Title: Boy X
Author: Meredith (meredith_elsewhere@yahoo.com)
Date: April 2002
Spoilers: None
Timeframe: Far into the future.
Distribution: For the winner of the Scullyfic raffle for
Neurofibromatosis. Thank you for your
generosity and your appreciation of fanfic.
Thanks: To Revely for assembling this project,
beta-ing for me so fast, and being an
overall incredible person.
This story is for Justin.
-----
"Boy X"
-----
He wants to tell the story in first person.
He wants to use "I" and "me," "mine" and "my." When he types "them,"
"he," or "she," he wants to suffuse the words with personal
connection. He needs the world to know that the true story of the
human race is his story. But it must be told in third person.
Their charge is to rewrite history. The seven of them have
unrestricted access to vaults of information: tens of thousands of
paper files, reel-to-reel, 33 mm, magnetic tapes, hard drives,
computer disks, videotapes, medical records, microchips. They've
been working for nearly two years now, sifting through the
hardscrabble for shards of bitter, shiny gold.
On bad days, when he can't stand to read the specifics of what he
already knows in theory, he exits through the security gates back
into a world that is still innocent. He tries not to count the months
until he will destroy that world forever.
XX
"Will! We didn't expect you until next week," his mother says as he
bends down to wrap his arms around her. As always, her embrace
is half fierce, and he resists the temptation to fall into her
protective arms. When they separate, she reaches up and tames
a sandy clump of hair that the brisk wind has ruffled.
"How's Dad today?"
Her smile is his answer. "Good. He's walking the creek, if you
want to catch up to him." He nods, then feels his face freeze
and go slack as the memory of the file he was analyzing that
morning surfaces like black oil on water. Detailed descriptions
of medical torture performed on Patient E3953K in the early 1990s.
Fifteen years later, Patient E3953K consoled him with a bowl of
ice cream after he lost his first tooth, taught him to read
"Where the Wild Things Are," and walked him to kindergarten every day.
Patient E3953K lives and breathes and loves. She has a name.
He can spend an eternity back at the compound, righting wrongs
until every horror perpetrated on humanity is exposed and justice
is served. But in the end, there is so much he is helpless to fix.
XX
The house Will grew up in sits on 40 acres of rural Maryland's
rolling hills, bordered by woodlands and creeks. He knows every
inch as well as his own hand, and knows where his father will
be walking. Despite the chill in the air and the brown grass,
some of the dormant trees around him are defying death, pushing
out buds and tiny green leaves. Nature risking it all, determined
to be reborn even though the chance of a hard, killing frost isn't
yet over. He shoves his hands deeper into the pockets of his barn
jacket, head down against the wind, trusting his feet to take him
where he needs to go.
The silhouette of his father appears on the next rise, standing still
and facing him, as if he'd always been there, waiting for his son to
arrive.
His earliest memory is of meeting his father. Neuropsychology would
argue that memories formed in the first year of life are impossible -- fictitious scenarios imagined by wishful thinkers. But Will knows
otherwise. When his mother placed his wriggling body into his father's
arms for the first time in 11 months, the core of Will's being was
seared by a mixture of terror and joy that radiated from the man who
held him so carefully. From that day, Will understood the power of
unconditional love.
As they embrace, Will is gifted with a crooked grin and flashing
eyes. "Did you bring your friend?"
Will blushes and shakes his head. "I came early... I needed to get
away from it for a while. We were supposed to come next week..."
His father nods, interrupting. "Yes, I've got the days straight
again. Today's the 18th, you were supposed to be here the 25th." He
waves his hand as if batting away a nuisance fly. Will takes note;
his father has never been one to talk with his hands.
They head downhill toward Stone Creek, their strides perfectly
matched. The wind now at their backs, they stop at a large
outcropping of boulders that juts out into the stream. Will
clambers up to the top, and Mulder follows without much hesitation.
Will feels a pang in his chest, noticing his father's agility and fit,
angular frame.
/The body's still strong, but I think the gears are grinding a bit,/
he admitted last autumn, on this very rock, while biting his lip and
avoiding his son's eyes. Will hadn't said that his mother had
already begun to notice so more than a year ago.
His father's gradual deterioration hadn't come as a surprise to
either of them, yet the reality was still agonizing. After all, what
Case B432077's mind and body had gone through thirty years ago is
beyond the nightmares of sane men. Over the last two years Will has
grieved and grappled with the facts, but only his mother truly
understands what happened.
Mulder's cold palm on the back of his neck shakes him from his
reverie. "Something troubling you?"
Will shifts uncomfortably on the hard, damp surface of the boulder.
It is impossible to accept, but he whispers the words anyway. "The
target date for global communication is set for June."
Mulder's smile is gentle. "I think I can last that long."
Will's throat constricts, and the humiliating burn of angry tears
rises. He swallows twice before continuing. "I need to know... I
don't know... Dad, what if this is a colossal, destructive mistake?"
He raises his gaze from the granite to meet his father?s eyes.
Mulder's expression turns stern. "We've talked about this, Will.
There is nothing to fear from the truth. What humanity *does* with
that truth is what you should worry about. But you and your group
will be around to guard against those kinds of mistakes.
"You've been given an opportunity your mother and I never dreamed
possible -- the chance to tell the world what so many people suffered
and died trying to reveal. And without retribution or fear. The truth
about the human race, Will -- in all its forms."
Will nods, knowing he has no other choice. "But you'll be gone."
He hates the way his voice sounds, already an orphaned child.
The soft smile returns to his father's face. "Yes."
"I don't understand how you can just walk away from this, especially
now." Fear taints his words more than anger, but he doesn't say the
sentence hidden beneath. /I don't understand how you can walk away from me./
Mulder's small laugh is ripped away by the wind. "We can't live
through the scrutiny; we won't. Everything we have to contribute
is in that compound -- or in you. We want the truth to be revealed,
and we want to live in peace. After June, we won't be able to have both."
"I can protect you."
Mulder shakes his head. "You have your own life to live. You're a
remarkable man, Will. When I look back at my life, you are what I'm
most proud of. Everything else..." he shrugs, lost for words.
"Everything else doesn't seem to matter."
For several minutes Will stares down at the blue-black stream below,
gurgling over its rocky bed. He had known his father would stand firm,
but in desperation he had to try one last time. As usual, his
mother's iron resolve about the subject was impenetrable. He often
thought of his own name as an extension of her personality rather
than a family tribute.
"We have a good plan, you know," Mulder whispers. "You won't have
anything to worry about."
Will nods, rubbing his burning, wet eyes with the heel of his palm.
"I know. I know."
"Then let's go home."
XX
Their walk back to the rambling farmhouse is silent, the pale sun
fading quickly into dusk. There will be a frost tonight.
Will's childhood here had always been happy. They told him what he
needed to know, and answered all his questions truthfully. They'd
found a way to shield him with love and security, all while never
keeping secrets from him.
All he wants is to do the same for them, but he will never have the
chance.
His mother stands in the doorway as they approach the house, her
frame backlit by warm yellow light. Mulder leads the way up the three
creaky porch steps. As his parents' gazes meet, Will memorizes the
particular expression they share only with one another. His father
leans over and envelops her tightly, rubbing his chin on the crown
of her head and closing his eyes in peace.
And in that moment, one he's witnessed countless times, Will
understands just how much they still have left to lose.
His mother reaches for Will's arm and gives it a light squeeze as he
reaches the landing. With a knowing smile, she leads them all back into
the house.
XX
End
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Thanks for reading.