The Return (9/12)
by charvill

Email: charityharvill@yahoo.com 
Genre: MSR 
Spoilers: Post-IWTB
Summary: There are some things you just can't escape.


"Yeah, okay," he sighs, glancing at me for the one hundred and
fifty-third time since he answered the phone three minutes and
twenty-two seconds before. "Just keep an eye out for anything-" he
stops, realizing how ridiculous it is to remind the man on the phone
not let his guard down. *The most paranoid man in history,* his
thoughts chide. "Just give me a three-minute warning so I can prep
the doorman."

He clicks the phone off and his shoulders droop. I know it has
nothing to do with the four hours of sleep he's had in the last three
days. 

My breath quickens. "He's bringing her."

*Yes. He told her you were here.* 

I don't know how to feel about this revelation. I lean back on the
couch and remember my father's reaction to seeing me for the first
time since I was but a few days old. Seeing his initial shock and
then feeling the overwhelming happiness from him is something I will
never forget. I had no idea what to expect, but it was better than
any of the meaningless dreams I'd had since I learned about my
origins some years before. Relief yearns to break through my
melancholy mood, but ...he didn't know I was here.
 
She does.

He didn't send me away to live with strangers. She did.

*William?*

I turn to look at the man who has fallen into the role of my
caretaker since he picked me up a few days ago in Wisconsin. It is
dark outside, and his living room is lit only by the tall, chrome floor
lamp just behind me. The concern is evident both from his thoughts
and in his features, the way he leans just slightly towards me with
his elbows resting atop his thighs.

"Does she know why you brought me here?" I try not to shudder as
I picture the cancer patients I saw on the computer just hours
before: emaciated and hollow from the radiation treatments that
were their only hope of survival. My father assured me that she still
looks much the same as she does in the picture I shared with him
from the day I was born   Walter's gift to me.


*No. Mulder only told her that you were staying with me. They
were on the road within half an hour. They should be here soon.
Just outside of DC now,* he said without moving his lips. It took
him two days before he fell into the habit of communicating with me
this way.

I want to beg for more details but, if he had any, I would have
already heard them in his head. We sit there in relative silence, his
thoughts providing nothing more than mundane speculation that
mirrors my own.

Would I look much different than she has pictured over the last
seven years? Is she glad I'm here? Does she wish I was still with
the Van de Kamps? Will her presence be the signal the bad man -
Krycek, Walter unwittingly provided me in his thoughts the first
hour I was with him - has been waiting for? Are they in danger?

Am *I* in danger?

Walter shifts suddenly. *The phone. Mulder just texted. I have to
call the people downstairs.* He stands and walks into the hallway
and his deep voice fades into the background of my internal panic.
She is really coming. My mom. Oh, God...

I see the hazy memory I still have of her in my mind: blurs of red
and blue on and around her face. She is crying, singing softly to me,
and holding me so tightly....

*William?* "William!"

His outburst takes me by surprise and I hear a strange sound, like
the rustling of leaves mixed with a sharp wind. He is kneeling before
me and, through his eyes, I see the tear tracks on my face and
realize the sound is coming from me. 

"It's okay, William," he says, awkwardly rubbing his hands up and
down my arms. *Shit, shit, shit...* "Can you hear me?"

I look at him without answering, focusing solely on my
uncharacteristic reaction. I have never felt this way before...never
lost control of my emotions. It is a bad way to feel. Very bad.
*You've got to stop this, Will! I scold myself. What will she think if
she sees you this way? She needs you to be strong!* 

There is a soft knocking on the door. And that's when I hear it.

*What do I say to him? What if he hates me? I shouldn't have
come here. I don't deserve to have him back. Oh God, oh God...*

And then I see her tiny self through the eyes of my father. She
is...beautiful? No. That word strikes me as being very, very wrong.
Her strawberry hair falls around her face as she chews her
thumbnail, waiting for Walter to answer the door, and her clear,
blue eyes shift from Mulder's face down to the hardwood floor. I
know she is deathly ill, but it is almost as if she is glowing...

Walter squeezes my hand, no longer clenched into a tight ball.
"William?" *Are you going to be alright?* 

I feel my mouth pull itself into a smile and I am filled with a strange
calm. "Yeah," I reply.

He stands and walks to the door. I move further inside the
high-ceilinged room so that I will see them, but they won't be able
to see me. One of the things my ability has taught me is that people
often appear very different through other's points of view. Someone
who looks very attractive to one may appear the opposite to
someone else. It is so extraordinary but, the more I experience it,
the more it makes perfect sense.

And, I can't wait to see her for myself.

Walter says nothing as he opens the door just wide enough to let
them in before shutting and locking it. 

Mulder places his hand on the small of her back, guiding her
through the entry and into the hall. No words are exchanged aloud
as she looks up at him with something like fear. 

*Mulder, I don't know if I can do this! What if he hates me?* 

He beams down at her before taking her hand in his, and she closes
her eyes for the briefest of seconds. *It's going to be fine. He will
love you  he couldn't possibly not.*

Her mouth twists into a shy grin and she drops her head just
enough. *You make this seem so easy...*

Mulder looks at Walter then and he nods toward the living room.
My father glances at her again with raised eyebrows. *Do you want
me to go first?*

*No.* She shakes her head and gently removes her hand from his
grip. *I* need to do this.

I am shocked by the unspoken sentiments that pass between them
and am left wondering if this is the reason behind my seemingly
supernatural gift. My mind quickly takes off in a different direction
as I begin to wonder if he filled her in on my ability to hear
thoughts  or any of the other things my father discovered about
me today. The sound of her boots on the wooden floor sends my
heart rate back up as I wait for her approach; I look at the light
switch on the wall across from me and suddenly regret not flipping
it on.

She emerges from behind the partition and my breath catches in my
throat; I was wrong.

My mother looks just the same as she did through my father's eyes.
If anything, she is more beatific as she stands there, scanning the
room for me. She is tiny - shorter than me, in fact. Despite her
earlier strength, her mind is now filled with anxiety and
second-guesses. I feel my feet moving towards her of their own
accord, and all I can think is how she needs me to wrap my arms
around her. God, I want to hug her so badly!

My movement surprises her, and she gasps, her hands flying to
cover her mouth. *Oh, William! Is that really him? He's so...*

Her thoughts stop as my arms encase her in a hug so fierce that I
doubt she can even breathe. To hold her, this woman who risked
everything to bring me into this world and then sent me away
despite the fact that it nearly killed her to do so, is surreal; I keep
waiting to hear the familiar ranch sounds that always signal the
dawning of another day. But I can feel the suede of her jacket, hear
her sobs of joy and relief, and I know: this is no dream.

Finally I release her and she takes my face in both her hands -    
having to look up just a little to meet my eyes - wiping away tears
that I hadn't even known were there. Her lips part slightly and I
keep waiting for her to say something, to voice any one of the
thousand questions that are currently running through her brain. But
she remains silent.

A heavy sigh escapes me as the sound of heavy footsteps in the hall
signals the end of our reunion. 

There is work to be done.


END PART 9/?