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phantom weights chapter five

one, two, three, four

season 11, post my struggle iv. part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files.

Summary: In the wake of their second encounter, Mulder, Scully, and Jackson reconnect (both by accident and on purpose.)

note: warning up front for some angst, references to jackson and scully’s past, and the clusterfuck of a motherhood arc they gave scully. i’m also sorry to post this on mother’s day.

---

It hurt like hell to wake up and find their son gone that morning in July. Scully would be lying if she said it didn't. He'd had the courtesy to leave a note, at least, but it was brief and left little comfort. They'd both been shocked by the abruptness of it; when he'd seen the note, Mulder had recoiled from it like he'd been hit.

Scully tried not to let it bother her. Tried to tell herself she should expect things like this. Of course he was distant, she told herself; he had every right to be, considering what she had done. He needed space, and she was determined to give it to him. (They waited a week and a half to call him, nervous and shooting each other questioning looks. He didn't answer. They left a brief message, trying to sound cheerful and nonchalant. Mulder reached for her hand when they hung up, squeezing it reassuringly. She couldn't look him in the eye.)

She tried to distract herself. She checked more books out of the library. She researched a scientific article she'd wanted to write ever since her research into the so-called Spartan Virus that hopefully would never make an appearance. She read over the scraps of novel Mulder had written, scribbled notes in the margins. She took Daggoo for walks around the property, Mulder joining her as often as he could. They fell asleep on top of the comforter, Mulder holding her close. (He liked to whisper about the baby in her ear, his hand tangled in her hair. He thought the baby would look like her, just like you, Scully. He was going to love her so much.)

The days grew longer and hotter. They only called Jackson once every two weeks. They told each other that they could limit themselves to that.

Finally, somewhere in the middle of August, Mulder had the idea to take a vacation. Drive to the coast for a few days. "I think we could both use some time to relax," he said gently, coaxing.

"Isn't that what we've been doing?" Scully snapped. She was irritable and disliked that she was irritable, hating the mood swings of the third trimester. "Relaxing? Or trying to?"

"A change of scenery might help with that," said Mulder. "We won't be rattling around this house with reminders of Jackson, and the baby…"

"What if the baby comes while we're gone? What if I go into early labor? What then?" She was eight months along, and terrified of the baby coming prematurely. She didn't know what her chances were if she came this early.

"We could get a place near a hospital. And besides that, your due date is still several weeks out."

She was quiet. She could feel the baby turning over, moving restlessly, and she let her eyes slide shut. She'd been so worried the whole time, ever since she took those pregnancy tests—she was still worried. She worried nearly every day. She knew at the beginning of this all that it'd be hard to lose another baby, but she didn't realize how hard until she got to know her child. Felt her moving inside of her, and realized that it was all real.

(Not that she thought she was going to lose the baby. But it was a possibility that loomed over her like a black cloud, a possibility that frightened her more than anything. Losing Mulder or Jackson or her baby.)

But she realized as Mulder slipped his arms around her that she did want to go. It was impractical, but not necessarily dangerous, and she wanted to go. She hadn't taken a vacation with Mulder in so long. She thought of him by the ocean, on the island where they'd gone after he'd been exonerated. She thought of a few days away from home, not surrounded by reminders, as Mulder had said, that their son was a sporadic and reluctant presence in their life, and they were about to be new parents again at the age of retirement. She kept her eyes shut as Mulder kissed the back of her head. "Honey… if you don't want to…" he whispered into her hair. "It was just a thought, but I completely understand if it's too much…"

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. She opened her eyes and turned to look at him. He pushed her hair, growing gradually longer, away from her face with gentle fingers. She sniffled a little, giving him a stern look. "I want to be cautious," she said. "I want to plan things out, and be ready if there's an emergency."

"Of course, of course." He put a reassuring hand to her cheek. "Are you sure?" he said softly. "We don't have to go…"

"I want to go," she whispered. She leaned into him, her back aching, her eyes shutting again. "We need to be careful, but I want to go. I think you're right. I need this."

"What was that, Scully?" he teased in a soft voice. "I was what?"

She rolled her eyes. "C'mon, Mulder," she said, pulling back to look him in the eye. "You did promise me a vacation back in March, remember?" And he had, right around the time she'd moved back in.

"I did," he said, remembering. He cupped the side of her head, fingers in her hair, smoothing her cheek. "You'll be okay," he whispered. "The both of you. I promise you that."

---

Within the week, they were driving into Delaware. Mulder had found a little house on the coast that was miraculously for rent, which was within a couple hours of home and not far from a hospital. The best possible scenario. It was a nice house, a nice view, a sprawling screened-in porch that looked out over the ocean. Scully loved it on first sight. "Be nice to the owner," she told him sternly that first night, tucked into his side on the porch swing, listening to the crash of the waves. "If he likes us, he might let us come back in the future."

"Hmm," Mulder said, half asleep. "I'll bring you here every year if you want."

"I'm going to hold you to that," she whispered. She was imagining their baby (their daughter) on that beach, running in and out of the water, and halfway thinking it was a bad idea, but fully not wanting to stop. She watched the churning waves meld with the blackening sky.

The house had a huge bathtub, which may have been Scully's favorite part of the house. She and Mulder climbed in together, him behind her, lathering her hair with gentle fingers. He pressed his face into her wet neck and held her tight. She nearly fell asleep in his arms, the baby turning and flipping as if going for a swim. They left the window open so they could hear the ocean, feel the night breeze. It was perhaps the most relaxed she had felt in months. "This was a nice idea," she whispered, hoping desperately that nothing would go long, hoping that they could just stay here for a week and relax and that nothing would go wrong.

---

In the morning, Scully woke long before Mulder—the baby's restless movements kept her up more often than she liked. As the sun rose over the ocean, she slipped downstairs and took Daggoo out into the yard. He puttered around the square of grass, sniffing before peeing on a tree. Scully placed a hand over her stomach and gazed out towards the ocean. There was a nice breeze, cool for the middle of August, nudging at her hair, her face. She couldn't wait for Mulder to get up. She thought that she never wanted to leave here.

The waves crashed, the sound dim because of her distance from them. Behind her, Daggoo burst into frantic, excited barks. She heard a car engine, and turned around just time to see a car rolling up the gravelly driveway. Jackson's car. She knew before she saw him; she could feel him.

Daggoo whimpered, pawing at her leg. When the car door opened, he went running to meet him.

Scully smiled before she even realized she was doing it. Even though she and Mulder had come up to spend some time alone, she was incredibly happy to see him. Her son. "Hi, Jackson," she said.

Jackson cleared his throat, leaning down to greet Daggoo, scratch the top of his head. "Hi, Dana." Daggoo licked his hand, and he grinned a little. He scooped up the wriggling dog and cradled him like a baby. He met Scully's eyes skittishly, like a stray cat. "I, uh," he said, "was wondering if I could stay a couple days."

Scully didn't need to ask how he had found them. She already knew. She still had a hand on her stomach; she took it away in order to motion towards the door. "Come on in," she said.

---

Jackson hadn't intended to go back. He'd intended for the weekend at their house to be the last time, at least for a while. If not forever. He hadn't meant to come back, for their sakes as much as his own. He wanted the night they watched movies together to be the end of it. And he thought it probably would've been, if he hadn't run out of money.

The warehouse job had fired him. About a week ago, they'd fired him. He didn't really know why. Maybe it was his shitty attitude, maybe it was the weed he had in his car. Maybe they'd figured out that his name and age were fake. Who knew at this point. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know. But he'd lost one of his two jobs, and he was running out of money at a rapid pace. Spending recklessly. He was going to have to cut off some of the streaming services, and maybe the WiFi, if he didn't get smart. He was worried about food, worried about making rent and car insurance and all of it. (The warehouse paid substantially more than Burger King.) He didn't know what the hell he was going to do. Even after he'd had the insane idea to go on fucking vacation with them.

He'd sworn he wasn't going to do this anymore. But he was running out of money, and he knew they'd give it. And a few days at the beach was a few days he didn't have to pay for food, even with the heightened gas costs. (And besides that, he kind of wanted to stay somewhere besides his crummy apartment. Kind of wanted to spend a few goddamn days at the beach. He missed the coast. He wanted a break.)

He'd just stay a little while. Charm them out of some money. Give them one last good memory, and maybe not sneak out in the middle of the damn night this time. That was the idea. That was what drove him to Delaware, windows rolled down, following the road map he could see in Ginger's mind.

At least the dog was happy to see him, if nothing else. At least he had that.

(Not that he necessarily thought Dana wasn't happy to see him. But. He knew that she and Mulder had both been hurt when he'd run off in the middle of the night. He'd felt it, and he didn't like thinking about it. It made him feel small and tangled-up inside. It made him not want to come back.)

Inside the beach house, Scully immediately went to the kitchen, offering food. "Mulder's still asleep, but I can make you some breakfast…" she started.

"You don't need to cook," said Jackson. (He was feeling small and embarrassed and he didn't feel like he could ask for that. He could ask for a few hundred dollars, but he wouldn't ask her to make breakfast.) "I can feed myself."

"I don't mind," she said, scooping coffee grounds into the coffeemaker.

"Seriously, let me do it," he insisted, pushing past her towards the refrigerator. "I've already intruded on your vacation. Might as well make my own breakfast." He pulled a packet of bacon out of the fridge and slapped them on a paper towel, and then on a paper plate. He usually made bacon in the microwave because it was quick, and because he hated bending over the crackling pan and risking a grease burn.

"Help yourself to anything," Dana said gently, sinking into a chair at the kitchen table. "Coffee should be ready soon."

"Thank you." He stuck the bacon in the microwave with another slab of paper towel over top before going for the loaf of bread to make toast. He was still avoiding Scully's eyes as he popped slices of bread into the toaster.

Past the kitchen, he heard stairs creaking with footsteps. Daggoo yipped excitedly, prancing out of the kitchen to go and who was presumably Mulder. "Hello, mutt," Jackson heard Mulder say with a dry sort of affection. Scully gave a small chuckle. Jackson didn't turn around, his neck flushed and hot.

More footsteps, and then an abrupt stop in the doorway. A few awkward seconds passed before Mulder said, "Hey, Jackson. Wh-when did you get here?"

He cleared his throat, turning around and offering a sheepish smile. "Just a few minutes ago," he said. "Sorry to intrude." The microwave beeped loudly.

"It's not an intrusion," said Mulder, although he was shooting Scully a questioning look and trying to look like he wasn't. He offered Jackson a broad grin. "You're welcome any time."

"Of course you are," Dana added warmly, and Jackson could practically feel the combination of hope and nerves radiating off of both of them. Hoping that he'd come because he wanted to, and that he'd stay, nervous that he'd run off again. This was why he hadn't wanted to come. He gave a thankful nod, turned towards the microwave and pulled out his plate of bacon. It had nearly burned.

"There's an extra bedroom upstairs. You make yourself at home," Mulder said.

"Thank you, I will," Jackson said. And he would. He would try his best, partially because he wouldn't ask for money right away, unprecedented, but also because he owed them that, at least. Owed them a few nice days where he wasn't being a total ass, especially if this was the last time he'd see them. (And he did intend that, for their sake and for the kid's. He honestly wasn't sure if the danger still existed—all the quiet over the past few months had halfway convinced him it didn't exist—but he didn't want to risk it. Even staying for these few days was stressing him out. Only the fact that he hadn't seen any danger in the past couple months had convinced him that these few days would be okay. This had to be the end.)

Jackson sat down at the table, adjacent to Scully. She and Mulder were discussing breakfast, but he wasn't really listening. He bit off a corner of a slice of toast and looked absently out the window. He saw the house next door, saw the overgrown yard. Saw the two people in sunglasses, standing close together, looking at the beach house and whispering.

---

Jackson stayed quiet. The moody, brooding quiet Mulder recognized from his own teenage years. (Thinking about it, he supposed that he and his son were a lot alike at this stage of their lives. They'd lost a family member, or members, they'd both faded into themselves and the depth of their grief. They'd both had a bad attitude and a martyr complex.) They didn't push him. They wanted to give him space.

(Mulder wasn't upset that Jackson had shown up. He wasn't. He would've loved for him to come along in the first place. The family vacations he'd always wanted to take. But he'd had the idea as a solution to Scully's stress. To give her a chance to relax, take some time for the two of them to rest before their lives were thrown into upheaval. And he was overjoyed to see their son, but he didn't want things to go like last time. It had crushed Scully to find him gone, crushed them both, and he didn't want them to go through that again. He wanted his son to come home and come home for good, wanted the assurance that he would be there every morning.)

They ended up on the beach, the three of them, Jackson sprawled out on a towel with a book on black holes that they'd both smiled a little at. He had sunglasses pushed up on his forehead, and he squinted at the book in the bright sunlight. He didn't look away from the book when he said, "So, how's the kid?"

"Fine," Scully replied. "Restless. I think we'll both be relieved when she gets here."

Jackson was still looking at the book when he said, "It's a girl?" But there was a hint of curiosity in his voice, a hint enough that Mulder caught.

"We think so," he said. "We're not sure yet."

"That's cool." Jackson flipped a page, still not looking at them.

Scully offered, "So, how are your jobs going?"

This made Jackson snap the book closed; he set it on the towel next to him. "Um," he said. "Okay, I guess. I got fired at one."

"Really?" Scully asked, and he nodded, as best as he could nod while lying on the ground. "Oh my god. What happened?"

He shrugged. "Don't think they liked me. Or I wasn't a good employee. Some shit like that."

"Are… are you okay?" Mulder asked, his voice husky with guilt over his initial reaction to Jackson showing up. Of course he'd come; he'd just lost a job, he probably needed help. "Do you need money?"

Jackson bit his lip. "Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, if it's not too much trouble, I think so."

They didn't even have to look at each other; they both knew they were going to agree before they opened their mouths. "Yes, of course," Scully said quietly, her voice full of a melancholy affection. (They'd both been devastated when he left.) "Whatever you need, sweetie," she said, and he could hear the sincerity. There wasn't a hint of condescension; she meant every word.

"Thank you," Jackson mumbled. He sounded embarrassed. He picked up his book off of the towel and opened it again.

Scully reached for Mulder's hand blindly, found it on the arm of his chair and squeezed it. He squeezed wordlessly back.

After a few moments, the waves pounding the sand and Scully and Jackson turning pages, Jackson asked in the most casual voice possible, "So, you ever had a case about a black hole?"

Mulder grinned. "Not really," he said. "But we met this guy once who thought the secret to alien contact was black holes. He thought it served as some kind of teleportation created by the aliens so that the two cultures could meet without extensive, unrealistic travel times."

Jackson snorted, sitting up on the towel so fast that his sunglasses slipped down and hit the bridge of his nose, his book tumbling into his lap. "Well, that doesn't seem very plausible."

"Thank you," Scully said with a relieved, amused sigh. She was suddenly animated, pushing back the Knicks cap she'd stolen from Mulder and leaning forward to talk to Jackson. "You should've heard the explanations he came up with. It was ridiculous…"

Mulder leaned back, content not to argue very hard. He'd let them gang up on him every day if it meant they could have this.

---

They went inside, later, Jackson and Mulder shouldering the equipment without a word. As they tramped up the path to the beach, Jackson saw the same people from before in the yard next door, leaning together, whispering and pointing. Maybe it was a coincidence, he told himself. He wondered why the goddamn FBI agents hadn't noticed yet, that their neighbors might be watching them.

He tried not to let it phase him. It was probably a coincidence.

After a sparse lunch, Scully promptly fell asleep stretched out on the couch, one arm over her stomach and the other over her eyes. Mulder covered her up with an afghan, tucking it around her. Jackson tried not to watch. He felt awkward around them, like he was intruding.

Mulder smoothed hair off of Dana's forehead and turned to Jackson. "Make yourself at home, kiddo," he said. "Seriously. You want to watch a movie or something?"

"Uh, sure," he said. "Sure, sure. What did you have in mind?"

Mulder shrugged. "I found Back to the Future on the shelf over there. Want to do that?"

Jackson nodded. He used to love those movies; he used to watch them at sleepovers.

When he was little, he used to think that maybe he didn't have a dad, because he never saw him, and because his mom said that single moms were more likely to give up children. He figured he was just gone, that he had left and maybe that was why Ginger had given him up. He'd thought about Ginger more, because he'd been able to feel her, guess that maybe she used to love him, but he used to wonder about his dad. He used to imagine him as a sort of dark romantic hero, someone who loved his mother and him dearly, but had to leave because he had to do something more important. Or maybe to protect them. And he missed them both desperately, but could not risk coming home to find them. But he never knew why he couldn't see him.

Later, he would get visions of that other man, the one who had been manipulating him, and he'd wanted to forget about the idea of a father. He held onto the idea of Ginger right up until the end, but he'd wanted to forget about a birth father.

And then he'd learned the truth. He'd met Mulder. And as much as he didn't want to think of Mulder and Scully as his parents, he was glad that Mulder was his birth father instead of that smoking fucker.

The funniest part of it all seemed to be that the stupid little childhood fantasy seemed to be true, as far as he could tell. He didn't know if Mulder was necessarily a romantic hero or any of that bullshit, but it was clear he'd loved them both, him and Ginger. And he'd left to protect them. Fucking ironic.

Mulder sat at the end of the couch, Scully's feet in his lap. Jackson sprawled out on the floor. The movie was as good as he remembered, but he found it hard to concentrate. He kept thinking about time travel, what he wouldn't give for a DeLorean time machine. He wouldn't go back in time for anything other than saving his parents. And he would give anything for that opportunity. Anything at all.

Midway through the movie, Mulder got up to make popcorn. "Butter?" he asked, and Jackson nodded. He chuckled, pouring kernels into a pot. "You know, your mom believes in time travel," he said.

It took Jackson a minute to make the connection, but when he did, he was genuinely shocked. From what he'd seen about the two of them, he'd figured Dana was usually the skeptical one. "Really?" he said in response.

"Yeah. Well. The theoretical possibility of it." He grinned absently. "She wrote about it in her senior thesis."

"Wow." Jackson propped himself up on the couch, eyes back on the TV. "Didn't know Dana had it in her."

"She believes in more than you'd expect," he said. "Or that she herself would admit."

"Hmm." Jackson flopped back against the carpet, watching Marty McFly skateboarding through the streets. He could hear Dana breathing sleepily behind him, and it was still strange, strange as hell: to hear her there when she'd only existed in his head for so long.

Mulder walked back over to the couch, his feet squeaking on the floorboards. "She really loves you, you know," he said quietly. "Dana. She loves you so much."

Jackson swallowed hard. Part of him was a little relieved to know these things, that they cared about him, but part of him wished they wouldn't say these things every single time. Part of him wished they didn't have to. "I know," he whispered, though he didn't. He hadn't been sure for a long time.

He couldn't remember the first time he'd seen her, it'd been happening so long. He usually saw her when he was scared or in pain. When he seized. After nightmares. When he was in the hospital, hooked up to machines or choking on gas, curled up in a ball behind a couch in the main room; he'd see her helping children, being the type of doctor that he never ever had, a good doctor instead of an evil one. It had been comforting. He'd held onto that image for so long: Ginger's a good doctor, Ginger would never do this to me. Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly imaginative and hopeless: Ginger will come and save me. Ginger will take me home. And she never did. But it was an emotion that he held onto for so long that when he saw her when he was seizing, almost two years ago—when he saw the future, the pandemic and everyone dying and Ginger saying that she needed to find him—he'd thought that maybe it was true. Maybe she could save him, and his parents. That was why he'd sent her dreams after what happened with Bri and Sarah; he'd been hoping that she could help him. Be the Ginger he always saw in his dreams.

She'd let him down in that regard; she hadn't been able to save him or his parents. It had taken ages for him to forgive her for that. But she wasn't necessarily different from the woman he had seen all his life. Not really.

He remembered seeing her once when he was about three or four, asleep, curled into a protective sort of ball around a small, ratty stuffed animal. At the time, he'd thought it was strange for an adult to sleep with a toy the way that he did, but now he understood why. It was his, that rabbit they'd shown him the last time. She had been missing him, so she'd held onto his rabbit to create some kind of connection with him. She'd missed him, the way he'd always hoped she had.

That was how he knew that Mulder was telling the truth. He thought a part of him might've always known. He just wasn't sure whether or not to believe it.

He lay flat on the carpet, eating the popcorn Mulder made and watching Marty McFly manipulate his parents together, trying not to imagine a universe where his entire life went differently.

---

After Scully woke up, she and Mulder played several games of Scrabble at the table while Jackson read his book on the couch, Daggoo's head resting on his thigh. He was tense for reasons he couldn't exactly explain, jumping at sharp noises, eyes darting over to the window or door constantly. He thought it might've had something to do with the people he'd spotted watching them twice today, but he told himself he was being ridiculous. They were probably just nosy neighbors. Mulder and Scully didn't seem worried at all; they were teasing each other, and bickering over what qualified as a word or not, and they didn't seem to be on edge.

Jackson was probably just imagining it. He told himself again and again that he was just imagining it.

Later that afternoon, Mulder offered to go and pick up some food for dinner. "So neither of us have to cook and you don't have to bother with going out," he said to Scully, smoothing hair away from her face.

"You're sweet," she said in a dry voice that landed somewhere between authenticity and sarcasm. "But you don't have to go pick something up, Mulder…"

"Don't be ridiculous. I know you've been craving crab since before we got here." He leaned down to kiss her on the forehead, and she made a face at him. "You sit tight, I'll be back in a little bit," he said, before turning to Jackson, who'd been trying very hard to ignore them on the other side of the room. It was even more uncomfortable than usual to be around them when they were being like this. His parents had loved each other and everything, but they'd never been so overtly fucking affectionate.

"Jack? You want to ride along?" Mulder asked, his face a mask of casualness.

He weighed his options—going with Mulder or staying back with Dana—and decided that Mulder was actively the better choice. "Sure," he said, getting to his feet and grabbing his phone.

"Make sure to get some calamari," said Dana, unphased, picking her book up off the couch. "Drive safe."

"Says the horrible driver," Mulder said, kissing the top of her head. "Be back in a few."

Jackson, already halfway towards the door, felt as if he should say something, at least. He turned around and offered an awkward little wave. "Bye, Dana."

She gave him a huge smile over the top of his book that made him feel guilty and like a five-year-old all over again. Trying not to squirm, he gave her a trembly smile back. He wasn't sure how sincere it was; he felt like he owed it for her, but he also felt a little bit like he meant it.

---

The drive was mostly uneventful. Jackson looked up the menu of the restaurant on his phone so he could pick out his order. Mulder asked him questions about sports teams, basketball and baseball, and this was an easy topic; Jackson could talk about meaningless things like sports for hours. It was easy to fall into these kinds of conversations, as long as it didn't get too emotional.

It wasn't until they got home that the feeling of unease settled back into Jackson's gut. He saw the neighbors again, huddled at the fence between the two houses, their phones raised like they were taking photos of the house.

His heart was beating too fast, a lump in his throat, and he clutched the bags of takeout so hard they left red imprints on his palm. He stared at the neighbors, a man and a woman, until one of them turned towards him. The distance and the dark lenses of the sunglasses they were wearing made it difficult to discern their expression, but Jackson knew he was looking at him.

"Mulder," he said quietly, not wanting to break eye contact, but when Mulder didn't respond, he turned towards the car and said, "Mulder," more pointedly.

Mulder, who'd been rummaging through the glove compartment, stood up straight. "Sorry, I just realized I forgot napkins, and I wanted to see if we had any stashed in here," he said. "What's up?"

"D-do you see those people over there?" Jackson said in a rush, turning in that direction. "The people in the next ya—" But when he turned, he only saw an empty fence. They were gone.

Mulder squinted in that direction, his hand shielding his eyes. "I don't see anyone," he said. "Why?"

Jackson gritted his teeth together. He was scared, and he didn't know what to do, and he didn't want to go, and he was afraid that these people were exactly what he thought. And he needed the money, and he didn't want to leave, didn't want to hurt them unnecessarily, but he had seen these people all day. They were watching the house. They weren't dressed like assassins, like the people who had killed his parents or came after him, but maybe they'd improved in covertness. Maybe they were trying to lull the goddamn FBI agents into a false sense of security. They were after him, and he was putting them in danger, and he didn't think they'd gone after Scully yet, if they were only taking pictures of the house, but Jesus Christ, what if they had? What if they were going to come later? What the hell could he do? He couldn't let this happen again.

"Jackson?" Mulder asked. His hand landed gently on Jackson's shoulder, probably meant to comfort or to get his attention, but Jackson still jumped a mile. Mulder snatched his hand away, but he didn't move away; his eyes were still full of worry. "Are you okay?"

He bit down on his lip so hard it bled. "Fine," he said, nearly spitting. "Fine, fine. I…" He put the takeout bags down on the seat abruptly. "I'm going for a run." Let them come after me, he thought. Fucking chase me if they want. But not them. Not the kid.

"R-right now?" Mulder said with a nervous little laugh. "What about your food?"

"Whatever, I'll eat later." His heart was thumping too fast; he felt like he was going to vomit.

Mulder's eyes were wide and full of worry; he reached out to touch his shoulder, but drew back immediately. "Buddy, why don't you come inside?" he said softly. "If something's wrong… we can talk about it."

"No," he snapped. Couldn't go in, couldn't lead the assassins there, couldn't find out whether or not Ginger was already hurt or dead… He had to believe she was fine, that they wouldn't have made a move when he wasn't there. "I gotta go, I gotta go," he said, and then he turned and took off running. Went towards the beach, even though he knew it'd be a pain in the ass to run on, because he figured that if they were going to try to kill him, he should try to fight them off somewhere semi-private. So that nobody else would get hurt, not the people who were uninvolved and didn't deserve to get tangled up in the middle.

Mulder called his name, his voice full of concern, but Jackson didn't look back.

---

He ran for nearly half an hour before he figured out they weren't pursuing him. He fell to the sand with exhaustion, blood pulsing through him, panting and gasping for air. It took forever for him to catch his breath. He lay on the cool sand, eyes shut, the waves crashing behind him.

He might question why the assassins hadn't come after him already, but then again, he might think of the fact that the assassins could have gone in the house, that they could have Mulder and Scully and were holding them captive to lure him back. Maybe he shouldn't have left so hastily. Maybe that wouldn't help a damn thing.

The thing was that he had to protect him. They weren't his parents, but they were his parents, and he couldn't let anything happen to them. Them or the baby, which might be a girl, and he'd already lost a sister that he'd never known he had. Dana had already lost two children, even if one was of her own doing. He couldn't let anything happen to them. Not for money, not for selfish reasons, not for anything.

The thing was that he'd made a promise, once, to protect his parents. As a child, he'd wanted to be protected, but he wanted to protect his family, too. When his mom and dad had gotten him out of the hospital, before they moved to Norfolk, they'd slept all in one bed because Jackson hated being alone then, he was so, so scared. They didn't think the doctors would come and get him back—"If they did," his dad had growled under his breath, "I'd sue the fucking pants off that place"—but Jackson had been afraid they would. He'd lain in the middle of his parents' bed, one of his favorite places in the whole wide world, and he'd curled into his mom and was so relieved not to be back in that place, where they'd hurt him, and he said in a small voice, "Thanks for saving me."

His mom kissed the top of his head. "Of course, honey. Of course," she whispered. "I never ever ever would've left you in there. Never. We're family, and we look out for each other."

"You protect me, I protect you?" he asked meekly.

His dad laughed a little, tousling his hair. "Sure, buddy. Sure. Although we don't want you to worry about protecting us just yet. That's our job."

But despite his father's words, Jackson had taken it seriously. He'd made a silent promise to protect his parents, all those years ago, and he'd included Ginger, the small, comforting presence at the back of his skull, in that promise. As a child, he really thought he could do it; he wanted to believe he could do it. And he'd forgotten about that promise, even though as he grew stronger and more in control,, it really was something he could do.

But he'd failed. He'd failed his parents, he'd broken his promise, even if it had been a childhood promise, and now they were dead. He could've prevented it if he'd seen the assassins coming, if he'd been ready, but he hadn't. He hadn't. And now they were gone. He couldn't break that promise again.

The longer he lay on the beach, thinking of that promise and of his parents, dead in an ambulance beside him, and of Mulder and Dana and his little sister, who deserved to have a life, the more he knew he had to go back. Not permanently. Not permanently. Only to make sure that they were okay, that they weren't being held captive. And then he had to end it, end it for good this time. Had to make sure he couldn't go back for money, or for nostalgia, or because they missed him. It was too dangerous, too risky. He couldn't have that option there because he would use it, and he would put them in danger all over again. He had to burn his bridges, had to make sure they wouldn't come after him. Had to break their hearts.

---

Scully hadn't touched her food yet. She'd been hungry all day, but she'd found herself unable to eat when Mulder had come in alone, his face split with worry. When he explained that Jackson was upset for some reason, and that he'd run off.

She had insisted on trying to go after him, but Mulder had talked her down. We have no idea where he's gone or how far ahead of us he is, he'd said. And he left because he wants time to himself. I know how scary it is to have him gone, but he doesn't need us to be there every second. He'll probably come back because his car is here, he can't get far without his car or wallet or… She could hear the worry in his voice, and knew that he was trying to reassure himself just as much as her. And she knew it probably wasn't a good idea to run around out there at eight months pregnant, and she knew Mulder wouldn't leave her. Knew that he was right about Jackson needing space. And so they waited, shoulder to shoulder together on the couch like parents waiting for a child who skipped curfew. Mulder held her hand in his, and the food went untouched where it sat on the counter.

The sky was streaked with purple darkness when Jackson finally came back, after what seemed like hours had passed. He burst through the door in an angry sort of way, hunched down and not meeting their eyes. His hair was mussed and he was covered in sand. His entire posture betrayed his emotions: strong, dark, upset.

"Jackson?" Mulder asked, his voice hopeful. He got no answer. Jackson headed straight to the counter, passing the food piled up and heading for the keys he'd left on the counter this morning.

"Jackson, sweetie?" Scully asked, her voice breaking. "Are you… is everything okay?"

"Yeah." His voice was rough, furious. "Yeah, sure, fine."

Scully swallowed hard, and felt Mulder squeeze her hand. "We… we were so worried—"

She was cut off by her son's harsh, mocking laughter. "Really?" he said, throwing his hands out in disbelief, his keys jangling. He grabbed his wallet and shoved it in his pocket. "You were worried? Worried about the son you threw away? Well, that's fucking rich."

If he'd intended to leave her speechless, it had worked. Scully was frozen on the couch, her fingers tangled limply in Mulder's. She had no idea what to say to that; it wasn't exactly untrue. "Jackson… we didn't…" Mulder started uncertainly.

"Oh, you didn't? I'm not sure about that. The way I see it, it seems like you kept me around for about nine months before you got tired of me and gave me up for adoption. And then, you never came looking for me, not once, until it was convenient for you. Until you needed me to make some fucking antidote."

This time, Mulder seemed to be rendered speechless. Scully still couldn't speak; her throat was thick with the onslaught of incoming tears. She had so many things to apologize for, but she couldn't jar the words loose.

Jackson laughed, his voice breaking. "I-I spent six goddamn months in a hospital being poked and prodded and treated like a lab rat… I got saddled with powers I never asked for or understood for some fucked up reason… they murdered my parents, and they tried to kill me for months, and it all fucking started from the moment you gave me up. You wanna pretend we can play house, and be some happy goddamn family? Bullshit. You're only keeping me around in case the world ends, and you need a little lab rat to make your life easier."

That wasn't true. Scully felt a sudden rush of adrenaline, a sudden need to make things right. "That's not true," she said, and began to sit up, thinking that she would get to her feet and go to her baby and tell him she was sorry and that she loved him and she'd do anything in the world for him, thinking it would all be okay…

But Jackson was still talking. "And I'd hate to see what you're going to do to this new kid. I wonder how long you'll keep her around before disaster strikes. You gonna throw her away, too, when things get tough? What do you think will happen when somebody comes to make her a lab rat?" Mulder made a hurt, defensive sound, and Scully fell back against the couch, weak. All the fight beat out of her. She muffled a sob behind her palm as Jackson finished: "You should just give the kid to me, because as fucked up as I am, I'd probably do a better fucking job at raising it than you two."

Scully shut her eyes. Every single word was one that she deserved, but it still hurt so badly to hear it. It was all of her fears, her guilt, spilled out onto the floor. She should've known that he would say these things eventually, but it still gutted her to the core.

She heard a whimper next to her, and knew that Mulder was crying. She opened her eyes, wiping them with her thumb, just as Jackson said, "I've got to go. I'm leaving now." He had his keys in his hand, and that was when Scully realized he hadn't actually brought in anything from his car. He'd been here less than twenty-four hours; it was like he hadn't even wanted to stay.

He'd turned towards the door, his movements those of an unstoppable freight train, but it didn't stop Scully from trying to stop him. "Jackson..." she whispered, just before the door slammed shut, and she realized then that she didn't know what she would say. She could say I'm sorry, but she'd already said that so many times.

She heard a sniffle from beside her, and then Mulder was wrapping his arms around her, his head leaning on her shoulder. She could feel his tears soaking into her shirt. She bit back tears of her own and wrapped her hands around his, their arms aligned. She held on tight. They sat there for a long time.

---

"It's not going to go that way," he told her later, his arms around her. They were in bed now, him wrapped around her, his chin on her shoulder. She sniffled and said nothing. He kissed her hair. "It's not," he murmured. "We… we're going to do better this time. We're going to be good parents for her."

She didn't have the strength to reply, so she just nodded. She could feel the baby moving under her hand.

"And all those things he said…" he started hesitantly. "You know they're not—"

"No, I know that they are," she whispered. "All of it. All of it was true except the intent."

He didn't seem to know what to say to that. He squeezed her tight, his face buried in her shoulder blade. She could feel his heartbeat against her back. They lay still.

"He told me something," she said after a while, "before… before Spender died. He told me that he knew I love him. And I… I thought he was you. I asked how he could know that. And tonight…" She bit back a shudder. "It just makes me wonder if he really knows, if he'll ever really know. Or understand. If… if any of my children will ever know." She was thinking about Emily, as she often had over the course of this pregnancy, and about William, and about her baby, and she didn't know if she could do this again. She loved them all so much but she didn't know how to do this. How to not fuck it up again.

"You know," Mulder whispered in her ear, "he told me the same thing. Today. While you were napping. I told him you loved him, and he said he knew."

She flinched a little at that; she was wondering what had changed. She'd been thinking that a lot, all day: they'd been having what seemed like a pleasant time, if not a little awkward, he had come to spend time at a beach house with them, and then something had changed in him, and then this. And then the horribleness of this.

"I hope that he knows," she said, because that seemed to be all there was to say. If she had nothing else with him, she could hopefully have that. Even if he resented her, she wanted him to know how much she loved him, and how terribly, terribly sorry she was. "I want him to—" she began, and her voice broke. She couldn't finish.

She could feel the tests welling up, and she pressed her face into Mulder's forearm. "Shhhh," he whispered, nose in her hair, hugging her tight. "It's okay. It's okay. He knows that you love him. And so will she. I… I don't see how they couldn't."

---

The next morning, Scully woke up long before Mulder again, even though she'd fallen asleep very late last night to the gentle sound of Mulder's reassurances. She had to pee, and so she got up to do that, repeating to herself the reassurances Mulder had given her last night. They'd stay the rest of the week, provided she felt well. They deserved some time to themselves. The baby would come in a few weeks, and she would be perfect. They already had the room ready, and everything else ready, and they loved her so much. And maybe someday Jackson would come back. Maybe.

It was cold comfort, all things considered, and she wanted to get her mind off of it. Think about something else. She could hear Daggoo's toenails at the front door, and so she went down to let him out, standing on the front step while he puttered around the yard. Shielding her eyes from the sunrise, she scanned the horizon until her eyes fell on two people standing on the sidewalk behind their house. People she recognized from yesterday; she'd seen them in the yard next door when they were coming back in from the beach. They were looking at her expectantly, like they wanted her to do something, sunglasses pushed up on their heads.

Unsettled, she crossed her arms over herself and called out, "Can I help you?" They didn't seem particularly dangerous, but she didn't want to risk it.

Something like excitement passed over their faces. The woman cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled back, "Are you Dana Scully? From Tad O'Malley's show?"

Annoyance prickled at Scully's spine. She could be grateful to Tad O'Malley for getting her back on the X-Files, or for spreading the rumor of the pandemic, but she sure as hell wasn't grateful for the multiple times he'd referred to her by name. Even if he'd left her out of it the last time, though she probably should've been cited there over Mulder. Despite the favors O'Malley had done for her, she was still a bit disgusted at his ridiculous show. She wasn't sure the last time she'd been mentioned on the show, but she figured it had been a long time ago, and she had no idea why these people remembered it. Nor did she particularly want to spend time in their company.

"Your husband is Fox Mulder?" the man was yelling. "He knows about conspiracies? A global conta—"

"I'm not who you think I am," Scully shouted back irritably, not in the mood for any of this. "Now please get off my property."

Daggoo clambered up on the doorstep beside her and she shooed him inside, shutting the door firmly behind her.