By Isabelle Ashe
thaliamuse2000@yahoo.com
 

Keywords:  post-col, MRF, implied MSR and DRR, character death
(before the story begins)
Rating: PG-13 for language
Spoilers:  William, The Truth, and I guess pretty much everything
else, especially toward the end
Summary:  The battle is over, but the fight continues.
Disclaimer:  I feel like a solipsist today, so actually, I invented
all these characters, Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen, The X-Files, the
FBI, network television, and you, the reader.  (Actually, plenty of
theorists used to think the author did invent the reader, but now
it's much more popular to think that the reader invents the author-so
maybe you're the solipsist!)  Seriously, the only developed character
that is my own is Dana Doggett; I'm just borrowing the others.
Author's Notes at the end (assuming I make it that far!)

***

"We die with the dying:
See, they depart, and we go with them.
We are born with the dead:
See, they return, and bring us with them."
--T. S. Eliot, "Little Gidding"

Chapter One
11: 47 pm, August 14, 2020, Northwestern New Mexico

As Dana jogged through the desert shadows, the wind whipped her dark
hair into her face, obscuring her vision.  How stupid am I, she
thought grudgingly, running away and forgetting my damned hair tie?
Oh well, screw it all!  She began to run faster.  No doubt her
mother, with her irritating knack for knowing what everyone was up to
all the freakin' time, would soon figure out she was missing and send
people out to find her.  She had to out-distance them, especially
Gibson, from whom she couldn't really hide.  Damn Gibson, she
thought.  If it weren't for him, Mom would have allowed me to go on
the training mission.  He takes this big brother thing way too
seriously-why does he think he has to protect me?  I am perfectly
capable of participating in a training exercise; I am practically an
adult.  Besides he was on the run and trying to save the whole
goddamned world when he was sixteen.

She wasn't exactly sure where the training group had gone, but she
was pretty sure they had headed northeast, and there wasn't much in
that direction until the magnetite mine, so if she headed to the mine
she was sure to meet up with them eventually.  Captain Lucas didn't
know that her mother had forbidden her to go along, so he couldn't
send her back, could he?  Soon she was in the canyon, and the stitch
in her side encouraged her to rest for a few minutes.  Gibson can't
run that fast, she reassured herself, and no one else would be able
to find me down here.

She threw herself down on a boulder and stared up at the stars for a
few minutes.  "That's where souls reside, kiddo," Uncle Mulder used
to tell her, pulling her up into his lap when she was little.  "If we
look real hard, maybe we can see her."  Her being Aunt Dana, Dana's
godmother and namesake who died of cancer shortly after she was
born.  Uncle Mulder's, well, not wife, but pretty much the same
thing.  His Scully.  Dana never saw Aunt Dana in the starlight, but
she was pretty sure Uncle Mulder did.  She didn't look for Aunt Dana
anymore; for a long time she had cared much more about seeing her
father than about seeing the aunt she didn't really remember.  And
although she never saw Daddy, she sometimes heard him, or thought she
did, telling her to be brave, to take care of her mother.  Sometimes
she desperately wanted to see him.  She shut her eyes.  Could he see
her now?  Did he know she was running away, deliberately disobeying
her mom?  But if he had been here, he surely would have let her go;
he wouldn't have been swayed by stupid Gibson, and probably if he
were here Gibson would be far less insufferable anyway.  Dana sighed.

Suddenly, she heard a snapping of a twig, a slight rustle behind
her.  Oh shit, she thought, sliding off the boulder as noiselessly as
she could and pulling out her gun.  Her magnetite ring wasn't
vibrating, so at least she knew the presence wasn't an alien.
Probably just an animal, she told herself.  There was another rustle,
and she saw a human figure dart from behind a scraggly yucca plant to
behind a boulder.  Or not an animal.  She glanced up at the stars-
Daddy, help me be brave-and then moved stealthily to the edge of the
boulder that the person was hiding behind.

"Step out, hands on your head," she commanded, pointing her gun at
the person.  The figure-a young man-looked up startled.

"Hey, don't shoot," he said, stepping out from behind the rock.  He
was taller than she, and seemed fair, though it was hard to tell in
the moonlight.  She didn't recognize him as one of the trainees from
the camp.  If he had been, he would have recognized her, anyway.
Dana quickly noticed a pistol at his hip.

"Drop the weapon."  He obeyed.  "What are you doing poking around in
the desert?"  She was starting to feel more brave.

"I don't know why I should tell you that.  I'm not obliged to answer
to any girl that comes waving a gun in my face."  Dana couldn't avoid
a little snort of disdain.

"I happen to have a right to be here, whereas you are a trespasser.
Who are you, and what are you doing here?"  She stepped closer, still
holding the gun on him.  Definitely no reaction from the magnetite.
Of course, an alien would have just lobbed her head off by now, she
realized.

The young man opened his mouth as if to say something, but didn't.
He seemed to be concentrating on something just over Dana's
shoulder.  She realized he might be trying to distract her, trying to
get her to look around.  "What are you looking at?" she demanded.

"I want to believe," he blurted out.  Dana just stared at him.  How
did he know the password?

"What did you say?" she asked, dubiously.

"That's the password, right?  'I want to believe'?" His face was
barely different than it had been except for a tightening of the jaw
and a slight forehead crinkle, but Dana could tell he was about to
panic.  He thinks I don't know what he's talking about, she realized.

"I'm looking for a camp that I think is around here," he began.  "Do
you know anything about that?"  Dana decided to take a risk on this
guy.  He seemed fairly harmless.

"Yeah, and I know your password, though I'm not sure how you learned
it.  I can take you back to the camp and let the people in charge
decide what to do."  Oh shit!  The person in charge, of course, is
Mom, and then she'll know I tried to run away and I'll get it.  And I
still won't be able to go on the training exercise, which has long
started by now, anyway.  Without meaning to, she glared at the young
man.

"Sorry," he mumbled.  Dana felt a little bad for him, but not much.

"S'okay," she replied.  "Back this way," she said, starting to walk
back toward the camp.  "So what's your name?" she asked, trying to
atone for the glare.

"Will."

"Will what?"  He looked at her quizzically.  "Do you have a last
name?" she asked.  Most of the war orphans remembered their parents,
or at least their names, but maybe he didn't.

"I guess I did once.  I don't remember it.  What about you-what's
your name?"

"Dana Doggett."  Will let out a low whistle.

"As in, John Doggett, savior of all humanity, Doggett?"  He seemed
impressed.  Dana was never sure how to handle questions like these.
Sure, she was proud of her father, but all the notoriety was a bit
embarrassing, too.  And she had always felt that if he had been more
ordinary that he'd still be alive.

"Uh, yeah.  John Doggett was my dad."  She glanced up at the stars
for a moment.

"Wait a minute," he exclaimed, the wheels in his head evidently
turning.  "If you're Doggett's kid, and you live here, then this is
that camp, isn't it?  I mean, isn't your mom Monica Reyes?  Isn't she
the commander in chief and everything."  She studied him for a
moment:  he was clearly excited and pleased at having figured this
out, and there was something vaguely familiar in his manner.

"Essentially, yeah, she's in charge.  The commander general is
actually my Uncle Mulder, but he has to travel a lot, of course, and
he's a little organizationally challenged anyway.  So my mom's second-
in-command, and she's the commander of the camp, yes.  So, how do you
know all of this, anyway?  And how did you know the password?"

"I've been wandering around through resistance pockets for a while-
most of my life, really, and especially since the invasion.  Word
about your folks gets around-they're international heroes, you know.
You said your Uncle Mulder-you mean Fox Mulder?  The Fox Mulder?
He's elevated to mythic status in most of the world, you know.  He
and your dad."  Dana rolled her eyes.

"He's just a regular guy, you know.  Kind of a lonely regular guy."

"Yeah, because he lost his beloved, right?  Dana Scully?  Hey, are
you. . ."

"Named for her?  Yeah.  You need to get over being star-struck, you
know.  It won't go over terribly well.  And you never told me how you
knew the password.  I certainly hope that isn't floating around
resistance pockets."  He was quiet for a moment and stared down at
the ground.

"No, it isn't," he admitted.  "I, uh, do you believe that the dead
can speak to us sometimes?"  Dana looked at him with surprise and
thought about the starlight and her father.

"I guess."

"I see my mother sometimes," whispered Will, after a pause.  He
looked at her earnestly, as if he was afraid she would laugh at
him.  "I don't really remember her, but when I see her, I know it's
my mother, you know?  Mostly she doesn't speak to me-I just see her-
but just now she was there, right behind you, and she said those
words.  Somehow I knew that if I said them to you, it would be
okay."  Dana raised her eyebrows.

"Wow," she said.  I wish I could see my dad sometimes, she thought.

They reached the edge of the ridge and looked down on the camp
below.  Dana decided to go in the gate instead of back in her secret
escape passage.  The guard looked at her quizzically, since he hadn't
seen her go out, but he quickly turned his attention to Will.  Dana
explained as much as she knew, and the guard pulled out a detector to
check him for implants.  Shit, I didn't even think of that, Dana
realized.

"He's clean, Ms. Doggett," announced the guard.  "You'd better take
him to Gibson; he's on duty tonight."  Dana rolled her eyes.

"I think I'll take him to my mother, instead.  She won't mind."

"It's after midnight, Dana," warned the guard.

"She won't mind," Dana repeated.

As they continued down the hill, a figure in a jeep started up toward
them.  Dana groaned as she recognized the driver.

"Who is it?" asked Will.

"My smartass brother, Gibson.  He's about the most self-important
person in the world, and he can read your thoughts, so don't think
anything you wouldn't want him to know."

"What?!"

"Dana Hope Doggett!  Where the hell have you been?" yelled Gibson as
he slammed on the brakes, raising a cloud of dust around them.

"I was taking a walk, if it's any of your business.  I found a new
recruit, I think."  She gestured at Will while glaring at Gibson.

"Who are you?" Gibson asked, not terribly politely.

"Uh, my name is Will."  Gibson squinted at him, studying him
carefully.  Then he turned to Dana with a questioning look.

'I don't know who he is; I just found him in the desert,' she thought
at him.  Seemingly satisfied, he looked back at Will.  At that
moment, the radio in the Jeep crackled with a staticky call from the
south guard post.  Gibson answered it, assuring them he would be
right there.

"Go straight home," he told Dana.  "Monica's been worried about you,
of course.  And take him with you; she can decide what to do with
him."  With that, Gibson climbed back into his vehicle and was gone
in another cloud of dust.

"Ugh!" she groaned.  "Who died and made him God?" she exclaimed,
before she realized that the implicit answer was her father.

"He's your brother?" Will asked dubiously.  "He seems so much older,
and you don't look anything alike."

"Well, he's not my brother by blood.  My parents adopted him when he
was about sixteen, and he's seventeen years older than I am.  He's
really not a bad guy, and I do love him, but he has a rather exalted
ego and takes the whole big brother thing way too seriously.  I had
another brother-a real brother, Luke-who died.  He would have been
about the same age as Gibson, and I like to fantasize that Luke would
have been a better brother.  That's probably not very fair to Gibson,
I guess, and I know it hurts his feelings when I think that."  They
rounded a corner past the dining hall and faced a row of
houses.  "It's just down here," Dana said.
 
 

Chapter Two

"You let her go?!  Monica, you know that wasn't just a training
exercise.  She's only sixteen, for crying out loud!" Mulder's voice
crackled over the phone.

"Hey!" cried Monica, "I didn't let her go anywhere, and she did not
go with them.  Don't talk to me like a child, Mulder.  Of course I
know damn well what's really going on there, and I am not about to
send my daughter into the middle of it.  Thank you for your concern,
but do remember that I am perfectly capable of taking care of her."
Mulder didn't respond right away, and Monica was just as glad.  She
was fuming with anger, which she realized was the result of fear for
Dana, who hadn't been seen in over two hours.  Still, who was Mulder
to think he could just call her up and chew her out; and who was
Gibson to tell Mulder Dana was missing in the first place.  Monica
paced, breathing into the phone, not sure what to say.

"I'm sorry, Monica," Mulder said after a pause.  "I know it's not
really my business.  I just called to let you know I'd be in sometime
tomorrow.  Hopefully Dana will be back safe and sound by then, and we
can concentrate on this other mounting problem."

"Yeah," conceded Monica.  She was glad Mulder was such an
affectionate godfather-she and John had been rather surprised at his
eager participation in young Dana's life after the elder Dana's death-
but she wasn't sure she was ready to forgive him for butting in where
he didn't belong.  He was right, though, there were other important
matters that deserved their full concentration, so she hoped Dana
would return soon.

As if on cue, Monica heard a key in the lock, and Dana's voice called
out, "Mom?"

"Oh, thank God!  Mulder, she's home; I'll talk to you when you get
here tomorrow, 'kay?"

"Oh, good!  Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow.  And Monica, I really am
sorry I yelled at you about Dana."

"I know.  It's okay."

"Bye."

Monica hung up the phone and left her office to head into the
hallway.  Standing in the hallway was Dana and a young man she didn't
recognize.  Both were fairly covered in dust, and Dana's dark hair
hung messy and windblown around her face.  She looked up at her
mother with her piercing blue eyes-John's eyes-defiant, as if daring
her to be angry.  Monica decided to play it casual instead.

"Hey hon, what have you been up to?" she asked, moving toward her
daughter.  Dana breathed an audible sigh of relief when she realized
her mom wasn't going to give her trouble.

"Uh, I was just taking a walk.  I found him wandering in the desert;
he wants to be a new recruit."  Dana gestured toward the young man
with her, and Monica looked at him for the first time.  She had
assumed he was one of the trainees she didn't yet know, but as she
looked closer she realized his ratty clothes and longish hair were
indicative of a new, not an established, member of the camp.  He was
tall, thin, and fair, with reddish hair, blue eyes, and angular
features.  His nose seemed too big for his face.  Suddenly, Monica
gasped with recognition.  Dana seemed not to notice and continued
with her introductions:  "Mom, this is Will; Will, my mother, Monica
Reyes."

"William?" Monica breathed, and though she wanted to go to him and
pull him into a hug, she felt rooted to her spot.  He looked at her
with something between awe and confusion and awkwardly stepped
forward and extended his hand.  Dana, by this time, had noticed her
mother's odd behavior.

"Mom, are you okay?"

"William, how old are you?" Monica asked suddenly.  "Do you know when
you were born?  Do you know who your parents are?"  She was certain
of his identity, but just in case she was wrong. . .  but she
couldn't be wrong, could she?

Will looked at the floor for a moment before answering.  "I don't
know exactly when I was born, no.  Sometime in the spring of 2001,
I'm pretty sure, so I'm about nineteen now.  I don't remember my
parents."  Dana looked at him for a moment and then leaned in to
whisper to him.  He returned a look of alarm but began to speak again
anyway.  "I see my mother sometimes-in visions, I mean; I'm pretty
sure she's dead."

Monica raised her eyebrows in excitement.  "Can you tell me what she
looks like, William?"  He looked uncomfortable and hesitated.

"It's okay, Will," said Dana softly.  "She's cool; she's not like
Gibson."  Monica shot Dana a cautionary look.

"She looks kind of like me," Will began suddenly.  "She has red hair
and blue eyes, but she's smaller than I am.  When she sees me she
smiles."  He blushed madly and stared at the floor, scuffing a spot
with his toe.

"Oh my god!" gasped Monica, feeling her knees go slightly weak.  Dana
looked at her like she was losing her mind.  Suddenly Monica dashed
into the living room and pulled the framed picture of Mulder and
Scully off the table.  It was just a snapshot, taken just after they
had all gone into hiding and before Scully's cancer had returned.
Monica had never seen Dana Scully at all carefree, but that evening
they had all been laughing madly about something-John acting like an
idiot, if she remembered correctly-and both Mulder and Scully had
huge smiles on their faces.  She held it out to Will.  "Is this your
mother?"

All the color drained from Will's face and his mouth dropped open.
Tears started falling from Monica's eyes as she stepped toward
him.  "Where did you get this?" he asked. "How did you-"  Dana looked
back and forth between them like they were both insane.

"Oh my god, William!"  Monica enveloped him in a hug, and because he
was very confused and didn't know what else to do, he hugged her back.

"What the hell is going on?" demanded Dana.  "What do you mean, is
Aunt Dana his mother?  He's just a guy I found in the desert!  How do
you know him, Mom?"

Monica realized quickly that both Dana and Will were confused, and
her emotional reaction had likely scared poor Will to death.  She
released him and stepped back, looking first at her daughter, who
looked frustrated, confused, and slightly angry, and then at William,
who looked a bit like he had been punched in the gut.

"What the hell is going on?" Dana repeated.

"Watch your language, young lady," said Monica automatically, though
not really meaning it.  Gibson had said something once to Dana about
how much John used to swear, and ever since Dana had been developing
a more foul mouth herself.  "I think you both deserve quite an
explanation that won't wait until morning.  Come in and sit down."
She walked into the living room, and they followed her, Will still
clutching the picture frame in his hands.  Dana kicked off her shoes
and pulled her feet up under her on one side of the couch, and Will
sat nervously on the edge of the other side.  Monica seated herself
in the chair across from them, and stared down at her hands for a
moment before beginning.

"William, I don't know how much you know about your own history or
what's been going on with the resistance.  Obviously I can't answer
all the questions you must have tonight, and I think that there is
someone else who would be a better source anyway.  Part of me wants
to wait until he can tell you all of this himself, but you obviously
deserve an explanation now.  First of all, I should explain that I
recognized you because I was your godmother and I delivered you when
you were born.  The two people in the photo there are your parents,
Dana Scully and Fox Mulder."  Will blanched a little bit.  "Dana
Scully, as you probably know, died almost sixteen years ago; Fox
Mulder is still alive.  I didn't meet them until your mother was
already pregnant with you, so I can't really speak to their
relationship beforehand, but they were partners in the FBI, in the X-
Files division, in which my late husband John Doggett and I also
worked."  Will nodded; he had heard much of this before, legends told
in makeshift resistance camps.  Monica took a deep breath before
beginning again.

"William, both of your parents were abducted at different times, and
they both had terrible tests performed on them.  When your mother was
returned, she discovered that she was unable to have children.  She
also found an implant in her neck; when it was removed, she developed
cancer; when it was replaced, she was cured.  After we all had to go
into hiding, she didn't want them to find her, so she removed the
implant again; that time she died of the cancer."  Monica bit her lip
and looked down at her hands.  "But back to you, William.  You were a
miracle baby.  Your mother thought she couldn't have children, but
somehow she became pregnant anyway.  Your life was threatened by a
number of people and interests, both before and during and after your
birth.  Your father's life was also threatened, and shortly after you
were born he was forced to go into hiding, and it was too dangerous
for your mother to know where he was or to contact him.  About eight
months later, after yet another attempt on your life, Dana felt that
she couldn't keep you safe, and she was forced to make the hardest
decision of her life:  she gave you up for adoption.  Nevertheless,
William, don't imagine for a minute that she didn't love you or
didn't think about you every day of her life.  She gave you up
because she felt it was the only way to keep you safe."  Monica
paused and looked at William; his face was hard to read-like both his
parents, she thought.  From his response to her earlier question
about his parents, he didn't seem to remember his adoptive parents
either.  What had happened to them, she wondered.  At some point she
would ask him; now was not the time.

"Not long after she lost you, Mulder came into some trouble, and at
the end of a terrible trial, your parents, John and I, and our friend
Walter Skinner were all forced into hiding.  Mulder had learned the
date of the invasion, and we set to work building a resistance,
which, as you must know, was at least somewhat successful.  As I
said, Dana died early on, but not before pioneering crucial research
into the vaccines that have enabled the human race to survive.
Walter Skinner and John were both killed in the invasion battle
itself, and Mulder and I are essentially heading up the continuing
resistance movement in North America, aided by friends doing the same
thing in South America, Africa, and Australia.  The Eurasian
continent, of course, is enemy territory.  I suspect in the following
days you will learn more than you ever wanted to know about the
resistance."

Monica stopped talking and looked at the two young people facing
her.  Will's face was still pale, and he regularly looked back and
forth between her and the photo in his hands.  She could tell he had
a plethora of questions but was still working out how to ask them.
Dana, obviously less emotional, sat staring open-mouthed at her
mother.  Monica knew this was a bit of a shock to Dana:  she loved
Mulder dearly and had always entertained fantasies about her
godmother and namesake, but she never knew they had had a child of
their own.  Monica was trying to decide what to say or do next when
Will finally mustered up enough courage to say something.

"So Fox Mulder-uh, my father-he's alive?  Can I, do you think I
could, I mean, if he would want to, do you think he would want to
meet me?" he blurted out.

"I'm sure he will very much want to meet you," Monica reassured.  "He
isn't here now, but he probably will be within the next couple of
days."  She tried to maintain an easy smile, which she hoped not even
Dana could see through.  Eventually, she felt sure, Mulder would want
to be reunited with his son, but despite knowing him about as well as
anyone still alive (except perhaps Gibson), Monica had no idea how he
would initially react to the news.  She decided to keep it to herself
that he would be in the camp tomorrow; it was an unexpected and
hopefully somewhat clandestine visit anyway, so she ought to have the
opportunity to break the news before Will could possibly find out he
was here.

Dana tried to stifle a yawn as the hall clock chimed three.  Will
looked utterly exhausted, and Monica realized that they would all
drop to sleep here if they kept sitting up.  "We probably all ought
to try to sleep, if we can.  Will, I'll get you some of John's old
things to change into, and Dana will show you Gibson's old room,
where you can sleep."  Dana nodded and pulled herself off of the
couch, Will following behind her.  Monica went to the back of her
closet and pulled out a t-shirt and sweat pants for Will to sleep in
as well as a clean pair of pants and a shirt for the next day.  After
dropping them off in Will's room and wishing him a good sleep-he
thanked her weakly, and she couldn't help giving him another hug-she
stepped across the hall and knocked on Dana's door.

"Dana, sweetie, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Yeah, come in," came the voice from the other side of the door.
Monica entered to find her daughter gathering up her bath things and
her pajamas.

"You going to shower this late?"

"I feel really gross-all that dust and sand and stuff.  Besides, I
don't think I could sleep just now anyway."  Monica nodded in
agreement; she had a feeling she wouldn't sleep a wink tonight.  Dana
looked thoughtful for a moment and opened her mouth, but closed it
again without saying anything.

"What?" asked her mother.

"Well, would you have ever told me that Uncle Mulder and Aunt Dana
had a son?"  She didn't seem resentful-a nice change, thought Monica
regretfully-only curious.

"Maybe someday, if it had seemed appropriate.  But I wasn't keeping
it from you to try to be secretive or because I didn't think you were
old enough or mature enough.  It's just-that was such a painful time,
especially for Dana and Mulder, but also for your dad and me, and for
a lot of years it has just been easier to keep those memories pushed
away.  I don't know if that was healthy or not."  Monica shrugged.

"Did they ever try to find Will?  After everyone went into hiding?"

"I don't know for sure, but I would be very surprised if Mulder
hasn't spent a considerable amount of time looking.  But it sounds
like Will doesn't remember much of his early childhood-he might have
been hard to find.  And it sounds as if Dana has been watching over
him for some time."  Dana smiled faintly.  "Listen, sweetie," Monica
continued, "I wanted to talk to you for a few minutes about the
training exercise."  Dana rolled her eyes.

"I still don't understand why you wouldn't let me go-Jenna Casely and
Tom Deroe are only seventeen, and I'm a much better shot than either
of them.  Sixteen isn't so young-"

"It isn't what you think, Dana.  I know you are a capable fighter,
and believe me, you will get your chance soon enough, whether I like
it or not.  Dana, you shouldn't tell anyone this-it would only alarm
people too soon-but I think I can trust you to let you know that
there is a mounting threat from the enemy.  Possibly another
invasion.  There will be a number of so-called training exercises
coming up, but they won't be just training exercises.  Chances are
you'll be going along on one of them eventually, much as I wish I
could keep you from it.  But until then, I would appreciate it if you
would stick close to home."  Monica looked at her daughter knowingly;
of course she knew Dana had tried to run away, but their relationship
had been rather strained in recent months, and she wasn't willing to
further jeopardize that with times becoming so uncertain.  Dana bit
her lip, clearly unsure how to react.  Finally, she just nodded.

"Okay," she said.

"Well, get your bath and try to get some sleep, Dane.  I'll see you
tomorrow sometime."  Monica got up from the bed and walked back
toward the door.

"Mom?"

"Yeah, sweetie?"

"I'm sorry."  Dana's eyes glistened with both fatigue and remorse;
Monica was struck, as she often was, by how much her daughter looked
like John.

"I love you."
 
 

Chapter Three

Mulder sat in Monica's office in the central command building reading
intelligence reports from the past few weeks.  He sighed as report
after report confirmed an imminent second invasion.  The forces in
Europe and Asia were rallying, and communication between the aliens
here on earth and extra-terrestrial forces had increased.  So far
there was no evidence of any incoming ships, but he feared it was
only a matter of time.

He put down the report and looked at his watch:  a quarter to nine.
Where was Monica?  Granted, he had claimed he wouldn't be in until
later this afternoon, but she ought to know him well enough by now to
know that he had left Phoenix-or rather the settlement near what used
to be Phoenix-as soon as he had gotten off the phone with her and
drove straight through to central command.  Besides, she was always
in the office by eight.  He couldn't help but chuckle that he was so
familiar with the habits of Monica Reyes, of all people.  Years ago,
when he first met Monica, he was prepared to dismiss her outright,
until Scully announced that she liked the quirky agent from New
Orleans.  In the years since, Scully's initial faith in both Monica
and John had proved well-founded-but then again, he thought, how
often was Scully ever wrong.  Both had been indispensable in setting
up the resistance, and John Doggett's self-sacrificial heroism in the
invasion had ensured humanity's survival and control of more than
half of the globe.

The door behind him opened, and he turned around to see Monica enter
the room.  She usually wore her hair back in a ponytail, but this
morning it hung, still wet, down her back.  It was much longer than
he ever remembered seeing it, and the silver streaks were starting to
outnumber the brown.  She looked unusually tired, and the smile she
flashed him seemed to conceal something-was she nervous?

"I should have known you would already be here.  You haven't seen
anyone yet, have you?"  She walked over to the window, surveying the
morning activities below.

"Only a few guards.  What's up, Monica?"  He stood up from the desk
and took a couple of steps toward her, but she turned around and
faced him with such intensity that he stopped in his
tracks.  "Something's wrong-something about the invasion?  I thought
these were all the most up to date reports," he said, indicating the
reports on the desk.

"No, not the invasion.  Mulder, I think you should sit down.  There's
something I have to tell you."  Remembering their conversation the
night before, a sense of panic coursed through him.

"Is it Dana?  Has something happened to her?"  His fondness for his
goddaughter surprised him sometimes; more when he was around her than
any other time did he wish he had not lost his chance to be a father.

"No, Dana's fine."  Monica smiled nervously again, and Mulder found
it disconcerting.  "Please just have a seat and hear me out, okay?"
He seated himself in one of the chairs facing her desk, thinking she
would sit in the other.  Instead, she paced around a few times before
turning to face him.  Her limp, the result the injury she'd incurred
in the invasion battle, seemed unusually pronounced.

"When Dana came home last night, she wasn't alone," she began, her
voice deliberately even in an attempt to disguise what were evidently
nerves.  "She found a boy in the desert-a young man who was looking
for the camp so that he could join up.  She brought him to the house,
and I-I recognized him."  She began to pace again, and Mulder
narrowed her eyes at her.  Where was she going with this?

"Monica?" he prompted.

"I think I would have recognized him anywhere; he looked exactly like
he should have, but I had to be sure.  He said he sees her sometimes,
and when I showed him her photo-" She trailed off as Mulder sprang up
from his seat.

"Who?  Monica, who are you talking about?" he demanded, realizing
that his own voice had become dangerously shaky.  Monica always had a
knack for boldness, and she suddenly stepped toward him and met his
eyes.

"It's William."

Of course he had guessed, insofar as he could guess unconsciously
without admitting it to himself, who she was talking about, but the
name socked him in the gut nevertheless.  It seemed to ring in the
air.  How long had it been since he had articulated his son's name?
Or heard it aloud?  He and Scully had scarcely talked about him-it
was too painful-and Monica, John, and Skinner had all hesitated ever
to speak of him.  Mulder sank back into the chair he had been sitting
in.

"You're sure?" he croaked.  He felt hot tears springing from
somewhere behind his eyes.  No, no, no, don't cry; you can't cry here
in front of her.  Monica was a good friend and everything, but Mulder
would only cry alone or in front of Scully; for the past sixteen
years he had only cried alone.  Monica seemed to sense that he wanted
some space, so she moved back toward the window.

"I'm sure.  Dana was going to show him around today, so you should
probably lie low until you want to see him.  I know it might not have
been my place to do so, but he needed some answers-he doesn't
remember anything-so I told him a bit about himself.  He knows you're
coming sometime soon, and I had to tell him you would want to meet
him when you arrived.  If he doesn't know you're here yet, that gives
you some time to get used to the idea.  I should have talked to you
first, I know, but I had no choice at the time.  He needed to know,
and he needs to know you, when you're ready."  She walked back to the
desk and gathered the reports he had been reading, along with some
other papers from a drawer.  "I'll be in the control room if you need
me.  I've got a call scheduled with Yves in about an hour; if you
feel like it, after lunch I'll brief you on her news from Nairobi,
and we can talk about some of this mess."  She indicated the papers
in her hand.

Mulder nodded, grateful for her understanding, though he didn't trust
himself to vocalize his thanks.  Monica slipped out of the office,
leaving him to his chaotic thoughts.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Mulder felt the tears begin to
fall.  He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus and sort through
his thoughts.  William was here.  His son, whom he hadn't seen in
nineteen years, since he was a week-old infant, was here.  Monica
said she recognized him.  Did he still look like Scully?  During that
beautiful week so long ago, and during his almost daily perusals of
two crumpled snapshots over the past nineteen years, he had marveled
at how much their son looked like his mother.  "Scully," he said
aloud, in a kind of prayer.  He had never been a religious person,
but he sometimes caught himself praying to her.  'He said he sees her
sometimes,' Monica had said.  So you've been watching over him, he
thought with satisfaction.  What am I going to do?  I need to see
him, I need to be with him, but I'm so scared.  I never got to be his
father, and now he's practically grown, and showing up right as all
hell is about to break loose again.  Scully, you've got to help me
here.  What do I say to him?  How can I let him know how much we
loved him?

For Mulder, William had become two images-two photos that he always
carried with him.  The first Monica had taken in the hospital the day
after his birth.  Scully held the baby, and Mulder sat on the edge of
her bed, leaning over.  If he remembered correctly, Monica had taken
a second photo after they had all posed, but when he left them, he
had taken the candid picture-Scully looking down, fussing with
William's blanket, himself looking over at Scully with amusement and
adoration.  The second photo he carried he had found among Scully's
things after her death, and it was, he believed, the last picture of
William that she had taken.  He was about eight or nine months old,
sitting up and reaching animatedly for a teddy bear being held up
just out of his reach in the corner of the picture.  Mulder was
pretty sure he recognized the hand holding the bear as Maggie
Scully's.  Sitting in Monica's office that morning, he pulled out his
two pictures and stared at them.  How could this tiny boy be grown
into an adult?  Somewhere in the camp, his goddaughter Dana was
showing William around.  If he ran into his son by accident, would he
recognize him?  Yes, Monica had recognized him, but, as he remembered
with palpable pain, Monica had spent far more time with him.

"I wouldn't have brought him here if I didn't know you would be ready
for him, Mulder."  Mulder started up from his chair.  She was there,
across the room, and he ran to her as if to embrace her, remembering
only at the last minute that she wasn't palpable.  It had been a hard
lesson to learn-time after time of reaching for her, only to have her
disappear.  She wasn't a ghost, and once or twice she had touched
him, allowed him to touch her, but not always.  Sometimes he couldn't
even hear her; the behavior of the dead did not fit any of his
paranormal patterns, and he knew she derived a certain pleasure from
proving his expectations wrong, even in death.

"Scully, what if I screw something up?  He's almost an adult; I don't
even know him.  What if he doesn't like me?"  She smiled at him, and
grief pierced him.  In his more rational moments, he found it ironic
and rather cruel that he missed her most when she was actually
present.  "I wish you were here," he whispered, fearing the return of
his tears.

"You'll be wonderful, Mulder.  He needs you, and you need him.  I
wish I could be there with you like you want me to be, but you know
I'll be watching over both of you."

"Don't go, Scully!  I need you to tell me what to do.  Why now, after
all these years?  I can't do this alone-I need you here, too."

"No you don't-like I told you, you'll be fine.  Why now will become
evident soon enough.  We always suspected, and probably tried to
forget, that William was a special baby.  He is also a special young
man, but he needs someone-his father, preferably-to help him into the
role he is meant to play.  When Monica gets off the phone with Yves,
ask her to go get him.  And Mulder, he looks a lot like you, too."
With that, she was gone.

***
Will had hardly slept at all that night, tossing and turning until
the sun came up.  He must have fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion at
some point, though, because he was awakened to sounds of the shower
and someone moving about at around eight o'clock.  After he heard the
front door click shut, he rolled out of bed and grabbed the clean
clothes and towels that Monica had left for him.  It had only been a
few hours since Monica's startling revelation, but he already felt
different.  Yesterday he had been a loner and a wanderer, a strange
kid who had never quite fit in in the resistance camps he had lived
in because of his unusual visions and uncanny ability to move things
with his mind.  Of course, he soon learned not to tell anyone about
the visions and worked very hard to keep the telekinesis under
control-easier said than done, most of the time.  The worst of it,
though, was his strong reaction to magnetite.  It didn't harm him
like it did the aliens, but he could sense its presence even in the
minutest amounts, and it seemed to make his unusual senses even more
heightened.  Only aliens-not humans-were supposed to react to
magnetite; he had never told anyone about his fears that he might not
be quite as human as he was supposed to be.  What would they do to
him?

Now, though, it all seemed like it might be okay.  He was the son of
heroes-Fox Mulder and Dana Scully-and if half of the stories he had
heard about them were true, then they weren't exactly ordinary
themselves.  And Dana and Monica didn't seem to think his visions
were strange; he suspected they had experienced visions themselves,
though they hadn't said so.  Dana mentioned that her brother could
read people's thoughts, and she didn't act like that was such a
strange accomplishment.  And fortunately, although this place was
teeming with magnetite that set his nerves all on edge, he hadn't
sent anything flying around the room as of yet.

He got out of the shower and pulled on the first set of clean clothes
he had worn in several weeks-and John Doggett's clothes, at that, he
thought proudly, wondering if wearing his clothes would be good luck
of some sort.  Monica's door was open and the room empty, but Dana's
door was still closed; presumably she was still asleep.  Will
returned to his room, wondering what to do next.  Dana was supposed
to show him around, but he didn't want to wake her up.  Would it be a
bad idea to go wandering around by himself?

He picked up the picture of his parents that he had hardly put down
since Monica handed it to him the night before.  He had almost
memorized it by now.  His mother looked pretty much like she did in
his visions, though closer and more real somehow.  Her red hair fell
into her face a little bit, and she leaned into his father as she
laughed.  Of course, it was Fox Mulder at whom he couldn't stop
staring.  His father.  He searched the face of the man in the photo
for familiar features, and was surprised and pleased to find them.
As long as he had been seeing his mother in visions, Will knew he
looked a lot like her-red hair, blue eyes, fair skin.  In Fox
Mulder's face, however, he recognized his angular features as well as
his too-big nose.  For the third or fourth time, he felt panic rising
as he realized that he would probably be meeting Fox Mulder sometime
soon.  What will he think of me?  What if he doesn't really want to
meet me?  If he's really the most important person in the world, why
hasn't he found me before?

"Morning," came a voice from the hallway.  Will looked up startled to
see Dana leaning against the doorjamb.  She was dressed in jeans and
a t-shirt and had her dark hair tied back in a ponytail.  Will hadn't
gotten a terribly good look at her the night before-first it had been
too dark, and then he had so many other things on his mind-and he was
taken aback this morning to realize how beautiful she was.  Her blue
eyes were particularly startling, given her dark coloring.

"Uh, hi," he answered, hoping he hadn't stared too long.

"Have you had any breakfast?  There's toast and cereal in the
kitchen.  I was just going to have some."  Dana didn't wait for his
response but instead started walking down the hallway.  Will got up,
leaving the picture lying on the bed, and followed her.  Now that she
mentioned it, he was really hungry.

Dana poured them each a glass of milk while the bread toasted.  "Do
you want jam on your toast?  I can't stand it myself, but if you want
it, it's in the fridge; help yourself."  Will had never eaten jam on
toast, as far as he could remember, and he wasn't entirely sure what
jam was-something fruity, he thought-but he didn't want to display
his ignorance, so he declined the offer.  He felt like he ought to
say something, but wasn't quite sure what.  Fortunately, Dana seemed
to sense his reticence and made an effort to keep conversation
going.  "I thought after breakfast, I could give you the grand tour.
I mean, it's not all that exciting, and there are lots of places that
are classified, so we can't go there without permission.  Maybe
sometime Mom or" she paused a moment "or Uncle Mulder can show you
around the command center.  It's pretty cool."

"Yeah, okay," Will responded, not quite sure what else to say.  "I've
never been in a place like this before; most of the camps I've been
in have been really makeshift-just a few reappropriated abandoned
buildings and whatever supplies we could scavenge."  Dana looked
slightly amazed.  Well, of course, she's lived her whole life here,
he thought.  She doesn't realize that not everyone is the privileged
child of global heroes.  Suddenly, he sheepishly remembered that as
of last night, he, too, had become the child of global heroes.

They finished their breakfast in silence and were cleaning up when
there was a knock on the door.  Dana went to answer it, but Will
remained in the kitchen, not wanting to cause any unnecessary
questions from whoever had come to visit.  He could overhear the
conversation.

"Oh, hi, Captain Martin.  My mom's not here; she already went to the
office," Dana said.

"I know," answered a male voice.  "She sent me here.  She said that
you and the young man who is staying with you are to come with me to
the command center, that there is someone who wants to see him."  The
messenger couldn't keep the curiosity out of his voice, but Dana
wasn't forthcoming with an explanation.

Will felt his stomach flip-flop.  Who could want to see him?  Could
his father be here already?  Somehow he knew it must be the case, and
the building sense of panic that had plagued him all morning overcame
him.  Though he fought it, the dishes he was washing suddenly began
to dance around in the sink.  No, no, no! he cried to himself.  Dana
won't understand, much less this guy who is here.  He struggled to
take a couple of deep breaths as he heard Dana walking back to the
kitchen.

"Hey Will, Mom wants to see us, so I guess the grand tour will have
to wait.  Just leave the dishes for later.  I'm just going to grab my
shoes."  She left the kitchen without noticing anything unusual, and
as Will stepped away from the sink the dishes calmed down somewhat.
He was trembling all over but had no choice but to follow Dana and
this Captain Martin to the command center.
 
 

Chapter Four

Monica sat at her desk, ostensibly going over her notes from her
conversation with Yves, but in reality watching Mulder pace.  A few
hours ago she had been the one pacing; now it was his turn.  Between
the two of us, she thought wryly, I'm going to have to get the carpet
replaced.  'You're taller than I thought,' she remembered.  Her first
words to him, years and years ago, one of many odd results of her
inability to censor statements before they came blurting out of her
mouth.  Still, though, every time she saw him he was always taller
than she had remembered, a misperception perhaps the result of her
own height-most men weren't much taller than she.  John had been only
slightly taller; just tall enough that he could kiss the tip of her
nose when they stood face to face.

A sigh from Mulder brought her thoughts back to the present.  "What's
taking so long?" he grumbled, turning around to look at her.  How old
he looks, she thought with surprise.  His hair had long been almost
completely white, and his present worry and nervousness drew
attention to the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes.

"I don't know, but it hasn't really been that long," Monica answered,
glancing at her watch.  She had been rather shocked to find a message
from him after her appointment announcing that he was ready to meet
William.  She really had expected him to take a while to come around
to the idea, or at least to adjust to the shock.  She suspected that
Scully had appeared to him to talk him into it, and when she saw the
haunted look in his eyes when she returned to the office, she was
almost certain of it.

They all relied on the dead, of course, because they could see
farther, could know more, but Monica keenly felt the danger of too
much communication with them.  After John's death, the idea of seeing
him, of talking to him, and sometimes even of touching him became
like a drug to her-she would spend hours trying to conjure him up,
desperately wanting to talk to him, only to be disappointed when he
wouldn't come or wouldn't stay as long as she wanted him to.  He
tried to explain that he loved her-would always love her and would
always watch over her and Dana-but that she needed to concentrate on
the living, not on the dead.  It had been a lesson years in the
learning, and sometimes she wasn't sure she had mastered it.  Mulder,
she knew, still struggled with the elementary stages of the
lesson.  'All that keeps him going,' Gibson had once commented, 'is
the thought of seeing her.'  'What a terrible way to live,' she had
responded, speaking in part from personal experience.  'Yes,' Gibson
had agreed, 'but you have Dana to keep you going.  He has no one.'
Hopefully William will change that, she thought.

"You were adopted, weren't you, Monica?" Mulder asked suddenly.
Where had that come from, she wondered.  She was pretty sure she had
never told him that, but figured that someone-John, Gibson, even
Scully herself?-must have at some point.

"Yeah, I was, but I never met my birth parents."  She anticipated his
next question, and noticed his visible disappointment.

"Oh," he said.

"Mulder, he's going to like you, and you'll do fine.  You've always
been a great godfather to Dana, and I'm sure you'll be a fabulous
father as well."  The phone rang at that moment, and Mulder stared at
it as if it had suddenly turned into a snake.  Monica answered
it.  "Okay, thank you.  I'll be right there."  She hung up the phone
and looked at Mulder.  "They're here.  I'll go send him in."

"Okay," whispered Mulder.

***
As soon as she walked out of the room, Mulder felt like calling her
back.  Don't leave me alone with him.  Stay, help make conversation,
tell me what to say.  But she was gone, and ultimately, he realized,
he ought to be brave enough to face his own son without Monica's
intervention.  He was trying to work out what to say when the door
opened and William walked in hesitantly.

Of course he would recognize him, Mulder realized immediately.
Although the infant he remembered was now grown into a tall, athletic
young man, he was still so familiar and so like Scully.  "You look so
much like your mother," ended up being the first words that burst
from his mouth.  William smiled nervously, and Mulder realized that
Scully was probably the thing they had most in common anyway.

"Yeah, I know.  Monica showed me a picture.  And I see her sometimes,
too."  The boy looked down nervously, but then looked back up as if
seeking Mulder's approval.

"Me too.  She said she's been watching out for you."  William looked
pleased.

"You do?  I mean, I'm not weird because I have visions?"

"Well, I'm afraid I've never been a model of normality," Mulder
chuckled, "but I certainly don't think you're weird.  Lots of us have
visions of the dead.  They teach us and take care of us, I think."
Will nodded and smiled.  He understood.  "Uh, do you want to have a
seat, William?"  The name caught in his throat a little bit.  It was
the first time he had pronounced it.  The two of them sat awkwardly
in the armchairs facing Monica's desk.  Will looked eager yet
hesitant to speak, and Mulder wasn't quite sure what to do next.  "I
don't really know what all Monica has told you," he began.  "I'm sure
you must have a lot of questions."

This seemed to break the ice a bit, for William relaxed visibly.  "I
guess I'm a little overwhelmed," he confessed.  "I mean, yesterday I
was just a weird outcast kid following the vision of his dead
mother.  Today I have a history, and my parents turn out to be
international superstars.  It's a little much to take in."

"I'm not so sure about the international superstars part.  I am
hardly ever recognized when I go out."  Mulder tried to make light of
the comment, but the joke fell a little flat.

"Maybe not your face, but your name.  Everybody knows your name,
everyone in the camps."

"You've spent time in the camps?  In organized camps or the
resistance pockets?"  Mulder was curious about his son's life up to
this point but wasn't quite sure how to ask.

"Mostly just disorganized pockets.  We'd launch some guerilla attacks
from time to time but mostly just tried to stay alive, scavenging and
stuff.  I mostly moved around from camp to camp.  I heard rumors of
organized places like this, but they're kind of hard to find."
Mulder nodded, but actually he didn't know.  Dammit, he was supposed
to be in charge of everything, and his own son had been living a
guerilla lifestyle.

Mulder decided to launch into a more direct question.  "When Scully-
your mother-had to, uh, give you up, she was told you would be cared
for by a good family.  Do you remember your adoptive parents?"  The
question pained him severely.  He knew nothing of this boy, his son.
Did William blame him for giving him up?  Mulder thought of all the
anger he had harbored against his own parents.  They had deserved
much, though not all of it, but surely he had been a far worse
parent, abandoning his son when he was less than a week old.

Will hesitated for a minute.  "I remember an old man-I called him
Uncle Tom-who took care of me when I was young.  I think he knew my
parents, or rescued me from them, or something.  He never really
said.  He was killed in the invasion, and I've pretty much been on my
own since then."

Mulder felt tears threatening as he looked at his son.  "I'm sorry
William," he said softly, hoping to start breaking an uncomfortable
barrier that had arisen between them.  "I'm so sorry.  When you were
born I promised to protect you, and I couldn't even keep that promise
a week.  Your mom tried too, and she thought she was acting in your
best interest, but she failed you too."  By now the tears were
falling, and Will looked as if he was fighting them back as
well.  "But we also promised to love you, and as much as we couldn't
protect you, we never stopped loving you.  Not a day has gone by when
I haven't wondered where you were and missed you and loved you."
Will got up suddenly and wrapped his arms around his father, unable
to hold back his emotions any longer.  Mulder held his son, sobbing
like he had not sobbed since Scully's death.

"My dad," Will kept repeating.

"I love you, my son."
 
 
 

Chapter Five

Dana sat in a chair in the waiting area to her mother's office,
swinging her legs and trying to look unaffected and even bored.  Will
was sitting beside her wringing his hands and staring at the floor.
Although neither of them had been told why Monica wished to see them-
or Will, Dana reminded herself-Dana had guessed that Mulder must have
arrived, and from Will's nervousness, she figured he had guessed as
much, too.  She tried to look at him out of the corner of her eye
without him knowing that she was watching.  Last night in the desert
he had seemed young and scared-certainly not three years older than
herself.  This morning, however, she was better able to appreciate
the difficult situation he had been in, and she attributed his
awkwardness to that.  He had been pretty good company at breakfast,
and she was looking forward to getting to know him better once he
became more acclimated to being here.  After all, she mused, he is
pretty cute.

About that time her mother came out of the office and beckoned Will
over to her.  She whispered something to him, and he nodded.  Dana
couldn't see his face, but she couldn't really imagine what must be
going on in his mind.  What would it be like to live for nineteen
years without knowing your parents and then suddenly to be about to
meet your father?  Will went into the office, and Monica told the
secretary that Mulder was not to be disturbed and then came over to
where Dana was sitting.

"C'mon.  Walk with me," said her mom, indicating the hallway with a
jerk of her head.  Dana pulled herself off the chair and followed her
mother out of the building and into the late morning sunlight.
Monica linked arms with her daughter and said, "I supposed you've
guessed that Mulder has arrived; William is meeting him now."

"I thought so," replied Dana.  "You know, he introduced himself to me
as Will, not William.  Maybe you should call him that."  Monica
smiled.

"Okay, I'll try to remember.  When he was a baby, he was called
William, so I guess I'm just bringing that association forward.
Dane, you'll have to be intentional about making sure he feels
welcome and learns his way around, meets people, all of that.  It's
hard enough to be new in any circumstance, but when the other
recruits find out he's Mulder and Scully's long lost son, they may
feel that he's a little, I don't know, different or something."

"What if he is different?  I mean, he sees visions of Aunt Dana.  She
told him the password out in the desert last night.  Most people
don't see visions of dead people."

"I see visions sometimes.  Mostly your father, but I've seen Aunt
Dana once or twice, and a few other people.  And Uncle Mulder sees
Aunt Dana, too.  I have a feeling many more people experience visions
than talk about their experiences."  Dana pondered this a moment and
decided to ask her mother the question that often bothered her.

"Why don't I ever see them?  Why don't I ever see Daddy?"

Monica hesitated for a moment before answering.  "I don't know,
sweetie, but if it makes you feel better, your father highly
mistrusted visions, and the one or two times he experienced one, he
spent a considerable degree of energy later trying to convince
himself it was all his imagination."  Monica laughed faintly, and
Dana remembered all of the times she had heard her father referred to
as the skeptic.  "But Dana, I wouldn't encourage you to be too
anxious to see visions of the dead.  It can interfere with your
desire to love life."  Dana looked curiously at her mother.  The two
of them had a fairly open relationship when Dana was younger, but
lately, between Monica being so busy and Dana's rebellious streak,
they hadn't spent much time talking.

"After Daddy died, did you stop loving life?" Dana asked before she
could stop herself.  The question terrified her, frankly, and she
hadn't really thought about it before, but now it was too late to
take it back.  She felt her mom grab her hand, lacing their fingers
together.

"A little, yes.  I loved your father for so long-I still love him-but
it was hard for me to believe that he was gone.  But I had you,
didn't I?"  Monica squeezed Dana's hand.  "You kept me going, my
love.  You helped me hang onto life."  Dana smiled at her mom, and
Monica smiled back.

"And now Will can help Uncle Mulder hang onto life, even after all
these years, right?"  She knew that Uncle Mulder had a hard time
letting go of people he had lost and moving on with life.  Apparently
he had searched for his lost sister-who turned out to be dead-for
decades, and even after sixteen years, he dwelled obsessively on Aunt
Dana.

"Oh, sweetie, I hope so," agreed her mother.

Dana looked up to see a Jeep heading toward them, raising a
tremendous cloud of dust, and she soon recognized the driver as
Gibson.  Positive thoughts, positive thoughts, she reminded herself
before he got into earshot-of course, with Gibson it was always hard
to tell what exactly "earshot" would be.  He braked as he pulled up
to them.

"Monica, I was just heading to find you.  You're needed immediately
at the south gate.  Something pretty big."  He looked rather proud of
himself, and Dana couldn't help but think it ironic that he was a
deputy commander but still got a thrill out of delivering important
messages.  She regretted the thought immediately, though, for he shot
her a withering look.  Monica seemed not to notice, or more likely,
to ignore, what she attributed to inevitable sibling rivalry.

"What is it?"  Monica asked.  Gibson looked pointedly at Dana, as if
to indicate that he was unsure about whether he ought to reveal his
privileged information in front of her.  "What is it, Gibson?" Monica
repeated.  Dana smirked triumphantly at Gibson.

"Marita Covarrubias," he said softly, glancing around as if afraid he
would be overheard.  Dana was surprised, and she could tell that even
her mother was taken aback.  Marita, whom Dana had only met once or
twice, was a crucial intelligence operative for the resistance, but
Gibson had once told her that both Monica and Mulder had reservations
about how much to trust her.  The last time Dana had heard anything
about her was a year and a half ago when, according to Gibson, she
was going on a reconnaissance mission into enemy territory.

"Marita is here?  Why is she still at the guard station?  You should
have brought her in."  Monica's voice registered surprise, but Dana
didn't detect any of the mistrust that Gibson had warned her about.

"She has brought with her some kind of technology, something she
smuggled from Europe.  She says it's too valuable to leave with the
guards, but they weren't sure they should let whatever it is into the
camp, since it's apparently alien and we don't know anything about
it.  Then she asked to see you, and Mulder if he's here."  Dana tried
not to let her jaw drop at the news-how cool was something alien
smuggled from Europe!

"Mulder is here but won't be available for a while," Monica said, and
apparently she thought at Gibson the situation with Will, for Gibson
looked genuinely impressed and shocked.

"Really?  It's really him?" he asked.  "Was that the kid you were
with last night, Dana?"  Dana nodded.  "Hmm, I thought there was
something different special about him.  Anyway, Monica, let me take
you back to the guard station."  Monica agreed and started to climb
into the Jeep.

"Can I go too?" Dana asked suddenly.  She was really curious-this
could be the biggest thing to happen in years, well, besides Will
showing up-and she wasn't quite sure what she'd do otherwise.  At any
rate, she certainly didn't want to face a newly reunited Will and
Uncle Mulder without her mom there as well.  Gibson opened his mouth
as if to object but remembered in time that it wasn't really his
decision to make.  Monica looked thoughtful for a moment.

"I suppose it can't hurt anything, at least at this point."  Dana
smiled and climbed into the back of the vehicle.  "But if I need you
to leave, I want you to do so without objecting, okay?  And anything
you hear here is strictly confidential."

"No problem, Mom."  Gibson swung the Jeep around and headed back to
the guard station, and Dana felt like she was on cloud nine.  She was
starting to be more and more glad she hadn't been allowed to go on
that training exercise, or whatever it really was.

***
Despite the reeling thoughts that would be going through her mind,
Monica had trained herself long ago to censor her thoughts as best as
possible when around Gibson.  She loved Gibson dearly and was
exceedingly grateful for his tireless efforts throughout the years on
behalf not only of the camp but of the whole world; nevertheless, it
always bothered her that he could know everything she thought.  Of
course, it isn't his fault, she always reminded herself, but even at
the age of 32, he still tended to act a bit self-important, and,
well, smartass-y, when he informed people what they were thinking.

As they pulled up to the guardhouse, she turned around to
Dana.  "Hang back and don't get in the way, please."

"I know, Mom," responded her daughter in a not entirely respectful
tone.  Gibson looked at Dana warningly, but Monica thought at
him, 'I'll handle her, thank you,' and he backed off.

For a moment Monica regretted that either of her children were here.
She needed to focus on Marita and whatever she had brought, and she
knew that since Mulder was otherwise occupied, the decisions would
weigh on her alone.  She entered the guardhouse, followed by Gibson
and Dana, and immediately saw Marita Covarrubias sitting on the
opposite wall, holding a small parcel on her lap.  Monica was always
intimidated around Marita, who, even pushing sixty, reminded her of
one of the beautiful, cool, and popular girls at school.  Monica knew
such feelings were silly and childish, but she had never felt
terribly beautiful, cool, or popular, and even now as Marita stood
and walked toward her, extending her hand in greeting, Monica had to
fight the urge to be overawed.

"How are you?" she asked, as confidently as she could manage.
Marita's smile was cold.

"Well, I had rather hoped to be invited into the camp"-Marita glared
at Gibson-"but I understand the overcaution under the
circumstances."  Glancing around at the entourage, she added, "Is
there somewhere we can go to talk?"

Monica nodded and led her into the inner office of the station, away
from Gibson, Dana, and the three guards, all of whom wore crestfallen
looks at being denied access to the conversation.  Marita walked into
the room and set her parcel down on the desk as Monica pulled the
door to and closed the window blinds.  She worked somewhat more
slowly than necessary on the blinds, trying at the same time to
decide what to do.  Marita had always been Mulder's contact, and
Monica had scarcely ever dealt with her alone.  She suspected it was
just the intimidation factor, but she had always had a bit of trouble
trusting Marita, despite the woman's unquestionable loyalty for over
fifteen years.  When she could no longer stall, she turned around to
look at her informant, who was still standing.

Marita cut to the chase.  "I'm sure you are aware that the alien
forces are building their forces, preparing to mount a second attack
that they hope will be more completely successful than the first
was."  Monica nodded.  Until the arrival of Will last night, her
thoughts had been consumed by little else.  "They have begun by
launching minor attacks into North Africa and Australia; they haven't
attacked the American continent not because they cannot but because
they want you to think they cannot.  It is worth the delay for them
because they are expecting the imminent arrival of extra-terrestrial
reinforcements."

"What do you mean by 'imminent arrival'?  We have been unable to
ascertain a timetable," Monica admitted.

"According to my informant, we have about two months," responded
Marita.  "The invasion is scheduled for October 13.  That doesn't
leave us much time."  Monica exhaled in agreement.  Two months!  What
could they possibly do in two months?!  Don't panic yet, she reminded
herself, glancing at the parcel on the desk.

"Your informant?" she asked, though she suspected she knew the answer.

"Shannon McMahon," answered Marita.  Monica nodded.  The issue of
whether or not to trust Marita was inconsequential compared with
whether or not to trust Shannon McMahon.  Mulder had never met her
and therefore didn't trust her as far as he could throw her, which,
Monica thought amusedly, wouldn't be very far.  It was more
complicated for Monica.  John, of all people, had trusted her, or at
least he had given her the benefit of the doubt on a number of
occasions.  Monica always tried to tap into his faith where Shannon
was concerned, but in her heart she had reservations about trusting
any supersoldier, or alien, or whatever she was.  But at the end of
the day, she was really the only inside enemy contact they had, so
she supposed that was better than nothing.

"So what does Shannon say we're supposed to do about this?" Monica
asked, wondering if there was an answer to that
question.  "Goddammit, two months!" she added aloud.

"It may not come to anything, unfortunately, but she did get me
this," said Marita, moving to the desk and unwrapping her
parcel.  "It's alien technology, and if we can figure out how to use
it, well, we'd really have something."  She pulled away the paper to
expose a pentagonal metal object, about eight inches in diameter and
inscribed with symbols that Monica thought she recognized.  The
object vibrated and hummed mildly.  "I think it's reacting like that
because of all the magnetite," Marita explained.

"I think I've seen something like this before," Monica said.  "Is it
part of a spacecraft?"

"Actually, no.  It is a complete object, though the symbols are
similar to those you've seen on the rubbings from crafts.  It is
supposed to work somehow with the magnetite.  I think their idea
behind it was to make the magnetite safe for the aliens, but it
hasn't really worked the way they thought.  Shannon said she thinks
the right person can cause it to work as a catalyst to mobilize
massive amounts of magnetite-sort of an interstellar magnetite atomic
bomb, I think."  Impressed, Monica examined it more closely.  As she
moved her hand near it, the magnetite in her ring began to vibrate
and grow warm against her finger.

"You said the right person?  Is that just anyone-whoever can figure
this thing out-or is it supposed to be someone specific?"  Marita
sighed.

"Unfortunately, the latter.  And I don't know if the person-or one
possible person; I guess there could have been others-is alive or if
he would still have the power to do anything about it.  It turns out
the whole human race is reaping the consequences of your friend's
rash decision twenty years ago."  Monica felt her stomach flip-flop
about three or four times, and she thought for a moment that her legs
wouldn't hold her.  "What is it?" Marita asked, alarmed as Monica
gripped the edge of the desk for support.

"Wh-who are you talking about?" she asked in earnest.

"Mulder and Scully's miracle baby."
 
 
 

Chapter Six

After the initial emotional breaking of the ice, Mulder found it easy
to talk to his son, and within an hour or so the two were talking and
laughing as comfortably as old friends.  Mulder was pleased to find
Will to be smart and witty as he related details of his heretofore
nomadic life; in turn, Mulder told stories of the X-Files, Scully,
and their time together.  Will seemed eager to learn as much as
possible about both his parents, and although it was somewhat painful
for Mulder, he tried to comply as much as possible.

Although almost two hours had passed, Mulder was slightly irritated
when there came a knock at the door.  He was trying to get to know
his son, and he didn't want to be interrupted, especially by someone
who was most likely looking for Monica.  Didn't Monica tell the
secretary that they weren't to be disturbed?  The knock came again,
and this time Monica herself stuck her head in the door.  He didn't
know whether to be more or less upset when he saw it was she.

"Sorry," she apologized, slipping into the room and closing the door
behind her.  "I didn't want to interrupt you, but something very
important has come up."

"More important than my son, whom I haven't seen in nineteen years?"
demanded Mulder.

"No, and yes, I'm afraid," replied Monica.  Suddenly Mulder really
looked at her for the first time since she entered the room.  She was
very pale and looked more worried than he had seen her in a long
time.  As much as he didn't want to, he tried to push his away his
selfish desire to run off with Will and start making up for nineteen
lost years.

"What's wrong, Monica?"

She spoke instead to Will.  "Will, Dana is waiting outside.  Gibson
is going to take the two of you back home, and I'd like you both to
wait there for us."  Will looked concerned and nodded, but still
glanced over at his dad for approval.

"Yeah, go ahead with Dana.  I'll see you there later, son."  Mulder
couldn't help beaming a bit with pride as he added the 'son' to the
end of the sentence.  Will flashed him a Scully-smile as he walked
out the door.

"What's wrong?" Mulder asked again, as soon as they were alone.  "You
don't look so good," he admitted, expecting Monica to make some wry
comment in response.  Instead, she sank down in the chair behind her
desk.

"I've just left Marita Covarrubias downstairs in the technology
office."

"Marita?  What's she doing here?"  Mulder was genuinely surprised.
He assumed this had something to do with the earlier conversation
with Yves, but apparently not.

"She's just returned from, well, I'm not really sure from where, but
she's had intelligence from Shannon McMahon, and-"

"You know I don't trust Shannon McMahon," interrupted Mulder.  How
many times did they have to go through this?  Supersoldiers are not
to be trusted.

"Yes, I know, but some information is better than no information,
right?  Don't interrupt me."  Mulder sat down on the edge of the
desk, resolving to hear Monica out.  She was clearly in earnest and
more serious than he had seen her in a long time.  Even her
nervousness this morning had been happy at its root.  Now she just
looked concerned and exhausted.  "According to Shannon, the second
invasion will go down in about two months.  On your birthday,
actually.  Not really the present you were hoping for."  Mulder's jaw
dropped, and he stared at her.

"Shit!  What are we supposed to do in two months?"

"Marita has brought with her a piece of alien technology, smuggled
from Europe, she says.  It is metal and has symbols that resemble
those on the spacecraft Scully studied all those years ago, but it is
an independent entity, not a piece of a ship.  Marita says she thinks
it could be used to trigger a major magnetite assault that could wipe
the aliens out."  She paused, gauging his reaction.

"She *thinks* it *could* be used?  We have two fucking months and
we're still at the stage of speculation with some unknown alien thing
that is now sitting smack dab in the middle of our camp?  My god!"
He didn't fault Monica, or even Marita, but he wanted to lash out at
someone.  It was so goddamned unfair.  He paced around the room, not
wanting to look at Monica.  "You mean I just got my son back, and the
world's going to end-again-in two months?" he whispered.  He didn't
really expect Monica to answer, and she didn't.  Nevertheless, he was
surprised to see the expression on her face when he turned around.
She looked up at him with an apologetic look and a degree of
vulnerability he had never seen from her.  He could also tell that
there was something else she hadn't told him yet.  "What is it?" he
asked, moving back to the desk.

"Marita says there was a person who could use the, uh, alien thing,
someone whose destiny it was to save the world."

"Was?"

"Well, I didn't tell her that he was here.  She thinks he's still
lost, or-or dead, I guess."  Monica couldn't meet his eyes and
instead looked down at her fingernails.  Mulder stared at her, not
knowing what to think.  Was the room really spinning?

"You mean William," he finally stammered.  She nodded.  "No!
Absolutely not.  We don't know what this thing is-it could all be a
trap.  Plus, when Spender gave him that shot all those years ago,
wasn't that supposed to make him normal?  You told me that yourself!
I just got him back, dammit!  What am I supposed to do?  'I'm sorry,
son, but now you get to be a guinea pig with this piece of alien
technology shit, and quite frankly, we don't know what it will do to
you, but you might get a chance to save the world!'  No, Monica.  I
can't."  She had gotten up and had limped to the window, seemingly
unaffected by the afternoon sun that was now streaming in.

"Dear god, it's still day," she murmured, not attempting to respond
to him yet.  "It's still the same day.  Is that possible?"  She
rubbed her left leg, and Mulder wondered if it was bothering her.
Some people, he remembered, have their old injuries hurt when the
weather changes.  Monica always said hers acted up when she was under
stress.  That seemed reasonable, since it was incurred under great
stress.  He still remembered Skinner dragging her off the
battlefield, her yelling that she should be with John, that she
wasn't hurt so badly.  Skinner had gone back in, and neither he nor
Doggett came back.  Chances were, that injured leg saved her life,
and thinking of Dana, who was only eight at the time, he was awfully
glad that it had.

"What are we going to do?" Mulder said helplessly.  Monica turned
around to face him, but she was so backlit that he couldn't really
make out her expression.

"The techies are examining the device, so we should at least hear
what they have to say.  And feel free to disagree with me, but I
think we should at least talk to Will, tell him what's going on.
After all, he is an adult.  He should at least have a say."  Mulder
didn't object right away.  She had a point about Will being an
adult.  And if they were all going to die in two months anyway. . .
Still, after spending more than forty years as the most paranoid
person he knew, it frustrated him to no end to think of trusting his
newly recovered son to the likes of Marita Covarrubias and Shannon
McMahon.

"I guess I'll think about it," he admitted.  "And I suppose we should
go downstairs to see what they've figured out about this thing."

"Marita will want to talk to you, too, I'm sure," agreed Monica,
moving away from the window and toward the door.  "Though I would
advise against telling her about William just yet."  Mulder nodded in
agreement and tried to steel himself up so that he could meet Marita
without giving away the truth of William's arrival.

"Coming?" Monica asked weakly from the door.  God, she looked
exhausted.  He mustered up a smile that he didn't really feel, and
gave her hand a squeeze that he hoped would feel reassuring.

"Let's go check this thing out."  The look she gave him told him she
knew he was faking, but that she was grateful for the effort.
 
 
 

Chapter Seven

Will was on cloud nine after his afternoon with his father.  He kept
trying out the word 'Dad' in his mind; it had been years since he had
considered the possibility of even having a father who was alive, and
although he wasn't entirely comfortable with the concept yet, he was
beginning to like it.  Because he had always assumed his parents had
died-or maybe that his dad was never in the picture to begin with-he
hadn't suffered the usual adopted child rejection.  He learned that
his mother had given him up at the same time he learned why she did
so; he didn't really understand it yet, and he suspected his father
didn't completely understand it either.  After all, Dana seemed to
have grown up safely and happily even though her parents were in
hiding-a lot more safe and happy than he had ever been.  Mostly,
though, Will didn't want to be upset with his parents.  He was just
thrilled to have found his father.

His general excitement couldn't mask the recognition that others of
his new acquaintances were worried about something.  Until she had
come in the office that afternoon, Monica had been a mix of smiles
and teary awe every time he had seen her; when she interrupted them
she had seemed positively grave.  Even Dana was quieter and more
serious than she had been that morning, and Gibson fidgeted around
with obvious consternation.  Will wondered what had happened.  At the
same time, toward the end of his conversation with his father, he had
begun to feel a little odd himself-not really ill, but definitely not
himself.  The overabundance of magnetite in and around the camp had
set his nerves on edge all day, and he kept trying to ignore that
incident with the plates this morning, but the feeling was heightened
this afternoon, especially as they were leaving the command center.
He had to grasp the handrail to keep his balance and wondered for a
moment whether he would pass out.  Dana asked him if he was okay, and
Gibson looked at him questioningly.

"I'm fine," he reassured them, and indeed, by the time they returned
to Dana's house, he was feeling, if not normal, at least under
control.

Gibson left them there under strict orders not to go anywhere unless
they heard from him or Monica or Mulder.  Will and Dana sat down in
the living room, staring rather awkwardly at one another, neither
knowing exactly what to say.

"So, how did you like Uncle Mulder, uh, I mean your dad?" Dana asked
him finally.

"I like him a lot," Will answered truthfully.  "I mean, I'm still
trying to get used to the idea of having a father, but he seems
pretty cool.  I had always heard he was kind of weird and haunted,
but he doesn't really seem that way-but I guess I've only known him
for a couple of hours."

"I don't think I'd characterize him as weird and haunted," replied
Dana after a moment of consideration.  "Yes, he's pretty lonely, I
think, and even after all these years he's still desperately in love
with Aunt Dana, but he's also got a great sense of humor, and he can
be a lot of fun.  He taught me how to play baseball.  You know, after
my dad died."  Dana smiled, and Will couldn't help but feel a twinge
of jealousy.  He had picked up some baseball here and there-or what
passed for it in the camps-but he wished his father had been around
to teach it to him.

"I kind of picked up that he's still in love with my mother.  She was
practically all he talked about.  Do you know why he called her
Scully?"

"Not really.  He always said it was a work thing, since they were
partners, but my parents were partners, too, and they called each
other by their first names, and Uncle Mulder calls them by their
first names.  I guess it was kind of a pet name," she mused.  "But
he's always just Mulder; he really hates his first name."

"Fox.  Yeah, that's pretty bad.  I'm glad they didn't name me Fox,
Jr."  Dana laughed, and Will couldn't help but notice how her eyes
sparkled when she laughed.  "So since he's still in love with my
mother, that means my dad and your mom aren't, uh, together or
anything, are they?" Will asked.  He had been a little curious and
wanted to make sure he got everything straight.  Dana blanched and
nearly choked on the water she was drinking.

"Oh my god, that really would be weird!" she cried.  "No, they're
not, or at least I don't think-no, no way!  They're really good
friends, the only people around who really understand each other, if
that makes any sense, but I think they both gave their hearts away a
long time ago."  Dana ended seriously after her initial outburst, and
Will thought it was fairly remarkable that she knew her mother so
well.  But then again, he realized, maybe people were supposed to
know their parents that well; he didn't really know.

"I suppose that's kind of romantic.  True love even after death, and
all that," Will offered.

"Or depressing," Dana countered.  "My mom's a little better overall
than Uncle Mulder, but for the most part they're kind of mopey,
always living in the past, having conversations with their dead
spouses.  My mom says she tries to hang on to life, but I can tell
it's an effort.  I'm not sure Uncle Mulder tries most of the time."
She had been looking into her glass of water, but she paused and
looked up at Will.  "Maybe he'll start trying now."  Will looked
down, not sure what to say-he really needed to get over his reticence
if he was going to get to know Dana better.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, Will contemplating
whether or not he should risk telling Dana about how strange he had
been feeling.  She knew about his visions and didn't seem to think
less of him for them, but weird reactions to magnetite were an
entirely different story.  From his experience, people didn't much
pay attention to the particulars:  humans didn't react to magnetite;
aliens did.  Most of the moving from camp to camp that he had done
resulted from being kicked out of a camp as soon as they found out
his secret.  Would Dana be the same?  Looking at her sitting there in
the late afternoon sunlight, he hoped not.

As it turned out, he didn't have to make the decision to tell her or
not, for at that moment the front door opened and Monica and his
father came in.

"Uncle Mulder!" squealed Dana, hopping up and giving him a hug.  Will
also stood up since standing seemed less awkward than sitting down,
but he wasn't sure what to do.  Should he hug his father, too?
Should he hug Monica?

"Hey gorgeous!" said Mulder to Dana.  "When did you get to be so
tall, kiddo?"

"I was destined to be tall," Dana replied confidently.  "And I'm not
a kiddo anymore," she teased.  Mulder pretended to be wounded by her
remark but winked at Monica to show that he was in on the joke.  Then
he released Dana and walked over to Will, pulling him into a hug,
albeit an awkward one.  Will felt infinitely relieved.

"What have you two been up to?" his father asked.  Will could tell he
was making an effort to appear light-hearted and unworried, but both
he and Monica wore expressions of deep concern that were fairly
ineffectively disguised by their faint smiles.

"Not much," Will replied truthfully.  He, Mulder, and Dana walked
into the living room where Monica had preceded them and flung herself
down on a chair.

"God, what I wouldn't give for take-out Chinese," she groaned,
looking at Mulder for sympathy.

"Or pizza," he agreed.  Will and Dana exchanged slightly puzzled
glances.  "Back in the old days," his father explained, "you could
call up a restaurant and they would bring the food to your door.
You'd never have to get off the couch.  It was a beautiful thing.
Now, of course, we don't even have restaurants."

"We didn't have much in the way of food for a while," reminded
Monica.  "I suppose we should be grateful for what we have."  Mulder
rolled his eyes at her.

"I was having fun complaining, thank you," he said.

"Dane, what do we have in the way of dinner that we could make in 20
minutes or less?" Monica asked, ignoring him.  Dana claimed she
didn't know but was entreated to go check.  A minute later she
replied that there was pasta and marinara sauce.  In half an hour the
four of them were sitting around the table eating spaghetti happily;
none of them had eaten since breakfast.  Monica and his father seemed
to relax somewhat, though they were still preoccupied.  Will,
however, was overjoyed.  This moment was quite possibly the happiest
of his life.  He was sitting down to a normal dinner with his father,
his godmother, and her beautiful daughter.  Even if he should wake up
to find it had all been a dream, he was glad he dreamed it.
 
 
 

Chapter Eight

Dinner had perked Monica up a little bit; mostly she enjoyed watching
Mulder interact with Will.  Will seemed to be getting more
comfortable, and Mulder was the most animated she had seen him in a
very long time.  Dana, too, seemed a completely different person from
the sullen teenager she had been the day before, and Monica was
positively shocked when Dana volunteered herself and Will to clean up
the dishes.  The two of them started stacking the dirty things and
carrying them into the kitchen, and Mulder mentioned something about
checking something in her study, beckoning her to follow.  Monica
nodded her agreement but paused for a moment when Dana called out to
her.

"Hey Mom, what did you do with Marita?"  So much for the fantasies of
normal life, Monica thought.

"Uh, she was kind of jet-lagged, so she went back to the guest
house."  Dana didn't answer, but as Monica headed toward the study
she heard Will's inevitable question to Dana.

"Who's Marita?"  Oh, God, Monica thought, here we go.  She wanted to
linger to hear Dana's explanation, but Mulder called her from down
the hallway, so she decided to trust Dana's discretion.  Of course,
Dana didn't know anything about what Marita had brought with her or
how it might relate to William, so there was really nothing she could
tell him that he ought not to know yet.

She entered the study and closed the door, suspecting that Mulder had
decided what he wanted to tell Will.  Their meeting with Marita had
gone relatively well, though the technology experts were rather at a
loss about what to do with the device.  It appeared to be a solid
metal object-no moving parts, no computer chips that they could find-
really more of a charm or statue than a piece of technology.  Marita
insisted it was what she said it was, and Monica and Mulder were both
inclined to believe her.  Fortunately, Marita did not bring up
William again.  As they walked back to Monica's house, Mulder
deliberated about what, if anything, he should tell Will, but he
hadn't reached any decision.  Monica decided to stay out of it as
much as possible, but she could tell that Mulder was also fishing for
advice and even comfort, and that attitude, coming from him, seemed
uncharacteristic.

"What do you think?" he asked as soon as she closed the study door.
She looked at him quizzically.  "What do you think we should tell
Will?  I mean, about that thing Marita brought."  Why did he care
what she thought?

"I don't know, Mulder.  It's ultimately your decision, you know."

"I suppose so, but really Monica, I don't know him any better than
you do.  I don't know what to do.  I want to believe what Marita
says, but how can I expose him to this thing I don't understand?  His
whole life has been the product of our-mine and Scully's-bad decision-
making.  I'm afraid to make any more decisions for him."  Ah, she
realized, surprised she hadn't caught on sooner, this is why he wants
my help.  Classic Mulder-guilt, she thought, remembering the phrase
Scully had used long ago.

"Well, if you really want to know what I think, it seems like we
should take the risk, since it looks like we're all going to die in
two months.  At least we should tell Will what's going on and let him
decide if he wants to see this thing.  If he can't figure it out,
we're no worse off than we are now, right?  But if he can do
something with it, well, maybe we'd have a chance."  She acknowledged
that Mulder's concerns were valid, but the believer in her made her
want to trust in this possibility of hope.  The fact that Marita, of
all people, was putting her ass on the line for this made her more
willing to trust it.  She knew that at heart, Mulder probably felt
the same way, though she couldn't help but wonder what Dana and
especially John would have said to all of this if they were here.

"I think I agree," said Mulder, and Monica was a little surprised
that he had come so quickly to a decision.  "I was thinking about it
all through dinner and was sort of coming to the same conclusion," he
explained.  "I think we should go tell him now."

"We?" Monica asked.  "I can go somewhere with Dana if you want to be
alone with him.  Or you could go to your own apartment."  Mulder
walked over to her and put a hand on her shoulder.  Monica tried not
to show her surprise.  Over the past year or so Mulder had become
somewhat more, well, touchy.  Monica didn't mind him touching her,
and she suspected this was more what he would really be like with his
friends, if he could manage to have friends under normal
circumstances, but she was still taken aback for a moment every time
he did.  Earlier he had grabbed her hand in the office, and now he
was gripping her shoulder.  "I would really appreciate it if you
could be there.  You know, help me out a little so that I don't lose
my nerve."  He smiled nervously.

"Okay," she agreed, and decided to go out on a limb and reached out
to give him a quick hug.  To her surprise, he responded by wrapping
his arms around her and holding her for several seconds with a
strength she hadn't anticipated.

"Thanks, Monica," he said as he released her.  She followed him out
of the study back into the living room, wondering if her brain could
handle any more surprises within a 24-hour period.

***
Mulder was tempted to hand the task of explaining off to Monica, but
a glance in her direction told him that she wasn't going to let him
off the hook.  Will and Dana were sitting expectantly on the couch in
front of him; Monica had tried to shoo Dana off, but Will had asked
for her to stay, and Dana kept casting him grateful looks every ten
or fifteen seconds.  Mulder took a deep breath.

"First of all, nothing I am about to tell you leaves this room,
okay?"  They both nodded.  "We had a visit today from a friend who
has learned some disturbing and very classified information about
something we've been fearing for a while-a second alien invasion.
According to Marita, the second invasion is scheduled far sooner than
we had anticipated, and it is expected to occur on October 13, less
than two months from now."  He paused, and Will and Dana both stared
at him open-mouthed.  Both had grown rather pale.  "Obviously we are
going to do all we can to try to stop it, but we don't have much time
to prepare.  Not nearly as much time as we wish we had.  Marita has
brought with her a piece of what she claims is alien technology that
might hold some hope.  Unfortunately, we don't know how to use it."
He stopped and looked around for Monica, who had been standing by the
wall behind him.  Help me not rope him into doing this, he implored
her silently.  It has to be his choice.  Whether or not she
understood him, she did walk around and sat in a vacant chair within
his line of sight.  He thought for a moment how odd it was that her
presence comforted him so much.  Then he caught sight of Will and
Dana's still horrified expressions and realized he needed to continue.

"Marita doesn't know that you're here, William.  In fact, she doesn't
even know that you're alive, but she thinks that if you were, you
might be able to work this, uh, whatever it is."  Poor Will looked
both confused and slightly terrified.  Mulder realized he wasn't
explaining very well.  Fortunately, Monica chose that moment to step
in mercifully.

"Will, you remember when I told you that you were a special baby and
that because of it your life was threatened several times?"  Will
nodded.  "At that time, you demonstrated some unique, uh, abilities,
and there was some question as to what you might be capable of doing,
in terms of controlling things with your mind.  Before your mother
was forced to give you up, you were given an injection that was
supposed to take away those abilities-if it did, there probably won't
be any results with this piece of technology that Marita has brought,
but if it didn't, then it is just possible that you might be able to
make it work like she says it can work."  Dana still looked
completely dumbstruck, but Mulder could tell that Will was mulling
over what had been said, clearly trying to process it all.

Mulder picked up where Monica had left off.  "Will, I want you to
know that we don't want to push you into anything.  This is
absolutely your decision, but if you want to, tomorrow we can take
you to see this thing.  If nothing happens, don't worry about it.  We
don't want to pressure you."

"But if it works, what you're saying is that I could stop this
invasion?  Save the world?" Will said, a bit more confidently than
Mulder had been expecting.  He exchanged a look with Monica.

"Maybe.  We don't really know," he confessed.

"There's, um, something I should probably tell you," Will said.
Mulder couldn't disguise his surprise but indicated for him to
continue.  "All my life I've had, I guess you'd say a heightened
sensitivity to magnetite.  It kind of sets my nerves on edge-I've
been particularly affected since I've come here.  It doesn't hurt or
make me sick or anything, but I do feel like I have less control over
what I do.  Or rather, I don't have to try very hard to make things
happen.  Sometimes I make stuff move around with my mind.  I mean,
I've gotten pretty good at controlling it because it doesn't make you
too popular, you know.  I don't know if this means anything, and I
don't know what my 'abilities' used to be, but I just thought you
should know."  He finished and looked at his three auditors, then
down at his hands.  Though Mulder had known about William's infant
paranormal performances, he hadn't actually witnessed any of them, so
this information surprised him considerably.  Monica looked less
surprised, and he wondered if she had even expected as much.  Dana
simply looked impressed.

"I don't know what it means either, Will," Monica answered,
apparently recovering from the shock before the rest of them.  "Maybe
we'll know more tomorrow.  I want you to try not to worry about it
tonight."  She smiled winningly, and Will smiled back at her.  Mulder
nodded in agreement.  Once he started to process a bit of what Will
had said, he began to feel a little more hopeful about the whole
venture.  After all, he reminded himself, he is an adult, or nearly
so.

Will tried to disguise a yawn, and Mulder noticed that Dana was also
looking rather tired.  He thought of his apartment halfway across
camp and realized he hadn't gone there all day, and if he remembered
correctly, he had left it rather a mess when he was last there two
months ago.  Maybe we could just crash here tonight, he decided,
thinking that Monica's couch did look more comfortable than his own.
After all, he reasoned, Will's already settled here; no sense in
moving him, especially after the day we've had.  Mulder proposed the
scheme to Monica, and after an eye-roll that he knew was almost
entirely feigned, she agreed.

Half an hour later he was already stretched out on the couch in his
pants and t-shirt, having tossed his shirt and shoes somewhere in the
vicinity of the dining room table.  He didn't really expect to sleep
much, but even sufferers of insomnia need their rest.  The room was
lit faintly from the hall light, but the initial noise from the back
part of the house had died down, and he was pretty sure both Will and
Dana had retired to their respective rooms.  He heard bare feet
padding down the hall and looked up to see Monica bringing him a
pillow and a couple of blankets.  She was wearing an ancient, gray
FBI Academy t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants, her hair hanging long
around her shoulders like it had been this morning.  God, she's
beautiful, Mulder thought before he could help himself.  Was he
betraying Scully, he wondered, if he thought Monica was beautiful?
At the end of this day, he could scarcely tell which way was up and
which down; Monica seemed the only constant.

"You have a perfectly good apartment of your own, you know," she
said, tossing him the pillow and beginning to unfold one blanket and
spread it over him.

"I know, but it's a mess.  And besides, I only have one bed, which I
would feel quite obligated to give to Will, so I'd still be sleeping
on a couch.  And your couch is more comfortable than mine."  She
considered this for a moment.

"Whatever.  Good night, Mulder.  Try to get some sleep, okay?"  She
started to walk away, but he suddenly grabbed her hand, pulling her
back.  "What?" she asked, looking down at him.  She sounded curious
and surprised but fortunately not pissed.  He couldn't really
explain 'what?', but he needed her close for a few minutes more.
Someone who knew him and perhaps understood how chaotic this day had
been.

"What are we going to do, Monica?" he asked, still holding her hand.
She sighed but perched on the arm of the couch by his head and
tightened her own fingers around his.

"I don't know," she admitted.  "All that we've been through, and all
that we've lost-and gained-only to have everything threatened like
this.  It kind of saps your energy.  I feel so helpless."  He rubbed
his thumb around in a circle on the back of her hand, unconsciously
avoiding the wedding band she still wore.

"And on my birthday of all days.  I know it sounds kind of silly, but
I take that rather personally."  Monica smiled at him.  He tried to
study her face.  Did she mind him holding her hand?  Did she like it,
or was she just patronizing him?

"We'll have to see what tomorrow brings.  Who knows what Will may be
able to do.  Don't give up hope yet."

"I never do."  He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it,
briefly but meaningfully.  Monica raised her eyebrows but didn't draw
away.  "Good night," he said.  To his complete surprise, she stood
up, leaned over, and kissed him on the cheek.

"Good night," she whispered before heading back down the hallway.
 
 
 

Chapter Nine

Dana had gone straight to bed, but after a few minutes she got up to
get a glass of water, thinking perhaps it would settle her enough so
that she could go to sleep.  Her mind was absolutely reeling.
Between her mother's caution the night before about the training
exercise and Marita's arrival today, she had figured things were not
well with the world, but she couldn't believe that the aliens were
going to invade again in two months.  The first invasion was a fact
from her earliest memories; she knew her parents worried about
whether she would grow up at all and whether they had been horribly
selfish to bring a child into a world that was destined to end before
her tenth birthday.  But the world hadn't ended:  her father had
triggered a magnetite shield that destroyed most of the spacecraft,
and through a lot of technology she didn't understand, the invasion
was contained.  Was it just a temporary relief?  Now, all of a
sudden, the world was going to end again, and this time she was old
enough to understand it, and to be furious.

She came to an abrupt halt as she came to the end of the hall and saw
her mother sitting on the arm of the couch next to a reclining Uncle
Mulder.  They were holding hands and talking, and fortunately, they
didn't seem to see her.  She backed quickly out of sight, feeling
slightly embarrassed.  What were they doing?  She thought of Will's
question before dinner-she'd laughed at that point about the
possibility of her mom and Uncle Mulder being anything but friends,
but suddenly she wasn't so sure.  Inexplicably, a feeling of great
loneliness washed over her, and as she spotted the light on under
Will's door, she ran to it before she considered how odd such an
action might look.

Will answered the door and looked surprised but a little pleased to
see her there.  Calm down, she told herself, or he'll think you're
completely insane.

"What's the matter, Dana?" he asked, inviting her in.  "Are you okay?"

"Do you believe them?  That the aliens are going to invade in two
months?"  Will hesitated for a moment.

"I don't know," he answered.  "I mean, I don't want to, but I can't
tell which way is up and which way is down, after the past day.  But
I don't have any reason to disbelieve them, I guess.  Don't you
believe them?"

Did she?  Dana had always felt a little left out for being skeptical
when her mother, Uncle Mulder, and Gibson all believed so strongly in
what they were doing.  They said she took after her father and Aunt
Dana, who were both skeptics, but since she was also the only one who
couldn't see visions of the dead, their skepticism was less of a
consolation than it was supposed to be.  She looked helplessly at
Will.  "I don't know.  I suppose I do, but I don't want to.  And
that's the worst-I mean, the whole point of everything is to *want*
to believe.  It's the fucking password, for christ's sake.  But what
are we believing in?  If believing means we're all going to die in a
couple of months, I don't want to believe.  We're too young to die,
dammit!"  Dana felt a little better having unloaded a bit, but she
hoped she hadn't scared Will.  She had been pacing around the room,
but as she calmed down she came to sit next to him on the bed.

"Maybe we won't die," he offered.  "Maybe it's not too late.  Who
knows, when I see that thing tomorrow, maybe I'll be able to do
something."  He was trying to sound hopeful, but Dana could tell he
was afraid.

"Do you think so?"

His shoulders slumped.  "I don't know.  I mean, I hope so, but I wish
this hadn't all happened right now.  I'm just trying to get used to
who I am, and as soon as I know, I suddenly have all this time taken
away from me.  And what if I have to die to save the world?  I don't
know if I could be as brave as your dad."

"You didn't know my dad," she said, almost absently.  She didn't mean
to sound accusatory, and was glad when he didn't seem to take it that
way.

"Wasn't he brave?"

"Yes."  She nodded forcefully, more to convince herself than for any
other reason.  In truth, she didn't really remember her father well
enough to know from personal experience whether he was brave.  But of
course he was; there was no other alternative.

"Is my dad brave?" Will suddenly asked.  "He looked really afraid
tonight."  Dana almost answered but then paused.  Until that moment
she would have replied unhesitatingly that Uncle Mulder was brave,
but that evening he hadn't seemed it.  Nor had her mother.  Both of
them seemed worried and defeated, clinging to each other emotionally
as much as they had been physically when she saw them in the living
room.

"I think we need to be brave for ourselves now," she said softly.  "I
think this one is going to be our fight, not theirs."  She fixed her
eyes on Will, and he didn't look away.  She thought for the hundredth
time that day how hot he was, but even more than that, he was alive
and he understood.

The next moments were fuzzy, and she couldn't remember who had
reached for whom, but suddenly she was wrapped in his arms, kissing
him with all her energy.  He kissed back with conviction, yet his
lips were gentle.  She had made out with a few boys before, mostly
recruits and trainees who would steal off with her into the desert,
but having mind-reading Gibson for an older brother quelled her love
life fairly effectively.  The passion she felt for Will, though, made
those other boys pale beyond comparison.  Her hands slid under his
shirt and ran up his skin, and she felt a thrill of emotion as she
felt him grow hard against her thigh.  Suddenly he pulled back.

"Wait, Dana," he said breathlessly, "your mom's in the next room."
Damn.  He was right, of course, at least assuming she wasn't still in
the living room with Uncle Mulder.  They both sat up and straightened
their clothing, feeling a little embarrassed.

"Sorry about that," she murmured.

"Don't be sorry," he answered.  She looked at him and was relieved to
see he wore a grin, though she hoped he was at least a bit
disappointed that the proximity of their parents had interrupted
them.  She stood up to go, but he stopped her.  "When I have to go
tomorrow to look at this alien thing, will you come with me?"  Dana
smiled.  He wanted her around!

"Yes," she answered immediately, though adding, 'assuming my mother
will let me,' to herself.  She walked to the door, and he followed
her, giving her a short, sweet kiss goodnight.

"I'll see you in the morning," he whispered as she slipped back to
her room.

***
Despite the anxiety of the next morning, Will's exhaustion from the
past few days overwhelmed him, and he slept soundly, dreaming of
kissing Dana.  Unfortunately, he slept later than he had intended,
and when he awoke at about 8:30, he found he was alone in the house.
He wandered into the kitchen to find a note on the table.  'Will, we
thought we should let you sleep for a while.  Monica and I have gone
to the command center, and Dana, despite protests that you had asked
her to stay with you this morning, has been ordered to her training
company for drills.  When you get this, please come meet us at the
command center.  Just ask to be shown to Monica's office.'  The note
was unsigned, but he had no doubt that the scrawling handwriting was
his father's.  He felt slightly ashamed for sleeping so long, and
slightly panicked as he realized he was going to have to face the
morning without Dana's support.  He ran to his room, foregoing a
shower and dressing quickly.  He got a little turned around as he
tried to find his way back to the command center, having been driven
there every other time, but he soon found it and was shown into
Monica's office a little after 9:00.

His father was not there, but Monica was sitting at her desk,
glancing at papers, clicking at her computer, and talking rather
authoritatively on the phone.  She smiled at him and gestured for him
to have a seat.  As he listened to Monica's half of the conversation
about magnetite reserves and troop movement, he was struck with the
realization that preparations for the invasion were underway.  Dana
must have had to go to prepare for fighting in potential battles.
Will shuddered involuntarily.  Monica hung up the phone and looked at
him.

"Good morning, Will," she said, more cheerfully than he had expected,
given the look of stress that seemed to have taken up permanent
residence on her face.  "How are you feeling about everything this
morning?"  The question took him by surprise.  It sounded like a
pleasantry, but he realized she was cutting directly to the issue
before them.

"Uh, I guess I'm ready to do whatever I need to do," he answered
after a pause.  She nodded and studied him.

"Okay, well, your dad and Marita are downstairs in the tech
department, so I'll let them know you're here, and we can go down.
By the way, I'm sorry Dana couldn't be here, since she said you
wanted her to be."  He nodded.  "But she is a soldier, you remember,
as you will have to be, so she has to follow the orders of her
supervisor, I'm afraid."  As soon as she finished talking, she picked
up the phone again.  "Hi Johnson, it's Reyes.  Can you please tell
Mulder that we're on our way down?  Thanks."  She hung up the phone,
and Will followed her to the door.

Will felt as though his whole body was intensely aware, alive, and
even aroused, though not exactly sexually aroused.  He breathed
deeply and steadily, trying to relax and encourage himself.  This was
a different sensation than the uncontrollable, nervy feelings that he
usually got around magnetite.  He was unsure about what it might
mean, but he felt strangely powerful, yet at the same time afraid of
that very sense of power.  As he followed Monica to the tech
department, he felt less and less like himself.  They approached the
door, and Monica typed a password into a keypad.  She turned around
and looked at him and frowned briefly.  The outlines of her figure
were blurry, and she seemed to him to quiver there in the doorway.
Breathe, breathe, he told himself, squeezing his eyes shut.
Suddenly, his mother was there, standing between him and the door,
smiling and nodding.  He blinked.  She was gone, but he felt his
courage rebound.  He took a deep breath and followed Monica through
the door.

In the room, his father, a heavy-set black man, and a tall woman with
gray-blonde hair leaned over a table.  His father looked up and
walked over to Will and Monica.  "How are you doing?" he asked Will,
putting an arm around him.  Will's throat felt dry, and he didn't
quite trust his voice, so he just nodded.  Monica had walked over to
talk to the others, and she moved to introduce them as Mulder brought
Will over to them.

"Will, this is Dr. Marcus Johnson, the director of technology here at
the camp," she said, indicating the man, "and this is Marita
Covarrubias.  And this is William Mulder," she finished.  Will smiled
weakly and shook hands with both of them.

"It's nice to meet you," said the woman introduced as Marita.  Her
voice was strong and measured, and Will suspected that she wasn't
saying all she wanted to say.  "I'm glad to find you alive and well,"
she added.

"Well, young man, I'm told that you might have some insight into this
device we have here," began Dr. Johnson after Marita had
finished.  "Are you ready to take a look at it?"  Will looked at his
father and then at Monica to try to read their expressions and
expectations.  They both looked somewhat concerned, but he knew he
had to do what he had come to do, so he answered in the affirmative.
The others moved away from the table to reveal a smallish metal
object sitting in the middle of it.

As Will approached the table, he watched the object begin to vibrate
and hum.  The room seemed fuzzy to him, but his senses were
paradoxically clear.  Suddenly, the object rose off the table and
floated toward him.  He reached out and grasped it in his hands.  It
was warm, almost as if it were alive and made of flesh instead of
metal, and it sent energy coursing through his body.  He felt
extremely powerful and in control as he left his body and ascended
higher and higher until he could see the whole earth spread before
him.  Later he tried to understand how it was possible, but the earth
appeared both spherical and flat-he could see all parts of it, but he
knew he was seeing it as it really was.  Despite his great height, he
could look down and see the individual occupants of each part.  He
focused in on the room he had just left and was surprised to see his
body still standing there, holding the vibrating object, the four
onlookers looking dumbfounded.  His father looked slightly upset and
moved as if to touch Will's body, but Monica held him back.  Nearby,
he saw Dana participating in target practice and smiled as she hit
every bullseye.  Across the camps in North and South America, Africa,
and Australia he saw officials busily communicating with one another,
spreading the news of the coming invasion, assembling and preparing
troops.

As he became more acclimated, he cast his eye to Europe and Asia,
both curious and slightly afraid to see the aliens.  They, too,
seemed to be in a state of preparation, but of a far more mechanical
kind.  They were not panicked.  As he watched, however, he saw a wave
course through the administrating aliens.  They looked up, beginning
to study the sky, searching for something.  Will looked around him,
away from the earth.  Was the invasion coming early?  What were they
looking for?  Suddenly he realized they were looking for him!  They
couldn't see him, but they could sense that he was there, that he
could see them, and amazingly, they were afraid of him.

Will suddenly felt exposed and wondered if he should return to his
body.  Just before he descended, he heard a pleasant sound, an
unearthly yet very human sort of humming.  On all sides, he was
surrounded by the souls of the dead, clasping hands, as it were, and
banding together with him.  His mother appeared at their head, not
embodied as he was used to seeing her, but as a spirit.

"William, your hour is coming.  I didn't understand when you were
born, but now it is clear that you are here to save the world.  This
device is no more alien than you are; instead, you are the highest
manifestations of humanity, brought to the world for such a time as
this.  Be strong, my son.  We will be with you."  Beside her, he
knew, were scores of people who knew him and loved him, although he
had either never known or didn't remember them:  his grandparents and
his aunt and uncles, John Doggett and his son Luke, Walter Skinner,
and three men whom Will knew were his godfathers.  Standing in front
of his mother was his Aunt Samantha, both a young girl and somehow
ageless, the inspiration for the fight for the truth.  Will felt
empowered and strong, and he knew that while there would still have
to be a fight, it was a fight they could win.

He descended back to his body and became fully aware of his senses as
he replaced the device on the table.  He turned around to face the
other people in the room, wondering if they had seen any part of what
he had seen.  Dr. Johnson stood staring, his mouth dropped slightly
open.  Marita stood with her arms folded, smiling slightly and
approvingly.  Monica was slightly pale and pursed her lips together
nervously.  Her hand was still on his father's elbow from when she
had moved to restrain him.  Mulder himself looked excited and began
to ask Will repeatedly if he was all right.

"I'm good," Will answered, walking toward them.  "I think everything
might be okay.  I think we might win."
 
 
 

Chapter Ten

The following days were a rush of activity for Monica, and indeed for
almost the whole human population of the earth.  She and Mulder
sprung to action, communicating with their counterparts in the other
human continents, organizing troops, and most of all, listening to
Will as he increasingly began to take command of operations.  Despite
Mulder's fervent objections, it soon became clear that the most
strategic location for Will to be when the battle commenced was North
Africa.  The proximity to Europe was of utmost importance, and the
North African magnetite reserves were among the world's strongest.
Monica was in almost daily communication with Yves Adele Harlow, the
African general commander, and Daniel Njoroge, the commander in
charge of the Nairobi camp.  By early September, Will, along with a
group of the camp's troops-led by Gibson and including Dana-would be
sent to Nairobi for further training before heading north to the
former Egypt.

Mulder argued that they could launch the attack just as easily from
North America, but he soon conceded that he was being selfish and
unreasonable.  Next he began to assert that he, too, should go to
Africa.  Monica found it harder to talk him out of this position, for
she wanted just as badly to accompany her children and try, if
possible, to protect them.  However, Africa was not the only place in
which battle was a possibility, and she and Mulder were responsible
for the well-being of the several million people living in North
America.  One late night when she was working in her study at home,
he appeared looking haunted and defeated and announced that he had
decided to stay in North America.  They didn't discuss his decision,
but Monica suspected that, like most of Mulder's big decisions, it
had been precipitated by a visitation from Scully.

After Dana, Gibson, and Will left for Africa, Monica tried to ignore
her loneliness by throwing herself into her work.  After all, there
was much to be done, and she often felt like it took her twice as
long to deal with issues like military strategy than it would someone
who had more training in that area.  She remembered John and Walter
taking control of most of the military action in the preparations for
the first invasion.  Their know-how had cost them their lives,
however, and now Monica and Mulder were forced to rely on the advice
of their generals instead of being able to plan attacks themselves.

Mulder, too, was preparing to leave the