TITLE: Family Business AUTHOR: Elanor G RATING: PG CATEGORY: Post-Pilot vignette DISCLAIMER: Don't own these characters. Doing this for fun, not money. The first thing Billy remembered was the heavy feel of the girl in his arms, and the wind, and the leaves stinging his face. Then came the safe feeling of his father's arms around him. He was bundled into a truck and exhaustion overcame him. "How did I get here?" he asked. He couldn't remember anything, besides dim recollections of faces and light. His feet hurt. "Rest, son," his father answered softly, passing his hand over Billy's eyes. Billy dropped off. Once during the ride he woke and watched his father's face as they drove through the damp night. His jaw was clenched and his knuckles were tight on the wheel. His eyes shone. Billy just watched him through the haze that suffused his eyes and mind. Eventually his father noticed out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head slightly and cleared his throat. His face went back to its familiar stern expression, which Billy found comforting. "Billy, go back to sleep. It'll be okay. Rest." And so Billy obeyed him and let consciousness fade away XxXxXxXxXxXxXx "Thank you for coming all this way, sir," said Agent Mulder, holding out his hand. Billy's father did not take the proffered hand, and after a moment it was retracted. "I don't approve of this," he said. "I just want Billy's life to get back to normal." The idea of a normal life was bitterly amusing to Billy but he kept this to himself. Years of his life missing, all his friends dead or damaged. Him fucked up. Normal. Sure. Whatever. The tall agent seemed to take the rudeness in stride. "We have an interview room set up for the session. I've worked with this doctor before. I've received training in psychology myself and I can assure you that hypnotherapy is a sound, safe, proven form of treatment. I think it may help us all to get to the bottom of this." The other agent stood next to him, wearing a dubious expression that matched the one that Billy's father wore. "Detective Miles, why don't you wait with me while Billy undergoes the...treatment," she said, reaching out her own hand, asking him to follow. Billy studied her - red-brown hair, clear eyes, short. Pretty. Young. Nothing like what he thought an FBI agent would be like. He had grown up around policemen - big stolid men with beer bellies more often than not, hard hands, intimidating eyes. Like his father. Nothing like Agent Scully. Nothing like Agent Mulder, for that matter. Billy's father looked down at her coolly. "No, I don't think so. I think I'll go get some coffee until this is over." He gave his son a look that was meant to be hard but Billy could tell it that masked fear and worry. Even now he wanted Billy to change his mind. He didn't want to get to the bottom of it. He wanted it all to go away. Didn't his father understand that it was *never* going to go away? "Are you ready, Billy?" asked Agent Mulder gently. His voice and his face were surprisingly kind. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess." XxXxXxXxXxXxXx Later, in the taxi going to National Airport. His father was talking. He didn't think Billy needed to see any more therapists. He needed to get back into life. He thought Billy should re-enroll in the community college, maybe take business or criminal justice. Maybe get a part-time job. Billy mostly tuned this out. He didn't feel much different after the hypnotherapy. There was no blinding flash of insight or memory. All he was left with were feelings of helpless dread and anger. Billy pressed his head against the window and watched the pavement pass underneath the taxi. Still ignoring his father. There were two small pieces of stiff paper in his jacket pocket, and he shifted them restlessly in his hand. They were business cards. One of them was for the Portland chapter of some group called MUFON. The other was a card embossed with the FBI logo, a phone number, and a name: Fox W. Mulder. Special Agent. Weird name. He probably caught shit for that growing up - he was a tall good-looking guy now but who knows what he was like in high school. Billy himself had caught enough shit during his own adolescence to know what that was like. Agent Mulder had pressed the cards into his palm as they shook hands goodbye. "Billy, if you ever want to talk, I'm here," he had said, looking him straight in the eye. They were out of earshot of Billy's father, who was at the other end of the room, bursting with ill-concealed impatience. Agent Scully was back, standing next to Mulder. She had said nothing as she shook Billy's hand but her expression was different than before. Was she looking at him with...pity? Not pity. Something else, maybe. Billy thought again of how different they were from his father, from every other policeman he had ever known. They listened to him. Both of them. They wanted to help. They didn't want it to go away. As a little boy all he had wanted was to be a cop, like his father, like all of his father's friends. As a teenager, he had rejected the idea utterly. And now - now the future stretched out in front of him, frightening and long and purposeless. I could be a cop but I could be more like *him*. The thought came out of nowhere. Billy, startled, raised his head from the window. His father droned on without noticing. Him, a cop. Not like his father. He'd be different. He'd listen. He'd take things seriously even if he didn't understand them. He could do something to help his friends - the ones that were left. He could have a little bit of *power* over something - if nothing else, then at least his own life. A cop. Not like his father. More like Agent Mulder. No. What a fucking stupid idea. Like anyone would want a straight-out whack-job like him as a cop, a whack-job who had spent years as a vegetable. A cop. Him. Sure. Whatever. End Elanor G ElanorG@yahoo.com http://www.geocities.com/elanorg