Title: Cry of the Wind (1/1)
Author: Pita1013
Feedback: is cherished at PitaM13@cs.com
Rating: G
Classification: V
Spoilers: Herrenvolk, Demons, Sein Und Zeit, Anasazi
Keywords: none
Summary: Sometimes there is comfort in the cry of the wind.
Archive anywhere, just keep my name on it
Disclaimer: Not mine sob. They belong to DD and GA and
CC and all the folks at 1013 and Fox.
Author's Notes/Intro: This is a submission for the May of
2000 Church of X fanfic challenge, to write any kind of
Mother's Day story. At the time of posting, I don't know
the results. Hope you enjoy this!
@}--}----
May 14, 2000
I've been watching him for over an hour now. He hasn't moved
more than half an inch since he started his watch, and I in
turn started mine.
There are a few other people in the cemetery, but he doesn't
pay them any heed. He probably doesn't even realize that
they're there. Then again, the other people don't really
notice him, either.
They are all paying respects to the ones that are missing
in their lives. Like the rest of the visitors, he is here
for his mother on the day set aside for her. It was a cold
day, which was morbidly appropriate for my memorial.
I wish I could have been close enough to deserve that
respect. But I was as shadowy at times as the men he has
always wanted to bring down. I never wanted him to know
the things that I did, so I hid them deeper than the light
could reach.
After a while, I began to believe myself. Believe the lie.
I've repressed it all.
Angry, defiant words directed at a smoky figure that was
once again intruding on my life. But variations of that
phrase had been directed at my son more times than I care
to remember.
Please, Fox, I don't remember!
And then, I ran like a coward in the only way I could think
of, leaving him with memories of a cold and unloving woman.
A mother in name only, never earning the title.
What did I give him to deserve an endless vigil at my grave?
I've been watching for over an hour, as he sits before the
stone and carries on half of a conversation. I can hear him
from where I am, a mere ten feet away. No one hears him
but me--they are all too far and too preoccupied. One lone
man in a boneyard is nothing new or different.
He is talking to me, without really believing that I am
listening to him. He prattles on about weather and sports
and harmless aspects of his work, not delving into the
dark places that brought us to this point. His chatter is
almost bordering on the inane, but I'm drinking up the sound
of his voice as if it could bring me back.
I so desperately want to speak to him, answer his self-
conscious words. I know that if I tried, he would hear only
the cry of the wind and take no comfort from it. We were
never close enough for this kind of communication. When he
was missing all those years ago, it was his partner that
knew he was alive, not me.
Then, unexpectedly, his face crumples up and he starts to
sniffle. This throws me so off-guard that, at another time,
I may have stumbled. I have seen his tears before, but the
fact that these are for me is almost unbearable.
What did I do to deserve his tears, besides refuse to help
him in his quest? Keep my memories out of his reach?
I start to listen with my whole heart for the first time
since Samantha disappeared.
"You know, Mom, I never really understood. But I guess I
was at fault too," he says shakily. "I always pushed harder
than you could take, and I knew that even as I did it. I
don't blame you for wanting to forget. Just don't blame me
for wanting to remember."
He pauses, staring at the ground as he sits cross-legged
before the tombstone. He fingers a few blades of grass
absently as he thinks about his words.
"I forgave you a long time ago. I hope you forgave me."
He's looking longingly at the stone, as if memorizing every
nuance of the marble and every downstroke of my name.
He lets out a deep, shuddering breath, and I can no longer
keep quiet.
"There's nothing to forgive, Fox," I tell him, wishing he
could hear my reassurances.
His head flies up and for a split-second he is staring
straight at me. Then, with wide eyes, he scans the area.
He cannot see me, of course, not even if I want him to.
I'm not sure if I want that anyway.
His bafflement is giving way to grief again, and I so
desperately want to give back to him what I took when he
was a child...I realize that there may be a way to do it.
"Fox, always remember that I love you, even when I didn't
show it. You're my son and I love you," I say, and my voice,
such as it is, breaks with tears I can no longer shed. I
haven't spoken those words to *anyone* for years.
He's staring at me again, and for a moment I think he is
really looking *at* me. Then, the beginnings of a smile tug
at his lips. He looks younger, as if those simple words
lifted a weight off his shoulders.
"Love you, Mom," he says, and there is peace in his tone.
His gaze is intent on my general area. I guess some bonds
are there no matter what happens to break them apart.
A figure approaches from a distant car. It's his partner.
I'd recognize that shade of red anywhere even though we only
met a few times. I like her, though she has no reason to
like me. She has a strength to her that her stature only
hints of, but that is apparent as soon as she speaks. I
realized that when I met her for the first time, at Bill's
funeral and promised to tell me when she had news of my son.
She comes up behind him and rests her hands on his shoulders
with the ease of a long friendship. His hands come up
reflexively to cover hers, and he leans back into her. There
is intense familiarity in the gesture, and I have a sudden
hunch. I study them closely.
"My mom called while I was in the car," she says softly.
"She wants you to come over for the barbecue later today.
She also told me to tell you that Bill is at sea." There
was the unmistakable twinkle of amusement in her voice, and
I wonder what the joke is. Then her voice saddens. "We'll
understand if you want to be alone, though." She is gearing
herself up for his refusal and it's painful to see. Don't
let her down, Fox, or you'll regret it later.
He tugs her hands and her arms encircle him around the neck.
"I'll be there if you're there," he says, and there's a
tinge of something new in his voice. I take stock of it and
give them a silent blessing. I never saw it coming, but then
I didn't see either of them when there wasn't a crisis.
"Get out of this place and have some fun, Fox," I command,
knowing that it was time for him to move on. Time to live
the life that's been waiting for you, my dear.
He jumps a little, and she tightens her arms around him.
"What's going on?" she asks, worry creeping into her tone.
She is instantly protective of him, glancing around to see
what caused the reaction.
He smiles beatifically. "Nothin' at all." He's practically
glowing, but whether from my words or her presence I can't
tell.
She is confused. "No really, what's up? You're in a lot
better mood than you were an hour ago." She studies his face
for a reason for his sudden euphoria.
He shrugged. "I've been listening to the wind." He tilts his
head to the side, a move reminiscent of his namesake, as if
to prove he was still listening.
"What has it been saying?" she asks, taking it in stride.
She doesn't even bat an eyelash, but then again, she's
probably heard a lot stranger things from him.
He shrugs again. "It says...that everything will be okay.
There's comfort in the cry of the wind." He looks in my
direction again, thoughtfully, and again I wonder if he's
sensing my presence somehow. Do you know I'm watching?
She gives him a indulgent look and kisses his temple. "Are
you ready to go?"
He nods, taking a last look at the stone before letting
his partner lead him back to the car. Their hands clasp
together, intertwining just like their lives, but I don't
think they even notice it. They're too wrapped up in the
joy of being together.
I watch them go, secure in my heart that he knew what I had
finally said after over twenty years of silence. I'm sure
that he's happy and content now, finally. I know that
he heard me, my voice carried by the cry of the wind.
@}--}----
Short but sweet, I hope!
All feedback is responded to, good or bad. PitaM13@cs.com
Check out the rest of my fanfic at the X-Files Archive:
http://fly.to/XFArchives
Author: Pita1013
Feedback: is cherished at PitaM13@cs.com
Rating: G
Classification: V
Spoilers: Herrenvolk, Demons, Sein Und Zeit, Anasazi
Keywords: none
Summary: Sometimes there is comfort in the cry of the wind.
Archive anywhere, just keep my name on it
Disclaimer: Not mine sob. They belong to DD and GA and
CC and all the folks at 1013 and Fox.
Author's Notes/Intro: This is a submission for the May of
2000 Church of X fanfic challenge, to write any kind of
Mother's Day story. At the time of posting, I don't know
the results. Hope you enjoy this!
@}--}----
May 14, 2000
I've been watching him for over an hour now. He hasn't moved
more than half an inch since he started his watch, and I in
turn started mine.
There are a few other people in the cemetery, but he doesn't
pay them any heed. He probably doesn't even realize that
they're there. Then again, the other people don't really
notice him, either.
They are all paying respects to the ones that are missing
in their lives. Like the rest of the visitors, he is here
for his mother on the day set aside for her. It was a cold
day, which was morbidly appropriate for my memorial.
I wish I could have been close enough to deserve that
respect. But I was as shadowy at times as the men he has
always wanted to bring down. I never wanted him to know
the things that I did, so I hid them deeper than the light
could reach.
After a while, I began to believe myself. Believe the lie.
I've repressed it all.
Angry, defiant words directed at a smoky figure that was
once again intruding on my life. But variations of that
phrase had been directed at my son more times than I care
to remember.
Please, Fox, I don't remember!
And then, I ran like a coward in the only way I could think
of, leaving him with memories of a cold and unloving woman.
A mother in name only, never earning the title.
What did I give him to deserve an endless vigil at my grave?
I've been watching for over an hour, as he sits before the
stone and carries on half of a conversation. I can hear him
from where I am, a mere ten feet away. No one hears him
but me--they are all too far and too preoccupied. One lone
man in a boneyard is nothing new or different.
He is talking to me, without really believing that I am
listening to him. He prattles on about weather and sports
and harmless aspects of his work, not delving into the
dark places that brought us to this point. His chatter is
almost bordering on the inane, but I'm drinking up the sound
of his voice as if it could bring me back.
I so desperately want to speak to him, answer his self-
conscious words. I know that if I tried, he would hear only
the cry of the wind and take no comfort from it. We were
never close enough for this kind of communication. When he
was missing all those years ago, it was his partner that
knew he was alive, not me.
Then, unexpectedly, his face crumples up and he starts to
sniffle. This throws me so off-guard that, at another time,
I may have stumbled. I have seen his tears before, but the
fact that these are for me is almost unbearable.
What did I do to deserve his tears, besides refuse to help
him in his quest? Keep my memories out of his reach?
I start to listen with my whole heart for the first time
since Samantha disappeared.
"You know, Mom, I never really understood. But I guess I
was at fault too," he says shakily. "I always pushed harder
than you could take, and I knew that even as I did it. I
don't blame you for wanting to forget. Just don't blame me
for wanting to remember."
He pauses, staring at the ground as he sits cross-legged
before the tombstone. He fingers a few blades of grass
absently as he thinks about his words.
"I forgave you a long time ago. I hope you forgave me."
He's looking longingly at the stone, as if memorizing every
nuance of the marble and every downstroke of my name.
He lets out a deep, shuddering breath, and I can no longer
keep quiet.
"There's nothing to forgive, Fox," I tell him, wishing he
could hear my reassurances.
His head flies up and for a split-second he is staring
straight at me. Then, with wide eyes, he scans the area.
He cannot see me, of course, not even if I want him to.
I'm not sure if I want that anyway.
His bafflement is giving way to grief again, and I so
desperately want to give back to him what I took when he
was a child...I realize that there may be a way to do it.
"Fox, always remember that I love you, even when I didn't
show it. You're my son and I love you," I say, and my voice,
such as it is, breaks with tears I can no longer shed. I
haven't spoken those words to *anyone* for years.
He's staring at me again, and for a moment I think he is
really looking *at* me. Then, the beginnings of a smile tug
at his lips. He looks younger, as if those simple words
lifted a weight off his shoulders.
"Love you, Mom," he says, and there is peace in his tone.
His gaze is intent on my general area. I guess some bonds
are there no matter what happens to break them apart.
A figure approaches from a distant car. It's his partner.
I'd recognize that shade of red anywhere even though we only
met a few times. I like her, though she has no reason to
like me. She has a strength to her that her stature only
hints of, but that is apparent as soon as she speaks. I
realized that when I met her for the first time, at Bill's
funeral and promised to tell me when she had news of my son.
She comes up behind him and rests her hands on his shoulders
with the ease of a long friendship. His hands come up
reflexively to cover hers, and he leans back into her. There
is intense familiarity in the gesture, and I have a sudden
hunch. I study them closely.
"My mom called while I was in the car," she says softly.
"She wants you to come over for the barbecue later today.
She also told me to tell you that Bill is at sea." There
was the unmistakable twinkle of amusement in her voice, and
I wonder what the joke is. Then her voice saddens. "We'll
understand if you want to be alone, though." She is gearing
herself up for his refusal and it's painful to see. Don't
let her down, Fox, or you'll regret it later.
He tugs her hands and her arms encircle him around the neck.
"I'll be there if you're there," he says, and there's a
tinge of something new in his voice. I take stock of it and
give them a silent blessing. I never saw it coming, but then
I didn't see either of them when there wasn't a crisis.
"Get out of this place and have some fun, Fox," I command,
knowing that it was time for him to move on. Time to live
the life that's been waiting for you, my dear.
He jumps a little, and she tightens her arms around him.
"What's going on?" she asks, worry creeping into her tone.
She is instantly protective of him, glancing around to see
what caused the reaction.
He smiles beatifically. "Nothin' at all." He's practically
glowing, but whether from my words or her presence I can't
tell.
She is confused. "No really, what's up? You're in a lot
better mood than you were an hour ago." She studies his face
for a reason for his sudden euphoria.
He shrugged. "I've been listening to the wind." He tilts his
head to the side, a move reminiscent of his namesake, as if
to prove he was still listening.
"What has it been saying?" she asks, taking it in stride.
She doesn't even bat an eyelash, but then again, she's
probably heard a lot stranger things from him.
He shrugs again. "It says...that everything will be okay.
There's comfort in the cry of the wind." He looks in my
direction again, thoughtfully, and again I wonder if he's
sensing my presence somehow. Do you know I'm watching?
She gives him a indulgent look and kisses his temple. "Are
you ready to go?"
He nods, taking a last look at the stone before letting
his partner lead him back to the car. Their hands clasp
together, intertwining just like their lives, but I don't
think they even notice it. They're too wrapped up in the
joy of being together.
I watch them go, secure in my heart that he knew what I had
finally said after over twenty years of silence. I'm sure
that he's happy and content now, finally. I know that
he heard me, my voice carried by the cry of the wind.
@}--}----
Short but sweet, I hope!
All feedback is responded to, good or bad. PitaM13@cs.com
Check out the rest of my fanfic at the X-Files Archive:
http://fly.to/XFArchives