Title: AND THERE WAS A WAR IN HEAVEN by aka "Jake" & Brandon D. Ray MSR - Colonization - Rated R BOOK ONE continued. Previously in War In Heaven... Reyes, Doggett and Mulder met up with Scully at St. John's Church, where they later discovered an injured Cassandra Spender hiding in the back of Reyes' car. Mulder and Scully took Cassandra to Scully's apartment, while Doggett and Reyes went to find Tara and William. Cassandra revealed that she had been kidnapped by Rebels at El Rico Air Base, and knows of the Rebels' plans to fight a war with the Colonists. Meanwhile, Kersh received a phone call from an operative at the church. And Tara met up with a man who looked like Fox Mulder, but all is not as it seems... -x-x-x-x-x-x- CHAPTER THREE ABOARD U.S.S. CHEYENNE SOMEWHERE IN THE ARABIAN SEA Bill Scully took another sip of his coffee, then set it down carefully on the arm of his chair. "Three more hours, Lieutenant," he said, "and we'll be in position. Then we just have to wait for nightfall. Are you ready?" The question was redundant, and Bill knew it. All the necessary preparations had been made -- at least, everything over which the crew of the nuclear powered attack submarine had any control. The half dozen SEALs under this officer's command were in their quarters, waiting for the word to climb into their wet suits and crawl down the emergency escape hatch. Their prepackaged equipment, including two inflatable boats, was with them. Bill didn't have to be in that compartment to know that the men were as still and silent as their gear. "Aye aye, sir," the man replied. His gray eyes were calm; his face expressionless. Bill had never learned the lieutenant's name, and never would -- and he liked it that way. He and his crew were filling the humble role of taxi drivers for a team of the U.S. Navy's crack commandos, and that was all he needed -- or wanted -- to know. What they would do after being dropped a few miles off the coast of Pakistan -- well, to say that it was classified was an understatement. The Pakis were cooperating with the Afghan campaign; *this* bunch, for some reason, was a group the Navy didn't want their allies to know about. "Very well," he replied. "You may join your team. The exec will let you know when we've reached the drop point." He nodded. "Good luck, Lieutenant." "Thank you, sir." "Conn, Sonar." If the sudden voice blaring from the overhead speaker startled the SEAL, he didn't show it. Bill trusted that he didn't, either. He took the mike from its bracket and clicked the transmit button. "This is the captain," he said. "Report." "Sir, that contact is back. Bearing 168." Bill frowned. The intermittent contact had first appeared on their passive systems nearly three hours ago. It had faded in and out several times, never lasting more than a few minutes, but from what data they'd been able to gather, it seemed to be moving at 12 to 14 knots, gradually insinuating itself between Cheyenne and the task force from which she'd been detached. The range was difficult to judge without using their active systems; all they could say for sure was that the contact was either very quiet, or very far away -- probably closer to the task force than it was to Cheyenne. If the latter was true, they were only hearing it at all because of a freak of convergence zones -- layers of sea water with just the right temperature and pressure characteristics to channel sound waves, allowing anyone with the proper equipment to pick up the echoes, even from dozens of miles away. Bill could only hope that the other attack boats screening the battle group were tracking the contact better than he was. "Mr. Southey," he said, addressing the navigation officer. "What's the current range and bearing to the task force?" "Sir, bearing to the center of the task force is 164, approximate range 189 miles." Bill nodded. The contact was now almost directly between Cheyenne and the battle group. Coincidence? He hadn't been given command of a submarine because of his trusting nature -- but he had no proof. He itched to order one good, strong ping on active sonar, down the contact's most recent bearing. Light up the son of a bitch and find out what it was -- determine whether it was a threat. Unfortunately, the mission profile didn't allow it. They were already inside Pakistan's territorial waters, and going deeper by the minute. No one could be allowed to know they were here -- "Conn, Sonar." "Go ahead," he grated. He knew what was coming, but he had to take the report, anyway. "Sir, the contact is gone again." "Very well," he replied, suppressing the urge to throw his coffee mug across the compartment. "Keep listening. Let me know ASAP if it recurs." "Aye aye, sir." Bill turned his gaze back to the SEAL, still standing at attention in front of him, apparently unperturbed by this development. "Prepare to carry out your orders, Lieutenant." -x-x-x-x-x-x- RESIDENCE OF MAGGIE SCULLY 3:32 A.M. "A hell of a way to start Christmas," Maggie muttered to herself. She crossed the living room to peer out the window for what felt like the hundredth time in the last hour. Outside, two or three inches of snow covered the ground, a gusty wind rattled the windowpane and sleet pinged against the glass. The street remained deserted. Of course. Sensible people were at home and in bed, just where they ought to be on the night before Christmas. Maggie closed the drapes and returned to her chair. She was no stranger to waiting, but that didn't mean she liked it. She'd spent more nights than she cared to count sitting by the phone or watching the front door, wondering if her husband or her children were safe and would soon be home. The worst wait had been seven years ago, when Dana went missing. Maggie had worn herself ragged, pacing from one room to another, all the while hoping Fox Mulder would call with some news. The nights had seemed endless, and whenever Maggie had managed to sleep, she was plagued by nightmares about Dana being taken away. The dreams had always been the same and they scared the living daylights out of her. She told Fox about her nightmares, about how much they frightened her. "It's probably scarier when you stop having the dream. Don't you think?" he had asked. She never found out; she continued to have her recurring dream right up until her daughter was returned. Dana's abduction and her mysterious reappearance now felt like a lifetime ago. For that matter, Midnight Mass felt like a lifetime ago. Maggie drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair and stared at the Christmas tree in the corner of the room. Its cheery lights reflected off the colorful packages beneath the lowest branches, at odds with Maggie's somber mood. The house was dead silent. Mattie and Sarah slept in one of the guest bedrooms upstairs. More than two hours had passed since Dana called to say that Tara was taking William to Fox. "Tonight?" Maggie asked, incredulous. "There was some trouble at the church," Dana said, her words vague and her voice sounding tight. "What sort of trouble? Where are you?" "Still at St. John's. Skinner is here, too. There's nothing for you to worry about, Mom." Nothing to worry about? Maggie didn't believe that for a minute. "Dana, why didn't Tara just bring William here?" "I asked her to take him to Mulder. It's not far. She should be home in less than two hours." "Dana--" "Mom, I can't talk right now. I'll have to call you later." And that was that. Dana had hung up and Maggie was left without any details. After waiting for an hour without further word, Maggie tried to reach Dana on her cell. When there was no answer, she'd settled for leaving a message on Dana's home machine. //Dana, I'm worried. Please, call as soon as you can.// Maggie glanced at her watch. Another hour had passed since she'd left that message. Stop worrying, she chided herself, knowing full well she wouldn't until either Dana called or Tara arrived safe and sound. She rose from her chair and returned to the window. Swirling snow continued to fill the street outside. The road looked slippery. Tara would find traveling difficult and slow. Maybe she had decided to stay at Fox's until morning. That would make sense. Catch a little sleep, wait until daylight when visibility was better and the roads had been cleared. It was also possible Tara might not call, not wanting to wake the kids, thinking Dana had already phoned to explain everything. But Dana hadn't explained anything really. //I asked her to take him to Mulder.// Where was that exactly? And wasn't Fox working on an assignment for the FBI? Wouldn't it be dangerous for William to be with him? "Gramma?" Maggie turned at the sound of her grandson's voice. Matthew stood in the doorway, bleary-eyed, hair sticking straight up on one side of his head, and looking so much like Bill had looked at that age, that for a moment Maggie thought her heart might break. He held his favorite stuffed toy in his right hand -- a well-worn dinosaur named Rex. "Mattie, what are you doing up?" She went to the boy and lifted him in her arms with a grunt. She smiled at him. "You're getting to be so grown up." He stuck his thumb in his mouth, as if to prove her wrong. "Did Santa come yet?" he asked around his thumb. "Yes, he did." Maggie turned so Matthew could see the gifts she'd tucked under the tree earlier, after he'd gone to bed. Matthew's head drooped sleepily onto Maggie's shoulder. "Can we open presents now?" "Not until morning. Right now, you're going back to bed, young man." "But I'm not tired," he said, before his thumb dropped from his mouth as he yawned. "I'll read you a bedtime story: T'was the Night Before Christmas. Would you like that?" He nodded against her shoulder. "All through the house," he quoted. "Not a creature was stirring..." "Not even a mouse." He giggled. "Maybe you should tell me the story," she suggested, heading toward the stairs. "Gramma?" "What, sweetie?" "Mama isn't in her bed." Maggie stopped walking. She looked into her grandson's worried eyes. "Not yet, but she'll be home soon." She hoped her words were true. "What if she's lost?" Maggie shook her head. "There's nothing to worry about, Mattie. Your mama is fine." -x-x-x-x-x-x- NEAR WINCHESTER, VIRGINIA "Yeah, I remember her. Blonde, about so tall, maybe 30, 35. Only customer I've had all night." The convenience store clerk gave a little smirk. "Nice little piece. Too bad she was taken." "There was someone with her?" Doggett asked. They'd got this far because the Lone Gunmen had traced Tara Scully's credit card. It had been used at this store less than an hour ago. "Yeah," the man repeated. His attention was divided between Doggett and the small, black and white TV sitting on the counter next to him. "I mean, I didn't see 'em together, but there was only the one car, y'know? She came in and bought some diapers and stuff, and then he came in and paid for the gas. Kinda weird, they didn't pay for it all at once, now that you mention it." "What did the man look like?" Doggett asked. He glanced out the window, through the blowing snow. Monica was out by the gas pumps, kneeling down and looking at something. He turned his attention back to the clerk. "Tall guy," the clerk said, with an unconcerned shrug. Right, the agent thought. The clerk had only really noticed the woman. The man went on, "Dark hair, I think. He had a big nose; I remember that. Say, these two in some kind of trouble?" "No," Doggett replied. He was trying to come up with another question, when the scene on the television suddenly shifted. He blinked in surprise, and then wondered why he was surprised. It was a special report about the attack at St. John's. "Fuckin' Arabs," the clerk grunted. He'd turned in his seat, and was now staring at the screen. "Got no sense of decency." Doggett gritted his teeth at the clerk's blatant bigotry, then reminded himself to stay on task. The scene on the television changed, and the clerk's frown deepened. Then his eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Hey! That's the guy." "What? Where? Which guy?" "That guy who was here -- the one who was with the lady. You know. Big nose." The clerk was gesturing at the screen, and Doggett's jaw dropped when he realized the man was pointing at Mulder, who'd apparently gotten caught on camera as he and Scully were getting into Monica's car. "*That's* the man you saw?" Doggett asked. "You sure?" "Positive. I'd know that nose anywhere. Who is he?" "We just need to ask him some questions," Doggett replied, dodging the question as he tried to get his own thoughts back under control. How could Mulder have been *here*, 45 minutes ago, and still have been at the church? There was only one answer to that question, based on his readings in the X-files, and it wasn't something John Doggett wanted to accept. He shook the idea off, and tried to refocus his thoughts. William. They were here to find William. "Did they have a child with them?" he asked. "I didn't see no kid, but he might have been in the car. Like I said, the lady bought diapers." "How long ago were they here? Where did they go?" The man shrugged. "Forty, forty-five minutes. They got back on 50, heading west." Doggett nodded. He handed his business card to the clerk, then went back outside to see how Monica was doing. "I found something," she said, straightening up as he approached. She extended her gloved hand, and Doggett saw that she held some bits of plastic, and a broken circuit board. "Looks like parts of a cell phone." "That explains why she was out of area," he commented. Monica nodded. "Did you get anything from the clerk?" "Yeah." He gave her a quick summary of the conversation, including the man's identification of Mulder. "Mulder was here?" she asked, her brow furrowing. "That's not good." "Could be better," he agreed. "Think it's time to call for back up?" "No," Monica replied. She jiggled the shattered pieces of cell phone in her cupped hand. "If it's what we're both thinking, we'd be signing the death warrant of whatever state trooper happened to pull them over. And if it's the real Mulder, we'd be drawing attention to him." "We need to warn Agent Scully," Doggett said. "Let her know what's going on, before it's too late." Let her know that the man she might even now be making love to could be an impostor. An unwanted image of the two of them locked in an erotic embrace flashed through his mind, but he quickly banished it. No, she wouldn't be doing that, he told himself; that was an unworthy thought, and intrusive and voyeuristic, besides. There was too much else going on. Scully would be trying to deal with Cassandra Spender. Finding out what she knew, where she'd been. He grimaced as he realized that that *also* presented risks, as long as the identity of the man who was with Scully remained an enigma. If it really *was* Cassandra Spender. Trying to keep the players straight was beginning to give him a headache. "We can't call her," Monica answered. She let the bits of cell phone fall to the ground and brushed her hands. "That was her phone, and we don't know where she and ... and Mulder went." "A.D. Skinner," Doggett decided. He turned and started walking towards the car, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone as he moved. "I'll call him. You drive." -x-x-x-x-x-x- FBI HEADQUARTERS WASHINGTON, D.C. Skinner rode up in the elevator with Agents Perry and Delgado. The two men were on their way to Kersh's office, and Skinner suspected the Deputy Director had stayed up late just to hear their report on Mulder's surprise appearance at St. John's. Whatever, the agents were uncharacteristically silent. Usually these two joked non-stop. Forensic humor. Dark stuff. But they hadn't cracked so much as a knock-knock joke during the entire ride over from the church. The elevator announced their floor and the doors slid open. "Damn it," Skinner said, patting his pockets. "Must have left my cell phone in the car. I gotta go back." Perry rolled his eyes, then tossed Skinner his car keys before stepping out of the elevator behind Delgado. "Leave them at the front desk with Security. I'll pick 'em up later, sir." The honorific was clearly pro forma. These men worked for Kersh, and therefore didn't need -- or want -- Skinner's good will. "Sure. Thanks for the lift, guys." Skinner pocketed the keys and pushed the down button, hoping no one would phone him before the doors closed. His cell phone wasn't in the car; it was in his breast pocket where he always kept it. The doors slid shut and the elevator headed down to the basement, where Skinner hoped to gather some helpful background information from the X-files office. Scully had said she suspected alien involvement at the church. The torchings had reminded her of the murders at El Rico Air Base and Ruskin Dam. She reported that one of the victims bled green blood. And she described a weapon that she'd seen several years ago, a small ice-pick sort of thing that Mulder claimed was of alien origin, used to kill shape-shifting "bounty hunters." Mulder's term. Hopefully Mulder's files would enlighten him more than his reports ever had. Skinner leaned against the back wall and closed his eyes while the elevator hummed its way to the basement. God, he felt tired. Tonight's events, combined with pressures from upstairs, bore down on him, making him feel older than his years. He knew the Deputy Director, and other higher-ups, were watching his every move, maybe now more than ever, including the time he and Agent Scully worked outside of the official manhunt for Mulder. Fuck 'em. That unauthorized trip to Arizona had been one of the rare occasions when he'd felt really good about his actions. That and the night he'd insisted on digging Fox Mulder out of an early grave. Funny, he felt that same way right now, like he was standing firmly on the right side of the fence. It was a good feeling. The elevator deposited him on the bottom floor and he walked directly to the X-files office, where he used his own key to let himself in. Once inside, he locked the door behind him and switched on the lights. Doggett and Reyes had changed the office very little since taking over the X-files last spring. Mulder's file cabinets stood exactly where they always had. Skinner went to the cabinets and opened a drawer. He thumbed through the folders until he found one marked El Rico. He pulled it before moving on to another drawer, looking for a file on Ruskin Dam. He wanted to review the transcripts it contained from Scully's hypno-regression tape. The original tape had been lost in the fire of '98, along with a lot of other carefully collected evidence, but Mulder had painstakingly reconstructed many of the files that had been lost, including Scully's transcript. Skinner located the file and removed it, too. Grabbing two more thick folders, labeled "Bounty Hunters" and "Shape Shifters," Skinner wished he'd taken Mulder more seriously over the years. It seemed Spooky Mulder was turning out to be right about a lot of things. Things Skinner had ignored as too out there to be possible. The last file Skinner pulled was Theresa Hoese's. Scully seemed certain the residue she'd found at the church was a match for the sample taken at Theresa's house in Bellefleur. Skinner stacked the files on Doggett's desk and settled into his chair. He decided to start with Theresa Hoese, and opened her folder. It contained field notes, lots of them, stuff that had never appeared in any official report. Scully had added the most recent material several weeks after Mulder disappeared in Oregon. Skinner flipped through the notes. In them, Scully had postulated that Theresa's kidnapper may have had the ability to make himself look like someone the young woman knew and trusted, possibly her missing husband. Scully indicated that a "substance of arguably alien origin" found on a carpet in the Hoese house substantiated that theory. However, a lab report, clipped to the notes, summed up the sample of alleged alien blood as "unidentified." Skinner put the report aside and was about to start sifting through the "Shape Shifter" file when his cell phone rang. He pulled the phone from his pocket. John Doggett's name appeared on the display. "What have you got, Agent Doggett?" Skinner asked into the phone. "Big mystery, sir." "Meaning?" "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but it looks like we've got two guys who are both the spitting image of Fox Mulder. One, or both of them, might be..." Damn it. "Aliens?" Skinner supplied, realizing he should have been more careful, paid closer attention to Mulder at the church. They'd seen this before; Christ, the file lay right in front of him. He should have anticipated-- "I prefer to think of them as impostors, sir," Doggett said. "Either way, one of them is with Agent Scully right now." "Exactly. I'm thinking you should get over there." Right. If the man with Scully wasn't really Mulder, a phone call could tip him off and place her in danger. Skinner fished Perry's car keys from his pocket. "On my way." -x-x-x-x-x-x- WESTBOUND ON U.S. HIGHWAY 50 NEAR THE WEST VIRGINIA BORDER Tara was being kidnapped. There was no doubt about it. There hadn't been since that awful moment at the convenience store, when the man who wasn't Fox crushed Dana's cell phone and forced Tara into the backseat of the car, next to William. It was William's presence, and her own responsibility for his welfare, that were allowing her to keep her sanity. After the first few fear-drenched moments, Tara had forced her mind to stop scrabbling in circles, and focused her attention on her nephew. He was still asleep, his head lolling over a little, his mouth slightly open. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, then gently straightened him, tucking his blanket around him to support him better. She fumbled in her coat pocket; finding a tissue, she wiped away the trickle of drool on his chin. He stirred each time she touched him, but he did not awaken. Satisfied at last that he was okay -- well, as okay as he could be, under the circumstances -- she turned her gaze elsewhere. Her captor was hunched over the steering wheel, peering out the windshield through the wildly blowing snow. The car's headlights, as far as Tara could see, almost seemed to be doing more harm than good, as they lit up and were reflected back by the blinding white of the storm. The car slewed and slipped, and Tara sent up a silent prayer that the driver could see the edge of the road, because she certainly couldn't. Despite the horrible driving conditions, the car continued to move along at a rapid clip -- far faster than Tara would have been comfortable with if she were driving. The highway had narrowed from four lanes to two, a few miles back, and the man behind the wheel wasn't even trying to stay in his own lane. Shadows loomed up out of the darkness, each one threatening for a few seconds to solidify into another vehicle, before dissolving back into nothing. A sign flashed by, announcing for a scant second and a half that they were entering West Virginia -- "Why are you doing this?" Tara asked, suddenly finding her voice after a long silence. The man hadn't spoken a word since leaving the convenience store, the better part of an hour earlier. She'd been intimidated, frightened and confused, but focusing her attention on William had enabled her to ignore most of it. Now, however, her mind was clearing, and she realized she had to do ... something. "Where are you taking us?" she persisted after a moment, when the man did not reply. She saw his gaze, reflected in the rear view mirror, flick briefly to her, then away again. Other than that, he made no response. "What is going on here?" She hated the way her voice was rising, hated the quaver of fear that she couldn't quite suppress. "You ... you won't get away with this. My sister-in-law ... she's an FBI agent. They'll find you. You can't hide from the FBI." Still he did not reply, and Tara felt herself starting to break. "Please," she said. "Please let us go. I know this was all some kind of ... some kind of mistake. If you just let us go, I promise I won't tell anyone anything. You'll be safe." She licked her lips, feeling weak and futile. Tears welled up in her eyes, and her voice rose further. "We ... we weren't doing anything to you. Why are you doing this? Where are we going? *Why won't you answer me?*" There was a sudden, sharp bang, coming from outside the car. Tara screamed, as the vehicle slewed again, and for a few seconds it seemed as if the driver must lose control. Somehow, though, he managed to fight it off, and a moment or two later the car was slowing to a halt, a rough, rumbling sound emanating from behind them and to the right. And Tara realized, as her pulse started to return to normal, that they'd had a blow out. The driver was out of the vehicle almost before it had come to a full stop. The cold wind, which had never stopped pouring in through the shattered window, briefly increased as the door was opened, then closed. A few seconds after that, Tara heard the trunk pop open. This was her big chance, Tara thought. This was her opportunity to ... to what? Climb into the front, restart the car, and drive away from her captor? Of course, he'd taken the keys, so she'd have to hot wire it. No big deal. Sigourney Weaver or Linda Hamilton could do it in a New York minute, leaving the bad guy eating their dust. Or maybe they'd bundle William up and make a break for it on foot, trekking cross country in a blizzard to safety. One problem. She wasn't Sigourney Weaver or Linda Hamilton. She almost screamed again when her door was suddenly pulled open. The driver of the car was standing there, snow and sleet billowing around him, apparently oblivious to the cold. His face was an expressionless mask. "The spare tire is also flat," he stated. "We'll have to walk the rest of the way." "Walk?" Tara blinked at him. "You're joking. We'd never make it. The storm --" "It is not very far," he interrupted. He grabbed her upper arm and dragged her from the car. "Follow instructions, and you will not be harmed." "But ... you can't be serious. You can't take a baby out into --" Suddenly, Tara's feet were off the ground, and the stranger's hand was grasping her by the throat. She gasped, swaying in his grip, and clawed at the man's arm with her hands, to no avail. "It is necessary that the child reach our destination," he said, his voice still flat and uninflected. "The same is not true of you." He let go of her, and she fell to her hands and knees, her chest heaving as she drew in huge draughts of air. "The choice is yours," he added. For a few seconds, Tara stayed where she was, blinking away tears and trying to catch her breath. This couldn't be happening -- not to her. It was a dream, a nightmare. She wanted ... God, she wanted to just curl up and go to sleep, and wake up warm and secure in Bill's arms. She wanted it to stop. She wanted it to go away -- William's crying dragged her back to reality. She couldn't abandon him. Dana had entrusted him to her care, and she had to do what she could to look out for him. She had to protect him. Slowly, reluctantly, she struggled to her feet, to see that her captor now held the child, and was staring at her impassively from a few feet away, waiting to see what she was going to do. She stood in silence, staring at him for a minute or two. William's crying had risen in pitch, until now he was screaming at the top of his lungs. He almost sounded as if he were in pain. The wind whipped around them, cold and uncaring, driving snow and sleet before it. Tara swallowed, blinked back one more tear, then held out her arms and took a step forward. "Give him to me," she said, surprised at how strong her voice sounded. "Let me ... let me take him. I'll do anything you say." -x-x-x-x-x-x- SCULLY'S APARTMENT ALEXANDRIA, VA While Scully settled Cassandra into bed, Mulder wandered around the apartment. If asked, he would say he was sweeping for bugs, but the truth was, he was snooping, curious to see how Scully had been living while he'd been away. Potato, potahto. The new place was a bit more spacious than the old one. Its front door opened into a hall that divided the living room from the eat-in kitchen. Further down the hall he could see three more doors, presumably to two bedrooms and a bath. Large windows in the living room overlooked the street, and a combination of heavy drapes and interior shutters helped discourage prying eyes. Mulder recognized most of the furniture: Scully's couch, desk, kitchen table. His own fifties-modern coat rack stood beside her front door. And his fish tank glowed in a back corner of the living room. Baby paraphernalia dotted the rooms and the discovery of each new item saddened him in a way he wouldn't have imagined possible. William's infant swing filled one corner of the kitchen, bright toys overflowed a basket on the floor beside the couch, and a small blue blanket covered the arm of one overstuffed chair. Passing the chair, he snagged the blanket with one hand and lifted it to his nose. It smelled like some kind of sweet laundry detergent, and felt softer than anything he'd ever touched in his life. Circling the living room, blanket dangling from his fist, he stopped to inspect the framed photos Scully displayed on her desk. Pictures of William: smiling, waving, face smeared with food. When had he grown teeth? And all that red hair? William was no longer the tiny newborn Mulder remembered from seven months ago. He was turning into a little boy, and the realization walloped Mulder like a sucker-punch. He'd missed every damn day of his son's life: every laugh, every cry, every milestone, all the "firsts," rolling over, sitting up... Was William crawling now? Could he say mama...or daddy? Bill Scully's words rose like ghosts from a grave: //Has it been worth it? To you, I mean. Have you found what you've been looking for?// Scully had been dying of cancer, and Mulder had answered no, it wasn't worth it. So many things, it turned out, hadn't been worth it. Scully wasn't dying now. She was living -- living more than he was living, raising their son while he spun his wheels searching for answers to questions he could barely remember asking in the first place. After all this time, had he found anything? Was the truth out there? Or had it been right here all along, here with Scully and William? Among the dozen or so baby pictures, Mulder discovered one lone photo of Scully and himself, dressed in matching FBI jackets, working a case somewhere long ago, when life was no more complicated than a flukeman or a fat-sucking Internet Don Juan. "We looked so young back then," Scully said, suddenly appearing at the room's threshold, returning from the bedroom. "We were young back then." Mulder set the picture back in its place. Then he crossed the room to embrace her. "I've missed you so much, Dana," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her. God, she smelled good. Like coming home. "I can hardly believe you're standing here," she said, her voice full of emotion. "I should be out looking for William." "Agent Doggett will find him." "Sooner than he found me, I hope." She gasped and pulled back. Tears filled her eyes. Damn it, he shouldn't have said that. He tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, hair that had grown long in seven months. "How's Cassandra?" he changed the subject. "Sleeping." Scully stepped out of his embrace. Her eyes dropped to the blanket in his hand. She took it from him and carefully folded it into a neat square. "She needs medical attention. More than I can give her here." "Did she say anything else?" "Not really. She just kept repeating: 'it's beginning.'" "The war. The invasion." Mulder glanced at the fire wand Cassandra had given him earlier; it lay on Scully's coffee table, portending a grim future. "Mulder, do you think she's right?" He reached for her hand and dovetailed his fingers with hers, pulling her to the couch to sit next to him. He was pleased when she curled up against him, her cheek pressed to his shoulder and her palm resting on his chest. William's folded blanket lay in her lap. The heat of her hand over his heart nearly took his breath away. "Maybe she's lying," he murmured against the crown of her head. "Why would she lie?" "I don't know. To keep us from William?" "Mulder, she didn't make up her injuries. I think she's telling the truth." "Maybe." He absently stroked the blanket in her lap. "A man once told me, 'a lie is most convincingly hidden between two truths.'" They sat for a minute or two without speaking. Finally Scully asked, "Mulder, what were you doing with Doggett and Reyes?" Shit. He guessed her real question was "Why was I left out of the loop?" Doggett and Reyes had said she'd had a lot on her mind. //We hoped that you could represent Agent Scully's interests. And William's.// What had happened to make them circumvent her? Why did they feel they couldn't trust her with information about the lab? He thought about Reyes' video, the recording she'd made earlier at the Navy Yard. The camcorder was still in her car, parked on the street in front of Scully's building. They should be reviewing it right now, searching for clues -- clues to help them protect William. Scully sat up and looked into his eyes. He'd been quiet for too long. "Did it have something to do with William?" she asked. For someone who didn't believe in intuition or mental telepathy, she hit this nail right on the head. He drew her to him, wanting to feel her against him. "Cassandra mentioned other babies like William, babies that interest the Rebels." "William is just a normal little boy," she insisted. "Is he?" He thought about the lab, the names of the mothers and their babies, including Scully's name and William's. "Mulder, William is not 'the key' to peace in the universe. He's not an antidote to an alien virus. Those claims are ridiculous. William is our son." "Yes, yes he is. Still...there are those who believe--" "Believe what?" She pulled away, her eyes bright with fear and anger. He shrugged and shook his head. "What is it *you* believe, Mulder? Tell me what you think William is." "I believe..." Mulder decided to test the waters, see if Doggett and Reyes had misjudged Scully. She needed to hear the truth about William, sooner rather than later, before they ran out of time. "William is a target, Scully. He's got a hell of a lot of people interested in him. People we've run into before. Turns out that freighter you found last fall was owned by Roush Industries." She shook her head. "So what? What does that prove?" "I'm not sure. But there's more. I saw William's name -- and yours -- on a door to a hospital room in a lab at the Washington Navy Yard." Scully rose from the couch, shoulders slumped, William's blanket clutched to her stomach. When she spoke, her voice quavered. "That doesn't prove William is the product of nefarious genetic experiments, Mulder. Isn't it more plausible that he's been targeted simply as a way to get to you?" "To flush me out...?" "And then control you." The possibility scissored through him. William's life was in danger because of him. Because of his work on the X-Files, because he had pushed and pushed to uncover the truth and expose the lies. Because he'd been crazy enough to believe in UFOs, EBEs, global conspiracies and government plots. And because he'd had the audacity to fall in love with his partner and drag her and their child down with him. He couldn't bring himself to look at her. It seemed his punishment had become hers...and their son's. Scully reached out and stroked his cheek. "Mulder, it makes more sense than alien vaccines, super soldiers or extraterrestrial genomes. And they've tried this sort of thing before." It was true. Her abduction. Her cancer. These events had been engineered to rein him in, to shut him down. He stood and met her worried stare. "The question is: who are 'they' this time, Scully? The FBI? The Rebels? The Colonists? Which of the bad guys are the baddest guys?" -x-x-x-x-x-x- LOCATION UNKNOWN Shannon McMahon hung up the phone, and stared at it for a moment in thought. Now wasn't *that* an interesting development. She sat for a full minute, considering the possibilities, then rose from her desk and exited the office. Her heels clacked against the concrete floor with metronomic regularity as she walked down the hallway. Several men in combat fatigues stepped out of her way without comment or question. Despite her current civilian persona, they knew who -- and what -- she was. The door at the end of the hall was unmarked, unpretentious. The man who occupied this office was accustomed to wielding power in an understated, offhand sort of way. McMahon understood this technique. It made him seem more formidable, more terrifying -- to most people. Of course, most people weren't able to bend steel with their bare hands, she thought with a smirk. She reached out, and rapped sharply on the door. "Come." The voice was rough, but still as strong as ever. McMahon pushed the door open and stepped inside. "Ms. McMahon," said the man behind the desk. "I was just about to send for you." He took a drag on his cigarette, stubbed it out in the ashtray, and reached for another. "I just had a phone call from our associate at the FBI," she said. He nodded, puffing his new cigarette to life. She continued, "He says he wants to make a deal." "Really?" C.G.B. Spender smiled, but there was no humor or warmth in it. "That's most interesting." He inhaled some smoke, then let it trickle out through his nostrils. "I was not aware that he had anything we wanted. Isn't that a prerequisite to any such negotiation?" "He mentioned Gibson Praise," McMahon responded. Spender raised his eyebrows. "That's also very interesting." He blinked, and seemed to consider the matter for a moment. Then he straightened up in his seat. "I've just received word that our Navy Yard facility has been destroyed." "What? How?" "Arson," he replied. He held his cigarette out for a moment, examining the glowing tip, a chagrined expression on his face. "Officially, it will be put down as a problem with the electrical system, or something equally innocuous. But I'm sure you can guess who actually had the means and motive to carry this out." "Yes." She felt frustration building within her. If only she'd been there -- "There has also been an intervention against the operation at the church in Alexandria. I suspect that the same faction is behind that attack, but we're still gathering information." "Do you want me to check it out?" "No." Another hit on the cigarette. Then: "We have a man on the scene already, and his reports are grudging, but satisfactory." "Then ...?" "Our operative who was sent to retrieve Mulder arrived too late." There was a tinge of annoyance in his voice. That initiative, like the one at the church, had been meticulously planned and coordinated -- apparently all for naught. But then Spender smiled, and continued, "By great good fortune, he has acquired something that may ultimately be of even greater value. We may yet attain our objectives." "The child," she guessed. Spender nodded. "The events in Washington are troubling. As a precaution, I want you to take a security team and meet our operative topside. Make sure he has what he says he has, and escort them back down." He glanced at his watch. "They should be here within the hour." "I'm on it," McMahon replied. "Is there anything else?" He looked at her for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. At last, he said, "Why don't you also return Deputy Director Kersh's phone call, and set up a meeting." He took one more drag on his cigarette. "Just in case." -x-x-x-x-x-x- WESTBOUND ON U.S. HIGHWAY 50 NEAR THE WEST VIRGINIA BORDER It was at times like this that Reyes found herself really missing New Orleans. The snow, the wind, the cold -- it cut right to the bone, and made her yearn for the warm waters of the Gulf. Weekends in Galveston or on Padre Island. She'd hated the time she spent in the New York Field Office, and the rediscovery of winter was the one real downside to her assignment on the X-files. And naturally, John asked her to drive. Just casually, of course -- the good ol' Georgia boy didn't like driving on snow and ice any more than she did. The car slipped and slid down the highway, skating across the Icy pavement, only partly under her control. The needle on the speedometer fluctuated between 30 and 35, and at that, she was driving faster than she really should, considering the conditions. She wasn't even sure they were still in Virginia. The highway had narrowed to two lanes several miles back, and she remembered that the West Virginia border was somewhere nearby. Maybe they'd already crossed it. Christ knew the visibility was low enough that she could have missed the sign -- "Jesus, Monica!" Reyes slammed on the brakes, as the shadowy form of a car seemed to materialize out of nowhere, standing square in the middle of the highway. Their own vehicle skidded and slid, then started into a slow spin. Reyes let her reflexes take over, reflexes honed in the combat driving course at Quantico, as she turned into the spin, struggling to maintain control. If this had been her own car, she was confident she could have stopped in time, but it wasn't hers, it was Skinner's, and it was bigger and heavier than she was used to. The vehicle continued its majestic, inexorable spin, headlights flaring out like searchlights in the snow-blind void. They swung around to the front once again, and she fed the car some gas, trying to get some traction so she'd have a chance to straighten their course. She then tapped the brakes again, and was rewarded when they finally slowed to a halt, the nose of their car resting less than a foot from the left rear fender of the other vehicle. Reyes let out a huge puff of air, leaned forward, and rested her forehead on the steering wheel. "Damn, Monica. I'm impressed." "I was lucky," she muttered, raising her head and shaking it. "I was going too fast." She heard John stirring in his seat, and she waved her hand without looking at him. Instead, she was staring out the windshield at the other vehicle. It was a light blue Camry, and it looked damned familiar -- Reyes was out of the car and moving forward, heedless of the slick footing. John was right behind her, coming up from his side and squeezing through the small gap between the two cards. Seconds later, they were standing side by side, peering into the passenger compartment. It was definitely Dana's car. Reyes recognized the St. Christopher's medal hanging from the rearview mirror -- and, yes, that was Will's car seat in back. No question. But the vehicle was empty. It had been abandoned. "Looks like they had a blow out," John commented, kicking the right rear tire. He nodded towards the open trunk. "Spare's flat, too." "But why would they leave the car?" Reyes asked. "It makes more sense to stay here. There's a better chance of being found." "Maybe they don't want to be found. Maybe they thought it was too risky." "More risky than hiking through a blizzard in the middle of the night, with a young child?" She shook her head. "That doesn't make sense, John." "I dunno, Monica." She could hear the shrug in his voice, but she didn't see it, because something else had caught her attention: a line of footprints, rapidly filling up with snow, leading away from the car, and heading further up the highway. Without hesitation, Reyes started to follow the trail. "Monica?" She didn't answer, and she heard John hurrying up behind her, slogging through the snow, swearing to himself as his feet slid on the icy surface. "Monica, are you nuts?" "They went this way," she answered, pausing and gesturing ahead of her. "We've got to hurry." "Mon, those tracks are gonna fill up -- hell, they're already almost filled up. Twenty minutes, and you won't be able to see a damned thing." "John ...." She let her voice trail off, and she glanced back at him, then looked forward again uncertainly. He was right, of course. The footprints were already just oval depressions. Soon, there'd be no sign of them at all -- and she could see that a short distance ahead they veered away from the highway and into the nearby trees. There would be no guide at all once that happened. She chewed on her lower lip, trying to decide what to do -- //She stumbled over a tree root, and almost dropped the child. Someone grabbed her upper arm, holding her upright. He gave her a few seconds to catch her breath, then forced her to continue moving up the hill --// "No," Reyes said. "No, we have to go after them. It's their only chance." She started forward again. "Monica!" Once more, she could hear John coming after her. "Monica, you're not making sense. How're you gonna know you're headin' in the right direction? That trail --" "I'll know," she said, and somehow knew that it was true. She also knew, somehow, that Tara and William weren't too far ahead. She reached the place where the tracks angled away from the road, and she followed, but she didn't need to see it, not really. William was *this* way. She was sure of it. She'd been there at the moment of his birth; how could she *not* know where he was? John followed along after her. Somewhat to her surprise, he made no further protest. They plunged into the tree line, and visibility dropped even further. Now, she was lucky if she could see the next tree in time to avoid running into it. Roots caught at her feet and branches slapped her in the face, but somehow, she kept her balance. She wished she had a flashlight -- Skinner probably had one in his glove compartment. But she pushed the thought away. A light at this point would just turn them into targets. Better to push on through the dark. At least the trees provided shelter from the wind and snow. That was something. At some point John had moved in front of her, using his larger body to break the trail, and that was helping, too. She thought about asking him how *he* knew which way to go, but decided against it. She remembered how quickly he'd gone into denial over the vision they'd had of Luke's death. They couldn't afford for him to shut down now. At length the ground began to rise. Another couple of minutes, and there was no longer any doubt: they were climbing a hill. Could it be the same hill? The one she'd "seen" back at the car? That seemed too much to hope for -- but again, it felt right. This *had* to be the place. She brushed her hair back and peered ahead into the gloom -- And the darkness was abruptly banished by an intense, white light, coming from somewhere ahead of them. Reyes gasped, then plunged ahead, drawing even with John as they clambered the last few yards to the crest of the hill, which now was visible, thanks to the light. The trees had become thinner, which made the climb easier, but it also allowed the bitterly cold wind and snow to assault them once again. She brushed the discomfort aside, promising herself that she'd deal with it later. Now, there was no time, no time. And finally they cleared the last of the trees and reached the top. They stood for a moment or two, looking down into the next valley. The light was much brighter, and now she could make out the source -- a pair of floodlights, mounted on the back of a dark, boxy-looking vehicle. A Jeep? She couldn't tell for sure from this distance, not through the windblown snow. There were shadowy figures moving around down there. Reyes squinted against the light, trying to make them out. Most were clustered around the floodlights, and for a few seconds that's all she could see. But then she spotted two more, moving slowly down the slope towards the light. Tara and William -- logic told her that's who it had to be, and her inner sense agreed. Without further hesitation, she drew her weapon and started running after them, and John was matching her stride for stride. They were going to be too late. She could tell after they'd run less than a dozen steps. Tara and whoever was with her were already three fourths of the way down, and as the ground leveled off they were only going to make better time. Meanwhile, Reyes and John were having trouble finding their footing, as the hillside was uneven and rocky, and slippery with snow, besides. They were going to have to slow down; they were going to have to be careful -- Even as she thought the words, her feet went out from under her, and Reyes found herself tumbling and rolling down the hill. Her weapon went flying as she bounced along like a rag doll, never touching down long enough to try to work herself into a controlled fall. At last, dazed and bruised, she skidded to a halt. "Monica! Monica!" "O-over here," she managed, her voice shaky. She was lying on her stomach, one hand trapped underneath her. Carefully, she pushed herself onto her side, and then into a sitting position. A shadow loomed up out of the snow, and then was crouching down next to her. John. "Are you okay?" "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." She shook her head to clear it, then struggled to her feet, brushing herself off and refusing his offer of assistance. "I'm fine," she repeated, turning towards the light once again. "We've got to hurry --" The vehicle with the floodlights suddenly erupted in a huge gout of flame. The earth shook, and Reyes had only the briefest glimpse of human figures bursting into fire. Then John tackled her, knocking her to the ground and covering her body with his own. -x-x-x-x-x-x- CONTINUED IN BOOK ONE, CHAPTER FOUR