Thanksgiving Day
"Thanks for donating your air miles," Gibson tells his parents when they pick him up at the airport.
Reyes shakes her head. "It's not a problem. After all, you're doing the legwork for something that's not officially an X-File, at least not yet."
"But we're gonna stuff you full of turkey first," Doggett reminds them both. "Welcome back."
Their second-eldest son submitted to the hug (Reyes) and almost-painful shoulder clap (Doggett), and hauls his small suitcase inside the van. "The girls okay by themselves?" he asks.
"Oh, Hannah's a fine babysitter, it's getting her father to pry his fingers off the doorway that was the problem," Reyes answers blithely, earning a growl from her partner.
Gibson grins. It is nice to know some things hadn't changed, like Doggett's massive over-protective streak – which he has to admit only really ramped up once he and Luke 'borrowed' a car several years ago, so it's not as though he doesn't have himself to blame. "In case the older bro didn't say, Luke says hi, and Nicholas just drooled," he says.
Doggett chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling into a smile, while Reyes smiles too briefly but keeps her eyes on the road, since she is driving. "Too bad Thanksgiving is too damn short," Doggett grumbles, not for the first time, "I have to wait until Christmas to see my g-baby in person."
"We all have to wait," Reyes risks an eye roll as she corrects him. "And Gibson?"
"Yeah?"
"Have you given any thought to getting a gun?"
Gibson's eyes narrow. "Mr. Krycek suggested brass knuckles, but this is seriously upping the ante. "How dangerous do you think it's going to get?"
"Hopefully, not very," she says, her tone less reassuring than straightforward. "But it's always good to have some protection since we're not the ones investigating."
"Thanks, but no, I haven't," Gibson answers her. "Not until just now."
"Think about it," Doggett says, "and if you're open to it, we can get in some practice before purchasing one."
Geez, Gibson thinks, I'm barely old enough to even buy a gun; I sure hadn't considered running out and getting one. Changing the subject, he says, "You said that the mile transfer was listed as going to a consultant. Does that mean I'll be getting paid for this?"
Doggett snorts. "Yeah, you're getting paid in air miles."
"This is purely exploratory," Reyes says, "something similar to picking up on a news story someone else wrote. We don't pay the reporter, but if they contribute anything further to the case once we start working on it, they do get some kind of compensation." Then she smiles. "In the meantime, we'll be paying you in turkey and gravy."
"Monica, that's called 'Thanksgiving dinner', which is what I'd be having anyways." Gibson smirks.
"Oh no, he saw through our plan!" Doggett mocks at being panicked. "Quick, drug the turkey!" His partner and son guffaw, and he shakes his head, smiling. "Sorry, son, welcome to the glamorous world of consulting."
"And here I thought nepotism would come in handy," Gibson retorts.
Now Reyes snorts. "It's a good thing your father's mellowed out, I remember when the mere whisper of something like that would set his hair on fire."
"It would not," Doggett grumbles.
"Cool." Gibson grins.
"Shut up," his adopted father shoots back.
And they all bickered like little kids until they get home and are greeted by actual little kids, putting smiles on everyone's faces.
At The Mulders
There's a lot of napping going on now that everyone has eaten themselves into a food coma, but Mulder's up washing the dishes. He figures it's only fair, since the cooks, that is his mom and Scully's, did the heavy lifting.
The two other families that stopped by without staying to pass out are the Kryceks, unsurprisingly, and the Frohikes, which are surprising. Apparently, Steph had convinced Frohike to stop on by his "normal friend's" place before they went on to her parents', who sounded crazier than Frohike, if that is even possible. Needless to say, Mulder felt very proud to be wrongly-termed "normal friend" while his beloved wife kept her eye-rolling out of sight.
Mulder rinses off the dishes, putting the more durable ones into the dishwashing machine. Having gone through yet another year post-Elsbeth's second chance, he's been thankful for so many blessings, it's starting to seem like an embarrassment of riches. Not quite yet, but getting there, he grins after hearing one particularly loud snore from the living room. He's thankful that his mom is still around. He's thankful for Isaac, unexpected child that he is. He's thankful for Scully and their family. He's thankful for the just-as-unlikely TV job he and Scully have to support their family. And he's thankful that that TV job allowed Samantha to find him again after all these years.
Mulder just misses Samantha and her family, especially during this holiday. He just hopes he can see her for the next one. Sighing, he pulls out a bottle of milk from the fridge, as well as his half-finished coffee, and warmed them both up. Since Scully is out cold, Isaac is due for another bottle soon, and he needs his caffeine if he wanted to stay awake without having to stand up. In a way, it is nice that his insomnia had lessened over the years, but by the same token, it is weird wanting more sleep.
Just as he is yawning, Daisy, the not-so-little puppy, butts against his leg, followed by Wallace the teenage cat who twines himself between Mulder's ankles. He doesn't even notice that Teliko and Piper are in the room too until they meow at him from a kitchen counter, and he's semi-impressed they got up there without him noticing considering the cats' advanced ages. "Like you guys didn't have enough food tossed your way?" he asks, apparently rhetorically. They don't seem full at all, and continue to harass him with their winsome eyes. "Not buying it," he says, the microwave beeping to tell him his coffee is ready.
The puppy howls, the cats yowl, and then the baby starts to cry. He gulps his coffee, then goes to take Isaac from his sleeping grandmother's arms. All four animals follow after him, looking up hopefully as the baby is being fed. Giving up, he pours them each half a bowl of dry food and refills their water bowls. Knowing a good thing when they see it, the two senior cats pounce on their food immediately. Wallace looks unimpressed, but digs in anyway, and so does Daisy. Mulder rolls his eyes and continues to feed Isaac. Yeah, today was a good day, he thinks, and couldn't help adding, but it would've been better if Samantha had been here, too.
Evansburg, Virginia
It takes over three hours to get from Falls Church to Evansburg, and half an hour after that to find the place Alex Krycek had given him the address for. Gibson finds that it is a fairly low-income area, and guesses that Charlotte's uncle is either from the area originally, or this is what he could afford to house both himself and a new niece. Perhaps it was a bit of both, he thinks, keeping a sharp ear out for the mental murmurings of the neighbors.
After years of trying to dull his extra sense, he finds it disturbingly easy to eavesdrop on people again, especially over the past week, when he wanted to hone his rusty skills. After all, it's not every day that one deliberately sets out to disturb what could be a hornet's nest without some kind of protection. And even if that protection is flimsy, like his mind-reading that doesn't seem to work on these two girls, it is better than nothing.
He knocks sharply on the apartment door, then let himself listen for anyone inside. It seemed quiet, and from what he could see through the spaces between the curtains, it looks empty. If the girls are hiding in there, there is no way of knowing. There is definitely no sign of the uncle, for even a sleeping or drugged man has some kind of mental noise. "Hello? Charlotte? Alice?" he calls out. "Donny?" he adds, remembering the name Krycek gave him. "Hello?"
After what seems like a few minutes but probably is just one, a neighbor lady pokes her head out. Her thin wrinkled skin is nearly as white as the printer paper Gibson has already gone through two reams of this semester, and he instantly worries vaguely that she isn't getting enough sun shut up in her own apartment. "They ain't here," the elderly woman snaps, "quit yer yellin'."
"Do you know when they'll be back?" Gibson asks politely. "Mrs…?"
Creepy kids, glad they're gone, give me the creeps, is what she's thinking. Aloud, she says, "Mrs. McAllister. Huh. Back? I hope not. I hope those little vandals stay gone."
He narrows his eyes. "Vandals?" he says.
The old woman shuffles out, looking like a stereotypical grandmother with a bathrobe tied over a sundress and house slippers. She pulls a cell phone from the pocket of her robe and shoves it at him. "I took pictures with my phone thingee," she says, "the police never done nothin', probably because Donny Jr.'s related to the sheriff's wife's cousin by marriage."
Gibson tries not to wrap his head around that, instead turning on the phone, which helpfully isn't locked, and looks at the photos. Sure enough, past the obligatory grandchildren pics, fifteen photos showed two girls, badly disguised, throwing bottles of alcohol against the wall of the liquor store across the street. The foaming, exploding cans were probably beer, and those joined the broken glass bottles. "Did this happen a lot?" he asks.
The old woman nods, her eyes practically squinting like Clint Eastwood. "Ever since that little one came down, they've been wrecking the place. I don't know how, but somehow that little girl made everyone crazy. I hope they don't come back," she says, and shivers without realizing.
Gibson hands the phone back soberly. From the time stamps, which range from a few years to a couple of years ago, it looked like whenever their uncle had a paycheck, he'd blow it on alcohol. The cops probably realized it, but nobody stepped in to help. At least, nobody legal. He really, really hopes the consortium hadn't picked up anything on their radar, or whatever the hell it is that they looked for weird shit. "Do you know where they went?"
"You some kinda private eye?" She turns her squint from the liquor store to him.
"Yeah," he says, deciding not to bore her with the details of his unofficial title. Besides, it is nice for someone to mistake him having a grownup job, for once, rather than being underage.
She jerked her head to the main road. "Up north," she says, "no, northeast. Least, that's where I heard 'em say they were goin'." Then a sly smile stole across her face. "You finally gonna arrest 'em when you get 'em?"
"Everything's going to be taken care of, Mrs. McAllister," he says politely, forcing himself not to flinch at the positively vicious mental glee she receives his bland words. He nods, and she shuffles back to her apartment next door.
Exhaling through his nose, he figures that the drinking began in earnest a couple of years ago when their grandma died and the uncle got custody of Alice. Apparently, Alice was more stressful on her uncle than Charlotte was. Then again, there is nothing subtle about Alice, while Charlotte seemed determined, like Gibson, to keep her head low.
So when had things changed? And why? Gibson figures the answers had to be back in Boston, or "northeast", according to the old lady. Good thing those donated air miles are taking him back to familiar stomping grounds, although he's yet to find exactly where the two sisters are hiding.
December 11, 2008
The day before finals week kicks off, that is, a depressing-looking Thursday, Charlotte is late picking Alice up. Katie and the others thank Gibson for staying late. "I'll see you." Katie smiles at her boyfriend, then waves at the little blonde girl.
Normally, when he stays late, Gibson uses the time to go over his notes or homework. Since this is finals, however, he'll have to chain himself to the laptop as soon as he gets home. Hell, maybe even tape his eyelids open or something.
An unladylike snort comes from the window sill. Gibson looks up in time to see the little girl studiously looking out the window, as if she hadn't reacted at all.
"I think the old-fashioned phrase is 'buckling down'," Gibson says, although an impartial observer would think he'd spoken apropos of nothing. "Don't you have to do that for your homework?"
"Not now," Alice sniffs.
Huh. "I'm guessing your grandmother was the strict one," Gibson says. "It's hard when there's nobody to lay down the rules or enforce them anymore, is there?"
"How would you know?" The blonde girl glares at him.
"I lost my grandmother when I was young, too," he says. "She was one of the few adults I trusted to not just follow the rules, but give you a hug, too. She was also the one who taught me how to play chess."
She nods. "We saw you on Youtube," she says.
"Oh, man," he groans, sitting down at a nearby desk. "I can't believe people would actually post those old things on the net."
She shrugs. "You were okay, but I know you were cheating." Alice smirks at him.
"Oh yeah? How?" He tilts his head at her.
"Same way I know that those people who took you away want to take us away, too," she says. "No matter what my grandmother and my uncle said, they're not gone."
She has the same practical, almost all-knowing look he used to have when he was her age. "You know that, huh?" he says.
She nods. "Like how they killed your parents so they could take you," she says, and he stares at her. "We're orphans, too, so they want to take us back."
"But your uncle–" he starts to say.
She interrupts him. "Is dead. He dragged us up here two years ago, saying it'd be better if we lived near where Charlotte was going to school anyway, then earlier this year... He was walking on the train tracks one night and a train ran right over him." She turns away to glare out the window. "He was so stupid. He was sad 'cause our grandmother died, so he drank too much. I mean, more too much than he did before. But we were sad, too, and we didn't get stupid and drink too much! Why did he have to do something so stupid?"
The loose items on the shelves are shaking, and so are the uneven school desks. Gibson, however, figured that this would happen, and isn't as shocked as, say, his classmates might be in the same situation. "Because even grownups are weak," he says simply, looking at her reflection in the window. "Because even grownups will disappoint you, they will leave you, they will die."
After a few minutes, the loose items and desks stop shaking. "Charlotte can't die," Alice says softly. "She can't. Otherwise it's just me, and they already make me do bad stuff."
"Nobody can make you do anything," he says, "you're as stubborn as they come."
She gives him a look, which is incredulous, pitying, world-weary and just a little bit fearful. "Sometimes they can," she says tightly, and looks down at her hands.
When Charlotte comes in, Gibson asks the brunette girl point-blank, "Are you guys in trouble?"
Charlotte shoots a look at her little sister, who is staring at the ground. "No, of course not." She blinks, pasting a confused smile on her face. "Alice, get your things," she says, not looking at him, either. Yeah, he doesn't have to be a mind reader to know she is lying, so he makes up his mind.
"If you guys need help, you know where to find me," he says, as the little girl automatically picks up her pink backpack and the older girl's hands shakes grabbing the decorated Christmas card. He mentally gives his address, even recalling the apartment's appearance in his head, but neither girl give any indication that they see or hear anything from him. It is a pity he can't read their minds, but he hopes that they'll take him seriously.
After all, he got to have the help of not only FBI agents, but also his grandmother and the teachers at the deaf school. Charlotte and Alice don't have anyone on their side, it seems.
Dammit, he thinks, why can't school be put on hold to do something just as important? Grumbling at the unfairness of it all, he pulls out his cell phone and makes the first of many calls. It's a while before he grabs his own backpack and locks up, but by then, he feels a little less worried, and grateful he doesn't have to make those calls in front of Katie.
The Mulder Home
Christmas Day
December 25th has started off as it usually does: with a bedroom pile-up, some shouting, some giggling and shrieking, and then a mass thundering down the stairs, followed by some groaning and a little fussing. Boxes are torn open, presents gleefully displayed and played with, breakfast eaten, and grandmothers and the Kryceks descending.
Since there are no football games that any of the adults cared about, the kids have free reign on the television. As a result, the Mulders and Kryceks have the unique privilege of being the first to see Sammy's film before it debuts… elsewhere.
Having watched a ton (okay, just two and a half) Christmas cartoons, everyone is in the mood for something vapid and painless. Sammy pops in the DVD, and then tries not to bite his lower lip as he watches his family's reaction.
On screen, an alien with something that looks like a plastic octopus on its head is destroying a model town with the same gleeful destruction as a large Japanese monster (which shall not be named) would. A ton of Barbie dolls trot past the screen, stiff arms raised and "screaming" as the creature continues its rampage.
Sammy's voice narrates, suitably dramatic with suitably dramatic music underscoring it, "It has been weeks since the alien from another planet landed on earth, wreaking havoc and destruction. People are panicking. The world leaders are at a loss." Here, there are clips of various global leaders doing dumb things. "Who will save us from this disaster?"
There's a left pan to reveal our heroes sitting inside what looks like a garage in front of a TV screen watching the alien destruction. Emily, whose left arm and half her face look like the inside of a computer; Addy, with a large glowing bracelet; and Jared, with a metallic, complicated thing on his head.
The Mulder kids hoot and cheer, while the Krycek kids grin and the adults of all parties stifle their giggles. "Shush, I'm about to talk!" Emily scolds them, as her onscreen counterpart stands up.
She speaks in a stiff tone, and her movements likewise are robotic. They soon learn that she is the android of the team, Addy is the time traveler (the glowing bracelet meant to be a watch-like device), and Jared (and sometimes David) is the telepath, hence the weird helmet. They decide to use their talents and save the earth from the big bad alien.
But first, in the tradition of all superhero movies, they have to learn how to use their talents productively and work as a team. It seemed that their previous efforts were almost as destructive as the aliens', which is why they are hiding out in a garage in the first place. It seemed the girls had boyish stunt doubles, while the boys did their own stunts. ("That explains so much," Mulder mumbles, and is promptly shushed.)
Of course, our heroes prevail, because they're the heroes. And, after a devastating (or hilarious, depending on your perspective) final battle against the alien with tons of special effects and stunts galore, our heroes win! The model town is miraculously untouched by fire or destruction, and the Barbie people trot by, their stiff arms raised, but this time they're "cheering."
"And so it was," Sammy's voice intones, with a surprisingly fitting closing instrumental, "that Anna the Android, Tina the Time Traveler, and Thomas the Telepath saved the earth from the horrible alien invasion." The team is silhouetted against the sunset, hands on hips, and the music builds to a crescendo while the picture dims, and then sound and picture cut out to a black page with white block text reading, "The End."
The families clap, some more dutifully than others, and Emily and Addy impulsively take their bows, while their male cousins roll their eyes. "So, what did you think?" Sammy asks as he put the DVD away. He tries not to notice his Aunt Missy and Uncle Alex doing their version of a high-five with massive kissy face, and fails. He wishes adults would stop doing mushy stuff like that, it is kind of embarrassing.
"That was the weirdest thing I've ever seen, and we've seen Mom and Dad's show, plus the movie about the X-Files," Page comments. Sammy makes a face, but turns to the adults instead for their reactions.
"Where on earth did you get that story from?" Teena Mulder says what everyone is thinking.
"I can't believe there was a story after all." Emily shakes her head. "It kinda makes more sense now than when Sammy was trying to tell us what to do."
"Told you." Sammy oh-so-maturely sticks his tongue out at her, who sticks hers out back. But he answers his grandmother, "I got it from Mom and Dad. They were fighting aliens, and since we are all too little to look like FBI agents yet, if there was super powers, then it would even out."
"But robots and time travelers and, what was it? Oh, mind reader, yes." Maggie Scully nods at Addy's answer, "did those come from your parents, too?"
"Kinda." Sammy shrugs, now feeling a little embarrassed at the attention. "They met some pretty weird people. But I tried to think of which would be best for each of them, that wouldn't get them all irritated ("Why would I want to be Bigfoot?" Emily once had snapped glared early on), so I did the best I could. I guess it turned out okay."
"Of course it did." His shorter grandmother hugs him, and he blushes, but hugs her back.
"Let me guess, you played the uncredited alien." Mulder points at his brother-in-law. "Not the first time you did, either."
"Shut up," Krycek grumbles, but only rolls his eyes and mutters "Dumb FBI joke" when Ryan asks what that means.
"Where did you get the music from?" Scully wonders.
"Oh, Uncle Frohike had a bunch of soundtracks and stuff on CDs, he said they were good for background music. He also had all this raw footage of lotsa politicians, so when I asked him if I could use it for the movie, he said yeah. Well, he said some other stuff, too, but he was starting to sound a little crazy."
"I'll bet he did." Mulder smirks, and Scully rolls her eyes.
"And you did all the costumes and props?" Teena turns to Missy. "I especially liked the helmet."
"I told you!" Krycek grins and hugs his wife, who looks embarrassed for the first time in a long time. "She's such a perfectionist, I kinda had to make her stop after the fifth version."
"Fifth version! Goodness." Teena looks impressed at that level of dedication.
"I can't help it." Missy looks both abashed and proud of her skills. "Sammy wanted something that would remind people of Professor X's helmet, but not be a total rip-off, so that was a tricky line to balance. And it had to be comfortable enough for David and Jared, plus there had to be at least three versions because there was one for each boy, plus a stunt one…" And the two women find a fellow craftsperson in the other, and continues their conversation about materials, jewelry versus welding in general, and other things.
"Wow," Scully says, "I kinda wish Charlie and Bill were here, too."
"Why's that?" Mulder asks, wrapping his arms around her while David and Jared are gushing about their stunt scenes with April, while Page and Sammy start comparing notes on what exactly defined "weird" when it came to movies. The younger kids are already moving on to flipping through channels, but neither Mulder nor his wife are inclined to step in just yet.
"Because I haven't seen Missy that happy in a while," Scully says, somewhat abashed. "It's a little sad, no, it's really sad, that it took Sammy's movie, after all these years, to make me realize that Missy hasn't been flaking around with a little side job. It's a real job that requires her real skills and she's really proud of it. And she should be," she finishes.
"Yeah," Mulder says. His sister-in-law had put in some good work for an obviously amateur film, on top of having to deal with his energetic sons and their crazy movie that took longer than the "just a summer project" goal. "We're gonna have to make it up to her."
"Make it up how?" Scully cranes her neck to look up at him.
He shrugs and she smiles, then gives him a quick peck on the cheek. "We'll think of something. In the meantime," she untangles herself from him, earning her a mock pout, "our children will be watching one movie, not three at the same time."
As Scully walks over to where the younger children are arguing over the remote control, a buzzer sounds, and Page scrambles to her feet. Grandma Maggie put her in charge of the cookies this year, and she feels very grown-up about the whole thing, since usually it is just the grown-ups who do the cooking.
Her mouth waters a little just smelling the heavenly aroma from the oven, and she happily pulls on oven mitts before getting the cookie trays out. Wow, there are no burnt cookies, as far as she can tell, the edges a nice light golden brown that makes her want to bite one on the side just to see if it tastes as good as it looks, like she did when Grandma Maggie first made cookies here. Self-control, she tells herself, we can all pig out on them when they're done. Once she put all the loaded trays onto the cooling racks, she calls out, "Who wants to help make frosting?"
There is no shortage of volunteers, and Grandma Maggie follows after them with a smile on her face.