From: lhoward388@aol.com
Date: Sun, 25 Mar 2001 13:07:11 EST
Subject: xfc: And We Drown (1 of 1)
Source: xfc

Title:  And We Drown
Author: Agent L
Classification: V, post-ep
Rating: Nothing objectionable
Spoilers: This Is Not Happening, Amor Fati
Distribution: Archive anywhere, but keep my name and 
e-mail attached please! 
Disclaimer: To Chris Carter, David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson, and Fox:
I know they're not mine, and no money, gifts or even chocolate would be
expected or accepted for this. 
Summary: Mulder returns to a familiar place.
Author Notes: I love the beach scenes in Amor Fati. I'd like to think
that's where Mulder is right now.
Feedback: Yes, please! LHoward388@aol.com. 


And We Drown

"We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown." 
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T. S. Eliot

He has visited this place before. Salt air clings to his skin and 
hair, his lips tingle with the faint briny taste of the sea. The cool, 
damp sand embraces his bare feet, tugs at his toes as he walks. 

The beach stretches out for miles beneath a slate-colored sky. 
Gray against gray, like an unfinished canvas waiting for the 
master artist to fill in the colors. But there is a strange beauty in 
the subtle variations of the sand, in the muted shades of 
water-smoothed stones and the bright jewel tones of shells 
swept in and out by the wind and tide. 

He is tired. Tired of fighting the good fight when he can't tell 
good from evil anymore. Tired of the pain that still lingers in 
his bones and in his soul like ashes left over from a fire.  He wants 
to feel peace, to melt into the gray sand and be washed away into 
the ocean, drifting aimlessly wherever the waves roll.

But he has one more obligation. 

He remembers the exact spot, just a few yards away, where he 
and the boy worked tirelessly in quiet, comfortable companionship. 
The spaceship was beautiful. Carved out of the sand, shaped 
and molded by careful hands. The smooth edges gave the
illusion that it could launch at any moment, perhaps hover 
there between earth and sky before vanishing into the void. 

But when he arrives, only a mound of sand remains. The ship 
has been eroded by the constant abrasion of wind and water. 
For the first time he is uncertain, and glances around to 
reassure himself of his memories, checking landmarks.

"It is finished."

The voice comes from behind him and he turns to see the boy.  
With his tousled, light brown hair, sand-stained shorts and a 
baggy shirt, he looks like any other small boy who might 
wander past... except for his ancient eyes and solemn demeanor. 
The boy reaches out a hand and he grasps the small, cold fingers 
and waits to be led, as if he were the child instead of the grownup.

They turn and walk away from the ruined ship, across the wet 
sand, shuffling through the froth where the waves meet the 
shore, until the freezing water swirls around their ankles. 
His toes go numb. 

The boy smiles and moves in front of him, faces him, takes 
both his hands. With a little tug, the boy guides him forward, 
a step or two. Another step. The water is up to his knees now. 
And even as he thinks that this is dangerous for the boy, that 
perhaps they should just linger here, close to the shore and 
safety, they drift farther out into the endless ocean.  

After a few minutes, the boy lets go, and they are separated, 
carried along by the relentless tide. But there is no struggle or 
fear, only a quiet joy on the boy's face that reflects his own 
soul. His feet barely touch the bottom, the water laps at his 
chin, and the current strengthens, pushing and pulling his body 
at its whim. He can still see the boy's head bobbing a few feet 
away as they tread water, barely expending enough energy to 
keep their heads above the swells. As he spits out an unexpected 
mouthful of salt water, the boy laughs and waves. He waves back.

The boy disappears below the surface.

A gull cries overhead, its voice almost human, throbbing with 
sorrow, as if begging him to return to the beach, to the safety 
of solid ground. But even as he glances at the shore, miles 
away now, he no longer has the desire to go back, lulled by 
the rocking of the waves, his body numb from the icy current. 
His arms and legs move more and more slowly, like a child's 
toy winding down, and he finally cedes his will to the restless 
water, rolling over onto his back to float. He breathes the ocean. 
His bones turn to liquid, salt slows his blood until it crawls 
through his veins. 

His conscious thoughts float away like flotsam and jetsam, and 
he no longer remembers who he is or what he was. Even as he 
goes under, he feels lighter, less cumbersome, as if he is a sea 
creature freed from a heavy shell. The sea seeps into his pores, 
his mouth, his nose, his lungs, as he sinks farther beneath the waves...
the light from above ripples and fades. 

And in the darkness the boy smiles and embraces him.

The End