The Tie That Binds
by Mish
mish_rose@yahoo.com
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Sixth Extinction and Amor Fati, post-ep
(sort of)
Category: SA
Archive: Gossamer, Spookys okay.  If you want it,
you can have it, just let me know where!
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me.  Big surprise.

Summary: This is a companion piece to Jori
Remington's fabulous "Invisible Bond" - Teena
Mulder waits for her son to wake up after all is
said and done.

Author's Notes: My undying gratitude once again to
Jori - I envisioned one scene of this story after
one line of dialogue in "Amor Fati" kept repeating
in my mind.  When I read "Invisible Bond", it
somehow clicked into place.  I think our ESP would
make a terrific X-file; Jori, if you're reading
this, try to guess what I'm thinking now.... I'll
give you a hint - tall, dark, handsome, Navy,
lawyer... hmmm, wonder who that could be? <g>

And to Galia, my "Mistress of Fanfic" - thanks for
everything!  



The Tie That Binds



Oh, my darling boy.  I can't believe I let them do
this to you.

The guilt wells up in my throat, making it
difficult to breathe.  It's been a little over
twenty-four hours since I've last seen Fox and he's
in worse shape than he was when I signed away his
life to his... no, I can't even *think* it, much
less say it.  So, I won't think of it at all.  For
once in my life, I will think of my son.

The machines feeding off of him like parasites are
telling the doctors that he's getting better,
although they can't give any explanation of what
was done to him.  A small tuft of silky hair is
peeking out from the bandages hiding their
butchery.  With a trembling hand, I reach out and
touch it, amazed that it still feels the same after
all these years.  He always had the finest hair,
baby-soft and thick.  I remember rocking him to
sleep as a child, crooning nonsensical words and
rubbing those short strands through my fingers,
assuring myself he was mine and nobody would ever
take him from me.

I learned long ago that my wishes didn't count, but
I never learned how to stop wishing.

Wake up, Fox.  Tell me I did the right thing.  Tell
me this wish came true.

"Mrs.  Mulder?"  The quiet voice drifts over my
shoulder, stilling my hand.

"He's getting better, isn't he?"  She would tell me
the truth.  His Scully would not lie to me.

With solemn determination, she crosses to the other
side of the bed and lays a slender, capable hand on
his arm.  I raise my eyes to her face.  She's not
looking at me, she has eyes only for my son.  But,
by the set of her jaw, she's angry.  At me.  She
knows.

"Yes, I have every reason to believe he will
recover," she whispers, holding in her fury with
that calm demeanor I've glimpsed before, on the few
times I've actually been in her company.  "Whatever
was done to him, it was good work.  We just have to
wait for him to wake up."

Dana Scully has not told me the entire story of how
she came to find him and return him to the
hospital.  I suspect Diana had something to do with
it, but I'm afraid to ask.  All I know is that Fox
has been unconscious since she brought him back
here, and the longer he's in this semi-comatose
state, the worse it is.  It's my fault, all of it. 
I don't know what to say to her, but I have to make
an effort.

"Thank you, Ms. Scully.  Thank you for bringing him
back to me."  The words come out in a pitiful
murmur.  I know they are useless words in her eyes,
but they mean the world to me.  Her back stiffens
slightly; she wants to give in to the tirade that's
been brewing against me since I stormed in here two
hours ago, demanding to see Fox.  Just as quickly
as it has come, it leaves her, dissipating in the
slump of her shoulders.

She finally looks at me, piercing me briefly with
still accusing eyes before turning them back to
Fox.

"Mrs.  Mulder, why don't you take a walk, get some
coffee.  My mother is right outside.  She'll take
you to the cafeteria."

In other words, leave us alone.  We don't need you. 
I want to stand up to this slip of a girl and tell
her that I'm not leaving my son.  I'll never leave
him again.  But one look at her worried, loving
gaze that shines in the dimness of the room, and I
give in.  I'm not going to cause a scene.  Years of
New England pride and breeding come to the
forefront and I stand with all the courage I can
muster.

"I'll be back in half an hour," I tell her, then
lean over to brush a kiss on Fox's cheek.  He's
warm now, much more normal feeling than even a few
minutes ago.  I look at the source of the warmth;
she's squeezing her fingers around his arm, giving
him life with every caress of her pale fingers.

A few steps and I'm at the door.  I can't help but
look back, though.  Ms. Scully has leaned over Fox
and laid her head next to his on the pillow.

"Mulder, you have to wake up," she whispers, eyes
tightly shut.  "Please, for me...."

It's all I can do to see through the tears and make
my hurried way out of the room.


**********


The woman sitting across from me in this too-bright
cafeteria could be a carbon copy of her daughter. 
It's uncanny, but understandable.  She doesn't like
or trust me, either.  Her name is Maggie, this I
know, but I don't dare use it with such
familiarity.  I take a sip of the awful 4:00 a. m.
hospital coffee and break the silence between us.

"Mrs. Scully, thank you for calling me," I offer
tentatively.  She lets the sugar packet she's been
fidgeting with fall from her fingers and looks up.

"It was the least I could do," she replies,
softening slightly.  "I understand a mother's
worry."

Yes, I'm sure she does.  Her daughter and my son
have seen their share of hospital stays.  I haven't
seen Fox that much in the past ten years, but I
know what they've been through.  I know that her
little girl almost died of cancer two years ago. 
Though I've not been involved in the Project for
many years now, I still have my sources.  If I
could have helped her then, I would have.  But my
power is no longer; I've outlived my usefulness.

"I really should be getting back upstairs," I tell
her, shifting in my seat.  This is uncomfortable,
to say the least.  It's only been ten minutes since
I left Fox, but I never was one to talk to
strangers.  And this woman is definitely a stranger
to me.

She puts her hand on my arm in much the same way as
her daughter did to my son.  "No, let's give them a
little more time, shall we?"  God, she even has the
same husky voice, only warmer.  Her eyes are older,
wiser, more forgiving.  I feel myself thaw at the
sympathy in her eyes.  She may not like me, but we
have one thing in common that binds us together,
albeit with the weakness of a gossamer web.

Our children.  Fox and Dana.  He's my only son and
she's her only daughter.  Much as I haven't seen it
coming, she has.  It's there now, this - *thing* -
between them.  Which, in a round about way, creates
a tinier version of the invisible bond between this
woman and me.

I settle back into the hard plastic chair and wrap
my hands around the coffee cup, seeking its warmth
with my chilled fingers.

"She's like you, very much so," I say by way of
conversation.  "You must be very proud of her."

"I am," she replies steadily, as if it should never
be otherwise.  "But you're wrong."  At the quirk of
my brow, she continues quickly, sure she's
committed a faux pas.  "She's not like me, not
really.  Dana is her father made over.  She may
look like me, but her inner self has Bill Scully
written all over it."  She smiles ruefully and
brings the cup to her lips.

I know her father was a navy man, stiff as they
come.  That she's so rigid to me is not a surprise. 
The military has a way of doing that to people. 
That, and other things.

Shaking off the turn my thoughts have taken, I take
a deep breath and venture forth.  If I have to kill
time, may as well be in civil conversation.

"I like to think that Fox is like me," I offer,
then cringe inwardly at the color that drains from
Maggie Scully's face.  But I plunge on.

"Oh, I don't mean in the strictest sense.  But
we're both reserved people.  I sometimes wish that
I'd... if I had only..."  I can't continue.  The
tears well up this time and overflow onto my
cheeks.  Maggie pulls a handkerchief from her
jacket pocket and puts it into my hand.

"I know," she says.  That's all she says; there is
no reason to say any more.  Regrets are something a
parent lives with forever.  You think of the wasted
opportunities, the squandered possibilities almost
daily.  The regrets are suffocating me now, as I
wait for my only child to wake up.  At this point,
I don't care if the familiar hatred is firmly
entrenched in those hazel eyes, I just want him
back.

Maggie waits while I compose myself.  After a few
moments, a last hitching breath signals the end of
my lapse into pity and I give her a closed smile. 
I'm okay, I tell her with my eyes.

She places a cup of water in front of me.  I hadn't
even noticed her leaving the table, she moves so
quietly.  With a nod of thanks, I pick it up and
sip slowly.

She folds her hands together on the table and leans
forward slightly.  "You know, Dana is a very
reserved person, too.  She's loving, certainly, but
she's never been demonstrative, even now.  She
tells me she loves me and I tell her the same,
although I think the words are unnecessary.  We
show each other how much we care by the things we
do for each other.  Maybe you should think about
that."

As I look into this woman's eyes, I try to think of
the ways I've shown Fox how much I love him. 
Nothing comes to mind.  Have I been so insensitive? 
God, I must be a monster in his mind, a cold,
unforgiving, hateful creature that only thinks of
herself.

Maggie senses my distress and returns a hand to my
arm.  "I want to tell you a story, Mrs. Mulder."

Teena, I want to say.  Please call me Teena.  But
the words won't go past my lips.  Instead, I nod,
hoping she understands the ingrained reluctance to
let anyone past my defenses.

Amazingly, she nods right back.  Smart woman.  She
knows, not just about me, but about life. 
Something I left in Chilmark years ago.

"There are some things that are just difficult to
say, Mrs. Mulder," she begins.  "I've always made a
habit of telling my children how much I love them,
as often as I can.  Needless to say, as young
children, they were easily embarrassed."

Fox never did embarrass easily.  He was always
headstrong, sure of himself.  Especially after
Samantha was taken away.  He closed in, let every
taunt slide right over him.  As well as any show of
affection from Bill or me, as few and far between
as they were.

Maggie Scully's voice loosens the trap I've almost
fallen into once again.  "Especially my oldest,
Bill Jr.  A more sullen boy I've never come
across."  She smiles as if to say, yes, he's
sullen, but he's still mine.  "So, from a very
early age, I made a special point to tell Bill Jr.
how much I loved him.  He would mutter and huff
off, but I kept doing it, day after day.  It would
sting a little, but I realized he loved me back
when my three-year-old gaped a toothy smile at me
one day and said something that clicked."

The memory of it is lighting up her face.  I bathe
in its glow and breathe, "Dana?"

"Yes, Dana.  She picked up on something I hadn't
thought of," Maggie says, dropping her eyes
momentarily, then raising them to drive her point
home.  "See, Bill Jr. would always mumble the same
words to me.  When I heard them from Dana, I knew
he loved me, just as she did.  It didn't matter if
I never heard 'I love you' from either of them. 
This was just as good."

"What did she say?"  Despite the inner voice that's
screaming at me to distance myself from this woman,
I can't resist.

"My habit with Dana was to tell her I loved her
before putting her to bed every night.  One night,
after a particularly trying day, she grabbed me
around the neck and whispered into my ear before
pulling away and smiling.  'Oh, brother', she
said."  She wipes at the corner of her eye, the
gleam of her wedding ring picking up the harsh
lighting perfectly.  "I started crying.  Then Dana
started crying.  It took me forever to get her to
sleep."

I can't help but smile at that.  That the
confidant, capable woman in my son's room was once
an innocent, happy child.  Maggie watches me melt
before her; I try so hard to suppress it, but a
small chuckle escapes me.  Then a memory, long
forgotten, surfaces with it.

"I think I know what you mean," I say.  "Before
Samantha... well, before...."

She nods as if to say, go on, you don't need to
explain.  So I do, once again skipping over the bad
times in my search for the good.

"Bill - *my* Bill," I begin, catching the look of
surprise on her face.  Yes, Maggie, my husband also
had a lot in common with yours.  I continue before
the little voice in me tells me to stop, it's none
of her business.

"Bill and Fox were very close once."  I try very
hard to bring a picture of them to my mind as they
were back then.  All I see are shapes and distant,
fuzzy smiles.  "They weren't demonstrative, either. 
Combative, maybe, for lack of a better word. 
Typical father-son arguments, but over
inconsequential things, like mowing the lawn,
taking out the garbage.  And sports, naturally. 
Fox was a Yankee fan, if I recall correctly.  Bill
was Red Sox all the way."

She knows about the male bonding that occurs over
sports.  Sometimes, when they can't talk about
anything else, they can talk about sports.

"Oh, I'll bet that caused some friction," she
laughs, finishing her coffee in one sip.

"Friction?  Yes, it was heated at times," I reply. 
Damn, if I can't remember just what it was I wanted
to tell her.  "I know there was something, though,
that they would say to one another... you know, to
smooth things over when it got too bad.  Something
like your son's little saying...."  Oh well, it'll
come to me.  Since the stroke my memory is patchy
at best.  I shrug and finish my own coffee.  "Well,
whatever it was, I knew it meant they were calling
a truce.  I used to think it meant 'I love you',
but now, I just feel foolish."

Maggie takes my hand.  "As long as it had meaning,
Mrs. Mulder.  That's all that counts."

"Oh, I think it did, Mrs.  Scully.  I really think
it did."  That much I'm sure of, that Bill and Fox
did love one another at one time.

"Mrs.  Mulder?"

I look up from the empty styrofoam cups at the
touch of a hand on my shoulder.  It's one of the
nurses from the fifth floor.  Where Fox is....

"What's the matter?" I stand shakily; something's
wrong, I just know it.  I feel Maggie stand at my
side, her hand supporting me with a light touch at
my elbow.

The nurse smiles.  "Nothing, Mrs.  Mulder.  Dr.
Scully asked me to come get you.  Your son is
waking up."


**********


It's with a joyous heart that I slowly push open
the door to Fox's room, though I school my face
into an impassive mask.  I must not be very good at
it anymore, because my son turns his head from the
woman on the other side of the bed and greets me
with a warm, sleepy smile.

"Mom," he says, holding out his hand.  I cross the
room slowly while his partner eyes me with
controlled features.  His hand grips mine tightly,
cool but sure.

"I'll be right outside," she says to him, giving
his arm one final touch.  With her eyes, she tells
me that she'll be watching.  I try to assure her
with my look that I won't do anything to Fox, I
just want to be near him.

"Scully, you don't have to go," he croaks, the
slight touch of panic making his voice rise just a
bit.

"I'm going to see what's taking your doctor so long
to get here, Mulder.  That's all.  I'll be right
back."  She speaks in low, soothing tones, her face
dropping to place a quick kiss on his cheek.

"Okay."  He seems satisfied at her explanation,
especially after her small, reassuring gesture. 
But he follows her out with his gaze before turning
back to me.

"Fox, are you feeling okay?  Is there anything I
can do for you?"  I feel so helpless.  He's my son,
and I should do something, *anything*, but I feel
the walls building again.

"I'm fine, Mom," he answers, the words slurring. 
"I'm just glad you're here."  He closes his eyes as
the normal sleep of the recovering begins to
overtake him.  "Mom?"

"Yes?"  I find the little tuft of hair and stroke
it.  The years fall away, and he's just a baby
again, limp and trusting in my arms.

"Did the Yankees win the World Series?"  I have to
strain to hear the words, lowering my face so it's
just inches from his.

I don't really know; I think they did, from the
snatches of news reports I caught in the visitor's
lounge down the hall.  It's been a long week, to
say the least.  Oh well, even if they didn't, one
more little lie isn't going to hurt a thing.

"I think so, dear.  Now just rest, Fox."

His breathing deepens, a small smile his only
indication that he heard me.  Out of the clear blue
sky, it comes to me, the words I didn't remember
just minutes ago in the cafeteria.  It takes some
doing, but I manage to bend down enough to avoid
the wires and tubes to whisper in his ear.

"Fox," I say, choking back the tears.  "'Tie goes
to the runner'."

I pull away to find his eyes open, a single tear
winding it's way into the pillow.

"I love you too, Mom."

So that *is* what it meant.  A mother's intuition
is right, as always.


END


So, I know I've not addressed some major issues
here, but I'm not any worse than a certain blond
surfer God, am I?

You like?  You hate?  Please make my day or kick my
sorry butt...
mish_rose@yahoo.com