#but i wanted to play with what might have happened to 'our' doggett in the parallel world

[scenes-in-between]

4-D (Part 1)

“Let me get some plates.” “Plates! For crying out loud, who eats Polish sausage with plates?”

His cell phone trills in his pocket, and he digs it out, swallowing quickly before answering. 

“John Doggett.”

“Where are you?” Brad Follmer barks in his ear.

“Sir?”

“We followed you to the alley, but you’re not here. Where did you go? Do you still have eyes on Lukesh?”

“Sir, I’m… afraid you mighta dialed the wrong number. This is Agent Doggett. I’m not on duty today.”

“Damn it, John, going vigilante isn’t going to solve anything. We will make him pay for what he did to her, but we have to do it the right way. Now tell me where you are!”

“I’m…” He flounders, walking toward the kitchen. Maybe Monica will have some idea what on God’s green earth Follmer is talking about?

The kitchen is empty. The hell? There’s only one doorway in and out, and he definitely saw her go in there.

“Monica?” he says, turning in a circle. 

He only realizes he’s lowered the hand holding his phone once he registers the sound of Follmer yelling through the tinny speaker somewhere near his hip. He quickly brings the phone back to his ear.

“...isn’t going to bring her back! Do you hear me?! I am ordering you to stand down!”

“Sir, with all due respect, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I’m at Agent Reyes’s apartment right now. The one she’s just moved into. If I can… she was here just a second ago.” Leaving the kitchen, he walks back into the front room, holding the phone away again briefly while he shouts. “Monica! Where’d you go?”

“How did you… Her new place in Georgetown? You expect me to believe you got all the way over to Georgetown on foot in five minutes?”

“I’m telling you, I don’t know where you think I was supposed to be this morning, but I’m not--”

He gets to the front door, which is not only closed now but locked, with the deadbolt engaged. He knows for a fact it was standing wide open when he got here.

“I’m… not…”

“Agent Doggett, listen to me. I think you might be in shock. Just tell me where you really are, and I’ll send someone to come get you.”

“Yeah, sir, I’m gonna have to call you back.”

“Wait! Joh--”

He hangs up the phone and hits the speed dial for Monica’s cell number. “Come on, come on, pick up,” he mutters as it rings, ignoring the interrupting beeps as Follmer tries to call him back, then cursing when it goes to voicemail. He hangs up again, and when his phone rings almost immediately -- still Follmer -- he shuts it off entirely, scowling.

The apartment is nice, but it isn’t huge, and he walks through every bit of it. She is nowhere to be found. On his second pass through the kitchen, he notices that the paper bag and the other sausage are both gone. None of this makes any sense. He was here the whole time, and he never saw her leave. It’s like she vanished into thin air, only that’s impossible.

Isn’t it?

***

He’d thought he was so clever, leaving his truck at the Hoover Building this morning and avoiding the nightmare that is Georgetown street parking on a Saturday; now he’s regretting that decision, big time, as he hoofs it the eight blocks to Agent Scully’s place. He hates to bother her on the weekend, but he honestly has no idea where else to go.

His jaw falls open when Mulder answers the door.

Bizarrely, Mulder looks equally surprised to see him. “Agent Doggett, I-- we just heard. Skinner called, and… I assumed you were at the hospital. Scully’s headed there now.”

Hospital? First he’s supposed to be in some alley with Follmer, and now a hospital? He holds up his hands.

“Look, I don’t know what in God’s name is going on here, but I haven’t understood one single word I’ve heard in the last half hour. First Follmer, and now you… and when the hell did you get back, anyway?”

Mulder frowns. "Back from where?"

"How the hell should I know? Agent Scully never said. Told me she had no idea where you went, either."

"And… when was that?"

"Come on, Mulder, cut the crap! You don’t get to just up and take off for five months and then play dumb about it!”

“No, I’m not-- Look, why don’t you come inside for a minute?” Mulder steps back, opening the door wider. “I’m not quite sure what’s going on here, but I’ll call Scully, and we can try to figure this out, all right?”

Doggett wants to argue, but it’s not like he’s got any better ideas at the moment. He walks past Mulder into the living room and immediately notices that it’s been rearranged since the last time he was here. Granted, that was a few weeks ago, but it looks really different, not just in terms of furniture placement but in the piles of papers on the coffee table and the second computer on the desk. It has the distinct look of cohabitation, and not just recent cohabitation, either.

“Wait, how long have you been back?” he asks, turning back toward Mulder. “I just talked to Agent Scully three days ago, and she never said one word about it. But from the looks of this place, I’d say you’ve been here at least a week. Maybe more.”

Mulder closes the front door and looks at him with concern. “You and Agent Reyes had dinner here last weekend. Are you saying you don’t remember that?”

“What are you talking about, dinner? I spent last weekend rebuilding my back deck. Only place I went was the hardware store.” 

“That… doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re telling me! Either I’m dreaming or I’m losing my mind, but not a damned thing is making sense to me right now.” He doesn’t like the careful, almost pitying look Mulder gives him in response. “You think I am losing my mind. I’m telling you, I’m just as sane as I was when I woke up this morning. It’s the whole rest of the world that’s gone nuts.”

“I think,” Mulder says gently, “that we can’t always expect how trauma will affect us.” He walks over to the phone, picks up the handset and starts dialing. “And I also think that Scully will know what to do. Why don’t you sit down?”

Doggett has no desire to sit down, but Mulder walks away before he can argue, going into the bedroom and closing the door. So he paces, instead, trying to put the pieces together from everything that has transpired since Monica left the room to get plates. That was the point where everything went off the rails. 

Follmer said something about shock, and now Mulder’s talking about trauma, but it was a completely normal Saturday until Monica disappeared. Did he fall and hit his head? Is he lying unconscious on her floor right now with a brain aneurysm? Wouldn’t he remember something like that happening? 

“She’s on her way,” Mulder says, emerging from the bedroom. “She wants me to ask what you remember about this morning. What happened before you came here?”

“I got up, drove into the city, and left my truck at the Hoover Building. Took a cab over to M Street, picked up a couple of Polish sausages from Stachowski’s, and walked to Monica’s new place. We talked for a minute, she went into the kitchen, and that’s when everything went haywire.”

Mulder frowns. “According to Skinner, you and Agent Reyes were on a stakeout this morning with AD Follmer. You don’t remember anything about that?”

“Why in the hell would we be on a stakeout? It’s a Saturday, and even if it weren’t, we don’t have any active cases right now, anyway.”

“But you remember driving to work,” Mulder points out.

“Only because I didn’t want to deal with parking over on this side of town!” 

“All right.” Mulder holds up his hands. “So you said Agent Reyes went into the kitchen, and then everything went haywire. What do you mean by that?”

Doggett gives a frustrated sigh, then recounts the whole ridiculous series of events, between Follmer’s call and Monica’s disappearance and how the open front door was closed and deadbolted.

“And before you ask if maybe she went out a different way and I just didn’t see her leave, not a chance. There’s one doorway in and out of that kitchen, and I was standing in front of it the whole time.”

Hearing himself say everything out loud, he knows exactly how insane it all sounds. He’s beginning to have a healthy dose of sympathy for some of the people he’s dealt with during his time on the X-Files. To Mulder’s credit, he’s looking at him more thoughtfully than dismissively.

A faint cry from the other room causes both men to glance toward the bedroom door. Mulder looks at the clock on the wall and gives a wry smile, shaking his head.

“Right on schedule. Kid’s like a Swiss watch these days. Excuse me a minute.”

Resisting the urge to resume pacing, Doggett walks to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. On the counter beside the coffee maker is a framed photo he’s never seen before; in it, Mulder is holding baby William, who looks to be a couple of months old. 

“What the hell?” Doggett murmurs, picking up the frame.

He flips it over and takes the frame apart to extract the photograph, looking for the date printed on the back.

11 Jul 2001

How is that possible? Mulder had been gone, what, six weeks by then? He’s pretty sure Agent Scully, fearful though she was for Mulder’s safety, still would have mentioned it if he’d swung back through town for a visit.

He’s still holding the photograph when Mulder walks into the kitchen with the baby in his arms.

“Explain to me how this is possible,” Doggett says quietly. “How is there a photo of you from July when I am pretty damned sure you were nowhere near here?”

Mulder sets about making a bottle of formula. “You keep talking about my being gone, but the fact is, I never went anywhere.”

Doggett narrows his eyes. “What are you saying, you were just hiding here the whole time? You expect me to believe that?”

“I don’t expect you to believe much of anything,” Mulder says dryly. “But I’m starting to think that whatever’s going on here is more than just trauma-induced memory loss.”

“You know, that’s the second time you’ve mentioned trauma, but I’ve still got no idea what you could possibly mean. This morning has been weird, no question, but unless all of this is one big hallucination because I fell and hit my head or something--”

The front door opens, and he looks up to see Agent Scully walking in, her eyes wide and worried. “John,” she says as her gaze finds his. “How did you get here?”

Things must really be bad if she’s calling me John. “I walked.”

“From Dillon Park?” she asks, brow creased in confusion.

“What? No. From Monica’s apartment.” Exasperation threatens to completely overwhelm him. “Would somebody please start talking sense here? AD Follmer says I’m supposed to be in some alley, Mulder says I’m supposed to be at the hospital, and now you’re talking about Dillon Park. What the hell is going on with everyone today?! How is it possible that my partner disappearing into thin air is not the most confusing thing that’s happened in the last hour?!”

“Disappearing…” Scully looks pained. “John, Monica’s dead. She was killed trying to apprehend a suspect this morning near Dillon Park. You and AD Follmer were watching from the surveillance van.”

“What are you talking about?!” he explodes, and William starts to cry. He shoots an apologetic look over at Mulder, who bounces the baby gently to settle him, and then lowers his voice to continue. “I don’t know who told you that, but not one word of it is true.”

Scully shakes her head sadly. “I’m so sorry, but--”

“I believe you,” Mulder interrupts.

Doggett and Scully both look at him in surprise. “What?”

“Too much doesn’t add up,” he says. “How you got all the way across town so fast. Why you think I’ve been gone for five months.” He glances at Scully as he says this, and her eyes widen; Doggett watches an entire silent conversation pass between them in the course of a few seconds before Mulder turns his attention back to him. “What do you know about the theory of parallel dimensions?”

[darkesttimelinestuff]

Summer of Love

My submission (as a sub) for the X-Files Alternate Universe Fanfic Exchange (2021) is now on Ao3!

For @greekowl87

Chapter 1

San Francisco, CA

July 21, 1967

3:08pm

It was a summer of change and upheaval and Agent Mulder stood on the corner of Haight and Ashbury. The hilly San Francisco district had become the center of the counterculture movement, with musicians and artists lining the streets just outside their apartments. The 1950s Beat generation had sought out the quaint and cheap housing of the underpopulated district, and by the 1960s, the anti-establishment movement had grown and morphed with the rise of the Vietnam War.

Mulder stood in awe of the color that surrounded him. Reds and yellows, greens and blues swirled like a life-sized tie-dye shirt. It was a stark contrast to the shades of grey and black that roamed the streets of Washington D.C. Life was teeming, and everyone seemed friendly, or at the very least accepting, of everyone else.

As Mulder admired a young woman skating by on roller skates, her long brown hair blowing behind her, his thoughts were interrupted.

“What are we doing here, Agent Mulder?” Agent Doggett’s gruff voice came from beside him.

Doggett’s patience was wearing thin and they’d only just arrived in the Golden City. He knew damn well they were searching for a murderer.

Mulder had gone to their subterranean office Monday morning, wound up with too much caffeine and not enough food in his stomach. He’d been up half the night studying their potential new case: a man who liked to abduct women and hack them up. Not all the victims’ body parts were found, but Mulder had noticed a clear pattern surrounding the killings, a possible motive that transcended purely killing for pleasure. There was premeditation, and Mulder was certain that all the killings were connected to a single killer.

“Staking out the place,” Mulder replied, his eyes searching up and down the sidewalk for a potential starting place. All the bodies had been found in the Haight-Ashbury District, likely by someone familiar with the area.

“The entire neighborhood?”

“Fine,” Mulder relented, “we’ll get a feel for the area. Let’s see what connections we can make. You never know where one person might lead us.”

The sun beat down on the suit-clad agents and Doggett took a long sip of his coffee, turning his head to a mob of people crossing the street together. “We stick out like a sore thumb.”

Doggett had reluctantly agreed to fly out west with Mulder to investigate the mass murders - four women so far - and hopefully apprehend the sick bastard leaving dead hippies carefully posed near dumpsters and in back alleys. Mulder was grateful for the help and the backup.

“It’s all happening here,” Mulder had insisted, arms spread, gesturing to the cityscape before them. “Every single one of those bodies was left within a quarter mile radius on this cross street. He lives here. He picks these women at rallies or in bars, courts them, earns their trust, and then takes them back to his house to seduce and then kill them. Of that, I am certain.”

“And we’re sure they weren’t raped?” Doggett asked.

Shaking his head, Mulder replied, “There is no indication of rape from the evidence. The women had sex willingly. It’s only after the seduction and intercourse that the women were murdered.”

“Alright, Mulder,” Doggett said, “but the one thing I don’t understand is why these women are all dolled up. Too much makeup for the so-called hippies.”

“I’m not sure why yet. Something in the way this sicko operates, playing out fantasies maybe.”

“I sure hope you’re right about this, Mulder.”

“Me too,” Mulder replied, a stone sitting heavy in his gut at the thought of all the cut-up bodies.

Mulder had presented the senior agent with plane tickets and that is how they had ended up in San Francisco chasing down a murderer at the height of the Summer of Love.

Both men hoped Mulder’s hunch would lead them to their suspect and not on some wild hippie chase.

“There.” Mulder said, pointing in the direction where a large group of people, mostly hippies, were making their way to a gathering. Cheers erupted as a guitar strummed. “Looks like we found ourselves at a peace rally.”

Doggett acknowledged this with a curt nod and the two men made their way across the street, weaving their way around people, to the very center of the crowd. A shirtless man with stringy hair played guitar, singing about peace, love, and acceptance.

The song ended and the man tucked a long strand of hair behind his ear.

“Let’s all have a moment of silence for our fallen heroes,” he said, bowing his head.

“This is so damn touching,” Doggett sarcastically muttered to Mulder, who could not suppress a grimace. These young kids had lost fathers and brothers, and even sisters, to the war. But Doggett was not wrong. Optimistic crowds could sing about peace, but little would improve without extreme policy change. The United States was too invested in the war, had too much at stake.

The crowd collectively bowed their heads and closed their eyes. Some placed their hands over their hearts; a quiet fell upon the street.

“Do you see any possible suspicious people?” Mulder whispered.

He and Doggett took the opportunity to scan up and down the street. People had gathered not just along the sidewalk, but spilled into the street, blocking the road. No one seemed to mind, though, and the peace rally continued to grow in size.

Through the sea of bent heads, a woman caught Mulder’s eye. She was rather small - he would not have noticed her had it not been for the bent heads  - with a halo of red hair among the brown and blonde. But that wasn’t what stood out to him. Those blue eyes, clear as a summer’s day, were not closed in a silent prayer but looking right at him. She ducked her head when she noticed him.

“Thank you,” the singer broke through the silence.“That was truly groovy. I felt all of your love coursing through me. I’m sure that our fallen brothers felt it too.”

“Let’s get the hell outta here,” Doggett said. “We’re not gonna find him now. We’re looking for a hippie in a haystack.”

The crowd swayed in unison as music resumed playing, and the two agents, frustrated that their suspect didn’t jump up and present himself, pushed their way through the masses. As they neared the end of the mess of people, an older, long-haired, scraggly man grabbed Mulder’s arm.

“The end is nigh! You have to believe!” he yelled in the agent’s face.

“I want to believe,” Mulder returned, not unkindly, while attempting to pull his arm away. The man was clearly down on his luck.

But the vagrant pulled Mulder in closer. He smelled of booze and body odor.

“NO!” he howled. “Trust no one!” Then turning to the crowd, he yelled, “Look at this one! He’s one of them! He’s the Man!”

The two agents felt the eyes of all the crowd turn and stare at them as they were singled out. Some booed and hissed at them.

But from the throng came a voice over the microphone announcing, “Friends! Brothers and sisters! ALL are welcome.” People whooped and hollered back, others clapped at the call for acceptance.

Mulder tried harder to extricate himself. The bearded man had surprising strength and put up quite a fight, resulting in a tug of war with Mulder’s arm. Eventually, Doggett came to the rescue, gripping the assailant’s fingers and prying them off of his partner’s arm. Backward inertia from the opposing pulls forced Mulder to suddenly fall onto some of the rally attendees.

High-pitched screams came from beneath him. Mulder struggled awkwardly as he realized at least a couple of women had broken his fall. He winced as his head collided with something and very suddenly realized that Doggett’s firm grip pulled him to his feet. He immediately turned to offer his sincerest apologies. They had not intended to call attention to themselves so publicly.

As Mulder brushed himself off, he recognized the face of one of the women - the redhead with the piercing eyes. They were even more magnificent up close and he momentarily lost the ability to form words at his surprise, instead offering his hand, which she accepted.

Meanwhile, Doggett had offered the two other women - a tall brunette with a sharp face, and a lovely redhead with long wavy hair and kind eyes - his help, ensuring everyone’s safety and well being.

“Our apologies, everyone,” offered Doggett. “My friend here has a knack for getting himself into trouble. I hope nobody is hurt.”

“Yes, sorry,” Mulder chimed in, remembering his manners, his eyes glued to the smaller of the redheads.

She held out her hand to him and gave him a genuinely warm smile. “I’m Dana Scully.”

@today-in-fic

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Jenna Tooms

Jenna Tooms has 37 stories at Gossamer, plus you can find X-Files stories and more by her at AO3 (as misslucyjane). I've recced some of my favorites of her fics here before, including the MSR Christmas story An Acceptable Level of Happiness and the historical AU Katherine of Ireland. Big thanks to Jenna for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Yes, definitely. I had no idea there was still an active X-Files fandom.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

For the most part, it was pretty good. I made a lot of great friends that I'm still in contact with, and I think I learned a lot (by trial and error) about how to behave online.  Writing fanfic with a built-in audience did a lot for my confidence as a writer.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Message boards at first, then mostly email mailing lists.

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

Writing fic made me a better writer. Fandom has introduced to a lot of amazing people.

But there were some bad feelings, mostly the vitriol directed at Doggett and Reyes, towards the end of the series that ruined the rest of it for me. I've kind of held back from getting super-involved in fandom since.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I've always liked things like ghost stories and cryptozoology, so that drew me in at first. I think my first episode was The Host in summer reruns, as I was working Friday nights at the time and only learned about it from my dorm mates. We lived together again in an off-campus apartment a year or two later, and by then XF was on Sunday nights so that was our standing Sunday night appointment TV.

I feel old.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I knew what fanfic was, more or less, and had been writing since Star Wars: A New Hope was originally released. When I first wanted to get involved in XF fandom I went looking for other fans, and found the OBSSE (Order of the Blessed Saint Scully the Enigmatic) newsletter, which had fanfic recs. I can't remember what story it was specifically but I'm pretty sure it was by MustangSally.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

Like an ex whose good times were very, very good, but whose bad times were horrid.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I've been involved, to various degrees, in Harry Potter, Supernatural, Doctor Who/Torchwood, MCU, and Sherlock fandoms, and dabbled in a few smaller ones.

I've also playing in a multi-fandom role-play game since 2004, that introduced me to some great fandoms and some amazing people. The game is kind of a fandom in itself, and is the only thing I've been as intensely involved in as X-Files.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

Dana Scully, Steve Rogers, Sherlock Holmes (any incarnation), Deadpool, Sansa Stark, Aang, Groot, Peter Parker, Wonder Woman. Yes, I am looking at my Funko Pops :).

I tend to like characters who are trying to do good in the world, or who stay strong in the face of adversity. I have no explanation for Deadpool except that he's Deadpool.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

No, not really. I haven't watched the new series or any of the movies since the first one. I think of Mulder and Scully fondly, but I don't feel the need to revisit them.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

X-Files, no. If I come along something promising in a fandom I'm interested in like the MCU or Sherlock, or if something is recommended by someone whose taste I trust or written by an author I ready like, then I'll read it.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I really liked bugs, Rachel Anton, David Hearne, Plausible Deniability, Penumbra, Terma99, and OneMillionStars, I think their pen name was? [Lilydale note: I think this is Onemillionandnine.] Some stories I liked are "Condemned to Repeat It" [Lilydale note: by Branwell], "Cherry Ripe" by Rachel Anton [Lilydale note: co-written with Laura Blaurosen], "Cadenza" (part 1, part 2) by Terma99, and "Twelve Inches" by Federal Dust. There were more but all my saved files were lost several computers ago. 

[Lilydale note: try as I might, I could not find “Twelve Inches” online, not even a mention of it. However, I have a copy saved from 2003 (!!). It’s a season 8 story with the summary “In trying to understand his own feelings about women and relationships, Doggett inadvertently helps Scully understand Mulder.”]. 

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Favorite X-Files fic is Draw Down the Moon, a Scully/Doggett post-canon AU.

Favorite in general is Apocalyptic Love Songs, a Supernatural Dean/Castial fic I wrote for a Big Bang challenge. I'd had the idea for a modern-day Grail quest for a long time -- originally as an XF fic, in fact -- but could never figure out how to do it until Supernatural came along.

(Because of the actions of some unscrupulous persons, all my fic on AO3 is locked to members.)

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

No, I don't see that happening.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I write a little fanfic now and then, mostly for Yuletide or other challenges that catch my eye.

I have been writing and publishing original work since 2007 with a small publisher that is now shut down. I'm now publishing independently.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

It's hard to say. Sometimes I hear a line or two of dialogue in my head and want to see where the conversation goes. Sometimes I just have a random thought of "What if..." and have to find the answer to that question.

What's the story behind your pen name?

I get bored of names easily so I've changed it a few times. I currently write fic as Misslucyjane, which is a nickname my mother calls me.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

They knew I write it, they don't know the content. I'm okay with that.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

Fanfic is at misslucyjane.me (though I haven't updated it in ages) and Archive of Our Own (as misslucyjane). Original fiction, largely M/M romance, is posted or linked at jennalynnbrown.com. I hang out on Twitter as @misslucyjane.

(Posted by Lilydale on September 22, 2020)

[sunshinetoday]

It’s been ten weeks since our favorite show is back in production!! Let’s see what happened in this week. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. week summaries.

*Clicking on links will take you to the original posting of the video/article/tweet... X marks the posting of linked content on Tumblr. It takes you to be Tumblr link of the person who posted it here.*

This week started with everyone being high on the Comic Con. Like, everyone! The wide range of press coverage and fangirling everywhere was overwhelming and we did enjoy it, for sure! 24 years and we’re still going like crazy.

David and Gillian are the sweetest to meet according to a Bleeding Cool journalist!

The panel had it’s ups and downs but we did learn a lot of the new season and we were all really proud of David for being the man of his word: “In 20 years he will be doing X-files panels” And, yes it did send us down to the rabbit hole again of all the speculations, conspiracy theories and such. All in all, we a fandom based on THAT! Soooo let’s see how this all looked like in terms of facts and figures 😂😂But before that, I’m just gonna include this adorable gifset post from @justholdinghandsok to warm your heart and bring a smile on your faces! 

David Duchovny checking on Gillian Anderson since 2013.

The beginning of this week was mostly just press releases, which you can find listed below, so...

Let’s jump to Thursday, and this weeks' #tbt which referenced once again how badass Dana Scully is: “Dana Scully, parkour pioneer” @gillianaofficial

Happy Birthday, Fox Mulder!! 

Fox Mulder turned 56 this year and we celebrated accordingly with fanfictions, gifsets, many many sexy Mulder pictures...check out the dash of your favourite bloggers for the cool stuff!

Brick is getting more and more famous and apparently, he seems to notice it; “Yeah, my dog apparently has about 10.000 twitter followers. It’s gone to his head. We were leaving set and there is a van that takes me to and from the set that has one of those sliding back doors and then the passenger seat door. So they both open at the same time and my dog started…after the twitter thing blew up, he started jumping into the front seat. (X)

Also, in case you didn’t know here is Brick’s story, how he found this amazing human being, his best friend David Duchovny.”Life is a journey and adventure. You never know where it will lead. Thanks for the bath, snacks and home @davidduchovny! #fam Woof” (X)

David is trying to fool us stating: We might think we want a sex scene, but not really ‘cause they are too old...

I mean it’s a nice idea, David but it’s not gonna happen. WE WANT OUR SEX SCENE. And also, I don’t believe anything you just said...

Chris Carter is making the rounds with his Season 11 spoilers: This is something he said at the press table, NYCC...; “Q:...but are we gonna get any kind of peace? Ever? Basically…” Chris Carter: “I mean what is Closure?” (X)

But David and Gillian keep sharing cute and heartfelt behind the scenes stories like the story of the wandering bear: “David Duchovny recalls how he would have saved Gillian Anderson from a bear. “ @youreadarkwizard

I did do a post about all the information we have so far on the episodes, it’s pretty long and full of spoilers... The X-files, Season 11 - What we know so far

On Sunday we had David’s concert at Imperial, Vancouver. There were many tumblrinos there, so we do have many materials to catch up on what we missed! Thank you to all of you for sharing! 

Brick was one of the stars of this event, as well! David was rocking in his Lifeguard hoodie before changing into his rock star outfit! Also, please never ever reference David’s dance moves, Dad Dancing, ever again. Thank you😂😂

David Duchovny concert entrance in Vancouver 14th oct. 2017 @becksndot5

The necessary arm porn picture @xf-fan1993

Some definitely not Dad Dancing moves @ccoblee

David covers Bowie’s “Heroes.” story and video shared by @greeneyes0526

And we also learnt that: “Chris Carter totally surprised David by having a local punk band cover ‘Unsaid Undone’ and putting it in, I think it’s the 3rd episode that we shot.” (X)

And thanks to IMDB’s official The X-files Season 11 pages, now we know that Mulder and Scully will have sex in each episode and we have  William Bill Williamson - Love Scene Supervisor to thank 😂😂😂 (X)

And one more sweet tweet from Brick in this week’s summary; “It was awesome to meet so many fans at the @davidduchovny concert this weekend! Time to get back to work Directing @thexfiles! #action (X)

Filming news:

Gillian was filming on Monday 

#TheXFiles in West Vancouver today. Mulder & Scully (David Duchovny & Gillian Anderson) at Arcade Station on Marine Drive. (X)

SEASON 11: THE X-FILES Mulder & Scully (David Duchovny & Gillian Anderson) in West Vancouver (X)

MILES ROBBINS (susans son) playing William Scully??? #TheXFiles (X)

@WhatsFilming  3FP Signs on 96th Ave. into 14th in Walnut Grove. Could that be X-Files? (X)

Press of the week: 

GILLIAN ANDERSON’S RETURN TO TV IS COMING AT THE PERFECT TIME (X)

NYCC 2017: Gillian Anderson On Cliffhangers, William, And Immortality (X)

NYCC 2017: David Duchovny On Fox Mulder, Fake News, And More (X)

'The X-Files' Cast Talk Season 11 and Thrill of Still Chasing Aliens 25 years Later (X)

The X-Files Eyes Robert Patrick for Season 11 Encore as Doggett (X)

THE X-FILES CAST ON HOW THE REBOOT LIVES UP TO THE ORIGINAL (X)

Mulder and Scully hunt for their son in The X-Files season 11 trailer (X)

The X-Files Mega Buzz: The Search for William Will Bring Mulder and Scully Even Closer (X)

The 25 Best TV Love Stories of The Last 25 Years (X)

Interviews/Videos of the week:

Gillian Anderson & David Duchovny on Mulder/Scully’s Kid | New York Comic-Con 2017 | SYFY WIRE (X)

Gillian Anderson & David Duchovny Take on Social Media (X)

David Duchovny Says Keep An Eye On Mulder's Bulletin Board on 'X-Files'(X)

An Interview With X-Files' David Duchovny at NYCC (X)

Interview with X-Files Gillian Anderson At New York Comic Con (X)

Gillian Anderson & David Duchovny on Mulder/Scully’s Kid | New York Comic-Con 2017 (X)

In other news this week;

David does look like a puppy, thank you @mulders-boyish-enthousiasm

David Duchovny: Songs in the Key of X (X)

Printed version from the Vancouver Sun posted by @becksndot5

David at the Nat & Drew Show (X) 

Remember when Mulder complained about rain and felt Vancouver's wrath? (X)

Gillian Anderson in 200 women

The First Trailer For Agatha Christie's 'Crooked House' Shows How Family Drama Can Make A Murderer (X)

The Movement of #MeToo @gillianaofficial 

David Duchovny stopped by The Nat & Drew Show to talk about his new music, The X Files... (X)

Some awesome gifsets, pictures, and fan arts:

You have to stop him. Before he unleashes hell on earth @tatianagmaslany

Favourite NYCC 2017 moment @mulders-boyish-enthousiasm 

Gillian and David spent a lot of time looking at each other at the New York Comic Con X-Files panel (October 8, 2017) @lilydalexf

Because with all she’s been through, Scully deserves nice things. @msrafterdark

Then and Now @allyinthekeyofx

Colored in my ‘first contact’ drawing I made for inktober @random-ship

Digital painting of Scully inspired by a photo from the set of TheXFiles s11   @chimerart

I think this is it for our tenth week! *Let me know if I missed something or if you have suggestions what to include in the next week summary, feel free to message me anytime*

Lots of love, fam! For another great week ahead!  ❤️ 👽😄👽

[mldrgrl]

Not Again: Part 2

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG13 Summary: See Part 1

Part 2: Returned Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11

Chapter 12, Day 30:

She stays at her mother’s for nearly a week, and though it doesn’t exactly repair their relationship, it heals some parts of it.  At times they treated each other with the caution of strangers, both fully aware of how brittle the bonds were between them.  They spent time shopping for the baby and reminiscing.  There were moments where Scully had to make an effort to let her mother just be her mother and consciously allow herself to be taken care of.  That had been difficult, but it was a nice feeling to be cared for.

She’s only been home for a day, but she feels the loneliness and quiet more acutely than she has before.  Without work or an agenda, she isn’t sure what to do with herself.  

The one thing that’s truly bothered her the last week is Mulder’s silence.  She’s tried not to let the anxiety of more missing pieces to her life’s puzzle get the best of her, but at night, when she tries to sleep, she’s plagued by the what ifs that may never go answered.  She had thought, at the very least, Mulder would keep her updated on anything he might uncover, but he’s made no attempt at communication with her whatsoever.  

She’s washing dishes from dinner when there’s a knock on the door.  She dries her hands and checks the peephole.  Mulder is in the hall, bouncing on his feet, a gash dripping blood over his right eyebrow.  She throws the door open, concern pulling her brows together.

���Mulder?”

“Scully.”  He bends towards her and wraps his arms around her, holding her tight.  She puts her own arm around him for a few moments and then reaches up to cup the back of his head.

“What happened?” she asks.

“I promise I’ll tell you everything.”  He pulls away and then kicks a duffel bag inside her door before closing and locking it behind him.  “We don’t have a lot of time though.”

“Time for what?”

“I’ll tell you everything on the way, but you need to trust me now.”

“I do trust you.”

He picks up the duffel bag and holds it out to her.  “Take this and pack whatever you think you can’t pick up along the way.”

She doesn’t know what that means.  Doesn’t know what or for how long she needs to prepare for.  She can tell by his face that he’s serious, but he also looks exhausted, and the gash on his forehead needs tending to.

“Your cut needs to be looked at,” she says.  “Let me clean you up first.”

Mulder sighs and lets her lead him to the kitchen table.  He sits down and she gets her first aid kit.  She douses a cotton ball in hydrogen peroxide and dabs at his cut, but he hisses and grabs her wrist.

“Easy, Doc,” he says.

In response, she bops his nose with another cotton ball and he chuckles, then releases her to finish cleaning the wound.  

“How was your mother’s place?” he asks.

“How did you know I stayed there?” she answers, frowning slightly.

“You’ve been under protective watch since you left the Hoover Building last week.  Doggett ordered it.”

Scully pauses with the cotton ball poised over Mulder’s brow.  “Protective watch or surveillance?”

“Protective watch.”

“Care to tell me what I’m being protected from?  Does it have anything to do with this cut on your head?”

“It’s gonna take some time to explain, and yes.”

As Scully places the bandage carefully over Mulder’s brow, he wraps his arm around her hip and rests his cheek against her stomach.  She puts her hands on his head and strokes his hair.

“I really need you to pack that bag now,” he says.  “We’ve got to meet Doggett and Reyes.”

“Okay.”

Before she walks away, Mulder grabs her arm and pulls her back to him.  He reaches up and cups her face, bringing her down into a kiss.  It’s sweet and gentle.  She smiles into it and pulls back to rest her forehead against his.

“Now you can go,” he says.

As she walks away, Mulder starts turning out the lights in the apartment.  She takes up the abandoned duffel bag from the foyer and takes it to her room.  It’s already half full with his clothes, but she throws in some of the new maternity clothes she’s bought and grabs the toiletry bag from her bathroom, but doesn’t stop to assess the contents.  

She puts on a light jacket and stops to slip into a pair of shoes.  Mulder takes the duffel bag from her and guides her to the door.  She manages to grab her purse on the way out and then Mulder waits behind her as she locks her door.  His phone rings while they’re in the hall and he yanks it out of his pocket immediately.

“Mulder,” he says, slinging the bag over his shoulder.  He nods towards the stairs and follows behind her a step as she leads them to the lobby.  “I’m leaving with Scully now.  What do you mean he’s gone?”

Scully is suddenly halted by Mulder’s hand on her shoulder, pulling her back before she makes it around the corner.  The phone is no longer at his ear.  He gives her the bag again by swinging it to her front from behind and then he takes his gun out of his holster.

“Keep behind me,” he whispers.  He takes his car keys out of his pocket and hands them to her.  “When we get outside, go to the car, open the driver’s side door and get in.”

Scully takes his car keys and nods.  He raises his brows to ask if she’s ready and she nods again.  As soon as Mulder steps out from behind the corner, gun first, Scully moves behind him, following in his deliberate gait.  She’s between him and the side wall, inching along as he checks the points of entry and exit down the line of the barrel of his gun.

The lobby is clear of whatever threat he’s looking for.  He takes a quick inspection of the front door and then waves her on, placing her in front of him to step down the small flight of stairs to the sidewalk while he covers her from behind.  Without looking back, she speed walks to Mulder’s car and opens the driver’s door.

Mulder is right behind her, climbing in before she’s able to fully scoot across the bench seat to the passenger side.  Too late, she realizes his car is boxed in, and any chance of getting away quickly, as he obviously wants them to do, is unlikely.  There’s also a figure in the middle of the street, standing motionless at the intersection ahead.

“Mulder,” she murmurs.

“Shit,” he says.

The figure moves, heading slowly in their direction.  He passes under the light of a street lamp and Scully gasps and squints.

“Billy Miles?” she wonders aloud.

In the next instant, a black Sedan races through the intersection at high speed, purposefully running straight into and over Billy.  The tires screech mercilessly as the car comes to a stop next to Mulder’s car.  To Scully’s astonishment, Billy Miles is pushing himself up from the asphalt as though nothing had just happened.

The window of the black Sedan lowers.  “Get in,” Agent Reyes shouts.  “Now!”

Mulder wastes no time shoving his door open.  He yanks open the back door of the Sedan and Scully throws the duffel bag to him before she slides across the seat.  He helps her get out of his car and into the other and then he jumps in behind her.  Agent Reyes steps on the gas even before the back door is closed.  Scully turns around to see Billy Miles running behind the car, but he can’t keep up.  They lose him after the first turn Agent Reyes makes, though it’s obvious neither she nor Mulder believe he’s gone by the pathological way they both keep checking behind them.

*****

“It’s Billy Miles, but it isn’t,” Mulder says, once they’ve cleared city limits and are on the highway.  Scully had waited for the tension and fear of being followed to die down before she demanded an explanation.

“Don’t start there,” Scully says.  “I want to know everything that’s happened this past week.  Everything you’ve uncovered.”

“Wouldn’t it be more fun to play the license plate game?” Mulder says, dryly.  

Scully glares at him in return.  She sees Agent Reyes glance at them in the rear-view mirror.

“Whenever you need to stop, Dana, let me know,” Agent Reyes says.

“Thank you, Agent Reyes.”

Scully glances out the window at the highway signs.  They’re on the I-66, but she has no idea where they’re headed.  She sighs and watches a semi merge ahead of them.

“I’ll start with the document Agent Doggett showed you,” Mulder says.  “It was either forged or altered.  You didn’t sign it, and you didn’t have an appointment with Dr. Parenti on July 16, 2000.”

“How do you know that?”

“First and foremost, I pulled our case log.  We were in Kansas City on July 16th.”

“Doing what?”

“Weird doppleganger case.  Don’t even ask.  But, we were there from July 15th to the 18th.  If that’s not enough, Doggett and I went down and had a little talk with Doctor Frankenstein.”

“Who?”

“Parenti.  The man’s got a room full of alien fetuses that he claims are studies of birth defects.”

“What?”  Scully feels the blood drain from her face.  Her hand goes immediately to her belly.

“Relax,” Mulder says, putting his hand over hers.  “He had nothing to do with this baby.”

“How do you know that?”

“There’s an accident up ahead,” Agent Reyes suddenly says, tapping her brakes as they move up on a sea of red tail lights.  

The three occupants of the Sedan are tense and on guard until they pass the fender bender on the highway.  The traffic, though mild, eases up again and evens out.  For those moments of uncertainty, a sudden pain hits Scully low in her back and moves around her body like a slow blooming cramp.  Her belly hardens a bit under her hand and then softens again.  She bites her lip and holds her breath, but says nothing to Mulder or Agent Reyes.  They don’t need to worry about her in addition to everything else.

For some reason, she’s struck with a memory of knocking on the door to a cabin and Mulder pulling her inside.  I was starting to get ready for bed and I started to feel really dizzy.  He’s holding her hands.  I just want to get warm.  He’s spooning up behind her and putting his arm around her.

“I know Parenti has nothing to do with the baby,” Mulder continues, and the memory fades.  “Because when we asked him about you, he was genuinely surprised that you’d gotten pregnant.”

“How do you know he wasn’t lying?” Scully asks.

“You want to know everything, right?”

“Of course.”

“No matter how upsetting it might be?”

“Dammit, Mulder, just tell me!’

“Your fertility treatment was a charade,” he says.  “The embryos you were implanted with weren’t your own.  That was the scam they were running as a facility.  What they were trying to do, what they’ve been doing, is implanting genetically altered embryos into unsuspecting women, preying on their desperate hopes to conceive.  None of them lived, but none were supposed to.  They were only created for their tissue samples and further experimentation.”

At this point, Scully simply feels numb to new information.  She listens stoically to what Mulder relays to her, telling herself that she’s okay, that if Mulder believes she’s fine, and that the baby is unharmed, she can endure anything.

“When your IVF failed,” he says.  “Your file was marked as NSI, Not Suitable for Implantation, but the eggs you gave Parenti were saved for further experimentation.”

“Where are they now?”

“Destroyed.  I’m pretty sure Billy Miles was responsible for that.”

“The Billy Miles that isn’t Billy Miles?”

“I’m getting to that.  That authorization that Doggett uncovered was just one of many that they used to falsify legal records and continue carrying out their experiments.”

“Parenti admitted all this to you?”

“No.  A woman named Lizzie Gill came to us who worked for the program for years.  She filled us in on some of the missing pieces of the puzzle.”

“This woman just comes to you out of the blue?  And you don’t question her credibility?”

“She came to us for protection, when she realized that these facilities have been systematically destroyed, one by one, over the past few weeks.  She wanted to trade information for safety.”

Scully shakes her head and looks out the window again.  They’ve entered a light fog and the windows are misted over, giving the lights they pass by on the highway a blurry halo.

“Reyes can explain more about Billy Miles,” Mulder says.

Agent Reyes takes a quick glance in the rear-view mirror and meets Scully’s weary gaze.  Her eyes shift in Mulder’s direction and then back to the road.

“Why don’t we use this rest stop ahead,” Agent Reyes says.  “I need to let John know you’re safe.”

Safety is an illusion, Scully thinks.  They’re never safe.  Not really.

Agent Reyes pulls the car off the highway into a rest area.  Mulder gets out first and rounds the back of the car to Scully’s door.  He takes her hand to help her out.  Her back aches a little, but she straightens and heads to the restrooms.  

When she comes out, Agent Reyes is on her cell phone, pacing along the front of the car.  Mulder is nowhere to be found.  She gets back into the car and opens up the duffel bag to see if she has any chapstick in her toiletry bag.  Her lips are feeling dry and chapped.

Without the benefit of the dome light, Scully fishes her hand around the bag and comes up with a book of some kind.  She positions it closer to the window and thumbs the pages.  It’s a journal - Mulder’s journal.  The last entry is dated a week ago.

How did this child come to be?  What set its heart beating?  Is it the product of a union, or the work of a divine hand?  An answered prayer?  A true miracle?  Or is it a wonder of technology -  the intervention of other hands?  What do I tell this child about to be born?  What do I tell Scully?  And what do I tell myself?

Quickly, Scully closes the journal and shoves it back in the duffel bag.  Her heart is racing.  She’d been relying on Mulder’s unwavering confidence in her pregnancy, but to read that he feels as unsure as she does makes her even more frightened.  Of course, the entry is a week old and it was before he uncovered all this new information he’s sharing with her now.  She’s got to wonder though if he still harbors any of these doubts.

Agent Reyes gets back into the car before Mulder does.  She takes the front passenger seat though, not the driver’s seat.  Scully assumes Mulder insisted on driving after she left the car.

“I wish I could say something that won’t exacerbate your concerns,” Agent Reyes says.

“I’m afraid it’s about eight years too late for that,” Scully answers, immediately regretting the bitterness in her voice.  “I’m sorry, Agent Reyes, my hostility isn’t directed at you.”

“You can call me Monica.  Agent Reyes is so formal.”

“You might as well call me Dana.  I’m not even sure if I’m an Agent anymore.”

Mulder returns and gets into the driver’s side.  When they’re back on the road, Agent Reyes, Monica, starts giving her the background information on Billy Miles.  She learns about her investigation into a doomsday cult and the prophecies of their leader known as Absalom.  She’s also surprised to learn that Monica has been working closely with the Lone Gunmen recently in tracking Absalom’s whereabouts and activities.

“What I don’t understand is,” Scully says, after the story is told, “why you’re trusting the ravings of a cult leader in the first place.  Does this so called super soldier theory make any sense to you?”

“We got corroboration from another source,” Mulder says.

“Who?”  Scully asks.

Mulder looks in the rear-view mirror at her.  “Alex Krycek.”

“Oh, you have got to be fu…”  Scully shakes her head in disbelief.  “Alex Krycek is a pathological liar.”

“Krycek is an opportunist,” Mulder answers.

“He tells you what you want to hear when he knows it’ll get him something.”

“All that matters to me at this point is that he claims you’re in danger.”

Scully takes a deep breath.  “Because of what this baby is?”

“Because of what it isn’t.  You weren’t supposed to be able to conceive, Scully, but you did.  They’re afraid of you, and what it might mean.”

“What does it mean?”

Mulder meets her eyes in the mirror again.  “Life finds a way.”

Scully lowers her head into one hand and rubs her brow.  “I can’t be the subject of a never ending x-file.  I just can’t.  Not anymore and not now.”

“The baby is a miracle of nature,” Mulder says emphatically.  “Not of science.  Whether alien technology or otherwise.”

“How do you be so sure of that?” she whispers.

He’s quiet for the next few moments before he simply murmurs, “Caddyshack.”

“What?”

“Trust me.”  His eyes meet hers briefly in the rear-view mirror with an imploring look.

Agent Reyes turns to look over the seat at Scully and gives her a sympathetic smile.  Scully lays her head back on the seat and closes her eyes.

*****

[myassbrokethefall]

As a fan of The X Files, what did you first think of Fringe? I remember Fringe being compared to TXF before the show even premiered and the creators stated that it was influenced by it. Having seen TFX after seeing Fringe, I definitely understand the comparisons and I was wondering what did you think about that. One thing I think Fringe did really well (especially in later seasons) that I wish TXF S10 had done was having the mythology sprinkled in even in the case of the week episodes

When I first watched Fringe, it did feel to me like something of an XF ripoff. Basically that they added more people to make it different but then copied XF as much as they could. I thought it was OK, and I didn’t mind it being “inspired” by XF per se -- after XF’s peak popularity there were a ton of shows that tried to cash in on the vibe (anyone remember Dark Skies?), so there was actually a little novelty factor in one of them coming out years later, and I like XF and I like the XF vibe so I was fine with it being basically redone. 

But it was a little boring to me, and it didn’t really have anything on the order of the Mulder and Scully stuff that chained me to XF. I found myself not really looking forward to watching it, and after a few episodes in I basically had decided to stop watching it, but I had a series record set on my DVR and it kept giving me episodes so I kept being like “fine I guess I’ll watch this.”

And then it changed in literally one episode for me, which was the first episode with the Observers. That kicked it from “people investigate paranormal cases and fight vague opposition from Authority and crack jokes and Pacey is in it” to "...What is up with this creepy dude??? I MUST FIND OUT”

Then it had its hooks in me, and it got better as so many shows do as they find their footing and their rhythm and what they do best, and it actually grew to be quite different from XF. I never really cared about Peter and Olivia as, like, a ship, but I enjoyed the interactions of all the characters in their various configurations. And what I really loved about Fringe the most was that ANYTHING COULD HAPPEN. They weren’t afraid of gamechanger stuff, and after Season 8-9 of XF, that was a breath of fresh air for me. DD left the show and after five minutes of Scully crying and sad music playing, the show settled into the exact same format, except with Scully doing the “believer” lines and Doggett doing the “skeptic” ones. Hell, they even amped up the drama of Mulder leaving as much as possible by having Scully be pregnant to maximize her sadness and that in-the-moment emotion, just so they could then drop it all after the two-part season premiere and go back to doing the exact same shit. Fringe did an entire season (half season? I don’t really remember) set in an alternate universe. They just kept COMMITTING to stuff and it gave me a TV boner. 

I enjoyed a lot of the characters -- and I really am very fond of Astrid -- but the focus for me in that show was the plots and the twists and the sciencey excitement. For XF, I’m in it for Mulder and Scully, and I occasionally have glimmers of “you know, this IS sort of a cool mytharc thing,” but mostly the plot stuff is background noise (or atmosphere/aesthetic) for me, and has been since about Season 4. Which is fine; I love XF for what it is. But it does mean that I get impatient when we have to listen to people from the show talk about how a great twist is coming up or how it explores modern society’s blah blah blah Tad. I’ve never felt XF does any of that particularly well, even if it thinks it does. I just want to see Mulder and Scully doing things together. Also, after S10 and the breakup I’ve kind of transitioned from “I’ll politely tolerate all CC’s plot brainstorms and just enjoy all the Mulder and Scully I can” to “please don’t let CC’s plot brainstorms hurt Mulder and Scully, I just want Mulder and Scully to be OK, I wish CC would leave Mulder and Scully alone.” Hence, it’s hard to get excited about any spoilers anymore, because after he broke M&S up, seemingly in service of returning everything to status quo even harder, I feel like he might do anything, and our priorities as regards the show have, plainly, diverged. 

Well, that was a digression. I totally agree with you that Fringe integrated the “mythology,” aka, the big important stuff that was happening in the show’s universe(s), much more seamlessly into the show. And without that need to reset everything every week, no matter how high the stakes seemed in the moment, so the characters could get back to doing cases in the exact same way they had done since S01E03, Fringe was free to have foundation-shaking stuff happen and then actually build on it and progress and evolve. Separating it worked semi-OK for XF at the beginning, as the outlines of the conspiracy/alien stuff were still very faint and mysterious, but it worked less and less as the series went on and Mulder and Scully’s world darkened and changed around them, and at this point it’s pretty self-conscious, artificial-feeling, and silly. “We’ve always done it that way” is not a good reason to keep doing something, especially if you only did it that way because that was the only way you knew how to do it. But that is a fundamental difference of opinion between 1013 and me. 

[ghostbustermelanieking]

snow in april (chapter 7 of 8)

one /// two /// three /// four /// five /// six

warning for violence, kidnapping, general darkness

The girls had already hugged her and cried and were in her bedroom at the moment; Lyla had fallen right asleep, curled up like a puppy, but Anna was still awake, watching the lit-up hall wearily instead instead of the TV. Haswell kissed their foreheads before going downstairs. Scully was in the front room, facing down Haswell ferociously. She'd been panicked when Haswell had burst in, demanding, Where's Mulder? even as the girls ran to embrace Haswell. Now she said, “What the hell happened?” in a tight, furious voice. “Why did you leave him behind?”

Haswell winced. “I didn't mean to leave him behind, we were leaving, he was right behind me when the door slammed shut. It was locked, I couldn't get it open, so I got away so I could get help.”

“What fucking help can we give him when the goddamn police department is involved in this crazy cult?” Scully growled.

“It'll be a few hours before they…” She saw the emotions playing off of Scully's face and mentally revised. “Before anything happens. We can get to the next town and send in the cops before they hurt him.”

She bit down hard on her lip. “I'm not leaving him.”

“You might have to,” Haswell said, trying to sound comforting. “He’ll have a better chance if he…”

“Goddamnit, I’m not walking away! I’ve done it before and I regret it to this day, so I am not walking away when there’s a chance to save him,” Scully hissed. Her eyes were steel, fierce and angry.

Haswell bit her lip. She understood, she did - if it were one of the girls or Bobby, she wouldn’t want to leave them either. Hell, she didn’t want to let someone else do the job - she wanted to shoot the reverend and Jeff herself. She was stiff with fury and grief at the news that Bobby had been murdered. But she had her daughters, and she had to keep them safe. “I understand, Scully,” she said. “I do. But I have my daughters, and I have to protect them. Those goddamn scarecrows went after Anna, and there was nothing I could do about it because I was stuffed in a damn closet. I have to keep them safe. I mean, you can understand that, can’t you?”

Scully froze, her face shifting. “Mari…” she said slowly, tearfully. “If you’re saying I don’t care about the baby…”

“That’s not what I meant,” Haswell said quickly. “I just… want you to understand where I’m coming from.”

Scully’s eyes slid closed; she pinched the bridge of her nose, breathing shakily. Her hand pressed against her extended stomach.

There was suddenly a sound of screeching metal, a large crash. They both turned towards the door, worried, and then Lyla’s voice came floating down the stairs: “Mommy, there's a car crash over at Calvert’s!”

“Mulder,” Scully breathed, and she turned and raced for the door, shoving it open with one hand and reaching for her gun with the other. Haswell yelled at the girls to stay upstairs before following Scully outside.

The car was up against Calvert’s empty fence, end pointed away from the house. Scully was headed towards it, gun drawn, so Haswell followed. A man was climbing out of the car - not Mulder, or anyone else she recognized, but Scully definitely knew him, she was shouting something at him. By the time Haswell reached them, she could make out their words; Scully was asking how he'd gotten here. “I dunno, I dunno,” the man stammered. “I was on the way here, didn't know how to find it, and I-I blacked out or something.”

Oh, shit, another one, Haswell thought; the blackout usually meant that Calvert had caught someone else in his web and unwittingly lured them to Calvert Pass, a place that wasn't even on the map.

“What the hell, you…” Scully whispered in confusion. “You blacked out?”

“Have you had a recent near-death experience?” Haswell asked.

The man blinked at her in confusion, like he was seeing her for the first time. “Doggett, this is Deputy Haswell,” Scully explained. She sounded out of sorts, but that was understandable, considering. “Mari, this is Agent Doggett, my… partner.”

“I thought Mulder's your partner.”

“He is,” she said softly.

Doggett was still staring. “What the hell does a near-death experience have to do with anything?”

“It's a long story,” Haswell said. Her eyes had wandered to Calvert’s driveway; it was empty. “Scully, Calvert’s gone.”

She turned, face white and panicked. “Go check?” she whispered. “Please?” She held her gun out.

Haswell took it, somewhat reluctantly; she was hoping that Jeff wouldn't shoot her if he was still inside. “Go on and fill your friend in. If I don't come back out…”

“I'll get the girls out of here,” Scully said, nodding. “I promise. Thank you.”

Haswell nodded back; there was nothing else to say. She went to the doorstep and banged on the door. “Jeff, are you in there?” she shouted. No answer. She banged again. “Come out, Jeff! Calvert? I have a gun and I won't hesitate to use it!” She'd hesitated before, when she'd gone to tell him to let Mulder and Scully go, and that had been her mistake. He hadn't killed her husband but he hadn't stopped it either. She wasn't unwilling to hurt him. “Jeff!” she shouted again, banging harder until her palm stung. “Let me in!” Her hand slipped down to the doorknob and the door swung open automatically.

Haswell turned back to look at Scully, who was watching her. “Be right back,” she called, and went into the house with her gun drawn. “Mulder?” She went through the front hall of the house, gun held protectively out in front of her. “Jeff? Calvert? Is anyone here?” She checked in the kitchen, the dining room, Calvert’s office. All empty.

She kept calling out for Mulder as she checked the house - opened every door she could find, who knows where they would've put him? By the end of her search, she knew. Of course they wouldn't have kept him here - too obvious, with a cop and an FBI agent right down the street. And there had been too much activity here tonight. She had no idea where they'd take him, though; their usual M.O. involved surprising the victim, she didn't know what they'd do with an in-the-loop FBI agent.

Scully's face lit up when she opened the door and immediately fell when she came out Mulder-less. “He's not in there?” she said warily.

Haswell shook her head gravely. “I'm sorry, Scully.”

Her fingers knotted together, knuckles turning white. Urgently, she started, “Do you think they… already…”

“No, no, no,” Haswell assured her quickly. “They like to do it at midnight… exactly at midnight. Your autopsy of the Roberts’s confirms time of death to be about midnight, right? Unless they just broke routine with Mulder - and I doubt it - then he still has a few hours.”

"And are ‘they’ the, uh, necromancy cult?” the man, Doggett asked tentatively. There was disbelief in his voice, but he was looking at Scully like he had her back despite it all.

“Yeah, that's them,” Haswell said.

He grimaced. “I can't believe this,” he said of no one in particular. “I wouldn't believe it if it weren't for that blackout.”

“Believe it or not, Agent Doggett, these people have Mulder either way,” Scully said briskly. “I hate to put you in this position but can you help me? I can't just let him die…”

“I don't think there's been a time in our partnership where I haven't been helping you chase down Mulder, Agent Scully.” Doggett was clearly trying to joke, but it came out wrong, disjointed.

She looked down at her shoes. “There hasn't, you're right. You don't know how grateful I am for that.” Scully looked up, turning to Haswell. “Mari? Are you...”

“The girls and I are leaving,” she said. She'd already left them alone at the house for longer than she'd liked; they needed to get out, now. “But we'll stop in the next town. We'll send the police. I promise you that.”

Doggett looked between them. “Agent Scully, in your condition maybe you should…”

Scully visibly faltered, pulling at a thread in her sleeve. Her hand went to her stomach. “Not while Mulder's still out here,” she mumbled. “We’ll figure it out; maybe I can wait in the car, be ready to make a quick getaway.” She turned back to Haswell. “Do you have any idea where they'd take him?”

Haswell considered, but she had no earthly idea, really. Besides her unyielding uninterest, she knew this wasn't their typical M.O. “I don't,” she said softly. “I'm sorry.”

Scully's face crumpled a little. Then, all of a sudden, her phone started to ring.

---

He saw things all at once, a rapid flash of images. A man cradling a woman, hand to her chest, and praying softly. Someone - was that the doctor, Dr. Henderson - was bent over someone prone on the ground, hands pressed to their chest. A heartbeat starting, stopping, fluttering in place but not restarting. The same man from the first image leaning over the man from the picture in Haswell's hallway - Anna and Lyla’s father, it was just like Anna had said - with a rock in his hand. Tell me the secret, you son of a bitch. The rock descended.

The Roberts’s in their kitchen, in their pajamas. Kyle stood in front of Cara, holding up a butcher knife threateningly. The sheriff stood in front of them, his hands held out. Cara started gasping, collapsing against her husband…

Mulder jolted away, almost falling forward off of whatever he was lying on. His cheek was plastered to some kind of velvety surface, and what seemed to be a church pew was right in front of him. He tried to move his hands and found the motion restricted by rope knotted around them at his back. He kicked out, feet hitting wood, and managed to sit up, ankles untied. He was in a church sanctuary, on a pew. It seemed empty.

Mulder turned back and forth, trying to gage his surroundings. Agitated and frantic, he began twisting his wrists in their bonds.

“Good, you're awake.” He turned, and saw an older version of the man from his dream. The one with the rock and Haswell's husband. The reverend, collar and all. He was walking down the aisle towards Mulder, and he offered him an easy smile.

Mulder turned clumsily to face him. “You killed Bobby Haswell."

“Well. That's not how I'm usually greeted.” Reverend Greene sat in the pew across the aisle. “I guess you've had some spiritual communication. Not uncommon in these parts, especially not with those who end up at Calvert’s. I suppose you've encountered the scarecrows?”

“I'm a federal agent,” Mulder said, breathing hard. “That means big trouble for you if I die.”

“Oh, we know. We know all about you, Agent Mulder. Your little story almost fooled Dr. Calvert, but Dr. Henderson relayed the details of your doctor's visit, your girlfriend. We looked you up, and there was enough information in the news to fill a book. Your disappearance, your burial, your miraculous resurrection. We've never seen the Mark of Death before, but you definitely have it. That increases your chances, we hear.”

The man reached out and squeezed Mulder's shoulder; he slid away in disgust. “You're going to kill me,” he said. “Stop my heart in the name of fucking necromancy.”

“Power fades, and valiant efforts are made to bring it back. Consider yourself a sacrificial lamb, if it helps.”

“Biblical metaphors. In a church. How clever,” Mulder said with some disgust.

“Lazarus was dead for four days, Jesus for three. Maybe the trick is that we didn't look for time gaps. Maybe that was the key all along.”

“Yeah, except there's a little problem with that,” Mulder snapped. “Jesus was dead for three days, and I was dead for three months. Besides, I'm the outlier in this little experiment anyway.”

“Which could explain why your chances are greater,” Reverend Greene said good-naturedly.

“Fuck that. You people should never have started this, let alone keep going! Why the hell didn't you stop when it didn't work?” he growled.

“We're hardly monsters, Agent. We switch out people who stop the hearts, test them to see whether or not their power remains. We hope each and every one will be successful. We mourn every time it isn't. Do you even know how this all started? I was distraught about the loss of the necromantic power. I felt like it was a gift, and I didn't know why it had left. People had been made so happy by the gift of necromancy.”

“Maybe they never saw Pet Sematary,” Mulder said viciously.

The reverend ignored him. “Necromancy had been fading for years, slowly; telekinesis was weakened, but it did remain. By 1985, it was gone and I was deeply haunted. All the good we could’ve done, gone like that, and we didn’t even know why. My wife - Matty - she came down to find me crying my eyes out at the kitchen table one night, and she offered to do a little experiment with me, to ease my mind. Stop my heart, she said, with telekinesis, and then restart it the same way. Maybe that will answer your questions. Maybe that will save this town.”

“And it didn't work,” Mulder said. “But you kept going anyway.”

“Matty’s death absolutely devastated me. I was determined to find out what I had done wrong. I stopped and tried to restart two hearts, trying something different each time. Of course, when it didn't work, the town was less than happy, the families distraught. So I suggested a solution to benefit us all. We would lure people here who had a variable in their favor: that they had recently died and came back to life. We thought that their success might be more likely to happen again. We would switch out people to do the deed, starting with the people who'd previously had their power the longest. And some people agreed. We set up a group, conducted meetings. We chose Dr. Calvert to set up his practice, as he was the only one whose power had remained throughout it all.”

“Wait,” Mulder said, head spinning. “You mean Calvert can still bring people back to life?”

“And control the weather, and lure people who have never heard of his practice to our little town. He also bonded the souls of the sacrifices to his collection of scarecrows out front. They lingered, you see, even though we couldn't bring them back to their bodies. Dr. Calvert could channel them and he did. They are his spies, informants on the chosen victims. Dr. Calvert serves us, but he is also the most powerful of us all.”

“So why not have him resurrect the victims?” he demanded. “Why leave them dead? Why do that to their families?”

“Oh, we did that, the first two years. Calvert would travel with the member to wherever the victim was staying, and he'd bring them back when the member proved unable to. But the group voted to remove that step. They thought it would interfere with the process, that maybe it took a few days to work.”

“How do you expect that to work if you have them fucking autopsied?” Mulder hissed. He was still methodically twisting his wrists in hope of escape; the skin was chafed and stinging, but the knots held fast.

“Oh, no one was autopsied before the Roberts. Mari made that up so that you two would involve yourselves, I expect. Most in this town are either naive or don't interfere, but Mari was neither of those things. She felt some sort of moral obligation. Probably because of her husband.” Reverend Greene smiled. “Robert Haswell, now he was truly our savior. He died in ‘93, after we'd already been letting people stay dead for four years. Killing people takes a toll on you, you know, and we were worried that it would never work, that all these people were dying for nothing. We were close to giving up completely when Robert brought his daughter back to life. He gave us hope that someone would have the power eventually. If he’d retained it, who else might?” The reverend smirked, pulling at a loose thread on his clothes. “It’s a shame he had to die, though, and leave behind those two little girls and Mari. Mari got real suspicious, started sniffing around, lectured me about moral obligation to these victims’ families. But still, she was never able to do anything. She knew how outnumbered she was, how dangerous it would be to speak out. And no one moves away from Calvert Pass. Mari never proved to be a problem until you and your girlfriend came along. We were a bit worried at that, you being FBI agents, but imagine our comfort when one of you turned out to have had an NDE - and to have the Mark of Death, no less.”

“You son of a bitch,” Mulder snarled. (He absolutely did not want to die.)

“Call me what you want, Agent Mulder; it makes no difference.” The reverend smiled serenely. “I do have just one question, though. About your girlfriend.”

Scully, Mulder thought. What did they want with her, did they have her? God, if she was here… “Where is she?” he snapped, frantic. “What do you want with her?”

“Nothing at all, Agent. I can assure you she's not here and we have no desire to hurt her. Especially not with a baby on the way.” Reverend Greene patted his shoulder in what was probably meant to be a comforting motion. “I just wanted to know… will she be a problem? Will she interfere like Kyle Roberts did? Because if she does, I have no guarantee on her safety.”

Mulder froze, fingers pressed awkwardly against the wood. "I don't know,” he said in muted horror. She might hesitate to come because of the baby, but he wasn't sure what choice she'd make in the end.

The reverend's face fell; he shook his head regretfully, and Mulder scrambled to offer a solution. “Let me call her,” he said quickly. “I can convince her not to come.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “How do I know you won't give away your location?”

Any other time he might, but not now. Not when she was pregnant. He'd still try to escape, but he couldn't depend on Scully for that, not this time. “Because I don't want her to get hurt,” he said, thinking of the baby.

That answer seemed to satisfy the reverend. He got up and walked to the door, stuck his head out and called, “Calvert? I'm about to call Agent Scully; please allow it to go through.” And then he came back, pulling a cell phone out of his coat. “I assume you know her number?” he asked.

Mulder gave it to him, and hated himself for it. The reverend dialed, putting it on speakerphone, and set it in his lap. Mulder counted the rings, nervous. He didn't want her to pick up, didn't want to have this conversation, but he wanted to know that she was okay. He half-hoped she'd finally gotten her revenge and ditched him, had slipped past the roadblock and was on her way down the mountain.

And then he heard Scully's voice and his blood froze in his veins. It came through crackling with static, an uncertain, “Hello?”

Mulder opened his mouth to answer, but Reverend Greene grabbed him from behind, clapping one hand over his mouth, effectively muffling her name from his mouth.

“Mulder?” Scully said on the other end. She sounded almost hopeful; oh, God, Mulder thought, and closed his eyes.

“No, Agent Scully, it's not Mulder. I'm sorry,” said the reverend.

Her voice shifted, grew steely and strong. “Who are you?”

“Oh… a friend of a friend, you could say,” the reverend chuckled.

She said fiercely, in the same furious voice he'd heard multiple times when he was in danger: “Where is he?”

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter like it might help something. I'm so sorry, Scully.

“Where's Mulder? What have you done with him?” she hissed, practically shouting.

“I'm afraid I can't tell you that. I can assure you that I'm looking right at him, though. He looks like he'd like to speak to you.”

“I need proof,” Scully said, and her voice faltered only slightly. “Let me hear that he's alive.”

The reverend moved his hand. “Scully,” Mulder said, and was going to say more before the hand returned, pressing hard. It's okay, he said into the reverend's palm, but it came out a muffled grunt.

“There's your proof, Agent.”

“Let him go,” she said steadily. He could hear her trying to regain control.

“I'm afraid I can't do that either, my dear. I'm sorry about that, I really am.”

“Bullshit, you can't,” said Scully, sounding as strong as he knew she was.

“Maybe I misspoke,” the reverend said. “I meant I won't.” Scully made a sound, almost inaudible, on the other end, but it was enough and it cut Mulder to the core. “Now I'm offering you a chance to get out of here safely. So you’ll need to leave town, right away. No one will stop you or hurt you. I promise you can walk away safe and scot-free.”

“Why would you let me go?” Scully demanded. “I know everything about this cult of yours, and you know I know. Why would you let me leave? I don’t believe you.”

“I can assure you I’m telling the truth, my dear. No one will believe your story, and we’d outnumber anyone who came up here anyway. Besides, we don’t want to kill a young mother. We have no interest in taking your life, or the life of anyone innocent. We had to kill Kyle Roberts because he tried to protect his wife, and we felt great regret over it. We’re warning you to try and prevent that from happening again.”

There was a lengthy pause, and then she said, “I won't leave him here,” but her voice faltered, trembling like a leaf in the wind. She sounded torn, and Mulder knew she was thinking about the baby.

“I'm sorry, but you have to,” Reverend Greene said. “You see, Dr. Scully, we don't want to hurt you… or your baby… but if you interfere, we'll have to.”

No. Mulder sunk his teeth into the reverend's palm, and the man yelped and yanked his hand away. “Scully, you have to listen to him, you have to go…”

Henderson pressed his hand back over Mulder's mouth, muffling his words. “Mulder?” Scully called. Her voice was faltering; she sounded close to tears.

“I'd listen to him,” the reverend said. “For your baby’s sake, if nothing else.”

“If you're letting me go, let him go, too,” she said softly, and it was the closest to pleading he'd ever heard from her. “Please. This is his child, and he was dead a few weeks ago.”

“We'll bring him back to you,” the reverend said, and if Mulder didn't know the truth, he'd suspect that it was a promise. “He'll be just fine. We'll let him go as soon as he's breathing, and he can find you. You can go home and live a long, happy life.”

“If it hasn't worked the last seventeen goddamn times, then why do you think it would work now?” she growled.

“It's almost worked a few times, you know,” he told her. “We've almost been able to restart a few hearts. And Jeff’s never done it before, maybe it will work with him. Besides, the Mark of Death increases the chances.”

If Greene wasn't covering his mouth, Mulder would've asked what the Mark of Death was. The grave dirt under his fingernails, the tear tracks on Scully's cheeks? Something ingrained in his skin, his bones? Did he look like a walking zombie? And how did that guarantee that it would work on him when it didn't work on fourteen other people who'd had NDEs?

“You should go, Dr. Scully. Really. We're giving you a good opportunity here, for you and your baby to live.”

“Without my partner?” she snapped. Her voice cracked; she sounded two inches away from sobbing.

Mulder mumbled something under the reverend's hand, bucking hard against his hold, and his hand moved away from his mouth. “Scully, you have to go,” he said, rushed, panicked. “For the baby.” Scully made a faint choking sound, and he knew she was crying now. “Save yourself, please,” he added, softer. “I can't… if anything happened to you…”

What Scully was thinking went unsaid: if anything happened to you, again… “No,” she said softly. She sounded small, vulnerable, like she was falling apart. Something inside him shattered a little.

She was going to go, he knew she would, for the baby, but he wanted to make sure she wouldn't hate herself for it, wanted her to know she was doing the right thing. He tried to come up with something to comfort her. “You'll get through this, Scully, I know you will,” he said, softly. “You're the strongest person I know. And you're going to be the best mother in the world.”

Silence except for Scully's husky breathing. The reverend, blessedly enough, said nothing. “I love you,” she said, unsteady. “I… my god.” Mulder held his breath, tried to memorize the sound of her voice. She took a few more shaky breaths. He opened his mouth to tell her he loved her.

The reverend hung up, the click like the nails on his coffin. Mulder took a sharp breath and tried not to cry.

“I'm sorry about that, Agent Mulder,” the reverend said, shoving him back on the pew as he stood. “I know that must've been hard for you.”

His hands hit the wood hard and he winced. “You don't know,” he muttered, staring hard at a dark spot on the carpet until the burn of tears blurred his vision. The image of Scully, her voice telling him she loved him, was still clear ad solid in his mind. He never wanted it to fade. He would hold onto her until the end. “You don't have a fucking clue.”

---

After the phone call, they sat in the sanctuary in silence for what must've been an hour. The reverend sat right beside him, making escape impossible. Mulder kept twisting his hands in their bonds, and nothing kept happening; he stayed stubbornly and tightly bound.

Suddenly, the door at the back of the sanctuary opened and Dr. Henderson, the doctor Scully had taken him to, entered. Astonishment washed over him - he knew that several people were involved, but it was still a surprise to see the man who’d examined him when they first got to town here, among people who were going to kill him. It suddenly made sense that he guessed about Mulder’s NDE, recommended Mulder go to Calvert. They’d been doomed from the second they rolled into town, whether he’d found the Roberts’s or not.

The reverend stood to meet Henderson and the two of them talked in a low tone that Mulder couldn't understand. Mulder scanned the room for another way out and spotted a door near the front. Possibly a little insane and definitely determined to get away, he got to his feet and sprinted towards the other door.

It didn't work. Of course he didn't get far. His bound hands threw him off, and a second later someone was crashing into him. Henderson. He pinned Mulder painfully to the ground, putting pressure on his neck. Mulder grunted in pain. There was the click of a gun muzzle at his temple. “I'd suggest you don't try that again, Agent Mulder,” Henderson said, pressing down on his neck. Mulder gasped, coughed. “We're not as young as we once were.”

“Can you watch him?” the reverend said somewhere behind them. As if Mulder were an unruly child instead of a prisoner by cultists. “I need to go deal with this.”

“Certainly.” Henderson’s hand curled into the back of Mulder's shirt and yanked him to his feet; he staggered, gasping in breaths, but Henderson held him in place.

The reverend nodded at them before turning and exiting the room. Henderson shoved Mulder down on another pew and sat beside him, gun still to his head. “Sorry for the unpleasant circumstances,” he said cheerfully. “We're not used to holding people, you see.”

Mulder said nothing. There was nothing to say. They sat in silence like he and the reverend had, except this time there was a gun to his head. Definitely no hope of escape. Being shot, without medical attention, was definitely something he couldn’t come back from. At least this necromancy thing had a small chance.

And then, all of a sudden, the lights dimmed out of nowhere.

Mulder tensed, trying to prepare himself for a fight. Henderson’s hand came down on his shoulder and squeezed: a warning. “Hold still,” he said. “It’ll all be over in a few minutes.” He held his breath so he wouldn’t gasp or scream; were they going to kill him right here?

The candles sprang to life around the room, tiny flames lighting up the dark cavern of the sanctuary. The shadows flickered eerily along the wall. At the back end of the sanctuary, the door scraped open and people started filing in. “What’s going on?” Mulder hissed, afraid and hating his fear. This reminded him too much of the Chaco Chicken case, or the devil-worshipping PTA. He was terrified of what would happen next.

“Nothing,” Henderson said calmly, moving the gun from Mulder's head. It was clear he wouldn't be running away. “We’ve just never had an opportunity to meet the sacrifice like this, and they wanted to see you. The Mark of Death makes you special in their eyes.”

People kept filing in. They looked absurdly normal, like the other cases they’d seen; dressed in plainclothes, coats and hats, some even in pajama pants or curlers. All ages, some as young as college, some old enough to have canes and walkers. He couldn’t gauge how many; at least fifty, he thought. It wasn’t a too-large chunk of the 747, but it was enough. He swallowed, throat dry.

Henderson hooked his hands under Mulder’s shoulders and hauled him up. “Is that him?” an acne-faced guy in the front asked.

“This is him,” Henderson said. “According to the news, he disappeared for three months, was returned dead, and was buried for three months before he came back to life.” Some collective gasps and “Wow”s came from the ground.

Of course the Bureau would leave the whole alien abduction factor out of it. Mulder was more scared at dying at the hands of necromantic cultists in the moment, but it still irritated him to hear it trivialized. The way Henderson said it made it sound like nothing. The fear from the ship came rushing through his head on top of everything, and he closed his eyes, swaying slightly. God, he couldn’t catch a break, could he? He was walking around with a giant target on his back: Shoot here.

Henderson and the crowd said some more things but Mulder barely heard them. He was lost within in his head, drowning everything out. He tried to hook his thumb in the hook of the knots, but it slipped over it uselessly. He worked the ropes back and forth to no avail. The words blurred together, even as Henderson started shuffling him forward, down the aisle; he didn’t hear a word of the crowd’s whispers until one phrase popped out at him: “What about the other one?”

Mulder jolted. “Other one? What other one?” he demanded.

“It’s time we were going, Agent Mulder,” Henderson said, steering him towards the door. “I’m afraid it’s time,” he called out to the group.

“Who’s the other? Is it Scully? You said you’d let her go!” he snarled, almost shouting. He was filled with an uncanny fury.

“It’s not Agent Scully. We keep our promises, Mulder.” They turned down the dark halls of the church and towards the door.

“Who is it, then? Is it Haswell?” They moved outside of the church, into the cold.

“Mari Haswell doesn’t fit the M.O. Don’t worry about who the other is.”

Henderson moved him, shoving him out back towards a police car that must've been Jeff’s by a hand on the rope around his wrists. Mulder stumbled hard, almost falling onto the seat, but he managed to stay upright and step into the car with some measure of dignity left. He slid across the seat, watching Henderson warily. The door slammed shut and he was alone.

The silence seemed to drive things forward: he was a captive, and he was going to die. There was no escape. He thought for a wild minute, maybe they're right, maybe I'll survive, and then nausea climbed up his throat and he decided he didn't want to bank on that hope. He twisted his wrists hard in the ropes, straining his numb fingers to try to reach the knots, but it was useless: they'd tied him tightly enough that his hands were falling asleep, and there was no way to loosen the knots without help, nothing to cut them with. He pressed his forehead to the cold window and tried not to vomit.

God, he wished he'd done something differently with the short amount of time he'd had back on Earth. Spent less time arguing with Scully, less time running headlong into danger. He never should've come to North Carolina, never should've offered to drive. They should've gone home, should have climbed in bed together and napped, woken up and started figuring out their lives together. He should've grabbed on and never let go. He should've thought of a name for the kid, embraced impending fatherhood. Read What To Expect When You’re Expecting, maybe. He'd been ready at one point, so that feeling should've been easy enough to recapture. His brief hiatus from his time in the ground had been massively unsatisfying; he got a week of panic and arguments and goddamn walking scarecrows, and not enough time with Scully. Never enough time with Scully. He'd never see the Gunmen again, never tell Skinner that Oregon wasn't his fault, never see his fish again.  He hadn't known he was dying, before, on the ship, and he'd more or less tried to forget he was dying of a brain disease last year. (Which was easy enough, considering how great his life had been for a little while there at the end.) But now? He was staring death right in the face - not for the first time, but for the first time since he’d been on the other side - and he was terrified to go back.

The door to the back of the police car opened and Mulder tensed for a fight but someone was shoved in before he could. In the front, Jeff Renner crawled in behind the steering wheel.

It took a minute for him to recognize his fellow captive: it was The New Partner, Agent Doggett. Who was now sharing his prelude to potential death (the second one? Third one? Who the hell kept track anymore?), despite them never having a conversation outside of “it's nice to meet you, Agent Scully's told me a lot about you” and “thank you for taking my job and stealing my partner”. (Not a verbatim quote on Mulder's part; it had been mostly implied.)

“Agent Doggett?” Mulder said with some disbelief.

Doggett was trying to adjust himself in the seat, to sit upright, a task with his hands bound behind him. “I'd say it's good to see you again, Agent Mulder, but we never seem to meet under the most ideal circumstances.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Agent Scully's phone call, earlier today? I got enough from it to figure out where you were. But on the way up here, something happened, I… I dunno, blacked out or something. I woke up outside the house of that NDE counselor and ran into Agent Scully. The local cop, Haswell, took her kids for help, and Scully and I…”

“What the hell, what happened?” Mulder demanded. “Where's Scully?”

“She's fine, she's fine,” Doggett gasped, trying to catch his breath. ��They caught us outside that therapist's house, locked Scully inside. They didn't touch her, though, I wouldn't let them.”

Mulder stared at him for a minute while he caught his breath. “They locked her up?” Doggett didn't say anything. He turned and clumsily pounded on the divider with his knee. “Jeff! Hey, Renner, you jackass! Let her go!”

Jeff turned, a look of mock confusion on his face.

He was never going to see Scully again, never going to see his kid. “Let her go!” he shouted. “You said she could leave, you said you wouldn't hurt her!”

Jeff opened the divider a little. “I'll let her go,” he said. “As soon as this is all over, I will. I promise you that, Agent Mulder. She won't be hurt, we just don't want her to interfere. It'll be over within the hour.”

“Let her go now, goddamnit!” He kicked the wall furiously. “She's pregnant.”

“Which is exactly why we're keeping her here.” Jeff smiled sweetly. “We wouldn't want her to interfere… lest what happened to Kyle Roberts or the Youngs happen to her.”

Red clouded Mulder's vision for a minute, and he kicked the wall again viciously. “From what I understand about this bullshit, I'll stick around in one form or another after you've stopped my heart. If you hurt her… if you lay one hand on her… I will fucking kill you.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Agent Mulder.” Jeff was cheerful, grinning wider and toothily at him. “You'll be just fine after I stop your heart. Just fine. I guarantee it.” And then he shut the divider.

Breathing hard with fury, Mulder leaned back against the seat. His hands were tied, there was nothing he could do. Even if he and Doggett could free each other from their bonds, they were surrounded by people. They wouldn’t make it off the property. There was no way out. He was going to die for the second time in three months. He hadn't even gotten a week back. It was like some twisted horror story, he got a few last days with the love of his life, found out he had a kid, and now he was being called back to the ground. Some kind of poetry.

Doggett, he realized. What the hell was Doggett doing here?

“Doggett?” he said out loud. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Doggett looked at him like he was crazy, shrugged his shoulders in a gesturing type of way. “Same as you, I figure. I came up here to try and help based on Scully's phone call…”

“No,” said Mulder. “I mean, why are they taking you along? Why didn't they lock you up with Scully?”

Doggett blinked, uncertain. He looked down at his black, shiny shoes. “The soul eater,” he said finally, and Mulder had to repress a gasp of his own. “When I was investigating your disappearance, tracking your movements… I found it. I got shot, I was buried… and the soul eater brought me back. He died because of that. Somehow, these… people could sense that experience. Scully said they lured me here.” His voice was fraught with disbelief.

Mulder was more than astonished, and he felt a sense of solidarity with the man. They'd both been buried, both knew what it was like to inhale and feel dirt, to scratch at the quilts above because you had to get to the surface, to breathe. “I'm… sorry,” he said awkwardly.

Doggett shrugged uncomfortably. “It happened. Now I guess I'm going to get killed for it.” He sounded bitter and scared and in disbelief. Scully had said he didn't believe in these things; maybe he wasn’t the type to believe unless it was staring him right in the face. When it seemed undeniable.

He and Scully had an uncanny ability to last-minute-escape danger. He wondered if Doggett would have the same ability.

The door in the front opened, and the reverend slid into the front. Henderson opened the door to the back on Doggett’s side. “Scoot over, boys,” he said cheerfully. “Reverend Greene and I are coming along to keep you under control for Jeff. We've never killed FBI agents before.”

Mulder clenched his jaw as he slid over to make room for Doggett. His wrists and hands were bloodless, trapped between his back and the seat. Nausea rolled in his stomach as the car started moving. He did not want to die.

“Everyone hold on,” Jeff called as the car started moving. “By the time we get to where we're going, it'll be almost midnight.”

---

They drove for almost twenty minutes, into the inky dark woods, going bumpily over the snow. No one spoke. Mulder leaned his head against the window and watched the trees go by. He thought about Scully's face when he'd woken up, the saddened awe on her face, the way she'd broken down when he joked about not remembering her, the way she'd smiled when she found out he was okay. He thought about her in the rain, head thrown back in laughter, so young and innocent and stupid in the way he'd been back then. Hell, they both still were. He thought about his family, his mother and father and sister. He wondered if he'd found them in whatever came next, if he'd find them again. He thought about the baby. The car wove its way around the trees, silent.

When the car stopped, Henderson cocked his gun, aiming it at Mulder and Doggett’s heads. Neither of them moved; Mulder turned to face them and he exchanged an anxious look. He barely knew the man, they didn't have much in common besides being Scully's partner and having been dead. But he didn't want to watch the man die.

Henderson seized a handful of Doggett’s jacket and hauled him out of the car, pressing the gun to his skull. He swallowed, fear perceptible on his face. Behind Mulder, the door opened and someone pulled him out in a similar motion, gun and all. He saw the reverend walking ahead of them; so it was Jeff who had him. The night was dark, the moon was gone. They walked further.

They walked until they reached running water, invisible in the dark. “Welcome to Calvert Pass Spring,” the reverend said cheerily. “We used to drink straight from the spring before the water treatment plant came to town, you know.”

“Sorry if I'm not particularly interested in a tour of the place you're going to kill me in,” Doggett said with a dry viciousness. Dr. Henderson smacked him hard on the shoulder.

“All right, so we'll get right to the killing part,” Jeff said, and Mulder winced, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Stop!”

The source of the voice was unexpected. A second later, Calvert came out of the trees with a gun. Jeff’s arm tightened around Mulder's chest, pressing the gun hard into his skull. The reverend aimed his own gun. “Terrence,” he said cautiously. “What are you doing?”

“This has to stop, Sam.” He cocked his gun. “This can't go on, we can't keep killing people.”

“You never had a problem with it the other times,” Henderson said. “After you stopped coming to the scenes with us…”

“It never stopped bothering me. Not since the beginning, not after you stopped letting me bring the victims back.” Calvert’s hands were shaking around the gun. “I was their damn therapist, I knew them. These people had lives, families! Cara and Kyle Roberts had just renewed their vows and were going on a second honeymoon. Layla Tanner had a family, a sick mother she was caring for. You killed a seventeen-year-old boy, for Christ's sake!”

“It was for the greater good,” the reverend said.

“Fuck the greater good! It didn't work the other times, even with you switching out people. What makes you think that the next one will be able to do what all of you aren't?”

“Robert Haswell was proof.”

“Robert Haswell was a damn anomaly, and you killed him before you could find out the truth about how he saved his daughter. Now you're holding two FBI agents captive, and one of them is about to be a father. You can’t do this! Let them go.”

“Terrence, put down the gun,” Henderson said. “We'll talk about it, it'll be fine. Agent Mulder over here has a greater chance of survival, you know that. You told us that, you sent the scarecrows to find out.”

“The scarecrows were a goddamn mistake. I was condemning these people to be trapped here forever, after everything else I did to them. And Anna Haswell burned them.” Calvert’s hands were still trembling; he laughed, off-kilter. “She burned all of them. They're gone.”

“Terrence, you're unstable…” Henderson tried.

“Fuck unstable, Tom! I'm going to stop this.” He turned and aimed at the reverend, the only one not holding someone else captive.

Jeff shot Calvert.

Mulder flinched, tried to pull away from the gunshot and the smell of the powder that was right next to him, but Jeff was gripping him too tightly, swinging the gun back around to press against his skull. Calvert fell, plunging backwards into the river that ran behind them. He submerged in the water, icy liquid creeping over his face and bloody torso.

“Sorry we can't bring you back, old man,” Henderson said. “But you wouldn't tell us your secret.”

Mulder thought he was going to vomit. He struggled hard against Jeff, kicking him hard in the shin, but the man's grip only tightened. “What the hell?” Doggett was shouting. “Why the fuck did you shoot him?”

“He's thought he's better than us for too long now,” the reverend said. “I'll never understand why he and Bobby Haswell were the only ones to retain the power.”

“You people are crazy!” Doggett shouted, and as dire as the situation was, Mulder wanted to say, Welcome to the X-Files. This wasn't the first time he'd been on the sacrificial altar. He or Scully had almost been killed by some crazy, small-town cause more times than he could remember. But somehow this felt more urgent. More real. (Maybe it was an in-the-moment thing; he desperately hoped this memory would be just that: another faded memory he could look back on someday.)

“Oh, we've heard that one before,” Henderson said, holding him in place. “Plenty.”

The reverend was looking at Jeff with a softness Mulder generally associated with a teacher encouraging a kid to try something. “Jeff, you ready?”

“Yeah,” Jeff said, uncertainly, and he sounded the part of the kid. “Who's first?”

Doggett looked at Mulder and Mulder looked at Doggett. If he was more noble, he might’ve volunteered himself, but there was nothing noble about this. He didn't want to die. But even though he barely knew Doggett and kind of resented him for his time on the X-Files, he didn't want him to die either. Doggett had saved Scully's life, had come tearing up to North Carolina after one crazy phone call. He couldn't throw him under the bus.

They said nothing. “No one going to volunteer?” the reverend scoffed. “Have some dignity, men.”

There's no dignity in this, Mulder thought. You're going to kill us and there's nothing we can do. We’ve already died; we don’t want to see what’s on the other side.

“I'll choose,” Jeff said firmly. “I think Doggett should go first, since he doesn't have the…”

“Look,” Henderson said suddenly, a wavering voice. And pointed towards the river.

Mulder followed his finger towards the water where they'd dumped Calvert. But Calvert was dead, wasn't bleeding out. He was sitting up in the water, blood slowing to a trickle. He was pulling himself onto the bank, fumbling for the gun he had dropped when he'd been shot.

“It's a miracle,” the reverend whispered. Doggett was staring in disbelief; he'd stopped struggling. Jeff was silent, but he kept the gun at Mulder's temple. Mulder couldn't gage whether his grip on the trigger had loosened or not.

“Terrence,” Henderson said. “How did you… do your powers extend to yourself? Can you revive yourself?”

“It was the water, you sons of bitches,” Calvert said, and aimed the gun.

“Don't do anything stupid, Calvert,” the reverend warned. He raised his hands, slowly. “What about the water?”

“I retained my power because I drank the untreated water,” Calvert said. “I figured it out. The powers started fading when the water treatment plant arrived. I refused to drink the treated water, I claimed goddamn tradition, I paid for a pipeline of untreated water straight to my house. I gave Bobby a drink from my cannister - water from my source, straight from the spring, like my family has always done - and he brought Anna back to life. Telekinesis was the only thing that survived because it was the weaker, but necromancy faded out completely. I can't believe no one figured it out sooner.” He swung the gun around to point at Jeff - and by default, Mulder.

Sirens wailed in the distance. “Jeff?” Henderson called, panicked. “Jeff, are those ours? Our sirens? Our police?”

“I don't know, I don't fucking know!” Jeff was shaking with the fear, he assumed, of knowing he was going to be killed. He pressed the gun into Mulder's skull. “I'll kill him,” he warned. “I'll make sure he doesn't come back.”

A gun fired and Mulder froze, tensing up, his muscles useless and his breaths ragged. It took him a moment to realize he hadn't been shot. He couldn't move. Behind him, Jeff yelped, dropping his gun to the ground. The hand that was holding Mulder shot to his arm, where the bullets had hit. Mulder stumbled a few steps before he saw the reverend pointing another gun at him.

“Agent Mulder!” Doggett was calling. “Agent Mulder?”

Mulder choked on the words that tried to come up, but he managed a small, “I'm fine.” He was still immobile; his eyes were on Calvert.

Calvert looked sadly between them, shifting his gun between Jeff and the reverend and Henderson. “I should've saved them,” he said. “I should've saved every one of them. I had the power to… but the only person I've saved since they made me stop is Anna.”

“Don't do anything stupid, Calvert,” Henderson warned. Jeff was breathing raggedly, whimpered. His blood stained the snow. “This is too long in the making. You can't just shoot us and end it. You have a chance to move on, keep living.”

“You killed me, Tom; forgive me if I don't particularly trust you.” Calvert aimed at Henderson’s head. “Let the men go. Let them go, and I'll take the gun off of you. You can drink the water, regain your powers.”

The reverend was shaking his head, but something shifted on Henderson’s face and he shoved Doggett forward, hard. “Go,” he said.

“What are you doing, Tom?” the reverend demanded.

“Take the gun off them. Don't you see? This is our chance, we saw him come to life, we know the water works!” Henderson was ecstatic, eyes lit up. “Go,” he said to Mulder and Doggett. “Run away. Get out of here.”

Doggett met Mulder's eyes. The two turned away from the men, the river, and stumbled towards the sirens. His gait was off because of his bound hands, but they didn't have time to stop and free themselves. The two kept going in silence, past the trees and towards the blue and red lights. The police cars had a different town on the side, and Mulder breathed a sigh of relief: they were safe, he'd see Scully again.

Behind them, there was a series of shots.

[frangipanidownunder]

Family Fifteenth

Written for @lokisgame who asked: Mulder, Scully, William, if you could give them one talent, what would it be? (Not work or school related) (take it as a prompt if you feel like it ;) Fluffy AU family!fic. You have been warned. Scully watched as William grimaced, biting his lip and lowering his gaze. Ordinarily, he was the most placid boy, good-natured and accepting. But since Mulder had begun to organise his birthday celebrations, William had withdrawn.

           “You can’t do that, Dad.”

           “Why not?”

           “Because it’s so embarrassing.”

           “But we started this tradition with Emily and we’re going to continue it.”

           “Mom, can you tell him. Please?”

           “William, there’s no point in arguing. Once your father’s got an idea in his mind it’s impossible to get him to change it. I remember once, when were agents…”

           “Enough of the old school memories, Mom. You’ve told me all those stories like twenty times over. I just don’t want to do this stupid talent show thing. It’s my birthday. I should be able to choose.”

           “Mom, if he gets away with it, I’m going to be super mad at you,” Emily said as she swept into the kitchen and selected an apple from the fruit bowl.

           “He’s not getting away with anything, Emily.”

           “Good, he needs to experience the total and utter humiliation of Dad doing stand-up comedy, just like I did.”

           “Oh, he’s not doing that this time. He’s planning a whole new act. And so am I.”

           “What? Mom! That thing you did with your hands was okay. It only took a few seconds and everyone thought you were pretty cool. What are you going to do this time?”

           She tapped the side of her nose. Poor William. He was so shy, so susceptible to second-hand embarrassment, that she could feel him cringing already. Emily, on her fifteenth birthday, had been unaware of what was about to unfold so didn’t have time to get the pre-birthday jitters. But William had witnessed it and had spent the last few months trying desperately to get away without having a celebration. He’d even tried to convince his friend’s parents to book a camping holiday and take him with them. But Mulder had convinced that friend and his parents to spend the evening with them, at William’s birthday party, instead.

           “It’s a bit of fun, William. You need to be able to laugh at life. This is a great way to learn that lesson.”

           “Yes,” Mulder said, walking in to join them, “your mother took years to learn how to laugh at herself. And even now she sometimes has a few issues with that. Don’t’ you, Mrs Spooky?”

           “Yeah, but she laughs at you a lot, Mulder.” Emily bit into her apple and even William managed a giggle at that one.

           “I still don’t get why our fifteenth birthdays are the ones we need to do this stupid tradition for.”

           “William, firstly, it’s not stupid when it’s a family thing. You and Emily are the best things to ever happen to us and we cherish that. And secondly, I’ve told you before that the fifteenth birthday is the one that nobody really cares about. Your teen years are in full swing. You’re not a child anymore, but you’re not sweet sixteen either. You’re trapped in a…”

           “Strange mixed-up world of childhood and adulthood when you could be just as struck by a silly cartoon or playing sandcastles on the beach as you are by the injustice of child poverty or the hellish notion of paying tax.”

Emily recited Mulder’s words back him and he nodded with pride. “I’m impressed that you remember, Em.”

“How can I ever forget that lecture, Mulder? I was always suspicious that you were some kind of super nerd but that little speech sealed the deal. So, little brother, you are required to attend the strange celebration that is a Mulder-Scully family fifteenth, complete with crazy performances by Fox and Dana. And you might as well practise your performance because you are not going to get away with it.”

Scully laid out the salads and breads, while Mulder prodded the steaks. Skinner served as barman for the guests. The Gunmen had insisted on doing the music and had rigged up a system that blared out 70s rock loud enough and terrible enough to ward off the alien colonization that they still insisted would happen. Reyes kept turning it down and Doggett would sneak back and wind it back up to full blast again. William stayed close to his friends, and Emily looked frighteningly grown up in her new dress and heels. Scully took a mental photograph of the scene, smiling inwardly.

           The party rocked on after dinner and by ten o’clock it was time for the talent show. William turned a shade of green as Mulder announced he would go first. Always a light drinker, the beers had given him Dutch courage and Scully giggled with Monica as he tripped up walking through the back door to retrieve his props.

           “This is going to be so cute,” Monica said. “I heard he’s been practising for months.”

           Scully nodded. “Poor John got the rough end of the deal.”

William’s friends pushed him forward to front row and Mulder re-appeared with a dark grey fitted tee, a pair of dark blue jeans in that tighter cut Scully loved so much, a guitar strapped over his shoulder and pink woolly hat.

           “Since Emily’s fifteenth birthday, I have taught myself to read music and to play guitar. It’s been something I’ve always wanted to do, and I have no musical bones in my body – as Scully will attest to – but I am tenacious and I wanted to prove to Emily and to William that you don’t have to be brilliant at everything, you just have to be committed.”

           Scully swallowed back tears and as Mulder looked directly at her, she smiled back at him. Her precious dork.

           “I wrote a song. Just for you, William.”

           The crowd clapped and Mulder strummed the opening bars.

Mulder lapped up the applause and bowed several times. Scully dabbed the tears from her eyes and Emily and her friends whispered in their little group. William had his eyes wide open and his lips parted in surprise. He had turned green to white to red and back to a nice shade of pink. His friends smacked him on the back and fist-pumped. Scully knew he was impressed, he just didn’t know how to react yet. She really hoped her own performance would be just as well received.

           “Scully, it’s your turn to take to the stage,” Mulder said, theatrically waving her past him.

           She took a huge deep breath and untied the black robe she had over her costume. The crowd gasped as she stepped forward into the spotlight wearing a pink ballgown, glittered at the bodice with ruffled tulle skirt. She cleared her throat, launching into her Blanche Dubois monologue, complete with Southern twang and whiskey bottle. She got it word perfect and collapsed into a bow at the end, gasping for breath.

           Emily’s hands were clasped over her mouth and her friends were nodding appreciatively. The Gunmen gaped, Skinner clapped so loudly it sounded like firecrackers popping, Reyes put her fingers in her mouth a whistled, causing Doggett to laugh out loud. And Mulder, he simply blew her a kiss which she caught and placed on her mouth.

           “Mom, that was incredible,” Emily called from her position. “You spent too long chasing mutants and not enough time treading the boards.”

           “You do seem to have missed your calling, Scully,” Mulder whispered into her ear as he caught her around the waist and pulled her into a waltz. “You do keep me guessing.”

           “Yours was pretty spectacular, Mulder. It was a pretty tough act to follow.”

           “Well, now our son has to follow you.”

“Do you think we should let him off?”

           “No way, Scully. We follow through in this family.”

           “You’re stubborn, Fox Mulder.”

           “And you once told me that was why you fell in love with me.”

           “Well, that and the way you look in a red Speedo.”

William was pushed onto the makeshift stage by his cheering friends. Scully snuggled under Mulder’s arm, feeling the warmth of his body seep into her bones. They still fitted together like one.

           “My parents are pretty special,” William began.

           “You can say that again,” Langly yelled out.

           “And they are also very determined. Which has both benefits and drawbacks. I admit that I wasn’t looking forward to this party, because of this weird talent show tradition that we do on our fifteenth birthdays, but I just want to say, before I do my party piece, that my Dad and Mom are the best.”

           The guests whooped and clapped and raised their glasses. Scully sniffed back tears and Mulder hugged her tighter.

           “So, I spent a while thinking about something really short that I could do so that I wouldn’t be in the spotlight for too long, but in the end, I decided to embrace the challenge and try my hand at something I didn’t know anything about.”

           William nodded to the Gunmen, who moved with surprising speed to set up a huge monitor, connected to the sound system.

           “My parents told us lots of stories growing up, strange stories about monsters and aliens, conspiracies and victories. They told us about how Emily and I came to be. They have always told us how loved we are. I wrote it all down. Then I animated it. And this is how it turned out.”

The movie played, opening with a young red-haired woman shaking the hand of a bespectacled, spiky haired young man. It showed a compilation of cases, some with satisfying endings, some with frightening ones. There were bug-eyed little grey men, scary-ass mutants, Skinner with a really shiny head, the Gunmen as 1930s detectives, hospitals, autopsies, vampires and haunted houses. William’s animation was a cross between cartoonish and anime. Details and flourishes brought out gasps of appreciation from the crowd. His captions were witty and his occasional voice-overs were even funnier. His imitation of Mulder yelling ‘Scullllaaaay’ as their animated selves ran through a cornfield left the audience laughing out loud.

After a few minutes, the music switched from dramatic to romantic as a slideshow of baby photos of Emily and William played out. Finally, the music faded out as the screen filled with an image of Mulder kissing Scully on their wedding day.

The chink of bottles being launched into the recycling caused Mulder to flinch. He sipped his coffee and enjoyed the image of Scully bending over to retrieve yet another bottle left in the camellia bush.

           “How do you continue to look so good, Scully?”

           “Cleaning up after a family fifteenth is a great work out, Mulder. Feel free to join in.” She threw a cork at him and it caught him square on the forehead.

           “You always were a better shot than me.”

           She walked up the verandah steps to the chair where he was sitting. “And you always did like looking at my ass.”

           “You speak The Truth, Agent Scully, or is that Ms Dubois?”

           She sat on his lap and kissed him. “And you, Agent Mulder, sing pretty well for an aging FBI employee.”

           “Less of the aging - you’re not that far behind. But have we created the next Steven Spielberg or what?”

           “He was amazing, in fact, last night was amazing, Mulder. Thank you for insisting that we do that.”

           “We follow through, don’t we?” he said, nuzzling into the side of her neck and enjoying the hardness of her nipples as they pushed against his chest.

           “I’ll hold you to that later, Mulder.”

[mldrgrl]

Not Again

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG-13 Summary: See chapter 1

Chapter 2, Day 2:

Mulder hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten, hasn’t showered or shaved.  He waits for a phone call from the gunmen that hasn’t come and he stares blankly at maps and profiles of fourteen missing people.  Inside his mind, he’s frantically searching for Scully, trying desperately to come up with something, anything that could help find her.  He also knows, deep down, that this is going to be a long, torturous waiting game, one that could last weeks, months, years, or forever.  And this isn’t like two years ago, or five years ago.  The deputy director would like nothing more than to toss Mulder out on his ass.  If he doesn’t toe the line, the resources afforded to him in the FBI will be gone.

Agent Doggett has been demanding an interview with Mulder, and Mulder can’t refuse, and he’s afraid his temper will get the better of him.  The guy rubs him in too much of the wrong way not to get worked up over.  To Mulder’s surprise, a woman comes in instead, with dark hair and the perpetual hint of a smile.  Where Doggett was too aggressive, she is too relaxed.

“Agent Mulder,” she says congenially.  “It's nice to meet you.  I'm Agent Reyes.”

“Where’s Agent Doggett?” he asks.

“We thought it might be better if I spoke to you instead.”  She sits across from him.  She doesn't carry a notepad or a file with her.  She looks like she's here for tea and conversation, not an interrogation.  “I've been assigned to the task force to find the missing fourteen.”

“Good luck.”

“I’m sorry about your partner.”

He wants to answer her politeness with sarcasm, but he hears Skinner in the back of his head telling him to play nice if he wants any hope of being allowed in on the investigation.  The sooner they could clear him of any wrongdoing or negligence, the sooner he could do something substantive.

“I appreciate that,” he says.  “Sorry won't help me find her though.”

“What will?”

“What's your specialty, Agent Reyes?  What do you know about alien abduction?”

“Not much.  I work in the ritualistic crime division in New Orleans.”

Mulder pauses and thinks for a moment.  “Monica Reyes?”

“Yes.”

“You worked the Lafontaine murders last year.”

“I did.”

“I wanted that case.  Submitted a requisition for it, but got denied.  Kersh had us working shit detail at that time.”

“Why would you have wanted that case?  It was horrible.”

“It bore a striking similarity to a mass murder in 1979.”

It's Reyes’ turn to pause and she tilts her head slightly.  “Were you my anonymous tip with the news article from The Times-Picayune?”

“Anonymous tips are meant to be anonymous for a reason.  I read your report.  You didn't find a connection.”

“No, I didn't.”

“I didn't kill my partner.  So ask me what you think you need to know so I can get out of here.”

“You and Agent Scully were close?”

“Yes, we are close.”

“Right.”

“To pick up where Agent Doggett left off, yes, we’re more than just partners, though that's been a more recent development in our relationship.”

“How recent?”

“About four months recent.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you decide to become intimate with your partner?”

“It wasn't so much of a decision as...it just happened.”  

Mulder sits back and closes his eyes.  He thinks about the first night they spent together, when he put his arm around her as they watched a movie, when she looked up at him with surprise, but smiled.  When he’d let his thumb graze her arm past her short sleeved top.  When she’d shifted closer and cautiously rested her hand on his thigh.  When she'd looked at his mouth and he had to know what it would be like to kiss her.  No, it hadn’t been a decision, it had been a compulsion.

“I'm sorry if this is uncomfortable or embarrassing for you.”

“If?”  Mulder gives a little snort.  “People have talked about me behind my back for years.  I'm not worried about what anyone says or thinks about me, it's what they might say about Scully that bothers me.”

“I'm told she's a good agent.”

“The best.”  A headache that Mulder has been fighting starts to pulse behind his eyes and he pinches the top of his nose before rubbing his brows.  “I have medical records I'm supposed to give you.  Of our attempts to have a baby, and her infertility.  I didn't know she was pregnant until yesterday.  I'm not even quite sure I believe it, but I would never, ever hurt her.”

“If you were trying to have a baby, why didn't she tell you she was pregnant before you went to Bellefleur?”

“I can only imagine it was because she knew I wouldn't let her come.”

“Wouldn't let her?”

Mulder puts his hand down and looks Agent Reyes in the eyes.  She looks at him neutrally, but he has the feeling she thinks she's caught him in an admission of guilt.   He tried not to clench his jaw, but it's hard not to.

“I had a bad feeling about coming back,” he says.  “I tried to talk her out of going, but she insisted.  If she had told me about the baby, I would’ve tried a lot harder.”

“What would you have done?”

“Not come at all, probably.”

“You would stay behind and not chase a lead?”

“For her I would.”

“That's not what I've heard about you.”

Mulder swallows.  The even tone in Reyes’ voice is unsettling.  She has a way of stating things without malice or surprise, but the judgment is still there in what she says.  He was wrong about her being too relaxed.  Perhaps she's even more calculating than Agent Doggett.

“Let’s just say I haven’t felt the need to go haring off on my own lately.”

“But, she has, hasn’t she?  Wasn’t it just a few months ago that she followed the lead in an investigation without telling you where she was going or that she was with a man you’ve described as an enemy of the government.”

“Jesus, how did you even-”

“And you said you’ve only been together intimately for four months.  Was she running out on you then, or was this before you were together?  Did she run off on you now?”

Mulder can’t take it anymore.  He stands up and slaps both hands down on the table, but Agent Reyes doesn’t flinch.  “This is insane,” he shouts.

“No, fourteen people vanishing without a trace is insane, Agent Mulder.”

“Not if you’ve seen what I’ve seen.”

“According to you, you didn’t see anything more than a bright light in the sky.”

Mulder scrubs his face with both hands, frustrated and tense.  He pushes his hands back through his hair and tightens his grip as he turns away from Agent Reyes and paces the room.

“I’m here to help you, Agent Mulder,” Agent Reyes says.

“Help me?”  Mulder turns towards her and shakes his head.  “You can’t help me if you don’t believe me.”

“I never said I didn’t believe you.”

The door opens and Agent Doggett enters, followed by Skinner.  Agent Reyes stands and pushes her chair back into place under the table.

“You’re gonna accompany the task force to Arizona,” Doggett says.

Mulder cuts his eyes to Skinner, whose face reveals nothing.  “What’s in Arizona?” he asks.

“Boy by the name of Gibson Praise,” Agent Doggett answers.

“What do you want with Gibson?”

“I don’t know,” Doggett says, holding a red file up in his hand.  “But, someone wants us to find him.”

*****

The sun is still high when the caravan of black SUVs stops in front of the tiny desert boarding school for the deaf.  The air is hot and thick with the dust the cars have kicked up.  Mulder wipes a gritty sheen of sweat off the back of his neck.  He hasn’t had a chance to be alone with Skinner, to find out what this is about.  He still hasn’t heard back from the gunmen.  He’s flying blind in this situation and he feels like he needs to proceed with the utmost caution.

Agent Doggett is on one side of Mulder, Agent Reyes the other, like a police escort.  Mulder thinks they may as well just put him in handcuffs.  He feels like they’d like to.  There are at least ten other agents in the task force behind them, buzzing with adrenaline and excitement, like invading a school for deaf kids is going to be the high point of their careers.  He wonders if any of them has ever been out of the bullpen.  It wouldn’t surprise them if they hadn’t.  Kersh likes to keep his agents on a tight leash.

“I thought we were only here to talk to him,” Mulder says to Doggett, glancing back over his shoulder at the team behind them.

“They’re not here for the boy,” Doggett answers, eyes forward.  His face glistens in the heat.

Mulder takes another look back.  It becomes clear to him then.  They’re there to make sure he doesn’t get away.  He searches for Skinner amongst them, and then sees his boss standing alone and apart from the group, his cell phone pressed to one ear and a hand over the other.  It looks like he’s shouting something, but there’s a strong desert wind blowing that carries his voice away.

“Wait,” Mulder says, stopping and turning fully to watch Skinner.  “Something’s wrong.”

“What is it?” Agent Reyes asks.

Mulder takes a step away from the two agents and squints out at the desert.  There’s a glimmer of something in the distance, but he’s distracted when Skinner pockets his phone and starts briskly for them, his face red and wet, tie billowing over his shoulder in the wind.

“Someone breached the FBI database overnight using Agent Scully’s credentials,” Skinner says.

“What were they looking for?” Mulder asks.

“Files on Gibson Praise.”

Mulder turns to go back to the school, but Skinner stops him.  “There’s something else,” he says.

“What?”

“I heard from your...friends…”  Skinner pauses and glances at Agent Doggett and then back at Mulder.  “They say they’re getting reports of activity in Clifton.”

“Clifton?  How far is that from where we are?”

“Thirty miles, maybe.”

“We need to find Gibson.  Now.”

With Agents Doggett and Reyes hot on his heels, Mulder rushes towards the entrance of the school and throws open the door.  There’s a receptionist at the front desk that looks up with puzzlement, but it’s clear she can’t hear the commotion that follows him.  He starts yelling Gibson’s name, trusting that at least Doggett or Reyes has flashed a badge by now to someone, and searches the school room by room.

“He’s not here,” Mulder says to the agents that trail after him.  “He knew what was coming.”

“Where could he go?” Agent Reyes asks.

Mulder shakes his head and pushes open the back exit.  He squints out at the desert again and then looks down at the ground.  There are footprints in the dirt, two sets of shoes, tennis shoes and what looks like high-heeled boots.  The imprints are clean at first, even steps out towards the open desert, but they soon grow messier and more chaotic.  Mulder follows the tracks, slowly at first, and then picking up speed.

“Agent Mulder!”  Agent Doggett calls after him.

Mulder doesn’t stop.  He runs alongside the fading footprints and doesn’t have to look back to know Agent Doggett is behind him.  Through the desert brush and tumbleweeds, he spots something in the distance, taking shape the closer he gets.  He sees what looks like Scully, dragging a stumbling Gibson Praise behind her, marching defiantly towards the edge of a cliff.  Agent Doggett must see what he sees at the same time, because he calls her name.

“Agent Scully!”

Scully doesn’t slow or stop or acknowledge Agent Doggett’s call to her.  Gibson is resisting her pull as best he can, but she’s relentless in her hold.  Mulder stops in his tracks about twenty feet away and puts an arm out to stop Agent Doggett as well.  He didn’t notice Agent Reyes behind them, who skids to a stop on the other side of Mulder.

“Agent Scully, stop right there!”  Agent Doggett shouts.

Scully finally pauses and looks towards them.  There’s something cold and dead in her eyes.  She’s unmoved by the boy struggling in her grip and her hold on him is effortless.  She blinks slowly as though she’s studying the three agents.  Mulder can hear Gibson wheezing, trying to say something.

“Sssnoter,” Gibson croaks, staring at Mulder with wide, fearful eyes.

“Sssnoter,” Mulder murmurs to himself, repeating it and forming the shape of the words with his mouth.  “Sssnoter.  Snot ter.  Snot her.  It’s not her!  It’s not her!”

Instinctually, Mulder moves his hand to his hip to reach for his weapon, only remembering that his gun was taken from him by Skinner before they left Oregon.  Agent Doggett, following Mulder’s lead, draws his weapon and Agent Reyes follows.

“Let him go!” Mulder yells.

“Hands in the air,” Agent Doggett orders.

The Scully imposter still looks unmoved, but she releases Gibson, who falls to his knees and starts to crawl away.  Agent Reyes breaks away from Mulder and Agent Doggett, her gun still pointed at Scully, and steps to the side to where Gibson is crawling.

“I’m not gonna ask you again, put your hands in the air!”  Agent Doggett takes aim, ready to fire.

“Don’t shoot unless you can hit the base of the neck,” Mulder says to him.

“What?”

Agent Reyes has knelt to pull Gibson out of harm’s way and Mulder moves behind Agent Doggett as he stalks forward.  The Scully imposter cocks her head to the side and then almost with a shrug, turns and steps off the edge of the cliff.

“No!”  Mulder screams, knowing full well it isn’t Scully who’s just fallen, but it looks like her, and he knows it’s an image he’ll never be able to shake.  He stands rooted to his spot while Agent Doggett runs to the drop site and peers over the edge.

There’s the sound of activity surrounding him, of Skinner rushing past to join Agent Doggett, of members of the task force trying to help Agent Reyes with Gibson, of Agent Doggett shouting orders to people, but it all blends into a cacophony.  It’s Skinner that breaks the spell by pulling Mulder to the side and asking him what happened.

“It was a bounty hunter,” Mulder says.  “They’re after Gibson.”

“Why?” Skinner asks.

“I don’t know.  He needs protection.”

“He needs a hospital.  They think his leg might be broken.”

“Someone’s got to stay with him.”

“Are you asking me?”

“You’re the only one with any idea of what we’re dealing with here.”  Mulder looks towards Agent Doggett, who’s organizing a team to head down into the canyon and retrieve the body of the Scully imposter.  “I don’t trust anyone else at the moment.”

“What will you do?”

“Keep searching.”

Skinner looks away, contemplative.  He finally nods once, but doesn’t say anything to Mulder before he walks away.  Mulder watches as he lifts Gibson into his arms and orders another agent to get to one of the SUVs to go to the hospital.  No one but Agent Reyes notices when Mulder heads further out into the desert.

*****

Mulder has been walking for over an hour.  He’s been feeling lethargic for awhile, his throat is dry and he has a headache.  He hears Scully in his head, can’t even leave you for a day, Mulder, and you’ve gotten yourself dehydrated.  He stops and hunches over, his hands on his knees.  The sun has gotten low and the air has cooled somewhat, but he’s still hot all over.  Dirty sweat has dried on his skin, making him itch.

Even in the middle of the desert, he has the feeling of being watched.  Several times, he’s paused to search all sides of the vast landscape, but it’s hard to see through the brush and cactus.  He’s completely alone save for the few lizards he’s passed, a low-flying vulture, and a scorpion he nearly stepped on from not being attentive enough.  It only now starts to occur to him that he could die out here and no one would know.  He wonders if there’s anyone left to care at this point.

He hears a noise he can’t identify close by and he goes still, immediately fearing a snake of some kind.  When he finally dares to glance over, he’s more relieved than he cares to let on seeing Agent Reyes approaching.  He straightens and sways a little on his feet.

“Have you been following me?” Mulder asks.  He notices a canteen at Agent Reyes’ hip and unconsciously lips his chapped lips.

“Water?” she asks.

“Please.”

Agent Reyes pulls the strap holding the canteen over her head and hands it to Mulder.  His grip is almost too weak to unscrew the cap and he fights the urge to gulp at the water.  Slowly, Scully’s voice reminds him.  Small sips, Mulder.

“I grew up in New Mexico,” she says.  “Most parents probably tell their kids never to talk to strangers.  Mine told me never to go into the desert alone.”

He coughs on a sip of water and screws the cap back on the canteen before he hands it back to her.  “Yeah, well…”

“What exactly are we looking for?”

“Aircraft.  A force field.”  He shrugs.  “You don’t really find it, it finds you.”

“What happened back there on the cliff?”

“That wasn’t Scully.”

“Then who was it?”

“Not who.  It.”

“It looked like Agent Scully.”

“It can look like whoever it wants.”  

Mulder turns away from Agent Reyes and looks out into the grey nothingness.  There’s an orange glow behind the mountains in the distance.  It will be pitch black soon.  He wasn’t thinking earlier.

“Agent Mulder?”  Agent Reyes asks.  “If that wasn’t Agent Scully, who was it?”

“An alien.”

“How did you know?”

Mulder hesitates.  He isn’t sure of how much he should tell Agent Reyes.  He doesn’t know that he can trust her, but there doesn’t seem to be much of a point in being discreet now.  Keeping quiet certainly won’t bring Scully back.

“Gibson Praise is part alien,” he says.  “At least, that’s what I think.  He knows what they’re thinking.  He knows what all of us are thinking, actually.  We should head back.  It’s getting dark.”

Agent Reyes cups her hand at Mulder’s elbow when he walks one way and pulls him in a slightly different direction without comment.  He follows her, sensing that her confidence comes from experience.  When it starts to get darker, she pulls a flashlight out from her pocket and points it at the ground in front of their feet.  After some time of silence, she speaks.

“I first met Agent Doggett about eight years ago,” she says.  He was NYPD at the time.  Did you know that?”

“I don't know anything about Agent Doggett,” he answers.

“He was a suspect at one point for the murder of his son.”

“That's...that's awful.”

“Yes.  Luke was seven.  Agent Doggett was cleared very early on.  I was in the New York City field office at the time and I was on the investigation.”

“What happened?”

“Stranger abduction, we think.  Never made an arrest.”

Mulder quietly contemplates this bit of information.  He wonders what Agent Doggett was like as a cop.  He wonders if that incident in his life propelled him into joining the FBI.  If Agent Doggett was also there for a personal cause.

“I only tell you this so that you'll know that Agent Doggett is on your side,” she says.  “He’s been in your shoes.”

“Scully isn’t dead.”

“It’s about loss, Agent Mulder.  He knows what it’s like.  And I think he must have felt a particular way about this case to call me in on it.  He doesn’t keep in touch.  I’m sure I remind him of Luke, and why we met.  He will call though, if he needs the help.  He’s here to help.”

“Like I told you before, you can’t help me if you don’t believe me.”

“And like I told you, I never said I didn’t.”

“Wait,” Mulder whispers, putting his arm out and catching Agent Reyes’ wrist to stop her.  “Do you see that?”

In the sky up ahead is a light, slowly moving closer, growing larger.  He thought at first it might be a shooting star, but it’s not falling across the sky, it’s heading towards them.

“I see it,” Agent Reyes says.  “What is it?”

“I’m not sure.”  

Mulder steps ahead and holds his arm up over his head to block the light from his eyes.  His heart pounds with hopeful anticipation, but it soon becomes apparent what’s approaching them is a helicopter.  He deflates a little and drops his arm as he turns to Agent Reyes.  There’s a look of deep sympathy in her eyes when he looks at her.

The helicopter descends and Agent Doggett hops out, beckoning to the two of them.  Agent Reyes comes forward and pauses next to Mulder.  She doesn’t say anything, let’s him make the decision to cooperate and follow her, which he does.  She gets into the helicopter and he pulls himself inside as well, Agent Doggett behind them both.

“We didn’t recover a body from the bottom of the canyon,” Agent Doggett shouts over the noise of the helicopter.  “And we haven’t been able to reach AD Skinner.”

“When was the last time you spoke to him?” Mulder asks.

“As he was putting the boy in the SUV.  I’ve got men searching the hospital now, but they can’t find him.”

“Can we land there?”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

*****

The hospital seems to be even smaller than the school, and equally as quiet.  The only staff is a doctor and a night nurse and a janitor.  One of the task force agents meets the helicopter as it lands on the highway and drives them across the main road to the building.  Agent Shaffer, who drove Skinner and Gibson to the hospital, is posted outside of Gibson’s room on watch.

“Sir,” Agent Shaffer says to Agent Doggett as the trio approaches Gibson’s room.

“You were the last to see AD Skinner?”  Agent Doggett asks him.

“I entered the hospital with AD Skinner and the boy,” he confirms.  “AD Skinner hasn’t been seen since leaving this room to take a phone call approximately half an hour ago.”

“Any idea who that phone call was from?”  Agent Doggett asks.

“No, Sir.”

“He wouldn’t leave,” Mulder says.  “He’s still here.”

“So, we’ll do another search,” Agent Reyes says.

“I want to talk to Gibson,” Mulder says.

Agent Doggett seems to mull the request over, his piercing blue eyes staring hard at Mulder.  He finally nods once and turns to Agent Shaffer.  “No one enters or leaves this room,” he says, glancing at Mulder.  “You got that?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Monica, you’ll search with me.”

Mulder slips into Gibson’s room and watches through the small window beside the door as Agents Doggett and Reyes head down the hall.  Agent Shaffer blocks the door with his body and assumes a crossed-arm pose.  Mulder rolls his eyes a little as he turns around.  Gibson is lying in a hospital bed that makes him look even smaller than he is, his leg propped up in a fresh white cast, eyes closed.

“Gibson?” Mulder says, moving closer to the hospital bed.  He can tell the boy isn’t sleeping, but feigning.

Gibson opens his eyes.  “I don’t know where Agent Scully is,” he says.

“I wasn’t...nevermind, you’d know I’m lying.”

“I know they have her.  But, I don’t know where.”

“Do you know if she’s close?”

“I’m sorry Agent Mulder, I can’t tell you anything.”

“Can you tell me what they want with you?”

“They want what anyone wants, to study me, keep me like a lab rat, cut me open, kill me if they have to.”

“Gibson, no one wants...you’re not a lab rat.”

“Sure.  The only reason you’re in here is because she’s gone.”

“Yes, I want to find Agent Scully, but I want to protect you too, Gibson.”

“You know, insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

“I’m certifiable, Gibson.”

Gibson snorts, but it isn’t with humor, it’s with derision.  He shakes his head a little and looks away.  Mulder pulls a plastic chair over to the side of the bed and sits down.  He’s starting to feel the effects of the lack of sleep, food, and water on his body.  He still has the headache that started in the desert and now his bloodshot eyes are starting to feel dry and irritated.

Suddenly, Gibson turns his head again, sharply, like he was startled by a noise.  He sits up and Mulder straightens, turning his head in the direction Gibson is staring.  The boy is listening to something, Mulder’s sure of it.

“What is it?” Mulder asks.

“It’s coming,” Gibson answers.

Mulder looks around the room for a place to hide.  The window is too small to climb out of.  The cupboards next to the bed are too narrow.  It’s too late anyway, the door opens and Skinner walks in.  Behind him, Mulder sees Agent Shaffer, slumped on the floor.  He pulls Gibson from the bed and stands in front of him, backing up slowly as Gibson hobbles behind him on his cast.

“Agent Doggett!”  Mulder yells.  “Agent Reyes!”

The thing that’s posing as Skinner moves slowly, but purposefully towards Mulder.  Mulder stands his ground and blocks the thing from reaching Gibson.  The imposter reaches out and grabs Mulder by the throat.  Mulder scratches ineffectually at the hand choking him.

“Stop,” Mulder wheezes, just before he’s lifted into the air by his neck and tossed to the side.  He hits his head and his shoulder.  There’s an explosion of pain throughout his entire body.  He manages to stand, though his knees are shaking and he’s seeing double.

“What the hell is this?” Agent Doggett shouts, rushing into the room with his gun drawn.  “Get away from the boy!”

“Base of the neck,” Mulder croaks, losing his balance and stumbling against the cupboards.  

It’s Agent Reyes that fires, her aim remarkably accurate.  The bullet hole oozes a sizzling green sludge.  The body falls and moments later, begins to liquify.  Agent Doggett stands perplexed, a look of shock and horror on his face.  Gibson is huddled against the wall, inching away to escape the toxic blood that pools closer to his feet.

“John, the boy,” Agent Reyes says.

Doggett holsters his weapon and rushes over to Gibson, stepping over the liquid corpse to escort the boy to a safer place.  Agent Reyes goes to Mulder, who has lost the ability to stand and has slumped against the side of the bed.

“It can look like whoever it wants to,” she says.  “Isn’t that what you said?”

Mulder nods and his throat tightens with a surge of nausea.  

“We just found AD Skinner in a storage closet,” she continues.  “He was unconscious, but alive.”

Mulder coughs and retches bile.

“We need a medic in here!” she shouts.

Mulder loses consciousness.

*****