The Return (11/12)
by charvill

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


The sun is setting just behind the dark linen curtains framing
the front room window. I glance again -  will I ever be used to
the sight of him? - at where William reclines on the couch
beside his father, both immersed in the viewing of the latest
sci-fi television show remake to claw its way into the network
schedule. A hard breath of a laugh escapes my lips drawing two
pairs of eyes to my face. Mulder, eyebrows raised in confusion.
William, smiling with a tender look of understanding. It is then
that I remember: I am an open book to my son. 

I shake my head and sink into the leather chair beside the
couch, tucking my feet up under me. As soon as I do, the
person on the TV screen freezes. 

"Scully? You feelin' okay?" Mulder's arm is out in front of
him pointing towards the flat-screen, the DVR remote
balancing precariously in his long fingers. 

It bubbles out slowly at first, this laughter. Then his words -
such a wary tone - replay in my head and the laughter turns into
uncharacteristic, side-splitting fits complete with watery eyes
and red cheeks.

"Well, I guess that answers my question," I hear - but am still
too bleary-eyed to see - Mulder chortle in return.

"She's just happy." And William is right. I am blissed out of
my rational, orderly mind. 

There is a rustling of fabric and I wipe my eyes to find Mulder
throwing his right arm around our son, pulling him close to
place a big wet kiss atop his mop of chestnut hair. His eyes
glance up to find me grinning at the sight of them like this.
Mulder merely replies, "Of course, she is."

The day has been a long one spent mostly in the bland, sterile
rooms and hallways of the hospital. Skinner and Mulder
wouldn't rest until I got the proper testing done to see if
Krycek's theory had been true. We won't know the official
results for days, possibly weeks - but I know. I knew the second
William's arms clung to me in those very first moments in
Skinner's apartment. I experienced a similar feeling over
eleven years ago. It is a sensation that I have never been able to
accurately describe. But, if I were forced to compare it to
something it's like when you finally get over a cold and can
breathe deeply again. Or, like when you have a tension
headache that finally fades away. Like I said, it's not something
easy to put into words. I just feel well again. Whole. Healthy.
Perfect.

The room grows quiet after a few seconds and I can tell that
neither of them have any interest in returning to the show.
Besides, they can just watch it later - the beauty of modern
technology. An idea springs to mind and I notice William sit up
a little straighter. "Hey, it's been awhile since we lit up the pit
you built out back."

Mulder nods his head thoughtfully, his lips curving in harmony
with my new idea. "It's a nice night. Good for storytelling."

"Storytelling?" William chirps with unbridled enthusiasm.
"What kinds of stories?"

Mulder braces his elbows on his knees, turning his face away
from me as he explains. "Campfire stories." He throws me a
wicked glance. It is an odd sensation to know that he speaks
aloud solely for my benefit - and I for his. "Although these
aren't your run-of-the-mill campfire stories."

"X-Files! Seriously?" Our son is on the edge of his seat now,
exactly as Mulder hoped. I grin wondering how long he had
dreamed of a moment like this; handing down stories that
might one day be retold to future generations.

"Yep. We used to sit out there every night, when the weather
allowed for it, recalling old cases and seeing whose memory
was better-"

"Or more accurate," I say just loud enough to be heard.
William giggles.

"ANY-way," he begins again, rolling his eyes, "it's been " -
his voice trails off curiously, his face darkening along with the
young boy's sitting across from him - "too long since we've
done that. What'd ya say, Will?"

"Can I help you build the fire?"

"Of course you can!" He stands then, shuffling toward the back
door before calling over his shoulder. "Hey, Scully, wanna grab
the blankets and hot cocoa?"

"Sure, you want marshmallows?"

"Yes!" two nearly identical voices declare.

****

"So, you really ate a grasshopper?" William said, turning in my
arms to stare at me with a new respect. I sip on my cup of hot
chocolate and wink at him. "Wow "

"Your mom's done a lot of things I wouldn't have believed if I
hadn't been there to witness it," Mulder added. "Always keeps
me guessin'."

I comb my fingers lazily through William's hair, enjoying the
secure feeling of having him so close. He and I chose to sit on
the weatherproof padded couch while Mulder sat close by in
the chaise. The night is crisp, the stars and half moon crystal
clear in the cloudless sky. We started with the easy stories -
ones that we figured were safe enough for this eight-year-old.
As the stories progressed - gargoyles, faith healers, sewer
mutants, escaped zoo animals, and circus freaks - William
scooted closer until finally, after Mulder brought out the second
round of piping hot cocoa, I put my legs up and angled our
bodies so that he could rest his body back against my chest.
The thick woven blanket that used to cover the back of
Mulder's couch now lays over us, providing ample warmth.

"You look a little sleepy William "

He sighs with content. "No, I'm fine, really. Can I hear some
more? Please?"

It is so hard to resist his innocent request, but I know just how
few "safe" stories are left. 

"Mom?" My heart strings tug hard every time the word falls
from his angelic lips. "I, uh I don't mean to be too nosy, but
there were some questions I wanted to ask. Some things I heard
in your thoughts that I--- " My arms immediately go rigid
around him as I begin to wonder what I might have let slip and,
remembering he can hear me, I try to stop thinking. "It's okay,
you don't have to protect me."

I bury my face for one brief second, inhaling his scent. 

"What is it, Will?" Mulder asks, avoiding my eyes and the
daggers I throw at him.

"It's just that earlier when you were talking about the
church guy. The one who thought God was helping him heal
people. Do we believe in God?"

Mulder chuckles softly. "Doesn't beat around the bush, does
he?"

"Wonder where he gets that from?"

"Do we?"

"Well, with all that we've seen over the years,"   and having
you here, I omit saying aloud though I know William hears me
- "it's hard for me not to believe that someone is watching over
us."

I wait for him to question his father, surely hearing Mulder's
doubt in a deity, but he instead asks, "So we're Christian?"

My eyes widen as I look at Mulder - who is suddenly staring
with intent at the glowing embers. "Well, I was raised in the
Catholic church. So " 

"But you don't go to church anymore? In Wyoming, we went
to church every Sunday. But it wasn't a Catholic one. It was
more like the one I saw in your head when you were talking
about the healer."

"Your mom used to attend mass regularly, too."

It happens before I can think to stop it. Her tiny cherubic face,
chubby little cheeks, familiar blue eyes begging me to make the
pain relent. "Mommy, please! Please, make it stop!" 

William sits up immediately. "Who is Emily?"

**************************************************

END PART 11/?