Title: Life After Fifteen
Author: Susan
E-mail: touchstone98@tx.rr.com
Classification: first in a series Rating: PG
Episodes: William
Archive: No archive without permission.
Disclaimer: On paper, these characters aren't mine. In my head, they are.

Summary: When he turned fifteen, he found out his life was a lie. Now that he's a year older, how does he feel?


I was fifteen when I found out my life was a lie.

I still remember Mom sitting on the end of my bed the night of my birthday, clasping her hands in her lap the way she always did when she was nervous.

"There's something I need to tell you, William," she said, awkwardly crossing and uncrossing her legs at the ankles as she tried not to look directly at me. "I'm not really your mom."

At the time the words didn't even register in my brain, let alone my heart, but now thirteen months later, I can still see the tears welling up in her eyes as she sat on my bed and tried not to cry.


Supposedly, my "real" mom gave me up for adoption all those years ago because she wanted to keep me safe and to give me the kind of life I deserve.

At least that's what Mom said anyway.

As for Dad, he didn't say much about it at the time. I think it had to do with pride and all that other crap that goes with being a man and providing for your family.

As for me, I couldn't have cared less about the fact that I wasn't his flesh and blood. He's my dad, and he always will be, but for him, well...I think it's always bothered him that there's another man out there who can call me his son.

Like I said though, none of that shit really matters to me when it comes right down to it.

I have two parents who love me despite the fact that I've put them through hell the past year.

I'm still not exactly sure when everything went wrong, but I'm happy to say that I've been back on track for three months now, and I have no intention of ever being THAT kid again.


So my new psychologist told me today that he thinks I should start writing down how I felt about all the things that happened to me over the past year. He told me that writing is therapeutic and that seeing my own words written on paper would help me see myself in a different light.

Personally, I think it's all a bunch of bullshit, but Dr. Kostler has been pretty cool with me so far so I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt on this one and start writing down my what I think about stuff.

I have to admit I feel kind of stupid sitting here at the table writing about my innermost thoughts while my mom's standing in the other part of the kitchen making cookies, but Dr. K said that I've kept enough secrets from my parents over the past year and that I need to be willing to put myself out there and let them be a part of my life again.

Of course, there's no way in hell I'm ever letting them read any of this, but at least I'm writing it out in the open where they can see me.

I just have to figure out where to hide it when I'm done.


God, my brain feels fried.

Twenty minutes of this *therapy*, and I've had enough. Besides I have a Chemistry test tomorrow that I need to study for and fifteen problems to do for Calculus.

To tell the truth, I still can't believe they let me back into my classes after messing up my life so bad, but I'm glad they did because I have something to prove now, not only to the teachers at school and my parents, but to myself.

I've been lucky enough to get a second chance, and I'm not going to screw it up.

#1 done. (Thank God)



So I just reread what I wrote yesterday, and I noticed that something I wrote wasn't right. I said that I didn't really know when my life started to take a bad turn, but that's not true.

If I'm being honest with myself I know exactly when it started. It was the day after Mom told me that she wasn't really my mom.

The night I found out about myself, she only told me what she wanted to tell me, and I was too in shock to ask for more details.

But the next day, all I could think about were all the questions buzzing around in my brain.

Was my other mom a runaway who had no other choice but to give me up, or was she some rich girl who got knocked up by someone her family didn't approve of?

Did she have brown hair and hazel eyes like mine? Was she the one who named me William, or was that the name given to me by the only parents I've ever known?

Did she live in Wyoming too, or did she move as far away from me as she could so she'd never have to see me again?

But even more important than any of those questions, I wanted to know the REAL reason why she didn't keep me.

I can still remember coming home from school that day, hurling my backpack across the room when I walked through the door and demanding that Mom tell me more about the woman who gave birth to me, then gave me away.

That's when I found out that her name was Dana Scully.

That's also when I found out that I'm not as tough as I thought I was. When Mom told me that she used to be a Special Agent with the FBI, I started to cry. I know it was a dumb thing to do, but I couldn't help it. All day long at school, I had built up this image in my mind of a desperate teenage mother making the excruciating choice to give me to a loving home with two parents, and then I found out that she was actually a grown woman who had a kick ass job and plenty of money.

Of course, Mom tried to explain to me again that her job was very dangerous and that she gave me up in order to keep me safe, but I didn't believe her. In fact, I didn't believe anything she said to me after that.

Consequently, that's when it all went to hell.


School's always been easy for me, but then I found out that I was someone else's son, and everything changed.

Instead of concentrating on Calculus and Physics and World History, all I could think about was finding out more about her. Where she lived, what kind of job she had now, if she looked like me, if she ever thought about me and wanted to see me again.

I became so consumed with the thought of finding her and making her explain to me why she gave me up that I couldn't think of anything else. And that's when my grades took a nosedive. It's also when I started locking myself in my bedroom.Sometimes I'd sit on my bed and do nothing but stare up at the ceiling and think of ways I could get back at my parents for not telling me about my mom sooner.

Other times I'd search the internet for hours, trying to find anything and everything I could about former Special Agent Dana Scully. I quit the basketball team then too and eventually stopped hanging out with my friends all because I HAD TO KNOW about her.

Of course, Mom and Dad freaked out about all of it and tried to get me to talk to a counselor, but ultimately, the more they pushed me to open up about my feelings, the more I closed off to them.

And the more obsessed I became, not just about finding out more about my mom, but about finding out about who I really was.

One day after school, I asked one of those seniors I always saw smoking in the parking lot if I could try one of his cigarettes. It was disgusting, and yet when I held it in my hand, it gave me power.

I knew putting it in my mouth was wrong and that inhaling it was even worse, but it was my choice to do it. And so I did, sneaking smokes not only on my way home from school, but out in the backyard behind the shed. I always smoked outside so the smell would drift away from me more easily and not stick to my clothes.

And I always smoked alone.

Smoking alone was a choice that I made, not a choice that was made for me, and that's why I did it.

Looking back on it now, I can't believe how stupid I was for making that choice, but I'm proud to say that it's been almost nine months now since I've touched a cigarette, and I don't miss it at all.


Okay, I hate to admit this, but I think maybe Dr. K was right.

Making myself sit down at the table and write all this may be a pain in the ass, but it's actually been a good pain in the ass because it's forced me think about my past and the mistakes I've made.

Of course, I've only made myself do it twice so far, but maybe if I keep doing it, it will help me sort through some more things.

Then again, I might get sick of it by next week. Oh well, I guess time will tell, huh?

#2 done. (maybe this really IS good for me)



I've always been an obsessive person.

Okay, maybe not obsessive. Maybe DRIVEN is a more appropriate word.

Yeah, that's probably a better way to describe myself, and it doesn't sound as negative as "obsessive."

So anyway, I guess I've always felt the need to go above and beyond, especially when I've been given something new to learn or accomplish.

In school, I've always tried to soak up as much information as I can in my classes whether I liked the subject matter or not, which often included reading more than just the textbooks they gave me.

When I was still on the basketball team, not only did I go to practice every day after school, but then I'd come home and practice shooting in our driveway for another two hours.

When my dad taught me how to ride a bike, I rode on it as much as could despite the fact that I kept falling, and when my mom showed me the basics on our home computer, I pored over the manual, learning everything I could about how to use all the programs and how to create my own.

So of course, when I found out that I had another mom out there, I felt driven to find out more about her too.

Mostly I searched the internet for information, but I also went to our local library and pulled up some information about the FBI there. That's how I learned that she was a doctor, specializing in forensic science, and that as part of her job she often performed autopsies. The whole idea of cutting into dead bodies creeps me out in a major way, but I suppose somebody has to do it, and I guess she was one of those people who could handle that sort of thing.

Anyway, I also found out that she worked in this division of the FBI called "The X-Files" for over nine years and that she had two different partners during the time that she worked there. She worked with this guy named John Doggett the last two years she was at the FBI, but for the seven years before that, her partner was this agent named Fox Mulder.

I have to admit when his name first popped up on the computer screen I laughed out loud. I mean, come on. An FBI agent with the name Fox? I thought it was some sort of made up name, you know, like in the movies when they give a character a fake name to make them sound more intriguing.

But then I did some reading about him, and I found myself fascinated by who he was and the cases he solved both before and after the X-Files were started. Of course, he did have my mother's help on a lot of those cases, but still...I don't have time right now to go into all the details of the cases they investigated, but some of the people (and creatures?) they dealt with were like something right out of a sci-fi movie.

A flukeman that was part man, part worm. A man who kept himself alive by eating other people's livers. A guy that actually grew himself another body. A telemarketing manager who could turn himself into a giant insect. A woman in a virtual reality game who came to life and actually sliced a man's head off with a sword.

And those were only a few of the weird-ass cases they had to deal with.

Of course, once I started reading about the work they did, I couldn't seem to get enough of it.

After dinner, I'd lock myself in my room and stay up late almost every night reading about them on my computer instead of doing my school work or hanging out with my friends.

Reading about the unusual cases they investigated also got me thinking about how different their lives were compared to my parents', whose lives are about as boring as you can get.

Mom volunteers at the local library and plans fundraisers for my high school's PTA. As for Dad, he works for the local electric company and does carpentry in his spare time.

Compare that to moth men in Florida, vampires in Texas, and a janitor from Virginia who was born with a tail, and you can see why I became so mesmerized by them.

Looking back on it now, I know I shouldn't have let myself get drawn into their world so completely, but at the time, I felt so lost in my own world that becoming a part of theirs was the only thing I had that felt like it was mine.

But that's the thing.

Their world wasn't any more mine than anyone else's. In fact, according my calculations, I didn't even exist yet when they were partners on the X-Files.

So why did I let myself get so caught up in their lives?

Did I do it because I so desperately wanted to feel like I was a part of my mom's life, or did I do it because I wanted to get back at my parents for not telling me the truth about where I came from sooner?

To this day, I'm still not sure of my reasons, but I am sure of one thing.

No matter what happens from here on out, I'll NEVER lose myself like that again.

#3 done.



The last time I wrote in here I talked about all the weird stuff my mom and her partner investigated while they were on the X-Files and about how I became completely absorbed in it.

I spent hours in my room. I stopped studying for my classes. I didn't go out with my friends. I only spoke to my parents when I had to. And I stopped eating.

Yeah, I know that was another stupid-ass mistake I made, but at the time, I was so wrapped up in my own little world that I didn't even think about food, let alone set aside time to eat it.

Consequently, I began to lose weight.

I'm fairly tall, just under six feet and about 175 pounds, but over the course of a month I lost 15 pounds.

It was then that Mom finally dragged me to the doctor, but rather than go there kicking and screaming, I went willingly. Looking back at now, I think that maybe subconsciously I wanted someone other than my parents to tell me that not eating was wrong and that I needed help.

And that's just what Dr. Miller did.

He also gave Mom the number of a counselor he thought I should see, and although I had fought her on it before, I finally let her call and make an appointment for me as soon as we got home from the doctor. Her name was Dr. Carpenter, and though we got along okay for the first few sessions, she started getting on my nerves and I convinced my parents to let me see a different counselor.

Dr. Carpenter was followed by Dr. Greiner who was followed by Dr. Collins, then Dr. Grayson, and...well, you get the picture. According to them, I acted like too much of a smart ass during my sessions and didn't even try to get anything out of treatment, and although none of them ever came out and said those exact words, I know that's how they felt about me.

But then I started seeing Dr. Kostler, and everything changed.

Dr. K. actually seems to get who I am, and unlike the others, I don't feel like he's judging me or judging the choices I've made.

I don't know if it's because he has a teenage son of his own, or if he's simply a better doctor than the other ones, but I feel comfortable with him. And unlike the others, I can actually talk to him.

When he asks me how I feel about things, I'm not afraid to tell him. He's not afraid to tell me how he feels either, and though I wasn't sure how I felt about that when I first started seeing him, I kind of like his no-bullshit approach to things now.

And I like the way that he listens to me. When I talk to him, he really looks at me and hears what I'm saying, and not too many adults are able to do that, including my parents. It's not that they don't love me...I know they do...it's just that they know me as the curious and polite little boy they raised since I was a baby, not the confused and complex young man who needs to know more about his heritage and is trying to understand his place in the world.

And I do understand things a little better now. At least I think I do.

I'm still trying to come to terms with who I am and where I fit in, and although I still have a long way to go, I'm actually willing to let Dr. K. help me get there.

Well, I guess I've done enough rambling for now. Besides, Mom's giving me that look that says I should stop writing and get back to my school work, and although studying for my World History test tomorrow is the last thing I feel like doing right now, I know she's right.

Until next time...

#4 done



My parents have never been drinkers.

For as long as I can remember I never saw them drink any alcohol. Not at any of the parties or family gatherings we went to. Not at any restaurants or even to celebrate New Year's Eve. We never had any in the house either. That didn't stop me from doing it though.

During one of my dark days (that's what I used to call them), I decided I'd had enough of being locked away in my room feeling sorry for myself, and I went to a party at my friend Josh's house. It was a party to celebrate the end of the football season, and even though I hadn't gone to a single one of the games, I figured what the hell. He invited me so I went.

And I drank.

Not just a couple sips of beer to see what it tasted like, but three whole cans. It tasted gross at first, but then the more I drank, the better it tasted and the farther away my problems seemed. I was no longer a kid with a mother I never met, but a teenager who was out partying with his friends on a Friday night.

And then I was a teenager passed out on a couch. When I woke up, I felt like shit and looked even worse. Somehow, though I don't remember how, I was able to dial a phone and call my parents and tell them I was having a really good time and that Josh invited me to stay over for the night.

And feeling relieved that I was finally doing something *normal* with my friends instead of staying home alone in my room, they let me. Of course, the next day I had to pretend that going to the party hadn't changed me when in truth it helped me realize something.

When I drank, I felt numb, and if I was numb, I didn't have to think about who I was or where I fit in.

And so I kept on drinking, sneaking beers into my bedroom when I was able to and going to whatever parties I could find on the weekends.

Sure, I knew it was a stupid move, but at the time I was so desperate to make my pain and confusion go away that I was willing to do anything.

As for Mom and Dad, they knew I was hurting and tried to help me in their own way, but it wasn't enough.

Nothing was enough.

And then one night I simply stopped.

Mom and Dad were out in the living room, and I was alone in my room sitting on my bed with a beer in my hand and my music blaring in my headphones. Holding the can with one hand and using the other hand to pop the top, I noticed that my fingers were twitching. When I tried to steady them by placing one hand on the other, I couldn't do it. I took off the headphones, set the can down on my nightstand, and went into the bathroom, then turned on the faucet to put my shaky hand underneath the water, but that didn't stop it either.

It was then that I made myself look into the mirror, at my trembling hand, at my pale skin and the dark circles under my eyes, at the person I'd become at the ripe old age of 15. And in that moment, I hated what I saw.I'd lost control of who I was, and I had no one to blame but myself.

So I dumped the beer down the bathroom sink, walked into the living room with the empty can in my hand, and set it down on the coffee table. And I asked my parents for help. Admitting that I had a problem and that I needed help was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, but seeing the expression on Mom and Dad's faces when I asked them was just as difficult.

I'm happy to say though that with lots of help from them and Dr. K, I've given up the drinking thing just like I gave up the smoking thing, and I'm pretty damn proud of myself about that. And I'm pretty damn lucky to have two parents who continue to love me despite all the shit I put them through.

God, I can't believe I've actually been writing in this notebook for the past two weeks.

Who knew it would actually work?

I sure didn't when Dr. K first told me to try it. Maybe I should tell him at my next session how much it's been helping me.

Then again, maybe I should keep it to myself. If I let him know his therapy is actually working, his head might get bigger than it already is.

#5 done (Thanks, Dr. K)



I'll never forget the night I saw my mother for the first time.

A few months after I found out that I was adopted, I was on the computer reading an old newspaper article about one of the cases she worked on 20 years ago, the bombing of a government building in Texas, and I saw a picture of her and Agent Mulder in the Dallas Morning News. They were both wearing their FBI jackets, and they were standing by some of the debris on the ground.

Of course, I couldn't tell what color her hair was since the photo was in black and white, but her face was clear enough in the picture for me to see her eyes and nose and chin. Although her eyes looked like mine, her nose didn't and neither did her chin. She was also short and looked really small standing beside Agent Mulder. I know the picture was over 20 years old, and I had no idea what she looked like now, but seeing her standing there next to her partner, wearing her FBI jacket and looking so authoritative and in control, I wanted to meet her more than ever.

Printing off two copies of the picture, I stuck one inside the notebook I'd been writing in, put the other one underneath my pillow, and spent most of the night trying to figure out how to tell my parents that I'd waited long enough and that I was ready to contact my mother.

That was six months ago.

It was also six months ago when I figured out who my father was.

After analyzing the picture of my mom from every conceivable angle, I began to analyze her partner, and from what I saw, I believed there was a very good chance that Fox Mulder was my father. He was tall and lanky, his nose was kind of long and wide, and in the photograph, the way his mouth was curved looked like the way I sometimes curve mine when I'm trying to think something through.
Besides sort of looking like him, I also figured that after all they'd seen and done as partners for so many years that they probably grew really close, especially because of the danger involved in their work and the fact that they were always having to watch out for each other.

I also couldn't help noticing the way he was gazing at my mom in the picture. Anyone else would look at it and wouldn't think twice about the expression on his face as he watched her, but I've seen Dad look at Mom the same way sometimes, and I know what exactly what that look means.

Of course, I didn't tell my parents about my suspicions that Fox Mulder was my dad...I figured them knowing that I wanted to contact my mom was enough to deal with at the time... but I did talk about it with Dr. K.

He told me that I should take things slow, gather more information, and think things through very carefully before I shared my theory or made any decisions, but I was (and still am) too impatient to wait. I wanted to write to Dana Scully as soon as possible and arrange to meet her, and then maybe meet Fox Mulder too if he was still around. I figured I'd done a pretty good job of getting my life (such as it was) back on track over the last few months and that my parents should allow me the freedom to contact my mother and arrange a meeting with her.

After all, they were the ones who kept her a secret from me all these years, and they should be the ones who help me find her. At least, in theory anyway.

Unfortunately, since neither she or Agent Mulder no longer directly worked for the FBI, I figured it would be really hard to contact her, but then I talked to my parents about it, and despite their concern about how meeting her might affect me, they agreed to help me on one condition.

They got to speak with her first.

Of course, I eagerly agreed, and a week later, the moment I'd been fantasizing about for months was finally here.

I was going to meet my mom. At least, I thought I was.

As it turned out, she got a bad case of the flu from one of her patients (yeah, she's a doctor now, and a good one from what Mom and Dad said) and was unable to fly here to meet me.

Of course, I was disappointed, but I was also pissed off. It was time for her to finally meet the son she gave up all those years ago and suddenly she was too sick to do it? My parents tried their best to reassure me that she really was a doctor who worked in pediatrics and was constantly exposed to sick children, but I still couldn't help thinking that maybe it was an excuse.

Didn't she want to meet me as badly as I wanted to meet her?

I could understand being nervous about coming face to face with a person who's both a stranger and the deepest part of you, but how could she leave me hanging like that when she knew how desperately I wanted to see her? Sure, I was being selfish and childish about it, but I just wanted to meet her so badly and having to wait even longer not only pissed me off, but it also made me start to second-guess myself.

Was meeting my mother after all this time really the best thing for me?

Well, as it turned out, it was.

And as much as I'd like to write more about what happened when I finally did meet her (Yeah, I admit it. This journal writing thing is kind of growing on me), I don't have time to get into it all right now. I have a scheduled session with Dr. K in fifteen minutes, and if I don't stop writing right now, there's no way I'll make it to his office in time, and I'll have to listen to another one of Dad's lectures about how I
need to be held accountable for my actions. Definitely more later...

#6 done



The day I first saw a photograph of my mother was a day I knew I'd never forget, but the day I met her for the very first time was the day that will always be in my heart.

Yeah, I know that sounds like one of those lame Hallmark cards you buy at the store, but it's true.

The day I met Dana Scully for the first time, my heart was racing so fast I could hardly breathe, and then when I looked into her eyes, REALLY looked into them, I swear to God my freaking heart stopped. For months I'd wondered if she loved me and if she'd regretted giving me away, but all it took was one look into her tear-filled eyes, and I knew for certain that what I had hoped for was true.

I also found out that what my parents had said was true. She did give me away to keep me safe.

She also told me it was the hardest decision she'd ever had to make in her life, but that she'd do it all over again if she had to, especially now that she'd seen what a wonderful young man I'd turned out to be. Of course, I didn't tell her that I'd been everything EXCEPT wonderful over the last year and that I'd put my parents through hell. Instead I just thanked her and soaked up everything I could about her appearance.

She was older than the picture I'd seen online, but that wasn't a surprise given the fact that it was taken over 20 years ago. Her hair was longer too, and unlike my hair, hers was red, which I wasn't expecting at all.

She was also really petite and only came up to my shoulder when she stood next to me, and I couldn't help being even more impressed by the fact that she'd been an FBI agent for so long. I mean, come on...how could she have possibly caught so many bad guys when she was so damn small? Of course, I didn't ask her that, but I wanted to.

And I wanted to ask her so many other things too, but I know that I have to take things slow with this, not only for myself, but for Mom and Dad. After all, they were willing to do this for me even though I know it's been difficult for them. Still, I couldn't wait to see her again and ask her more questions.

We arranged to meet again tonight, but I'll have to write about that later. Right now, I have an appointment with Dr. K. I have so much to tell him...


Okay, I'm back from seeing Dr. K., and I think it went pretty well, but enough about that.

So like I said before, a few days ago I got to meet my mom for the very first time, and although we only spoke for an hour, we connected with each other almost immediately. Yeah, it was a little awkward at first because neither of us really knew what to say, but once we got to talking, I kind of felt like I was finally a part of something, and it was great. But that was then.

Now she's going to meet me at the Dairy Queen down the street at 7:00 (it's neutral ground), and although I'm very anxious to see her again, I'm also really nervous.

What if she doesn't show up? Or what if she does show up, but doesn't have anything to say, or even worse, what if I don't? I mean, I've got a million questions in my head for her, but what if when I see her again, my mind goes blank and I can't think of any of them?

No, that's not going to happen. I've got too much riding on this to blow it.

I guess if I'm really being honest with myself though, none of my questions really matter except for one.

Is Fox Mulder my father?

I'm not sure how the hell I'm going to ask her that one, but I do know that I HAVE TO ask her, no matter how difficult it will be. I just have to find the right words and hope that she gives me the right answer...

#7 done. (nervous about tonight)



Well, I did it.

It all seems like a blur now, but when I met my mom at the Dairy Queen two nights ago, I just came right out and asked her if my father was Fox Mulder, and she said yes!

The thing is I was expecting her to have a hard time telling me or maybe not even tell me at all, but when I asked her, she looked me right in the eye and without any hesitation, she said yes.

But then she said something that surprised me even more.

She said that he flew here with her and that he wanted to meet me, but only if I was ready to.

I was so stunned by what she said that I blurted out a "No shit? He's really here?" before I could stop myself. Talk about embarrassing. She doesn't even know me yet, and I let something like that slip out of my mouth? How stupid is that?

Her eyes got wide at first, but then she just shook her head, looked down at the table, and kind of laughed to herself.

Confused by her reaction, I just sat there nervously squeezing my hands in my lap like my mom does, waiting for her to say something, anything, and when she finally looked at me again, she had tears in her eyes.

"You sound like your dad," she said so quietly. I almost couldn't hear her.

When I heard those five words, I couldn't believe it. My first thought was that hey, this can't be so bad...my real dad swears just like I do, but then I thought about the deeper meaning of what she had just said.

There's a part of me that's just like him, a part of me that my mom actually seems to find endearing, judging from the expression on her face.

And then she went on to tell me all about him, how he's intelligent and impulsive and passionate about everything he does and says. How he has a great sense of humor and how he regularly used to piss people off at the FBI all the time, mostly because he wasn't afraid to say what was on his mind and stand up for what he believed in.

By the time she finished talking, my head was swimming with so many emotions and questions, I couldn't even think straight, let alone eat.

Needless to say, my DQ burger and fries went untouched and so did hers.

After I got home and finally went to bed that night, my mind was so on overdrive I couldn't sleep at all. Would he look like me? Would he be as nervous about meeting me as I was about meeting him? Would we have anything in common? Would he try to explain why he gave me up, or would we awkwardly talk about simpler things like sports, school, and video games? Was Dana going to be there while we talked, or would she leave us alone to get to get to know each other?

But even more important to me than knowing all those things, would he like me?

That was my biggest fear, that he wouldn't like me, but that was quickly put to rest the moment I saw him the next day.

He was tall and thin like me, with brown hair and a swagger about him that exuded confidence, and I could tell by the look in his eyes that he felt just as emotional about seeing me for the first time as I did about him.

It was kind of amazing actually.

You know how sometimes when you meet someone and you immediately feel comfortable with them?

Well, that's how it was with him.

When I met my mom for the first time, we were both nervous and had a great connection right from the start, but with him, I don't know...there was just something about us being together that seemed even more right.

I don't know...it probably sounds kind of cheesy, but once we sat down and started talking, it felt to me like we were two pieces of a puzzle that fit together perfectly.

After talking with him for almost two hours straight, I'd have to say that it was one of the things he told me about himself as a kid that got to me the most.

He didn't give me all the details, but he said that after some pretty bad stuff went down with his family, he became rebellious, he wanted nothing to do with his friends, and he grew apart from his parents.

He also told me that after that he was pretty much a loner for most of his life until he met Dana, and how having her as his partner changed everything for him.

Then he told me that he hoped I would always stay close with my parents and friends and to not push them away when things got tough.

When I think about it, I really can't believe he told me all those things yesterday. It was like he knew exactly what I'd been going through this last year, even though I know my parents hadn't talked to him about any of the things I did.

And now today, I'm still trying to process the fact that all of this is really happening.

Of course, Mom and Dad are doing the best they can to keep their emotions under control about it, even though I know it kills them every time I tell them something about my other mom and dad, but I also know that they want what's best for me.

Still, I can understand how tough this is for them.

I've been their son for years, and I've only been Dana and Fox's son for a little over a week.

And that's another thing I need to work through, what I'm going to call them now that they're in my life.

I've noticed that whenever they're together, they call each other Mulder and Scully. It's pretty weird if you ask me, but it seems to work for them.

As for me, they don't seem to mind it if I call them Dana and Fox for now, although somehow I really don't see myself calling another guy "Fox", even if he is my dad.

Oh well, I guess I'll have to make it work for now, and who knows?

Maybe someday, when all five of us feel more comfortable with this whole thing, I can call them Mom and Dad too, which would be pretty damn cool, I think.

But for right now, I just need to give myself some time to figure out how I feel about all of this. I've got an appointment with Dr. K tomorrow and then another one on Thursday, and maybe he can help me sort through everything.

Dana and Fox had to head back to Washington earlier today, but they're going to make the arrangements to fly back here in about three weeks to spend some time with me if they can both get the vacation time.

In the meantime, I'm making a list of all the questions I want to ask them when they do come back.

And as for Mom and Dad, for the first time in a long time, I don't need to sort out any of my feelings concerning them because I know exactly how I feel about them.

After all I've put them through, I appreciate them even more now, and I've been trying my hardest to let them know that even though I want Dana and Fox to become a bigger part of my life now, they will ALWAYS be my mom and dad, and I will ALWAYS love them.

Just as I know I will always be THEIR son no matter what.

#8 done.

Will Van de Kamp (and maybe Mulder too someday)


Thanks for reading. I do appreciate it.

possibilities http://possibilities98.wordpress.com/

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