Title – Kaleidoscopes

Summary – A small child claims Fox Mulder is his uncle, an uncle he's never met but heard stories of from his mother Samantha.

Note – This story takes place towards the end of season 5. Everything is still canon up to that point, just a little AU season 5.

"Kaleidoscopes"

"Chapter One: Aidan"

The Christmas lights were spilling in through the window, illuminating her face in a swirl of colors. She was sitting by his knees on top of the blanket he had been graciously given by Mrs. Scully for the night. The lights were off in the room, he could barely make out her features. A gentle touch grazed his knee, jerking him awake more than he was a few seconds ago. Fumbling in the dark, he grasped her hand into his. It was a gesture that felt familiar, natural.

A sad, soft sigh escaped Dana Scully's lips. He didn't know if it was his mere touch that garnered the reaction or the reason she was sleepless so late at night. Turning his head away from her illuminated silhouette, he saw a clock cloaked in pale blue on a bookcase in the corner. The time read 3:15. Turning back to her face, he swore he saw a brightly colored tear rolling down her rainbow face.

"Why create a child only to kill her?" her voice was so soft that he was unsure if he even heard her correctly.

"Dana…"

He struggled to sit up, the fog of sleep completely gone from his mind. He felt the weight of her fingertips slide from his grasp. Maybe calling her Dana was wrong in that moment, but it felt so right. He reserved her Christian name for times like this, when he felt that either he or she were in a vulnerable spot. He said her first name when he wanted her to know he cared, had his full attention, thought of her more than just a work partner. They weren't particularly close personally – he couldn't name her favorite color or her guilty pleasure television show – but he felt that ever since her abduction, he was becoming personally invested in her and in their blossoming friendship. She had called him to fly to the other side of the United States at Christmas, no less, to help her deal with a very personal matter. Regardless, that it did involve their work together, it was more personal than professional to her.

"I'm sorry," her voice akin to a small child. "I just…"

"It's fine. We can talk about it," he responded as he maneuvered his feet to hang off the edge of the couch. "The people who made Emily, they didn't do it because they care about a child or even people for that matter. She's a pawn in their game, a pawn in their screwed up agenda."

He felt her body inch closer to him, her face turning away from the Christmas lights and causing him to no longer see her features. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him. In return, she rested her head against his shoulder and relief unclenched deep within his chest.

Their relationship was complicated, different. He never knew exactly how to act around her. Would she take a comforting gesture as a sign of friendship and concern or would she pull away in a bout of professionalism and raise up the walls around her? She was confusing yet enduring at the same time.

"I need to save her life, Mulder. I don't know how but I need to save her. She's the only child I'll ever have."

Her voice sounded so sad, so small, that he wanted to roll her up in a giant blanket and protect her forever. He didn't want such remorse to fill her every being, to drive her into a spiral of unending revenge and seek a truth that would not be found. He did not want her to develop a quest like his, a quest that seemingly had no end or happiness in sight. He wanted her to be happy, to have a family, to not be consumed by a version of the darkness he felt every day of his life since he was a child. He wanted better for her.

"You know I'll do whatever I can to help you," he spoke in a low rumble. "But I have to admit, Scully, I'm out of my element on this one. She's a child that was never meant to be, a child born out of circumstances that I'm not sure we will ever fully understand."

He felt her head move, her nose burying itself into his chest. In response, his grip tightened around her thin shoulders half out of an attempt to comfort and half to squeeze the sadness out of her. She was silent but he felt his shirt become just slightly damp. His mouth opened up several times, gaping like a fish out of water but no words came out. He had no idea what to say to this woman, no idea how to make it better. His mind ran through a million pathetic phrases he could say. His thoughts were interrupted by a soft ringing noise in the distance. It sounded like it was far away, through a tunnel or muted by water.

The ringing grew louder and louder until Mulder jolted awake in Washington, D.C. on his threadbare leather couch. Blinking several times, the dream/memory faded from in front of his eyes. A repeat special about the Steelers played on the television. Glancing blurry eyes down at the VCR, he saw it was a quarter past midnight. He leapt from the couch to the desk where his phone resided. The only person who would call him so late was Dana Scully who was most likely in some form of trouble.

"Mulder," he answered, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Is this Fox Mulder?" a tired, unfamiliar female voice asked.

"Uh… yeah. Can I ask who's calling?"

"Mr. Mulder, I'm sorry to call you at such a late hour, but I've been searching for you all day and just located you not ten minutes ago."

Mulder cradled the receiver between his shoulder and ear. With his free hand, pulled out his desk chair to take a seat. For some reason, he had the sense that he should be sitting down for this conversation. His mind went wild with thoughts, jumping from one scenario to another. Each scenario seemed to be a negative one.

"My name is Anita Kaine. I'm a child psychologist at Baltimore Children's Hospital. I'm calling in regards to a young boy who has been brought to us by the Baltimore police department. His mother was kidnapped from their home, their house was in shambles, and the boy was found hiding in an upstairs closet."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Kaine, how did you get my home number? I normally don't take work calls at home at midnight," he replied with slight irritation in his voice. "Not to mention, this isn't really the type of work I do anymore at the FBI."

"The young boy said his name was Aidan Fox Mulder and that he was named after an uncle he hadn't met before. That his uncle was a Fox Mulder. To be honest, you were the only Fox Mulder within a couple hundred miles we could find. I was hoping to ask you a few questions to see if you were indeed this child's uncle."

His ears began to ring, his mouth slacked open in confusion. An uncle? That would mean that this child would have to be Samantha's. If this child was Samantha's… she had only been in Baltimore this entire time? She kept her name, never went back home to find her family? Never tried to find him? His mind was spinning with a thousand questions.

"Mr. Mulder?"

"Uh… yeah, ask away," he said in a strangled tone as his grip tightened around the phone.

"He said his mother's name was Samantha Mulder. That she was a brunette with brown eyes. She only had one sibling, a brother named Fox whom she hadn't seen since she was a child. Does any of this sound familiar?"

"It does," he managed to choke out as he fought back the tears that were threatening to fall down his face.

A thousand questions rang through his mind in rapid succession. He didn't know what to say, what to ask. There was one concrete thought that kept fluttering through his brain – Samantha was alive. Samantha was alive. A breath escaped through his lips. Part of him wanted to laugh, part of him wanted to cry. He didn't know what to even do with himself.

"Aidan said he didn't know who his father was and considering he goes by his mother's maiden name, I'm assuming he's not in the picture at all. You're the only next of kin we can find."

"What… what happened to her? Samantha? Do they know who took her?" he asked, his voice cracking at the very mention of her name.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Mulder, I don't know any details about her kidnapping. You'd have to contact the police. I can give you the lead detective's name if you like. My main concern is Aidan. He's going to be placed into foster care within the next few days. If you were going to go for temporary custody of him, I would do my best to keep him under my care until that happens. He's very scared and distressed. I'd rather him go with family if that's an option than to be shipped off somewhere."

"No, of course, I'd want temporary custody of him. If you can keep him in your care until I get granted custody, I'd appreciate it. Is there a social worker or someone with the hospital that can walk me through the process? I can be there first thing in the morning. Hell, I can come right now if they'd let me in."

Mulder sat up straight, fumbling around his desk to grab a pen and a spare piece of paper. He decided on the envelope his paycheck had come in. The pen hovered above the paper.

"I'll get someone set up for you by morning. Why don't you be here at eight? Aidan is sleeping now anyhow."

"Okay, that's fine. Did you say how old he was?"

"He's five."

Mulder sighed and closed his eyes tightly. His mind wandered briefly to Emily, vaguely wandering if he should keep Scully out of this whole debacle. He figured the wounds were still too fresh, the pain too overwhelming. He couldn't ask her to be apart of this after losing her daughter, losing the only child she would ever be able to conceive or have that was biologically hers.

"Thank you. I'll, uh, see you first thing in the morning. I'll ask for you personally, if that's alright?"

"That's fine, Mr. Mulder. I'll tell Aidan of your arrival when he wakes."

The line disconnected. Mulder held the receiver tightly, his mind running a mile a minute. After a good thirty seconds of dead air, he rested the phone in its cradle. His hand itched to pick the receiver back up, to call Scully and tell her everything. Yet, he hesitated, the memory of Scully crying softly over Emily flashed in front of his eyes. He remembered the anguish on her face at her funeral, to bury not even a body but an empty casket. In a moment of weakness, he picked up the phone and jabbed his finger onto his first speed dial.

The phone rang for a few seconds, Mulder's mind racing as he battled with himself to seek Scully's comfort and to save her the heartache of taking on a personal matter dealing with a child only slightly older than Emily had been.

"Scully," her voice rang thick with sleep.

He instantly hated himself for being weak, for her being the only person in his pathetic life he could trust or even wanted to be apart of this. She was everything to him but he couldn't say he was everything to her. He licked his lips, silence ringing between them.

"Mulder, is that you? Are you okay?" Her voice was alert now, concern lacing every syllable.

"It's Samantha…" he croaked out.

"Did you find her? What's going on?"

He heard rustling over the phone. He pictured her tossing the covers aside to sit up, those silk pajamas she liked so much bunched up all around her petite frame. He closed his eyes, imaging her face looming in front of his being illuminated by Christmas lights. He couldn't get that damn imagine of her out of his brain. The despondent look, the tears running down her face, the kaleidoscope of colors.

"I got a call from Baltimore Children's Hospital," he said in a raspy voice. "There's a five year old there who claims I'm his uncle. His mom's been kidnapped."

"Mulder?" confusion rang in her voice.

Flashes of red and blue seeped through the window. Her face was in the window, tears brimming her eyes. Mulder shook his head as he heard the siren blaring outside of his apartment. He glanced at the window again, only seeing himself looking transparent. There were dried tears on his face, something he hadn't seen in years.

"They said it was Samantha. That she has a son. They don't know who the father is. I was the only next of kin they could find. Can you believe that?" A small, bitter laugh escaped his lips. "I've been looking for years, Scully. Fucking years and found nothing. They find me within a day. How messed up is that?"

"When are you going to Baltimore?"

"I'm gonna be there at eight tomorrow."

"I'll be at your apartment at seven. I'll bring coffee."

A lump formed in his throat. He blinked several times as he glanced out his window at the stillness of the night. He didn't want to offend her, but he wanted to give her a pass. She didn't need to be there for him after everything with Emily. He knew she still mourned for the daughter she barely knew.

"You don't have to keep me company, Scully."

"You don't want me to go?" hurt laced her voice.

"I just…"

It was no lie he felt guilty about everything that happened around Christmas. He blamed himself for Scully's abduction, about her ova being stolen from her, about that small child who was only created to die. He watched her hurt, watched her cry. She lost her child and he was gaining a child. Somehow, that didn't seem fair.

"You think I can't handle it," she said flatly, her voice void of emotion.

"It's not that," he lied partly.

"I've come to terms with what happened with Emily. You were there for me, and I want to be there for you. But if you truly don't want me there, then I guess I misunderstood our partnership and, more importantly, misunderstood our friendship."

Mulder furrowed his brow, the low blow hitting him in just the right spot. Emily was a sore subject and treating her with kid gloves was what most likely set her off. Swallowing the lump formulating in his throat, he pushed aside the comment. He'd be lying to not only her but to himself if he said that he didn't want her by his side, that he misunderstood the development that their friendship had taken at Christmas. He felt closer to her; felt things were more personal between them.

"You didn't misunderstand anything," he spoke softly, the words slipping off his lips before he could stop them. "I'll see you at seven."

"See you at seven."

Then, there was a click and Mulder was faced with silence once more. He gently rested the receiver back on its cradle. His hands immediately raked through his hair, his shoulders slumped forward. He knew there was no way he'd go back to sleep after the information presented to him. Instead he decided to go for a run - a nice, long run and try to clear his mind. To figure out what he was going to say to a nephew he never knew he had.

Baltimore Children's Hospital

June 12, 1998

Mulder sat in the small waiting room with Scully in the chair to the right of him. The room was painted colorfully. One wall was coated in neat stripes done in all the colors of the rainbow. The other walls were solid colors. The whole room made him nauseous. His elbows rested on his knees, his eyes glued to the door across the room willing for it to open. He only briefly registered his partner's hand resting comfortably on his forearm.

When she arrived at his apartment at a quarter to seven, neither spoke about the small misunderstanding on the phone. She had brought coffee and muffins. She greeted him with a warm smile and a look that clearly read that they weren't talking about how he treated her as though she were weak the night before. Instead, he drove and Scully asked him questions about the phone conversation, about the little boy's name, about his age, about whatever he knew. For that, Mulder was forever grateful.

They arrived early and he paced around the main lobby of the hospital for a while before rooting himself into a chair and began his staring contest with a door. The psychiatric ward was not open until eight. They sat in comfortable silence.

When the door finally opened, a tall brunette in her early fifties stepped into the waiting room. Her hair was pulled back in a neat bun, moon-shaped glasses slid down her nose. She smiled warmly albeit tiredly at the pair, her hand extending out slowly towards Mulder as she closed the space between them.

"You must be Fox Mulder. I'm Anita, the one you spoke with. I must say… your nephew looks remarkably like you."

He took the hand, shaking a few times before breaking contact. His chest constricted at the information. Scully's shoulder bumped with his as the two woman greeted each other in a handshake.

"You must be Mrs. Mulder?"

"Dana Scully," she corrected, not phased by the assumption.

"Dana's a medical doctor. I'd like her to perform a DNA test on Aidan."

"Uh…" Anita Kaine blinked a few times, obviously taken aback.

"Please, understand my hesitation in all of this. My sister disappeared from our summerhouse when she was eight and I was twelve. I never knew what happened to her – if she was dead or alive. I just want to ensure that I am Aidan's uncle not just for my sake but also for Aidan's sake."

"That's fine. I can understand. Do you still want to meet Aidan or wait for the results of the DNA test?"

"I want to see him. I'm fairly certain he's my nephew based off the information you provided me, but I just need to make sure he is."

With a tight smile and a curt nod, Anita Kaine led the two agents out of the waiting room and down a series of hallways. They stepped into a sterile white room with a large glass window. Mulder took a few tentative steps forward and peered through the glass. A small boy, all legs and arms sat at a table with a green crayon in hand. Shaggy, brown hair fell into his eyes. His head was bowed down, allowing his hair to obscure his features. Mulder vaguely wondered if this kid was truly his nephew or the son of a clone of Samantha. What would that make the child to him?

He could feel Scully next to him, a hand rubbing up his back in a feather-like touch before residing on his shoulder. A light squeeze of encouragement could be felt but Mulder didn't feel the effects.

"Do you want to go in alone?" she whispered softly.

"No…" he replied immediately. "Will you come?"

He turned his head to the left and looked down. She was gazing up at him, her face warm and welcoming. She slowly nodded her head in the positive. Turning his attention back to the small child, Aidan was looking around the room with a frown etched upon his face. He had dark eyes like both Mulder children. A small array of freckles were scattered across his nose and cheeks in a haphazard pattern. His nose was long and narrow like Samantha's had been. Mulder felt his chest swell with nervousness and love. Throwing caution to the wind, he had quickly convinced himself that this was Samantha's child, that she was out there and he'd find her, and that they'd be a family again.

Reaching down, his fingers laced around Scully's tiny wrist. He ran his thumb across the palm of her hand and lightly tugged her wrist to let her know he was ready to go in. As quickly as he had grabbed her wrist, he let it fall from his grasp. He turned and made his way to the doorway leading into the next room and noted Scully's footfalls directly behind him.

Upon entering the room, the small child looked up. His nose crinkled at the two people walking towards him. Mulder's heart stopped in his chest as he stared into the child's hazel eyes. He pulled out one of the small plastic chairs and took a seat next to his nephew. Nephew. Mulder thought he'd never be able to say the word.

"Hi, Aidan. My name's Fox Mulder. I'm your uncle," he introduced himself with a slight awkwardness in his tone.

"Hi," the boy replied quietly.

"This is my friend, Dana Scully."

"Hi," Aidan turned towards the woman and forced a smile.

Mulder ran a hand over his mouth in a downward direction and lost his voice in the process. He had no idea what to say to this child, how to start a conversation. He didn't know if he should ask about Samantha, ask about his hobbies, or bring up who his father was. His mind was splintering into various topics of conversation, none of the options seemed like a good first impression to break the ice.

"What are you drawing?" Scully's voice broke him out of his trance and he could have kissed her in that moment.

"A car," he replied softly as he turned his attention back to his drawing, fingers pinching the crayon in a triangle hold.

Mulder tilted his head to the right. He guessed he saw a few circles that could have passed for wheels and a big scribble that could be the body. He saw Scully's hand appear in his line of vision, small fingers grabbing a blank piece of paper and a brown crayon. He turned towards her, watched as she started to make stick figures on the paper – six of them in total.

Aidan looked up from his piece of paper, semi-interested in what she was drawing before going back to his own picture. Mulder leaned forward slightly, his brain going back to Oxford and trying to remember the basics of his child psychology he took his first year at university. He tried to remember if there was a chapter on childhood grief and the best way to snap a child out of their misery? He could only recall how he wallowed after Samantha's disappearance, how he refused to talk to anyone for weeks. How he watched his father take to the bottle and his mother lock herself in her room with a bottle of pills for the first few months. He had no one who had helped him, no one to lean on. He'd be damned if Aidan turned out like him.

"You live in Baltimore?" Mulder asked lamely as he grabbed his own piece of paper and a black crayon.

"Yeah," a small voice replied.

Mulder twirled the crayon in his fingers, his tongue peeking out just slightly to lick his bottom lip. His gaze wandered to Scully who was concentrating on her picture before wandering back towards Aidan. The small child was staring at him intensely as though trying to figure out if he was who he said he was. God, the child looked like him as a kid - mousy brown hair, gangly limbs, the solemn moodiness.

"I live in Virginia," he continued on his geography conversation, "in Arlington. I had no idea you or your mother were so close. I… I would have been there for you two sooner."

Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Scully look up at his with sad eyes. He bet those were the same sad eyes he gave her in California not so many months ago. Pushing those thoughts out of his mind, he stared at Aidan and refused to look away. The kid looked so serious, far more serious than any five year old should look.

Then, the eye contact broke. He looked down at his drawing, his bottom lip sliding between his teeth. He had a guilty look on his face, almost like he wanted to confess to something that only he knew. Mulder leaned forward, trying to soften the hard edges of his face. He wanted to come off as trusting, friendly… like an uncle. Those were all foreign emotions and concepts to him.

"We didn't go by Mulder," he spoke so softly that Mulder had to strain his ears to hear him. "We went by Miller. A nice, common name."

The last sentence was spoken with bitterness, as though he were repeating a line drilled into his head every day of his life. Mulder leaned forward, his mind and heart racing. It had to be Samantha – a very afraid Samantha who had changed their last name. Except, why tell Aidan of their real last name, of his uncle, of a family he wasn't allowed to know? Did she suspect she would be taken again? Suspect that someone would come for him? Did she only trust Mulder to protect her child if she was taken but didn't trust him enough if she was around? The comment created more questions and answered no question.

"What do you mean?" Mulder pressed slightly harsher than he intended.

He was aware that Scully had stopped drawing, that she was looking at the small child with curiosity. Her face was soft, comforting, something that he was sure he did not convey in that moment.

"My mom said we weren't safe. She said there were bad people who wanted to hurt her and to hurt me if they ever found out I existed."

"She told you her real name was Mulder and told you about me? Why?" asked Mulder.

"She said you were her brother. She thought she could trust you but didn't know for sure. She said if anyone ever came for her that I should tell the police my name was Mulder, and they would find you to take care of me," he paused, his gaze resting on the drawing of stick figures in front of Scully. "She told me to be careful… said you might hurt me. Are you going to hurt me?"

It felt like ice had formed around his heart at the words. The boy wouldn't look at him, tears were slipping off his eyelashes at a steady rate. Mulder collapsed onto his knees next to Aidan's chair. He slowly reached out, his fingertips brushing a stray lock of brown hair off his forehead. The hand trailed down, his thumb brushing away some of the tears off the child's cheek.

"I would never hurt you," he spoke gently, compassionately, and he meant it with every bone in his body. "I would never let anybody else hurt you either."

Aidan looked up, his face contorted in pain. He looked like he desperately wanted to believe the man in front of him, to seek comfort in someone besides his mother who had been kidnapped. He needed a lifeline, needed someone. Without hesitation, Mulder wrapped his arms around the child. He pulled him off the chair and into his lap. The boy buried his face into the older man's shirt, his tiny hands clenching the back of his jacket.

Mulder did not know how long they stayed like that. He did not notice Scully slip out of the room to give them privacy. Aidan was the one to pull away first, face puffy from crying. His shoulder's slumped forward. A look of emotional exhaustion crossed over his features.

"Your mom was scared. She was kidnapped when she was only eight years old. I haven't seen her since," Mulder spoke in a soft tone that was starting to become more natural. "She had fears, Aidan, and she placed those fears on you. I'm not saying that was right or wrong because I can see it from both ways with what may have happened to her. The one thing she got wrong, which I can guarantee you with everything I have in me, is she was wrong about not knowing if she could trust me. I joined the FBI, I have looked for her for years, I have searched everywhere for her because I love her and miss her. I would never do anything to hurt her or hurt you. I've been kicking myself since midnight when I found out about you, that you were only in Baltimore this whole time. How did I not find you?"

Aidan stilled, the corners of his mouth turning downwards. There was a faraway look in his eyes as though he were thinking about his mother and her decisions. Mulder didn't push it or say anything else. The small child sniffed, the back of his hand rubbing his nose.

"Will you draw with me, Uncle Fox?" a small voice asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I will."

Author's Notes: This is my first story I've written in years. I'm trying to get back into my favorite pastime. I hope I'm not too rusty. Please, review and let me know if I should continue. What did you like? What did you not like? Did it keep your attention? Your reviews will keep me writing. Thanks for reading!