From:             
Subject:          Broken Home
Date sent:        Thu, 29 Jan 1998 00:27:05 PST

Title: Broken Home
Author: XScout
Rating: R
Classification:SA
Spoilers: None
Keywords: Pre XF
Summary: How a thirteen year old Mulder decided to join the FBI. Child abuse 
story.
Disclaimer: Mulder's dysfunctional family belongs to 10-13 and Chris Carter, I just 
borrowed them for my own benefit and now they're collecting dust in my garage.
Author's Notes: This story comes from an idea I got while watching `Radio Flyer'. 
If you like it, if you hate it, heck if you even read it, please, Please, PLEASE e-mail 
me. (I don't sound too desperate do I?) xscout@hotmail.com
**************
"Broken Home"


November 5, 1974


	Ever since Sam disappeared it was all crap, but some crap was worse than 
others. 

	"Who moved my tools?"

	Fox trembled at that tone of voice. Coming from anyone but his father, it 
might have sounded remotely reasonable. He swore under his breath as he heard his 
father's heavy footsteps heading into the house. 

	He stared across the kitchen to where his mother stood motionless by the 
stove. Her gaze never left the pot she was tending. There was a time when she 
would look at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere, hunting for somewhere to escape. But 
there was no escape around here. So now she just stirred her soup and waited for 
the inevitable.

	She wouldn't look at Fox. Nobody in the family looked at each other when 
this kind of trouble was brewing. Fox and his mother both waited silently and did 
their best not to watch as his father opened the garage door and entered the kitchen. 

	 Fox thought,  Something had kept him 
from doing so in the past. Maybe the fact that this man was his father, no matter 
what kind of asshole he was. Or maybe the fact that if he made it bad for his father, 
his father would make it worse for his mother. And no matter what happened, Mom 
wouldn't leave. Fox would take any beating without hesitation if he could save his 
mother from his father's form of `discipline.'

	"Somebody's used my fuckin' hammer." His father held the wooden 
handle in his hand like a club, swinging the hammer through the air drunkenly. 
"You know how I feel when someone uses my fuckin' things without my 
permission." 	

	Fox knew what he wanted to say  His mother never mentioned her daughter's name 
anymore. She didn't mention much of anything around her husband. But Fox 
constantly talked about his sister. When he missed her so much that he was sure his 
heart would burst he would recite entire conversations they had had, using his eidetic 
memory as a reference. Or when he was angry, at himself or the world in general, he 
would ask questions about his sister, demanding to know what happened, why he 
remembered what he did, and why did no one seem to care that she was gone. 
Those kind of questions usually preceded the more severe beatings.

	His father paused for a minute, waiting for a confession. There was total 
silence, punctuated only by the man's raspy breathing.

	

	His mother didn't look at him and he didn't look at his mother. They both 
looked toward his father, without meeting his eyes.

	The front step had been broken. His mother had been very upset about that 
loose board. In fact, she had been desperate to have it fixed. To his mother it didn't 
matter what went on inside this house, but the outside of the house had to look 
picture perfect. What would the neighbors think? She had asked her husband to fix it 
about a week ago and when he erupted into another tirade of `I spend all day at 
work, earning money to clothe and feed you, and the first thing you want me to do is 
work some more?! I'm under a lot of pressure and I don't have time to pick up 
after you lazy idiots!'

	Fox had fixed the step when his father was out of town on business. His 
father was out on business a lot these days. Somehow Fox had put the hammer 
back wrong. He hadn't been careful enough; had hung it back on the hook at the 
wrong angle or disturbed the dust that covered the workbench. Dad never really 
used his tools anymore. He would just go to the garage from time to time to make 
sure no one else had touched them.

	"Answer me!" his father demanded as he slapped Fox full across the face. 
At least he had hit him with the hand that didn't hold the hammer. The force of the 
blow sent his chair toppling backwards to land with a crash on the wooden floor. 
Fox's head hit the ground, resulting in a sharp cracking sound. He struggled back to 
his feet, his vision slightly blurred and his hearing wavering in and out. He picked up 
his chair and set it back into position before leaning heavily against it for support. 

	His mother started to cry. As usual that only made things go directly from bad 
to worse.

	"I'll give you something to cry about, you sniveling bitch."

	His mother took a step away. His father moved within striking range. 

	That was it. Fox couldn't stand here and see his mother get another black 
eye because of him. He'd had enough of his father's crap. He straightened up and 
faced the old man, trying to blink away the blurry afterimages plaguing his sight. 

	"Dad, listen-"

	His father spun to confront him. Both hands held the hammer now, as if he 
was holding the tool back from lashing out. Bill Mulder smiled, an expression of fury 
rather than joy.

	"What do you want, Foxy boy?" The words came out slowly, his voice 
weighed down by sarcasm and alcohol. "Why are you always getting in my way? 
You were worthless from the day you were born." He made a sound somewhere 
between a grunt and a laugh. "If they had done as I asked and taken you instead, I 
wouldn't be in this mess today."

	"Dad," Fox tried to explain, "the front step was broken. I had to-"

	Dad's strange smile twisted deeper into his face. "So it was you, you little 
shit. You want to use my hammer so much? I'll give you my hammer!"

	He swung the tool wildly at Fox's head. This time Fox was faster. He ducked 
the blow as his father whirled around, carried by the hammer's momentum.

	His mother screamed and tried to grab his father's arm. Dad pushed her 
violently to the floor and promptly forgot about her. He turned back to Fox. He held 
a hammer, and his son was going to pay.

	Fox took a step away and found his back pressed up against the shelves of 
the antique hutch where his mother kept the good china and silverware. There was 
nowhere else to run.

	His father rushed forward, trying to tackle Fox first before delivering the killing 
blow. Fox's long arms flew out from his body as he tried to escape. All three shelves 
came crashing down behind him, sending broken plates and utensils everywhere. 

	The dramatic noise stopped his father for an instant. Fox felt a tingling from 
where one of the knives had caught his along the shoulder but ignored it.

	"Damn it!" Fox screamed. He slammed his open palm against the now 
empty wall. The pain had brought his anger out at last.

	His father blinked. "You're gonna break every fuckin' thing in this 
house." He tightened his grip on the hammer.

	Fox had had enough. "You're the one who's broken, Dad." 

	His father's heavy boot smashed the already broken teapot on the floor. Fox 
saw that his mother had never gotten off the ground. She had curled into a fetal 
position in the corner. Father and son circled each other warily. 

	His Dad moved suddenly, the hammer flying through the air. Fox would have 
easily dodged the clumsy blow but his foot slipped on the broken china. He lost his 
balance and staggered directly into the hammer's arc. If his father had been able to 
complete the swing it might have killed him instead of broken a few ribs. But 
intercepting the hammer before it gained full force saved Fox's life. He grunted in 
surprise and pain as he found himself sprawled across the living room floor. 

	He couldn't move. Fox tried to draw in a breath to steady himself but he 
couldn't seem to fill his lungs. So he lay there ineffectively gasping for air as his 
father slowly walked over to tower above him. 

	"It should have been you." Dad's steely voice dripped with pure hatred. 
He drew back his foot and kicked his son in the abdomen, barely missing the 
fractured ribs. "Not her." The foot continued to pull back and rush forward.

	Fox tried to protect himself from the savage kicks he was receiving by curling 
into a ball but that only made his father kick harder. The next few minutes became a 
blur of pain, misery, and shame. Fox was on the edge of consciousness when a high 
pitched buzzing echoed through the room.

	The doorbell was ringing. 

	Fox froze. All the rage and fear at his father drained from him, replaced by a 
different sort of panic. Somebody had heard. It was a hot day, most of the windows 
were open. 

	"The neighbors can all go to hell!" his father screamed.

	There was a pounding on the door. The doorbell rang for a third time.

	His mother got up, doing her best to straighten her clothes as she walked to 
the door. His father paused, letting the arm that held the hammer fall to his side and 
his foot to connect with the floor.

	Fox heard his mother open the door, followed by her reassuring response to a 
male voice whose words were not quite audible.

	"It seems my son accidentally tipped over the hutch and broke some china. 
I'm afraid it toppled over right on top of him. I was just about to take him down to 
the doctor's to get his bumps and bruises looked at."


	There was a muffled reply from the patrolman. His mom just shook her head. 
"That won't be necessary. Thank you for your concern, but I'm sure that we've 
taken up enough of your time already, Officer."

	The policeman said something else and the door closed. 

	"Goddamned police," Fox's father muttered. "Who do they think they 
are, interfering in people's lives!" He pointed the hammer at Fox, but made no 
further move to strike out. "I don't want you talking to anyone about this, you 
understand me? Everything stays in the family!" He threw the hammer on the table 
and turned toward the den. "I need a drink."

	He staggered from the room, his anger forgotten.

	Fox's mother appeared at the other door, the one that led to the foyer. She 
walked over and knelt down to take her battered son into her arms. "I don't know 
what I'm going to do," she whispered. "I just don't."

	There was no way to save his mother. Fox was as full of crap as the rest of 
them. He couldn't save his mother, he couldn't save Samantha, he couldn't save 
himself.

	It was then that Fox Mulder vowed that he would spend the rest of his life 
trying to save others. Whether it be from mental or physical abuse, thievery, 
kidnapping, murder, or God knew what else, he would not give up trying. It was the 
only way to make his guilt at not being able to save his own family bearable. 

	But there was no way for that guilt to go away. Not unless he found *her*.

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