Somebody
by Susan

Email: touchstone98@tx.rr.com
Classification: vignette
Episode: Founders Mutation
Archive: No archive without permission.

Disclaimer:  Though these characters don't belong 
to me, I will continue to be fascinated by them 
no matter how many years go by.

Notes: The end scene of Mulder sitting alone at
his kitchen table with a photo of his son got 
to me, resulting in this little tale.

Summary: He thinks of these things often.


~~~~

Every night it's the same.
 
He pulls the tiny photograph out of his nightstand 
drawer, then carries it to the kitchen table and 
sits down.
 
He doesn't know why he needs to sit at the table 
instead of on the bed or in a comfortable chair. 
Maybe it hurts a little less this way.
 
Or maybe not.
 
Sometimes he holds the picture in his hand, gently 
tracing around his son's innocent face.
 
Other times he sets it down on the table and sits 
back in the chair, thinking maybe he can somehow 
distance himself from the beautiful little boy in 
front of him.

He can't.
 
And then there are the times when it's too much, 
just too damn much, and he has to turn the photo 
over so he won't have to look.
 
He's never really told her about all the daydreams 
he's had over the years or about all the things he 
wishes he could've taught their son...it would hurt 
her too much.
 
And he's never really told her how afraid he is 
that their child could be hurt in some way simply 
because he *is* their child.
 
But he thinks of these things often, just as he 
thinks about all the things he's missed out on 
in his life.

He's 15 now, a teenager, and he wishes more than 
anything that he were there to teach him how to 
be a man.
 
How to never give up no matter how many times he
gets knocked down, to always protect those he 
loves, and to have passion for what he does.
 
Then again, if he could speak to him now, would 
he even want to listen?
 
Of course, he already knows the answer to that 
question, and it is that fact that hurts more 
than anything.
 
In his son's world, he's a person that doesn't 
even exist, a stranger.
 
A nobody.

But that doesn't stop him from hoping just as
he does every night, that maybe someday things 
will be different.

Maybe someday he won't have to sit alone at this 
table anymore, his only connection a faded photo 
pulled from a drawer.

Maybe someday he'll be able to let go of the guilt 
pressing against his heart.

And maybe someday he'll finally get the chance to
be a somebody to his son.

Or maybe not.



~end~


Thanks for reading.


possibilities
https://possibilities98.wordpress.com/

Originally posted January 2016