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Title: Dreaming Aloud Summary: Mulder must come to terms with the prospect that his whole life at the FBI has been nothing more than a dream. Author's note: Just a quick thanks to my sister StargazerGirl for all her help whilst writing this. Also, thanks to Cate Green (sort of my unofficial editor) for all of her invaluable encouragement and input. :) Now, I'm not much of a fanfic reader, so I wouldn't know if a story like this has already been written by someone else out there, and if it has, then I apologise to that author. Believe me, I had no idea. So ok, this might not be the most "original" concept... but I'll leave you with one of my fav quotes and just say that "Originality is nothing but judicious imagination" (Voltaire). Don't worry if you don't get that ... I'm still pondering it too. ;) Feedback: Please! I'd *love* to hear what you have to say. Criticism and negative mail is more than we lcome... please (said with a melodramatic flair) it's the only way I'll learn. Mail me at LonegunGirl@subspacemail.com. Visit my website at http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Zone/1321/ Enjoy... :) "Another turning point, A fork stuck in the road. Time grabs you by the wrist, Directs you where to go. So make the best of this test, And don't ask why. It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time. It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right. I hope you had the time of your life." - GreenDay "Time of Your Life" Two flashlight beams darted wildly about, reflecting off the cool, shinny surfaces of metal walls. Together, Agents Mulder and Scully walked slowly, cautiously, down a long corridor which, through the thick darkness, seemed to continue on without end. To either side of them were thousands upon thousands of metal draws, each marked with a different name. Each was the name of an abductee, a test subject. Each contained files classified beyond the highest levels of government, almost beyond government itself. Lots and lots of files. Both agents knew that although they had been in many facilities much like this before, none had been quite as special as this one. For, if what their informant had told them was true, this filing system was the key to realising their quest. If they could only play this right, they would finally possess the irrefutable evidence they had been so boldly seeking for six long years. Evidence of a project, a conspiracy, and of a lie so far reaching that even the highest levels of power in the country scarcely knew the scope and grandeur of the ultimate truth. As they continued walking, it became clear that this particular passage way, of which there were more, continued on for miles. They'd been walking for what seemed like an eternity, and Scully was beginning to slow down, dropping back slightly behind Mulder. But nothing deterred Mulder. Something on one of the end less metal draws caught his eye. He stopped and stared. "Hey Scully, come look at this!" he yelled back to his partner, as he reached out for the draw, removing dust from the label with one clean swipe of his hand. He smiled boyishly to himself, as though he'd been on a treasure hunt and just found the prize. There was no answer. "Scully?" he called again, diverting his eyes to the dark corridor he'd just come down. Still no response. Mulder's heart began beating faster and faster, and a wave of panic swept over him like a blanket. "Scully?!" he yelled again, frantic. He ran back down the corridor with his flashlight beam darting in front of him. He yanked his gun from his holster and trained it in front of him, still running as he did so. What if something had happened to her? What if *they* had taken her? He pushed that thought from his mind, it only made the panic worse. The flashlight, it's beam of light his only comfort, slipped from his fingers, crashing to the cold floor, and the light it had once provided became one with it's dark surroundings. "Damn it!" Mulder exclaimed anxiously. In the thick blackness he groped around for the reassuring bulk of plastic. As he searched, there was a blinding flash of light from down the corridor, as though a silent explosion had gone off. Mulder squinted at the focal point, but was unable to clearly make out where the light was emanating from. The strange thing was that it seemed to be all around him. Slowly, the light began to fade, and Mulder could finally open his eyes completely. What he saw was unbelievable. His eyes darted between soft, white walls, and shinny, metal equipment. A harsh, steady beep from somewhere in the distance met his ears. The room was unfamiliar to him. Then Mulder noticed where he was lying, in a bed with neat, white sheets. His nose turned up at a sickening smell of disinfectant which only came with a sterile environment. And suddenly, he knew where he was. He was no longer in the research complex, but a hospital room. Mulder lay there silently for a long while, his mind whirling, until his thoughts finally settled on Scully. He bolted upright in his bed, only to be met by a wave of dizziness and nausea which forced him back down. 'What the hell...' he thought to himself, but lay back weakly. It was then that he noticed a nurse in the far corner of his room, and she noticed him. It was clear from the surprised expression on her face that she hadn't been expecting him to wake up. Somehow the woman's face was familiar... She smiled at him. "Mr Mulder! Oh my god, I wasn't expecting..." The voice gave her away. Mulder squinted at her. "Marita?" he asked slowly. She was caught off guard. "Well...uh... yes. Yes, Marita Covarubias. Bu-But how do you know who I am?" Somehow, there was something different about her. She certainly wasn't the normal Marita Covarubias he knew. She seemed too happy and friendly. And her voice, although it was unmistakably her's, sounded... lighter. And she *was* wearing a nurse's uniform. Something didn't add up... Mulder pushed the unsure thoughts from his mind. All he needed to know now was that she was a familiar face, and she might just be able to tell him what was going on. "Well why wouldn't I know your name?" "It's just... I mean... We've never actually met. I've watched over you for a long time, but I don't see how... Wow, this is amazing!" "Marita... what do you mean we've never met?!" Her smile faded slightly as she stared directly into his eyes. "L-Let me go get Doctor Sampson." She turned and hurried excitedly out of the room, turning back around briefly as she reached the doorway. "May I just say, Mr Mulder... welcome back." She smiled warmly again, then turned and exited the room. Mulder was left alone, and his thoughts straight away returned to Scully. Where was she? What had happened to her? The same wave of panic he had experienced back in the research facility swept over him. Moments later, Marita returned with a man, presumably the Doctor Sampson she had spoken of. This time, Mulder's memory didn't need any jogging. He stared at the doctor, open mouthed, not knowing what to say. "Dad?" Mulder asked in disbelief. Bill and Marita exchanged a glance. "Mr Mulder, my name is Doctor Sampson. Th-this is unbelievable, we never expected... Do you know where you are?" Mulder laughed slightly. "Well, presumably I'm in a hospital. I don't know why I'm here though. But... dad it's me, Fox." Bill sat down softly on the side of Mulder's bed. "Mr Mulder," he asked gently, "can you tell me your name?" Mulder blinked in disbelief. "What kind of a question is that?! I'm Fox Mulder, *Special Agent* Fox Mulder with the FBI." Silence engulfed the room, and Bill and Marita shared another glance. "Look, I have ID in my jacket," Mulder continued. "Mr Mulder... my name is Doctor Bill Sampson. Do you remember what happened?" "Look, now you're beginning to scare me. Your name is Bill Mulder, my father. And yes, of course I remember. I was...I was, I mean, I was in a research complex in Arizona. Scully and I were..." Suddenly, the panicked thoughts of his partner's fate returned. "Mr Mulder, try to rest. You've been through a lot." "Where's Scully?!" Mulder demanded. "Your wife should be here shortly, she was called as soon as you regained consciousness." "Wife?" Mulder chuckled slightly. "Scully isn't my wife, she's my partner at the FBI." "Mr Mulder, please try to rest," Marita soothed. "No, I'm not doing anything until someone tells me what the hell is going on here!" "Mr Mulder, you were in an accident close to a year ago. Your car collided with a tanker, and you were left in a critical condition. We were able to stabilise you, but you were left in a coma. To tell you the truth, we never thought you would wake up." Bill turned to Marita. "Miss Covarubias, I have to go, but I'd like for you to stay here with Fox until his wife arrives." He smiled first at her and then at Fox. Mulder placed a restricting hand on Bill's arm. "I wasn't in any car accident, I don't remember being in any accident, and for the last time Scully is NOT my wife!" "I believe you're experiencing a mild form of amnesia, Mr Mulder. It's something common in cases like yours. It should be only temporary, and perhaps seeing your wife will help you along." "I haven't got amnesia! I remember perfectly who I am and what I was doing, there are NO gaps in my memory." "I don't have all the answers yet Mr Mulder, but let me assure you that you are Fox Mulder, and Dana Scully is your wife." He smiled again, a look that was somehow foreign to Bill's face in Mulder's memory. He scarcely ever smiled. He patted Mulder's hand gently, and with that he turned and left the room, leaving Marita to sit beside Mulder's bed. Mulder lay back more confused and frustrated than ever, and his mind whirling. 'Maybe this is just a nightmare,' he thought to himself. If only it had been that simple. He must have drifted asleep again, for the next thing Mulder knew he was looking up into the face of Dana Scully. Instantly, his face crinkled into a smile. "Scully! Oh, thank god you're alright! Perhaps you can talk some sense into these people, they seem to have the strangest idea that I'm not really me." He chuckled nervously. "It's been really weird. And Marita doesn't seem to know who I am, and the doctor who's looking over me looks *exactly* like my father, even though I know that's impossible because he's, ya know, dead. So then I got to thinking that maybe he *isn't* himself. I mean, Scully, we've seen it so many times before. Men who can assume the identity of anyone, and who can only be killed by the direct prick to the back of the neck. I don't know anything anymore, Scully, you're the only person I can trust right now, and you don't know what a relief it is to see you here." He paused to give Scully a chance to speak, realising she hadn't said anything yet. She had drooped her head and was staring at the ground. "Scully?" he prompted, reaching out a hand for the side of her face and gently touching her hair. Slowly, she looked up at him. A tear rolled down her cheek as she stared into his bright, hazel eyes. "Fox, I... I..." she stammered, another tear, then another, left her eyes. "Oh god." She looked back down again and tried feebly to wipe the tears from her cheeks with her hands. "Hey," Mulder soothed, moving his hand to stroke her cheek. "Scully, what's wrong?" "It's just... I mean... Fox, I-I never thought you'd, I mean... I missed you so much." She buried her face deep in her hands. Mulder half laughed. "You missed me? We've only been apart a couple of days at the most." There was a long silence between them. Finally, Scully spoke. "Fox... what the doctor told you was true. You were in a car accident nearly a year ago. Well, 11 months and 12 days to be precise. I-I've kept count." She finished with a small, brave smile that Mulder could see through straight away. You don't work so closely with someone for 6 years without learning a thing or two about them. Scully continued, "Being a medical doctor myself, I can tell you that temporary amnesia is common with cases like yours, and that your memory should return completely in time." "But Scully, I don't have amnesia! I remember everything. How we were pointed towards that place in Arizona by Krycek, and what we found there! Scully, what we found could be the answers to everything we've ever dreamed. The vital clue in realising our quest of the past 6 years. Only, I have no idea what happened. I was there and then... suddenly I was here." Mulder frowned, unable to even guess at what had happened. "Fox... I don't share your memories of any of those events. I don't quite understand this myself, but all I can tell you is that you *have* been in a coma this past year." Suddenly, Mulder felt completely alone. Even *Scully* seemed to be against him. The only person he'd ever trusted, his only true companion... no. That was impossible. There must be some other explanation. He considered briefly that maybe she was in fact telling the truth, but the thought itself was unfathomable. There had to be another explanation. Perhaps it really wasn't Scully sitting beside him. What if she was merely an illusion? A sheep in wolf's clothing, maybe? A shape-shifting colonist, disguised as his partner to obtain information from him. It seemed to be the only possible explanation, at least in Mulder's mind. His eyes narrowed as he stared at whoever it was he was in fact talking to. "You're not really Scully. Who are you?" "Fox... I don't pretend to be able to explain any of this to you. All I can tell you is that I'm here for you." She paused, considering what she'd just said. "Hell, what am I saying? I know you don't even remember me right now. Just..." Tears once again began to swell up in her eyes. "I'm gonna go now Fox. I-I'll be back later." She managed a weak smile at Mulder, before getting up. Just as she was about to leave, something on Mulder's bedside table caught her eye. She stopped for a moment and reached out to set straight a rather sloppy arrangement of fresh flowers. Mulder eyed her cautiously. "Oww, damn it!" Scully suddenly exclaimed. As she pulled her right index finger away from the flowers, Mulder realised that she must have pricked herself on a thorn on the stem of a red rose which was at the centre of the arrangement. More importantly, Mulder noticed something that chilled him to his very soul. She was bleeding. Bleeding red, *real* blood. Mulder's jaw dropped and he was unable to move. The implications of what he'd just seen were too impossible and life shattering to even contemplate. But if Scully was indeed real, then... "Oh my god," Mulder muttered under his breath. A sinking feeling lodged itself deep in his stomach. He closed his eyes slowly, not wanting to accept what he knew in his heart. Satisfied with the flowers, Scully turned and exited the room. Mulder lay restlessly, his mind constantly replaying the events of the day over and over, plaguing him like the pounding sound of heavy rain which he couldn't turn off. Sleep was no comfort either. Every time sleep came close, he'd jerk awake with the hint of a familiar sound or smell, a face or setting he knew all too well flickering through his mind. It was unnerving. Stuck in a kind of nervous alertness and drenched in sweat, Mulder clasped his hands in fists at his sides. Eventually, seeing that rest would be impossible that night, he instead got out of bed onto still wonky legs and walked over to the window. Thrusting the curtains aside with a clammy hand and hoisting the window open, he stared out blankly into the crisp darkness. Outside, almost all was still, with the exception of a few lonely cars streaming along the road far below him. From that height, he must have been on at least the fifth floor. A cool stream of wind calmly blew into the room, surrounding him, and for a moment Mulder's mind was peaceful, void of any conscious thought. It didn't last long though, as quickly the never ending cycle of images and thoughts returned. Maybe it was all true, maybe he wasn't really who he thought he was. Could it be that his entire life had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination??? No, that was just too inconceivable, and somehow he knew that was impossible. Defiantly, he shook his head, and with it the thought from his mind. The most likely explanation would be that this... this... whatever it was, was the illusion. He'd had a vivid dream like this once before, in a time when his mind had been plagued with the trauma of alien brain activity. He'd awoken from that experience, just as he was sure he would from this. He smiled out at the city, deciding instantly that that was the most logical explanation. "Well, old boy, looks like you've got yourself your very own X-file," he noted dryly to himself. It never had been quite fair that Scully had been mentioned on two occasions in the files and he hadn't. At least this was his chance to catch up, if that was any consolation. Mulder knew it wasn't, but at least it was a slightly positive thought. That was something. Fox took in a deep lungfull of cool air and let it out slowly. The action effectively cleansed himself of negative thought and fear, and he was once again able to breathe normally. Yes, this was the illusion. The thought seemed finite, and he slowly backed away from the window and dropped back down to the bed. Peacefully this time, he embraced sleep and the familiar memories of Scully and his world, drifting into the world of subconscious. The next day, Scully returned to his bed side. This time, Mulder had the conviction of his beliefs, and thus he drew strength from the knowledge that this was either a dream or some other form of illusion, and was able to carry on a conversation with a curiosity and amusement rather than the fear and confusion which had plagued their last meeting. "So, have they announced me officially insane yet or does that come later?" Mulder asked with a grin as Scully pulled up a chair beside his bed. Tired and slightly sad eyes fixed on Mulder's face. "I don't think you're insane, Fox. You're obviously just suffering amnesia of some description." "Oh, amnesia, eh? Right. Well how do you explain the memories I do have, hmmm? As far as I'm concerned, something's gone wrong with the rest of the world." Dana took a deep breath, and continued. "As for what you think you remember... well, what I'm thinking is you're remembering some sort of powerful dream you had while you were in the coma. What you think you know to be true, what you perceive as memories of your life... I believe they're merely memories of what ever was going on in your mind all this time, products of your subconscious as your body regenerated. It's a rare occurrence, but not unheard of." "Everything that I remember... a powerful dream?! Ha! A whole life time's worth of memories in about a year real time. A think it sounds like you're stretching there, Scully." "Well, I mean, there are well documented cases of people waking up from comas and remembering events and conversations which never transpired..." "But a whole lifetime?" He sighed and grabbed Scully's hand. "Scully, you're a scientist. Always wanting to find the most logical explanation. You know Occam's razor, Scully? The scientific principal which dictates that, all things being equal, the most logical explanation is likely the correct answer? Well I ask you, what's more logical here? That I dreamt an entire lifetime of some other life... or that I'm just plain nuts?" "Look, I am a scientist, and yes, logically what I'm saying doesn't make much sense. But right now, this seems the only possible explanation to me. As for Occam's razor, well, that type of reasoning works if all things are equal, just as you said. All things aren't equal, Fox. You're not insane, you're able to carry on a normal conversation, interact properly with others... you're not insane." Her voice became slightly more heated as she continued to talk, gesticulating widely with both hands. There was a long silence. "You know, there's actually a third possibility." "Yeah, and what's that?" "This could be the dream. After all, this little scenario roughly follows the storyline of a Star Trek The Next Generation episode. The Inner Light. Terrible episode, the type of thing that imprints itself on your brain when you desperately want to put the whole ordeal behind you. Picard suddenly finds himself in an unfamiliar world where he eventually lives out an entire lifetime - and learns to play this *really* annoying flute, - only to find that he's really only been unconscious on the bridge for twenty minutes." Dana considered this silently, unable to come up with a sufficient response. "Well I dunno what to tell you, Fox, except that this is real." "But it would be the most rational explanation, would it not?" Mulder added, his eyes flashing with conviction. "Yes, I suppose it would be," Scully conceded, before continuing, "if it were remotely possible." "Anything's possible, Scully. I think my little theory makes perfect sense. I think Edgar Allan Poe said it best, 'dream within a dream' and all that." "Fox, Edgar Allan Poe was talking metaphorically!" Scully exclaimed in an exasperated tone. "But it's what you were suggesting anyway, isn't it? That my perception, my reality, is all a figment of my subconscious?" Scully gave a frustrated chuckle. "This is real! There's nothing more I can say to convince you right now! We could debate this all day and we still wouldn't get anywhere, because, conceivably, either of us could be right!" Mulder nodded acknowledgingly. "Touche. I guess that's true, to a point. Ok, saying, hypothetically, that you're little theory was right. That doesn't explain how I included people I'd never actually seen, like my doctor for instance, in this little dream of mine now does it???" "You're right, I can't really explain that. Not that it's ever been conclusively proven, but it's long been speculated that people in a comatose state can hear what's going on around them. That doesn't of course explain the physical image of the people you remember seeing.. but," she paused and began to laugh, "maybe it's the first evidence that, whilst in a coma, people can actually see as well." "My very own X-file, eh?" Mulder commented, almost to himself. "What?" Scully asked. "I said, I've got my very own X-file here." Scully stared at him blankly for a moment. "What's an X-file?" she asked with genuine curiosity. That one comment disturbed Mulder more than anything. He opened his mouth to answer her, groping for the words. Before he could say anything, there was a knock on the door, and Marita Covarubias entered the room. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything, I just need to take Fox's blood pressure," she said with a smile as she breezed into the room. Scully smiled back. "That's ok, I should be going anyway. I need to pick Emily up from daycare." It was Mulder's turn to stare unsurely at Scully. "Emily?" he asked. "Emily, our daughter." She leant down over Mulder and kissed him softly on the cheek. "I'll see you latter. By the way, Fox, you can call me Dana." She turned and left the room. For the next few weeks, Mulder observed the events which surrounded him with a sort of detached and almost clinical curiosity. Dana eventually brought in Emily to see him, and he had to admit that she was an adorable little girl, although there was something indefinable that somehow made him uneasy. Physically, she was identical to the little girl who Mulder remembered as being Scully's daughter, and that made him feel almost scared and panicked. The same unsettled feeling accompanied most of the events which occurred over the weeks, and Mulder was rather at a loss to explain them. As he continued to talk to Scully further, he eventually found out that, apparently, in this world he was a university lecturer in psychology - which, as it turned out, was how Dana and he had met, whilst she was lecturing in mecicine. Additionally, he acted part-time in an advisory capacity with the FBI, aiding in the creating of psychological profiles for criminal suspects. According to the story as Dana told it, he had first become involved with the FBI when a former student of his had committed a series of murders in the DC area, and the violent crimes division had contacted him to seek his assistance in bringing the boy to justice. To Mulder, this notion didn't seem to paint the American standards for tertiary education in a very positive light, but still this event had marked the beginning of an association with the FBI, which had eventually lead to Fox becoming more and more involved in criminal profiling. As the days rolled on, Fox was also visited on numerous occasions by one of the hospital's resident psychiatrists - one Doctor Diana Fowley. Strangely, the woman had claimed to never have met Mulder before, which somehow made Mulder feel more than a little shocked and confused. Each time she came to his room, Mulder would dismiss her attempts at counselling or psycho-analysis abruptly, as it appeared he was of the opinion that he by no means required a shrink. It became clear to Fowley that Fox was protecting some level of self delusion - however, in the interests of keeping her patient happy, she eventually took the hint and stopped trying to force Mulder to talk to her. Understanding the necessary and inevitable stages on the road to acceptance, she decided it would probably be far easier to just let Mulder come to the truth in his own time, as she was sure he would. After close to a month, Fox was informed that he could finally return home - news at which Mulder felt mixed emotions. When he did first step into Dana and his apartment, the surroundings conjured up a somewhat familiar feeling, which Mulder found more than a little disturbing. However, he soon pushed the feeling from his mind, and was once again firmly resigned to the notion that this life was merely the illusion, and that he would inevitably return to his old existence. Not wanting to pressure Fox into moving too fast, Dana suggested to him that for the first few weeks he might like to sleep on his own. Quite relieved by this idea, Mulder agreed that that would probably be the best way, and immediately volunteered to sleep on the sofa. After all, he'd mused, he *had* been used to the sofa in his real world. And thus, Mulder settled into the apartment quite comfortably. About two weeks later, Dana received a phone call. Fox heard her on the verge of arguing with someone on the other end of the line, before she finally said "I'll ask him," and bid whoever it was farewell. Moments later, she entered the lounge where Mulder was seated on the sofa. "Ok, Fox, I just got off the phone with your mother." Dana gave an exasperated sigh. "Apparently, our families have, together, organised some big 'welcome home' party for you tonight. All of our relatives are coming here at seven-thirty. Believe me, I had absolutely no idea, and I totally understand if you want to just tell them to forget it. I tried myself, but your mum was so persistent that I had to tell her I'd ask you about it before she cancelled. You know what your mother can be like sometimes." She hesitated. "Somehow, I uh... don't think she's going to take no for an answer." Mulder was about to respond, "No, I don't know what my 'mother' can be like', but instead remained sill, just staring at the ground. "Fox?" Dana finally asked. "It's alright, they can come if they want. I suppose I have to see them all at some stage." He didn't sound very enthusiastic, and Scully frowned worriedly. "Are you sure, Fox? 'Cause they really don't need to come, if you don't feel up to it." She smiled supportingly, and Mulder felt sick. "No, that's alright." He gave a small, sad smile, and even though Dana knew it was forced, she nodded. "Alright then." She glanced at her watch. "It's just after six now, I suppose we should get ready. They're all bringing food and drink... I guess they've had this organised for some time." She shot Fox a lingering and supportive look, before turning to leave. Once she was gone, the smile faded from Mulder's face. 'Oh god,' he thought to himself, as his heart began to race. He lay back on the couch restlessly. 'Well,' he finally mused, 'I suppose this will be interesting, at least.' At close to seven thirty, the first of the night's company began to arrive. Emily, dressed up in an adorable blue dress which Dana had had to force her to wear (it appeared that Emily far preferred her jeans), ran excitedly to the door and opened it to greet her guests with a wide and enthusiastic grin. Mulder watched from a distance where he was standing over to the side of the room. "Ah, there's my little girl," the familiar female voice began warmly, reaching down to scoop up the little blue ball into her arms to hug her. She continued into the apartment, Emily perched snugly on the woman's hip, her little head nestled on the woman's shoulder. Her gaze darted smoothly around the room, until her eyes came into contact with Mulder's. They both smiled. "Mrs Scully," Fox began, silently thanking the forces of the universe for sending a familiar yet unthreatening person to their door first. "How are you?" Before she could reply, Dana entered from the bedroom where she had been hastily changing her clothes. "Mom, hi," she added with a smile. Shortly after, Scully's brother and his family arrived, and Mulder was glad to see that some things remained consistent no matter what reality you were in... Bill Scully still had a problem with him, evident in his decidedly abrasive tone and facial expressions. Ironically, Bill's dislike of him was actually the thing that most made Mulder feel at home that night. Bill's family's arrival was followed suit by Scully's sister, Melissa, who Mulder was more than a little surprised to see alive. With her was her long-time partner, Alex. Although the temptation was there, Mulder managed to refrain from telling them about the little irony in his other life in which Alex had killed Melissa in cold blood. It was an interesting spectacle, though, as Fox watched Krycek arrive wearing a neat suit and tie. Even more amusing to him was when he discovered, through casual conversation, that Alex was a lawyer. Last to arrive were Mulder's parents. He himself answered the knock at the apartment door, opening it to reveal his mother standing outside. She smiled at him warmly and entered the apartment, followed closely behind by Mr Mulder. What Fox saw shocked him, for entering the apartment behind her was CSM. Mulder's mind froze and his body accompanied it, as he stared in virtual horror at the man standing before him. The man smiled almost shyly, engaging Fox's eye contact. "Hello, son," he began tentatively, as if almost afraid of what his son might say to him. Mulder forced a half smile, but other than that it was all he could do to stare in shock. About 30 minutes into the dinner, Mr Mulder tapped gently on the side of his glass to announce a toast. When he had everyone's attention he stood, extending his arm and elevating his wine glass in front of him. He cleared his throat almost nervously. "I'd like to propose a toast to Fox Mulder, for a courageous fight back from the brink of death to be seated here with us today. And, Fox, I know I speak for everyone here when I say that, well, it's great to have you back." He smiled warmly, and the rest seated around the table began to clap and chatter loudly, as all eyes turned to Fox. Confronted by the sea of faces, the room began to spin ever so slightly, and then faster and faster. The cheerful smiles, the cacophony of voices, the nearly twenty eyes all focused on him... Fox felt sick, the overwhelming attention of these people he didn't even feel he knew was nearly more than he could bear. Movements slowed throughout the room for him, and the sound drained away, until he could literally hear and feel the pounding of his heart, surrounded by an endless row of smiling faces. After a few moments, the noise began to crescendo once more. Mulder suddenly found himself unable to breathe, taking in shallow and frequent gasps of air. His mind whirled, and a single thought clanged around his brain over and over. As the room became almost unbearable, Mulder rose abruptly from his seat. Each pair of eyes trained on him seemed to him to be accusing and questioning all at once. "I'm sorry," he mumbled desperately, stumbling as quickly as he could away from the table. Racing through the apartment on shaky legs, a tear forming in his eye, he grabbed blindly for the doorknob and ran from the apartment, not even closing the door behind him, leaving his family to stare after him silently. Mulder continued to run, and it wasn't until he was free from the building and racing down the outside street, with the crisp breeze flapping at his clothes and biting at his face, that he felt able to breath again. He continued to run desperately as if sheer physical distance from the family he'd left in the apartment would erase his pain, until eventually, as he turned a corner, he collapsed hard on the side walk into a crumpled heap, eyes stinging with tears and body shaking. Exhausted and drained, he remained like that for a long time, an eventual shower of rain falling from the sky as it was split across violently by bright flashes of lightning. Mulder raised his head to let the droplets pelt down against his face, each new streak of rain concealing a matching tear track. Finally, Mulder peeled himself from the sidewalk, his clothes drenched and freezing, and began to walk aimlessly around the city, until eventually, long after the rain had dissipated, he came to a familiar building somewhere in the outskirts of Washington. He smiled weakly at the welcoming glow of Reggie's, and wearily he entered the establishment, making his way to the bar and ordering a beer. Mulder studied the reflected lights from above the bar as they danced on the surface of the cool liquid his glass was half filled with. After leaving his own party, Fox had travelled five blocks in hopes he'd find a place he wasn't even sure existed. Comfortingly, the place did exist, and here he was in the bar he knew so well, sitting alone with a drink. He'd sat on that exact stool countless times... or had he? He didn't feel he knew anything anymore. He tried to push the unnerving thought as far from his mind as he could, as he took a gulp of his drink. The surroundings seemed familiar, and that was all that mattered to him at that moment. It was then that he noticed a figure move past him and take up residence of the neighbouring bar stool to his left. Slowly, his eyes moved from his drink to the stool's occupant. He stared silently into her kind, blue eyes, framed with neat strands of golden-red hair. She smiled at him, then turned to the bar tender who had moved to their position noticing Scully's arrival. "Can I just have a soda water, thanks." The bar tender nodded his acknowledgment, retreating to another section of the bar to prepare the drink. There was silence for some moments between Mulder and Scully. "How'd you find me?" Mulder finally asked, swirling his glass and concentrating his attention on the swishing liquid and the clinking of the ice. "I figured this was where you'd go. You used to come here a lot when I first met you... it's a good place to drown one's sorrows." The bartender returned with Scully's drink and placed in in front of her. She took the glass in her hand and sipped slowly from the straw. "How'd everyone take my sudden departure?" Scully thought about this for a second, hesitating to find the right words. "Everyone was a bit speechless, but I think they understood." Her tone was soft and calm, and the soothing tones relaxed Mulder almost instantly. "Do you understand?" he asked after a time with a far away voice. He really didn't expect her to, considering that he didn't even really know why he'd been effected in the way he had. After all, he was resigned to the notion that at any moment he'd wake up in his old world as though nothing had happened. It had become harder with each passing day to continue to believe in his version of the truth, but he still held strong and had never once wavered. It was thus hard for Mulder to understand, and he genuinely looked to Dana for some enlightenment. "Yeah, I think I do. It must have been quite overwhelming for you, to see all those people who, in one respect, are so familiar... and yet also strangers to you at the same time. It must have been bewildering." She took another drink before adding in an even softer voice, "I'm sorry, Fox." Mulder looked up in surprise at Scully's last comment. "You... you don't have anything to be sorry for." "Yes I do. I should have foreseen your reaction. Looking back on it now, all the signs were there. I shouldn't have put you through that. It's just... it's just I thought that all the familiar faces might, you know, spark your memory or something. It was selfish in a way, and I'm sorry." "Scully... I mean, Dana, remember it was me who agreed to let them all come over. You tried to give me a way out, you have nothing to be sorry for." Dana smiled. "Yeah, well, I still think I should have stopped it." Silence once again ensued between them, as both sipped slowly at their drinks. "Fox, I..." Scully finally started, but again hesitated. "What?" Fox asked, turning his gaze to her. "Nothing. I know that nothing I can say is going to make this any easier for you. But just remember that I am always here if you need me." Mulder smiled weakly. "I know you are." Rested on the bar was Mulder's right hand, and Dana reached out and grasped it in her own hand. At first, the human contact made Mulder jump slightly, but eventually he eased down and allowed her hand to gently caress his own, her nimble and delicate fingers clasping around the contours of his partially curled fist. They sat there like that for some time before returning home, the simple touch of a hand communicating what Dana felt otherwise unable to articulate with words. To Fox, such an act conjured mixed emotion deep within him; he was both calmed by her touch, and at the same time frightened. Unfortunately, it seemed to Fox that the fear outweighed the comfort. The next day, Mulder took Dana's advice and travelled to the FBI. Mulder entered the J. Edgar Hoover building through the main entrance; sliding doors fashioned from bullet proof glass. Fox couldn't help but wonder sometimes whether the bullet proof glass was really there to protect those inside the building, but rather to protect civilians walking outside from the wrath of some disgruntled federal employee, unsatisfied with their place within the government's chain of comand. As he crossed the FBI seal painted impressively under foot, it occurred to him how much the room resembled that library from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. "X marks the spot," Harrison Ford's voice echoed through his mind, and Fox couldn't help but smile. He approached the security entrance with a row of metal detectors supervised by visibly bored security personnel. Perhaps, Mulder mused as he considered the mundane routine of such a position, it was indeed these officers who the bullet-proof glass was in place for. Randomly choosing one of the metal detector arches, Mulder moved to pass through. As he did so, the man in charge of that particular detector glanced up at him absently, and then returned his eyes to a book he had been just as absently perusing. A split second later, the man's head shot up once more, and a broad smile formed on his face. "Mulder! You're back!" he exclaimed cheerfully as Fox removed his keys from his jacket pocket and handed them to him. "Uh... I'm sorry, you are?" Mulder responded blankly. The man's smiled faded slightly as he stared at Mulder, but then his eyes flashed with understanding. "Oh, of course, I forgot... yeah, the guys told me about your, um, memory inconsistencies. I'm Danny, by the way." 'Inconsistencies,' Mulder thought sarcastically, 'that's one way of looking at it.' "Nice to meet you, Danny," Fox responded, and then asked as he walked through the metal detector and took back his keys, "The guys?" "The three stooges," Danny laughed, once again regaining his cheerful exterior. 'Three stooges....' Mulder thought with more than a minor hint of confusion. In an instant his expression changed with understanding. "You mean... Langley, Frohike, and Byers?" he asked. Danny nodded with a grin, and Mulder smiled back appreciatively. "Thanks Danny, see you around." "Yeah, see you around Mulder," Danny called after Mulder, adding, "I hope your memory gets better." Mulder turned back around from his position now a few yards away, and added quite seriously, "Yeah, me too." "By the way, have you given any further consideration to joining the bureau full time?" "Full time?" Mulder responded, once again confused. Danny frowned. "Well, yeah... before your accident, there was talk around that you were going to be made a full honourary agent and move into our little community full time." "And... I was considering that?" Mulder asked tentatively. "Yeah, I think so. Really, Mulder, we'd love to have you around here all the time." "Right then, well, I guess I'll think about it," Mulder replied with an indulgent smile after a lingering pause. Danny smiled back, and both men returned to their business. With his back turned and his long strides taking him further and further away, Fox added under his breath, "That's a nice thought, Danny, but by the time anything like that comes through, I'll be far gone from here and back in my real position on the X-Files with Scully." After consulting a number of rather misleading floor plan directories posted around the corridors of the Hoover Building, Mulder miraculously found himself standing outside a door, marked with the names John Byers, Melvin Frohike, and Ringo Langley. Standing outside, Mulder stared at the names for a long while. He considered the irony of the situation, that these three anti-government protagonists and conspiracy theorists were now employed within the government's jurisdiction at the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The thought seemed laughable. The door being half open anyway, Fox gently pushed it the full way in and entered tentatively. Inside the room was rather spacious, three desks dotted around in a less than geometrical pattern, suggesting that these three guys were no doubt exactly how Mulder had remembered them - less than conforming to the status quo. Langley, casually seated at his desk with his feat rested on his desk top and playing some sort of computer game, was the first to notice Mulder standing at the door. Nearly doing himself a serious injury due to his position by jumping, Langley's eyes instantly widened with surprise. "Oh my god... Mulder," he began, his words grabbing the attention of Byers who himself nearly chocked on his coffee, and Frohike who appeared to be having much fun with his paper shredder by absently forcing through it pieces of what Mulder hoped were scrap paper; both men looked up, startled. "Mulder!" Byers exclaimed. "We weren't expecting you... I mean, so soon." He smiled warmly. "Not that we're not happy to see ya, buddy," Frohike added, jumping up from his desk and moving towards Fox. "How're you holding up?" "I'm alright, guys." Mulder allowed his eyes to travel around the room, observing his surroundings with an air of curiosity. "Actually, I'm not really here, I just wanted to see the place... ya know." Noting the clutter and mess around the room, it occurred to Mulder how much this office actually resembled his and Scully's. He frowned at the thought of the X-Files, then added, "Well, to tell you the truth I'm here at Dana's urging. She thought it might do me some good." Byers grinned, "Ah, I can understand that. Dana's been keeping us informed as to your condition, by the way." Mulder nodded. "Yeah, she said she was." There was a long pause in the conversation as all four men stared at one another, none of them quite knowing what to say. Finally, Mulder broke the silence. "Right, well, good to see you guys, but I've really got to go." He smiled to indulge them, but longed to be back outside of the building in the cool breeze. "Oh, well, Mulder, ok if you have to go." Langley replied with a smile. Clearly, he, Byers, and Frohike, were all slightly unsure as to how to treat Mulder, and hadn't yet had the opportunity to gage his level of remembrance. "By the way, Mulder, my wife would love for you and Dana to come to dinner some time," Byers added. Fox considered this statement, then asked curiously, "Your wife... Susanne, right?" "Well yeah!" Byers exclaimed, "It looks like your memory might'nt been in such a bad shape after all." "I'm sure that'd be nice, Byers. I'll mention it to Dana." With that, he turned to leave, his desire to be on his own overriding what ever part of his brain governed his social graces. He took a step towards the door, but was stopped by Langley's voice. "You know, Mulder, we never did solve the case we were working on when you had your accident." Mulder stopped dead, and turned apprehensively back to Langley. "Oh, and what case was it?" "Guy named Modell. Killed a string of people, claimed to have some form of telekinetic abilities which enabled him to, um... how did he put it?" Frohike began, his memory failing him towards the end of his story. Mulder's eyes went wide, and his heart began pounding faster and faster. "To 'push' his will on to others," Fox finished, a cold shiver running through his body. Frohike stared at Mulder in surprise. "Yeah, I think that was it. He eluded capture, and he's still at large." Mulder stared at the ground for a moment, his mind racing. He turned to leave again, but stopped himself. He faced the Lone Gun Men, gaining eye contact with each in turn. "Guys, do you think I could get access to some of our old case files?" he asked tentatively, almost willing them to say no, fear of what he might find in the files playing on his mind. The guys looked between each other, Byers and Langley shrugging, meaning Frohike was left to address Mulder. "Well, yeah, I don't see why not." He moved to his desk and retrieved from a draw a set of keys, removing one. Handing the key to Mulder, he continued, "You'll find them in our second office. It's down in the basement." Mulder's eyes flashed with something indefinable, and he gave Frohike an intense look, to the point where Frohike's own discomfort forced him to overt his eyes. "The basement?" he asked in a far away voice, small and nervous. "Well, yeah," Byers added. "I admit, it's not the most fashionable part of the Hoover Building, but it suits our needs. Just lock it up once you're done down there." "Yeah, thanks guys." He smiled at each of them in turn, before hurriedly leaving the office with the key in hand. Mulder stood outside the basement office, a sort of feverish apprehension tingling through his body. Nervously, he placed the key Byers had supplied him with in the lock, and after a few jiggles, the door gave way. Standing at the threshold of his old office, Mulder gasped at the familiar surroundings, and literally had to force himself to start breathing again. He entered, making a beeline for the filling cabinet which, as far as he remembered, had been burnt to the ground. A mental image of his char-grilled office flashed through Fox's mind, and a hint of the despair he'd felt at the moment he'd first witnessed the ruins of a place he'd once considered more his home than his own apartment filled his heart, making him stop sharply as he reached the cabinet. Opening the top draw, he grabbed a file at random and opened it. The file documented the investigation into a series of seemingly unrelated murders, connected by the gruesome detail of the murder's removal of... Mulder stared at the file, his heart racing. His vision blurred, and for a long time he stopped breathing; standing transfixed as he stared at the words in front of him. 'The removal of the victim's liver,' Mulder finished outloud in a small and squeaky voice. Mulder dropped the file to the ground as if to hold it a moment longer would be to poison himself, and desperately he pulled another file from the cabinet at random. Opening this one, Mulder was once again left shocked, as it told the tale of Donnie Pfaster, a serial killer who Fox himself had identified as a fetishist, who had been praying on women in the Summer of 1995, and taking with him the souvenir of the women's hair. Blindly he pulled yet another file from the cabinet, this one an old one, dating back nearly seven years. It documented a case in which a man claiming alien influence had abducted a woman from her Washington home, and taken her to... Mulder drew his hand to his mouth, a feeling of dread and panic running through his veins, and he took in a shallow gasp of air. The man had taken his victim to Skyland Mountain. Frantically, Fox searched the file for more information, then froze when he came to a file photo of the suspect. The man, identified as one Duane Eugene Barry, was identical to the man who Mulder remembered clearly by the same name. Stunned, Mulder felt his legs give way below him, and he crumpled to the ground. Staring ahead of him at nothingness, Mulder forced himself to consider the implications of what he'd just read and seen. For the first time, the reality of his situation finally hit Mulder. From these cases, his subconscious would have had the raw material required to create an elaborate... dream, just like that of his old life. There, he'd admitted it. Fox squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to believe what he now knew was very easily the truth. It all made sense to him now, and he knew that once and for all he would never be going back to his old life. Mulder squeezed his eyes closed, in an instant feeling completely alone. Until that moment he hadn't let himself consider that this indeed could be reality and not his former existence, but that now seemed unavoidable. Fox suddenly felt helpless; a tear began to roll down his cheek, and he could both hear and feel his heart pounding frantically against the wall of his chest. Through his panic and fear, the room around him began to close in and his surroundings dissolved to black, until Mulder passed out on the floor of the basement office, a vessel at the corner of his eye breaking and spilling blood down his face and onto the carpet. When Mulder regained consciousness, the outside world had already long grown dark as the evening had set in hours ago, not that Mulder could gage the time by the sun from his place in the basement of the FBI J. Edgar Hoover Building. It was still longer before he actually moved, lying rigidly on the ground staring at nothing. When he finally did move, it was a slow and weary action as he rose to his feet. Drained and dazed, he staggered to the door and eventually found his way out of the building. Outside the air was fresh and crisp, lingering remnants of the previous night's storm causing a light rain. Clapping thunder continually ripped across the sky, as the answering flash of lightning lit up the deserted city, and the rain slowly washed away the dried blood and tears from Fox's face. Cold and soaked, Mulder stumbled along the pavement, a feeling of numbness which had accompanied him since the moment he'd open ed his eyes in the basement office covering his entire body and mind like a thick blanket threatening to smother his soul. Over and over in his mind, Fox just kept asking himself 'Why?'. Why had the world played such a sick joke on him. Confusion and fear ripped through him continuously, as he felt completely and utterly alone. He considered how clear the truth had been in retrospect. Everything he'd encountered had pointed to the inevitable conclusion of this world representing reality. Yet, Mulder knew that, underneath, he'd always known the truth, but had just stopped himself from admitting it, allowing fear of the reality's implications to control and govern his emotions and thoughts to protect his own sanity. He'd known the truth right from the beginning, right from the moment Dana had pricked her finger on that rose thorn, but he'd allowed himself to wallow in self delusion. Gradually, as Mulder wandered blindly considering the truth, the rain pelting down on him making his strides progressively heavier, the fear within him turned instead to anger. Water literally poured from the sky now, thrusting a literal blanket of rain over Fox's surroundings. Stopping abruptly in the middle of the road, clenched fists at either side turning his knuckles to white, he whisked his head to face the sky, welcoming the heavy downpour which filled his eyes and pelted his face like sharp pin pricks. Glaring at the grey clouds gathered overhead, the anger and loathing of a lifetime filled his veins. Defiantly, he yelled at the heavens and the cosmos with all the fire within him. "Why?!?!?!!" he screamed into the sky, "Why did you do this to me?!?!?!!" He stood transfixed, his eyes sharp and penetrating through the gloom of the rain swirling around him; the sky's reply an ear splitting clap of thunder which seemed to emanate from all directions, and a magnificent flash which lit his face brightly, making the tracks of his tears plainly visible. Unbridled rage fuming from his heart, more and more tears of anger started to roll freely from his eyes, as he thought of Scully and the life he would never know again. He wept for the world, for the X-Files, and for the truth. It was early morning before Fox finally staggered home. For the following few weeks, Mulder lived his life in a daze, barely uttering a word and never leaving the apartment. Most of his time he spent sleeping, or in the times when he was unable to sleep, simply sat and wallowed in his own deep depression and self pity. He ate only the bare minimum to stay alive, finding no pleasure in the act of ingestion. Occasionally he would watch television or turn on the radio, but even when he did so his attention was distracted. Dana worried constantly about him. Many times she made attempts at conversation, but merely found herself brushed off with a short and dismissive reply. She had twice contacted Dr Fowley, the psychiatrist at the hospital where Mulder had been staying, and both times was reassured that depression was a good sign, as it meant Fox had begun to accept the truth. Fowley reiterated that Mulder would eventually come through this phase, an inevitable step on the road to his own psychological recovery, but that knowledge hardly made the act of watching her husband waste away before Dana's very eyes any easier. She had been advised to continue attempts to talk to him, but Dana found that, rather than coming through depression to inevitable acceptance, she saw Fox simply falling deeper into despair - and herself with him. Fox himself was haunted by vivid dreams of his old existence, subconscious replayings of old memories more real to him than anything else. Most nights he would awake intermittently with a start, his clothes soaked with sweat. In amongst these dreams was the occasional one of his life with Dana and Emily, which were both comforting and frightening to him at the same time. On one such night Mulder dreamt that he was with Emily at the beach, and together they were building a sand castle. The white sand was warm underfoot, soft and slippery. They were seated either side of the growing structure they were creating with their hands, a tiny rock pool their source of water to mould the growing formation. One by one they were heaping handfuls of sand on top of each other, sculpting with their hands and pressing into the newly flattened sides fragments of pearly shell, small rocks, and seaweed. They talked as they built, laughing together and playing. Eventually they finished their construction, and the two of them stood back and marvelled at their masterpiece, staring in awe at their creation, a conglomeration of the very sand they walked on and the shells that shone as they caught the light, transformed into a castle of wonder. They'd created a moat around the castle, and now, as the tide drew further up the beach, the castle's surroundings were gently bombarded with a boarder of water, deeming the fortress impenetrable. They both smiled at the beauty of the structure, before Mulder lifted Emily above his head, the little girl squealing excitedly, and they ran together to the ocean's edge and played in the shallow waters until the sun was nearly set, it's last rays sparkling colourfully and peacefully over the rippling water, casting shadows of red, pink, and orange. Mulder awoke slowly, allowing himself to saver the last remnants of his dream. Such a beautiful memory was not to be just discarded. He sat up slowly, noting that the time was just after six thirty, and smiled as he considered the memory of his day at the beach with his daughter. It was a real memory, he knew, and a happy one at that. He replayed in his mind sculpting the sand with his hands, almost able to feel the fine substance in his fingers. He closed his eyes to give the memory full justice, but no sooner had he done so than the image in his minds eye changed, a flash of another scene in his memory filling his mind. He was building a sand castle with a little boy, the same as he had been with Emily, only this wasn't a castle... it was a spaceship they were creating. Mulder's eyes shot open and his smile faded. His memory had been of another dream he'd had, what seemed like an eternity ago, a symbol of his acceptance of his fate as a tool in fighting the future. The glimmer of hope and happiness he'd felt just moments before, dissipated just as quickly as it had come. His old depression returned, and it remained firmly ingrained in him for some further weeks. Headlights and streetlights flew past, like ghosts emerging from the darkness. The steady, soothing movement of the car was enough to cure any insomniac, as Fox was finding in the back seat as he rested his head against his seatbelt. They had been driving a long time, and despite himself, Fox's weary eyes were getting the better of him - or at least his eyes. Just as he was on the verge of sleep, the sudden flash of headlights bore down on him, emitting blinding light, the type abductees describe as they're being elevated aboard an alien space craft. There was a screech of brakes, the crunch of metal. The car was sent flying. Next thing Fox knew, he was lying on his back. He opened his eyes to see that the car had done a 180=A1 flip and was now resting on it's roof. Broken glass was everywhere. He cringed at a shooting pain in his right leg. He turned his head slightly and noticed the limp body of a young girl beside him. His heart skipped a beat. Slowly, tentatively, he reached out a hand and touched her. No reaction. In an instant he forgot about the pain in his leg. He poked her again, a sudden panic engulfing him. He shook her, harder and harder. She still didn't move. He desperately shook the limp body, hoping above hope that she'd finally respond. But she didn't. Tears began to freely flow down his face. "No! Please!" he cried out. "Samantha!" Mulder jerked awake, covered in sweat. His eyes desperately darted around his and Dana's apartment. He looked below him and realised he was lying in the dark on the couch he'd fallen asleep on some time before. He lay back, gasping for air, realising everything he'd just witnessed had been a dream. But no, somehow it had been more than a dream, he knew. Mulder could actually remember those events. It wasn't a dream, but a memory. He'd had a sister, Samantha, in his real life, too. She hadn't been abducted by aliens though, she had died in a car crash as a young girl. And Mulder had been there. Just like his other world, she'd been taken from him in a bright light, and there'd been nothing he could do to save her. Just like Agent Mulder. He suddenly felt helpless, and he couldn't think properly. His mind was a fog, and the more he tried to centre his thoughts, the worse the fog became. Sleep was impossible. It was all he could do to lie there. Alone in the dark and more lost than ever, his heart cried out through the silence, but there was noone to hear it. A long time passed. Mulder didn't know how long he'd lain there alone, consumed by his own personal despair. He was startled when the small figure of his little girl emerged from the hallway. "Daddy?" Emily asked tentatively in a shaky voice. Mulder stared at the girl for a long time. "Wh-what is it, Emily?" he finally asked, just as tentatively. She took a few steps closer. "I had a bad dream daddy. I'm scared." As she got closer, Mulder could see that she was as white as a sheet, and covered in sweat, funnily enough, just as he was. "Don't... don't be scared. It's ok. You just go back to bed, it's ok." She stood, staring into her father's eyes for some time. "Can I sleep here with you, daddy?" she finally asked, her voice still shaking. That was the question Mulder had been dreading. He wanted more than anything to be left alone to his pain and torment. Just him and his mind, running round in circles. He was in a dark place, and wasn't in the mood to play father to a small child. He seriously thought about saying no to her, but then silently scolded himself for even considering it. This was his daughter, a young girl who needed him. He couldn't just turn away. He mustered a weak smile. "Sure sweetie, come here." Her timid, fearful expression turned into a delighted smile as she hoped onto the couch next to her father. " 'night daddy," she said sleepily, and closed her eyes tightly. Mulder looked at the little girl and stroked her hair. In an instant, his sorrow seemed to melt away, like a switch had been flicked in his mind. This small child had come to him for comfort, sought him out, and somehow that meant more to Mulder than anything else in the world at that moment. For the first time in a long time, he smiled. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ End part 1
Dreaming Aloud pt2 By Jane Britton-Goodwin (aka. LonegunGirl) 12/15/99 Disclaimer: See part 1
"In that book which is my memory On the first page of the chapter That is the day when I first met you Appear the words: Here begins a new life. " ~ Dante Alighieri 'La Vita Nuova'
"From an endless beach of reality, we take a grain of sand and call it the world." ~ Robert Pir sig ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ For the longest of times, Mulder remained still, staring silently at the little girl beside him. He could have stayed like that forever but for a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. He felt something he couldn't remember feeling since he left his other life. He was compelled to find the truth. The truth about his sister. He had to know for sure if that dream the night before, as painful as it was for him, was the truth. Although this feeling overwhelmed him, something held him back. He wanted desperately to hold onto the calm stillness of early morning in which he lay with his daughter. A large part of him wanted to hide in the shadows, never knowing for sure. Ignorance is bliss, he mused to himself. What was it the cigarette smoking man and his cronies said? Deny everything? At that moment, it seemed like a pretty sound philosophy to him. If he never found out for sure, he could always just deny it all to himself. His psychological training told him that was unhealthy, but he didn't care. Yet he also wanted closure, as though a part of him would never be complete otherwise. He had to know, and there was only one way. Slowly he lifted himself over the back of the couch, careful not to disturb Emily's sleep. She stirred slightly but did not wake, much to Mulder's relief. He grabbed his coat from the stand next to the door, thankful he hadn't bothered to change out of his clothes the night before. Just as he was about to leave the apartment, he stopped, turning back around to the little girl on the couch. She was still sleeping, but it occurred to Mulder how irresponsible it was just leaving her on there like that. He walked back over to her and bundled the little girl in his arms. As quietly as possible, he carried her down the corridor and into her bedroom. He laid her down on the bed and pulled her blankets gently around her. As he looked down at the small head protruding from under the covers, a broad smile engulfed his face. He lent down and kissed her gently. She stirred, opening her eyes just a crack. " 'night daddy," she murmured. "Goodnight Emily," Mulder replied softly, before turning and making his way hurriedly back down the corridor and to the door. Quietly, he pulled the door shut behind him and made his way to the elevator. The house loomed before him, illuminated by the nearly full moon above. An echoing splash ensued as the cab pulled abruptly into the curb, the overflowing gutter the only remaining evidence of the heavy rain of earlier that night. Presently, a mere sprinkle fell on the glistening pavement. The light droplets gently pelted the window from which Mulder gazed, and he was almost too lost in thought to notice the car had stopped. The sight of the neat, old building in front of him conjured up a cavalcade of images and memories, long hidden in the depths of Mulder's subconscious. He'd actually been quite amazed to find he remembered the address, surely a testament to his recovering memory. His reminiscing was quickly interrupted by the harsh, gruff tones of the cab driver's voice. "Hey, are you going to be getting out of here already or what?" he asked impatiently. Mulder turned his head slowly toward the driver and, noticing the annoyed and weary frown on the man's face, he hurried to regain his presence of mind. He couldn't blame him for his attitude, it *was* after 4 in the morning after all. "Yeah, of course, sorry. How much do I owe you?" "Six sixty, thanks." Mulder fished around in his wallet for the correct change, handed it to the driver with a small smile, and exited the vehicle. He stood there staring up at the house long after the cab had moved off. An icy shiver ran through him, and he automatically pulled the warm protection of his coat tighter around his body, even though he knew physical coldness had nothing to do with his shivering. With a small sigh, he began to ascend the drive. Reaching the door, his finger hesitated on the small, round button momentarily, before pressing squarely on it repeatedly. A long moment passed before Mulder saw a light go on inside, and a figure in white head towards him, albeit muffled by the frosty, slightly translucent glass surrounding the old wooden door. A woman in her sixties, bleary-eyed as one would expect from someone who had just been startled awake, opened the door and stood staring at him. A mixture of shock and expectancy was evident on her face as she looked deep into Mulder's alert and vibrant eyes. Mulder smiled sheepishly at his mother. "Fox... do you realise what time it is?" "It's just after four. I'm sorry to wake you, but this couldn't wait." He pushed his way past Mrs Mulder and on into the house. He stopped abruptly and turned back to his mother. "Where's... um, dad." He stumbled over the last word. Teena closed the door and then joined her son down the main corridor. "His sister, Cassandra, fell ill and he went to be with her. You know, she lives in Chicago. Jeffrey called us last night and Chris was off first thing this morning." Mulder pondered his mother's last comment with a mixture of amusement and something close to fear. The thought of CSM rushing off out of concern to help an ailing family member was laughable, and scary at the same time. He remained as unfazed as possible about the barrage of familiar names which had accompanied Teena's explanation, and instead headed for the kitchen. Once there, he quickly took up residence of one of four chairs placed around a circular table. Teena followed, shivering slightly. "I'll, um, put the kettle on. You need to warm up. Would you like a herbal tea, Fox?" Mulder nodded. "Yeah, that'd be nice mom. Thanks." Mrs Mulder busied herself with finding cups and boiling water as Fox sat, ordering his thoughts. It was some time before he finally spoke. "Mom... how did Samantha die?" She stopped abruptly. The few, heavy drops of rain outside, each a separate and identifiable splash on the pavement, echoed ominously in the silence which engulfed the room as Mrs Mulder stared at her son. "Samantha, eh?" she responded, diverting her eyes to the mug in her hand. She looked up and smiled at her son. "That was a long time ago." "Please mom, I just need to know." Teena joined Fox at the table, sitting opposite him. Once again, there was another long silence. "She was 8 and you were 12 at the time. We - you, me, and Samantha - were on our way home from some, um, school function or something like that. I can't exactly remember the details now." She shifted in her chair. "It was late, we were in the car, there was, um, another car and it just suddenly swerved in front of us. Turned out the driver was drunk, the usual way it goes. We collided with it, the car flipped, and... well... when I came to in hospital some time later I was told that Samantha was dead. That she'd hit her head with the impact, or...or... something like that. " She recounted the last few words as she finally looked up into her son's eyes. "She was gone just like that." Mulder smiled comfortingly at his mother, reaching out his hand to grasp hers which was rested on the table. "I know it's not a very pleasant topic of conversation, mom. I just had to know. You see, I... dreamt about it last night. The night of the crash, I mean. And I just... didn't know whether what I was seeing was real or not. Whether I could trust my subconscious. But you know, a lot of thing make sense now." He looked down suddenly at his lap and moved his hand slowly over his face. "Fox... what's wrong? What is it?" Slowly and sombrely he began to recount the events of his sister's abduction in his other life. He told her how she had been taken from him when he was 12 and she was 8, and how he'd been completely powerless to do anything. The parallels were all there, set out plainly in his story. The blinding light, being unable to move due to something restraining his body, even the ages were the same. It was so clear exactly how his subconscious had formulated such a scenario. When he'd finished, he looked up at Mrs Mulder, who sat silently absorbing what her son had just related to her. "Fox... I think I'm starting to understand how hard this transition has been for you. Such strong memories - traumatic memories - of another lifetime... I can only imagine just how disconcerting that would be for you. Suddenly yanked from one world, complete in it's detail, and told it was never real. I really am amazed that you've coped as well as you have." She smiled at him softly, and Mulder smiled back. "I'll, um, get that tea." She got up and busied herself once again preparing their drinks. Fox turned around to her, thoughtfully. "Mum, could you tell me more about, well, the aftermath of the accident. The effects on the family, I mean." Teena returned with the tea and handed one cup to Fox, who acknowledged it with a smile. She sat again, taking a sip from her cup. "It effected all of us terribly, needless to say. But... Chris was the worst. Samantha had always been his little girl. They'd been very close. I think he blamed himself, in a way. He hadn't made time to come that night, and sort of thought that maybe if he had been there, then he perhaps might have prevented it. I'm not a psychiatrist and I don't pretend to be, but that's what I always thought. It was irrational and pointless, but I don't think he ever forgave himself. He became distant and reclusive, uncommunicative. It's just he couldn't get over it, and he let all of his other relationships suffer for it. Especially with you. That was actually the reason for your rift, you know. You always felt angry that he let his grief consume him so much that he was never there for you. You had a huge blow up about it around 6 years ago - on Thanksgiving of all times." She allowed a small, wry smile play across her features. "You've barely spoken since." Mulder listened intently to all his mother had to say, distracted only by sips of the warm, soothing liquid in his mug. As she spoke, he actually found himself transported back to a time six years before, and it had indeed been Thanksgiving, just as Mrs Mulder had recalled. Images of CSM and himself, yelled words and heated argument flashed in quick succession in his mind's eye. To Fox, it suddenly made vivid sense why his subconscious would portray CSM in the light it did. In reality they'd had an unhappy and distant relationship - all stemming back to Samantha. He recalled out loud to him mother how CSM had been the leader of a group of government conspirators, and how he'd been involved in the root of Samantha's abduction and indeed his life's quest. Teena nodded, once again understanding the connections. "Fox, when you had your accident... well, you don't know how badly that effected him. Losing another child in the same way... it was more than he could bare. As harsh as this might sound, it actually took your crash for him to realise how distant your relationship had been. That he'd never reconciled with you, that was terribly hard on him. The relief he felt when you woke up... I can't even begin to tell you. He just didn't know how to make the first step to mend things in your relationship." Mulder fell silent, his mind whirling. He thought for a long time about his mother's words. Finally, he spoke quietly, his voice distant and small - almost like a child's. "Mom... when's Dad getting back?" "Oh, well, he should be back today, I think. Possibly tomorrow, I'm not too sure." She glanced at her watch, noticing that the time was close to five. Mulder looked at his own watch and was genuinely shocked at how late (or indeed early, depending on one's point of view) it was. "Oh my god, Mom, I'm so sorry to keep you talking like this. I shouldn't have woken you." Mrs Mulder placed a reassuring hand on Fox's arm. "Not at all, Fox, I'm glad you came. I only hope I've been of some help to you." He rose from his chair and kissed her gently on the cheek. "Thankyou." "Anyway, I better get going," he said as he reached for his coat which was lying on the table. "I can see myself out." He smiled at his mother, turned, and left. Alone in the half light of early morning, as the world made the slow transition from night to into day, Fox Mulder walked along the shinning pavement. He watched as the streetlights glistened in the sidewalk, and listened as the few birds which lived in the city awoke from their night's slumber with a rustling and soft chirping. For once he felt somewhat at peace with himself and the world stirring around him, and soaked up the pleasant feeling for as long as he was able. He wasn't quite sure how long he'd been strolling along, only that the city was now a much lighter shade of grey than it had been when he'd started out on this journey. He continued to walk on through the city streets, surveying his surroundings with an absent eye. His thoughts became slightly more grounded as he remembered more specifically his talk with his mother. She said a lot, and he was only just now beginning to sift through it all. Through all he recalled, his thoughts kept centring on all that she'd suggested about his father. He couldn't shake the thought of *CSM* actually caring about anyone else other than himself. Of course, he continually reminded himself that his father wasn't the shady smoking guy he'd known before, but it was still utterly difficult to fathom. He sighed, and continued walking. Fox put off visiting his father for over a week, not being quite able to summon the will power to make the journey to his parent's house and face the risk of rejection. Night after night Mulder's dreams were filled with snippets of their fight that Thanksgiving, and as a result he thought about nothing much else through most of his waking time, too. All day at work (which he had recently returned to) he halfheartedly read through files, while all the time playing out different scenarios in his mind about what he would say if he indeed gathered the courage to go to see his father. After nearly two straight weeks of this brooding, he finally felt ready to do it. However, in the interim, Fox had spent a solid day on his own, scouring over old photo albums of his life with Emily and Dana. Startlingly to him, Fox had found that, as he stared at each snapshot, nearly always an accompanying, vivid scene would play across his mind. These rich and clear memories filled his thoughts like scenes from a movie, the clarity almost astonishing. But what he remembered didn't just end with the photos, but the colour images prompted a further array of memories spanning a life time, and Fox allowed himself to revel in the wonderful times he'd had, and be swept up in events less positive in nature. Still, Mulder was ecstatic to find that he had begun to remember much of his life, and these memories served to reiterate further the need to patch up old wounds between himself and his father. Deciding it was time, he promised himself that the very next day he would pay a visit to him. Fox knocked tentatively, his hand just discernibly shaking as he lifted it. About a minute later, the door opened, revealing Christopher George Benjamin Mulder, his face an interesting shade of grey no doubt from lack of sleep and years of heavy smoking. Just like him - and now it appeared just like his daughter - Mulder's father suffered from chronic insomnia. It was a family trait, and Fox had accepted it years ago as his inevitable lot in life. Sure, being able to survive on little sleep was often an edge, but Mulder often longed to just be able to sleep one night, straight through. Perhaps then, he often mused, his life might start to make some sense. "Fox," Mr Mulder observed, half as a question and partly as a plain stating of fact. "Hi Dad," Fox replied with a half smile. The two men stood, staring at one another silently for nearly 30 seconds. Finally, CSM seemed to break out of a trance, and turn sharply. "Well, uh, come in," he half coughed, his voice gravelly and weary. They entered the house and began walking side by side to the living room. "If you're looking for your mother, she's out with a friend." They stopped, reaching their destination, a comfortable looking room, glass windows tiled along one wall allowing a steady stream of sunlight in. Fox turned to his father, and looked directly into his eyes, which in colour bore a striking resemblance to his own. "No, actually, Dad... I, uh, came to talk to you." As he spoke, he fidgeted nervously with his tie. "Oh?" Chris Mulder asked, surprised. Mulder looked at his father and swallowed hard. "Ok, Dad, I just... I want to say what I'm about to say, and I don't want you to interrupt till I'm finished, ok?" CSM nodded in response, and Mulder continued. "Right, well, ok then." He paused nervously. "Now, um... certain recent events in my life have made me start to, um, reevaluate... everything. Since the accident, I've thought about our relationship, and I just can't help but feel sad, ya know? Somehow we let a wall build up between us, and a rift enter our lives, and... well, I've begun to realise that life's too short to hold onto that kind of useless, borderline malevolence. How did we become so estranged, Dad? We were so close when I was kid, when Samantha was..." He stopped mid sentence, frowning at the tack he'd ended up taking. This didn't appear to be going too well. Ne ver the less, he continued on, plunging into the next thought. "I can't really explain this to you, but, uh, since I was in the coma, I feel I have a newfound understanding of just what you went through after Sam died." Fox gulped back tears as images of Samantha being lifted from her bed; Scully's sister lying dead at the hands of his own enemies; Deep Throat; Scully lying in a hospital bed comatose, the life virtually drained from her by a force he'd brought her into contact with, inadvertently or not, all flew through his mind along with numerous others. "I understand now the pain and the guilt you must have gone through, whether it was founded or not. Well, what I'm getting at is, I'm sorry I ever held that against you, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you all this years ago." Fox had been avoiding his father's eyes throughout his little speech, but finally raised his gaze to meet his. Chris Mulder turned his head away slightly, his eyes frosty with the unshed tears of a lifetime. When he finally spoke, his voice was scratchy and choking. "Fox, when you were in the car accident, I actually thought I'd never see you again, and never get a chance to make things right with you. I've wanted for so many years to apologise for never being a good enough father for you. I let my grief consume me... and it just about cost me everything else that I held dear in this world. You and your mother... I always wished there was some way I could have made it up to you." "We've both made mistakes, Dad, but... I'm willing to move forward, if you are," he asked it as a question, but his tone came out as more of a plea than anything else. It seemed to Fox at that moment that if he could just do this right, then maybe his whole life might start making sense. He just knew that he had to make peace with his father. Mulder's father stared into his face, a single, lonely tear falling from his eye. They smiled at each other, and embraced warmly. Mulder grinned, as his father began to chuckle lightly. In time, Mulder began to chuckle too, and they stood there together, just laughing quite contentedly, for a long time. Later that afternoon, Fox returned home to hear Dana talking on the phone. Actually, talking wasn't exactly the word, and Fox couldn't help but feel the slightest bit sorry for the person on the other end. "No goddamn it, you're not listening to me! I have an appointment with my daughter's school tomorrow, and I'm asking you - no *demanding* - that you reschedule!" Fox grinned at the little red head of terror, and could only imagine what sort of fear she incited in people who didn't know her the way he did. Just looking at her back practically made him shiver. "Well make it happen! I don't care..." Dana, visibly frustrated, allowed her voice to soften as she attempted a different tact. "Please, if you'd just talk to him. I understand that this appointment has been in place for some time now, but I'm only asking to reschedule by a day. A few hours, even. I mean, god, how busy can the dean of a University be??? And it's semester break, for heavens sakes. Just talk to him..." Fox frowned at what he heard. Dana had been asked to meet with the Dean, as well as various other school officials, to discuss the possibility of becoming the head of medicine at Washington Uni, as well as being granted an extensive research grant. "Dana?" Fox asked tentatively. Not having noticed him in the room until that point, her head shot around and she was visibly startled. She stared at Fox, blankly, before calmly saying into the phone, "Could you just hold on a minute?" Lowering the receiver and holding the microphone with her flattened hand, she nodded for him to continue. Mulder swallowed hard and lowered his eyes to stare at his feet, a sight which had become vary familiar to him over the past month or so. "Um... I could, uh, take Emily to her school interview." Dana looked at him for a moment, then asked softly, "You... you sure you'd be ok with that? Cos I'm sure I'll be able to change this appointment-" Fox cut her off, bringing his gaze back up to meet hers. "Yeah, I'm sure." He smiled. "I'd be happy to." Dana smiled back appreciatively and proudly, as she knew just how large and difficult a step this was for her husband. "That would be great. Thankyou." She lifted the phone back up to her ear. "Um... yeah, I'm here. Right, well, there have been some new developments, and I no longer need the appointment changed. Thankyou for your time." She hung up the phone, and turned back to Fox. "You're sure about this?" she asked gently. He nodded. "I'm sure." The next day, Mulder accompanied Emily to school. He felt like a big kid himself, sitting on one of those tiny chairs made especially for 1st graders, or so it always seemed, and gazing at displays of paper craft and cellophane splashed about the rooms to impress visiting parents. As Emily played happily with some lego in a tucked away corner of the room, Fox sat and talked to her teacher nearby. Mrs Hoover was a stout, round, and smiley sort of person - somebody one might describe as 'jolly'. Rather severely bobbed, chocolate coloured hair swung loosely above her shoulders, and the perpetual smile on her face gave her the impression of one of those side-show clowns at a fair ground. "Emily is a wonderful girl," Mrs Hoover was saying. "She's very bright you know. Oh yes, possibly the brightest I have this year. She's communicative, expressive, has mature reasoning skills." She stopped and frowned. Mulder looked at her cynically. "And I sense a 'but' coming here." Mrs Hoover smiled at Mulder, not unkindly, but slightly patronising none the less. "She just doesn't seem to want to make any real friendships. Oh, don't get me wrong, she's very friendly and cooperative with the other children, but she just doesn't seem to have the desire to make any strong friendships." Fox thought back to his own first years at school, and sighed. He remembered sitting alone most lunchtimes, just... well, thinking. Looking back on it now, it did seem rather absurd for a 6 year old boy to be sitting and thinking out of his own free will, but that was none the less what he'd done. In fact, he didn't remember ever really making strong friendships until reaching high school. Yet, he was never an unhappy child, and everything he'd done as a kid had been his own prerogative. He remembered how all of his teachers had taken his voluntary isolation as a sign of loneliness, and recalled with a grin the many times they themselves had attempted to intervene and forge friendships *for* him. "Well," Mulder replied, adding a hint of condescension to his voice, "I'm sure when Emily feels she wants to make lasting friendships, then she will." "Yes, you're probably right," Mrs Hoover agreed, turning back on the over-friendly smile and charm that she'd let slip for just a second. 'Only grade school teachers have that smile,' Fox thought to himself wryly, but smiled pleasantly back. "Anyway, Emily talks about you all the time. I see from her school records that you're a teacher of some sort?" "Psychologist, actually, but not practising. I lecture at Washington Uni, and I'm also involved part-time in the FBI's violent crimes division as a psychological profiler. Ya know, that's where you delve into the minds of serial killers and unstable murderers to uncover their motives and the details of their violent killing sprees," he allowed the words to roll of his tongue casually and monotonously, as if he was describing his work as an accountant. The teacher's eyes went wide as he completed his personal spiel, and Fox grinned inwardly at his still razor-sharp ability to make other's speechless. He especially enjoyed this moment, and revelled in Mrs Hoover's amazement for a long time as he held her gaze unflinchingly. He could almost see her mind ticking over, and hear her thinking 'so that's where the girl gets it'. At that moment, Emily came racing over to them from the other side of the room. "Daddy, Daddy, come see what I've made," she urged excitedly, grabbing her father by the hand. Fox smiled. "Oh course honey, let's see what you made." He allowed Emily to escort him across the room, pulling him by the arm, and Mrs Hoover followed close behind. Mulder looked down at Emily's creation of lego, and smiled again. "It's a flying-saucer," Emily offered, beaming with pride. Fox beamed himself, pride like he'd never felt before reverberating from within him. "So it is!" he replied, "and such a beautiful spaceship at that." He continued to beam, and Emily hugged tight to him. He hugged her back. "That's my girl," he said, ruffling her hair playfully with his hand. Fox didn't stop smiling for about a week. About two weeks later, Scully sat motionless in front of her computer screen, except for the rhythmic tapping of her fingers over the keyboard as they darted from key to key. As she wrote, almost without knowing it, she began to sing softly to herself, as was often the case when she was concentrating on work but subconsciously wanting to be some place else. Absently, she half spoke the words whilst the accompanying tones of light country and pop music filled her head like a narcotic. "David Duchovny, why won't you love me? Why won't you love me, why won't you love me?" She continued to hum for some time, barely noticing the darkening room around her, until finally she could scarcely make out the keyboard. That was the moment Mulder entered. Smiling pleasantly, Fox removed his coat and placed it on it's usual hook beside the door. "Hey." "Oh, hey," Scully answered, squinting into the light coming through the open door from the hallway outside. "Whatcha up to?" "Oh, ya know, the usual. Nothing particularly fascinating. Routine sort of work, mind numbing to say the least." He moved deeper into the apartment, closing the door behind him. It was when he banged into the coffee table that the absence of light registered in his mind. He looked in surprise at Dana. "How long have you been sitting there?!" He groped around on the wall behind him until his hand found the switch. Both squinted at the sudden luminescence of their surroundings. "Hmmm?" She asked absently, concentrating once again on her work. "It's eight thirty you know." Dana looked up in surprise. "It is?! Wow, I must have lost track of time. Last thing I knew it was five." She pushed back on her chair and stretched her arms above her, suddenly aware of the stiffness in them. "God, you need to take a break. How's about we go have dinner somewhere. We might as well, seeing Emily's spending the night at your parents'." She smiled in agreement, then frowned as she was brought back to reality by the glowing screen in front of her. "Oh, look, that'd be great, but I can't. This stuff has to be finished by tomorrow." "Come on, Dana! Live a little! Carpe Diem, live for today." He grinned at her playfully. "You need to forget about all that, live in the moment!" Scully grinned back, then replied just as playfully in her best British accent: "But Master Yoda said I should be mindful of the future!" Still smiling, Fox eyed her questioningly. "What?" "I said 'Master Yoda said'..." She trailed off when her words were met by uncomprehending eyes. "Episode one..." Mulder's eyes widened at the mention of the Star Wars prequel, and an expression of shock crossed his features. "You mean.... I don't believe it! Oh my god, I don't believe it! That's, that's... impossible! I completely forgot about the new Star Wars movie! I missed it and I didn't even notice!" "God, that's right! You haven't seen it!" She weighed up the situation in her mind momentarily, before closing the lid of her laptop decisively. "Come on, it's playing two blocks away. There's bound to be a session starting soon." She stood and began to move towards the door. Mulder swung around in surprise. "But I thought you had crucial work to do?!" he exclaimed with a grin. "Carpe diem, Fox! This is far more important! Such earth shattering pop culture takes precedence over everything else! No, the work can wait. Right now you and I need to be far from here. In a galaxy far, far away, if you will." She spoke with her back to Mulder as she swiftly moved through the doorway, grabbing her coat as she moved. Mulder stared after her in bewilderment. Moments later, Dana's head reappeared in the open apartment door. "Are you coming or what?" she asked, feigning impatience. Fox furrowed an eyebrow at Scully's impulsive actions, grinned at the ridiculous role reversal which had just occurred within the space of about thirty seconds, and then moved quickly after her, closing the door behind him. "My god, I can't believe I'd completely forgotten about episode 1!!! I've been waiting for that for nearly 20 years, and it takes me this long to remember it!" Fox and Dana strolled out of the cinema complex and began to walk down the street. Together they walked, Fox sporting a jubilant and ecstatic grin, while Dana, who could hardly help being the slightest bit effected by his contagious excitement, smiled happily. "Well, was it worth the wait?" Scully asked. "Oh, definitely! Well... alright, objectively, there were some things which could have done with improving." He paused momentarily, taking in a deep lung full of the crisp air. "Jar-Jar, for instance." He shuddered at the mention of the rabbit/Teletubby hybrid who would no doubt fill his nightmares for years to come. It was beyond him what George Lucas had been thinking. "And, ok, the whole taxation thing was a bit... weak, to say the least." Fox gesticulated widely with his arms as he spoke, his bright eyes flashing with excited fever. "And... yeah, ok, the characters were somewhat, um..." He frowned, as he searched for the right word. "Underdeveloped. If Anakin had said 'yippie' or 'wizard' one more time I would've killed someone, Darth Maul was only there to provide an aggressor for the lightsaber scenes, Terrance Stamp was dearly underused. The 'conceived of the midichlorians' concept... I mean, what was that, anyway?! That came goddamn close to ruining the whole experience for me, I can tell ya! And-" He stopped when he noticed an amused grin appearing on Scully"s face. "What?" he asked playfully. Scully began to giggle, an act which lit up her face in a way Mulder had rarely ever seen before. He liked it. Whilst Mulder had been analysing the movie, they'd continued walking and were now nearing Reggie's. "You should hear yourself! Glad to see your cynical streak isn't fading." "Oh, I'm not saying I didn't enjoy myself thoroughly! God, when the Lucasfilm logo appeared, and the ol' theme began playing... really, Dana I could've cried! Of course I didn't, because you were sitting next to me." He grinned. "I wouldn't have wanted to seem like a loser or anything." Dana grinned even wider, but turned her head away from Fox to hide the slight embarrassment appearing in her eyes. She certainly wasn't about to let Fox know that she, herself, had had the exact same reaction upon her first viewing of the movie. Mulder stopped outside Reggie's. "You want to get a drink or something?" Scully smiled. "Yeah, that'd be nice, Fox." The two entered and took up residence of a booth located to the right of the small bar. "Ok, I'll go order us some drinks. What'd you like?" Dana thought momentarily, and then replied simply: "Surprise me." Fox grinned. "Alrighty then... milk ok with you?" he asked jokingly. "Sounds wonderful," Scully countered with a wry smile. Mulder nodded, then made his way over to the bar. Catching the eye of the bartender he requested two vodka martinis, before adding: "Stirred, not shaken." The bartend simply nodded absently, evidently either not getting Mulder's pathetic little joke, or choosing to ignore it. Fox sighed, and mumbled melodramatically something about how misunderstood he was. "I'll be over there." Fox pointed to the booth he'd come from, and the bartend once again nodded his comprehension. As Fox made his way back to Dana, he passed by the establishment's jukebox positioned along the wall out of the way. At first, he walked straight past barely slowing down, but something Mulder couldn't explain made him stop and turn around. He stood in front of the brightly lit machine, scouring the display of song titles. As he skimmed down the list, one in particular suddenly caught his eye, and he took in a quick, shallow gasp in surprise. He stared at the name for a long moment. Hesitantly, he looked up at Dana who was still seated over the other side of the room, staring at something out of sight to him with her trademark furrowed brow. He looked from her to the jukebox repeatedly, in two minds about what action to take. Reaching into his pocket, he slowly withdrew a quarter. He turned the coin in his hand indecisively, before finally placing it firmly in the coin slot and pressing hard the number of the familiar tune. Almost instantaneously, the strains of soothing piano notes filled the room. Mulder breathed in the atmosphere deeply, and walked briskly over to Scully. "Care to dance?" he asked, reaching his hand out to her. Dana looked up at him slowly, an expression of astonishment on her face. "Well, uh..." Mulder didn't let her finish, as he grasped her hand and pulled her to her feet and towards him in one swift motion. Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders, and Scully curled hers comfortably around his waist. The two began to sway in synchronisation to the soft music. "Put on my blue suede shoes and I boarded the plane. Touched down in the land of the delta blues, middle of the pouring rain..." The soulful tones of Cher's powerful yet somewhat haunting style echo ed around them. They continued to dance, as Dana's face formed into a broad smile. As Mulder stared into her eyes, he became aware that she'd never looked so much like his old Scully than she did at that moment. Amazingly though, for a reason he couldn't quite define, he didn't care in the least. Fox smiled back at her. "When I was walking in Memphis I was walking with my feet 10 feet off of Beal. Walking in Memphis... but do I really feel the way I feel?" A few days passed. Restlessly, Mulder flipped through the magazine, scanning each page briefly before turning to the next. It was late at night, close to 4am, and once again Fox was wide awake. Rather than lie in the dark restlessly, he'd decided to instead catch up on some reading. He wasn't entirely sure when exactly Scientific American had entered into the realm of light reading for the middle of the night, but enjoyed the intellectual stimulation anyway. He flipped a page and was faced with a somewhat familiar sight. He stared at the words on the page, before breaking into a wide grin. The article he had stumbled across bore an almost eerily familiar name. 'Einstein's twin paradox theory: a new interpretation.' He chuckled, and thought briefly about making the trip down the hall to Scully's room, but faced with the reality of time decided against that option. He instead folded down the corner of the page, and made a mental note to show Scully in the morning. 'she'll get a real kick outa this,' he thought to himself, 'someone's plagiarising...' Mulder froze, eyes wide. 'Dana never wrote about Einstein..." He gasped, realising the implication of what had just occurred. In his mind, it would appear he'd somehow fused two of the most important people in his life together. If his image of Dana had been blurred with his old Scully, then how could he know anything any more? Frantically, he considered all that he thought he'd felt for his wife... and it occurred to him how close he'd come to replacing Scully in his heart. Or perhaps his feelings for Dana weren't even real, and he was merely expressing to her what he'd felt for the Scully from his other world. Mulder's brow dripped with sweat as a panic surged from deep within him; his hands went clammy and cold. Flashes of James Stewart gazing into the eyes of his long dead lover, who had perished because of his inability to deal with his own personal demons, played across Mulder's mind. He began to feel ill, and not just because of the lurching camera work and swirling, psychedelic colours that accompanied the mental scenes. What if all he'd been doing all this time was using Dana as a substitute for Scully? Oh God, he thought, and squeezed his eyes shut, his heart racing. On the heels of that thought, the image of another Hitchcock character appeared in Mulder's head, and he took in a shallow gasp of air at the picture of the innocently smiling Anthony Perkins. Was he really that far away from Norman Bates, himself? The evil yet tragic villain had been governed by his inability to distinguish the past from the present, and his imaginary world from reality. Sure, Bates's delusions were accentuated by severe mental illness, but, Mulder thought, was he himself really that different? After all, he had allowed himself to believe in a fantasy world, and now it would appear, his own grasp of reality was jaded by his longing for closure in a world that never existed. Mulder shuddered as the sharp, high pitched squeal of plucked violin notes, that had haunted the psyche of Hitchcock fans the world over, resonated through his mind. His eyes shot open and darted nervously around him. "I need to get out of here," he murmured aloud. He considered briefly where to go, and a familiar image flashed into his mind. The Summer house in Quonochontaug. Yes, that was perfect. He jolted up and fetched his key to his old family holiday house from a draw where he, in what was a complete surprise to him, remembered placing it. Sure enough, it was there. Frantically, he grabbed the key, then his coat, and left the apartment. As the taxi pulled away, Mulder was left stand ing outside the old, deserted house, staring up at the familiar building and surroundings. An almost eerie chill ran through him as his mind flashed with images of Samantha, and a blur of memories shouted into a crescendo through his thoughts. Allowing the memories to flow freely, Fox slowly made his way to the front door. Removing the key from his pocket with a shaky hand, he placed it in the key hole, and after a jiggle of the rusty lock it gave way. A mustiness immediately met Mulder's senses - both in smell as well as sight and memory, as though opening a door to another time. He stepped inside cautiously, almost scared of what he might find within the familiar structure. As he ventured in further, he surveyed the plastic covered furniture and manicured cleanness that only came with an unlived in space. Fox walked through the lounge, noting the completely familiar furniture. Down to the very detail, the house had been exactly identical in his other life. Opening a cupboard he came across old toys, old articles of clothing, and other such items, each associated with a vivid memory. Yet, to Mulder's surprise, the memories he found his mind flooded with were not of his old life, but of this one. He remembered being in this house with his family, playing ball with Samantha and his father, playing cards at the kitchen table, adorning a Christmas tree with tinsel and ornaments one year, and being lifted up by his father - Chris Mulder - to place a gold star atop the mass of green pine. Wearily, Mulder collapsed on the couch, staring at nothing, and instead allowing the pleasant memories to play out in front of him. He saw Samantha running before him around the lounge, himself chasing her, and the both of them being verbally scolded by their mother who could be heard in the near distance from the kitchen. Fox smiled despite himself. He remembered it all - and all of it was from this world, and this life. He sat there for a long time, just thinking and reminiscing. What must have been hours later, for now it was approaching dusk and the sun had well begun it's descent through the marbled sky, Fox was lightly startled by footsteps behind him. He knew who it was without her having to say anything. Silence engulfed the room for some time, as the figure just stood transfixed a few paces away. Eventually, Mulder spoke. "You know, it's exactly the same. It's just how I remembered it - before, I mean." "It should be, this place was very important to you. It was a symbol of your family, and of Samantha." Mulder exhaled sharply. "Except that both the lamps are intact," he added, noting the twin lamps in which Agent Mulder had located an alien weapon what seemed like a very long time ago. Silence once again ensued. "How'd you know where I'd be?" Fox eventually asked. "Oh, it wasn't too hard. I figured this was where you'd go... to think." Mulder chuckled sadly. "To think," he repeated. Dana moved around next to Mulder and eased onto the sofa. "And have you been thinking?" she asked softly. Mulder stared at the ground. "Yeah." "And...?" "Dana... I just... I can't go back." Dana grasped Fox's hand, forcing his eyes to hers. "You're right Fox, you can't go back. That's the point. You can only move forward." Mulder gazed into Dana's eyes, but found her intense and supportive gaze too hard to bear, and he quickly averted his gaze back to the floor. "But I can't just forget all that I was..." "I know you can't just forget about your other life, and you won't, but ... what about what you have here? What about Emily and Me... don't you love us?" Fox turned back to Dana with tears in his eyes. "Of course I do!" he half wailed. "And yet you're willing to give that up because you're haunted by the past! Don't you understand, Fox, you can't go backwards, but you can move forward." "I cant. It's too hard!" He broke his hand away from Dana's and jumped to his feet, turning away from her. Dana stood too, placing a hand on Fox's back. "Of course it's hard Fox, noone ever said it would be easy. But you're letting the past consume you. If you walk away now you're never going to be able to live in this world. You'll forever be haunted by demon's from your past!" She paused, thinking for a moment, and then spoke with a softer and more gentle edge. "Don't you see that you're doing exactly what you despised your father for years for? He nearly lost forever everything that was important to him, and now you're allowing your grief to consume you and ruin your life. You hated your father for it, but now here you are, about to go down the same path, and the scary thing is that you aren't even aware of it." Fox considered this for a while, before sharply pulling away from Dana's touch. "No!" he yelled weakly, his voice choking through tears. "I just... I can't pretend that everything's ok when it's not!" Scully's tone softened to nearly a whisper as she moved closer to Fox. "It'll take time Fox, but if you leave now you'll be turning you're back on everything you know... everyone that cares about you." Fox shook his head. "I just need to sort some stuff out." "And you think that running away... running from the people who love you is the answer?" "I can't stay! I don't know..." He shook his head fiercely. He began to cry freely now, his body convulsing weakly with sobs. "I'm afraid that by letting myself go, letting myself love you, that I'm replacing the memories of my other life. That I'm turning my back on all that I was. I feel that if I allow myself to move forward, I might lose that time forever." More tears streamed from his eyes as he spoke. "I'm afraid to let myself love you." Dana finally understood. She grasped his hand firmly. She moved to face Fox, observing his face streaked with tear tracks. "Nothing will ever replace those memories," she replied firmly, a new found resolve in her voice. "And I would never want to. But by letting love into you're heart... allowing yourself to feel, you're not denying your past but embracing the present." She moved her head until she was looking directly into Fox's eyes. "It's alright to let yourself love, Fox." She smiled softly, lowering her head against his chest and caressing him gently. "It's alright to stop fighting. " They stood together, silently rocking to and fro, for a long time, and long after the last tears had dried. Eventually, Fox pulled away slightly to look down at Dana. As he did so, he genuinely smiled at what he saw. He stared deep into her bright eyes, perfect oceans of blue, and no longer did he see Scully... but he saw Dana. He hadn't forgotten Scully, she was still in his heart, but he knew he loved Dana more than anything at that moment. His smile turned into a contented grin, and Dana couldn't help but smile back. "You're right, Dana, letting love into my heart won't erase the past... but it will mould the future." He continued to smile, and the two embraced again. "I love you," Fox finally whispered. "I love you too, Fox, and don't ever forget that." They both smiled, not that either would have realised the other's expression, as they clung to each other desperately and tightly for a long time. They'd returned to DC that night, but Fox hadn't been able to sleep once they were home. He was too happy to sleep. Of course, he preferred to think of it in cliched terms, something along the lines of 'his soul was too light to sleep', but however it was defined, sleep had been impossible. He'd instead gone out walking around sunrise, and a light rain had started up not long after he'd left the apartment building. As he walked he thought a lot, and somehow as he strolled, as absurd as it may have sounded, he felt he understood the human mind. It wasn't quite something he could define, nothing he'd ever feel comfortable writing down or communicating to others, but the clarity with which he looked upon the world of the subconscious at that moment was greater than he'd ever known. 'What is reality?' was the question he found himself asking as his mind wandered further. The more he'd pondered the idea, the more he began to realise that there was no definitive answer. It was just like Obi-Wan had said: "Luke, you're going to find that many of the truths we cling to in life depend greatly on our own point of view." Fox grinned to himself at the though of the wise old Jedi. For himself, Fox believed reality was whatever you believed at any given moment, and thus he took comfort in the thought that this world was no more real than any dream he would ever indulge in. After all, he considered his life here no more or less real than that of Special Agent Fox Mulder, and his life at the FBI. The one who's sister was abducted by aliens, and who seemed destined to uncover the fate of humanity. Fox's mind drifted back to his early days of studying ancient philosophy, and recalled the ideas of Plato, and the ideas that so many others had suggested in their time. He looked upon them now with new meaning. The suggestion that the real world existed only in our imagination was as fitting a world philosophy to him as any other. In fact, it made a lot of sense. He thought about Scully and The X- Files, and smiled. It occurred to him at that moment how lucky he actually was. After all, he mused, how many people could claim to have been given a second chance at life, a chance to do things right? He smiled again, as he thought of his beautiful daughter at home, and of Dana. He'd always miss his old life, but he certainly wouldn't want to give up what he had now. A part of him still longed for closure with his other life, yet he understood now that he could only travel forward. And what's more, he wanted to travel forward. 'Don't look back, Fox,' he thought to himself. Letting go of the past was a hard task, and he still had far to go, but at least he was on the right path. He considered the title of a favourite movie of his which seemed to apply. 'After all,' he mused with a smile, 'you only live twice.' Fox continued to walk, as the light rain softly pelted his face. Then, acting on an instinct, he stopped and just stood, staring up at the clouds, rain caressing his face and streaming down his cheeks. He smiled broadly, and tears falling from his own eyes intermixed with the raindrops and were washed away. In complete contrast with a similar scene in his not-so-distant past, these tears weren't the symptom of some gnawing, all consuming fear and torment, but of happiness. He stood completely still for a long time, tears rolling down his cheeks and his mind almost devoid of conscious thought but for a vague awareness of his surroundings. He could have stood there forever, content to just be at that moment, if it weren't for the prospect of seeing his family at home. Instead, he moved off again after a long while, repressing with a laugh the urge to reenact Gene Kelly's street scene from 'singing in the Rain'. Weeks passed, and slowly Fox was beginning to adapt back to his life. He'd moved back into his and Dana's room, and every night faced the problem of lulling Emily into at least a light sleep by the time the sun rose. It would appear that, like her father, Emily was already developing into a chronic insomniac. Mulder only hoped that his unfortunate habit wouldn't curse his daughter for life as it had him. Fox had also made arrangements to start working full time at the FBI as of the next year, and to give up the teaching job with which he had never really felt fulfilled - a move he saw as a positive step forward. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, Fox had found he'd recovered virtually all memories of his life pre-Agent Mulder. Life was finally beginning to even out, and Fox found himself able to concentrate more completely on his family and the things important to him. There were of course still times when Fox thought of his other existence, though, with a slightly mournful mindset. One night, Fox sat lost in though on the sofa close to midnight as Scully joined him. "Hey," she began. Mulder looked up and gave a weak smile. Noticing the sad, far away look in his eyes, Dana understood immediately what was running through his mind. Months had passed since Fox had awoken from his coma, and she'd become fairly well attuned to his thoughts and the accompanying expressions in that time. She smiled back. "Ya know, I was just thinking, I'd love to hear all about the escapades of Agents Mulder and Scully one day. I bet Scully was the real star. Strong willed, sexy, and fiercely intelligent no doubt?" Her lips turned up at the corners into a small, supportive grin, and her eyes sparkled playfully. Mulder looked down at the floor and grinned too. "Yeah, I guess you could say that." Scully continued: "I really mean that, Fox, I'd love to know about them. I'm always here if you feel you need to talk." Mulder looked up into Scully's eyes, and was overwhelmed by a strange, sentimental feeling. "And I'd love more than anything to tell you about them, Dana." He paused. "Basically, think the storyline of Star Wars, with myself as Luke Skywalker - a young, naive man pulled into a web of intrigue, forced to fight against the odds to save the world, discovering to his horror that his father was the leader of the dark side. Learning to understand the world through the tutelage of some wise old mentors, finding bit by bit that, like it or not, he's the centre of the most influential conflict in human history, and the only one with the power to prevent the forces of evil from engaging an apparently inevitable armageddon. A voyage of discovery of epic proportions, and his struggle to fight for what seemed a futile cause... to fight the future, if you will." Suddenly realising he was still talking, he glanced over at Dana, slightly embarrassed. He cleared his throat, and she grinned broadly. "But, uh, I digress." He smiled playfully. "I guess you could say it was Star Wars, mixed with... well, mixed with the 'Alien' movies," he added with a chuckle, picturing an exploded chest from which a new extraterrestrial biological entity had been born, then fell silent. "You know, the thing is... I'd really love to have known what finally happened to them. I mean, to us. Did they find the truth? Did they realise their quest and prevent the planed armageddon? Did they ever, uh, get it on?" He laughed softly to himself, and once again fixed his eyes on the floor. "I know it sounds silly. They *were* only a dream..." He trailed off. "No Fox, I don't think it's stupid. They were so much more than a dream to you. For that time, you *were* Special Agent Fox Mulder. And their quest was your life." "But I'll still never know how it all ended." They sat in silence for a long while. "Maybe you do," she finally said. Mulder eyed her questioningly. "Maybe I do what?" "Maybe you do know what happened." He stared at her blankly. "I-I don't follow." "Well, they were part of *your* mind. Effectively, your creation. You have the power to control their fate, you always did. Look deep inside yourself... and I think you'll find your answers." There was another long silence. "Ya know Dana, I think you're right. It's all inside me, and it's up to me to decide *my* characters' fate. It's all within my power." And somehow, he found comfort in that thought. "Well, it's getting late, we should really get some rest," Scully said, elevating herself off the couch and to her feet. "Coming?" "Yeah, in a little while. There's... um... something I'd like to do first." She bent down and kissed him softly on the forehead. "Ok, I'll see you in a while." With that, she turned and made her way down the hall to their bedroom. After a few moments, Mulder finally got up. He moved slowly over to his computer in the corner of the room and booted it up. He chuckled slightly, having never quite gotten used to the reality that, unlike his counterpart, he was far less adept in keyboard skills. Still, for a four finger typer, he was surprisingly fast. He sat in front of the glowing screen for a long time, staring at nothing in particular. Then suddenly, he began to write. The X-Files Chapter 1: A New Beginning Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully cautiously entered the stuffy, poorly lit basement office of one Fox William Mulder. Her eyes slowly scanned the room, noting first the general mess, and then the specific items which cluttered her surroundings. Paper and photos were strewn everywhere, some pinned to walls but others just left to lie wherever they had been last examined. She ventured further into the room, at which point her eyes were drawn to a crookedly pinned poster dominating the wall behind the main desk. It showed a typical scene (to those familiar with UFO mythology) of a slightly out of focus flying saucer hovering just above the tree line in a clear day sky. Printed below the tree line were the words 'I Want To Believe'. Agent Scully observed this with a raised eyebrow but said nothing. Finally, her eyes came to rest on the back of a man hunched over a light table, apparently absorbed in viewing slides. "Hello?" she called. Agent Mulder grinned to himself, never once moving his eyes from the slides he had been examining. "Sorry, noone down here but the FBI's most unwanted..." The End Dreaming Aloud: Epilogue
Over a thousand pages and a year later, Fox's 'life story' was nearing completion. He'd put it all down: all the memories he treasured, all the truths he and Scully had boldly and gallantly sought to bring to light, all the dreams that he'd sacrificed, and all the fragile hopes which had been trampled again and again in the name of a greater good. He'd sat up late night after night, as it was only in darkness he found himself able to write the way he did, and had poured his heart into the pages, each and every word conveying a thousand bottled emotions -- the emotions of a life time. As Dana had suggested, he had looked to himself and his own experiences, journeyed deep into the recesses of a scarred and damaged soul, to find the answers and conclusions he'd longed for. It was a painful and often frightening process, out of which had resulted many nights of lost sleep and draining tears. But at the end of it all, Fox had emerged from his written reverie with an overwhelming sense of acceptance and closure. One night in December, he sat awake reading over and over his written thoughts, contemplating nothing in particular but his mind churning wildly. Finally, he reached a point where his thought processes came to an abrupt halt, and his eyes darted upward from his screen. As he'd been reading, it had occurred to him that the story was much too close to him. He didn't feel it was right to sign the name of his main character on his work - these were far too private and personal experiences. He would prefer a certain sense of anonymity - - even if noone ever read his words other than himself. "Perhaps a writing alias?" he asked himself aloud. He shrugged. Why not. Considering what name to place in the by line, the images of the most inspirational and influential men in his life flew through his mind. His three work colleagues, or as he'd known them in his other existence, the LoneGunMen, were the first to surface, and Mulder smiled at the thought of all their names. No matter how much he respected his friends, the names Melvin and Ringo were just way too goofy, and John was simply...plain. Next, he considered Deep Throat, and then realised with a start that he didn't even know his name, so dismissed that possibility. Other faces flew by, until finally his mind came to rest on the image of his father, Chris Mulder. Fox smiled. Besides the fact that he cared deeply for his father now, it would convey a certain poetic justice for him to use the name of the story's villain. Yes, that was perfect, at least for the first name. Moving on to surnames, Fox realised with a frown that the surnames of everyone he knew had already been used in his story. Turning his attention to his TV, which was softly humming in the background, in an attempt to clear his head and perhaps find inspiration, Mulder noted a typically, over sensationalistic add for E.R. It was complete with the cliched heartbeat overlay and dramatic voiceover, as images of doctors and patients, each with intense looks, flashed from one to another with a stylised, washed out colour pattern for effect. Fox couldn't help but grin. "Can Carter save the life of a..." the voice was saying, dramatic emphasis on every word. 'Carter...' Fox thought to himself absently. It did go nicely with Chris, he realised, and he'd always liked the name. 'Carter it is.' He scrolled to the top of his page, and wrote there: The X-Files, by Chris Carter. Who knows, he considered further, maybe eventually he would publish his work. On the heels of that thought, another occurred to him. Perhaps one day someone could even turn his life's story into a movie, or a series of movies, or maybe even a TV series. He chuckled slightly to himself. Although, he might have to do something about the title. 'The X-Files,' he noted with a wry grin. 'sounds suspiciously like a porno flick.' The End
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