A/N: I've become a bit enamored with the idea of teenage Mulder and what he would've been like. It's kind of a sad oneshot, but that's how teenage Mulder would be to me: not truly happy. I hope that doesn't turn anyone off to the story.
The X Files doesn't belong to me.
"I want you to write about yourself," the English teacher says. "I want to get to know you. So write a page in your journal about yourself. Anything important. That's your homework for tonight." The bell rings, and he's done with his first week of sophmore year. As his classmates run down the stairs, he follows slowly, watching them walk off to sports or clubs or something else. A place where they will be included.
When he sits down to work on his English homework, he's unsure of what to write.
My name is Fox Mulder. I'm fifteen, almost sixteen. I have a mother, father, and I used to have a little sister, but she was abducted by aliens when she was eight.
He crumples the paper up and throws it in the trash.
My name is Fox Mulder. My parents are yelling at each other in the room next to me. It's distracting. My family is falling apart.
My name is Fox Mulder. I hate myself, I hate my parents, and I hate my sister for being taken and starting this all in the first place.
My name is Fox Mulder
Many more papers get thrown away. He decides to do the paper tomorrow; a headache is surfacing, gnawing at his skull. He catches his mom in the kitchen as he's taking his meds, and she looks like she's been crying. "You okay, mom?" he asks, the pills halfway to his mouth.
"I'm fine," she replies, brushing it off. "How many of those have you been taking?"
"I haven't taken any in a few days. I just have a headache."
"Do you still have a lot of those?" he had been diagnosed with cluster headaches and insomnia, both of which he had gotten medication for.
"Yeah, but the meds help."
"Are you alright, Fox? You're not looking at me." she gestures for her son to look her in the eye, and he does, reluctantly. "What's going on?"
"Nothing. Just not feeling too well."
The lines on his mother's face harden. "You heard me and your father arguing, didn't you?"
He couldn't lie. "Yeah. But it's not that big of a deal."
"You're not thinking of Samantha again," her voice softens.
He wants to cry, because he is thinking of Samantha, he is always thinking of her. "No, mom. I'm fine."
"Fox...just don't think about her so much. It's been almost four years now."
He tries to say something, but he can't, so he takes the pills and walks back to his room. On the walls are clippings of UFO sightings from newspapers and abduction reports, making a large collage of sorts. He's seen his mother sigh, and his father roll his eyes, but this is his escape. This is what makes him feel something, even when the headaches hammer at his skull. He just wants to feel something, some sort of excitement.
He sits down again and tries hard to write. He produces a horribly artificial page about himself, about how he loves science and how he likes to read news articles. He writes about his family, mentioning his sister in passing. "My sister's name is Samantha. She doesn't live with us anymore due to some unfortunate circumstances."
That sounds almost funny: "unfortunate circumstances".
His dad is gone on Saturday morning. That happens, he leaves for a little while, comes back home, and it is quiet for a few days until the arguing starts up again. He wonders why they don't just get a divorce and get it over with, but he has an assumption that it's because of him, they're afraid of hurting him.
"Where's dad?" he asks during brunch.
"Just out," his mom says. She knows her son knows where he goes, but it doesn't need to be discussed. "How'd you sleep?"
"Fine."
"No troubles? Any dreams?"
"I woke up a few times," he lied. "But otherwise, it was okay." He had drifted in and out of consciousness most of the night.
"That's good. Any homework?"
"A little. I think I'm going bike riding today."
His mother's eyes light up; he's actually getting out of the house for once. "That sounds nice."
He grabs his backpack and laces up his shoes. "I'll be back in a few hours."
"Be safe."
The weather is perfectly cool, leaves trailing along on the breeze. He sees a girl from some of his classes on her bike as well, and waves to her bravely. She waves back, making her way to his side of the street. "Hi," she says.
"Hi. Valerie, right?"
"Yeah. You're Fox Mulder."
"Uh-huh."
"Was your sister Samantha?"
He's tempted to say no, leave me alone. "Yeah," he replies, as casually as possible.
"She used to play with my brother."
"Callum?"
"Yeah. They were good friends."
He remembers Callum, watching Samantha run across the playground by their house to play with him. She would return with gravel dust on her dress and a toothy grin on her face. "Callum is your boyfriend," a ten year old Fox would tease.
"Uh-huh. He's my friend who's a boy," Samantha would retort and trot off.
He must be lost in his memories, because she's calling his name now. "Sorry," he says. "Yeah, I remember him."
"He misses her. What really happened to her? She didn't die, did she?"
I don't know, I'll never know, no one fucking knows, I'm so tired of talking about it, leave me alone. "She no longer lives with us due to unfortunate circumstances." That phrase seems so artificial, but it works.
Valerie frowns. "I'm sorry. Well, if she ever lives with you again, have her come visit Callum." She turns and waves to him, pedaling away. She talks about it so casually, and he can understand why. He saw the sympathy in her eyes. It was a nice change from the painted on frowns and pats on the back. The "you'll get over it".
Maybe he would, if people stopped talking. If people stopped asking.
There were too many 'maybe's. Maybe his parents would finally break up. Maybe Samantha really is dead. Maybe she'll come back tomorrow. Maybe he'll get hit by this car and die. Maybe he wants to.
The last two 'maybe's scare him so much he has to slow down in the middle of the sidewalk.
When he finally gets to the strip mall, he goes into a little knick-knack shop, but it's overcrowded and nothing catches his attention until he notices something just as he's about to walk out. A poster is on display, a UFO flying through the sky, over the treetops, the caption boldly proclaiming, "I Want To Believe".
He feels almost as if someone has struck his heart, even though the words are so small and significant to most people. He buys the poster, throws it in his backpack, browses some more shops and then pedals home, finding his mom gone, too. She left a note, saying she's running errands.
He is alone, in the quiet of his house, no fighting, just a faint ringing in his ears. Another headache.
He takes pills, puts the poster up on his wall, and lies down. The four words echo in his mind. He is tired of avoiding his subject with people, as much as it invades his mind. He is tired of his parents avoiding it. He is tired.
Tears come, and he falls asleep, wishing to escape for a day. He feels selfish for wanting so much, because he's got parents and a home and food but he feels so hollow. He wants to be filled with emotion, he wants friends, he wants to turn his mind off. He wants knowledge.
He wants to believe.
The four words describe him so well it is frightening.
A/N: I don't know how I feel about this but I'm posting it anyway...let me know what you thought. I know it was angst-overload, but everyone had an angsty teen phase, even Mulder, haha. Sorry if it was too OOC. Thanks for reading!
-Lulamae
PS: What would anyone think about a oneshot about teenage Scully? She may not have had the struggles Mulder did, but would anyone like to read that?