TITLE: One Bullet
AUTHOR: kaydee falls
CLASSIFICATION: S or V, i dunno, these classifications confuse me
RATING: PG
SUMMARY: What is Spender thinking at the end of “One Son”? Does anything really end?
SPOILERS: Two Fathers/One Son.
DISTRIBUTION: Go ahead. Just tell me first.
DISCLAIMER: look, Carter created the weasel, not me. Let me give the poor character the semblance of a brain! I’m not making any money, believe me!

Second attempt at fanfic, I’m still new at this. Talk to me. HPTFalien@aol.com for feedback, pleeeeze?
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I remember a time when I was six, before I knew that my mother was an alien abductee and that my father was evil incarnate. My father had just bought an antique pistol, in a fancy glass case, with one bullet on display beside it. He was very proud of his purchase, as he showed it to my mother and me. He put his hands on my small shoulders and said, “Jeffrey, this is a piece of history. It is a work of art. I want you to remember that. Never touch this pistol, or load it, because I assure you, it still functions. Just regard it as a beautiful, fragile decoration.”

And because I was an obedient little boy, I never questioned him, nor did I ever take the pistol out of its display case. Years later, when he abandoned us, when I grew up and left the house, I took it with me. But still I never even opened the glass box that held the old-fashioned gun.

Until last night.

Last night I opened the case, picked up the pistol, took its measure. I toyed with it, aimed it, got a feel for it. Then I loaded it with that one bullet. I’m an FBI agent, I carry a gun every day, but never have I felt such power as I did when I held that ancient pistol. It was a special gun, with a single special bullet. I couldn’t waste this bullet. But I knew I would use it, sooner or later. And I knew that there was only one person I would use it on.

If I ever have the chance to use it, that is, I reflect bitterly. Today may very well be my last one alive.

AD Kersh is looking at the pictures taken of the burned bodies at the El Rico Air Force base. These photos sicken me. The men, they all deserved this fate, but not their families. Not their wives and children and grandchildren. They -- we -- were always kept in the dark. Until it was too late.

It may be too late for them, but not for me. I’m getting out of here. I have always hated these people; at one point I was in complete denial that they even existed. But once I accepted the fact of their existence, I began to watch. To listen. To learn, silently. Oh, I remained the picture of rookie squeamishness and moral indignation, but that’s all it was. A picture. A survival mechanism, if you will. I fooled some of them, but not all of them, and today will be the ultimate test of my deceptive innocence. Today I find out if I fooled the right ones.

Kersh speaks, at last. “The way these people died...the loss of life here -- it is beyond words. I can't imagine how it must be for you, losing your mother.”

I swallow hard. I really did love my mother, for all her failings. If I made mistakes in how I showed my affection, then I made mistakes. It makes no difference now. “Yes, sir,” I say, throat dry. “But that’s not why I asked for this meeting.”

“Why did you ask for it?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I scan the room. Skinner, Mulder, Scully, all here. This is it. I can’t turn back now. I take a deep breath. “Because I’m responsible for the deaths of those people at the Air Force hangar in no small way. I certainly didn’t prevent them.” I knew what was planned on the human side, my mother made me realize the danger, but I never did anything. I didn’t want to.

“I assume, then, you can explain how they died?” Kersh asks, a little annoyed. I don’t blame him. “Because I have yet to hear any explanation.”

You’re not going to get an explanation from me, I think. I’m breaking free of that now. I want nothing more to do with it. It’s not my business any more. “Agent Mulder can explain it,” I say, firmly. “I think Agent Scully, to an extent. They might have even prevented what you see in those photos.”

Kersh is angry now. “Agents Scully and Mulder have been suspended by the FBI,” he informs me. Gee, tell me something I don’t know.

Well, no sense delaying now. Just get through this, and with a little luck, you’re home free. “Also my doing. And my mistake.”

“I would ask--” Kersh starts, but I cut him off.

“I’d ask, sir, before you tell me that it’s not my business,” -- and it’s not, not any more -- “that you do everything you can to get them back on the X-Files. Far worse can happen. And it will.”

Yes, Kershy, that’s a threat. I know the truth, and it’s too horrible. I refuse to deal with it any more. But Mulder and Scully, they can deal with the truth. Better yet, they want to know it. They’re fools, obviously, but enthusiastic fools. And they might be able to expose everything, someday, but I can’t. I won’t.

I stand and turn to go. This apparently doesn’t please Kersh. “Where are you going?” he barks.

“To pack up my office,” I tell him simply, and leave. Let Mulder deal with it from now on. I have nothing more to say.

But it’s not over for me yet. As far as the old Consortium is concerned, I could be considered a traitor. Or, if the right people bought my idiot act, just a pitiable coward. Either way, I know too much.

He’s there when I enter the X-Files office. I think I knew he would be. I decide to take the offensive stance from the start. “Get out of here,” I snap. He looks up from the photo he’s studying.

“This picture you have,” he says calmly. “I haven’t seen it since you were born. You probably don’t even know who the other man is.”

Spiteful old man. Of course I know who the other man is. Bill Mulder. I did my research. But it’s good that he’s thinking I’m stupid. Already, I’m on the home stretch. All I have to do is maintain appearances. “I don’t care,” I spit out, then throw in an extra “Get out” for good measure.

In the voice of one speaking to an infant, he quietly tells me, “It’s Bill Mulder, Fox Mulder’s father. Isn’t that something?” I suppress an exasperated sigh. “He was a good man, a friend of mine. Who betrayed me in the end.”

Slowly, cold fear begins rising up inside of me. Maybe looking dumb isn’t enough. I swallow the fear. “I know more than enough about your past. Enough to hate you.” Well, that’s true, anyway.

He sighs, almost sadly. “Your mother was right. I came here hoping otherwise.” I wonder, distractedly, as he pulls out his gun, what he meant by that. I suppose I’ll never know. “Hoping that my son might live to honor me. Like Bill Mulder’s son.”

My father points the gun at my head. For one long moment, I stare at it, mute. Then, suddenly, I’m angry. Furious. I look up to meet his eyes, defiantly, and don’t break the gaze. Something flickers in his eyes, for a second. Maybe he remembers that he loved me, once. I am his son. Nothing can change that.

The sound of the gunshot fills my ears. He turns away, tucking his gun back into his coat, and leaves the office without a backward glance.

I still stand there, staring straight ahead. Then, slowly, I begin to smile, turning my head slightly to see the bullet’s mark upon the wall behind me. My false front, all this time, it worked.

Quickly, quietly, I collect my few belongings in this office that belongs to Agent Mulder. Then I leave the building for the last time. I know that I’m never coming back here.

I’ve seen these false executions before, but it feels odd to be the focus of one. I know that, for all practical purposes, Jeffrey Spender is now dead. When I get home, I’ll find a passport, airline ticket, and new identity on my kitchen counter. If I don’t follow these orders, I will be killed, and for real this time. One of my father’s men will be at the airport, making sure that I am on my flight to wherever. One will be on the plane. One will escort me to my new life when I land in a yet unknown locale. And for a long time, I will be under constant surveillance. If I screw up at all, this second chance on life will be abruptly taken away from me.

I am going to disappear, but thanks to my years of playing the idiot, at least I’m not dead yet. There’s still time for me to carry out my one final mission. I can afford to be cautious. I need to be sure that I can get to him again, exact my revenge for the lives he mangled. All it takes is one bullet, after all. I can wait for years.

At my small apartment, I find the expected items waiting for me. For the moment, I don’t bother glancing through them. I don’t care where I’m going. Instead, I go to my bedroom, where the antique pistol sits in is glass case. Fondly, I pick it up, feeling its weight in my hand. I know from experience that C. G. B. Spender allows exactly two suitcases to those he helps to disappear. Any more will invariably be lost by the airline, or cab, or bus. So I will have to make my selections carefully. And the beauty in my hand will be the first thing I pack.

Later, leaning back in my chair on the plane to Madrid -- first class, of course -- I glance out the window, and wave a silent goodbye. Then I settle back, smiling. I’m still alive. I’m out of that dark conspiracy, hopefully for good. And I still have my beautiful pistol with its one bullet. One special bullet, to accomplish my sole remaining mission in life.

Bye-bye, Daddy.

Until we meet again.