Chapter 1: Beginnings

29 October 1986

—West Potomac Park, Washington D.C.—

The park was more crowded than usual, busier, and that was good. Parks are easy places to become invisible; people rarely focus on faces that don't belong to those they love when they're surrounded and transfixed by nature. Kids threw frisbees to their golden haired dogs, and young lovers walked hand in hand on the riverside. One last farewell to summer was due before the first fall frost, and the city was celebrating the beauty of what would be the park's last bloom of the year. Trees lined the Potomac casting shadows and allowing for recluse from the surprising heatwave besieging D.C. in late October, but few took advantage of the shade. Instead, families unfolded picnic blankets, and parents laid back to spot shapes in clouds with their children. It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, 80 degrees, partly cloudy, with a cool breeze from east; it was perfect weather to go for a long run.

A lighter clicked in the shadows near the riverbank, and a Morley began to burn. Yes... Perfect weather for a run. The cigarette smoking man slipped his Morley's back in his trench coat and patted the lighter in his inside pocket. Smoke clung to his dewed brow as he exhaled and tapped the ashes into the undergrowth at his feet. He'd been casing West Potomac Park for two hours now, leaning against an Oak, hidden behind a large bush, and he was nearly done with his first pack. He fingered the collar of his shirt before taking a long drag on his cigarette—the heat certainly wasn't lost on him today. His eyes surveyed the runner's track opposite his position on the river, searching for someone, seeking a familiar face, hoping for a glimpse...

He took a drag and snuffed out the butt of his cigarette on the Oak as a bird landed gently on the ground next to him. Its red feathers stood out in contrast against the foliage. Its crest stood proud as it twitched its head in the direction of the cigarette smoking man. He flicked the butt of his cigarette at the cardinal, and it hopped away, flying quickly to perch on the low hanging branch of a tree nearby. The man studied the bird as it began to whistle and raise its crest in alarm at the predator who flicked a smoldering pellet at it only moments before. It hopped from branch to branch in the tree, then hopped back onto the ground, slowly moving closer to the man. It picked at the foliage and foraged yet remained cautious. It kept its distance from the man in the shadows who lit another cigarette and crumpled the empty pack of Morley's in his hand, tossing it to the ground at his feet.

In the shadows, the cardinal could be easily recognized. Its color and shape vividly contrasted with the dull background of brown leaves cluttering the earth in early stages of decomposition. The first faint breaths of fall had only just begun to transform the deciduous trees above. Most of their leaves were still thick and green but were in fact new blooms providing shade and concealment for the cigarette smoking man beneath. The leaves that had graced this tree during the long summer months had long ago fallen to the floor of the woods below. Despite the heat, there was a crispness to the wind. It was one that chilled the sweat on the man's neck as he turned to check the area of the park to the south.

Families were gone from the park now. Their picnic blankets were neatly folded and nestled in the back of their station wagons as children nodded off to sleep in backseats, still clutching frisbees and dreaming of summer days long gone. The man opened a new pack of cigarettes while the light from the sun began to dim, and couples slowly made their way out of the park. A drunk shuffled towards a bench fifty yards away, and unceremoniously plopped his weight onto it. A bottle clattered to the paved path next to him. In his efforts to roll over and quickly conceal it, he found himself face down on the ground. A cloud of smoke enveloped the face of the cigarette smoking man as he smiled to himself in the shadows. He found great pleasure in surveillance—one often learned much more than originally planned if you kept your eyes and ears open. Sometimes, he mused, one may even find a laugh or two.

He snuffed out the butt of his cigarette once more in the bark of the tree, darkening the right eye of the smiley face he'd been burning into the trunk all day. He leaned up against the Oak and sighed. Checking his watch in the waning light, it was 6:45. He turned to search the faces of the drug dealers, patrolmen, joggers, and smitten teens moving about the park. It was getting late, and it was beginning to look like his informant was going to have some serious questions to answer in a few hours, but then the cigarette smoking man caught a glimpse of a ghost clad in grey.

He let out a breath of smoke and licked the back of his teeth, swallowing the dry nicotine spit in his mouth as he flicked the half smoked cigarette into the bushes. He pulled his coat tight, settled into the shadow of the bush in front of him, and pressed himself tightly against the Oak. From a distance, the cigarette smoking man watched the man in grey run on the jogging track as he unawarely passed mere yards in front of his surveillor.

The cigarette smoking man watched as the grey-clad jogger ran further down the track and away from the river and continued to make his way through the park in darkness. The man in the bushes lit another cigarette as he watched the jogger disappear and reappear on the track, zigzagging through the park and in-between the light of the street lamps. Finally, he was out of sight.

The cardinal whistled faintly from a branch above him, and the smoking man exhaled with a sigh. He pulled a file from the inside pocket of his coat and opened it, shuffling through pages until he found a picture. His eyes strained in the dim light to make out the details, but there was no mistaking his target. The brown hair, freckled pale complexion, strong brow, and square jaw of the man in the picture were immediately recognizable as he reappeared and rounded the turn of the jogging track, making his first loop of the night.

It'd been a long time since he'd seen that face in the flesh. He took a drag on his cigarette and ran the back of his thumb across the head shot in the folder.

And people say he looks like Bill…

He studied the shape of the jogger running through the park. He noticed the ease of his stride, the tilt of his head, and the way his eyes never changed focus while he ran. He relaxed against the tree and wondered why the man in grey found himself jogging so late at night. It wasn't exactly the safest time of night… The smoking man noticed the shape of a gun padding the jogger's right thigh and the way he leaned into every stride on his right leg. He guessed it had just been issued to him after his recent graduation from the academy. He smiled and took a long drag on his cigarette, thumbing through the folder with his free hand to find where the jogger had been placed.

The Behavioral Analysis Unit. My my, didn't you grow up to be a smart boy…

The cardinal whistled again at the man in the shadows as he watched the shape of the man in grey move away from him on the track once more, always within sight yet still out of reach… The cigarette smoking man took another pull on his cigarette and began to walk away.

He had found his mark.

31 October 1965

—Quonochontaug, Rhode Island—

"Hey Daddy! Look at me, I'm a pirate!" Spender turned around just in time to see Fox Mulder hobble onto the back porch with his fake peg leg, grinning from ear to ear. The four year old was quite the sight—a broad black hat sat low on his messy mop of brown hair and a patch slightly too big for his face sat awkwardly over his right eye. He'd completed the look with a long brown felt beard that fell nearly to his little waist. Spender smiled as he appraised the child in front of him.

It's a wonder he didn't trip over that damned thing.

He stifled a chuckle and felt Teena Mulder's eyes on his back. He quickly looked away and ashed his cigarette in the tray behind him.

"Well look at my little buccaneer," Bill Mulder knocked back the rest of the whisky in his glass, flighting a glance at his son before refilling his glass from the decanter across the porch.

Spender kept his face still despite the discontent he felt simmering in his stomach. Teena held Samantha firmly in her arms and walked over to stand behind Fox in the doorway. She adjusted his hat and rearranged Samantha's bright red wig as Bill finished filling his glass and walked over towards a grinning and waiting Fox. He picked the hat off his young son's head and waved it in the air, laughing.

"Oh you really are something aren't ya kiddo." He smiled and placed the hat back on Fox's head before rubbing a finger over his daughter's cheek. Bill took another drink, ignoring the look his wife gave him, as he turned to walk down the steps of the porch and into the backyard, gesturing for Spender to follow him.

"Stay close to your mother tonight, and be nice to your sister," he took another sip and let out a tense breath, "and Teena,"

"Bill?" She asked with just an air of annoyance to the reply. A moment passed and the air between the three adults on the porch turned icy as Bill raised his glass and pointed it in the general direction of the house,

"Don't let him eat too much of that garbage they hand out at the doors, will ya? He'll be up all damn night again if you do." Bill marched towards the edge of the water, gesturing again for Spender to follow, leaving his wife and children standing tense and quiet behind him in the doorway of their home.

"Alright Bill…whatever you say." Teena muttered to herself. She sighed and shifted the weight of her youngest child, Samantha, from one hip to the other while looking down at Fox. Spender studied the lines of her face. They'd gotten deeper after the birth of her second child and the lilt of her voice had never quite been the same.

Spender let out a nearly inaudible sigh before lighting a fresh cigarette. He missed the friendship Bill, Teena, and himself used to have, but all that had changed nearly five years ago… Now he rarely saw Bill without a drink in his hand, and Teena—well Teena hadn't touched Spender in three years. He watched as she smiled and tickled Samantha's belly, bringing out a giggle from the otherwise quiet young girl. He couldn't help but think the three of them, standing in front of him, were the most beautiful sight in the world.

"And we…" Teena laughed and turned to address her eldest, "have some houses to pillage, now don't we my little Black Beard?" She tickled the back of Fox's neck with her free hand, eliciting easy laughter from the boy, whose face immediately brightened and looked up to meet his mother's.

"Plunder, Momma! Pirates plunder and vikings pillage—we got some houses to plunder before it gets dark. We gotta go now!" Young Fox began to pull on his mother's jeans and Teena smiled.

"Alright, hold on, let me get your coat. We really should get moving if we don't want to be out too late." She opened the door to the house and was about to walk through it when she paused with her hand on the doorframe, "Spend… would you mind?" She glanced between him and Fox, asking Spender to do something she'd never asked of him before, something he'd always wanted to do but never had the chance. It was a test, and he could tell.

He took a drag of his cigarette, "Of course."

Her eyes met Spender's, and for a moment he thought he saw something, a ghost of a feeling that used to be, but then it was gone as she carried her youngest child into the house in search of coats to protect her and her own from the wind of crisp autumn evening.

An appropriate night for ghosts… Even after all these years…

Her voice was heavier than usual lately, Spender thought to himself. But why wouldn't it be? It was barely four in the afternoon and Bill was already well on his way to being drunk—that is if he wasn't already. Spender snuffed out his cigarette. He took a step towards Fox and smiled gently as he knelt down in front of the child.

Fox looked up at him nervously, with bright wide eyes. Spender felt a rush of warmth for him and wanted nothing more than to leave with him and Teena to knock on the front doors of strangers' houses and beg for treats.

What I'd give to put on a mask and face the world tonight as just another anonymous father with the rest of the world.

He knelt there for a moment and considered the thought, what it would take, before he reached out and placed a worn hand on the four-year-old's shoulder.

"Now what do we have here?" Spender tugged on the suspender Fox had fastened into the strap for his wooden sword's sheath. He noticed it was all held together by nothing but tape, glue, and probably a little bit of childlike luck and prayer. He smiled to himself and cherished the thought of Fox hard at work on his Pirate outfit. The boy had been transfixed with pirates for a few months at that point, consuming an incredible amount of TV on the subject at an alarming rate. Now that he thought about it, it made sense for him to want to dress up as one for Halloween, and in a surprisingly accurate homemade costume for a four-year-old at that.

"My my, this is a clever costume. Now, tell me young man, who helped you make it?"

Fox beamed with pride, "I did it all by myself, Sir! I even made my beard!" The little boy pointed at the felt hanging from his face. Spender inspected it more closely and found the rough hewn edges that could have only been cut by a child. He couldn't help but chuckle as he spoke,

"Well that is impressive! You'll have to show me how to grow a beard like that one day. You're even better at it than an old man like me." Spender stood up and walked Fox through the house and out to the front yard where Teena was waiting with the car to take the kids trick or treating. "Now take care of your mother tonight, alright matey?"

"Yes sir!"

"Now hold on a minute, what was that, Sailor?" Spender smiled and grabbed Fox's shoulder just in time to catch the flash of fear in the young boy's eyes as he turned him around. Spender immediately regretted his jab and correction until he saw Fox's eyes fill with light once again, possibly brighter than they had been before,

"OH!" Fox hopped up excitedly, "I meant, Aye-Aye Captain!" he beamed up at Spender.

Spender laughed and patted the boy on the back before Fox turned and wrapped his arms around Spender's legs. He didn't know what to do except stand there as his best friend…former best friend's son hugged him fiercely and then barreled off in the direction of his mother's car.

Spender stood and watched, dumbfounded, as the mousy hair'ed youngster ran to catch up with his mother and sister. He reached into his pocket for another Morley only to find he'd finished the pack.

"Hey Mister!" Spender looked up to see a young Fox Mulder leaning out of his mother's car window, waving his hand wildly.

"Happy Halloween!"

Spender couldn't help but smile and raise his hand to wave goodbye as Fox climbed back in the window and his mother drove away.

He grabbed another pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket and made his way around the house and towards the shore in the backyard of the Mulders' vacation home. He walked slowly and turned his thoughts over in his head as he listened to Teena drive off down the driveway. When he could no longer hear the roar of the engine and the crunch of gravel, he turned around to see an empty front yard. He sighed and closed his eyes but was immediately greeted by the image of Fox staring up with him with wide, bright eyes.

This is going to make things difficult…

Difficult, because tonight he needed to ask Bill to make a choice…

It would be the hardest choice of both their lives.