Title: The Return
Author: CB Files
Written: February 2010
Genre: MSR
Spoilers: Post-IWTB

Summary: There are some things you just can't escape.

"Hey! I'm home!"

His voice startles me and I hastily shove the tissues deep into the sad excuse for a pocket my jeans supply.

"Hey," he says, his head popping out from around the edge of the door frame. "There you are."

"Yeah, I was just finishing up in here." I tug self-consciously on the hem of my shirt.

He looks over at the sink and my heart pounds so loudly in my ears that I'm afraid he'll hear it, too. I thought I cleaned up the last of it, but he stares so hard at something there it's giving me doubt.

"You know, it's just gonna be us and Skinner. You didn't have to go all out."

I follow his line of sight and let out a deep breath. The makeup. Ever since I stopped working at the hospital - after Christian's recovery - I hadn't even bothered with the stuff. "Yeah, well, it's been awhile since we've seen him. I wanted to look my best," I say with a wink.

He clutches his chest dramatically, as though my words have wounded him.

*Just act natural or you'll blow it!* I force out a chuckle.

"Anyway, we probably need to go if we're gonna beat the DC traffic. You remember how crazy that restaurant gets after five and I don't know if my stomach can handle an hour of smelling that wonderful aroma of garlic, tomatoes, and cheese."

Straining my lips into a smile, I nod my head. "I'll be right there."

We look at each other for a moment and I turn away first, pretending I need to look for something in my makeup bag.

He doesn't move to leave. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Mulder. Just trying to find my lipstick."

He takes a step towards me and I continue digging. I feel his finger under my chin, tilting it up until I have no choice but to look into his eyes; I stop breathing.

"You already have some on," he says and rubs his thumb lightly across my lower lip before pulling it away to show me the evidence.

I look down at my shoes, the mirror, the sink - anywhere, but his eyes.

"What's going on, Scully? You're scaring me."

*Come on, say something!* "It's nothing, I just want to get this over with."

"Really?" One eyebrow raises, speculating. "But, this was your idea."

"I know, but...well, it's just been awhile since we've been back to DC without there being a..." I struggle to figure out where I'm going with this.

"Call of duty?" He finishes for me with a smirk.

I nod. That was so much better than anything I could have come up with.

"I can call him and cancel, if it's bothering you this badly."

"No, that would be really selfish of me," I reply and push myself up on tiptoes to place a light kiss on the tip of his nose. "It was my idea, after all."

"Okay, if you think you're up to it."

"I am."

He searches my eyes again, keeping me locked in his gaze; and, to my horror, my tearducts begin burning.

"I'll be in the car," he announces before turning around and walking back into the living room. The thud of his boots gets softer and softer until, finally, I hear the front door open - and then slam shut.

With tears streaming unchecked down my cheeks, I reach into my pocket and drop the blood-soaked tissues into the toilet. I close the lid, so I don't have to look at them any longer, and flush twice - just to be sure.

My finger absentmindedly rubs the tiny pucker of skin on the base of my neck. Tired of staring, unseeing, at the pile of papers the doctor gave me, I turn my key hard to the right. My engine roars in protest.

Dr. Ashwandi knows I was, at one time, a physician myself - that I understand every minute, horrific detail of the misery I would have to go through if I choose her recommended path of treatment. A treatment that I know is completely useless.

My thoughts turn to Mulder, just as they had since I'd made the appointment, and I feel the ever-present knot tighten in my belly. He has been through so much since the FBI jumped back into our lives a few months ago, and now he was finally putting his life as a free-man together.

What kind of person would I be to screw that up?

My fingers fly up to my face, swiping angrily at the tears I promised myself I wouldn't cry anymore. I turn on my blinker and take the exit that will take me home. Home. The thought normally made me smile, but now...the darkness has found us again. Or, more specifically, found me again.

The road winds down the path I know by heart and my eyes glance again at the papers beside me, wondering how I can hide this any longer.

*Hypocrite!* my mind screams. My knuckles turn white as I clutch the steering wheel tighter, trying to push my inner voices down. But, I just can't escape the memory of seeing Mulder's tombstone; or the feeling of betrayal I experienced when it was unveiled - in front of a room full of people who thought that I, of all people, should have known he was ill.

I swerve hard onto the shoulder, putting the gear shift into park before it's completely stopped. Then, I begin cursing - and punching. The steering wheel, the dashboard, the leather console between *our* seats, the headrest, the passenger seat...until finally, I am too tired to move. The exhaustion comes much quicker than the last time - I don't even make it out of the car to start in on the tires today.

It only takes two minutes before the eye drops work their magic so I may continue towards home. The gravel of our unpaved drive is full of potholes after last night's thunderstorm and I am bounced around so hard that I quickly check my upper lip. My finger comes away clean, but my heart starts racing anyway at the sight I'm confronted with when I pull into my spot in front of the house: Mulder.

And he's got my cell phone in his hand.

This morning, before I left to go into town to do some "shopping", I took his phone and left mine here to charge. This isn't an unusual thing for us - we often switch phones whenever one of us forgets to plug in ours. This way we don't have to buy new chargers for our cars every year when a better phone comes out on the market. It always seemed like a great idea before...

My palms begin to sweat as I open the door, moving to the trunk to retrieve the items I bought to make it look like I'd been shopping all day. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him shifting his weight from one foot to another - back and forth. Not good. I force myself to smile at him and I stand a little straighter.

"You got a call while you were out," he greets, his voice full of bitterness. I stop just in front of the bottom step, my neck craning as I wait for him to drop the other shoe. "A Dr. Ashwandi."

*So this is what it sounds like when the world crashes around your ears...*

"Oh really? What did she want?" I am impressed when my voice keeps from shaking. Surely she wouldn't have said anything that would give me away. She didn't know who Mulder was to me so telling him anything that would clue him in to my condition would be a violation of privacy.

"She left you a voicemail."

I feel the blood drain from my face. "You checked my messages?" *Oh, good one. Put him on the defensive. All those years in the FBI, and that's the best you've got?*

"It was a DC number with no name," he says, his eyes narrowing. "I thought it might be an emergency."

I force myself not to look away. "Was it?"

Our silent face-off lasts about thirty seconds - long enough to make the muscles in my neck scream - before I stomp up the stairs. When I move to push past him, he grabs my arm and spins me around.

"She said that she forgot to have you sign off on the order to fax your test results to the number you gave her" - his eyes narrow - "at your appointment today."

A heavy sigh escapes my lips. "Mulder, I can explain -"

"Oh, by all means, Scully," he says, sweeping his arm through the air, dramatically. "And while you're at it, maybe you can explain why you felt the need to keep the fact that you met with an," he pauses, his Adam's apple bobbing under the skin of his throat as he swallows, "*oncologist* today."

My eyes widen in shock. "How did you...?"

"I googled her name and number. In five seconds, I knew more than you would have probably ever revealed to me. Am I right?"

I tilt my head up when I hear his voice crack and the tears I see in his eyes shatter every ounce of resolve I have left.

"Mulder..." I reach up to touch his face, but he swats my hand away.

"How long?"

"What do you mean?"

His eyes seem to darken as he glares down at me. "How long since you started having symptoms?"

Oh. I bite down on my lip as I try and decide what the best answer is.

"Scully."

"Four months," I blurt.

I watch his jaw go slack, and he staggers backwards one step before my grasp steadies him. "Four...". He can't even make himself say it. "But that's right around the time..."

"Yes." - In fact, it was the very same day we came back from our "getaway" vacation in Fiji. Life was funny that way. Absolutely hilarious.

And, as his face contorts with fury, I know my confession has hit home. "You've known you were sick for all this time...and you didn't tell me? What if something had happened, Scully? What if...?" I can see by the way his forehead is creased in concentration that he has a million different scenarios running through his head - and I know none of them have a happy ending.

"I'm sorry," I say, my voice lacking of any emotion.

He shakes his head. "It doesn't make any sense. Why?"

For some reason, I didn't expect that to be his next question. "Why what, Mulder?"

As he opens his mouth to answer, his face suddenly goes white. "Oh, Scully..."

Realization dawns on me immediately and I run inside the house, tilting my head just slightly to keep the blood from running into my mouth. I quickly grab some tissues from the box on the coffee table and collapse on the sofa, pinching my nose to staunch the flow.

Mulder stands across the room, one hand on his hip while the other worries with his lower lip, watching me closely. He waits until I finally rest my hands in my lap to speak. "Why did you think you couldn't tell me?"

"Because I know how you get," I say with more venom than I intended.

"Ha! And how do I get, Scully?"

I raise one eyebrow at him. "Do you really want this conversation to happen right now?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Hit me with it."

"Okay..." I take a deep breath. "You have a tendency to turn things around until it becomes about you." He looks at me in confusion, so I elaborate. "Even if there is something that in no way could be construed as your fault, you figure out a way to make it so."

He looks down at the floor and remains silent, chewing on what I've given him.

"I remember, vividly, how bad it got last time. You nearly got yourself killed trying to save me. And that was *before* we told each other how we felt, Mulder. I am terrified to think of what you would put yourself through now." I feel tears rising up the back of my throat and take a shaky breath. "Especially since..." I cut myself off, hoping he didn't hear that last part.

"Especially since...what?"

*Shit!* My mind tries to come up with something else that might possibly sound plausible in that context.

Mulder pushes himself off the wall and kneels so that he is looking directly at me - even though I am concentrating very hard on this stain that resembles a strange-looking star on our rug. "What were you going to say, Scully?"

I look into his eyes and the vulnerability I see there renders me completely unable to speak - so I reach behind his head and touch the base of his neck with my index finger.

"God, this place smells even better than I remember!" Mulder says as we walk through the doors. I smile - the events from earlier that evening just a distant memory I have chosen to forget in light of the fun evening I had planned for us - and nod in agreement, the garlic and tomato smell are like heaven to my senses.

I quickly scan the room for the man we have driven all this way to meet. His bald head and burly shoulders rise from the table he has chosen for us: a small four-seater on the far east side of the room; it is directly opposite of the booth that Mulder and I used to call "ours". I blush in remembrance of the things its shadows used to hide.

Grabbing Mulder's hand, I pull him towards the reserved table. Skinner's eyebrows raise, his eyes wide as he watches the ease with which Mulder and I exchange signs of affection towards one another: holding hands, Mulder resting his arm across my shoulder in the booth, and, most surprising, smiling and laughing at one another.

"So how have you been Sir - sorry," Mulder laughs, before correcting himself. "Walter."

"That's alright, Mulder, old habits die hard."

That would explain the way he looked at us when we sat down. It is hard to keep in mind the fact that Mulder and I have had the last 6 six years to grow in the next level of our relationship - away from the eyes of any outsider. How many people can say *that*?

"You look a lot better than the last time I saw you," he comments, sliding his eyes from Mulder to me and gauging my response.

"Yeah, well, it's a good thing Scully played a lot of softball growing up." His smile, lighting his eyes as he chuckles, melts me from the inside out.

"So, how have you been, Walter?" I ask in part to change the subject, but also because I am truly curious.

"I can't complain," he begins, leaning back on the squeaky red leather. "Being a Deputy Director definitely has its perks."

"Besides pulling the strings that helped save my ass?"

"Yes, Mulder. It also bought me that nice little Lexus coupe that the valet parked out in front."

Mulder lets a low whistle escape his lips in appreciation. "Very nice."

"Yeah, but don't let them fool you into believing that you should appreciate the size of that paycheck. Not with everything you've laid on the line for them."

He stares, in what I can only describe as awe, and gives me a half-nod. *I guess he wasn't expecting me to be so verbal,* I think with a chuckle.

The waitress, an unfamiliar face that reminds me that DC evolved just as I did, takes our order and leaves a basket of breadsticks and three glasses of ice water. As soon as she walks away, Mulder gets to his feet. "That glass just reminded me that we were just in the car for over an hour and a half. I'll be right back."

I watch his tall form retreat around the corner, his ass looking very toned in the jeans I purchased for him last week. I mentally give myself a pat on the back and turn back around to continue my conversation with Walter.

The look on his face sends me into instant panic, and I immediately scoot a little lower in my seat while scanning the room for the basis of his shock. Not seeing anything unusual on my hasty survey, I ask, "What's wrong?"

His mouth still hanging agape, he picks up his red, linen napkin and reaches across the table...to dab my upper lip.

"Oh God," I mutter, yanking the cloth from his hand to erase the flow of blood that has quickly accumulated beneath my nostrils.

"Scully..." But before he can say anything else, I escape from the table and retreat to the restroom. The dinner would taste fabulous, if not for the metallic flavor in the back of my throat which won't be drowned out by the spinach lasagna I shovel down. Mulder is still excited about going bowling - professing he can beat Skinner by at least fifty pins - so Walter gives us directions to a new bowling alley just a few blocks over. Mulder leaves me at the valet counter with Skinner while he pulls our car around.

"So, I take it from the way you never mentioned what happened when you came back to the table that he doesn't know."

I continue staring at an incredibly ugly brown custom van illuminated in its parking space across the street.

"Have you had any tests run?"

I nod.

"Is it back?" His voice is full of dread as he asks, and I know he would give anything to be as oblivious as Mulder right now.

"Yes." Naciamento has nothing over the ripping sensation my heart is feeling as I admit this. Part of me has hoped I would feel some relief at finally telling someone. "Nearly seven years after..." My voice trails off as familiar headlights race around the brick building, and fear squeezes my dead heart back to life; I grab Skinner's hand. "Please," I beg, my eyes wide, "you can't tell him."

He presses his lips into a tight line. "It isn't right" - my knees begin to knock together - "but I won't say anything."

I smile up at him in relief, but he continues grimacing. He reaches down to open the door; and, as I brush by him to get inside, he whispers, "but it will kill him to find out from someone else. He deserves the truth. From you."

He closes the door, and I continue staring at him through the window.

"You ready to have your ass handed to you Scully?"

I realize he's making a joke and force a small chuckle. But, Skinner's words keep replaying in my head: the truth. A bitter laugh escapes my lips, thankfully going unnoticed by the man in the driver seat.

The truth was an evil bitch who had done nothing but push Mulder and me as far apart as any two people could be pushed. Mulder doesn't deserve the truth. He deserves happiness. And, reaching across the center console to take his free hand in mine, I vow to give him more than he has ever known.

Even if it is the last thing I ever do.**

"What were you going to say, Scully?" I ask to force her to quit stalling.

Suddenly, her eyes are mere inches from mine as I kneel before her, and she is looking at me like...like her whole future has been sucked into oblivion. Hopeless. But, she doesn't say a word, instead her hand moves at an agonizingly slow pace until it rests below my skull. Her fingers reach out and she touches a spot of skin on my neck just above the top of my spine. Our eyes never break their gaze, but as her skin makes contact with mine her face completely crumples and my heart lurches.

*Oh God, no! Please, please, no...*

Instantly, my hand takes the same path, only now it's on her body. Just before I find the spot I'm looking for, she tries to push my hand away - it only makes me seek that much harder. With the pad of my middle finger, I desperately search out a specific patch of skin - praying that I'm wrong. Finally, my finger runs along the abnormal patch...and I don't feel anything moving under my touch as I press.

"Mulder..." Her voice is tight; pleading.

I can't believe - no, it has to be here!

"Mulder, stop." She tries again to force my hand to stop and I pull my hand away, using it instead to grab her by the shoulders.

"What did you do?" I growl, shaking her roughly.

Her breath hitches as the sobs build in her chest. I watch her fight for control of her emotions and it enrages me further.

"Where's the chip, Scully?"

"I...." she stops and shakes her head. "It's gone."

No. Please, God...please, tell me this is a joke.

"Mulder!" she cries, startling me enough to notice that I am now sprawled awkwardly on the floor. Her hand pulls my numb body up and onto the couch.

My mind is flooded with images: Scully standing in a hospital hallway letting me kiss her for the very first time, her body lying behind a sheet of glass in a hospital bed, CGB Spender offering me a deal for her life, a room full of women being experimented on, her family standing around her hospital bed, Scully again - her face awash in tears - as she hugs me and says that she's going to be okay.

A cool cloth on my forehead abruptly draws me out of my trance. I can't help but think her tending has less to do with her concern for me and more to do with not wanting to talk about my recent discovery. I push the rag from my face.

"Tell me."

She sighs deeply and her attempt at composure makes me want to grab the first thing I see and throw it across the room; I clamp my fists around the couch cushion beneath me.

"I thought it was the only way..." Her eyes stare through me into a past memory I see her replaying in her mind. "He was in constant danger and I couldn't...I didn't know how long it would be before I heard from you again."

My stomach clenches as her words echo in my head.

"Just before he was abducted - when Kersh showed me the rubbings from the spacecraft...I started thinking, "what if they came back?""

"They?"

She blinks as if she suddenly remembered I was in the room. "The shape-shifters," she says, simply. "And the rebels. What if I was summoned again?" Her tone is so sure, so matter-of- fact that if the situation weren't so dire it would actually be hysterical in its irony: Dana Scully, believer in all things extra- terrestrial.

"Then, William's life was threatened by a man in the FBI. I tried to contact you again, but...the Agent..." She stops, shaking her head to try and erase whatever her mind assaulted her with just now.

I reach for her hands.

"They told me you were dead."

My jaw falls open at this revelation. In six years on the run, we had confessed so much...told each other everything that happened in the time that I was gone after William was born. But this was a new part of the story, one that I'd never heard.

She sniffs, her composure failing, and swipes at a tear that escapes down her cheek. "I was so afraid that - if I went on the run as I planned to at that point - I might be compromised and William would be left all alone...that he'd have no one to protect him.... So I cut the chip from my neck and destroyed it." She laughs, bitterly. "I was so paranoid that I didn't even want to risk storing it somewhere."

Her sniffs have turned into gut-wrenching sobs and she is shaking with every breath. I immediately pull her into my arms, not being able to bear watching her suffer alone any longer.

"Shhh," I whisper. "It's okay."

She jerks away from me. "How can you say that? Mulder, how can you continue to even look at me after everything I've done to hurt you?"

"Scully..."

"No. No, Mulder!" she shouts, retreating to the opposite end of the room.

Watching as she paces a circle on the rug, I notice her eyes darting around the room - again and again towards the door, looking for a way to escape. I move - slowly, cautiously - to stand beside her, placing myself between her and the front door.

"Scully," I say and there is no fight left when I pull her towards me again, securing her against my chest.

"I'm so sorry, Mulder. I'm sorry..." The words are nearly inaudible, coming out in between sobs and muffled by my chest. My heart breaks for this woman, and I am suddenly filled with the need to look into her eyes. Pulling her away from me, I tilt her face up with my index finger.

"You did the right thing, Scully. You protected my son. I can't be mad at you for that."

She shakes her head, ever the skeptic it seems. I have to make her understand.

"Scully, I still love you. And, nothing you do or say will keep me from helping you fight that cancer however I can."

"Mulder..."

"You said it yourself, Scully. I can't help what I am." The next words are so painful to think that I can only whisper, "I can't watch you go through that again. I won't."

I watch as the blood drains from her face and realize I should have phrased that differently. "I'm not leaving you, Scully. I will never do that again." Her breath hitches again, though in relief now. "If there's a cure out there - and I believe there has to be - then we will find it. But first..." Scully's eyebrow shoots up towards her hairline. "I need you to answer some questions."

I sift through the piles of papers on my desk, wondering when my life turned into such a monotonous, boring sack of bullshit.

"Wow, who did you have to sleep with to get digs like this?"

My head snaps up at the voice that has haunted my nightmares for the last ten years of my life. There's no fucking way...

"Oh, Walter, don't act so surprised. You worked with the X- Files team long enough to know that no one ever really dies," says the man who I know to be dead.

I am immediately crossing the room to grab him by the throat, thrusting him backwards. His head - the one I put a bullet in eight years before - hits the wall with a sickening thud, but he continues smirking at me.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Krycek?" I growl.

"Well, I'd be glad to answer that, but I'm finding it a little difficult to speak with your hand around my windpipe." I let go without stepping back. "Thank you. It seems that a friend of ours is very sick and needs our help."

Scully. The cancer. Shit. "How the hell do you know about that?"

He smiles again and I find myself wishing I hadn't left my Sig in the desk drawer. "You're asking the wrong questions, Walter. Try again."

I take a deep breath, thinking of my former agent and what this man might have over her. I decide that kicking his ass can wait. "How are you proposing we," my throat constricts at using that term with whatever "he" is, "do that?"

"I know what can cure her."

"You're full of shit," I respond, calling his bluff. I've played this game too many times to have one pulled over on me again. "If there was a way to get rid of this thing for good, she would have already found it."

"Well, that's debatable." He pushes past me to take a seat in my chair and props his feet on the desk. The vein on my forehead begins pulsating. "I mean, if she was aware of what I know then she probably wouldn't be in this position right now." "Cut the cryptic bullshit. I assume you came back from the dead for a reason, so spit it out already."

He laughs so hard that I hope for a second the movement might tip my chair backwards and throw him onto the ground. Instead, he gracefully pulls a sheet of paper from his coat pocket.

"Wanna know what this is?"

"You tell me."

Pushing himself to his feet, he says, "It's good to see that you haven't lost your tenacity, Skinner. Oh excuse me," - he puts his hands up, as if in apology - "Deputy Director Skinner."

"Did you come back from the dead just to congratulate me, Krycek?"

He shakes his head. "If you only knew..."

"Apparently," I retort, my tone dripping sarcasm. I am slowly losing my last bit of patience. "The paper?"

"Ah, yes. Here." He hands it over and I pause - paranoia getting the best of me - before taking it from him.

On the yellow legal paper, an address is scrawled. One that I haven't seen in seven years and fervently prayed would never be known by any associate of mine - especially one such as this. I lunge for him, but he is too quick and I'm left clutching my fists around the air he recently vacated. "How did you get this?"

"Don't worry," he says, side-stepping the question once again. "The boy is completely safe."

Despite the air-conditioning in the room that is keeping the entire building at a pleasant seventy-four degrees, my body is sweltering; rivulets of sweat run down my brow, behind my glasses, and into my eyes. I blink twice to clear the burning sensation they bring and wait, knowing that he knows he now has me by the balls.

"Like I said before, I know exactly what can make Scully's cancer go away. Permanently."

"And the address?"

"Let's just say I need you to arrange a reunion."

A thousand alarms sound in the back of my mind. "So, why not give this directly to her?"

"Well, she did give the boy away, am I right?"

"To protect him," I argue. The irony - knowing the danger the boy may now be in - rips a hole through my chest.

"Not the smartest move, in my opinion. I wonder what Daddy would have done if he'd been there?" He stops when my head snaps up to stare daggers through him. "But, as I was saying before so rudely interrupted, this can all be fixed. With your help, of course."

A chill courses down my spine. "What do you stand to gain from all this?"

"Tsk, tsk, Deputy Director" he rebukes, waving his finger back and forth. "A man in your position knows better than to ask things like that."

And he is right. But that has never stopped me before, and it isn't going to now. "I need some assurance from you that no harm will come to the boy - or Scully or Mulder, for that matter - if I make this happen."

He takes a step towards me, his eyes narrowing. "You have two options, Deputy Director: bring the boy to Scully and she lives, or refuse and she dies."

Hatred for a world that would be so cruel and unjust fills me as I watch him stroll over to the side door of my office. He comes to a halt just as he reaches for the handle and without turning around says, "and if you are thinking about sending the FBI out to protect or move him into a safe house, then you should know that I've already planned for such course of action. Let's just say it won't be pretty."

And, just like that, he was gone.

The waitress sets down a glass of ice water in front of me and a small, plastic jug of chocolate milk with one of those bendy straws in front of my lunch companion. I quickly call off our order - a chicken fried steak for myself and a grilled cheese for the boy - and she retreats back to the kitchen.

I try not to ogle, but I just can't believe how much he's grown. His looks leave no doubt that this is Mulder and Scully's kid. Her brilliant, blue eyes and warm smile were the first thing that I noticed when he threw open the door to his home - welcoming me like I'd been expected. It was really, fucking spooky.

I didn't know why, but when I imagined him, I kept thinking of Gibson Praise. And it frightened the hell out of me. I would never wish Gibson's fate on any man, woman, or child in the whole fucking universe. And that's why I threw up three times - once in my office after Krycek left, once on the plane to Wyoming, and once on the road to the Van de Kamp's ranch - before finally meeting the kid.

Kid. I have to keep reminding myself that he's only eight years old. He has taken two small sips of his drink and is now leaning back with one arm propped on the back of the booth, watching the passing cars out the window like he owns the place! No. Like he's Mulder. And my God, does he look like his father! The lanky build - very tall for his age, his profile (the nose actually fits his face perfectly, God love him), even his gait is just like his father.

"Mr. Skinner, can I ask you a question?"

Oh God. He'd said the same thing to me in the car when we'd finally been alone. I had been as unprepared now as I was then.

*"Mr. Skinner, am I going to my real home now?"

"Real home?" I'm glad I was on a wide-road with no surrounding traffic when he'd dropped that one on me.

"Yeah, I mean I know what you told Martha and James. You know, about me going with you to meet some people in the FBI that are interested in my abilities - and obviously, they didn't care where I went or how long I would be gone once you showed them your badge - but...what you said... that's not really true, right?"

"N-not true?" Holy hell. I was a Vietnam vet for crying out loud, but this kid had me stammering!

"Yes, sir. I know how it works, is all. And, it doesn't bother me that they gladly chose not to accompany me," - the emotional detachment in his voice made me want to gouge his adopted parents eyes out - "but I know why you're really here. You're taking me to my mother. You think I can help her in some way."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, Sir" He took a deep breath.. "But I need you to promise me something -"

"William..." Promises didn't exist in my world anymore.

"Okay, so don't promise then..." - I tried not to let the shock of knowing that he read my mind register on my face...and then I realized how moronic the effort was - "but give me your word that you'll try your best."

Having been rendered speechless by the maturity and depth of his statement, I nodded.

"I don't want to come back here. I want to stay with my real mom and dad." He sniffled, and I glanced sideways at him to find him making a "tough" face like he was refusing to show how much this hurt him. Then, in a near-whisper, he concluded his argument. "They're the only ones who will ever understand me."

The rest of the thirty-minute drive was spent in silence.*

"Mr. Skinner?" he prompts seconds later when I continue staring at my glass of water without speaking.

I finally acknowledge him with my eyes.

"How sick is she?"

"I think you already know the answer to that, William."

He nodded. "Why didn't you tell them you were coming to get me?"

*Guard your thoughts, Skinner. He can hear you.*

"You don't need to do that."

"Yes," I sighed. "Yes, I do." I lean back and fold my hands together on the table. "Do you know why your mother gave you up for adoption?"

I am completely aware now that he can hear the answer in my head before I can stop myself from thinking it. He immediately looks away - out the window again, then down at the empty seat beside him, and, finally, at the half-drunk bottle of milk.

I pull out my wallet, purposely drawing out William's curiosity, and search for the picture I brought specifically for him. I unfold the eight-year-old photo and slide it across the table towards him.

The poor kid actually gasps and wipes a tear that has sprung to his eye.

"You know who that is?"

He nods, still studying the photo; and, given his "unique" genetic makeup, I have a feeling he's committing it to memory.

"I took that at the hospital the day you were born. Do you see the way they are looking at you?" I wait for his answer, and his silence prompts me to continue. "You were the greatest miracle they could have ever hoped for, William."

A tear splashes on the table. He doesn't fight it anymore.

"I didn't tell them where I was going because they would never want to put you in danger."

"But I can help her!" he protested.

"I know that. But you don't know the evil they've seen and experienced first-hand."

William tears his gaze away from the picture and his lips press into a thin line. "You don't know as much as you think, Mr. Skinner." The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine.

My God...what did we do?

Scully stands in the kitchen, cooking up something that smells wonderful - though I know she will barely take more than a few bites - when my cell phone begins vibrating between my bare feet on the coffee table. I pick it up, immediately curious as to whom it might be since only a handful of people have my number.

The lighted display greets me with a familiar name. "Hey, Skin-man."

"Mulder." The way he says my name, I can almost see him, glasses already removed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he prepares himself for a difficult conversation.

I immediately sit up straighter. "Everything alright?"

"Do you have a minute?" The hesitation before he answers has me up and moving to my office - out of earshot of Scully.

"Yeah. What's going on? Did you find something out?" I had met with him two weeks before to fill him in on Scully's condition...and to ask him to use his new connections to see if he might be able to get into the Pentagon. The same place I had found the chip over a decade before.

"Yes." I suddenly can't breathe. "But it's not exactly what you think."

"What?"

"Listen, I can't explain over the phone. But," he pauses. "I don't think it's a good idea to let Scully know about this...just yet."

I nod to myself. I hadn't even told Scully I had brought him into the search for a cure, so this is a no-brainer. "Just tell me when and where."

The next morning, I am walking up to Skinner's apartment complex in Alexandria. Scully knows I am here, the reason for which, however, she is unaware. I have absolutely no idea what to expect. A doorman greets me, having been informed of my visit, and immediately ushers me inside. The elevator is one of the slowest I have ever ridden, my chapped lips feathering away under the assault of my teeth.

What could Skinner have found? I honestly thought it would take much more time for him to diplomatically work his contacts to gain access to answers and possibly another chip.

I jump slightly, the elevator chime jolting me out of my anxious thoughts. Finding his door easily, as it's only one of three on the entire floor, I knock twice - per his instructions (another thing that cost me six hours of sleep last night).

The door opens just slightly before a hand reaches out and pulls me, roughly, inside.

"Hey! No wonder people don't visit more often," I say, the smart-ass in me taking over as usual in this tense situation. "Didn't anyone ever teach you -"

"Mulder, just cut the bullsh -" he stops himself suddenly and glances anxiously over his shoulder.

My blood turns to ice. "Who's here?"

"Mulder, I need you to -"

I move to push past him, but he grabs me by the shoulders. "What the hell is going on? I drove all this way...there had better be a damn good reason why I'm lying -"

"It's okay," a voice calls from the living room. "Mr. Skinner?"

"Okay." He lets out a heavy sigh and drops his hands to his sides. "But, I need you to prepare yourself for what you're about to see."

The voice...it sounded so...young. *Prepare* myself?

"I don't want you to have to lie to Scully any more than you do...but I wanted you to meet him first. You have to help her understand."

The cryptic clues in his words begin to click into place, and then a figure emerges from around the living room entry. There is a loud ringing in my head as the world I thought I knew suddenly begins to swirl in front of my eyes. The last thing I remember, before it all turns black, is seeing her eyes in his face.

"William?"

"He's awake."

"He is?"

The voices are muffled in my head, so much that I don't even know if they're real. I feel something cold on my forehead and reach up to feel damp, terrycloth under my fingers. "Scully?" I ask, trying to remember how I'd blacked out.

"She's not here, Mulder."

Shit. I know that voice. I open my eyes, sighing in relief when I realize I'm not in pain...or a hospital. "What happened?"

"You passed out." He removes the rag from my head.

I grimace and try again to recall how I'd ended up on the floor. I remember her eyes. She was here! Skinner is leaning over me, blocking my view of anything except his large body. "Where's Scully?" I begin to panic - why is he lying to me?

"She's at home." Skinner is looking at me with concern, and something else. "You don't remember coming to my apartment."

I take a deep breath and struggle for a moment before my trip from our home to DC becomes clear. "Yeah, but....Scully. She was here. That doesn't make any sense."

He shakes his head. "It wasn't Scully. Listen, Mulder, your body's not in shock...but I think your mind is. I am going to tell you something now that will make sense of your memories, but you have to relax."

It takes every muscle in my body not to shake the words out of him, but I remain still.

"I brought you here to meet someone. Someone who you haven't seen in a very long time, but who I have a strong feeling you've always wanted to see again."

As he speaks, I see her eyes again, only they are not *her* eyes. I gasp and sit straight up - he doesn't try to block me this time. "He's here. My," - my throat suddenly constricts - son is here."

Skinner simply stands, revealing the boy I hadn't seen since he was a newborn. I want to run to him, pick him up, and crush him to me in the tightest hug he's ever received...but my feet remain rooted to the carpet.

The boy - our boy - smiles shyly, reminding me again of his mother. He is tall. He needs a hair cut. He has my nose. And I'll be damned if he is not the most wonderful thing I've ever seen. I am suddenly afraid to blink.

"It's okay," he says softly in a voice that will now forever be a part of my dreams. "It's nice to finally meet you." William sticks out his hand, and I pick my feet out of the cement to cross the floor and shake it.

"It's nice to meet you, too." Is this real? My knees begin to knock together. "I-I'm sorry it's taken me so long," I admit in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

He nods, glancing over my shoulder. I don't even have to turn around to know he is watching Skinner retreat; this moment is too much for him. Suddenly two arms wrap around my waist, making me the recipient of the same strong embrace I'd imagined giving just seconds before. My arms follow suit - the area over my heart burns, and I realize it is William's tears - -- and, with his head tucked under my chin, I begin murmuring everything I promised a higher power I would tell my son if only I were given the chance.

I don't know why he is here. I don't know where his "parents" are or how he ended up in Skinner's apartment. And, I don't give a fuck.

All I care about at this moment is that I have our son back...and nothing short of a bullet in my head is ever going to take him away from us again.

And that's when it hits me. Scully.

Oh, shit.

I feel the bed move behind me, and open my eyes to find pink, late-afternoon sunlight peeking through the hideous curtains Mulder picked out during his domestic/interior- decorator/online-shop-a-holic-phase. I never had the heart to be honest with my opinion of them...or the duvet.

"Hey," his smooth voice says, floating over the side of my face to tickle the stray wisps of hair on my cheek. "Good nap?"

It was, I think, choosing simply to sigh my content. His hand smoothes my hair back from my face and I search his eyes. Mulder has, of course, treated me with kid gloves since he found out about my "condition" two weeks ago. It was the same way those many lifetimes ago when I was first diagnosed with cancer. And, though he doesn't hesitate to have a "friendly" argument over theories, possible treatments, and the like, waking me from a nap is not normal, Mulder behavior.

"What's wrong?"

"Why does something have to be wrong?" he asks, stroking the tips of his fingers from my naked thigh, up over my panty line, beneath my tank-top to gently cup my left breast.

"Mulder..." I warn. Like he doesn't know...

The bastard actually chuckles! "Nothing's wrong, Scully." His full lips part into a wide smile, making him look twenty years younger. "You couldn't be further off, actually."

"Okay, now you're starting to scare me." I gently maneuver out from under his hand to sit up. He continues to touch me and chooses to remain silent. Coming out of the short nap has muddied my brain and I am hit with the paranoid feeling that maybe this was his plan. I quickly push that unhealthy thought away and suddenly remember where he'd gone that morning. "Did something happen in DC?"

He takes my face between his hands, his lips parting slightly like he's about to speak, and then he crushes his lips against mine. I try to push him away but he deepens the kiss, pushing me back down against the mattress; I am lost in the heady feeling. We haven't made love since the night he found out about my cancer.

An hour later, we are lying naked, sated and drowsy from our physical excursions as we watch the sun's final rays disappear from the room. Mulder tucks my head beneath his chin and pulls me into the warmth of his chest.

"You have no idea how much I love you, Scully," he says in a voice so soft that I wonder if it wasn't meant for me to hear.

I respond by squeezing my arms around him, bringing him even closer than he already is, and feel his lips press a chaste kiss to the top of my head. As our silence grows longer, my analytical mind begins dissecting his earlier confession. It's not that we never express our feelings, but it's never been a prevalent part of our relationship and I wonder if it was tied to the reason for his waking me. I want to tell my brain to shut the hell up and enjoy the moment - God only knows when we'll get another one - but...but...

"I can feel you thinking."

His classic line has me chuckling and my nose is tickled by the soft hairs on his chest. Mulder rolls away just enough to look at me and, feeling my face flush from the embarrassment of being caught, I am suddenly grateful for the new darkness of the bedroom.

"I was, actually."

"Mmm-hmm," he chides and I can just imagine the glint in his eyes. "I told you before, Scully: everything's okay."

"So how was Skinner?" I ask, deciding to change the subject. "His agents making his job so easy that he needed to get you out there so he could remember what it's like to be given a hard time?"

"You flirtin' with me?" he jokes. However, there's a nervous edge in his voice and a new rigidity to his body that sets off about a hundred alarms in my head.

I can see ten questions ahead in my newly formed plan of attack. "Maybe," I reply with what I hope is an enticing lilt. "What time did you make it back? I didn't get in bed until after six."

"Not too long after that. Traffic was brutal. Made it easy to remember why we don't frequent the city anymore."

Now that my eyes have adjusted to the lack of light, I prop myself up on my elbows so I could look down on him. He, too, adjusts to my new position, crooking one arm behind his head and openly admiring my bare breasts. Perfect.

"Did you two talk anymore about your possible lecture series at Quantico?"

He is quiet for too long before answering. "Not really. It's pretty much set in stone, so there wasn't a lot more to say on the matter."

"When did that happen?"

He is looking at me with a funny expression. "Last Tuesday, remember? Skinner got a call from Johnson to say they cleared a two-hour block in the fall schedule. I'll be speaking every Monday from one to three."

"Oh." Why didn't I remember him telling me this? *It's not important, Dana,* my mind scolds and I instantly recall my line of questioning. "So, then what did you two do all day?"

His eyelids droop and, combined with his evasive behavior this evening, I have to remind myself of his assurance that everything is okay. "Mulder?"

"Hmm?"

*Fight it, Dana. Slapping him right now would not solve anything,* the angel on my left shoulder rebuked. *But,* the devil on my right spoke up, *it would probably make* you *feel better.* "What did Skinner call you out there for?"

Suddenly he becomes alert, and, startled, I push off my elbows to sit up straight on the bed. "I'm starving. Have you had dinner yet?"

This is not what I expected. And, rendered speechless, I simply shake my head.

"Well, that's good...we may have to go to the store though." He is sitting upright now, too, and looking at me with an intensity that seems a little much for a "what's for dinner" conversation. "I don't think we have any green chiles...and I am really in the mood for some chicken enchiladas."

The air is expelled from lungs like I've been hit by a truck. My heart feels as though it is bleeding from the force and I wonder if mental shock can cause some kind of psychic-internal- bleeding. I know I've got to pull it together, if I really heard what I thought I did. My arms wrap around my body, of their own accord, shielding me from any more sudden blows.

I speak the next words slowly, each one another broken piece of the heart that has tried to heal for so long. "You want to go to the store?"

"Or we could just go out." He is studying me now, making sure I haven't completely lost it yet.

The bleeding stops for a short moment and if I had any air in my body I would gasp. Taken back to a time that was full of danger and spontaneity, when we had almost zero control over our lives, I remember. It had been another lifetime that we had established the code. It was one of the few ways we had to keep our sanity and reestablish the lines of trust that had nearly been severed before his prison break. We never knew when we were being watched, bugged, or whatever and so there were certain topics that we agreed could not be discussed by name. William was the number one subject. It was Mulder who decided on chiles after a night of southwestern food courtesy of some of Albert Hosteen's surviving relatives. Green meant he was safe and red meant...well, I don't even want to think that way. And if we brought the topic up at all then this meant for some reason something had happened to bring him back into our lives.

"Scully?" he calls softly. "Did you hear what I said?"

I nod. *We could just go out...* William is at Skinner's. Not some random town across the country, but close enough to reach with a short road trip.

My eyes are full of tears and I am suddenly fearful of each coming second. William has been returned to us. For whatever reason. And he is safe. My God, he is eight years old! What will he think when he meets u - and then I remember: Mulder. Mulder was called out to Skinner's alone. They didn't want me there. My eyes narrow - sending a stream of moisture down my cheeks - and I open my mouth to unleash my anger, but it snaps shut when I remember he used the code.

I wrap the comforter around me - my pent up anger leaving me with a strong sense of vulnerability that will not tolerate my nudity, take two steps toward the bathroom, and stop. Mulder watches me turn with an almost bored expression, making me feel predictable, and a new surge of resentment rips through me.

"I'll be ready to leave in twenty." I don't wait for him to acknowledge my statement before retreating inside the closet- sized bathroom. Shutting the door, I give my body permission to break down. My bones turn to jelly as I sink to the floor and I bury my face in my hands. William, William, William.... It is the first time I have allowed myself to think his name so freely in months. And, that was part of the reason I wasn't too upset with resigning my position at the hospital. But, now...

I have no idea how I feel. There are no tears on my face or hands because the inital shock has worn off and, deep down, I know this is a good thing. Our son is safe...and...and what? What is keeping me here, on the floor, in a broken heap of my own emotions?

What the hell am I so afraid of?

"Yeah, okay," he sighs, glancing at me for the one hundred and fifty-third time since he answered the phone three minutes and twenty-two seconds before. "Just keep an eye out for anything- " he stops, realizing how ridiculous it is to remind the man on the phone not let his guard down. *The most paranoid man in history,* his thoughts chide. "Just give me a three-minute warning so I can prep the doorman."

He clicks the phone off and his shoulders droop. I know it has nothing to do with the four hours of sleep he's had in the last three days.

My breath quickens. "He's bringing her."

*Yes. He told her you were here.*

I don't know how to feel about this revelation. I lean back on the couch and remember my father's reaction to seeing me for the first time since I was but a few days old. Seeing his initial shock and then feeling the overwhelming happiness from him is something I will never forget. I had no idea what to expect, but it was better than any of the meaningless dreams I'd had since I learned about my origins some years before. Relief yearns to break through my melancholy mood, but ...he didn't know I was here.

She does.

He didn't send me away to live with strangers. She did.

*William?*

I turn to look at the man who has fallen into the role of my caretaker since he picked me up a few days ago in Wisconsin. It is dark outside, and his living room is lit only by the tall, chrome floor lamp just behind me. The concern is evident both from his thoughts and in his features, the way he leans just slightly towards me with his elbows resting atop his thighs.

"Does she know why you brought me here?" I try not to shudder as I picture the cancer patients I saw on the computer just hours before: emaciated and hollow from the radiation treatments that were their only hope of survival. My father assured me that she still looks much the same as she does in the picture I shared with him from the day I was born - Walter's gift to me.

*No. Mulder only told her that you were staying with me. They were on the road within half an hour. They should be here soon. Just outside of DC now,* he said without moving his lips. It took him two days before he fell into the habit of communicating with me this way.

I want to beg for more details but, if he had any, I would have already heard them in his head. We sit there in relative silence, his thoughts providing nothing more than mundane speculation that mirrors my own.

Would I look much different than she has pictured over the last seven years? Is she glad I'm here? Does she wish I was still with the Van de Kamps? Will her presence be the signal the bad man - Krycek, Walter unwittingly provided me in his thoughts the first hour I was with him - has been waiting for? Are they in danger?

Am *I* in danger?

Walter shifts suddenly. *The phone. Mulder just texted. I have to call the people downstairs.* He stands and walks into the hallway and his deep voice fades into the background of my internal panic.

She is really coming. My mom. Oh, God...

I see the hazy memory I still have of her in my mind: blurs of red and blue on and around her face. She is crying, singing softly to me, and holding me so tightly....

*William?* "William!"

His outburst takes me by surprise and I hear a strange sound, like the rustling of leaves mixed with a sharp wind. He is kneeling before me and, through his eyes, I see the tear tracks on my face and realize the sound is coming from me.

"It's okay, William," he says, awkwardly rubbing his hands up and down my arms. *Shit, shit, shit...* "Can you hear me?"

I look at him without answering, focusing solely on my uncharacteristic reaction. I have never felt this way before...never lost control of my emotions. It is a bad way to feel. Very bad. *You've got to stop this, Will! I scold myself. What will she think if she sees you this way? She needs you to be strong! *

There is a soft knocking on the door. And that's when I hear it.

*What do I say to him? What if he hates me? I shouldn't have come here. I don't deserve to have him back. Oh God, oh God...*

And then I see her tiny self through the eyes of my father. She is...beautiful? No. That word strikes me as being very, very wrong. Her strawberry hair falls around her face as she chews her thumbnail, waiting for Walter to answer the door, and her clear, blue eyes shift from Mulder's face down to the hardwood floor. I know she is deathly ill, but it is almost as if she is glowing...

Walter squeezes my hand, no longer clenched into a tight ball. "William?" *Are you going to be alright?*

I feel my mouth pull itself into a smile and I am filled with a strange calm. "Yeah," I reply.

He stands and walks to the door. I move further inside the high-ceilinged room so that I will see them, but they won't be able to see me. One of the things my ability has taught me is that people often appear very different through other's points of view. Someone who looks very attractive to one may appear the opposite to someone else. It is so extraordinary but, the more I experience it, the more it makes perfect sense.

And, I can't wait to see her for myself.

Walter says nothing as he opens the door just wide enough to let them in before shutting and locking it.

Mulder places his hand on the small of her back, guiding her through the entry and into the hall. No words are exchanged aloud as she looks up at him with something like fear.

*Mulder, I don't know if I can do this! What if he hates me?*

He beams down at her before taking her hand in his, and she closes her eyes for the briefest of seconds. *It's going to be fine. He will love you he couldn't possibly* not.

Her mouth twists into a shy grin and she drops her head just enough. *You make this seem so easy...*

Mulder looks at Walter then and he nods toward the living room. My father glances at her again with raised eyebrows. *Do you want me to go first?*

*No.* She shakes her head and gently removes her hand from his grip. *I *need *to do this.*

I am shocked by the unspoken sentiments that pass between them and am left wondering if this is the reason behind my seemingly supernatural gift. My mind quickly takes off in a different direction as I begin to wonder if he filled her in on my ability to hear thoughts or any of the other things my father discovered about me today. The sound of her boots on the wooden floor sends my heart rate back up as I wait for her approach; I look at the light switch on the wall across from me and suddenly regret not flipping it on.

She emerges from behind the partition and my breath catches in my throat; I was wrong.

My mother looks just the same as she did through my father's eyes. If anything, she is more beatific as she stands there, scanning the room for me. She is tiny - shorter than me, in fact. Despite her earlier strength, her mind is now filled with anxiety and second-guesses. I feel my feet moving towards her of their own accord, and all I can think is how she needs me to wrap my arms around her. God, I want to hug her so badly!

My movement surprises her, and she gasps, her hands flying to cover her mouth. *Oh, William! Is that really him? He's so *

Her thoughts stop as my arms encase her in a hug so fierce that I doubt she can even breathe. To hold her, this woman who risked everything to bring me into this world and then sent me away despite the fact that it nearly killed her to do so, is surreal; I keep waiting to hear the familiar ranch sounds that always signal the dawning of another day. But I can feel the suede of her jacket, hear her sobs of joy and relief, and I know: this is no dream.

Finally I release her and she takes my face in both her hands having to look up just a little to meet my eyes - wiping away tears that I hadn't even known were there. Her lips part slightly and I keep waiting for her to say something, to voice any one of the thousand questions that are currently running through her brain. But she remains silent.

A heavy sigh escapes me as the sound of heavy footsteps in the hall signals the end of our reunion.

There is work to be done.

Through my telephoto lens, I watch the two disappear into through the polished entrance of Skinner's apartment building. My physical transformation didn't erase the awe and disgust I am overcome with when I watch him touch her -- like she is his and his alone. I shake my head to dispel the image and refocus on the job at hand.

The bugs I placed on Skinner's windows are strong enough to allow me to hear everything inside as clearly as if I were a fly on the wall. This moment is one my group has been working towards for six long years. The fallout of the Millenium group and the moronic alien cults -- natural selection at it's finest had raised some questions among my group, "The New Reborn".

When Mulder was resurrected, I was at a complete and utter loss. Everything that I had worked so hard to achieve against the Consortium was thrown in my face by people like him and Billy Miles. One had been in the transformation process, but was now living with the alien makeup still inside him - lying dormant. The other had been completely reborn, but lost that which had made him a person: his soul.

I was saved by one such as him.

After Skinner killed me - that's right, I was dead, too -- one of the original Reborn came over to me and used their healing ability to repair any damage, internal and external, the bullet had caused. It took me several months before the process was complete and, unlike my savior, I still had my soul. The belief behind this is that I wasn't directly injected and I wasn't saved by a Rebel. TNR believe that it is through this second-hand contact that we were physically transformed while leaving our souls and personalities intact. I couldn't believe how many people like myself were out there but, once I did, my old need to congregate and find a cause to fight for (or against) was strengthened.

It was Josepho's cult failed kidnapping of Scully's son that alerted us to a new belief system. As sickened by the revelation as I was, I also was fascinated and yearned to believe. It made perfect sense. Why the Consortium had failed when the odds were always in their favor. Why Mulder had done what only one other in history proclaimed to do. Why Scully could conceive without her ova.

Mulder, Scully, and William held the key. Not separately, no but together. They were our last chance to prevent colonization and defeat the ShapeShifters.

The return of Scully's cancer was shocking to us, having watched her maintain her health since she removed the chip (that was helping the Rebels track her) several years before. But it was the catalyst that we had been waiting for a reason for Mulder to bring William back into the fold. It wasn't even a question of if, but how long before he would accept his return and bring himself to tell Scully. Part of me had secretly hoped the drama behind bringing William back would cause distress between the pair but then I remembered why I had laid it in Skinner's hands. Doing that circumvented any betrayal Scully might initially feel when Mulder showed up with their son. And from watching Mulder as long as I had, and the way he all but worshipped Scully, I knew he would never allow someone like myself to talk him into bringing William back.

So, tonight will be the first time in over eight years that they will all be there in the same room. A chill races down my spine at the thought.

Will they feel the change in the atmosphere? Will she feel the tumor growing inside her cease its abnormal growth rate, dissolving into her blood stream only to be fought into oblivion by the white cells there?

Will *I* feel it?

Or will it be like the first time they were all together - however briefly - when the extent of William's abnormal characteristics had not yet been realized? I shudder to think of what might lay in store for Earth if Jeffrey Spender had been successful in his attempt to neutralize the boy.

My head jerks at the sound of a gasp, and I try to find the boy in the ill-lit room. Instead, my lens finds Scully's radiant silhouette, her hands over her mouth, her knees shaking. I watch the boy take three long, confident strides towards her wrapping her up and holding on for what feels like an eternity before a shadow crosses their light.

Mulder is moving in to the room now and I wait. My own hands are shaking in anticipation, but the earth around me is still. There is no bolt of lightning or things falling from the sky. It is just calm.

Mulder smiles at the mother of his child and pats William on the shoulder. There are no words exchanged, and I wonder if this is due to their knowledge of William's ability. Before I can further develop the theory, though, the boy turns suddenly and I nearly fall backwards from my perch on the balcony across the way.

"It's the man " he tries to get out without panicking.

"Who?" Scully asks.

"The man Walter told me about." His breath is coming faster now and I gather my things as rapidly as I can, while still listening in. "Krycek."

A female gasp sounds before Skinner exclaims "Son of a !"

Mulder speaks softly. "William, listen to me. Can you find him with your...?"

I pause as I wrap up my cords - no longer able to listen to their conversation - wondering why he cut himself off. And, it hits me: he hasn't told Scully about what their son can do. My mind is racing with this new information, even as I pack everything into my bag and head for the door. Sprinting down the stairs, I slam into the back door that also serves as the fire exit, not paying any attention to the alarm that sounds. I can see my car at the edge of the dark alley, less than a hundred feet away, and I get within four strides when a familiar figure emerges around the brick wall. His stance is eerily casual, hands deep in the pockets of his black leather jacket. It is too dark to see the look on his face, but somehow I know he is smirking.

"Well, well," he begins in a voice that confirms my suspicions about his expression. "I didn't know rats had nine lives, too."

"It must be true. I seem to recall seeing your obituary not so long ago," I laugh, surprised at how easy it is to fall into our old repartee.

He steps even closer, a move that surprises me considering the firepower I know he no longer possesses, and his hands come out of their hiding place - clenched and ready to reign down blows.

"Mulder "

"I just came to see for myself, Krycek." I nod, waiting for him to continue as he looks me up and down. "And to give you fair warning."

"Warning?" The chuckle dies in my throat as his mouth suddenly stretches wide in a full blown grin.

"I know why you're here. And I know you can't touch us."

I can feel my nostrils flare as I grit my teeth. The hunger to snap his neck has never been so fierce as it is at this moment. Smug asshole. But, he's right.

"Is that all?"

"No," he replies, glancing down at the pavement before returning his eyes to mine. "I know about the Reborn."

I feel my jaw go slack for half a second and quickly snap it shut. Of course, I am well aware of the fact that he has spent his time in isolation studying up on things such as this, but to hear him acknowledge what I *am *

"And I know what you believe me to be what you think my son is..." his eyes close and he swallows loudly "what Scully still possesses." He takes one more step towards me, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. "But you're wrong."

Despite the turbulence his words stir in me, I give him a wry grin. "It's good to know some things never change, Mulder." He turns then, and I am struggling to come up with something anything with which to debate him. "You're still as full of shit now as you were then!"

He casts one final glance my direction before vanishing into the night. I look down at my shoes, willing them to move. But I am left paralyzed in the dark alley with an eerie hollowness. And nothing left to hope for.

The sun is setting just behind the dark linen curtains framing the front room window. I glance again - will I ever be used to the sight of him? - at where William reclines on the couch beside his father, both immersed in the viewing of the latest sci-fi television show remake to claw its way into the network schedule. A hard breath of a laugh escapes my lips drawing two pairs of eyes to my face. Mulder, eyebrows raised in confusion. William, smiling with a tender look of understanding. It is then that I remember: I am an open book to my son.

I shake my head and sink into the leather chair beside the couch, tucking my feet up under me. As soon as I do, the person on the TV screen freezes.

"Scully? You feelin' okay?" Mulder's arm is out in front of him pointing towards the flat-screen, the remote balancing precariously in his long fingers.

It bubbles out slowly at first, this laughter. Then his words such a wary tone - replay in my head and the laughter turns into uncharacteristic, side-splitting fits complete with watery eyes and red cheeks.

"Well, I guess that answers my question," I hear - but am still too bleary-eyed to see - Mulder chortle in return.

"She's just happy." And William is right. I am blissed out of my rational, orderly mind.

There is a rustling of fabric and I wipe my eyes to find Mulder throwing his right arm around our son, pulling him close to place a big wet kiss atop his mop of chestnut hair. His eyes glance up to find me grinning at the sight of them like this. Mulder merely replies, "Of course, she is."

The day has been a long one spent mostly in the bland, sterile rooms and hallways of the hospital. Skinner and Mulder wouldn't rest until I got the proper testing done to see if Krycek's theory had been true. We won't know the official results for days, possibly weeks - but I know. I knew the second William's arms clung to me in those very first moments in Skinner's apartment. I experienced a similar feeling over eleven years ago. It is a sensation that I have never been able to accurately describe. But, if I were forced to compare it to something it's like when you finally get over a cold and can breathe deeply again. Or, like when you have a tension headache that finally fades away. Like I said, it's not something easy to put into words. I just feel well again. Whole. Healthy. Perfect. The room grows quiet after a few seconds and I can tell that neither of them have any interest in returning to the show. Besides, they can just watch it later - the beauty of modern technology. An idea springs to mind and I notice William sit up a little straighter. "Hey, it's been awhile since we lit up the pit you built out back."

Mulder nods his head thoughtfully, his lips curving in harmony with my new idea. "It's a nice night. Good for storytelling."

"Storytelling?" William chirps with unbridled enthusiasm. "What kinds of stories?"

Mulder braces his elbows on his knees, turning his face away from me as he explains. "Campfire stories." He throws me a wicked glance. It is an odd sensation to know that he speaks aloud solely for my benefit - and I for his. "Although these aren't your run-of-the-mill campfire stories."

"X-Files! Seriously?" Our son is on the edge of his seat now, exactly as Mulder hoped. I grin wondering how long he had dreamed of a moment like this; handing down stories that might one day be retold to future generations.

"Yep. We used to sit out there every night, when the weather allowed for it, recalling old cases and seeing whose memory was better-"

"Or more accurate," I say just loud enough to be heard. William giggles.

"ANY-way," he begins again, rolling his eyes, "it's been " his voice trails off curiously, his face darkening along with the young boy's sitting across from him - "too long since we've done that. What'd ya say, Will?"

"Can I help you build the fire?"

"Of course you can!" He stands then, shuffling toward the back door before calling over his shoulder. "Hey, Scully, wanna grab the blankets and hot cocoa?"

"Sure, you want marshmallows?"

"Yes!" two nearly identical voices declare.

"So, you really ate a grasshopper?" William says, turning in my arms to stare at me with a new respect. I sipped on my cup of hot chocolate and winked at him. "Wow "

"Your mom's done a lot of things I wouldn't have believed if I hadn't been there to witness it," Mulder adds. "Always keeps me guessin'."

I comb my fingers lazily through William's hair, enjoying the secure feeling of having him so close. He and I chose to sit on the weatherproof padded couch while Mulder sat close by in the chaise. The night is crisp, the stars and half moon crystal clear in the cloudless sky. We started with the easy stories ones that we figured were safe enough for* this* eight-year- old. As the stories progressed - gargoyles, faith healers, sewer mutants, escaped zoo animals, and circus freaks - William scooted closer until finally, after Mulder brought out the second round of piping hot cocoa, I put my legs up and angled our bodies so that he could rest his body back against my chest. The thick woven blanket that used to cover the back of Mulder's couch now lays over us, providing ample warmth.

"You look a little sleepy William "

He sighs with content. "No, I'm fine, really. Can I hear some more? Please?"

It is so hard to resist his innocent request, but I know just how few "safe" stories are left.

"Mom?" My heart strings tug hard every time the word falls from his angelic lips. "I, uh I don't mean to be too nosy, but there were some questions I wanted to ask. Some things I heard in your thoughts that I " My arms immediately go rigid around him as I begin to wonder what I might have let slip and, remembering he can hear me, I try to stop thinking. "It's okay, you don't have to protect me."

I bury my face for one brief second, inhaling his scent.

"What is it, Will?" Mulder asks, avoiding my eyes and the daggers I throw at him.

"It's just that earlier when you were talking about the church guy. The one who thought God was helping him heal people. Do we believe in God?"

Mulder chuckles softly. "Doesn't beat around the bush, does he?"

"Wonder where he gets that from?"

"Do we?"

"Well, with all that we've seen over the years," - and having you here, I omit saying aloud though I know William hears me "it's hard for me not to believe that someone is watching over us."

I wait for him to question his father, surely hearing Mulder's doubt in a deity, but he instead asks, "So we're Christian?"

My eyes widen as I look at Mulder - who is suddenly staring with intent at the glowing embers. "Well, I was raised in the Catholic church. So "

"But you don't go to church anymore? In Wyoming, we went to church every Sunday. But it wasn't a Catholic one. It was more like the one I saw in your head when you were talking about the healer."

"Your mom used to attend mass regularly, too."

It happens before I can think to stop it. Her tiny cherubic face, chubby little cheeks, familiar blue eyes begging me to make the pain relent. "Mommy, please! Please, make it stop!"

William sits up immediately. "Who is Emily?"

Mulder gasps audibly causing William to turn his attention to his father and rescuing me from his incredulous glare. My body trembles as the chill sweeps across the part of my body recently vacated by the child who is undoubtedly too smart for his own good.

"I have a sister?" The question is my undoing and I hunch over, protectively clutching my mid-section. All I can think is how I never wanted him exposed to these things; and hollow it feels beneath my arms. Empty. Barren.

"Scully?"

"Mom?"

Both of them have come to flank my sides on the couch. Mulder's broad hand rubs smooth circles on my back; William twines his fingers through mine. How utterly pathetic I am. What happened to the strong, vibrant Agent Scully? Where did she go?

"You're still her to me, you know. Even though I was only a baby then. And it's okay to be sad."

I smile ruefully at the boy who reminds me more of his father with each passing second. "I don't deserve such kind words," I state and shake my head.

"Will, what did you hear?" Mulder voices the question slowly, surely afraid to shatter the fragile woman next to him.

"Mom?" he asks carefully, seeking permission. I squeeze his hand and nod. "She was thinking about a little girl and I heard the word 'daughter'. The girl looks like her, too. Beautiful, you know? Do I have is she my sister?"

Another dismal wave of emotion floods me at the twinge of excitement - hopefulness - in his voice. He did have a sister.

Mulder's tone is solemn as he says the words I cannot. "Emily was very sick. She passed away a long time ago."

"Oh."

I see the pucker between his eyebrows as his lower lip quivers slightly, and something deep inside me sparks. Moving from Mulder's touch, I turn and pull my son into my arms.

"I'm sorry."

"William, no. You have nothing to be sorry for. Ever." I stroke his hair back from where his head is tucked beneath my chin. "There's a lot you don't know about your father and me. Neither of us has ever led a very normal life. But you are part of our family, and you have a right to know the truth."

His arms fly around me, clutching fiercely. "Thank you," he sobs, digging his fingers into my sweatshirt like he's trying to fuse himself to me. "I missed you so much, Mom!"

I am taken back to a night so many years before. One that started out a nightmare and became - until tonight - the best night of my existence. Mulder cocooned around me in a hospital bed while we held our son between us. My heart felt like it had been broken into a thousand pieces only to be reformed into one twice the size. It was both excruciating and euphoric. And now it was happening again.

I made the choice to send him away. And the three of us had suffered immensely because of that decision. Yet, here we were: Mulder, me, and our son. Holding onto one another for dear life. Mourning our losses together.

How could I be deserving of such pure love? How could this child be so forgiving after the horror I had surely put him through?

"There's nothing to forgive," he says in a voice choked with tears.

Mulder chuckles painfully, astonished as I am. "Think I'm gonna need to work on my campfire stories a little bit."

"Why?" I ask, my brainwaves too overwhelmed to pick up the underlying sarcasm there.

I hear William giggle in response to something going on in Mulder's mind. He leans away from me slightly and sniffles. "Dad, you're kinda strange. You know that, right?"

We surrender to laughter before retiring inside. I didn't know or want to process, just yet the status with William's adopted parents, but Skinner assures me that we will have little trouble regaining custody. The unfurnished guest bedroom adjacent to the master suite has been empty for far too long. Like those four walls were merely waiting for William to finally come home. Now there will be a child to decorate the room as his own. Until then we have an oversized, inflatable mattress on the floor next to Mulder's side of the bed.

Mulder helps our son find his new pajamas and get cleaned up while I finish making the temporary bed. The two of them join me about fifteen minutes later. I tuck him in and crawl over the aqua colored comforter to lie beside him. Propping myself up by the elbow I begin, whispering one last story for the night.

"There once was a man who met a genie that gave him three wishes "

The End

Author's Note: Yes, I know I left a lot of loose ends and this probably seems like a cop out. I may eventually continue this fic further .but for now, I want them to have a little happiness. So it's done.

For now ;-)