As he lies in a state of suspended animation, Mulder gets a vision of a future that involves Samantha.
Original Author Notes
No, this is not Amor Fati, part deux. This is the second of an intended set of two stories that follows Mulder as he looks into the past and the future while he is held captive post "events of Season Seven". (Events take place in my Crossing Lines universe, as usual, although it's not quite as "clear" in this case.) This one focuses on the future and plays with an idea that I've had ever since I saw Monday. Maybe fate pre-destines everything about us. Maybe it doesn't matter how many wrong turns we take. And maybe SUZ/Closure has the potential to be a great fairy tale, but I don't think Samantha is out there traveling through starlight saving other children from the clutches of evil.
DEDICATION: This story was written to celebrate the character of Fox Mulder and to salute the actor who gave him life as a unique, one-of-a-kind modern hero. At this writing, it's unclear what future Mulder will face in the revamped post-Season Seven X-Files, but there's a part of me that fears the worst. This was my attempt to give Mulder what he's really wanted all his life: to find his sister. Basically, if Samantha didn't die in Paper Hearts, then she shouldn't have gotten sucked up by starlight in Closure. Oh, and one final thing - thank you, David, for crafting seven beautiful seasons of Mulder memories. As the song goes, "Nobody does it better. Makes me feel sad for the rest."
Back Story
So what was I thinking when I wrote this somewhat — and I admit it — cryptic piece? Creating an homage to Chris Carter's work over the past seven seasons of providing answers but leaving just as many questions in their wake? I guess I'm going to hide behind the fact that in essence, everything you read in this story is one big MulderDream. However, I wouldn't be too sorry if Mulder's life winds up like this, because it would mean that the Samantha storyline wasn't one big cheat that someone gave up on. It hasn't been twenty-some, thirty-odd years for me, but dammit, I wanted Samantha to be found. So this was my way of satisfying that need. Addressing the whereabouts of Samantha in any way consistent with the treatment of the series, however, meant that I had to deal with and hopefully put an end to that whole friggin' "aliens are taking over the world" scenario. I tried not to roll my eyes as I wrote those parts; I hope they sort of rang true to the reader.
I don't quite remember how long it took to turn this one out. I got the idea for this story and its yet-to-be-written predecessor during the summer just when I thought I had come to terms with disconnecting myself from the TXF world. With the start of Season Eight (at this writing, about three weeks away) looming on the horizon, I'm so not looking forward to the continuation of this series. Writing this piece has been a welcome diversion for me over the past three or four months, making me forget about the "reality" of Season Eight.
By the way, this one was also an opportunity for me to explore the "future" of the Mulder/Scully relationship. I'm not a strong believer in "happily ever after" (I'm more into "tolerance ever after" but that's a whole other story) and have always had doubts about where any such relationship would go in the long run. I guess I'm not saying yea or nay here, but I've had a bad year with the Scully character and decided to put her into exile for a couple of decades. (Okay, now I've done it to the Scullyists out there...! VBG going on...)
The main events of this story take place in and around October 2000, I guess. Mulder's thoughts take him all the way to August 2021.
ATXC Original Posting: October 2000
* * * * *
Location Unknown
Present Day
He gasped for air, having difficulty finding his voice. And when he finally spoke, he couldn't tell whether he actually uttered the words or whether he simply thought them. Ultimately, it didn't matter. He was heard and he could hear.
"Why am I here?"
"Because you wanted to be. You wanted to see for yourself. To prove what you've always believed."
"I don't remember that... why can't I remember that?"
"Your mind is not your own right now."
"What do you mean?"
"We have work to carry out and your presence has interfered with that work. You're feeling the effects of the testing."
"I'm being tested on?"
"Yes. I can't totally stop them from doing it, but I have been able to protect you from some of the tests. It's why you have trouble remembering."
"You've been protecting me? Why?"
"Your fight is my fight. Those are my orders."
"From whom?"
The broad-faced man had no reply.
* * * * *
Floating in water. Again. I haven't felt like this in a long time. Or, perhaps I should clarify, in what feels like a long time; I have no idea really. But I've regained a sensation that seems to imply that I have a body with limbs and nerve endings, even though I still can't distinguish them clearly. I feel like I have weight and substance again. It's reassuring.
Then on the other hand, I have to admit that I probably don't know what's real or unreal. I can't trust what's past, present, or future, actual living memory, or mere dreams of wishfulness. I think I'm living purely within my subconscious right now, in a coma of some sort. I have no idea how long I've been like this or whether anyone is affected by my situation. I suppose, like most people, I must have family but I don't know who they are.
I don't know who I am.
I'm in a state of not remembering specifics but yet I know things. For instance, I'm sure this condition is amnesia of some sort. I can even spell "amnesia". I seem to have retained basic skills and knowledge about the world but I can't pinpoint what makes me, me. I'm familiar with societal conventions but I don't know what it is that I do to contribute to society, what my work is, and how I fit in.
This lack of knowledge about myself should be disturbing, but I'm neither alarmed nor surprised. It's as though some forgotten part my brain knew that this would happen and was prepared for the situation.
* * * * *
Quonochontaug, RI
August 2021
"You didn't have to get dressed up just for me, Mulder."
He hadn't heard that voice from such a close distance in a long time. Fox Mulder shut the door of his car and turned around just in time to catch a smartly dressed woman - still attractive after all these years - in a half hug.
"Hey, Scully. I didn't expect you so soon."
"Am I early? I thought we said two -"
"Is it two already?" He started to glance down at his watch but then turned his attention back to his former partner and best friend. His soulmate for all eternity? What a strange thought to have all of a sudden, considering that they hadn't laid eyes on one another in three years. Some things just didn't change. Ever. "What am I saying... it's great to see you again. You look wonderful."
He embraced her fully, eyes closing in fond remembrance of years - too many of them, in simple fact - gone by. He felt comforted by the fact that the strength of her hold on him, both emotionally and physically, was still as strong as ever.
She broke away first and flashed him a toothy grin, revealing gentle laugh lines on her face.
"So what's with the fancy threads? Not that I'm complaining, because I can see that you still fill out a suit better than any man I've ever known."
He felt distinctly flattered and flustered at the same time. Smiling at her in return, he kept one arm around her shoulders while he guided her up the walk to the house.
"I just came back from a retirement luncheon for one of my ex-colleagues. A professor from American."
"Retirement?"
"Yeah, it's alarming. I figure it won't be long before the funerals start happening with regularity..."
"Well, that's rather morbid, Mulder."
"Sorry. I'm sure we have a ton of good stuff to talk about. I didn't get around to asking you yesterday - how was the family reunion?"
"It wasn't really a reunion, but it was interesting. It was good for everyone to be together for a change. And of course, Charlie was quite proud."
"It's not everyday that one's offspring earns a Ph.D., so I suppose he's entitled." He reached out to unlock the front door, letting it swing open. Pausing as he stepped over the threshold, he waved towards the patio table and chairs off to the side. "It's nice on the verandah. Why don't we grab some drinks and sit out here?"
"Fine."
"Come on in. Let me get rid of my tie and jacket. There's freshly made iced tea and lemonade in the refrigerator..."
He disappeared down the hall, pulling off his tie as he walked. Scully stood and looked around in awe at how much the simple old summer house had changed.
"The place looks wonderful, Mulder. Totally different from the last time I saw it."
"When was that?"
"A lot of years ago. Whenever it was that we found your father's files."
"Well, since this is the only place I keep now, I thought I'd do some renovations to make it more like a real home."
He had reappeared minus his jacket, sleeves rolled up, his white shirt sufficiently unbuttoned to reveal a generous glimpse of his chest. He was obviously still in great shape.
"Do you think you'll ever live here full time again? On this side of the ocean, I mean."
"I hope to. I want to. Soon. It's home, and like Dorothy said, there's no place like home."
He pulled open the door of his refrigerator and took out two jugs of liquid. He held them up one at a time, putting back the lemonade when Scully nodded at the other.
"How are you liking life overseas these days?"
"I think I'm finally getting used to it, after all these years. But it's nice to come back for the summer. Especially here."
As she accepted a tall glass of iced tea from him, Scully looked at him curiously, trying to figure out if there was some additional meaning to what he had just said. She couldn't tell.
"I've missed you, Scully. It hasn't been the same since your mom left. You just don't come out this way anymore, do you?"
"I know that you're as much a reason to come out here as Mom used to be..."
"But?"
"Well, you're just hardly ever in the country anymore, Mulder... It's hard to plan around your occasional appearances. Why don't you ever come out to the west coast?"
"Your brother would sniff me out and have me killed in five seconds, that's why. With most of your family out there now, I can't imagine how welcome I'd feel."
"They wouldn't all have to know. California's a big state."
"I know. But it's also the place where you started a new life. There's no sense of 'us' out there."
"That wasn't a decision I made on my own, Mulder."
"I know."
* * * * *
"What could we have done to make us a success, Scully?"
She could swear that she heard a twinge of wistfulness in his voice, but his expression was openly good-natured and not at all ponderous. She decided to keep it light.
"We are a success, Mulder. After all this time, you're still the greatest friend I've ever had, have, or ever will have. We've made the best of what we were given. That's all anyone can ever ask for in this life."
In this life. Mulder looked out across the street, thinking absently about how the area had filled in over the past twenty years. So much change and yet so little at the same time. He turned his gaze back to her face and offered a melancholy smile that tugged at her heart unexpectedly.
"That's a bit sad, isn't it? I mean, to think that we don't have the right to expect more?"
"I didn't mean it that way," she replied quickly. "I'm just saying that with our life agendas and the way everything had to be... this was the best that we could manage."
"Back then, did you ever picture us married and living a quiet normal life somewhere?"
"Three times." Well, that was a lie. Maybe it was only three times that she wanted to tell him about. "The first, appropriately enough, was that night after you flippantly asked me to marry you."
"When was that?"
"Oh, and he doesn't even remember -" She feigned mock despair as she put one hand up to her forehead.
"No, no, refresh my memory, I'm sure it'll come to me."
"I took the weekend off to go up to Maine? And I got cornered into that weird x-file-ish thing with the 'possessed' doll -"
"Oh, the Chucky case -" There was no mistaking the mocking tone in his voice now, even though it was intended in a joking fashion.
"There was no 'Chucky' case, Mulder. But during one of our stranger conversations that weekend, after I had spouted off a long list of potential 'out there' possibilities, you -"
"Now I remember. In fact, I think I remember your response, too. It wasn't exactly encouraging."
"Mulder, you were joking I presume?"
"Yeah, but, you know, I think a lot of my jokes had some basis in actual desire... anyway, back to your thoughts."
"When I finally had a moment to myself that night at the hotel, I kept hearing you say those words over and over again. It was eerie. Not so much the idea of being married to you, but the idea of our lives ever being normal enough for us to consider such a possibility."
Mulder leaned forward, elbows on the table, hands clasped together in front of his chin.
"So when were the other times?"
"That year we were taken off the X-Files after that incident in Dallas. The first time when we were driving towards Area 51 in the darkness of night and I was having one of those 'I wish I had a normal life' moments. The second was when we were in California on that undercover case several months later."
Nothing about the intensity of Mulder's gaze had changed over the years. It still had the power to make her feel exposed and naked and unable to hide anything from him. It still had the power to make her look away to avoid revealing too much, to avoid seeing too much.
She swallowed and reached for her glass of iced tea to quench the sudden dryness in her throat. "What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Did you ever think about us that way?"
"I tried not to. Don't get me wrong... for a long time, I imagined us being together in some fashion. But whenever I considered the image of a normal married life, it just didn't seem to work for me. I was just never sure that I could belong in such a picture."
They sat in silence for several moments, as each considered how different their lives would have been over the past twenty years had they made another choice. The obvious, but ultimately impossible, choice.
"Nothing going on in your love life, Mulder?" She felt an unwelcome clenching in her soul even as she asked the question.
Surprisingly, he smiled genuinely at her before responding.
"Nah. I wouldn't be good for anyone anyway. As single-minded as I am, I mean."
"I guess some things never change."
"No, they don't, do they?"
"So how is Samantha these days?"
"Always progressing. She gets better everyday, I think." Now there was a look that Scully had never before seen on Mulder's face, in the close to thirty years that she'd known him. It was an expression that hinted at having seen angels.
Strangely enough, it made her ache.
A wait of nearly fifty years and counting was too much to ask of any man, and yet Mulder was still able to rejoice in the small victories. Samantha might never know or understand his true identity, but the look on his face just told her that he already felt rewarded.
"It's so hard to wrap my head around the fact that sometimes, she's really got no better than the mind of a teenager in terms of real life experience. And a scared teenager, at that. On the run one week, on an examination table being poked and prodded the next. There's a part of me that wonders what can be gained by having her remember any of that stuff, but, on the other hand... if she can't get back to that point, she won't ever know who I am."
"Do you still have sessions with her?"
"I have regular meetings with her, but never in an office setting. We go for walks. The thing is, I don't want any of this to seem dishonest to her when the time comes. I'm not going to play at being her therapist and then say to her one day, 'Oh, and by the way, I'm your brother.'"
"So who does she think you are?"
"I'm just a friend she calls 'William'."
* * * * *
"I can't believe that it's been almost ten years now since she came out of it. And not too much worse for wear other than the memory problem. But I guess we all know that some sort of memory loss is to be expected."
Scully knew well enough that her three months had remained a mystery to her all these years. From what she understood, Mulder's personal experience had turned out no different.
"What if it never returns?"
"I'm fine with that. If she never remembers anything about the first fourteen years of her life, I'll probably be thankful. Even if it means that I remain 'lost' to her. I wish you could see her, Scully. You'd be proud. She's taken to the whole care-giving thing like it's second nature to her."
"That's wonderful. The whole concept is wonderful. No better care can be offered to those poor souls than by someone who's been through it. Have they managed to identify everyone at the facility yet?"
"No." Mulder frowned, clearly disturbed by the idea that someone out there was still missing a daughter or a son, a sister or a brother, and not knowing whether he or she was alive. Just as he had for so many years, perhaps having been fed just as many lies. "We still don't know who the keeper of all this information is, how we came to be notified. The parties on both sides have gone to so much trouble to hide everything that it's almost impossible to match someone who's secretly 'looking' with someone who's lying there without an identity."
"And the old guard is dying..."
"Exactly. The syndicate took a huge hit that they never recovered from when that hangar went up in flames back in ninety-nine. We've always known that there were other people scattered around the globe who are in on this, but I believe that the core of the operation has always been here in the States. This is where most of the information is. And unfortunately, where most of it's been lost."
"Approximately how old are these people who haven't been identified?"
"The youngest of them are likely just under thirty."
"Surely it's possible to investigate missing persons reports..."
"You forget how convoluted this might have been. Take the case of my sister. My father knew all along what had happened to her. Someone in every family always knows; I'm convinced of that. So there's only so much that gets done before someone says, let it be. Stop looking. Sign off on the search. Unlike my father, who had access to information to know that Samantha had been 'rescued', some of these other children's families probably knew nothing."
"How are most of them doing?"
"We haven't lost any in the past year, but we haven't had anyone wake up in awhile now either. Some of these test subjects seem to be alive in just the barest sense, but there's no reason to think that they won't eventually come out of it. It's just that there's nothing to tell us what's normal or expected or average. Look how long Sam was out for..."
* * * * *
Location Unknown
Present Day
I'm being given something again. An injection of some sort. A fluid that I can actually feel coursing through my veins, spreading something cool. The rest of me feels hot, burning, on fire.
At times I've felt like Sargon from Star Trek. You know, the disembodied brain in a globe light fixture? Well, actually, I have no idea what kind of "receptacle" I might be in, if any. But that's what my recent existence has felt like. I believe that I must exist in order to be having these thoughts, but I can't seem to connect with the physical world in any way. I can't touch anything, say anything.
I don't know why I know things like Sargon from Star Trek when I don't know my name or my phone number or address.
On my better days - although I have no concept of what a "day" is - I see faces but I can't tell if I'm seeing them with my eyes or if they're just in my head. It's aggravating because I know I recognize them; I feel a rush from deep within me when I see them, as though they should cause me great emotional stress. One face in particular: broad, almost misshapen, at once frightfully monstrous and gently calming. I know instinctively that he can squash me like an annoying insect but I don't have any reason to believe that he wants to harm me in any way.
There are other faces also. Less and more familiar ones. Hovering hopefully, these faces appear less often but seem to reach out to me in some way. I can sense an attempt at communication, a direct communication beyond spoken words. I'm reminded of a similar time in my life when I had that capability, but I can't quite pin down why I had it or when it was. It's just more of that same "familiar unfamiliarity".
* * * * *
Washington, DC
April, 2004
"Fox Mulder? I'm Louise Branson -"
"Excuse me?" His initial look of confirmation was replaced by one of confusion as he stood up from his table and extended his hand, hesitating at the unfamiliar name.
"Oh, I'm sorry - I used Jolene Hilliard in my correspondence, didn't I? Actually, it's Jolene Louise Branson Hilliard, to be exact. All part of a long story that I hope you'll want to hear."
She was tall, with dark blonde hair and brown eyes. Likely his own age or maybe slightly older, but not by much. Her words had tumbled out quickly, even though she appeared to be trying to hold back her enthusiasm. Mulder smiled reassuringly at her and pulled out the chair opposite to him, motioning for her to sit down.
"Well, Ms. Hilliard or Ms. Branson. In either of your incarnations, I don't believe I know you, do I?"
"We've never met but I think we might share a history of sorts."
"In what sense?"
"I have a sister, just like you have a sister, who disappeared as a child. Without any explanation, any clues."
"You mentioned that. But that in itself -"
"I know. That in itself doesn't say a whole lot for why I'd make this overture to you. Unfortunately, the world isn't a nice place and kids go missing all the time for no reason. But Mr. Mulder, I'm talking about a situation that's different from the normal, and I think you know what I mean."
The pause grew long, prompting Mulder to say something in return.
"I'm not sure what you're getting at. My sister is dead." God, it still tore an emotional strip off him to say it out loud, despite his belief.
"After all this time, I can understand why you'd think that." Her voice was gentle and full of understanding for something that she had obviously lived through herself. "I was sure that my sister Sarah was dead too, until a few weeks ago. But I've since found out things. And I think that it's possible that she may still be alive. Just like your sister may still be alive. Do you have any proof about what you think happened to her?"
He swallowed painfully, realizing once again that what he had seen and experienced a few years ago simply hadn't been enough to close the doors on the mystery of Samantha. He had tried to make the explanation suffice - merely because he thought that the passage of time alone was to his disadvantage - but the lack of physical evidence had largely left the issue unresolved in the back of his mind.
"No. No body. Paperwork that went to a certain point and stopped, but nothing that can be taken as absolutely concrete. But when you get right down to it, what other explanation can there be?"
"Abnormal, other-worldly explanations."
She had the presence of mind to offer an embarrassed smile alongside her outrageous comment. Mulder suddenly felt as though he were speaking to a younger version of himself.
"And how do you justify believing in those?" Goodness. Who did he just sound like?
"I've learned things about you, too, Mr. Mulder. You've traditionally bought into these so-called... unusual explanations with more than an open mind. Let me tell you honestly that, until I uncovered this stuff, I wasn't someone who would have had much patience with you, I don't think. But so much of what I've found out explains my own life that I can't help but be convinced, if only to take some time to learn the truth. But I hardly know where to start..."
"The beginning's always good. How about starting at the beginning?"
"What beginning? The beginning of how a global consortium came to be, or my own beginning?"
Mulder paused for a long moment at hearing her say the words "global consortium".
"How about telling me what your connection is to this... consortium?"
"My father was Laurence Thomas Hilliard."
She looked at him expectantly, anticipating something. Recognition perhaps? Mulder shook his head.
"That's the third time you've referred to that last name. I'm sorry, should it mean something to me?"
The disappointment on her face was clear as she spoke.
"I don't know. I had hoped that you might know him. What I have - the evidence - seems to indicate that he knew both you and your father."
"If we're talking about the same organization, I don't think its members were highly motivated to give out their real names and phone numbers to people. Maybe I did know him, but not by that name. Probably not by any name for that matter." Mulder thought back to what he still didn't know about the real identity of the cigarette-smoking bastard.
"My father was highly connected. Both in terms of this group and in terms of his normal everyday life. He had access to British nobility. It easily extended beyond the power of the Royal Family -"
"Your father was British?"
"Yes. God, why didn't I think of this sooner..." She brought up an oversized purse from the floor beside her and rummaged through it, extracting a wallet.
"What?"
"I have a picture of him."
She removed the photo from its sleeve and passed it across the table. Even before he held it in his hand, Mulder had a feeling. The face in the photograph was younger than he could recall on the occasion of meeting him, but there was no doubt about who it was.
"I knew this man."
"I thought you might."
"I never knew his name, but..." He suddenly remembered the outcome of his one and only meeting with the British gentleman in question. "Jesus."
"What is it?"
He looked up from studying the photo and stared blankly at his companion.
"You've been talking about him in the past tense -"
"He's deceased."
"If you don't mind my asking, how did he die?"
He knew, and it would have been hard to fake, but did anyone ever truly know what was real with these people?
"They killed him. While he was here in America. Several years ago. Then they packaged up what was left of his body and sent him back to London. Part of 'my beginning', Mr. Mulder, is that until he was killed, I didn't even know he was my father. I knew him as my uncle."
"You... don't have an accent."
"No, I was brought up here. In a small town in Pennsylvania. My mother and I came over to live with relatives for our own protection."
Mulder looked down at the photograph that he held in his hand once again.
"I was there."
"Where?"
"In DC in the summer of 1998. Your father got into a limousine on a deserted back street and it blew up right in front of me. Technically speaking, he saved my life even though he wasn't exactly pleasant about it. He also gave me the means to save my partner's life."
Dana Scully would have died had it not been for the assistance of Mr. Hilliard.
"From what I understand, my father was a reluctant participant in the whole project during his final years. All he wanted was for the antidote to be effective so that we could protect ourselves against the threat. Maybe make the first move. He always thought that we had the power to make the first move. I mean, this really gets into an area that I don't know how much I can believe in, but I do believe that there is a threat of some kind that is considerable enough for these men to have devoted so much of their lives to fighting it, sacrificing so much in the process. But as to actual alien invasions... what do you really believe, Mr. Mulder?"
"I don't know what to say because I have no undeniable proof. Anything that I've uncovered in the past has been in my fingers one minute and gone the next. Always one step behind, except when they deem it necessary to give me small wins to keep me invested. But I've seen things. I've been places. And I have the feeling that I've probably forgotten more than I know."
"Is the alien threat real?"
"As to whether it'll come down to a take-over-the-world kind of real, I don't know. In any other smaller context, I would have to say yes. As to how alien, I don't know that either."
"But you've always believed that your sister was taken for the project?"
"Yes. But a few years ago, I encountered evidence - paperwork - that suggested that she'd managed to get away."
"Get away to what?"
"Nowhere safe, I don't think. The trail ended. I believe she died."
"What if they got to her again?"
"I don't think so, for the fact that there was an eyewitness who said that she was being pursued by the men from the project when she turned up missing. And apparently they were surprised that she was missing."
"You don't think that they could have caught up with her again?"
He thought of starlight and winced inwardly.
"I have no idea, really. All I'm saying is that every bit of hard evidence that I had seemed to point to the fact that she really disappeared after that."
"But that makes sense in terms of what I've uncovered. Think about it, Mr. Mulder." Her eyes flashed with increasing excitement at what she was about to share. "Some backlash from within. The testing is not as innocuous as they originally thought. Some subjects do not merely experience lost time. Some actually live and breathe the horror as it happens and it slowly destroys their minds. Rather than being prepared for some future where they'll be immune to this threat, they're just going to wind up being sacrificed to the cause as involuntary guinea pigs. Their families couldn't possibly have been okay with that."
"So what are you saying?"
"I don't know what price was paid by the people who got involved in this, but I'm assuming that someone from every family knew the real facts. That these weren't just random abductions. These test subjects were chosen. By both sides."
"I've always thought so too."
"But it doesn't appear to be an agreement that you can easily break. The thing is, as it started to go bad, someone at some point must have decided that they had to rescue certain test subjects before they died from their exposure."
"So they abducted them from the abductors?"
What a concept, Mulder thought to himself.
"That's right. And it makes perfect sense. Taken to relative safety but unable to be taken to any traditional place of healing. It had to be kept highly secret. These children weren't returned to their families. In most cases, their families probably weren't even aware that they had been removed. And the awful reality may have been that some of these children were not in any condition to be reclaimed."
"So where were they taken?"
"That's the extent of my information. I don't know. But I've made an informed guess."
"Which is?"
"You attended Oxford, right? How did that come to be?"
"It was my father's suggestion... "
"Did you ever ask why?"
"He - he said it was a dream of his to go there. I took to the idea and since I was a good student... are you insinuating my father and his people somehow made it possible for me to get accepted at Oxford?"
"No, no, not at all. That would hardly be keeping a low profile, which I'm sure your father and my father had to do at all times to avert suspicion. I'm sure you got in on your own merits; that's not my point. But your being in England may have been convenient for your father to give him access -"
"He did visit regularly. More so than I would have expected."
"Would he have had reasons to go over there otherwise?"
"Not that I knew."
"Well, maybe he did. Maybe it's because he had two children to visit."
Fox Mulder felt a sudden need for something to drink.
* * * * *
Dana Scully had had an inkling that this lunch meeting was probably going to be one that she would never forget. After hearing her former partner's synopsis, she was all the more certain.
"How did she get to know so much in just a few weeks, Mulder? That makes no sense. You're saying that she has knowledge beyond what we know and it took us years, after dozens of dead ends and -"
"I wondered the same thing myself. So I asked her."
"And?"
"I had misinterpreted how long she's been digging."
"How long has she been digging?"
"Ever since her father died."
"But that's still not that long - what, five, maybe six years?"
"Maybe it depends on where you dig. She took a leave of absence from her job and spent six months in London shortly after his death. Finding out just how connected and important he really was. Meeting her half-brother and his family. Apparently she found some paperwork on her own, but the bulk of it was mysteriously delivered to her while she was there. An enclosed note indicated that since both her parents were now deceased - her mother died ten years ago - she was entitled to the information. So what am I thinking?"
Scully blinked at the oddly placed question. "I don't know. What are you thinking?"
"Did I get anything delivered to me after Mom died? I don't think so, right?"
"Are you assuming you should have gotten something? Just because this woman did? 'One' is hardly a pattern, Mulder."
He stared at her, almost through her, as though something about what she had just said triggered a distant memory.
"No, if I remember correctly, one is the loneliest number."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing. Just something from a long time ago. I think." His eyes refocused on her face. With a sinking heart, she knew what was coming. She was no stranger to that look of determination. "I have to go to England."
"No you don't. Don't do this to yourself again."
"What am I doing?"
"You know what I'm talking about."
"I have a gut instinct about this one, Scully. I haven't felt that way in years; I can't ignore it. I just know this is something I have to do. I'm not saying it'll lead me to Samantha, but I have a feeling that it'll tell me what really happened to her."
It didn't take a medical degree for Scully to know that Mulder was referring to the mysterious starlight theory that he had accepted for a brief time several years ago. She understood that he had finally chosen to believe for all intents and purposes that Samantha was dead, but the how and the why of it was something that had continued to plague him.
Dana Scully was suddenly filled with a sense of deep loss, a spooky little feeling of her own that Mulder was right - that this was what had to be. There would be no changing it. And the end result of all this might just be something that she had never anticipated in a million years.
He was leaving her.
The realization shocked her into a self-preservation mode. It wasn't the current topic at hand, but she had to ask. She had to know for sure.
"And what does this mean for us, Mulder? For you and me? Some things... some things just haven't been the same since you came back."
He stared down into his coffee cup for a long moment before looking up and meeting her eyes. She heard him sigh before he spoke.
"Losing track of six months of my life in addition to all that other time wasn't my plan, Scully. I know you don't really believe that I could possibly miss something that I don't remember having, but every time I see your face.... I know. I do know. Despite that - or maybe because of that - I don't want anything between us to be forced. I don't want it to be an obligation, and I don't want anything to happen for the wrong reasons -" He broke off, seeing unexpected tears spill over, sliding down her face. "Scully -"
"I'm sorry -"
"Why are you apologizing?"
"Because I don't normally do this..." Although it didn't seem as though he remembered that either. She wiped the tears away quickly with her fingertips, surprised by her sudden outburst.
"I need you to help me, Scully."
"No, Mulder, not any more. Not if this woman has given you reason and cause to further your chase across the ocean. How far is that going to take you and for how long? It can't be this way... I can't start this all over again."
"What do you mean?"
"It's always been your life goal to 'understand why'. Up to a certain point, it's just not mine."
"So what are you saying?"
"That I can't go with you."
"I don't want you to go with me. It's not safe. You - you have other responsibilities."
She looked at him sharply. It used to be so easy to read him, to know what he knew in an instant. Nowadays, she couldn't tell whether he knew things that he wasn't wanting to share.
"So do you."
"I have a responsibility to find my sister."
Did she ever doubt that everything about Mulder would always come back to Samantha? Could she blame him?
No.
"What is it you want me to do?"
"Come up to Rhode Island with me this weekend. I have a feeling what I'm looking for is there. Help me find it."
"What - why?"
"You know how when Mom had her stroke that I searched the place and found that weapon hidden inside the lamp? Well, I've never ever searched any further for anything else. It occurred to me when I was speaking with Louise that I've looked through both of my parents' places up and down after they died, but never the summer house. If Dad had information that was highly confidential, he may have kept it somewhere away from him where he thought no one would think of looking."
His eyes made one last plea to her, enticing her to acquiesce.
"My last class on Friday is at two," she finally offered.
"Good, same here. I'll pick you up at your place around four."
* * * * *
"So can you make arrangements for us to go over in the next two weeks? Whatever wait time is needed to get reasonable airfare, I guess... I don't have a Bureau expense account to bill this to anymore, y'know."
Dana Scully tried not to listen in on the conversation, but being that the house was absolutely silent except for the sound of Mulder's voice, it was a difficult task to accomplish. He was on the phone to Louise Branson, confirming plans to fly to England.
Fox Mulder had scored once again in another of his intuitive deductions. In a crawl space underneath the subfloor of the summer house, they had discovered two boxes of files that had been kept up to date until the year of Bill Mulder's murder. Everything that they had managed to read over the past six hours had more or less verified what had been discussed at Mulder's meeting with Ms. Branson. The answer to Samantha's whereabouts seemed to lie overseas, no question about it. And even though Mulder had promised not to get his hopes up, all indications were that as recently as the early 1990's, she was still alive.
Bill Mulder had seemingly known all along what had happened to Samantha. But just as Laurence Hilliard had tried to tell Mulder during their brief meeting, everything he did was with the intention of protecting her against the alien threat. That he ended up paying a high price for his involvement was well known. The secrets that he kept from his wife along with the increasing guilt that he felt about the project itself eventually cost him his marriage and family life. Scully could only wonder at what he might have felt when Samantha was rescued from the project and put into seclusion in a secret facility somewhere in England, to recover from the effects of the tests.
What must a parent go through when a child is taken away like that - even for good reasons? Was there ever a point of getting over the trauma, of accepting that the sacrifice was worth it for the sake of protecting the child? Of being able to live with the decision?
Scully found herself unable to put down one of the correspondences that they had uncovered, reading and re-reading it until her eyes watered from both grief and the desire for sleep. They hadn't stopped for much of anything at all over the past twelve hours since their arrival. Mulder's bowl of soup was still half uneaten on the coffee table next to them. As usual, he had been a man possessed, driven by the need to finish the task at hand. Once they found the boxes, he had to read every scrap of paper that was in them, even though it was well past two in the morning when they unearthed the first box. For Scully, however, the decision to stay up with him was really a no-brainer.
She started at the sudden presence of a hand on her shoulder.
"Sorry, Scully. Didn't mean to scare you, but maybe it's time for you to get some sleep."
"What about you?"
"I think I'm too wired."
"And of course, the two pots of coffee had nothing to do with that."
A wry smile was his reply.
"Come on, I'll help you make up your room."
She followed him down the hall, feeling weary, resigned, and acutely nostalgic. She remembered walking down this hall during a different time, several years ago. But it was a memory among many from the time period that Mulder seemed to have lost, and there was no question that being here again was difficult to deal with under those circumstances.
They worked in relative silence to make up the bed with fresh sheets and blankets. Their movements seemed oddly coordinated even without benefit of instruction or words.
"There you go. If that's not warm enough, there's another blanket in the top drawer of that dresser."
"I'll be fine."
He looked at her strangely at hearing those familiar words from so long ago. She stared bravely back at him, her mouth curling into an unconvincing smile.
"Thanks for coming up with me, Scully."
"You're welcome." She hoped fervently that he would just turn and leave. She was losing the ability to hold herself together by the second and couldn't trust herself to say another two words to him.
On Mulder's part, while her obvious discomfort wasn't lost on him, he really didn't know what to do or say to make it better.
"Get some sleep." His voice came across to her as soft and gentle and just a little bit sad.
"You too."
He closed the door behind him, leaving her standing in the middle of the room. She looked around, noting that daylight shone brightly behind the worn curtains that covered the window above her bed. It was close to nine-thirty in the morning, a ridiculous time to contemplate going to sleep, despite how her body ached for rest. Absently, she went through the motions of changing into her pajamas. She slid in between the sheets and - almost against her will - closed her eyes to embrace a disturbing darkness that seemed to devour her very soul.
In her next waking memory, she was crying like a baby, anguished sobs echoing through the room. Spurred on by some unspeakable grief, hot tears ran down her face like rain, both uncontrolled and uncontrollable, soaking her pillow in the process. She wasn't even aware of the fact that she wasn't alone until she clutched at her belly to appease her inner pain and instead latched onto a pair of strong arms that were holding her gently. It was only then that she heard him whispering into her ear, trying to soothe her with his words. It was only then that she felt the familiar curve of his body pressed warmly against her back.
But it only served to make her cry harder.
As he held her in his arms, Fox Mulder suddenly felt the onerous weight of too many long-suffering years. Something had to give. Clearly, wounds that had been sustained during their involvement with the X-Files had never truly healed, despite their mutual decision to leave everything behind and start new lives. Ironically, their new lives were no less unsettled, at least in an emotional sense. He knew that Scully was unhappy in her new situation, and unhappier still over their tepid relationship. In all honesty, they really had no relationship these days. The glue that once held it together - their work - was no longer there and other things beyond the realm of their wildest expectations had slowly driven a wedge between them. However, in some classic, twisted fashion, it appeared as though their initial inability to come together was mirrored now in their current inability to break apart.
Was it his fault? Probably. Fox Mulder generally accepted most things regarding Dana Scully's unhappiness as his fault. Realistically speaking, how could he not? But he also knew well enough that if he were able to change anything about their current state of affairs, he would have done so already. Unfortunately, this time, making changes was beyond his power. As he had found occasion to repeat several times in the past, this relationship had never been in his control and it still wasn't.
"Please, Scully... tell me what's wrong."
He continued to hold her, waiting for her body to stop shaking, for her tears to subside. It must have taken a full five minutes for her to become coherent again. For her to draw a breath long and deep enough to sustain what she had to say.
"I'm moving to California, Mulder. I'm taking that job in San Diego."
After what seemed like an endless delay where time slowed to the point of standing still, she heard his soft reply.
"That's probably a good idea."
She was glad that neither of them could see the other's face. She thought that hers must have just crumpled with inconsolable grief.
"That's not exactly what I wanted to hear."
"Were you expecting me to talk you out of it?"
"I don't know, Mulder. I don't know anything anymore."
"Yes you do. You know that you're not happy here. You're not happy with me. I think we both know that, Scully. And I think you know that you have to do this for yourself."
Her words stumbled along a series of shuddering breaths as she lost the battle against the new torrent of tears that overflowed onto her pillow.
"Are you giving up on us?"
The sound of unmistakable heartbreak in her voice caused a lump to rise in his throat. He swallowed down hard before trusting himself to respond. When he spoke, however, his words and tone were amazingly clear and strong.
"No. I will never do that."
* * * * *
Location Unknown
Present Day
I hear screams sometimes. They frighten me. The thing is, sometimes I think the screams are coming from me. I remember and then I forget. It's a standard pattern. I seem to remember someone telling me at one time that tests were being done. And yet what sort of tests might these be? Am I sick? Am I dying? Is someone or something trying to save me?
If I'm being tested on, I sure don't remember anything after the fact. Something tells me that this is a good thing. In the back of my mind, I seem to have a vague remembrance of "testing" being an important and significant issue in my life. Not affecting me directly, but affecting those close to me. But again, I have no idea who.
I seem to have protectors. During the few instances in which I actually feel pain or discomfort of some sort, it appears that someone has given me something to make it go away. Although, maybe that's all part of the testing too. But maybe not. I get the feeling of this happening in secret. I get a sense of being told that I shouldn't worry, that this will be over soon. That I will be returned to my life shortly.
But will I remember the life that I return to, is the question?
* * * * *
Washington DC
June 2014
The moving van turned the corner and disappeared from sight, taking the last of Margaret Scully's belongings to its western destination. Mulder stood and stared down the empty street for a few moments before turning around to see his former partner doing the same - although she was turned more towards him than the street - with a lonesome expression on her face.
"Hey, stranger." It was his favorite nickname for her these days, a moniker that - quite frankly - bothered her in a nagging, annoying kind of way. "Penny for your thoughts?"
The immediate look on her face was almost alarming.
"Don't worry, Scully. I haven't been able to read minds in a long time, remember?" Not wanting to force her into having to craft some sort of explanation, Mulder continued without a beat, "Sorry I didn't get to say goodbye to your mom."
"If I'd been here, I would have told you, but -"
"It would have been uncomfortable, huh?"
"I don't know. Mom's more okay about it than everyone else in the family, but I didn't want her bringing up questions to you that you really had no answers for. You know that I've never liked the fact that you wanted to take the blame for what happened to us."
"We agreed it was easier that way, Scully."
"Well, I shouldn't have agreed. It wasn't honest."
"Maybe someday we can change that. For now, it's still easier this way." He turned to her and put his hand on her arm gently, pulling her back towards the walk leading up to her mother's house. "So what do you want to do with the rest of the evening?"
"Can we sit in the backyard for awhile? I can't quite let go of the place yet and I'd like to spend a final hour or two under my favorite tree."
As they made their way around the house, Scully felt a familiar sensation at the small of her back. Mulder's hand. Back to where it felt at home, apparently.
They made their way to a log bench that sat under the shade of a huge weeping willow.
"You know, I've been trying to think and it's not coming clear to me - when's the last time we actually talked for any length of time?"
"Too long, Mulder. And it's probably my fault -"
"Ah -" He held up his hand, stopping her in mid-sentence. "Before we start, let's get the usuals out of the way. Same rules as always? No questions about personal love lives?"
It occurred to Mulder that she was definitely no longer the naive girl he had first met so many years ago. Of course, she wasn't, but he had never paid much attention to the fact that they had aged over the past decade or so. Right this moment, though, she looked like she had really lived every one of her fifty years.
"No... I mean, no, that's silly. I want to know. I want to know if you're happy and in love and if I'm keeping you from someone important tonight."
"Well, I'm mostly happy, but I'm not in love anywhere and no, you're the only important person to me tonight."
He smiled and cocked his head to one side, awaiting a similar revelation from her. Her eyes were downcast when she spoke.
"Okay. I'm sorta blue right now, because I thought I was in love but I wasn't and... I think I misled him without really knowing it...."
She looked up at him and smiled unexpectedly.
"Short version is, I'm not getting picked up at the airport when I return."
They shared a hearty laugh, and Dana Scully was once again surprised by how much more upbeat she already felt in this man's presence.
Mulder turned sideways to straddle the log, facing her. He then leaned forward and tapped his index finger lightly on her knee.
"So, Scully, how do we go about making you 'unblue'?"
She turned and matched his position, surprising him by taking his hands.
"Tell me about Samantha. Tell me everything, even what you've already shared with me in bits and pieces over the last five years. I want to hear all the details and I want to hear you tell it."
Five years ago, Mulder had called her with news that he had received an anonymous mailing from London. Inside the plain brown envelope was a list of names, some crossed off; his name was the first among those that remained. The only other item within was a sheet of letterhead from a mental institution called Spring Hills Psychiatric Center. It wasn't long after that Samantha, along with Sarah Hilliard and dozens of other test subject survivors, were found sequestered within the walls of that secured facility. The news wasn't necessarily good beyond that, however. Mulder learned that many of the patients were in a deep catatonic or similarly vegetative state. Some had been that way since their "rescue" from the testing program. Until two years ago, Samantha had been among them.
"Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure."
* * * * *
"I think the hardest part of all this has been thinking back to what Dad must have gone through. I mean, it's beyond me to think of why and how he could have done any of it, but given that he did... No wonder it destroyed whatever he and Mom had. Even after Sam was safe in England, he couldn't tell her. What was there to tell? Samantha's alive but a total vegetable? And you know, I always wondered why he came over to visit me so often while I was at Oxford."
"Well, if I remember correctly, when we discovered those files of his, it was always his intention to let you know. He just never had the chance."
"I know."
"Did you ever find out the significance of that list of names that you received?"
"Far as I can tell - and you know I still have sources who'll help me out - the names that were crossed out were people who must have been really fearful for their lives. They're either dead or they simply no longer exist. Their trail just ends. Louise said that I was likely the first person on the list who could be located easily. We've contacted most of the remaining ones; all of them were matched with someone at Spring Hills. Siblings. So many people with stories just like mine."
Scully could imagine the scene that must have taken place as long lost brothers and sisters were finally found. Childhood and innocence lost, but so much more left in life to share. A little voice inside her head reminded her that it was never too late.
"Stories with happy endings," she heard herself murmuring softly.
"Those are the only kind to have."
"You never told me the circumstances of Samantha coming awake - what brought it on?"
"Nobody knows. And no one dared hope in the first little while that she would stay that way, because apparently she'd been in and out like that several times over the past thirty-some years. Some of us have our suspicions that the cloning program may have had something to do with it. Some kind of twin effect or something... shared experiences and feelings. But, hey, two years later and there's been no relapse."
"And you said she's being educated?"
"As soon as they pass inspection by the specialists, so to speak, they're tutored. Whoever our mysterious benefactor is, I give him all the credit in the world because the facility runs like nothing I've ever seen. They've managed to remain highly classified and hidden right out there in the open. The resources they have are outstanding."
"So where does all this leave you, Mulder?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, unless I don't know you at all, I'm sure you've thought about relocating to England?"
"It's in the works. All kinds of factors to consider before I hop a plane permanently. For one thing, it's not like I'm independently wealthy. I need to get myself some sort of employment."
"At the center?"
"You do know me."
"Well that one was obvious, Mulder."
After meeting his eyes for several seconds, she dropped her gaze down to her right foot, watching absently as she dug the toe of her sneaker into the dirt.
"What's the matter, Scully? You gonna miss me?"
It was a standard and even predictable Mulder quip, but it managed to elicit an unexpectedly passionate response.
"I've always missed you, Mulder. Since the day they took you from me, I've missed you. This project, this goddamn alien invasion crap hangs over my head every single day and reminds me of why I have to settle for just missing you."
She leapt up from her seat, years of pent-up annoyance, anger and hurt suddenly bubbling up from deep within her gut. This probably wasn't the place or the time for it, but Christ, it wasn't like they had many chances to speak face to face these days.
"I'm sorry, Scully."
"It's not your fault." She sighed, turning back to him. "You mentioned the clones, Mulder, the hybrids. These Samantha look-alikes who have hounded you over the years... where are they?"
"No one really knows. Or no one will say. Anything that I've discovered before tells me that they're systematically destroyed as soon as their purpose has been fulfilled. Because they're just not stable."
"God... that's what they're still using these people for?"
"It's quite dirty on both sides. From what Louise has managed to find out, no one's winning the war right now."
"How's she doing?"
"She says that if she hadn't found Sarah, all of this would have taken years off her life. Some of the stuff we uncover is not pretty, as you well know. But she's using her connections well. She's managed to recruit her half-brother to the cause."
"But how is - how is 'our' side finding out any inside information these days?"
"There's a double agent at work in every project, Scully. You know that. I get messages."
"What sort of messages?"
"Telegrams, essentially."
After a long pause, no further details seemed forthcoming, and Scully knew why.
"This isn't something I should know, is it?"
"It'd probably be safer if you didn't."
"The risk is still real?"
Mulder nodded, a weary look passing over his face briefly. "Very real."
* * * * *
Dulles Airport was a strangely nostalgic place for them. How many times had they come and gone through here during their FBI partnership days? Mulder watched as Scully checked in her bag, then joined her for the stroll to her departure gate. As they proceeded in silence, he realized that he had to ask the question that he had been holding back from asking all weekend long.
"So how's life in sunny California really, Scully?"
She slowed her pace and looked at him before answering.
"Good."
"Really?"
"Well, I've been there for ten years now, Mulder. If I didn't like it -"
"You might still stay."
"But Mom's out there now -"
"I know, your entire family's more or less together."
She stopped and turned to face him.
"What are you really saying, Mulder?"
"Do you ever think about coming back?"
A look of renewal slowly washed over her face, lighting it up in a way that Mulder hadn't seen in years. Clearly, she appreciated being asked.
"All the time. But I think you know what we're both waiting for. As you once said, we're dealing with decisions that were made a long time ago. We're just along for the ride."
"I know. I just had to ask." He peered deep into her eyes for long moment, catching her before she had a chance to put up any of her usual defences. He ended up being the one to experience a momentary weakness, however. Half turning away from her, he took a deep breath before adding, "I'm still fighting the fight, Scully."
"I know you are. And when it's finally over..."
The public address system announcing the boarding of her flight drowned out the remainder of her sentence.
* * * * *
Location Unknown
Present Day
I feel like I've been watching a series of vignettes about a life that I should know.
My life.
I am Fox Mulder.
I have a very important friend and quite possibly former lover named Scully. I don't really understand why we're not together, given the strange force of our feelings for one another. Perhaps that's something I will know or remember when I get back to living my life. At some point, I am reunited with a sister that I haven't seen since childhood. But the thing is, I don't know whether this has already happened or not, because I honestly don't know at what point in my life I am right now.
In any case, what I've either foreseen for the future or remembered from the past has made me wonder.
Are we the sum of all our yesterdays or the sum of all our tomorrows? Do our past actions dictate where we will end up - like so many people believe - or is everything totally out of our hands? Might we in fact be pre-destined to wind up at one specific place at the end of our journey on this earth, no matter how many detours we take, no matter how many mistakes we make? Is it possible that the person that we are meant to be actually shapes who we are as we move toward our life goals?
I want to believe that I am the sum of my tomorrows. I want to believe that however many forks in the road I encounter, however many bad turns I take, and however many times I screw up, I will wind up at the right place.
The place where fate has always intended me to be.
* * * * *
Quonochontaug, RI
August 2021
The sun was getting low in the sky. They had been sitting out on the verandah for hours and hours, and it had seemingly flown by like mere minutes.
"Is it safe, finally, Mulder?"
For several years, the infamous Marathon Man phrase had been the standard subject line for many an email message between them.
"I think so. I'll never fully understand the real extent of the threat, but it was obviously as much from within as from without. The syndicate was never just there to fight supposed alien intruders and save the world. It also served its own special interests by conducting its own tests. I don't think it was ever just about finding an antidote. But the warped result of it all is that we may have saved our own skins."
"Have you received any more messages?"
"Not a one since last February. It's been a year and a half and all's quiet."
Mulder pulled out his wallet and removed a carefully creased piece of paper from one of the plastic sleeves. He unfolded it and slid it across the table towards her.
Scully glanced at it briefly, then looked up and met his gaze, taking the time to look at him like she had been afraid to do for so many years. For the first time in a long time, she dared to lose herself in his hazel eyes, free to see the scars from battles fought. For the first time in a long time, she convinced herself to sweep aside her own pain.
She picked up the note and stared down at the terse message, her eyes misting over inexplicably.
PROJECT RESULTS UNACCEPTABLE. UPPER HAND HAS BEEN LOST. PLANS SCRAPPED. SEEKING ALTERNATIVES ELSEWHERE.
"The war's over, Scully. It's time for everyone to come home."
They were safe. They were all safe.
* END *
Updated Author Notes (2008-2010)
At one point, a website existed that gave a rundown of “author's personal favourite stories”; i.e., fanfic authors were asked to pick their favourite story out of their own creations. After careful consideration, I selected this one. In some ways, it was a bit of a strange choice, but by the time I got to “here” in terms of writing fanfic, I was so fearful of where CC was taking TXF that I felt like I had to create a future for Mulder that would reward him for all of his suffering. I recall receiving some reassuring feedback from a couple of like-minded readers who were also pleased about this alternative ending.
I’ve been told that most of my stories are based on conversations, thoughts, and simple interactions between Mulder and Scully. That is to say, there are no case files and in my creations, M&S are hardly ever engaged in any sort of activity other than hanging out at a specific moment in time. So particularly from that standpoint, this story is a different animal in that I had to create a more expansive storyline (with an actual original character!) and weave in some of the mythology in order to tie up the “Samantha loose string” into a tidy knot that I could live with. In case you haven’t figured it out already, this is my way of saying that I did not buy the TXF version.
On the subject of why M&S are basically apart in this version of the future; yes, it’s clear that I have “shipper” tendencies, but I’m also a realist first and foremost. It was never my belief that M&S had this great love for the ages that would see them through to those “rocking chairs on the front porch” days; at least, not without leaving the X-Files behind and testing out the actual path of real life in front of them. So the subplot here of them not being together while Mulder is still pursuing Samantha and dealing with the aliens (groan) was totally realistic in my mind.
I know I said in my original notes that this story could be treated as one big dream that Mulder has as he’s “with the aliens”, but in coming back to read it now, I like to think that he was seeing into his future. It works for me and I wouldn’t change a thing. (Although I am alarmed by how quickly the actual years that I used in this story don’t seem so far away anymore!)
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