Date: 3 Dec 1995 03:33:40 GMT From: "joan the english chick" Subject: New: "The Prodigal Son" Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative This story is nowhere near as, um...exciting ;) as my others. Actually it's kinda scary, if you ask me. I just sorta said "what if..." and this is what you get. Hey, it could happen... -joan the english chick The Prodigal Son Copyright 1995 joan the english chick. All rights reserved. All characters are property of 10-13 Productions, Chris Carter and Fox TV. "Fox, how soon can you get here? I need to talk to you right away." His mother's voice had been strained on the phone, and urgent. Mulder was alarmed. "Mom, what's wrong?" But she refused to say more over the phone. The call to his partner was terse and to the point. "Scully, I've gotta go see my mom. I'll be back in a day or two." The plane trip was brief, but long enough for all possible scenarios to run through his worried brain. Was she finally going to tell him some dark secret about his father, his work, the governmental coverups? But why now, when she'd had so many chances before? She had had word from Samantha, that was it. A letter, a videotape, a grisly body part on the doorstep. He shuddered. No, surely she would have said so if it had to do with his sister. She was ill, that had to be it. His mother had cancer, leukemia, pneumonia - the doctors gave her a week to live - she had called him in to say goodbye. His forehead was sweaty. By the time he reached his mother's front step he was a nervous wreck. She opened the door as he was lifting his hand to knock. "Fox, thank you for coming so quickly." She hugged him tightly. Mulder clung to his mother, trying to sense whether she felt more frail than usual. Too soon, she let him go and moved back. "Come into the living room. Sit down. Do you want some coffee?" "No thanks, Mom. Just tell me what's going on, okay? Are you sick?" "Sick?" She looked surprised. "No, don't be silly." She saw the tension ease swiftly from his face and realized what awful things had been running through her son's mind. "Oh, Fox, I didn't mean to scare you like that. I'm sorry. This hasn't been easy, you know? Since your father died..." Her voice trailed off. She sat on the sofa beside him and twisted something nervously in her hands. Gently, he took it from her and looked. It was a photograph, old and worn from much handling. He recognized it: the picture of the scientists from the Paper Clip project - the Nazis, his father, all grouped smiling in front of the mountain where he and Scully had found the files. "What's this? Where did you get this?" She took a deep breath. "Take a closer look, honey. There's something you haven't seen before." Puzzled, Mulder looked more closely. And then he saw it: a man who wasn't in his copy of the photo. Squinting, he suddenly recognized the face...and the cloud of smoke surrounding it. It was the man who stood silent in Skinner's office, always smoking, never speaking, pulling strings. The guy he and Scully called 'Cancer Man.' "Why is he in here?" Mulder shook his head. "Stupid question. Of course he's involved. I should have known." He looked up at his mother. "Is this what you wanted to tell me? That he was involved in all this?" "Not exactly." Mulder put down the photo and took his mother's hands. She was trembling slightly. "Come on, Mom. Talk to me." When she spoke, her voice quivered. "I want you to know that...it was a long time ago, you know. I was young...we were all young back then." "Sure, and everyone makes mistakes...?" Mulder had no idea where this was leading. "Exactly," his mother said, sounding relieved. "That's exactly what it was, a mistake. And your father forgave me eventually...but he never forgave *him.*" "Forgave you for what?" Mulder's eyebrows shot up as the words' impact hit him. "Did you have an *affair* with that guy?" His mother put a hand to her mouth and inhaled shakily. It was all the affirmation he needed. "It was so long ago...." "God, Mom, I can't believe you-" He checked himself. People make mistakes, he thought firmly. "This is why you were so scared when I first showed you the photo?" She nodded. "I thought you had found out somehow - Bill had just died, I didn't know what to do, and then you showed up with that photo..." Mulder sat back, stunned. The use of his father's first name had told him everything, but he was unwilling to believe it. He tried to shape his tongue around the words. "This smoking man..." "He is your real father, Fox." She said it strongly but quickly, as if the words tasted poisonous in her mouth. Mulder winced. He shot to his feet, drawing a gasp of surprise from his mother, and began to pace wildly like a caged animal. "It's not possible. That man is a - a murderer! A traitor! He betrays people...he betrays the government!" She was shaking her head. "No, Fox. You're nothing like him, really! You're so much more like Bill. You have to believe me. Bill was your dad...." "Did he know?" The words sounded harsh and unforgiving, and she flinched from the hardness in Mulder's face. "He certainly suspected, honey. We never discussed it. I don't think he wanted to know...." "I've got to get out of here." He made for the door. His mother made no effort to stop him. "Someday I hope you'll forgive me too," she said as the door slammed behind him. "Mulder, is your mother all right? What happened?" Scully asked when she got in two mornings later, to find her partner unshaven and unwashed at his desk. He lifted his head groggily and Scully caught a whiff of alcohol. "I don' wanna talk abou' it," he said muzzily but firmly. Scully saw that he was clutching something in his hand. "Drink some coffee," she said, putting a cup by his head. As he reached for it, she gently took hold of the photograph and studied it. "Leave that alone!" "Mulder, I thought we closed this chapter. What are you doing getting drunk over this photo now?" "None a'yer business, Scully," he said, sounding slightly more human for a few gulps of coffee. "You look like you haven't slept in days. What's haunting you now?" She used the word half in jest, half seriously. She couldn't remember the last time Mulder had looked so bad. "Hamlet's ghost," he said morosely, and chuckled without humor. "I'm Hamlet, and my father is haunting me." "Mulder, your father has been dead for months-" "Most still, most silent and most grave," Mulder agreed. "And yet methinks I saw him yesterday. Or last week. Did we meet with Skinner last week?" "Yes, last Tuesday." Scully was puzzled. "Mulder, this is a bit stranger than your usual brand of ambiguity." "I have been a stranger in a strange land," Mulder told her, sitting up straighter. "Scully, do we have a case, or what?" "Yes..." Shaking her head in confusion, Scully handed him the file folder. "Am I ever going to understand you, Mulder?" "God, I hope not," he said fervently. "It's black in here, Scully." He tapped his temple. "Trust me." "Trust me...." (end)