Author's notes: Seems like it's been forever since I've written. Sorry, lots going on at home, all good, just keeping me busy with "real life." But it's time to get back into the creative process and get the story moving once again.

The Weatherman

Chapter 2

Part 1.

When Mulder entered the dark, cold jail cell, it took a minute for his eyes to adjust. He scanned the tiny room and spotted a barren bed containing nothing but a mattress and the small, curled up frame of a woman wearing an orange jumpsuit. "Scully?" he said, not believing that this fragile-looking figure could be her.

But as soon as she rolled over to the sound of his voice, he could see a glint of long, red hair and he knew he had the right cell. "Mulder," she croaked, and began to silently sit up on the edge of her bed.

As soon as recognition set in, he rushed to the bed-slash-cot and sat down next to her. He tried to connect his eyes to hers, but she would not look at him. He settled with taking her hand gently in his. "Scully, what happened?"

"I killed a man, Mulder."

He knew the official story—that she had crept into a man's house in the middle of the night last night, beat him brutally, the abuse bordering on torture, and then shot this completely defenseless person right between the eyes with a silenced pistol. But he could not believe that this woman that he loved, this woman who worked so hard every day saving lives, was capable of such an act. Surely she was not in her right mind—perhaps she had been drugged, or had been brainwashed in some way. Or maybe she had been coerced by powerful unknown figures—from the government? He had to find out, if he was going to help her defend herself in court. "What happened, Scully?" he asked once again. "Help me out-tell me why this happened."

But she did not answer. Instead, she sat in silence for what seemed an eternity, staring at the floor. Finally, she shook her head and said, "I can't, Mulder." Before he had a chance to protest, she said, "It's too horrible…I can't. If you want to know what happened, there's a shoebox on the top shelf of the closet." Her voice was almost a whisper. "You'll find part of the story there."

Part 2.

It took some convincing, but she finally talked Mulder into leaving her alone for the time being. She did not deserve his company right now. She was utterly and totally disgusted with herself, even if she felt that she had no other option than to do what she did. Now she replayed in her mind the events that led up to the killing.

Two months ago, she came home to an empty house, Mulder having gone on a trip to visit with some MUFON members. She checked the mailbox to find an unmarked manila envelope. Puzzled, she ripped open one end of it to reveal the contents inside—a picture of a boy who looked to be about five or six years old. He looked thin and fragile, with an expression that was more serious than any boy that age should be wearing. He was posed standing with arms straight down by his side, a white wood-sided house in the background.

She stared at the picture for a minute, and then looked inside to see what else the envelope contained. At first, she thought it was empty, but then saw a little slip of white paper at the bottom. After pulling it out and unfolding it, she read the typewritten words, "He needs your help."

Scully held up the picture of the young boy again, and as she stared at it, she became more and more certain that she knew those eyes. It would take some research, of course, but the hazel eyes staring up at her could only be one person's—William.

Part 3.

It took Scully several days to find out what happened to her son after she gave him up for adoption, and several weeks to gather his history. She did not have the connections she once did. The Lone Gunmen helped, although she was reluctant to use them, as she was afraid that word of her research would get back to Mulder.

And although it would be nice to have his support when bringing up the painful events surrounding her life-changing decision to give up their son, she felt that this was something she needed to do on her own. After all, it may turn out to be nothing—a hoax, or worse, someone trying to get to her by using her past against her.

She discovered that their son, William, had been adopted by a couple named Noah and Lisa Vandecamp. They were country folk, and had a beautiful, quaint farmhouse on plentiful acreage. When Scully found this bit of information, she felt relief at the thought of William running freely on wheat-filled lands. Images filled her mind—of the boy's face lighting up in wonder at discovering newly-hatched chicks, or swimming in a wild creek, or watching his father milk a cow.

But tragically, Noah had died in a car accident when William was only four years old, and Lisa quickly re-married. Scully imagined that the woman must have been intimidated by living as a single mother in a male-dominated culture. Living in rural Virginia, she must have felt the need to find someone to support her. And so she met Rick Dupont, a mechanic in the nearby town of Halifax. Things were quiet for a while, and then, last year, the Virginia Child Protective Services investigated an anonymous tip about abuse in the home. The claim was found unsubstantiated, and the investigation was dropped. Scully could not find out any more details about the allegations that had been made, because the records were sealed.

After finding out part of the truth, however, Scully could not stop just because the information was not available to her. She had to know what was happening with her son, even if she had to take extreme measures to discover what that was.