CHAPTER 20

December 24, 2011
St. Paul, Oregon
11:54 PM PST

She was alone as she sat on the sofa, staring at the incredibly small Christmas tree he had chopped down from the woods that surrounded their secluded home. It was sparsely decorated, without lights and sheltering two small packages underneath its thin evergreen branches. He was due home two hours ago, and his absence made her stomach roll with sickness as she came to several thousand horrible conclusions in the silence of her mind.

She clutched the phone tightly in her hand, knowing how he hated her to worry. It was impossible, though, for her not to obsess over where he currently was, given their extensive history of more unhappy occurrences than happy ones. She had called him three times, left two messages and considered phoning the police. It was Christmas Eve - what was left of it anyway - and her present he had gotten her against her wishes was already patiently resting beneath their sad excuse for holiday decor. He had no reason to be so late.

She snatched her gun quickly as she heard the door rattle softly, her eyes shooting the distance to the front entryway. She stood hesitantly, fearing the worst and expecting more than the worst, though she knew there was still a year left. Still almost a year, she thought. There's still almost a year. Would they come early? Would they try to track them down? Did they even care about them anymore?

They had discussed the possibilities several times, more than he cared to it seemed, judging from his resistance in his tone each time it came up in conversation. She was surprised - she knew he secretly poured hours upon hours of energy into finding the first hints of the inevitable. Yet, he always was shy about discussing his findings with her. She assumed he was trying to preserve the hope she had inside of her, and maybe even trying to starve his own cynicism and doubt. They both knew the truth, though - when the clock struck twelve on January 1, 2012, they would have a mere eleven months together. Eleven months. They had nearly two decades together, and soon it would come down to a matter of months.

The questions usually poured through her mind in the silence of night, his long arm draped around her waist protectively as he caught a few precious hours of sleep that his rebellious body would allow him. Would they die immediately? If so, how would they die? Would they be forced into slavery? Would anyone else survive? The mental ramblings stole not only her sleep but her security, his warm, lanky body behind her the only reminder of safety she had ever had. There was peace in his arms, protection in his kiss.

Yet, he was still gone, the door now shaking with gentle force as she aimed her gun, the years of experience with handling a weapon giving her a piece of the security that she so desperately needed. It wouldn't be him, not using the key. It couldn't be him, not asking for her help. Why would he access the door of his own home as if it led to somewhere he had never been? She swallowed, feeling the carpet under her bare feet as her robe draped open to reveal her thin pajamas, her chest rising as she grit her teeth. No, this wasn't him. This was someone else.

The creak of the hinges nearly echoed in the home; she had kept her breathing even and silent, swearing to herself to keep the Ice Queen disguise on as she had so expertly perfected over many years. Whoever it was that now deceivingly entered her home, they wouldn't see her weak. She would die with strength, with or without him by her side.

A large figure peered in; she considered whether to announce her presence in the home she had purposely darkened while she waited for him to come home, knowing she couldn't immediately be seen from the person's vantage point. She waited, her eyes locked on the shadowy presence as it filled the empty foyer. "Don't move," she warned with an icy tone, cocking her gun. "Hands up," she commanded, the blood coursing through her system on overdrive.

"It's me," she heard him say in a soft, reassuring voice. She closed her eyes, her guard falling as quickly as it rose, her arms relaxing as she relaxed the mechanism of her gun. "I thought you were sleeping."

"Jesus, Mulder," she murmured, her relief mixing with anger. "Where have you been?" She moved to the light switch, flicking on the overheads as she examined his wet, muddy figure, a gash clearly displayed on his forehead despite the soaked bangs that tried to disguise it. "What happened to you?" she whispered, her eyes widening as she approached him.

He locked the deadbolt behind himself. "My truck was stolen," he replied bitterly, shrugging off his coat.

"What?" she asked in disbelief.

"I was on the highway, coming home from the market when I was run off the road. They held a gun on me and told me to get out. So I did. Then they knocked me down ... and the last thing I saw before I blacked out was them taking my fucking truck." He was livid, as he had every right to be. He had spent the last several months fixing up the tattered blue truck, pouring himself into learning the work to avoid sitting around the house by himself and contemplating the end of the world while she was on shift at the hospital. It was only a couple weeks ago that he was able to get it working enough to take trips to the food store twenty miles away.

She chewed on her lip as she traced her finger around the gash he sported. She knew his pride was in worse condition than he was, despite being physically knocked down and forced to walk miles home in the cold rain. "They stole my wallet and phone, not to mention the damn groceries," he added with a growl. He brushed past her in a beeline for their bedroom. "I mean, it's Christmas fucking Eve," he continued while she watched, hesitantly following his angry path marked with the long-sleeve shirt he stripped from his body, followed by the wife beater he had underneath. "All I wanted was some goddamn holiday fucking cheer to remind me of why this whole fucking planet doesn't deserve the destruction it's getting."

Shoes flew to the corner of the room, smacking into the wall as they flung mug onto the baseboards. His socks landed with ironic grace on the bed. His belt flung open, the pants gliding down his legs, kicked aside without concern. He turned, facing her in only his boxers, his hands falling on his hips. "Is it too much to ask, Scully?" he demanded, as if she had the secret answer to something he was trying to figure out. "Is it too much to want people to be decent for once?"

She didn't respond. She didn't know how to. She was just grateful he was alive. "I mean, what's the point anymore, Scully? What's the fucking point?" he asked. "There is no point, Scully. That's the answer. You know that truth I was looking for so badly? It's driving off in my truck!" he yelled. "The truth is, Scully, I don't give a rat's ass what happens to this world in a year."

She knew he didn't mean it. She knew he was expressing the suppressed emotions of their fruitless search for William, he just as affected by the lack of results as she though he didn't ever verbalize it. Tonight was the night, though. A stolen truck equaled the straw that broke his back, everything he had felt for years now coming to an angry head as he paced in his underwear. "One time, Scully," he said firmly. "Just ONE time I would like to be surprised by the humanity of people. ONE time. Otherwise, you ... me ... we've wasted nearly two decades of our lives trying to save a population that should just go the way of the dinosaur. Everything, Scully," he continued, moving like a shark forced to keep forward motion to survive, "every fucking ideal we've ever held for this God forsaken planet was a waste of time. People don't care. People ... people are selfish, greedy bastards who deserve years of enslavement from an alien race." He stopped, facing her, seeing her but not fully seeing her in his tantrum as she stood silently and watched. "Well, when those mother fuckers who stole my truck come crawling to me for help, I'm going to laugh in their face," he stated. "You know why, Scully? Because this whole world is fucked up!"

He sighed, pausing. She thought he was done. He wasn't. "You know what else is fucked up, Scully? The fact that because I sought this truth, because I wanted answers on behalf of not only myself, but the world, YOU, Scully - YOU are without a child this Christmas. YOU are suffering. YOU should be a mother. You ... you should be holding him right now ... you should be telling him to get his little rebellious ass in bed because Santa fucking Claus won't come if he doesn't. You should be listening to him complain about missing a sighting, mentally cursing his father for passing down the gene that carries the desire for truth. You should be pulling your hair out over the mess he made of his room, or the lies he told, or the dirt behind his ears that he never washes, or the hundredth revision to his Christmas list. You should be bitching about PTA meetings and soccer practice, driving a minivan with a DVD player in the back that plays nothing but noisy cartoons on repeat. You should be taking a bite of a cookie you've made with him for the fat old bastard who he's so excited to see in the morning that he wakes you up at four A.M. and jumps on your stomach."

He paused. She didn't realize, but she was crying just as hard as he was, their tears competing for quantity and speed as he continued. "You, Scully, should get to kiss him, to hold him, to watch him grow, to love him. Not those people. Not the Van de Kamps. You." He didn't bother to wipe his eyes though she did; he couldn't move from the sorrow that weighed down on him. "You, Dana," he whispered. "You."

He was shaking; she moved to him, needing his embrace as much as he needed hers. "Mulder ..." she whispered, hearing his heart-crushing sobs he buried in her hair. They clung on to each other, exhausted, worn and battered. "Don't blame yourself," she instructed him gently, her breath colliding with his chest.

"There's no one else to blame, Dana," he said.

"No," she said, pulling away from him, stroking his still damp hair. "Don't do it, Mulder. Don't let them win."

"Haven't they already won?" he asked in pain.

She shook her head. "Not if we don't quit," she replied. "Then they can't win."

He sniffed, sighing. "We've tried everything. Everywhere, everyone-"

"We ..." she interrupted, hesitating. "We need to try the only thing they can't take away." She looked into his glassy eyes, blinking away the tears.

He searched her eyes for a long moment, his hand combing through her silken hair. "I don't know if I have any hope left, Dana," he replied with dark sorrow.

September 14, 2012
Outside of Mount Weather, VA
5:02 PM EST

Will exited the SUV quickly after Mulder parked, his eyes cast forward onto the view of the base in the distance. The last few hours pried at his sanity as he dwelled on the Smoking Man's warning of potential misdirection, hoping the black-lunged devil wasn't right. At this point, he couldn't afford to not be where Cara was - he didn't know how long she had been in labor prior to the call he received and he feared she would progress quickly, perhaps too quickly.

He took the binoculars he was handed from Skinner in the cover they crouched in, Mulder joining them as Doggett, Reyes and Scully stayed back with Gibson. "William," Skinner said softly, "if you try to get in there now, you'll never make it. You need to wait for the shuttle."

"She's in labor," Will snapped softly, turning to Skinner. "I don't have time to wait three hours!"

"He's right, William," Mulder said softly, knowing how Will was disappointed in his father's alliance with Skinner. "It's too much of a risk. Once they know you are here, I'm sure they are prepared with magnetite for you. You have no advantage over them in daylight."

"So we make her suffer for three more hours while what, we talk about the Yankees?"

"William," Skinner interjected, trying to diffuse Will's anger, "your best shot is to get on that shuttle."

"They probably already know I'll be on that shuttle," Will argued. "So what's the point?"

Mulder sighed. "You think you're being played?" he asked.

"I'm just saying, they've been three steps ahead during this whole dance," Will reminded.

"Are you confident she's here?"

"That's what we were wondering, too," Skinner added softly, catching Will's eyes. "How would Martin Jackson know of the significance of Mount Weather in relevance to Caraline?"

Will shook his head gently. "I … I don't know. It has to mean something, though."

"Are you sure Martin Jackson could be trusted?"

"Yes," Will said firmly. "Besides Cara, before I met my parents, he's the only other person I've ever trusted."

"Would he have any connection to the shadow government?" Mulder asked.

"How the hell should I know?" Will was panicked; he couldn't be in the wrong place. He couldn't afford to not be where he needed to be. "Why the hell didn't someone bring this up sooner?" he nearly yelled.

"Easy," Mulder said, eying Will. "Relax. No one is saying we're not where we're suppose to be."

"He is," Will growled, looking at Skinner. "How the hell do I know if I can trust you and your local friendly DOD contact either? And isn't it convenient that I need to wait three more hours to get inside somewhere that's right in front of me?" Will demanded, feeling betrayed as he stood, stepping near Skinner. "What's your angle in all this?"

"The same as yours, William," Skinner replied before Mulder could defend him, standing to face him, unintimidated by Will's accusations. "I'm interested in saving Caraline's life. And your children's. So I suggest you start trusting in those around you who have gone with you this far."

Mulder was silent as he observed his son and Skinner, hoping Will wouldn't lose his cool at such a critical time. "William," Mulder said gently, "don't end up right where they want you." His words were soft but laced with warning. "They're setting you up for a checkmate. Stay focused."

Tossing the binoculars at Skinner, Will walked away from the others, isolating himself in the nearby treeline. "They really have done a number on him, haven't they?" Skinner observed softly as he and Mulder watched.

"He's still got more to go through," Mulder remarked, seeing Scully approach, confusion displayed on her face.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"William doesn't think we should wait," Skinner explained. "He's having a hard time following the plan."

"Can you blame him?" Scully said, her eyes shifting to the distance toward her son.

"I'm not so sure we're where we need to be," Mulder murmured, sighing. "I think you might be right, Skinner."

"Oh Mulder," Scully whispered, "we can't be wrong … we don't have time to be wrong."

"I don't doubt this has something to do with things," Mulder explained, "but I don't think she's here."

"Where, then?" Skinner asked. Mulder's lips pressed together; he shook his head. "Alright, so what now?"

"He's got to use his ability," Mulder whispered, the pieces falling into place in his mind.

"No, Mulder!" Scully objected angrily. "How can you even think about him using something that could kill him?"

"Not that one, Scully," Mulder said. "His ability. The one they want to kill him for."

"Which is what, exactly?" Skinner asked.

"Control," Mulder replied, jogging after Will as Scully and Skinner stayed behind.

"I can't do this, Dad," Will said softly, hearing Mulder's physical approach behind him as well as his thoughts. "I thought I could save her. I thought my hope in her still being alive was enough."

"You know it's not," Mulder replied, coming closer to Will. "Your hope needs to extend far beyond that."

"To what?" Will asked, turning toward Mulder. "Santa Claus? The Easter Bunny?"

"Don't do this, William," Mulder warned. "Don't break down now."

"How can you stand there and tell me not to break down?" Will demanded. "My wife, the beaten woman who tried to kill herself to prevent all of this, is alive and in labor with children that could either save the world or destroy mankind."

"And that's why you need to keep it together," Mulder reminded. "Cara is counting on you."

"We were never meant to win this game, Dad," Will said angrily. "She was never meant to be found, just like I was never meant to get away with denying them what they want."

"You heard Gibson," Mulder argued. "YOU, William, are the barometer for things. You control it."

"No offense, Dad, but I have yet to see any credible results from Gibson's claims."

"William-"

"Nothing has been proven other than my inability to protect the woman I love!" Will shouted. "Not a damn thing!"

"Then prove it, William!" Mulder shouted back. "Take a leap of faith and give it everything you have. Put aside reason and evidence and proof for just a second and assess what you can do that only you can do for Cara!"

Will shook his head. "I don't have time to waste on this bullshit!"

Mulder grabbed his arm. "William, wake up!" he yelled. "Why is it so easy for you to believe in the power of evil but not in truth?" He eyed his son, his breathing heavy. "Why can you submit yourself to the extent of their capabilities but not believe you possess more valuable ones of your own? William, why did they want you dead in January? Did you ever stop to ask why?" Mulder paused, seeing Will was listening though his head was turned slightly away. "Why would they want you to die if you weren't more powerful than them? What threat would you pose? What threat do your children pose if through you they don't contain more power than they have ever seen or witnessed? It's YOU, William. It's always been you. You are the only thing that can stop them - and they know it."

He didn't want to, but Will cried, the tears of anger, fear, frustration and guilt running cleanly down his face as he clung to his father. He felt embarrassed for his sudden self-destruction, ashamed for taking a moment to truly grasp how it all had affected him. His father was right - all along he had been the answer, but he continually sought the truth in what he could prove, what he could hold in his hand, what he could protect with his strength. He ignored the things of the heart, relying on his reclusive nature to protect himself from feeling too much of his own power for safety's sake. He had never wanted the burden or responsibility that possessing his power brought, yet he had destroyed so much in his quest to relieve himself from it, not realizing that the control, all along, was through what he put his hope in. Because he had refused to hope in his own power and instead vested himself in the power of others and other things, they had retained all control of his life and the lives of those closest to him. They had even prevented the miracle of speaking to his child that he knew he could communicate with, but never had the chance to because of the thick, dark veil of ignorance and doubt that hung between them.

It hit him squarely in his temples, the sensation of a voice flooding him so familiar yet so incredibly different. Instead of pain burning through his skull, he felt assurance and confidence, the voice small and bright in pitch. He looked into his father's eyes, not seeing him but rather listening to the small voice that rang clearly in his mind. His lips parted, shocked at who the voice belonged to, his heart both warming and breaking, both healed and severed. "What is it?" Mulder whispered, still clutching Will's arm though he loosened his grip.

"My son," Will whispered. "I can hear my son."

Mulder watched breathlessly as Will focused and drew his bottom lip inward, chewing on it as he listened. "What is he saying?" he asked.

"She's not here," Will said softly, the disappointment clear in his face. "She's somewhere you know. Somewhere Mom knows. A lighthouse." Will paused, confused at the message. "A beacon. Rushing water. He heard it … when they first entered, he heard the water."

"Ruskin Dam," Mulder murmured, shocked.

"Where is that?" Will asked.

"Pennsylvania." Mulder grabbed Will's arm, desperate as he looked into his son's eyes. "Are you sure?" he asked. "Are you sure this is what your son said?"

Will nodded. "I know it was him," he replied. He was still stunned at the interaction he had just had, his heart breaking over the tiny voice that spoke so clearly within him. "He said there's not much time. He can hear them, Dad." Will was shaking, the emotion overwhelming him. "My son ... he said he's my son ..."

"Let's go," Mulder urged with gentle haste, guiding Will back to the SUV.

Shiprock Territory, NM
3:39 PM MST

"The time has come," John said softly, standing from his seat in the hogan, where he had spent the past several days in constant prayer. "Young Fox has chosen his path."

"Is the path good?" one elder asked.

"Yes," John confirmed. "He has listened to the power of the truth inside of himself."

"What of Shima?" another questioned.

"She suffers greatly," John replied with regret. "Her body is weak, but her spirit is still strong."

"And the children?" yet another inquired.

"The children are ready for battle," John said with a small nod. He looked to the elders who were around him that were joined by all of the men in the settlement. "Prepare your homes," he warned, his face solemn but his voice strong. "The war is about to begin."

5:39 PM EST

A knock came at the door; he turned when he saw the uniformed replacement filling the space of the doorway. "Sir," the replacement said, swallowing, "we've got a situation."

"What kind of situation?" the bounty hunter asked, still near Cara's bedside. Through her wave of nausea from the increasingly intense pain of her labor, Cara listened, her heart stopping at the thought of what it could mean.

"We've got a location on William Mulder," the replacement replied.

The bounty hunter paused. "He's not at Mount Weather?"

"No, sir."

"Where is he?"

"He's … headed here. With Mulder and Scully."

"How does he know of this location?" the bounty hunter demanded.

"I don't know, sir. We took all preventative measures-"

"Intercept him," the bounty hunter growled, glancing over at Cara, who breathed quickly behind her gag she was forced to wear. "Prep her for surgery," he commanded the doctors that were in the room. "I want these fetuses delivered now."

The doctor looked worried. "Sir, she's progressing with the Pitocin. We could damage the fetuses by-"

"NOW," the bounty hunter yelled. He turned back to the uniformed replacement in the doorway. "I don't care what Spender wants," he said darkly. "William Mulder must die. Stop at nothing to kill him."