Disclaimer: characters and places belong to Chris Carter, to 1013 Productions and to Fox Network, except those created by me. If you find this fanfiction similar to another one, it's nothing more than a coincidence.
Production: January, 2009 – August, 2010
Rating: PG-13
Summary: In 1998, Scully left Mulder and the FBI to pursue her interrupted path in Medicine and try to be happy. Ten years later, while trying to save a young boy's life, some old wounds of hers are reopened once their paths cross in the search of the truth. Because lives may change and hope may be lost, but they still want to believe…
Extra: a different take on I Want to Believe, considering an Alternative Reality post-Fight the Future. Spoilers from the episodes.
A/N: I'd like to thank you for the response to the beginning of this work, I truly hope your expectations won't be defrauded.
Once again, English is not my first language and I don't have a beta-reader at the moment, so I'm sorry for any mistakes, no one is perfect. Hope you enjoy this fanfiction as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)
OUT FROM UNDER
Chapter I:
Little great Christian
~ January 11th, 2008
"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…"
Sister Claire walked through the infirmary towards the birthday boy's bed, carrying on her hands the small cake she had managed to buy at the cafeteria at the last minute. A lighted candle at the centre of it, like the cherry on top, made his little dark eyes shine in joy.
"Happy birthday dear Christian, happy birthday to you!"
A strong applause followed. Under the attentive looks from other children, their parents, doctors, nurses and nuns, Christian Fearon closed his eyelids with all the strength and smiled before filling up his lungs with air to blow the candle. Once the flame was extinguished, his smile opened wildly and he clapped with the others. Christian was so happy he didn't notice his father leaning over his shoulder, blowing the candle for him.
"Happy birthday, Christian!" they were saying through their hugs and kisses. "Congratulations, you big boy!"
At the infirmary's door, Dr. Dana Scully hid her hands in her white coat's pockets and patiently waited for everyone to calm down, for the parents to control their kid's joy and for her Health Care colleagues and fellow Sisters to return to their tasks, so she could be left alone with the birthday boy. Of course it would take its time – Sister Claire wanted all the children to sing «Itsy Bitsy Spider», Keith was pouting at the idea of not receiving any presents and Dr. Alex was trying to convince little Lily not to take off the catheter that supported her intravenous antibiotic therapy. But after some minutes, the tension dropped and things went back to normal. When Sister Beatrice crossed the door, Rose was already playing quietly with her dolls, Nurse Felix was changing the dressing of a restless child and Mr. Bernard was resuming the story to his son.
In other words, the world could be theirs again.
"Hello, Dr. Scully," greeted Christian in his characteristic slow voice.
"Hello! And happy birthday!" Scully opened her arms to give him a tight hug. "How old are you now?"
He tried to raise the correspondent number of fingers to answer her question.
"Se-ven... I'm seven."
"Wow, Christian, seven years old, you're practically a grown man!"
She smiled gently at him and it was so easy, so quick, so... good! After almost ten years of training, Scully felt like a specialist on the matter. Actually, she didn't know why she hadn't tried to smile so much before.
Margaret Fearon, who was sitting near her son's bed, signalled with her head and Scully instantly knew what she wanted. Behind her, the father crossed his arms and started to move towards the infirmary's exit. Though he didn't say a word, she could feel his tension and worry.
"Sweetheart," Margaret tenderly caressed her son's face, "mom and dad need to talk to Dr. Scully for a second, okay? It won't take too long."
She got up and kissed him in the forehead before she followed Blair's steps with the other woman, which brought them to the corridor. When Scully closed the door behind her, she noticed the curious and disappointed look on the face of her little patient, who seemed so tiny in the middle of his hospital bed.
She winked at him. Everything was going to be fine. At least she hoped so.
"Thank you for taking care of everything today!" Margaret exhibited her familiar sweet and naive smile. "Christian was afraid you might forget his birthday, it's the first time we have to spend it at the hospital..."
"No one forgets anyone's birthday in here," guaranteed Scully with a secure expression. "We were talking about it since before Christmas!"
"So, have you received the tests results?"
Both women drew their attention to Blair, who, standing against the cold and nude corridor's wall, almost seemed to disappear within its darkness. His face was distorted by all the things he was trying so hard to keep inside himself – the anger, the revolt, the fear, the guilt and, mostly, the despair.
Scully stared at him and saw a man trying to find himself in the middle of his personal hell. And deep inside, she prayed for all of those negative feelings not to form a gigantic burst of rage against her.
"No, Mr. Fearon, I haven't. Like I've told you some hours ago," she tried to measure her words properly before turning them real, "these tests take some time. As soon as the results are known, I'll tell you."
"But you already know... that disease you were talking about... is that what my son has?"
Scully felt herself freeze by the question. The Fearons gave her back the same look, in expectation. What could she tell them?
"Let's wait for the results. But I don't want to give you any false hopes." Her voice came in a whisper, as she was about to confirm their worst fears. "You must be prepared for the extremely possible hypothesis that your son has Sandhoff disease."
He shook his head, trying to assimilate her words. His lips compressed into a thin line, as if he was holding back the fury that was heaping up inside of him.
"Sandhoff," he murmured at last. "And what's the possibility for the hypothesis that you're wrong?"
"Blair!" Margaret threw a warning look at her husband, which seemed to calm him down a little. "We tried to find some information on that disease, Dr. Scully, and I read that it's genetic. How can Christian be sick if there's not a single case in our family?"
And there it was, the question she knew she would have to answer sometime soon.
"Sandhoff disease has a recessive pattern of inheritance. It means that it requires the existence of two copies of the defective gene, each inherited from each parent. It's very normal for this kind of abnormalities to skip generations, over ninety-five per cent of diagnosed cases have no familiar history at all," explained Scully, who had also reviewed the pathology. "If Christian is affected, both of you need to be carriers."
"In other words, if Christian is affected," the mother concluded, with her voice taken by emotions, "it's our fault!"
"Mrs. Fearon, don't..."
"Was it possible for us to do something to avoid this?"
Scully held a lock of hair behind her ear, trying to hide her anxiety. Blair's question was pertinent and, obviously, understandable, considering their situation. The couple's reaction was on her list of predictable confrontations with the Fearons and she had prepared herself for each of them. But now, while facing the monster in the eye, she was starting to feel lost and disarmed in a combat that also belonged to her.
"We're playing with probabilities, Mr. Fearon. No one would think of submitting an unborn child to a genetic test in search of a disease for which there's not a history in the family!" Scully approached the couple and rested her right hand on Margaret's shoulder. "And even if you knew, there are only twenty-five per cent of chances of conceiving an affected child. You can't blame yourselves for what happened because there's no one to blame."
"But this would explain all of his problems?"
"It would explain everything. Even the respiratory infections Christian has had."
"His motor weakness, his mental deterioration..."
"And is he..."
Blair Fearon let his state of mind beat him and his eyes were now shining as two precious stones, due to the tears he could no longer hold. Professional experience had turned Scully able to see beyond his face, so she knew what he wanted to ask, she knew which word he had stuck beneath his tongue. She knew why he was so terrified.
"What's going to happen to him?" he finally overcame his own emotional limitations. "What are we going to do?"
Scully faced both and shivered inside. She knew that desperation – it had been a faithful partner of hers many years ago.
"We're going to be patient," she was actually scared once she heard herself answering back at him, "and discuss it all at its time."
Margaret sobbed and hid her face in her hands. Then her attention ran to the infirmary's window, through where she could see her little Christian. His delicate traces, his small stature and his low weight made him so tiny and fragile that everything around him seemed to take gigantic proportions. But there was something on his expression, or maybe a different glow in his eyes, that gave him a different aura. There was something special inside of him. Something that made him great.
Christian Fearon, the little great hero!
The mother couldn't fight her feelings anymore and started crying. Blair took his wife on his arms and held her against his chest, as if drowning her tears on him could make her feel better. They both knew that dark times were coming for their little family.
"Oh, Blair," Margaret whispered in despair, "our baby is dying!"
"Dr. Scully!"
The woman stopped suddenly in the middle of the corridor, trying to find the person calling for her. She noticed Father Ybarra, so solemn and stark on his dark vestment, coming closer to her with a half-smile on his face.
"Greetings, Father Ybarra," she said, closing the file she was reading.
"Good morning! Is it my impression or today dawned a little more beautiful than yesterday?"
"I'm speaking for myself, Father, but I already missed the sunshine!"
His eyes focused on the clinical file she was carrying on her hands. A dark shadow could be seen, spreading all over his face. Scully didn't need psychic abilities to know what was running through his mind.
"Is that Christian Fearon's?"
"No, actually it's not." No surprises until now. She was sure of his reasons to come looking out for her. "I was just checking the results of some blood tests done to Lily McGowan."
"Oh, of course! How is she?"
"She's getting better. I think she'll be able to go home soon."
"Christian, on the other hand..."
Scully took a deep breath. Although she didn't want it to happen, this boy's case and his family were becoming a serious limitation to her capacity to establish a line between her personal and professional selves.
"I received your report on the little one. And your suspicions left me truly worried," he confessed. Though he sounded pleasant, his serenity never reached his eyes. "Do you have a final diagnostic?"
"I've asked for more detailed exams, but they're not ready yet."
"You know, Dr. Scully, I may not understand a thing about Medicine, but I can understand that this is a very complicate situation!"
"It is, Father Ybarra. It is..." Scully's face was an expression of all her inner emotions. "Have you received my request too? I'm pretty sure of what those exams are going to say, and I need to discuss Christian's case with the medical board and some specialists. There's a team of neurologists in Washington that could be a great help, I would really like to talk to them..."
"Yes, of course. Can we meet at the end of your shift to discuss this?" She agreed with a nod and Father Ybarra smiled back. For the first time, something changed in the darkness of his eyes. "I need to go to the second floor. See you later."
And he left, just as fast as he had come. When a stretcher-bearer crossed the corner of the corridor pushing a sleeping boy in a bed, Father Ybarra had vanished.
There was something about this man that afflicted Scully. His smile never seemed to be from the heart, his posture was cold, sometimes even gelid, and she couldn't help but to feel an unpleasant shiver every time they shared the same room. He had never inspired her trust, had never given her faith and courage.
She could almost say Father Ybarra was everything a Father shouldn't be. He was everything that Father McCue, for example, had never been.
"Hey, Dana!"
She turned her face to her colleague, Dr. Alex St. Matthew, who was approaching her in the opposite direction.
"Hello since this morning," he greeted with a wide smile. "I wanted to talk to you at Christian's birthday party, but the kids seemed crazy and I got lost!"
"Don't worry, I know how they can make us forget about everything else when they want to!"
Alex seemed to notice her sad face.
"Is everything okay?"
"Hum?" Hearing his words, Scully finally woke up from her trance.
"I saw you speaking to Father Ybarra."
"It's nothing, Alex."
"Christian... It's serious, isn't it?"
She stared at Alex's gray eyes. Everyone was worried about Christian. Everyone loved Christian. That was the reason why everyone was asking questions, and why everyone knew it deep inside. It was that strange capacity of being able to feel it when something was wrong with a loved one.
"Yes," she confirmed, looking the other way, "I'm afraid it's very serious."
A heavy silence fell between both after her answer. Alex knew what was wrong, he knew what was threatening to descend over the Fearon family. Alex also knew how hard it was being to her to deal with the situation, he just didn't know why.
But with that, Scully couldn't help him. He could never know.
"Hey," Alex's voice brought her back to reality, "do you want to join me for lunch? Santos' is just across the street and they make such great tuna sandwiches, you won't be able to resist them!"
"Oh, I'm aware of those powers of persuasion of yours!" She couldn't help but to smile. "Okay, let's try those tuna sandwiches, just let me get my..."
"Please, Dana, you don't think you're going to pay for it, do you? Let me get my wallet." He grimaced at his colleague and started to move away from her. "Don't go anywhere! A deal is a deal!"
"You can go in peace. I'll be here."
Scully watched him leave, noticing that he looked behind his shoulder for about five times just to make sure she was keeping her promise. She snorted – sometimes she wondered if Alex St. Matthew was some kind of a freak of nature.
Trying to recover her usual stance, she approached the Pediatric Ward's secretary. The young girl was so occupied filing her nails while listening to the news on the little television screen next to her, she didn't notice the other woman until hearing her voice:
"I thought Father Ybarra didn't approve televisions outside the kids' playroom!"
"Father Ybarra will only be a truly happy man on the day he admits that not all entertainment comes from the Devil!" Noticing Scully on the other side of the counter, Rachel immediately laid down the nail file and tried her best helpful smile: "Can I help you?"
"Lily McGowan's folder, can you put it next to the others, please? I'm going to eat something, you have my cell phone number in case you need me..."
"Sure, Dr. Scully!" She accepted the file and got up from her seat. "Have a nice lunch!"
Before leaving, though, something caught her attention, which led Scully to look at the television too. A journalist was announcing a first-hand news with a serious expression and hasty words. Behind his figure, she recognized the J. Edgar Hoover building.
"What happened?" she asked, pointing her chin to the screen.
Rachel turned at her:
"Another kidnapping!" The girl was obviously eager to discuss the matter with someone. "Have you seen this? It seems like everyday another person goes missing! The world has gone crazy, I can assure you!"
"And they called the FBI?"
"I don't know if the feds are nosing around, but rumour has it that this last victim is one of their agents. They're refusing to make comments..." And added, with a whiff of contempt: "Feds... they think they're so great..."
But Scully wasn't listening to her. Unintentionally, her heart had started beating so fast she felt the floor spinning under her feet. An FBI agent was missing. She had known those people – one day, a very faraway day, those people had been her family, and now one of them could be in danger.
Could it be someone she used to know? Could it be someone she used to call a friend?
Could it be... him?
"I'm sorry, Rachel, can you turn up the volume, please?"
But it wasn't needed anymore. In the screen was now the face of a woman in her thirties, with long and curly blonde hair. When Rachel grabbed the remote, they were able to hear the last request:
«Monica Bannan was last seen two days ago. The family asks to all of those who might have informations on her whereabouts to contact the authorities immediately...»
TBC