Title: Things Without Remedy
Author: Kel
Pairing: Mulder/Scully friendship
Rating: PG
Summary: A missing scene from Demons. Teena is ready to answer the 
question. (pre-xf)

Thanks to Wendelah, without whom I could not have written this and 
would not have tried. Thanks to EC and Wendelah for editing and and 
suggestions. 
 
________________
 
 
DEMONS: SCENE 16
 
Mrs. Mulder: Fox.
 
Mulder: I need to speak to you.
 
Mrs. Mulder: What's happened, Fox? Why have you come here?
 
Mulder: You've kept things from me. You've kept secrets from me.
 
Mrs. Mulder: What's the matter with him?
 
Scully: He's undergone a treatment. He believes it's helped him to 
remember things.
 
Mrs. Mulder: Remember what?
 
Mulder: You told me that, when they took Samantha, it was because 
you had to make a choice, but that's not how it happened. It wasn't 
your choice to make.
 
Mrs. Mulder: What do you want to hear from me?
 
Mulder: I wanna know what happened that night on Quonochontaug, and 
I need to speak to you privately. You had some kind of relationship 
with him.
 
Mrs. Mulder: Who? 
 
Mulder: You know who. The man who worked with my father, the man who 
came to you that night when I was 12, and forced you to choose 
Samantha.
 
Mrs. Mulder: No, Fox...
 
Mulder: Yes! You betrayed my father, your husband.
 
Mrs. Mulder: Never!
Mulder: How far back did it go?
 
[slap!]
 
Mrs. Mulder: How dare you! How dare you come here and accuse me!?
 
Mulder: Who is my father?
Mrs. Mulder: What do you want, to kill him again?!
Mulder: Just answer the question, mom. Just answer the question!
Mrs. Mulder: I am your mother, and I will not tolerate any more 
of your questions. You're bleeding, Fox.
 
 
With thanks to Dr. Weesh for his site Inside the X, and for the 
use of this transcript. 
http://www.insidethex.co.uk/scripts.htm
 
 
________________
 
 
 
Things Without Remedy
 
 
 
Her son was the only person she loved and she had hit him. 
She'd slapped him before, but that was thirty years ago, and 
on the bottom. She'd lost her temper and smacked him so hard 
her hand hurt, yet now she couldn't remember why. Well, she 
hadn't been a perfect mother but she wasn't going to wallow in 
guilt. She was hurrying up the stairs, running away from him 
in her own house. Ridiculous! How dare he burst into her home 
and attack her that way. She hadn't done the things he imagined, 
and besides, it was ancient history. But not to him... She 
tried to hold on to the anger but the guilt was back. He was 
bleeding... He'd come to her anguished and bleeding, and she 
had hit him. But what gall! Anguished and bleeding and full 
of anger and questions, demanding answers that would hurt a lot 
more than that slap. Those outrageous accusations, when none of 
what happened was her choice. All she'd ever wanted was to 
protect him. They'd all tried to protect him: her, his father, 
even Clayton.
 
Teena sat down on her bed. She should explain to him about 
Clayton. He had asked so many times, and all because Clayton 
made such a point of popping into Fox's life. What an ass. 
He was fresh off the farm when she first met him, with a shiny 
blue suit and a haircut that looked like he did it himself with 
a wooden bowl and a pair of shears. He rolled his own cigarettes, 
leaving flakes of tobacco on his clothes and everywhere he went. 
She couldn't stand him. He disliked her too, but more than that, 
he was jealous. Bill was oblivious to the conflict. He didn't 
catch on until he announced that he and Teena were getting married.
 
"You're not the first to fall into that trap," Clay said darkly. 
 
"Remind me to take you off the guest list."
 
"Just because she got herself pregnant doesn't mean you have to 
marry her."
 
Teena heard every word because she was meeting Bill for lunch. 
She was waiting at his secretary's desk, just outside the office. 
Thank goodness the girl was out to lunch or Teena would have died 
of embarrassment. 
 
"I'm marrying the girl I love and when our baby comes I'll love 
him too. You wouldn't understand, Clay. I don't think I've seen 
you with a girl in all the time I've known you." 
 
Bill really loved her and he wanted to marry her. Dear lord, how 
good that felt. How good it felt to hear him put Clay in his place.
 
Clay adapted. His fascination with Bill expanded to include her 
and then her baby. He was solicitous to a fault and he was 
impossible to get rid of. Teena found it unsettling, but Bill 
laughed it off. "He's harmless, kiddo. He's just lonely." 
Lonely he might have been, but not harmless. Bill didn't realize 
his loyal sidekick was turning into someone else. Clay 
refashioned himself into Clayton, who exuded worldly confidence 
and bought his cigarettes ready-made. He smoked Galoises and he 
smoked them constantly. 
 
Teena knew Bill and Clayton worked for the State Department, 
but she had no idea what they did. Clayton loved to whisper and 
insinuate: underground tests, lunar launches, nuclear subs, 
domestic operations, whatever that meant. He used to do it to 
drag Bill away from her and back to the office, but now she was 
his target; he wanted to impress her with his secrets. It was 
useless to ask either man what he really did. They'd both say 
they were defending America or fighting communism or exporting 
democracy. 
 
Teena was so young back then. Bill's mysterious side made 
him sexy and the privileges he enjoyed made life glamorous. 
Washington was Camelot, full of pride and idealism, where men 
worked hard and played harder. Everyone she met was interesting, 
and everyone thought she was charming. She knew it couldn't last 
forever, but she was not prepared for how suddenly it ended.
 
Fox had just turned two, and she was trying to put him to sleep 
before the sitter arrived. She had read him his favorite book, 
and now he was curled on his side rubbing his blankie against his 
ear. He could barely keep his eyes open, but again and again he 
forced himself awake. He knew she was going out for the evening, 
she was convinced of it. Five more minutes of quiet would have 
sufficed, but then Bill came home and Fox sat up. 
 
"Daddy!" Bill came into the room. Fox jumped to his feet and 
reached for him. "Daddy, airplane!"
 
Five more minutes and she would have had it. "Now *you* can read 
to him," she said. "I still have to get ready and Janey will be 
here at seven."
 
But no, Bill had to pick him up and fly him around the room as Fox 
stretched out his arms for wings. Bill *whirred* and *vroomed,* and 
Fox giggled and tried to copy him. Teena sighed. "I'm going to get 
dressed. No wrestling, no horsey, no tickling."
 
"Sputnik!" Fox demanded. 
 
"And no spinning him around!" 
 
Bill followed her into the bedroom. Belatedly he was holding Fox 
against his shoulder, trying to settle him down. Fox squirmed and 
whined as Bill patted his back. Teena sat on the edge of the bed, 
carefully rolling her nylons up over her legs and fastening them to 
her pantygirdle.
 
"Good news, Teena. We're getting a house." He spoke softly as he 
stroked the back of Fox's head. 
 
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to start looking," she answered 
cautiously as she stepped into her half-slip. 
 
"I have a place picked out. I'm sure you'll like it ." 
 
Teena slipped her dress on over her head. "Don't I get a vote?" 
Her main fear, rational or not, was that they'd be living next door 
to Clayton, if not in the same house. None of this made any sense.
 
"It's perfect for us," Bill continued. "Nice people, beautiful 
scenery. Great for tennis, sailing, shopping. Like living in a 
country club." 
 
"Bethesda? Potomac?"
 
"It's an island with no direct connection to the mainland. It's out 
of the way, but you'll have everything you need." He set Fox gently 
on their bed. "Teena, DC is a target, you must realize that. 
New York, Boston, Chicago, LA--they're targets." He glanced down at 
their son. "See? He's just about out."
 
Fox was almost asleep but of course he would wake up when they moved 
him to his own bed. 
 
Bill was trying to scare her, but if she pushed him for details he'd 
explain somberly that there were things he couldn't tell her. He'd 
played this card before, and she always lost.
 
"Fine. I'm sure we'll all be very happy living on Alcatraz." 
 
That was how she learned of the move to Martha's Vineyard. She 
accepted it without enthusiasm, although Bill and Clayton worked 
energetically in the days that followed to win her over. Bill spoke 
about mild weather, fresh air, and beaches, while Clayton praised 
the safety and security. Both men agreed it was the perfect place 
for Fox to grow up, far from the bustling, dirty, dangerous city. 
 
"Why does Clayton have any say in where we live?" she asked.
 
Bill didn't answer her question directly. "I don't want you and 
Fox to be vulnerable. Don't be difficult, kiddo." She used to 
think he sounded like Humphrey Bogart when he called her that. 
Now it was irritating.
 
Early in November she found herself alone with her son in a house 
that seemed empty even with all their old furniture in place. She 
had neighbors somewhere, but the houses on either side were 
unoccupied, waiting for summer. Bill had to leave for another 
crisis, but promised he'd be back as soon as he could. Teena was 
probably the only person in America who remembered where she had 
been when she heard that President Diem had been assassinated. 
 
Three weeks later the living room was still full of boxes. Fox was 
adorable, but she had to watch him every minute and sometimes that 
wasn't enough. Why would a child who turned down real food want to 
taste scouring powder? Why would a boy with absolutely no interest 
in toilet training have such a fascination with the toilet? She 
gave up on unpacking. 
 
"Do you want to stay in the house?" she asked Fox as she pulled him 
away from an electrical outlet.
 
"No! I wanna go out."
 
"That sounds like fun," she said, slipping his arm through the 
sleeve of his jacket. "What do you think we'll see?"
 
"Birds. Squirrels." Success! He was in his jacket.
 
"What else? What did we see yesterday?"
 
"Bunny rabbit! Will he come back?" 
 
"Maybe he will." The jacket was zipped. "I don't know where your 
hat is. I just can't remember."
 
"I know! I get my hat." 
 
She loved him like mad, and she knew even then how smart he was. 
He was curious, playful, affectionate, and absolutely the cutest 
child ever, and not just because she was his mother. Everyone said 
so. If only she hadn't been exhausted so much of the time.
 
It was a crisp fall day, but as usual she felt cold. Standing 
outside was different from walking. You stayed out longer and you 
weren't moving. Fox raced around like a madman. 
 
"Look, Mommy!" He did a somersault and she clapped her hands. 
"I can do it again!" She expressed appropriate amazement. 
"Backwards!"
 
Teena was definitely cold and rather hungry, but it would be better 
for both of them if she let him wear himself out. Lunch loomed 
ahead as another challenge. How long can a child survive on grape 
juice and spaghetti? 
 
"Swing me," he demanded suddenly, adding "please" after some 
prompting. Teena's cigarettes and radio were on the wrought 
iron bench by the swing. Fox led the way, not walking or 
running, but jumping.
 
"Are you a bunny rabbit?"
 
"I'm a kangaroo!"
 
When they reached the tree with the swing, Fox wanted to jump 
in all by himself. She lifted him in (no, me!) and buckled the 
strap (no, no!) and gave him a push.
 
With Fox contained Teena could finally relax. As long as she kept 
pushing, he was content. She lit a cigarette and turned on the 
radio. A song came on, something by Peter, Paul and Mary. It 
was a pretty song and she strained to hear the lyrics through the 
static. Teena was thinking she might have a glass of wine tonight 
with *The Twilight Zone*--that's how narrow her world had become--
when the music was interrupted by a bulletin. Three shots were 
fired at President Kennedy's motorcade in Dallas. His injuries 
appeared to be serious.
 
Teena caught herself. There was no reason to mention that. What 
Fox wanted to know happened later. They were settled in by then, 
and he was in nursery school. She used to worry that his name would 
bring him teasing, but nothing of the kind. In a class with a 
Baylor, a Houghton, and *two* Gardiners, it was never an issue. 
Bill was home more, but often as not shut up in his den. He was 
on the phone so much he had a second line installed. She guessed 
he was talking about Viet Nam, or the burnings and bombings still 
going on in the South, but of course she didn't really know. 
 
She remembered she was ironing that day--she was always ironing 
when Bill was home. The radio was playing Fox's favorite song, and 
if he wasn't at school he'd be singing along with it. When Bill came 
up beside her, she thought he was going to say that he was leaving 
on one of his trips. When he poured them both drinks, she was 
certain.
 
"We could take these on the porch," he said.
 
"All right." She unplugged the iron.
 
Outside on the porch, he took out his cigarettes and offered her 
one. She shook her head. She had quit, but he didn't seem to 
remember. He was stalling. This wasn't going to be about a trip. 
 
"Clayton's getting married," Bill said, and Teena burst into 
laughter. Partly from relief, because she'd been expecting something 
much worse. "Teena, it isn't *that* funny." But it was, and soon 
he was laughing too.
 
"Is he marrying an ashtray?" Teena asked, but suddenly Bill wasn't 
laughing any more.
 
"I'm going to tell you something that no one is supposed to know," 
he said. 
 
If the big secret was about Clayton, she would probably have an 
easier time of it than her husband. Not that she'd suspected 
exactly, but it would explain some things. She took a sip of her 
Scotch and nodded for Bill to continue.
 
"It would kill me if anything happened to you or Fox. I'd do 
anything for you, and I know you'd do anything for him. I want to 
protect you while I still have time." He took her hand and waited 
for her reply.
 
Teena couldn't answer. She was terrified, but also furious. What 
was this new threat and where did it come from? He had exiled her 
to this island, alone with a two-year-old, for God's sake, and now 
that she had some friends and Fox was in school, Bill was talking 
about danger again.
 
"There might be an arrangement some day where men of importance, men 
with great responsibility, would be forced to surrender someone in 
their family to vouchsafe the greater good. Give up a small number 
of people to protect a much larger number." He said it haltingly, 
searching for words. There were long pauses before *arrangement* and 
*surrender.* She snatched back her hand.
 
"Why? Forced by whom? Russia? China? What kind of man would agree 
to that? Only Clayton, because he doesn't have a family and he 
doesn't want one!" 
 
"I don't want it to happen but I don't think I can stop it. 
All I can do is keep you safe." It sounded like an apology. He 
took another cigarette and lit it from the first one. 
 
"I will never let you take him. I would die for my son, but not if 
it means leaving him at your mercy." She couldn't let him see how 
frightened she was, or that he frightened her as much as his insane 
story. 
 
"I won't let them take him or you. There's another way, but it's 
drastic. I need you to understand why we have to do it." He gave 
her time to respond, but she tightened her lips and waited. "We 
need a second child so Fox can be spared. We're getting a baby." 
He looked at her, eyebrows raised, nodding.
 
"Getting? Like a puppy?" 
 
"We'll have a child to give up."
 
Teena felt nauseous. "And Clayton will have his new wife."
 
"It won't be our baby."
 
"But it's somebody's baby. Why don't you see that?"
 
Again, her agreement wasn't necessary, only her compliance. She was 
in the bedroom when Clayton arrived the next day, and she refused to 
come out, even when Bill tapped on the door. Then she heard 
Clayton's voice and Bill's, and some other noises. She heard a baby 
cry, a little baby, but not a newborn. Too strong. Three months 
old, maybe four, if she could trust her memory. The baby cried 
and cried. Behind her locked door, Teena was crying too.
 
"Teena, honey, could you pick her up? We have to get this crib 
together," Bill explained. 
 
"Oh, Mrs. Mulder, your daughter is hungry," Clayton called.
 
Teena held her pillow over her ears until finally the house grew 
silent. "Bill?" she called. Nothing. She wanted to believe that 
Bill had sensed her resolve and taken the baby away, but then the 
crying started again. She could not wait out a helpless baby. 
More than that, it was the neighbor's turn for carpool, and Fox 
would be home soon. There were diapers and formula, and Teena 
performed the necessary tasks. So much stuff, all new, as if the 
baby came complete with a starter kit. Bill couldn't understand 
the ruthless horror of what he'd done, which made it worse. 
 
Somewhere a mother was more distraught than Teena. Even if the baby 
was an orphan or a foundling, someone had taken care of her. 
Someone had changed her and fed her and probably loved her. It 
seemed only the blink of an eye since Fox was this small and 
defenseless. 
 
Bill would never return the baby to her home or reveal where she'd 
come from. Then one day, perhaps without warning, the baby would be 
gone. What Teena had to remember was that it wasn't her baby. Fox 
was her baby. 
 
"You're clean and fed, and that's all you'll get," Teena told the 
baby as she put it in its crib. It was an easy baby and didn't 
cry. It was asleep when Fox raced through the door, waving a brown 
paper bag.
 
"I made a costume for Thanksgiving--" He didn't notice the crib 
until he was next to it. "Oh boy, you had a baby!"
 
The last twenty-four hours had done much to turn Teena hard and 
numb, and she wasn't prepared. Later she realized that this was the 
moment when she could have corrected him, but in the end, it 
wouldn't have mattered. 
 
"Thank you, Mommy! Now I'm a big brother!" 
 
She couldn't distract him with building blocks or milk and cookies. 
He put on his paper-bag costume to show the baby. He wanted to 
climb into the crib so the baby could see him better. Instead 
Teena turned the baby on its stomach so that it could look at him 
through the slats. What was she thinking, or was she thinking at 
all? Fox sang "I'm Henry the Eighth I Am," over and over, dancing 
and mugging, and the baby raised itself on its arms and watched 
every move. Fox wouldn't eat his supper until Teena explained that 
babies need some quiet time because they need to sleep. He hurried 
through his bath only after Teena suggested that the baby wanted to 
see his astronaut pajamas. 
 
"Can I hold him? I'll be careful."
 
She wanted to cry. Bill had no idea what he had done.
 
"Just for a minute?" There was an expression Fox put on when he 
wanted something. Sad little mouth, big eyes about to fill with 
tears. Pure artifice, but most people fell for it. Fox wasn't 
making that face. "For a second? Please?"
 
"Sit over there." She pointed to the couch. Fox took a running 
leap and landed with a bounce. Teena placed the baby in his arms. 
He was really too small, so she stacked up some throw pillows to 
make him an armrest. 
 
"What's his name?" Fox was gazing at the baby with something like 
rapture, and his voice was quiet and calm.
 
"The baby is a girl," Teena told him. She couldn't interpret the 
look he gave her. He had to be wondering why she hadn't told him at 
once, but maybe there was more. *What's going on here? What kind of 
family is this?* Whatever darkness she saw in his face vanished as 
he turned back to the baby.
 
"A sister," he said. "A mom, a dad, a brother, and a sister." 
 
More than three decades later and it still made her throat tighten. 
Fox deserved the truth, but she couldn't bear to give it to him. 
Losing Samantha was the tragedy of his life, even now. Would he feel 
better to know she had been... what? A decoy? Someone brought into 
his life so that she could be snatched away? How could she tell 
Fox when she couldn't even look him in the eye? 
 
What she needed was an intermediary, she thought, and then the 
solution was obvious. Dana Scully. They hadn't spoken since Bill's 
funeral until today, but Teena had never forgotten her kindness. 
She'd found no comfort in the flowers and cards that crowded her 
mantel and covered the coffee table, but it had warmed her to learn 
that Fox had a friend who cared enough to be there in his absence. 
When Dana said that she believed Fox was still alive, Teena was 
overwhelmed. She had wanted so much for it to be true, and this 
lovely girl did too. 
 
Telling Dana would be difficult. Teena started by washing her 
face and reapplying her lipstick. Crying was a private matter. Teena 
would tell Dana about the perfidious charade, but there was more she 
needed to know. They had been a happy family once, or tolerably 
happy. The cynical lie that had twisted Fox's life had taken a 
heavy toll on her and Bill as well. She suffered the loss of a child 
and she carried the guilt of the collaborator. Bill had been caught 
in his own snare--and good for that. Only with his own heart in 
bloody pieces could he understand what he'd done to others. Teena 
had seen the danger long before he did. It's impossible to care for 
a baby and remain aloof. When the baby smiles, you smile back. 
Samantha got her name the day after she arrived. Fox suggested it 
and Teena agreed. Fox didn't watch *Bewitched,* but maybe one of 
his classmates did. Anyway, it was a name. At the end of the week, 
Bill called, full of sweet talk and bribes.
 
"We'll hire a nanny. We'll be able to travel and you'll be free 
from the baby."
 
"Would you like to talk to your son?"
 
"Sure. Put my big guy on." 
 
Perhaps she had done that too often, placed their child between 
herself and the man she was starting to hate. She hadn't questioned 
it at the time. Fox came to the phone eagerly. 
 
"Did you see *Lost in Space,* Daddy, 'cause if you missed it I 
can tell you what happened." It was entertaining to listen without 
having to answer his questions. "We could be a space family. You 
and Mommy and me and Samantha and a robot, but no stole-away. 
Stole-away, that's what I said!" No stole-away, Teena agreed. 
Their stole-away would surely be Clayton. "Why can't children 
go to space? Why is it not safe? Then we can be just an Earth 
family. I showed Samantha our Christmas picture but now we need 
a new picture so we can all be in it. Okay, here's Mommy." 
Teena took the phone. 
 
"Good-bye, Bill. Thanks for calling." Cool, but not hostile.
 
"You named her Samantha?" he asked.
 
"Would you prefer something else?" 
 
"Just don't get too close, and for God's sake, don't let Fox get 
too close."
 
"I have to go. I think I hear the baby."
 
Fox fell in love with Samantha the first time he saw her and 
Teena succumbed within the week. Bill kept his distance much 
longer. Even when she became a charming toddler, he ignored her. 
He made an effort to be home for Fox's birthdays, but never for 
Samantha's. Of course, Teena didn't know her real birthday, she 
just picked one for her. Samantha never seemed to notice Bill's 
coldness. She loved him anyway and, despite himself, he loved 
her too. He found that out the day she fell off the backyard swing.
 
Bill had replaced the old baby swing when Fox turned six. The 
new swing had no safety strap, not even a real seat. Just a 
plastic disk that hung by a single rope through a hole in the 
center. Fox swung recklessly, wildly, sideways, and in circles, 
missing the tree trunk by inches. He hung by his knees and swung 
upside down, the top of his head grazing the ground. He discovered 
how to use the rope to climb to the branch at least ten feet in the 
air. Teena tried to forbid everything but normal, back-and-forth 
swinging, but Fox always "forgot." Bill laughed and called him 
Tarzan. 
 
Four years later, Fox had lost interest in the swing--except when 
his sister wanted to use it. Then he'd insist on his turn, and 
they would call each other names until Fox got his way. Samantha 
was hardly the helpless victim however. If she found herself 
swinging without his attention, she'd taunt him. *I get to swing, 
you don't get to swing.* 

Teena and Bill were on the front porch one afternoon, sipping their 
cocktails, when they heard Fox screaming from the backyard. 
"Samantha!" By the time they ran around to the back, Samantha was 
crying loudly enough that Teena knew she wasn't badly hurt. But 
Bill was in a panic as he scooped her off the ground.
 
"What happened?" Then, to Fox: "What did you do to her?" 
To Teena: "Start the car." She drove while Bill sat in the back 
cradling his little girl and praising her for being so brave. Teena 
didn't think the trip to the hospital was necessary, but it was 
probably for the best. Samantha had fractured her collarbone. Bill 
demanded that the doctor do something, but there was nothing to be 
done. It would heal by itself. 
 
By that time, Teena didn't give much thought to the hostage 
*arrangement,* and of course Bill never mentioned it. Clayton kept 
his distance. He had his own family by then, hard as that was to 
believe. Teena couldn't imagine life without Samantha; she couldn't 
imagine Fox without Samantha. He had friends his own age, of course, 
but he didn't mind when she tagged along, which she usually did. 
That changed a bit as they grew older, but they remained close, 
although either of them would have denied it. It was all very 
normal. 
 
The summer at Quonochontaug started out normal too. Fox had brought 
a mountain of books and carried *Quotations from Chairman Mao* in 
his back pocket. Samantha was in love--with David Cassidy. The kids 
were bored and passed the time picking at each other, saying vicious 
things they would never have said to anyone else. Don and Donna 
Rickles. Teena remembered thinking that it might be a vacation for 
Bill, but for her it was no change at all. 
 
She was hanging towels on the clothesline when she saw him, 
squinting in the sunlight as he walked from the road. He had 
changed in the time since she'd seen him. His face seemed almost 
baggy, as if the skin had stretched and no longer fit him.
 
"It's been awhile," she said when he was close enough. 
 
"How are you? How are the children?" he asked.
 
"I hear you have a little boy yourself now." She picked up the 
basket of wet towels and held it against her waist.
 
"Jeffrey." He astounded her by pulling a snapshot from his wallet. 
He tried to hand it to her but she held the basket between them--she 
didn't need to hold the photo to see it.
 
"He's adorable," Teena said. What else could she say? "I'll get 
Bill for you."
 
She could have directed him to the dock, but Bill was fishing with 
the kids. She didn't want him to see them, or them to see him. 
Clayton's reappearance after so many years seemed ominous, and 
Bill's reaction confirmed it. 
 
"Take the children for ice cream," he said, tossing her the car 
keys. That's what she did, and then for haircuts. Or rather she 
took Samantha for a haircut and sent Fox to the barbershop. His 
hair was still hanging in his face when he returned, so he'd 
probably pocketed the money. They were arguing about that when 
she pulled up by the house. Bill and Clayton were outside, 
smoking--both of them, even though Bill had supposedly quit. 
Smoking right by her clean laundry. 
 
"Wait in the car," she said. Fox shrugged and pulled out his book, 
but Samantha whined in protest. 
 
"Mom, I can't. It's too hot in here."
 
"Pretend it's the Partridge family's bus," Teena said.
 
"Maybe Keith will take his shirt off," Fox razzed her. 
 
"That is *enough*!" She glared at them and slammed the door.
 
The men stopped talking when Teena approached. Bill swallowed hard, 
and then he said, "I'll take Clayton out on the boat." Teena 
nodded and continued on to the door, waving Fox and Samantha to 
come in.
 
Bill clapped his hand on Clayton's shoulder. "Let's get going 
before we lose the daylight." Clayton stood firm.
 
"But it's been so long since I've seen your children. I'd like to 
say hello."
 
This was another moment that Teena wished she could replay. She 
should have given Clayton a hearty introduction: "Fox, this is 
Clayton Spender. Clayton Spender. He works at the State 
Department. He's a powerful man. Say hello to Mr. Spender." 
Instead she froze and let Clayton control the meeting.
 
"You were just a little boy the last time I saw you," Clayton said. 
"You liked cookies, as I recall."
 
"Nice to meet you." No sarcasm, no exasperated sigh. 
 
"And you were a tiny baby," he told Samantha. "You've grown a great 
deal."
 
She grabbed her brother's hand.
 
"Thank you," she said in a squeak.
 
Teena didn't start dinner. They might have to leave in a hurry. 
Samantha and Fox played a game in the family room, without 
fighting. It was so quiet that Teena turned on the radio.
 
"You play too, Mom," Fox said.
 
She did. They played almost two hours, until they heard sounds at 
the door. Fox swept the game pieces into the box and Samantha folded 
the board.
 
"Let's play upstairs," Fox said, barely above a whisper. 
 
That was the turning point for her. Her children were scampering 
like mice, and why? Because she had allowed her fear to infect 
them. If she was strong they would feel strong. If she showed 
Clayton that he could walk all over them, he would.
 
"You may play until it's time for dinner," she said. "Fox, you need 
to comb your hair." 
 
The change was instantaneous. He actually grinned. Somehow Teena 
had forgotten that they were children, and that her job was to 
shield them from fear, not share it with them.
 
"Mom, just who is this guy?" Fox asked.
 
"He works with your father."
 
"He stinks," Samantha said. "Worse than Fox."
 
"But better than you."
 
Teena couldn't control the world, but she could control her house, 
and when Clayton casually announced that he was planning to stay a 
few weeks, she suggested the Roger Smith Motor Inn.
 
Clayton stayed for a month, but not under her roof. He and Bill 
were together for hours every day--they even water-skied. She 
didn't know how Bill could trust him to drive the boat. She 
avoided Clayton as much as she could, but she didn't hide from 
him. She signed Fox up for baseball, Samantha for swimming 
lessons, and both of them for tennis and golf. She should have 
done that in the first place.
 
Even so, they were both home upstairs the night Clayton spelled 
it out for her. Bill was useless, pleading with her to forgive 
him because he wasn't to blame. She screamed and cried and begged, 
all the while knowing it would do no good. She should have shut up 
and nodded. She should have gone to where she knew Bill kept his 
gun and shot them both.
 
The next morning Bill packed some things and drove down to 
Washington. Teena was left without a car, but it worked out for 
the best. Walking into town and back occupied their time. Samantha 
gripped her hand and called her "Mommy," which she hadn't done for 
a year. Fox started doing chores and offered to get a haircut. 
When Bill came home he took them all out for a steak dinner. 
"It's okay now," he told Teena, and she kissed him, wanting to 
believe. 
 
They drove home to Massachusetts. Fox went back to acting like an 
adolescent and Samantha stopped clinging. Bill was home a good 
deal, even if he was in his den on his phone. She assumed he must 
be talking about Watergate--everyone else was. Fox was named 
*co-captain* of the basketball team, to his bitter disappointment. 
Samantha joined the orchestra. Teena remembered the Fall Concert, 
with Samantha on the front of the stage with a huge hole in her 
blue tights. Teena couldn't see anything beyond that damn hole, 
but Bill squeezed her hand and whispered, "We should get her 
private lessons." 
 
Oh my God. If she had known what was coming. That stupid hole. 
Her daughter on the stage, focused on the conductor, so serious. 
Her sassy, confident daughter. Fox was her firstborn and the 
first to take her heart, but they were both in her heart. They 
were her heart.
 
Bill leaned close again. "We dodged a bullet, honey." She would 
always be sure of one thing: he didn't know or he would never have 
let Samantha out of his sight. Even if he couldn't have saved her, 
he would have been there to babble some desperate words of empty 
reassurance. Bill would have been there, and Fox would have been 
somewhere else. But Fox and Samantha were alone that night, while 
Teena and Bill were playing bridge next door.
 
Teena remembered how distracted she'd been, barely looking at her 
cards. She had left Fox in charge, but he wasn't always responsible 
and Samantha could be a handful. Everyone told her to relax but 
she couldn't keep track of the bids and Bill said he'd better take 
her home before the game got ugly.
 
That was the only reason they left early. Teena thought they might 
come home to a screaming match, maybe some bad language and tears. 
But what they found was Fox curled up on the floor clutching Bill's 
gun in both hands, holding it flat against the side of his head. 
Like a security blanket, she thought, just the way he used to hold 
his blankie.
 
"What happened? Where's your sister?" Bill screamed. As if he 
didn't know. As if he wasn't one of those *men of importance.* 
As if he didn't notice his son was holding a loaded gun.
 
Teena knelt down on the floor. "Give me the gun, Fox. It's okay, 
sweetheart, just give me the gun." 
 
She couldn't see his face. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." 
 
"It's not your fault, Fox. Give me the gun." She stayed very 
calm. She'd had so much practice. Fox was sobbing. "I'm sorry, 
I'm sorry." 
 
Bill had a tantrum. Later he'd call it a break-down, or say that he 
snapped, but it was a tantrum. A tantrum, for God's sake, when she 
needed him, when his son needed him. He knocked over furniture, he 
cursed, he cried.
 
"I'll kill them! I'll kill them like they killed me! Bastards, 
madmen, I'll kill them all!"
 
"Let go of the gun, Fox." She rubbed his back as she had done 
when he was a baby. "Give Mommy the gun." He let her take it and 
she held it gingerly. "I'm going to put the gun away, but I'll be 
right back."
 
That was enough, she thought, that's what Dana needed to know so 
she could tell Fox. Teena washed her face again and checked in the 
mirror. Her eyes were red, but it would have to do. She started 
down the stairs.
 
Dana was standing by the door.
 
"Fox left," Dana said. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Mulder."
 
"He left without you?"
 
Dana shrugged. "I called a cab."
 
"Ms. Scully..." Teena felt suddenly shy. In her thoughts, this 
girl was Dana, but in fact she barely knew her. "May I offer you 
some coffee? Or tea?" She felt her resolve weaken, but it was now 
or never.
 
"I'd like that, but I really need to catch up with him."
 
Dana was watching through the glass, waiting for her taxi. Fox had 
taken the car and stranded her, but she wasn't angry, only worried.
 
"You said something about a treatment. Is he sick?" Dana looked at 
her, and then away. "Ms. Scully, please. I know he's angry and I 
know what he thinks of me. Just tell me if he's sick."
 
Dana didn't answer. She was searching for the gentlest way to tell 
her. 
 
"Why is he bleeding?" Teena pressed her.
 
Dana took a deep breath. "He was treated by a psychologist using a 
very unorthodox method."
 
Teena's hand flew to her mouth. Mengele. The gulags. Samantha, now 
Fox. Land of the free, to their own citizens, because men of 
importance protected the secrets.
 
"They did this to him? On his own soil?" She had to get him out 
of the country. Dana took her arm and led her to the living room.
 
"He wanted this treatment. He sought it out." Dana lowered her 
into a chair. "I'll get you some water."
 
Teena wanted to scream, but she took a deep breath and straightened 
her spine. When Dana returned with the water, she accepted the 
glass and took a small sip before setting it down carefully.
 
"Why did he want this treatment? What was the purpose?" she asked 
calmly.
 
"He said he wanted his memories. He thought he'd find answers 
there."
 
"But he didn't find them, and so he came to me," she said. She 
understood that the questions tormented him. If only she believed 
that the answers would bring him peace. "That unorthodox treatment 
Fox wanted... What was it?"
 
"It involved the use of a dissociative anesthetic agent in 
conjunction with neurological stimulation." Dana paused and Teena 
knew there was more. Finally Dana looked her in the eye and said, 
"He let a quack drill a hole in his head. I had no idea. I would 
have stopped him."
 
Teena couldn't ask the next questions that came to her mind. 
*Is he insane?* *Is it safe for him to have a gun?*
 
"Where is he going now?" she asked instead.
 
"I don't know." Dana said. Outside a car horn honked. "That's my 
cab."
 
"Go. Find him." She followed Dana to the door.
 
"I will. I'll call you." There was no time for good-byes, and Dana 
didn't wait for one.
 
"Thank you," Teena said, although Dana couldn't have heard it. She 
closed the front door.
 
*Thank you for staying with him even when you hate what he's doing 
and for standing by him after the FBI gave him up for dead. And 
there's probably more, so thank you for that too.*
 
She climbed the stairs with effort, as if fear and regret had 
physical weight. 
 
Oh, Fox. So careless with his life when all she wanted was his 
safety. So hungry for the memories she wished she could forget. 
Teena lay down on her bed and waited for the phone to ring.
 
 
####
 
END
 
 Things without all remedy should be without regard. 
 What's done is done. 
 
 Macbeth, Act 3, scene 2