TITLE: Mother's Day Redux AUTHOR: Leslie Sholly E-MAIL ADDRESS: PennySyc@aol.com WEBSITE: http://leslieslibrary.tripod.com DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere, as long as my name remains attached. And let me know, please. SPOILER WARNING: Through Release RATING: PG-13 CLASSIFICATION: SRA KEYWORDS: MSR, RST SUMMARY: Scully's first Mother's Day without William. DISCLAIMER: Characters property of 1013 et al. No infringement intended.. FEEDBACK: Accepted with glee at PennySyc@aol.com (Leslie) AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is a sequel to "Mother's Day," which was originally posted in May 1999 and reposted each Mother's Day since. It is not necessary to read that story first, but I wish you would! It is archived at http://leslieslibrary.tripod.com. Since we are never likely to get dates for Scully's pregnancy and William's birth that make any sense, I have chosen to believe that Scully was still pregnant last year on Mother's Day. *********************** Mother's Day Redux by Leslie Sholly *********************** I never played with dolls when I was a little girl. I preferred the rough-and tumble games Bill and Charlie enjoyed to the Barbies and tea parties offered me by Melissa. I never thought about growing up to be a mother. Even when I was grown up I didn't think much about it. School, ambition, work, even Mulder's quest--these filled all my thoughts, took all my energy, leaving me nothing to give to a relationship with a man, much less to a child. And I never knew how much I wanted it until I couldn't have it. I remember going to Pentagon City Mall to do some early Christmas shopping shortly after my doctor told me I'd never bear a child. Suddenly, there they were, though I'd never noticed them before: pregnant women, babies. Everywhere. And in the windows, already decorated for Christmas, hung darling baby outfits surrounded by the toys of children's sugarplum dreams. The knowledge that I'd never shop for a baby of my own sent me swiftly home to Georgetown unencumbered by presents for my nieces and nephews. All my life I've been an achiever. When I've wanted something--good grades, a job, the Truth--I've worked hard to get it, and I've expected success. It was a shock to realize that the choice of being a mother or not was out of my hands. In a way, finding Emily when I did almost seemed natural to me. I had wished for a child and I'd gotten one, even if not in the usual way. I could convince the adoption agency to let me have her, I could take leave the X-Files to care for her, I could find a cure for her illness. Losing her so rapidly could have sent me spiraling toward despair if I had dealt with it at all. So for a long time I didn't. On the Mother's Day after Emily died, the first Mother's Day on which I knew I was a mother of sorts, I went to Mass and to brunch with my mom as I have every year since I can remember. My father was often at sea on Mother's Day and he counted on us to make the day special for my mother. I carried on as he would have expected and we didn't talk about Emily or anything else of substance. But afterwards, I did go home and stare at the snapshot I had of her, which was already showing signs of wear. One year later, I spent a wonderful Mother's Day with Mulder. For the first time, we talked about Emily. For the first time, I let myself talk about the possibility of another child some day. For the first time, I relaxed my guard enough to at least imply that my feelings for him were not just platonic. It was with that day and Mulder's response to me in the back of my mind that I was able to approach him soon after about trying the IVF procedure. And in opening up to Mulder that day I started the process that led to our becoming lovers at last. Mother's Day 2000 was bittersweet. IVF had failed; but Mulder and I had admitted our feelings and consummated our relationship. By common unspoken consent, we devoted the day to my mom. Mulder joined us for brunch after Mass, and later spent the evening pampering me. Last year, I was very pregnant on Mother's Day. Mulder hadn't been back very long and we were still struggling a little with the changes his absence, what he had experienced, and the baby had occasioned in our fledgling romance. On that day, though, we both managed to put aside our fears about the future. Mulder made the big plunge and actually accompanied Mom and me to Mass before brunch, and he presented both of us with corsages. A red one for me, "Because your mother is living," he told me, and a white one for my mom that matched the one he wore pinned to his suit. It had been a strangely sentimental gesture coming from Mulder and it had pleased my mom and touched me. I had felt very motherly that day, wearing the corsage, my body brimming with new life, eating brunch among all the other happy families. And now comes this year. Could Mother's Day possibly have arrived at a worse time? I am alone. Utterly alone. God only knows where Mulder is, and two weeks ago I decided that I couldn't protect my baby and gave him away. I could almost laugh at the naivete of the woman who grieved only a few years ago for her never-conceived children. The grief I felt for Emily pales beside what I am feeling today. My pain was very real to me at the time, but I know it now for what it was--sadness, of course, for a little girl who had suffered so terribly, who had been denied the chance at life--but more than that it was a selfish grief, a grief for my own unfulfilled dreams. I didn't *know* Emily. I had her for only a few precious days, and her death left no hole in a life that remained full and busy. But now! I'm ashamed to say that I've been judgmental in the past about teen mothers keeping their babies when there are wonderful parents desperate to adopt them and give them every advantage. I once thought it while was sad for parents to lose a baby to SIDS, it was not as bad as losing an older child, who surely would have grown more dear to them over the passing of years. That was all before I gave my baby up, before I cut a piece out of my heart and sent it away from me forever. And so on this Mother's Day morning, I lay on my bed, on a fluffy new comforter Monica had purchased for me, and sobbed until I was gasping for air. What have I done? There will be no familiar Mass and brunch with Mom today. She's spending the day with Charlie and his family, and she's not speaking to me. "You didn't even let me say good-bye to him, Dana," she sobbed when I told her about William. "I couldn't, Mom. I couldn't bear it. I had to get it over with. Don't you understand?" I pleaded. Her eyes turned cold. "No. I don't. I don't understand, Dana. I don't understand your life or your choices or you." "But Mom," I protested. "The danger--you've seen it " Her eyes flashed. "Yes. I've seen it. And if a child is in danger, his mother should be the one to protect him. Not strangers." "I *couldn't* protect him!" "The truth is you didn't really want to change your life to accommodate a baby. All this dashing off in the middle of the night--trips all over the country for the least little thing. You wanted to be able to go on like you did before. You--you never treated William like your son. You--you were too busy treating him like some kind of X-File that needed solving. He was a gift from God and you've rejected him. I hope you're satisfied now." "It's not like that, Mom--" In a small, sad voice, she said, "If you didn't want him, Dana, I would have taken him. I'm sorry if I complained. I would have come in the middle of every night if you needed me . . . I--I can't believe I'll never hold him again--" That was when she ran out and I hadn't heard from her since. And I was left to wonder what truth there was in her words. As my mother, she can speak plainly what others might keep to themselves. I can say for sure that no one seems to understand or to approve the decision I've made--Doggett, Monica, Skinner--one and all they tried to dissuade me. Having lost a cherished child, Agent Doggett can't fathom my willingly giving my son away, no matter the reason. I think he's angry about it, angry because he'd do anything to get his son back, and here I am giving mine up. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?" he asked as he and Monica were preparing to take the baby. "Just take him," Agent Doggett," I said. "It's like this, Agent Scully. I know what it's like to lose a child. And I'm telling you, I still miss Luke every day. Every day. You can't know what that's gonna be like." Agent Doggett and I don't discuss his son. He's never seemed to want to talk about it and I've never wanted to press him. But since he had brought Luke into our conversation I felt free to ask him a question. "But--John--if you could have kept Luke safe by giving him up, wouldn't you? Wouldn't you have done *anything*?" He shook his head. "No parent can guarantee a child's safety, don't you get that? The world's a scary place. Barb and I, we were good parents. We told Luke about strangers. He wasn't out of Barb's sight for more than two minutes at a time the day he went missing. And it wasn't enough, Dana. It wasn't enough. There are no guarantees in this life. You know that. There *is* no safe." He looked me straight in the eye. "No, I couldn't protect my son. But by God if I had him back again no way would I give him up to anyone." I had hoped to find an ally in Agent Reyes. She was gentler with me than Doggett, but I sensed her disapproval. "You're adopted, Agent Reyes. Is it so terrible?" She didn't answer immediately, of course. That is not Monica's way. She considered the question, thoughtfully, before she answered, "It can be a burden at times." "A burden?" "The wondering--the whys. Why didn't they keep me, of course. And the rootlessness, who am I, really. The sum of my experiences, naturally, and the product of the way my parents raised me--but beyond that. My heritage. Who I resemble. And what kind of person I would have grown up to be if they had kept me." "But the alternative?" "Well, I don't know what the alterative was in my case, Dana. If it was abortion, then of course I'm happy to be alive. But if it was just growing up poor, or with a single mother--I don't know that it would have been a bad life. How can I know? Don't get me wrong--I love my parents. I've worked through all this. But it *does* take working through, though, for every adoptee I've ever known." Skinner was dumbfounded and dismayed. "Don't, Scully. Don't do this." "I have to," I told him desperately. "I'll help you," he promised me. "We can post guards--24 hours if you want. Install surveillance or relocate you both. A new home, new identities--whatever you think you need." "It won't be enough," I said. Skinner could see my mind was made up, so he played his final card. "But what will Mulder say?" "He'll understand," I said firmly. But would he? I told myself he would. He would accept my decision. During my pregnancy, he'd mostly acted like the baby was just mine anyway. And he had only a couple of days with William before he left. Besides, at this point for all I knew he would never be back. I was the one who had to make this decision and make it alone. So I put out of my mind thoughts of Mulder, with every family member dead, robbed of his last biological relative, the son who symbolized so much to him. I tried not to think about the man who spent a lifetime looking for his lost sister. I didn't dwell on the effect my decision would have on a man whose family was rent apart by his parents' decision to give up a child. Since Jeffrey Spender's cruel deception and his revelation about my baby, I had barely eaten or slept. My emotions and my thoughts were in turmoil. Once I reached my decision, I set the process in motion as quickly as possible, anxious to achieve safety for William and closure for myself. But there was no peace in the wake of William's departure. On this bright May afternoon, my head is still spinning and my heart is in darkness. After my spell of hysterical weeping this morning, I pulled myself together and went to church alone, hoping to find some kind of comfort, from the familiarity of the action if nothing else. My religious beliefs are in turmoil along witheverything else in my life. My mom found it easy to believe that whatever human machinations contributed to William's conception, he was still a miracle of the God who chose to ensoul him. That I have not been so sure of this has perhaps been one of my problems all along. The mugginess of the morning was reminiscent of the fogginess in my troubled mind as I hurried into the church with just minutes to spare. I took a seat in the back as the procession began and with dismay realized that it was First Communion day for the second graders of Holy Trinity Parish. Normally this was something I would have enjoyed; today it was a personal slice of Purgatory. To see the little girls, just about the age Emily would have been if she had lived, dressed in snowy white and heirloom veils like the one I know my mother had carefully saved. To see the boys in shiny shoes and starched white shirts, and to imagine some unknown woman with a seven-year-old William, slicking down unruly hair and presenting him with a special rosary. I would never see his First Communion Day--if he ever had one. In secrecy lies safety. I don't know where William is, and although I asked that he be placed with a Christian family, I don't know that he'll be raised Catholic. I managed to wait for an inconspicuous moment to leave the church and I walked aimlessly for a while through the oppressive heat, thinking about my baby. Only a few short months ago--wasn't it just yesterday--I lay on my bed with a tiny newborn William. He was my whole world and I was his. I ran my hands over every inch of his soft, untouched skin. I stroked his impossibly silky hair. I gazed into his solemn eyes which stayed locked on mine until they slowly closed. I smelled his sweet milky breath. I rejoiced in my body's ability to do at least one thing right--to supply nourishment for him as his hungry mouth searched blindly, rooting frantically for the nipple. When he latched on, love flowed out of me as rhythmically as my milk did. As I reach my apartment I realize that thoughts of my missing baby have triggered a letdown and I am leaking onto my blouse. That hasn't happened since William was very small. But I've been blessed with an abundant milk supply that never failed completely even with my many absences. I've been able to nurse William fairly frequently when I've been with him and to pump milk to take care of many of the feedings I missed. Since his absence, I've continued to pump when my breasts have grown engorged. I know I'm not supposed to, that the milk supply will continue as long as I keep stimulating it, but I'm unable to give up this last reminder that I am the mother of a baby. Automatically I set up my pump. I sent my freezer stash in a cooler with William. I wonder whether his new mother will appreciate this final gift I gave my son, or whether she will resent the reminder that another womb bore him, that other breasts nursed him. As I pump, I think how well I have come to know William in the few months I have had with him. He is not an abstraction to me; I don't miss him because I miss the idea of myself as a mother. I'm not even missing him because he's a part of me, or even because he's a part of Mulder or a symbol of our love. I miss *him*, the little person I love. His sweet grin, the way he flaps his arms and kicks his legs when he's excited, the way he throws things off his high chair and yells "uh-oh," his funny half-crawl/half-scoot, the sweet way he pats my breast when he nurses in the middle of the night, the way he sings along when I sing to him, even the way he used to make his mobile spin. God, why did I waste so much time worrying about what he was when I could have been loving him? Why did I keep looking for the Truth after Mulder had reminded me of the real Truth? I put the milk in the freezer, leave the pump on the kitchen counter, and wander into William's bedroom. I sent some of his clothes and toys along with him to his new home, but most of his things are still there. I am hoping to talk Monica into clearing out the room. I can't do it. I can't. I go to the crib and twirl the mobile around with my finger. Where is my baby today? It's time for his nap and I wonder what kind of bed he sleeps in, what kind of room? Does he miss me? The doorbell rings, startling me. I hastily wipe tears from my eyes and hurry to the door. I don't even bother to look through the peephole; I've already lost the only thing I had left that mattered to me. Since no one else is speaking to me, I thought it might be Monica, but it's a deliveryman from the Georgetown Park florist. "You don't deliver on Sundays," I say stupidly. "This is by special arrangement, ma'am," he tells me. "Customer paid in advance some months ago. I was actually supposed to get it here earlier but I had some trouble with the truck." He hands me a small box and my hands tremble as I take it, barely remembering to thank him. I close the door and, my knees suddenly weak, sit down on the sofa before I open the box. It's a single red rose surrounded by baby's breath, identical to the one Mulder gave me last year. There's a card in the box and it's even in Mulder's handwriting: "To the mother of my son with all my love." Somewhere, Mulder is imagining me going to Mass and brunch with Mom, the corsage pinned to my jacket. He's thinking about William sitting in his high chair, banging with a spoon and throwing crackers on the floor. He's certain that I'm taking good care of his son because he trusts me. I stare at the card for a long time. I think of my mother's words. I think of Mulder's trust in me. All of a sudden orderliness is restored to my swirling thoughts. With decision, I go to the mirror and pin the corsage to my blouse. Then I pick up my cell phone and hit speed dial #2. "Agent Doggett," I say, "Can you call Agent Reyes and come over here, please? I want to go and get my son." THE END AUTHOR'S NOTES: It has been exactly one year since I posted a story, because I've been busy taking care of my own Baby William. Let me know if I've still got the knack at PennySyc@aol.com (Leslie). And if you liked what you read, you can find more at http://leslieslibrary.tripod.com. Unfortunately, my webmistress went awol awhile back, so you'll have to check Xemplary for my Season 7 and 8 stories. Thanks for reading!