Title: Twilight’s End
Author: diehard
Rating: R/NC-17 for language and sexuality.
Classification: WIP, MSR, Alternate Universe, Post Truth. Follow up to Day Tripping.
Spoilers: Takes place directly where Day Tripping left off.
Keywords: Seek and ye shall find.
Summary: Underground, Mulder and Scully attempt to find a way to launch an offensive.
beta by the lovely sallie
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Chapter 6
Slid onto the table, the mescal sits in front of them, untouched. The mood’s been shattered by the question that hangs above them like a sword.
“What about our son?” Scully asks.
“With Agent Mulder abducted, we monitored your activities more closely, soon learning of your pregnancy. One of our operatives accessed your medical records, and discovered the involvement of a Dr. Parenti, a specialist in alien/ human hybrids. We immediately infiltrated his lab and learned that you and Agent Mulder were going to have a son, one with a completely unique DNA profile.”
The two of them glance at each other, acknowledging the confirmation. Mulder’s throat is burning, out of the corner of his eye he catches Scully welling up.
“Your child’s genetic profile showed a tremendous potential for telepathy, telekinesis. He could, in fact, act as a conduit for alien consciousness. Parenti’s notes confirmed this and suggested he could be an ideal tool for use in colonization.”
“Tool!” Scully spits out the word. “Our boy is not a ‘tool,’ Smith.”
Mulder’s hand brushes away the single tear on her cheek; feeling her shudder beneath his fingertips. Scully pulls herself taut and squares her shoulders, grateful her voice does not betray her.
“Your son would be used the way our enemies have tried for millennia to use the holiest amongst us.”
“Get to the fucking point, Smith.” Mulder’s voice barely rises above a whisper. He’s shaking too, not with grief like Scully, but with barely contained rage.
“Our ranks have been decimated, Agent Mulder, specifically our leaders–all executed for treason. The only reason we have not been exterminated en masse is that the colonists still use us to treat abductees. Our enemies have a particular interest in the most sacred amongst us, those who’ve received visions and prophecies throughout the millennia. The revelations happen randomly, without any discernible pattern. There is no known genetic cause, no link to specific physical traits….”
Smith pauses momentarily; when he speaks again each word is carefully emphasized for maximum effect.
“Your son is different, his potential obvious, rooted in his biology. Given the right behavioral inhibitors, he could be the way to control millions. Consortium members seized the information we’d stolen from Parenti’s files and returned it, killing our operative before it could be hidden or destroyed…. A faction within the Consortium acted on this information immediately, despite scattered reports that Spender was seriously ill or possibly dead. We knew that Agent Scully and your unborn child were in significant danger…”
“Let me guess, Smith,” Mulder cuts in, his voice dripping venom. “You can’t risk revealing yourselves, so you decide to wait until she gives birth, watching from the shadows, knowing the danger they faced. Too bad they weren’t killed, it would have made everything easier.” Scully knows he’s at the edge, and it’s her touch, her warm hand cupping the back of his neck that brings him back from the point of no return.
“I know our methods are difficult for you to accept. Your lives, as is all human life, is sacred to us–you must believe that. We had to make difficult choices, based on necessity, on survival. Please believe me. Work was begun immediately on a plan to help your son, to end the threat to him, to all of us. Unbeknownst to our enemies, we broke into Parenti’s lab a second time and retrieved a fetal tissue sample. We manufactured a serum–specific to the boy’s physiology, to be administered before his immune system was fully functional, eradicating any risk.”
Smith’s voice is eerily calm, despite a clatter of noise in the far distance that slowly grows in its intensity. After some static and patch of dead air, he rushes the rest, words clipped, his voice thinning with fear. “There’s not much time left. We’ve located an emissary to deliver the serum, someone you can trust, someone known to you. He will do whatever’s necessary to ensure your son’s safety.”
Suddenly, there’s another voice yelling in the background, “Hurry, they’re coming! Finish it and I’ll get the units to Montoya.”
Now Smith’s yelling over an escalating din, a whir of metal against metal. “One of our holy men had a vision…we know you will not be able to keep your son.” The noise reaches a crescendo, almost drowning out the last thing Jeremiah Smith will ever say.
“Read my log…it’s the last thing I can do for you.”
The other voice is yelling now, “Give it to me! I’ve got the portal open…” Then hissing, a roar of metal, then nothing.
A minute later, symbols appear, glimmering blue words decrypt and Smith’s log appears bearing his last gift. It’s tersely worded, but as the two of them read and re-read the brief entry they’re stunned by what they see. If all went according to plan, by now anything connecting them to their son will have all been destroyed. All that’s exists is a birth certificate for a William Van DeCamp, one of hundreds of babies born that day, completely untraceable. The sunlight’s fading, shadows growing around them. They’ve come to the end, they’ve seen it all, all heard it all.
“Let’s get some air.” Mulder’s pushes away from the table and is on his feet. Gingerly, he pulls the string on the one bare lightbulb overhead.
“We have to talk.” Scully gives the command to destroy everything except the formula for the vaccine and the distribution plans, turns to him, deliberately holding his gaze.
“I know,” he says quietly. After giving the order to shut down the unit, he holds out his hand and waits for her to rise from her chair. Helping her to her feet, he wants to be able to say something, but anything coming to mind seems facile, useless in the face of today’s discoveries.
They pick up their duffels from the floor and deposit them on the bed. Digging out their denim jackets, the silence hangs between them as they slip on the extra layer of clothing. Mulder’s first, easing the door open and stepping out of Montoya’s cabin with Scully right behind. She leaves it cracked enough so that a sliver of yellowish light guides them down the barely usable porch. There’s the faint cry of hawks in the distance, the smell of pines nearby and dirt underneath their feet as they head for the obelisk they saw when they first drove up this morning. The only other sound is their footfalls crunching across the sparse patches of grass and gravel as they make their way. A few feet away from the granite marker they stake a claim on a spot, gazing up at the night sky. The glow of ancient stars casts enough light to outline shapes and edges of the dark landscape surrounding them. Mountains rise in the distance, rimmed by a scattered outcropping of trees, silent witnesses to the beginning and end of all things.
Twilight’s eroded away; the last faint traces of purple nothing more than a memory. Blue-black sky stretches above them, a dark canopy punctured with starlight. There is a kind of awe shared between them, one tinged with relief, with grief, always grief, and finally, a faint glimmer of peace.
“Safe,” she murmurs. “Can we really believe that?”
“I think we have to, Scully. What’s our alternative?”
Scully takes slow deep breaths, first one, then another, letting the cold mountain air fill her lungs. She relishes the sting, the sensation of something simple, straightforward and clean. The wind’s kicking up, blowing back her hair, and she welcomes the sharp chill against her face. Mulder’s wraps his arms around her and pulls her close. For once, he wants only the tangible, for once he wants to be anchored in the knowable. And what he knows more than anything is that Scully is his one immutable truth. Pressing her against his chest, together they keep looking toward heaven, taking comfort in the vastness of night, its secrets and its release.
William is safe.
They allow themselves the luxury of watching night’s unfolding. It’s moonless, the few clouds left at twilight’s end have dissolved and faded, leaving a riot of stars. Mulder points out the constellations and Scully argues with him about Cassiopeia, while they both let the enormity of today sink in.
Unfortunately, the end of the world’s still looming large, and the necessity of what to do next invades this temporary refuge of theirs. It isn’t long before he feels her tense in his arms, feels his own pulse begin to race.
“I can’t do it,” Scully whispers, “I can’t bury you again.”
The raw devastation in her voice stuns him. Struggling to make sense of what he just heard, his mind’s racing. Plan Alpha is the only real choice, despite what may happen to him. The other risks too many lives, the chance for survival itself. But maybe it’s all finally crashing down around her, maybe Scully has hit her own wall, she’d never quit fighting, but maybe asking her to risk losing the only thing she has left is too much, to spend a life running and hiding is more than she can bear. He knows it’s wrong, he knows he’ll feel guilty for however long he lives afterward, but he’ll do what she wants, he has to. They’ll build a base camp, they’ll try to make it work.
But he’s got to know for sure, she has to say it, has to tell him.
Hands now on her shoulders, he turns her around so they’re face to face. “What do you mean?” He knows she can see the pain and disbelief in his face, but he can’t hide it.
There’s something deep and unreadable in her eyes, then a decade of loss, death, and love washes over her features. Love and fierceness so strong it makes his heart clench in his chest, grips him to the core. His equal, his other half, he will never doubt her again.
“Tomorrow morning, you and I are going to take that serum, and you, Mulder, will not die. Understand me?”
“Is that a dare, Scully?” The starlight glints in his eyes, and there’s the same luminescence dancing in hers.
“No, it’s an order.”
Hanging his head in mock defeat, he decides to milk it for all it’s worth with huge sigh and shrug of his shoulders, “You’re taking all the fun out of this, Scully. Looks like it’s all settled then. Can I at least interest you in having that drink now, Outlaw?”
“For starters.”
He starts to say something, but she’s already started for Montoya’s shack, yelling over her shoulder, “Still keep you guessing?”
“Everyday, Scully,” he shouts back, loping toward her until they’re side by side. “Everyday.”