Title: And I Drove Away
Author: Becka F.
Written: December 2000
Classification: V Rating: G
Spoilers: Requiem
Disclaimer: I wonder what would happen if I didn't put one? Would they sue? Anyway, just to be safe, they aren't mine. Never were. Probably never will be. They belong to all the geniuses behind the X-Files...*insert more sucking up here*

Summary: Mother and daughter visit a psychic.

I always got a good laugh from those TV commercials boasting "real-life psychics."

It was incredibly amusing whenever an overly exuberant "psychic" or "clairvoyant" proclaimed to the actor on the other end of the phone that she knew the mysteries of their heart.

It was all so ridiculous.

That's why I considered checking my mother for a head injury when she insisted that we go to see one together.

I'm definitely my mother's daughter. There's no question about that. I've inherited everything from her, right down to the skepticism. So that's why I didn't understand why her, of all people, would want to spend an absurd amount of money listening to a complete stranger attempt to "peer into her soul."

Despite my vehement objection, she eventually managed to convince me to go along.

At first glance, it seemed the so-called psychic's house had "sucker" written all over it. Through the rather large bay window, I could see lava lamps and stringed beads dangling from doorways. It was like something out of a bad 70s movie.

Mom ignored my moaning and quipping under my breath that we were going to need counseling after this ordeal, and continued to approach the tiny bungalow.

We were greeted by the lady of the house herself.

I admit now, she wasn't anything like I expected. Honestly, I half anticipated her to look and act like those that were on TV.

But to my surprise, although I would never admit it to Mom, she looked relatively normal. Even attractive. I guessed she was in her early forties by the strands of gray hair poking through her bandanna. She looked more like a housewife going about her daily chores than a psychic.

Still, I was no closer to accepting Mom's claims.

"Hi there," she said warmly, stepping aside to let us in. "Welcome."

Mom greeted her wholeheartedly, while I managed to raise my typical unenthusiastic eyebrow.

On closer inspection, the house wasn't as bad as I originally thought. In fact, it was kind of cozy.

If you like that sort of thing.

Mom and the bandanna lady immediately became immersed in conversation. Mom kept glancing at me nervously, looking for some sort of reaction.

Our psychic informed us that we were to remain anonymous to "clear our minds of any doubt we had of her."

Oh, this was too much.

She ushered us over to a table, decorated with a pretty centerpiece. There were seven candles spread equally apart, encircling it. Mom's eyes danced with the flames. I knew she was enjoying every minute of this.

I let her have her fun. It wasn't too often I saw her smile around this time. I began to wonder if that was the reason she came.

I've always known that when she lost him, she lost part of herself along with him.

I've also known that's just the beginning.

All of a sudden, the woman's voice interrupted my sad thoughts.

"You're both thinking about the same person," she said, out of the blue.

I was immediately snapped out of my reverie.

Mom was too. I glanced at her, and found she was gazing directly at me. She always does that.

"Who's that?" Mom asked, prying her eyes away from me and fixing them onto the psychic.

"I'm the wrong person to ask."

Mom slowly raised her eyes to meet mine. I didn't want to open my mouth, fearing what I was going to say.

Why was my heart beating so fast? It's not like I believed in this stuff! I was only humouring my mother for crying out loud.

"It's okay," reassured the psychic. "What's on your mind?"

Mom was the first to speak.

"I was thinking about how much she looks like him," she murmured, her voice breaking slightly.

I felt my cheeks go warm with embarrassment. I hated when she did this.

The psychic smiled again and turned to me.

"And you?"

Excuse me? There weren't any rules that stated I had to say anything. I looked to Mom hoping she would help me out.

To my dismay, her watery eyes and flushed cheeks was the only response that I got.

I sighed dramatically.

"I was just thinking how hard this must be on Mom," I muttered, almost incoherently.

"Why?" the bandanna lady countered.

I shot her an icy look.

You want to hear me say it, don't you?

"Because this is the anniversary Dad left us."

There, happy now? I've officially made my mother cry.

Mom reached across the table and took my hand. I was surprised by her sudden affection.

Great, now I was crying.

"He hasn't left you," said the psychic, or clairvoyant, or whatever she was. She closed her eyes momentarily, and when she opened them, she was looking directly at Mom.

"He thinks about you often."

That caused Mom to burst into a fit of sobs, which in turn, made me tear up.

This was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. I was only believing this because I wanted to believe it. I felt so sorry for Mom. I wished she hadn't been dragged into this. This was the last thing she needed.

Suddenly the psychic turned to me, wanting to say something more.

Enraged, I couldn't look at her. I didn't even give her the opportunity.

From a distance, I saw myself rise from my seat, and gently tug on my mother's wrist.

"C'mon, let's go Mom okay? I've seen enough."

Why put her through all this again?

She tried to protest, but I guess my expression told her I meant business.

I marched toward the door, my vision blurred with angry tears. I didn't really know why I was angry. I guess I was angry for the injustice of it all.

I guess I was angry for Mom's tears.

I angrily threw my coat on, not wanting to spend another second in that "quaint" little bungalow.

I chuckled bitterly. That didn't really make me feel any better.

Noticing that I really did mean business, Mom shot the "psychic" a regretful look. She returned it, nodding sympathetically.

I scoffed and yanked open the door, nudging Mom out first.

But something kept me lingering in the doorway.

I didn't know why, but I sort of froze. Mom spun around, wondering why I wasn't following her.

I heard a creek from the wooden chair as the psychic rose from the table.

She tiptoed toward me, as though she was walking through a pack of sleeping lions.

I didn't blame her.

She stopped in front of me and put one hand on my shoulder.

I winced, as a fresh tear rolled down my cheek.

"He wonders if you look like Samantha," she whispered.

I peered at her through glassy eyes, trying to make sense of the words she had uttered.

I nodded numbly, and despite every ounce of reasoning in my body, stepped over the threshold and stiffly accompanied my mother down the walk.

Silently we climbed into the car. As I started the engine, I followed Mom's gaze back up to the house where the psychic was still standing on her front stoop.

"You do," was all Mom whispered.

And I drove away.

The End

Author's notes:

1. Which mother and daughter pairing is it? If you have leaned more towards Dana Scully as the mother character, my work here is done. :)

2. I made the assumption that Mulder somehow knew of his child even though he was still "missing". Maybe he was informed somehow. I guess that's a whole other fic!

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