Title: "Arizona Starlight", Part 2 of 3
Author: Scully82 (Anne Elizabeth)
Rating: PG
Classification: Romance/Angst
Spoilers: "Christmas Carol/Emily," 
"Closure," and the William mytharc of 
Seasons 8 & 9. This story contains no 
spoilers for The X-Files: I Want to 
Believe, and is instead, an alternate 
version of events in Mulder's and 
Scully's lives between the end of 
season 9 and the present.
Summary: Six years after their escape 
and still on the run, Mulder and Scully 
find hope and a reason to believe. 
Disclaimer: These characters do not 
belong to me. They are the creations, 
and therefore the property, of Chris 
Carter, Fox, Gillian Anderson, 
David Duchovny, et al.

***

Three hours after they receive the 
phone call, there is a knock on the 
motel room door, soft, but insistent. 
Scully panics.

"They said nine hours," she whispers.

Mulder walks slowly toward the door and 
peeps through the eyehole, refusing to 
submit to the feeling of dread in the 
pit of his stomach. Through the door, 
they hear a familiar, anxious voice.

"It's alright. I'm not one of them. I 
know you are frightened, but I am here 
to help you. They don't know where I 
am, and they won't find you." 

Gibson. Gibson Praise.

Scully rushes to the door and slides 
the chain from its groove, her maternal 
instinct kicking in.

"Wait," Mulder says, placing a hand 
over the doorknob, protectively, a 
gesture he realizes is futile if they 
are, indeed, faced with a super 
soldier. 

Mulder pauses, then speaks: "What am I 
thinking, Gibson? What am I thinking 
right now?"

"A lot of things. Do you want me to say 
all of them?"

"Go ahead, Gibson. It's okay."

"You were worried, a minute ago, that I 
was a super soldier, but you're not 
afraid anymore. Now, you're trying to 
think about something that will make me 
laugh: baseball. You're telling me 
you'll give me your New York Knicks t-
shirt if you challenge me to a match of 
telepathic chess, and I win. But what 
you're really thinking about is your 
son, William. And that's why I'm here."

Mulder relaxes his grip on the door 
handle, and Scully clicks the dead bolt 
to the left, unlocking the door. Gibson 
walks in, and they do a double-take: he 
is as tall as Mulder, now.

"I am twenty-one, you know," he says.

"It's so nice to see you, Gibson," 
Scully says, embracing him, "Mulder and 
I have thought about you so often."

"I know. And I have thought about you: 
thought along with you, even when I 
haven't wanted to."

"We're so sorry, Gibson," Scully says, 
quietly.

Mulder cuts to the chase: "Our son, 
William, is he all right?"

"He is in danger." Scully's eyes fill 
with tears and her knees feel weak 
beneath her. Mulder wraps an arm around 
her shoulders to steady her.

"But they don't know where he is. Not 
right now. They killed the parents who 
raised him. They tried to kill him, 
because they are still not convinced 
that he isn't what they thought he was, 
but I stopped them. I took him away, 
before they could reach him."

Scully's tears overflow, "Oh, Gibson."

"Why don't you sit down," Mulder says, 
clearing a spot on the bed, "And tell 
us what you know."

"There's no time," Gibson says, "You 
have to come with me." Mulder and 
Scully exchange worried glances, then 
follow Gibson as he darts out the door. 
In the parking lot, directly in front 
of their motel room, is an unmarked van 
with darkened windows. 

"Get in. Now." Gibson says, and they 
obey. The van speeds off before Mulder 
and Scully have time to take in the 
identity of the driver and two 
additional passengers. 

"Byers? Langley? Frohike?" Mulder says, 
incredulous. "I want to believe, but. . 
. but you're dead and. . . and buried."

"We have been underground, it's true," 
Byers, the driver, remarks.

"But dead? Not by a long shot," Frohike 
says.

Scully remains speechless, stunned, but 
Mulder probes further: "But I saw you. 
I saw you in the desert, six years 
ago."

"Well, we couldn't have been dead if 
you saw us, could we," Byers queries.

"Yeah, except he sees dead people," 
Langley points out, and the three erupt 
in laughter.

"But you're really, truly not. . ." 
Mulder continues.

"Deceased? No way. Sorry to disappoint 
you," Langley answers. "We've been deep 
underground, like Byers told you. We 
had some. . . information. . . six 
years ago that we thought it was better 
they didn't know we knew. So, we faked 
our own deaths."

"We've been hiding out in the desert," 
Frohike adds, "Well, Langley and I 
have. Byers has been elsewhere."

"Up in Wyoming," Byers chimes in, 
"Keeping an eye on your son."

Scully speaks, finally: "I don't 
believe this."

"Believe," Langley commands, with a 
shrug of his shoulders.

"Where are we going? Where are you 
taking us?" Scully asks, then, 
panicked, she adds: "Are you taking us 
to William? To my mother? To Skinner? 
Are they safe?"

"That's the desired outcome of this 
mission: safety for everyone involved," 
Byers says. 

"And yeah, we're taking you to them. 
We're meeting up with their helicopter 
in western Kansas. We've just sent word 
to Skinner through secret channels. 
Very secret channels," Frohike 
explains.

"Guess who," Langley challenges Mulder.

"I couldn't even begin to imagine," 
Scully answers.

"Marita. Marita Covurrubias," Mulder 
answers.

"Geez, he's as psychic as you are," 
Langley says, giving Gibson a friendly 
nudge. 

"We're traveling in the daytime," 
Scully remarks, struggling not to allow 
her fear to betray her, "Is this safe?"

Frohike answers: "Well, I don't know 
about yours, but my mom always said the 
bad guys come out at night."

"I NEED SOMEONE TO BE SERIOUS, HERE!" 
Scully finally says, no longer fighting 
back the desperation and terror:
"THIS IS MY SON'S LIFE WE'RE TALKING 
ABOUT; MY MOTHER'S LIFE; ALL OF OUR 
LIVES!"

This time, it is Gibson who answers: 
"They, the super soldiers, know that 
Mrs. Scully and Skinner are headed to 
Arizona with William. They do not know 
that they are stopping in Kansas, 
instead. And they have no idea where 
you are, Ms. Scully, Mr. Mulder: they 
think that you have given up."

Mulder grimaces at the suggestion that 
he has given up on the X-Files, on his 
son.

"His. . . parents," Scully asks, 
quietly, "When were they killed?"

"Two days ago," Gibson answers. "They 
were vacationing in Arizona: at the 
Grand Canyon." Scully gasps, realizing 
how closely their paths had come to 
crossing. 

"What happened," she asks, although she 
doesn't want to know; doesn't want to 
feel William's pain along with her own.

"They were hiking," Byers answers, 
"fully enjoying the trip, the views. It 
was really a beautiful last family 
vacation, if that's what it had to be." 
Scully winces.

"They managed to track them down," 
Byers continues, "The super soldiers, 
the alien assassins. They were just too 
close. . . there was too much 
extraterrestrial activity in the area. 
They detected him. . . the part of him 
that is still like them."

"But there IS no part of him that is 
like them" Scully protests, her voice 
raising an entire octave, "Jeffrey 
Spender saw to that: he injected him 
with that metal; he made him fully 
human! He isn't special to them, 
anymore! I'm not sure he ever was: they 
left him; they went away right after he 
was born; right after they came to take 
him. He's just a little boy! He's just 
my little boy, dammit!"

"It's okay, Scully, it's okay," Mulder 
whispers, pulling her into a gentle 
embrace. "Byers, Langley, and Frohike 
have got our backs. And Gibson."

"He is just a little boy, Ms. Scully," 
Gibson says, sounding more like the 
ten-year-old version of himself that 
Scully and Mulder remember. "He is 
fully human; he is just like you, down 
to the chip in his neck."

Scully cannot speak: she feels her 
throat close up. Mulder is her voice:
"He's an abductee?" He asks, quietly.

"They have tried to make him. . . what 
he was; what they wanted him to be," 
Gibson explains, "But they have failed, 
even after hundreds of tests."

In her mind, Scully hears it again, 
Emily's voice, innocent and pleading: 
"Mommy said no more tests." 

She closes her eyes tight to shut out 
the noise, the pain.

"And now, because they have failed, 
they want him dead," Mulder says 
grimly, connecting the dots. 

"Yes," Byers says, slowly, "But that is 
exactly what we are trying to prevent."

"Gibson has a special connection with 
the boy, because of the tests; because 
of the special powers that he and 
William once shared," Frohike says.

"And so you were able to find him and 
stop them?" Scully asks Gibson, her 
gratitude concentrated, overwhelming.

"They assassinated his parents. Killed 
them instantly. But I managed to divert 
them: to lead them, after me, to a part 
of the canyon rich in iron deposits, 
rich in the kind of metal that destroys 
them."

Scully doesn't want to ask, but she 
needs to know: "Did he see them, 
Gibson? Did he see his parents die, and 
the. . . the super soldiers?"

Gibson pauses before answering. "I'll 
let him tell you about all of that, 
Agent Scully."

"The important thing," Byers says, "Is 
that Gibson got him out of there, 
before any more of them could show up. 
They got out of Arizona, and Gibson 
found me, and we transferred William to 
the care of Walter Skinner and your 
mother. They have taken a big risk in 
contacting you, but Gibson does believe 
that you two are off the alien 
conspirators' radar, for now, at least, 
and perhaps the boy will be safer away 
from Washington."

"For now," Gibson echoes, "But we have 
to be careful: you are never, any of 
you, out of danger."

"I just want to see my son. I need to 
see him," Scully says, her voice an 
impassioned whisper.

***

They drive for hours, Scully even 
managing to fall asleep, briefly, her 
head on Mulder's shoulder. Then, just 
as night falls, they are in Kansas, in 
the middle of a vast field, underneath 
an endless, starry sky.

They stand, perfectly still, beside the 
Lone Gunmen's getaway van: Frohike, 
Langley, Byers, Gibson, Mulder, Scully. 
They wait until the bright lights of 
the helicopter approach them, until the 
breezes created by its descent nearly 
topple them. Then, they run. 

Mulder and Scully run to the 
helicopter: they run like they have 
never before run in their lives, not 
even from a monster or a killer or a 
super soldier; not even to each other 
in times of great danger. They run to 
meet their son.

He steps to the ground slowly, behind 
Skinner, behind Scully's mother. The 
landing lights are blinding, and 
Margaret Scully shields her grandson's 
eyes from the glare with one hand, 
holding his small hand in the other.

"Dana," she breathes, her voice full of 
emotion for the daughter she has not 
seen in six years; for the child who is 
about to meet her own child for the 
first time since he was an infant.

It is Mulder he looks at first, once 
the helicopter lights fade into the 
darkness, and the moon and stars are 
the only source of illumination. It is 
Mulder he recognizes, because it is 
Mulder's dark hair; his strong jaw; his 
wide lower lip; his deep-set hazel eyes 
that he sees every morning in the 
mirror when he brushes his teeth before 
he goes to school.

Mulder kneels down in front of his son, 
trying his hardest not to cry, not to 
overwhelm this child who has just seen 
so much. He looks into William's eyes, 
asks him if he knows who he is.

William, in a tiny voice, answers, 
simply, "Yes."

Scully, standing behind Mulder, now 
moves to kneel on the ground beside 
him. She tries to restrain herself, to 
remain neutral, to be a calm, 
reassuring adult figure and not, right 
away, a mother, but she fails. She 
pulls the little boy into her arms, 
holding him, feeling the weight of his 
thin torso, the texture of his thick, 
brown hair. 

He resists her embrace for a short 
moment, then relaxes into her arms, 
laying his little head on her shoulder. 
He knows her.

Mulder looks up at the sky, at the 
stars shining down on the two people he 
loves most in the world, and he sends 
his deepest thanks, his inestimable 
gratitude, telepathically, up to the 
souls in the starlight.