CHAPTER 10

ADX Florence
10:01 A.M. MST

"Van De Kamp! Armed guards in!"

Will didn't move from his back as he lay on the concrete slab bed, staring up at the ceiling in deep, destructive thought over Cara's disappearance. His wrists and ankles were still bound; he felt much like a corpse lying on the bed, his hands resting on his stomach, feeling the way his abdomen rose and fell with each breath.

After he decided to do his best to stop being an asshole for Doggett and Reyes, he was able to be prepped by them for his inevitable trial, which was rumored to be still over a month away. His lawyer, who he met with for the first time, joined Doggett in the room - Reyes couldn't remain with him, and had to leave due to the two-person-max allowed in the visiting room. Will pondered over the frightened thoughts he read in Reyes' mind as she left, though by doing so, he violated a promise he had made to himself to not use his powers in such a way. Yet, her fears were as clear as the skies he once was able to see through the cage of the penitentiary "swimming pool" where he was allowed an hour of recreation per day once before. Not anymore - the warden had seen to it that every basic right was removed from him, including exercise time and freedom from restraints. He didn't even have the automatically-timed shower his first cell had, forcing him to remain in his sweat and blood-ladened clothes until the warden determined he was worthy to shower in front of armed guards. It was only for this particular reason that he was grateful for the thick plexiglass that separated him from any visitors he had, knowing the glass spared them his bodily stench from lack of hygiene.

Reyes' fears were that Will, no matter how much she and the others believed in him, was being used as a Christ-like figure for the Colonists, except without the evident innocence of the Holy One. They muddied the media waters with rumors and loose "facts" of his personality and life, strewn together in a chain of deception designed to enrage the public, enough to maybe even cause them to shout "crucify him" as they formed their opinions safely behind television screens.

Will knew he hadn't helped himself with his outburst the other day, taking note of how the guards snickered as they passed, talking about him as though he weren't there. They would comment on how political figures had taken such a strong stance against Will, and rightfully so. If it were up to them, they'd save the public the tax dollars and trouble and open a firing squad on him on their lunch break. He also managed to hear bits and pieces of the now popular coverage of Cara's disappearance, the guards saying that somehow, Will was working with someone on the outside, or perhaps even had an accomplice he was protecting.

Only once had Will had the distinct pleasure of sitting across from the man who would prosecute him, luckily before his outburst, as he grilled him, trying to drive the nails into Will's hands on the crucifix himself. Will remained absolutely silent, allowing his lawyer to be his voice. He was too busy reading the prosecutor's mind, anyway, seeing among the strength of his belief in Will's guilt the tiny glimmer he held of his innocence. At least he's honest, Will had thought, finding an ounce of respect for a lawyer who, should he win this high-profile slam-dunk case, would be elevated into a status worthy of perhaps more than eight figures. At least he had a shred of belief in Will's humanity left in him.

As Will heard the guards enter his room, he continued to stare up at the ceiling, wondering what had triggered their presence. There were only a few possibilities, and they all seemed plausible. Either it was now time for the peep-show shower he desperately needed, his lawyer was back for some unknown reason, or the guards had finally decided to go through with their personal execution plot. He closed his eyes, seeing nothing but darkness and listened to the barking of the retrievers around him.

"Up, Van De Kamp. Now!"

"I was enjoying a nap," Will said dryly, still laying on his back.

"UP!"

Will sat up slowly, using his abs to propel him forward, as his hands were still bound in front of him. He turned and looked at the guard in front of him, absorbing his thoughts quickly. He smiled a little in response, deciding he was tired of playing the role of mouse in their game. "Don't worry," he said softly, "I won't tell the others you feel empathy for me."

The guard's eyes widened, a feeling of violation washing over him as he took in Will's response to his unspoken words. Will smiled, looking down as he stood, knowing he struck a chord with the guard. "Move," the guard said, trying to snap back into his role of the cat in the game. "The warden would like a chat with you."

Shit, Will thought. He remained expressionless, following the guards as they pulled, beat and shoved him out of his cell and down the walk to the visiting room. Once there, he was chained again to the pole - this time, no chair in sight - and he pressed his head against the concrete and swallowed, hoping his saliva would quench his thirst. His throat was dry; he hadn't had water in well over fifteen hours, or much else in nourishment in the last twenty-four.

He didn't look up as the warden entered on the other side of the plexiglass - he had no need to. The warden's thoughts preceded him, ringing through Will's head before he even saw the man. He knew why he was here, and what he would say, and it terrified him. They would be bumping up his trial to one week from now, instead of the minimum of four weeks originally planned. He knew the last few weeks of his life played like a suspense movie to the people, and he figured they wanted to fast forward to the climactic action section. Get the popcorn, because it's showtime, Will thought with a feeling of nervousness he hadn't experienced before this moment.

"You're quite popular, Van De Kamp," the warden said, standing in front of the plexiglass with his hands on his hips. "So much so, that it's been requested from very high up that we deal with you sooner rather than later." Will saw the warden's smug smile as he slowly looked up from the pole he had leaned his head on, peering into the warden's eyes with a blank expression. "Personally," the warden said, stepping close to the glass, "I can't wait to see the show myself." Will watched as the warden moved in closer, knowing though he felt secure with the thick glass between them, the warden was still afraid of what Will was capable of. "Your lawyer will be coming to see you in two days. The trial begins in one week, so we'll allow you to have visitors outside of your legal representation and the federal agents responsible for you after your lawyer sees you. Though, I'm not sure you've got anyone who would want to visit your sorry ass for social reasons rather than to kill you themselves."

The warden crossed his arms over his chest, annoyed with the lack of reaction he was receiving from Will. Though he was grateful he wasn't the subject of his rage, his desire had been to provoke Will, now seeing he had failed to do so. "You'll get to shower in two days after your visit from your lawyer. Enjoy it, princess. It'll probably be the last time you get one."

Will's eyes followed the warden as he left, his breaths deep and even as he allowed the information to sink into his mind. Visitors, he thought. One of the only people I want to see is gone. Hopefully, the only other two are looking for her.

12:49 P.M. EST

Skinner paused on the graded mountain trail he had been following Wesson and Cara on, Gibson now coming to his side as he took a moment to gather oxygen into his lungs. The coldness of the winter wind burned him as it filled him, his feet shifting in the snow underneath him to steady himself on the natural angle he was standing on. He felt Gibson watching him, catching the young man push his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a gloved finger. "Come on," Skinner said, seeing Wesson and Cara still pushing forward without them. Gibson followed him, processing the thoughts he had taken in from Skinner's mind.

"It's different, this time," Gibson said quietly, responding to the words Skinner hadn't spoken.

"How so?" Skinner asked. He had become used to Gibson's forwardness of interacting with his personal thoughts. Skinner had spent many years with Gibson, keeping him safe while he told everyone he was in sunny Bermuda enjoying retirement from the bureau. He had grown fond of Gibson, enjoying his ever-perceptive company as they continued to dodge the evils Skinner thought Mulder's exoneration had resolved.

"William is innocent," Gibson replied, "but he can never be exonerated."

"I wouldn't think so," Skinner remarked, knowing how special Will was as a child, let alone as a grown man who had not only survived a complete and invasive transformation, but flourished in it.

"He will have to choose," Gibson continued, tossing a stick he had swooped down to grab a while back. "He can't have both."

"Both what?"

"Both a family and power."

"The power to save the people, you mean?"

"Yes."

Skinner's eyes narrowed as he looked ahead, Cara catching his eyes as she almost elegantly trekked through the snow. "What is Wesson's story?"

"He's good," Gibson remarked. "He wants to help. He cares a lot for Caraline."

"And Caraline?"

"She is William's best friend."

Skinner continued to watch Cara ahead of them, recalling the many times he had been on similar quests with Scully on Mulder's behalf, understanding the depth of Cara's and Will's relationship.

They caught up to Wesson and Cara, who were stopped, Wesson holding a compass in front of him as he took in his surroundings. "Alright, Gibson," Wesson said, nodding toward the two obvious routes created through the underbrush, "which way? Northwest or Northeast?"

Gibson looked at the divergence in the trail for a moment before responding, "Northwest."

"You sure?" Wesson checked, putting his compass away.

"Yes," Gibson replied with a nod.

"Northwest it is."

The four continued to scale the grade, though Cara had noticeably fallen behind. Wesson allowed Skinner and Gibson to move ahead of them, though Gibson lingered near Wesson as he watched Cara stop as she chewed on her bottom lip. "Hey, English," Wesson said, moving quickly toward her with a smile that was an attempt to cheer her up, using her last name to recall their first meeting with each other. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Cara replied, trying to push away the nausea she felt.

"You shouldn't be doing this," Wesson whispered.

"You know I have to," she whispered back.

"You need to rest. You're risking yourself and the baby."

"I can't rest without drawing attention," Cara said, quickly glancing ahead to Skinner.

"Then I'll call for a rations break," Wesson said. "At the next level plain we reach."

Cara nodded, knowing Wesson was right in that she needed to rest. "Okay," she whispered, turning to continue up the snow-covered grade. As she nearly slipped, losing her footing for a moment, Wesson's long arms immediately caught her, wrapping securely around her coat-covered waist.

"Whoa, easy," he said softly, his body pressed closely against Cara's as he stabilized her. She turned in his arms, feeling his soft breath on her face as he held her firmly yet gingerly around her waist. "You okay?" he whispered, trying to ignore the intoxicating mix of citrus, floral and vanilla he smelled on her skin by being so close. He also tried to ignore the vivid clearness of her eyes as they locked on his face.

She found herself lost in his eyes; the intensity of his gaze was exhilarating and frightening, and she couldn't help but notice the fullness of his lips resting near his strong jaw. "I'm fine," she said quickly, roughly pulling herself out of Wesson's embrace, determined to move as far away from him as she could. She almost felt like she couldn't escape the electricity his hands had caused; she felt his heated touch even through his thick gloves and her warm, insulated coat, and it terrified her.

Wesson went to follow, but was stopped by Gibson. "She's okay," Gibson said. "She's just scared."

"I am, too," Wesson murmured, thinking about how valuable a child shared by William, the Savior, and Cara, the ultimate Shield, would be to the Colonists. Too valuable.

"She's scared because of what she feels for you," Gibson divulged, looking up at Wesson carefully.

"Wait, what?" Wesson wasn't expecting that.

"She feels your connection," Gibson continued. "She's attracted to it. But she's also scared by it."

"My connection?"

"The Shields were designed to procreate with each other, like any other species, hence why there is such a connection between you and Caraline. But her heart longs for William. He wasn't meant to have a mate, though they wanted him to when they made him. Caraline's father knew William couldn't have a family. He knew they will die if he does."

Wesson's heart stopped, letting Gibson's words sink into his mind as he watched Cara continue ahead. He knew there would be a battle ahead for her, but now he feared the choices that would have to be made, knowing the responsibility that came with them was far beyond a magnitude he would ever want for her.