Chapter One: In the River.
AN: I like to keep facts as true to life as possible while staying in canon which requires a lot of research to maintain authenticity. This work relies on the X-files series and movies, as convoluted as they sometimes are for the most perinate facts. I have had to supplement some of my writing with other sources now seen as canon. For example, William's younger years (Wiki) and calling the Scully/Mulder house 'unremarkable' (book version of I Want to Believe).
Moving the Van der Kemp family to Norfolk when Jackson became ill at six, was not a good choice by the creative team. I've searched Google Maps to get as close as possible to a real location for places such as the Van der Kemp's rural home, the sugar factory, distances between named towns/states, particularly for S11, and timing for bus/plane/driving between these locations. Taken in relation to the show, some things don't make a lot of sense. I've improvised, adding explanations that, I hope, draw on authenticity and add a sense of reality to the story.
Jackson surfaced, emitting a hacking cough, expelling a lung full of water, then taking in a gulp of life-giving air. Memory instantly returning, the teen looked around wildly, wondering exactly where he had ended up after being shot and falling into the water. Forcing his mind to calm, and his rapid breathing to follow, he'd allowed his body to drift on the currents. Only moments ago, his heart slow, respiration almost non-existent, metabolism just above death, time stood still. His eyes saw little, his ears heard less, and he felt nothing. Awoken suddenly, that first breath proved disconcerting. The teen expected air. Instead, he found his lungs filled with water. Reaching for the barrier between liquid and gas, his legs kicked frantically towards freedom, elated when he discovered it.
Starting a slow crawl towards the nearest bank, he suddenly stopped, wondering if he was making the correct choice. Turning a full three hundred and sixty degrees while treading water, the young man analysed his surroundings. Mind trying to make sense of the geography, eyes searching for a landmark to triangulate his position, Jackson recognised the Hamptons Bay Beltway. His location on the bridge side, close to his home and a territory he knew well caused a feeling of elation.
"The old sugar factory," he murmured to himself, centring his focus on immediate issues, "is in Willoughby Bay. I must have been pushed out into the James River by the current but not as far as the bay or the open ocean. The tides coming in, so I'm drifting upriver."
Turning onto his back, he floated for ten minutes evaluating where to go and what to do next. Lost in thought, everything that had occurred in the last months came crashing down, threatening to squash him. The death of his parents, the visions of the future, feeling a psychic link to his birth mother, meeting his biological father, being on the run, the sudden upsurge in his abilities. He didn't have the time or energy to waste on the distraction. He needed to get out of the water and run as far and fast as possible.
"It's the things I've been forced to do to stay alive," Jackson's voice, small in the vast, endless night, sounded sorrowful, "I regret. I wish I could have known my real parents. Maybe then I would have felt connected."
Something niggled at the back of his mind. In the hospital, when Fox Mulder and Dana Scully called out to him, their offer of protection sounded…nice…but completely irrational. They'd given him up to protect their miracle and look how that turned out. A few days ago, Special Agent Mulder led the men trying to kill or capture him right to his rented hotel door. Jackson had been required to use deadly force, a skill still in its infancy. He needed to tame his superpowers. Until he'd been compelled to run, they hadn't been used for good or evil. Sure, he'd got up to mischief, played parlour tricks, some of which had turned dangerous. He learnt a valuable lesson, feeling remorse when unintentionally injuring the two girls who seemed to like him for who he was. Since his adoptive parents' deaths, he'd been forced to grow up, to hone his powers into a deadly weapon. Driven to do things he didn't want to think about.
Not liking the directions of his thoughts, Jackson started treading water once again. Before the images connecting him to his birth mother started, as they seemed to whenever his mind wouldn't settle, the teen observed how far he'd drifted. Keeping this course for another half an hour, he'd reach the Hampton Road Bridge. On the opposite side of the river, he knew a quiet inlet where he could hide for the rest of the night. In the morning, the businesses and shops would open. Jackson planned to make his escape surrounded by other people. He had time, hours before dawn, to think about what his next steps would be.
His panicked flight from Tennessee, crossing into Virginia saw the weather clear and become marginally warmer. Jackson held the image of Peter Wong for longer than he thought possible. Initially fooling the woman behind the counter as she sold him a ticket and checked him onto the flight. Emboldened Jackson to continue the ruse until he departed the Norfolk airport. With his abilities improving, the teen started to understand how useful they might be in remaining hidden in plain sight. That didn't help him. Night had fallen, and the temperature dropped further. Staying in the water proved warmer than climbing onto yet another dock. Shivering, the cool air met his wet clothing.
"Nothing I can do about that," he groused, hugging himself tighter.
Looking around, the businesses littered around the inlet either caught or sold fish. It was too early for the boats to go out and too late for the shops to be open. A few vessels remained moored to the floating finger wharf. Jackson explored their decks as he moved toward solid ground, looking for a change of clothing. Spying an old jumper, he snatched the item, bringing it up to his nose. It smelt like rotten fish.
"No thanks," he shuddered, revolted by the odour. "I have standards. Besides," a smile lifted his lips, giving him a rare moment of indulgence, "I think I've proven that I can't be killed. I might feel cold, but it's not going to hurt me to shiver a little."
The thought made Jackson recall the winters in Wyoming. December brought snow through the end of January. The Van de Kamp's had lived eleven miles outside Jackson after his adoption. Papa, the man who raised him, spent time teaching him to toboggan, cross-country ski and build snowmen. In the summer they'd camp in the mountains, hike and swim. It's been an idyllic childhood. Then he got sick, and the family moved to Virginia to seek medical care. How the family went from rural obscurity to an upper-middle-class neighbourhood in the leafy suburbs near the nation's capital, he never asked. In truth, at six, years old, he really didn't care.
"Something always felt off," he recalled wistfully, shuddering as a slight breeze started. "I can still picture the day I asked if I was adopted, and my parents just looked at each other. I knew the answer before they sat me down and explained."
Shaking his head, Jackson looked around for somewhere to wait out the hours until daybreak. The buildings would all be locked. Sure, he could use his powers to gain entry, but after everything he'd been through, he wouldn't. Not unless it became imperative to step out of the shadows.
"I know my birth mother wouldn't like it," he frowned, wondering where that thought came from. "It's not like she's projecting, or I'm reaching out. So, why am I letting her stop me?" he questioned, pausing, stock still to consider the thought.
A puzzled expression, a shake of his head and Jackson found his feet moving to a narrow, dark alley between two buildings. He'd at least find some shelter from the wind that seemed to be picking up. It smelt like rain would eventuate. If it did, he'd have to change his plans.
Sighing, he checked his pockets. Some of the money he'd won on the lottery remained in his possession. The rest was hidden in his belongings, stored in a public locker at the bus station. Sharing his prize allowed him to launder the winning directly into cash. The woman selling him the tickets, was happy to take three-quarters of the funds and foot the tax bill for the entire amount when the IRS came calling, which allowed him to keep his obscurity. Jackson didn't want anything to do with the federal government. So far as they were concerned, he'd been killed, along with his adoptive parents. He just needed enough money to live out the rest of his life.
"I'll be," he laughed.
Suddenly, an idea popped into his head. Jackson Van de Kemp knew exactly where he needed to go and what he needed to do once he got there. He considered swimming out into the James River and letting the tide take him partway. He'd lived in Virginia for the last ten years, knew Norfolk and the surrounding area well. Counting out the wet cash, he knew there was enough to get him where he needed to be.
"At least," he considered, "close enough to walk the rest of the way. Or, maybe, there are other options."
With that, he started walking. If the humidity in the air did turn into rain by the time he reached the nearest taxi rank or pay phone, being a bit wet wouldn't make him stand out. Using his powers to convince the driver to take a middle-aged man home after a few too many, but not enough to cause an issue, would be just another fare and easily achieved.
Smiling, the teen started walking…