TITLE: Will

AUTHOR: little scully

E-MAIL: starbuck92@yahoo.com

DISTRIBUTION: Xemplary, Spookys, Ephemeral. Anywhere else is fine, but it would be nice if you could drop me a note so I can know where it is going. Thanks. SPOILER WARNING: Requiem, tiny one for The Unnatural RATING: PG CLASSIFICATION: SA, Requiem post-ep (but different from most of the others, I think!)

SUMMARY: "You became my will to survive through the grief and the pain. You've always been my strong Will."

DISCLAIMER: All identifiable characters do not belong to me. They belong to Chris Carter, David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson & Co.

Author's notes at end of the story.

February 21, 2011

The small, gold cross swings lightly back and forth in front of my face, and the moonlight from the window catches the metal, making it shine like a star. I have to admit this was the nicest birthday present I've ever gotten and what made it even more special was that it was from my mother. She's the greatest. For as long as I can remember, she has kept me safe and cared for, giving me everything I need.

Even when she wasn't around when I was a baby, she took me to three of her closest friends to look after me: Mr. Byers, Mr. Langly and Uncle Melvin, who never left me alone. They were always teaching me all kinds of stuff. Math was a little tough for me, but I always had a blast reading through my other books. The guys were really surprised at how fast I caught on. One time I even heard Uncle Melvin tell Mr. Byers, "The whiz kid definitely inherited Scully's smarts."

All the studying couldn't compare to the stories I was told about my parents. I listened closely to every little detail, wanting to know more and more about them. Whenever I was brave enough to ask what happened to them, the only answer I got was that my mother would come back as soon as she could. I didn't think much of it when they would almost immediately change the subject.

When I was older, I found out that my mother had been off fighting in a war against the aliens who wanted to take over our planet. She convinced the guys to take me out to the Midwest so nothing would happen to me.

During this time she stayed in Washington working nonstop with other doctors, trying to find a cure to the virus that was killing off everybody. After five years of hard work, they finally succeeded. The aliens lost the war and everyone had been saved, mostly because of my mother's help.

Sighing quietly, I fasten the thin chain back around my neck and snuggle under the covers, thinking about the night I was reunited with the most important person in my life.

September 27, 2006

A gentle hand on my arm jerked me from my sleep, and for a moment I panicked, wondering who had woken me up. However, a gentle voice soon calmed me. "Hey, it's me, little buddy."

Uncle Melvin.

A sigh of relief escaped me as I rubbed my eyes. "What's wrong, Uncle Melvin?" I asked sleepily, squinting against the light from the bedside lamp.

The huge smile on his face put me at ease as he replied, "Nothing's wrong. You just have a very special visitor who insists on seeing you, that's all."

That was weird. We never got visitors where we live because of what the guys call "safety precautions." Glancing over at the clock on the nightstand, I frowned. 11:21. "Who's come to visit so late at night?" I asked.

He extended his hand out to me and simply said, "Come and see."

Curiosity quickly took hold of me as I jumped out of bed and took his hand. My heart pounded in my chest, nervous and excited about meeting someone new. Who could this person be?

When we reached the door to the study area, Uncle Melvin gave my hand a reassuring squeeze before leaving me alone. I smiled up at him, knowing he wouldn't just leave me with anyone.

As he walked away, I peeked inside the room. A small woman sat at the desk, browsing through some papers. Her hair was the first thing that caught my attention. It was the color of a sunset and it fell to her shoulders in waves, very much unlike my straight, brown hair.

I think she needed some new clothes because everything she was wearing was black. Black T-shirt, black pants, black jacket. Even her boots were black! This woman didn't seem to have much color in her life. She also looked very tired; her eyes were half-closed behind her glasses. It looked like she hadn't slept in a few days.

Silently, I tiptoed into the room, not wanting to disturb her. However, being quiet did me little good because at that moment she chose to look up, stopping me dead in my tracks. Her eyes widened, round and crystal clear, and her mouth dropped open ever so slightly. I would never forget the look on her face: utter disbelief.

Slowly, she stood, and even from across the room I noticed her faint trembling. I had a sudden urge to make all of her troubles go away and frowned in confusion at the strange feeling. She seemed so familiar, yet so distant. Why?

My attention returned to the woman when she fell to one knee before me, and I saw her face up close for the very first time. Little worry lines, as Mr. Langly called them, were visible around her eyes and mouth. Small, fading bruises stood out against her light skin. I gently touched the nastiest one on her chin, reminded of the time I fell from the countertop after trying to get to a box of cookies. If it hurt, she didn't show it, just like I didn't cry after I fell.

She wouldn't stop looking at me.

Her eyes were the palest shade of blue, like the clearest ocean waters. My reflection was visible to me, shining back from her eyes like a mirror, and my image was swimming in her tears. I realized then that it was EXACTLY like looking in a mirror. This woman's eyes, they were MY eyes.

All of a sudden, I remembered an old photograph Uncle Melvin had shown me of a young woman. He told me to hang on to it since it was the only picture he had of my mother and I'd guarded it with my life. The woman in front of me looked like her, except that she was much older.

I wanted to believe more than anything that this was who I thought it was. Please, please, let it be her, I prayed. My breath caught in my throat when I finally spoke. "Mommy?" I whispered brokenly.

Tears began sliding down her cheeks as she nodded and reached out delicate fingers to my face, wiping away my own tears. I launched myself into her arms, knocking her to the floor, but I don't think she cared because I heard her crying openly now. Then she said the most magical words I have ever heard.

"It's me, Will. It's me."

I open my eyes and hold my cross protectively, smiling at the memory.

During the days following the reunion with my mother, I had begun to wonder if it was possible to miss someone even if you didn't really remember them. The thought seemed true in our case.

We were rarely apart, both of us finding it difficult to be away from each other. I was like the little lamb in the nursery rhyme Mr. Byers had told me about. Everywhere that mommy went, Will was sure to go. Whether she was on the phone with people in Washington or catching up on some much-needed sleep, I was by her side.

About a year passed by before it was considered safe for us to move to Washington. I couldn't wait to see the city where my mother lived, the place I would soon call home. When we got there, it wasn't quite as I had imagined due to the rebuilding that the city was going through. Buildings and monuments had been torn apart, but people were busily trying to repair the damage.

As we passed Washington Monument, I felt tears well up in my eyes. That had been my favorite site from all the pictures I had seen of it, but the war had left it falling apart. My mother had squeezed my hand and told me quietly that as soon as they were done repairing it, it would look just as beautiful as it did before. As time passed, Washington was rebuilt and I grew to love the city as much as my mother did.

Other things were also changing. The days of being taught at home were long gone. I started going to an elementary school with lots of kids my own age. Soon enough, I made some good friends who eventually persuaded me to join Little League with them. My mother was thrilled at the idea. She loved baseball and came to watch me during all my games.

At times people would approach her, wanting to thank her for what she had done during the war. Many just asked to shake her hand or give her a hug. My mother would give them polite smiles, so as not to disappoint them, but she always shied away from all the attention people wanted to give her.

It was sometimes hard having a famous mother, but she paid that detail as little interest as possible, so I worked as hard as she did to forget about it. I was just happy that we were together.

But even with all the happiness in my life, there was still something missing, and a part of me yearned for that one person I had yet to meet.

April 9, 2009

"Strike two!" the umpire yelled as the ball glided past my bat and into the catcher's waiting glove.

I bit my lip nervously. The count was now at three and two with a man on second base - our last chance to stay in the game if I could just connect the bat and the ball.

"Come on, Will! Keep your eye on the ball!" Tommy's shout from second base only served to make me more nervous, and I stepped out of the batter's box to compose myself. 'Control, control, you've got to stay in control,' my eight-year-old mind chanted.

A familiar voice from the crowd broke through my thoughts. "I believe in you, sweetheart! You can do it!" Looking up into the stands, I saw my mom on her feet, encouraging me and soothing the butterflies in my stomach. I smiled up at her before stepping back into the box. 'Remember what mom told you. Hips before hands,' I thought to myself.

Drowning out the crowd and everyone on the field, I concentrated on my mother's instructions and the pitcher on the mound. He wound up and released the ball, and it was like time was slowing down as it comes sailing towards me. Putting all of my strength into it, I swung as hard as I could.

"Strike three!"

I stood there, stunned, as the boys from the opposing team ran out to the field, celebrating their victory. The catcher next to me had been busily taking off his protective gear and was ready to join his teammates when he lightly slapped my arm. "What's the matter, Scully? Your dad never taught you how to hit a curve ball before?" he said before running out to the field.

Half of me wanted to go punch his lights out, demanding he apologize for making such a hurtful comment, but the more rational side of me held me in check. It wasn't the boy's fault my dad wasn't around.

I was quiet during the car ride home, and I guessed mom thought I was sulking about losing the game. She asked if I wanted to make our usual stop at the ice cream parlor, but I shook my head. The rest of the trip was made in silence up until we got to the door. I waited as mom fumbled with the keys, not quite listening to whatever she was telling me.

After we stepped inside, she looked at me out of the corner of her eye. "Will, you okay?"

"Where's my dad?" I replied softly.

Mom blinked in surprise, and I could tell I'd thrown her a curve ball with my question. "What?" she asked in a startled voice.

I had never really asked about my father, content with the bits and pieces she would tell me about the man I knew only through photographs and occasional stories. Once in a while, I would hear her say, "That's something your father would do" or she would mention how much I was like him. As for what had happened to him, she had only told me that he had gone missing before I was born, about a year before the war began. Now I was filled with a need to know the whole truth.

"After I struck out, the catcher asked me if my dad had ever taught me how to hit a curve ball. How can he if he's not around?" I told her as I plopped down on the couch.

A mixture of anger and pain washed over her face as

she dropped my baseball equipment to the floor by the

door. "Will, I've already told you -"

"No, you've told me nothing, Mom! I want to know where he really is!" I shouted before she could give me any excuse.

The look of authority now took command of her features as she fought to regain control of the situation. I knew it well: 'I'm the parent, you're the child, end of conversation.' "Will, I've told you time and again, when the time comes I will tell you what happened." That said, she began walking to the kitchen, but I wasn't done yet.

With all the relentlessness of a young boy, I plunged onward, not watching my words. "Why? I mean, was he not good enough to be a dad? Did you run him off? Did he hurt you or something?"

As the last words left my mouth, I knew I'd made a terrible mistake. Mom had stopped halfway to the kitchen, stock still with her back to me. I waited on the couch for the inevitable scolding I assumed was coming, but it never happened.

She scared me when she raised her hand to her mouth and slowly fell to the floor, desperately trying to stifle her tears. My mother was a very proud woman, who rarely allowed anyone to see her cry, so I knew I'd pushed her too far this time.

Immediately, I was by her side, wrapping my arms around her, and my heart broke at the sound of her crying. I'd never felt more guilty in my life. It was all my fault and I should have stopped asking. I was the one who caused those tears, and for that, I was infinitely sorry. I whispered my apologies over and over again, frantic for her forgiveness. I know I had received it when she wrapped her arms back around me.

I wipe at the tears that have formed in my eyes from the memory of that day. Never again did I want to hurt my mother like that. I want to protect her from anything that would harm her, including any thoughts I may have about my father.

Slowly, she has been opening up that part of her life to me. What she was like with my father. Sniffling, I reach out to my nightstand to take hold of the other present my mother gave me today.

The man in the photograph looks like an older version of me, except for my eyes and nose. I wonder if I'll grow up to be as tall as he is. He certainly towers over my mother in the picture. I doubt they care about the difference in height. The photograph was taken more than ten years ago, and my parents look so young and happy that my heart wishes they were still together.

I run my fingers over their smiling faces and notice something I hadn't seen before. My mother is wearing a cross exactly like mine. Is it the same one, I wonder?

Muffled crying disrupts my thoughts and I look up sharply. All of a sudden, I jump out of bed, knowing where the sound is coming from, and rush out of my room. Quickly, I make my way to the bedroom next to mine and stop at the door, which is slightly ajar. Pushing it open, I step inside quietly.

Mom is huddled on one side of the bed beneath the covers, clutching a pillow to her body. Her sniffles are well disguised when she cries into the pillow, but they would never escape the ears of a loving and overprotective son.

"Mom, are you okay?" I ask softly, not wanting to startle her.

Her head jerks up at the sound of my voice and she wipes at her face to erase the evidence of her tears. "I'm fine, Will. Go back to sleep," she responds.

Unconvinced, I move closer, grinning. "Mom, that's not going to work with me."

For a second, she says nothing, looking like she is lost in deep thought. As concern begins sweeping through me again, she shakes her head slightly and smiles at me. She lifts up the covers by her side, silently asking me to join her and I comply, glad to be enveloped in the comfortable blankets and the warmth of my mother.

As I settle in next to her, I tug lightly at the cross around my neck. "You were wearing one in that photo you gave me. Is this the same one?" I ask softly.

"No," she answers quietly. "Your father has the one in the photo. I gave it to him to hold on to the day before he went missing."

I am taken aback when she continues talking about my father. She doesn't tell me everything, only what she knows I am ready to hear and what she is willing to tell, and for that I am thankful. I listen to every word as she describes the first time she saw my dad in his office, how he always had a bag of sunflower seeds nearby, and how she always felt safe in his arms.

When she remains silent after telling me about a stakeout during the early days of their FBI partnership, I assume she has fallen asleep. I snuggle closer to her and close my eyes at the comforting sound of her steady heartbeat. After a moment, she startles me when she adds one last thing.

"When your father was taken from me, I learned about you. You became my will to survive through the grief and the pain. You've kept me going, kept me alive and searching for your father to this very day. You've always been my strong Will."

I blink back the sudden tears, touched. Never before had I known the meaning behind my name, but now that I do, I vow to live up to it every single day. I look up at her in awe as she gently kisses my forehead and closes her eyes. I never had a clue that she was still looking for my dad. I'm not sure why she had kept this secret from me, but I'm glad she hasn't given up on him.

Looking up at her sleeping face, I realize that I want to help her find my dad someday. I want to thank him for loving my mom so much more than I can ever understand. I want to tell him that my mom isn't the only one who loves him dearly. He's got a son waiting for his dad to teach him how to hit a curve ball.

A son who already loves him unconditionally.

Author's notes:

Ok, so we'll never get this scenario on the show, but I thought it would be interesting to try something other than Requiem babyfic and more along the lines of "kidfic." I found myself wondering what Mulder and Scully's son might be like and how Scully would handle the awesome responsibility of raising him alone.

My many thanks go out to Iolanthe, Kristi and Jessica for taking time to skim over this one. Also many thanks to Tua, Christy and all the other Scullyfic moms who were so quick to offer assistance. Loads of gratitude to all of you!

This story could not have been completed without ScullyFu's consistent guidance. She helped me see that to write "Will," I had to remember what it was like to be a ten-year-old again. I owe ya big time, girl!

Note to David Duchovny: Please come back a.s.a.p.

Missing Mulder terribly already.

Feedback and chocolate chip cookies are always appreciated and can be sent to Starbuck92@yahoo.com. Thanks for reading!

"What I find fantastic is any notion that there are answers beyond the realm of science. The answers are there. You just have to know where to look." ~ Dana Scully