Rating: G
Category: MSR I guess?
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. They belong to Fox
Author's Note: I had this idea in my head and I saw that some authors write in
parts instead of one single fic, and I thought with this particular story,
that approach may be better. So here goes nothin'! :)
1
The Truth
A young boy stood in front of his bathroom mirror. His gaze roamed over his
own features as though they were foreign to him, but then, as of about thirty
minutes ago they were.
"Adopted," he whispered to himself, as though imparting some great secret.
All his life, William had felt out of place as though he just didn't belong to
the existence in which he found himself . Oh, his parents loved him very much
but even so there was a small voice inside him that always said "Not right.
Not mine" and a gaping hole gushed pain he didn't understand. For a long time,
he had thought himself crazy. Doting parents, friends, a nice home...how could
he not be happy? And yet he wasn't. Something was missing.
It had gotten worse in the past few years. He was angry all the time--at his
parents, himself. Nothing was as it should be. And today, on his twelfth
birthday , he finally understood why. His parents had recognized his unrest
and pain and had finally given him what he needed for so long--the truth.
Suddenly his world made sense. He was not their child. This was not his
world.
He studied his eyes, bright blue with flecks of green at the edges and moved to
his nose, quite elegant but strong. His lips were full and pouty. Mom always
said all he had to do to make his way in the world was use that secret weapon.
He had to admit, it worked like a charm. All he had to do to get his way was
make "the face," that sad soulful one and puff out his bottom lip. People were
putty in his hands.
His hair was dark brown and scruffy from a night of sleep. Did his father look
like that when he woke in the mornings? Or maybe he favored his mother? He
stood back for a better look. He was tall for his age but his feet were rather
small for his size. Perhaps his father was a tall man while his mother was
petite? He held out his hands and turned them over. In contrast to his feet,
they were large. Though, his fingers were long and graceful.
It was strange. Some part of him felt as though he should be upset at learning
his life did not begin with the people who raised him, but right then he felt
more of an excitement. Finally everything made sense. The absence of baby
pictures before the age of six months; his parents reluctance to talk about his
birth; why he looked in the mirror and never saw their faces.
As he stood there letting each revelation take root, he knew one more thing.
His parents--his biological parents-- had wanted him. He knew it just as sure
as he knew his own name. Strangely, that was the one thing that always seemed
right. William. Yes, he was William. 'Now, William,' he thought, 'where did
you come from?'
Always a resourceful and highly intelligent child, (some would say spookily
so) William set to work on discovering the mystery of his own identity,
despite his parents worrisome objections. 'You don't know what you'll find,'
they warned him. But he had managed to get some information from them. His
mother had given him up and no father had signed the adoption papers, which had
always worried them. Only his mother? That didn't seem right.
Sighing inwardly, he moved on to the next bit of information. His mother was
from Washington, DC. That was all he had beside his own birth date. No name.
No address. No number. This may take a while. But he had the time. His
father always said when he got an idea in his head, he held on to it like a
rabid dog to meat. He had trouble relating to his dad a lot of the time...
Perhaps he needed a professional to get to the bottom of this. More excited
than before, William ran to find a phone book and flipped to the name of
various private investigators. His finger moved down the list to one of his
liking. Ah, this one sounded interesting, to say the least. He would start
there. He picked up the phone, dialed, and nervously waited for an answer.
"Mulder," greeted him on the other end.
