From: "Shelley Jiang" Date: Mon, 28 Jun 1999 16:24:05 -0500 Subject: Story I hope i got this right, it's my first time. Category: MSR Rating: PG Summary: Mulder's world is turned upside down when Scully disappears Disclaimers: Fox Mulder & Dana Scully & Skinner etc. etc. are characters created & owned by Chris Carter, 1013, Fox, & I am not trying to use this for profit in anyway etc. etc. (is this how it's done?) Hey guys, it's my first story so don't shoot me if it's awful! Memory ******* Special Agent Dana Scully leaned away from the laptop screen and looked down at the gradually darkening world beneath. The ocean was a shimmering weave of shadowy threads, lit occasionally by stray rays from the setting sun. The odd fishing boat s ailing from harbor broke up the monotony of the water. She returned her attention to the computer and leaned into the less than comfortable airplane seat. Even when taking a brief vacation to the Virgin Islands--- her mother had thoughtfully booked a re servation for her, insisting that Scully needed more time off--- she could not leave her work behind. The report on their latest case was the least of her worries. The thought almost immediately triggered up images of Mulder. A little smile played on her lips, thinking of how he had entertained himself the last time she was on vacation. Throwing pencils on to the ceiling? He needed a life. ******* In fact, at that moment Mulder was not throwing pencils up at the ceiling. At dinner with the Lone Gunmen was precisely what he was doing. Nodding at random moments while they discussed their latest breakthrough in technology, he tried to keep from falling asleep. Late hours and nightmares did not agree with him. Still, this was faintly interesting. Briefly he wondered what Scully was doing. He was glad she was taking a few days off; it was good for her. Probably still on the plane. But life was so lonely without her... ******* Night had descended completely on the dark Atlantic. Dark gray billowing clouds lay low on the horizon. The only illumination was the array of lights flashing on the plane. The pilot stretched, thankful there was only an hour or so of flight time left. He blinked and took a sip of coffee. Must be getting too old for this, he thought. Couldn't even fly for a few hours at night without his eyes rebelling on him. When he got to his hotel, he was going to take a nice long soak in a hot tub... There it was again. A dark swirling just on the horizon. Wait- it was growing larger, coming closer. The black-purple vortex grew, spinning and turning like a giant hurricane, only tilted on its side. In what would be the eye of the storm, ominous blue-white lightning cracked. It seemed to the pilot the vortex increased to the size of two footbal l fields, maybe more. Belatedly, he shook lose the shock that still gripped his mind and realized that the plane was heading straight for it. He yanked the lever around with all his strength, but some deadly force held the plane still, continuing straight ahead. Franti cally he tugged at every lever, pushed at every button, panic screaming in his head. But the instruments had all failed, the radio had gone silent, and the plane kept on its course. The pilot slumped, mouth dry with fear, praying fervently, but no one h eard. The little plane careened madly as the currents caught it and buffeted it wildly. Like some fragile bird caught in the claws of a beast, it twisted and struggled and jerked, but all to no avail. It was sucked into the inevitable result. A flash o f light, and all was over. ********* Tossing his coat down into a convenient chair, Mulder flopped down onto the couch. Turning on the TV, he flipped through the channels randomly, thoughts wandering. Another day over, another day older, but still no closer to the truth. The case he had just turned up was nothing more than "lights in the sky". Normally he would go investigate, but not today. Maybe tomorrow. He went to sleep. Bored, bored day . The next day he went to see the lights, but nothing came up. In the evening he turned the tv on again. He jumped around from channel to channel, seeing the usual bunch of shows. The news stations, commercials, end of some movie, discovery show, a special report "... flight 261 from Washington to the Virgin Islands has disappeared from the radar whil e flying over the region popularly called the Bermuda Triangle. No wreckage has been found. All passengers and crew are presumed dead." He froze. Scully. No. Was Scully on that plane? Damn. Yes. No. NO. A fist of ice slammed into his body. He wanted to scream, rip something to shreds, tear his heart out, anything. But he stayed there fixed by shock, the cold in his chest slowly spreading. He stopped listening, he stopped seeing, the world banished around him. The only thing that mattered was Scully, his Scully. And she was gone. Forever. This wasn't supposed to happen. They investigated paranormal happenings, which happened to other people. Others disappeared forever, but Scully and he always came back. He curled up on the sofa, rocking and whimpering and shivering like a withered leaf in the wind. Images of Scully filled his mind, the first day that dynamic redhead had walked into his office, her look of incredulous surprise as he tossed out yet another of his pet theories, her lying pale and wan in the hospital bed, simply Scully besides him on every case, protecting him, shielding him, always there for him, always and forever. And finally, the last memory: Scully leaving the office as she told him she would be back on Monday, his usual mumbled reply. But she would not be back. She never would be. Not ever. *All passengers are presumed dead* *All passengers are presumed dead* *All passengers...* *lost* LOST Forever He came to himself slowly. First feeling his aching limbs from being in the same cramped position for so long, and then the sunlight on his face. He had come to a conclusion during the night. He never had told her how much he loved her, ho much it would hurt him if she was not there. How much he would rater cut off his arm rather than see one hair of her head hurt. How much he cherished her opinions, her viewpoints. How much he respe cted her. How very much she was an important part of his life. How he would rather die if she were not there. Even his search for the truth became meaningless if there were not someone to share it with. For, he realized, there was something more important in the life of every person. And that thing was love. He would simply kill himself rather than endure this lonely existence by himself. However, his lonely soliloquy was interrupted by a knock on the door. With a sigh, he got up, not really caring but only out of mechanical habit. "Agent Mulder, you look like hell." Skinner greeted him. He supposed he did. His hair sprung out like spring weeds, dark circles surrounded his eyes, his shirt rumpled and dirty. He grunted in reply. "I'm terribly sorry about your partner. I really don't know what to say. Take a few days off." "Mm." "They called us out to investigate. You've been assigned to head the case, since it's right down your alley." Mulder felt like shit. The anger he suppressed at the news of Scully's death found a vent- Skinner. "Get out of here! Get out! You don't know what I'm going through! You don't know what I've lost! You'll never know. She was the most precious thing in my life and they took her away, and now you want me to investigate her death. I won't. I can 't. "Life without Scully means nothing at all. Yesterday I would have been overjoyed if someone came and gave me the truth. Today I don't give a fucking damn! Scully was the only one that holds meaning no matter what, no matter whether I was going to die tomorrow or live forever, and I realized that too late. Oh too late!" The raw anguish evident in his voice cracked. He walked back across the room, forgetting the astonished Skinner still in the doorway. Tears blurred his eyes and his mind. "Oh Scully," now talking to himself instead of Skinner. "I never told you, did I? You died without knowing. All these years together, and still nothing. Only that once, but you didn't believe me. I never had the courage again. Fear of being re jected, fear that this news might drive you to leave me, fear of being alone again. Fear of losing the one person I know I could trust. "And now you are gone. "And I can't live without you." Tears streaming down his face, kneeling on the floor, he took his gun in one hand and cocked it. Looking up towards the ceiling, towards the sky, to where Scully's soul now rested and perhaps looked down at him right now, he raised the gun up to his head. "I love you, Scully," he whispered up, hoping she would hear him, hoping she would unders tand. Barely aware of Skinner's gasp of shock and the glimpse of something fly at him, he pressed the trigger. A flash of light, and then blackness. A white light was in his eyes. Was this heaven? He raised his head up and looked around tentatively. Oh man, his head hurt. Evidently heaven was not all it was made out to be. Wait, he mentally chuckled at himself, by all rights he should be in that *other* place. A short man in a corner glanced up at him and walked over. Wait a second... Frohike? Mulder felt his heart sink inside of him. Obviously he was alive, so this wasn't heaven (or hell), but the hospital. The bandage around his head explains the throbbing in his temples. So what had gone wrong? "I'm really sorry for Scully, but man, was that really a reason to kill yourself?" Frohike asked. Mulder ignored the comment. "Where's Skinner?" "Right here," said a voice at the door. "Why-am-I-not-dead, dammit?" Every word dripped with emphasis. Skinner sighed. "Agent Mulder, I'm sorry. I didn't know you felt that strongly. I'm terribly sorry for the loss of Agent Scully. I don't know what to say. She was a great woman and a talented agent. I'll give you a few days off, if that's what you want." Mulder's eyes burned bright with unshed tears. "You just don't get it, do you, Skinner? "No, that's not what I want," he whispered, "I want to die, to end this miserable existence. Everything, everyone that I loved was taken away from me, Samantha, my childhood, and finally even Scully. Now will you take away my death?" Skinner took a deep breath, wondering how the hell was he going to deal with this guy. "Look, Mulder, you're in shock, you don't know what you're saying. That bullet barely missed your brain and lodged in your skull. Add that to the fact that you 've been unconscious for three days and a 1010 fever. YOU ARE NOT IN YOUR RIGHT MIND!" Mulder tottered to his feet. "You're wrong, Skinner, I'm perfectly sane. Never has my life been so simple before. There is only one right ending." Staggering to the bedside table, he took the glass and dashed it on floor. Skinner darted forward, but Mulder already had a deadly shard in his hand. He could only grapple violently with him to keep the glass from his neck. "Let me go, Skinner! Let me die! Let go, damn you!" He tried to disentangled Skinner, madness giving him strength, only to find a swarm of nurses had come in. A needle pricked in his arm. Tears blurred in his vision. Blackness once more. He was drifting in a warm black tunnel, a safe haven, he somehow knew. Thousands of little lights were floating alongside of him. Curious, he drifted closer to one of them. Mulder broke away from the memory, flinching away. The thought dug into his heart like a painful dagger. If she hadn't been assigned to him... Another light, another memory. Another light, another memory. Another light, another memory. More lights, more memories. All of them of Scully, never one of his life before Scully. They filed past him, mechanically, one by one. The last of them came to a halt before his ethereal face. Then just as abruptly, they faded away, leaving the darkness bleak and lonely. He cried out in longing and reached out towards the receding lights. But here he had no body, and his insubstantial form wafted uselessly. The darkness was still around him, but it was a different sort of darkness. Instead of the past clearness, now it was strangely murky, cloudy. Voices: one vaguely familiar, the other coldly impersonal. "I suppose there is no other way." "No." "You realize that this has never been done on a human." "Yes. But the risks have been lowered to a minimum. 25%" The voice went on. "Yet it is the only way to pick and choose what you remove. I understand you do not wish to lose his brilliance and skill." "No. Only the...prickly stuff, those that impede his progress and our success. A pity you did not perfect this technique until now. Much could have been avoided." "Indeed. Though you understand some residual dregs may escape the repression net occasionally. But they will only present themselves as dreams and dij` vu. Can't be perfect." "That's understandable." "Do you wish us to begin?" "Yes. Proceed immediately." The voices faded again and he knew no more. Mulder woke with a raging headache. Had he drunk too much last night? He couldn't remember. Groggily he raised up his head and looked around. A gaunt man with iron-grey hair and a rather prominent nose stood in one corner, puffing on a cigarette lazily. "So you're awake now, Agent Mulder. Glad to see you alive and well." "You're just underwent extensive brain surgery," he went on conversationally, as if commenting on the weather, "It is likely that for the first few weeks your memory is going to be shaky. So I'll just tell you a few things. Your name is Fox Mulder . You have a job in the FBI- profiling." Oh yes, he remembered now, his apartment, his life at the FBI, his fish, Scully... Who's Scully? And thus began the rewriting of Fox Mulder's life. *************** Several years later And Fox Mulder began to live a life that was not his, another lie presented to the people in the form of a handsome middle-aged man. Blindly navigating through this rat race we call life, his day became routine, unvaried, something that occasionally perplexed him. Dimly he recalled a more interesting part of his life, but he soon put it out of mind. There was always another fil e to sort, another report to file... His work at profiling was superb. Swiftly, his star began to rise. He was also known to take numerous risks, stopping gunmen single-handling with an intensity. The expression on his face chilled people at these times, the fearless look of a man who has lost everything and has nothing more to lose, the look of a ma n whose only thing left to do is to die. Popular FBI rumor had it that "Spooky" did not value his life. Popular FBI jokes stated that "Spooky" was not human. In a way, he was not. He never drank, never partied, never saw any women (or men). He repelled all their advances coldly, with polished manners far from free. His entire life seemed to consist of a blind devotion to his job. Completing his work with mechanical efficie ncy, he then went home. No one knew what he did there. Sometimes his emotionless fagade showed a crack when presented with certain sights. A boy and a little girl, maybe his sister, together, a red-headed woman of diminutive stature. Then his face would twitch strangely and take on a pained struggle, as if part of him was trying to regain something that the other part was trying to take away. His eyes would take on a faraway look, sometimes a tear glinted. He never looked up at the sky anymore. He never saw the sun, moon, or stars. He dreamed occasionally, of what he could not say. They faded and were gone, like morning mist in the sun. He never asked why, he never questioned authority, he never probed or examined. The ironical thing was, he was often praised for his obedient behaviour. Thus for several years, he lived in this farce of an existence. One day a man knocked on his door. He looked out at a strange man, short, rather stout with stringy grey hair, and glasses. He vaguely remember seeing him soon after he got out of the hospital, but could not put a name to the face. The man stood there waiting expectantly, then sighed and shook his head. "So you still don't remember? Aaaagh, if we couldn't convince then, can't convince you now." Mulder felt strangely numb, his head was hurting. His voice came cold and clipped. "Who are you & what are you doing here?" "Doesn't matter. Won't mean anything." "Why are you here?" "Listen. Stonehenge. Go there." "I don't know what you mean." "Trust me. Just go. You'll find out." He shoved a paper into his hand. "Read this." And then he left. Mulder looked after the retreating figure. He then looked back down at the paper in his hand. A feeling of confusion preyed on his mind. What did he have to do with this mysterious flight? Vaguely he felt it was important that he go there. But some complete stranger he did not know? Tortured by this unexpected visit, he finally solved it by going to his superior and meekly asked for a few days off. Not noticing all the eyebrows that rose at his request, to his surprise it was granted. After he left, the speculations began. He stood in the field looking at the pale line in the east where the sun would soon appear. It happened to be the winter solstice. The mist coalesced all around him making ghostly figures, yet it was strangely silent and still. An air of expectat ion lay over the countryside. What he was doing here, on a fool's suggestion, he did not know. All he knew was back at the office there were reports to file, profiles to consider, all sorts of stuff that made up his day. He looked at the grey stones in a circle. Tall & mysterious, they stood like guardians surrounding and protecting whatever that lay in the center of the ring. He had often heard of the magical qualities attributed to these artifacts. He believed none of them. However, it was true that the winter solstice sun lined up exactly with one of these stones. He wasn't sure. He shivered, his breath fogging in the cold air. It mingled with the mist and drifted off. Foolish, to come here on a madman's folly. No one was forcing him to do this. He could leave anytime. Yet he was here. Foolish. The first light of the sun peeked over the horizon line. As it heaved itself over, he watched as the shadows grew. The world around held its breath. The shadow struck the center of the circle. The mists danced and formed a solid wall of white between him and the circle. Then, just as suddenly, the mists parted. Where the veiling mists had hung, now stood a woman, a red-haired woman. She stood there, a bewildered look on her face as she looked around, as if wondering how she had gotten there. Suddenly she caught sight of him and uttered a cry. "Mulder!" Now it was his turn to be bewildered. Who was this woman, who appeared out of the mists and knew his name? She noticed his expression and approached more warily. "Mulder? What are you doing here? What am I doing here?" He stirred, trying to think of something to say to the stranger. "Mulder. Yes, that's my name. How do you know it?" Perhaps both hurt and comforted by the sound of his voice, she raised her hand as if to touch is forehead, but yet also started back. "Are you all right? I'm Scully." Lightning cracked his brain. Oh damn, this must be the worst headache ever. It felt as if someone was using his head as a trampoline. He groaned and clutched his head. Then she was next to him, her cool hands brushing his forehead, easing away some of the pain. "It's all right, Mulder, it's all right," She murmured gently. He looked into shining blue-grey eyes. "Thank you, I'm fine. I don't know you, Scully, but-" He did not see the pain in her eyes as once again pain filled his universe. He sunk down to the ground. The world around him whirled and settled in a new dimension, yet old and familiar. The heavens opened and the light shown in. He was in parts of his life that he had not seen for what seemed like eternity. His sister Samantha abducted, the X-Files, Smoking Man, but most predominantly the woman who was here before him. He mumbled, "Scully." The tomb was now open, and the undead resurrected. The flood of memories unleashed overpowered him. They were so much a part of his life that he was surprised he had ever forgotten. He looked up at her, this woman named Scully, this woman who ha d been part of his life for such a long time, he looked up into tear-filled blue crystals. She knelt beside him, holding him, uncaring that her designer slacks were soaked with dew. He smiled weakly, the smile that was himself, the old Mulder, not some brainwashed entity. "I remembered. One moment- it was all clear. Those bloody bastards." She hugged him. "Mulder, what did they do to you? Or was she in on it too? I'll shoot them." He blinked. "There was an operation. Smoking Man was there. I shot myself in the head. Skinner-" "Wait. You *shot* yourself?" More memories. "Scully, they said you were dead, your plane crashed, disappeared, in the Devil's Triangle." More immediate issues came to mind. "How did you get here?" A confused look came on her face. It seemed they were getting confused a lot lately. "One moment I was sitting in my seat on the plane, then I was here, in Stonegenge, and you were here." His voice leaped with excitement. "Scully, do you realized what you proved? The warp of the time-space continuum, a wormhole. Somehow you came through one of these, entered nine years into the future in England. They've been finding people from your flight all over the place, only I didn't know it. So Frohike had to literally stick it in my face." "Mulder, you tried to kill yourself-because of me?" "Yes Scully, I did," he whispered, "I love you." She smiled, putting an arm around him and helping him to his feet. "C'mon, let's go home." Input! Faerie@mailcity.com! Input please?