Work Text:
The Letter
June 1974 — Chilmark, Massachusetts
It was quiet, bone chillingly calm save the violent splash the pebbles made, skidding across the expanse of still, cold water. Last Summer young Fox would’ve done just about anything for a single day like this, to have time alone just to think and breathe. But now the loneliness was all-consuming, the quiet giving away to the racing, chaotic pace of his own desperate mind.
She was gone.
Nothing he could do would change that. Not his aching heart. Not sheer will. Over the course of the past seven months, his boyish ideas about recovering his baby sister from wherever she’d been taken had given away to the anger of a frustrated, determined young man.
He would find a way. Any way.
Fox turned back toward the house, the ‘For Sale’ sign swaying gently in the breeze. He huffed, pained, the weight of it all on his chest. Angered and broken, he turned back toward the little lake… A place that before now had only been a harbinger of joy. If he’d tried to shut out the pain, Fox would tell you he could still see his father fishing on the other side of the lake. That friend of his dad’s waterskiing like an Olympian… The sound of his little sister’s laughter coming off the wind…
He closed his eyes, glad no one was there to see tears rolling down his cheeks. He lingered there, telling himself he could hear Samantha laugh. That here was some hope of heaven above. Preoccupied, the boy did not see the mysterious man watching him from a distance. The man watched sadly, his cigarette in hand as Fox hurled rocks into the water.
‘I’m sorry it had to be this way son. Sorrier for you than for anybody.’ He wanted to confess.
He’d come to check on the boy… His first born son, needing confirmation that he was at least safe and still standing. Even Carl’s cold heart knew what it met to lose the person he loved most. And despite everything he’d championed, everything he know believed, he hated that he’d had to be the one to introduce his own son to that kind of pain. He hesitated, about to call out, wanting to speak with the boy, but bit his tongue, knowing Teena was somewhere nearby.
‘Some day.’ He considered, taking an envelope out of his jacket pocket. ‘He will know the things I know. He will understand.’
The CSM, of course, never anticipated that his child would become his greatest threat. Even Bill Mulder’s influence on the boy didn’t cross his mind: nurture couldn’t possibly overcome nature. Mr. Spender quietly made his way to the family’s mailbox, sticking a letter inside, leaving as quietly as he came.
Not too long later, the boy Mulder made his way to the mailbox of his childhood home. Probably for the last time. He furrowed his brow, puzzled to find a sealed envelope inside, his name written across the front in ornate, perfect cursive. Curious and perhaps a little afraid, Mulder tore open the envelop and began to read.
‘Dear Fox…. I know you can’t make it all make sense. So much of what we endure here, in this life, will never make sense. Neither to common man or the puppet master. The answers we seek will never pay off clean or easy. They will certainly not come without a price. Not without pain. They won’t bring us peace… Or, often, an ounce closer to the real truth than where we were before. If your wondering what to do with this pain… Let it keep you vigilant. Focused… Sharp. One day, my boy, you will understand. Until then, your biggest champion….’
Young Fox looked around, frightened, bewildered, wondering who on earth could’ve sent this his way. He shook, wanting badly to show it to his mother but decided against it, her peace mattering more than his safety.
……
June 2011— The Unremarkable House
Mulder was frustrated and had secluded himself in the attic, trying to calm down. If he were still a bachelor, tidying the house you’ve been the last thing he would’ve ever found therapeutic, but being a stay-at-home dad had changed his feelings about cleaning, much to Scully’s delight.
He was going through an old trunk of belongings, the few things he’d kept from childhood, wondering what he could possibly share with the girls. There were old toys of his… of Samantha’s. Pictures. A couple of awards. Cards. Letters.
Mulder squinted an envelope with perfect cursive catching his eye. He remembered the letter, just a bit but hadn’t thought about it in many years. Back then, the letter had intimidated him, and he’d had no clue who might’ve written it. Now though, he thought the writing looked familiar. He just couldn’t place it. He chuckled a little, intrigued now by the letter’s mysterious origins.
“Your biggest champion?” He chuckled, still wondering who that might’ve been.
At the time, his parents were in the midst of their divorce. At first he’d thought his dad, who’d moved to Washington full time, had sent the letter but there was no postmark and it was not his handwriting.
‘Maybe. It was deep throat?’ He thought now, fondly remembering the kind man.
“Ugh Diana….” He sighed, his phone buzzing.
He glanced down at the text. Sure enough, Diana again.
He rolled his eyes, his blood boiling a bit as he read her text.
‘Yeah….Um…He can come and pick her up…’ He typed.
Mulder had grown used to what had once been unthinkable: the Cigarette Smoking Man showing up at his home. Sort of invited. There to pick up the little girl they both loved. Amanda was neutral territory, Mulder’s baby sister, the Smoking Man’s treasured little Princess. It was easy to see that Mr. Spender loved his daughter. She almost made him human, but that didn’t sway Mulder’s worry, it didn’t make him any less a protective big brother.
And it certainly didn’t make him forget.
Mulder hesitated before pressing send, wanting to rant at his ex, the girl’s mother.
‘You entrusted her care to me… Scully and I are the ones who get custody if something happens to you… Shouldn’t I have a say in when and how he visits?’
At the same time, Mulder understood Diana was between a rock and a hard place too, she couldn’t just cut Mr. Spender out… Not without consequences she wasn’t prepared to endure. So Fox gave in, hitting send, shoving the phone inside his pocket. He collected the letter, along with several other childhood treasures and made his way downstairs to his girls.
…….
Mulder smiled, his heart easing as three little girl’s giggles filled his ears. Maggie, Molly, and Amanda sat around the coffee table trying their best to play Monopoly junior. He paused at the foot of the stairs, taking them in, all three children a reprise for his still broken heart. His oldest, Maggie, was the best of himself. A smart, inquisitive cookie with her mother’s practical mind, his charming looks, and his penchant for the paranormal. Then there was Molly, his baby redhead, a mini Scully through and through, an intuitive toddler with the sweetest of hearts.
Finally, Amanda: a little girl who carried something specific about her mother’s spirit he couldn’t articulate, but whatever it was he adored that about her. He couldn’t help it. Neither could the CSM. She was a mini Diana through and through, and yet she and her oldest brother were simpatico. Fox wasn’t sure how, nor would he admit it, but she, more than anyone he’d ever known reminded her of Samantha.
"Hey, who’s winning?” He asked.
“I am!” Molly cried.
“Daddy it doesn’t make sense she can’t read.” Maggie complained.
Molly giggled, delighted with herself. She didn’t need to read, and often saw something neither of the other two girls saw. They thought it was strategy when really it was intuition. Amanda said nothing, playing along halfheartedly. It took just a minute for her brother to take note of her unusually subdued countenance.
“Manda, what’s up?” He asked.
Amanda blinked, shrugging, knowing this confession of her feelings would be the safest here with her brother. She loved him. She trusted him. But she held her tongue. She didn’t know why. Amanda had plenty of safe adults in her life. Fox was sarcastic and funny and dependable. Dana was loving and full of solutions. Mommy was supportive, protective and always, without exception, loved and understood her best…. Then there was daddy.
Amanda understood he was an agent of chaos… A man totally willing to make something worse for someone else if it meant making it better for her. This was just his way of loving. Like her mother she realized that, and knew she shouldn’t condone it… The thing was, right then, she just wanted her father’s love and support. Nothing more. No matter what that meant.
She did not know why.
When she grew up would look back on moments like this and realize that although she felt loved here, like she were Fox’s daughter, she wished she could truly have what Maggie and Molly did: just the safety of a normal, dependable dad. No complications. No chaos.
Amanda moved to speak, but in that moment the doorbell rang. The siblings’ eyes locked, no one said anything for a moment, letting the chime echo throughout the house.
“I’ll get it!” Little Molly cried, rushing toward the door.
“W-Molly wait!” Fox called. But he wasn’t fast enough.
“Oh its just you.” She said, wrinkling her brow, gazing up at the Smoking Man unfazed.
He chuckled, humored by Scully’s mini as she skulked away. “Hello child.”
Mr. Spender liked a challenge, and more than that, respected women who challenged him, even if that ‘woman’ happened to be his little granddaughter. He quickly turned his attention to Amanda who came to the door, Fox in tow, the siblings quietly getting her ready to leave, quicker than possibly necessary.
“Oh Fox, my shoes…” Amanda realized, looking up at him, then down at her socks.
“Where are they?”
“They’re out back.”
Mulder hesitated, gazing between his ‘father’ and his daughters, the trust not there at all. But then he saw the CSM was focused on his own child.
“Something troubling you Fox?” He asked, almost taunting him.
“I’ll be right back.” Mulder pressed.
He quickly headed through the kitchen, out the door to the back porch where the girls had left their shoes earlier. He hesitated, not knowing for a moment which shoes were Maggie’s, which were Amanda’s.
‘Your Mr. Mom aren’t you supposed to know that?’ He teased himself, ultimately deciding it did not really matter.
Aunt and niece were thick as thieves and tended to pass clothes and toys around pretty indiscriminately anyway. He chose the little blue converse and picked them up quickly, beginning to re-lace them as he made his way back to his open front door, his heart easing, hearing that his own children had returned to their game unbothered. But then he heard Amanda, disappointment in her tone, her exact complaint unclear.
He paused around the corner from the door, unseen, wanting to know, just for his peace of mind, how his father treated his sister when he was not there. He poked his head around the corner just enough to see them, the CSM on his knees, uncharacteristic kindness in his eyes that made Amanda smile.
‘She’s consulting him and not me?’ He thought, the idea making him a bit jealous.That was until he heard Maggie’s laugh. ‘Well.’ He considered. ‘He is her father…’
He tried to entertain, in some alternate universe, the notion of Maggie confiding in William rather than him and he had to admit to himself that it didn’t quite work… Not in every circumstance.
Carl shook his head, acknowledging his daughter’s problem with her silly little school, the one he did not want her attending, but decided to comfort her instead of pointing out that he found her school and her teacher inferior, especially when she allowed things like this to go on in her classroom.
“Perhaps you’re not met to make sense of it hmm?” He pressed, wanting to teach her the thing he knew best: waiting it out, patiently.
“Huh?”
“My sweetest girl, so much of what we endure will never make sense. Not to you or to me.” The CSM chuckled almost sadly.
Mulder laughed, thinking it odd that even this monster of a man knew this harsh reality.
‘I suppose.’ Mulder thought. ‘He must’ve faced some harsh realities of his own while forcing the rest of us to suffer…’
“But daddy why?” She pouted.
“We don’t always get a good why. The answers we seek about life never pay off clean, or easily… Or without … A challenge.”
Mulder furrowed his brow, the CSM’s words sounding familiar.
“Never play of clean and easy… Clean and easy where’ve I heard that before?” He asked himself.
“But I wanna know why.” She pouted.
“Don’t ask why. It often doesn’t bring us closer to the truth, my cherub. Even when we’re desperate for it to, hmm?”
Amanda had been left out at school, in PE to be precise, something she was deeply embarrassed by, something she didn’t want Fox to know. He met well. But here, the ever boisterous, sarcastic man would have the wrong answers. Amanda had gone to their father because she knew he’d been a loaner all his life… Not necessarily by choice. And definitely in sports, just like her.
“It doesn’t bring us closer to the truth?” Fox asked himself, repeating old Smoky’s words.
“Daddy its not truth its just dodgeball.” Amanda whispered.
“Hmmm.” He smiled, humored.
The sinister man had seen a way to plant a seed here, his entire philosophy of life in his little girl’s mind.
“When your hurt let it keep you vigilant. Focused. Not emotional.” He said, not noticing Fox finally return with the shoes.
“Huh?” She asked, getting on the floor to finally put them on.
The CSM chuckled, not acknowledging his son at all. He bent down, finishing tying the girl’s shoe. “Stay focused. One day you’ll understand. Until then, I’ll be your biggest champion.”
Amanda giggled, not noticing her father look up at her brother in that moment. The CSM merely winked, nodding his head toward Fox. Mulder’s face fell in realization, the letter burning a hole in his shirt pocket.
“Er…” Mulder stumbled.
“Come now my cherub, we wouldn’t want to keep your mother waiting.” Spender said, taking his daughter’s hand.
“Bye Fox. Bye aunties…” Amanda waived sadly.
“Bye!” Maggie called.
Fox scrambled to open the letter as soon as his sister and their ‘father’ disappeared from view. He looked it over again, Spender’s words to his sister fresh in his mind. There it was, almost word for word. The pep talk he’d given Amanda in the foyer, almost identical to the letter he’d received four decades earlier.
“I’ll be damned.” He whispered to himself.
Fox was shaken to the core, his whole mind spinning. He gazed up at the clouds above, something about the light and shadows taking him back to that repressive, lonely summer day. He’d been isolated. Abandoned by friends, by his parents. By his whole community in the most painful time of his life. For a long time the letter, although frightening, had met something to him. He’d read it right all along. Whoever wrote it knew something about what’d really happened. And whoever wrote it cared… About him.
Fox shook his head, not wanting to admit he was slightly teary-eyed. Or that somewhere, in some strange recesses of his heart he was glad to know it was him.
‘I spared you Fox.’ He recalled the CSM explaining serval years earlier. ‘I chose life for you.’
Mulder bit his lip, a little bit of peace filling his heart as the CSM drove away, knowing more soundly than ever, that Amanda would be just fine. And somehow, so would he.