Sorry for taking so long! I was camping with no cell/internet service for a few days. Also I needed to spend some time thinking about how I want to write William. I keep beating myself up about the unavoidable sci-fi element of his storyline. (PS, I jumped a few years again in the last bit of the last chapter- Will is now in his early 20s.) Anyway, here is a little snippet of a chapter to let you guys know I'm still here. More to come very soon.
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His head droops slowly forward, one lightly stubbled cheek dragging along the wrist of the arm that just barely keeps him from tipping face first into the open copy of The Elegant Universe on the table before him.
A lone desk lamp throws a warm circle of light onto the dozing young man and his work; papers and books seem to have tumbled haphazardly out of a much-abused knapsack, almost entirely obscuring the smooth, darkly-stained hardwood of the table.
In fact, the entire apartment, as tastefully furnished as it may have been per the original standards of his housing arrangement, (provided and paid for entirely by the college) seems to have received a similar treatment. Books and folders inhabit every corner, stacked precariously on every surface and overflowing from the tall shelves actually designed to hold them. The furniture had been selected purposely for its minimalistic elegance, but it is hardly noticeable beneath the chaos.
It is only several minutes after midnight - still hours before he normally drags himself to bed, or, more often, falls unconscious where he sits, but today had been particularly trying, and the accumulated sleeplessness is starting to take its toll.
In an irrefutable sign of his exhaustion, it takes William until the third ring to jerk awake, and until the fourth to reach for his phone.
He blinks tiredly at the screen, almost not answering when he sees the name beneath the numbers.
"Hey." His murmured greeting is soft and raspy. Surprised, it takes her a moment to respond.
"Were you asleep?"
"Not intentionally." He sits up, marking his page and pushing the book aside to stretch back against the wooden chair. "Crashed at the table."
He can almost hear the motherly reprimand before she speaks.
"Will…." she trails off, sighing. The concern in her voice makes him feel a pang of guilt, low in his gut. "I've been worried about you. I need to know that you're taking care of yourself. And…" he can picture her biting her lip, a nervous habit he'd inherited. "And I need to know what you're getting yourself into. Even if I don't agree with it. You're an adult and you can do what you think is right…. but I can't not know, Will. It terrifies me to not know."
It's William's turn to sigh, running a hand over his face and through his hair.
"It going to take a lot of explaining," he warns tiredly, knowing this won't deter her.
She doesn't disappoint. "I have time."
"Alright." He closes his eyes. Damn it, Mom. "Come for lunch tomorrow. I'll do my best to fill you in. But try to change my mind and I'm keeping you out of the loop again." It feels oddly like talking to a child.
She won't, she promises.
"Ok. 'Night, Mom."
Sighing, Will tosses the phone into the pile of papers and leans back in his chair to crack his stiff spine, rolling his neck a little before standing. When they'd last spoken a little over a week ago, he'd barely been able to contain his excitement, fidgeting on her couch until she'd shut him down.
If there was a way to get Dad- Mulder back...would you try it?
No.
He understands her wariness. It is well-meaning and well-deserved. But after a week of uncomfortable silence in which he knows she's thought about little else, he has no idea what he's going to tell her.
But the notes on the table catch his eye, and he remembers he has more pressing concerns. Reaching for the omnipresent pot of stale coffee, he sits back down, thumbing to the page he'd marked and twirling a pen between his fingers to shake off the last cumbersome remnants of sleep.
Just a few more hours.