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randomfoggytiger · 3 days ago

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The Scully Family In-Depth (Part XXII): Faith, Fear, and Scully Symbiosis, Part II

A continuation of Part I's (post here) look at Scully's faith, familial misunderstandings, and (supposedly) failed hope.

MEMENTO MORI, REDUX

Where we last left off: Maggie and Scully are clinging to each other, tears flowing as their last hope is ripped away.

What's interesting about this moment is that it mirrors their hug in Memento Mori; but unlike then, Scully has finally accepted she is as good as dead-- and, walls now lowered, is openly mourning. She grips her mother like a life raft, working her mouth to keep from breaking down completely.

A few important things happen here: Maggie breaks off from crying to look upward, collect herself, and purse her lips-- so like her daughter, in fact, that it’s undeniable where Scully got her mannerisms from (well done, Sheila Larkin.) Her emotions solidify when Scully’s liquify, a symbiotic push and pull mother and daughter seem to share: one broken and struggling, the other stiff upper lipped and strong.

The latter points to two key features of their relationship, from Maggie’s perspective:

Maggie is emotionally based-- bleeding tears (Beyond the Sea, Memento Mori, Redux II) and venting her frustration (Ascension, Memento Mori) loudly and publicly.

While it's undeniable she loves each of her children, Maggie seems to gravitate to Scully the most: seeking her out in flashbacks (A Christmas Carol), advocating for her despite their disagreements (Beyond the Sea, post here), confiding in her about premonitory dreams (Ascension), and trusting in the people she trusts (Ascension, Paper Clip, posts here and here.)

Maggie is knit to but doesn’t fully understand her daughter-- and is aware of her shortcomings. Dana is “the strong one”: the one she calls first when Captain Scully dies, the one she expected would have her on her medical documents (One Breath, post here), the one she knows trusts her more than any other person on earth (Wetwired, post here), and the one who hurts her the most through continued reticence and distance (Memento Mori, Gethsemane, posts here and here.)

In short, she loves her children equally but depends on Dana the most… which creates, again, a symbiotic push and pull between the two: Scully’s equally fierce inter- and independence, and Maggie’s reliance on and distrust of her daughter's decisions (post here.) Both women depend on people; and both have to learn to stand on their own two feet. (It’s a page out of Sheila Larkin’s thoughts on Mrs. Scully, really: “...someone who never gets to finish her college degree or find a career for herself, but mainly gets enmeshed in her family. You know, the Everymother. Part of her emergence in becoming self-sufficient was during the course of this show with Dana. I think Margaret is ever-evolving." Interview here.)

"I know that you're afraid," her mother whispers, determined-- rising above her own pain in the face of her daughter's terror.

At the open avowal of her fear, Scully clings tighter, gripping her mother’s back with widened, terrified eyes. She's only prevented from prolonging the moment by Maggie's sudden withdrawal; and, still uncomfortable with showing unchecked emotion, Scully looks down while sniffling back snot-- distressed at her distress becoming public, but desperate to hear words of consolation.

“And I know you’re afraid to tell me. But you have to tell someone,” Maggie insists, drilling courage into her daughter through her eyes. She is insisting, silently, that Dana address this pain instead of shy away from and be eaten up by it. As previously mentioned, Maggie acts, per Scully's flawed system, as her daughters confessor; but here, she reinforces her own human frailty: that she is a loving mother out of her depth. But that's not the full truth: she is also a loving mother one who sets aside the pangs of ego to get her child the help that she needs.

Scully weighs the wisdom of her words; sighs resignedly at their truth--

--and looks up, finally: determined, too.

Here, then, is when she tells her mother to call Father McCue.

That detail is important: we see Father McCue in three consecutive scenes-- once on his arrival, once during a prayer session with Scully, and once with the family after her remission. Why, then, did he not drive over now, the day he got the call, instead of waiting twenty-four hours to pray with the dying?

Two considerations present themselves:

1. Nighttime visitation would be prohibited, depending on hospital policy. But that's only half an explanation.

2. Father McCue's duties and their requirements-- depending on the size, scope, and scale of his parish-- could have prevented him from shredding his calendar and marching straight over. (And as morbid as it sounds, there likely would have been a person or two who needed last rites read to them more immediately than Scully.)

If that be the case-- if he couldn’t leave his responsibilities to join Scully on her deathbed until the next day-- then that would mean he wouldn’t have had time either to come back again, that same day, when she was pronounced in remission. Meaning, Father McCue hadn’t left when Scully’s doctor brought in the final report.

What does this mean, for the Scully family?

We’re told (later) that perhaps Scully, perhaps her family considers her recovery a miracle. And while that would apply because of their faith and beliefs, I have another tantalizing thought: that the doctor walked in while Scully was in the midst of her prayers, right after Mulder denounced Blevins to the FBI. It would fit with the dramatic bent of the show writers, and would explain Father McCue’s presence at the end of the episode. “A miracle” would also seem a little more plausible if Father McCue had been actively praying when it occurred, no?

After Maggie leaves, after Mulder spends the night crying by Scully's bedside, after she wakes the next day none the wiser and they swap thoughts on his next plan of attack, Father McCue opens the door, appearing for his last rites visit.

Seeing his approach, Scully feverishly reaches for Mulder’s hand-- the first initiation since her cancer diagnosis, to my recollection-- before he can slip away. She is no longer willing to fight and fight and fight-- i.e., she is no longer willing to push away her source of strength, grasping it to face a greater test of faith.

She clings to it as she whispers, “You’ll be in my prayers,” clings to it as he kisses her cheek goodbye, clings to it as he kindly lets them drift apart. Her face contorts into different stages of fear, insecurity, anxiety, and resignation: the same expressions, to a lesser degree, she’d used with her mother. This, in short, marks Mulder as a man she trusts as deeply as her first confessor (her mother.)

But, again, Mulder is not her intermediary, he is her “other fathers”-- a fact the episode drives home when Mulder teases, “Have him say a few ‘Hail Mulders’ for me.” While this functions as a witticism on the ‘Hail Mary’ chant-- a prayer to an intercessor-- he is, inadvertently, setting himself up as someone the confessor must pray for (read: to.) In other words: Mulder leaves room, literally, for Scully’s confessor, and unintentionally sets up a dynamic that will have Scully praying with her intercessor on his behalf.

The last scene of Redux II begins outside Scully's hospital room.

Her cancer is in remission; and Mulder, sits alone (again, post here) in the hospital hallway, processing. He strikes a cutting figure-- one lost in thought and overwhelmed; and one who is respectfully, ruefully following Bill’s wishes. An interesting note to leave their relationship on: lines strictly divided and enforced-- a tasty prelude to their second meeting in Emily.

When Skinner joins him, he is jolted from his thoughts; and the two engage in FBI nitty gritty until Mulder drops the remission bomb. Awed, his boss immediately wants to congratulate Scully-- but, crucially, he asks Mulder, “Can I see her?” To Skinner, Mulder and Scully have become each other’s gatekeepers; and Mulder doesn’t bat an eye at that request (neither does she, when put in similar situations.) It's another interesting aspect of their partnership that Bill Scully will have to face soon.

“Yeah-- she’s in there with her family right now,” Mulder adds, looking back to their metaphorical spot, then down-- a thought sticking, but not stinging. “But I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

Two things of note: Mulder could be, yet isn’t, resentful of the ostracization-- he’s made his peace, and is more than happy to sort his feelings at a distance. Secondly, his “sure she’d love to see you” remark is jolly and pointed: considering Scully’s recent suspicions of Skinner’s guilt, this statement implies (another) two things:

Mulder already told Scully that he named Blevins, and that his conviction has convinced Scully.

Mulder knows Scully would be more than happy to have some sort of professional from work interrupt the family stare session. Which also implies, per his tone of voice, that this fact about his partner-- her discomfort at being fussed over or made much of-- amuses him. (...Which, also, lines up perfectly with his surprise birthday song, loud clapping, and "whoo"ing in Tempus Fugit.)

Skinner dips to see his second agent (not at all bothered about invading family time), which provides us a last look at the Scully family.

Scully turns quickly towards the door, slight (though ashamed at her former distrust) smile still in place when she sees it’s Skinner, not Mulder (which gives validity to the theories mentioned above.) Maggie is sitting on her daughter’s bed, caught mid-inhale-- teary and emotionally drained and relieved. And finally, Bill stands by his sister’s left, holding what I believe is her medical bracelet: teary himself, and unashamed to be caught staring at the proof (whatever it may be) of his sister’s remission-- the very image of a proud, overjoyed big brother.

CONCLUSION

And that, as far as we’re shown, is the last look at the Scullys in Redux II.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

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