Title: The Great American Dream
Author: Samantha Brownlie
Spoilers: Sixth & seventh seasons
Key Words: MSR
Rating: G
Summary: Scully's thoughts on the life she leads, expressed as an
imaginary conversation with brother Bill.

Disclaimer: If you recognise the names, they aren't mine; I'm only
borrowing them for a bit and then I promise to give them back.
And trust me - nobody pays me to do this, much as I wish they would.

'The Great American Dream' (1/1)

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I wish you could see us together, Bill.

I want you to understand why that man - Jake, is it? - who you've
introduced me to will never find a place in my heart. I'll never trust
him enough to weep in his arms. He'll never have the courage to
cling to me when he needs help. He won't want me to keep him
guessing or to challenge his ideas and beliefs. Just as there isn't a
place in my heart for him, there isn't a place in his heart that will
hold me the way I want to be held.

Yes, Bill. If I dated a man like Jake, I might get romance. I might
get red roses, boxes of chocolates and bottles of wine. I might start
expanding my social life again. I might spend more time with my
family, laugh more, smile more. I might come home every night to
a hug and a kiss, to a warm pair of arms, and to a welcoming ear. I
might go on picnics, see movies, take vacations.

But I wouldn't be happy.

A year's worth of roses could never equal one night of baseball
under the stars. No chocolates could ever surpass an unexpected
birthday dinner interrupted by an unexpected investigation, and no
wine could replace the beauty of that last glass of water. No social
life could satisfy my need to challenge and be challenged - and a
big part of my heart's family is never more than a phone call away.
Kisses and hugs are all very well, but their value is cheapened
when they are passed out indiscriminately. Picnics? The most
delightful spot can be a in a motel room. Movies? Who needs
cinema when I live a life bursting at the seams with people and
experiences? Vacations? I travel constantly back and forth across
the continent, seeing new things, meeting new people. Isn't that
what vacations are all about?

You tell me that a man like Jake would 'treat me right'. You tell me
that he would look after me, be there for me, love me. You say that
such a man would put a sparkle back into my eyes, and leisure back
into my life.

Oh, Bill. You don't understand me at all. Would Jake have pulled
the pins out of that doll, or would he have barged into the room and
taken charge? I don't need protection - I need support. I need
someone who will be there for me *always*, whether I need a
sounding board, an argument, a hug or a smile. Love? What other
emotion could possibly be reflected by a frenzied, expensive,
unsanctioned trip across the world based on little more than hopes
and lies? As to sparkling eyes and leisure, I guess I can excuse your
misunderstanding. Probably our jokes would bewilder you, and few
people could comprehend that leisure can consist of dozens of tiny,
snatched moments rather than blocks of hours or days taken away
from work.

You want a life for me that is more like the life you live yourself.
I'm sorry, Bill, but it's not a life I'm cut out for. Does that surprise
you? Studious, determinedly normal Dana, rejecting the status quo?
It shouldn't. I joined the FBI in a desperate search for some vague
*something* that would make my life what I wanted it to be. I
found that something, Bill. I found it in a cluttered basement office,
in a pair of solemn brown eyes and a set of principles that would
make Ahab proud. I don't want to be a housewife, or a doctor, or
even just a pathologist. I want to be right where I am, questing for
the truth, battling for acknowledgement, expanding the horizons of
human knowledge. I want to save lives and protect the innocent. I
want to see the guilty pay their dues to society, even if their crimes
weren't committed in 'conventional' ways. I want to spend my days
laughing and crying, arguing and debating, doing something I
believe in and exploring my relationship with the most complex,
beautiful person I have ever met.

I know you don't see that as enough, Bill. You ask me if I've
forgotten how to have a conversation, if I've forgotten the joys of
chatting and flirting and small talk. I guess I have. I've become too
accustomed to intellectual conversations and debates ever to lapse
back into trivia about the weather, television shows and best-selling
novels. You leave me in the room, hoping I will talk for hours to
your friend Jake, hoping I will discover things in common with him
that will lead me to spend more time in his company. You'll only
be disappointed; I can tell you that now.

Will Jake recognise and discuss with me rare tropical diseases?
Will he tell me ghost stories and ask me to suspend disbelief? Will
he frown in concentration as he tentatively pieces together elements
of quantam physics? Does he understand human nature, and can he
fascinate me with his leaps of intuition and his unique brand of
logic? Could I argue with him over the nature of our life together,
question the very foundations upon which he lives, and then have
him thank me for it? Small talk is out of my realm these days, Bill,
unless it encompasses something found within my customary
sphere. I doubt that Jake belives in - let alone talks about - many of
the things that I now live with every day.

It's not a life that many people would want, Bill, and I'll admit that
it's not often a blissful one. There are tears and heartaches,
inequalities and injustices. There are cases that will never be
solved, people who simply cannot be saved from themselves or
from others. There is opposition at times, and at other times there
can be restlessness, jealousy, pointless anger. The price I have paid
for this life of mine has been a high one, but it is one that I have to
accept. For me, the good points outweight the bad, and the
underlying stability of my world comforts me. Perhaps today there
will be arguments, uncertainty, doubts, but tomorrow there will be
faith and loyalty and love. Baseball games, innuendos and
vulnerability balance out (and sometimes outweigh) danger,
friction and other obstacles.

I don't ask you to live my life, Bill. I wouldn't ask Jake to live it -
or anyone else for that matter. But please, in return, don't ask me to
live a life that is not meant for me any more than mine is meant for
you. My heart is not in the great American dream, although my
fancy sometimes wanders in that direction. My heart is in a
basement office, full of filing cabinets, mysteries and love.

Please, Bill. Be happy to let me leave it there.