From: jen paton Date: Sat, 11 Sep 1999 10:18:44 -0700 Subject: Back in Sixty by Flennifer Source: direct TITLE: Back in 60 AUTHOR: Flennifer SPOILERS: Musings of a CSM, the whole mythology CLASSIFICATION:VR - Vignette/Romance SUMMARY: CGB Spender and Teena's affair DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters don't sue me! A casual passerby would not have recognized the hunched figure on the park bench. He was nicely dressed, with a camel trench coat and leather shoes. But there was no reason to suspect he was anything more than a bussiness man. 1965 Mr. Spender scanned the people in the park. It was twilight now, and the crowd had thinned into scattered young couples and lonely old men. Then he saw who he was looking for. With her chic black skirt and maroon twinset, she stood out from the crowd. She wasn't even showing, he found himself thinking. Her dark hair had been cut since he had last seen her, and her newly gamine look suited her. She spotted him on the bench, and walked toward him. Sitting on the bench near him, she didn't look at his face when she said, "Hello." He studied her unabashedly. "I got your letter. I was going to arrainge to see you, but you left so suddenly without telling me." "You can understand why, can't you?" she turned to look at him. He reached out to touch her shoulder. "You got my telegram?" "I did. Bill almost saw it. But thank you." "So you haven't..." "No, of course not." He touched her stomach. "How is...it?" he asked awkwardly. She smiled in spite of herself. "It's fine. I went to the doctor today." "How's Fox?" "Fine, he gets more handsome every day." she looked at her watch. "I'm supposed to be getting grocerys. I'd best be going." she started to stand. "Wait-" he pleaded, clutching her hand. She sat back down, hugged him. He held her tight, and thought, she's the only thing in this whole world that isn't screwed up, and this is how I repay her. "I'm sorry." he whispered to her. "No." she said. "Don't blame yourself. No one is to be blamed. Besides, it's not the worst thing that could happen to us." "No." he sighed. If only he could tell her everything, but if he did,it would be a selfish gesture, purely to purge his conscience rather than to share with her. "When can I see you again?" She terminated the embrace to look him in the eye. "I honestly don't know when I can...I'll call or telegram." "All right." he said, and they stood up. She walked through the aisles off the grocery store slowly, remembering..... * 1960 She did not want anyone to come over for cocktails and then go out a movie. Why did Bill do this to her, why didn't he ask her? She was fed up, esspecially since... The doorbell rang. She rushed to answer. There stood Cassandra Spender and her husband, who was a bussiness colleage of Bill's. She motioned them inside. Bill came in the room, smiling jovially, all remnants of their recent argument had washed away in the shower. "Cassandra, dear, you look well." he said as they embraced. "Can I mix either of you a martini?" The movie they saw that night was an older one, "The Maltese Falcon." Cassandra's husband had suggested it. The Mulders did not sit together. Mrs. Mulder sat with Mrs. Spender to her left and Mr. Spender to her right. Bill sat to Cassandra's left. Mr. Spender compared the tall, lithe woman to his left with his blonde, bubbly wife. He felt something he did not often feel: guilt. Mrs. Mulder heard her husband whispering to Cassandra and the latter giggle. She scowled. He was *such* a friendly guy. She wished she had known the extent of his friendlyness prior to taking her wedding vows. She straightened out her spine. Mr. Spender saw Mrs. Mulder straighten her back. He admired her shoulder length black hair. She felt him looking at her. A thrill ran up and down her spine. The movie ended. The quartet exited the theatre. They went to dinner at a nice-ish restaurant. After dinner, Cassandra wanted to go a club she had heard about over on 5th ave. Bill concured. "It would fun, right honey?" he had asked his wife. Mrs. Mulder thought acerbically "You can do what you damn well please." What she said was "Oh, Bill, I'm so dreadfully tired." Bill pressed, "Oh, come on now, it would be fun!" "Bill, I'd really rather not." Mr. Spender seized the opportunity. "I would escort Mrs. Mulder home, if thats allright with you, Bill..." Bill was too drunk to see anything wrong with this proposal. "Sure, sure! See you party poopers later!!!" Cassandra giggled. And so Mr. Spender walked Mrs. Mulder home. "Did you enjoy the film, Mrs. Mulder? I've always been partial to a good detective story." She looked him straight in the eye as she answered, "You weren't watching the film, Mr. Spender." He laughed. * Mr. Spender was a ruthless man, his only concern was the advancement of the syndacate. Another man's wife was his only solace. He used his own wife, Cassandra, as a tool to further the Consortium's goals. But Mrs. Mulder, Teena, brought out the human in him. He felt guilty that he used her, that he could not come out and tell her everything, but how could she love him then? He shuddered at the thought that she would someday find out. She was an intelligent woman. Someday she would figure him out, and then, then what? They were in LOndon when Cassandra went into labor with Jeffery, and he hadn't felt nearly as concerned at the birth of his own son as the day Mulder's son, Fox, was born. Though he was there to witness Jeffery's birth, he was indifferant to the whole experience. He didn't know why it didn't affect him, he wondered if he had lost all capacity for any feelings whatsoever. When, four months later, Teena telegrammed to tell him that she was pregnant, he felt relief that he was pleased at the news, in spite of the circumstances. * 1965 Bill wasn't there when the girl was born. Even if it had been his child, he wouldn't have been there anyway. He didn't know the differance. He didn't care. He hadn't seen Fox born, either. She telegramed the girl's father. Of course, there was no way he could have been there without arousing suspicion. What a beautiful child she was! Teena thought bitter-sweetly. The day after they got out of the hospital, Bill still wasn't home,Fox was with grandpa fishing, and she knew Cassandra was out of town, so she decided to pay a visit to the Spender apartment. Apt. 142. She rang the doorbell. A stranger answered, he was a short, rather rotund fellow. At the dining room table sat Spender with two other men. Whom she knew worked with Bill. And she just stood there holding a newborn. "Mrs. Mulder." the men murmmured collectivelly. So they knew. They had probably known for the whole time. She didn't care. They wouldn't dare cross Spender and tell Bill. "I'll go." she said. "Nonsense." Spender spoke up. "We were just finishing anyway, right, gentlemen?" There was a collective mumble "Yes." and the shuffle of papers. They all left, bidding "Mrs. Mulder" polite goodbyes. As soon as the last man left, Spender's whole demeanor softened. His face lit up, like he had shifted personalities, taken off a mask. He reached out timidly to stroke the baby. "Is this..." "Samantha." she smiled. "I got your telegram, but my God, to have her here... she's so beautiful, she has your looks...my God...can...can I hold her? She handed him the child, who gurgled contentedly as the new father held her awkwardly. In that one moment of pure, undiluted love, C.G.B. Spender felt something he was not used to: happiness. THE END *Epilouge* 1973 They wanted insurance. Daughters. Of course, he didn't have any say in it, the Englishman did. When Spender had relayed the message to the Syndacate, the men had grumbled uncomfortably. Spender, without believing his own words, had reassured them that it was necesary, that in the end, it would be worth it. Bill Mulder looked as if he was about to cry. The men left. Spender sat alone. He didn't have any say in it. It was the best thing for the Consortium, for everything he had worked for so hard and for so long...he had done worse in his life. Hadn't he? The worst was later. The worst was when he saw her in the park, same place as nine years ago, black suit accentuating her slim silhouette. She drew closer, he saw the fine lines of pain that crossed her face, the white hairs that hid amongst the jet black. She looked simultaniously very old and very young, he thought. Lost. The worst was when she hugged him, sobbing, sobbing that he was all she had left. He didn't say anything. He felt physically ill, disgusted with himself as he had never been before. She wondered why he didn't look her in the eye.