Date: Mon, 20 Apr 1998

Title: Second Chance
Author: Ashlea Ensro
Disclaimer: If they were mine, you'd have heard of me by now.
Rating: PG (Language, enough violence to move the plot along.)
Category: Angst! Torture! Melodrama! MSR (implied)
Thank You's: Umm...Thanks to my anonymous workplace for 
providing me with a computer and internet access. And while we're 
on that topic, thanks to the U.S. DOD for being paranoid enough to 
invent the internet in the first place.
Archive: Gee, thanks!
Feedback: to theconsortium6@hotmail.com. Please be nice...
Summary: Cancer Man tells Mulder that dirty little secret we've 
known all along. 

Author's Notes: Okay, so Il Fumatore as a loving father is a bit of a
stretch. But we all know that he and Mrs. Mulder were up to a lot 
more than waterskiing. And hey, the whole show's about extreme 
possibilities...

Anyway, this is my first attempt at fanfic. To be honest, this has 
more to do with my own ambivalent relationship with my father than 
with anything else. My father makes the Cancer Man look like Ward 
Cleaver - so I just don't talk to him anymore. The downside of this 
is that I have a brother whom I can never get to know. I guess that's 
where this story came from. It's never really fiction, is it? 

Second Chance 

At least he is asleep now.

The past 24 hours have been almost as hellish for me as they have 
been for him. He is silent now, and I can imagine that he is at peace. 
That he doesn't feel anything. At least there is no one here to tell me 
otherwise.

Not that sleep is much better than wakefulness. I know that, know 
all about it. Know about the nightmares - I have the same ones. For 
both of us, there will never be peace.

I don't know how long I have with him. A day or two, at most, 
before they come. Not long enough, but there's nothing I can do. It 
makes it better, in a way. Not knowing.

I do know, however, how long before he wakes up. The drugs will 
wear off in four to six hours. He'll wake up, and then I'll have to 
tell him. I have carefully rehearsed the conversation, over and over 
again, for years.

It will be hard. This isn't the place he'll expect to wake up.

I am not the person he expects to see when he wakes up.

But still...he will wake. It's too late to go back now. He will wake, 
as he always does, with his sister's name on his lips. 

* * * 

I am sitting beside him, stroking his hair, when I at last see 
movement beneath the wet washcloth over his swollen face.

"Scully? I can't...see anything. I'm blind...."

I smile - it is more difficult than I thought.

"You're not blind." I force myself to whisper, "And I'm not 
Scully."

He cringes, recognizing my voice.

"Thought...you were dead...."

"I could have said the same thing about you."

"If I could see you, I'd kill you."

It's funny, in a tragic sort of way. Gently, I pin down his arm, the 
one that isn't in a cast, and with my other hand lift the washcloth 
from his eyes.

"But you won't." I tell him.

He blinks, looking up at me. This isn't what he expected. The 
hospital, I suppose, which is probably the last place he remembers. 
Maybe the interior of a Consortium laboratory. But not here. Christ, 
I never thought I'd end up in a place like this. It's not exactly New 
York. The only light comes from the fireplace in the corner, casting 
strange shadows over the wood panels of the room. There is only 
one window, frosted with ice now, revealing the cold, bleak 
landscape.

"Did you bring me here to kill me?" he asks. There's something in 
his eyes that, in another person, I might mistake for fear.

"No."

"Why, then?"

"I saved your life. You should be grateful."

He glares. I can't say I blame him. Mine is the face he sees in his
nightmares.

"They were coming to kill you. At the hospital. They aren't exactly
accustomed to botching assassinations."

"And you'd know, I suppose."

"I don't work for them any longer."

He leans back against the bed, still trying to stare me down. For the
first time in weeks I have the urge for a cigarette.

"Why did you save me, then?"

"Did you think I would just let you die?" 

* * * 

Fox, you idiot, what the hell were you thinking? After everything, 
why would you go out and almost get yourself killed? It was a 
combination of tragedies that brought us both up here - that saved 
you from the people who would have you dead. Don't you know...I 
have been watching, all along....

It was madness coming back home for the funeral. But there are 
some things one has to do, even if one is supposedly dead. I 
thought for a moment that he saw me there. I wouldn't have been 
surprised. If anyone could have seen me, it would have been him.

He wasn't crying when they put his mother in the ground, but he 
was pale, miles away. Beyond consolation, a man with nothing to 
lose.

The phone call came that night. I should have warned him. And I 
would have - except that he wouldn't have listened to me. Wouldn't 
have believed me, even back from the dead.

- It's me, Fox. It's Samantha.

Of course it wasn't. I could have told him that.

- I need your help. Please come and meet me.

I wonder what I might have done in the situation. And as much as I 
know that she would never call, if she is even still alive, as much as 
I know now and knew then that it was a trap, I think that I would 
have gone too.

They ambushed him, beat him and shot him in an alley. He would 
have died, but someone found him first.

I think that even if I had warned him, he still would have gone.

I know I shouldn't have brought him up here.

At the hospital, they assured me that he would live, that he wouldn't
likely take a turn for the worse and require emergency medical help. 
He probably won't. But if he does, there isn't a hospital for miles.
The Consortium is not likely to find him up here, or me. They 
believe both of us to be dead. Even the FBI thinks we're dead. But 
if they find us, there will be no strangers in alleys to rescue us.

Unlikely scenarios, both of them. There are more immediate 
dangers. I am an old man now. And if I should die and leave him 
alone up here, there is nothing in the world that could save him. 

* * * 

"We never really had an opportunity to talk, did we, Fox? You were
always shoving a gun in my face."

"Is this why you brought me up here?"

"Partially. There were things I meant to tell you...."

"Like what?"

"I think you know. I think you've known for a long time."

He meets my eyes for the first time. And I probably look just as 
scared as he does.

"How much do you remember, Fox?"

"You were there when Samantha was taken."

"Yes."

"Are you really her father?"

I nod.

A pause. I wait for the inevitable follow-up.

"You're my father too, aren't you?"

"Yes." He doesn't believe me. He doesn't want to believe me. "Bill 
was impotent. He couldn't have children. He knew before I 
knew...that you weren't his."

"And you never bothered to tell me this?"

"I tried, Fox. I've been trying for years."

"Why'd you kill him?"

"I didn't kill him."

"But you ordered it."

I take a deep breath. "Let's just say I didn't shed any tears over his
death."

"Why..."

"He was trying to draw you into the Consortium. I told you he was 
part of the Project. What he would have told you...done to you...it 
would have killed you."

"So you had him killed instead."

"Those weren't my orders. There are people I answered to, you 
know."

"And Samantha? Why did you take her?"

"I didn't take her. They took her from me to keep me from leaving."

"I'm sure."

I stand up, walk over to the window. "If I were in your situation I
wouldn't believe me either."

"You tried to kill me."

"I tried to protect you. As I am still doing."

"What do you want from me?"

For Chrissakes, Fox, do you think that you of all people could give 
me what I want? You think that you could give back what they've 
taken from me? Don't you know that what I want is something that 
no one is ever given?

I sit back down on the chair beside him and lie my hand over his
forehead. "I want you to sleep, Fox." I whisper, "I have morphine, 
from the hospital, if you need it. I know that you must be in pain 
now." I close my eyes, then open them again.

I want you to live, Fox. I want you to live, for all of us who have
died, for Samantha, and for me....

* * * 

He won't take morphine, of course. He is not in any position to run 
away from me, but he tries.

I won't hurt you."

"Somehow I don't believe that."

"Does it hurt?" A stupid question, but I have to ask. His face is so
bruised it is almost unrecognizable, his right arm in a cast, his torso
covered in bandages. Somehow it is worse, knowing exactly how it 
feels.

Knowing that if I had refused drugs, the pain probably would have 
killed me. This is not a time to be brave.

"I don't want to watch you suffer."

"You maybe should have thought of that before."

"I had nothing to do with the shooting. They tried to kill me too."

"And you just conveniently happened to be in town." He coughs 
painfully.

I reach out to put my hand on his shoulder, but he twists away from 
me.

"I was in town for your mother's funeral."

"I didn't know you cared."

God, I love him but I could kill him sometimes.

"I do care. Even now. I loved her. I never had a chance to say 
goodbye to her."

He wisely decides to leave it alone. "Did you follow me?"

"No. I had your apartment under surveillance. I don't have the 
resources I used to have, of course. But I knew that it wasn't 
Samantha on the phone."

"Who was it?"

"I don't know. One of them. Maybe even a clone. I told you, I'm 
not part of the Consortium anymore. I took you from the hospital as 
soon as I knew you would survive. I knew they would come for 
you." My hands are shaking from wanting a cigarette so much. 
"They will still come for you, once they realize that you aren't 
dead."

"They think I'm dead?"

"I...persuaded the hospital to announce that you had died during 
surgery. That it was your wish that no autopsy be performed, and 
that your body was cremated."

"No one will buy that."

"I know. But it will hold them off, for awhile."

"What about Scully?"

"What about her?"

"She's my next of kin. She'll know."

"She will, eventually. Until then I can still pull strings in the FBI."

"Scully thinks I'm dead?"

I nod. The pained look on his face doesn't escape me.

"I did what I had to do." I tell him.

He says nothing, only lies back on the pillow and moans. I touch 
his cheek gently. Whether he doesn't care anymore or he's just too 
weak to fight, he doesn't resist.

"Go to sleep." 

* * * 

When he drifts off finally, I consider drugging him again. I can't 
bringmyself to do it, even if it will buy him a few more hours 
without pain.

I can hardly blame him for not trusting me. Any more of this and I 
would take morphine myself.

He wakes up screaming Samantha's name. I wrap my arms around 
him and he buries his head against me. He's shaking, sobbing. I 
think of how many nights I have woken up like this, alone.

It's alright, Fox. I'm here. It's alright." As if that's any assurance. 

He looks up at me, his eyes blank with terror. I stroke his dark hair,
trying to calm him.

"It's coming back to you, isn't it?" I murmur.

He nods. "You were there...that night...."

"I couldn't stop them, Fox."

"Why the hell not?"

"I don't have the answers you're looking for."

"Why did they take her?"

"I told you. To keep me silent. It was Bill's decision. He told me if I
left the Consortium, if I ever told you the truth about what happened
that night, that I would lose you too."

"You got her back."

"Not exactly."

I have avoided it for so long. Telling him the truth. I don't want him
to know. He's lost enough already.

Don't ask me any more questions. Please. Not now. Don't make me 
tell you.

As if in answer to my prayers, he slumps against me. "Hurts."

"I know." I lower him down on the bed and reach over for the 
morphine.

Reluctantly, he gives me his arm, wincing slightly as the needle 
slides in.

"Try to relax." I tuck the blanket around his shoulders. The drug 
hits him fast, but he doesn't sleep right away.

"You quit smoking." he says weakly.

"About a month ago." And I'm just about to start again.

"I can't call you Cancer Man anymore."

I smile. I had forgotten he called me that. "I suppose not."

"What am I supposed to call you, exactly?"

I look down at him. "Dad." I suggest.

He meets my eyes. And he starts to laugh. 

* * * 

I am alone now. Fox is asleep on the bed by the wall. I won't sleep, 
not tonight. It occurs to me that I might do something other than sit 
in silent vigil by his bed. There's an old typewriter in the next room,
enough books to make my solitude almost bearable. But I don't 
have the heart to move, to risk waking him.

The things I could tell you, Fox, if only there was more time for me 
to explain. But you can't handle them alone, and I can't stay with 
you forever. God knows you deserve an explanation. I wish you 
could understand, somehow, that the man you thought was your 
greatest enemy is your only friend. But it's so complicated, and 
there's no time.

There will never be any time.

Footsteps, in the snow. Up to the door. I slip out of the chair, take 
my gun, and go into the hallway. I did not think it would be this 
soon.

They do not knock. There's not a lock on the door anyway. I stand
against the wall and wait.

I don't know the men who come through the door - I've been away 
for a long time. I shoot the first two before they even see me, then 
step out into the snow.

I shoot another man, out in the snow, and then someone clobbers 
me from behind. I stagger back, thrown roughly onto the threshold 
of the house as the man behind me smashes the gun out of my hand.

Out of the swirling snow, a dark figure comes towards me. Too 
familiar, although I don't think I've seen him standing before, he 
keeps walking until he's only a few feet away from me. He stares 
down at me, a smile crossing his wide, flabby face.

"You were supposed to be dead." he says, "But then again, you 
never do as you're supposed to, do you?" He steps closer to me. 

"Where is he?"

"Where is who?"

"You know. He's not dead. It would be too convenient."

"Of course he isn't dead."

"It runs in the family, doesn't it? How long did you think you could
keep him here? And what the hell made you think you could hide 
away like this?"

"He's not here."

The Elder raises his gun, slowly, points it at me.

"I was going to let you go. You're not a danger any more, so long 
as you stay dead. Where's Mulder?"

I struggle to sit up, to stare the bastard straight in the face.

"You killed my daughter, you son-of-a-bitch. You won't take my 
son too." 

I hear the trigger click, and I know I'm going to die. I have never 
been afraid to die. But I am afraid for Fox, alone and helpless, and 
suddenly my own life seems worth hanging onto.

I close my eyes, unwilling to show fear, even now. Even if we both 
have to die. I won't give him the satisfaction.

There are three shots, ringing out over the sound of the wind. 
Something slams into me but it doesn't hurt. This is death - the 
other time, there was pain, and I knew I would survive. I haven't 
thought about death, ever, I have sent so many other people to the 
grave that it seemed as though I was immortal.

It runs through my mind, like a mantra, again and again.

- Oh god please don't kill Fox...

I think, as a dying wish,that isn't too selfish.

I could have wished for a cigarette.

I open my eyes again, waiting to see death, and see something else
instead. 

* * * 

The bulky form of the Elder lies still, the surrounding snow stained
with his blood. The other man is dead too, slumped against me so 
that I can see his slack face, one eye half open with what is almost a 
look of surprise. I struggle to my feet, turning to see Fox leaning 
against the doorway.

He grins, dropping the gun, takes a hesitant step towards me and
collapses in my arms. I lower him to the floor of the hallway, 
shutting the door against the cold. I remember three gunshots, and 
I'm hoping to hell one of them didn't hit him. I reach out and touch 
his throat.

He's still breathing, at least.

I run my hands over him, feeling for injuries. If he was shot I can't
tell. My fear dissipates when he looks up at me.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah." I glance over at the two bodies lying in the hall. "I need a
cigarette."

He mutters something about it being a filthy habit, but it's too late
now. I've been carrying around a pack of Morleys as a gesture of
self-control - that control vanishes in about as much time as it takes
for me to locate my lighter.

"I'd offer you one, but you don't smoke, do you?"

"Not anymore. I used to, though."

"I know. I gave you your first cigarette when you were twelve."

"Thanks a lot."

I take another drag, then look down at him. "You should get back to
bed." I tell him, "Come on. I'll help you."

He shakes his head, and at once he's all pale and trembling again. 
"Not yet." He's looking at the bodies as if he's never seen blood 
before.

"Fox?"

He doesn't answer. And then it occurs to me.

"Fox? How much did you hear?"

His hazel eyes lift towards mine.

"All of it." he says.

Shit. 

* * * 

What did you think I would tell you, anyway? That she's alive and 
well and maybe we could get together for a big family dinner or 
something?

I've been lying to you for five years...for longer, really, ever since
that night I've been lying to you. I had to.

My life is built on lies.

I was going to tell you, the last time we met. Even though I hadn't
gained your trust, even though Scully was still in the hospital. I was
going to tell you then. You might even have believed me.

Except that I knew it would destroy you. You had to go and fake 
your own suicide, didn't you - just to shake my confidence? I 
convinced myself that you weren't strong enough to take it. I 
convinced myself to wait.

Another few months, years. What's the difference? All the time in 
the world won't change anything.

While you were searching for her I had hope. I had the hope that 
they had lied to me too, that somehow, somewhere, she was still 
alive. Even lying on the floor of my apartment, seconds from death, 
betrayed by even the liars themselves, you were my hope. I had to 
survive, somehow. I had to live.

For you.

And now you are asking me to kill you.

Can't you understand that everything I did, I did because I wanted 
you to live? 

* * * 

"So is it true?" The strength that let him save my life is gone from 
his voice. "Is she dead?"

I nod, slowly.

"She never saw her ninth birthday."

"Were you there? Did you see her?"

"No. I would have been able to tell you then. To believe it for 
myself." 

"Then the woman in the diner?"

"Another clone. But you knew that, didn't you?"

"Why'd you lie to me?"

"I couldn't tell you. How the hell was I supposed to tell you. Oh, 
Fox, by the way, the reason for your search - the reason for 
everything that you are - she's dead. I couldn't tell you that."

He continues to stare at me.

"You deserved to find her. To have her be okay, after everything. 
You had searched too long, too hard, for nothing. I thought maybe 
if you found her, if she was alright, you might give up the search."

"You thought that, did you?"

"It would have been a happy ending, more or less."

"You wanted me to give up."

"Fox - the man responsible is dead. You can't get revenge anymore, 
or justice, and you can't get her back. Maybe if you had given up, 
you could have gotten on with your life."

"Gotten on with my life?" 

* * * 

For a man who has cheated death on countless occasions, come
face-to-face with aliens, assassinated a president...I can sound really
stupid at times.

Of course he can't get on with his life. What did I expect, really? I
sealed my fate, and his, when I was younger than he is now. I could
dodge a million bullets and I'll never escape the Consortium.

Of course I wish it could be different.

Run away with me, Fox. Fuck the FBI, they never liked you 
anyway. We can hide out somewhere they'll never find us. They 
never need to know that either of us existed. We'll find new names, 
find normal lives. I have another son, you know. He's in the FBI 
too - a genetic thing I suppose. He doesn't talk to me but we could 
work things out. When it all blows over we could move back to 
civilization. I'll retire and you can settle down, marry Scully or 
something. Have kids - I know she can't have kids, but you could 
adopt...

Except that it won't happen.

None of it will happen.

Bill told me his first word was JFK.

I killed JFK.

You can never escape.

You can never run away. 

* * * 

"I need to know why she died." he says in a low voice.

"It wasn't your fault. There wasn't anything you could have done."

"Why her and not me?"

"It was Bill's choice. I...still don't know why he chose Sam. I 
suppose because she was your mother's favorite - he wanted to get 
back at both of us."

"How did she die?"

"They never told me. It was as a result of what they did to her, after
they took her."

His eyes darken. "Why didn't you stop them?"

I light up another cigarette. "No one can stop them."

He grabs the cigarette out of my mouth, breaks it in half and throws 
it angrily to the ground. "You're a goddamn liar!"

He gets his temper from his mother. I've always had to be cool and
collected.

"Not this time."

"If you're lying to me, I swear to god I'll blow your fucking brains
out."

"Fox?" I say softly.

"Yeah"

"She was my daughter."

There is a moment of tense silence. And then - perhaps because the
silence is so unbearable, he starts to cry.

And I start to cry.

I clutch him close to me, rub gently between his shoulder blades 
while he sobs against me. I feel his arm wrap around my neck - he 
shudders with pain and cold.

"Don't let this kill you, Fox. Don't let them win."

He nods weakly.

And I force myself to believe him. 

* * * 

"Do you regret it?" he asks. I've managed to get him back into bed, 
a difficult task. He's shivering underneath a pile of blankets. I sit on
the chair by his bedside, smoking one cigarette after another.

"Regret what?"

No response.

"I regret stealing a pack of cigarettes from Lee Harvey Oswald."

He laughs.

"I wish I had told your mother I loved her."

This seems to shock him, understandably.

"I don't know if it would have changed anything. She loved Bill, of
course. I don't know if she ever loved me. She told me she did..." I 
break off. "Maybe we would have had a normal life, if she left Bill 
and I left the Consortium. Maybe Samantha wouldn't have been 
taken from us. But it happened the way it happened."

My mother..." he says.

"She was the only woman who ever broke my heart." I don't like 
the looks I'm getting from him. "What, you've never been in love?"

"Of course I have." he says, and then is silent.

I take a deep breath. "I'll call her tonight." I tell him.

He looks up at me sharply.

"Scully. You're out of danger now. The Elder - the one who was 
pushing for your death...he's dead. You can go home again."

"How the hell do you know about Scully?"

"You're my son. I can sense these things. I've seen the way you 
look at her."

He's quiet for a long time. "I don't think she feels the same way 
about me." he says finally.

"She does." I tell him, "Trust me on this one."

"Trust no one." he replies.

I lean over and ruffle his hair. "Fox?"

"Yeah?"

"If...if somehow Samantha lived, if she's out there, somewhere..." 
I swallow. "We'll find her."

"I know." he says. He yawns - the drugs are kicking in - he'll be 
asleep in a few minutes.

I put my arms around him and slump over with my head on the 
pillow beside his. He doesn't try to get away - he looks over at me 
once, then closes his eyes.

I fall asleep, holding my son tightly. 

* * * 

Her voice is sharp as she answers the phone. My hands are shaking 
so much I can barely hold the receiver. But I can't keep him here 
forever - I have to let him go.

"Who is this?" she snaps.

"I think you know."

I catch the inevitable "black-lunged-son-of-a-bitch".

At this point in my life, that is to be expected.

"What did you do to him?"

"I saved his life."

"Oh, right."

"Listen to me, Scully. He's still alive. Do you want to get him back 
or not?"

There's a pause, which I interpret as a yes.

"I'd let you talk to him, but he's sleeping now. You'll have to take 
my word."

"Where is he?"

I tell her. I can hear her breathing, but she doesn't speak for a long
time.

"I suppose you'll want me to come alone, so you can ambush me 
like you did to him."

While I admire her spirit, this isn't the time for it.

"Bring a goddamn SWAT team if you like. I'll be long gone when 
you get here." 

* * * 

I had planned to slip away in the night, before he woke up again. I
thought it would be easier that way.

But it's never easy. He's awake when I come back from talking to 
Scully. 

Out comes the last cigarette in the pack.

"She's on her way." I tell him softly.

"Thank you." he replies.

We stare at each other in silence.

"You should go." he says, "Wherever it is you're going. They 
won't care whose father you are."

"I know." I say. There's so much more I have to tell him.

But I'll never get the chance.

"Will I ever see you again?" he wants to know.

Of course not. I'm going where no one will ever find me. I'm going 
to a place even more remote than this, because they'll always be 
after me, they'll always want me dead. Where I am going even you 
won't be able to track me down.

I have built my life on concealment.

"Perhaps." I say.

He reaches out to grab my hand. It is awkward, saying goodbye.

So I don't say anything. I just smoke.

"You should quit, you know."

"I know."

And then I reach into my pocket and pull out the lighter, the one 
with the inscription that says "Trust no one". I press it into his hand.

"I'll quit." I tell him. He smiles.

I lean over and kiss his forehead. "Goodbye, Fox."

"Goodbye." he says, still not knowing what to call me.

I suppose this isn't the time to tell him that I was the one who gave
him the name he hates so much.

"Fox?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell Scully that you love her." I stand up, walk to the door.

"No one gets a second chance." 

* * * 

And yes, I am gone before Scully arrives.

I know that she came to rescue him from the cold. I know he is still
alive. I would have heard otherwise, as far away as I am.

Even though I know I will never see him again, this knowledge is 
enough to keep me going.

For now.

At the airport I passed by a newsstand to pick up a pack of Morleys. 
It was a long flight, and planes don't have smoking sections 
anymore.

Placing the cigarette to my lips, I think for a second about Fox,
smiling faintly, holding my lighter in his hand.

It's a good thing I have matches.