One morning before Emily and William woke up, Mulder took the time to work
on making a video scrapbook on the computer. He was sure that Scully would
be thrilled when he played it for her, since most mothers love having
momentos that remind them of when their children are young. His own mother
had certainly held on to things that had sentimental value to her.
Mulder sighed and thought about the love letters he found amongst his mother's things right after her suicide. The night that Scully found him crying, he let her think that it was just because of her death, and never mentioned the letters at all. In reality, his pain had as much to do with the letters as his mother abruptly choosing to exit the world without taking the time to talk to him first. Letters, left out in a box near her bed, spared from the fire in the wastebasket, that he'd barely had time to read before Scully arrived...
The first letter was dated two years before Mulder was born, written by his mother to a man that she called her "dear Colton." Mulder had furtively looked up the name in a baby book at Barnes and Noble later on, and nearly laughed out loud when he discovered the name meant "from the dark town," because it seemed so fitting to him somehow. He'd always wondered why the "C" had stood for, and he thought perhaps he now knew.
In the letter, his mother told this man, Colton, that she was worried that she might be pregnant, and wanted to know what to do about it. Mulder supposed her fears were natural given that the late fifties were hardly years in which society openly embraced single mothers. However, for a while after that sweat broke out on his brow as he thought about the possibility that he might have yet another unknown sibling out there, or perhaps worse yet his mother and this Colton plotted the child's death long before it would have been born. The thought that his mother might have grieved for one child after destroying another made him sick to his stomach. Though scanning the letters quickly put that fear to rest, nothing he read made him feel any better.
Colton wrote back and told her that he couldn't help her, because she knew he was already married, but he did have a great guy in his company who was jonesing to find the right woman and start a family. If Teena could arrange to be at the bar they frequented off hours, she could be sure to meet him, and if she came on strong the poor dolt would eat it up...Mulder had read on in dread, his heart breaking for Bill Mulder when he read her next letter, thanking Colton for arranging for her to meet such a nice guy, who she wouldn't have to deceive after all because she'd found out she wasn't pregnant.
It didn't surprise Mulder in the least that Colton's last letter to his mother that year was a threat: if she didn't continue her affair with him, he'd tell Bill about the whole thing, the plot to stick him with another man's responsibility and so on. There were more letters, dated a couple of years later, that he didn't read because he thought he already knew what they would say. Instead he read the last one, dated a few weeks before his sister's abduction telling Teena that she should "choose soon" and if she didn't he'd visit to expose everything to Bill. The entire letter was cold, but the explanation about his returning of her letters was the coldest: he simply didn't love her any more and wanted no reminders of his weaknesses. For a moment some mean part of Mulder's soul had been glad that his mother was so dispassionately cast aside, and felt that she deserved it.
Everything he read that night broke his heart, and he couldn't bring himself to tell anyone that along with mourning his mother he was also mourning the fact that his idealization of his mother had been shattered by a few words on paper. It seemed as though she left the letters for him as a confession, so he could not pity her even in death. He was also crying for his father, who so desperately wanted children that he let himself believe that another man's children were his own flesh and blood.
Now, given that Emily was alive, he wondered if he would have accepted her as his own had she stayed with Scully when they had originally discovered her and if William not been born. He thought he might have. He wanted to believe he would have.
As Mulder finished up the video scrapbook, he was stuck by a chilling thought. Would Emily one day react in horror if she ever found out who her real father was? He sincerely hoped not, because it was one experience he could never wish on anyone else.
**
Gibson cast directly into the weeds. He gave a rueful smile as he gently tugged, hoping not to snap the line. Some things, he thought as the hook finally unsnagged , cannot be learned about by reading up on the subject. Some things must be experienced first hand in order to understand them. Like love.
"Hey, that wasn't so bad for a first try." Doggett told him, lying through his teeth. Megan, the then nine-year-old daughter of his old friend, Carl, from the force in N.Y. had cast better on her first try. At least Gibson isn't scared of worms, and baited his own hook without any blood loss, Doggett thought with a small smile as he remembered the rest of that particular fishing trip. Fortunately there had been a first aid kit in the car, so they were able to patch Carl up without an emergency room visit. Doggett had made sure to throw one in his car before picking Gibson up that morning, least he tempt fate by not being prepared.
Eventually, after an hour or two mostly spent idly waiting as they sat on the pier, Doggett and Gibson had landed three fish between the two of them. Gibson's was barely legal size, but Doggett was sincere in his congratulations, since he'd been sure that the boy was going to do nothing by drown worms all afternoon. To his surprise, Gibson caught on quickly, despite his abysmal start. Which was one of the reasons why he very considerately didn't mention that each of his fish was twice the size of Gibson's.
"If we keep catching them at this rate, we might be able to surprise Monica with a fish fry for supper tonight." Doggett commented.
"She'd probably like that, since she likes fish...if we clean them ourselves, that is."
"You're right. Most women don't take the right attitude towards fish guts for some reason."
Gibson smiled at the joke and decided that it was time to launch into the actual reason he had wanted to spend time with Doggett. "So...Do you see you and Agent Reyes having a lot of dinners together?" He asked casually.
"What do you mean?"
"Well...do you promise to keep this between us?" Gibson asked, and waited for Doggett to nod his agreement. "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but she's been worried lately."
Doggett looked at him with a slightly alarmed expression. "Worried about what?"
Gibson kicked the pier with the heel of his sneaker. "Your, um...relationship." Gibson did his best to assume an embarrassed look, as if he was recounting something he'd overheard while eavesdropping. Which in a way he had. "She wonders where things are going between the two of you."
"Oh." Doggett sighed, and paused to cast again. "Where does she see things going?" He finally asked, finding it difficult to believe that he was soliciting advice on his relationship from a sixteen-year-old. At least, he told himself, a mind reading one offers more insight than a typical teenager.
"She keeps thinking about how she's in her thirties, and if she's going to have a baby she should do it sooner than later, because despite the media hype surrounding celebrities, only two percent of first-time mothers are in their forties. She's also tired of being unattached, and longs to settle down to something pleasantly routine, rather than continue being single and having to keep taking chances on relationships. And she doesn't know if you want the same things, or if you could even deal with her bringing it up, given how you feel about Luke." Gibson told him in a rush.
"Ah." Doggett grunted, sounding uncomfortable. "I guess she and I need to work on our communication. "
Gibson didn't say anything, but instead began the task of reeling in whatever it was that he'd just noticed was nibbling on his line.
"Let's give this fishing another hour, then call it a day." Doggett said, before lapsing into his own thoughts, which Gibson made a conscious effort to ignore.
**
Mulder was watching Mystery Science Theater 3000 and heckling the movie along with the robots when the doorbell rang. He set his bowl of sunflower seeds on the coffee table, looked himself over to make sure he was decently attired, then padded barefoot to the door. When he opened it he was surprised to see Mrs. Scully standing on the doorstep. "Hello, Fox." She greeted him with a warm smile.
"Oh, Good morning...Maggie." Mulder said, for once remembering to call her by her first name before she told him to. "I didn't expect you...I'm sorry, but Dana took the kids with her to the mall, and they probably won't be back until dinner time. Apparently there's a sale on 'cute' kids clothes, and she needed them to try things on." Mulder apologized as they went into the house.
"That's quite all right. Dana mentioned her weekend plans to me in passing. I actually came by because I wanted to talk to you." She told him.
"You came to see me?" He asked in surprise. "Sure, ok. What's on your mind?" He asked, wondering if he was going to be led into a loaded discussion. That wasn't Maggie's typical MO, but they seldom had the chance to talk alone, so it made him nervous.
As Maggie took a seat she said, "I was hoping to be able to talk to you about my granddaughter."
"What about Emily?" Mulder asked, sounding slightly puzzled.
"Every time I try to talk to Dana about her, she only speaks in delighted and glowing terms about how thrilled she is to have Emily at last."
"And you think I'm less delighted?" Mulder asks slowly.
"I really have no idea, Fox. She seems to think you're happy as well, but I'm not sure that she's objective enough when it comes to the children to know that for sure. That's why I wanted to talk to you directly. You've had a lot thrown at you this summer. You've been cleared of false charges, found and fought for your song, and now Emily. How have you felt about everything that's happened in the month since you found out Emily was still alive?"
"I take it that you're looking for complete honesty?" He asked, putting his hands on his knees and leaning slightly forward to bridge part of the gap between them that was caused by the furniture's arrangement.
"If you would. I assure you that nothing we talk about will leave this room." Maggie told him.
"When we first learned that she was alive, my feelings were admittedly mixed. Of course I was happy that she was not dead as we'd long been lead to believe, but...I was worried that we might not get to her in time, and about what that would do to Dana if we were too late. I was also worried that we would get there on time, but then suffer another long drawn out fight for custody, with the risk of still losing her that way. And, between you and me, I also felt a small measure that all of this came at a time when we were finally settled, and was turning our lives upside down all over again." Mulder told her.
Maggie nodded her encouragement for him to continue.
"But," He went on, "That night that we rescued Emily and those little boys changed things for me. As I carried her into the house to see Dana for the first time in years, all my reservations vanished. I knew that she belonged here without a shadow a doubt, and that it was worth everything to make sure she stayed her. I haven't had a second of doubt or regret since." Mulder said with a soft smile. "She belongs to us."
Maggie reached out and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "You're a good man. My daughter is lucky to have you, and so are my grandchildren."
Mulder did something unusual for him: he blushed. "Look what you're making me do." He muttered in embarrassment.
"It's true, though." Maggie said with a small laugh. "Thank you for speaking so frankly with me."
"No problem." Mulder told her, feeling relieved that the subject of 'living in sin' hadn't come up.
Maggie kissed his cheek. "I wouldn't even mind having you as a son-in-law one of the fine days." She said, and left before Mulder could untie his tongue.
**
A week later...
Skinner opened the door to his apartment and let Gibson in. He wasn't quite sure how it had happened, but he'd ended up being drafted to keep an eye on the boy over night. He personally thought that agent Reyes was being silly, since Gibson was more capable than most sixteen-year-old boys, but he kept his mouth shut.
He couldn't read minds like Gibson could, but even he could tell that something big was going on that night, and it would make things easier on everyone if there was one less thing to worry about. Of course he'd also overheard bits and pieces of Reyes and Doggett's accounts over the phone to Scully about what Gibson had told the two agents. Skinner hadn't said anything to them to indicate his opinions, but personally thought it was about time someone gave them a push in the right direction. He had already watched enough of another will-they-or-won't-they couple to last him a life-time.
As they watched a baseball game, Skinner gave Gibson a sidelong glance. " Gibson, can I talk to you about your...special abilities?"
"You mean mind reading?" Gibson asked him, turning his attention away from the game.
"Yeah. That." Skinner said, his cheeks turning slightly pink.
"Sure, ask away." Gibson told him.
"Do you have to try to read people's minds, or do you just do it all the time?"
Gibson countered with a question of his own. "You know how people sound when there's a big crowd? And how you have trouble separating the noise into actual voices?"
"Of course. Too many voices begin to sound meaningless as the sound of ocean waves."
"Exactly." Gibson said. "If there are lots of people around, I just hear a murmuring, so I don't really pick up on anything in particular unless I hear my name, or something that keys my interests, just like a person listening with their ears does in a crowd."
"And if there's not a big crowd?"
"It's like reading a book and listening to music. If I'm deep in own thoughts, I barely notice, unless I want to, even if there's only one other person. And I can tune other people's thoughts out if I concentrate on it, because I don't want to hear them. That came in handy when my folks would think about my birthday and Christmas presents." Gibson told him with a broad smile. "It's not as though I spend all day every day spying on people with no control over it, I just sort of notice some things more than others, because people are thinking too loudly."
"Too loudly?" Skinner asked him curiously.
"Well...take someone who is obsessing about something. They're thinking about it constantly, and, to me, rather loudly. It's almost as though they're shouting inside their head. Was there any particular reason you wanted to know about this stuff?" Gibson asked.
"No, no reason." Skinner said quickly.
Gibson shrugged and turned his attention back to the Mets.
Mulder sighed and thought about the love letters he found amongst his mother's things right after her suicide. The night that Scully found him crying, he let her think that it was just because of her death, and never mentioned the letters at all. In reality, his pain had as much to do with the letters as his mother abruptly choosing to exit the world without taking the time to talk to him first. Letters, left out in a box near her bed, spared from the fire in the wastebasket, that he'd barely had time to read before Scully arrived...
The first letter was dated two years before Mulder was born, written by his mother to a man that she called her "dear Colton." Mulder had furtively looked up the name in a baby book at Barnes and Noble later on, and nearly laughed out loud when he discovered the name meant "from the dark town," because it seemed so fitting to him somehow. He'd always wondered why the "C" had stood for, and he thought perhaps he now knew.
In the letter, his mother told this man, Colton, that she was worried that she might be pregnant, and wanted to know what to do about it. Mulder supposed her fears were natural given that the late fifties were hardly years in which society openly embraced single mothers. However, for a while after that sweat broke out on his brow as he thought about the possibility that he might have yet another unknown sibling out there, or perhaps worse yet his mother and this Colton plotted the child's death long before it would have been born. The thought that his mother might have grieved for one child after destroying another made him sick to his stomach. Though scanning the letters quickly put that fear to rest, nothing he read made him feel any better.
Colton wrote back and told her that he couldn't help her, because she knew he was already married, but he did have a great guy in his company who was jonesing to find the right woman and start a family. If Teena could arrange to be at the bar they frequented off hours, she could be sure to meet him, and if she came on strong the poor dolt would eat it up...Mulder had read on in dread, his heart breaking for Bill Mulder when he read her next letter, thanking Colton for arranging for her to meet such a nice guy, who she wouldn't have to deceive after all because she'd found out she wasn't pregnant.
It didn't surprise Mulder in the least that Colton's last letter to his mother that year was a threat: if she didn't continue her affair with him, he'd tell Bill about the whole thing, the plot to stick him with another man's responsibility and so on. There were more letters, dated a couple of years later, that he didn't read because he thought he already knew what they would say. Instead he read the last one, dated a few weeks before his sister's abduction telling Teena that she should "choose soon" and if she didn't he'd visit to expose everything to Bill. The entire letter was cold, but the explanation about his returning of her letters was the coldest: he simply didn't love her any more and wanted no reminders of his weaknesses. For a moment some mean part of Mulder's soul had been glad that his mother was so dispassionately cast aside, and felt that she deserved it.
Everything he read that night broke his heart, and he couldn't bring himself to tell anyone that along with mourning his mother he was also mourning the fact that his idealization of his mother had been shattered by a few words on paper. It seemed as though she left the letters for him as a confession, so he could not pity her even in death. He was also crying for his father, who so desperately wanted children that he let himself believe that another man's children were his own flesh and blood.
Now, given that Emily was alive, he wondered if he would have accepted her as his own had she stayed with Scully when they had originally discovered her and if William not been born. He thought he might have. He wanted to believe he would have.
As Mulder finished up the video scrapbook, he was stuck by a chilling thought. Would Emily one day react in horror if she ever found out who her real father was? He sincerely hoped not, because it was one experience he could never wish on anyone else.
**
Gibson cast directly into the weeds. He gave a rueful smile as he gently tugged, hoping not to snap the line. Some things, he thought as the hook finally unsnagged , cannot be learned about by reading up on the subject. Some things must be experienced first hand in order to understand them. Like love.
"Hey, that wasn't so bad for a first try." Doggett told him, lying through his teeth. Megan, the then nine-year-old daughter of his old friend, Carl, from the force in N.Y. had cast better on her first try. At least Gibson isn't scared of worms, and baited his own hook without any blood loss, Doggett thought with a small smile as he remembered the rest of that particular fishing trip. Fortunately there had been a first aid kit in the car, so they were able to patch Carl up without an emergency room visit. Doggett had made sure to throw one in his car before picking Gibson up that morning, least he tempt fate by not being prepared.
Eventually, after an hour or two mostly spent idly waiting as they sat on the pier, Doggett and Gibson had landed three fish between the two of them. Gibson's was barely legal size, but Doggett was sincere in his congratulations, since he'd been sure that the boy was going to do nothing by drown worms all afternoon. To his surprise, Gibson caught on quickly, despite his abysmal start. Which was one of the reasons why he very considerately didn't mention that each of his fish was twice the size of Gibson's.
"If we keep catching them at this rate, we might be able to surprise Monica with a fish fry for supper tonight." Doggett commented.
"She'd probably like that, since she likes fish...if we clean them ourselves, that is."
"You're right. Most women don't take the right attitude towards fish guts for some reason."
Gibson smiled at the joke and decided that it was time to launch into the actual reason he had wanted to spend time with Doggett. "So...Do you see you and Agent Reyes having a lot of dinners together?" He asked casually.
"What do you mean?"
"Well...do you promise to keep this between us?" Gibson asked, and waited for Doggett to nod his agreement. "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but she's been worried lately."
Doggett looked at him with a slightly alarmed expression. "Worried about what?"
Gibson kicked the pier with the heel of his sneaker. "Your, um...relationship." Gibson did his best to assume an embarrassed look, as if he was recounting something he'd overheard while eavesdropping. Which in a way he had. "She wonders where things are going between the two of you."
"Oh." Doggett sighed, and paused to cast again. "Where does she see things going?" He finally asked, finding it difficult to believe that he was soliciting advice on his relationship from a sixteen-year-old. At least, he told himself, a mind reading one offers more insight than a typical teenager.
"She keeps thinking about how she's in her thirties, and if she's going to have a baby she should do it sooner than later, because despite the media hype surrounding celebrities, only two percent of first-time mothers are in their forties. She's also tired of being unattached, and longs to settle down to something pleasantly routine, rather than continue being single and having to keep taking chances on relationships. And she doesn't know if you want the same things, or if you could even deal with her bringing it up, given how you feel about Luke." Gibson told him in a rush.
"Ah." Doggett grunted, sounding uncomfortable. "I guess she and I need to work on our communication. "
Gibson didn't say anything, but instead began the task of reeling in whatever it was that he'd just noticed was nibbling on his line.
"Let's give this fishing another hour, then call it a day." Doggett said, before lapsing into his own thoughts, which Gibson made a conscious effort to ignore.
**
Mulder was watching Mystery Science Theater 3000 and heckling the movie along with the robots when the doorbell rang. He set his bowl of sunflower seeds on the coffee table, looked himself over to make sure he was decently attired, then padded barefoot to the door. When he opened it he was surprised to see Mrs. Scully standing on the doorstep. "Hello, Fox." She greeted him with a warm smile.
"Oh, Good morning...Maggie." Mulder said, for once remembering to call her by her first name before she told him to. "I didn't expect you...I'm sorry, but Dana took the kids with her to the mall, and they probably won't be back until dinner time. Apparently there's a sale on 'cute' kids clothes, and she needed them to try things on." Mulder apologized as they went into the house.
"That's quite all right. Dana mentioned her weekend plans to me in passing. I actually came by because I wanted to talk to you." She told him.
"You came to see me?" He asked in surprise. "Sure, ok. What's on your mind?" He asked, wondering if he was going to be led into a loaded discussion. That wasn't Maggie's typical MO, but they seldom had the chance to talk alone, so it made him nervous.
As Maggie took a seat she said, "I was hoping to be able to talk to you about my granddaughter."
"What about Emily?" Mulder asked, sounding slightly puzzled.
"Every time I try to talk to Dana about her, she only speaks in delighted and glowing terms about how thrilled she is to have Emily at last."
"And you think I'm less delighted?" Mulder asks slowly.
"I really have no idea, Fox. She seems to think you're happy as well, but I'm not sure that she's objective enough when it comes to the children to know that for sure. That's why I wanted to talk to you directly. You've had a lot thrown at you this summer. You've been cleared of false charges, found and fought for your song, and now Emily. How have you felt about everything that's happened in the month since you found out Emily was still alive?"
"I take it that you're looking for complete honesty?" He asked, putting his hands on his knees and leaning slightly forward to bridge part of the gap between them that was caused by the furniture's arrangement.
"If you would. I assure you that nothing we talk about will leave this room." Maggie told him.
"When we first learned that she was alive, my feelings were admittedly mixed. Of course I was happy that she was not dead as we'd long been lead to believe, but...I was worried that we might not get to her in time, and about what that would do to Dana if we were too late. I was also worried that we would get there on time, but then suffer another long drawn out fight for custody, with the risk of still losing her that way. And, between you and me, I also felt a small measure that all of this came at a time when we were finally settled, and was turning our lives upside down all over again." Mulder told her.
Maggie nodded her encouragement for him to continue.
"But," He went on, "That night that we rescued Emily and those little boys changed things for me. As I carried her into the house to see Dana for the first time in years, all my reservations vanished. I knew that she belonged here without a shadow a doubt, and that it was worth everything to make sure she stayed her. I haven't had a second of doubt or regret since." Mulder said with a soft smile. "She belongs to us."
Maggie reached out and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "You're a good man. My daughter is lucky to have you, and so are my grandchildren."
Mulder did something unusual for him: he blushed. "Look what you're making me do." He muttered in embarrassment.
"It's true, though." Maggie said with a small laugh. "Thank you for speaking so frankly with me."
"No problem." Mulder told her, feeling relieved that the subject of 'living in sin' hadn't come up.
Maggie kissed his cheek. "I wouldn't even mind having you as a son-in-law one of the fine days." She said, and left before Mulder could untie his tongue.
**
A week later...
Skinner opened the door to his apartment and let Gibson in. He wasn't quite sure how it had happened, but he'd ended up being drafted to keep an eye on the boy over night. He personally thought that agent Reyes was being silly, since Gibson was more capable than most sixteen-year-old boys, but he kept his mouth shut.
He couldn't read minds like Gibson could, but even he could tell that something big was going on that night, and it would make things easier on everyone if there was one less thing to worry about. Of course he'd also overheard bits and pieces of Reyes and Doggett's accounts over the phone to Scully about what Gibson had told the two agents. Skinner hadn't said anything to them to indicate his opinions, but personally thought it was about time someone gave them a push in the right direction. He had already watched enough of another will-they-or-won't-they couple to last him a life-time.
As they watched a baseball game, Skinner gave Gibson a sidelong glance. " Gibson, can I talk to you about your...special abilities?"
"You mean mind reading?" Gibson asked him, turning his attention away from the game.
"Yeah. That." Skinner said, his cheeks turning slightly pink.
"Sure, ask away." Gibson told him.
"Do you have to try to read people's minds, or do you just do it all the time?"
Gibson countered with a question of his own. "You know how people sound when there's a big crowd? And how you have trouble separating the noise into actual voices?"
"Of course. Too many voices begin to sound meaningless as the sound of ocean waves."
"Exactly." Gibson said. "If there are lots of people around, I just hear a murmuring, so I don't really pick up on anything in particular unless I hear my name, or something that keys my interests, just like a person listening with their ears does in a crowd."
"And if there's not a big crowd?"
"It's like reading a book and listening to music. If I'm deep in own thoughts, I barely notice, unless I want to, even if there's only one other person. And I can tune other people's thoughts out if I concentrate on it, because I don't want to hear them. That came in handy when my folks would think about my birthday and Christmas presents." Gibson told him with a broad smile. "It's not as though I spend all day every day spying on people with no control over it, I just sort of notice some things more than others, because people are thinking too loudly."
"Too loudly?" Skinner asked him curiously.
"Well...take someone who is obsessing about something. They're thinking about it constantly, and, to me, rather loudly. It's almost as though they're shouting inside their head. Was there any particular reason you wanted to know about this stuff?" Gibson asked.
"No, no reason." Skinner said quickly.
Gibson shrugged and turned his attention back to the Mets.
