"LIES MY MOTHER TOLD ME." By Phyre. Phyre@prodigy.net Please forward to ATXC Please Archive R SA NO SEASON 4 SPOILERS. SUMMARY: 'Paperclip' inspired Mulder angst. Lots and lots of Mulder angst. And a very plausible explanation of the two name labels on Samantha Mulder's file. (This summary was written by a fan, not the author.) DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters of 'The X-Files', that privilege and honor belong to Chris Carter and Co. I'm just using the characters for a while to tie up some loose ends. Please don't sue me, I'm broke, the court systems are already overcrowded so why add to the problems. AUTHOR'S NOTES: This idea has been kicking around in the back of my head since I saw 'Paperclip'. I let the notion sit and fester until I spilled the beans to an e-buddy. I owe her a debt of gratitude, which I will never be able to repay, for giving me that much needed kick in the ass. Rachel, thanks for all of your patience, help and those yummy mental images of Alex. CC started to deal with this issue in a recent season 4 ep called 'Demons'. As far as I am concerned he is 18 months too late. "LIES MY MOTHER TOLD ME." By Phyre. Part one of two. Greenwich, CT April 24, 1995 2:30 a.m. Fox Mulder walked into the darkened room and sat down gently on the bed next to his sleeping mother. He hated like hell waking her. He knew it would frighten her but it was something that had to be done and done now. Mulder needed to talk to his mother to straighten out facts from lies. He had been told stories. Stories about his father and his connection to Samantha's disappearance. Stories that maybe his mother could explain and help him to comprehend. Ann Mulder woke with a start. "Fox!" she said. "Yeah." Mulder spoke in a quiet tone and turned on the bedside lamp. He looked at his mother but said nothing. "What time is it?" Ann's voice took on a concerned tone. Apprehension worked her mind while ice cold fear dueled for equal time in her stomach. "It's after 2:00." Mulder replied. "Did you drive up here? Why didn't you call?" Ann asked while her mind was whirring with unspoken questions. What would make her son drive all the way to Connecticut in the dead of night without so much as a phone call? Why would he come here? What had happened now? Ann felt a familiar dread work its way slowly up from the pit of her stomach. "I needed to see you in person. I need to ask you something. I need to ask you about something that happened a long time ago." Mulder's heart picked up speed but his voice didn't betray his emotions. Ann Mulder sat up in bed and looked at her son. "Oh Fox, I don't remember anything. I told you before." "Mom listen to me!" Mulder's voice rose slightly in an effort to reach his mother. "When Samantha...before she was gone...did dad ever ask you if you had a favorite? Did he ever ask you that?" Mulder knew he was frightening his mother but he had to know. "Fox! Please!" Ann implored. That ice cold fear had finally reached her voice. Ann was getting scared. She wished for all the world that Fox and his questions would go away. She didn't want to remember and she sure as hell didn't want to tell him. "Mom, did he ever ask you to make a choice?" Mulder's emotions had won the battle and were eating away at the wall of stone he had so carefully erected. He couldn't let this go now. "Don't do this." Ann hissed as she moved to leave her bed, to get away from him and his questions. Ann needed physical space between her and her son. She didn't want to look at his face. She didn't want to see the look of pain he had endured for over 20 years reflected in his eyes. "Mom listen to me. I need to know! Did he make you make a choice?" Mulder took his mother's face in his hands and forced her to look at him. He wanted, no, he needed to see her eyes, and Mulder needed her to realize how important this was to him. "No. I couldn't choose. It was your father's choice and I hated him for it! In his grave I hate him still!" Having said those damning words, Ann Mulder broke down and wept softly on her son's shoulder. There, thought Ann. It's finally out. She knew the questions were far from over but at least now the truth was finally out in the open. God, she hated the thought of what was going to happen next. FuckmeFuckmeFuckmeFuckme! Mulder's mind went into a downward spiral. She knew! She knew all along! She let him take Sam! She let him...oh fuck, why didn't she stop him? Stop him from taking Sam. Stop him from blaming me! Stop him from...Fox Mulder's mind shut down to keep him from the rest of the memories. He let go of his weeping mother and stood stiffly without saying a word. He heard his mother call his name but he refused to answer. He needed to get out of the room and away from her before the full ramifications of her words threatened to pull him out of reality forever. He needed to run. Running would give him the distance he craved and allow him to compartmentalize his thoughts. He needed to do this before he forgot how to breathe. Mulder left the bedroom, took off down the stairs and headed for the front door. He left his mother's house and began running south at a slow pace. Down the dimly lit street, with only the ocassional streetlamp to guide him, he made his way to the park. There he began to run at a steady pace. In the quiet darkness of that cool autumn night Mulder began to relive his worst nightmare. It came easily to him, almost like an old lover. He smiled grimly and shook his head at the analogy. It had been November... Chilmark, MA November 27, 1973 9:45 p.m. "What do you mean 'she's gone'?" Bill Mulder's face was just inches from his son's and looming larger than life in the eyes of the twelve-year-old. "What happened Fox? Tell me what happened right now!" Bill was shaking with rage as he looked at his son. Fox Mulder closed his eyes to gather his thoughts and was rocked by a stinging slap to his left cheek. His eyes flew open and he quelled his immediate physical reaction of tears as he thought: oh no, please not here, not now, please... Bill Mulder stood and watched his son's reaction while waiting for him to speak. Fox drew in a deep shaky breath and said "I don't know where she is Dad, I'm sorry! I don't know what happened. I don't remember. I'm trying, honest I am. I just don't remember." He tried valiantly to regain some type of composure. He knew this situtation would only get worse if he broke down now. As far as his father was concerned, crying was a show of weakness, no matter what the circumstances. Bill Mulder exploded into a full blown rage "You were supposed to be taking care of her! How could you lose her? How? She's an eight year old girl. Where do you think she's gone? Did you fight with her? Weren't you paying any attention at all? What the hell good is that memory and genius IQ of yours if you can't even take care of your own sister? We were depending on you Fox. I was depending on you! How the hell could she be missing? You lost your sister Fox, do you understand that? Did you let someone into the house? Is that it? Did someone come in? I told you to keep the doors locked! Tell me the truth Fox!" Bill drew his right arm back to land another blow but a voice from the stairway stopped him. "Bill! Don't you dare!" Ann Mulder stood on the fifth stair and glared at her husband. Fox watched that brief interaction between his parents and thought: now what do I do? Jesus, Dad is so mad. What if he tries to hurt mom this time. What if I'm not enough? No...that can't happen. "It's OK mom. I'm alright, go back upstairs." Having said those words he faced his father with clear eyes and and a determined tilt to his head and thought: Let's get this over with. "I know how this sounds Dad, but Sam and I were just sitting here watching TV and playing a game. The only argument we had was what we were going to watch. I don't know what happened but it's almost as if the next time I looked she was gone. Something had to have happened in the meantime but I don't know what it was. I've looked everywhere Dad. The attic, the basement, every room in the house. I've gone outside and looked in all of her usual spots. She's not here Dad, even if she were hiding she'd have come out by now." Adding silently, because she would know what would happen to me. He hung his head while trying to keep his fear and emotions in check. "I'll find her Dad, I promise. Just give me a chance. I know I can find her." While Fox pleaded with his father he felt the tears well up in his eyes. I can't cry, I just can't cry. He sucked in a deep breath and while waiting for his father to say or do something he thought: why does he look like that? Why doesn't he believe me? I love Sam. God, he has to know I would never do anything to hurt her. Why hasn't he called the cops? He blinked back the tears again and said "Dad we need to call the cops. They can help us find Sam. You have to call someone. We need help. We can't do this on our own. Someone must have seen something! Sam's out there somewhere. I'll bet she's cold and hungry and scared. C'mom Dad call someone!" Fox started towards the phone and was jerked back so suddenly that he nearly lost his footing. He turned just in time to see the anger in his father's eyes before they went blank. Bill Mulder was angrier than Fox had seen him in a long while. Fox knew the look and prayed silently that it wouldn't turn out like last time. "Don't touch that phone Fox. I will take care of the phone calls." Bill Mulder's voice was so quiet his son almost didn't hear the words. The next few sentences, quiet as they were, Fox heard loud and clear. He heard them and all of the implications they held. "I'm sure there will be some people who will want to speak with you Fox. Just let me go upstairs to check on your mother. After everyone has gone you and I will talk." Bill shot one last look at his son before turning and walking up the winding stairs. During the next few hours Fox answered the same questions over and over. "What did you see? What did you hear? Where were you sitting? Where was your sister sitting? Did anyone come to the door? Where there any strange phone calls?" The men and their questions were relentless. During the time he was answering the questions Fox kept wondering: Why aren't they wearing uniforms? Why aren't they more concerned? My sister's missing! They are just going through the motions here, asking all of the right questions but it seems so...mechanical. Don't these people realize I'm not stupid? Crap, I know they think I'm only a kid but something is not right here. I can see it and I can feel it! Why does mom keep looking at me like that? Why won't she look at dad? Doesn't she believe me? Doesn't she know I'm trying? What the hell is wrong here?! Fine...I'll find her and show them all! Show him. I *don't* screw up everything I touch. His silent reverie was broken by the sound of his father bidding the authorities good night and thanking them for their help. Bill Mulder turned to his wife who was sitting on the couch and said "Ann, take the sedative the doctor sent over and try to get some sleep. Fox and I still have some things to discuss. I'll be up shortly." Fox watched as his mother regarded her husband with a look of pure loathing. Her eyes fell on Fox and the glare softened. He watched as the tears filled her eyes and she said, "Fox, if you need me for anything you come get me OK?" "Yeah mom, sure, I'll be fine, don't worry. Go to sleep." Fox answered his mother. "Fox, I want you to go and wait for me in the den. I just want to make sure your mother is alright" his father said. He nodded, turned and walked down the hallway towards the den. Fox Mulder walked into his father's den and sat down. He looked around at the well-stocked bookshelves. Most of the book titles he recognized but had no desire to ever read. Fox looked at the photographs that lined the den walls. Everyone looks happy, he thought. Amazing what pictures don't tell in those 1000 words. He shifted his gaze about the room at a restless pace. I hate this room. Fox wondered idly just how many times he and his father had these 'discussions'. Way too many times, way too many. As far as Fox was concerned he didn't care if he and his father ever discussed anything ever again. Not that there was a great deal of interaction involved, thought Fox. Nope, more like Dad pointing out everything I ever did wrong and then... Fox stopped thinking. His stomach started to turn. He knew nothing good ever came out of this room. Nothing. At least in school when you got called to the principal's office he didn't take a strap to you. Fox's stomach lurched again at those thoughts and tried in vain to think of something else. Sam, I need you! Get back here and get me out of this. Oh crap! Where are you Sam? What happened to you? I'll find you, I promise, I'll find you! Fox broke away from his thoughts to replay the evenings events over in his mind. There was something missing, he was sure of that! The problem with that idea was the longer he tried to remember, the harder it was for him to concentrate. I have to try. This is for Sam's sake and mine, I have to remember. His head started to hurt. Fox never heard his father enter the den. He wasn't even aware of his presence until he felt his father's hand on his shoulder. He looked into his father's angry eyes and told himself not to cry because it only made it worse. "Now Fox, let's talk about what happened. Tell me where she is." Bill Mulder's voice sounded like sandpaper to his son's ears. God what a stupid question! Doesn't he realize that if I knew we wouldn't be having this conversation right now? Sam would be home! Then she would be getting in trouble not me! Oh yeah right, that'll be the day. It would be more like me getting her out of trouble! Fox wisely said nothing knowing full well that while his father's voice sounded calm enough it was just the eye of the storm. "Why can't you remember Fox? Were you paying attention to your sister like I told you?" Bill Mulder's voice started to rise. Fox could hear the anger dripping off of every word and he silently braced himself for what he knew would happen next. He waited for the first blow to land and then allowed himself the luxury of slipping into that quiet place in the back of his mind. It was in *that* place where nothing could touch him. He knew what was happening and he also knew how he would feel later, but for a while he just let himself to go numb and didn't care anymore. November 28, 1973 3:30 a.m. Ann Mulder slipped into her son's room shortly after she had heard him close his bedroom door. She sat on his bed and gently touched his left cheek. Fox flinched at the contact and instantly regretted the move. "I'm OK mom," was all he said. "Your father's just scared Fox," Ann said by way of apology. "I know Mom. I'm alright, really I am. You go back to sleep. I'm fine." Fox spoke quietly to his mother. He knew if he spoke above a whisper his mother would have certainly heard the catch in his voice. "Are you sure?" Ann asked hesitantly. "Yeah mom, I'm sure. I'm fine." Fox replied quietly. Ann Mulder rose from the edge of the bed and patted her sons shoulder. "Good night Fox," she said. "G'Nite Mom," he answered. After he heard his mother's soft footsteps pad down the hall, Fox rolled onto his stomach and cried the tears his father had denied him. I'm scared too Mom, he thought. You have no idea how scared. He's right. I deserved this. I lost her. It's all my fault. I should be able to remember. That was the night his nightmares started. Greenwich, CT April 24, 1995 5:30 a.m. Mulder's muscles ached and burned when he finally pulled his thoughts back to the present day. He looked at his watch and figured that he must have run 10 miles on the track in the park. He was tired, chilled, his stomach begging for food while his mouth and throat screamed for water. Mulder slowed his pace to allow his muscles the opportunity to cool down. It was time to return to his mother's house and get some answers. Mulder started the northerly walk back to his mother's house. When the two storey colonial came into view, he stopped. Hundreds of different thoughts vied for a place in the front of his mind. He shook them off and walked to his car. He unlocked the trunk of his car and pulled out the dufflebag he always kept there for emergencies. This day would certainly qualify as one, he mused. OK now what? How do I approach this? Well I guess I could start out with 'why didn't you tell me, Mom?' or 'how could you let me think, all of those years, that it was my fault?' then 'why didn't you just grab Sam and me and leave?' Followed by 'how in God's name could you let Dad beat the shit out of me on a regular basis?' Nope. Not that one. Not there, not yet. Later. I have to find out about Sam first. This isn't about me. Mulder tamped down the thoughts, switched to his automatic pilot and walked up the driveway to his mother's front door. Once inside the house Mulder found his mother sitting in the kitchen. He knew he had frightened her but he just couldn't bring himself to care, at least not at the moment. Maybe later he would care about how she felt. Mulder just stood in the kitchen and stared hard at his mother. Ann Mulder broke the oppressive silence and said "Where did you go Fox? I was frantic with worry! Fox we need to talk about this..." "No mom." Mulder cut off her next sentence before she had even had a chance to think of one. "What I need is a hot shower and a strong cup of coffee. After which I might feel like talking," Mulder hissed, silently thinking: food is going to have to wait for a while, shit, the coffee alone will be enough to kill me. With that statement out of the way Mulder left the kitchen and headed upstairs for the bathroom. Mulder hit the bathroom light switch and closed the door. He stood in front of the sink and stared hard into the mirror. The effect the flourescent lights had on his skin tone was ghostly. Jesus Mulder, he thought, you look like shit. He noted the paleness of his skin; the kind of pale he couldn't blame on bad lighting. He was gaunt and the dark circles under his eyes were magnified in the stark lighting. He continued to silently berate his reflection. Well you wanted the truth didn't you? Now the question is...just how much more of it can you take? Disillusioned he turned away from the sink, stripped off his clothes and leaned over the tub to start the water for his shower. He stepped into the tub and stood under the hot pulsing spray of the shower head. He allowed himself the luxury of feeling the hot water cascade over his sore muscles. His mind began to wander and once again Mulder cursed his perfect memory as it bought up picture after picture of his father. This was the father who never forgave him for the disappearance of his sister. This was the father who ridiculed and questioned everything Fox did from his choice of schools to his sexual preference. This was the father who for some of his childhood and a fair share of adolescence placed him in a quiet world of pain and helplessness. He closed his eyes in an effort to block out the torturous memories. They returned in more vivid detail. This was the father who used his son as a scapegoat. That particular memory didn't belong solely to his father. His mother was in it too. Mulder put his face in his hands, leaned against the slick tiles of the shower and slid down the wall. God how could they? How could she? Mothers are supposed to protect their children! His face contorted with the agony he felt. He switched on his soul saving 'automatic pilot' and finished his shower in mindless oblivion. After drying and dressing, Mulder once again looked in the mirror and regarded his reflection. This is the face of a 34 year old man who, when he was a 12 year old boy, was caught in a political crossfire, he thought. Was it with my parents' blessing? Look at me. Have the answers been right under my nose the whole time? I have devoted my whole life to finding my sister. What did my father know? Why did he choose Sam over me? Or did he? That was my name under Sam's on that folder Scully and I found in the mining shaft. Did Dad choose me first and then change his mind? If so, did he change his mind because I was older, I would be able to assume the responsibility of what had happened? I would make the perfect whipping boy. Mulder grimaced at the thought. Truer words were probably never spoken. Dammit why can't I remember what happened?! Fuck Krycek for killing my father. Fuck him for denying *me* the pleasure! Miserable S.O.B. is dead. I finally have part of the truth and I can't even go off on the person responsible! Mulder tried to redirect his thoughts. I made a promise to Sam that night and I intend to keep it. I won't let them win. He thought about the silent oath he had just made and wondered which 'them' he meant. April 24, 1995 7:00 a.m. Ann Mulder paced the kitchen floor. She knew this day might come. She also knew that once it did the questions would become difficult for her to hear and even more difficult to answer. She knew what accusations would be made and by whom. How am I ever going to get Fox to understand? She thought. I had no choice but to go along with Bill. She had never gotten used to the idea that Bill could forfeit a child so easily. She hated Bill for what he had done. She hated herself. Now she feared she would lose her son when he was faced with the knowledge of her involvement. God, how had she gotten herself into this trap? Ann stopped her pacing and stood in front of her kitchen window and allowed her memories to creep in and consume her. There were many nights when she heard Bill yelling and then the sickening sound of leather making harsh contact with skin. Not so many before Samantha disappeared, yet enough to cause Ann concern. 'Discipline' was what her husband called it. Bill made it clear that Ann had no reason to worry. After Samantha was gone, the number of nights increased. Ann closed her eyes at the impact of the memories. God it was worse after Samantha disappeared. Much worse. I never heard a sound from Fox. No matter how bad it got. Bill laid the blame on Fox's shoulders even when he knew full well where the blame belonged. He made the choice. He let my little girl go. What did I do to stop it? Nothing. When did my indifference start? When did I lose my spine and my heart and allow my family to be ripped open at the seams? Why did I allow myself to become a silent pawn in this Godforsaken game? I've lost both of my children because of my silence. Fox Mulder walked into the kitchen unnoticed by his mother. "How could you do it, Mom? How could you let him take Sam?" Mulder asked this question in a quiet even voice, all the while his heart was pounding and his pulse raced. "Fox you don't understand." "Enlighten me mother." He said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. "Make me understand." End of Part one. Go to part two. Phyre@prodigy.net "LIES MY MOTHER TOLD ME." By Phyre. Phyre@prodigy.net Please forward to ATXC Please Archive R SA NO SEASON 4 SPOILERS. SUMMARY: 'Paperclip' inspired Mulder angst. Lots and lots of Mulder angst. And a very plausible explanation of the two name labels on Samantha Mulder's file. (This summary was written by a fan, not the author.) "LIES MY MOTHER TOLD ME." By Phyre. Part two of two. Greenwich, CT April 24, 1995 7:30 a.m. "Fox, I know how confusing this must be for you." Ann Mulder's voice took on a quiet, almost placating tone. Mulder snapped to attention, thinking, Jesus! How condescending can she get? He stood so fast that the chair he was occupying tipped over and hit the floor. The sound it made was the same as a gunshot. It resounded through the quiet kitchen. Mulder made no move to right the chair. He merely stepped away from it and closer to his mother. "No, mom. You have no idea how I'm feeling. Confused isn't exactly the word I would use to describe how I feel right now. Devastated. Angry. Hurt. Used. Betrayed. Those are words that are rolling around in my head at this point. Would you like me to explain these emotions categorically mother?" Mulder's fury was barely supressed as he ground out his words. "Or how about the other feelings? You know, the ones that I have had for the past 22 years or so? Guilty, afraid, hopeless, and let's not forget suicidal, on more than one occasion! Those, mom, are just the tip of the iceberg! They get better..." "Stop it this instant Fox!" Ann shouted cutting her son off mid sentence. "I am not entirely to blame here!" "OK mom, you're right, you're not *entirely* to blame. You get to share that dubious honor with my father. However, *you* are the one who holds the answers now. I am asking, no, I'm begging you to tell me the truth and not hide behind excuses. Don't use my father as a scapegoat the way you both used me. I deserve answers, if not for the sake of the truth alone, then for the pain and guilt I have suffered for the past 22 years. Don't hide behind a dead man because it seems an easy escape. Don't do that to me." Mulder knew his words seared his mother's heart. Don't look at her and fold. You know she does that to you. She puts on that face, and you collapse like a house of cards. She knows it works too. Finish what you've started. Look past her if you have to; but get through this now. You can call Kevin, beg for more couch time, have a nice quiet psychotic breakdown in his office...later. With the mental pep talk over he looked in his mothers' eyes and continued. "You knew, mom, you knew and you allowed me to live with the guilt that it was my fault that Samantha had disappeared. That somehow I wasn't doing my job that night. That I wasn't taking care of her the way I should. Now after all of these years I find out that not only is it not my fault, but you and Dad were part of this greater plan for God knows what." Mulder was quietly restrained on the surface and exploding inside. "I never blamed you for your sister's disappearance Fox, never." His mother was all but choking on the words while the tears stood out in her eyes. I didn't blame him. I couldn't have blamed him. I would never have said that to him. Ann tried to dig back into her memory for confirmation but her son's words brought her back to the present. "You never had to Mom." Oh God no, she thought, as the tears laid fine tracks down her face, like threads of silver glinting in the early morning sun. "Dad did all the blaming, in words and actions and what he said left no room for argument did it? Did you ever try? Did you ever come to my defense? No! Ann screamed in her head. I was afraid. She stood there silently, striving to maintain an impassive face while the tears danced over the edges of her eyelids. She looked up at her son's face and waited, knowing there would be more. "When I drove up here, it was to find out answers about Samantha, it wasn't supposed to be about me. Now it's about me, mom. I have to get through the 'me' part in order to put this in perspective. I can't help Samantha if I can't find my way out of this." "I never hurt you Fox. I ..." "You never helped me either Mom." Mulder's words were so quiet that his mother almost didn't hear them. Instead she felt them, a cold fear in the pit of her stomach, threatening upward. I couldn't stop him, she reasoned to herself. "You were as much to blame for what Dad did to me as if it were you in his place. Just because you never raised your hand to me doesn't mean you didn't hurt me. In so many ways you hurt me more. I kept wondering why you didn't say something, anything, to him. I thought you felt I deserved it all too." Ann Mulder closed her eyes and flashed back to when Fox was a child. She saw the marks on his skin again. She heard the angry voice of her husband and tried to block it out, just as she had done time and time before. She opened her eyes at the long ago sound of her son's muffled sobs in his room at night. Her gaze came to rest on the man in front of her. "I was afraid Fox. Your father had started drinking heavily after your sister...after she was gone..." "You're making excuses, Mom. My father drank heavily before Samantha was gone. I know. I could smell it on him every time he came near me. It was classic, Mom. It was textbook perfect. The only time he paid any appreciable attention to me was when he was hitting me. Then, and for a few days after trying to make it all up to me, to rid himself of the guilt. I used to think it was just the alcohol that made him mean. Do you remember when I hid the Scotch bottle?" Mulder asked his mother quietly, pushing his anger to the back of his mind. "Yes." "Yeah, so do I. Not a real bright move for someone who was supposed to be so damn smart. I honestly thought I was helping. I thought I was helping us, Mom. All of us. Even him. I thought if I took away the alcohol everything would be okay and we could act like a family. God, I was so wrong." Memories of that incident flooded Mulder's thoughts. The unbelievable anger. How his father spat out the words. 'What did you think you were doing you little bastard? Where is it? Find it. Now.' The ensuing pain. The quiet release of tears in his room. Samantha was little then. She tiptoed in, sat with him, patted him and talked nonsense until he smiled. Then she smiled back and hugged him ever so gently. She told him she loved him in that quiet voice she had. He would have done anything in the world to keep her safe. Yet, when he was inadvertently given the opportunity, he failed. It may not have been my fault, but I did nothing to help either, he mentally raked himself over the coals once again. "I want to find Samantha, Mom. I made that promise to her the night she went missing. She may not have heard me, but she knows I would never stop looking for her. I would never give up on her. The bond is too strong. I have to give something back to her for all of the times she kept me whole." "I know Fox." "Why didn't you just take us and run, Mom? How could you allow what was happening? What he did to me was bad enough, what he did to Sam should be unthinkable in the mind of a parent. Why didn't you stop him?" Mulder's anger was winning in the war of emotions. He started pacing the floor like a trapped animal. Quick, long strides across the checkered linolium. Restless hands alternately clenching into fists, then stretching the long fingers in release. Stopping mid stride he turned, faced his mother and let the anger take him. "Answer me! Why didn't you help us? Why?" He screamed the angry accusations while shaking in his attempt to quiet the rage that caused the outburst. The dam of pent up emotions finally broke and all the years of anger and frustration bubbled up to the surface with lightning speed. His eyes darted around the kitchen as his head tried to regain control of his body. The anger refused to yield to him and he was left frantic. He turned to the counter and grabbed the nearest object he could find. He hurled the glass against the kitchen wall with such force that hundreds of tiny shards found their way to the farthest corners of the large kitchen. His mind registered the fact that the motion and subsequent sound felt better than anything he had ever experienced. Through the thick haze of anger, he realized that the feeling frightened him more than anything in his life. He stood there looking but not seeing, listening but not hearing. The tide of rage he felt began to ebb back to the dark recesses of his mind. He could breath again. This is not the way to solve the problem Mulder. You know that! It doesn't get you anywhere. It doesn't make you any better than the memories you are fighting. Mental reprimand done, he looked at his mother. Ann stood watching in horrid fascination. To her it was like watching a car accident in progress. You don't want to look but you can't tear your eyes away. She moved to touch her son's arm. "Don't mom, just don't." The hoarse whisper barely making its way out of the tightened throat. She stepped back, watched and waited. She watched him lean against the counter for support in an effort to steady himself against the quiet sobs that had begun to rack his body. She marveled how his sobs were almost soundless. He exhibited such a quiet control dealing with his emotions; until the sobs were stilled and the only sign of tears were the tracks they had left behind. Such a stark and vivid contrast to the man she had seen not a minute before. He looked at her and asked the question again with so much pain in his voice she thought her heart would break. "Why didn't you help us?" "I couldn't." Her soft answer barely made it to his ears. "What the hell were you afraid of mom? Did he beat you, too?" "No." Yes, she thought, with words and accusations. His words tore at my heart the same way his belt tore at your skin. My own private hell. Yours was worse. Judged and sentenced by one. Forsaken by the other. A life no child should have to live. I was a part of it and couldn't stop it. "What then?" "I just couldn't Fox." "'I just couldn't'?!" He repeated shaking his head."God, Mom. It's not my style to complain about this. I don't even like thinking about it, much less putting it into words. Do you know what it was like? Do you even know the half of it? You were there in the same house. You knew what was going on but did it register with you? Did you ever think to stop him? Would you like some of the gory details?" No, please don't, I couldn't live through it again, she silently pleaded with him. "I know it was horrible..." she began. "No mom, it was worse than 'horrible'. It was horrible before Samantha went missing. It became almost intolerable after. I could handle the pain. I just found that quiet spot in my head and hid for a while. It was safe there. Oh I felt it all right, but after a while it didn't matter much. I would come out when it was all over, lick my wounds and go on. As far as I was concerned, Dad was right and I deserved everything I got. It was the head games that got to me. I was so scared that breathing around him demanded true effort. All he had to do was look at me and I knew what kind of time I was going to have with him. It got to a point where I almost welcomed the pain. At least then he would leave me alone for a bit. A few precious days when he didn't fuck with my head." Dead, flat, emotionless voice. I sound like I'm delivering a field report in Skinner's office. I suppose that's better than breaking everything in the kitchen. I've worked far too hard and spent too much time screaming in Kevin's office to give in to rage now. Dad's dead and I'm not going to let him win. "You knew, Mom. I just can't get that out of my head. I would have suffered the worst beating over and over if I thought it would have brought Samantha home. I loved her that much. I would have killed and died for her. I still would. I looked to you for comfort. You and Sam were my salvation. Then Sam was gone. Everything changed between you and me. You grew distant and I interpreted your distance as blame. Now I know your distance was a result of your own guilt. Tell me, tell me what kind of hold he had over you. Why did you play this game for so many years? I can understand why you didn't grab us and run. They would have come after you. I can think rationally about that now. I should be thinking about Sam, but right now, I'm going to think about me. Tell me why you didn't protect me from him?" "What did your father say to you before he died?" "What earthly difference does that make now? Why do you want to know that? So you can corroborate your story? He's dead Mom! Just tell me the truth! He can't hurt either of us anymore! Why didn't you help me?" His anger started to rise like bile in his throat. Waves of white hot rage poured over his thoughts. It took every ounce of control he had to stay still. His heart and head pounded as one. His mother started talking. He missed the first part of the thought but he caught the rest. "...the night Samantha disappeared your father told me it was all a mistake, he just kept saying that over and over..." "Wait...what? He told you *what* was a mistake?" "That's it, that's what he said was that it was all a mistake. It was a terrible mistake about Samantha, that is shouldn't have happened." Ann studied her son and could almost see the wheels of his brilliant mind spinning in his head. Somewhere in the back of her mind she thought: this must be how he is at work. Suddenly the pieces of the puzzle all fit. That one statement from his mother changed the whole spin on all of the facts. The folder. His name was on the folder first. His father had chosen him to be the one and someone *else* had changed it. Presumably at the last minute. His mother had no idea that it was supposed to be him. She thought that his father chose Samantha. It all fit! His father's undeniable rage when he came home that night so long ago. Actions speak much louder than words. His father's actions were of a man who was thoroughly confused and fully enraged. His father hadn't treated him in the same manner as he had all the other times he had a bone to pick. It *was* different. Something had gone very wrong in the master plan. "Oh my God," he said softly. "What? What is it, Fox?" "When I was in West Virginia, in the mining shaft, Scully and I found files. An unbelievable amount of files. They all had the same type of genetic information in them. We found Scully's file. I told her it had to be connected with the time she went missing. Then we found Samantha's file, that was my proof to Scully. There was another label under Sam's. It had my name on it. I was the one who was chosen, Mom! Dad made his choice, someone stepped in and changed it, without his knowledge. It has to be that." Mulder was on a roll and there was no stopping him. Ann watched and listened while her son methodically reasoned with the facts and strung them all together in one neat package. His words horrified her so much that she wanted to shut them out. She had unwittingly played into her husbands' plan. A choice was made and someone had changed it. Someone wanted to keep her son out of harm's way. She closed her eyes and listened. "When I found the folder I just thought that Dad changed his mind for his own reasons. I thought maybe it was a case of who could accept the responsibility. I was older therefore I could handle the guilt. But that's not what happened, Mom. He was so angry at me the night Samantha disappeared. It wasn't because it was my fault, not the way I interpretted 'fault'. He was angry because someone had changed the game plan and didn't inform him. I shouldn't have been there when you two got home, it should have been Samantha. It explains the escalation of abuse, the headgames, everything. He was so ticked off that it didn't work out as he had planned. He wanted me gone for a reason. He wanted me out of his life. Why mom? What the hell did I do that was so wrong? I was a kid! I tried my level best to live up to his expectations but it was never good enough. He forced me to live in hell. I wanted to die so often when I was a kid. Then as I got older I changed tack, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of giving up. Thank God, I didn't, it was what he wanted all along. His dying words to me were 'forgive me'. I just don't think I can do that. I don't think I can ever forgive him for what he did to Samantha and you, or to me. I can't Mom. Is that so wrong?" Mulder's voice began cracking on the last few sentences. Confusion had set in and he didn't know how to handle the overload of information. Another dam burst and he gave himself over to the emotions he felt. Deep, painful, racking sobs coursed through his body. He slipped down the front of the counter to the floor, pulled his long legs tight to his chest, encircled them with his arms, and put his head on his knees. He cried for the memories and the pain and the deep sense of loss. His world was shattering in pieces around him. All he thought was truth was being shown to him in a different light. His heart was breaking and he wasn't sure how to put it back together yet again. "Fox?" Ann tentatively put her hand on his head. "Let me do this mom. Let me get it all out. I won't be good for anything if I can't release this now." His words rasped against his throat like chalk against a chalkboard. After a few moments the heaving sobs began to subside and Ann watched her son unfold from his position on the floor to stand and look at her. His face was wet from the tears. His eyes were dull and flat. She saw no emotion at all. There was an invisible wall between them. "It all makes sense, Mom. The anger, the hatred. Finding the file with my name. It was supposed to be me. It shouldn't bother me but it does. I don't mean that the way it sounds. It doesn't bother me that he chose me. It should have been me, not Sam, not a little girl. What gets me is that he took it out on me when the plan went awry. He blamed me for something I had no control over. He lost his control of the situation, someone he worked with took that decision out of his hands. So he wanted *my* control. He wanted me to pay somehow. Someone didn't want me out of the picture for whatever reason. I need to find that reason." "Do you hate him?" She asked quietly. "Yes...yeah, I do. I'm sure it's wrong but I do and I can live with that. Before you ask: no. I can't forgive him. Can you?" "No, I told you before I never have and never will. What about me Fox? Do you hate me? Can you forgive me? Where do we stand now?" I've hurt you in so many ways. I accept resposibility for my actions. I should have done more. I should have fought against him. I should have fought for you, for my daughter. Excuses. Nothing but excuses. More words left unspoken. "Hate's a pretty strong word. I'm angry, very angry. I'm hurt. I feel like my insides have been ripped out. I feel as if I can never trust you again. All of the rage I have inside scares me. I have strived for most of my life to control my anger. I would go out of my way to keep it inside because I didn't want to become my father. He was an angry, bitter man. I don't know why he was so angry, I don't know what forces drove him to become so bitter. I think he would have told me things the night he died. Not all of it, but maybe some, maybe enough to clear his conscience. He asked for forgiveness but never confessed his sins. Instead he took his secrets to the grave and I'm left shadowboxing with people I can't see, fighting for truths with their roots based in lies. You knew so much more than you told. You could have trusted me with the truth, at least your version of it. You could have spared me the years of guilt. You chose to remain quiet. I just don't think I can forgive you yet. I don't know if I ever will. Can we go on from here? I don't know. I hope so. I don't know what your reasons were for staying with him for so long. Fear I guess would be number one. I know there are others. I just don't know what they are." The long speech and lack of sleep was beginning to take its toll on him. He felt weak, he knew he should rest but he didn't want to stay there any longer. He turned to make his way down the hall to grab his dufflebag. "Fox don't leave yet, please." Ann tried to contain her tears but failed and they slid down her face, dropping to her blouse. "I have to Mom. There are some things I need to do before I head back home. I'll call you in a few weeks, when I've had a chance to sit and think." And scream and cry and rant and rave, oh the list goes on and on. Kev old boy, it's couch time again. You'd better have lots of free time this week. I'm going to help you make the mortgage payment this month and probably next month's too. He snagged his bag and walked out the front door to his car. Chilmark, MA April 25, 1995 11:30 a.m. Mulder found the place with no trouble at all. There weren't too many cemetaries in the area so process of elimination worked in his favor. He had grabbed a fairly decent night's sleep at the local motel after his drive from his mother's house. Then he took a short run to clear the cobwebs. After that he knew his next step. He didn't want to do this. He hated cemetaries. He just knew that if he didn't, he wouldn't be able to go forward with his life. He needed to tell his father a few things. He knew, somehow, the man would hear his words. "Well I found you Dad. Nice spot, warm sunshine in the morning, and from the angle of the tree, I'll bet it's pretty shady in the afternoon." His voice barely hinting of sarcasm. "I came here to rail against you. I wanted to tell you how I felt about you and what you did to me, to us. I wanted to yell and berate you as you berated me. I'm not going to do that Dad. If I did, I would be no better than you. I'll channel my anger somehow. I'll make it work for me, not against me. I'll create my own legacy, somehow. I'll get out from under your hateful grasp on my life. I'll pray to any god who will listen, to keep me sane and whole so I can continue my work. I'll bring Sam home and I'll do it in spite of you. He dropped his head back against the marble and pulled in deep breaths of Fresh air. He fought hard to steady himself and slowly picked himself up off the ground. One more stop and I can go home. Chilmark, MA April 25, 1995 3:30 p.m. Mulder pulled his car up to the front of the house. He killed the engine and sat for a minute, looking around, noting changes and looking for familiar landmarks from his youth. Not much had changed, even after all these years. He was grateful for the familiarity of his old home. He walked slowly up the stairs and paused to walk the wraparound porch. He took in the early fall colors on the trees. It was still warm but there would be a chill in the air by nightfall. Some things you never forget. First day of summer, first fall frost. All of those memories fought for their equal time in his mind. He put the key in the lock and pushed open the front door. His heart started to race and his hands began to feel clammy and cold. Maybe this was a bad idea after all, he reasoned with himself. No, nothing can hurt me here. All the demons are out in the open. Do this and go on. As he walked through the rooms of his childhood home, he felt the same shivers he had felt when he was young. He heard the same angry voices, but only in his head. He knew he needed to do this for himself, to confront his past and his fears. He walked into his old room. Sheets covered the furniture. Dust covered the sheets. Memories laid an invisible blanket over everything. He stood for a minute, then moved on. He made his way down the long hallway to Samantha's room. Same setting, different room. Sheets and memories melded into a haze in his mind. His breathing was slow and steady, his head clear. Mulder walked down the winding staircase. He stood at the base and drew in a deep shuddering breath, quietly exhaled and, for the first time he could remember, walked unbidden into the quiet den that was once his father's. He pulled the sheet aside from the overstuffed chair in the corner and sat down. He looked around the room. Through the blinds, the sun cast stripes over the contents of the den. It was from that chair he confronted his private hell. Not raging, as he had originally intended in the scores of dreams where he and his father were the only witnesses; but quietly, with the dignity and inner strength he never knew he possessed. He closed his eyes and remembered. Even through closed lids, his tears escaped and ran their course down his pale, drawn cheeks. He steadied his breathing, opened his eyes and they came to rest on one of the family photographs on the wall. He stood and reached for the photo, carefully removing it from its hook. He ran his fingertips over each small face. First his mother's, then his own followed by his sister's. Finally he touched his father's likeness and stared. I can never forgive you for what you did to her, to me...to all of us. I can only go on and make the most of what I have left, my career, a few close friends, my promise to my sister and to myself. He replaced the photo on the wall. His eyes drank in the darkening shadows. It's time, his heart told his head, walk away. "I win." He spoke the words in a hushed whisper. Slowly he turned to leave his father's den. He hoped he would leave some of his memories too. Probably not, he thought, but at least I can live with them now. As he walked out he put his hand on the dull brass knob and pulled the door shut behind him. The End. Phyre@prodigy.net