Private Residence - Buzzards Bay, MA 

The light of day was just beginning to dim when Ferguson flipped on the light switch by the shop's entrance. As he walked back to where Frohike and Will stood, a cell phone chirped. 

"It's yours," Ferguson pointed out. 

Frohike grabbed the phone from its holder and peered down at the screen. 

"Talk to me." 

Will moved closer. 

"Yeah...yeah..." were the only words out of Frohike's mouth for the longest time as he nodded his head and listened attentively. "Right," he said and snapped the phone closed. "All present and accounted for, Little Man," Frohike said, wiping the corner of his eye. 

"What about those super-soldiers?" Ferguson asked, recalling Frohike's detailed description of the invincible robot-like men. 

"They don't think they were followed." 

Heads turning in unison, they looked in the direction of the driveway as the slamming of several car doors echoed through the shop. Ferguson moved to the window and slightly drew back the blackout curtain. 

"Maybe they weren't followed, but that sure as hell isn't the local welcome wagon out in my driveway," he said and dropped the curtain back into place. "This way - now," he instructed, moving his finger to his lips to silence them. 

They raced to the rear of the shop, stopping at a metal cabinet from which he retrieved a large ammo box. 

"We'll need this if those guys are what you say they are. Hurry... and stay close." 

Frohike directed Will in behind Ferguson, and the three headed out the back door, moving quickly along the back of the shop. 

"How many we looking at?" Frohike asked quietly. 

"Counted a dozen or so heading to the house," Ferguson said. "Easy Pickens," he grinned, knowing it had been ages since anything had stirred his blood. He was going to enjoy every minute of this. 

Crossing an open area between the shop and the garage, Ferguson gave the all clear sign to Frohike. He nudged Will from behind, sending him in Ferguson's footsteps, and then he slipped across the grassy area and into the garage, quietly pulling the door closed behind him. Once inside, Frohike slid the dead bolt into place, not that it would stop a super-soldier but hoping it would buy time if need be. 

"Boy, you hang by that window there," Ferguson ordered. "Stay in the shadow and keep a sharp look out. You see anyone coming this way, you let us know." 

"Yes, Sir," Will said, hurrying to the window and hugging the shadows as instructed. 

Ferguson squatted down behind the extended cab pickup and opened the box. He pulled out two ammo belts complete with grenades and several clips for the handguns he removed next. 

"You remember how to use these, don't you?" he asked, more as a statement than as a question. 

"It ain't tango dancing in Miami..." Frohike nodded, "but I remember," he added, securing a belt around his waist. 

"Too long since we were involved in anything like Miami," Ferguson grinned wickedly, slamming a clip into the butt end of the gun. 

Frohike would love to have taken time to recall some of the adventures Ferguson was referring to, but it would have to wait. Instead, he chambered a round and tucked the weapon into the belt. 

"You walking or driving?" Ferguson asked. 

Frohike couldn't help but grin with an opportunity to seriously piss off some super-soldiers. They were due some of what they'd been dishing out. 

"Walking. These guys have been messing with my friends long enough. Time for an accountability check." 

"When the fun's over, cut through the woods," the man said, pointing in the direction he wanted Frohike to go. "About quarter of a mile out, and you'll be through the thick of it. I'll pick you up on the road there." 

"Listen," Frohike grabbed Ferguson's arm. "Anything happens to me, you don't hang around. Your top priority's the kid. You've got Skinner's number if you need it." 

"Won't be a need. Nothing's gonna happen to you. You're too damn ugly to die. Just watch yourself, and keep your head in place." 

"Someone's coming!" Will whispered as loud as he dared. 

Within seconds, he was on his belly, and low crawling under the truck to the driver's side. His heart was pounding uncontrollably. 

At Will's warning, the two men moved to the driver's side of the truck, crouching low. Ferguson motioned for Frohike to move out the door on the far side of the garage. Slowly and quietly, Ferguson opened the truck door, and instructed Will to climb up in the cab staying low and out of sight. Will did exactly that, hunkering down on the floorboard of the passenger side. 

Ferguson caught the sound of the door handle being tested. Luckily, Frohike had bolted it shut, allowing him time enough to jump into the cab, start the engine and press the garage door opener all at the same time. 

Quickly surveying the situation, he headed straight down the driveway at the three black cars blocking his way. Super-soldiers emerged from the house like ants at a picnic, but it didn't slow Ferguson. He slammed into 3rd gear and raced towards them, staying low himself. The sound of gunfire didn't stop him as he steered across the front lawn, the truck thumping as he hit two of the men. Looking in the rear-view mirror, he watched the same men stand up, shaking off the two thousand pound impact they'd just encountered. Frohike had been right about these low-life SOBs. 

As he glanced in his side mirror watching the super-soldiers loading up into the cars, he felt a twinge of jealously, knowing Frohike's fun was about to begin. 

Underground Tunnel 

Mulder and Scully sat on the floor in the back of the Blazer across from Gibson who was staring out the rear window watching the tunnel walls whiz by. With Doggett behind the wheel, they allowed themselves the luxury of relaxing. It was a welcomed calm amid the eye of the storm. 

For the most part, no one spoke. Awed by the turn of events, the most amazing of which, the very lives of Skinner and Gibson, everyone seemed to be sorting things out privately. Mulder shook his head. He'd long known the healing powers of Jeremiah Smith, but to witness it first-hand, well it hard to grasp, even for him. He looked at the man now and as if reading his thoughts, Jeremiah glanced back over his shoulder from the front seat. He nodded at Mulder before turning back around. 

Could it be that the alien resistance still existed? Jeremiah, BJ and Sam... he'd watched them shape-shift. Only rebels and bounty hunters had that ability as far as Mulder knew, and it had been years since he'd come across either group. Did a faction of them remain, or were they the last? 

He shifted slightly to better accommodate Scully who had quickly fallen asleep to the steady rise and fall of his chest. A victim of exhaustion himself, he struggled to keep his eyes open. He couldn't remember when he'd slept or eaten last. Too long was the only answer that came to him. It had become a way of life, and somehow, his body had gone along with it as long as he was searching for Scully. Now that he'd found her, his body begged for a reprieve. 

The feeling of Scully's body against his own offered peace. He rubbed his tired eyes, and pushed away the fear that had gripped his gut every time his thoughts had moved in her direction over the past weeks. He loved Scully. He'd known it for years, but he'd taken her for granted, always under the assumption that she'd be at his side. He'd never make that mistake again. He was reminded of her faith, hoping that beyond this life if there was more, that they'd be allowed to share that as well. The mere thought of them being separated again scared him. 

Scully stirred, and reached an arm around his midsection, pulling herself closer to him. In her half-awakened state, she was content at last. Content to be with the man she loved; content with the knowledge that in a very short time, she would embrace their son. At last, they would be a family, for a short time anyway before the real battle began. 

"Mulder?" 

"Hmmm?" 

"Do you think William's adoptive parents will let him go?" 

"They already have." 

Scully looked up, her eyes questioning his statement. 

It was with her eyes still upon him that he recounted the ordeal of the past weeks, from his initial concern when the helicopter flew over the ferry to the moment he grabbed hold of her as she hung suspended from the railing. She listened closely to every part of the journey that led Mulder to her. To see him sitting here safely at her side was nothing short of a miracle, one in which she clearly recognized the hand of God. 

It wasn't all she recognized. Mulder had paid the toll. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice and feel it in the thinness of his tired body. How she wished she'd been able to help him instead of being the cause of so much of what he'd been through. But Mulder would be the first to point out the good that was a result of it. Their love was strengthened; their son had been returned. It was well worth everything they'd been through. 

When he finished talking, Mulder yawned. His eyes refused to stay open. Knowing he was completely spent, Scully sat up and offered him her lap. There was no resistance, no argument as Mulder lowered himself to rest his head on her legs, asleep before he even thought to protest. 

Private Residence - Buzzards Bay, MA 

Frohike watched the super-soldiers head towards their vehicles. As they got in and closed the doors, he pulled the pin from one of the grenades and launched it in their direction. When it hit, two of the vehicles exploded into flames. A second and third burst rang out as the gas tanks erupted. 

"Damn," he cursed when the only other car that had been parked closer to the garage remained intact. 

Super-soldiers emerged from the cars, bodies broken and engulfed in flames, their confusion ending from the well-placed magnetite bullets Frohike pumped into them. With a full clip gone, he ran into the woods, his short legs taking him as fast as he could go. Two hundred feet into the wooded cover, he chose a thick-based maple and stopped on the far side of it. He checked to see if he was being followed. No movement caught his eye. He returned to the cover of the tree and peered around the opposite side. Fortunately, he'd listened to his gut and hadn't taken off running. 

Three super-soldiers were in pursuit though he was fairly certain they hadn't seen him. But could he be sure? Hidden by the bulky trunk, he crouched down low, catching his breath. Still too far away from the road, he didn't dare make a run for it. Even in the thick of the woods, it was too risky. Had there been but one super-soldier following him, maybe, but not with three barking up his rear. 

No, he would have to make his stand, here and now. He readied his automatic, and ensured the safety was off. Removing a grenade from his weapon's belt, he pulled the pin, holding the clip in place. Pushing himself up, he stood, ready to take action. 

"On three," he told himself. 

The sound of a twig underfoot broke the silence. It was close. Too damn close, and he quickly tossed the grenade to the far side of the tree and ducked down, protecting his head. 

The super-soldier nearest the tree started to catch the grenade but upon recognizing what it was, he pushed it past him in the direction of the other two men. His comrades took the full brunt of the explosion. 

Not knowing whether or not he hit anything, Frohike waited until the debris stopped flying. Fortunately, the tree he was hiding behind held up rather well in comparison to some of the smaller pines and birch, which were splintered and broken. 

It's now or never. He half rounded the tree, arm extended, ready to fire at the first thing that moved. 

Unfortunately, the only thing that moved was him as he felt his arm being pulled out of socket by the lead super-soldier's grip. In the next instant, he found himself sailing through the air and landing some twenty feet from the tree in the same direction the grenade had traveled. 

The ground where he landed had an odd, squishy feel to it and when Frohike started to stand up, he quickly understood why. All around and beneath him were the remaining shards of the distorted mass of bone, metal and flesh, covered with a thick, silver-red blood that smelled distinctly of iron. Unwittingly, he let out a yell and scrambled to his feet, trying to maneuver around the remaining super-soldier. 

His efforts made little difference. After all, this was one very strong, powerful super-soldier and by the time Frohike started running, the super-soldier was on him. Again, he found himself in flight, but this time he smashed into the very tree he'd taken cover behind earlier. He heard a bone crack before he actually felt it. 

Coming to his feet, his arm hanging at an odd angle beside him, Frohike took off running towards the road. Each step sent spasms of pain the length of his arm, but stopping was out of the question with the super-soldier quickly closing in from behind. 

He stumbled, unable to brace his fall with his good arm. The pain nearly sent him into unconsciousness. It was all he could do to keep himself awake. Cradling his broken arm to his body, he tried to back-peddle on his rear end, pushing his heels down into the earth to gain traction, but it was fairly useless. He searched the ground for his handgun, but the only one in view was the one the super-soldier carried, which now rested against his temple. Well, at least Little Man's safe. 

As the super-soldier's finger pulled against the trigger, a shot rang out. Frohike jumped in anticipation of the bullet moving in for the kill. He winced with eyes closed, waiting for the pain of the metal to bore its way through his skull. When the only sound was that of a thud, he jumped again. There was no pain except for the pain in his arm. He opened one eye and then the other. On the ground in front of him, the super-soldier lay dead. 

"You didn't think I was going to let you have all the fun, did you?" Ferguson said, tucking the gun into his weapon's belt. 

"Glory hog," Frohike chided. "Couldn't stay away, could you?" 

"Not for a minute, old friend. Not for a minute." 

*** 

Musgrave looked through the high-powered binoculars, watching as two men got into a pickup truck. He was too far away to stop them. His anger rose when he noticed a boy seated in the center between the men. He let the binoculars dangle from the strap around his neck. 

"General," his thoughts were interrupted by one of three soldiers who'd followed the others into the woods when the grenade had sounded. "Do you want the bodies disposed of, Sir?" 

The general turned around, an evil but controlled rage pushing itself into his expression. He glanced down, catching sight of a handgun in the dry leaves by an old maple tree. Reaching down, he picked it up, feeling an immediate numbness in his fingers. Shifting the gun to the other hand, the numbness moved as well. No doubt, this weapon held magnetite bullets, quite possibly the same that killed his soldiers in the driveway - the same that had killed Kersh. 

"Sir? The bodies? Do you want us to dispose of them? They aren't regenerating." 

General Musgrave thought little of it when he turned around and pulled the trigger, shooting the obstinate sergeant. The man stood, shocked by the general's actions. His eyes crossed, looking towards the center of his forehead as blood flowed freely down. With curiosity, he looked at his superior officer. His last thought was that he felt pain. 

Stepping over the dead super-soldier, Musgrave handed the gun to one of the other men who showed no compassion. A few steps later, he called back over his shoulder. 

"Dispose of the bodies."