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Resistance 05: Fleeing
Author: Vickie Moseley Summary: It's 2012. William Vande Kamp knows more than his parents think he knows. He's about to embark on an adventure that will change his life forever. Category: Mytharc, Williamfic, pre and post colonization Rating: E for everybody Disclaimer: Well, it got pretty darned hard to make it sound like something a 12 year old kid would buy into, but I made him psychic, so that helped. Otherwise, I sure don't intend to infringe on that mangled mess that was S8 and S9 and don't even want to infringe on the good stuff in S1 through S7. Archive: yes Undying Gratitude: to Lisa for beta and pictures and general 'you can do this' encouragement. To DanaKScully for unconditional support and enthusiasm, even when it meant waiting a little longer for another story I was working on. Further undying gratitude: to everyone who has written and encouraged me to continue this little venture into the unknown, thank you so much! You are all the greatest! Author's notes: this is a series. It's not really a WIP, because I plan on keeping it going for a while. I bow to DonnaH, who has blazed one heck of a trail before me with both After the Future and Goodbyes/Hellos. I take a slightly different route. This is part one of I don't know how many. The first section, Resistance 1 has five parts. I'll post a part a day for one week. The story and Lisa's wonderful artwork are available at my website http://vickiemoseley.freeservers.com Resistance: Fleeing Mulder home El Paso, Texas December 2, 2012 I must have fallen asleep crying. I woke up to find my head in Mom's lap, the TV still on. We were on the couch and a blanket was over me. I remembered the picture on the screen and tears burned at my eyes, but this time I held them back. The time for crying was over. I had to get hold of Gibson. I knew he was in trouble because of me. Someone had killed my adopted parents; I was betting that someone would be after me, too. Maybe they were killed because I was supposed to be with them. Maybe the people -- or things -- that killed them had been trying to kill me. It scared me and I just wanted to stay there, warm and protected on my Mom's lap. I looked up at her. She was so pretty. Now that I could look at her, I could see the little bits of grey in her hair, but she still looked really beautiful to me. Just like she had all those years in my dreams. Her hand was holding my head; I think she might have been petting my head last night while I cried myself to sleep over the deaths of my parents, the Vande Kamps. Now I hated that I didn't tell them goodbye. They loved me, they raised me. I could remember all the times my Dad would sit me on his lap and we'd ride the tractor. I remember my Mom making brownies for my Cub Scout meetings. She made the best brownies in the county -- she won blue ribbons at the county fair all the time and one time even got a second place at the Nebraska State Fair! I remembered all the times she would sew the rips in my clothes after I'd been working with Dad in the fields or when she would sing me to sleep when I was home sick from school. They were gone now. I could never tell them that I loved them, as much as they'd loved me. It wasn't fair! I didn't want it to be like this! I wanted . . . I wanted both my sets of parents. I loved the Mulders, I had wanted to be with them all my life. It was never my idea to leave them, they gave me up! Even if it was just to keep me safe. Nobody asked me about it. It just happened. And because of that decision, I loved the Vande Kamps, too. Sure, I never agreed with my Dad on anything, but I knew he still loved me. And yeah, my Mom was really old-fashioned and never understood me, sometimes even looked afraid of me because of the things I would tell her. But she loved me with her whole heart. She was always telling me "William, you are my whole world, I don't need anything else." She told me that every time I would ask what she wanted for Christmas or her birthday. Always the same answer. "You are all I ever wanted." "Are you all right?" Her voice startled me. I hadn't realized she was awake. "No," I said because it was true. I wasn't all right. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked. When I sat up, she was looking at me and it broke my heart. She had tears in her eyes. Guess the 'bad cop' was taking the day off. I stood up and folded the blanket, placing it on the back of the couch. "Why is this happening?" I demanded. "Why would someone do that?" She bit her lip. "William, I know you aren't going to want to hear this, but this is exactly why I gave you up." "Don't give me that crap any more! Look at you, look at this house! What is so different about this house then my old one? You and my Dad and Peggy -- you have a home! Why wasn't there room for me?" She wiped the tears from her cheeks. I got the impression she really didn't like to cry any more than I did and the last day had been a real pain in the butt because of that. "We aren't . . . we . . . William, for so long, we just ran. We were sure that if they found us they would kill us." "You had another kid," I accused. It hurt, as much as I'd already grown to love her, seeing Peggy with them in my dreams hurt so much. Why wasn't I good enough to keep and she was? She shook her head, a sad smile on her face. "Peggy, well, Peggy was a complete surprise, just as you were." "A mistake, you mean. We were mistakes. Birth control that didn't work." I know I was being a total asshole, but I was angry and I couldn't stop myself if I tried. I wasn't trying to stop myself. She looked down at the floor and I could tell her patience with me was growing real thin, but she looked up again and sighed. "I was barren, William. If you know so much about sex ed, I'm sure you know what that means." "You were told you couldn't have kids," I supply. "Yes. I was told that all my ova had been harvested during the time of my abduction. I was told I would never have children, ever. And, because he loved me, that meant your father would never have children, either." "He could have -- " I stopped because I knew I was crossing another line. He could have had children, just not with her. "Yes, he could have. It was his decision not to. As I said, he loved me, loves me to this day. It's one of the few constants in my life," she said with that same sad smile, but it quickly faded. "One day I was told that there was a very slim chance that I could conceive, through invitro fertilization. I needed a donor for the sperm." "But you already loved him, why didn't you just ask him?" I asked. She muttered something, it sounded like 'Mulder this is your job', but she took a deep breath and nodded to herself. "We hadn't had sex," she said simply. "We weren't married and we'd never been together. Even though I'd loved him for seven years at that point." I thought about that. My real parents were more old-fashioned than my adopted ones! "But you're right, I did ask him. And even though he wasn't sure, because he knew it would change my life, our lives dramatically, he said yes." "So I was born through invitro?" "No," she said, and I had to sit down because I was too confused to keep standing. "But you just said -- " "It didn't work. It failed. Not to go into specifics, by mutual agreement, we decided to allow ourselves to love each other, as we never had before." "I don't think I want to hear much more about that part," I admitted. My mind flashed back to one dream I'd had when I was about 9 or 10. From that time on, I tried not to dream about them too late at night -- or too early in the morning. Some parts of family life weren't for continued viewing. "Well, like it or not, you are a product of completely natural conception," she said with a smirk. "And so was Peggy. But so many things were happening when I was pregnant with you." "They took Dad," I offered. "Yes, and when he was returned, he was still threatened. William, he couldn't let them take him again. It was . . . a fate worse than death. And I couldn't bury him again, I just couldn't. So he went away. Many people thought he was running to save himself, but that wasn't it at all. He was running to protect us, you and me. I was supposed to keep you safe, and I failed at it," she said, her voice rough and tears coming down her cheeks. "I couldn't keep you safe, William. Giving you up, it was the only way to keep you safe. I just prayed that some day -- " "Mom," I said, swiping at my own tears. "I get that. But that doesn't explain about Peggy." Mom snorted. "You'll make a good investigator, if we manage to hold onto the planet," she muttered. "William," she said, directed at me now, "Peggy's birth was, in all respects, a miracle -- just as you were. And to let you know now, and forever, I regret putting you up for adoption. I did it in a moment of weakness. By the time I realized what a horrible mistake I'd made, it was done and I couldn't undo it. I had to live with it, have lived with it, every day for the last 11 and one half years. And I can tell you one more thing," she said, taking a deep breath, "I love you just as much now as I did the day you were born. I don't know how God saw fit to bring you back to us right now, but I count it as a blessing, as yet another miracle. One thing I've learned is to never give up on miracles." Hearing her say it made me feel a little better, but then I remembered the pictures on the TV again. "I don't see any miracles coming from that fire," I said, wiping away another tear. She stepped closer to me and took my hands in hers. "I do. You're alive. That is a miracle to me. William, if you hadn't run away you would have been there in that fire. You would be lost to me, to this family, forever. I mourn the death of your parents; I owe them a tremendous debt that I could never fully repay. But don't ask me to be sorry that you weren't there, that you were here with me when the fire broke out. As a matter of fact, I suspect that fire might have been an attempt on your life." "I figured that out, too," I admitted. "Mom, we have to get hold of Gibson -- " "He called after you fell asleep. He's safe. We can't contact him for a while, but I know he's safe. Now we have to do everything we can to make ourselves safe, too." "You think they're still after me?" I asked, and I was surprised that I suddenly felt afraid. "No, William. They will be after all of us. You, Peggy, your father and me." "We have to get Dad out of that hospital, then. He's a sitting duck!" She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them she seemed like a different person. She seemed taller, even. More in charge.
"I've camped before," I assured her. "Then you know what to do and so does Peggy. I have to go spring your father from the hospital. When I get back, be ready to pack the things in the car and take off." "We won't be coming back, will we?" I had to ask. Her eyes showed her sorrow. "No, we won't be back here." "We'll have room for Tribble, won't we?" I asked. "What is a Tribble, by the way?" That made her smile. "Tribble is a hamster. I think we have room for the cage. Remind Peggy to pack the cedar chips and food." I watched Mom pull out of the driveway and felt the fear settle in the pit of my stomach. As I walked into the kitchen from the carport, Peggy was pulling a sheet of paper out of the back of the phone book. She looked it over and handed it to me. "I'll get the stuff on the top half, you work on the food. There's a plastic crate in the pantry. If you can't find something, put a star by it so we can pick it up on the way." "Do you know where we're going?" I asked. Suddenly I had a clear image of a cave, hidden by bushes. "Don't think about it!" Peggy shouted. "They might figure it out." "Where is it? And who's going to figure it out?" She stopped what she was doing and turned, put her fist on one hip and looked at me like I was the dumbest thing on earth. "I thought you knew about all this," she said and raised her eyebrow. It looked so much like I'd seen Mom do that it scared me a little more. "I do," I said, defensively. "I just don't know the details." She snorted and shook her head. "You don't need to know the details. Not yet, at least. The less you know, the better right now." She turned on her heel and headed back for the bedrooms. I stood there and wondered if she was really only 8 years old, how come she shot me down like girls at least four years older. I had a little trouble finding a couple of the items, but I was finished pretty quickly. I put the crate by the door to the carport and went to find Peggy. "Is this Tribble?" I asked. She nodded sadly. "Mom says Tribble goes, too," I assured her. "Yeah, but I don't think he's going to do well where we're going," she said. "Sure she will! I'll help you take care of her. She'll be fine." I knew absolutely nothing about hamsters. The one time I asked for one my dad had told me they were related to rats and that was the end of the discussion. But looking at Tribble as she ran in his wheel, little tail high in the air, I didn't see much rat resemblance. "They get cold easy," Peggy said, holding back tears. "Then they die." "What do you do to keep her warm when it gets cold here?" She shrugged. "It doesn't get that cold. But sometimes I put a towel over her cage. And I keep her away from the window and the air conditioning vent, so she doesn't catch cold." "So that's what we'll do," I said. She gave me that raised eyebrow again, but I ignored it. I understood her reasons for being upset, but the trials and tribulations of one hamster really was sort of small when you looked at the big picture. "Do you have every thing on your part of the list?" She nodded to some packed suitcases and a couple more plastic crates. I picked up the crates and carried them to the back door where I had place my items. Peggy followed with the suitcases. She surveyed what we had, frowning. "Where's your suitcase?" I remembered my backpack. I'd left it in the family room. I went to grab it and then noticed a framed picture on the bookshelf. It was Mom, Dad and Peggy. Tucked in a corner of the frame was a smaller picture, a reprint of an old 3 X 4. It was Mom, Dad and a baby. I pulled it from the frame and read the back. "Dana, Fox and William 5/22/2001" I tucked it back in the larger frame and slipped it into my backpack. I was pretty sure we'd want to hang on to those. By the time I got back to the kitchen, Peggy had Tribble's cage and supplies added to the assortment of crates and luggage. I looked at the clock on the microwave and figured we'd packed the place up in a little over two hours. "I'm going to make some sandwiches for the road," Peggy said suddenly. I could tell she was nervous, she needed something to keep her busy. "I'll help," I offered. She smiled at me and pointed to the breadbox on the counter top. I pulled out the loaf of bread -- whole grain wheat -- while she got peanut butter from the cupboard and jelly from the refrigerator. We made the sandwiches in silence, working as a team. In the end we made up the whole loaf and we had 9 sandwiches. I helped her wrap them in plastic wrap and put them in a couple of paper lunch sacks. Just as we finished, the headlights of a car swung over the kitchen wall. It scared me at first, but Peggy ran to the door. "C'mon, Will. It's Momma and Daddy!" When I caught up with her, Mom was coming in the door, grabbing suitcases to pack in the car. We each took a couple of loads, but in no time the old minivan was packed and we were ready to go. As we got in the car, Peggy looked back at the house sadly. "Bye, house. You were a great place to live," she said, but she didn't cry. I was proud of her in that moment. I don't know if I could have left my home when I was her age. But then, I'd left my home just four days before and it was finally settling in with me. Peggy and I were in the captain's chairs in the middle of the car. I was behind Mom and Peggy was behind Dad. The backseat was folded down to hold all the luggage and crates. Dad was sitting in the passenger seat up front and didn't look any better than when we'd seen him the night before at the hospital. If anything, he looked paler and there were dark circles under his eyes. Mom gave him a worried look as she buckled her seat belt. "You still with me, Mulder?" she asked. It occurred to me that I should probably think it odd that she called him by his last name all the time, but it just sounded natural. I didn't hear his answer, but I saw him take her hand and give it a squeeze. She seemed to relax a little bit. "Will and I made sandwiches, Mommy," Peggy told her. "Peanut butter and jelly." "I'll take some of that action," Dad said in a voice just louder than a whisper. Peggy dutifully started to open one of the sacks, but Mom shook her head. "Mulder, soft diet for a couple of days. I have some Ensure here for you." "Warm, I assume," he said grimly. "We can get ice at a gas station," Mom suggested. His answering grunt told me all I needed to know about his opinion on that suggestion. "I'll save you a sandwich, Daddy," Peggy added. "You can make me a fresh one in a couple of days, Peg-leg," Dad told her. "Will, how are you holding up? I heard about the farm and your . . . " He couldn't say 'parents', I got the feeling he couldn't call them that. I understood but in a small way I resented it. "I'm OK, Dad. I just want us to get somewhere safe," I told him. Dad reached his hand back, awkward, but I leaned forward and took it. "We're on our way, son. I promise, we're on our way there right now." Mom put the car in reverse and pulled out of the driveway. Peggy stared out the front windshield; I could tell she was trying not to cry again. I looked at the small house with the blue drapes and wondered if I'd ever again see a structure I could call home. To be continued in Resistance 2, coming soon
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