From: lhoward388@aol.com
Date: Tue, 27 Feb 2001 01:30:39 EST
Subject: xfc: Frohike's Lament (1 of 1)
Source: xfc

Title: Frohike's Lament 
Author: Agent L
Classification: V
Rating: G -- nothing objectionable
Spoilers: This Is Not Happening 
This is a Doggett-free zone.
Distribution: Anywhere, as long as my name is attached.
Disclaimer: To Chris Carter, David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson, Fox, 
and now Robert Patrick: I know they're not mine, and no money, gifts or 
even chocolate would be expected or accepted for this. 
Summary: Frohike's thoughts after the events of TINH.
Feedback: Yes, please! LHoward388@aol.com


Frohike's Lament

Captain Kirk was wrong. Space isn't the final frontier. 

Death is.

We can explore space. We can send up rockets and probes 
and men and get back reports and data. We can see pictures 
of dust storms on Mars and examine Saturn's rings. The moon 
no longer sits up in the black night sky like some mysterious 
eye looking down on us. Space shuttles now launch as regularly 
as buses and trains with about as much coverage from the media.

But death is still the great unknown. Sure, there are those "near 
death" experiences, the white light, the tunnel, yada yada yada, 
but no one's ever gone all the way. Nobody's ever been to the 
Great Beyond and made it back.

That's the final frontier.

That's the truth Mulder was looking for. And like all those other 
truth seekers who went before him, he won't be coming back to 
share what he knows.

Of course, we all took the news lightly at first. I know that sounds 
cold, but Fox Mulder has come back from the dead more often 
than Elvis. So we were more excited than grief-stricken to hear 
he'd been found, after weeks of virtually no news -- and the fact 
that he was dead was just one of those little glitches that would 
have to be worked out, like going through customs. No one really 
expected to be picking out a casket or flowers or going through 
his suits to find the one he should be buried in.

But then Scully came to see us.

She wouldn't tell us much about what she saw, but I've seen that 
look before, the expression on her face when she gave us the news. 
It's the same look I've seen on victims of horrible accidents who 
have witnessed people dying around them, on top of them, 
survivors of tornadoes and disasters who have seen things that 
no person should see. 

Coward that I am, I have to admit I was glad it was her and 
not me. 

We buried him in Raleigh six weeks ago, and I still can't quite 
believe he's never going to walk through the door again asking us 
to do some impossible research, or show up with cheese steaks 
just in time for the tip off of the Knicks game. I can't believe he 
won't be here to see Scully give birth. 

She says she's fine, of course, but none of us believe that any more 
than we believe Oswald acted alone. We keep tabs on her in our 
own unobtrusive way, running background checks on her new doctor, 
hacking into hospital records to make sure everything's done right. 

Of course the X-files have been shut down. Doggett found Mulder, 
just like he was supposed to, and his desk was cleaned out before the 
body had been brought back to Washington. He and Kersh are 
probably toasting their success somewhere in the FBI's inner 
sanctum right now. Scully's on a leave of absence, staying with 
her mother for a while. 

As for me, Byers, and Langly, we'll feed the fish and keep up 
the fight. 

After all, the truth is still out there.

The End