|
Title: Homefront Summary: It's time for Mulder and Scully to face the various complexities of their homelife.
Scully-Mulder Household Kestrel is sitting on her bed in the guest room, all alone, reading an old college textbook of mine. Physics, I believe. She must have found it in one of the many boxes of books I have packed up in the closet. She reads ... no, studies it with an intensity unexpected from an eleven year old girl. It is as if she expected to devour it simply because it is a book. Over the last few days, I've begun to notice less of her mother in her and more of Mulder. Maybe it is just because I didn't know Fowley that well. Or maybe it is just wishful thinking on my part. "Kessie?" I ask and she slowly raises her head out of the book and looks at me with those eyes I can't quite place. Not exactly Mulder's. No, Christopher inherited those. And not her mother's. "Yes?" she asks. She looks at me and then looks at the book on her lap. "Oh, I'm sorry. I should have asked you first. I didn't mean to ..." "I don't mind. If you want to read about Einstein, go for it. I was just wondering if you would like to go shopping with me and my mother this afternoon?" I ask. I am beginning to get used to having this stranger in my house. Soprano and Kestrel have grown close in just a matter of weeks. Closer than I feel I will ever be to her. Soprano took her shopping one afternoon, and helped her pick out what all the kids are wearing these days. And took her to get her hair cut so she wouldn't look like a little girl with braids. She is actually quite pretty when she is dressed appropriately for her age. Why wouldn't she be? Look at her parents. I try not to think about it, but it is so damn hard not to. "Are you shopping for the baby?" she asks, as she watches me stand there with my hands on my slightly rounded stomach. "The baby," I say, and she looks away from me. "And for you." I sympathize with her. I know how awful it was when I lost control of my life. And she never had a life before her control was taken away. She has always lived under the will and dictate of others. How could her mother have done this to her? "For me?" she asks. I have yet to take her anywhere but the grocery store. The world is new to her, yet at the same time it is like she knows everything. She knows what everything is, but has seen so little. "Yes. You. Wouldn't you like to do this room the way you would like it? We can go shopping for some new bedding. Would you like that?" I ask, looking around at the random furniture we threw in here. Some bookcases. My old bed. And the peach curtains that came with the house. "This is fine. This is better than anything I've ever had before," she says as she opens the book again. "Come on, Kestrel. Soprano can come with us if you would like. She'll help you pick some stuff out for your room," I say, and that stirs up her interest. "And then you can help me with the baby's room." "Is, um ... Fox going to come with?" she asks. She still hasn't found any comfortable names to call us. As far as we know, she has never called anyone mom and dad and I can tell she isn't sure if she should start now. Besides, she knows I'm not her mother. "No, Mulder is out with some friends. Getting the rest of his stuff out of his old apartment," I say, and she looks away from me. The two of them have formed some kind of bond already. I imagine that is only natural. They are alike in so many ways. But her favorite person in the house is still Soprano. "Okay. I'll go," she says, as if she is doing me a favor. I turn around and leave her. Someday, I *will* get used to this. Mulder's Apartment "Hey, Mulder, can I have these since, well, you know ... you don't need them anymore?" Frohike asks and I turn to look at the items in question. He is holding up several video cassette boxes displaying pictures of a variety of pretty young women gyrating for the camera. Of course, this reminds me that Frohike has already seen his ultimate dream in the porno world. Well, almost ultimate. Perhaps if it had been him instead of me with Scully, it would be his ultimate dream. I imagine he has already digitally removed my face and inserted his. "Sure. I already took the best ones home," I say. "Yeah. I noticed that when I was at your house while you were out playing Lewis and Clark with your pal," he grumbles as he puts them in a box of stuff he has already claimed. "You went through my stuff at my own house?" I ask. "I had to do something while your delicious nanny was at school and I was watching your progeny," he answers. I had no idea that this was going on while I was gone. "Soprano is delicious?" "Oh, man ..." "So, when are Byers and Langly getting here?" I ask, not wanting to know about Frohike and the person I thought was sensible enough to watch my son. "Langly is still working on getting that info for you, dude. Since that military base has been closed since peace broke out across Germany in the '90s, he has to go through a few extra steps. And Byers is adding a few magic touches to the paper before it goes to press. They swore they'd be here by noon," Frohike answers as he continues to pack. "Then why are you here?" I ask. I throw another pile of papers into a box. I didn't realize how much crap I left here until I tried to fit it all in a couple of boxes. "So I could scavenge the best stuff," Frohike says, as he leafs his way through another issue of Playpen magazine. He finds the centerfold, turns the magazine sideways and lets out a whistle of admiration. "Just take it, will you. The sight of you panting over Miss February '92 is turning me on," I say and he slaps the magazine shut quickly before tossing it in his box. "So, Mulder, what is it like having the old adage come true?" Frohike asks and I have no idea what he is talking about. "What adage would that be?" I ask as I finally just empty the box of papers into a big trash bag. I haven't needed them in over a year. I doubt I will need them now. "You know. The old 'I have one kid or at least one that I know of' thing," he says. Kestrel is actually mine. The DNA test proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt. I imagine Scully was hoping it was going to prove otherwise, but it didn't. I don't believe she has anything against Kestrel. And knowing the way she feels about children, she would never demand that I figure out something else to do with her. I believe she just wishes Kestrel had any other mother in the world besides Diana. "It was quite surprising," I say. I'm not really in a 'sharing and caring' mood right now. And I don't need any more lectures about how I should have known better. I should have known she never lost that baby. "I just hope that never happens to me, man," Frohike says. "Frohike, the rest of the world also hopes you didn't reproduce yourself and forgot about it," I say. "Trust me. If I got a chance to reproduce, I wouldn't forget about it," he mutters as he goes back to work. "Hey, Mulder. You want this? Because if you don't ..." I turn around expecting him to be holding up another dirty magazine. But instead it is an old photograph of Scully and me. We are both wearing FBI jackets and we look like we've been up all night. We probably had been. I recall the crime scene tech taking the picture and later asking me if I wanted it. Once, it was the only picture of the two of us together I had after the office was torched. We look so much younger in the picture. And so separate from each other. I flip it over, hoping I thought to write the exact date on it. Just what I thought. Sometime in early 1999. Oh, those were the best of times. But I kept the picture anyway. It was stashed away in my various desk drawers for a while at work. And then it made its way home and into my prized collection of family photos in my desk. Funny thing is, she wasn't yet family then. Now we have plenty of photos of us together. I don't know how this photo got separated from the rest. "What are you going to do with it, Frohike? Put your head on my body, take out the FBI jacket and add a fuzzy vest?" I say, placing the photo in a box of somewhat important papers. "No, I was going to take her head ..." he starts before I stop him. "Haven't you seen enough?" I ask. "Of Agent Scully? How could anyone ever get enough?" he asks with a sly smile. Yes. How could they? A Pea In The Pod Maternity Apparel "Dana, I don't see why you are so upset. Fox didn't know. I wouldn't say this is exactly all his fault," Mom tells me as I look at a sale rack for a new maternity suit for work. Unfortunately, my two children will be born in opposite seasons, so a lot of my clothes from my pregnancy with Christopher just aren't going to work this time around. "I know, Mom. It isn't his fault. I'm just angry that he trusted that ... that woman so much, and she used that trust for this," I say. I've tried to explain to her where Mulder found his daughter, but the story just seems too ridiculous. "I think you are more angry at Diana than you are at him. I think there is something in you that just can't believe someone would give up a beautiful child without a good cause. But since no one really knows why she did it ... " she says. She pulls out a deep purple colored suit and holds it in front of me. I shake my head no. No reason to look like an eggplant all the way. "I'm sure the reason she did it was purely selfish," I mutter. My mother hangs up the suit and looks out into the mall to where Kestrel and Soprano are sitting. They each are sipping on fresh lemonade and eating soft pretzels. Christopher is napping in his stroller and they take turns pushing and rocking it. Or at least they were the last time I looked that way. "Dana, something has got to change in this relationship of yours. Either you love him or you don't. Either you stay or you walk away," Mom says, and it startles me that she would even suggest such a thing. I always assumed she's secretly embarrassed that we aren't married yet. I can't even imagine her proposing that her single daughter should raise two kids alone. Or that I would think of leaving Mulder. "Wha ...?" I start to ask, but she interrupts me. "All relationships have bad times, but from your perspective, it doesn't even sound like the two of you had ever had a single happy period yet. Besides Chris, that is. I know the two of you love him, but do you love each other anymore? Or did you ever love him, Dana?" she asks. She pulls out another dress and hold it up for me to look at, almost as if she isn't discussing the most important issues in my life. "Yes. I ... do. He does. *We* do," I say. I feel the tears welling up in my eyes and I can't believe she would ask that. I do love him. I do. I do. I do. Don't I? Yes. I must. "Then act like it," she says, hanging up a navy blue dress this time and staring at me over the rack. "I, ah ... just ..." I say, not even able to get a sentence out right now. "Did I ever tell you about the time I heard rumors that your father was seeing someone else?" she asks, finally breaking her stare. I know that my jaw just dropped with that proclamation. "It was an awful period in my life. In *our* lives. But it wasn't true. I never stopped trusting him. Believing in him. We got through it together. That is the only way the two of you are going to get through this. So you have to decide if that is what you really want to do." We remain silent for several minutes, pretending to care about the clothes hanging in front of us. I pull a black suit out and hold it in my folded arms. I know I'm trying to hide from this whole conversation. I know the answers aren't that easy. It isn't just 'stay or go.' We are a long way past that. She finally walks around the rack to the side I'm on takes the suit out of my arms and wraps her arms around me. "Our lives just keep spinning out of control, Mom. *We* aren't the ones in control of any of it. And I think what I hate most about the idea of that little girl isn't that she exists, or even that Diana is her mother, but that she was created because they loved each other. Neither my son nor this baby were created just because ..." I say, and the tears start flowing. "Just because we love each other. It is as if they have just stolen one more thing from me. I don't hate him for this. I certainly don't hate that child who has less control than we do. I just don't know who it is that has all this control. I don't know who to hate." "None of us are in complete control of our lives, sweetie. Not you. Not Fox. Do you think he wants bad things to happen to you?" she asks, still holding me tight. I say nothing for I don't know what to say. "When you were abducted, I sometimes thought he was going to die from the guilt ... and from missing you. I would meet with him, to hear any information he might have about you, and he could barely look at me at first. He was lost without you. I made him a part of our family, included him in every decision. Even the hardest decision I've ever had to make in my life. And you know what? He couldn't do it. Couldn't let you go." "Why are you telling me this now?" I ask. I look out into the mall and am glad that Soprano took Kessie and Chris away. They don't need to see me having an emotional breakdown right now. "You think your two children weren't created out of love? I don't know two people alive who love each other more. The two of you fought it tooth and nail for years. And you *still* fight it. But Christopher, this baby girl and even that child that isn't yours are all here now and well taken care of because you love each other. Who cares how they were conceived? That doesn't matter. All that matters is that you love each other enough to make it through this. To raise those children. To spend the rest of your lives together," she says to me, as she still holds on to me. Anyone who passes would just assume I'm an emotional pregnant woman having a breakdown about buying a bigger size. But nothing is ever that simple in my life. "You have got to get over this period of your relationship. You have got to find a happier place." "This just isn't what I ever expected," I say, and we break our hold. "None of this is what I planned for." "It never is, dear. It never is." Mulder's Apartment Byers stands before me with a grim look on his face as Langly hand me a folder. I open it and find only one thing. A picture of Diana holding a toddler on her hip with a slightly older girl standing next to her. They are standing next to the woman who was introduced to me as my sister a few years ago. Or at least another rendition of her. And they look like they know each other well. Either child could be Kestrel at a different age. It is hard to tell. The children aren't facing the camera and all I can make out is that they both have dark hair. 'Samantha' has one hand on the toddlers's arm, as if she is soothing her. I remember this person who is supposed to be my sister telling me she had a life. She had children. Are these her daughters? Could they be my nieces? Or is one hers and one mine? I can also tell that they are not in America or Canada in this picture. It could be Germany. Isn't that where Kessie was born? Where Diana lived? "Where in the hell did you get this?" I ask as I find myself only able to focus on the picture and its contents. "I promised not to reveal my sources. They were already freakin' when I told them this was for a fibbie friend of mine. I doubt I'll ever hear from him again," Langly says, and he doesn't budge from that position when I open my mouth to protest. "Come on, you long haired hippie, who in the hell had this? It's important," Frohike says, and an argument ensues in my former living room. I look at the picture, trying to understand it all. If the little girl is Kessie, why wouldn't she remember her mother? Is she that good of an actress? Did they do something to her or did Diana let them? And Samantha. Well, that smoking bastard was the one who arranged our meeting. Diana was one of his groupies for years. The pieces could all be placed together easily. But that doesn't explain everything. Like who these children are. And why she did what she did. All I know is if Diana knew where Samantha was and if she had Kestrel all these years and didn't tell me, I will dig her cold body up out of her grave and kill her again myself. Just to make sure. Scully-Mulder Household "She could be either of them, Mulder. I don't know. The girls look like they could be sisters ... or cousins," I say, handing him back the picture. "Where did you get this?" "Some anonymous source of Langly's. I had the boys looking for records of any births at American Army bases in the early '90s and this is what they came up with. Who knows from where," he says, as he puts the picture down on the table in front of him. "If I had to say either of them was your ... daughter, I'd have to guess from the way they are dressed and the cars in the back ground that the toddler in Fowley's arms is yours ... hers. This would then have been taken in 1992 or 1993. From the age of the child, I'd guess the later ..." I say, trying to provide him with the answers he's looking for. I simply don't have them. "Where is Kessie?" he asks, as if he just noticed the house is silent and we are the only two here. "Soprano and my mother took Kessie and Chris to the park ... so we could talk," I say. I didn't know he would be coming home with this. This isn't what I wanted to discuss with him. I watch as he takes off his reading glasses and rubs his eyes. I have to always remind myself that this is hard on him, too. This is not something he asked for anymore than I did. I have to remember how I felt when I discovered Emily. How angry I was at the people who did that to her and to me. How I wanted to give her the life she deserved. He must feel the same about Kessie. She's his child. Just two years ago, I would not have expected him to react with the same sense of devotion that he is now. Parenting has changed both of us. Hopefully for the better. My mother is right. The only way we are going to get through this is together. "Talk about what?" he asks. "It can wait for a while," I say as I hear the front door open, Mom and Soprano laughing about something. "Kessie, come here," Mulder says, and she approaches silently, as if she has done something wrong. He slides the picture over to her. "Do you know either of these women?" She picks up the picture and examines it carefully. She looks puzzled as she touches the images slowly with the tip of her index finger. "I know them ... but I don't know them. I think I might have met them before in the mountain. But besides that, I don't know," she says calmly. I can't tell if she is lying or not. "This woman. Did you ever see her there?" Mulder asks, pointing at the woman he believes to be his sister. "Maybe. I'm not sure," she answers. She always sounds afraid of giving the wrong answer. This time I don't know what answer Mulder is looking for. "Kessie, what is your earliest memory?" he asks. Since she was taken to that place as an infant, her first memory should be there. "Think very hard about this. I need to know." She closes her eyes, letting her mind drift back to her early childhood. I can see a troubled look passing over her face, as if the memory confuses her. "I remember Christmas morning," she says after much deliberation. "Everybody was happy and celebrating. I remember the twinkling lights and the big tree. I remember opening gifts. The house ..." "House?" Mulder asks, and her face twists trying to understand what it is she remembers. It takes her a few more moments to answer. These memories have been shut away for years. Maybe being with a family again is helping to bring them out of the recesses of her mind. "A house ... not as big as this one ... and this woman was there," she says, pointing at Fowley. "And a man. I can't remember all of it." Her face has grown pale as she realizes she did have a family before. She knew nothing of life except that place where she lived for the last several years. I look up and see my mother leaning against the wall, Christopher held on her hip. She is curious as to what is going on. I'm glad she is getting to see how fast it all spins out of control first hand. "I don't remember," she answers. Tears begin to form in her eyes as she stares at the picture. "Who is this woman?" "Your mother," Mulder answers and she puts the picture down. "Can I go now?" she asks, shoving her hands deep into her pockets and looking the part of the reticent preteen. "I would like you to come with me tomorrow to talk to someone. He's a doctor. He will help you remember these things," he tells her. She looks to me to see if it is okay and then she looks for Soprano. "I guess ..." she says, sounding worried about it. "It will be okay, Kessie. Nobody will hurt you," I say, remembering all too well my experience with Dr. Werber. We will all be there for you." "Okay," she answers before heading out the door with Soprano again. "I hope you know what you are doing," my mother says as she hands Christopher over to his father. "I hope this doesn't make it all worse." Scully-Mulder Household I still can't put this photo down. Her deception was so complete, so well planned out, that I can only imagine what or who else might have been caught up in her sticky little web. I sit out in the warm night air, on Scully's porch swing, avoiding everybody else in the house. Scully has been dancing around the real issues for days. I think she would feel so much better if she just said 'I told you so' and got it over with. Or maybe what she really wants to say is 'get the hell out.' I trusted Diana. A part of me is still hoping this can't be true. I look at the picture for signs that it was altered or touched up in any way. I will take it to the photo unit at the Hoover building Monday. They will be able to tell me everything that I already know. That it is real. She did do this. But why? Diana had to have some motivation behind keeping this child from me. Behind keeping my sister from me. I just can't even imagine what the motivating factor might be. Somehow I have to find out. Perhaps the answers to the question of why she did it will open up the answers to so many more questions. This picture contains a family ... my family. My sister. My daughter. Perhaps my niece. Yet she thought she had the right to keep it all from me. Now I have to find the two unaccounted for elements in the photograph. Scully opens one of the French doors, steps out onto the porch and closes it behind her quietly. She is dressed in her pajamas already even though it is just past 10 p.m. and she looks exhausted. She has every right to be. She stands in front of me, and I reach out and touch her stomach. It is only starting to gain that familiar curve again that I find so beautiful. She puts her hands over mine and holds it there. "You said we needed to talk?" I ask her. She doesn't say anything for several minutes. She just stands there in the darkness, my hand and hers together over our baby. "Yes, we do," she says as she moves away from my touch and sits down next to me. I pull her to me, wrapping her in my arms. The picture is sitting on my lap and she looks down at it. "I'm sorry ..." "You have nothing to be sorry for. There is nothing to be sorry for. It happened. I missed it," I say to her, taking the picture and setting it aside. "I am still sorry she did this to you," she says softly. I count down the months until this child is born. Five more months. It seems so long to wait and it isn't even my body. I feel hers through the silky pajamas, trying to remember what she felt like when she was at full term with Christopher. It wasn't that long ago. I should remember it all, but it is amazing how fast those memories escape and turn into new memories. Who put their hands on Diana's pregnant belly and felt my child move? Who was with her when my child was born? Who held my child first? Shared her first Christmas? Birthday? I will never know. The only person who knows most of these answers took them to the grave with her. Unless I find this person who might be my sister. That is always where the answers lie. Scully sighs next to me. A loud sigh of exhaustion. "Tired?" I ask and she nods yes. "Why don't you go to bed? We can talk in the morning." "I'd rather stay here with you," she answers, snuggling in closer. I don't know what I would do without her. Or the children. Or this life we have created. But I don't even know if she is happy with this life. "What would you change about our life right now?" I ask her and I hear her sigh again. "Try to keep the list below one hundred items." "I wish you would just forget her," Scully says, pointing at the picture. I know she doesn't mean Samantha. There is only one person she can be referring to. "And I don't mean forget her because I'm jealous, because I'm not jealous of a dead woman. I want you to forget her so we can move forward." "It isn't that easy. I see her every single day now in Kessie. I'm reminded of everything she ever did every time Kessie talks or makes a certain expression," I say. I'm sure Scully is reminded, too. "Mulder, anything her mother did is not her fault. She is a good kid who has gone through hell because of the games adults play. Now it is our job to show her what life can really be like," she says. "Can we?" I ask. "Our life together is hardly normal. Look at us. It will never be normal and you know that." "It is more normal than anything she's ever experienced. She will have a mom and a dad and a brother and a sister. Perhaps someday, when things slow down, we might even consider getting a dog." "Just not one of those yappy furry things you like ..." "I'll let you pick," she says. I slide my hand down underneath the silky waistband of her pajama bottoms and discover that she has nothing on underneath. Her skin is so smooth as I slide my hand across her abdomen, not moving any lower. Now isn't the time for that. "You won't ever take them away from me, will you?" I ask her as my hand stops roaming and rests on top of our child once more. "No matter how angry you might ever be at me? No matter what the future might hold?" "No. I will never take them away from you," she whispers to me and I believe her fully. That is not something she would ever do. "And do you love me?" I ask, expecting another sigh. But that isn't what she answers with. "Yes. Yes, I most certainly do." The end Author's Notes: Mojo, you are the greatest. Thanks for everything!!!
|