Title: Liberation
Author: JayJay
Email: MrsMulder_86@hotmail.com
Written: February 2002
Classification: Story/Romance/ angst
Keywords: MSR, Scully angst, William Angst, (pretty much lots of angst!) William POV
Disclaimer: If any of this was mine do you really think they'd be so miserable? If I owned them they'd all be living in a world where the sky's always blue, it never rained and where pretty little rainbows appear everyday for no particular reason. In other words perhaps it's best they stay under the close watchful eyes of CC,1013 and Fox. Wouldn't mind the money though!
Spoilers: Nothing Important happened today.

Summary: A seventeen-year-old William Mulder muses over his absent father, and talks it over with his favourite Uncle in a chat room late one night. Where he accidentally stumbles upon someone he never thought he'd meet.

Notes: This is my attempt to write a story about Will after Mulder leaves, but I don't know how he leaves yet though cause I'm English and we haven't seen season 9, all my info comes from the official site, so I'm kinda guessing! Go easy!


Scully-Mulder apartment
Washington DC
1:02am

I had been having trouble sleeping lately, and tonight was no exception.

I listened for hours tonight as Mom cried herself to sleep, over him... again. I've tried to comfort her before, but as soon as I walk into her room, she closes herself off to me. Building invisible internal walls, putting on a mask to hide the pain I know she feels. She'll just ask me why I'm not asleep, stands up, dries her eyes and goes on like nothings happened. Like I haven't just found her sobbing, quietly screaming his name in the middle of the night. Begging for him to come back.

I don't really know what happened I've never really asked Mom about the night he left, and she's never brought it up. I don't think she'd be able to tell me if I asked, it's too painful for her. I don't think I could handle being the one to cause her that amount of pain, I don't know how he lives with himself.

I hate to see her cry. I've only seen it once or twice before, always under the circumstances I've described. But God knows I've heard it. Late at night when she thinks I'm asleep and can't hear. But every night I do. I lay in bed and I stare at the ceiling and listen to it. My Mom, a woman I know to be one of the strongest I'll ever meet, still reduced to tears by the memory of my father leaving after seventeen years.

I just lie here now; listening to the silence engulfing our apartment Thankful that at least for now her tears have ceased and she is at peace.

But it is somehow worse. The silence is deafening, and I know that again tonight sleep will elude me.

Insomnia, I suppose that what causes my sleepless nights. Sometimes I think of telling her, I know she'd give me something to knock me out. But I can't bring myself to do it. It would make it easier on me, yeah I know that, but from what I've learned about him from Mum, Grandma, Uncle Fro and the other gunmen, that was one of his traits. I can't do it, make myself even more similar to him than I already am. I've seen photos, the physical resemblance is uncanny, even more so now than when I was younger. I Swear, if it weren't for the eyes you would think the pictures were of me. they're the only thing that gives us away; his are warm and hazel whereas mine are like Moms, deep and blue.

I already feel like a constant reminder of what she lost when he left. Don't get me wrong I know she loves me, but sometimes when I talk to her I see a far off look in her eye as she listens, and I know what she's thinking; that I'm just like him.

But I'm not. I could never do what he did; take off leaving the woman I love and our newborn child. I asked Uncle Walter why he did it once; he told me he did it for us, to keep us safe. He told me that Dad was in danger, and staying would drag us into it too, and that if he left we'd all be safe.

Bullshit.

If leaving would keep him safe why didn't he take Mom and me with him? They worked for the FBI for crying out loud, surely it would have been easy to come up with a new identity for us; some small town in the middle of nowhere, new names, maybe Mom could have gone blonde!

No, the only logical conclusion I can draw is that he wanted to leave. Leave us. Leave me; to spend the rest of my life wondering about him, what it would be like had he stayed, what it would be like to have a Dad.

I can't explain how, but I miss him.

I should hate him.

I want to hate him!

But I can't help the longing for something that other people have that I feel I've been denied, a father.

I remember, when I was about ten I joined a little league team. On my first game my whole family turned out to watch me play; Mom, Grandma, Uncle Walter, John, Monica, and the gunmen.

I was so excited. I'd made a new friend on the team, and I pointed them all out to him eagerly when he asked me if my family had come; then he asked me something I'll never forget "Where's your Dad?" I know it's stupid that it bothered me so much, to the extent that I still remember it today. I'd always known that other people had Dad's, and that I had one too, he just wasn't around. I had always just accepted it and taken it at face value. I think that, that day was the first time I realised I was missing out on something.

And ever since I've longed for it.

I glance at my watch it's one, but I need to talk to someone. I get out of bed and move to my computer turning it on, and quickly find myself logging on to the Lone Gunmen's web site, and into the chat room under my usual name.

I check the list of names logged in. "Must be a slow night," I think to myself as I stare at the list of only two names. I sigh loudly, at least one's familiar.

I notice immediately that Frohike is engrossed in his conversation to the only other person here, as he obviously hasn't noticed my arrival.

But I've never really been the shy type. I don't even glance at their dialog before butting in with my own greeting.

"Hey," I think to myself "What would be more important than helping out his favourite honorary nephew, right?"

[Hey Uncle Fro! ] I type, eagerly pressing send.

There's a long pregnant pause before I receive an answer. I immediately notice that both people have stopped typing upon my arrival.

[Hey! Your Mom is going to kill me if she finds out you've been in here in the wee hours of the morning! Haven't you got school tomorrow? ] he lectures. My heart sinks, maybe this wasn't such a great idea!

[Or today?!] He adds quickly, I smile.

[What's up sprout,] I chuckle at his use of the nick name no one's used since I was about five.

[Sprout, hey? I thought that went out years ago?!] I reply.

[It did, but you're dodging the question! What's up? Trouble sleeping again?] He says getting strait to the point. I know he's concerned.

[Yeah.] I type slowly.

[Wanna talk about it?] he asks.

[Nope.] I lie instinctively. I curse myself. Now I'll probably have to sit and read Uncle Fro and his freaky friends conversation about aliens, government conspiracies or UFO's.

[You obviously do! Or you wouldn't be in here!] he types quickly, breath a sigh of relief before answering.

[You know me too well!] I type pressing send and taking a deep breath before starting to type an explanation.

[Mom's been crying herself to sleep again! I feel so guilty, I just lay here and listened! I didn't even go and see if she was OK!] I gush.

[What have you got to feel guilty for? Knowing your Mom, I don't think she'd be able to handle you seeing her like that! She's a proud Lady!] He types. Deep down I know he's right.

[I know. But, I just wish there was something I could do to take the pain away. It been seventeen years, since...] I typed not bothering to finish [I just wish it didn't hurt her so much!]

[We all do!] he replies reassuringly. And it works I suddenly feel very reassured, "perhaps I'll get some sleep tonight after all!" I think to myself.

[Thanx, Uncle Fro!] I type. I was about to log out when the other person, whom I'd completely forgotten, "SpookyM", a joins the conversation.

[Does she do it often?]

[what?] I reply.

[Cry herself to sleep.]

I think long and hard about whether or not to reply. I eventually decide that as they don't know me it can't do any real damage.

[Yeah.] I type simply before adding [almost every night, actually!]

There is a long pause after I hit send and the words appear on the screen. I begin to wonder if the computer's crashed.

Suddenly a reply appears: [I'm sorry.]

For a moment I'm at a loss, "Sorry for what?" I think.

After a couple of seconds the penny drops. The long pause when I entered the room, the interest in weather or not Mom cries herself to sleep often, "I'm sorry". I remember Mom once told me his nickname at the FBI; SpookyM was "Spooky Mulder!"

I was talking to my Dad!

The room suddenly began to spin and my eyes welled up in shock. I don't know how long I sat and stared at the screen, but it was long enough for him to type.

[Will? Are you still there?]

I considered bolting, leaving the room faster than a bullet from a smoking gun, but I figured I at least owed Fro an explanation.

[I can't handle this!] I type hitting the send button as I left the room not waiting to see it appear on the screen.

I quickly shut down my computer and stare at the blank Monitor.

I'm in shock.

It's one thing knowing he's out there, it's another story entirely being able talk to him!

About five minutes passed before I heard the phone ring, five minutes that seem to be hours. I knew who it was and why they were calling. And as much as I'm desperate for it not to wake Mom, for Uncle Fro not to tell her what just happened, I can't bring myself to move from this spot.

I just stare blankly ahead, as I hear the insistent ringing draw to a sudden stop as she answers. I listen deafly to their hushed conversation. Feeling the burning tears begin to fall, I wipe them away quickly trying to will them into non-existence, trying in vain.

I gingerly rise from my seat and clamber into bed. Suddenly feeling very small despite my six foot two frame. I pull the covers up around my ears hugging my pillows tightly desperately seeking comfort but at the same time fearing it.

I suddenly understand how Mom feels.

Wanting, no, needing someone to take you in their arms and hold you. To tell you everything will be alright. But not wanting the feeling of weakness that comfort provides, therefore being to proud to seek what you really need.

I hear her drop the receiver gently into it's cradle, and begin to head to my room. I squeeze my eyes shut. Trying to blink away the tears, pretend to be asleep, anything that will make her turn on her heel and leave me to wallow in my own self pity.

I hear her open my bedroom door and pause slightly as she looks at me, before crossing the room and taking a seat on the floor beside my bed. For a long moment we sit in silence, as I refuse to open my eyes, to really let her in.

"Baby I'm sorry," she whispered shortly. I could hear the cracking in her soft voice, I could tell she was on the brink of tears.

I open my eyes and look at her small frame seated cross legged on the floor beside me, chin gently resting on the edge of my bed. And I realised why I'd never really tried to comfort her.

It's never been because I didn't want to make her pain worse, it's because I couldn't accept mine! I suddenly feel ashamed.

The tears from my eyes flow freely and sobs escape my mouth against my will, and like a child I reach for her, holding out my arms, begging her to hold me.

And she does.

In a second she's seated next to me on the bed, my head in her lap my arms wrapped around her waist. With one hand she's rhythmically stroking my back, while gently running her fingers through my thick dark hair with the other. She too has tears flowing down her soft cheeks.

I realize in this instant that this is what we both needed, for all these years. To cry together for his absence. To comfort one another.

We stay like this for a long time, and although tears still occasionally escape freely from my stinging puffy eyes, I feel liberated.

And for the first time I can remember, sleep comes easily.

The End.


Please let me know what you thought of it, I guarantee I'll reply whole heartedly.

This literally took me a couple of hours to write.

It's the first time I've ever written a William POV.

I got the inspiration from reading Angharad's Waiting For Day series, so this is mainly down to her. Thanx!

 

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