"Van De Kamp? If you could maybe try putting your pen on your paper." Dr Hawley drawled from where he sat behind his desk at the front a Math classroom full of 10th grade boys, some of whom looked up inquisitively to glance at their fellow student as his name was mentioned.
William Alexander Van De Kamp eyes flickered, light through the clouds of the steely blue of a sky before a storm, as he directed his attention from his daydreams to his exasperated teacher. He brought the end of his pen away from his bottom lip, where it had been resting.
"Yes Sir," The fifteen year-old mumbled, the muscles in his square jaw twitching, as he leaned over his work begrudgingly.
There was a sudden rap on the door. The class looked up expectantly.
"Enter." Dr Hawley said without looking up, bent over the paperwork on his desk.
A wide-eyed 9th grader entered the room, clutching a blue slip, "William Van De Kamp to see Principal Ridley immediately."
William's eyebrows twitched a little in confusion.
Dr Hawley regarded William, meeting the boy's eyes, sighing he said, "Off you go then Son, don't keep him waiting."
William nodded and collected his books. He stuffed them in his satchel, slinging it over his shoulder and straightening the blue blazer of his uniform. Rushing past the 9th grader he took the blue slip. He made sure to center his striped maroon tie and checked his pale blue shirt was tucked properly into his chino pants. He strode uncertainly through the traditionally decorated wood and carpet hallways of Emmanuel Prep.
What the heck could this be about? He hadn't done anything to merit this as far as he could remember. He'd been the good boy they wanted him to be, obedient, punctual, presentable.
Reaching the door of the Principal's office, his secretary gave the boy a small smile and told him "You can go straight in."
William puffed out his chest a little to give off a slight air of confidence before knocking and entering. He was greeted by the sight of the greying Principal Ridley waiting for him in his armchair on the other side of large dark wood desk. The room to William was always a little reminiscent of the Oval Office, bar the absence of the US emblem on the carpet.
"Mr Van De Kamp," The 60-something year-old held out his hand.
William walked over to grip it firmly, "Sir."
"Take a seat please." Ridley gestured to the two smaller armchairs opposite him on the other side of the stately desk.
William settled in one and ran a nervous hand through his dark copper hair, the once rugged locks cut into a casual short back and sides style to blend in at the elite school full of politician's sons and rich geniuses.
"How are you Van De Kamp? How's school?" Ridley folded his hands in front of himself on the desk, smiling falsely.
William frowned, "I think you know better than me, Sir. You have my report open on your computer."
"How'd you know that?" Ridley exclaimed, the smile dissolving as he glanced at the screen of his computer.
Professor Gerald Ridley was a good enough man as far as William could tell. He wanted what was best for 'his boys', but the man was notoriously pushy and competitive, not to mention ruthless, but to be in his position of power, William guessed he had had to be.
William gestured to the glass trophy cabinet behind Ridley, "I could see it reflected in the glass, Sir," he stated.
A light flashed in Ridley's eyes. "Observant, I like that." This time when he smiled it was small and seemed genuine.
'smart boy, could be great, leader, professor,' William winced at the sharp voice in his mind, losing his focus on the principal as he endured the blunt knife being dragged across his mind. His shoulders tensed.
Ridley noticed the student's body language, "You okay, Van De Kamp?"
William blinked, "Yes, I have a small headache. It'll pass," he lied. It never passed. Not really. He was never left in peace.
"You know why you're in here?" Ridley asked.
"No, Sir."
"Well, William, I am very aware of your achievements. Your grades are exemplary. You've helped win numerous competitions for the school, both academically and athletically. Your attendance record is untarnished. There is also a list of extracurricular activities I won't delve too much into." Ridley listed off accomplishments one by one, and William wondered where he was going with all of this.
"But? Sir?" William prompted, eager to know what the problem was already.
"But, it's the social aspect of your school life your teachers and I worry about. You spend your time… isolated."
William pursed his lips.
"I believe Dr Anderson spoke to you on the matter two months ago. Good social skills are beyond important to potential employers and essential in business."
"But, Sir," William interjected, "I have no interest in business. I want to be a geneticist. I want to go to Harvard."
"Don't interrupt Van De Kamp!" Ridley slammed his hand down. Quickly composing himself he leant back and continued, "It doesn't matter, it's still very important in university interviews. Connections and relationships are important; any ladder is easier to climb if you have someone stopping you from falling."
"Yes, Sir," William muttered, clenching his teeth so as to try not to betray emotion.
"I know life hasn't been kind to you William, but you're in a good place now. You have a very bright future ahead of you if you heed my words."
"You read my personal file, Sir?" William asked rhetorically.
"The death of your parents must have been truly traumatic, especially with how they died. Then your foster mother passed away, Mrs Stacy, was it? Such a sad story." The principal said slightly insensitively.
William remembered Lillian and Rob Stacy well. He'd stayed with them for almost a year, longer than he did most.
After the fire that had killed his adoptive parents he'd been put into care. There'd been talk that he might be adopted again if the agency worked fast, but no one wanted a mute, distrusting, emotionally damaged two year old. William had house jumped, from foster carer to foster carer for years, secretly loving almost every single one only to have to let them go after a few months. He was 10 when the Stacy's took him in. They were nothing special really. They were in their forties with a grown daughter and had treated him well, maybe even like their own. William got his hopes up that they would adopt him, but then there was the incident, and he'd ended up in St Paul's home for boys, New Jersey. William had long since given up on the idea of finding a new family. Maybe he'd never been meant to have one.
"They weren't my parents," William said quietly, blinking rapidly to banish a tear.
"Hm?" Ridley frowned.
"Mr and Mrs Van De Kamp took me in when I was 11 months old and then died just over a year later; I don't know who my parents are. I have the Van De Kamp's name, Sir, but that's it." William paused, knowing the Principal was wondering how he knew all the details, "I read my file too."
It was quite ironic really if you added the months of pregnancy with his age when adopted, you came to a year and eight months, the longest he'd ever been with a family was a year and three. So, it seemed the people who seemingly hadn't wanted him had had him the longest. But, then again, there was the question that had come to haunt William more and more 'if his parent's hadn't wanted him, why had they kept him so many months after his birth?"
"I'm sorry, William. Just think about what I've said." Ridley offered sincerely.
"Yes." William made to stand saying, "If I may, Sir, I don't believe I got called to see you directly just because of this."
Ridley let out a breath and clenched his fists, "I wanted to tell you in person that I have contacted your lead carer at St Paul's and recommended that your therapy sessions be increased." William died a little inside; there was nothing he hated more than someone prodding at his thoughts as though a hunter poking a bear, seeing how far they could go without it pouncing.
"Okay, Sir," William scowled and left the office. He closed the door behind himself just as the bell rang for the end of the day.
It took him a 10 minute wait and two buses to get back to St Paul's Orphanage. A state run charity for boys aged 9 to 18, it provided an alternative to boys who were less suited to the foster care system and had an onsite child psychologist, Dr Rhodes, and the therapist Principal Ridley had mentioned, Dr Patel.
"Will!" A skinny, red-haired, 10 year old tackled William as he entered St Paul's, closely followed by a sleepy but excitable golden retriever.
"Noah!" William laughed, grabbing the younger boy with a grunt as he tried to escape and lifted him off his feet. Noah giggled. The dog barked insistently, "Hey to you too Captain." Will grinned at the dog, and reached out a hand, still gripping Noah to his chest with the other, to pat Captain on the head.
A couple of other boys smiled at the scene as they wandered past.
Noah Macy was a smiley ten year old born in Maine to an unprepared 17 year old mother who'd tried to raise him alone. She's eventually accepted defeat when Noah was four, having already lessened his chances of being adopted by keeping him as long as she did he was never adopted, and not unlike William had jumped from home to home until being placed at St Paul's where he could get help for his ADHD and Insomnia.
He was so sweet a kid. When William had first met him he hadn't believed a family hadn't wanted him; he was adorable with slightly curly red locks, wide bright blue eyes, and a goofy smile that could melt hearts. Noah reminded William a lot of himself, a kid who had no family simply because their brains weren't quite bog standard. He even looked like a miniature version of him. Anyone who saw them together would be likely to jump to the conclusion they were brothers.
William placed Noah back on the carpet and placed a hand atop his curls, "Don't suppose you've seen Micah, have you?"
"Court." Noah told him, lifting an arm to point in the direction of the basketball court.
Micah was possibly William's best friend; their relationship was based purely on understanding and their general dislike for the human race.
Micah understood what it was like to be given up, passed along time after time like a parcel that can never seem to find its destination.
Micah Valentino Ezra Ramos had been born in central San Diego. Given up for adoption as a small baby he had a heart condition that had him flown across to the other side of the country for treatment. The condition left him with almost no adoption prospects being that he was in and out of hospital for years after his birth, and possible adoptive parents aren't really keen on adopting the mortally ill.
Micah had found his birth parents a year ago, his mother in a San Diego cemetery and his father in an apartment in Santa Maria, all after months of searching beginning just after his sixteenth birthday. Micah's father, Javier Ramos, was married with three boys. While being a nice enough man, he'd had no real interest in getting to know the product of a mistake he'd made over seventeen years ago. Micah had spoken to him a couple of times during his visit to California, but he knew there was no future, no real family, there. He'd come home bitterly disappointed.
"Mick!" William called out cheerily, half skidding, half running down the gravel path to the basketball court.
The Hispanic seventeen year old spun to look at his friend, disregarding the basketball he'd just chucked at the hoop. He had dark eyes the colour of a mahogany under profound ink black brows that matched his shaggy hair. The young man was all straight edges, lanky with bony knees and elbows and prominent cheekbones.
William didn't quite have the same build. He was just as tall as Micah, if not taller, but a little broader, with a strong back and squarer shoulders.
"Will, what's up?" Micah said, jogging over to scoop up the ball before turning to walk toward William.
"Not much," William paused, "I just need to talk to you, about the thing we talked about before."
The atmosphere went a little colder.
Micah sighed, "Don't bother, Will. Trust me. You'll only end up disappointed, I mean, they gave us up for a reason, Dude."
"That's why. I have to know why, Mick!" William yelled, then immediately regretted shouting at his friend, "Sorry."
Micah turned the ball with his fingertips, deliberating, slowly he looked up. "Okay Van De Kamp, but you owe me."
"Yeah?" William smirked at Micah.
"Sixteen tomorrow, Man," Micah said, tucking the ball under his arm so he could slap William on the back. "You'll be eligible to apply to find them without consent from the state, but I might have an alternative..."
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"Happy Birthday, Poopbrain!" A shrill giggle woke William, and he could hear the squeak of the mattress springs as a mischievous ten year old bounced on the end of his bed, bouncing William's body with it.
William shot up, growling playfully to grab the little boy who squealed and yelped. William was suddenly overcome with affection for Noah, the mini him dressed in Spiderman pyjamas and wiggling in his arms, he clutched him tight to his chest. He decided he may not have that American apple pie family, but he had a little brother, of sorts anyway.
"You're a pain in the ass, Noah, you know that?" William grumbled affectionately as he placed his chin on the wriggling boy's shoulder.
Noah yelled, "You said ass! You said ass, Will!"
"I'm 16 now I can say ass if I want!"
William let Noah go, propped up his pillows and leant back on them. Noah leant back against him, placing his head against William's shoulder trustingly.
"I got you a present." Noah smiled up at him, holding out a rectangular parcel wrapped in pages from an old comic book.
"Wolverine, huh? What did he do to end up being used as wrapping paper?"
"Joey stole some pages, I couldn't read it anymore." Noah explained, referring to his eleven year old roommate from Philadelphia. Just one of the charms of living in a home of 20 adolescent boys was getting anything and everything 'borrowed'.
"Sorry Wolverine," William muttered as he tore open the present. When he saw what was inside his stomach somersaulted. Drawing out a picture frame from beneath the folds of paper; it was dark wood with a foreign language engraved on it. The photo in the center had been taken a month ago. He and Noah were sat on the beach in wetsuits, sprinkled head to toe in sand, the glaring sun shining brightly to the right. They were sporting identical smirks as they sat on a surfboard. William had his arm tightly round Noah's shoulders as he held the ten year old to his side.
Noah pointed at the engraving, "It means 'brothers' in Latin. Sorry it's not a very exciting present. I heard you might be leaving, so… I wanted you to have something so you don't forget me." Noah's head lolled a little.
William blinked away a tear, "Come here." He pulled Noah in for a hug, the boy's head resting in the crook of his neck. "You're my favourite person, okay, and we'll always be brothers, no matter where we are."
A tear fell on Noah's neck. "Are you crying?" he asked.
William laughed. "Real men cry, okay," He sniffed, "And only a little."
There was knock on the door as Noah pulled away, and a whispered voice sounded through the wood, "Will, I got it. I got it, Dude."
William placed the photo frame on his nightstand. "Come on in, Micah." William answered, getting up to meet his best friend as he entered, closing the door behind him.
Noah crawled to the end of the bed and knelt up on his knees so he could get a closer look at what Micah was holding.
It was a light brown file with 'private' stamped across it and 'William Alexander Van De Kamp' written neatly in a box in the right top corner. It was his personal file.
"I've…," William frowned, looking up at his friend, "I've already read this."
"No you haven't" Micah shook his head, tapping the file. "This copy is from Dr Patel's office safe, there's stuff that wasn't scanned into the computer you hacked into. They've only got one or two hard copies of the papers. One is in a government office somewhere; the other is, of course, in the hands of your therapist."
"You broke into his safe?" William exclaimed, eyes widening, opening the file and turning round to place it on his desk.
"Yeah, last night, I got bored. Consider it your birthday present." Micah shrugged. He sat down next to Noah and ruffled the kid's hair. "Morning, Noah."
William sifted through the papers, putting the one's he'd seen to one side. His adoption papers, test results, list of vaccinations, hospital bills, school records. Then he began to get to the stuff he hadn't seen; therapist notes, foster reports (his foster parents had been reporting on him? He didn't know they did that.), …his birth certificate. His hands were shaking, his stomach was like rock, weighing him down, and honestly he thought he was going to throw up. His eyes trailed down the paper. He was sweating as he read.
'State of Georgia, record of live birth.'
'Child's name (First, last, suffix): William, Scully.
'Date of birth: May 16th 2001.'
'Child's birthplace: Democrat Hot Springs, Georgia.'
'Sex: Male.'
'Mother's name:' William forgot to breathe. 'Dana Kathrine Scully.' He didn't even try to hold back the tears this time.'
'Mother's birthplace: Annapolis, Maryland.'
'Mother's date of birth: 23rd of February 1964. Age: 37.'
'Father's name:' He blinked, 'Undisclosed.'
"No," William muttered.
'Father's birthplace: Undisclosed.
'Father's date of birth: Undisclosed.
'Father's age: Undisclosed.'
"What is it, Will?" Micah murmured.
"Scully." William liked it, it was simple, strong, no fuss so muss, and his.
"What?" Noah scrunched up his nose, confused.
"My name is William Scully. I'm from Georgia apparently, seems like I've been all over." He turned to face them, his eyes bloodshot, hands shaking.
"And… your parents?" Micah prompted.
"My mother, she's a woman named 'Dana Scully'." William smiled weakly, "I don't know about my dad."
"What do you mean?" Micah was shocked, moving to get a closer look, "What does it mean by 'undisclosed'?"
"It basically means they know but they don't want to put it on paper," William said bitterly, grinding his teeth.
"Well, you can still find your mom!" Noah chirped, "And she'll know who he is."
William lifted his gaze to meet Noah's hopeful one, "Yeah, I just… it doesn't make sense."
"Dude, this was in Dr Patel's 'safe'." Micah emphasised, "Who the hell is your dad that they can't even put him on this version of the certificate?" He continued to stare at the document in bewilderment.
William ignored Micah's last statement and continued to work through the file. He found next a set of blood test results labelled 'confidential', squinting he read the conclusive statement written by a doctor at the foot of the page '14% abnormal DNA detected. Origin: Known. Subordinate abnormal DNA suggests post-insemination inter-uterine osmosis and known mutated ova, as opposed to insemination pertaining to abnormal DNA. Child valid: DNA acquired. Distant contact surveillance required, time period: Indefinite.'
William struggled to understand it all, and apparently Micah did even more so, saying bluntly, "I don't understand a word of that."
"I think…" William hummed thoughtfully, "I think it's saying that my DNA is different in some way. That my mother's eggs were somehow mutated, that my DNA it mutated while I was a foetus and wasn't anything to do with my father's DNA. That they took samples of my DNA for some reason too."
"But you're okay," Noah said from his spot on the bed. "Aren't you?"
"I think so. I… I don't know," William answered truthfully. If there was something different with his DNA it might explain a lot. The strange way his brain worked.
"What about that last bit?" Micah pointed to the bottom of the sheet.
"'Distant contact surveillance required, time period: Indefinite.'" William read aloud.
"What does it mean, Will?"
"It means they've been watching me. I need to get out of here. I have some big questions for my mother." William decided in the heat of the moment, dropping the file on his desk and charging over to his closet and pulling out a large black backpack.
"You're crazy! What are you going to do, run away?"
William turned to glare at Micah, "That's exactly what I'm doing."
"You're coming back though!" Noah panicked.
"Course, I'll send you a postcard." William smirked nervously.
"Hold on," Micah sighed, flipped open the laptop on the desk and sat down in front of it, typing 'Dana Scully' into the search engine."
He clicked the first web link to pop up. It was a news site for Washington DC, with an article titled, 'Doctor Saves Terminal 4th grader!' that went on to read, 'Doctor Scully of Our Lady of Sorrows Hospital, Arlington...'
Micah snickered, throwing his friend, an aspiring geneticist, a sideways glance, "She's a brain surgeon, I should've known."
William continued to pack frantically, "Where is she?"
"St Tomas Street, Arlington, DC. Right down the block from Arlington Hall station. You should be able to get there in six hours easily." William nodded and quickly pulled on some jeans and a blue button-down shirt.
Noah took the frame he'd given William from the nightstand and placed it on top of his packed belongings. He caught William's eye.
"I'll see you soon." William placed a hand on Noah's head, as the younger boy threw his arms around him, almost like a blessing.
"Good luck," Noah said quietly, his voice muffled by the fabric of William's shirt.
"What do I tell everyone? They'll know you're gone by six pm at most, probably earlier." Micah was standing now, arms crossed.
"Mick." William clasped his friend on the shoulder and breathed out heavily, "Tell them… I went out."
"Yeah." Micah rolled his eyes. "I guess, good luck then, Scully," he said reluctantly, winking.
William reached over to collect the file from his desk, tucking it into one of the pockets of his bag he gave his room one last cursory look over. He noticed Noah was pouting a little.
William knelt down in beside the bed to face him, "'No matter where we are, remember?'" Noah nodded solemnly.
William swung his bag onto his back, grabbed his black jacket from the back of his desk chair and strode out the room before he could change his mind. He kept a steady pace right up until he was on the train to Washington.
To be honest I'm not sure people even still read X-files fics, so it you want this story to continue could you please review so I know if there's enough interest.
