A Gift of Giving

By Char Chaffin
char@chaffin.com


Rating:  PG
Mulder/Scully/William Future-fic, Post-Truth, 3rd person POV and angst
Disclaimer:  Clones on Loan

DEDICATION:  For Philiater, on her birthday.  Happy Birthday, Phil!

Thanks to: The Posse, riding into the sunset once again with thumbs-
up and title help -


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHRISTMAS, 2008

The tree is easily twenty feet tall.  Full and lush, it stands in
the great hall, planted firmly in an ornately-decorated urn, needles
dark green and supple.  

Thousands of tiny lights cover it from top to bottom, many peeping
out from within the dense branches that spread out from its trunk in
a perfect evergreen shape.  From the top of its brilliantly-lit star,
to the feathery edges that sweep the urn which holds it, the tree is
a miracle of decorated perfection.  Ornaments of every imaginable
kind grace its boughs:  crocheted angels, macrame wreaths, lace fans
and exquisite blown-glass orbs.  Miniature nutcrackers stand at
attention alongside grinning Santa faces made from pieces of felt and
fur.  Entire families of snowmen dance next to dainty Victorian
ladies of porcelain, dressed in silk and taffeta.  And everywhere,
stars, all kinds and shapes of them.  

It's the most amazing tree the little boy has ever seen.  He stares
up at it with his mouth open in astonishment, dazzled eyes taking in
as much as he can as he follows the racing movement of twinkling
white lights that serve to make the tree shimmer.

He doesn't know where to look next; his mind simply can't hold it
all in.  Christmas is the most magical time of the year and surely
this tree is magic personified.  He wishes the tree sat in his own
living room.  Oh, sure, the tree he helped his mama and papa decorate
is very pretty... but nothing like this.

Nothing in the world was ever so wonderful as this tree, soaring to
the ceiling, piled beneath with mountains of gaily-wrapped gifts and
surrounded by wide-eyed children and adults alike.

He tugs on his mother's hand.  "Mama, can we have a tree like this
next year?"

His mother smiles down at him.  Such a good little boy.  From the
moment he came into their lives, she's known nothing but love and
sweetness from him.  If it were at all possible, she'd give him the
world.  She'd give him a tree like this, for in all her days she's
never seen the equal of it.

But she's not a rich woman.  And she's married to a man who's rich
in all things except finances.  They rode the bus for hours and
hours, just to come into the city for a while and see all the wonders
of Christmas that they'd never have seen, back in their little home
town.  Here, everything is so bright, so warm, so flashy.  There,
it's much dimmer, she thinks.  It's just a little village.  Its
meager holiday celebrations can't begin to compete with what the big
city has to offer.

Beyond the necessity of bringing the boy here, at this particular
time... she so wanted him to see something other than their tiny,
worn-out burg.  She so wanted him to see a special part of the city
where she grew up, before she met the love of her life and married
him, agreed to live with him wherever he chose to roam.  It happened
that he chose to go back to the place of his birth, somewhere
completely alien to her.  Of course she went, even though she didn't
really want to leave the city.

But she got used to it.  For her man, she would have gotten used to
anything.

And now, they're back, if just for a day.  Now, they've left the
safety of their familiar lives and have come to the Hall, waiting.
She shivers and blinks away a few sudden tears.  And she tells
herself they're doing the right thing... she tells herself it's the
giving of the gift that's most important.  She tells herself that if
she thinks of it as a gift and not a sacrifice, it will be easier,
somehow.

"Mama!  Are you listening?  I said, when will Santa come and give
out all the presents?"

Her son tugs hard at her hand and the women shakes herself from her
reverie and again smiles down at him.  And she admonishes herself not
to wax maudlin today, of all days.  Her man has done well by her,
more than she could ever have asked for.  He's given her everything
it's been within his power to give.  

Including the small child with the soft brown hair and hazel eyes
who stands at her side and clutches her hand so tightly.  It was all
she ever wanted... a child.  She's been a very lucky woman, these
past six years.  It's been more than she'd hoped for.

It will be enough.  It has to be.

The woman fights back the last of her tears and chides the boy, "You
have to be patient, sweetheart.  Santa isn't even here yet!  And see
all of the other children, waiting for him, too?  Many of them have
been here longer than us.  I'm sure Santa will have plenty of
helpers.  I'm sure he'll get here as fast as he can, and bring lots
of elves to help him give out all of these nice presents."

The boy hops from one foot to another, trying not to be impatient,
but it's hard for a small boy to stand still and behave when there
are so many wonderful things to see, so much to dazzle and entrance.
Look over there!  It's a real, live reindeer, standing next to a
grizzled old man who holds the reins in one hand and feeds the
reindeer small bits of apple with the other.  

And, over there!  It's a choir of children, most of them not much
older than he is, singing carols about Santa coming to town, and how
Rudolf will go down in history.   

And everywhere, people, people. More people!  They come by the
dozens, laughing and running to catch up with each other, as excited
as he to be here, in this huge hall, looking at the beautiful tree
and the reindeer and everything else there is to see.  There are
walking snowmen and ladies dressed like pretty angels, serving
cookies and punch.  There are clowns and little dogs on leashes,
dancing in frilly costumes, just like in the circus.  On a small
stage nearby the tree is a scene from the Bible that he recognizes:
Baby Jesus in a manger cradle with Mary and Joseph smiling and the
Wise Men standing by, golden boxes in their hands.  A real lamb curls
up on a bed of straw nearby Joseph's feet.  Every once in a while the
lamb bleats, and Mary tries hard not to giggle.  

The boy is enchanted by it all.  This is the best Christmas ever, he
decides.

"Where's Papa?  Did he have to go to the privy?"  The boy tries to
whisper because he knows it's not proper to speak of privies in
public.  But his little voice carries farther than it should given
the noise level in the hall, and several people nearby hear his
question and they smile at him indulgently.  His mama's cheeks pinken
as she tries to shush him, but the boy is now worried about where his
papa might be and he repeats, "Mama?  Is Papa in the privy?"

"Don't say 'privy.'  And your papa isn't there, anyhow.  He went to
get us a can of soda pop."  She's quick to reassure the child but her
eyes dart around in concern.  It shouldn't have taken Samuel this
long to do what was needed, the moment they stepped off the bus.  It
shouldn't have taken him this long to make contact...

With her boy's hand firmly in hers, the woman walks away from the
huge tree and ventures into the milling crowd.  So many people!  Once
upon a time she would have relished being adrift in throngs of
people, for that was the way of life she'd been raised with.  She'd
loved walking along Main and Fuller at the height of the holiday
season, window-shopping, watching the beautiful women in their furs
and tall boots, the men in their long wool coats and beaver hats.
She'd never have imagined being happy anywhere else.

The she met Samuel at a dance and everything had changed for
her.  Now, she couldn't see herself living anywhere else but on the
small ranch, hundreds and hundreds of miles from here.

The crowds make her anxious and unsettled, but right now the crowds
all around them are the very best camouflage they could have.

"Come on.  We'll go find your papa."

Holding hands, they walk slowly around, the boy looking everywhere
at once and the woman searching for a familiar, beloved face.  He
can't have gone far, she thinks.  He was told to wait nearby the bus
stop, and he'd be contacted.  That's exactly what he did.  

It was vital they do exactly what they were told to do...

"Mama!  Look at the elves!  Santa can't be far behind!  Look Mama,
look!"  At her son's insistence, the woman glances in the direction
he's pointing.  Sure enough, the large entrance to the hall seems
suddenly full of brightly-dressed elves of all shapes and sizes.
Adults, children, male and female alike, they dance and run and leap
around.  Some are singing and others juggle red and green balls.  A
few ride unicycles, balancing themselves easily on the tricky little
bikes.  There are even a few on inline skates.  It's an astounding
sight and even the woman, worried and now heartsore, can't help but
smile at the scene.  Her boy is loving every minute of it.  And she
tells herself again that it's all for the best, what they are doing.

Maybe someday she'll actually believe it.

"Papa.  PAPA!"  Waving madly with his free hand, the boy is pulling
her across the room.  Looking up, the woman sees her husband right in
the midst of all the elves, talking to a tall, dark-haired man.  He's
smiling, but even at a distance she can detect the pain in his
expression.  Her Samuel has always had a very expressive face.  He's
the best man in the world, and the choice they have made is killing
him, she knows.  Because it's killing her, too...

Then her son breaks free of her hand clasp and runs over to his
papa, laughing when Samuel catches him and swings him up into his
arms, settles him on one hip.  The man standing next to him smiles at
her boy, and one hand reaches out to shake the little hand the child
solemnly offers.  One long-fingered, elegant hand that looks like the
adult version of the small hand that's now engulfed in it.  She
swallows, hard; looks down at her own short fingers and overly-large
knuckles.  And by his sides, Samuel's large, rough-palmed hands
clench a little as he watches the man and their son greet each other.
But he's still smiling.

Only she can see the strain beneath the smile.

"Millie."

The soft voice startles her and she whips around, wide eyes taking
in the petite woman who stands a few feet away, fingers trembling a
little as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.  The woman is a
stranger to her, and yet Millie knows who she is.  Instinct tells her
exactly who this woman is.

"I... hello.  You're the...um... you're..." She can't seem to bring
herself to actually say the words.

A nod, and a half smile.  "Yes.  It's nice to finally meet you.  I
have so much I want to say to you.  Starting with how sorry I am, for
everything."  Tears form in the blue eyes that stare so earnestly at
her.

Millie closes her eyes against tears of her own.  This is a woman
she had sworn to hate; a woman who would receive a piece of her mind
if she ever got the chance to confront her.  And yet, now the moment
is at hand and she finds all the hate and resentment, the anger, has
left her.  For in this woman's eyes Millie can see the pain and
sadness of the loss she suffered.  In her eyes there's a world of
weary acceptance, that Millie and her Samuel had a vital part of the
life of a child they both loved and wanted, right from the moment
they first held him.

And suddenly it's easy to reach out a hand to the sad-eyed woman, to
clasp her fingers tightly.  To reassure her in a broken voice, "Hush,
now.  There'll be no sorrow, here.  I've always known we wouldn't
have the boy forever.  I always knew Samuel and I couldn't take care
of him the way he needs to be cared for."  Millie leans in close and
her murmur is soft and sincere.  "We know he's a special one, more
than anyone could ever know.  He's changed a lot in six years, you
understand.  We watched it happen.  And if we see it, then soon
enough others will, too.  We can't hide him on the ranch forever.
And I figure there's a destiny he needs to fulfill, isn't there?  We
can't do right by him.  But you and your man... you can.  So that's
not a sorrowful thing, now is it?"

Dana Scully smiles at this very wise woman, another mother who faces
the same kind of loss she once faced herself, six years ago.  She
whispers, "No.  It's not a sorrowful thing.  It's a gift, Millie.
Perhaps the greatest one his father and I could ever expect to
receive."  She takes hold of Millie's other hand and faces her,
smiling through over-bright eyes.  "We'll protect him, this I
promise.  We'll keep him safe.  And someday, when the world itself is
a safer place, William will see his mama and papa again.  I promise
that, too."

The two women stand side by side, united for a brief amount of
minutes, as the little brown-haired, hazel-eyed boy listens with
serious intent to what his papa has to say, then nods and reaches out
both arms for a hug.  There's a clutch of hot tears in Millie's
throat when her boy is set down on his feet and walks to her, holding
up his arms for a Mama-hug.  She gathers him close and swallows a sob
when he places his mouth against her ear and tells her, "I have to go
now, Mama.  I have to go live with my mommy and daddy.  But I can
come back someday.  They'll bring me back, someday.  Okay?"

Bright hazel eyes look into her own blurry gaze and Millie
kisses the baby-soft cheek.  "You be a good boy for your mommy and
daddy, William.  You understand, don't you?  Somehow you understand
why you have to go."

William's face is suddenly older, far older, than his tender years
as he nods.  His voice even sounds older when he verifies, "Yes,
Mama.  I guess I always knew.  But I love you and Papa a lot.  Okay?
I love you.  I'll be a good boy, I promise."

One more hug and a dozen kisses, and William is walking away from
Millie and Samuel Van De Kamp; walking between his parents, holding
their hands.  Just before the three of them are swallowed up by the
crowd, Millie can hear William's sweet voice.  "You're my mommy.
You're so pretty.  What's my last name, now?"

The tall man answers him, squeezing his hand as the boy skips
between them to keep up.  "Your name is Mulder, son.  William Mulder."

"We did the right thing.  Didn't we?"  Millie leans her head on
Samuel's shoulder and lets the tears release, at last.

He holds her gently.  "Yes.   We did the only thing we could have
done.  They'll take care of him, honey.  They know how.  They'll
protect him with their lives, in a way we never could.  With them,
he'll be safe.  If he'd stayed with us, God only knows how long,
before he'd be found and taken from us, anyhow.  And God only knows
what they'd do to our boy, then."

"I'll miss him, so much."

Samuel kisses her damp face.  "We'll see him again.  You have to
believe that."

She makes herself smile, just a little.  "Yes, I believe.  I will
always believe."

They walk to the bus stop, holding hands, and wait their turn to
board.  And she thinks to herself that some gifts are given in the
spirit of sacrifice, after all.  Some gifts are truly priceless.

They just gave the most priceless one of all.

End

End note:  A future without William for Mulder and Scully has always
been a hard pill for me to swallow.  Season Nine dictated through
canon that William would become a Van De Kamp for his own infant
safety... but that doesn't mean we, as writers of fanon, had to leave
him there!  <g>

Phil, hope you have a wonderful birthday!  

Thanks for reading!  Email me sometime; love to hear from you:
char@chaffin.com

Take a gander at my website anytime!  http://char.chaffin.com