The Return (6/12) by charvill Email: charityharvill@yahoo.com Genre: MSR Spoilers: Post-IWTB Summary: There are some things you just can't escape. The waitress sets down a glass of ice water in front of me and a small, plastic jug of chocolate milk with one of those bendy straws in front of my lunch companion. I quickly call off our order --- a chicken fried steak for myself and a grilled cheese for the boy --- and she retreats back to the kitchen. I try not to ogle, but I just can't believe how much he's grown. His looks leave no doubt that this is Mulder and Scully's kid. Her brilliant, blue eyes and warm smile were the first thing that I noticed when he threw open the door to his home --- welcoming me like I'd been expected. It was really, fucking spooky. I didn't know why, but when I imagined him, I kept thinking of Gibson Praise. And it frightened the hell out of me. I would never wish Gibson's fate on any man, woman, or child in the whole fucking universe. And that's why I threw up three times --- once in my office after Krycek left, once on the plane to Wyoming, and once on the road to the Van de Kamp's ranch --- before finally meeting the kid. Kid. I have to keep reminding myself that he's only eight years old. He has taken two small sips of his drink and is now leaning back with one arm propped on the back of the booth, watching the passing cars out the window like he owns the place! No. Like he's Mulder. And my God, does he look like his father! The lanky build --- very tall for his age, his profile (the nose actually fits his face perfectly, God love him), even his gait is just like his father. "Mr. Skinner, can I ask you a question?" Oh God. He'd said the same thing to me in the car when we'd finally been alone. I had been as unprepared now as I was then. ***** "Mr. Skinner, am I going to my real home now?" "Real home?" I'm glad I was on a wide-road with no surrounding traffic when he'd dropped that one on me. "Yeah, I mean I know what you told Martha and James. You know, about me going with you to meet some people in the FBI that are interested in my abilities --- and obviously, they didn't care where I went once or how long I would be gone once you showed them your badge --- but...what you said... that's not really true, right?" "N-not true?" Holy hell. I was a Vietnam vet for crying out loud, but this kid had me stammering! "Yes, sir. I know how it works, is all. And, it doesn't bother me that they gladly chose not to accompany me," --- the emotional detachment in his voice made me want to gouge his adopted parents eyes out --- "but I know why you're really here. You're taking me to my mother. You think I can help her in some way." "Oh really?" "Yes, Sir" He took a deep breath.. "But I need you to promise me something---" "William..." Promises didn't exist in my world anymore. "Okay, so don't promise then..." ---I tried not to let the shock of knowing that he read my mind register on my face...and then I realized how moronic the effort was--- "but give me your word that you'll try your best." Having been rendered speechless by the maturity and depth of his statement, I nodded. "I don't want to come back here. I want to stay with my real mom and dad." He sniffled, and I glanced sideways at him to find him making a "tough" face like he was refusing to show how much this hurt him. Then, in a near-whisper, he concluded his argument. "They're the only ones who will ever understand me." The rest of the thirty-minute drive was spent in silence. ***** "Mr. Skinner?" he prompts seconds later when I continue staring at my glass of water without speaking. I finally acknowledge him with my eyes. "How sick is she?" "I think you already know the answer to that, William." He nodded. "Why didn't you tell them you were coming to get me?" *Guard your thoughts, Skinner. He can hear you.* "You don't need to do that." "Yes," I sighed. "Yes, I do." I lean back and fold my hands together on the table. "Do you know why your mother gave you up for adoption?" I am completely aware now that he can hear the answer in my head before I can stop myself from thinking it. He immediately looks away --- out the window again, then down at the empty seat beside him, and, finally, at the half-drunk bottle of milk. I pull out my wallet, purposely drawing out William's curiosity, and search for the picture I brought specifically for him. I unfold the eight-year-old photo and slide it across the table towards him. The poor kid actually gasps and wipes a tear that has sprung to his eye. "You know who that is?" He nods, still studying the photo; and, given his "unique" genetic makeup, I have a feeling he's committing it to memory. "I took that at the hospital the day you were born. Do you see the way they are looking at you?" I wait for his answer, and his silence prompts me to continue. "You were the greatest miracle they could have ever hoped for, William." A tear splashes on the table. He doesn't fight it anymore. "I didn't tell them where I was going because they would never want to put you in danger." "But I can help her!" he protested. "I know that. But you don't know the evil they've seen and experienced first-hand." William tears his gaze away from the picture and his lips press into a thin line. "You don't know as much as you think, Mr. Skinner." The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. My God...what did we do? END PART 6/?