The Master Calls A Butterfly 15/22
by april leigh

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Southwest Colorado
800 years ago

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All men and women are born, to live, suffer and die; what distinguishes
us one from another is our dreams, whether they be dreams about worldly
or unworldly things, and what we do to make them come about... We do
not choose to be born. We do not choose our parents. We do not choose
our historical epoch, the country of our birth, or the immediate
circumstances of our upbringing. We do not, most of us, choose to die;
nor do we choose the time and conditions of our death. But within this
realm of choicelessness, we do choose how we live. -Joseph Epstein
*       *       *       *       *       *

The blazing sun mercilessly beat down on to the hard baked clay of the
earth. The land seemed to absorb the white light from above, and
radiated the light back to the boy's eyes. The colors all seemed wrong.
The young boy rubbed his eyes, hoping that action would pull the colors
back to their original hue.

He opened his eyes. It was the same. The colors were much too bright.
The red-orange of the earth glowed as if lit by a fire within; the
cloudless sky too brilliant a blue. The green mass of pine and fir trees
that covered the tableland rippled in the wind. He stared in amazement
as the rest of the land followed the trees' example, and began to ripple
as well. He closed his eyes again, trying to ignore the wave of
dizziness that washed over him.

He had to get his eyes off the endless horizon and focus on something
near. He picked up the hallowed out eagle bone at his side and set to
carving what would ultimately become a flute. His grandfather had been
teaching him how to play, and it was time for him to create his own
instrument. He worked carefully, making sure that each stroke, and each
shaving was as it was supposed to be.

The boy worked in silence for several moments, occasionally looking over
the outcropping that he was stationed at, when he heard movement behind
him. He rapidly stood and whirled on his feet, which didn't do much to
calm the queasiness within him. He held his small carving knife in his
hand and tensed, ready to act.

He was met by his little brother's laughing face. "You call that a
weapon? You couldn't kill a lizard with that." He motioned disparagingly
at the small stone knife. He continued to laugh as he set his package on
the ground.

The older boy ignored the taunting and sat back on the ground, taking
his previous position. "What do you want?" He spoke gruffly, trying to
cover his embarrassment.

The other boy sat down next to him. "Mother sent me to get you. She said
that you'll get sun sickness if you stay out here much longer."

"I can't leave. I have a very important job to do, one that I must take
very seriously."

His younger brother snorted. "Important? Ha! The only reason they told
you to do this was because you were getting in the way of the *men*." He
stressed the last word pointedly.

As predicted, his inflection got the expected response from his older
brother. "I *am* a man, and this is a man's job."

"Maybe in a few seasons. Anyway, if you were a real man... why is he,"
the younger boy pointed to the east of them, at another lookout, "why is
he looking in the same area you are?"

"I'm making sure that he is doing his job." The younger boy just looked
at him a moment longer before a smile cracked his face and a stream of
giggles poured out.

The elder looked distastefully at the giggling boy next to him. "You
laugh too much."

"And you don't laugh enough. I like to laugh, it makes me feel alive."
His brother didn't respond to his comment, so he continued. "So you
aren't coming back with me?"

"No, I have my job to do."

The younger boy smiled at this news, unsurprised. "That's what mother
figured you would say, that's why she had me take this." He twisted his
torso and reached for the package he had set on the ground behind them.
He pulled out a container filled with water and handed it over. The
older boy eagerly took it from his grasp and gratefully drank the
liquid.

As he drank, his younger brother set into motion. He pulled out  a woven
blanket. "If we are going to stay out here," he tossed one end of the
blanket out, unfolding it, "we need to get out of the sun."

He pulled the refreshing liquid away from his lips. "We? I don't need
you out here with me."

"Sure you do. Who else will get you more water when you need it? Come
on, help me with this."  He stood up and pulled on his older brother's
hand.

The older boy sighed, hiding his smile. With a great show of reluctance
he stood and helped his grinning brother.

*	*	*	*	*	*
The sweet smell of pine filled the air as night set in, brought by the
night breeze that ruffled the needles on nearby trees that covered the
hills that led to the canyon below. Looking out past the cliff and to
the broad rolling forest below, the older boy could see the trees shift
in the silver touch of moonlight.

He looked down at his younger sibling, sleeping peacefully next to him.
The young boy had kept his word and had restocked both their water and
food supply so that the older boy could remain at his post. He'd done
well, never complaining, even as his older brother sent him on even more
useless and mundane tasks as the day progressed. Now exhausted, the boy
slept upon one of the woven mats he had been sent to get on one of his
many missions.

The boy glanced in the direction of his home. He couldn't see it of
course, the way that it was tucked into the sandstone cliff  both
protected it from the elements, as well as hid it from casual
observation. But because he knew where to look, he was able to make out
the radiant light from the numerous fires that warmed the hearths.
Should he start a fire? No, he quickly brushed the thought away. It
wasn't cold enough for that; the earth retained much of the heat from
the midday sun. He looked up into the nearly full moon above him; it
wasn't as if he needed the light either. Yes, they could do without a
fire tonight.

He lifted his now completed flute and brought it up to his lips. He
played a few halting notes to test the pitch and tone of the instrument.
After making  a few moderate adjustments, he began to play. He played
the melody that his grandfather had taught him. Once it was over,
instead of stopping, he continued, improvising as he went. The melody
changed, it took on a lilting quality, and seemed to fill the night. The
song hung in the air, and seemed to softly float down to the floor of
the canyon. The chirps and screeches had paused as he began to play, but
after a moment, they started once again. It was not nature's way to
remain silent. The player altered his song and incorporated the sounds
and it all came together to form a chorus. Time slowed and spread. The
notes of music moved apart without losing tempo.

The boy closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling. This is what his
grandfather was talking about. This moment when everything came
together. He felt light, as if weightless, and relished this sensation.
His pursed lips slightly turned up into a smile as he listened to the
magic he was creating. His grandfather said the boy had a great gift and
had done his best to foster it in his grandson.

His music was halted, however, by a cry that filled the night air. The
boy's eye flew open in surprise and he turned in the direction of the
village, the direction the sound had originated. The boy looked to his
sleeping brother and placed his hand on his sibling's arm. The young boy
made a wordless mumble and tried to shrug lower into his makeshift bed.
The older brother, now impatient, woke him with much less courtesy by
yanking him to his feet.

"What-what is going on?" His voice was thick with sleep. His brother
didn't answer; instead, he  began to lead the way back to the village.
They began hurriedly climbing down one of the ladders that provided
access to the cliff dwelling. Half way down, the boys paused to see what
was happening. They looked down the steeply sloping cave floor with its
rows of terraced stone and mud houses and open courts. Here and there on
the lower rooftops were shadowy figures that also had been roused from
sleep by the cry.

Following the direction of their gaze, they saw to their left and a
hundred feet below, a small campfire blazing in one of the open courts.
The flickering light played over half a dozen figures huddled around a
dark shape sprawled on the rock. Hushed voices and the occasional murmur
of concern drifted up to them on the heels of the cool night breeze.

"Come on." The older brother urged them forward. By the time they had
arrived, several minutes later, things had become more settled, but the
fear in the night air had dramatically increased.

The boys wandered around, and by hearing fragments of conversations,
began to piece together what had taken place.

A scout had returned from his mission. Only one of the six who had left
several weeks earlier. The scouts were the ones the boys had been
looking for, because they had been over due to return. The scout had
managed to slip in to the village under the cover of the night unnoticed
by the boys or the other look outs. He had made it to  the outside of
his lodging before collapsing. It had been his wife who had discovered
his emaciated and scarred body and cried out, alerting everyone else.

The scout hadn't been able to speak before surrendering to
unconsciousness. Several men, under the orders of the Healer, carried
the man down into one of the circular, ceremonial chambers that were dug
below the courtyard. The Healer disappeared through the rooftop entry to
begin the healing process.

The village waited quietly; no one would be getting anymore sleep that
night. Small groups of people sat clustered together throughout, some
speaking in soft tones, others not speaking at all.

The two boys sat next to each other close enough to the entrance that
they could hear what was taking place, but yet not close enough to be
shooed away. As the smoke from the fire rose through the entrance hole,
the rhythmic beats of the drum began  to lead the healing song.

*	*	*	*	*	*
The sky was  beginning to lighten when the drums halted. The sudden
secession of the beat stirred the people as silence filled the air.
Moments later men emerged from the hole in the earth and were met by
several anxious women.

He would survive, they said, but he hadn't awaken yet. It might be days,
it might be hours, no one could be sure when he would awaken, or even if
he had any information to provide.

And the waiting continued.

*	*	*	*	*	*
The scout woke several hours later, and a meeting of the village leaders
was held. They gathered in the largest of the ceremonial chambers.
Although it was  the largest, the men moved restlessly as they sat
together on the cramped built in benches. But there was no complaint;
what the scout had to say was far too important to miss.

The scout sat in the center, on the stone floor where the fire would
normally be burning, all eyes directed on him. He looked drawn and weak.
He hadn't yet recovered fully, and he shifted uncomfortably on the hard
ground.

The Chief Elder began to speak and all  the men in attendance quieted
down so that he could be heard. "We need to hear what he saw." He paused
as he turned to the scout. "Please, tell us what you witnessed."

The scout hesitantly looked around to all of the eyes silently boring
into him, waiting for his response. Nervously he began to speak. "It
took us two days and nights to travel to the place of bright lights.
When we arrived we decided to split into two groups; one of us would
approach from the west, the other from the east. My group approached
from the west."

"What did you see?" Someone interrupted, impatiently.

"I saw... I don't have words to describe it...It was this..." He
struggled. He moved his arms futilely, trying to show what he had seen.
After struggling for a few more moments, inspiration struck. He began to
speak excitedly. "I know, I'll show you." He cleared of an area off the
ground immediately before him and began to use his finger to draw in the
black ashes of past fires.

The men shifted impatiently, each trying to view the diagram. It was a
large circular object with various designs on it. "This is what we saw.
There was this," he pointed to the circle, "and all around it were
bright lights, bright as the sun, but they came from inside this. And it
was very, very large. At least as big as this village. And these beings,
these beings came from it."

Murmurs of disbelieve rippled over the men. The scout looked around.
"I'm telling the truth, this is what we saw."

The Elder spoke. "Continue."

"We saw the others, the ones that have been missing...but they were
different somehow. It's hard to explain...they were there, but you they
weren't. They seemed empty...as if..."

"What?" Someone called out, impatient.

"It was as if their sprits were taken, leaving only the bodies behind.
The group that I was with was further away than the other scouting
group. Two from the other group reached those who had been missing and
tried speaking with them, but the two scouts were ignored. And
then... and then...the evil spirits came out. I couldn't see clearly
what happened next, except that we knew the two men who had approached
fell to the ground motionless. When this happened, the man who had held
back attacked. He was able to stab one of these beings with a spear,
right were the heart would have been, but it did not fall." He paused
solemnly before speaking  again, voice dramatic as he met the other
men's eyes.  "I do not believe it  had a heart. It did not fall, but the
man did, as if he was the one struck."

The scout hesitated once more, seemingly at a loss for words. The Elder
spoke again, prompting him. He began once more. "And then the spirit,
the evil spirit, the one that had been wounded, turned and looked
directly at where we were hiding, and I saw it straight on for the first
time. It was like us, but not. It had two arms, and two legs, but the
resemblance ended there. It was small, thin of limbs, but it's head was
huge, twice that of a man's. And the eyes...so big...and they stared
right at us. They wanted our spirits as well."

The scout stopped again. When he was able to speak once more, his voice
was thick with emotion. "It knew that we where there. And I watched,
helpless. All of us were...." He trailed off ashamed. He had been unable
to do anything, to act in any way to save his comrade.  He continued
slowly in a low tone. "None of us could move. And then I saw the wound."
The men nodded, encouraging him to finish his story. "I saw the wound
heal itself up. One minute there was a gapping hole in its chest, the
next it was completely gone. That is when we stared to run. After that,
I didn't see anything else."

"What about the others that were with you?"

The scout shook his head and raised his shoulders helplessly. "They were
with me in the beginning, but we became separated. I never saw them
again."

Several moments of silence passed, and the men began to speak all at
once. Voices clamored over each other, each struggled to climb to the
top to be heard.

"What do we do now?"

"What is there for us to do? We can't stop evil spirits."

"So we just sit back and let them do what they did to the others? Or
have you already forgotten?"

The man's words were harsh and full of emotion as he turned to the man
who had said this. "My son was one of those taken. How *dare* you imply
that I have forgotten--"

They were interrupted by a curt, "Stop this now." by the Elder. The
other men stopped speaking. There was silence as they waited for the man
to speak once more.

"What we will do is fight them. That is the only choice we have. We will
not let them take us quietly. We must prepare."

*       *       *       *       *       *
The battle, if one could call it that, was brief but brutal.

The fighting men were quickly dispatched.

The rest of the village was taken with ease.

*       *       *       *       *       *

The Master Calls A Butterfly 16/22
by april leigh
Missing parts can be found at http://members.xoom.com/aprileigh/
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Resistance Headquarters
Conference Room
10:40am

*       *       *       *       *       *
Truth, bitter truth. - Danton
*       *       *       *       *       *

"What are we going to do?" Scully had had enough time to recover her
composer. Her eyes were still tinged red, but the tear-streaked cheeks
she'd worn were erased.

She and Mulder stood close, not quite touching and they looked into each
other's eyes without hesitation. "We find out what the plan is. What
they intend to do. I don't think that they would have gone to all of
this trouble without a good reason."

"And what if we don't like this plan? What will we do then? It isn't as
if we have a lot of options here."

Mulder sighed. Rubbing his eyes with one hand, admitted, "We don't have
very many, do we? I guess that's something that we'll just have to deal
with as it comes." He paused, as he considered his next words. "Scully,
do you think... do you think that you could try to read them? I mean, it
is a valuable tool..." His voice trailed off as he saw her expression.
'Tool' was not the right word. Not the right word at all. He quickly
corrected himself. "I mean," he stammered,  "since you have this gift,
you might as well use it."

Scully looked away from him. "I don't know if I would consider it a
gift." She spoke these words softly. She looked up, back to his eyes.
She studied them for a moment, and this time her words came out much
stronger. "But I know what you mean. This is something that I have now,
and I might as well use it." Pause. "I'm just not sure I want to know
everything."

He took a step closer, now fully inside her personal space, and pulled
her hand up between them. "I'm afraid of what we'll find out as well."
They stood like this for several moments, both seeming to draw strength
from the other. Only the sound of the door handle turning in the quiet
room caused them to move. Scully pulled away from him, and he let her.

Mulder tried not to feel disappointed as she moved to meet the men now
entering. Mulder followed her to the doorway as the men entered. There
was someone else besides Ed and Dagen, and he entered last. He was a
tall slender man with tan skin and long black hair held back by a simple
string.

The three men stood in front of Mulder and Scully, and it was Ed who
spoke first. "Mulder, Scully, I'd like you to meet Allen. Allen, these
are Agents Mulder and Scully." Allen held out his hand and Mulder shook
it. Allen hesitated slightly before reaching for Scully's hand. They
faced each other for a fraction of time so small it was barely
measurable. Their hands were locked together for several moments before
Allen disengaged. His face had maintained a carefully neutral mask, but
Scully was now wearing a frown.

Mulder dipped his head to ask if she's all right, and her answering nod
completed the exchange of non-verbal conversation. Mulder matched
Scully's frown, but decided not to say anything. "I'm guessing by your
presence Allen, that you have something to tell us. Am I right?"

"You would be correct. Please," Allen motioned to the table, "why don't
we all sit down." They sat and waited for Allen to begin.

"I really don't know how else to put this, so I'll just be blunt." Allen
leaned forward onto the table. "I am an alien, or practically an alien."
Mulder glanced at Scully and held her eyes for several seconds. Had she
discovered this when she shook his hand? No, there was surprise in her
eyes, surprise that matched his.

Allen continued, and motioned to himself. "The form that I have
currently taken is my original one, at least what it would have looked
like had I been an adult. However, I'm able to change my appearance at
will." As he spoke, he began to change into the familiar form of the
bounty hunter. Both Mulder and Scully instinctively reached for their
weapons, only to be painfully reminded of their absence.

Allen noticed both their movements as well as their sharply in-drawn
breaths and quickly changed his form back. "I'm sorry about the parlor
tricks, I just wanted you believe me. We haven't met before today, but
you have met others of my kind. The form I just showed you is the one we
assume during our interaction with your kind. Wouldn't want to confuse
the natives." He smiled without humor. He looked down at his current
form. "This is what I looked like when I was human and lived as one of
you approximately 800 years ago. I was a part of a large group that is
now known as the Anasazi." Mulder turned to Scully, eyebrows raised.
Allen continued. "800 years ago we were infiltrated by the aliens. This
was discovered; we fought them, but we were unsuccessful. Those that
survived the conflict were incorporated with the aliens. I was one of
them."

"It wasn't until many years later that I discovered the reason behind
the attack. The aliens as a race were dying. They'd lost the ability to
reproduce, and they believed that by incorporating our genetic stock
with theirs, it would save them."

"And it did help, but it soon became apparent that it was only a stop
gap measure. Our material was not good enough. We weren't close enough
to them genetically to be of great value, so we were infected so that
the material could be changed." Allen smiled ironically. "Lucky us. But
the changes didn't happen quickly enough. We are still genetically
closer to you than to the aliens and they have not been able to use us
as they had originally planned. That's why your scientists have been
working to come up with a way to create one of them out of one of you."

"That's what they've been working on all of these years?" Mulder thought
for a moment before asking his next questions. "Why did these scientists
work for them in the first place? Why go through all of this? If, as you
claim, they were dying, why did those men choose to work for them? Why
not just let them die?" Mulder asked.

Allen looked Mulder straight in the eye and simply said, "They didn't
choose."

If it was possible, the air in the room got heavier, thickening to the
consistency of pea soup. All waited expectantly for Mulder to ask the
question that they wanted him to ask. "What do you mean?" Yes, he was
easier to train than a dog.

Allen spoke again, and his unexpected question caught Mulder off guard.
"Mulder, have you been told why your sister was taken?"

Mulder spoke somewhat haltingly, surprised by the sudden change in
topics. "I've been told several things. I'm not sure what to believe
anymore. I was told that she was given up so that she and the others
could be saved. Another told me that it was necessary so that we could
receive an alien embryo. The aliens used her and the other family
members as bargaining chips, to ensure that we cooperated. If we didn't,
we would never see them again."

Allen shook his head ruefully. "Lies, I'm afraid. But I'm sure that you
aren't terribly surprised by that, are you? You've been lied to for so
long."

"Are you saying you know what really happened to her?"

"I do." Allen nodded. The look of regret on his face clearly showed that
he wished he didn't know the answer. "These men did not need anything to
ensure their cooperation." Another pause. With each second that ticked
by, the knot in Mulder's stomach tightened. He knew, he just knew that
he was not going to like what was coming.

"Your father, and the others, were infected with the oil. The aliens
were unconcerned about whether or not they would cooperate because the
men simply did not have a choice in the matter."

Allen continued. "I know that this is disturbing, but I would think that
you would find some comfort in the knowledge that your father and the
rest of these men were not acting of their own volition. Your father had
been a good man, before."

<<"Yeah, that makes all of this much better.">> Mulder looked down to
his lap. Scully had found his hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

"There is more."

"There is?"

"I'm afraid so." Allen nodded in the direction of Ed and Dagen. "I
understand that these men have explained what changes occur when
infected?" The agents nodded. "These changes occurred in your father,
and these were passed on to his children," he added significantly.

The ramifications of this news rebounded as quickly as echoes in
Mulder's head. "But... I thought that the offspring were born
infected...Are you saying...?" He stammered. The words were thick and
hard to form.

"No, you aren't infected. It's only passed from mother to child. Your
mother wasn't infected when you were gestating."

Seconds ticked off as Mulder internalized this information. "Where does
this leave me?"

Allen answered. "You were, well, you were unique. You and Jeffery
Spender are the only ones of your kind. Infected fathers; uninfected
mothers. Cassandra and Jeffrey were both used as test subjects but you
weren't tested at all. You were kept as a control. I suppose they wanted
to see how you would develop without interference. Maybe it was simply
curiosity, or maybe they just weren't sure what they should do with you.
Of course, it was always assumed that at some point you would be
recruited into the program."

"But if I am what I am, wouldn't I display some changes?"

Scully spoke and squeezed his hand. "But you do. You of all people
should be aware of your abilities. Your intelligence, your memory, your
innate ability to profile others, to 'get in their heads', your amazing
leaps of logic that always seem to be accurate."

Mulder found himself nodding in agreement as Scully listed each item.
Yes, in some kind of perverse way, it all made sense.

"And don't forget the physical changes." Allen added.

"What physical changes?" He said, alarm in his voice and then a sudden
wave of guilt followed. He shouldn't be afraid, he shouldn't be afraid,
after all, Scully was changed too, and she was ok. <<"Keep telling
yourself that, Mulder, maybe you'll come to believe it eventually.">>

"Well, granted, there are not as many...but they are significant. When
was the last time that you were sick?"

"I don't get sick."

"My point." Allen turned to Scully. "Scully, as his partner and his
doctor, you know how many times he has cheated death. Things that should
have killed him, things that would have killed anyone else, he's
survived. And after he was healed he didn't exhibit any lingering side
effects. Always back to normal."

She nodded thoughtfully. "True."

Dagen spoke up then. "There is an added wrinkle to all of this. You've
always been more advanced, you were born that way, but your recent
treatment that we gave you, what saved your life," He stressed, "is what
Scully went through, with the same results. This couldn't be helped. We
had to treat you and this was the only way we had. You were reacting so
negatively to the foreign DNA and the only way we could halt his
deteriorating health was by having his body create this DNA as well."

"So I've been changed as well..." It was not a question. Mulder could
now understand why Scully had retreated from her feelings. Feeling
nothing would feel so nice right now. To just escape this sense of
helplessness, betrayal, loss of control for  a moment.

Mulder felt Scully's hand move from his own hand to his forearm,
interrupting his thoughts. <<"Probably just as she intended.">> He
turned to look at her, and she smiled. For a moment he let that smile
become his world and he let himself enjoy it. But then a wave of guilt
came crashing down on him. He'd been so worried about himself, so damned
focused with his own problems that he neglected to ask the question that
he had been asking his whole life.

"What happened to Samantha."

"I mentioned that your mother was not infected when you were gestating,
however..." Allen paused, "...however...she was when she had your
sister."

Mulder was barely able to get the next words out. "My mother...?
How...when?"

"Your mother was infected soon after you were born. Your sister was born
infected. She, along with the others like her, were taken because they
were the first generation of the changed."

"What was done with them?" Mulder asked. <<"I don't want to know, but I
have to. I have to know.">>

"Tests...tests and more tests."

Several moments passed. Quietly Mulder asked, "Where is she now?"

"She's with them, on one of the ships. She's been raised as one of them.
She has no real memories of her life with you."

"But she's alive?" Hope crept into his voice.

"If you want to call it that..."

*       *       *       *       *       *
Roswell, New Mexico
52 years ago

The burly figure fanned out the newspaper he held in his hands. The
title read: 'The All Stars play the  Roswell Grey's at Bottomless Lakes
State Park this Evening.' Underneath the headline was a picture of one
of the Grey team members. The caption beneath was: 'Can Exley break the
Babe's record?'

The figure folded the paper back up with irritation. <<"Damn game. All
of this for a damn game.">> He thought with disgust. Out of the corner
of his eye, he saw the yellow and red team bus pull up to the curb. He
placed the folded paper underneath his arm.

When the ballplayer that he was waiting for stepped off the bus, the two
made eye contact.

The second man, the dark skinned one, turned to his companion who had
just gotten off the bus as well. "Arthur, I have some things I need to
take care of now. I'll catch up with you later."

His companion paused. "Ex? Are you sure?"

The dark skinned man nodded. "He's my family; I need to speck with him."
He dismissed his companion with an 'I can take care of this myself' wave
and approached the waiting figure.

They began to walk instep next to each other. Neither wished to break
the silence that separated them. Finally the ballplayer spoke. "I guess
this means that you have found me."

The first man nodded curtly. "Yes. We have tolerated your irreverent
behavior for far too long. It is time to stop this acting human nonsense
and come back to your true family."

"They ain't my true family." He said with loathing.

"And they are?" The husky man motioned to the rest of the men exiting
the bus, disgust seeping through his words.

"Why? Why does it matter if I come back? Am I doing something harmful by
being amongst them?  As long as no one finds out--"

"They will find out. The longer that you're with them, the more likely
that they'll discover your true nature. You've already put the project
at risk; I now have to clean up the mess that you have created. All
because of a game." When he spoke his voice filled with contempt.
"Remember, you can look like them, but that does not mean we can *be*
one of them. You have to remember that. Always keep that in mind."

Chastised, the dark skinned man looked down to the ground and murmured a
soft, "I do."

Several minutes passed as they walked in silence. The dark skinned man
spoke. "Brother, when was the last time you laughed?"

"Laughing is hardly relevant." He said tersely.

The ballplayer's next words were almost undecipherable in their
softness. "You should try it sometime. I guarantee you'll feel alive."

"I feel alive." His low, leaden voice faded to silence.

The dark skinned man stopped, and cast a sidelong glance to his
companion. The figure's mind was closed off to him, and he was unable to
get an impression. He finally turned and faced the figure next to him.
The dark skinned man studied the other's face for a moment, trying to
read him.

He finally spoke, still looking intently. "You really believe that,
don't you?" His voice was filled with a profound sadness.

The stout man spoke, ignoring the question. "I've come to bring you
back. You know this. And you should be thankful that they sent me. The
other's wish to kill you for this betrayal."

"And I thank you for that, brother." But his words lacked conviction.

The other man continued. "I can only protect you so long...You know the
consequences if you don't come with me."

"Well aware."

*       *       *       *       *       *
The dark of the night was chased away by the brilliant lights that shown
above, as well as the lights from automobiles that edged the baseball
field.  Two teams, one of light skin, the other of dark, stood on the
grassy field and played a game of ball.

A dark skinned man stood at the home plate, bat in hand, and grin on
face.

The man who knelt behind the plate, clad in various protective gear,
spoke. "Hey, Ex. I heard the Yankees have been calling you."

"I'm fine playing here in the Cactus leagues. It's nice and quiet." The
ball whiffed past and into a cactus plant behind him.

The man behind the plate spoke again. "Gee, I don't know, Ex. The Yanks
could use those 60 home runs a year.  Well, now that, uh, Jackie
Robinson's up there in the Bigs people are saying you're going to be
next. The first black Negro man of color in the American League. Shoot,
Ex, you'll be famous, man."

His grin vanished, and his voice became serious. "I don't want to be no
famous man. Just want to be a man." The ball was pitched again, and this
time the man with the bat connected. The ball flew up into the night
sky, and disappeared amongst the stars.  He looked to where the ball
had last been seen, and softly whispered, "Sixty-one.", before he was
lifted onto the shoulders of his teammates.

He joined in the celebration until he noticed something in the distance.
<<"He's found me.">>. There was no fear, no real sadness, in this
thought. Instead a calm settled over him. This was it. The defining
moment in his life; he'd made his choice, and he would accept the
consequences of it. And he relished that idea. It was his choice. He
wasn't sure when his free will had returned, but he was not about to
give it back now.

From the direction he had been looking in came a group of horsemen
outfitted in white sheets, each carrying rifles.

One of the men on the field addressed the horsemen. "What do you boys
want? We're just playing a baseball game, here."

The leader of the white clad men spoke. "We got no beef with you, sir.
It's that black Babe Ruth hiding behind you. Josh Exley. That's all we
come for."

"Well, you can't have him." Another man spoke up.

The man on the horse continued. "We heard the Yankees want to let a
Nigger play ball so we just figure we're going to play with him a little
bit first." He paused to take a breath. His next words carried over the
entire ball field. "Now, all you Niggers and Nigger-lovers! You can go
home! It's Ex we want."

Before he could continue, however, he was knocked off the horse by a
well-placed ball to the head. Other riders soon followed him to the
ground. The baseball players quickly took the rifles away from the dazed
horsemen and faced the remaining riders.

A ball player spoke again. "You boys ain't so tough without your
shotguns, are you, fellows?"

A player knelt down next to the leader who had been the first to be
knocked off the horse. The player addressed the fallen form laying
unmoving on the ground. "You ain't nothing but a coward." He spat with
disgust on the sheet covering the leader's head. "Hiding behind your
mama's bed sheet. Let's see your face." He pulled the hood away and with
shock obvious on his face, stumbled away from the figure. "Holy mother
of..." His voice trailed off as he stared with disbelief at the gray
faced being now revealed.

The creature was obviously disorientated. Its large eyes blinked several
times, seemingly unable to focus, as it slowly turned its large head
from side to side.

The players regained control of their motor skills and began to clear
the field. Only one stayed behind, the one who had known the other was
coming for him. He stood and waited for the creature on the ground to
revive.

The rider's gray face morphed into a human face. Standing up, he faced
the dark skinned man before him. He hit a switch to extend the stiletto
weapon. "It's over."

"I know." The ballplayer understood the ramifications of his choice.

"I warned you. You didn't listen. Now you die."

The dark skinned man shrugged his shoulders. "It's the right thing to
do."

"What do you know of the right thing to do? You-- who would risk
exposing the entire project for a game?  A game!" The rider said with
frustration.

He smiled sadly. "I hit a home run tonight."

"A home run?" He asked incredulously.

"Number 61. I set a record."

Ignoring the comment, the rider spoke. "Show me your true face so you
can die with dignity. As your executioner I show you my true face before
I kill you." His human face returned to the alien one of before. He
spoke again. "Show me your true face or you will die without honor."

There was something almost like satisfaction in his eyes, and regret,
but no fear. "This is my true face." He said, and turned and presented
his neck to the alien.

"So be it." With those words he drove the weapon into the base of his
neck and let the body drop unceremoniously to the field beneath.

*       *       *       *       *       *
The man saw the body hit the ground just as he opened his car door. "No!
Stop!" He yelled as he got out of the car. He rushed to the fallen man's
side. He pulled him into his lap and cradled him.

The rider passed him on his horse as he ran out to the field.

The man from the car spoke. "Ex?!" Concern and panic colored his voice.

The ballplayer began to struggle. "No... Let me be! Let me be!" With
desperation in his voice he yelled, "Don't. Get off me. Our blood is
like acid to you people. Arthur, get away. Don't touch it."

"It's just blood, Ex. Look. It's just blood." He held his red stained
fingers out for him to see.

Amazed and through teary eyes he simply said, "Wow." and began to laugh.

*       *       *       *       *       *

The Master Calls A Butterfly 17/22
by april leigh
Missing parts can be found at http://members.xoom.com/aprileigh/

*       *       *       *       *       *
March 7, 1999
Resistance headquarters
Hallway
11:29am

*       *       *       *       *       *
She is a friend of mind. She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather
Them and give them back to me in all the right order.It's good,you know,
when you got a woman who is a friend of your mind. --Toni Morrison
*       *       *       *       *       *


<<"Too much, this is all too much.">> Mulder's mind was beginning to
overload with all of the startling, painful revelations that were coming
to light. With each item revealed, it was as if another part of him was
erased. Everything that he had known was an outright lie, more than just
a manipulation of the facts. His father... his mother... Samantha...
himself. He too was part of all of this, more so than he had ever
imagined. The Cigarette Smoking Man's words came to him. "'You were
always special Mulder. You always held a special place in the grand
scheme of things...You're part of the future, what we will all
become...'"

Nothing in his life had been real, had been the truth. His very
existence itself was a part of that lie.

He felt Scully's hand on his elbow, walking beside him as he rushed down
the hallway. No, he was wrong, he corrected. There was something in his
life that had been real. Scully. She was the only thing in his whole
goddamn life that was true.

She was the only thing in his life that was true, and he had still
managed to infect her life. Yes, 'infect' was the right word. His
insidious need, his incessant thirst for the truth had driven both of
them to this place.

If only he had looked closer for the answers. He should have known...

Mulder didn't know where he was going; he was just walking. All he cared
was that he was moving, getting away from that awful room. The room had
suddenly become far too small to contain him.

Mulder stopped abruptly. He was completely lost. Each hall looked like
the other, and he had not been paying attention as he was taking his
random turns. He felt confused, dimmed, as if a blanket had been tossed
over him. His vision faded; sounds became distant. He felt removed from
the world.

Scully could feel his hand searching for hers. Instinctively she reached
out and latched onto it, bringing him back. He squeezed her hand
tightly. If she let go of his hand, he thought he'd fly apart.

He turned to her then, his eyes both pleaded and gave thanks, and he
simply said, "Please help me."

*       *       *       *       *       *

Mulder's Room

They sat on the bed Mulder had used the night before, and had woken up
from less than 5 hours ago. They sat shoulder to shoulder, thigh to
thigh, hands desperately clasped between them. Scully waited for Mulder
to speak first.

"Well." The single word hung in the silence of the room.

"Well is right." She responded as if they were just shooting the breeze.

"Is this what it feels like Scully?" He asked in a somber voice.

"Is this what what feels like?"

"Is this what it feels like to not want to believe? I can't believe.
Because if I do..." His voice trailed off and he waved his hand vaguely
in the air. The sentence did not need to be finished.

"There's a fine line between skepticism and denial."

Mulder dropped his head back down and nodded slowly, sadly.

"Mulder..." She stopped, unsure how to finish, but feeling as though
something had to be said. "Mulder... I'm sorry. About all of this,
everything that you've gone through. I don't know how I can make this
better..."

"Just stay. Don't leave me." He asked in a small, frightened voice.

For his answer, she simply squeezed his hand again.

"Do you want to talk?" She asked, lightly stroking her hand against his,
not sure what she wants his answer to be. She's afraid he will say no,
close the door behind him as he enters into a dark chamber without her.
Afraid he will say yes, tell her in a fragile, wavering voice of
terrible things, things that she will not want to hear.

Mulder was silent.

"Mulder?"

Mulder opened his mouth, but no words came out. He looked at her with
lost uncertainty behind his eyes. He couldn't find the words.

"Can you show me instead?"

He nodded, his expression of a drowning man reaching blindly for safety.

She lifted the blockades in her mind to let Mulder in. He seemed lost;
his thoughts too fragmented, disjointed, for her to read. His thoughts
swam between them, hiding under rocks, disappearing in weeds.  Scully
fished for them, dangling her own like baits and lures. She was about to
give up, when she found him, or he found her.

She gasped involuntarily at the images that crowded into her. Not just
images... sensations, emotions, all pounding through her, filling her
and overflowing... and there was Mulder, and he was everywhere, and she
could see him, and the scent of him, and the sound of his voice was in
her ears... and everything was amplified a thousand times...

<<"Too much. Too much. I can't take this any more. I need to get away
from this.">> But her thought was catapulted aside by his before she
could act in it. So she watched. So she experienced. And she saw it all.

-Flash-

His sister clad in braids looking up at him, playfully tugging his hand,
wearing a mischievous grin. <<"Come on Fox. Come outside with me">>

-Flash-

Mulder looking up through the eyes of a child at the man he called
father. The older man towered from above with dispassionate eyes.

-Flash-

His mother's unfocused gaze as she spoke all too familiar words, <<"I
don't remember Fox, it was all such a long time ago...">>

-Flash-

Samantha's shrill voice calling over and over "Fox!" The image of her
hovering in the air, motionless, like a marionette whose strings had
been ripped off.

-Flash-

Scully's face, her own face, his hand lightly stroking her cheek.

-Flash-

Her form laying prone, eyes taped shut, ventilator breathing for her.

-Flash-

A bloodied napkin held to her nose; her words again; cold, calm, and
dismissive: <<"I'm fine.">>

-Flash-

It continued, relentless. The images, the emotion...God, she could
hardly take it. Images of his life, her life. The guilt, and anger and
helplessness-- it was radiating from him, so suffocating and
overwhelming that Scully visibly flinched. She heard his voice, dim
within the cacophony of sounds reverberating within her head. <<"Fate.
Destiny. Whatever it's called when you realize the choices you thought
you had in life were already made...">>

Another image. Her face again, this time crying. But she was smiling as
well. She felt her lips against his forehead. Her face again, leaning
in, then "Ouch." It was quiet, barely audible really, but she felt her
heart break in that moment. No...it wasn't her heart. It was his. She
was beginning to have trouble differentiating herself from Mulder's
conscious.

-Flash-

And then he was pulling away, the link broken with the force of cold
water being splashed on her face. He stood up and took a few steps away
from her. He placed his hands over his face. "I'm so sorry Scully. You
have had enough grief in your life because of me... I won't let you have
mine as well."

She stood up next to him and brought her hand up and caught his hand in
her own, drawing it down between them. "I'll be okay. I don't think that
you should keep this to yourself. And I think... I think that I'm in a
position to... understand somewhat what you have to deal with. You
didn't let me get away with ignoring it, how can I let you?"

When he turned to her, he could barely hold his head upright to keep his
gaze level with hers. "I need you too much."

"I don't think that there is such a thing as needing someone too much
any more." She said softly.

Mulder shook his head. He didn't want to believe her words.

"Let me help you." She said as she pulled him to her.

*       *       *       *       *       *

<<"I need you Scully. Save me, make me whole again.">>

It was as if Scully sensed that need. Her hand moved to the base of his
neck, as if feeling the throb of his pulse. She seemed everywhere to
him: in his mind, in his soul, and when she spoke again it was with her
hot breath caressing the inside of his ear. "We'll save each other."

At this, Mulder opened his eyes and met her gaze, but this time he
didn't look away. And yet, at that moment, with all the buildup in his
mind, in his body, he didn't know that he would press his lips against
hers until he actually did. Just a whisper, the faintest touch of lip
against lip, but the light contact changed everything. He felt as if he
had been blind for his entire life and at last his eyes were open. She
was everywhere, in every pore, in every centimeter of his skin, in every
aspect of his soul she was there...

Only for a moment was the kiss a whisper before it changed and grew into
so much more. No longer a whisper, it was lips on lips, mouths open,
tongues exploring. The passion and the intensity built up from years
past, emotions and memories shared and their souls intertwined
threatened to shatter them to their core, but they refused to halt it.
Wordlessly, they leaned into each other, falling gently back against the
soft bed.

There was no need for intellectualizing, no need for deep discussions.
Nothing was said that couldn't be explained by soft, whispered words, or
by the occasional faint gasp.

Flesh and sprit, body and soul, all combined and permeated every inch of
each other. In that moment, they knew all there was to know of each
other, and instead of moving away from this fact, instead of resisting
the pull, they gave in to it completely. They complemented each other,
became each other, filling out each other's needs. And they rejoiced.

*       *       *       *       *       *

The Master Calls A Butterfly 18/22
by april leigh
Missing parts can be found at http://members.xoom.com/aprileigh/
*       *       *       *       *       *

Mulder's room
2:18pm

*       *       *       *       *       *
It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird: but it would be a jolly
Sight harder for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg. We are like
Eggs at present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an
ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad. --C. S. Lewis
*       *       *       *       *       *


In the post-coital exhaustion that ensued, Scully dreamed.

She stood at the edge of a river, expansive under the dark thunderous
sky. In the distance, the far bank could be seen, but it was only a thin
sliver of land, just at the edge of the water. An ominous fog obscured
the rest of the land and Scully felt a chill pass through her. The water
passed between, dark, tumultuous, and full of fury.

"You have to cross."

Scully turned in the direction the words came from. She wasn't surprised
when she found her sister Melissa standing next to her. It seemed
perfectly natural that she be there.

"Why?"

"It's your responsibility."

"My responsibility? Why is it me who must cross? Who decided this?"
Scully flung her arm out toward the far bank. "I don't even want to go
to the other side."

"That's because you're afraid of what you'll find. That's why you don't
want to cross."

Scully laughed. "No, I just don't feel like getting all wet."

Melissa gave her head a slight shake. "You can't fool me Dana. That
isn't it. You've crossed rivers such as this before. You were afraid
then, but not like now. Before, you had confidence and a strength within
you to face it. This time you have doubts."

Something in Melissa's tone reminded Scully of the know-it-all
caterpillar in Alice and Wonderland and her next words came out sharper
than she intended. "Of course I have doubts. What the hell do you think
I've been through?"

"Doubts of whether you'll succeed, that is to be expected. But this time
is different. This time you doubt yourself."

"I can do this. I can cross if I want to." Scully said, her stubborn
streak initiated by her older sister's words.

Melissa nodded. "Yes, you have to want to. That will be the key to
everything. This would never work if you aren't willing."

"I would be willing if I knew what I was crossing for. I don't even know
if the outcome will be worth it. But I'm not afraid of the river."

Melissa agreed. "You're right. This time it isn't the river. This time
you welcome the river. You want to emerce yourself within it. You want
to surround yourself in it and just forget, to just focus on the river.
You don't want to think about what will happen when you get to the other
side."

"What will happen then?"

"Once you cross the river, once you overcome it, and finally step onto
the land on the other side, all you will be left with is yourself."

The river shrunk then. It was only a finger's breadth now, a mere
trickle; the other side was only an arm's length away.

"You can step over Dana, and you'll be there. Just forget the river for
now."

Scully hesitated. She stared over to the other side, now so close that
if she reached her hand out it would disappear into the haze. She didn't
move her arm.

"What's over there? What's on the other side? You know that I don't like
to stumble blindly into the unknown."

Melissa stared with solemn eyes. "You have to cross to find out."

Scully continued to look across to the other side. The chill she had
felt when she first looked on the dense fog returned, and she wrapped
her arms tighter around herself. Finally, she turned to face Melissa.
"Can you come with me?" she asked, her voice different now, smaller,
less certain. She did not want to do this alone.

Melissa shook her head. "No, this part must be on your own. For the
crossing you will have help, in fact, that's the only way you will
succeed. But this part, this part is for you alone. Crossing is the easy
part." Melissa paused, and almost as an after thought, added "You know
Dana, change isn't always a bad thing."

Melissa began to fade before Scully, and her words seemed to be carried
on the wind. "...change isn't always a bad thing..." Gathering the last
reserves of courage she had left, Scully tentatively reached out her
hand over the small trickle flowing at her feet. Her hand disappeared
within the white cloud. Hesitating only a moment more, she steeled
herself, and stepped over.

She could see nothing, only a vague whiteness that encompassed her whole
world. Carefully, Scully moved forward, advancing carefully, making sure
of her footing before placing her full weight on her next step.
Unexpectedly, the air cleared, and she could see her surroundings. She
was in a lightly wooded forest. The pine trees towered over her, but the
growth on the ground was sparse and she could move freely between the
large plants.

Minutes or hours later, she couldn't tell, she came to a small clearing.
It was almost a perfect circle of rich, thick grass, and surrounding it
were the trees. The sun shown brightly above and cast a warm glow on
everything it touched. Lying in the very center of the circle was
herself. Curious, but not really surprised nor alarmed, she walked
closer to the identical form. Scully just instinctively knew that it was
her, and did not question it.

Her alter image lay on her back, hands folded neatly on her abdomen,
seemingly asleep. But she wasn't asleep, --or maybe she was-- but that
wasn't the reason the body remained motionless. Her alter ego was
frozen, sealed tightly within a layer of ice.

But the ice was melting. The brilliant sun above lent its radiance to
those below and the ice was melting. Tiny rivulets of water coalesced
like liquid light, and formed miniature streams that lead to the ground
below. Fractures in the ice began to appear, and they spread like water
droplet falling on a windshield, shattering the ice into thousands of
pieces.

Scully could see ice crystals scattered evenly across the body like a
translucent lattice. Scully crouched over the form. She shifted on the
balls of her feet and reached out her hand to the woman on the ground.
She meant to brush off some of the ice fragments, but her hand passed
right through. The body was gone. It had disappeared; changed form.
Instead of a human body, thousands of butterflies had replaced it.

Scully gasped in surprise and stood abruptly. The sudden movement
started a chain reaction and the butterflies began to rise up as well.
Scully stood as the mass of insects circled her, some landing on her,
others just giving light feather kisses against her skin. They circled
and spiraled around her, faster and faster until they created their own
wind which caught at her hair and clothing and tugged them upward.
Scully lifted her hands and tilted her head back. She felt lightheaded,
as if she were the smallest drop of water, melting into the crystal
weave, cracking it. As if some possession were being returned to her
that she'd long forgotten she owned.

She felt exhilarated.

*       *       *       *       *       *
Usually, when Scully had dreams, she would awaken and sense the images
flittering away to the far reaches of her subconscious. She never
remembered them. This time she did. Some of the exchanges were already
blurring to her, but the general thrust was still very vivid and potent.

She shifted against Mulder, and the movement woke him. The shoulder
under Scully's head was suddenly stiff, transmitting returning
consciousness like electricity, but then just as quickly relaxed, as he
became conscious of who was sharing his bed. He turned his head to
nuzzle his nose in her hair, "Scully," he murmured, and kissed her on
the top of her head.

Scully lay across his torso with her cheek resting on his breastbone. He
wrapped his arms around her protectively and propped his chin on the
crown of her head. She moved her hands across his chest and combed her
fingers through his chest hair. "We both fell asleep."

"That we did." Mulder counted the seconds, like locating the distance
between himself and lightening, before she spoke again. He had a feeling
that what she was going to say was important to her, and by extension,
important to him.

"I read an article a few weeks ago that made me think of you. I was
going to tell you about it, but things got kind of busy."

"You could say that. Do you want to tell me about it now?"

"There was research done, years ago, by a Czechoslovakian psychiatrist.
For years his treatment included prescribing LSD to his patients. What
he discovered through these treatments was that some of his patients
began to regress in their own consciousness. He found that some of these
patients re-experienced birth. And each of these patients recalled the
same experience."

"And what was this experience?"

"They were afraid." She said simply.

"Really? Afraid of what exactly?"

"Afraid of being born I guess. Of leaving that familiar world behind."
She paused as she struggled to come up with the correct phrase. "The
psychiatrist described it very well, their experience." Her voice
shifted and it was clear that she was reciting from her memory. "'With
the rhythm of the uterus came the first emotion, that of terror. Then
comes the horrific stage of getting born, the difficult passage through
the birth canal.'"

He looked at her, puzzled for a second, but then his expression grew
thoughtful. "So your saying that fear is the first experience of the
fetus in the womb?"

"That is what this article was suggesting."

"And this reminded you of me? How?"

"LSD, Mulder?" All she had to do was glance up at him to send her
message; she didn't even have to raise and eyebrow.

Mulder smiled, acknowledging the truth behind those two simple words.
"Ok, I can see that." Pause. "What made you think of it now?"

"I was just thinking about change."

"Change?"

"Yes. Although the methodology of how the psychiatrist got this
information is... unorthodox, when I think about it, it seems somehow
true. His conclusions seem right."

"Like there' a memory of your own somewhere in you?" He prompted.

"No. It's not that. It rings true for me on an intellectual level. If
you think about it, it... it just makes sense."

Mulder absorbed the words for a moment. "That fear is the first
experience of the fetus in the womb?"

"That fear is the first emotion that every human being experiences.
That's something that we share with everyone. We all fear change and the
mystery that surrounds it. We all struggle against it."

"Even when the outcome may be to our benefit." He finished for her.

"We can't stay in the womb forever." She tilted her head back to look at
him, searching his eyes intently.  After nearly a minute of silent
regard she dropped her head back to his chest. When she spoke her voice
was so low he almost didn't catch the words. "Mulder, have we let our
fear stop us from what we need to do?"

"You tell me." He said carefully as his hands stroked slowly up and down
along her spine.

"I think we have. I think we have to help them."

"Are you sure about this? We still know very little."

"I know that they're telling the truth. I know that they're doing what
they believe is best. And I also believe them when they say time is
running out."

"We should probably get up then, right?" Mulder offered reluctantly, but
he did not make a move to get up.

She pulled him closer. "In a minute."

They stayed like that for several minutes, just listening to the other
breathe, when Mulder spoke. "Scully, even though we know that fear of
change is irrational at times, and one of the more baser instincts, I'm
still afraid."

"I know. So am I, but I think that is what makes us human. I would only
be concerned if we felt nothing."

*       *       *       *       *       *
Tunguska, Russia
2 years ago

The dark cover of night hid the muscular figure's approach. With only a
mild grunt of exertion he disposed of the guard stationed on the
perimeter of the facility. Looking down at the fallen form before him,
the figure studied the man's face and changed into the guard's shape.
Once completed he began to switch clothing.

Moments passed and he reemerged, now playing the role of the guard.

Another guard yelled. "Hey Olesky! Where the hell do you think you are
going? You know that you can't leave your post."

"I have to take a crap. Cover for me."

The other man grumbled a reluctant agreement. "Ok, but you'd better be
back in ten minutes. I'm not getting stuck like last time."

"Stop worrying. I won't be long."  The figure replied and made his way
into the building.

*       *       *       *       *       *
He entered the secured room without difficulty. The quiet hum from the
machines and the softy gurgling from the large tanks lining the room
were the only things that could be heard in the still night. The only
light that illuminated the room originated from the tanks and cast the
room with a greenish hue. Working by this light, he ignored the tanks
and other equipment, and instead went directly to the refrigerator in
the center of the room. Opening it, he discovered it filled with vials
containing a dark green substance.

Pulling out the sack that he had kept hidden in his jacket, he carefully
placed vial after vial into it. He quickly emptied the refrigerator.
Closing the bag securely and tucking it away, he exited the room.

He left the building a few moments later and found the man who had
relieved him. "See, less than ten minutes."

The man looked surprised. "Now that's a first." They switched positions.
"Have a nice night." He said as he headed back to the facility. His back
was turned so he did not the figure disappear into the night.

*       *       *       *       *       *
He sat on the cold hard ground, just staring at the vial he held in his
hand. He knew what it was, and what its purpose was. He also knew what
would happen if he took it.

He didn't have much time, and he knew that this would be his only
opportunity. Carefully he drew up the liquid into the syringe that he
had also taken from the room. After only a moment's hesitation, he
injected himself.

Almost immediately the fog that had covered his consciousness and
awareness was lifted, and the man who would be called Allen smiled for
the first time in 800 hundred years.

And the fight for humanity began.

*       *       *       *       *       *

The Master Calls A Butterfly 19/22
by april leigh
Missing parts can be found at http://members.xoom.com/aprileigh/
*       *       *       *       *       *


Resistance Headquarters
Conference Room
2:43 pm

*       *       *       *       *       *
We will now discuss in a little more detail the
struggle for existence.-- Charles Darwin
*       *       *       *       *       *

Mulder needed to get up and walk around. To get out. To think about
anything else. Unconsciously his mind began to escape and wander the
halls back to when he'd been lying there, afterward, with a sleeping
Scully curled up next to him, there'd been two thoughts that had run
through his head. The first had been <<"Finally. Finally it happened,
and the world didn't end.">> His next thought immediately following that
one had come from his self-mocking side. <<"No the world didn't end, but
it looks like that is where it's heading. Way to wait until the last
minute, dumbass.">>

But at that moment, that second thought didn't hold much weight. Holding
a warm soft naked Scully in his arms could do that. He had even briefly
chuckled at the idea, until his movement threatened to wake her. It just
seemed so damn typical for them. As if they could do anything simply. Of
 course the world as they knew it would have to just have been turned
completely  around and with the promise of it being completely destroyed
just around the corner. Of course, typical.

But now, sitting back in the damn conference room, everyone discussing
her hand over to the aliens, those words lost any humor they may have
once had.  The arms of their chairs separated him from Scully and the
pale hand in his was  a poor substitute for the complete length of her
pressed against him. <<"The end of the  world was right, the end of  my
world.">> Mulder's free hand bit into the arm of his chair and he
swallowed down a hot surge of bile. He spoke, finally finding the words.
"And what will this serve? Her hand over to them?" Mulder asked.

Dagen leaned forward. "Access. We need to have access. We have a vaccine
we can use against them."

Scully furrowed her forehead slightly. "It was our understanding that
the vaccine works on the oil, not on the person. How will this
incapacitate them?"

Allen answered. "I gave myself the vaccine; this was how I came to be
free from its influence. Before they discovered my nature I was able to
inject others. Those who had been infected more recently- and by
recently I'm including myself even though that was 800 years ago-
suffered no major consequences. However, the others, the originals, did
not survive. With the destruction of the oil came their own death. The
treatment works by selectively binding with and destroying specific
segments of the oil. The aliens have been with the oil for so long that
these segments have been fully incorporated into their genetic makeup;
the oil is literally a part of them."

"What about those who, like yourself, aren't killed? Will they be a
threat?" Mulder asked.

Allen shook his head. "At first I was worried. Worried that I was being
presumptuous somehow. That they wouldn't want this, but I was wrong." He
smiled slightly. "The moment that they felt the fog lift and their
choices returned, they celebrated, as if..." Allen could not seem to
find the right words.

"As if something was returned to them that they'd forgotten they owned."
Scully added thoughtfully, finishing for him.

Allen's smile grew with her words. "Exactly." Scully met his smile,
returning one of her own.

For some reason this exchange brought up a surge of jealousy within
Mulder. "So, what- she'll just start randomly injecting as many of them
as she can? This isn't much of a plan." Mulder said sharply,
unconvinced. <<"Yeah, poke holes Mulder, poke as many damn holes in the
plan as possible.">>

Allen wasn't deterred by Mulder's words. "No it isn't like that. It's
not as if we're going to turn her over with half a dozen syringes and
several vials of vaccine."

"Then how are we going to give them the vaccine?" Scully asked, in a
tone considerably less sharp than Mulder's had been.

Allen answered. "We've altered the vaccine. We studied it and how it
effects the oil and were able to recreate the effects in another form.
The form that it is in now... well, the best way to describe it is that
it's like a virus. We will *infect* Scully with this *virus* and her
contact with the aliens will pass it to them, much like how the cold
virus is passed in humans. There should be no effect on her. She's not
infected with the oil and she's already been exposed to the vaccine
before without any dire consequences."

"No one else can do this? It's not as if this requires her to actually
*do* anything. It sounds as if all you need her for is as a carrier."
Mulder said with diminishing patience. <<"Damn it!">> He wanted to yell.
<<"If you want her to risk her life, for god sakes let her actually do
something.">>

She glanced over at him. Mulder sensed the motion and turned. He didn't
know what to expect when he met her eyes. Maybe irritation, frustration
over his selfish and immature behavior. Maybe surprise at his lack of
willingness to understand, or to help.

But he didn't see any of that. Instead he simply saw understanding in
her expression. And then he heard her. <<"I'm scared too, Mulder.">>

"I'm sorry," he softly murmured under his breath. And he was.

Mulder noticed that when he turned away from Scully and back to the men
sitting across the table that Dagen was staring at the both of them,
looking from one to the other, sensing that something had passed between
them, but unable to discern what it was.

Allen did not have the same expression. He was waiting for them to
finish before he responded to Mulder's comments. "They're expecting
her." Allen said simply, stating the obvious. "Her presence on the ship
will not be questioned. She also has the mental discipline necessary to
guard her thoughts from them."

Mulder quietly pushed a long breath from his lungs. "And her chances?"

"Unfortunately, there is a very small window that we have to work with.
The vaccine's action should take no more than six hours to infect the
majority of the aliens, however..." this time there was a very large
pause, a very large 'however,' and Mulder dreaded hearing the rest. "The
six hours maybe too long; we may not be safe." Off of Scully's uplifted
eyebrow, Allen explained further. "Her hand over to them signifies that
what they've been working for all of these years as been realized.
Invasion will begin."

Dagen spoke up haltingly. "And... and they may... test her. Do some
tests on her. And they're likely to try to infect her, to fully
integrate her to them."

"What? Mulder snapped, and then reined his temper in, and repeated it
more softly. "What are you saying? Are you saying that she'll become
reinfected?"

Allen gave his head a small shake. "No, that's not possible. First,
she's already been inoculated; second, even if she could become
infected, with the virus within her, she wouldn't be infected long."

Mulder's mind acted like a steel trap that had just been tripped. "But
they can't find out she is uninfected."

"Correct." Allen said with a nod and a sigh. "If they did, she would be
of no use to them alive. They would likely kill her, and salvage what
ever genetic material they could from her."

Salvage. Lovely word. Mulder tried his best to not think about just what
that would entail.

"I know that the plan seems... well, incomplete, but we hadn't planned
on acting this soon. We all believed we had several years left." Allen
glanced toward Dagen sitting beside him. Dagen was looking down at his
hands. His fingers worried away at a hangnail and avoided everyone's
eyes.

Allen looked down briefly, before finding Mulder's, then Scully's eyes.
"Look, I'm not going to lie to you here, it's a possibility that she
will fail, that the whole plan will fail... This has always been an all
or nothing situation... I'm afraid... I'm afraid that there aren't many
alternatives available."

"But what are those alternatives? What if this doesn't work? What is the
fall back plan? Is there even one?"

"If this fails, and invasion begins, we would begin fighting them; to
defend ourselves, as well as prevent invasion."

"Would we be successful? Do you think that we can fight them?"

"Mulder, if I believed that we could stop them by fighting them, we
would have already acted."

Mulder nodded, understanding; wishing he didn't. His hand was firmly
intertwined with Scully's and he gently rubbed his thumb against her
index finger, and waited for her to speak.

"What will you do if I choose not to help you?"

Allen paused, giving her question full weight. "We will not make you, we
can't. But you have to understand that they will find you. You could
hide for a while, maybe, but death would be your only true escape. And
while they look for you, they would find the research  and make
another."

"And Armageddon would begin." Scully finished quietly. She had made her
choice, one that Mulder had known she would take all along. He closed
his eyes to her next words. Words that he knew must be said, yet would
be the most painful that he would ever have to hear.

She raised her head, drew in a deep breath and released it. Her eyes
flashed and her voice was firm, full of conviction. "Ok then, let's do
this."

*       *       *       *       *       *
Skyland Mountain
Virginia
5:56 pm

Scully anxiously shifted on her feet. She looked at Allen beside her, in
the form of Krycek, holding his gun even with her, completing the
illusion. He seemed undisturbed by the cold wind that blew through the
trees and through, it seemed, herself.

"Are you sure we can't wait in the car?" she asked, looking perhaps a
little too longingly at the car at the foot of the hill.

"Sorry. The instructions were very specific."

The instructions. Back on Skyland Mountain. Ahhh, the memories... or, in
her case, lack of memories. Maybe later she and Mulder could look into
why this place had so much appeal.

If they had a later.

Lightning lit up the sky, interrupting her thoughts. She counted softly
to herself, "One, one thousand, two one thousand, three-" The crash of
thunder cut her off. Close, very close. But still no rain.

"How much longer?" She asked.

"Any minute."

"Will this work?" Scully wasn't sure why she asked. Allen had already
explained everything; she already knew her chances. Perhaps she was
looking for some reassurance.

To bad Allen couldn't give any.

"It has to." He said simply.

The words had barely passed his lips when a blinding light illuminated
the dark night sky again. For a second, she thought it was another bolt
of lightning, but it lasted too long.

Time slowed, the world narrowing only to that moment. She shielded her
eyes with her hands and she half turned away from the source.

That was the last thing she remembered.

*       *       *       *       *       *
Resistance Headquarters
Conference Room
8:21 pm

Scattered across the tabletop were manila folders filled with papers and
the numerous photographs that had been compiled for them. Mulder had
been sifting through the stack, not really seeing any of it, ever since
Scully had left with Allen hours earlier.

The looming anguish of his memories was a dark stain spread over his
heart. He felt empty except for an overwhelming sadness, a heaviness
inside him as if he could hardly carry his own weight. As he sat there
restlessly fingering through the evidence, his mind played back their
good-bye. He didn't want to think about it, but his mind kept replaying
the scene over and over.

As what was typical for them, the actual word 'good-bye' was never
spoken.

Allen had waited patiently for her in the car, and she had stood with
Mulder just outside the doorway. A storm was coming, the dark clouds
creating an artificial dusk. Scully had looked up to the sky, and he had
followed her gaze. The clouds were bruised and heavy, but not yet ready
to let go of their rain.

The wind caught a lock of her hair and danced with it next to her face.
He brought his hand up, and taking the smooth strands between his
fingertips, tucked them carefully behind her ear.

Words had escaped him. Scully seemed to have the same difficulty as he,
because she too didn't speak. So they had just stood there, silently
regarding the other like a couple of teenagers at the end of a date,
unsure of what the right words would be.

Unable to say good-bye.

The longer that they had stood there, the more conscious Mulder became
of the time ticking by, the time that was being lost. He had thought
then, at that instant, of all of the other moments that had been lost
because neither of them had the courage to be the first to move.

He pulled her to him, holding her tightly against his body. He'd buried
his nose into her hair, memorizing her scent. <<"Don't say it Mulder,
don't even think it. This isn't good-bye.">>

As they parted he could see the sparkle of unshed tears in her eyes
before she turned away from him and toward the waiting car.

"Scully." He said her name in a choked voice. He didn't have anything to
say, but he couldn't let her leave with out saying something, anything.
His lips moved around her name again but no sound came out.

She turned back to him, and on a sudden impulse he placed a hand on the
back of her neck and pulled her head to his and kissed her. It wasn't a
kiss of passion, desperation, or even need. No, it was simply a
connection, and the only way Mulder could find to say what he had needed
to say.

She was the first to pull away; he hadn't wanted to let her go. He had
to make her understand. Scully caught his eyes and read his unspoken
question. She smiled and brought her hand up to run her palm against his
cheek. For the longest time she simply stared into his eyes.

Mulder watched her face. He had the sense that the whole world turning
on its axis was waiting for her answer to his unspoken question. Did she
know?

Her smile was almost sad (had there been regret he saw in her eyes?)
when she said "I know Mulder." Her tears escaped then. Before she turned
away completely, he heard her in his head, <<"I always knew.">>

She had let go of him then, and half ran to the waiting vehicle. He
hadn't watched as they drove off.

He'd headed back inside, back to the conference room and there he had
remained, alone except for his thoughts.

His damn thoughts.

She always knew. And what had he done in all of those years? Not a
fucking thing.

He didn't want to think about the time that had been lost, the 'might
have been's, the 'should of's. He didn't want to think about the
possibility that that is all they would ever have.

And it wasn't as if he'd had an overnight epiphany, or it was just the
situation that had brought this out. It was simply the crystallization
of years of thought, of hesitation, of uncertainty. Because the simple
fact of the matter was that for years he had known exactly what he
wanted and precisely who he wanted to be with. Scully. The single word
was all of the answers to the questions he asked. She was the sum of all
he wanted and needed.

Oh, he had most definitely been Hamlet, standing there for years and
wondering, prevarication, trying to come to a decision and not sure what
direction to take. All of that wasted time...Nothing less than the end
of the world had been required for him to act.

And now it was too late. Too goddamn late.

<<"And yet, as martyrs, our burdens must be borne.">>

"Fuck that! Fuck that to hell!" He said into the empty room. He stood up
from his chair and swept off the stacks of papers.

His fury left as quickly as it had came. He watched as the white sheets
fluttered to the ground.

The unexpected the knock at the door sounded like a cannon blast in the
silent room. Without waiting for a response Allen opened the door.

"You're back" Mulder stated the obvious, not looking for an answer.
"She's with them now."

Allen glanced to the floor and the papers strewn across it.
"Redecorating?  Can I help?"  Pausing, he took a deep  cleansing breath
and continued. "Come with me. You shouldn't be alone now." The tone was
cool, rational, allowing for no compromise or misinterpretation.

It reminded Mulder of Scully, and that was the only reason he allowed
Allen to lead him out of the room.

*       *       *       *       *       *
Alien Ship

For a long time Scully just lay on the tabletop and listened to her
heart as it methodically pounded a wooden stake into her head. It was
one of those awakenings that when she first regained consciousness she
didn't know who or where she was. But then it came to her.

She was Dana Scully, and she'd just been given up to the aliens.

She opened her eyes only to discover utter blackness. There wasn't a
hint of light in the room-- or wherever the hell she was. She lay on her
back, on a hard, uncomfortable tabletop. Her arms at her side, tightly
secured by straps of some kind, her feet tied as well. She struggled
against them briefly, in a vain hope that she could break free, but
quickly gave up. She was secured well.

She felt fear begin its slide up her spine, and took a deep breathe to
quell it. <<"You'll be ok Dana. It'll be ok; this'll all work out for
the best. Calm, have to remain calm.">>

A glaring light came on then, as if sensing her return to consciousness.
She looked at the white room around her; white, bright white expansive
walls. Were there even walls? She couldn't be sure. The white of the
light made distinguishing it from the room nearly impossible. It felt
familiar, as if--

The memories came at her like an unexpected gunshot. She had lived
through this before. She remembered. Blinding lights; the sound of her
screams echoing ominously in her ears. Light, again, but different - it
seemed whiter, sharper, almost glacial in its coldness. She couldn't
move, couldn't move anything. Indistinct faces hidden behind masks.
Metal, shining from above. Pain. A moan escaped her lips before she
could brace herself.

Time passed. She was not sure how long she'd been waiting before she
heard a noise like an electrical hum. A door appeared and opened just to
her left. In the doorway, she saw two aliens peering in, two
honest-to-God little green men. <<"Little gray men.">> She amended. She
had known and had believed, but it wasn't until that moment that it
truly hit her.

She slowly blinked. They were still there. <<"Little gray men.">> Before
Scully could react they had backed away and the door had closed,
separating them once more.

Scully was left alone.

*	*	*	*	*
The thought of trying to go to sleep brushed Scully's mind and was
promptly dismissed. Every hair on her head was separate and alert, her
very skin wide awake. But god, how she wanted to sleep... to escape this
nightmare no matter how briefly. She was excited, depleted, running on
her will. But no, she couldn't do that. She had to face this, whatever
this was.

She let her mind wander to the last time she had slept, and waking up
curled up next to Mulder's side. How she wished she was back there next
to him. Why had it taken this to get them to that? <<"Because this is
how we are. Because this is who we are.">> Perhaps that explanation was
too simple, but it explained everything.

Because. Just because.

The moment had been inevitable. Did it really matter why or how or
where? Or when?

Yes it did. The 'when' mattered.

She felt regret for the time that had been lost, and fear that they
wouldn't have a chance to make up for it. She didn't know if this would
work, she didn't know if she would survive, she didn't know what she
would face if she came back.

She didn't know anything.

Scully heard the noise again, the same humming as before. She turned her
head in the direction of the door. Two of them again. But this time,
instead of waiting hesitantly at the door, they walked right up to her.
They paused near her head and for a moment seemed to communicate with
each other.

One suddenly reached out its pale hand and lay it on her forehead.
Scully tried her best not to flinch, but couldn't help but turn away
from the cold touch. The hand remained in place and the two creatures
seemed to confer once more. Scully could get nothing from them; it was
as if she was trying to read a wall. She hoped that they were having as
little success reading her. Allen had been confident that she had the
ability to block her thoughts from them, but now that she was here she
was beginning to worry. If they found out... if they knew the plan...
Well, she knew what would happen; she didn't want to think about it.

Finally, the alien removed its cool hand, and together the two moved
away from her. Scully twisted her neck to follow their progress. One
walked to a wall and hit a keypad that had appeared as suddenly as the
door had. Movement out of the periphery of Scully's vision caused her to
turn her head away from the one nearest the wall. The second one had
moved around to her other side and was positioning a metallic device
above her. It hung suspended over her head. The object was circular, and
in it's center protruded a cone shaped instrument. The second alien
carefully adjusted the device so that the tip of the cone was
perpendicular to her forehead.

Metal, shining from above.

Pain.

Pain.

Scully tried to turn her head away to avoid what she inherently knew was
coming, but to her horror, found that she now longer had control of her
body. She was suddenly immobile, frozen to the tabletop, yet she
retained total sensation throughout her body.

A shearing pain lanced through her head like a hot needle. She felt pain
constrict her chest. Ice-cold pain, as if her blood were clumping
together. She tried to breathe past it but it was a struggle. Unable to
summon the extra breath to call out, she screamed silently.

<<"Mulder!">>

*       *       *       *       *       *

The Master Calls A Butterfly 20/22
by april leigh
Missing parts can be found at http://members.xoom.com/aprileigh/
*       *       *       *       *       *

Resistance Headquarters
Control Room
9:04 pm

*       *       *       *       *       *
People say that what we're all seeking is a meaning for life. I don't
Think that's what we're really seeking. I think that what we're seeking
is a experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the
purely physical plane will have resonances within our own innermost
being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive.
--Joseph Campbell
*       *       *       *       *       *


Allen led Mulder to a huge room, the largest he'd seen in this facility.
Nearly every available space was taken up with monitors, computers, and
small flashing lights. What was not filled up with machines was taken up
with moving bodies.

Where had all of these people come from? Had they all been here all
along? In the entire time he and Scully had been there, he'd seen maybe
a total of ten people. He had assumed that this building was nearly
deserted. That was obviously wrong.

Mulder turned to Allen and nodded in the direction of the other
occupants in the room. "Who are all of these people?"

"Most are like me, the ones that I released. There are some, like Ed and
Dagen," he waved his hand in the direction where the two men were
sitting at desks, "which we recruited later. The ones that aren't here
are still on the ships that we control." Allen indicated a view screen
to Mulder.

Mulder glanced at one of the many screens, trying to make out the
readings, trying to figure out 'what' it was reading. He leaned in
closer to the monitor, and was now able to differentiate what he had
previously assumed were just dots. Some of the 'dots' were really in
fact small triangles or squares. He noted that numbers of each was
approximately equal to the other.

"We've become experts at monitoring them." Allen said, and even though
he was smiling there was no humor in his tone. "That's all we really
could do. Each time we would act, they would counteract, and neither of
us made any real progress. We were at a stalemate, until now. We finally
have an advantage."

And that advantage was Scully. Mulder nodded sadly, thankful that Allen
didn't elaborate further. "You've never said why you are doing this." He
said softly, turning to face Allen. "Please, I would like to know why.
Why did you free yourself? How did you know?"

Allen glanced around the busy room, trying to find an area for them to
speak. Motioning for Mulder to follow, he walked to a corner of the
room, grabbing two chairs along the way. They sat, Mulder, cautiously
relaxed; Allen, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly in front of
him. Allen looked down at his hands thoughtfully, taking several moments
to carefully consider Mulder's question.

"You like baseball?"

"I've been known to play a few games in my time." Mulder answered
carefully.

"A fascinating game. I've never played, but I've watched it. I didn't
always like it." He glanced up and a sentimental smile briefly lit up
his face. "I remember thinking at first that it was the most absurd
thing that I had ever seen."

Mulder, unsure what the correct response would be, remained silent.

Allen's eyes returned to his hands, and his smile disappeared as he
continued. "We never really had much contact with your kind until the
early 1940's; it was around that time we made our arrangement."

"Contact was still limited, even after the deal. It was believed that
exposure to your kind risked corruption, that we would become tainted
somehow. They were correct to believe this. There was one--he was one of
the liaisons between the humans and aliens. One day, after negotiations
of some kind, he was taken to a baseball game. After the game, he just
disappeared."

"I was sent after him, and eventually I found him in New Mexico, playing
baseball of all things." The odd sentimental smile returned, and just as
quickly disappeared as he spoke his next words.

"I found him, and when he wouldn't come back with me, I killed him." The
regret and disgust of his past actions were obvious in his voice.
"But--but when he bled, it was blood, human blood, not ours. It was on
my hands. It was real blood." He looked up again, and met Mulder's eyes.
Mulder was surprised to see tears in the corners.

"I knew him before, before... everything."  His voice began cracking.
"He was my brother.  Just before he died -- he laughed..." Allen's voice
trailed off as he slipped into the memory, "he always loved to laugh so
much..."

"I killed my own brother."  He paused as Mulder took in the weight of
Allen's words.  In a softer, more controlled and calmed voice he tried
to continue.  "It wasn't until a few years ago that I could even grieve
for him."

Mulder wanted to offer him some kind of comfort. Comfort he didn't have
for himself. Mulder waited for him to recover, and when Allen spoke
again, there was no hint of a waver.

"He was the first one, the first to leave. Because I had handled the
situation so well, I was sent after the others. If they didn't chose to
come back, I killed them." Pause.  "Not a single one chose to come
back," he added pointedly.

"I was envious of them, even as I killed them. They had found something
that had been taken from me. I was angry with them for achieving what I
could not. Jealous."

Mulder leaned forward in his chair. "How many of them were there? How
did they free themselves? I was under the impression that you needed to
be given the vaccine."

"I needed the vaccine, but the others did not. There were several that
left. So many, in fact, that I needed help in my efforts in retrieving
them. We shared the same identity so as not to confuse your kind. As far
as how they managed to leave...do you believe in miracles?" He asked and
smiled apologetically, knowing that that was not a very good
explanation. "We never could figure it out, and I doubt we ever will
know for sure. For each individual it was a different set of
circumstances that triggered a change within them. For my brother it had
been baseball."

"And the others? What triggered the changes in them?"

He paused, and carefully thought out his response. "The only commonality
that I can see, is that whatever the trigger had been for them, it made
them feel alive."

*       *       *       *       *       *
Alien Ship

Samantha looked up from her post to the doorway. They were taking
another away. That was the third one in an hour who'd collapsed. Odd.
She glanced at the others working at their stations around her. She
briefly tapped into the mental network that every member of the ship was
naturally a part of. Everyone else was busily working; it seemed that
she was the only one who was distracted.

The fact that no one else noticed was not unusual. If it had nothing to
do with them, they didn't need to. The fact that she'd noticed was
causing her some concern. Why had she? Did it have something to do with
her?

She'd felt strange ever since she had heard the human's cry in her head.
The others had heard it as well, that single word that had been blasted
into their heads, but it seemed like she was the only one who'd noticed.
They seemed unaffected, but she was affected. She couldn't concentrate
on the task at hand, and as much as she felt the need to continue her
work, for the first time, in along time, she let curiosity take hold of
her actions and she walked out of the room. No one noticed her
departure.

It wasn't their concern.

The word the human had used resonated within her. Samantha said it out
loud as she walked down the hallway. "Mulder." It sounded odd to speak
the name out loud. The word felt both familiar and foreign on her lips.
She felt as if the word was a key somehow, and she was suddenly
desperate to find the lock that it fit.

She approached the room where the human was held. The human had the
answer, she knew this. There was no one near; no one watching the room.
It wasn't necessary, as it was impossible for the human to leave.
Besides, the woman was not considered a threat.

She activated the controls to open the door and entered. The woman lay
unconscious on the exam table. Samantha approached, placing her hand on
the woman's arm.

"What... what is a Mulder?"

*       *       *       *       *       *
A shadow fell across Scully's face and she felt a hand on her arm. There
were words being spoken, but they were like cotton in her ear, muffled
and distant.

"What?" Scully asked, confused, not fully awake. Scully struggled to
open her eyes, but when she did, all she could see was a blurry figure
standing over her. She closed them again. The small effort had exhausted
her. She was so damn tired... So tired, she just wanted to sleep.

But the individual above her wouldn't let her. The figure spoke again,
this time more insistently and this time Scully could understand the
words. "Mulder. You said that word; I heard it in my head. What is a
Mulder?"

There was a familiarity about the voice that touched something within
Scully. It was familiar... yet... Scully struggled to grasp it... yet...
it couldn't be...

She opened her eyes once more and found a woman standing over her. A
woman that looked like Samantha, identical to the woman Scully had seen
years ago on the bridge. That horrible night when Mulder believed he had
traded his sister for her. Scully closed her eyes and shook her head
slightly. She found herself in a curious state in which she could not be
surprised. <<"Of course I run into Samantha. Why the hell not?">>

"Samantha," she whispered.

Samantha's forehead furrowed in confusion at the sound of her name. "No,
I said Mulder. Please, tell me what a Mulder is. I must know."

"You're Samantha Mulder." Scully said wearily. This situation was
entirely too surreal. "That's your name. That's what Mulder means."

"No. That's not the answer." Samantha shook her head vigorously. "The
answer isn't me. You need to show me again. Like before."

"Before? I don't remember before."

"Before," Samantha repeated, "when I heard you in my head. We all did."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Scully said, genuinely
confused.

"It's more than just a name. When I heard you-- there was something more
than just a word. There was something..." Samantha paused, "...there was
something attached to it. I'm the only one who noticed; that means I
must need to know." An idea came to her. "If I could read you, I would
know." She moved her hand to Scully's forehead.

Scully struggled to pull her head away from Samantha's hand. "No, I
can't let you do that."

"Please, please let me. I *have* to know. I can't explain it..." She
paused, and Scully could read the desperation in her eyes.  "I'm not
going to hurt you. Here," Samantha removed her hand from Scully's
forehead, and instead clasped Scully's hand. "Read me, and then you'll
know." She looked down at Scully with a mixture of pleading and hope.
"Please, help me know" she whispered again.

Scully looked up into Samantha's hazel eyes; the soft brown flecks, gold
traces, and smooth green undertones that Scully recognized. She had her
brother's eyes. A brother that she couldn't remember and was desperate
to know. Cautiously Scully began to let her walls down, to let herself
see Samantha. She could feel her consciousness mingle with Samantha's.
There wasn't any sense of animosity, or inclination of harm towards her.
Instead she saw only a black void, empty except for one thing.

A name.

It was literally a name, spelled out, bright against the blackness.
'Mulder,' and there was an intense sense of urgency surrounding it.
Samantha *had* to know. And Scully knew then that she was the one to
tell her. That it was somehow necessary.

"Ok," Scully whispered, when she opened her eyes, "first let me sit up."

"I'm not supposed to--" Samantha began, then quickly reconsidered. "Ok,"
she walked to a control panel. The restraints disappeared and Samantha
helped Scully sit up.

<<"What is a Mulder? How do I show her all that he is? I can't just sum
him up into a nice tidy description. She's right, it's more than just a
word; he is everything and more.">>

But she would try. Scully held her hand out and Samantha gripped it. She
would show Samantha everything. Scully let the images begin. They
shifted and flowed and combined, not totally making sense, not cohesive,
not linear, but exactly 'Mulder.'

And then it was Samantha leading the way, taking the images, voracious
in her thirst for information. Anything Mulder that Scully had within
her, Samantha found. The images came and went in a rush. Scully could no
longer keep tract or control the images that were revealed. It was
Mulder, over and over. And then it was everything.

It was a mixture of her own memories and the ones he had shared with
her. His thoughts; memories of his sister. It was the man she loved;
laughing, crying, smiling, thinking, breathing. A clumsy, mortal,
wonderful, honest man, who has had far too much misery and sadness for
one life time. It was him, utterly, painfully, human. A man who made
Scully whole, complete, and made her feel... he made her feel
'everything'...he made her feel alive.

Scully was becoming lost, and it was only when Samantha broke contact,
did the images abate. Scully opened her eyes and found her crumpled on
the floor, sobbing.

Samantha was repeating a word over and over, but this time it wasn't
Mulder.

This time it was "Fox."

*       *       *       *       *       *
Resistance Headquarters
Control Room
9:52 pm

Allen was giving Mulder a tour of the control room-- anything to keep
Mulder occupied-- when they were interrupted by a shout from across the
room. "Sir! We have movement."

They weaved their way though the machines and the bodies and reached the
operator who'd called out. The previously humming room was silent as
everyone waited to hear the information.

"Are you sure?" Allen asked as he leaded over the man's shoulder to see
the screen for himself.

"Yes sir, I've already checked it twice. Their ships are moving to
position themselves over the major cities."

"What does this mean?" Mulder interrupted, not quite understanding; not
wanting to.

"They're moving into position. A countdown's begun. They're acting
sooner than we had hoped." Allen answered distractedly.

Trepidation entered Mulder's voice. "How long do we have?"

"Not long enough."

*       *       *       *       *       *
Alien Ship

Alarmed by Samantha's intense reaction, Scully slid off the table and
wrapped her arms around the crying woman. As she did, their connection
was reestablished. Scully gasped as the confusing, whirling, emotion
filled thoughts entered her mind.

Panic flooded through Scully, as a fragmented thought caught in her
mind. Samantha had lost control; the others would be able to read her if
they tried. And if they did, they would know everything.

Scully had to do something, and do it quickly.

"Samantha, you've got to listen to me. You have to take control. Please
Samantha, please."

No response.

More drastic. <<"Samantha. Answer me.">> Scully cradled Samantha's head
in her hands, palms against each cheek. She concentrated, focusing all
of her energy on Samantha, imagining a wall being built, brick by brick,
holding in and giving structure to the swirling thoughts filling
Samantha's mind.

With the force of her will, Scully felt the control she held over her
own thoughts extend and encompass Samantha's. Scully removed her hands.
Samantha was still crying, but the hysterical nature of before had
retreated.

"Fox. I remember him. I hadn't thought of him for... I don't know. I
can't remember... I forgot him. I forgot him. Could he ever forgive me
of that?" she looked up to Scully, eyes overfilling with tears.

"It's ok. I don't think that they wanted you to remember. It's not your
fault; he would understand."

She didn't seem to hear Scully's words. "I have to stop what is to come.
I can't... I can't let what I'm feeling-- if it happens I'll have to
give this up. I can't." As she spoke, her words became more rushed.
Control was being lost again, draining away like water running free
through a sieve.

Again, Scully asserted control, this time much more firmly, and Samantha
calmed down again. "We have to be careful, we can't let the others
know."

"No we can't." Samantha paused, as she considered her next move. "I have
to stop them. I can't let what's going to happen, happen. I can't give
this up.

"Give what up?"

"Everything," she said simply. "You need to lay down; we can't let them
know that anything has changed."

Scully reluctantly laid back down. She saw the wisdom of Samantha's
words, but it took nearly all of her will to let the restrained be
replaced. "Can you stop them?"

"I can try." Samantha smiled. "I'm *able* to try. I'll come back to you
as soon as I can."

"Where are you going? Are you just going to leave me like this? Alone?"
To her own astonishment, Scully's voice began to shake. She didn't want
to sound so frightened.

Samantha leaned over Scully and brushed a red strand off her forehead.
"You won't be alone; I still need you." She smiled and reached her other
hand up to her own head. "I'll be with you, and you will be with me."

*       *       *       *       *       *
Resistance Headquarters
Control Room
10:22 pm

Everyone in the room crowded around the small TV that had been brought
in. Each listened in rap attention to the broadcast. Even though they
could look to the monitors on their left and right for a more accurate
truth, all were drawn to the news anchor on the screen.

"--and the president has declared a national state of emergency. A
nationwide curfew has been implemented. For those of you just joining
our broadcast: Across the nation there are reports flooding in that say
that there has been explosions in many of our nation's cities. The
nature of the explosions has not been determined, but evidence would
suggest that this was a premeditated act. The explosions occurred within
minutes of one another across the nation and--" Her hand went up to her
earpiece. It was obvious that she was receiving instructions from the
producer. There was nearly 30 seconds of silence as she listened. The
anchor's face went white, and she struggled to regain her composure.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry for that interruption, but I have just
receive some more disturbing news. It seems that these attacks were not
localized to this country. Reports are coming in from Europe, Russia,
China, and elsewhere, that they too experienced these attacks, and at
approximately the same time that we did. Causality reports are just
beginning to come in and--"

The screen abruptly went blank, then to static, as the newscast was cut
off. The sound of static filled the air before Ed leaned forward and
turned off the TV.

The resulting silence was interrupted only by a small murmur in the
back.

"Fuck."

*	*	*	*	*
"We've failed." Dagen sighed, resigned.

"No. It doesn't mean that. It can't mean that." Mulder said, shaking his
head. "The vaccine has been introduced. If we just can wait-We have to
give it more time."  <<"We have to give Scully more time.">>

"As the world collapses around us? We aren't even positive that it'll
work as we planned. What happens if we do wait, and it doesn't work?"
Dagen pointed out. "We can't take that chance. We have to act now."

Allen stepped forward and gave Mulder a steady look. "He's right,
Mulder. We can't take that chance."

"But what about Scully?"

Allen's next words hit Mulder like a sledgehammer to his chest. Each
word to be soon frozen in his memory.

"She is lost."

*       *       *       *       *       *
Alien Ship

As Samantha walked though the hallway, she could feel Scully with her, a
pleasant, fortifying sensation that calmed her. She was certain that
without Scully's help, she would still be on the floor crying
uncontrollably. It had almost been too much. After so long without
strong emotion, suddenly being witnessed to Scully's feelings had been
incredibly shocking to her system.

And it wasn't just knowing Scully; it was also knowing Mulder... her
brother... Fox. She stumbled slightly as she tried to regain her mental
equilibrium. She'd forgotten him. She had forgotten everything.

She'd forgotten the rest of her family, her life with them. But memories
of her own were beginning to rise to the surface of her mind. She was no
longer relying solely on the information Scully had given her.

She saw her mother-- her father too. She remembered how it ended, how
the nightmare she hadn't known she was living had begun.

It was at the dinner table, her parents as silent as they always seemed
to be, and Fox was sitting across from her. He'd been the one to start
the fight earlier, although he would have argued otherwise. She got home
from school before he did, and had already staked her claim to the lone
TV set. When he came home ten minutes later, he had promptly turned the
channel from her choice to one of his.

The fight had escalated after that, as was typical for them. He enjoyed
teasing her, she loved the attention. His attention was all she got from
her family. Each took turns provoking the other, each enflaming the
situation; each secretly enjoying the game. By the time dinner came,
they had spent hours at it, but neither had grown tired. Sam sat across
from him, an innocent smile on her face, as she rhythmically kicked his
chair. He was able to sit through it for ten minutes, quietly plotting
his revenge, when his resolve broke.

"Mom, Sam's bothering me." He'd wined to their mother.

"I'm not even touching him!" she replied in mock outrage.

"Stop it, both of you. You've been at it all afternoon and I'm tired of
listening to you squabbling." Their mother said.

Her father spoke up then. "Fox you should be setting a better example
for you sister. I don't want to hear another word about this, out of
either of you." He glared at both of them a moment before returning his
attention back to his plate.

Normally, they followed their father's harsh authority implicitly, but
something had gotten into her that day, and a wave of impetuousness
filled her. Perhaps it was because Fox had absorbed much of the blame,
but whatever the reason, only a minute had passed before she was
swinging her leg again. But this time, instead of his chair, she made
direct contact with the shin of his leg.

Fox winced noticeably, but had managed to remain silent. She smirked at
him. He narrowed his eyes at her. He was feeling a little impetuous as
well. Carefully, ever so carefully, making sure that both parents were
looking down, he grabbed a pea and with his forefinger flicked it right
into her glass of milk. He held up two fingers and mouthed the words
'Two points.'

That of course was not the end; as if she could let it end like that.
After stewing a few minutes, and being unable to come up with anything
new, she simply kicked him again, in the same spot, but his time much
harder.

This time there was a reaction. He yelped loudly, and stood up too
quickly, in process sliding half his food off the plate and on to the
floor, and sending his full glass of milk across the tabletop.

"Mom!" he had begun to yell, eager to place the blame on Sam, but he
stopped when he saw his parents' reactions. They had moved away from the
table and stood next to him, each taking a firm grip on his arms.

"I thought that your father told you to stop this." Her mother hadn't
yelled, but her words sounded loud and bruising just the same. "He
specifically told you to set an example for your sister, and this is
what you do?"

Fox had a panicked look on his face. Their parents had never reacted
like this before. Never had they shown this display of emotion before.

They were disappointed in him; as if they expected so much more from him
than an ordinary twelve year old boy could be. Samantha had watched as
an indescribable look had passed between her parents. She had no idea
what it meant. She didn't know why they were so disappointed, and she
couldn't even begin to understand how she could even know this.

But then she did.

Before she could think about anything else, new ideas were coming into
her head. They were going to send him away; they were under time
pressures. That was why they were upset. Fox wasn't like they needed him
to be; he wasn't as he should be.

"No! Don't take him anywhere! You can't let them take him!" She shouted
before she had thought about the words coming from her mouth.

They'd dropped Fox's arms in surprise at her words. Her mother was about
to speak when her father stopped her. They moved away from the table.
Without saying a word about her outburst, her father simply said, "Both
of you clean this up, then to your rooms from the rest of the night. I
don't want to hear another word out of either of you." Samantha hadn't
been able to get more ideas then, but when they had looked at her with
an old, yet pleased smile, the first tendrils of fear had begun to curl
around her heart.

Samantha remembered waking up that night to see them standing in her
doorway. They stood, watching her as she pretended to sleep.

She didn't know what was happening to her, but she knew that she knew
what they were thinking. Fox wasn't going to be the one taken anymore.
Their other child showed much more promise.

When they left her door, she'd quietly cried into her pillow, not
understanding what was happening, or what it all meant, but knowing that
she had a good reason to be afraid.

When her tears had stopped, she'd gathered her pillow and stole into her
brother's room. She gently shook his shoulder, and when he woke, instead
of dismissing her like she had feared, he simply lifted up the edge of
his blanket and let her craw underneath. "Don't hog the covers," was the
only thing he said before falling back asleep.

He wasn't a bad brother. She didn't want him to leave; she didn't want
to leave him. They were all that they really had. But she was only
eight, and had no way to verbalize what was happening, although she had
wanted to so much. She fell asleep minutes later, able to forget about
what was happening for a while, sheltered in the protective warmth of
her older brother.

A week later she was taken.

She'd completely forgotten this. How could she have let that happen? She
forgot him, her sweet brother. This was why she'd been sent to the
floor. The memories of him, of her disappearance. It had been like the
first domino being tripped and after was a cascade of emotions and
feelings that she didn't know what to do with. In a very quick, very
intense moment Sam felt everything that it meant to be alive and love
and... everything. When it was over, when Scully had finally managed to
regain her attention, Samantha had been changed.

And she knew that she could never go back.

*       *       *       *       *       *
The Master Calls A Butterfly 21/22
by april leigh
Missing parts can be found at http://members.xoom.com/aprileigh/
*       *       *       *       *       *

Resistance Headquarters
Control Room
10:47 pm

*       *       *       *       *       *
At first his heart does not realize the full intensity of his misery...
But as he gradually recovered the use of his reason, he feels the
depth of his misfortune... he can feel nothing but the sharp claws
of despair tearing at his breast. But why speak of physical pain?
What pain felt by the body alone can be compared to this?
-- Jean Paul
*       *       *       *       *       *


Mulder sat staring ahead at a monitor, not really seeing it, feeling as
brittle as spun glass, ready to shatter at the slightest touch. There
was something strangely comforting in the pain he felt. As if he'd spent
his whole life waiting for this moment, waiting for the worse that could
ever happen. Now that it was here, he felt a certain sense of relief.
This was it. The moment had arrived.

They'd lost.

Scully was lost.

And he couldn't do a damn thing about it. The plan had failed and aliens
were invading the world. It was like one of those overly dramatic plots
from a poorly written B movie. Boy meets girl, gets girl involved in
global conspiracy, boy and girl fall in love, girl is given up to
aliens. If only it could be a movie; then he, as the hero, would be able
to find a way to save her in the eleventh hour.

Instead, he just sat there.

Mulder felt a hand on his shoulder but he didn't look up. He didn't want
to see the sorrow in Allen's eyes.

"Mulder...we don't have any choice..."

"I know." Mulder answered flatly. On the monitor he watched as the dots
moved across the screen like insects over a dead animal.

"I never--" Allen paused, shaking his head slightly. When he spoke
again, his voice was softer and gentler than before. "I really thought
we had a chance..."

Mulder didn't respond. Instead, he leaned forward in the chair, placing
his elbows on his knees and hands to his face. He pressed the heels of
his hands into his eyes until he saw the flurry and sparkle of bright
white colors.

He was only partially successful at holding back his sob.

*       *       *       *       *       *

Alien Ship

Scully was split in two. Literally.

Half of her was on the tabletop, alone in the white room.

Another half was walking in a hallway.

She could only think of one word to describe the situation.

Odd.

This was the fucking oddest thing she ever experienced.

Was she was with Samantha or was she *in* her? Seeing through her eyes?
Thinking with her thoughts? Hell, were those her arms or Samantha's
swinging at her side, brushing up against the fabric of the soft cloth?

<<"How was this happening? And why isn't this terrifying me?">>

<<"Because we know all there is to know about the other, and you know
that I will not hurt you">> came a sudden interjection from Samantha.

<<"We can communicate without touching? How can this be?">> Scully was
surprised. Surprised that she could still be surprised.

<<"I made a stronger link between us. I can't do this without you.">>

<<"Do what?">>

<<"I'm stopping them.">> Was her simple reply.

*       *       *       *       *       *
Resistance Headquarters
Control Room
11:15 pm

"Sir, we-- something's happening." A voice called out, not in panic, nor
alarm, but in confusion.

"What do we have?" Allen asked curtly, nerves fraying from the stress,
from being pulled in all directions.

The operator looked up at Allen, uncertainly written across his face.
"I'm not sure sir. It seems, well...three of their ships have
disappeared." he said, but he sounded cautious, as if he didn't want to
tempt fate by being sure

"What do you mean, 'disappeared?'"

He nodded toward the monitor. "I mean, they aren't there any more."

"Explanation?" Allen looked away from the monitor and met the man's
eyes.

"It seems, from the readings we are getting, that they've been
destroyed."

"Destroyed?" Allen sounded surprised, but pleased. "But that's good,
that is what we want."

"Sir, they've been destroyed, but not by anything that we have done."

"What does this mean?"

The operator shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know."

Allen returned his attention to the screen. As he stood watching, two
more of the alien's ships blinked out. Then another. Without removing
his gaze, he spoke. "Find out what the hell is happening. Do it now."

*       *       *       *       *       *
Alien Ship

Samantha's interaction with Scully had thankfully gone unnoticed.
Everyone's attention was diverted towards the invasion. She was able to
know what was happening by checking with the others. And she could do
this without worry; Scully had a firm control on not only her own
thoughts but on Samantha's as well. This let Samantha remain free and
virtually undetected amongst the others. If they couldn't 'feel' her,
she was practically invisible, and of no one's concern.

The Resistance was fighting back, but they were vastly outnumbered, and
she knew that they would be unsuccessful without her help. Samantha
checked in again on the mental network. The virus wasn't working fast
enough. Some on this ship were incapacitated with it, but it had not yet
spread to any of the other ships. They didn't have time to wait for it
to work.

Samantha had gone to a lower traffic area to access the main system, the
physical network that each ship was apart of. She knew how to do this
because of her many years with them. They'd come to accept her as one of
them, and thought that they had no reason to distrust her. Until a short
time ago, they were correct.

She'd been trained in every aspect of the ships and how they ran. She
also learned what it took to stop them. She began to remotely access the
key operating systems on another ship, taking steps to avoid notice.

Samantha worked quickly and methodically from one ship to the next,
making sure that each ship was accounted for. She didn't have much time
before someone noticed something was happening and traced it back to
this workstation.

*       *       *       *       *       *
Resistance Headquarters
Control Room
11:29 pm

"We can't let this opportunity pass." Allen paused, and glanced at
Mulder huddled in his chair across the room. "But..."  his voice
faltered.

"But what?" The operator looked up in confusion. "We have to stop
them..."

Allen closed his eyes. "Just do what we have to do," his voice a little
lower and rougher with emotion than it had been moments before. He
repeated the other man's words, knowing that this was likely their only
chance, "we have to stop them." Knowing too, that with these words, he
had also giving up on Scully.

*       *       *       *       *       *
Alien Ship

Samantha was moving quickly from ship to ship, only taking a few seconds
with each, when she realized something. With each ship that she
successfully took out, the ship that she was on became a more likely
target for the Resistance. Without stopping her work, she thought a
moment, considering what to do. With the next ship she accessed, she
altered her plan slightly, allowing an extra few minutes before it too
would be destroyed.

She moved on, but discovered her workstation dead. They'd discovered her
actions, and were intervening to prevent further damage. She had only
accessed half of the ships so far. Samantha tentatively tapped into the
mental network. Yes, they had found out about her actions, and had
traced it back to this station, but they did not yet know it was she.

She abandoned the room, and began to make her way back to Scully. She
calmly walked passed strangers she once knew; they didn't even give her
a second glance.

She would try to gain access from another station, but first she needed
to get Scully out of there.

As she was walking down a corridor, the ship suddenly lurched to the
left, and she found herself slammed against the wall. A booming sound
resonated throughout the ship and Samantha could still feel the
vibrations through her fingertips.

When the shuddering of the ship had faded, and when she could move
again, Samantha began to run.

*       *       *       *       *       *

Scully was trying her best not to panic. Perhaps it would be more
appropriate to say she was trying her best not to let Samantha and
herself panic. But she didn't feel like quibbling over the
technicalities; all she knew was that panic and fear were dangerously
close to the surface and it was all she could do to keep it from rising
to the top. She was bordering on exhaustion from the effort of
maintaining two minds, and two widely varying sets of emotions.

Then the ship shifted again.

She knew what was happening, she could tell this from her connection
with Samantha. She could also feel Samantha's barely maintained panic as
she rushed to her.

Samantha opened the door and quickly came into the room. "We have to go
now." She said in a sudden rush, the words blurring together at their
edges. She moved to Scully's side and quickly released her. In moments
they were outside and hurrying down a passageway.

She glanced over her shoulder, looking for Scully. "Take my hand," she
said, reaching for Scully, "we have to get out of here." Samantha tugged
urgently on her arm.

The ship shuddered again.

"Where are you taking me?"

"I have to get you out of here." She pulled Scully into a room and
closed the door behind them.

"What about you?"

"I'm not finished yet, but I need to get you out of here."

"Won't they notice I'm gone?"

"Not with everything else happening. It will take awhile before you're
missed." Responding to Scully's unspoken concern, Samantha added, "don't
worry about me."

"But if we're being attacked, then it's not safe for you to stay--"

Samantha cut in, interrupting. "But if I leave now, then they will win,
and I'll have to go back to how I was. I know what I'm doing."

"I need to stay. I'm helping you." Scully pointed out.

"And you'll continue to help me. But I can't risk both of us." She gave
Scully a quiet, closed-lipped smile and leaned in to kiss her cheek.
"I'll be following you shortly."

Scully opened her mouth to protest again, but Samantha didn't let her
finish. There was a flash of  light, and Scully was gone.

*       *       *       *       *       *
The shuddering of the ship had grown, and was increasing with each
minute that passed and with each ship Samantha took out of operation.

She was cutting it too close, she knew this, but she had to keep going.
She had to make sure of the Resistance's success before abandoning the
ship.

Only a few ships left, but she continued at her work. The ship trembled
again; protesting the unnatural stresses being placed on it. Samantha
did her best to maintain her balance, grabbing hold of the wall nearest
her. Then the station she was at, as well as the room she was in, lost
power. The decision now made for her, she began to leave.

*       *       *       *       *       *

Resistance Headquarters
Outside, Main Yard

Scully was wet. Soaking wet.

She was outside in the rain, in the mud.

Yet she was not.

She could see the ship; it was as if she was still there. But it wasn't
the same. She was looking through eyes that were not her own.

Scully watched with a certain detachment as the world was closed in on
her. No--not her. Samantha. She was looking through Samantha's eyes.
Their connection remained.

Samantha was moving quickly down a corridor. Scully could feel the
urgency to get off the ship, and the worry that time may have run out.

And then the worry disappeared, faded into the stark light of reality.
She wasn't running out of time; time had already left.

The walls of the room buckled under the pressures exerted upon them. No
longer able to brace herself, Samantha was tossed about carelessly as
the ship shuddered and screeched. She could tell by the motion and the
sensation in her stomach that the ship was fatally wounded, and was
descending rapidly. It would only be a matter of seconds now.

"No! Please God, no. Not like this." Scully called into the wind, voice
shaking, made naked with fear. She didn't want to see. She didn't think
she could stand it.

The ship began to buckle only a few feet away from her. The vibrations
knocked Samantha off her feet and she fell heavily onto her back.
Shrapnel showered down on her, parts of the walls, parts of the ship,
and a jagged piece grazed her forehead. Wincing at the sensation,
Samantha brought a hand up to her forehead, now slick with wetness.
Bringing her hand back down, she stared uncomprehendingly at the red
smear across her palm. The motion of the ship seemed to settle for the
moment as she gazed at her fingers. She looked at her hand with all the
awe of an astronomer sighting a new star in the heavens.

<<"Blood. It's blood.">> And Samantha began to laugh. A laugh of joy.
Joy at what she'd become.

And over the explosions and the screeches and groans of ripping metal
she reached out to Scully, <<"Blood. It's my blood. Thank you, thank you
for all that you've given me. And tell him...tell him that I remember
him; I know him because of you...let him know me.">> Then the second
blow came and she was falling, spinning madly through a black sky and a
carousel ride of color. And then her world was consumed in a flash of
light, culminating into a crescendo of silence.

There was nothing.

Scully was so wet, so cold. But she didn't feel any of it.

The rain hit her from above, each drop an accusation. <<"You left her
behind. You left her behind and Mulder will never forgive you.">>

*       *       *       *       *       *
March 8, 1999
Control Room
12:06 am

Mulder felt like he was only one heartbeat away from cardiac arrest.
Scully was gone. He'd seen the last ship blink out. One second it was
there; the next-- gone. He'd seen it blink off the screen and into
oblivion.

Gone. She was gone.

He'd been waiting for this moment. Waiting and dreading it. The lead
weight that had been hanging by a filament just above his head was
unraveling, and he didn't care. Let it crash on him.

He was already dead.

He had lived up until this moment, never fully accepting that Scully was
lost, believing that he would see her again, that he would hold her in
his arms once more. There was always a small glimmer of hope that the
vaccine would work, that the resistance would halt the attacks on the
ships, that she would come back.

The stunned silence that had blanketed the room was now being thrown
off. The others were beginning to celebrate the victory.

He didn't want to be around them -- them so happy at their success and
seemingly unconcerned with what had been lost -- he stayed anyway. He
wanted to feel the pain against this joyous backdrop. He wanted it to
take him over until he could feel no more.

Then, at that moment he heard her. It was a soft cry that seemed to come
from within him. <<"Oh god, Mulder. Forgive me, forgive me.">>

*       *       *       *       *       *
Outside, Main Yard

It was as if she were just beyond Mulder's reach. He could almost touch
her, sense her right ahead of him. Mulder opened the door and
immediately the fierce wind assaulted him with rain. The drops pelted
his face like tiny shards of glass, but he didn't hesitate. Acting on an
instinct that he never realized that he had, Mulder lunged out the door
and into the storm outside. She was out here, he could feel it. He had
to find her.

He heard muffled cries carried on the wind, but he couldn't find the
direction they originated from. "Scully! Scully, please, answer me!"
Panic was setting in, coloring his words red with fear.

The only response was more crying. The sound swirled around him, making
him dizzy. And then he heard her, weakly, in his mind. <<"I left her
behind. Forgive me. Forgive me Mulder.">>

He turned in the direction he now inherently knew she was, and ran to
her. She lay on the rain-saturated ground, half curled into a fetal
position. He rushed to her, bending down to pull her to his chest. He
wrapped a hand around her wrist and felt the tiny flutter of her heart
beat, her blood pulsing under the skin. Alive. She was alive.

"It's ok Scully. It is all over. It's all over." He began, trying to
find words to reassure her, anything to make her suffering stop. "We won
Scully. The ships have been destroyed." But instead of easing her grief,
his words only seemed to exacerbate it. She began to tremble even more
in his arms.

Mulder moved to stand, intending on carrying her back inside, but she
prevented him. Even though she was exhausted by her ordeal, both
mentally and physically drained, she still had the strength to stop him
in his tracks. She clutched at his shirt, pulling him even closer to
her. "Please don't leave me. Please. I'm so sorry Mulder. So sorry. I
didn't mean to leave her behind. I didn't mean--" Her voice cracked as
emotion overwhelmed her. She removed her hands from his chest and placed
them over her face. Her shoulders began to shake even more.

He carefully cupped her cheek, doing his best to clean off the mud that
clung to her face. Gently guiding her head so that they had eye contact,
he spoke again. "Scully what is it? You can tell me. Whatever it is..."

She opened his mouth in an effort to respond, but the sob that she had
been holding back was the only thing that passed through her lips. She
shook her head and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Through her sobs, he
could barely make out the words, "I can't... I can't let you know... too
terrible..." Mulder pulled her more firmly into his embrace.

Mulder was silent for several moments. He let her spill her emotions
over him. The grief, the guilt, the anguish...

"Can you show me?" He asked hesitantly, not sure if it would work, not
sure if she would let him. "Please help me know."

His words, an echo of Samantha's, made her gasp. And then she remembered
her other words: "Let him know me."

He felt her nod against his shoulder. Other than that slight movement,
she gave no other indication that she'd heard him. He let himself open
to her.

-Flash-

He saw with a clarity that startled him. The connection between them was
growing, or perhaps their minds were becoming accustomed to the other.
Whatever it was, it provided with stark sharpness this new sorrow.

He saw a room, a white room. He was looking from her viewpoint. He saw
them, the aliens, looking down. Pain. So much pain. He felt it in his
chest. He wanted to pull away from it, but that would mean pulling away
from her, and could not let her face this alone.

-Flash-

Another face, looking down. Samantha. Oh my god, it was Samantha! Alive.
But Mulder began to feel a sense of dread overtake him as the image
continued. He knew that this was the source of Scully's anguish.

-Flash-

He saw his sister lean in and kiss his/Scully's cheek.  <<"I'll be
following you shortly.">>

-Flash-

Collapsing, the world was collapsing in on him. He felt pain on his
forehead, but it was defused, filtered through two others.

-Flash-

Red hands. Hands red with blood. My god what does that mean?

-Flash-

<<"Tell him that I know him...">>

-Flash-

Laughing...laughing...

-Flash-

The images were abruptly cut off. Cut off, not because the connection
had been broken, but because there were no more images to see. Mulder
knew. He knew, and he gasped with shock at the harshness of it.

Mulder pulled Scully impossibly close. His tears joined hers. Tears of
relief that he was holding her in his arms. Tears of sorrow for the
woman he would never get the chance to hold again.

And the rain fell.
*       *       *       *       *       *

The Master Calls A Butterfly 22/22
by april leigh
Missing parts can be found at http://members.xoom.com/aprileigh/


*       *       *       *       *       *
April 4,1999
Mesa Verde, Colorado
8:20 pm

*       *       *       *       *       *
Face the fears one by one, touch them and let them go.
This is the beginning, this moment is new. It's time for
a change now. Chase down your freedom, lift up your
voice. This is your moment of choice. --Margaret Becker
*       *       *       *       *       *

The sun was setting. It hung low, streaks of red, pink and orange
dancing like liquid fire across the sky. It had been so long since Allen
had seen a sunset like this. A sunset come alive, lending its fire to
the earth tones of the land; the soft reds, ambers, rich loam browns,
and bleached tans that were the natural condition in this land of wind
and sun. He sat near the edge of an outcropping, one that he had shared
with another so many years ago.

It was unsettling, being here. The land was the same-- the same shape
and contours. It was the small things- trees in the wrong places, people
that seemed like they should be there, but weren't.

He'd come intending to put a conclusion on this part of his life, but he
found he was have difficulty taking the final step. He was shocked by
the odd combination the village represented as they had walked up. Worn
but not broken, he could easily pretend that he was looking at the
village in early morning before everyone had risen. But the truth of his
world would not let that image last.

He'd held back as Mulder and Scully explored the site. But even as he
stood there, Allen could see the fuzzy outlines, the faded glimpses of
actors fleeting across a stage kept dim by eons of time and the
circumstances of their lives. He closed his eyes to those images. He
didn't want to see the ghosts...so many ghosts left behind.

Pyka stirred next to him. Mulder and Scully were finished; he could hear
them walking up behind him. Allen lifted his arm away from the dog's
side and she quickly darted off to meet the couple. He could hear their
soft murmurs of "Good girl..." as they obligingly took their turns
scratching behind Pyka's ears. Once satisfied, she darted off again,
this time in search of an ever-elusive lizard that had been taunting her
all day.

Allen didn't turn around, didn't take his eyes off the setting sun.
Scully spoke. "It's lovely, isn't it?"

"Yes it is." Allen agreed. Lovely was an understatement. "How was it?
Learn anything?"

Mulder moved to sit next to Allen. "Some." He turned around and brought
his arm up. When Scully took his hand, he gently guided her to his side.
She maneuvered to sit next to him and looked in the direction they were
facing. The three sat in quietly for several minutes, taking in the
view.

"I'd like to hear your story." Mulder looked at Allen.

"You already know what happened." Allen's voice was tired, worn, much
like the buildings he had glimpsed earlier.

"Not really." Mulder shook his head, disagreeing. "We know only the bad;
the end isn't everything. The truth can't just be the horrible things."

He glanced at Mulder's face. He could tell that the man so wanted to
believe that was the truth. He needed that belief that this world wasn't
made up entirely of the terrible truths he's had to face in his life.
Allen could feel in him a comfortable sadness.  Not the same sadness
that he'd spent his life with; this sadness was one of quiet acceptance.
The sharp edge of guilt had been blunted. He knew his sister now, knew
the truth, knew that she had lived, had loved, had laughed. And it had
been Scully who had given her that gift. That was enough for him.

Allen didn't respond. Instead he focused his attention on the sunset,
trying to count each shade of red and orange in the sky.

"Too many memories here?" Scully asked softly.

 "Something like that." Allen sighed heavily. "So many were lost. I
wanted to save them all, but couldn't. I just didn't want to give up on
them."

"We didn't have many choices." Scully reminded him. As if he needed
reminding.

"And they didn't have any," he whispered.

There was a long moment of silence between them, and then Mulder spoke
again. "Are you thinking of your brother?"

If it were possible, Allen's eyes became even more filled with sadness.
"Some. You thinking about your sister?"

"Some." Mulder echoed and he glanced at Scully. Allen watched as a mixed
looked passed between the two. Mulder studied her expression, nodding
slightly, then looked back to the setting sun, gathering his thoughts.

Allen didn't know the specifics of what had passed between the two, but
he had an idea. While Mulder had seemed to move beyond his guilt, Scully
had become mired in a guilt that didn't fit, a guilt that Mulder was
doing his best to wash away.

An incomplete stillness lingered over them. Mulder waited several
moments before speaking again. "You told me that you were envious of the
others who left. You said that they'd found something that had been
taken from you, and you were angry at them for achieving what you could
not."

Allen sighed, feeling like he wasn't the only one who was being
addressed. "Yes, I did say that."

"Do you think that you've achieved what they did?"

"Freedom?" Allen shrugged. "Sometimes it doesn't quite seem like that.
Have you?"

"I think that I have." Mulder looked to Scully, a questioning look on
his face. She read his unspoken inquire and repeated his words. "I think
that we both have."

"It was his laugh that did it." Allen said suddenly. "That was my
catalyst. His laugh as he lay dying. I hadn't heard it..." he paused and
gestured around them, "the last time I'd heard it, we'd been sitting
right here, right at this spot. I had complained that he laughed too
much, but I never thought that it would be so long before I heard it
again."

"His laughter saved you, changed you." Scully looked sideways up at
Allen, offering him a hint of a smile, and the world of understanding.

He returned her smile. "Much like your memories of Mulder saved
Samantha."

"And everyone else." Mulder added.

This silence came easier than the last. The only sound on the mesa was
Pyka, scurrying around; stirring up the animals that resided there.
Allen whistled briefly, and the dog came running back.  She lay in front
of the three of them, managing to stretch out far enough for all of them
to be able to pet her.

Scully absently reached down to rub her fingers through the dog's dark
hair and asked, "What are you going to do now?"

"Live. I'm going to live." Allen said simply, although there was a touch
of melancholy in his voice.

"And laugh?" She added, eyebrow raised, studying his withdrawn face.

A small chuckle escaped his lips as he responded.  "And laugh." Allen
agreed, smiling. "And watch the sunset; maybe stay and watch the sun
rise. You?"

"That sounds about right." Mulder reached for Scully's hand. Removing it
from the animal's thick fur, he smoothed his callused fingers over her
knuckles. She let him take hold of her hand. Addressing her, he asked,
"Don't you agree?"

With out looking at either of them, she said, "I would like that."

the end

*       *       *       *       *       *



Author's Note

I have a confession: I love author's notes. Read them all. I love the
bits of insight that they give me about the writers. I also like hearing
how writers get their ideas. So if this isn't your thing, I'm letting
you know ahead of time so that you don't feel obligated: only ramblings
ahead.

What a strange, twisted, odd trip this has been. I had no flipn' idea
that this story would turn out as it did. It was never going to be this
long, it was never going to try to 'explain' everything, and it never
was going to be a 'save the world' type story. I didn't want to go
there; this was my first story; it was just supposed to be a short
little ditty...That's what I kept repeating to myself as the months
rolled past.

So how did it begin? This story came about after I saw the final scene
in Two Fathers. Cassandra was 'The One' and if they found her it would
all begin. I began to think about what would happen if Scully were in
her place...

That's it. That's what began this journey. Everything else came up from
that.

But don't ask me where.

You know how some writers speak of muses? I always thought that they
were speaking metaphorically. They weren't. They are real creatures.
Allusive as hell, but if you can find one, and get them to whisper in
your ear... sigh...almost as good as sex.

Here is where I also express my gratitude to those who helped me. First
is vermin. Harsh at times (to my sensitive ears), but only because I
needed it. Her cries of  "Who is speaking??!!" and her demands of
explaining motivations as well as consequences of actions. (I.e., you
mean I have to explain 'why' Fowely helps them? You want to know 'how'
Mulder got rid of CSM's body?) All of her comments helped me, and some
of them even became part of the story. Several of Mulder and Scully's
sarcastic inner thoughts are direct comments from vermin.

I also want to thank nay. She's been with me from the very beginning.
From when it was a three-part story, to when it was an eleven part
story, to now. I could not have done this without her help, support and
guidance. Her cries for "Description! I need description!!!" pointed out
the fact that while *I* could clearly see what was happening, everyone
else would need a little bit of help. If you can tell what's happening
in a scene, thank her for that.

She was also the one who volunteered to rewrite a scene that I hated but
needed and made it so much better. She would make comments like: "this
doesn't sit right with me... how about this:" and she would reword it
perfectly. What a wonderful thing for a writer to have, I tell you. <g>

I also want to thank David Duchovny, oddly enough. This story was
something else entirely until I watched The Unnatural. I love that
episode, and not just for the reasons that everyone else seems to.<g>

ARTHUR DALES: What is it to be a human, Fox? Is it to have the
chemistry of a man?...To be a man is to have the heart of a man.
Integrity, decency, sympathy: these are the things that make a man
a man and Ex had them all, had them all, more than you or I.

How could an alien be like this?

JOSH EXLEY: See, there's something you got to understand about
my race.  We don't have a word for laughter.  We don't laugh.  I don't
know if you noticed in between all that fainting you was doing, but we
have very tiny mouths, so no smiling even...I tell you, when I saw that
baseball game being played this laughter just... it just rose up out of
me...

Could it really be that simple? Could others be saved as well?

I want to thank DD, even though he's not likely to ever see this, for
giving me what I feel is the 'heart' of the story.

Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed this tale of mine.

If you are feeling especially motivated, you can send me feedback at
aprilleigh50@hotmail.com

april leigh