Subject: xfc: NEW, "His Father's Son", (1/1), Vignette, MSR, G From: Char@Chaffin.com (Char Chaffin) Date: 1 Nov 1999 20:46:55 -0800 From: "Char Chaffin" TITLE: "His Father's Son" AUTHOR: Char Chaffin CATEGORY: Vignette, MSR - Warning! Character Death ahead! RATING: G ARCHIVE: You bet - just tell me where! SPOILERS: Nah... DISCLAIMERS: Never to be mine... AUTHOR'S NOTE: Don't even ask me where this came from... I have no earthly idea! But I can tell you it hit hard and was impossible to ignore... so I let it do all the leading! SUMMARY: How difficult can it be to answer a child's question? Time to find out... "His Father's Son" "Tell me about my father." Softly spoken, the words; yet firm in their inquiry - and surprising, the request. He had never asked before; had never seemed to wonder... "All right - what would you like to know?" Good parry; answer the question with a question... so far, so good. "What was it about him that you hated so much?" Wide, unblinking stare, noting with vague satisfaction how the words hit their target; the older man taken aback, unsure of how to proceed. Slight smile on the young face... score, he thought. "What makes you think I hated your father? Where would you have heard such a thing?" Good, good - the best defense is defense, in this case. Remember, this is a child, even though he gives the impression of vast maturity - only a child... "Well, you did hate him, didn't you? Come on, Uncle - admit it. I know how you felt about him." Not exactly smug... not exactly. Arms folded in front of him; leaning against the wall. So much like his father, right down to the casually-contrived stance. Jesus... why had he never noticed it, before? So much... "I can't imagine where you would have gotten such an idea, Jon - I really can't. I didn't hate your father, not at all -" His calm rebuttal was interrupted without apology. "I found the journal - the one Mother left for me. I read it. I read what she wrote, about my father, and about you. I read the things she said, about the way you would always pick a fight with him, tell him he wasn't deserving of my mother. I read that, in her journal, Uncle - so please, tell me the truth... about my father. Why did you hate him?" Steady eyes, dead set on him - narrowed a bit. Eyes that could not be denied... eyes so open and honest it made him ache... for he saw his sister in those eyes, deep inside them shining out true and bright. He'd never been able to make his sister understand, never... chances were he'd not have any easier a time with her son. And he wanted so much to make somebody understand where he'd been coming from, years ago when he disowned the mother of his nephew - for taking up with a man he'd deemed unworthy. None of the rest of the family had listened to him; none of the rest of the family had seen it, in quite the same way. His wife had threatened to leave him if he didn't shut up about it. His mother had threatened to bar the doors against him if he didn't cease and desist. His younger brother called him an asshole on a regular basis. And his sister... ah, God - his sister. He'd lost her... well, maybe he'd never had her, even before she'd met the man she'd chosen over the family; had chosen over every single objection he could raise. His sister had always gone her own way, and had done her own thing; her mindset so firmly planted on the path she'd chosen that no one could talk her from it... no one could break through and make her see a thing. But now... he had a chance to make a difference, in this child's life - to guide him, and teach him... and save him from making the same wrong choices as his mother. To keep him from re-enacting the life of his father. "Jon... there are things you don't understand, are too young to understand, about your father; about the kind of man he was. You don't know what it was like for the rest of the family; watching your mother lose so much of what had once been important to her... she was so brilliant, she could have had such great success as a doctor. She could have had such an incredible life..." He stopped, at the sudden and fiercely hot light which flared into the eyes of the boy; eyes exactly the same shade and shape as his father's. Hazel eyes... Fox Mulder's eyes. The boy spoke, low and succinct; and in that moment his youth was stripped away and he seemed to gain a foot or more in stature and even his skin seemed to take on a more adult glow, as he interrupted his uncle once again, without apology. "My mother WAS brilliant, and a great success as a doctor. She did many great and important things, in the FBI. She made a huge difference in the world, and she did all that side by side, with my father. It's all in her journal, Uncle - all there. I read it, every word. Maybe there were a few words I didn't know, while I was reading, but... I looked them up. I may be young but I'm not stupid." The boy ran out of steam as quickly as he'd gained initial momentum, and his shoulders slumped, just a little. He stared at his uncle with red-rimmed eyes, but although they glistened with tears, he refused to let them fall, focusing instead with tight resolve upon his uncle's voice. "If you know this much about your parents, Jon... if you have read this journal, and believe what you've read... then why are you asking me about your father? Sounds as if you have formed your own opinion. Why do you need mine as well?" He sat back in the chair, and regarded this child, blood of his blood; a child he loved dearly and yet resented, just a little. He hated the resentment he felt, even though it was miniscule and therefore deemed unimportant. This was Dana's child... and there was so much of her, in him. So much of her strength and honesty shone through this boy; her fearless adherence to the truth; her determination to do whatever she felt was right and just, and damn the consequences. And even as he acknowledged the wonders of his sister's legacy, within her son... he steadfastly refused to believe the child had taken on any of his father's attributes, for that would mean that Bill Scully would have had to love Fox Mulder, just a little, to justify the approval of his son. And that was one place that Bill was unwilling to go... The boy spoke, again. " I ask because I want to know what others thought of my father, besides the ones who obviously loved him. I want to know why you never wanted him around, when even Grandma approved of him. I want to know what was so bad about him, that you never gave him a chance." A deep breath; Jon straightened from his leaning position, and stood straight and tall, there against the wall of his uncle's living room... and his eyes never wavered; Bill found himself having a very difficult time meeting that unswerving gaze. Shit... it was like facing Mulder down, all over again... like having to justify himself all over again. Except this time he was having to do it in front of someone who meant more to him than anything had, in a very long time - and the sudden and undeniable resemblance Jon radiated, of Mulder... it was downright eerie. Bill couldn't believe he'd not noticed before now. How could I have missed it, he thought to himself; heart aching deep inside him, for the boy whose need to know his father would only cause him pain, when he discovered how Mulder had destroyed his mother's life... "Jon... your father was an intelligent, brave man, driven to find the truth at any cost. Any cost, Jon - including the cost of a happy, normal life for your mother. She loved him beyond reason - and your father used that love to further his own cause, his own search for that damned truth he seemed to think was more important than giving her a safe life. I didn't want them to get married, I'll tell you honestly - because your father wouldn't give up on his blasted quests, and convinced your mother to stick by him, even when he found out she was going to have you - and when you were born, he still wouldn't settle down and become the kind of family man your mother so desperately needed. And when they died, Jon..." Bill swallowed on his tears, and fought to keep his voice from shaking, "When they died, it was because of a no-win case, just another damn case. "They didn't have to take the case; they were on vacation, and with the rest of the family. But your father got wind of some kind of conspiracy, and he just had to get in on the action. Your mother didn't want him to go - begged him not to; said she had a bad feeling about it. But your father was determined; told her she didn't have to fly back with him; that he could handle it alone. Well, she wouldn't hear of it; told him that it was their fight, together, and she wouldn't let him down. She went with him, and she left you with your grandmother. You were only a little toddler, Jon - just a baby." Bill pressed his hands against his eyes, surreptitiously wiping away the tears of memory; picturing again the pleading look in Dana's eyes, as she'd told them all she was flying back with Mulder, that they had a situation which needed their expertise. Bill had argued with her, with both of them, to no avail - Mulder was convinced he needed to be there, even though there were plenty of agents to handle the crisis. Their AD had asked if Mulder would cut short his vacation, and assist - and Mulder was up and out faster than you could say "Little gray men." And he'd taken Dana with him. Bill refused then, as he refused now, to accept any of the responsibility of running Mulder off, away from the family, because of his lousy attitude toward Mulder in front of the family, and his barely-hidden hostility. It had all erupted, in Dana's face, when she let herself be talked into going with him; when she'd handed her child to his grandmother and had boarded the plane which took off from the airport in Mexico City; boarded the plane with his parting words still burning between them; words he could never take back; words which haunted him every day of his life. "If you go now, little sister... if you get on that plane and fly off again, ruining yet another chance for our family to be together, AGAIN... if you do this, then don't bother coming back. I've had it with you; I'm done. You want to cause this family continued pain? Go ahead - but do it on your own turf, and stay away from me." He'd stood in the crowded airport, face to face with his sister, and the man she'd chosen once again over her family. Fox Mulder stood with no expression on his face and with a restraining hand on the shoulder of his wife. Wife... Jesus. Another very sore spot... she'd actually married the sorry son-of-a-bitch. Bill had refused to go to the wedding... claimed he was sick and couldn't attend. Tara had called him a jerk-wad asshole, and had packed up the kids and gone to it. Charlie had given her away... and Bill had spent the weekend in front of the TV, watching old family videos and getting quietly smashed... And then, that day at the airport... Bill had stood and stared his baby sister down, and had actually said those hurtful things to her... and the look on her face had been terrible to see, because it was flat dead. No life to her eyes, nothing. Just a lift to her chin and a tight little smile for their mother, who got a hug and kiss and a whispered, "We'll be back as soon as we can, Mom - thanks for taking Jon for us..." then she and Mulder had kissed the baby and Mulder had hugged their mother - and Bill couldn't believe the bastard got a big hug, right back - and they had turned and walked down the gateway and Bill had never seen them again... for they had been ambushed as they left the airport in DC; as they got into their rental car; they'd been taken down, in a secluded section of the rental car lot. Someone had been expecting them... and just like that, they were gone. Bill had never stopped blaming Mulder... would never stop. And after all these years, the hate and bitterness still raged inside of him... for Fox Mulder; for his creation of a situation with the family that caused pain then and remained in their memories, to cause fresh pain, still. Bill sighed raggedly, and looked up, into the face of his nephew... all he had left of his sister. He couldn't bear to lose this child... he couldn't stand it. He had to make the boy see. "Jon... I do regret the things I said to your mother; things spoken in anger. I wish every day of my life that I hadn't said them. I never got a chance to tell her how much I loved her; how proud I was of her. And I am proud, Jon... I am. I may not have agreed with her on the way she let herself be led, by your father, but... I was proud of all she accomplished. You have to believe that." He found himself pleading with the boy; desperate to make him see, and understand. God, somebody in this family had to understand! To his relief, Jon nodded, slowly. "I believe you, Uncle Bill - just as I believe you will never really accept me for who I am - for being my father's son. "I read Mom's journal, and I could see through her words, what my father was, to her - and all I can think is that he must have been some kind of guy, for her to feel this way about him. Yeah, I guess he was pretty driven - but so was she, and so are you, come to think of it. I know a little of the kind of stuff they had to work on when they were with the Feds - I know some of what they were up against. I feel proud - not angry, not pissed off. Just proud. And if I could someday become half the man my father seemed to be, I would count myself lucky." Jon moved away from the wall, and turned toward the doorway; it was time for him to go home. Grandma Scully would be there any minute to pick him up. He grabbed the black leather jacket off the chair; beaten up and old, but his favorite, ever since his Grandma had given it to him on his twelfth birthday, whispering into his ear, "It belonged to your father, Jon - he would have liked you to wear it..." True, it was a little big at the time, but he'd grow into it... he had grown into it, more and more each day. He liked it - it smelled comforting, like soap and spice and the echoing fragrance of a man he was just beginning to really miss, a lot. He shrugged into it, and turned once more to his uncle, smiling faintly, moving over to him, close enough to lean down, and give him a hug. He loved his Uncle Bill, because he knew that Uncle Bill needed love, from him. Uncle Bill also needed absolution... after all these years. It was pretty sad. He walked to the door, but turned again, at the sound of his uncle's voice, stopping him before he walked out into the sunlight. "Jon... you know, any time you want to live here, you'd be more than welcome..." A conversation they'd had before. And as always, Jon's answer was the same, although this time he added a little bit to the standard reply. "Thanks, Uncle Bill, but Grandma needs me. Besides..." He glanced at his uncle once more, and his next words were rather deliberate... "Besides, it's nice to live with someone who loved my father... you know? It's nice." The door shut very quietly behind the tall, dark-haired boy with the hazel eyes and the fiercely protective soul... protective of his family, as well as the memory of a man who had once saved the world, with his partner at his side... always at his side. And, sighing with shaky resolve, Bill Scully leaned his head back against the cushions of his chair... and tried very hard not to think bad thoughts, about his brother-in-law... and tried just as hard to understand Jon Mulder, who was, now more than ever... his father's son. End Hope this one didn't bring you down too much - as I said, it jumped me at a vulnerable moment and stuck like glue! If you liked it, please let me know! If you hated it, let me know that, too - for hate's better than indifference! Feedback is as necessary to me as air, water and chocolate (in that order) at: fncbc@uaf.edu, and char@chaffin.com Please visit my fic web site at: http://char.chaffin.com