From: Xenith Date: Wed, 3 Nov 1999 23:46:29 -0800 (PST) Subject: Sons (1 of 1) Source: direct Title: Sons (1 of 1) Author: Xenith Disclaimer: The X-files belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions, not me. I'm only borrowing the characters for now. I'll put them back when I'm done. Rating: G Category: V Spoilers: Thru the end of Season 6 Archive: Spookys, Gossamer, anybody else, please tell me first. Feedback: Love it! Love it! E-Mail address: xenitha@yahoo.com Website: Go here to read more of my stuff! http://members.xoom.com/merlin717/index.html Discussion List: Yes!!! Yes!!! Summary: A Cancerman's thoughts about family. SONS I have often been asked why I have not removed this oh, so irritating obstacle to the group's plans, to my plans. I always have an answer, of course, a reasonable answer. He is necessary. He draws attention away from our efforts to prevent colonization. Because he is out there, like the bull in the proverbial china shop, we are free to work on the vaccine that will save us all, not just our closest family. And of course, if we kill him, there will be others to follow in the martyr's footsteps. Fine words, good reasons. Except that the martyr has no followers. He has a partner who disbelieves in most of what he does, who follows out of loyalty. Or perhaps it's love. It hasn't been so long that I fail to recognize that emotion. Love. I knew love once. A beautiful woman, tall and dark-haired loved me. She was intelligent, outspoken, knew her own mind. And she was passionate. And I loved her, so much. I guess I still do. But, as always, duty came first. She never understood that. She couldn't fathom that I served a higher cause, one that required sacrifices from us all for the greater good. She couldn't see that what I chose benefitted her family, as well. Family. I had one, once. I had a wife I didn't love and a son I never knew. And when he was grown I still didn't know him. And then he betrayed me. He wasn't the one who should have been my son. The son I wanted was born from that dark-haired woman. He was terribly bright, so advanced for his age. I watched him grow, envious of the man he called father. I applauded when he won scholastic awards, cheered when he studied at Oxford. I quietly ensured his recruitment into the F.B.I., which I knew he wanted so much, even though his color-blindness disqualified him. And I watched him. I have always watched him, proud of his leaps of logic, the way in which he leaves slower, stupider mortals behind in his wake. He is arrogant. How could he not be? He could be my son. He should have been my son. I tried to bring him into the project once. Tried to show him that his talents deserved the scope that I could offer him. He is made to wield power, but he cannot realize it. Perhaps he is unwilling to learn the ruthlessness it takes to command the fates of millions. He refused. I respect that. He has always been clear about his goals and values. He doesn't lie, and doesn't care what anyone thinks about him. Not like the puling milksop I seem to have begotten. The child my wife bore grew into a weak, vacillating man incapable of understanding power, much less wielding it. I hoped that he could grow into it. He didn't. He didn't honor me, his own father. He betrayed me. I did my duty. You know, in ancient Rome the paterfamilias, the father, had life and death authority over his children. If he deemed his offspring unworthy of their genetic heritage it was his duty to rectify the error. And so I rectified mine. How could I produce such a son? And so, they still want me to kill him, this thorn in their side. But I won't. Not today. Because you see, he should have been my son. =====