From: little scully <starbuck92@yahoo.com>
Date: Thu, 31 Aug 2000 21:08:17 -0700 (PDT)
Subject: xfc: Will (1/1) by little scully
Source: xfc


TITLE: Will (1/1)
AUTHOR: little scully
E-MAIL: starbuck92@yahoo.com
DISTRIBUTION: Xemplary, Spookys, Ephemeral.  Anywhere
else is fine, but it would be nice if you could drop
me a note so I can know where it is going.  Thanks.
SPOILER WARNING: Requiem, tiny one for The Unnatural
RATING: PG
CLASSIFICATION: SA, Requiem post-ep (but different
from most of the others, I think!)
SUMMARY: "You became my will to survive through the
grief and the pain.  You've always been my strong
Will."
COMPLETED: 
DISCLAIMER: All identifiable characters do not belong
to me.  They belong to Chris Carter, David Duchovny,
Gillian Anderson & Co.

Author's notes at end of the story.

XXXXXXXXXX

February 21, 2011

The small, gold cross swings lightly back and forth in
front of my face, and the moonlight from the window
catches the metal, making it shine like a star.  I
have to admit this was the nicest birthday present
I've ever gotten and what made it even more special
was that it was from my mother.  She's the greatest. 
For as long as I can remember, she has kept me safe
and cared for, giving me everything I need.  

Even when she wasn't around when I was a baby, she
took me to three of her closest friends to look after
me: Mr. Byers, Mr. Langly and Uncle Melvin, who never
left me alone.  They were always teaching me all kinds
of stuff.  Math was a little tough for me, but I
always had a blast reading through my other books. 
The guys were really surprised at how fast I caught
on.  One time I even heard Uncle Melvin tell Mr.
Byers, "The whiz kid definitely inherited Scully's
smarts."

All the studying couldn't compare to the stories I was
told about my parents.  I listened closely to every
little detail, wanting to know more and more about
them.  Whenever I was brave enough to ask what
happened to them, the only answer I got was that my
mother would come back as soon as she could.  I didn't
think much of it when they would almost immediately
change the subject.

When I was older, I found out that my mother had been
off fighting in a war against the aliens who wanted to
take over our planet.  She convinced the guys to take
me out to the Midwest so nothing would happen to me.

During this time she stayed in Washington working
nonstop with other doctors, trying to find a cure to
the virus that was killing off everybody.  After five
years of hard work, they finally succeeded.  The
aliens lost the war and everyone had been saved,
mostly because of my mother's help.

Sighing quietly, I fasten the thin chain back around
my neck and snuggle under the covers, thinking about
the night I was reunited with the most important
person in my life.

XXXXXXXXXX

September 27, 2006

A gentle hand on my arm jerked me from my sleep, and
for a moment I panicked, wondering who had woken me
up.  However, a gentle voice soon calmed me.  "Hey,
it's me, little buddy."

Uncle Melvin.

A sigh of relief escaped me as I rubbed my eyes. 
"What's wrong, Uncle Melvin?" I asked sleepily,
squinting against the light from the bedside lamp.

The huge smile on his face put me at ease as he
replied, "Nothing's wrong.  You just have a very
special visitor who insists on seeing you, that's
all."

That was weird.  We never got visitors where we live
because of what the guys call "safety precautions." 
Glancing over at the clock on the nightstand, I
frowned.  11:21.  "Who's come to visit so late at
night?" I asked.

He extended his hand out to me and simply said, "Come
and see."

Curiosity quickly took hold of me as I jumped out of
bed and took his hand.  My heart pounded in my chest,
nervous and excited about meeting someone new.  Who
could this person be?

When we reached the door to the study area, Uncle
Melvin gave my hand a reassuring squeeze before
leaving me alone.  I smiled up at him, knowing he
wouldn't just leave me with anyone.

As he walked away, I peeked inside the room.  A small
woman sat at the desk, browsing through some papers. 
Her hair was the first thing that caught my attention.
 It was the color of a sunset and it fell to her
shoulders in waves, very much unlike my straight,
brown hair.

I think she needed some new clothes because everything
she was wearing was black.  Black T-shirt, black
pants, black jacket.  Even her boots were black!  This
woman didn't seem to have much color in her life.  She
also looked very tired; her eyes were half-closed
behind her glasses.  It looked like she hadn't slept
in a few days.

Silently, I tiptoed into the room, not wanting to
disturb her.  However, being quiet did me little good
because at that moment she chose to look up, stopping
me dead in my tracks.  Her eyes widened, round and
crystal clear, and her mouth dropped open ever so
slightly.  I would never forget the look on her face:
utter disbelief.

Slowly, she stood, and even from across the room I
noticed her faint trembling.  I had a sudden urge to
make all of her troubles go away and frowned in
confusion at the strange feeling.  She seemed so
familiar, yet so distant.  Why?

My attention returned to the woman when she fell to
one knee before me, and I saw her face up close for
the very first time.  Little worry lines, as Mr.
Langly called them, were visible around her eyes and
mouth.  Small, fading bruises stood out against her
light skin.  I gently touched the nastiest one on her
chin, reminded of the time I fell from the countertop
after trying to get to a box of cookies.  If it hurt,
she didn't show it, just like I didn't cry after I
fell.

She wouldn't stop looking at me.

Her eyes were the palest shade of blue, like the
clearest ocean waters.  My reflection was visible to
me, shining back from her eyes like a mirror, and my
image was swimming in her tears.  I realized then that
it was EXACTLY like looking in a mirror.  This woman's
eyes, they were MY eyes.

All of a sudden, I remembered an old photograph Uncle
Melvin had shown me of a young woman.  He told me to
hang on to it since it was the only picture he had of
my mother and I'd guarded it with my life.  The woman
in front of me looked like her, except that she was
much older.

I wanted to believe more than anything that this was
who I thought it was.  Please, please, let it be her,
I prayed.  My breath caught in my throat when I
finally spoke.  "Mommy?" I whispered brokenly.  

Tears began sliding down her cheeks as she nodded and
reached out delicate fingers to my face, wiping away
my own tears.  I launched myself into her arms,
knocking her to the floor, but I don't think she cared
because I heard her crying openly now.  Then she said
the most magical words I have ever heard.

 "It's me, Will.  It's me."

XXXXXXXXXX

I open my eyes and hold my cross protectively, smiling
at the memory.  

During the days following the reunion with my mother,
I had begun to wonder if it was possible to miss
someone even if you didn't really remember them.  The
thought seemed true in our case.  

We were rarely apart, both of us finding it difficult
to be away from each other.  I was like the little
lamb in the nursery rhyme Mr. Byers had told me about.
 Everywhere that mommy went, Will was sure to go. 
Whether she was on the phone with people in Washington
or catching up on some much-needed sleep, I was by her
side.

About a year passed by before it was considered safe
for us to move to Washington.  I couldn't wait to see
the city where my mother lived, the place I would soon
call home.  When we got there, it wasn't quite as I
had imagined due to the rebuilding that the city was
going through.  Buildings and monuments had been torn
apart, but people were busily trying to repair the
damage.

As we passed Washington Monument, I felt tears well up
in my eyes.  That had been my favorite site from all
the pictures I had seen of it, but the war had left it
falling apart.  My mother had squeezed my hand and
told me quietly that as soon as they were done
repairing it, it would look just as beautiful as it
did before.  As time passed, Washington was rebuilt
and I grew to love the city as much as my mother did. 

Other things were also changing.  The days of being
taught at home were long gone.  I started going to an
elementary school with lots of kids my own age.  Soon
enough, I made some good friends who eventually
persuaded me to join Little League with them.  My
mother was thrilled at the idea.  She loved baseball
and came to watch me during all my games.

At times people would approach her, wanting to thank
her for what she had done during the war.  Many just
asked to shake her hand or give her a hug.  My mother
would give them polite smiles, so as not to disappoint
them, but she always shied away from all the attention
people wanted to give her.

It was sometimes hard having a famous mother, but she
paid that detail as little interest as possible, so I
worked as hard as she did to forget about it.  I was
just happy that we were together.

But even with all the happiness in my life, there was
still something missing, and a part of me yearned for
that one person I had yet to meet.

XXXXXXXXXX

April 9, 2009

"Strike two!" the umpire yelled as the ball glided
past my bat and into the catcher's waiting glove.

I bit my lip nervously.  The count was now at three
and two with a man on second base - our last chance to
stay in the game if I could just connect the bat and
the ball. 

 "Come on, Will!  Keep your eye on the ball!"  Tommy's
shout from second base only served to make me more
nervous, and I stepped out of the batter's box to
compose myself.  'Control, control, you've got to stay
in control,' my eight-year-old mind chanted.  

A familiar voice from the crowd broke through my
thoughts.  "I believe in you, sweetheart!  You can do
it!"  Looking up into the stands, I saw my mom on her
feet, encouraging me and soothing the butterflies in
my stomach.  I smiled up at her before stepping back
into the box.  'Remember what mom told you.  Hips
before hands,' I thought to myself.  

Drowning out the crowd and everyone on the field, I
concentrated on my mother's instructions and the
pitcher on the mound.  He wound up and released the
ball, and it was like time was slowing down as it
comes sailing towards me.  Putting all of my strength
into it, I swung as hard as I could.

"Strike three!"

I stood there, stunned, as the boys from the opposing
team ran out to the field, celebrating their victory. 
The catcher next to me had been busily taking off his
protective gear and was ready to join his teammates
when he lightly slapped my arm.  "What's the matter,
Scully?  Your dad never taught you how to hit a curve
ball before?" he said before running out to the field.

Half of me wanted to go punch his lights out,
demanding he apologize for making such a hurtful
comment, but the more rational side of me held me in
check.  It wasn't the boy's fault my dad wasn't
around.

I was quiet during the car ride home, and I guessed
mom thought I was sulking about losing the game.  She
asked if I wanted to make our usual stop at the ice
cream parlor, but I shook my head.  The rest of the
trip was made in silence up until we got to the door. 
I waited as mom fumbled with the keys, not quite
listening to whatever she was telling me.

After we stepped inside, she looked at me out of the
corner of her eye.  "Will, you okay?"

"Where's my dad?" I replied softly.

Mom blinked in surprise, and I could tell I'd thrown
her a curve ball with my question.  "What?" she asked
in a startled voice.

I had never really asked about my father, content with
the bits and pieces she would tell me about the man I
knew only through photographs and occasional stories. 
Once in a while, I would hear her say, "That's
something your father would do" or she would mention
how much I was like him.  As for what had happened to
him, she had only told me that he had gone missing
before I was born, about a year before the war began. 
Now I was filled with a need to know the whole truth.

"After I struck out, the catcher asked me if my dad
had ever taught me how to hit a curve ball.  How can
he if he's not around?" I told her as I plopped down
on the couch.

A mixture of anger and pain washed over her face as
she dropped my baseball equipment to the floor by the
door.  "Will, I've already told you -"

"No, you've told me nothing, Mom!  I want to know
where he really is!" I shouted before she could give
me any excuse.

The look of authority now took command of her features
as she fought to regain control of the situation.  I
knew it well: 'I'm the parent, you're the child, end
of conversation.'  "Will, I've told you time and
again, when the time comes I will tell you what
happened."  That said, she began walking to the
kitchen, but I wasn't done yet.

With all the relentlessness of a young boy, I plunged
onward, not watching my words.  "Why?  I mean, was he
not good enough to be a dad?  Did you run him off? 
Did he hurt you or something?"

As the last words left my mouth, I knew I'd made a
terrible mistake.  Mom had stopped halfway to the
kitchen, stock still with her back to me.  I waited on
the couch for the inevitable scolding I assumed was
coming, but it never happened.

She scared me when she raised her hand to her mouth
and slowly fell to the floor, desperately trying to
stifle her tears.  My mother was a very proud woman,
who rarely allowed anyone to see her cry, so I knew
I'd pushed her too far this time.

Immediately, I was by her side, wrapping my arms
around her, and my heart broke at the sound of her
crying.  I'd never felt more guilty in my life.  It
was all my fault and I should have stopped asking.  I
was the one who caused those tears, and for that, I
was infinitely sorry.  I whispered my apologies over
and over again, frantic for her forgiveness.  I know I
had received it when she wrapped her arms back around
me.

XXXXXXXXXX 

I wipe at the tears that have formed in my eyes from
the memory of that day.  Never again did I want to
hurt my mother like that.  I want to protect her from
anything that would harm her, including any thoughts I
may have about my father.  

Slowly, she has been opening up that part of her life
to me.  What she was like with my father.  Sniffling,
I reach out to my nightstand to take hold of the other
present my mother gave me today.  

The man in the photograph looks like an older version
of me, except for my eyes and nose.  I wonder if I'll
grow up to be as tall as he is.  He certainly towers
over my mother in the picture.  I doubt they care
about the difference in height.  The photograph was
taken more than ten years ago, and my parents look so
young and happy that my heart wishes they were still
together.

I run my fingers over their smiling faces and notice
something I hadn't seen before.  My mother is wearing
a cross exactly like mine.  Is it the same one, I
wonder?

Muffled crying disrupts my thoughts and I look up
sharply.  All of a sudden, I jump out of bed, knowing
where the sound is coming from, and rush out of my
room.  Quickly, I make my way to the bedroom next to
mine and stop at the door, which is slightly ajar. 
Pushing it open, I step inside quietly.

Mom is huddled on one side of the bed beneath the
covers, clutching a pillow to her body.  Her sniffles
are well disguised when she cries into the pillow, but
they would never escape the ears of a loving and
overprotective son. 

"Mom, are you okay?" I ask softly, not wanting to
startle her.

Her head jerks up at the sound of my voice and she
wipes at her face to erase the evidence of her tears. 
"I'm fine, Will.  Go back to sleep," she responds.

Unconvinced, I move closer, grinning.  "Mom, that's
not going to work with me." 

For a second, she says nothing, looking like she is
lost in deep thought.  As concern begins sweeping
through me again, she shakes her head slightly and
smiles at me.  She lifts up the covers by her side,
silently asking me to join her and I comply, glad to
be enveloped in the comfortable blankets and the
warmth of my mother.

As I settle in next to her, I tug lightly at the cross
around my neck.  "You were wearing one in that photo
you gave me.  Is this the same one?" I ask softly.

"No," she answers quietly.  "Your father has the one
in the photo.  I gave it to him to hold on to the day
before he went missing."

I am taken aback when she continues talking about my
father.  She doesn't tell me everything, only what she
knows I am ready to hear and what she is willing to
tell, and for that I am thankful.  I listen to every
word as she describes the first time she saw my dad in
his office, how he always had a bag of sunflower seeds
nearby, and how she always felt safe in his arms.

When she remains silent after telling me about a
stakeout during the early days of their FBI
partnership, I assume she has fallen asleep.  I
snuggle closer to her and close my eyes at the
comforting sound of her steady heartbeat.  After a
moment, she startles me when she adds one last thing.

"When your father was taken from me, I learned about
you.  You became my will to survive through the grief
and the pain.  You've kept me going, kept me alive and
searching for your father to this very day.  You've
always been my strong Will."

I blink back the sudden tears, touched.  Never before
had I known the meaning behind my name, but now that I
do, I vow to live up to it every single day.  I look
up at her in awe as she gently kisses my forehead and
closes her eyes.  I never had a clue that she was
still looking for my dad.  I'm not sure why she had
kept this secret from me, but I'm glad she hasn't
given up on him.

Looking up at her sleeping face, I realize that I want
to help her find my dad someday.  I want to thank him
for loving my mom so much more than I can ever
understand.  I want to tell him that my mom isn't the
only one who loves him dearly.  He's got a son waiting
for his dad to teach him how to hit a curve ball.  

A son who already loves him unconditionally.

XXXXXXXXXX

Author's notes: 

Ok, so we'll never get this scenario on the show, but
I thought it would be interesting to try something
other than Requiem babyfic and more along the lines of
"kidfic."  I found myself wondering what Mulder and
Scully's son might be like and how Scully would handle
the awesome responsibility of raising him alone.

My many thanks go out to Iolanthe, Kristi and Jessica
for taking time to skim over this one.  Also many
thanks to Tua, Christy and all the other Scullyfic
moms who were so quick to offer assistance.  Loads of
gratitude to all of you!

This story could not have been completed without
ScullyFu's consistent guidance.  She helped me see
that to write "Will," I had to remember what it was
like to be a ten-year-old again.  I owe ya big time,
girl!

Note to David Duchovny: Please come back a.s.a.p. 
Missing Mulder terribly already.  

Feedback and chocolate chip cookies are always
appreciated and can be sent to Starbuck92@yahoo.com. 
Thanks for reading!




=====
"What I find fantastic is any notion that there are answers beyond the realm of science. The answers are there. You just have to know where to look." ~ Dana Scully

"You were my constant, my touchstone..."
"And you are mine..."
Fox Mulder and Dana Scully
The Sixth Extinction: Amor Fati