Chapter 2
He remained in the tiny room for a short while, after the others were gone. Leaning back in his chair he smoked his last cigarette as though it was the last bit of this world he would ever experience. His mind drifted back to a dreary spring day in Quonochontaug, to a promise he had made, one he was never sure he could keep.
"Promise me." Teena's crystalline blue eyes pleaded with him in such a profound manner that it made the otherwise heart-wrenching break in her voice sound grossly underwhelming. "Promise me, You'll keep him safe. He's all I have left."
"You know that's an impossible promise to make." He immediately wished he had said it with more compassion, but he was dumbfounded by her request, and it caused his simple truth to sound more like outright dismissal. The look on her face crushed him.
"He's a man now, Teena, his choices, and their consequences are his alone to bear."
"You sound just like Bill." her tone was flat, cold, and accusing. The words themselves were sharpened steel meant to pierce his calm armor. They served their purpose.
"Then maybe you should listen to Bill." He grabbed the pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket and drew one out, holding it un-lit between his thumb and fore finger. "He is the boy's father after all." He raised the cigarette to his lips, surprised by the venom in his own voice, but unwilling to acknowledge it's accidental nature. He lit his smoke without taking his eyes off her face. He wanted to see the devastation register as the full brunt of his words hit her. She gave him only a moments satisfaction. Within seconds her face morphed through the emotions of anger, then pain, then guilt, then she recomposed herself. Her eyes narrowed at him, blazing with an azure rage that some part of him couldn't help feeling attracted to.
"You're a sorry son of a bitch" she spat.
His only response was an extra slow drag of hot, grey death, which he then exhaled equally as slowly into the space between them. They stood silently draped in the dissipating haze. She was staring him down, waiting for him to break. It amazed him how, even now, years after their physical relationship had ended, she still managed to affect him in ways no one else could. To a man of his power, the petulant set to her lips and the ice in her stare should have been the laughable ploy of a desperate woman. To a man of his power, this entire conversation should be, at best, an inconvenient courtesy. She knew as well as he did, that this was not the case. She had a power over him, a way of reigning him in and getting what she wanted from him. He had loved her once, perhaps he still did on some level, and that always gave her the upper hand. He dropped his head as he took another puff.
"He's asking questions that very powerful men don't want anyone to ask." He spoke softly letting all the smoke clear his lungs before raising his eyes back to hers. Her face had softened considerably by the time he centered it back into his field of vision. Thankfully he had managed to miss the smirk of triumph he knew flitted across her lips the moment he broke the silence. Now all he saw was the slow swell of thankfulness creeping its way across her features. She knew she had won. Maybe it should make him angry that she knew she was victorious before he had conceded to defeat, but what good would it possibly do him.
"You're a powerful man." her voice was as soft as her eyes, now. There was no anger or condescension in her tone, just a gentle prodding insistence that he could accomplish the impossible.
"Not powerful enough." he admitted with more reluctance than resolve. He flicked the ashes from his dwindling cigarette and drew one last long hit. She watched him knowingly as he flung the still smoldering butt into the wet spring grass. "I'll keep him safe, for as long as I can."
"Thank you." was her only reply, as she turned and walked away.
The weight of that promise would haunt him till his dying day. Still, the boy was his son and he owed him at least this one fatherly act. The problem was finding a way to keep an eye on him without having to actually keep his eyes on him. He had tried partnering him with the Fowley woman. That was regrettable. Mulder had grown intensely affectionate toward her, and she had grown a conscience, resulting in her transfer overseas. Perhaps he had the right idea, but had simply gone about it the wrong way. Diana Fowley knew she was a plant. She knew, she was not only to gain Mulder's trust but to capture his attention as well. He was supposed to fall in love with her, and she knew it. A man in love is easily maneuvered when the woman he loves can be used as leverage. Perhaps the problem was letting her know she was being used.