"Mom, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Will. Really." Scully touched his arm. He was starting to sound more like Mulder every day. At eight, he is still a child, but that will all change so fast over the next few years, and the thought of that tugs at her in all directions.

Her head had been upon her pillow; eyes closed, when a small hand had slipped into her own. She'd given Will the slit-eye, and for half an hour or so, the charade had played out in the dark of her bedroom -- a small, but heeded mercy. She counts those like she used to count rosary beads in another life. She will never get used to the thought of leaving him and knows that he knows this, but in the dark, it is somehow easier. She could have slept like the dead, but the touch of his hand and the insistent note in his voice convinced her to get up, and they are now waiting at the top of the hill on a bench that was left behind after the bus stopped coming here nearly three years ago. She and Mulder had both been working locally at the time, so had never made the trek up the hill until after it was no longer a utilitarian spot. During that former time it had occupants more often than not, but now almost no one comes here, and it's a nice, quiet place to sit and dream. Scully doesn't dream, but she knows Will spends time here.

It is warm and the full moon has bathed the vista before them in a shimmery, delicate light. The fairies that her grandmother used to spin stories around were probably flitting in and out of the shadows. It has been years since she thought about Grandma Lacy, and for a moment she feels rather childlike. Then she stops; she must not allow the floodgate to the past open tonight. Mulder should be here soon, and she wants to reserve her strength for that, so instead she remembers the first time he had suggested that they come to this spot. It had been like back in high school. Well, almost. No one had ever kissed her that way in high school.

"Will, did you finish your eights?" They had spent a good part of the afternoon on multiplication tables and had mastered the sevens. Scully had to stop before they had spent much time on the eights, but Will is precocious in this area. He definitely has her aptitude for math.

"Uh-huh."

"Eight times nine?"

"Seventy-two."

"Eight times six?"

"Forty-eight."

"Eight times twelve?"

"Eighty-six."

"Eighty-six?"

"No -- ninety-six. I forgot to carry."

"That's right. Very good. Your dad will be proud."

Will put his hand in Scully's and they didn't say anything for a few minutes. Even when she is so tired, his mom is the prettiest mom around. When he walks into a darkened room, as he did tonight, he loves seeing her hair. In the blackest of rooms it will still reflect hidden particles of light.

"Soon, Mom."

Scully looked at his face in the moonlight. Its expression was half-wistful and half-commanding. She has noticed this more and more in recent days. He is taking care of her. She leans down and places a kiss on top of his head.

"Soon."

* * *

When he arrives, they're both asleep -- he's later than he thought he would be. There are many travelers tonight, and he must have been moving slower than he realized. He wants to hold them both, but will have to wait until they awaken. They are side by side, and Scully's head lays upon Will's lap. Will's cheek rests against her hair, and their breathing is synchronized. Mulder would like nothing better than to join them, but their sleep is not his. Instead, he crouches down and whispers a good night into Will's ear. Then he stands and fingers the vial in his pocket as the moon falls beneath the horizon.

~ End ~

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This story is (c) Copyright 2005 by Christine Leigh. "The X-Files" and its characters are the property of the Fox Network and Ten-Thirteen Productions and are borrowed here without profit or intent for profit.