Betrayal and Absolution 1/2

Classification: Post-Ep (sort of), Angst, Therapy, but only for the author

Rating: PG13

Archive: Anywhere

Spoilers: William, and anything up through that episode

Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, William, Walter Skinner, and everything related

to them belong to Chris Carter and 10-13. I'm only borrowing them.

Summary: Scully's fate be after her decision regarding her son is something

she never expected.

Feedback: If you so desire. I really don't expect much on this one

Acknowledgments: Thanks to Sally and Michelle for the beta, and Deb for

helping me formulate the story aspects and have a desire to even want to work

out this one.

Author's Notes: Okay, those of you who are close to me - and you know who

you are - have had to listen to me rant about CC, Scully, and the atrocity

that was the episode William. Call this my bit of therapy to get past it. No guarantees it'll work, but if I can't fix the story, and CC will probably

refuse to, I had to find a way to rewrite it. I'll warn you that this is not a nice story , but it was something I had to do for myself. If you disagree with my depiction or ideas, I'm sorry, but this is the way I saw it.

Betrayal and Absolution

By Mary Kleinsmith (Buc252@aol.com)

She wasn't sure what had caused her to read the obituaries that day. She

never read them. At least, not since she retired, over ten years ago now.

But something had told her to do it today, and sure enough, the listing was

there in the Chicago newspaper, as if beckoning to her.

It wasn't that she didn't expect that he'd die some day. He'd managed to get through a long career with the FBI without getting killed or permanently

maimed. He'd retired a full director with a distinguished career despite the support he'd given a pair of very unorthodox agents. So distinguished that his obituary would be listed even in this paper, half a country away. She couldn't remember the last time they'd talked. He'd moved to the sunshine state after retirement, and their contact, scarce as it was, ended

completely. It was the last in a string of desertions, and she was truly

alone.

Her mother had died a few years ago, and they hadn't been close for some

time. Maggie Scully was a great woman, but she was no saint. She'd never

been able to put aside her scorn of her daughter's decision regarding her

grandchild, feeling as betrayed by Dana as Mulder must have. The strain on

their relationship had been too much.

Bill and Tara shared a tiny house in upstate California, where people rarely

visited and they could complete their lives in peace and quiet. Their

children were spread across the US map, out of touch with a distant aunt.

Through all her conflicts with Bill, she'd always been shocked that the one

thing that had finally broken their bond beyond repair wasn't her

relationship with Mulder, but her lack of one. She couldn't explain exactly

what it was Bill expected, or if he understood their position. He was a

simple man with simple morals - and she hadn't fit into his idea of family

for a long time.

Walter Skinner was dead. Her wandering thoughts drew back to the obituary

once again. He'd lived in Florida for over fifteen years. Reading the

listing more carefully, she saw the wake, not being held in his most recent

home city, but in the nation's capital. He was to be buried at Arlington

National Cemetery, with all the honors due a hero of the Marines and then the Federal Bureau of Investigation. If anybody deserved such an honor, he did.

She hadn't been back there in ages - she couldn't remember the last time.

She remembered so little these days. So, it was with a certain amount of

hesitation that she called and arranged for an airline ticket. It wasn't

that she was going alone, just that she was going back to where there were so many memories.

She'd long since grown accustomed to attending such events by herself. A

life spent in virtual exile from the world on a personal level equipped one

to be self-sufficient at the very least. Not that she hadn't had

opportunities, but she'd quickly found that she didn't want anybody in her

life except Mulder. Mulder, who had returned from hiding only to find his

son gone. It had been the single, defining factor in the downfall of their

relationship. What little of it was left was destroyed by this final act of

betrayal, as he saw it. In looking back on it from twenty-five years of life experience, she wasn't so sure he had been wrong.

She'd begged for his understanding, but he'd been unable to forgive her. By

now, he was probably happily retired with a wife he felt he could trust and a handful of kids happily giving him grandchildren.

Why was she thinking about him after all these years? She hadn't gotten as

much as a Christmas card from him over the years, and she hadn't gone out of

her way to find him to send him one. He'd made it perfectly clear when he

left: Dana Scully was as much a person of his past as Diana Fowley or Phoebe

Green. One of the women who'd betrayed his trust, broken his heart - only

she'd done even worse.

Shaking her head, she tried to put her former partner out of her mind. She

needed to get packed in order to make her flight. Skinner had always been

supportive of her, up until the time when she quit the bureau and returned to her long-abandoned medical practice. They'd met a few times after for lunch or even a dinner, but life went on, and their circles of friends grew in different directions. They HAD exchanged cards each holiday season for many years, always with a scribbled note as to how they were doing. In his later years, he'd finally found happiness with a good woman who valued him for what he was instead of what she wanted him to be. She briefly wondered if she'd get to meet her at the funeral. Hell, she could have been dead already by the time Walter Skinner passed away.

Dammit, she had to stop thinking about the past. There'd be enough of that

when she landed in Washington. Perhaps, if she was feeling particularly

masochistic, she'd even take a tour of the J Edgar Hoover building before

returning to Chicago.

**

As she sat in the plane, she again let her mind drift back to that time. The circumstances she didn't like to think about most of the time. The day

Mulder returned to her . . . and then left again. She could remember clearly Mulder's words to her, as if it were just yesterday. At the time, she was full of self-righteous indignation. From the perspective of time, she marveled at her own hubris.

She wasn't sure what had awoken her, perhaps that inimitable silent

communication they'd shared. She'd been expecting him, of course, but

weariness had won out over her excitement at seeing him, having him return to her everyday life and to her bed. The consortium was no longer a threat, and Mulder had assured their safety.

She didn't want to startle him, so she watched him from under hooded eyelids

as he drank in her welcoming form. She was here, and she was safe, she felt

him reassuring himself. Expecting him to come to her, she was surprised when he turned to move down the hall.

Rising silently, she reached the hallway just in time to see him go into the

spare bedroom, formerly the nursery. Oh, God . . .

By the time she walked through the bedroom doorway, he'd drawn up beside the

bed. He was familiar with this bed from so very many years ago while on so

many cases. Nights spent sick and hurting, when Scully had nursed him back

to health and sanity.

It was all wrong. This room was not how it should have been, Mulder knew,

and felt his heart sinking. Surely if something had happened to their son,

she would have told him. He felt in his heart that the child was alive and

well - knew it with the empathy of a father for his beloved child. It was a

tether he had never had with his father, and had been thrilled to realize

he'd had it with his son. Their son.

But there was no crib. No changing table. No mobile or dresser full of baby clothes. He found his mouth dry, his throat catching, making it hard to speak.

"Where's William?" he choked out.

Oddly enough, she couldn't remember exactly what she said to him. How she

broke the news of what she'd done. Where his son, the product of their love, was. She'd tried to draw him out of the room, to sit on the couch while she revealed everything, but he'd stood rooted to the spot like the tallest oak tree, and she'd been forced to tell him standing there in the darkness of an empty bedroom.

She'd never seen him so angry, his anger starting low and quiet. "You

selfish bitch."

"Mulder, I know this is hard for you . . ."

"You have no idea how this is for me! I work and strive, and live in the

loneliness and the filth and the degradation so that I can be sure it's safe

for both of you when I return to you. Did you not read any of my emails

telling you how badly I wanted to be with the two of you? Do you really care about me so little that you'd give away my son like he was yesterday's

garbage?" His rant was growing now, loud and harsh. "Or is it just that you found out from Jeffrey Spender who my real father is and didn't want any part of having that genealogy in your life? Didn't you think I'd ever come home and want my own? The life I left behind?"

"But . . ."

"I'll admit it, Dana. I really didn't expect you to wait for me. If I'd

returned and found another man in your bed, I wouldn't have been happy, but I would have accepted it. But even if we weren't together, I always believed that I'd have my son. Our son, or have you forgotten that little fact?" And then he'd turned to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"Do you care?"

"Yes, of course I care, Mulder. I love you."

"Well, you've got a hell of a way of showing it," was the last thing he

angrily said before he fled the apartment.

She'd never seen him again A box had been delivered to her doorstep a few

days later, containing all the mementos she could remember sharing with him

during their relationship. Even his beloved "I Want to Believe" poster was

enclosed, a green post-it note stuck to the front with Mulder's scrawl on it. "You've left me nothing to believe in. I should have listened when Deep Throat said, 'trust no one.'"

At first, she'd been angry. How dare he lay this all on her. But as time

went on, she'd settled into a new routine. One alone. She worked, she

survived, but, now, she wasn't sure that she'd ever have called it living.

She existed.

Sure, she had regrets in her life - everybody does, she admitted to herself.

But she'd lived a productive life. Helped a great deal of people, garnered

some loyal contacts. She could be proud of her life, she though.

As the plane touched down at Washington-Dulles Airport, she wondered if

coming here was a mistake. But she'd begun this, and now, she was going to

finish it.

**

When had Walter Skinner gotten so old? That was the first thought that occurred to her as she approached the open casket in the nondescript funeral

parlor. A flag draped the coffin, a sign of his dedicated service to his

country.

Taking a place on the kneeler, she tried to bring forth a prayer for the soul of her former boss, but nothing came to her. She'd long since given up on prayer - it didn't do any good. So instead, she took in the body. Not that it looked all that much like him. Bodies never did, and she wondered briefly who had ever decided that trying to make the dead appear alive again was a good thing.

She stayed in her place for what she thought was the proper amount of time,

then rose carefully. Turning, she scanned the room, wishing she recognized

even one person there. Instead, it was a sea of unfamiliar faces. She

wished she knew how she felt about that. In a way, it was a relief, but it

made her feel even more alone than she usually did.

Suddenly, her attention was drawn to the room's entrance, and a tall, slim

figure in a charcoal gray suit making his way into the parlor. It's HIM!

Shouted in her brain. He scanned the room in that way he'd always had,

taking it all in and storing it away for reference at a moment's notice. His glance had begun at the other end of the room, giving her ample opportunity to study him. Copious hair more gray than brown, he was thinner as well and walked with a pronounced limp. His gate was slower than she expected, his shoulders hunched.

She waited eagerly, holding her breath, until she could see his gorgeous

eyes. Finally, it happened. She saw the recognition in his face, and a

warmth she hadn't felt in decades filled her. It made her smile, and take a

step forward . . .

Only to see him determinedly turn his back and leave the way he'd come. She

didn't know what compelled her, but she went after him as fast as she was

capable. Reaching the hallway just in time to see him exiting the funeral

parlor, she was caught up short when a new, tall figure stepped in front of

her.

Her eyes were less than five inches from the dark, sedate tie held in place

by a tie tack that looked slightly familiar. Following the tie up the

six-foot-plus frame, she was taken aback by the features. Plump bottom lip,

strong nose, dark brown hair, and deep blue eyes which, now that she'd gotten to them, held bitter scorn. Before she could speak, the young man

interrupted.

"Leave him alone."

"But I . . ."

"I know who you are, and I'm telling you to leave my father alone. Isn't it

enough that you've ruined his life? Do you want to put him in his grave as

well?" He rushed on, not giving her the chance to respond to his rhetorical

questions. "My father has a weak heart; he's had one attack already. That

shouldn't surprise you, though, especially since you're the one who broke

it."

In a split second, not only did what he was saying sink in, but how he was

saying it. He'd referred to Mulder as his father. Had Mulder found a woman

who bore him a child after their relationship ended after all? He most

assuredly bore a striking resemblance to her partner, but there was other

blood there as well, represented most clearly in his vibrant blue eyes. A

shiver went through her, and he obviously noticed.

"What, don't tell me that the ice queen can actually feel something! Yes, I

found out about that nickname, although Dad said it didn't suit you. I think he was wrong. It fits you very well. Are you trying to convince me that that was a little spark of emotion I saw there? Too bad you didn't have any human feelings when you ripped me from my father's life!"

Scully gasped in realization, heaving a sigh. "William," she whispered.

"No! You lost your right to call me that twenty five years ago. I am Mr.

Mulder to you, Dr. Scully." She felt her eyebrows shoot up. "Yes, I took my father's name when he found me. It took seven years of searching before he finally discovered me with the couple with whom I'd been placed. And while I cared, and still care, for them, I knew the instant he came into the room that this was my real father. The parent I was meant to be with. My adopted parents understood and saw that, too. We all stayed in touch. And when I was old enough, he told me about you. Although he didn't tell me all of it. He was bitter and angry when the subject of you came up, but he didn't want me to have bad feelings for my birth mother. Well, that was one thing I couldn't give him.

"You see, his first heart attack occurred just after my high school graduation. He was in the hospital, and I was searching through his closet,

trying to find the insurance policies and government pension paperwork when I found them. His journals. Volumes and volumes of his thoughts, his pain,

his loneliness, and his hurt. You cheated him out of the happiness every

person deserves. I hope you've had a life as painful and lonely as his has

been because, as far as I'm concerned, you deserve every bit of it. He gave

me everything, and you gave nothing. Nothing to him, and nothing to me."

He was panting heavily from his rant by now, shaking with his fury and the

desire to keep his words from disrupting all the guests at the wake. He

angrily delivered his final verdict. "You're not only a poor excuse for a mother, you're a poor excuse for a human being. We may, by chance, run into each other again some time, but I promise you, this will be the last time you will EVER hear me refer to you as my mother. Because you weren't. You didn't care for me, and you didn't care for my father or our feelings. I can't even believe that a woman as loving as Grandma Scully raised you."

"How did you know . . .," Scully said, stunned.

"My father brought me to meet her. When her health started to fail and she

began to grow weak, I finally asked him, for the first time, if I might meet

her, and he agreed. He never tried to keep anything from me that I felt I

needed unless it could do me harm. And you know what? My grandmother was a

wonderful, loving woman, to both me and my father. When she passed away, we

mourned for her. Both of us. Alone. We couldn't even go to the funeral and pay our last respects because we knew you'd be there. We missed her, and we miss her still, as do so many others. It's too bad that the same won't be said about you when you die."

The venom in his words was striking, a knife through her heart that she

wondered was her own heart attack. She had done this, she realized, and

there was no fixing it or undoing it. Her eyes began to water.

"Oh, now you're going to try to convince me you're capable of emotion? I

think the only emotion you're capable of is selfishness. Well, that's fine

with me. We got along without you until now, and we'll continue to get along

without you. I'm going to take my father home."

Scully was shaken. "But the wake . . ."

"Oh, don't worry. Mr. Skinner is being laid out tomorrow too. We'll come

back then to pay our last respects. Do us all a favor, Dr. Scully, and don't be here." And with that, he turned on his heels and stomped out of the funeral parlor and into the darkness of night.

Continued in Part 2