#he likes the IDEA of killing krycek because he’s the kind of person who needs a concrete goal at all times or he’ll fall over and die
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
silo1013 · 2 years ago
Text
really it’s all about the scene in apocrypha where the well manicured man asks mulder “if you’re looking for krycek to get revenge and you had him with you why didn’t you kill him then” and mulder momentarily looks stunned by the suggestion of it
34 notes · View notes
deathsbestgirl · 3 months ago
Text
so i made a little post once about mulder's & scully's empathy (/compassion). i focused more on scully's because hers is quiet, it's not as obvious as mulder's. it's more contained, in my opinion. and i've just been thinking about about it because of that mulder + compassion post and it's something i love about him.
because sometimes it goes beyond sense. he can extend it to the worst of humanity, because he desperately wants people to be good, to give them the opportunity to do better. one small chance to redeem themselves and prove that humanity at its core is good, that even people who do bad things think they're doing it for good. i think this is why he can't kill csm or krycek. (wondering what this has to do with his father?) and it's a crazy dichotomy, because he will kill to protect. he regrets not pulling the trigger on john barnett before he was able to kill another agent, leaving a family without a father & husband. to when he slits that man's throat to save scully. to the way he feels at the end of pusher or squeeze, or the events of pine bluff variant.
his empathy & compassion are so elevated, but there are instances where he doesn't feel it or maybe can't accept it because the evil (to him) surpasses it. i don't know if this is the best way to word it, or that i'm really getting my point across here. i love the complexity of fox mulder so much, the layers to his character, and sometimes the contradictions like any person has. and this is a big part of it for me. as kae says, he's always holding out his hand to the world, to people who have hurt him before because that's who he is. he is so trusting, as much as he talks about "trust no one," it's a core tenant of his character, to trust freely and openly.
sometimes he contorts himself, refuses to make connections he normally might because he wants to believe, he doesn't want it to be true. he doesn't want to be crushed again. i think there's this idea (hope) that you can't hurt people so intentionally if you know them, care about them, love them. but he also knows that isn't true. that often we are most cruel to people we love, and there are things (guilt, compassion) people can't accept in themselves, that make them act out against specific people who carry those same things. and sometimes, it's easier to blame the scapegoat than face yourself or the people you've hurt (abused) with honesty.
i thought i would go into specifics, but i think there are examples in nearly every episode. we see it in the pilot with scully, and we learn everything he does on the x files is for "the truth" aka love. it starts with samantha, but it quickly extends to every person he meets.
on the mulder compassion scenes post i said:
i love that he especially does this for kids and anyone "other" — but also just adults who've been through something. no matter how awful they are, he extends kindness & compassion. i think his brand of kindness & compassion is rare to extend to adults.
any decent person would treat kids the way he does, but it's a skill. one he has honed beautifully because of his empathy & love. we see it in conduit, eve, born again, etc. a few of my favorite. trying to tell kevin the truth, that ruby probably isn't coming back because no one ever took the time to tell mulder that after samantha. in born again, he makes michelle laugh after the horrible things she saw. in paper hearts and sein und zeit, he needs to help those little kids & their families. they deserve the truth & closure, whatever they can be given.
but i think the way he extends it to adults is something really, really special. in oubilette, he extends it to lucy despite her history with drugs & as a victim most people write off. he believes in her. that she's alive is enough. he tells her how she matters, that she can help someone. he knows she isn't guilty of anything but a connection to a little girl suffering the exact same way she did. when they find the kidnapped girl, drowning in the river, he gives her cpr and won't stop despite scully begging him to give up. he can't, he won't. he wasn't going to let this girl die, he would exhaust himself first, never letting that thought enter his mind. and after, he cries over lucy's body. he didn't really know her, but to him, knowing her at all, for such a short time, was a gift. and she did it. she saved that little girl. and he failed her.
in mind's eye, he connects with marty. the local pd are convinced she's guilty despite the ways it doesn't make sense. he urges her to tell him the truth, to help them get the real killer. that what she sees matters. it isn't about her disability at all. i don't think he pitied her for it, if anything, i think he valued it and what she could "see" that others couldn't. once again, he believed marty could make a difference. her disdain & standoffishness didn't put him off in the slightest. it only intrigues him more. he always wants to understand people. he always believes in them, even when they don't believe in themselves. and that is such a powerful thing. there's also something to the way he respects their choices. it isn't what he wanted for marty, or lucy, but it was their choice. even if marty killed her murderer biological father and lucy died. (if mulder kept in touch with anyone from any of their cases, i think it would be marty. not fucking rapist pmp guy.)
and then there's the "other" category (which you could say lucy & marty fit into also) but when i say that, i really think of roland & harold. in roland, he helps him pick out a shirt. he notices he's good with numbers, even if he isn't a genius mathematician. he tells roland about his bad dreams, and that bad dreams don't mean he is bad — a fear roland didn't voice, but mulder understood from his reactions. and harold, mulder saw the way he cared about the women that were killed. he also liked numbers, but harold specifically liked bowling. he remembered people's scores and he would recite them when he was anxious. mulder picks up on all of this. he sees everything.
mulder cares. just because they're people and they matter. it doesn't matter what they've done, or haven't done. he values them just for existing, and living. he always sees someone's potential. sometimes to his detriment (krycek, csm, diana). but mostly, it's a strength. and just because some people abuse that doesn't make it a character flaw. (and this is what i love about scully: she views this as a strength and something to protect. she can take comfort in her science & facts & pragmatism, and she can support him. i genuinely think she feels it similarly to him, but she does not show it as freely, for a lot of reasons. this is a way she empathizes with mulder.)
there's so so many more. these are just my favorites, besides the way he shows it with scully. how much i love this aspect of mulder is why i posed that question. there are so many, big & small, through the entire series. it's one of the most compelling parts of his character.
9 notes · View notes
enigmaticxbee · 3 years ago
Text
Tumblr media
✖️✖️ 8x20 Essence
The one where... Mulder finally decides to investigate Scully’s pregnancy and Billy Miles comes after a very pregnant Scully. Part 1 of 2.
Best: Scully: Look, Mulder, look, I can’t take this! I can’t live like this - as the object of some unending X-File. Mulder: This isn’t about the X-Files, Scully. It is only about you. Now, you are going to have this baby and I’m going to do everything I can to protect it. I think he really means it - his interest is purely personal, he’s not investigating with the hope that this baby will provide proof of the Truth that will get them the X-Files back. Hey, growth!
Worst: How can Scully ever trust ANYONE? I hate it. I also hate how Scully just gets dragged around all episode with no agency, no input. No sense that she’s been investigating any of this since Per Manum. She’s vulnerable right now, and she deserves help obviously, but the Scully I know would be motivated to figure out what’s going on, not hanging around waiting for all the men in her life to tell how they’re going to rescue her.
❌ Flashlights
❌ Woods/Desert
❌ Slideshow
❌ Autopsy
✔️ Evidence Disappears
❌ Scully Misses It
❌ Mulder Ditch
❌ Sunflower Seeds
✔️ Voiceover: Mulder intro VO
❌ Catch Phrase
❌ Scully is a Medical Doctor
❌ Mulder is Spooky
❌ Scuuullllaaaaayy! Muullllderrrr!
❌ Fox/Dana
✔️ Inappropriate Touching (that I am here for)
✔️ Casual Scully
✔️ Casual Mulder
✔️ Trench Coats
❌ Bad Tie Watch
❌ Glasses Watch
✔️ Taking! It! Personally!: Mulder & Scully
50 States: DC x84 (44/50)
Investigate: Together & Apart
Solve Rate: 65%
✔️ Bechdel Test
MSR: 🐝🐝🐝
Goriness: 👽👽👽
Creepiness: 👽👽👽
Humor: 👽👽
Rewatch Thoughts:
Doggett check-in: He’s fine. I kind of enjoyed Mulder showing up at his door and the two of them investigating together.
Pregnancy check-in: I mean this is Pregnancy, The Episode: Part 1
Who are these women at the baby shower? 🧐 Did Mrs Scully commandeer all her church friends daughters or something?
Mulder’s suddenly VERY interested in investigating Scully’s pregnancy - where was this concern the past 4 episodes? Let’s wait until she’s about to give birth to investigate Dr Parenti and Zeus Genetics! It would make more sense to me if the Lizzy incident or something happened to knock him out of his complacency and realize he needed to figure out why people (and aliens) are coming after Scully and the baby.
Scully bopping Mulder on the nose when he complains about her bedside manner 🥺
I just... if Scully had ANY doubts, any at all - she would have done a paternity test!! I think she knows it’s Mulder’s baby, but because they never talked about what his role would be if the IVF had worked and because of how he pushed her away at first in Three Words she’s proceeding as if this is just her baby to protect herself from hoping for anything more from him. And Mulder, reeling at first from his resurrection, but slowly coming around, thinks that this is what she wants. Hence all the coyness from both of them when questioned and Mulder deferring to Scully but not actually refuting paternity. Just TALK to each other you idiots!
Were those pills just a red herring? How can Scully trust what her doctor tells her when even a woman brought into her house by her mother has been spying on her?
WHY would Mulder leave Scully with Krycek?? He’s admitted to trying to kill her baby! I mean, he does help them get Scully out of there but why would they ever trust him? He always has an ulterior motive.
These super soldiers annoy the fuck out of me because we have no idea what they’re after or why. It just all feels like manufactured danger nonsense - they’re unkillable and have infiltrated the government but according to Krycek there’s no conspiracy or goal, they’re just following their biological imperative to survive? Mkay.
So... Krycek and whoever these alien genetics doctor conspiracists are seem to think that the baby is super special, more than human, but not created in the lab like those alien babies we saw in Per Manum - it’s a miracle baby, born to a barren woman (ugh), proof of God (cue the Virgin Mary and Jesus symbolism) 🙄
19 notes · View notes
admiralty-xfd · 5 years ago
Text
the whole truth
Diana makes a decision. Mulder's final confrontation with Diana (if only in his mind). Scully returns from Africa to make an unspoken declaration of her own.
This is chapter 15, to go back to the beginning click here.
Tumblr media
Chapter 15: The Transfer
GEORGETOWN MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
PSYCHIATRIC UNIT
JULY 1999
He was trapped in a padded cell, all alone.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been dismissed as crazy, although as death seemed to be closing in on him, it could very well be the last. And as he glanced desperately around this prison like a trapped animal in a cage, when he tried to call for help only one sound would come out.
“Scully!”
It was the only word he could summon.
His brain pounded and ached, and it was an unusual situation to be in; completely coherent but unable to make his own body respond. The cacophony of voices were dimly carrying on in the background of his mind, presumably from outside his cell; an almost soothing, reliable presence. It troubled him that he could not hear her anywhere.
Mulder was used to being alone; he was alone most of the time, had felt alone most of his life. The only time he didn’t feel alone was when Scully was near. And her absence now was more palpable than it had ever been before.
He screamed for her; pleaded, begged.
Scully will come, she has to come.
But she didn’t come. Maybe she couldn’t.
After a while he stopped screaming. What was the point? He sat still, back straight against the wall of the cell, staring at the door, waiting for her.
He sat this way for thirty-six hours.
***
Mulder heard the door unlock and hoped beyond hope it was Scully but, instead, Skinner came in.
When he’d heard voices in Skinner’s office, it had been just a jumble of confusing words and phrases, not enough to know what was really going on. But now as his boss entered the cell, he could hear the truth: Skinner had been compromised by Krycek, and his life was in jeopardy.
Mulder wasn’t sure how much he could trust Skinner. But in the quiet calm of the cell what he heard above everything else in the other man’s mind was genuine concern for his well-being.
He was here, after all, and he wanted to help.
Grateful it hadn’t been Diana coming in, at least, Mulder assessed his situation. The message he’d written had been intended for Scully but she wasn’t here.
Help me.
He didn’t know where she was, how long she would be, and he could be running out of time. Skinner might be the only person who could help him right now.
He put on a show to get the message into Skinner’s pocket, to get the ball rolling, to get the truth to the surface; the truth of what he’d become, of what was inside him.
He hoped he’d live to see Scully again. This time she would have to believe.
***
Diana stood at Fox’s bedside, watching him. He was fully unconscious, finally, and she was uncertain what kinds of drugs were coursing through his veins to allow him to rest, but he looked peaceful. She was grateful for it.
“I know what you’re thinking, Diana,” came a voice followed closely by cigarette smoke.
C.G.B. Spender stood on the other side of the bed. She narrowed her eyes, unsure what to reveal. There was no way out for her anymore, no way back.
“You love my son,” he said. “Don’t you?”
She reached out to touch Fox’s cheek with her hand, and while she didn’t really feel like divulging her innermost desires to a man who surely had no reason to care, it felt like it mattered so little at this point.
“I do.”
“I can sense your conflict,” he nodded. “That although you know what must be done, although you know this is the right course, you can’t help but wish it could be different. That it could be someone else.”
She did wish it were someone else lying here, not Fox. And she wanted him to live, even if that meant he didn’t choose her in the end.
If Fox remained in this state, he would become the very thing he’d sought his entire adult life: alien. But this wasn’t like Gibson Praise, or even Cassandra Spender. This was different. What Fox had inside him was essentially killing him: it would turn him into someone, some thing she no longer recognized. And more quickly than anyone was prepared for.
She hadn’t expected this. She wanted to do everything she could to prevent that, but… the work.
“What we need is more time,” she said. “Time we don’t have because we’re losing him.”
Spender looked at her. “But if we were to remove what's killing him… perhaps Agent Mulder could survive.”
“You want to… take away parts of his brain?” The thought hadn’t occurred to her: that maybe it was possible to isolate those portions and remove them from Fox. Maybe that would save him. “The parts… that are alien?”
Spender looked at her meaningfully. “And perhaps… if someone else were willing to carry the burden… take on his suffering. Someone who knows what this gift could mean…?”
Was he suggesting…?
“Do you mean…?” she trailed off, not wanting to say it, not even wanting to put the ludicrous idea out into the open. It seemed Spender was volunteering.
Spender eyed her carefully. “You could have him back,” he said. “Maybe this will be my final purpose. To carry this immunity so that everyone can survive.” He reached out and touched her hand, that cold contact she wasn’t used to. “So my son will survive.”
He pinned her with his standard intense gaze, a signature curl of smoke rising from the smoldering white stick between his forefingers. She honestly couldn’t tell if he’d just thought of this to spare his son for her sake or if he’d been planning to do this all along; become the ‘savior’ regardless of who he had to carve up. But if he was offering, and if it could truly save Fox’s life… did it matter?
She looked down at Fox, lying asleep in his hospital bed. He looked so helpless. Maybe this was a viable alternative?
“What you’re suggesting could kill him anyway,” she pointed out, the reasonable part of her brain taking over. “Damage his memory, his motor functions. This is his brain we’re talking about. The slightest mistake…”
She knew as much as anyone how dangerous this could be. But what choice did they have? Shooting him full of drugs could only last for so long.
She thought of Fox all those months ago, how he’d travelled halfway around the globe to Antarctica to rescue his partner.
She thought of Agent Scully, whom Skinner had told her was in Africa searching for a cure to save him.
And she thought of herself, standing here doing virtually nothing to help him.
This, she could do.
She nodded her acquiescence. “What do you need from me?
***
“Fox…Fox…”
He’d never hated the sound of his own name more.
Upon hearing her voice again, he only felt anger and betrayal. Foolishness. Part of him wanted to let her explain; and if she could not, to let her mind explain for her.
The other part of him never wanted to see her again.
Diana entered his room and approached his bedside. There was pain etched into her face. He hoped she at least had the good grace to know it was over between them.
“I know what’s happened to you. I know what you’re suffering from. I’ve been sitting back and watching.”
He couldn’t understand the look in her eyes, how unfamiliar she suddenly was. This was a stranger, this wasn’t Diana. Not the Diana he thought he knew.
“A decade, I’ve been lying to you for a decade. I’ve been lying since we met.”
“I know you know,” she continued, her spoken words interweaving with those flying around her brain. He tried desperately to comprehend it all. “I know you know about me… that my loyalties aren’t just to you but to a man you’ve grown to despise.”
“Your father. This entire time… how did we end up here?”
His father? What was she talking about?
“You have your reasons, but as you look inside me now you know that I have mine.”
“The work. The greater good. The truth. That’s what it’s always been about for me, and he gave me that opportunity.”
Mulder was still unsure what to make of everything. She was trying to tell him the truth, but the thoughts he could now hear whirring through her mind betrayed further truths: she didn’t believe it was over. After everything, all of this, what she’d done, she still held onto hope that they could be together.
“There’s still a chance for us, Fox.”
“Fox… Fox, I love you,” she said. “I’ve loved you for so long,” And her thoughts mirrored this sentiment. “You know that, too.”
She believed it utterly, that she loved him… but he didn’t understand. Why would she betray him this way if she loved him? How could she allow this?
Did she even know what love was?
Did he?
Diana’s declaration felt hollow and empty, meaningless; he couldn’t help but think instantly of Scully and how it was she from whom he wanted to hear these words, how it was she from whom he wanted a declaration. Right words… wrong person.
Scully would never, ever have let this happen to him.
“...I won’t let you die to prove what you are, to prove what’s inside you,” Diana was saying.
“Fox… you have to understand… what you have can save so many lives…”
“There’s no need to prove it. It’s been known for so long.”
“I’ve known it for so long. Knowing the things I know has come at a great cost… but now I won’t hide anything from you ever again.”
He couldn’t help but notice she had no choice in that particular matter, not anymore.
“Now we can be together,” she said.
He marveled at her delusion in this moment, that she could possibly think there was a future for the two of them after what she’d done. But he found himself thinking of Samantha, of his belief in aliens, even his feelings for Scully, and quickly realized there was indeed a fine line between hope and delusion. Love apparently made all the difference.
“I’m going to help you, Fox… I’m going to save your life… maybe then you’ll forgive me...”
It had certainly taken him long enough, but he finally knew the truth. He didn’t want her help.
She leaned down and kissed his forehead and her lips were cold, distant. He only wanted Scully. Even in the bitter cold of Antarctica, her nearly-comatose lips had been somehow warmer, more welcoming; entirely devoid of what he now saw were Diana’s ever-present agendas.
His eyes welled up as he lay motionless and wondered where Scully was, why she hadn’t come to see him. And he felt incredible guilt over the fact that he’d doubted her, even for a second. Why had he fought so hard for Diana all this time? Why, when all he needed was to see Scully?
He’d told her he always wanted her around to prove him wrong and when she’d tried to do just that where Diana was concerned he’d rejected that proof, even though she had been completely justified in her distrust. Now he was suffering the consequences.
How would Scully react when she learned of Diana’s treachery? He knew this was vindication she’d earned but an outcome she’d never desired.
Would he die here without ever seeing her again? His heart ached at the notion.
He heard relief in Diana’s thoughts as she turned to leave, knowing she’d said her piece, but he felt none of his own. He only felt the harsh sting of betrayal.
IVORY COAST
WEST AFRICA
JULY 1999
The air hung heavily in the tent, sticky and oppressive. Waves crashed onto the shore outside and Scully hoped beyond hope they were simply waves of saltwater this time, and not blood.
She lay awake on her cot, wanting to sleep, but unable to. Her mind was alive with thoughts of the craft, and she didn’t miss the irony of what was going on in Mulder’s own beautiful mind thousands of miles away from her.
She missed him terribly; the tightness in her gut paired with the ache in her heart was longing she could barely contain anymore.
Her fear for his condition was unfortunately familiar, but worse than ever. They hadn’t spoken since she’d heard that familiar smirk on his face before he hung up the phone.
Then go ahead and prove me wrong, Scully.
But she couldn’t; she wouldn’t prove him wrong, not this time. Not when proving him wrong meant accepting he was actually dying.
She was in Africa to prove him right, for once.
Mulder wasn’t technically dying, though; she knew that now. He was more alive than he’d ever been because of what was inside him. And what was inside him was extraterrestrial after all. But she knew soon enough his body would no longer be able to withstand it. She wasn’t used to accepting such a thing so freely and willingly but here and now, in this place, with time working against her, she had to believe to find the cure. Skepticism was a luxury she couldn’t afford in this particular fight.
She’d spent the last several days and nights toiling over the symbols on the surface of the craft, looking for connections she knew only Mulder could make.
In Antarctica, he had arrived for her just in time, armed with a cure, armed with the means to save her life.
She’d arrived here with nothing.
It isn’t nothing, she told herself. It can’t be. It just wasn’t anything she could understand. She wanted to believe but what she needed was Mulder to help her make sense of it.
Although his death felt impossibly imminent and she knew everything else was secondary, she couldn’t help but wonder, again, what might have been if they’d only finished that kiss. If they’d only been rewarded for their momentary bravery rather than continually punished for it.
If perhaps Diana Fowley’s perpetual, insufferable, nauseating presence in their lives could have been entirely avoided.
Or maybe it all would have been for nothing.
No, she told herself. It isn’t nothing.
It can’t be.  
GEORGETOWN MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
PSYCHIATRIC UNIT
Pain.
First and foremost, he only registered the pain. He heard Scully’s voice, sensed her worry. He used every single bit of his very limited strength and agency to try and tilt his head towards her, to no avail.
He had no idea where she’d been. He had no idea how long she’d been gone.
But she was here. She was here, now.
“Mulder, it's me.”
The three words that could bring him back to life had finally arrived.
“Scully… I knew you’d come,” he said, but she could not hear his words.
“I know that you can hear me. If you can just give me some sign…”
He tried. He wanted to, badly. But he was so tired. His body couldn’t react.
“I’m here, Scully. I can hear you,” he said. But again, she couldn’t hear him.
“I want you to know where I've been-- what I found.” She looked down at him, and it was difficult to see her from his angle, frozen in place. But he saw when her lips were moving; when they weren’t. “Africa, the Ivory Coast,” her thoughts came. “I’ve been halfway around the world, Mulder.” She spoke again. “I think that if you know... that you could find a way to hold on. I need you to hold on,” she pleaded, her voice breaking. Scully’s voice never broke.
He listened, the only thing he was able to do, and heard her desperate fear for him wrapped up within a multitude of medical jargon he couldn’t quite understand. Her presence in the room soothed him; and in this moment he could think of a million things he wanted to say to her that he couldn’t.
“Don’t give up,” her mind revealed. “Please stay with me, Mulder. Fight. I can’t do this without you. Please hold on.”
“I found a key- the key- to every question that has ever been asked,” she continued. “It's a puzzle. But the pieces are there for us to put together and I know that they can save you if you can just hold on…”
“I can’t do this alone.”
“Mulder…” at that moment, her voice broke again. He felt her hand take his, squeeze it, the first contact they’d had in days. Her hand was warm and full of life, and he felt grounded for the first time in what must have been days.
But then he heard something he didn’t expect.
“I saw it, Mulder… I saw… The truth you’ve searched for is out there, it’s within our grasp. But I need you to help me understand it.”
“Please… hold on,” she said.
“Help me…” she thought.
He wanted to tell her she didn’t need his help; that she’d always been able to see. She only needed to want it badly enough. Maybe now she could.
Maybe now she could help him.
She stayed by his bedside for a long time, her hope and determination giving him the strength to hold on like she wanted him to. He heard her turning the intricacies of the puzzle over and over in her own mind, desperate to find the answer, to find the cure to save him. She took every possibility into account; every alien influence was considered, as if she had taken over his role in their dynamic, if only for the time being.
And in the blink of an eye he knew that to do this, to find the answer, to put the puzzle together, it had to be the two of them. Him and her, together. He needed her, and she needed him. One could not exist without the other.
“I have to go now,” she whispered, her lip trembling. “I don’t want to, but I have to.” She stood and looked down at him, into his frozen eyes, and smoothed his sweaty hair away from his brow.
And then he heard it, clear as a bell, as if she’d spoken the words with her lips.
“I love you, Mulder.”
She leaned down and pressed her lips to his forehead. Warm, giving, selfless; so unlike Diana’s kiss.
He suddenly remembered the Padgett case a few weeks back; how he had wondered, hoped, believed that Padgett had been talking about him.
Agent Scully is already in love.
For just a moment, thoughts of his impending death were insignificant, because Scully loved him.
I love you, Mulder.
Now he knew for sure, and his heart soared.
“Don’t give up,” she said firmly and audibly, then turned to leave. He watched her walk away, trusting her completely to do whatever she could to save him. He knew she wouldn’t give up on him.
He would not give up on her, either.
***
Michael Kritschgau was the last person Diana had expected to see helping AD Skinner. She’d been certain he had been silenced properly years ago. She didn’t know him, not really, but she knew of him; had recognized him from her work at Roush. And she was pretty sure from the look on his face he’d recognized her as well.
Now, it seemed even he was aware of how valuable Fox was, and was willing to go to extreme lengths to obtain such proof.
Diana had been clinging desperately to the hope that this could all still turn out okay: that Spender could save Fox, and the work could be completed. Optimism had never been her strongest personality trait but, with nothing left to lose, she clung to it now like a seahorse gripping a frond of seaweed in a riptide.
When she saw Spender and Fox’s mother talking across the room, however, things began to unravel. She couldn’t help but envision a young Fox Mulder: where he’d come from, the events that had transpired to make him into such a broken man.
Diana had been numb to her guilt for so long that lying to Fox and everyone else around her had become second nature. But over time the numbness was wearing thin, as if the longer the truth of her betrayal was known to him the more the guilt could seep through.
Perhaps Mrs. Mulder truly believed Spender planned to help her son. Or more likely, she simply knew questioning the man was pointless in any case. Spender did what he wanted, and the mother of his son surely knew as much.
After Spender had administered Fox with one more injection that Diana truly hoped would be his last for a good while, Fox’s eyes had closed, and he’d drifted into a state of unconsciousness that she knew would last for some time.
She watched Mrs. Mulder sign Fox out of the hospital against medical advice, and she watched the older woman gently dab a handkerchief to her eyes as her son was wheeled away by a stranger.
Diana practically sleep walked through the transfer from the hospital that could do nothing to the underground Department of Defense facility where they would certainly do something. She wasn’t entirely sure if that "something" was the right thing, anymore. What she did know was that the control she thought she’d had over this situation was rapidly dissolving with every passing minute.
Everything was moving so fast, like a dream, and soon she was staring at Fox, laid out across an operating table with his arms splayed to either side, like Christ on the cross. Her own personal Jesus.
How did we get here?
An apparatus was placed on his head. It was a device she knew well- she herself had helped develop it. It would scan his brain, helping locate and retain the irretrievable information inside so that the operation could go as smoothly as possible without altering his memories too much. It wasn’t perfect, however: it read dreams and fantasies, but also had the capability to plant them as well, be it purposefully or inadvertently.
There was also no guarantee this procedure wouldn’t damage his brain permanently if he did survive.
After the prep was finished and the surgical team had been notified to begin, Diana and Spender were alone with Fox.
“A father has high hopes for his son, but he never dreams his boy is going to change the world,” Spender said from behind her as she watched Fox lying there. “I’m so proud of this man… the depth of his capacity for suffering.”
Diana turned to him, placating. “Like father, like son.” Regardless of what was going on in her mind, her emotional turmoil and confusion, she couldn’t let Spender reconsider.
“They think what he has is killing him, but in actuality he’s never been more alive,” Spender said.
He looked at Fox like prey, and Diana found it interesting that Spender seemed to be rewriting history even as they stood here. Lies upon lies, upon more lies. Now that Spender was poised to receive what was inside his son, what had previously been a death sentence seemed now to be a blessing.
He wanted whatever it was that Fox had inside him; he wanted it badly. And it seemed at this point he’d say just about anything to get it.
She tried to decipher his riddles but she felt herself weakening with every moment that passed. He couldn’t know she was onto him, not yet. Not until she figured out what to do.
“Do you think he dreams?” she asked. The apparatus attached to Fox’s head was far from perfect; there was really no way to know what state he was in.  
“Oh, I’m sure he dreams,” Spender assured her.
“About what, I wonder?”
“Dreams all men who are owned by the world have, a simple life full of simple pleasures,” Spender pontificated. “Extraordinary men are always tempted by the most ordinary things.”
She wondered about this; about whether or not it was true for Fox. Whether or not it was true for Spender. She thought of her own life and whether it was even true for her: ordinary things had never been what she sought. She’d always wanted to be extraordinary.
What was she now?
She looked down at the sleeping fox, completely helpless, at the mercy of whatever his mind and the apparatus concocted. His eyes twitched ever so slightly and she wondered if he could hear them. Whatever he dreamed of, she hoped it brought him comfort.
“Dreams are all he has now,” Spender said, and for a moment she thought perhaps he’d slipped up; revealed something he hadn’t intended.
“What did you say?” she asked, turning around to face him.
Spender appeared slightly chagrined; at least, as chagrined as he allowed himself to appear.
“-For the time being, of course,” he clarified. “We all have such places— borne of memory and desire,” he continued. “Dreaming of the things we once had, or perhaps the things we’ve forsaken. Hundreds of little joys…” he looked reflective, “to open a door and have a woman beckon you in… to have her make a fire and lay the table for you… and when it’s late, to feel her take you into her arms.”
His gaze had turned towards her, and she felt incredibly uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure if he was trying to distract her from his misstep, or if he’d actually once had those things, or if it was even some poor attempt at seduction. Whatever it was, she was tired of listening to him.
“Wherever he is, I’m certain he’s at peace,” he concluded, or at least she hoped.
She didn’t believe him anymore, any of it. He expected Fox to die, and soon. But she wasn’t surprised. She’d known from the start this endeavor would be a long shot.
Was there anything she could do to stop this? Everything was already in motion. If she attempted to get Fox out of here, she would certainly be apprehended… and for what? What would it matter? Without removing the brain matter that was killing him, he’d die anyway.
She looked around as the surgeons began to file in, a dozen of them at least, flanking Fox like greedy, starving vultures. She thought of poor Gibson Praise lying on a slab, his brain exposed, and how she’d allowed it. She’d just… allowed that.
What had she become, truly?
She thought of the book she had back at her apartment, nestled into the top drawer of her nightstand; how it was the only thing she’d had over the past several months, the only thing that had kept her going. The only thing that she could use to possibly justify any of this, if only to herself. If she did seek assistance to get Fox out of here, how would she explain why she’d gone along with any of it? Would anyone help her? Would anyone believe her?
Would anyone care?
She went over her ever-dwindling options in her mind: AD Skinner. Michael Kritschgau. Even Alex, for fuck’s sake. And she knew none of them could help Fox.
None of them would help him.
But in an instant, she knew who would. She knew the only person who could. And it was the last person she wanted to involve.
It occurred to her she’d driven a fox-shaped wedge between herself and her only option over the past several months that there was no hope of dislodging now. The irony struck her; that the only person in a position to help her was the only person who would never, ever trust her.
She had to find a way of getting Agent Scully to understand what was going on, and what needed to be done, without directly asking her.
The answer came to her in an instant. The book. It could help. She had to try.
Diana turned to face Spender, her attention back on the task at hand: making him believe nothing had changed. “What would your place be like?” she asked him.
“Pardon?” He looked confused, as if the mere notion that anyone would ask him about his personal life was absurd.
“The place you’d go to in your mind,” she said. “What would be there?”
He looked pensive, and for the first and only occasion in the entire time she’d known him, she thought she saw a faint glimmer of regret.
“Ordinary things,” he said simply.
He gave her a weak smile, but she saw a glint in his eyes as he left to prepare himself for surgery.
44 notes · View notes