By Obfusc8er and Xtreme Unction
aobfuscata@hotmail.com
 

RATING: G

DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to Chris Carter, FOX and/or 1013. This
work was for love, not for profit. It is intended as an homage, not an
infringement.

ARCHIVE: After The Fact, Gossamer, Mulder in Jeopardy, Enigmatic Dr's; all
others, please request permission first.

SPOILERS: Aubrey, Existence

NOTES: This was written for the After the Fact "Aubrey" post-ep challenge.

DEDICATIONS: XU dedicates this fic to Humbuggie, the Belgian Truffle Serial
Killer. Obfusc8er dedicates this fic to Thumpy Jr., my instigator, and
everyone at Mulder's Refuge.

* * *

MULDER: There are countless stories of twins separated at birth who end up
in the same occupation, marrying the same kind of people, each naming their
child Waldo.

SCULLY: Waldo?

-- The X-Files "AUBREY" (#2X12) Original Air Date: 01/06/95

* * *

Morning sunlight glistened off the reflecting pool, transforming it into a
long rectangular scroll of indiscernible words. Flashing gold on white, it
was like a communiqué from God nestled in the burning bush of Washington
D.C.

At least, thatís how Mulder always imagined it must appear to Lincoln,
sitting serenely upon his massive throne, facing east.

Mulder leaned against one of the columns, casually crossing one ankle over
the other, and squinted. He was trying to make out the textual message in
the shimmering, as he is wont to do every time he visits the Lincoln
Memorial. As usual, the epistle hidden in the water eluded him. He and
Samantha used to play this game as children, making up imaginary
Pentateuchal directives during every visit to the national mall. He smiled
at the memory of some of the more ridiculous mandates from heaven they
pretended to see.

ìItís a message to you, Fox: Thou shalt let Sam watch anything she wants on
TV!î

ìNo, I think it is a message to you, buttmunch. Thou shalt not annoy your
brother with stupid shows!î

They had a penchant for engaging in odd pastimes. He had never heard of
anyone else playing such guessing games, much less coming up with some of
the gloriously bizarre thoughts he and Samantha did. He wondered idly if
Samantha would have become a seeker of unexplained truths, like he was now,
if she hadn't been taken. And for that matter, whether he would have become
one, but for her abduction. Are we predestined to walk certain paths? Does
anyone ever really have a choice?

He shook his head to clear his thoughts.

An anonymous tip led him here at this hour. "Watch for them. You will
recognize them, Agent Mulder." He looked around, but all he saw was a group
of first graders on a field trip, parents valiantly trying to corral them
like mustangs in the wild.

He turned back to contemplating messianic visions in national monuments. In
the depth of his reverie, the sounds of the public gradually faded away. A
hush came over his world and hovered above him, blocking out everything but
remembered joys. Minutes, or maybe hours later, the ruminations of a little
boy pierced through his protective fog.

A chill went down his spine as he overheard the kid say, "Maybe it's in
Braille, Dad."

"What makes you think that?" the father replied.

Instinctively, Mulder knew they were talking about the message in the
reflecting pool, and why it could not be read. His mind raced with
questions. Who were they? Was it just a coincidence that they were playing
the same game he used to play with his sister? What were the chances that
someone else would come up with such a strange thing to contemplate here?

He turned around quickly to look at the father and son, but all he saw was a
haze of white and gold luminescence. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust
after staring at the reflecting pool for so long. As his vision sharpened,
he saw them holding hands, their backs to him, facing the statue of Abraham
Lincoln. The boy was pointing to the president's hands.

"See, his fingers are signing the letters A and L. I learned ëbout it in
school. I bet he could read Braille."

"Wow. That's pretty good. I like that theory, son."

They were smiling goofily at each other now, enjoying the moment of
epiphany.

"What does the mandate from heaven say?" Mulder stood behind them and asked.
They didnít hear him at first, or probably thought he was talking to someone
else. He cleared his throat and asked again.

"The epistle in the reflecting pool -- what does it say?"

Slowly, father and son turned to look at Mulder. The little boy caught
Mulder's eye first. He had reddish brown hair, a thick lower lip clasped
between his teeth, and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Mulder thought he
looked vaguely familiar.

Then Mulder raised his gaze to study the father, and froze.

He was looking at what could only be his identical twin or doppelganger.
They wore their hair alike, they had identical pairs of sunglasses hanging
from their pockets -- unworn here for fear of blocking out a message from
the heavens, and they each recognized what the other was wearing as clothes
hanging in their closets at home. They even had on the same wristwatch,
Mulder noted.

The man took a step back in shock, pulling his child with him. Mulder
reached out an arm and said, panicked, "Please wait."

"Who are you?" The man said, in a hushed whisper.

"My name is Fox Mulder. I am an FBI agent." He pulled out his badge to prove
it before asking, "Who are you?"

"My name is Colin. Colin Hall.î

Mulder felt a pang of empathy and indigestion upon hearing the man's name.
They broke the incredulous stare into each otherís eyes when a woman with
straight red hair called out, distractedly, ìHoney, weíll be heading across
the way with the rest of the class in about five minutes, okay?î

Colin turned to say, ìOKî but she had already moved on. Mulderís eyes bored
into the back of the womanís petite frame. Her build and posture reminded
him ofÖ

ìThat was my wife, Mindy. And this is our son, William," Colin said, drawing
Mulderís attention back.

Mulder looked down to see a huge gap-toothed smile and an extended hand
waiting to shake his.

"You can call me Waldo for short, like my Dad does."

* * *

Mulder took the small hand in his.  An exuberant greeting pumped his arm up
and down.

Waldo tilted his head slightly, peering up at him with an inquisitive
expression.  The boy turned toward his dad without peeling his wide-eyed
gaze away from Mulder.

"What's an epistle?" he asked quietly over his shoulder.

"Well," Colin replied, shoving his hands into his pockets, "it's a form of
communication. A letter from God, you could say."

"Oh." The boy nodded earnestly and turned to face Mulder again.  "I can tell
you what it says, Mister."  He took one step toward the reflecting pool
before he paused, operant conditioning reminding him to respect his elders.
"May I show him, Dad?  Please?"

Colin blinked, divesting himself of his stunned countenance, and glanced
down at his annoyingly familiar watch.  He raised his eyebrows for emphasis,
causing furrows to appear on his forehead as he addressed his son.  Mulder
felt almost offended that this man had stolen his favorite expression.

"Okay.  We'd better hurry, though.  If we miss the tour again, Iíll be in
deep trouble with your mother."

Mulder gave the man a knowingly sympathetic look, allowing one corner of his
mouth to suggest the hint of a smile.

"All right!"  Waldo exclaimed.  He bolted away for a few strides before
twisting around and prompting Mulder to follow with a waving gesture.  The
men shrugged at each other simultaneously, appearing as reflections escaped
from a mirror.  Mulder turned and followed the boy's path to the edge of the
aqueous missive, Colin following at a respectful distance.  The surface
rippled, reverberating with a sudden breath from the sky.  Mulder knelt down
next to the boy, who leaned out over the water with his elbows braced
against the stone perimeter.  He propped his chin upon balled fists and
focused his attention on the shallow pool.

"Have you ever just sat and watched the patterns?  We do that sometimes.
It's fun."

"Yes," Mulder replied.  He could not prevent his thoughts from returning to
the memories of Samantha, and he could almost feel her kneeling beside him.
A shiver ran through his body.

The boy looked up at him.

"You can stare at it all day, but that's not the way to find the answer.  I
finally figured it out."  A large, infectious grin spread across his
freckled face.  Mulder attempted to smother suddenly desolate feelings with
a reassuring smile.  Waldo resumed his contemplative study of the water.
Mulder was afraid that his small infraction had disturbed the boy,
suspecting that children always sense the true feelings of an adult.

"Can you show me, please?"

"Sure. The trick is to let it come to you, just like Dad taught me to fish."

Mulder watched in astonishment as the boy closed his eyes and sat still
for a moment, as if in prayer.  Then, a small hand reached out slowly, and
lightly brushed the glassy surface.  The breeze stirred the waters again and
bore the gifts of rhythmic lapping sounds and a chlorine scent.  The boy
froze in place, his auburn hair ruffled by invisible fingers.  The thin
layer of clouds overhead gradually dissipated with the wind, and a bright
lucency danced on the undulating waves.  Tiny eddies surrounded the boy's
fingers as they jerked slightly.  The grin reemerged, but Waldo's eyes
remained closed.  Mulder watched the subtle domes of the boy's irises as
they darted back and forth beneath his eyelids.  His innocent, carefree face
angled upward, soaking in the warmth of the sun.

"Don't you want to try it?"  Upon hearing no instant reply, the boy opened
his eyes and looked at Mulder expectantly.  "Here."  Waldo reached over,
grabbing Mulder's left hand with both of his own, and guided it out to the
water.  Mulder suddenly started to feel ridiculous.  What on Earth had he
been thinking?  Had he allowed the sorrow and insecurity cultivated upon
Sam's disappearance to grow so uncontrollably that he must now rely on a
stranger's child to show him the secrets of the universe?

"Now close your eyes and wait," the boy instructed.

Mulder emitted a small sigh, but he obliged.  The pool was surprisingly
cold, and his first instinct was to withdraw his hand.  The boy released
him, and the loss of contact seemed stunning.  The sounds of the mall
subsided and left him in solitude, with only the rough stone and silky water
to affirm his existence.  He felt the air caress his face, and tiny swells
rolled against his fingertips.  The warmth of the sun cradled him in its
arms, and, for a moment, he did indeed feel at peace.  He suddenly wished he
could stay right here and never leave.

Mulder felt something brush against his hand.  A few moments later, it
happened again, only he swore it felt like something actually passed through
it.  A strange, electric jolt traveled up his arm, and his fingers jerked.
The wind echoed in his ears and carried a pleasant, familiar scent.  The
hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and a warm, ethereal puff tickled
his ear.  A barely-discernible sound followed, and he strained to hear,
willing his body as quiet as a cathedral.  A soft, young soprano voice
whispered on the wind...

"I am here beside you.  Always."

Mulder trembled as a void was filled from above.  He turned to look at
Waldo, who was staring at him silently with Scullyís big blue eyes.
ìIt said to tell you this, Mister." He took a deep breath and raised his
little eyebrows. "Donít be surprised when she names him William.î

They studied each other contentedly under the resplendent blue skies, as the
chiseled visage of Abraham Lincoln looked out over another long-awaited
mandate from heaven.