The Last Person to Remember
halfamoon entry for February 5th.
TITLE: The Last Person to Remember
AUTHOR: memories_child
FANDOM: The X Files
SPOILERS: The Blessing Way
RATING: PG
CHARACTER/PAIRING: Maggie Scully
WORD COUNT: 246
DISCLAIMER: They're not mine, I'm borrowing them. But CC, if you're reading this, I could do with a job...
_______________
She isn't sure how she's managed to raise such different daughters. Missy, on the one hand, is like her - softer, more inclined to belief and faith. Dana, well Dana is another ballgame altogether. Too much like her father in many ways - stubborn, strong headed, wilful. A firm believer in hard science. Yet she has such grace and poise within her, and she keeps her gold cross clasped around her neck. That, at least, has to mean something.
Maggie shifts on the hard wood of the pew and tries to pay attention to what the priest is saying. Her mind is drifting today, and she isn't sure why. The daily offices are being said and she rises and sits in time to the beat of the liturgy, but the motions are mechanical, her thoughts drawn back to her two such different daughters.
When they were younger they were so much alike. In looks, at least. Dana was a tomboy even then, always trying to catch up with Bill and Charlie, to play their games. But when the boys grew too boisterous Dana would return to Missy, who'd be patiently waiting. She'd play with Missy's dolls, let her braid her hair, lie back and see shapes in the clouds. She was the archetypal younger sister.
Shaking the thoughts off she rises, smiling, and leaves the church, blinking in the twilight air. She gets home to a police car, and the news that her daughter has been shot.
TITLE: The Last Person to Remember
AUTHOR: memories_child
FANDOM: The X Files
SPOILERS: The Blessing Way
RATING: PG
CHARACTER/PAIRING: Maggie Scully
WORD COUNT: 246
DISCLAIMER: They're not mine, I'm borrowing them. But CC, if you're reading this, I could do with a job...
_______________
She isn't sure how she's managed to raise such different daughters. Missy, on the one hand, is like her - softer, more inclined to belief and faith. Dana, well Dana is another ballgame altogether. Too much like her father in many ways - stubborn, strong headed, wilful. A firm believer in hard science. Yet she has such grace and poise within her, and she keeps her gold cross clasped around her neck. That, at least, has to mean something.
Maggie shifts on the hard wood of the pew and tries to pay attention to what the priest is saying. Her mind is drifting today, and she isn't sure why. The daily offices are being said and she rises and sits in time to the beat of the liturgy, but the motions are mechanical, her thoughts drawn back to her two such different daughters.
When they were younger they were so much alike. In looks, at least. Dana was a tomboy even then, always trying to catch up with Bill and Charlie, to play their games. But when the boys grew too boisterous Dana would return to Missy, who'd be patiently waiting. She'd play with Missy's dolls, let her braid her hair, lie back and see shapes in the clouds. She was the archetypal younger sister.
Shaking the thoughts off she rises, smiling, and leaves the church, blinking in the twilight air. She gets home to a police car, and the news that her daughter has been shot.