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 with
everything 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 me
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!