June, 2014 - Massachusetts Oceanographic Institute - Woods Hole, MA  

This late in the day, the campus library was quiet and relatively void of students. Gibson Praise liked it that way. It was easier to concentrate when he didn't have to expend his energy tuning out the thoughts he heard in the minds of others.  

He leaned back in his chair, stretched his arms upwards and brought his hands together at the base of his neck. Yawning, he decided he'd studied enough for one day, so he closed the research book he'd been using. Gathering up his laptop along with the data sheets he'd been pouring over for the past two hours, he tossed everything but the book into his backpack. Slinging it over his shoulder, he headed for the front desk.

"Here you go, Amanda," he smiled and handed her the book. "See you tomorrow."  

"Bye Gibson," she blushed.  

Gibson knew she liked him. He felt the same way but with his ability to read minds, he found relationships his toughest challenge. After all, he had an unfair advantage. For that very reason, he avoided them altogether.  

Exiting the library, he checked his watch - seven-thirty. Just enough time to hit the market and pick something up for dinner before dark.  

Pulling out of the parking lot, Gibson barely noticed the helicopter that flew overhead in the direction of Martha's Vineyard. His mind was preoccupied, trying to think of a way to ask Amanda out without making a complete fool of himself. But thoughts of Amanda strayed as external thoughts overtook his own.  

Bringing the scooter to a sudden stop, he stared at the helicopter moving to the southeast, its occupants intent on their mission - a mission that Gibson prayed he could stop.  

Vineyard Sound, MA  

Fox Mulder gazed back at the wake from the ferry. The ocean mist was refreshing and gently slapped his face. He wiped it with his hand, feeling the day's growth. Use to be his baby-face grew nothing but peach fuzz but the older he got, the faster he went through razors. He shouldn't complain. At least he didn't have to worry about looking like his old boss, Skinner - that big, bald, beautiful man. Mulder wondered how he was. Last time he saw him, Skinner was saving his ass.  

It had been a long day on the mainland but a productive one or so he would do his best to convince Scully. She reminded him that he needed to get away sometimes – get back to civilization from time-to-time – to reconnect. Maybe she was right, but Mulder preferred the Vineyard and the seclusion it afforded him. True, tourist season could be a pain in the ass, but the family homestead was far enough off the beaten path that he was only bothered by it on occasion.

Generally, his only contact with tourists occurred when Scully asked him to drive up north to get something that she couldn't find in Chilmark or Menemsha - not that 'up north' was any great distance. Twelve miles took him to the heart of the tourist stops. It did present him with the privilege of chuckling to himself at the number of tourists who could still, after thirty some-odd years, point out exactly where scenes from the movie, Jaws had been filmed. He smiled about that. After all these years... who'd a thunk.  

He removed his sunglasses, closed his eyes and let the waning rays of the sun bathe him in their warmth. He breathed in the fresh ocean air. Damn it smelled good - almost to the point of intoxication. He would have to remember to thank Scully.  

Opening his eyes, he looked down at the spray of flowers he'd bought for her at a stand in Woods Hole. They weren't much, but he knew what simple pleasure they'd bring her as she fussed over their arrangement. The whole process she'd go through, determining the right vase, judging whether they looked best centered on the piano or in the kitchen's bay window while reserving her favorite of the bunch for that special vase she kept on the nightstand beside their bed. It was all meant to give her joy and to thank her for believing in him. He wouldn't have to say anything. His remembering her in small ways spoke volumes to Scully. She wasn't very demanding of him. She simply wanted to be loved and respected, and she wanted to be treated as a woman - his woman. A slight smile crossed Mulder's face because those were the same things he had to offer.  

From his shirt pocket, he pulled out a couple of sunflower seeds and popped one into his mouth, cracking the shell between his teeth. He spit the casing over the railing he was leaning against and ate the tiny seed. It was a technique he'd perfected during his years with the FBI - one of his more successful accomplishments. No doubt it would certainly be noted in his personnel file.

His thoughts drifted back to the mainland where he'd spent the day meeting some literary agents. He knew that the only reason any of them agreed to speak with him was because of his former connections with the FBI where he'd spent sixteen years of his life as a Special Agent. If it hadn't been for that fact, they would have easily dismissed him without a second thought. Some of them did, but those who didn't turn and run at the mention of aliens and government conspiracies - those who actually listened long enough to hear past those three letters, F... B... I, well, time would tell.  

At first, Mulder wasn't sure if writing about the X-Files and his experiences was something he wanted to do. He'd piss off a lot of people. No, it was Scully and that insistence about her that he regularly fell victim to. The fact that she believed in him when for so long he wasn't even sure he believed in himself - it was enough to change his mind. After all, Scully was his biggest advocate, his biggest encourager, not to mention she felt it would be therapeutic. Ah, you had to love her for her hidden agenda. Ever the doctor, she was always trying to fix things... bones, lacerations... him.  

Scully. Mulder grinned. She'd found her niche. He'd promised her they'd go away... anywhere she chose to get away from the darkness that always found them. Although he would have preferred the seclusion of a private atoll somewhere in the vicinity of the Cook Islands, Scully needed people - needed to help people, and he accepted that about her. In fact, he loved and admired that quality about her.  

When he was considering selling the home in Chilmark that his parents had left him, it was then that Scully confessed she loved the old place. She told him if the memories of his childhood were too painful for him, she'd understand and accept his desire to sell it. But when he saw the gleam in her eyes as she looked out across the backyard, the cliffs and beyond towards the ocean, who was he to argue?  

Yes, painful memories associated with his childhood surrounded the place; the abduction of his sister, Samantha, being the greatest... the destruction of his family caused by that loss was another thorn in his flesh but as he and Scully worked together renovating the home, new memories root and sprouted, transforming it into their home. The changes left no oppressing semblance of the history behind its walls. It took on Scully's personal touch. Every room embraced who she was and what she meant to him, and he was more than okay with that. He was comfortable in the feelings it brought on, and he found his heart longing to get home to her after only one day away.  

She would be home from her shift and would have dinner cooking when he arrived. The pediatric position at Vineyard Memorial filled her need to help people, especially the most innocent of people - children. Mulder knew it helped fill the emptiness she felt about their son, William, whom she'd given up for adoption twelve years ago. That void would never be completely filled, but working with children left a positive imprint on her heart, one she desperately needed to feel on a daily basis.  

Would anything ever crack open that locked vault in his heart? He doubted it. It was a place he seldom ventured. Oh, he'd skate around the edges of it, thinking of what ifs from time-to-time but generally speaking, it was restricted access only, and nobody was allowed in - least of all, him. He kept it hidden away, buried deeper than any pain he'd ever experienced.  

Yes, he had regrets, wishing he'd had more time with their son. How much he wanted that chance to be a real father, to get to know who William was and what he liked... to watch him grow. That one was tough, and Mulder swallowed hard trying not to dwell on it. No, William was better off with the family that had adopted him. He was sure of that.  

He didn't blame Scully. She knew that as long as William remained with her, he was a target. Adoption was the only logical choice she could make, and he admired her for making it. Because he'd been forced to remain in hiding, she had to make that decision alone and yet, she didn't choose what she wanted but chose what was best for their son. As far as he was concerned, that took guts, and he didn't know if he would have been as strong. As he thought back on that fateful day when she told him about giving William up for adoption, he hated himself for failing the two of them. If you do exist, he looked up, please give me a chance to set that right.  

Coming into view, a black helicopter caught his attention as it moved rapidly overhead in the direction of the Vineyard. Mulder shivered involuntarily. It wasn't the usual med flight. This one was different - black and with no insignia. How many times had similar sightings ushered in dangerous encounters with the Syndicate? Though it was no longer a part of who he was, he couldn't ignore the feeling of dread that welled up inside him. The experiences of his past were ingrained in the very fiber of his being, and he would never be completely free of them. It was, after all, those experiences that had shaped the man Fox Mulder had become.  

Chilmark, MA  

Looking about, the boy noticed a white cotton t-shirt hanging on the hook over the door. A long-sleeved, denim shirt lay casually on the neatly made bed. Suddenly, the clothes took on shape, and he followed the woman who wore them. She was small of stature - petite but strong and fit. Near her, he could smell the fresh scent of soap and could see her darkened wet hair as she moved down the stairs and into the kitchen where she set a pan of water on to boil.

There was a hint of darkness, but it was dissipated by tranquil piano music that sounded from a CD player beneath a kitchen cabinet. The music accompanied the woman's graceful movements, blending with her so completely, as if she carried her own personal soundtrack.  

The kitchen felt warm and homey. It held the aroma of garlic, tomatoes and oregano. The woman stirred something on the stove, tasted it and then added a dash of seasoning before replacing the glass lid. Another flash of darkness came and went. This time, the woman sensed it too, straightening up from a chill that pricked her spine.  

The boy looked about. Where was he? It felt like home, but not the one he shared with his parents. He couldn't explain that because he'd never seen this place and yet, it was home. The woman made it that way, and he found himself drawn to it - drawn to her. Although he could only see her from behind, he knew the woman possessed an inner peace that existed beyond herself and encompassed him. How he longed to stay within her embrace.  

A knock at the front door shattered the silence, the peace. She opened it, catching the smell of stale cigarettes. A memory triggered her defenses. Though she recognized one of the two men standing before her, someone hung back in the shadows. A hint of red trying to disguise itself glared at her, mesmerized her, immobilized her.  

Feeling her body stiffen, the boy lunged for the door to protect her. She too forced it closed. Together, they ran upstairs to the master bathroom, trying to outdistance the men who broke through the door and quickly caught up to them. Their grip was like an iron vice.  

Time and time again, they were struck without mercy, their blood staining the blankets where it fell, where they lay struggling. As much as he tried, the boy couldn't separate himself from the woman. How was it that her fear had become his fear? Her pain, his?  

A chance of escape was met with exhilaration. The stairs blurred and in one frantic leap, they were at the bottom landing. In the kitchen, knives became weapons of defense. One thrust found its target, but didn't harm the man upon whom it was inflicted. Breathing became difficult, almost impossible because of hands around their throat. They gasped for air.  

A pan tipped, dishes were smashed and another blow to the head sent them to their knees - another to the floor. Lying in their own blood, they were dragged away from the place that had only recently offered peace and tranquility.  

Pain. It seemed all encompassing. Her pain, his pain - there no separation between the two. It grew dark, damp and noisy. Something wet and salty splashed their face. Hands were bound behind them. They were tossed recklessly about.  

A voice reached out for the woman but not for him. Why? Wasn't he too being swallowed up by the darkness? Over and over it called for her, but the darkness held a power that overwhelmed them all.

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A/N:  At the end of I Want to Believe, Mulder made a promise to take Scully away. I picked the Vineyard because it was a part of Mulder's past.

Side note:  The year was 1975. I was 15. A young Steven Spielberg chose to shoot "Jaws" at the Vineyard. I lived 1 hour away and begged my folks to let me go be an extra. They refused because I had a week of school left. Had I only known... there, just 1 hour away, a geeky 14-year-old by the name of David Duchovny was on the Vineyard filming a bit part for the movie. "Missed him by that much!"