RATING: PG
CLASSIFICATION: S/A
SUMMARY:
Part 1: Cancer Man and others make decisions that will alter 12-year-old Fox Mulder's life
forever; and young Mulder's first chance at romance hits a snag.
Part 2: You'll have to read Part 1 first...
Minor spoilers for "Talitha Cumi" (3rd season finale).
I do not intend to predict what will be discovered about Mulder's childhood, if CC ever does decide to explore that further in the show. This is just my little idea of how the gap of years during Fox's adolescence might be filled.
DISCLAIMER: Any other X-Files characters who show up in this story are not mine. They are the property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and the Fox Network, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and I am only borrowing them for fun, not financial gain.
You have my permission to post any parts of this story elsewhere,as long as the text is unchanged and my name stays with it as author.
SPECIAL THANKS: to my Beta-reader on this, Pete Korecek ("Pecha" to me), who gave me invaluable insights into what a brilliant pre-teen is really like.
This is my first attempt at fanfic. It also is one of my first attempts at fiction of any kind. So be gentle with me, okay? Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.
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Part 1
November 25, 1973
Social Security Administration
Washington, D.C.
11:21 a.m.
Jeremiah Smith sat in his small partitioned cubicle, typing at an IBM Selectric. Stacked in neat but tall piles covering the right side of Smith's desk were manila file folders, each with one of the typed labels he had endlessly affixed on each raised tab. On the floor to the left of his desk sat a cardboard box filled with pages of lists. Lists of names, dates of birth, and assigned ID numbers. A sealed box arrived each Monday, and more sealed boxes left, processed by Smith, each Friday.
Smith knew many others just like him throughout the country participated in much more nefarious deeds in this crime than he did. But Smith didn't want to think about them. Or about how his seemingly insignificant occupation was truly the lifeblood of it all.
Occasionally, the man in charge brought an extra page or two of names."Special requests", the man called them in his somber voice. Smith wished he had never met this dark, lanky man with the nicotine-stained fingers. But he hadn't had any choice in the matter.
For security reasons, Smith alone completed every bit of this phase of"the work". No secretaries to help him -- there was always the possibility that a secretary might raise questions about the human beings owningthe names on the files. It had been 30 years since Smith had helped with a similar categorizing in another part of this world. He didn't appear a day older, and the job was much the same; only the hum of the electric typewriter replacing the clack of a manual Olympia.
30 years is a long time, Smith allowed, but some people don't forget so easily. Not something like this.
"Mr. Smith, it's so good to see you again." The familiar voice, smooth yet mildly husky, caused Smith to cringe slightly in surprise as heswiveled around to face his visitor. "You've been keeping busy, I see,"the tall man added with a pleasantness Smith had learned to recognize as false.
Smith gave nothing but his attention in response.
"I have a special request for you today," the man said, handing him a single piece of paper folded double. "Top priority, I'm afraid. It must be ready for final processing by tomorrow. You can do that for me, can't you?"
"For you, of course, Sir," Smith answered, nodding his head slightly before he unfolded the page and let his eyes drop down to read.
A single entry occupied the sheet. Smith had never seen fewer than two dozen names delivered as a "special request".
Mulder, Fox William
10/13/61
I.D. 292544
"Thank you, Mr. Smith. You're doing a fine job here," the tall man said when he had caught Smith's surprised look. He placed a cigarette between his lips, igniting it with a gold Zippo lighter. "A very fine job."
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November 27, 1973
Martha's Vineyard Regional High School
3:15 p.m.
Fox Mulder slowly forged his way through the bustling corridor, other kids running past him to catch the bus or shouting out weekend plans to each other.
Fox still didn't have a lot of friends like everyone else seemed to have. Having recently turned 12, he was the youngest kid in the 9th grade. Since the day he began school his unusual intelligence had been anannoyance to his teachers and an oddity to his peers, and over the last seven years he had skipped two grades.
Along with always being the smallest in his class, he had developed the reputation of being "a real geek" because of his gift for understanding things and making logical connections much faster than anyone else could. Also, because of his father, perfect grades were more important to him than trying to fit in and make friends.
His father had always demanded that Fox "apply" himself to his fullest; even though Fox's academic success hadn't helped his relationship with his father, hadn't made them the "buddies" Fox dreamed they might be some day, Fox wasn't going to give up yet. Striving for his father's approval was still the top priority in Fox's life.
All through junior high Fox had been a "shrimpy nerd" to the rest of his world. But, over the last few months, Fox had begun a growth spurt. Although he had waited for years for this to happen, now that his body's development was catching up to that of his intellect he wasn't sure how to handle all that came with it.
Nearing the end of lunch hour one day, he had noticed a klatch of Freshman girls huddled together, whispering and sneaking occasional glances in his direction. At first he was certain that they were making fun of him. Again. But then, shocking Fox almost irreparably as the group dispersed at the bell, two of the girls cried out "Fox Mulder is a fox!" in unison before scampering off to 5th period in a fit of giggles. Fox's mother had frequently attempted to assure him that he wouldgrow to be a tall, handsome man. "You take after your father too much not to become tall and handsome," she had said once in a rare private talk between she and Fox at the kitchen table one afternoon. After saying this she quickly grew silent and melancoly, then just as quickly left the kitchen.
"But Dad's only five-nine, and he's dorky looking!" Fox had said in a confused whisper to the empty space his mother had vacated. Her statement and reactions had puzzled him but, seeing his mother's distress when she had said it, he never pressed her to explain herself,and neither ever mentioned it again.
Fox decided that his mother saw his father that way just because they werehusband and wife. It was the only evidence Fox had seen in years thatMargaret Mulder may still have loved Bill Mulder.
/Oh, well, at least I'm not shorter than ALL the girls in school now/ Foxconsoled himself. /And those babes weren't really laughing at me,were they?/ he mused, grinning mischievously, remembering his moment ofsurprising triumph. Then, shattering his brief reverie, the memories of allthe times he had been rejected by his "crushes" came flooding over him. Theycame to him in images as clear as if they had happened just moments ago.He cursed the accuracy and relentlessness of his eidetic memory. Whenever hestarted feeling okay about himself, some embarrassing memory would pop uplike a new color Polaroid to put him back in his place.
Fox finally arrived at his locker. He opened it wearily, unlike all theothers who were eager to begin their weekend of freedom. All Fox had to lookforward to this weekend was attempting to watch "The Magician" on TV while he babysat his pesky sister; his parents were going next door toplay bridge with the Galbreds. And his father would undoubtedly come homedrunk.
Fox pulled out his Knicks jacket, put it on, and got ready to walk home.Alone. Again.
A folded paper he hadn't noticed under his jacket fell from inside his lockerand onto the white cement at his feet. He picked up the paper, pastel pink with a small red heart drawn on one exposed side.
Amazed and curious, Fox unfolded the note, looking nervously to his leftand right to make sure no one could see what was written there in thecareful, cheerfully rounded cursive of a teenaged girl:
"Hi, Fox!
You probably don't remember me, but I sit 2 tables behind you in Biology. I think it's neat that you're really smart (and cute!)
I was wondering, could you come to my house tonite and we can study together? My mom said it would be OK 'cuz I'm down to a B now in Bio, and I really need the help. It's just 'cuz I was out sick for a week, tho. Could you help me get caught up? If you can come, look behind you and wave to me (ha, ha, surprised you!) Hope you can. Luv,
Winnie Rystrand
P.S.: I think your name is really neat! (Fox, I mean.)"
Fox gasped and turned his suddenly pale face a quick 180 degrees,nearly giving himself whiplash. There, directly across from his locker,across the tiled hallway of the two rows of classrooms in the Science wing,stood Winnie Rystrand, grinning like a jack-'o-lantern with braces, wavingher right hand from side to side. She giggled for a moment when their eyesmade contact, then stifled it lightly with her left hand.
Fox waved back, not realizing he was doing it until he was doing it.He looked in shock at his raised hand, froze, and dropped it. Winnienearly skipped across the expanse of white and black tiles, landing rightin front of Fox.
"So can you come?" Winnie asked, youthful hopefulness in her eyes.
"Uh...s-sure, sure, if you need the help," Fox stammered back."I can come anytime."
He felt so embarrassed. Fox wasn't very experienced at this kind of thing.Actually, he wasn't experienced at all. Every word he said seemed tocome out wrong; he was terribly afraid she might take what he said the wrong way.
"Great!" Winnie exclaimed, grinning widely and then quickly willing her lips to go back to their job of hiding her "metal mouth".
"Can you come at 7:30? My folks are going to a movie, but they let mestay home alone all the time. They don't worry about me; they say I'mmature enough."
/Mature enough...yeah, I'll say.../ Fox blushed anew. /Man, get your mindout of the gutter!/ he told himself as he took a much-needed deep breath."Okay. 7:30. You live in that green house down from the Anderson's,right?" David "Doggie" Anderson was the closest friend he'd ever had; Foxknew the neighborhood well.
"Right. I'll see you then, okay?" Winnie said with an uncertain lilt.
"Okay," Fox nearly whispered, then turned abruptly and walked away.
Fox broke into a run as soon as he had passed through the doors to the outside and had turned the corner of the building, tearing acrossthe Morgan Memorial Ampitheater and into the field beyond the school.He twisted his ankle slightly when he sloshed across the creek he used as a shortcut home, disregarding the mud that quickly seeped into his new canvas sneakers.
He often lingered at the quiet, protective creek for a while after school. There he felt less alone and much less vulnerable, secluded by the shadows and foliage of the trees lining the stream. But today anythoughts of potential harrassments and assaults from older boys were pushed away by his elated mood.
/Winnie Rystrand asked me over!/ He couldn't believe it. Winnie'snote said that he probably didn't remember her -- but she was oh, so wrong. Fox had noticed her the first time she spoke up in class, the second day of school. She had explained the differences between each stage of meiosis and meitosis as if she were a geneticist or a botanist. No one else in class but Fox had more than a clue what the terms even meant. Since that day, he had also come to appreciate the way her intelligence and confidence belied her fragile, waif-like appearance; the way her straight black bangs would fall softly into her pale blue eyes.
/Winnie Rystrand! This is so cool! This is gonna be the best nightof my life!/ Fox thought, racing jubilantly along the side of the creek,periodically jumping up to slap leaves above him as if he were putting uplayups and sky-hooking slam dunks. Then he suddenly stopped in his tracks, the joyful expression reluctantly falling from his face.
"Oh, damn! I'm babysitting Samantha tonight!" Fox exclaimed aloud,stomping his foot in his sudden frustration. "Darn that baby Sam! She's always messing up my life!"
*************************************
That evening
900 W. Georgia St.
Washington, D.C.
8:53 p.m.
The man leaned back in his worn leather armchair, cigarette steamingslowly in his hand. He took a quick drag and exhaled the blue smoke."The Guns of Navarone" played on the TV in front of him, but he wasn't paying attention to it.
He knew why Bill Mulder had chosen Fox instead of the girl. The manknew his friend had suspected the truth for years. /Bill suspects evenmore now. Although he refuses to admit it -- even to himself/ he thought.The man had set the wheels in motion. It was too late to changeanything now. He would make sure no harm would come to Fox.
He was actually glad Bill had made the choice he had. The man hadcome to resent the strong influence Bill had on Fox.
/Bill is weak. Always has been. He hasn't been the kind of father Fox deserves./ The
man sighed.
The man reached for his lighter.
"Sorry, Bill, but I have my own plans for my son," he said aloud beforelighting his next Morley.
End Part 1 of 2
Continue to Part 2