From: =?iso-8859-1?q?Shadowkatze?= Date: Fri, 20 Sep 2002 13:17:33 +0100 (BST) Subject: Memory Lane by Alia Source: direct Title: Memory Lane Author: Alia (Alia@epost.de) Original Title: Straße der Erinnerung Translated by: CarrieF and Alia Category: POV, All-knowing narrator, MSR, Violence, Angst Spoilers: Closure, Dreamland, Fight the Future. After Closure, but before Requiem, the plot divides. Rating: R Summary: A story about leaving and staying. Disclaimer: In the dimension in which this story takes place, there is no Chris Carter, no 1013 Productions, no FOX Entertainment and no actors, but in the dimension in which we all live, the characters in this story are the intellectual property of Chris Carter, FOX Entertainment and the respective actors. NB: This story "jumps" significantly between narrators and time periods. I have always made it clear whose point of view is being given, but the associated point in time, relative to the plot, is not always stated. This is not accidental - I meant it to be this way. Explanation for better orientation: Paragraphs separated like this +++ describe the same period of time, while lines like this ~~~ represent leaps in time. A comprehensive timeline is given at the end of the story. And now let's take a trip down memory lane... MEMORY LANE Zoë: When my father died, I cried bitterly. I only saw my mother once, on the day my father burnt the last photo of her. Then he cried bitterly. When I say that he died, I don't mean that he stopped breathing, or that he lay in a coffin and was eaten by worms. No, physically he was alive. But for that one moment he was as dead as a living person can possibly be. Dad brought me up alone. He was once an Agent in the FBI, where he met my mother. He taught me to be cautious. Up till now he has earned our living as a freelance journalist and author of SciFi books. Science Fiction, you would call it, and I would too, since I've never really believed him when he said that his stories weren't science fiction -- that they really happened. Well really, who believes in liver-eating, nest-building contortionists, or parasitic worms the size of men, created by contaminated water? I was like my mother, was what he would say then. My mother, the phantom. I carry her picture in my heart. But I long to hear her voice and take her in my arms, to finally convert the phantom into a living, tangible person. But it's not that simple. I don't mean to complain; Dad was always there for me. But just as a piece of his soul was missing, that I could never give to him, a piece of mine is missing too. And there is only one person in the world who can fill this hole in both of us. But it's not that simple. Actually, it's pure irony. Dad lived from the newspapers, and just such a newspaper brought about his end. +++ "Zoë, would you go and see if the mail's arrived?" Zoë put on an "enthusiastic" expression and shuffled to the door. "Do we subscribe to the 'Washington Post'?" "Get it over here before the rightful owner demands it back." +++ It was Saturday. And there it lay. With the other papers. Dad was pleased about the mistake. Washington Post. This paper symbolized the time that he had spent with her in Georgetown and Alexandria. As he browsed the pages, it changed his life, and mine, and a new chapter began for us both. He froze. Curious, I looked up from my muesli. There were the pages, lying on the floor. Dad wasn't easily upset. What had happened? Was he having a heart attack? No, he was breathing; he was just pale. But unable to move. As if he were no longer there. I stood up, shocked and apprehensive. The words stung me in the eyes. A small cross was depicted, and next to it, in black print, was the name of my mother: Dana Katherine Scully. Her name and the cross. Like the cross that Dad wore around his neck. He never took it off, and I often caught him feeling for it to make sure it was still there. It was the last thing of hers that he let himself keep. An obituary? That couldn't be right. She was younger than Dad. Fear gripped me. Deep within me, understanding dawned. That all these years Dad's caution hadn't been for nothing. That they had found her. The world froze around me. We were like waxworks, incapable of human reactions, lifeless shells for a moment. And then thoughts began to flood back through my mind. Passed away. Fallen asleep. Taken from us. Euphemisms. Who needs them? Dammit she was dead. Anger rose within me. Quick as a tongue of flame. I swept the muesli from the table. Couldn't anyone else have died instead? I'd never even known her. That was denied to me forever - something I had always had a right to, something I had always dreamed about. She had gone, without knowing me. I knew that she had stayed away for my safety and for Dad's. But did that change anything? I'd been betrayed! Dad just sat there. I threw my last scrap of dignity to the wind and stamped on the ground, bursting into tears of fury. My eyes kept filling with tears that rolled down my cheeks, that I could taste when I gasped for air. My nose ran and swelled up. But what did I care? I must have sunk to my knees and laid my head against Dad's lap, because the next thing that I felt were his hands. Wet from my tears and cold as death they lay there. They should have been stroking my hair. I looked up through a veil of tears, wiped the tears from my eyes. His eyes reminded me of a self-portrait of Escher, who had drawn himself reflected in a ball of glass. Why, at a time like this, could I even remember the calendar on which I'd first seen the picture? Those eyes. I looked into them and saw despair. The article had made a part of him die. The part that he had lost thirteen years ago. He had believed that the pain was over, and so thirteen years of tentative hopes were now crashing down upon him. I pressed his hand. No tension in his muscles. Dead. Where was the strong Dad, who had taught me what courage was, who had always protected me? The cold hand fell lifelessly into his lap. That couldn't be. What was worse? That my mother, whom I had never known, was mentioned in the obituaries or that my father, who had always been the only constant in my life, who had always been there, even when everything else went down the drain, had become a frozen corpse? Was he about to leave me too? He couldn't... The tears came back and my throat tightened as if a weight were hanging from it. I stifled my sobs in his motionless thigh. My snot soaked his jeans. +++ Mulder: They've caught her. She's ... I feel nothing. This emptiness. +++ Zoë: The phone rang. And it rang again and again. When it fell silent, I had cried myself out and just lay there. The obituary. Who had submitted the obituary? The alias. The list. The list of names. Shouldn't they have used her assumed name? Dad had only told me about it -- he'd never given me the whole list. Before they separated, they had exchanged a list of names. Names to hide behind when they feared for their lives. That's why we are called Hindle, and were once called Richardson. Safety measures. That's why I could never go round to play with my friends after school. That's why my Dad always gave me the number I could reach him on. That's why he taught me how to use a weapon, and that's the reason for the thousand other details I had to be aware of. Another phantom. I didn't even know whom I should be so afraid of. Men without faces. I must be one of the only children who has been told to watch out if I meet an elderly man with a Morley cigarette. This paranoia has often kept me awake at night. Only Dad had all this information. I stood up. The muesli crunched under my feet. Dad still didn't react. I couldn't bear the sight of him. Not like that. I bent over and gave him a kiss on the forehead, whispering despairingly: "Don't go. Stay here!" +++ Dull echoes. Everything perceived by his senses was blurred, distorted and painful. But as the springtime sun melts a snowman, these words roused him from his numbness. Someone was speaking to him. He knew these words. He knew this voice. It was Zoë's. These words. Where had he heard them? ~~~ "Mulder, I wouldn't do it if it wasn't for the best." Scully's voice was strong and determined. "We've been living on the run for almost two years. Zoë will never lead anything like a normal life if I don't go". She bent over the small bundle that lay asleep on the bed in the aging motel room. She looked at it carefully, checking that everything was alright. "There's another way and we will find it! Do you think I could bear to lose you again, this time forever? Do you doubt me?" Desperation sounded in his voice. "No, I have to leave, because I think that it's right." Her eyes looked directly into his, but she couldn't hold his intense gaze for long. "Mulder, you've never really needed me, and even though you like to tell yourself otherwise, you can manage without me. I know that you'll take good care of her." Zoë became restless and grumbled. "Shhhh shhh my angel", Scully soothed the little girl, and laid a pink teddy bear on her chest. She was now almost a year old. "Do you remember that time when you came to my apartment: "Utah. Transfer effective immediately. I already gave Skinner my letter of resignation"? Remember that? Back then I could change your mind." "That was different. Back then it was about me, about my career, and that's why I wanted to go. This time it's about you." Mulder gave a bitter laugh: "Don't you know that you're sending me out into the Antarctic again, just to change your mind?" Panic was written across his face. He didn't want her to leave. He was more afraid of her leaving him alone than he was of being found by them. "I never wanted you to have to go to the Antarctic for me." "Then don't go!" He walked over to her. But she turned away to the window. Mulder shut his eyes for a moment and stood still. "How long ago did you decide this? It's no good telling me that you haven't been thinking about it for a long time." Scully turned to him. Her voice became quiet. "I know what you're thinking. But it's not true - I don't want to leave you. With you I've found something I never knew I was looking for. And do you think that I would just leave Zoë? You know how much she means to me, Mulder. And I'm thinking especially of her. I know that this is the only chance we have. That the probability of you and Zoë getting through this alone is greater than when there are three of us. Mother, father, child. That's what they know and that's what they're looking for - they don't know that we're splitting up. They will keep looking for a small family. Don't look at me like that, please." Scully paused for a moment. "I know that you understand, and that you realize how much it improves our chances. It's just that you don't want to admit it to yourself." For a moment it looked as if her blue eyes were a reflection of the lake of tears building up beneath her eyelids. "Don't go. Stay here." ~~~ Mulder: This emptiness. Can I still feel it after thirteen years of separation? Could she still be alive? No, I feel nothing. +++ Wearily he looked up at Zoë, who was standing next to him. He didn't know how long it had taken for this realization to reach his conscious mind. She was still there. Ocean-blue eyes, red and swollen with tears, looking at him. It wasn't Scully's blue, but it was very close. Scully. Again the sharp pain in his chest. But this time it was too weak to make him angry. Angry at the men who were hunting them. Wordlessly he took his daughter in his arms. Zoë gave him strength. But not enough. Without Zoë he would have had nothing to support him. Inside, very little of the old Fox Mulder remained. But he could hold on to something that he had received from her. Her greatest gift to him. +++ 'Oh thank you God. I haven't lost him.' Zoë closed her eyes and hugged her father more tightly. "Dad, the list - what about the assumed names? Why is her real name in there?" +++ Mulder: Zoë's right. Who submitted this obituary? Where did this newspaper come from? The list. Which name would she have been using? +++ His voice was husky, as if his tightened throat had squeezed against his vocal chords. "Zoë, I have to make a phone call. You stay here and don't let anyone in. You know where the gun is." The door closed behind him. He was already on the way to the nearest phone booth. It wasn't that easy to find one, since these days everyone had a mobile phone. +++ An irritated: "No." "Frohike, unmistakeable!" "Mulder, do you realize how much danger you're putting yourself in, phoning here?" "I'll take the risk. I don't have much time. You have to do me a favor. Find out who submitted the obituary with the name Dana Katherine Scully in the "Washington Post" yesterday." "Scully?" Silence. "That could take a while. I'll get Langly and Byers on the case. Call back in two hours!" +++ Mulder: I'm used to waiting. I'm used to making my own life hard with my memories. ~~~ <2007> Zoë looked embarrassed. "But I don't have a mother!" She looked at Vern, her best friend, with wide eyes. "But you have a father. It's the same thing," Vern said lightly. Mulder had meant to throw a quick glance into the bedroom and check up on the two five year-olds as they played together. Now he froze. Had it been a mistake to steer clear of the subject 'mother' in this cockleshell called 'upbringing'? he wondered, feeling slightly guilty. "Zoë, you do have a mother." He hesitated. "Do you remember when you asked about her? I told you about her then." The children stared at him. Mulder came over to them and sat down on the floor beside his daughter. "That she was very clever, that she was very beautiful, and that she could sing the best lullabies in the world." ~~~ "Have you got the information?" "The obituary was submitted by Margaret Scully. Mulder, are you o.k.?" +++ Mulder: Her mother. I have to get a hold of her. No. Zoë. I mustn't put her in danger. Scully would never forgive me if I did. ~~~ Scully: When the important decisions that a man makes in his life prove to be wrong, he starts to doubt, both in the decisions and in himself. No matter if the reasons for these decisions seemed to make sense at the time. Every man follows his conscience. But even when your conscience approves of a decision, that doesn't protect you from the guilt in your heart when with hindsight your actions are considered to be wrong. The most careful consideration of all the alternatives is no guarantee that you won't regret it later. Guilt is something dictated by the conscience. No action is completely good or completely bad. There are always motives that justify things or condemn them. And even when the reasons for a particular action were completely honorable, a false value can always be assigned to the arguments against it. Every decision carries a risk. Only the weak don't face up to the consequences. +++ Scully let the gun drop. ~~~ 'No matter which café in the world you go into, there are always people who are interesting to watch,' thought Louis. Louis had had no formal education. Since his father had wanted to bring him up by the belt, he had lost any desire for one. Actually, these cafés were his school. Here he met people and studied them. This brunette with the red handbag. She had probably just come from the dentist and had a local anaesthetic, for when she tried to do her lipstick in front of the mirror she had trouble pursing her lips on the right-hand side of her face. Eventually she stood up and went to the washroom. 'Nice outfit. Nice ass.' thought Louis, watching her leave. What have we got here? Louis looked back toward the brunette's table and now had a clear view of the niche behind it. This lady...the brunette had been quite nice, but this lady with the red hair was much more interesting. She was attractive. She was about ten years older than him. She didn't look very happy. Melancholy, that was it - that was the right word. This lady was well-dressed. Top of the range. Decaffeinated cappuccino. Quite enough excitement in her life, or did she just have trouble sleeping? The faint bags under her eyes told him that. She was thin, and that at an age where most women put on weight. Maybe the menopause, maybe not. Louis took a puff from his cigarette, and through the smoke he continued looking into her niche at the back of the pub. She was the type of "customer" that he liked. The lady sipped her cappuccino and glanced at her watch. Sleek timepiece, thought Louis. Did she have an appointment? Was she waiting for someone? No, this wasn't nervous waiting. It was more like habit. Bent slightly over her mug, she stared at the empty space opposite her. A woman with a pram crossed Louis' field of vision and hid the interesting niche for a moment. Then the lady began to take something white from her briefcase. She unfolded it and held it firmly in both hands. With her thumbs -- 'Man, she's got long fingernails' -- she stroked the front of it, which Louis couldn't see. After a few moments of absorption, she put it away. Every scar tells a story. And Louis tried to get behind hers. Not because he might need it in the course of his job. Quite the opposite - sympathy would have been a hindrance. No, he did it out of curiosity. The street was the hardest school he knew, and a sound knowledge of human nature had often helped him survive. What could she be thinking about? ~~~ <"The approach of death bore the wish to be close to someone, to a kindred mind." (J.T.)> Her face showing anything but enthusiasm, she passed him the ice- pack. He groaned as the cold hit his blue-green cheek and thick open lip, fully aware of her disapproval. "So overjoyed that I'm still alive? Next time I'll have to try harder. Maybe I've got a chance of a Darwin Award." "Mulder, that's not remotely funny." Angrily she paced back and forward, then stopped and said accusingly: "You've always taken risks that anyone other than a rocket pilot would refuse, but up till now I've always been able to explain it. But in this case... this was the other side of reason...Mulder, are you trying to kill yourself?" She gave him a penetrating glare. Mulder stood up, put down the ice. Her hands were trembling and he reached out for them, warmed them. "Is it because you know now that your sister's dead?" For a moment he was silent. "Sometimes I forget that you might be concerned about me." Again this blue in her eyes. His gaze wandered to her lips, tender, and back to her eyes, still blue, and back to her lips, still tender, but nearer, her breath warm on his face, still nearer, and finally this warmth on his lips, her lips. The knowledge that it was right. The tingling sensation. The wish that it would never end. ~~~ Louis raised his hand to summon the waitress. He knew that it couldn't be too much longer, and he stood up without a qualm and strolled to the door. She would follow him soon enough - he was sure of it. Without looking back, he walked to the small newspaper kiosk on the corner and bought himself a "Chicago Sun". He hadn't bargained on waiting a full five minutes, but then she came. Bingo. Chicago. Rush hour. Crowded sidewalk. Circumstances could hardly be better. Louis put down the paper. His powdered cheeks shone slightly as he followed her through the afternoon rush. Her bag was hanging behind her. Click, magnetic clasp open. Briefcase out. Click, magnetic clasp closed. Almost too simple. Louis threw one last glance at the back of her red head. She hadn't noticed, and he looked around for a quiet corner. Waiting any longer was too big a risk. He had to get rid of the loot as soon as possible. That was his job: looking through other people's briefcases and taking out the things which, in his opinion, didn't belong. Actually, that was nothing but rectangular plastic. Regular notes and coins had been out of circulation for more than a year. Why were they needed? Everywhere you went there were machines with slots for plastic cards with chips or magnetic strips. Louis stood next to a dumpster, into which he could throw the briefcase, as he glanced over her identity card. He walked on, not wanting to draw the attention of a passing policeman. It wasn't too easy to find a plausible explanation for what he was doing with this briefcase, which blatantly wasn't his. Jane Maycock. This sort of plastic card normally interested him less. Louis wouldn't have betted a fiver that it was a legal card. False identity cards had always been a useful side-earner for him. So this was a Jane Doe. He almost felt sorry to have done someone on the same side of the law as himself. On the other hand, no one could say he'd picked the wrong person. He pulled out the card, and something white fell at his feet. That's right - he'd forgotten. Louis bent over it. A photograph. Carefully, he unfolded the old snapshot. A tall man in a raincoat stood next to the lady from the café, who looked a few years younger then. He was pointing his finger at a map, held by a Deputy, who had his back to the camera. Nothing exciting. Louis didn't put it back in the briefcase - simply threw it with the identity card into the nearest dumpster. Inconspicuously he walked on further and took the interesting plastic out of the purse, which landed in the next dumpster soon afterward. Yes, this was his taste in customer. +++ She had just noticed. Had emptied her bag on the living-room table. The agitation had passed, and not wanting to accept the facts didn't help either. The photo had gone and she had no copy. It was too late to blame herself for that. She needed a bit of warmth. It was no replacement for that which she longed for, but she took a certain pullover from the bottom of a chest of drawers. It was old, and much too big for her. Just one thing remained to her. ~~~ She had done it because she hated the feeling of doing nothing. She could do something. That was why they had put together the list. The list consisted of ten names - names chosen to be conspicuous, like Tassilo Rupert Cole, Nevada, to make the search easier. Besides, Mulder still liked the idea of being called only by his surname. It had taken her a month to come to a decision. The lady from the information services had been very kind as she told Scully that the Mr. Robbespierre Cyracus Jackson that she was looking for had no telephone connection in the whole of Idaho. She felt a sharp pain as she laid down the receiver. Leaving the telephone box, guilt had quickly succeeded the pain. Guilt that she had taken what she knew to be a risk, together with a racing heart that beat faster as fear appeared alongside the guilt. Fear for two people whose lives were unknown to her, but who were her life. +++ Two days later it lay in the mailbox. In a white envelope without any address. After she had torn it open with damp hands, she let the checks and advertisements drop to the floor. First the shock, then the guilt and then the fear. On the card, in rounded handwriting, was written: In memory of the years of good teamwork. With it a photograph: it showed Mulder tying the shoelaces of a small girl with a brown pigtail, whose hand was on his shoulder. Scully swallowed. Next month she would be five years old. The picture also showed a thinly drawn cross. Across the face of the little girl. First the shock, then the guilt and then the fear. ~~~ "What? It's only eight in the evening and you're already packing up? I hope at least you're feeling guilty about it." That was Peter's sarcastic way of saying: "Jane, that's enough for today!" Wearily, Jane Maycock looked up from her report, then twisted her head to one side and let her joints crack. Peter, who couldn't stand that, pulled a face which creased up his coffee-brown forehead, and then he sat down on Jane's desk and looked at her seriously. "How many hours of overtime have you done this month? Two hundred?" Jane glanced at the radio alarm standing on the desk. "Forty-six and a half." "What, only forty-six and a half?" Peter emphasized his sarcastic tone of voice with a "disappointed" shake of the head. Then his expression became serious again. "Jane, does the phrase 'Thou shalt have no other God but me' mean anything to you?" Jane nodded, and Peter continued: "Your God is pathology, pathology is your life, and I'm telling you: you make too many sacrifices to this God! You work too much and live too little!" She gave Peter a tired smile. How could she have explained to him that in principle her life had ended years ago? Peter realized that this was the wrong strategy, and his tone became teasing. "When was the last time you went out? My offer still stands!" His eyes sparkled with charm, his mouth revealing his shining white teeth. Her eyebrows shot up and her blue eyes looked back at him with some irritation. "Alright already, you get on far too well with my wife for that, I know. But you should at least find some other delectable bloke and get yourself laid!" "Peter!" "Oh yeah, that's right, you did have a date two years ago. I still wonder why it didn't work out with you and "everybody's sweetheart" Dr. Treves?" She gave him the look again. Today, Jane was far too tired to tell him not to interfere. Peter ignored the look -- he'd had a lot of practice at that. If he didn't regularly send Jane home when he was on nightshift she would probably spend her nights in the dissection lab. Dinner invitations weren't lacking. They had known each other for over eight years. Jane had had to work her way up at the Hoffman Medical Center, Chicago. It wasn't easy in a field of work where most jobs could only be gotten through contacts. But her diligence and competence were impressive. Despite that, her colleagues mostly thought of her as cool, and even Peter, who had an impertinent manner with everyone, could only now and then cast a glance behind this carefully built wall of protection. ~~~ She liked Jeff Treves. The evening had been very pleasant. She hadn't had to think of someone else a single time. A good sign. He politely escorted her to her front door. She wanted him to kiss her. God, how long was it since she'd been kissed? Hadn't she earned the chance of a bit of warmth? But from the moment their lips met, she knew that she would never be in love with him, and that she would never go out with him again. It was like in that song by Cher: "It's in his kiss". An unfair criterion, maybe, but that's how it was. She'd have been glad to let herself fall in love. He was charming, amusing, intelligent. He liked her. He wasn't the one. He wasn't... ~~~ Exhausted, Jane keyed the security code into the alarm installation, and opened her apartment door. The key landed on the sideboard and Jane made her way toward the kitchen. As she passed the armchair, she stopped abruptly. C.G.B. Spender. "It's been a while since we last met, Miss Scully." A cloud of smoke filled the room. "I didn't mean to scare you." It couldn't be. How did he bypass the security system? Where's my gun? Wild thoughts swept through her head. Should I run? Would I stand a chance? What is this bastard doing here anyway? "Calm down and listen to me." The end of his cigarette glowed red. Icy gray eyes stared at her. Thoughtfully he continued: "Your flight 15 years ago was rather inconvenient - the knowledge that you and Mulder had was too precarious." He stopped to take another puff from his cigarette. "It's due to my goodwill toward you and Mulder,"- a well-meaning smile played about his thin lips - "that I'm here now, to tell you that because of the progress we've made in your 15 years' absence, without you being able to follow us, you're now no longer a danger to the project. The knowledge you have has become laughable. You probably wouldn't have been able to publicize your story anyway. The internet would have been your only chance. But who would have believed you? Yet I always feel it's better to be safe than sorry. What we were protecting was far more important than the lives of two nosey Agents." All the anger inside her now broke out, as if from a volcano that had lain dormant for many years. With one swift movement she struck the cigarette from the hand of her "visitor", so that it flew like a flare through the darkened room. "Bastard!" she hissed, swung round and grabbed her weapon from the sideboard. "Get out! Think yourself lucky if I don't shoot you!" she said, emphasizing her words with the piece of black metal that she was pointing at his head. "Miss Scully," he answered, slightly surprised now, but without losing much of his slimy goodwill. "You don't understand. I'm trying to tell you that you've been officially declared dead. A fire victim of about your size and with matching dental records has been found, and the search has been called off." She was met by the gray gaze of tired old eyes. The years had left their mark on him - his hair was white. "This," Spender reached into his inside pocket. Nervously Scully raised her weapon and shouted: "Tell me what that is!" Again that benevolent smile. He pulled a white envelope from his pocket and laid it on the sideboard while he spoke. "This was submitted the day before yesterday, and a certain Mr. Hindle found it on his doormat in Maryland this morning." He turned toward the door. "I have given you something. What you do with it is your own affair. Just one more thing," Spender turned toward Scully for the last time, "a ring, Miss Scully, never breaks in just one place." Like a snake charmer he seemed to have hypnotized Scully. She gripped her gun with both hands, so tightly that it left marks in her skin, and only let it drop once the door had closed behind him. +++ Scully: Why didn't I just shoot him? He stands for all the evil that's been done to me over the years. I have every reason to kill him. His death would change nothing. That knowledge is horribly sobering. The dead wouldn't come back to life, and no separation would be undone. Even the grief caused by all this evil would never be taken away. Nothing will give back to me what I've lost. The satisfaction would not be lasting. If I were to hear of his death, I wouldn't be sorry. The envelope. What evil will that bring? +++ With cold fingers, Scully opened the envelope and took out a folded piece of newspaper. Her obituary. With it, the copies of two death certificates. She had died three days ago. +++ Scully: I died. I don't want to, but I can still remember it. ~~~ <29.06.2003> Scully: He asked me, and I stayed. Now insomnia is haunting me. If I've learned anything from Mulder in the time we've spent together, I've learned to believe. To believe in him. But his belief, that became mine - where did it lead us? We're hunted. We're outlawed. One problem is that Zoë will grow up with this way of life, living in motel rooms. The chance to go to school and find friends has been taken away from her, and she has no chance of a stable home where she can feel happy and safe. What future does she have without an education, without college? Another problem is the online work. How long will Mulder and I be able to earn the money for our flight and hide our traces without being discovered? These online agencies excel themselves with their multiple security systems, but every system has its weakness - you only have to look for it. Actually, our three week stay in this motel in Texas is already irresponsible. My fingers touch the scar on my neck. The skin there is thicker. They can use it to call me to a specific place - what's to stop them using it to find me? When I see the two of them before me, Mulder snuggled up to Zoë, the moon lighting up their sleeping faces, I think how I'd like to hold them forever and never let them go. But how much longer will I be able to? +++ The first rays of the sun threw simple mosaics onto the wall above the bed. With them, a tiny rainbow, the result of some irregularity in the glass. It took a while before it reached the top of the bed and the people sleeping in it. They seldom slept deeply. Slowly, Scully opened her eyes and blinked. Sleepily she rolled over onto her other side. Mulder was still asleep. So she stood up and walked to Zoë's temporary cradle on the couch. Her long eyelashes still lay on her round cheeks, her small hands resting tranquilly beside her head. Scully breathed a small kiss on Zoë's forehead and began to get dressed. "You're not planning to go without leaving me your number?" Scully turned to the bed. Mulder had propped himself up on his elbow and she could see the twinkle in his eyes. She grinned at him. "It's in the phone book!" "And your name?" "Next to it!" "Then all that's left is the memory! What a pity!" +++ Mulder had pulled himself over to the edge of the bed and he turned toward her as he pulled on his jogging shoes. "If you go to the Quick Mart, I'll do the morning diaper change." "You're on!" Before he could change his mind, she was already out of the door. The 24-hour supermarket, rather deserted at this time of the morning, was directly opposite the motel. The sun blinded Scully as she crossed the parking lot, on which only one car was standing. A car door slammed somewhere. A truck drove up to the delivery entrance, and the glowing letters above the entrance rotated slowly. She was almost at the supermarket. The strong hand came from behind, out of nowhere, covered Scully's mouth and smothered her scream. 'Oh God, they've found us. What will they do to me? Where's Mulder?' The thoughts flashed through her mind at the speed of light. An arm was laid around her stomach, dragging her along. It hurt. In vain Scully thrashed about. 'What's he doing?' She was being dragged backward across the parking lot. She grabbed at the hand over her mouth, tugged it and then bit down. The hand jerked back for a moment, giving her time for a single scream. "MULDER!" 'Scully!' His beard stubble neglected, he grabbed the gun from the bedside table and ran out onto the parking lot. A gigantic man in suit was pulling Scully toward a white Mercedes van. He was much bigger than Scully. She looked like a marionette under his arm. For a moment, Mulder's heart stood still. 'What's that guy doing?' Scully was fighting back, thrashing around, kicking at him, but in vain -- the giant had the upper hand. Mulder came quickly nearer, too slowly for his liking. The attacker turned around with Scully pressed close against his stomach, one hand on her chin ready to break her neck if Mulder approached. "Stop! Don't come any closer! It will be better for your partner if you lay your weapon on the ground and stay calm." Mulder looked for a moment at Scully, caught in the grip of the attacker, and he nodded. Slowly he laid the pistol on the ground. His eyes fixed on Mulder, the attacker moved with Scully toward the van. The sliding door was swept open and a blond man with a ponytail appeared. He had a gun and pointed it at Mulder. They were only five meters away from the van. Mulder had to watch as the distance became smaller. He had to do something. At least he had to try. "What do you want? Let her go and take me instead. I'm coming closer." He took a step toward the giant. 'My God, what's Mulder doing?!' thought Scully, panic-stricken. The blond man immediately pointed the gun at him and shouted: "Freeze. Hands behind your head! We're not negotiating with you!" "Hey, let the lady go!" They all turned to the old man, who was marching toward them with his stick raised. The attacker's attention was diverted for a moment, and Scully seized the opportunity. Bending her head forward, she freed her chin and without thinking twice she bit again into the fleshy ball of the giant's thumb, as hard as she could. Even when she tasted blood she didn't let go. The attacker shouted out and cursed. "Dammit! The bitch!" The blond hurried out of the van. Mulder was quicker - he knocked down the second man with a smooth right hook. His hand hurt, but he didn't care. The important thing was to free Scully. The first attacker had pulled his bleeding hand from Scully's mouth, and his other arm was still laid like a bolt around her arms and waist. "Mulder, the gun!" Mulder grabbed the gun from the blond man and pointed it at the giant, but Scully was standing in the line of fire. Mulder came slowly closer. "I don't think you want to shoot your sharp-toothed partner before me." The giant was sure of himself. That was too much. As Mulder charged toward him, the giant reached again for Scully's head, ready to break her neck if needed. He couldn't get out of the way as Mulder hit him full-force in the face with the butt of the gun. He didn't fall, but he released his grip, and when Mulder hit him again across the forehead Scully could finally free herself from his grip. "Are you o.k.?" He pressed her hand. She simply nodded, still weak at the knees. The giant was dazed and held his head in his hand. His colleague was slowly beginning to rouse himself. On the alert, Mulder pointed the gun at the two attackers. "Can you walk?" She nodded and he shouted "Get Zoë and the car!" It had to be quick. Zoë's baby bag, the laptop and a rucksack. She left everything else behind. Zoë screamed as Scully lifted her up. "Shhh, treasure." Mulder was still standing on the parking lot and guarding the two men, as Scully came out of the motel. Hastily she strapped Zoë into her seat in the old Ford convertible. She thought she could hear police sirens in the distance. "Dammit!" She ran around the car, drove across the parking lot and opened the passenger door for Mulder. Still pointing his gun at the giant and the blond man, he feverishly wound down the passenger window. "Come on Mulder!" Scully begged him, on the edge of her seat as the sirens grew louder. Finally Mulder was sitting in the Ford, and through the open window he pointed the gun at the two unknown assailants as the car drove away. "Jack, get up!" the giant commanded. +++ "Everything o.k.?" Mulder asked. "Don't worry, I'm fine. No serious injury. You'd better check on Zoë." She rubbed her cheek. The grip of the giant had been relentless. "They won't hang around for long!" Mulder turned to Scully. She just nodded. That had been desperately close. She had taken an unnecessary risk. She felt incredibly stupid. +++ The motel wasn't in the middle of the town, but they still had to drive through the whole of the suburbs. This meant a lot of traffic lights, and, even at this early hour of the morning, annoying rush- hour traffic. "There they are!" At the third light, the white Mercedes van had appeared a few cars behind them. The heavy traffic prevented them crossing the junction. It was a one-way street, and there were several cars in front of them. On their right was a row of parked cars, and in the car next to them a man was sitting making a phone call. A hasty glance through the back window, several desperate pleas to the traffic light, innumerable inward curses, and the light was still red. 'Just four cars behind. Dammit why doesn't that light change?' Scully noticed that her hands had become damp and she wiped them on her trousers so she could grip the steering wheel properly. Mulder gripped the handle of the passenger window, which was still open, looked through the window, glanced at the traffic light and then leaped out of the Ford. "Mulder!?" The light changed to green, and she watched him in horror. The door was open and Mulder hurried to the parked car next to them, pulled open the driver-side door, snatched the mobile phone from the astonished driver and was back in the car as the traffic started moving. The man had jumped out of his car and was running after them, shouting. "What did you do that for, Mulder?" "It's time to call in the cavalry." She had no time to think what he meant. "Where are they?" "They're catching up." Then he started dialling a number. +++ "Byers, get me Langly, remind him of our last kung fu training session and find a satellite -- the licence number is Texas 610 FFT! You got that? 610 FFT!" Mulder hung up. "A satellite? How can a satellite help us?" +++ The Mercedes van was catching up fast. It passed cars daringly, almost colliding with the traffic from the opposite direction, and it was faster than the Ford. His voice tense, Mulder guided Scully through the rush-hour traffic. The van followed them without much difficulty. Five hundred meters before the next light, the road divided into two lanes. The white Mercedes came to a stop in the other lane, just behind them on the left-hand side. Mulder and Scully glanced at each other. They were nervous -- these guys were desperately close. "He's signalling right! Signal left, try to make the Chevy next to us let us in!" Scully drove in front of the right wing of the Chevy, so that it couldn't move forward without hitting them. The traffic light was still red. Scully didn't move, simply stared at the light as if she could persuade it to change more quickly. "Come on, come on," she whispered. Then she noticed something flashing in the rear-view mirror. She turned around to look at the van. Its headlamps were flashing on and off. As were its indicators. Then the radio switched itself on and Bobby McFerrin's "Don't worry, be happy" blared out at an almost painful volume from the pursuing van. The window panes vibrated as they automatically opened and shut. Finally the traffic light changed, and the driver of the Chevy unwillingly let Mulder and Scully in. An impressive horn concert started up behind them. The Mercedes van with the licence number 610 FFT didn't move another inch. Grinning slightly, Mulder simply said: "Maybe I should order them a pizza as well." The rush-hour traffic held them up for another half-hour, but the white van had disappeared, and they were able to relax. ~~~ Mulder shook his head, as if to drive away these thoughts. The quiet rhythm from Zoë's headphones filled his ears. She was watching the evening countryside as it flew past the passenger window. He didn't feel like a conversation. He tried to hum along to the melody, to prevent the next memory from entering his head. ~~~ It had taken the whole night to get out of Texas. In Oklahoma, the sun was just rising. With new names, and another car, they'd taken a motel room. The baby had hardly slept; she was restless and screamed, and increasingly got on her parents' nerves. Mulder carried Zoë through the room, speaking to her gently and calming her. They needed a new supply of diapers, baby food and milk, as well as breakfast. To eat in public seemed too big a risk after the shock of yesterday. Scully had the key to the motel room in her hand and was heading for the door when Mulder grabbed her sleeve. "Let me go instead!" Scully looked into his face for a moment, recognized his determination, nodded and took Zoë from him. She instantly began to scream and wouldn't stop. "It's alright - Mommy's here." Scully carried Zoë around and whispered soothing words to her, but she continued screaming. It was all too much. The attackers, being rescued by Mulder, the chase, a whole night on the run, not knowing if they were in safety and a child who felt their panic. A lump formed in Scully's throat and her eyes moistened. She looked helplessly at Mulder. He came over to her, put his arms around Scully and Zoë and pulled them both close. They stood for a while, forming a nest around their daughter, and her sobs became quieter and finally died away. "I can't believe that I almost lost you," he whispered, and kissed Scully's neck, tenderly as a gentle breeze, then forming a trail of kisses up to her mouth. As beautiful as the moment was, Zoë began to scream again. Mulder glanced at Scully, disappointed, but Zoë needed her things. "Come here, my angel," and he took her into his arms. It helped - the tears became fewer and finally stopped. Scully watched in surprise. Mulder grinned at her. "Most women can't resist my charm!" he said, teasing a grin onto Scully's lips. "I'll take Zoë with me. It's a risk, but it's more risky for the three of us to go." He kissed the top of Zoë's downy head. For a moment Scully looked at Mulder indecisively, then she nodded. "Take care!" "Don't forget to lock up after us!" She watched the door close behind them. "And don't forget me!" +++ Zoë had fallen asleep on the way back from the supermarket. Mulder lifted her out of the baby carrier and knocked on the door so that Scully could come and take Zoë from him while he unloaded the shopping. "Scully?" Not a sound from the room, so he turned the door handle. It wasn't locked. The room was empty. "Scully?" The door to the bathroom was open, and it was dark inside. Cautiously, so as to avoid waking her, Mulder laid his daughter on the bed. On the way back to the car he kept an eye open to see if Scully was anywhere nearby. Uneasily he carried the shopping into the room. Still no sign of Scully. Then he found the letter. +++ The motel made him replace the waste paper basket and the chair. If Zoë hadn't screamed blue murder he wouldn't have stopped at the rest of the furniture. He'd heard a knock at the door and thrown it open, seized by a wild hope. It had been the manager of the motel, who'd had a complaint from the long distance trucker in the next room. Now Mulder sat on the floor, leaning against the sofa, quiet, waiting, Zoë never out of his sight. She was crawling on the floor in front of him making unintelligible noises. The slip of paper lay on the floor, next to the laptop and everything else that had previously been on the table. +++ Mulder: She never told me that she loves me. Not really. ~~~ "You won't forget it either?" "What?" At first he didn't understand, and then gradually he was able to interpret the serious, intense expression on her face. She will never say it to me, Mulder thought. "No, I won't forget it," he answered, in the same serious tone of voice, gently shaking his head. She was lying opposite him, and he bent over and kissed her. Then he climbed out of bed and walked over to Zoë's cot. She was sleeping peacefully. He gave her a kiss on her soft baby forehead, whispering gently "and I love you too!" ~~~ Scully: Bitter. That's the taste of a long-standing wish that remains unfulfilled. As small as this drop of hope is, it tastes bitter. There have been many drops in the course of the years and I've greedily swallowed them all. The taste was the same. Now I can finally have something that for years I've longed for. Zoë and Mulder got the news. They're alive - that's the most important thing. I'm free. I can finally go and look for them. The list. I'm glad we drew it up. Hindle... Macomber Flavius Hindle, Maryland. Why is the fear taking over my mind? Fear, based on a doubt that they want to see me again. Guilt is dictated by the conscience. +++ One door separated Scully from her goal. One door and thirteen years of separation. Scully's heart was beating wildly. How would they react? This question had tortured her throughout the flight to Maryland, and it weakened her courage. There was only one way to find the answer. Scully took a deep breath. With the breath her courage slowly returned. She raised her hand and knocked. She listened tensely. Some time went by without a sound from the apartment. Scully knocked again, this time louder. Nothing happened. Resigned, Scully sunk her head and looked at the linoleum floor. The honeycomb pattern seemed strangely familiar to her. A door was opened, though not the one she wanted. An elderly lady with a basket in her hand walked quickly out of her apartment a few doors down. While she locked her front door she started talking, looking curiously at Scully. "You want to see the Hindles? They left unexpectedly with a suitcase the day before yesterday, and I haven't seen them since." "The Hindles - a man and a girl?" The lady nodded, affirmative. Scully's heart began to beat wildly again. "Did they say where they were going?" "No, they were in a tearing hurry. Strange folk, the Hindles. Often left the television on all night!" Shaking her head, she walked into the elevator. +++ The sky over Hampton was a landscape of rugged clouds. Scully's hands were cold as she waited for a while outside the apartment block. It was late fall, and her breath condensed to a white mist in the cold. 'Just a suitcase. Were Zoë and Mulder on the run? Where could they have gone?' she asked herself, becoming uneasy, as the next thing that crossed her mind was that the Smoking Man had lied to her. Undecided about what she should do, she considered things carefully. If they had been on the run then Scully could still use the rest of the list, provided that they had escaped. If it wasn't a flight, they would probably come back. The Thanksgiving holiday was over, and Zoë would have to go to school. Scully hoped that Zoë went to school. An hour went by, and nothing happened. Even the lady from the corridor didn't come back. Scully waited in the cold rental car. Then she returned to the apartment. She didn't knock this time, just glanced around then took out a small picklock, with which, after some effort, she managed to open the door. Scully shut the door behind her and started as her foot knocked against something which glided across the linoleum floor. A fragment of porcelain had slid under a chair and was still spinning. She bent down toward the fragment. The smell of sour milk reached her nostrils. Had there been a struggle? Was that the reason for their hasty departure? Had someone tried to tidy up in here? All sorts of horrible scenarios crossed Scully's mind, and she was only a little relieved to find no traces of blood. Tensely she looked around her. The room wasn't large, but was well-lit. The furniture was mostly dark and smacked of garage sales. A packet of Fruit Loops and some cutlery was still on the table in the middle of the room, and next to the packet lay a page of the Washington Post with the obituaries. The right-hand corner had been cut out. Quickly, Scully drew the envelope from her pocket and laid her obituary in the hole. It fitted. Relief flooded through her, bringing with it a wave of new hope. They'd had time to cut it out. Maybe they had already started searching for her. But where had they begun? The name Jane Maycock wasn't on the list. She put the obituary back in the envelope and continued to walk around the room. The refrigerator contained only a bare minimum of supplies. There were no photos anywhere - no albums or drawings. Had Mulder been too cautious to take any? In one of the bedrooms, which had probably been Mulder's, a few drawers were still open. But Scully didn't know how many clothes were missing so she couldn't tell how long they would be away, even if this had been planned. Then Zoë's room. For a long time she just stood there in the middle of the bedroom. Stared at the grubby pink teddy lying next to the pillows on the bed. One of its ears was missing. After a while she sat down on the bed. As if in a dream she looked at the posters on the wall and the books on the various shelves, until it got dark. Finally she fell asleep, with Zoë's teddy in her arms. +++ Something is flying over me. I can't tell what it is, but when I move, grenades fall around me into the water, making gigantic waves that break over me. I'm swimming in a huge lake of blood. Swimming is a sluggish and difficult undertaking, and I can't see the shore. I see everything as if time has sped up; the sun and moon alternate with each other. Then strong hands pull me out of the lake. I don't know whose hands they are. The hands set me down in a cloud. I'm naked, holding nothing but a pink teddy in my arms. The teddy has a name that I used to know but can't remember. I'm almost blind in this cloud. I hear the eerie cries of crows. I know they're attacking - not me, but the others who are standing in the cloud. Without light. +++ She opened her eyes and took a moment to remember where she was. She walked through the apartment and found that she was still alone. +++ Scully: They're not here and I don't know when, or if, they're coming back. Maybe they aren't in Maryland any more. Maybe they're building a new existence at this very moment. The thought of waiting here for their return, only to realize that they're not coming back, makes me ache inside. +++ The streets beneath them were like a gray ribbon. Houses were hanging on it, here and there on the left and right, and they flew by as if someone had stretched the ribbon and then let it go. A blanket was keeping Zoë warm - only her head and hands could be seen. Mulder had put it around her after she had given way to sleep. Mulder rubbed his eyes. What had she said back then on the journey to Area 51? ~~~ "Mulder, it's the dim hope of finding that proof that's kept us in this car, or one very much like it, for more nights than I care to remember. Driving hundreds, if not thousands of miles through neighborhoods and cities and towns, where people are raising families and buying homes and playing with their kids and their dogs and, in short, living their lives. While we, we, we just keep driving." "What is your point?" "Don't you ever want to stop? Get out of the damned car, settle down and lead something approaching a normal life?" "This is a normal life." "Hmm." ~~~ Mulder: She got out. Has she done that in the last thirteen years? Enjoyed normality? Has she got a husband and kids and a dog? A model white house, a freshly painted garden fence and charming neighbors who bring her neighborly friendship cookies? Mulder, this is an old question. You've asked it so often that it's gradually become pointless to search for the unattainable answers to it. I'm tired. Even feeling tired of it is pointless. And yet I'm still driving. Still on this road, still here to search for the answers. +++ Zoë: Dad is still strange. He hardly speaks a word and I miss his jokes. Two days from Hagerstown to Baltimore in the car -- that seems utterly crazy to me for a simple journey of less than 80 miles. Normal people wouldn't take a detour through Pennsylvania and half of Virginia, and wouldn't change cars on their way. On the one hand I like the thought that we're not an average family, but on the other hand it makes me think a lot. When Dad came back from telephoning, he started packing straight away and told me I should bring a few of my things as well. When I asked where we were going, he simply answered: "to Baltimore." This answer wasn't nearly enough for me. So I bombarded him with questions. He seemed caught up in a web of thoughts and he still is. He answers absently, and pauses before he answers. "We're going to Scully's Mom," he answered, when I persevered, and "she submitted the obituary." Less clear was his claim that "circumstances had changed", so that we could visit Grandma. Probably what he meant was that if Mom was dead we couldn't put her in danger any more. And if she wasn't dead, Mom's mother might have information about her. 'Information' sounded a fairly dry description for everything that I wanted to find out about her. Our trip through Baltimore also included detours worthy of a journey through a maze, but after an hour of "touring the city" we finally stopped in a housing estate. "We're here." The house wasn't much different from the others in the street, but a "For Sale" sign from an estate agency was standing on the drive. Dad went to the door and started to knock. +++ Scully: Once again I've made a decision and I'm not one hundred percent sure that it's right. I've taken another risk in leaving Mulder's building. But I couldn't stay in the empty apartment. I wasn't driven out so much by the arduous waiting - more by the vague sense of being an unwelcome intruder in the lives of two people. I no longer have the right to show up uninvited and unexpected in Mulder's home. I always thought of myself as strong. Strong enough to manage everything alone. But I don't want to be alone now, not alone in Mulder's apartment. The decision to go to my mother is equally right and wrong. Wrong, because I could miss Zoë and Mulder, and have to wait longer before I see them. This pain circles over me like a vulture, ever ready to swoop down on me. Right, because I can be sure that Mom will be pleased to see me, even after 15 years of separation. Right, because she can give me advice and stand by me. I'm praying that she's well. As I pray every day for all the people whom I care about and still miss. So I'll go. +++ The radio crackled. "A substantial high is crossing Maryland in the eastward direction. This high pressure is affecting all regions of Baltimore, ensuring sunny weather. Maximum temperature for the day between 5 and 10 degrees. And now over to WCJR, your county- station." The water was bubbling and Lydia tossed the noodles into the pot. Absent-mindedly she looked out of the window at the street. It had started to rain a little, and with a shake of the head she switched the radio off. Lydia sighed. What use was it that she and Mario could finance their son Tino at college when at high school the boy already needed more private tutors than other people needed underpants? She herself was a housewife and mother, and liked it, but in her mind Lydia saw her children with college diplomas. They shouldn't end up like their father Mario, installing car-wash equipment all over the country. Right now he was working in Virginia. 'What will Mario bring back for me this time?' Lydia knew that it got on his nerves, but whenever he didn't bring something back she 'incidentally' thought of important things like "we have to paint the garden fence!"- pointing at him and meaning only him. She knew that he preferred to bring some trinket back for her. Then a car stopped outside her house. A red-headed lady got out and crossed the road to Mrs. Scully's house, a look of interest on her face. She stood for a moment and looked at the "For Sale" notice. 'Probably a potential buyer' thought Lydia, as the lady knocked on the door. 'Strange, that's the second time today that someone's come to see the house. First the man with the little girl and now this lady." The red-head walked around the house and peered through the cracks in the window shutters. 'She obviously wants to look round the house. I think I'll call Mrs. Scully and ask if anyone's called in at the estate agent's.' +++ Wet raincoats. Children with dripping hair. Prams with plastic covers. Tired faces. People standing in the exits looking hopefully at the sky. Puddles from shaken umbrellas and sodden shoes. "AIDS is cured, the first men are flying to Mars, but a reliable weather report is still utopia," complained an elderly man in a green checked hat, who was standing next to Scully and drying his dalmatian with a towel, while it licked its fur to get rid of the water. Scully gave him a faint smile, lost in her thoughts. With large, glowing letters the Mary Wilson Shopping Center in the heart of Baltimore announced that next week would be its first birthday, and that what it had to offer was the greatest, and the most outstanding, and of course all the best superlatives - a claim made by every other shopping center in America. The shopping paradise was displayed in all its glory on two floors. On the lower level were large circular spaces set out with benches and fountains, surrounded by shops. On the upper floor these areas were ring- shaped, and you could look through a circular glass wall to get a good view of the spaces beneath. For a moment, Scully was lost in the dazzling displays of the many different shops, but then she reached the first floor and saw a slanted golden 'M' on a red sign through one of the glass walls. The McDonalds supermarkets had become as widespread as the fast food stores. Toy department. For Scully this was always the most depressing part of any store. Normally she walked quickly past so as not to see. Past the mothers, presenting their happy offspring with new toys. Shocked, she turned round as two eight year-old boys with large plastic guns stormed loudly past her, barging into her as they went. How could anyone give children fake weapons to play with? If you couldn't stop children from playing war games, how could you prevent adults from doing the same? A stand full of these "toys" appeared in front of Scully. A salesman with a wide smile was holding the same device as the boys. "Bubble Shot Gun" proclaimed the blue lettering. "Welcome to the stand for Wong Toys, the manufacturers of the unique Bubble Shot Gun. Let me explain the device to you." Scully's dismissive shake of the head was professionally overlooked by the salesman. "It's an absolute hit with the kids!" This guy was really annoying! Although she was slowly moving on, he was trotting along next to her. "You just pull this handle here. And when you push it a small bubble of air shoots out. Due to a special device in the cartridge, it doesn't burst in the air, and it only explodes when it hits something. It doesn't do any damage and is felt only as a gentle tickle on the skin. Just don't fire at larger panes of glass because they might resonate and even break. Don't you want to give it a try? Go on!" The grinning guy was frighteningly motivated. Unnerved, Scully repulsed him with a "no thank you" and walked away. She could still hear sentence fragments like "neutral pH" and "non-allergic" fading away behind her. Finally she had the toys behind her and could concentrate on what she'd come to buy. Before she left the supermarket, she stopped and watched as the assistant wrapped her shopping in brown bags, slipped everything into a black shopping cart and keyed in the number of her parking place. The cart then drove off to wait for her in a small station in the underground parking lot. The supermarket was on the first floor. On the ground floor she could see the trademark post office sign glowing through the glass screen. Going to the post office was the most important task on Scully's list and her reason for being here. Scully walked to the screen and stood there for a moment to watch what was going on below. A large, colourful crowd - teenagers licking ice-creams, elderly couples, people on lunch breaks, men in raincoats, women in suits, a fountain, a man with a black leather jacket...it wasn't possible... the man down there... that was Mulder! For a while she stood without moving, caught in the moment. Her eyes saw Mulder, but her brain couldn't process the information. Slowly, her thoughts began to move again. She noticed the way her heart was beating in her throat and hammering in her temples. He was standing down there next to a bench, rummaging for something in a bag. He looked good - still slim, still rather gangly. Was that gray hair? Scully's eyes were fixed on him, as if she were one of those portraits, with eyes that seem to follow you wherever you go. Then Mulder shouldered the bag, headed toward Woolworths and disappeared from Scully's sight. "Don't go, stay here!" And he turned around and walked back to the bench he'd just left. Scully started. It was an inner voice that had spoken, and no words had passed her lips. She froze, a portrait once more. He'd come back. And she didn't believe in coincidences. BOOOOOOM The glass screen wobbled. The loud bang, just behind her, jerked her out of her thoughts. She turned around, startled. Scully found herself looking into a mouth wide open with horror - the mouth of one of the boys she'd seen earlier. Shocked, he was still holding his Bubble Shot Gun in both hands and pointing it in front of him. The other boy was nowhere to be seen. It wasn't long before he recovered from his fright and sprinted toward the exit. +++ BOOOOOOM Mulder: What the hell was that? Up there. A red-headed lady. That's Scully. You idiot! How many times have you spoken to innocent red-heads in the last few years, just because they looked like Scully from behind? Keep going! Keep living! +++ The screen was only trembling slightly as Scully turned round again. But Mulder had gone. Pride is a strange thing. Tears would have made things easier for Scully. But she didn't want to cry here. It was a private pain and these were private tears. For a few moments she stared at the empty bench below her. Mulder must still be down there somewhere - she only needed to find him. Hastily she turned toward the steps. Mulder was standing in front of her. Out of breath, because he had run up the escalator. Incredulous, because this red-head really was Scully. Uncertain, because he didn't know what would happen next. So they just looked at each other. +++ "I don't believe it!" Zoë looked around, irritated. 'Where did he go?' she wondered. She'd just been to the loo - her father was supposed to be waiting for her and now he was nowhere to be seen. 'I might have known!' Zoë was cross. There was so much going on around her, and she was in the middle of a crowd. She strained her eyes so as not to miss her father, but she couldn't see him anywhere, so she stood on the bench where she had last seen him to get a better view. 'Great, Dad's forgotten me. Can anyone tell me how I get back to the motel?' she thought angrily. Zoë let her gaze wander and turned around on the bench. Wasn't that him up there? +++ "Daad?" Zoë asked her father, as she walked toward him. Then she stopped. A red-headed woman in a dark coat and suit was standing opposite him. She stared disbelievingly at Zoë, as if she had seen a ghost. Slowly, Zoë understood. Hardly believing it, she looked questioningly at her father. Mulder nodded slowly. Zoë looked again at the red-headed woman. Slowly, her eyes wide, she took a step toward her. The woman did the same, only faster. Zoë could hold back no longer and ran into her mother's arms. She heard a whispered "Thank you God!" next to her ear. +++ Mulder simply stood there and watched them embrace. Then he turned around and walked away. "Mulder!" She couldn't stop him. "Zoë, please give us some time. I have to talk to him." Reluctantly, disbelievingly, Zoë stared at her mother, and reached for her hand. "Will you come back?" Gently, Scully gave Zoë a kiss on the forehead. "I promise I will." +++ Zoë: In my mind there is a room, and when I'm in love I imagine how it would be to be trapped alone in this room, with that Someone. It's a small room with white plastic walls, and there are plastic benches all around, like in a steam bath, except that there is no door. In my imagination I sometimes take people I'm angry with into this room. I've spent a lot of time in there with Dad. Now I'd like to put Mom and Dad in a room like that. Then they would have to talk to each other. +++ Scully: What am I doing here? Ever since I've known him, he's been running spontaneously after something that only he can see. Why should he have changed? He's still running. And I'm following him. Why should I have changed? I'm still following him. I think it's time to stop. +++ She caught up with him as he reached the staircase. "Mulder, stop. Why are you running away?" Mulder slowly walked the last few steps to the top of the stairway, then he turned to her. His voice, calm and cold: "Isn't it the other way round? You're the one who ran away. Why should I do any different?" Horrified, Scully flinched, and Mulder could see that he'd touched a raw nerve. "Mulder, I wish I'd had a choice. I never wanted you to go through all that. Believe me, I never wanted to go." "You didn't? Did you write that nice letter to me in a fit of delirium?" "Mulder, I know you're hurt, but please just listen to me." His voice grew louder. "What's coming now? A tear-jerking story about how our flight was so terrible for you that you decided it would be better for us if you made a new start without a nutcase and a young child?" "Mulder, please, you have to listen to me." She swallowed down her tears and began to talk. She knew he would listen. "That morning in Oklahoma, when you went shopping with Zoë...." ~~~ Scully walked to the window, looking anxiously after Zoë and Mulder as the Ford drove out of the motel parking lot. She turned toward the door to lock it, still thinking about Mulder and her daughter, when the motel door was jerked open, hitting Scully's right arm. She screamed. Two men stormed in. Despite the pain, she reached for her weapon. Too late - the giant had grabbed her by both arms, and he set her down next to the desk and whispered: "It will be better for you if you stay calm!" The blond man roughly took her gun, released the safety catch and then held it to her head. Scully began to sweat, and her breathing was heavy. These guys were not going to let her go. She was confused - they could have killed her so many times before. "What do you want from me?" "I don't like repeating myself, but it's for your own good if you stay calm. After yesterday's little incident I've lost some of my reservations about pulling the trigger." The metal was cold against Scully's head and it pressed into her skin. She knew what effect a shot to the temporal lobe would have. With his free hand, the blond man pulled a sheet of paper from under the laptop, which was lying on the desk. 'What are they doing?' The giant tugged at Scully's arms until she screwed up her face in pain, then he let her go. "Copy that out." He laid a sheet of printed paper in front of her and gave her a pen. "I hope you will be sensible enough not to try and trick us. We know your normal handwriting." +++ Mulder, each of us must do what we feel is right. I am a risk to you, so I will stay away from you to give you both a chance. Scully +++ With each word, Scully's horror increased. It was hard for her to stop her hand from shaking. But what could she do? The cool, round point against her head forced her to concentrate. In the meantime, the giant was putting a few clothes into a rucksack, and now and then he would pass a pullover or sock to the blond, who then asked: "Does this belong to you?" One pullover was Mulder's, but she couldn't say no and it joined the other things in the rucksack. Scully glanced discreetly at her watch. Mulder had been gone 20 minutes - he would have to come back soon. He had to! 'Mulder, please don't let me down! Where are you?!' Scully wrote slowly, carefully forming each letter and taking her time, until the pressure against her head increased and forced her to write more quickly. When she'd finished, she looked in anguish at what she'd written. Would Mulder believe that she'd written that voluntarily? She thought of their previous conversation and her suggestion that she should go. He would believe what was written there. Her only hope was that Mulder would rescue her. Scully felt someone undo the clasp of her necklace and lay the cross on the letter. At least he would be able to keep that. The blond man pulled Scully to her feet and pushed the barrel of the gun into her ribs, so that it hurt when she breathed. The giant held the door open. "I'll have to ask you to come with us." 'Ask me?! You're giving me no choice!' The larger man followed them both to a red Ford van, the rucksack in his hand. They had changed cars. Scully looked around for a way to escape, but the blond man mercilessly pressed the gun against her ribs. 'Where are they taking me? Come on, Mulder!' Scully glanced at the weapon and then swung round without hesitating, trying to grab hold of it. Roughly the blond man caught her arms. "I wouldn't do that!" The door slid open and the blond man pushed her inside the van. He handcuffed Scully, while the giant steered the van northward. Scully felt the panic rise up inside her. 'Mulder, hurry up! They're taking me. Where are you?' "It's all arranged -- you will lead a normal life." His voice remained matter-of-fact. "From now on your name will be Jane Maycock. You should know that there's no way back to your partner and your daughter." Scully shut her eyes, and as if looking through her eyelids, she saw everything like on a negative. The sky became green. The trees were red. And the inside of the van was black. ~~~ Shaken, Mulder looked into Scully's face, where several tears had left their trail. He had listened to Scully's account in silence, and now looked at her in silence, walked over to her and then took her firmly in his arms. He felt her trembling and soothingly stroked her back, while she let her tears flow freely. "I never should have left you on your own!" She wiped the veil of tears from her eyes. "Mulder, don't blame yourself! I've thought about it over and over again, and I think we'd all have been killed if they hadn't separated us." "That black-lunged son-of-a-bitch!" He was too shaken to put much anger in his voice. So they stood together, sharing their grief for the lost years. Gradually Scully looked up. "We should go. Zoë's waiting for us." She released herself unwillingly from his embrace and turned toward the stairs, but Mulder held her back. "Wait." There was something he had to do first. Pleased to have kept it, and pleased to have it with him, he took the necklace from his neck and put it around hers. The cross lay once more in its original place. He smiled radiantly at her and she looked down at the shining gold, unable to see more through her tears. +++ "We're dead." Mulder shook his head - "does that mean I don't have to pay any more taxes?" - and with raised eyebrows he took the envelope that Scully held out to him. Silently he read the copy of the death certificates, and at last looked questioningly at Scully. "Best wishes from C.G.B. Spender!" Scully saw Mulder's eyes widen. "We're officially dead. The search has been called off. He made it clear to me that we are now no longer of interest and not at all dangerous." "We're free!?" "Yes," she smiled, "we're free." Zoë reached past Mulder's cup to the papers from the envelope. "That's the obituary that Grandma submitted." She pulled out the cutting from the Washington Post that she had found on the doormat. "My mother submitted this obituary?" Mulder nodded. "My God, she thinks I'm dead." Scully was dismayed. "I have to get hold of her. When I missed you in Hagerstown, I was on the way to her. I was about to go the post office to get her new address." "She's living with Bill, Scully. The estate agents gave us his address. It's a military base in Virginia." Mulder pulled the notepaper from his pocket. +++ Zoë: No, my phantom didn't turn into a Frankenstein monster, when it was brought to life. As new as it is, it is nice to have a mother. It's nice to know that she never meant to let me down. Even so, it's disconcerting to get to know your own mother as a teenager. I once read that dogs are able to remember the scent of a human for over three years. In a way it's like that with me; essentially I can't remember her, and yet in her arms I have a feeling of intimacy. And though we don't know each other, this feeling prevents us from being complete strangers. We visited Mom's family. It was a grotesque situation. After everyone recovered from the first big surprise, that their daughter, sister, sister-in-law and aunt, already declared dead, was standing, after fifteen years lost without trace, in front of their door, together with her fourteen year-old daughter and her former partner, I was able to become acquainted with everybody. At first I, and I think Dad too, was afraid of not belonging. I didn't know how to behave, and I didn't want to do anything wrong, now that I had a big family at last. It's silly, but I constantly had the feeling that everybody could suddenly dissolve into thin air. Grandmother wept with happiness when she saw Mom. She wept too, when she embraced me. I could hardly keep my tears back. She welcomed me so warmly, as if she'd known me since the day I was born. At last the warm- heartedness of my 'new' family melted away most of my awkwardness. But I'm still not sure if they have really understood our strange story, or if they really can forgive us. My uncle Bill, with his patriarchal manner, sees himself as the head of family. I don't know why, but I know that Bill and Dad must have had an argument a long time ago. It is unlikely that they will ever become friends, because the way Bill treats Dad shows that he blames Dad for everything. No matter what Bill thinks, we will celebrate Christmas together. That was Grandmother's first wish. I hope it'll go off smoothly. +++ Scully: The nights here are so still. The silence is pleasant, for this silence doesn't burn into my heart, as it did during the sleepless nights in Chicago. This quiet provides the peace I need to collect my thoughts and to reconsider the events that turned our lives upside down. I'm shivering, and I pull my legs into the swing hammock on the porch of my new home. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms and a small garden. We found a way - came to an arrangement. I have left Chicago behind me without many regrets. It won't be easy to find a job here, but there's no great hurry. I've lost too much time through different circumstances - time I could have spent with Zoë. But I can cope with that. It just aches, when Zoë and Mulder bring out old pictures or old memories, which doesn't stop me from soaking up everything I can find out about their life together. There's no point in worrying about the lost years - important are the years that remain. Sometimes I suspect that life follows a plan, and that each of us is allocated a certain quantity of pain at the very moment of conception. Pain to be experienced during the course of our lives in a series of installments. And each of these installments of pain breaks us in some way, but afterward we are stronger in the places that were broken. Today, one small part of me was broken too. When I think about it now, I understand that I expected it already, deep in my heart, before it really happened. It was the first time I had to force Zoë to do her homework. +++ "Zoë, what about your homework?" "I'll do it later!" she answered, caught up in a cartoon. "It's already late, Zoë. Turn off the TV and get on with your homework." "I just said, I'll do it later!" Scully was beginning to get impatient. "Zoë, it's late and you have still a lot to do," she told her, turning off the TV. "Hey, what is this?" Zoë shouted, annoyed. "You can't turn off the TV. I wanted to watch that!" "Yes I can, and I want you to go upstairs and do your homework." Scully was getting angry. Then it happened. Zoë stood up to turn on the TV again and yelled into her face: "You want to give me orders? You haven't even been here for the last thirteen years of my life, so who are you to give me orders now?!" +++ Scully: This was the first time she really reproached me. I felt scared, but at the same moment I saw that she was scared too, and that she was truly sorry. Her first reaction was to hold her hand in front of her mouth in fright, though it was too late to take it back, and then she stammered: "Oh God, I didn't mean it like that." Knowing that she hit a scarcely healed wound with perfect precision. It didn't kill us - our relationship is growing stronger, and I'm sure that we can and will bear these small ruptures more often. I think that for the first time Mulder is really content with his work, now he is allowed to write about his theories unrestrictedly in his books, freed of FBI regulations and the tight rein of his partner. I have to smile at the thought of Mulder not admitting that his work is sold as science fiction. I am not sure if it's out of a sense of duty to Zoë or if it's something else that stops him once more revealing secret alliances between human conspirators and aliens, because I can't believe he's completely lost interest. I admit that it's nice to know that he's at home at his computer and not hunting after something unknown. I've just been wondering if I might get bored now, having Mulder around me again, without excitement, without pursuits, without mutants, without the laws of nature being defied. The answer is no. Apart from the fact that we couldn't return to the X-Files anyway, the risks, which were hanging over us like swords of Damocles at that time, would be too great for me to take now. Too often we were living on a razor's edge, and I have a responsibility for Zoë. I don't want to put that responsibility on the line now, when at last I am able to take it. Mulder. His behaviour toward me reminds me of the respectful relationship we had in our years of partnership. We both know that we cannot stand into the same river twice, but we are on the right path. We didn't become complete strangers - there is too much uniting us. We just need time. I'm sitting in the swing hammock and I raise my eyes to the stars. I'm cold, and I will probably go upstairs soon into my room. Maybe not, for I hear the porch door and Mulder's steps on the floorboards. "Would you like to join me? I've exhausted my stock of sunflower seeds." I have to smile, and I take the hand he offers me. THE END +++ Timeline: Mulder & Scully's flight: Beginning of 2001. Zoë's birth: July 2002. Separation: June 2003. Present: Fall 2016. A complete list of scenes, together with the point in time at which they occurred, is available on request for anyone who's still confused. References: One line from the song "Bilder von dir" by Wolf Maahn; a quotation from J.Tate; one line from the song "Runaway train" by Soul Asylum; a quotation from E. Hemingway in altered form; one line, slightly altered, from the song "Ruhe" by Schiller, spoken by Benjamin Völz (the synchronized German voice of David Duchovny); Pschyrembel, clinical dictionary. I didn't give any reasons for Zoë's conception and I'm not going to, just as Chris Carter wouldn't give any reasons for the developments in the series after "Requiem". For all those who are interested in the Darwin Award but have no idea what it is, here is the address of the official site. Click on "Rules" for a complete description: http://official.darwinawards.com The invention of the "Bubble Shot Gun" may appear odd, but has its origins in nature, with the pistol crabs. These animals have giant pincers on one foot, so they can defend their territory by shooting bubbles of carbon dioxide with a loud bang at their rivals, at speeds of up to 90 kilometers per hour. I would especially like to thank Linus, my faithful navigator down memory lane! :-) Special thanks to Shadowkatze (carrief_x@yahoo.co.uk), who translated most of this stuff, and to Monica, who beta read the English translation. :-) I hope you all enjoyed the little trip down 'Memory Lane' and that I didn't confuse you too much. Comments please to Alia@epost.de (author speaks English).