Prologue: Alone

And that was it. Mulder and Scully were gone. The supersoldier was destroyed. The copters had left. The Anasazi ruins were obliterated, smoke and a few flames rising from the rubble. John and Monica sat in an SUV, a few miles away, watching quietly the smoke plumes, and listening to the silence. He wasn't sure when she'd done it, but at some point he realized his hand was in hers, and when he did realize it, he squeezed it. It was a good fifteen minutes before they spoke, and even then it was only brief.

"Do you think they're gone for good?"

"Maybe. I don't know. What are we going to do?"

John started up the car. "We're going to get back to DC. We gotta get Gibson somewhere safe. And I guess, we go back to work."

Chapter One: A New Life

Gibson felt like a prisoner. He'd enjoyed his relative freedom in the desert, hidden among the Navajo, with infrequent but often visits from Mulder. Ever since he'd shown up in DC, he hadn't been allowed out of anyone's sight. Skinner was not used to teenagers. Or children. Or infants. He seemed to clump them all together in his head. But he wasn't too bad, as far was captors went. He let Gibson watch TV. He rarely talked to him. Got him whatever he wanted to eat. Gibson tried to pretend he was on vacation, but vacation shouldn't be so boring, and instead he just felt trapped.

He was almost happy to see John and Monica, except that John was so by-the-book that it felt like Skinner was just handing over the prisoner. Monica smiled at him and he knew that Mulder and Scully had taken off somewhere and she didn't expect them to return. And John had already taken on the responsibility of protecting him, his mind racing with options as to where to hide him away next. None of these ideas seemed to include returning to his friends, and he didn't like that much. They all thought of him as a child, but he felt like a man. They didn't understand the kind of childhood he'd had. They didn't understand the self-reliance that he had developed over the years, that he was his best protector.

John placed a firm hand on his shoulder and shook hands with Skinner. He would take the boy home with him for the night. The three of them drove back, late that night. They looked terrible, John and Monica, he thought, still covered in the dust of the desert, smelling of sweat, hair tousled. Monica was fighting to stay awake, her mind racing with images of a supersoldier flying towards her, being devoured by the mountain. John's mind was occupied with planning Gibson's fate, supersoldiers, conspiracies, the x-files, his role in Mulder's escape.

They ordered pizza that night. No one had really talked to him much, other than to ask him how he was doing, if he was hungry, what did he want for dinner, would pizza be ok? Nothing about if he wanted to stay there, nothing if he missed his friend, whom Skinner had sent home. He didn't want to be there, but he figured he could get out soon enough.

He felt the question coming, as John sat there picking at the peppers on his pizza but not eating. He hadn't really been thinking of it much, as he was pre-occupied with all his other worries, but now, in the quiet of his home, he started to relax and let his mind wander. "You really read minds?"

Gibson nodded. "You're going to ask me to read your mind. You're thinking about me. Now about the number twelve. Now about supersoldiers and if I might know anything, if I've read anyone's mind about them. Mulder knows more. He knew about the magnetite. He knows that they were constructed to help the aliens take over the earth. He knows more than I am allowed to say."

John nodded. "You know I'm trying to figure out how to keep you safe?"

"I told you before you couldn't do that. I know you want to, but you can't."

"I don't like being told I can't do something. And frankly, I don't believe you. You've supposedly got some powers of seeing into the future or something, right?"

"Precognizance, John," said Monica, who had been listening quietly and intently.

"Sometimes I know when things are going to happen."

"And you think you know I'm going to fail you?"

"No, I just know that you can't help me. No one can. The forces at work are greater than all of us."

"Ah, so you're just being fatalistic."

Gibson shrugged.

"Are you getting tired, Gibson?" asked Monica gently. "Why don't we go make up the bed for you, ok?"

"You don't want to leave."

Monica smirked at him. And thought to him, Careful. She didn't want him treading inside her head, dragging out words she preferred stay hidden from John.

"He doesn't want you to leave either. And it's probably safer for me anyway if you stay."

John got up. "I think it is time for you to go to bed." He led him to the guest room, Set out a towel, a new toothbrush, some pajamas that Gibson knew would swallow him. "If you need anything, just holler." And then he closed the door.

Back downstairs, he had only just sat next to Monica, who looked more expectant than he felt comfortable with, when the phone rang. It was someone from HR, requesting he report to his AD at 8:15 in the morning. Monica's phone rang shortly thereafter. "They want to see me at 8:30," she said. Fifteen minutes was not a good sign.

"Did you want to stay?" he asked, just in case Gibson had lied or misunderstood her thoughts.

She nodded. "I really don't want to drive back to DC tonight. And… with everything that happened, I'm not sure I really want to be alone."

He figured that that was what Gibson had really meant. She was just worn out and understandably shaken by everything they had gone through. He was grateful she wanted to stay. She brought a calm with her that he desperately needed tonight.

"You mind if I set you up in my bed?" he asked, and then quickly added, "I'll sleep on the couch," so that she wouldn't think he was making an improper pass at her.

She gave him a smile that looked like she was fighting back a larger smile. "I would offer to sleep on the couch, but you would never let me, would you?"

"No ma'am," he said with a smile showing that he was just being funny with the ma'am business.

In his room, he stripped the sheets, for she certainly would never have told him that she wanted to sleep in sheets that smelled of him. They worked together to pull the fitted sheet over all the corners, and he took the last corner, the hardest one to fit, for himself, of course. The top sheet was draped over the bed, pulled even, and John tucked in the corners with military precision.

As soon as the comforter settled on to the bed, Monica took advantage of it and flopped down on her back. John laughed. "So much for my hard work," he said, and sat down next to her.

"I think there's a good chance my career with the FBI might end tomorrow."

"I know," she said. "I might not have a job tomorrow either."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm not sure. I can't imagine not doing what I've been doing. Especially now. Especially knowing everything that we know. What about you?"

"I think I will try to get Gibson somewhere safe, and maybe get back into law enforcement. But I feel like I exhausted that path already. And it won't be enough. Not now."

They didn't speak. There was so much going on in their own heads. He patted her arm and wished her goodnight.

As she lay there, unsure of what the future would bring, she knew one thing. She knew she loved John Doggett, and she knew he loved her too, even if he was still afraid to show her, or admit it to himself. She knew as she lay there in that bed, that one day she would lie beside John as his wife. She had known this for a long time. She only wished she knew when he would finally let her in, when he would let down his barriers, when he would be ready to start a new life with her.

Chapter Three: Expecting the Unexpected.

She woke up at a quarter to five the next morning, wide awake. This did not normally happen without a reason. Most mornings she slowly came into consciousness, feeling the sheets on her skin, wiggling her toes, looking out to see how much light there was in her room, yawning, stretching, and thinking. She would get up, center herself with a half an hour of yoga if she had the time, and then begin her day.

But today wasn't normal. If she woke up this suddenly, there was something wrong. She listened hard, but heard nothing. She slipped out of bed, laid her hand on her weapon, but it didn't feel right. Something else was the matter. She tread down the stairs, past the empty couch, and into the kitchen, where John stood, his hands clutching a cup of coffee, his mind far, far away.

"John?" she said gently so as not to scare him.

"Hey. Did I wake you?"

She scrunched her face with a touch of incredulity. "Of course not. I just… I woke up and I'm not sure why. Is something wrong?"

It made him nervous when she did this, when she acted like she could feel and sense things. His stomach twisted uncomfortably. It didn't help that she was right. And there was no point in denying it or holding the truth from her when she would know soon enough.

"I think if they dismiss me, I'm going to take the boy and watch over him myself. We'll go somewhere far away and secluded and I'll keep him safe."

Monica nodded. It hurt that he would just leave like that, especially when things between them had been progressing. She had thought that now, finally, they were on the final trajectory that would bring them together. This would be a major disappointment. But she understood. And she was patient. God, was she patient.

So, she nodded. "Where do you think you're going to go?"

"Well, he was doing good in the desert, but maybe not there. I mean, they probably already know where he was. There are plenty of places to go. Just gotta find a place that's secluded, a place that we can live under the radar. Maybe somewhere where he can go to school or do things a normal kid gets to do, like, I dunno, play ball or something."

She smiled at him. "He doesn't strike me as an athlete."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah. I understand." She didn't elaborate that she understood that he was a father without a son, that he recognized that Gibson was a boy without a father. She didn't feel like it was a good thing, necessarily, and she worried that John could get hurt in the process.

She felt hurt too. She didn't seem to play a part in his plan. He wasn't telling her details, and she knew he would already have his destination picked out. He wouldn't tell her, of course, to protect her.

"Do you want to meet before the meetings? Down in the office? I know nothing's there, but … I guess, it would be a good place to say goodbye."

"Yeah, that'd be good. I'll have to bring Gibson, of course. Do you mind sitting with him during my meeting?"

"Not at all. I think I'm going to head home now though, since I'm awake. I've got to change into something professional."

She wanted him to say something. But it didn't surprise him that he had nothing to say, that he let her slip out without so much as a goodbye, that he didn't hug her or try to stop her at all.

She wanted to cry as she drove home in the dark, but she held it back. In time they would be together. So she couldn't have him now, that did not mean he was lost to her forever.

They met down in the office. Since they'd found it in shambles, it had taken another hit. The walls were bare. The desks had been removed. Monica looked up and saw that even the pencils, which she hadn't noticed herself until she'd been installed in the office for two months, even they were gone.

"I can't believe it's over."

"It's never really over," said Gibson, sounded less sage than tired.

She walked through the rooms, touching the walls, remembering everything she'd seen and experienced over the last year. She thought about Scully and William. Finding Mulder dead in the field. She remembered demons and monsters and all the other horrors she'd seen.

"It's all interconnected." Gibson's voice was strong. She didn't know why he was telling her this, but she knew he was in her mind, going through her thoughts.

"The cases?"

He nodded. "Everything in the x-files. There's a connection. It's one of the things Mulder was looking for. He wasn't sure, but I think he's right."

She wasn't sure she could handle such a discussion, not here in the Hoover Building, not here in their former office, not now at the end.

"We should go upstairs," was all she could say.

The first thing they noticed as they approached the door was that Skinner's name plate had been removed. They shared a look and took a seat, with Gibson in between them. A secretary they had never seen before buzzed the person they assumed was inside Skinner's office and let him or her know that his 8:15 and 8:30 had arrived.

Then they waited.

At 8:15, John was sent in. He recognized the man as one of the "judges" on the panel that had convicted Mulder, and he knew immediately that this was a very, very bad thing indeed.

"Mr. Doggett."

"Sir. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name at the trial."

The man let this stand as a statement and ignored John's obvious request to know his name.

"We believe that you were a participant in the escape from military prison of former agent Fox Mulder."

John let this stand on its own and refused to agree.

"Though at the moment the evidence is not strong enough to implicate you, there is enough suspicion to warrant your immediate dismissal."

John wanted to argue, but more than that, he wanted to get out of this in a position that would still allow him to protect Gibson. He handed over his gun and badge and started to walk out the door, assuming they were through.

"One more minute, Mr. Doggett. We also would like you to know that the boy, this Gibson Praise, would be in much better hands if you would allow us to put him in protective custody."

"My understanding, Mr. …," again the man refused to satisfy John's curiosity, "my understanding is that the boy has been in the witness protection program and was failed in that. He was left at a school with no real protection to speak of, and when the ones he was hiding from finally tracked him down, there wasn't much in the way of help for him.

"And my understanding is that the FBI was already there, as were you and Agent Scully," he said, and John took note of his addressing Scully still with her title. "The boy suffered a broken leg, but that was the result of his tripping, and was not an injury inflicted by his pursuers."

"It was an injury he sustained while running from a man who was trying to kill him, a man of some kind who had disguised himself as Agent Mulder. And I also understand that this man captured one of Gibson's friends from the school, tried to strangle her and left her battered body hidden in the hospital. Who was protecting her?"

"And so you think that you can do better than the entire FBI?"

"I think I can."

"Well, Mr. Doggett, I should advise you that until Gibson Praise is officially removed from the witness protection program, you cannot take him out of DC, which is the area in which he was officially put into the program."

"So you are saying that he cannot stay in my home?"

"I think we can make some kind of arrangement. I will make note that he is staying at your residence in Fall's Church. We will start the process of removal. Gibson Praise does not have family, it seems, and his legal guardian is listed as Walter Skinner, who is currently under suspension. We will need to establish his mental capacity, his emotional standing, and assess whether or not he is of sound enough mind to decide for himself whether he would like to stay under the FBI's protection or yours. I will contact you later today about setting up an appointment. Now, though, Mr. Doggett, I have another appointment. You will find Agent Wade outside the door. He will escort you to human resources where you can fill out your separation papers. Thank you."

John left the room.

Outside the door, there was a young agent with a hard look in his eye, as though he'd been prepared to escort a hardened criminal back to his cell in solitary. Monica stood up and he could tell by the way she looked at him that she wanted to know for sure how it had gone. No sooner had he opened his mouth than the young agent lightly touched his elbow and gestured towards the door. He just shook his head at her and walked away with Gibson.

Monica said stonily in front of the unknown man. She had not been fired, which did not bring the relief that she thought it would. Instead, she'd been reassigned. Demoted, really. For the time being, she would be a paper pusher up in financial crime, something that she had no background in. She knew this was a punishment, but she wasn't quite ready for the next part.

"We are in the process of arranging your next position, after this temporary position. Your transfer to DC from New Orleans was not originally requested by this office, but was rather based on a recommendation from your former partner, John Doggett, which was approved by AD Skinner. We are reviewing this transfer at the moment, but I should warn you that it is highly likely that you will have to return to the New Orleans field office, though there is a possibility of selecting another office, if you prefer. Your skills are much desired, I am told. For the meantime, however, you are to report to the second floor. Agent Wade will meet you at the door to escort you to your new work area. A desk has already been prepared for you. You have a meeting with human resources at one o'clock to fill out the requisite paperwork for this temporary position. Thank you for your time, Agent Reyes."

So she was still employed. And they were doing what they could to keep her away from John. She needed to call him, but that was impossible with an agent at her side.

Her new desk was one of a dozen others in a large room. All eyes were upon her, as they wondered what she had done. By then, everyone knew full well that the mysterious x-files had been closed but they were all baffled as to what had gone done. The infamous Mulder and the well respected Skinner had both been removed. Even the ice queen Scully and straight-laced Doggett were supposedly no longer agents.

Monica was thick-skinned from years of being the oddball agent, but the tension was thick and her worries for Doggett were extreme. When lunch came around, she shot out the building and was on her phone immediately. John did not answer. She thought about leaving, but she realized it was impulsive of her, that she needed to find out for sure what was going on. And she reminded herself that John would let her know when he needed her. Perhaps her continuing employment with the FBI was a blessing, the workings of a fate she did not yet understand. She was still on the inside, and maybe she could be of use.

She became aware that she was being tailed by a couple of agents and decided to play nice and head back in.