Redemption (9/26)        
by GeorgeHale

Rating: R
Feedback:

Classification: Colonization/Mythology/MSR/William, post
I.W.T.B. Canon.
Spoilers: Left, right, & center. This is best served if you
REALLY know your X-Files.

Disclaimer: I wish I made this. This has been my catharsis, five
years in the making. Maybe it can be one for you, too.

Warning: Violence, Gratuitous employment of the 'Our little
sailor' clause (swearing,) Fluff with two 'f's, Cheesy dialogue,
Friendly Ghosts, Melodramatics, Plot devices, Fiji Mermen (no,
not really,) Angst, Blasphemy, Dehydration via crying,
Scientific Whammies, Plams, Lots & Lots & Lots of...Bees,
Magical Growing Scully Cross Chain, Red Herrings. It's going
to get strange and ugly before the end.

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IX		
		
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"In the desert

I saw a creature, naked, bestial,

Who, squatting upon the ground,

Held his heart in his hands,

And ate of it.

I said, 'Is it good, friend?'

'It is bitter-bitter,' he answered;

'But I like it

Because it is bitter,

And because it is my heart.'

- Stephen Crane, III

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It was the sun that Scully missed most of all as she worked with
Dr. Threadgoode in the lab on a solution to William's temporal
lobe anomaly. They had been working for two weeks solid and
had produced a few remote theories, but nothing reliably
concrete. So much was conjecture and their knowledge of the
brain primitive compared to the level of understanding she
required. She had never been able to procure files on Gibson or
Mulder's similar brain events and the doctors that had worked
on both of them were in all likelihood dead. They had been
butchers anyway, and probably had little knowledge beyond
what she herself or Threadgoode possessed. Still the tension
grew as they watched William's condition gradually deteriorate
and Scully found herself working all hours on the research they
were attempting. She needed resources they didn't have.

Mulder worried for them both and tried to comfort her each time
she allowed herself a few hours of rest, crying herself to sleep or
collapsing from exhaustion. Other times she sat still and
motionless, numb, thinking, and these times worried him even
more as he felt her distress. His helplessness in the situation had
driven him to despair, but he did his best to bury it deep and stay
strong. He had shed tears before Scully once over their son's
condition once, blaming himself in a moment of weakness, but
reformed his resolve once he realized the crippling effect it had
on her morale. While he shared everything with Dana, this was
one experience that threatened to overwhelm them both and he
couldn't bear to add to her grief with his own or see her spirit
broken. Nightmares plagued them both.

William slept little now and occupied his extended waking
hours reading anything Mulder or anyone else brought him. He
had attended school all of four days before his body had begun
to fail him again as his brain defied medication. It took
everything in his power to concentrate on the book he was
reading and turn the pages, but it allowed him to focus on
something other than the voices he heard so loudly now. The
voices threatened to overwhelm his own thoughts and it made
him want to scream. He cried sometimes, but never when
anyone was near. He intimately understood the affect his illness
was having on his newfound guardians, and he felt embarrassed
to be a source of guilt and such a burden on them. He knew they
cared for him and loved him, but they could not stop the voices
or the pain.

The sense of impending death loomed over him again as he
found it more and more difficult to commit the most basic
functions. It filled him with a rage he could not comprehend, his
perceived injustice for why he had been singled out for such
misery and pain. It wasn't fair. He was too young to die, just a
boy. A Wyoming rancher's son transplanted to Virginia at that,
who suffered bad headaches now and then, but nothing the
doctors at the neurological center had not been able to treat.
How could this really be happening to him, and wasn't it really a
dream he would wake up from surrounded by his family, safe in
his bed at home?

While Mulder & Scully had attempted to bolster his spirits, their
obvious feelings of anguish wreaked havoc on him when they
were near and William withdrew from everyone. The only one
he could stand to be near was Gibson who helped filter the
voices and understood what he was dealing with. Gibson had no
voice and he made some of the other voices go away. The last
weeks had bonded their friendship between the strange but
kindred spirits and William had come to trust him like a brother
he had never had. Gibson had come to enjoy William's company
as well but appeared more pale and gaunt than ever. It seemed
the two shared their prognosis among other things.

Gibson broke it to William as gently as he could; worried the
boy was growing too attached to him.

"I'm dying, Will. And not because of my brain, but because of
what was done to my brain a long time ago. Bad men from the
government operated on me and took a part of my brain out.
Mulder and Scully saved me, but it was an important part of the
brain that helps regulate hormones, so my body can't do that
now. It's why I look like this, and it's killing me."

"Doesn't anybody know? Can't anyone do anything to help
you?" William was devastated by the news and he struggled to
slur the words beyond his uncooperative lips. Gibson was his
friend and a valued confidante. Why did everyone he grew close
to wind up dead or dying?

"Dr. Threadgoode knows, but he could only help me so much. I
would probably already be gone if it weren't for him. Your Mom
wanted to help me too, but she doesn't know anything more than
he does. There's still too much about the brain that's not
understood, especially ones like yours and mine. I asked them
not to tell anyone else, because I don't want anyone to pity me,
but I know a few people suspect what's happening."

William frowned, unsure what to say. He stared at his friend,
broken-hearted.

"I'm getting weaker and weaker Will, every time I wake up. I
can feel myself slipping and I'm not sure how much longer I'll
be around. There's a lot I need to tell you and you need to listen
closely." He leaned closer for emphasis, needing desperately to
impart his point. "You're a special kid, Will, more than you
know or can comprehend. Everything these people are trying to
do - it can't succeed without you. Do what they need you to do
to help them, even if it means risking your life. You've got to
fight for our planet, our right to live on it, and our right to live as
free men, not slaves...It's a noble cause, one your parents are all
the other people here are prepared to sacrifice their lives for.
Your banner must be that of humanity. You can't be a child
anymore...accept who you are and embrace it. Don't wallow in
pity or ego-gratification about your self-importance, but
consider yourself unique and fortunate that you are the person
who can affect the outcome of this war."

Gibson saw William was confused by what he was saying so he
reached out and grabbed his hand. The boy was still too young
and immature to understand let alone shoulder such a burden.

"High demands are never levied on those who cannot bear them.
If you survive it all and I know you, Will, the reward will be
worth it."

William wasn't sure what to say. Gibson couldn't really be dying
and nothing he was saying could really be true. It was crazy. He
wanted to grip Gibson's hand but his twitched in response and
lay useless by his side.

"You're going to get better Will, and once I'm gone the Overseer
will ask you to serve as my replacement as Watchman."

*'Watchman?'*

"Eyes and ears in here. Keeping the pulse. Discovering anyone
who is doing things they should not be. I know you don't believe
me now, but you're going to find out."

*'He's going to ask me to spy?'*

"I never thought of it like that - think that you're helping
everyone by keeping people honest, serving like a justice of the
peace. I'm telling you this so you can be ready, Will. It should
not have happened yet; you're still too young to take on the
responsibility...but I'm not going to be around to help you until
you're ready. Do not question it, even though you will. Don't
think too much, it will save your life. Process and react. You
have the ability already. You were born with it and once your
brain sorts itself out, you'll be able to focus it. Think about what
I've said a while and I'll stop in later again to see you. We can
talk more then."

Gibson said a silent a goodbye and left to lay down a while,
fatigued, leaving Will to process everything he had said. The
boy would have given a lot in that moment just to be able to curl
around his pillow.

Could things really get any worse?

     
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*As he fell into oblivion, the world turned black and white.
Standing on the beach, he saw that he had just finished
destroying the first sand mound with the others who had come
to help them. Smiling, the others congratulated each other as
William found himself distracted by the ocean. Seeing the other
sand mounds from the corner of his eye, he didn't understand
why they weren't more concerned. They couldn't see what he
could, the large dark mass beneath the waves. What was buried
and why couldn't he understand what it was?*

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Mulder was drunk. Again. He had spent a lot of time in that
condition lately, and though he hid it from William and from
Scully, his hours at "work" were mostly spent sobbing to
Skinner or the Gunmen with a bottle of Frohike's reserve in
hand. His part in the "plan" had yet to come, the operation had
been set in motion, and even sober, there would have been little
to do but wait. Wait and watch helplessly as his son lay dying
and his other half self-destructed trying to find a cure to save
him. Driving his self-loathing even further, Scully had informed
him that morning that their supply of Phenytoin was quickly
running out. He had no idea what to do, how to help, and guilt
wracked him. It wasn't something they could just produce
themselves.

Frohike, sitting across from him on an overturned box in the
Gunmen's lair, gently took the bottle from his hand. Mulder
didn't seem to notice. "This is all my fault...Look what I've
done to them." Frohike wasn't sure if Mulder had been
addressing him or the wall.

"I think you've had enough, Mulder. Look, you've got to stop
doing this. Quit feeling sorry for yourself. Dana wouldn't be
alive if it weren't for you, and neither would William for that
matter. Stop thinking that everything is on you."

"I'm cursed, Melvin. We're both cursed. By the darkness...I'm
such a sorry son-of-a-bitch. I should have never said yes, but
how could I say no?"

Frohike stood up, frustrated. "What the hell are you talking
about, Mulder? Scully would kick your ass right now if she saw
you like this. Maybe I should kick your ass." Frohike had no
idea what Mulder was babbling about at this point but was ready
to make good on the threat. Byers and Langly shared worried
glances with each other across the room, arms crossed.

Langly cleared his throat. "Tell him, Doohickey."

"Shut up."

Langly jutted his chin forward after Frohike leveled him with a
glare over his shoulder. Mulder lifted his head from where he
had been resting it between his knees. "Tell me what?"

"Shit. Way to go, Goldilocks. He actually heard you."

"Just give it up. It will make him fe-," The door intercom buzzer
sounded. Byers moved to the monitor and allowed the visitor to
enter.

Skinner grimaced once he saw how intoxicated Mulder was. He
came over to stand in front of his old friend, frowning as he
evaluated his state. "Jesus, Mulder, pick yourself up. You look
like shit...Look at me."

Lifting his head slowly and deliberately, Mulder glared at
Skinner.

"Does the name Jeremiah Smith ring a bell for you? It should."

"Yeah," Mulder rubbed his temples, knowing he was in for a
hell of a hangover, unsure how well he was speaking. "He, uh 
disappeared a long time ago. He was an alien who..."

"With a peculiar gift for healing," Skinner finished for him,
cutting him short. "He's resurfaced with another group of
survivors two hundred klicks from here and he's willing to come
here to help William and Gibson. *But* he won't come unless
we can get him here and keep him alive. So pick yourself up,
sober up, and pack your gear. You are I are leaving come
nightfall."

The look of surprise that crossed Mulder's face was beyond
expression. "There's no way that can be true. He's been missing
for over a decade."

"How did you find him? We had all thought he was dead."
Byers was shocked.

"I didn't find him, he found us. I received a communication from
the group he's staying with just before I came here. Don't ask me
to explain it, because I can't. I just know it's a risk I think we
need to take. If these things need heat, if they're like reptiles,
between the blizzard yesterday and traveling by night, it might
not be as suicidal as it sounds."

Mulder lifted his hand and allowed Skinner to help him to his
feet. "Thanks...I'm sorry I'm like this. I'll get ready."

"Meet me at the armory as soon as you're ready. We don't have
much time to plan this out." Skinner nodded and left to make
preparations. Mulder turned to the door. "Help me, fellas?"

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Frohike and Langly were helping Mulder gather gear into a
backpack when Scully entered their rooms, bleary-eyed and
pale. Her exhaustion dampened her emotional response to the
scene before her, though she assumed the worse. "You're
leaving us?"

"No. Never." Mulder stood up from where he had been sitting
packing the bag, and his head throbbed in warning. He slid the
bag slowly over his shoulders to adjust the straps and weight.
"Jeremiah Smith, the healer. Skinner was contacted by a group
claiming he's staying with them. We're going to go for him
tonight and bring him here to heal William and Gibson and
anyone else he's willing to help."

Scully had difficulty remembering many of the obscure
references Mulder made to their days on the X-Files, but Smith's
name was one she could hardly forget. Her heart raced with
hope as she recalled his amazing ability to heal people but she
dreaded the prospect of Mulder leaving the safety of the bunker
with Skinner. The bunker that wasn't supposed to reopen for six
months. "When were you planning on informing me about this?"

Sensing the escalating tension in the room, Langly and Frohike
excused themselves under the pretense of obtaining some
rations for Mulder's trip. It was obvious the last few weeks had
taken its toll on their old friends and that they needed to hash
things out.

Alone in the room together, Mulder continued packing the bag
as Scully regarded him with silence, considering her thoughts.

"Skinner just talked to me. I know everything you're going to
say already Dana, but if there's even a small chance it's him and
he can help William and Gibson, I have to go. You know that
already, and even if you decide to argue with me, I know you'll
agree."

Scully sighed with exhaustion and defeat, wanting him both to
go and not to go. "I won't argue with you about this. But I don't
think I'll manage if something happens to you. The thought of
you going alone makes me sick. You have no idea what you're
going to encounter out there."

"But we know what will happen *in here* if something can't be
done soon."

Scully frowned as tears formed, pushing the idea from her
thoughts. She couldn't bear to think about it. Mulder slid the bag
back off of his shoulders, sealing each area shut once he made
adjustments.

"How do you think you're going to be able to protect him,
Mulder? Do you remember what happened when you tried to
take him to heal your Mother?"

"Things were different then. I was different then. I can't stand
sitting here helplessly as you torture yourself trying to do
something to save him. What if this is our last best shot? Unless
you've had some miracle breakthrough in the last few hours, I
have to try."

Scully bit her lip and closed her eyes. *'This is not happening.'* 

A pager device attached to her hip interrupted her thoughts.
"What's that for?" Mulder gestured.

"It's Threadgoode."

With a shared look, they ran for the infirmary.

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Threadgoode gestured at William's bed as Mulder and Scully
entered the room quickly. "He's slipped back into a vegetative
state like before, but if it's as you described Mulder, he's
completely aware."

Before them, covered in sweat and wide-eyed, William stared
beyond them at the wall, propped up on several pillows.
Threadgoode resumed the process of attaching a feeding tube.

"When did he become unresponsive? I just left." Scully looked
over the monitors for a sign of change.

"Just as I paged you. I was in here working and Kevin noticed
him drift away."

"He was there reading, and he began gargling..."

Mulder left his hands come to rest on William's temples and
bent to kiss his forehead.

*'I'm going for someone who can heal you. Son, I love you.
Forgive me, Will.'* 

William showed no response, but Mulder felt him underneath.

"I'm going to meet Skinner..." Mulder reached for Scully's hand
and she met him as they embraced and briefly kissed. He pulled
away, reluctant to pass any more time before departing, but
Scully held tight to his hand. "Fox, wait." Quickly, she
unclasped the gold chain cross from around her neck and
fastened it around his, whispering in his ear. "I'm going to need
this back. I love you."

"Thanks for the loan." Bending, he quickly kissed her again and
looked into her eyes before pulling away. "Love you, Scully.
Always."

She watched him turn and set off for the armory, afraid she may
never see him again. Then she steeled herself and set to helping
Threadgoode.