Disclaimer: Alas, alack, they are not mine.  Yadda, yadda,
yadda.

Title: The Razor of Love
Author: Dryad
Rating: PG
Spoilers: The whole dang show.
Archive: You betcha.  A note where would be nice.
Summary: Who's gonna plug their ears when you scream?
Note: Written for the 'Transports of Love' Lyric Wheel.
http://www.tifling.demon.co.uk/wheel/wheel.htm


'Time passes, and little by little
everything that we have spoken in
falsehood becomes true.'
Marcel Proust


My Darling Fox ­

Your Aunt Dorothea often told me, "You should be a writer. 
Proust says that the heart of every writer is a block of ice,
and god knows that fits you to a tee."

I used to think she was just being cruel, but after - well, over
time I have come to realize she was right.  I want you to know
that I was not always a cold woman.  In retrospect I see that I
was the middle not only in birth, but of temperment as well,
being neither as sensitive as Saskia or Anneke, nor as prim as
Dorothea or Klara.

The bloom of freshness would soon be taken from me when I met
your father, for Saskia would die from measles only weeks after
his proposal.  Papa was pleased to get rid of one daughter, and
in truth, I was only too happy to go, to begin my real life, or
so I saw it at the time.  I was too naïve to realize that with
marriage comes responsibility, not just for oneself, but for
one's husband, for one's house, and to both family of birth and
of choice.

Family shapes us, more than we ever like to admit.  Had they
remained in Holland, my parents would never have allowed us to
become so familiar with those outside our social sphere of
influence.  Saskia would not have died, nor would I have married
your father.

Do not think I regret this.  Never, no matter what anyone may
say, no matter what anyone may tell you, believe that I did not
love your father.  As you know only too well, incidents occur in
a marriage, terrible things, things too horrible to contemplate,
never mind experience.  Nonetheless, for many years I loved your
father beyond what I thought would be possible.

Only you and your sister have I loved more.

I want to talk to you, Fox.  I want to tell you that you have
been the light of my life, that even in the midst of lies and
deceit, I have never been anything less than proud of you, of
your strength, your courage, and your tenacity.  I pray to God
that he may keep you safe as I have not been able to do, though
not through lack of trying.

My sweetest boy.

So many things I have not shared with you.  Perhaps, had I been
a different kind of woman, had I not believed I was doing what I
thought was best ­ and with hindsight, I am not sure that I have
­ perhaps. . .

You brought Samantha home.  Before his death your father told me
it was not her, but I chose not to believe him.  It is amazing
the lies we can tell ourselves.

Do you understand?

You, however, you always searched for the truth.  Even when you
were a small child, when you were dissatisfied with what you
read or heard, you would storm off to the library to find the
real truth.  I cannot recall how many times Mrs. Diversey ­ she
was your second grade teacher, do you remember? ­ accosted me in
the grocery store, telling me how often I had to 'do something
about my son!'. How that makes me smile now.

You see, Fox, you have grown into a man whose wealth is beyond
price.

In the end, I am but a weak individual.  I have wasted years.  I
have lived in the heart of a writer.  I have felt too much and
not thought enough, contrary to what Dorothea accused me.  I
must beg your forgiveness, for I have not been present when you
needed me most.  I thought that you must weather the storms of
life as a man, and not a little boy.  How foolish that idea
seems, now.  Could we not have taken solace in one another's
company?

Thinking on it, we drifted apart ­ as should happen at that age
­ when you went to Oxford.  You struck out on your own and I was
bereft, alone for the first time in my life.  I will not go into
the woman I became, the shrew jealous of the life her son led,
the bitter ex-wife incapable of feeling joy for other people.

You have far surpassed the hope that my own desires did not
damage you too badly.

The woman you work with, Agent Scully.  I believe she protects
you in the ways I have been unable.  Although I do not mean to
suggest a romantic attachment, I would be pleased if that were
to be the truth, for even though I met her only briefly, I saw
in her a spirit to  match your own.  I believe she will be able
to pick you up, to hold you when you cry, to pay attention.

There is so much to say, and far past the time it should have
been said.

Remember these things only, Fox. You are the light of my life,
my secret happiness, my pride.

I love you.


Mom



An hour after she had sealed the envelope, on her way out of
RiteAid, she ran into Ivy O'Neill.

"Teena!" Ivy trotted over, her ridiculously high heels clicking
on the linoleum like the rattle of popcorn spilled on a
countertop.   "Rose, Esther, and myself are getting together for
the Bridge competition at the Bay Lounge on Thursday night and
we need a fourth.  Can you come?  There are prizes for third
through first place, and the winners get an all expenses paid,
seven day cruise around the Mediterranean!  Wouldn't you just
die if we won?"

Free to enjoy Ivy's excitability, Teena smiled generously. "I'm
afraid I can't help you or the girls, I've got other plans."

"Oh, what a pity.  Well, you should come to Sunday brunch if you
can.  Paul's bringing Natasha and the twins home, and I'm just
dying to show them off.  And speaking of grandchildren, has Fox
gotten any closer to finding a wife?"

"I couldn't honestly say one way or another," Teena said,
forcing her smile to stay in place.  Surely a little lie
couldn't hurt, not at this stage? "He does have a woman in his
life, however, and I'm always hopeful.  Listen, Ivy, could I
trouble you to do something for me?"

"Sure!"

Teena brought the letter out of her jacket pocket, wiped
invisible fingerprints off of it. "Would you mind mailing this
for me?  It needs to go out in today's mail and  I'm just too
much on the run today to get to the post office."

"Funny you should mention it, but I'm awfully busy today
myself," Ivy said, motioning with her purse. "I have to pick up
my prescription and run over to Gray House to see my aunt, and
then I'm going to the Elk Lodge to help with dinner.  I really
won't be able to mail it until tomorrow, maybe not even until
Wednesday, at the earliest."

Teena nodded. "That's alright.  Well.  I've got to go.  I'll
call you later, and thank you once again for mailing that letter
for me, I really appreciate it."

Once back at home, she rechecked the contents of the
refrigerator, made sure it was clean and empty.  She also
emptied the trash, dusted, and folded the remaining laundry. 
With everything done, she brought the photo albums downstairs
and went through them slowly, silently, reviewing good times and
bad. There were Mama and Papa, standing on the deck of the
Atlas, invisible fingers pulling Mama's hair across Papa's
shoulder.  And there, Anneke as a baby, sitting on Klara's lap,
face frozen in mid-wail.  Her favorite picture was of Fox and
Samantha in virtually the same pose, only Samantha's grin was
toothless, and Fox carried the extreme pride only an older
sibling could have.

God.  If only she could live her life over again. . .

When she was done, she arranged the albums carefully on the
coffee table, right next to her will and various other legal
papers , then returned to her writing desk.  Holding the pen
tightly, she licked her lips and thought carefully about what to
write.


Carl ­

May you rot in hell.

Teena Mulder


She folded the paper in half and left it propped up against the
framed picture of herself, Bill, Fox and Samantha, taken during
the 1971 Fourth of July parade in Oak Bluffs.  She didn't know
what was going to happen once she was gone, but at least she
could rest, assured that Fox would her letter, that it wouldn't
be destroyed by Carl in a fit of pique.

Well.  Everything was done.  Freedom was only a few hours away.

It was time.





Author's note:  Mulder's grief was so intense in SUZ/Closure,
and I always felt this came out of such deep love for his
mother, love that was most definitely reciprocated ­ although I
don't believe Teena allowed herself to show it very often.  In
fact, I believe that she deliberately cut hersef off from him
after Samantha, not only out of intense fear of losing her only
remaining child, but also as a way of protecting herself from
repeating the horrible desperation of that time.  Anyway, I
simply can't imagine her not giving Mulder some kind of
explanation for her suicide, so, here's my version.

The lovely Kashmir gave me these lyrics:

Drive
by The Cars

Who's gonna tell you when
It's too late
Who's gonna tell you things
Aren't so great

{Refrain}
You can't go on
Thinking nothing's wrong
Who's gonna drive you home tonight

Who's gonna pick you up
When you fall
Who's gonna hang it up
When you call
Who's gonna pay attention
To your dreams
Who's gonna plug their ears
When you scream

{Refrain}

Who's gonna hold you down
When you shake
Who's gonna come around
When you break

{Refrain}
Ohhh
{Refrain}


-- 
http://www.puritycontrol.co.uk - XF rec's at The Grove, updated
2/1/03