Title: My Dearest Son
Author: Vickie Moseley
Spoilers: Requiem, especially the last line. You have been warned.
Written: July 4, 2000
Category: post Requiem, MSR
Rating: G
Disclaimer: We're all waiting, Chris. If you want to steal any part of this for next season, go ahead, take it, it's yours. Personally, this is how I'm hoping it all plays out. I promise not to sue you if you don't sue me ;)
Archives: Yes

Summary: Mulder sets the record straight.

Comments: Read it and let me know if you agree

Love and kisses to my betas, but I posted this without you. I just had to get it off my chest J


February 11, 2001

My dearest son.

Since I know that time and memory tend to add proportions to any story, I am writing you this letter now, at the time of your birth. Time makes heroes out of regular men; memories turn normal occurrences into legends and myths. Such is the story I'm about to tell you and I want to do it now, while the events are still fresh in my mind. So that you will know and understand the times and the family you were born to.

First, let me set the record straight. When I went to Oregon in early May of the year 2000, it was not out some misguided sense of world salvation.

It wasn't because of my innate sense of curiosity, although that's the reason I still contend with your mother. And it wasn't because I was called there as a result of something that happened to me several months before, some experiment that caused me to fall under the control of any other beings.

It was selfishness, plain and simple.

You see, my son, I love your mother. I've loved your mother for a very long time. It took years and years of loving her before I would admit it to myself. And then, longer still before she would admit her love for me.

When we finally admitted how much we loved each other, and that we weren't going to hide from our feelings, I was the happiest man alive. And, God help me, I wasn't going to let anything change that.

She would never let you know this, but you caused us some serious worry in the beginning. A long time ago, your mother was sick. Very sick and I worried about her so much. But she got better and we stopped worrying so much. Then, right after we had let ourselves love each other, she seemed to get sick again. It scared her. It terrified me. It felt like something was going to take her away from me right when I'd just been allowed to love her.

What we didn't know at the time was that it was you making her sick. That didn't come out right. You didn't make her sick, you made her slow down.

You were growing inside her and we didn't know it and you just wanted to let everyone in on your little secret. So she got dizzy. Your mother hates to be sick in any way, and she really hates to be dizzy. At least you weren't as inconsiderate as some babies and made her throw up. She really would have been angry at that. Dizzy was quite enough.

So, when all was said and done, I went to Oregon because I thought someone or something was making your mother sick. And I had to find out who that was. Little did I know that the someone was you, and if I'd stayed home and waited a couple of days, I would have found that out myself. Take this word of advice, sometimes it's best to just wait it out.

I hope you understand what I'm about to tell you now. It's about the time I was gone. First, let me tell you, no matter how much he'll deny it, your Uncle Walter was not at fault for my disappearance. He felt he was supposed to protect me. Uncle Walter tried to protect me, son. He tried with everything in him. But it wasn't meant to be. It wasn't his failure.

It was just the way things were going to happen. I don't blame him and I wish he'd stop blaming himself.

So I was taken away, against my will. I tell you this not to frighten you but to help you understand that I would never have left your mother, or you for that matter, unless someone took me away.

I can't remember the time I was gone. It was a long time in some ways, so short in others. Twelve weeks to the day, I was returned. I was sick when I got back, so sick that I had to stay in the hospital for two weeks. Your mother never left my side. But the doctors were afraid any shock might be bad for me, and your mother listens to doctors, when it suits her purpose.

So she decided not to tell me about you for a little while.

I got better and was allowed to go home. My apartment was just as I'd left it, and your mother had taken care of my fish. It was good to be home, but I couldn't stop feeling like your mother was hiding something from me.

Sometimes, when she thought I wasn't looking, I could see her wipe tears away from her eyes. I was afraid my being away had caused her to stop loving me. You see, son, sometimes your father is really stupid.

One night, about a week after I'd gotten home from the hospital, your mother and I were having dinner. She'd made spaghetti, and even though she claims she can't boil water, she makes a great spaghetti dinner. You'll love it, I know you will. But we were eating and eating and your mother reached over and grabbed the last piece of garlic bread out of my hand and I looked at her and said 'you're going to be big as a house if you don't slow down, Scully'. And it made her cry.

I apologized for almost an hour before she would tell me what was wrong.

And when she finally told me, it was sort of funny. She was crying and shouting and suddenly she said 'I'm pregnant, you dumbass, and I'll eat whatever I want, when I want!'. And that's when I found out about you. By the way, you aren't allowed to use that word and I'm not talking about 'pregnant'.

To say I was shocked is pretty mild. Your mother thought she couldn't have babies and that had made me very sad. When I heard that you were coming to our lives, that you were my son and I would see you very soon, I cried. I sat down and cried for along time. I wasn't sad anymore, I was so happy.

I held your mother until the sun came up that next morning and I asked her to be with me always. I wanted to love her and you forever. She said yes, and I cried some more, and this time she cried with me.

We went the next day to tell your grandmother. I love your grandmother Scully. Sometimes I think she's been as good a mother to me as my own mom, who you'll never get to meet. Just to let you know, your grandmother Scully already knew about you, but she didn't know that your mother and I wanted to make a home for you. She was very happy.

I wish I could tell you that we had a big wedding with lots of people, but it didn't work out that way. I didn't mind having a big wedding but your Uncle Bill, who can be a bit of a dumbass at times, made your mother cry and she got mad and said she didn't want a stupid church wedding if it meant 'he' would show up.

In truth, I think she was mad that he wouldn't show up, but she didn't want it to come to that. So we got married in your grandmother's garden, with just your grandmother, your Uncle Walter, Uncle Melvin, Uncle John and Uncle Ringo, oh and your Uncle Walter's friend, Kimberly. She's not quite your aunt, but maybe, someday. And you were there, too, of course, but you couldn't see much from where you were sitting. It had started out a beautiful day, but right after we said our vows, the sky opened up and we were all drenched with a sudden Indian Summer rainstorm. The cake got wet, but we ate it anyway, laughing and drip-drying on your grandmother's back porch.

We didn't go on a honeymoon. That's a trip that married people take to get away from their families after they have a big wedding. We did go to the beach, and I kept putting sun block on your mother and you, since you were pretty well established and making her tummy stick out pretty far. She was so beautiful, lying on a white lounger on the sundeck. She had this big straw hat that your grandmother made her bring and she had on my Knicks tee-shirt and shorts that you couldn't see real well because my shirt was so big on her. But you, my big boy, were stretching it.

I thought that your mother's tummy couldn't get any bigger. Boy, was I wrong! It kept growing and growing and pretty soon we could see your foot or your elbow and I used to poke you and you'd poke me back and your mother would laugh and slap my hand, but not very hard. I couldn't wait till you came out of there and I could hold you in my arms.

It wasn't all sitting around staring at your mother's tummy, mind you.

Your mother and I did have work. Uncle Walter and I had a secret pact; we didn't want to put your mother or you in any danger. Of course, we didn't consult your mother at the time, and so that pact was pretty much worthless. She dug up a case that I must have forgotten to hide in the back of a drawer and before I knew it, we were hip deep in trouble. I managed to keep your mother from getting hurt. I ended up in a stupid cast for a month and a half, but your mother managed to keep me from getting killed.

All in all, she finally agreed that we'd only go out on a consulting basis. That means people called us and we'd tell them over the phone what to do. And then we'd write a report and turn it in to Uncle Walter who never looked at them, but filed them in some big filing cabinet somewhere in a basement that was even lower than our office.

Christmas came and with it, your Uncle Bill. Now I have to tell you, your Uncle Bill is a good man. He loves his family and only wants what's best for them. That includes your mother and now, I'm sure that includes you, as well. Me? Well, let's just say he's not going to go out of his way to push me off the tracks of any runaway trains, so luckily, we don't live near a railroad track. But your Aunt Tara likes me, and your Cousin Matty seems to like me, especially when we play Blues Clues. Christmas at your grandmother's was very nice. Right up to the point where you decided to give your mother and me a heart attack. Or at the time, we blamed you.

The pains started somewhere around an hour after dinner. Your mother, ever the practical one, put off telling me that she was having the pain until after the dishes were washed and put away and we'd all sat around the fireplace, watching Matty play with his toys that Santa had brought him. I don't know that she was ever intending to tell me about the pain, but she couldn't avoid it when one hit her so hard that she cried out and doubled over.

Uncle Bill started yelling at me, Aunt Tara was on the phone trying to call for an ambulance, your grandmother was trying to get Matty to stop crying because his Daddy was yelling at his Uncle Fox and I up and carried your mother to the car so I could drive her through a Maryland Blizzard to the nearest hospital and see what was wrong.

When we got to the Emergency Room, a nurse made me fill out forms while the doctors took your mother and you back into a little room and I didn't know where you were and I was very, very scared. I wanted to cry, but sometimes you just don't get to do what you want to do.

A little while later, your Aunt Tara and your grandmother arrived, and they sat with me. Uncle Bill had stayed behind with Matty. We all sat there and waited and waited and waited for the longest time. I wanted to run through the halls until I found your mother and you but your grandmother held my hand and I couldn't get away from her.

Finally, a nice nurse came and told us the doctor had been looking all over for us. We were in the wrong waiting room and the one we were in didn't have a working intercom so we didn't know that the whole hospital was searching for 'Mr. Mulder Scully'. Anyway, we found the doctor, we found your mother and you and we found out that the artichoke salad that only your mother ate but none of the rest of us touched for dinner was not good for her. It made her sick. But you were OK, and she was, too, after a good night's sleep.

We decided to spend New Year's together at home, just the three of us. It was the beginning of the New Millennium, as your mother will someday explain to you. Mind you, almost everyone else on the planet had celebrated the New Millennium a year before, but that never stopped your mother.

The weeks after the holidays flew past. I spent a whole weekend putting up your crib. Then I spent another one putting together the changing table.

Thank heavens, the cradle you are sleeping in right now came fully assembled. I don't think I could have handled any more construction projects.

I wanted your mother to take time off before you came, but, like always, she decided her plan was better. Her plan was to clean out the office, including my desk, so that I could 'find' things while she took her maternity leave. We were a little better than halfway through, right at that point where neither of us had a snowball's chance in Tunisia of ever finding anything useful again, when her water broke and she calmly announced that it would a good time to take a break and go to the hospital.

Since I didn't want you born in the basement of the Hoover Building, I decided to go along with this plan.

That was three days ago. You were born at 10:13 pm on February 5, 2001.

You weighed in at a hefty 8 lbs., 7 and one half ounces and were 20 and three quarters inches long. You have all ten toes and all ten fingers, I have personally counted them at least five times. You have reddish fuzz covering your head and the most beautiful blue eyes. About your nose... well, your mother assures me you'll grow into it and she loves it just the way it is, but I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me for that. I don't know where I got it, and I sure didn't want to pass it along to you, but we'll suffer through it together, won't we?

Yesterday afternoon, your mother and I brought you home and placed you in your cradle, which has held not only you, but your mother, your Uncle Bill, your Uncle Charlie, your Aunt Melissa (whom you would really like if you'd gotten to meet her) and even your grandmother and her five brothers and two sisters. Not all at once, mind you. For now, it's all yours.

I'm going to stay home with you and your mother for the rest of the week.

Uncle Walter called not long ago and said to take as much time as I wanted.

When your mother's two months of maternity leave are over, I might just stay home for a month or two, just us two guys, so I can get some time with you, too.

I wish I could tell you that your mother and I have captured all the bad men and put them in jail, that there are no more international conspiracies to conquer the world and hand it over to alien races. I wish I could tell you that we solved all the mysteries of the universe, and we have found the truth, and have it all laid out in 14-point typeface and ready for the printer. But I can't, my love. I can't. All I can promise is that your mother and I have tried to make this a better world for you to grow up in.

I can tell you that you are loved, far more than you could ever imagine. I can tell you that there are people who would gladly lay down their lives to keep you safe. And I can promise that as long as I'm breathing, I will be here, watching over you while you sleep and ready to play with you when you wake up. Your mother and I will always be here for you. Remember that.

But most of all my dearest son, know how very much I love you.

Dad

the end


"There's good news and bad news this week.

The good news is that you'll feel ready to take on the world.

The bad news is that you may have to.

But don't worry: if you do so, you stand a better than average chance of succeeding."

My TV GUIDE horoscope for the week of May 13-19

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