Survive.

"So, what's the treat?" Dante asks me.

Damn. Dante. I have to keep my mind on the present; thinking about
Before brings nothing but pain.

I chose my name for her, the Chancellor. To show her that I supported
what she had achieved. She needed that, when all the rest of our friends
turned against her. When they all refused to become Survivors.

"Michaelmas?"

"It's a surprise," I answer her earlier question, forcing myself once
again to abandon my memories. Thank God for my new name. I don't think I
could handle it if Dante ever called me--

No. I won't think about that. I *can't*. Not as long as I have a job to
do. Not as long as...not until...

Not until I wake up from this nightmare.

I step into the room, and switch on the light. "Here it is."

She stares blankly at the object I have indicated. Except for the
confusion in her eyes, that vacant look could be on the face of a
thousand other people propped before this same device for countless
mindless hours.

"It's a...short, fat, ProjScreen?" she asks.

"It's called a television," I tell her, then point to the squat, wide
rectangular mouth below the screen. "And this is a VCR. Video cassette
recorder."

"This is a TV?" A touch of excitement comes into her voice and I smile.
Some things must be genetic--I don't even remember teaching her about
these. "Michaelmas, where did you find this?"

I bite my lip, not quite sure of how to answer. "It...it was your
father's," I finally confess.

Dante now approaches the screen with reverence. It's sad, in a way, that
she knows so little about her father. He would have been proud of her,
in spite of the Gift her mother let the Colonists give her. Maybe if
he'd seen her grow up, he could have even forgiven the Chancellor,
forgiven all of us. I can only thank God he wasn't here to see our sin.

"Have you had it all this time?"

I nod. "I hung onto it, from Before."

"So, you did know them then."

I bite my lip. "I knew your father, yes."

"And Mum?"

I can't. As much as she wants to know, as much as I sometimes want to
tell her, I can't.

"I'm sorry I didn't let you see it earlier," I change the subject, and
even without having gone through the Change, I can feel her irritation.
"But I didn't have anything to show on it. I tracked this down several
months ago. The owner didn't want to give it up, but when I mentioned it
was for you..."

I shrug, still a little embarrassed by using my position to obtain
things. It's certainly something I never thought I would be able to do,
let alone want. I hand her the videotape I've been guarding since I
received it.

"What's a 'Profiler'?"

Your father. Your father was a profiler. One of the best in the Bureau
until it got to be too much for him and...but you've never heard of the
Bureau either, because it's too tied to that painful, forbidden past. I
can't even speak J. Edgar Hoover's name without thinking of the wry
jokes Mulder used to make about him.

"It's a television show about a piece of your cultural heritage," I
interrupt my own thoughts as a distraction. "A crime-fighting technique
used by the Federal Bureau of Investigation of the United States of
America."

"The Federal What?"

Well, at least she's heard of the United States, thank God.


**********


Part II

November 21, 2025
The Chancellery
Congress Island, off the coast of Humana
Earth


The Russian:

Even the Human Congress is in awe of her. I'm not surprised, I suppose.
I am too. I have been ever since Before.

Still, I never would have pegged her as the one who could pull it off.
Mulder I would have believed it of, before they took him. Even some of
the rag-tag band he surrounded himself with. But except for Michaelmas,
they all chose to die rather than live in our world. It's strange--I
never knew his name Before, or even after the Invasion, during the
Resistance. I never learned any name for him but Michaelmas, which he
called himself in honor of the treaty. But I know how much she depends
on him, the only one she trusted from Before who didn't choose not to
Survive. That's why she's made him Dante's caregiver.

"Uncle" and I, as everyone calls him except the Chancellor, are her
right and left hands because she needs us. But Michaelmas is the only
one she trusts with her daughter, and thus the future of this Phoenix
she has nurtured from the ashes of a conquered world.

Although they never say it, I think she amazes even the Colonists.
That's why they let us live, because she impressed them so much. And
every living human being on this devastated Earth adores her for it.

Our business for the Congress today is grim. The Colonists have offered
us an incredible gift--more of their technology, and access to new land
that has not been raped with over-bearing food for the Survivors. But
what they ask in return is Hosts. I know she wants to refuse, but is
torn between saving the lives of a few and standing up for a principle,
or saving her whole people with a sacrifice.

It is a decision she has made before and not without regrets. But one of
her greatest leadership qualities is that she will not make the choice
for anyone. She will bring it before the Congress and they will take it
home on the transports the Colonists loaned us, to ask their people. We
know already what the answer will be; it is just a matter of learning
how many and who will be willing to Host to save their loved ones.

I'd go myself if they would take me. I have a lot to make up for from
Before. But a Host with one arm is useless to them. So I keep trying to
make amends here instead.

"I'm sorry." Her voice echoes low and numbly in the giant room. "It
breaks my heart to bring this before you, to even have to ask. I won't
give you any reasons why you should or shouldn't, because I'm sure you
know them all and feel them all as deeply as I do. The choice is not
yours. It is in the hands of the people you represent. I won't presume
to know what they will want."

Of course, she could know if she wanted to. Everyone on Earth knows
about her Gift, and the power of it. But she still holds on to seemingly
ancient values of privacy and respect that I forgot long before the
Invasion robbed us all of dignity.

The session concludes quickly. Each person returns to the settlements
they represent, a scattered mishmash of shattered cultures bound in a
way we never were before we were destroyed. As the room empties, the
Chancellor turns to me with a sad smile--the only smile her lips know
how to form any longer.

"Dante was Watching us again," she states quietly. I barely have time to
feel surprised myself before amusement flickers through her eyes in
response to my reaction. Her Gift still awes me, as does the fact that
she has the control not to use it all the time.

"She Watches us every morning." She pulls herself into a ball, looking
suddenly tiny and vulnerable, even with those powerful, alien
silver-white eyes and hair dyed the color of the virus that conquered
our world. "She doesn't want to take my place, you know. Sometimes I
think she doesn't even want the Gift."

"I can believe it. Who would want to step into the shoes of the woman
who saved the world? That's a tall order."

The Chancellor frowns. "I didn't save the world, Alex."

flashes through my mind before I can prevent it, bringing another sad
smile to her face.

"Her father could have saved the world," she persists. "I just prolonged
its suffering."

I flinch again. The words are close enough to my earlier thoughts that I
wonder if she heard them, and I chastise myself for allowing myself to
remember those long-ago doubts, even silently.

"Funny, I would never have pegged you as the type to believe in
euthanasia."

"I never had such a sick patient before," she murmurs, her eyes sweeping
despairingly around the empty chamber.

"Hey!" I grab her arm with my remaining hand. "The human race still
*exists* because of you! No matter what you may believe, no matter what
any of us may have thought once, Mulder could *never* have achieved
this. He would have kept us fighting until we were wiped out."

Her familiar temper flares in those alien eyes and she pulls away from
me. "And how is that worse than living as prisoners, as *slaves* on our
own world?"

"Because it's still living." I don't know how to explain to her what I
mean, so instead I let my mind fill with memories, with images of human
history. Reservations. Ghettos. Refugee camps. Even Concentration camps.
Places where, even under the most horrible conditions, people struggled
to keep living.

"All the Jews in Europe could have committed suicide rather than be
persecuted and slowly picked off by the Nazis," I tell her softly. "But
that would have just let Hitler win. Instead, they survived to see the
end of his reign."

Her shoulders slump just a bit more and I reach out again to softly rub
them. "What's that old saying? 'He who saves a single life, saves the
world entire'? It was in a movie years ago..."

I hear a faint sound almost like a laugh. "'Schindler's List,'" she
murmurs.

"No one feels that you betrayed us by what you did," I tell her. "No one
but you."

There is a long silence as she stares again at the empty room, her
sterling eyes distant and unfocused. Then, "I want you to send for
Dante," she says.

"Why?"

She takes a deep breath and lets it out, as if trying to drain the
ghosts from her eyes. "Her Gift is maturing. Sooner or later, she's
going to learn the Truth. I want to be the one to give it to her."

*****

The Chancellor:

I'm so glad he can't see how I'm shaking. Before, I would never have let
him see me so vulnerable as he has--Before, I would never have let
anyone see it, especially not Alex Krycek--but for years now there has
been no one else. There is only one man in this entourage that I trust,
and I can't burden him with my doubts when he believes in me so
fervently, so blindly. His unconditional support excuses us both in his
mind; if what I did was right, then he was not wrong either.

I wonder if that was their plan all along?

I have never used my Gift on Dante the way I use it on others. Even
though it would allow me to know my child more fully than any mother has
ever known her daughter's mind, I can't bring myself to do it. I see so
much of Mulder in her face, in her spirit, that I am terrified of what I
might find in her thoughts. I see someone else in her, too. I see her
mother, the woman who repeatedly rescued Mulder from the very fate that
I surrendered to. With those two souls intertwined within her body, how
could I hope for her forgiveness once she knows the Truth?

So why, then, am I rushing to give it to her? Why am I racing to my own
downfall in her eyes, when my betrayal of her father still haunts my
memory?

"Mum? The Russian said you wanted to see me?"

I take a shaking breath before turning to face my daughter. The sight of
her brings a smile to my face in spite of me. "Come here, Vixen."

I open my arms and she crosses to me, sinking to the floor beside my
seat and dropping her head in my lap as is our habit from her childhood.
My arms fold around her shoulders and I close my eyes, remembering every
moment spent in this position as she grew taller and taller in my
embrace. In spite of everything, we have always been close and I could
never have done this without her.

"Why do you always call me 'Vixen,' Mum?"

My smile softens even as my heart feels the knife blade of my own
failure once again. It is the same familiar question she has asked me
since she was twelve, to which my answer has always been a sad smile and
a silent kiss on the forehead. But this time...finally...she has to know.

"Because you have so much of your father in you."

She pulls away from my embrace, startled. Astonishment seems to have
driven all other questions from her mind so that she can only stare at
me mutely.

Smiling sadly as always, I reach up to remove an unruly lock of hair
from where it's fallen into her eyes. "Don't look so surprised, Dante.
It's time you knew the Truth."

*****

September 29, 2005--Michaelmas
The White House
The ruins of Washington DC

"You can't do this." His voice was firm, commanding, but the time had
long passed when any obligation bound her to heed it. "Dana, this is a
mistake and you know it. This 'gift' as they call it...telepathy, remote
viewing, whatever else it entails...it almost killed Mulder seven years
ago. And you've only their word that this 'change' will make you able to
handle it. How can you even consider accepting it for yourself, let
alone for Dante?"

Dana Scully bent her head low, burying her face in her daughter's
strawberry waves. A low, almost despairing sigh escaped her lips.
"Walter, I don't have any choice."

"Of course you have a choice. We all have a choice. We'll keep fighting--"

She cut him off. "Fighting for what? For the chance to be completely
wiped out? To be no more than a footnote in the cosmic biology textbook?
I won't ask that of these people." Dana's arms tightened around the
small, bewildered form in her arms. "I won't ask that of my daughter."

"So instead, you'll let her be a slave," Skinner retorted, never losing
ground as the infamous Scully temper flared in eyes that would only be
blue for a short while more. "Come on, Dana, you know Mulder wouldn't
want that."

"I don't know anymore what Mulder would want," was the tired reply. "But
I do know he still isn't here to make his feelings known. So I'm afraid
I can't consider them."

Her slight frame shook, and the little girl she held tightened her
embrace of her mother's arm.

"I'm giving us a future, Walter. I'm giving my Vixen a future. I can't
allow myself to question that right now. Not even for you."

"Dana?"

All eyes turned towards the sound of the new voice, the little girl's
face brightening.

"Uncle!" she exclaimed, squirming out of her mother's embrace to run to
where Bill Scully stood in the doorway. He lifted Dante into his arms
and wrapped them tightly around her.

Scully didn't try to retrieve her, as much as her arms ached with her
daughter's absence. Even without the Gift the Colonists had promised as
part of the peace settlement, she could see the same longing behind his
eyes, only magnified a hundred times by Tara and Matthew's deaths.

When he finally set her down, the little girl ran back to her mother,
fastening her small hand around Dana's.

"Are you ready?" Bill asked.

Drawing in a deep breath, she nodded. As they turned to follow him,
Dante squirmed around to look behind.

"Papa Water, aren't you coming?"

Skinner shook his head as his eyes drank in their last sight of his
stepdaughter.

"No, Dante, I'm not." Skinner lifted his eyes to meet his wife's, and
his next words were for both of them. "I'm sorry."

His last whisper followed them into the Oval Office: "I hope you're
right, Dana. I hope to God you're right."

*****

November 21, 2025
The Chancellery


Dante:

My mother's words stir something in me that I didn't know I had--a
memory of Before. Of the man she described, a tall, strong figure, with
a bald head I'd always loved to "polish" and a gruff but loving smile
that was reserved just for me.

"I remember," I whisper, my voice almost breathless. "I remember Papa
Water."

They are vague memories, too hazy to be reliable, which is probably why
they stayed dormant at the back of my mind for so long.

Mum smiles and I realize that I know something else I didn't know five
minutes ago. I know my mother's name. Dana--like my name, but also so
different.

"I'm glad," her quiet voice breaks softly into my thoughts. "I'm glad
you remember him, Dante." She pulls me closer and tucks my head under
her chin. "Walter Skinner deserves to be remembered. Especially by
you--from the day you were born, you were his whole world. I think even
though he wanted to find Mulder as much as I did, he was always afraid
that if your father came back into my life, we would take you away from
him." I can feel the sigh shudder through her. "And then I went and did
it anyway."

"What did happen to my father?" I ask. Of all the questions in my life,
this is probably the one I have most desired an answer to. "Why didn't
he Survive?"

She shakes her head and opens her mind to me, supplementing my weak Gift
with her powerful one so that I can feel the twenty-five years of grief
that have haunted her. "I don't know," she admits. "I lost him before
you were born."

*****

February 14, 2001
Dana Scully's apartment

Walter Skinner just stared at her in utter disbelief. "Dana, are you
sure you're feeling all right?"

She didn't know when it had happened, when they'd come to this silent
agreement to address each other by their given names. It had happened
gradually, neither one asking or giving vocal consent, but neither had
they needed it. For both of them, their surnames only reopened deep, raw
wounds left by Mulder's absence, for he had rarely addressed either of
them by anything else. Well, except "Sir" in Skinner's case, for which
he had also developed a distaste.

"Walter, you know I'm right. If something happens to me--and you know
the likelihood that something will as well as I do--someone has to have
the authority to take care of Dante." Her tone was as firm as if she'd
planted both hands on her hips, but instead her slender fingers curled
against her swollen belly in a protective gesture that was far more
effective than a show of anger would have been.

Dante. When he'd questioned her choice of names, her wry response had
been a raw reminder of the friend they'd lost: it was the only fitting
name for a child destined to grow up in hell, if the world lived long
enough for her to grow up at all.

"Then why me? What about Doggett?"

Scully shook her head. "No. He's a good man, but Mulder trusted you,
even before I did. He never even knew Doggett, except maybe in passing
at the Bureau. It has to be someone we would both entrust our child to,
and that's you. Besides," here her eyes grew even sadder. "Agent Doggett
couldn't tell Dante about her father."

"What do you plan to tell Mulder if we carry through with this plan and
then he's returned? How do you think he's going to react to coming home
and finding us married?"

"I'd tell him the truth," was the soft reply. "That it was for our child."

"But I know you, Dana," he said softly. "I know how seriously you take
your word. I don't want to see you forced to choose between your
marriage vows and the man you love when he comes back."

The sorrow that filled Scully's eyes with these words was indescribable.
"Why do you think I waited this long to ask you, Walter?" she asked him
softly. "I didn't want to have to make that choice. But I woke up this
morning knowing he isn't coming back."

Skinner could only stare in dismay at the broken heart before him. "Oh,
Dana..."

he thought bitterly as she fell forward into his arms and began to sob.
For the rest of that long, bitter day, he just held her while she cried.

*****

November 22, 2025
The Chancellery
Congress Island, off the coast of Humana


Dante:

Hail Mary, full of grace. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is
the fruit of thy womb--

I'm sorry, Blessed Mother, but I can't focus today. Last night I
received the answer to every childish prayer I've ever prayed--Mum told
me everything. She shattered the mystery, and with it all my illusions.
My mother isn't infallible. She isn't just The Chancellor. My mother's
name is Dana Katherine Scully-Skinner and she has doubts that put my
selfish fears to shame. My father's name was Fox William Mulder and Mum
has never ceased to believe that she failed him.

That was the biggest shock of all, that Mum considers herself a failure.
Because "all" she did was keep us alive. She didn't drive away the
Colonists. But she believes my father could have, if they hadn't taken
him before they came to take our world.

And she believes I won't forgive her for it.

I'm shaken, I admit. I've never let myself see her as a real human being
like the rest of us, except in those private moments that were just for
us. And even then, as close as we've always been, there was a piece of
her I could never share, and that was her past.

Part of me wishes I could go back to yesterday, when I was the
frustrated child longing to fully know her mother's heart. But I grew up
last night. And for the first time, I choose not to be selfish in my
prayers.

Holy Mother, if you have ever held your Son's ear, bend it towards me
now. Bid him grant me this one prayer--give Mum something to restore her
faith in herself. Show her, somehow, that she has never been a failure.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Amen.

*****

October 13, 2027
The Chancellery


Michaelmas:

I always thought that Dante would grow up the day she came fully into
her Gift, but I was wrong. She left the pampered child behind on a day I
never expected to come, the day The Chancellor told her the truth of who
we had been, and who we had become.

She still calls me Michaelmas out of respect for the choice I made. But
now when I see her eyes upon me, those eyes which have become as silver
as her mother's, I know she is seeing through me to where John
Fitzgerald Byers still mourns his two best friends and his own betrayal
of them. She knows about Frohike and Langly's deaths the day the treaty
was signed. If she were any other but Dana Scully and Fox Mulder's
daughter, she probably would have plucked from my mind the look of
bitter disappointment on their faces when I told them I had chosen to
live in the shattered new world. But with the mercy she learned from her
mother, she has let me keep my secrets, even the most painful.

Our tutoring sessions ended with her twenty-fifth birthday and the
fullness of her Gift, when she received the key to mortal minds and took
her place at her mother's side. But ironically enough, where once I had
to search throughout the Chancellery to find her, now she comes to me.
She asks me questions, and her anger no longer flares when I balk at
answering. Where before we were teacher and student, now we are becoming
friends.

But there is something else in her face that wasn't there before,
something I wish she'd never had to learn. It's a look I've seen so
often in Scully's eyes since the last time we saw Mulder twenty-seven
years ago. It's a longing...no, longing isn't strong enough--to borrow a
word from the almost-forgotten Welsh tongue, it's "hiraeth," the
indescribable yearning for an inaccessible intangible--for the world
that exists just behind our dreams. The world that was our home. And in
the case of The Chancellor, the man who was her home.

Dante has inherited that hiraeth.

Sometimes, in the past two years, I've come into the small chapel--that
The Chancellor insisted on keeping even as more and more of our fellows
gave up their faith--to find her there. Always she was on her knees in
prayer.

Before she knew, Dante only prayed because her mother expected it. Or
she prayed for the forbidden knowledge that was granted to her that
fateful evening. Now, sometimes I wonder if she prays for that same
knowledge to be taken from her.

But then I'll see the way her eyes rest on her mother, and on me, and as
clearly as if I had the Gift I'll see for a moment straight into her heart.

She's not praying for her own lost innocence, but for our redemption.
And that prayer is slowly restoring my own faith in God.


FIN