Title: Fighting the Future
Author: Kathleen Brown
Rating: NC-17 for disturbing imagery.
Classification: Post-Colonization. SA. Severe Angst. Muldertorture?
Distribution: Gossamer. All others ask.
Feedback: Please. email@example.com
Spoilers: The 5th season Alien Mytharc (Patient X/Red and the Black), Fight The Future (not Flickfic), Tunguska/Terma Summary: Mulder and Scully's progeny are the only hope for the future of the human race, in particular, one young clone named Andrew. .
IT came not in the form of little gray men, of men in space suits, or even of dripping green aliens with teeth and claws. IT came in silence. And, despite our own egotistical assumptions, IT didn't even come to us at first. IT went to China. It's my belief that the density of the population there allowed for things to happen quickly, with a minimum of fuss. Until, of course, people caught their first glimpse of it over their TV screens. We knew it would be only a matter of time before IT came here. Before, we, too, became slaves to it's every whim. Before our children were torn from their families, before our bodies were heaped in smoldering piles upon our own neighborhood streets.
I must say, I didn't even see it coming. I didn't know what to expect. As soon as we found out, we sought an answer, we sought even to side with our greatest enemies, but even the Syndicate was betrayed. They didn't know that the vaccine they had worked so hard to create would be their own downfall. Those not infected would be forced into slave labor, into jobs so unthinkably horrifying I wished them upon no one besides the bastard that killed my father. I comfort myself with the notion that he is right now working for Them, but I am destroyed by the notion that innocents, those like myself, those in the gulag, are being subjected to the same. I am the exception. Scully, also, is an exception. I would also include Krycek, but no one has seen him since IT began.
Scully and I are considered to be the new Adam and Eve. At least it's better than being Fox and Dana. We are the Believers. We are treated as so much as royalty. Everything save freedom is granted us. Anything we want, so long as it aligns with the objectives of the Plan, will be given. Scully saved her mother. My mother was alreadyy "saved". She is, after all, my mother. She may have been with one of the vaccinated, but she was "chosen" to be my mother.
Either way, Scully and I are apparently the new hope. We've been made teachers. They've given me, ironically enough, human studies. Philosophy. History. Psychology's become unnecessary according to them, but human nature within their inhabitants is showing through. People fight IT as best they can. The adult fight it weakly, too frightened to do much other than what they are asked.
The children.... There aren't any more children. All our children were killed. Anyone old enough to produce a child of their own was spared. The slaughter was unimaginable. Anyone too old to do the work of the camps was killed, while the camps are inhabited by those unable bear children. There are entire compounds filled with those who mutilated themselves, unable to bear the thought that they might contribute to IT. Skinner's one of them.
I might have been one of them. Once I learned the objectives of IT, I ran, I paid an unlicensed doctor to make me sterile. While he performed the surgery in the back alley behind my apartments, I snapped the cane of a slaughtered man between my teeth.
Imagine my disappointment when I learned that a man doesn't need viable sperm to be used for reproduction.
Scully's actually lucky. They've used her for all she will ever be needed for. They have her cells on tap, and of course they don't actually use live hosts for gestation. They have more compounds for that. Huge, sprawling complexes filled with tanks and tanks of alien fluids, oils, synthetic human tissues. Of course, if it were up to them, they'd forget the human tissues, but we can't live without them. This is the bane of Their existence. No matter how hard they try, we'll always still be human.
Every few months they'll take me to a compound and take samples of cells from me, perform various invasive tests, after which I am a quivering, hollow shell of my previous self. And they tell me to be thankful because not everyone receives the same preferential treatment I do. Despite all my pain, I still manage to guilt myself at every possible opportunity. I damn myself for being simply me, for being the one "chosen", for taking the place of someone less weak, less able to work in the camps, someone who gets beaten daily for their inability to work. And then I damn myself for not being thankful for the break I got in such a position.
Scully tells me what I'm feeling is normal. But just what _is_ normal anymore? Is it being a teacher, like her or I? Is it working in a camp like 80% of the world's population? Or is it being one of the rogue teenagers?
I envy these rogue teenagers and I pray that in an uncolonized country... in Russia or Africa, that they have created a resistance more powerful than our own feeble attempts. When these children watched their companions slaughtered and taken away to the camps, they ran off. I've seen then, occasionally. It's like sighting a wild animal, only more like sighting the rarest of unicorns. Myths, tales, and legends spread around these children, bringing the last shreds of hope to the people in the camps and the pitiful few working for Them.
They form bands like wild horses, five or six girls to a young man, perhaps three young men in a small group, once ten in the largest in this area. The young men spread their seed among the young women and they are the last left to procreate on this horrible earth. But their lives are not without danger. Like in the earliest days of man, they are unprotected, unsheltered, unclothed. Not long ago, as I ran in the night from one end of the compound to the other, I saw a lovely young man digging through a large dumpster for food. I don't blame him for his actions, these children are starving. He recognized me and dropped to the ground sobbing. I lifted him into my arms and held him, sure that it had been years since he felt arms older than his own protecting him. I spoke with him for precious moments, then sent him back on his way to his family. But not before giving him my running shoes and the shirt off my back. He looked at me for a moment like I had given him the keys to the heavens and my heart twisted in agony as I realized that what I had given him, as worthless as it was to me, was as close as he would probably ever get.
I ran back to my spacious apartment in Section 5, buried my head in my down pillow, and sobbed.
I told Scully about what happened, and she envied me. She often prayed that she'd get to see one of the children.
By now, of course, you wonder why, if these children are the hope of the remainder of the human race, what makes Scully and me the new Adam and Eve. We are the beginnings of the new, improved human species, according to Them. Our cells are the beginnings of the leaders. Our combined intellect, our genetic history, our genetic memory, is apparently the most perfect balance for the new generation. The higher caste, the leaders. Our children will be Their new leaders. With some slight alterations, of course.
And you must also wonder, if everyone's either in camps or running free and wild, who are we teaching? We are teaching our own children. Identical boys and identical boys. Clones. I myself do not understand the need for continuing cell samples from me, but then again there is a lot I don't understand about these creatures.
Not all the children they create are clones. Hence the need for humans suitable for breeding. There is an uneducated worker caste, used for farming and food production, not that there is much food to be produced. Scully and I have all we need, but apparently these creatures took notes while watching Germany in the 1940's. That was these guys, apparently. No need to search for the truth anymore, I suppose.
Anyway, we are teaching ourselves. They apparently find nothing strange with being taught by themselves, and I do hope that the boys don't find anything wrong with facing their own future. I see the girls whispering behind their hands at Scully, and I do suppose that knowing for a fact what you will look like takes a little of the anxiety out of childhood. For girls, anyway. I think it would take most of the usual ribbing and playfulness out of life for adolescent boys. And no matter what happens, despite the fact that I know, at graduation, these children will be turned into zombies of one mind, I can't help but grow attached to them.
They're all somehow individualistic. Certain aspects of their (our? my?) personality are amplified in each one. I must admit, that in the single class we've been teaching for the past two years, that I do have a favorite. He has no real name, but I call him Andrew. Never Andy. I gave all of them names over the course of the years, and They encourage the boy's individuality, and I can tell each apart by the expression in their eyes. Andrew is the timid one. Michael is the angry one. Daniel is the funny one. Fox is the believer. Scully named him because of his expression. As I teach them their history, Fox watches me with this almost unnerving, utterly intense gaze. Like every word I speak is gospel. Still, Andrew remains my favorite. He is the one out of them all who refuses to participate when we all get a basketball game going. He'll sit and shyly watch us play until he's forced to join, then he'll stand aside from me and watch me, just waiting for me to get him involved. He is the individualist.
He is the one I am trying to set free. Out of all the children, he is the free thinker. He is the only one who has seen children unlike himself. He runs at night, along a different path from me, and he once met up with three boys of a small group. He told me he was fascinated by them. One of the boys was blonde. Andrew had never seen hair such a color in all his life. I think one of the reasons he's so timid is because he is never really here. Some part of him, some part of his mind is always out there, aching to be set free upon the world. Andrew could be the resistance. One young man could be the key to everything.
Scully's never really bonded with the girls. They are all sisters, glad to be of the same body and mind, never without a playmate. To them, Scully is not the parent, as I am to the boys, but she is simply another sister to be played with. They're brilliant, beautiful little girls, shy and willowy, awkward in their early teenage years.
Still my mind wanders back to Andrew. He is by far the most mature of the boys, the one still most like myself, but he's like a small child. His eagerness with me is tangible, and he acts as if his existence hinges upon a single moment of praise. As I said, he is the timid one.
In four years, these boys will be nothing more than the method of transportation for the black oil which will swim over their beautiful eyes.
Fox Mulder cried out in fury, throwing a wild punch at the white wall of his apartment. He bit back his snarl of anger and kicked the wall twice. He stalked back deeper into his apartment and entered the bathroom, pulling the mirror away from the wall so hard it banged back against the wall. He grabbed a straight razor off the shelf and wrapped his fingers around it in a near-fist. Blood welled around the jagged cuts as he yanked his hand down to dig the sharp metal into the soft flesh of his lower arm. He screamed in pain and dropped to his knees. His agony boiled down into a low moan until he slumped against the wall in a heap.
In the apartment beside Mulder's, Scully started as a scream of visceral torment bit through the air. It was Mulder's scream, she knew, as she ran into the hall to push open the door of his apartment. As she ran in a clone was running from another direction, and she could tell by his hair and his clothing that it was the one Mulder called Andrew, the timid one. He followed her through Mulder's apartment into the bathroom, gasping when he saw his teacher lying in a pool of his own blood. Tears ran tracks down his cheeks as he dropped to his knees, placing his fallen friend's head in his lap. Scully let the boy without argument, carefully examining the wound on her partner's arm. It wasn't deep, but the skin was badly shredded. He would need stitches. Scully glanced at the boy, then ran out, returning with the supplies she kept on hand for such emergencies.
They didn't monitor Their captives very well, Scully knew, and refused treatment for all but the most severe injuries or disease. The worst had been when Matthew, the poet, had broken his leg last year. He hadn't broken the skin and so They saw no problem with the boy, and it had taken six of the boys and Mulder to steady him while Scully set the bone.
Stitches were easy, Scully learned. She easily had Mulder cleaned and ready, prepared for him to wake when she made the first stitch. He didn't fail her. Andrew, too, was somehow prepared, and allowed Mulder to bury himself deeper into his thighs, hot tears soaking through the boy's soft tan pants.
Lately, Scully noticed, Mulder was getting hurt like this more and more easily. She knew most of the mishaps were a direct result of her partner's temper flaring beyond control, but she remained ignorant of his motivation for the outbursts. She suspected he knew more than he was telling, but still couldn't be quite sure.
Within five minutes she was done stitching Mulder's skin, and gave his shoulder a quick pinch to let him know. He lifted his head up wearily, his eyes red and bloodshot from tears, his eyes bruised from lack of sleep. Scully's heart sank. She knelt beside her partner and, with only a quick glance, Andrew skittered off back to his room. Mulder watched Scully for a long moment. She reached out a moment to touch his hair.
"They want you again."
He nodded. His voice was rough and weary both from disuse and
a lingering sore throat, untreated for too long. "I just found out."
Scully sighed deeply, then reached out to absently mop up the blood from his tile floor. She finished, then looked back at him. "You tore up your apartment."
He scoffed. "I tore up my arm."
"Why do you put yourself through so much pain, Mulder?"
"It's the only way I can cope anymore, Scully. I'm not allowed
to yell. I've got nothing left."
"I can get you something to drink, Mulder..."
He shook his head. "Enough of that. An alcoholic mentor is the
last thing these boys need."
"But, Mulder, you're right. You _can't_ cope. You need something to keep you in control. Cutting yourself isn't the answer here and you know it." She sighed and watched him. "The last thing these kids need is for their last hope to _die_, and you're going to die if you don't stop fighting it, Mulder."
"You want me to just give up?" Mulder struggled to his feet, paling. Scully led him out of the bathroom and into his sparsely decorated living room. She helped him onto the couch, carefully readjusting the robe she still wore. Quietly, she surveyed her partner. He'd be needing a haircut soon. He'd been dropping weight lately, his increasing anxiety becoming more and more visible as it ate away at his body. His eyes were dark and haunted beneath his bangs. His fingers were torn and dirt lay wedged beneath his fingernails no matter how long he tried to wash it away.
Scully knew what her partner was up to, that he was desperately planning an escape, but he'd get himself killed at the rate he was working. His life had become inconsequential to the resistance, it was Andrew he worked for now. Scully knew her partner's attachment to the boy was one of love and hope, one a father had for his son. She knew her partner too well to believe that he was working to free the boy for the sake of the resistance. He was working to save the boy from his own future. Saving himself, in a way. Giving himself a hope for tomorrow.
Her mind and body ached with the awful torture of knowing Mulder. All he wanted from the boy was all a person wants from having a child. To love. To protect. To comfort. To be comforted. To be protected. To be loved.
IT had crushed Mulder's soul, had taken his every hope, had pulled every foothold out from under him. Scully watched, daily, as her partner groped for something to hold onto, something more to work for. The hope was dying now, and with it her partner's will to live. Tomorrow he'd be taken in for sampling, and they'd find the havoc wreaked upon his body, the frailty of his mind as it was subjected to unimaginable stress. Scully prayed he would survive it, but a part of her hoped he wouldn't.
"I know you'll never give up, Mulder."
He sighed and gazed off for a long moment appearing quite lost
in thought while he simply occupied himself with the maze of sorrow which was rapidly becoming his mind. "Do you think I'll be back in time to teach?"
"Will you be up to it?"
"I don't have a choice, do I, Scully?"
She sighed and considered the fact that no, he didn't. "You'll be
back in time."
He closed his eyes wearily and laid his head back against the soft cushion of the couch. "You might as well get me that drink, Scully."
She nodded and gently stroked his hand as it laid upon his thigh. Mulder placed his hand on hers to still it and his breathing grew deeper. Scully watched him for a long moment before turning to the phone.
I'll never understand how these boys know. I haven't spoken a word about Mulder's absence, and yet they all know where he is and what is happening to him. The girls have absolutely no idea. Was I ever _that_ clueless? I pray I wasn't.... I must say, though, that at least one good thing has come out of this experiment. I see now the effect a situation can have on a person. These boys were born at the age of 12, nearly ready to begin reproduction, and they have lived relying upon each other, with only me and Mulder guiding them. This social interaction has done them wonders, and I see now, with no small degree of sadness, that Mulder was not born into this life. He has been forced into this unhappiness.
I watch them now, listening as I teach them the carefully constructed history of the United States. They (our noble leaders) have taken a liking to the country, if only for it's climate. Areas too cold for the oil are inhabited by the nomadic tribes, while areas too hot are either left alone completely or used for farming animals, such as the massive sheep farm which has become of Australia. Right now we are living in the middle of America, deep in the plains states. At the higher floors of the compound, where Mulder and I, as well as most of the boys and girls live, the view is identical all around. Corn. Nothing but corn spreading as far as the eye can see, corn grown for food and great bubble-domes for housing the bees.
Bees are used to collect the hybridized virus, weakening the workers to the black oil, but allowing them to survive the infection.
Contrary to what Mulder may think, we are not indispensable to the
greater Plan. They are forever holding the prospect of infection over
our heads. I doubt they even know that Mulder and I have been
vaccinated. And even if we have been vaccinated, Mulder knows that
he can be infected, that the oil _can_ live inside his body. He's terrified
by that. He's had that oil inside of him, he was conscious for his own testing.
Not all the boys are paying attention. While they are all distracted to a degree, I watch as Mulder's Andrew, the timid one, sits hunched over a sheet of paper, occasionally glancing up for a second to make sure I'm still there. He's sweating heavily and his knuckles are white, and I'm beginning to wonder if he's not sick. Meanwhile, Matthew, the poet, is sitting gazing out into the cornfields. The girls are hard workers, same like I always was, too serious to get caught up in the outside world.
It surprises me, though. For all the time Mulder and I spend together, the kids never seem to interact. The boys prefer the presence of each other, and the girls, of course, never tire of their sisterly activities. It's so strange, though. Have I been too detached with them? Have I simply not done enough? I wonder these things, because they ask nothing of me. The boys go to Mulder with their cuts and scrapes and their battle scars and Mulder tells them quiet stories, listens to their fictional tales, so carefully formed you'd swear they were real, and he'll sit and laugh and play with them, all before wrapping them up in a warm embrace before they run off to bed. I know when the boys turn 18, Mulder's heart will be broken, but hopefully by then he'll have the continuing prospect that Andrew will break free.
It is Andrew who alerts me to Mulder's arrival, his head lifting up away from his desk while two tears roll down his cheeks....
Disclaimered in Part One.
Scully made her way through the suddenly-silent classroom, quietly placing her fingertips on Andrew's desk, ever-so-slightly brushing his soft hair as she indicated he turn back to his writing. The door opened and Mulder wearily entered, barely standing under his own power. Scully let a soft gasp escape her lips, and was surprised when one of the girls, one of the shyest, bolted out of her seat to Mulder's side, leading him over to one of the large oaken desks in the corner. Mulder sat gratefully, reaching up to smile at her and gently cup her jaw in his large right hand.
The girl watched her teacher for a long moment, puzzled, then went back to her seat. Mulder sighed and dropped his head onto the desk, breathing deeply for long moments. Scully walked over to him and knelt by his side, placing one hand on his head. Her whispered words traveled across the room to register in the minds their thirty children.
"You okay, Mulder?"
He mumbled softly, his words a gift for her ears only. "I'm okay.
"I've stretched my lesson as far as it can go. Mulder, we need you."
He lifted his eyes to meet her gaze, Scully drew back when she saw his eyes were dark. She relaxed when she realized that he was not swimming with the black oil, but rather, that his eyes had hemorrhaged. He turned away quickly, but not before Scully saw tears dripping as blood down his cheeks. Scully reached out and gently wiped them away, then stood. She walked across the room to the table where Mulder usually sat to teach, and brought his textbook, which was actually simply a handwritten account of all that he remembered regarding the conspiracy, as well as any pertinent facts regarding the world that these children would need. It was, after all, up to them to instill with these children the morals that would preserve the human race.
After these children began leading the enemy.
Mulder sighed and wearily took his text from her, flipping back a few pages to where he left off. He looked at it for a few moments, but the words blurred beyond his nearly-blind gaze. Mulder shook his head.
He stood and staggered across the room to the wall lined with windows. He there dropped heavily onto the table, pushing himself back against the window, backlit by the day, until only his feet hung off the end of the table. When he spoke, those farthest away, the girls who clustered on the far left, had to strain to make him out.
"Philosophy. No history today."
Mulder's voice was rough and shredded by his screams of only
"I could care less what the Greeks had to say. They had no idea the kinds of things that were in store for the human race. The didn't know that there was other intelligent life on those planets they were just beginning to find. They didn't see what was coming. They had no idea.
"Nobody has any clue what real desperation is until they've experienced it for themselves. They think it's like eating that broken cookie at the bottom of the jar or having peanut butter when there's _no_ food left in the house."
Mulder sighed wearily, his head lifting only slightly when Scully handed him a bottle of clean water. Mulder drank eagerly, but did not return it to her waiting hand, instead placed it between his thighs as he sat, holding it there for later on.
Mulder's body shook uncontrollably beneath his faded blue
sweater and his nearly white khaki pants. Pain rippled up and down
along his body, white-hot needles of it stabbing into his groin, his belly,
his sides and chest. His neck ached and his head throbbed, while, quite unexpectedly, an erection lay corralled within his jockey shorts, crying for his attention. A by-product of the cell samples and the handling... down there, nothing more, but he nonetheless ached to take care of the need which grew ever more desperate within him.
Mulder sighed and continued with his lecture.
"Desperation is people drinking from a snow globe when they're
dying of thirst, of being willing to undergo unanesthetized surgery for the sake of an unborn child. Desperation is living without homes, without families, without a person in the world to care for you, while everyone you love works their ass off in a field for some alien intelligence. Desperation is every kid I ever knew in college who slit his wrists because he couldn't bear the thought of going home without a degree. That's what life is all about. Life is about damning the day you were born."
Across the room, Scully tensed, but Mulder shot her a glare which stilled her. He apparently felt he was going somewhere with this, but not before, Scully guessed, he scared the daylights out of these girls.
Mulder laid his head back against the wall, absently rubbing a tear away as it tracked out of the corner of his eye, smearing blood across his temple.
"All things done out of desperation are the product of human nature, pure and simple. It is our nature, as human beings, to fight against death and to fight for our God-given right to live."
Scully now stepped forward, her voice coming out to block him.
He looked at her with those bloodied eyes and his voice grew soft. "What more can they do to me? I'm ten minutes from dying as it is. Let me talk."
Scully walked across the room and sat at her partner's desk, wrapping her hands around the legs of his heavy wooden chair, refusing to move. Mulder sighed softly and turned back to the students.
"Before colonization, people believed in God. Every society, every culture before us believed that there was a being higher than ourselves. Not an alien creature, but a spiritual entity. One who was responsible for the creation of life on earth and for it's continuing existence. Some religions called this God. Everyone had their own beliefs on who precisely He was and everyone was allowed to believe this. We have been all but forbidden to teach you this, for fear you all might.... I don't know. Whatever. But you're smart kids, you're going to have questions sooner or later."
"Everyone had their own feelings on God. Scully was a member of organized religion, she went to gatherings and they praised God in a special way. I wasn't a member like she was. I had been born into Judaism. Simplified, that means that my parents believed in just God. Scully's parents believed in that same God, but a man, who was just a prophet to my parents, to Scully, he was a savior. He told everyone that God was going to make everything okay even though the Romans were controlling everything at the time."
"Like the colonists."
Mulder's lips parted and his jaw opened slightly, but after he recovered from his shock, he bestowed upon Andrew a warm smile. Mulder nodded almost imperceptibly before continuing speaking, his voice shaking only ever so slightly.
"Jesus was captured by the Romans and eventually, he was crucified."
"What did he do wrong?"
Finally one of the girls takes an interest. Mulder smiled.
"He told them he was a king. They misunderstood his words.
They crucified him for saying he was a Son of God. Scully's people believed that he died so that the Jews would be freed of their sins. I've got to admit, I don't understand most of it, but that's because my beliefs are confused. Everyone got pretty confused after the Date."
Andrew hoped his tears of sorrow wouldn't be clear to Mulder as he shyly spoke, refusing to lift his tousled head from watching his paper. "Mulder? What do you believe? What are we supposed to believe?"
Mulder sighed. Andrew's hidden tears and the soft, wrenching pain in his voice simply pulled Mulder's heart right out of his chest.
"I believe what I do after twenty-five years of soul-searching.
It is, for the most part, very difficult to believe as vehemently as I do
when you're only fourteen, but I will try to explain it." Mulder sipped his
water, then released a deep breath. "I believe in God. I believe He exists. I believe that He's got some master plan. That even if our lives don't go great on this earth, that He's got one _hell_ of a consolation prize waiting for us after we die. That He's taking care of us. Right now. Because if He wasn't, me and Scully probably wouldn't be alive right now to talk to you." Mulder contemplated things for several more moments before continuing. He didn't fail to notice that Scully was watching him with just as much rapt excitement as the children.
"I believe it doesn't matter what you do, as long as you have good intentions, then it will be okay, but if you screw up and make a mistake, as long as you're truly sorry, then you'll be forgiven. There are a hundred thousand different rules that organized religion has put together that limit the kind of relationship you can have with God, and I don't agree with any of that. It's made me an outcast my whole life, but I don't care. I'm comfortable with myself."
Matthew shyly pulled a lock of his hair out of his eyes. "What about us, Mulder? We aren't real people. Does God take care of us?"
Mulder leaned forward and tucked his legs beneath him. "You _are_ real people. You're no less real than me. All of you are real people. God takes care of all of us. We're all in this together."
Andrew's voice came out of the weary silence, full of unshed tears. "They say that God is there when every child is conceived, don't they?"
Mulder lifted his head and furrowed his brow slightly. He didn't ask how Andrew knew, he merely accepted it. He nodded. Andrew drew his bottom lip in between his teeth and lifted those haunted eyes to meet Mulder's. "God wasn't there for me. He wasn't there for anyone else."
"He was, Andrew. I assure you. God gives a person their soul. If anyone on this earth has a soul, it's you children."
"It's not us. It's the people who are out there trying to set us free. And all we can do is sit here on our asses and _Wait_ for them."
Mulder closed his eyes and let his head drop into the temple of his fingers.
Scully walked across the room to him. He picked his head up, sucking in a deep breath. He looked across the room at the fifteen boys and the fifteen girls. "I don't claim to know everything, but I'm trying to make you understand what I'm saying. I was taken and They performed _tests_ on me. They _hurt_ me. I fought against them, and for me this was a victory merely because I survived. They shouldn't be doing this to me! You've got to fight against what they're doing to you!"
"But we are the hope for the future of the Plan."
Sixteen sets of eyes riveted themselves upon the single red-
haired girl. She glared back at the men, indignant. Mulder licked his dry lips. "Don't believe them when they tell you that. They just want you to think that. It's not true. The hope for the future of mankind is living out there." Mulder pointed out the window and over the plains surrounding them. He sighed deeply. "But Andrew's right. For now we're just sitting here on our asses, waiting."
Andrew looked back down at his writing. Mulder sipped his water and laid back against the windows. Scully glanced at her watch.
"Looks like we're done for the day, kids. Go out and have lunch, then I'll find a movie for you."
Moving in unison, all the girls pounced for the door, while the boys lingered, not wanting to leave Mulder's side. Finally they did, at Scully's approach, but Andrew alone refused to move. He remained hunched over his writings, tears running down his cheeks. Mulder watched the child, then stood and walked over to his side.
Scully watched as her partner gently laid his hand on the boy's jaw, lifting his head away from the desktop. The boy looked at Mulder with red, swollen eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. Her partner's words were meant only for the child, so Scully sat quietly at the front of the room, occasionally adding important notes into the pages of Mulder's scrawl. She could not help but listen.
"What's wrong, Andrew? You've been crying all day and I don't know why."
"What's going to happen to me?" The boy sniffled and wiped his hand across his face, but could not pull away from Mulder's gentle hands. "I don't want to work for them. I don't want to lead anybody."
Mulder sighed and gently stroked the boy's hair. Andrew closed his eyes and pressed into Mulder's hand, giving a soft little moan of unbearable need. Mulder kept his voice soft, so Scully had to strain to hear. "I'm going to get you out of here, Andrew, but today is not the day. You need to be stronger, you need to know more before you can leave."
"But if I wait too long, they'll kill me."
"We'll get you out of here before anything bad can happen to
"How am I going to survive?"
"You're going to survive the way everyone else does, Andrew.
But you've got the advantage. You know the Plan, you've known it since the day you were born. You'll know the weaknesses in the Plan by then."
"It seems so impossible, Fox...."
Mulder gently gathered the boy in his arms, comforting him as
Disclaimered in Part One.
Mulder stayed in his room and masturbated roughly. He was angry at himself for needing to do this, and the pain which would come as he orgasmed was his punishment. He laid on the floor, stroking himself with the lubrication only of his own saliva, when in a better mood he might've used from the bottle of suntan oil in his bathroom. This act was not the release it had once been, lying on his couch with a movie in his VCR. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he thought only of poor Andrew, right now sitting and crying as the boys conversed loudly over their meal.
Mulder look down at himself, at his erection and the hand caressing it. Scars crossed his body and he winced at the memory of the night they'd been put there. As he orgasmed, he curled lightly around himself, lying on his side next to his bed, closing his eyes for long moments.
Mulder moved quickly around his apartment, checking and rechecking that everything was in order. Seven thousand dollars lay on his dining room table, beside his wallet and a set of dogtags he had made at one of the small booths in DC's mall, should he be found and "flamed", as he called it, by those carrying out the Plan. Colonization had been only three months ago, and Mulder had been one of the first to comprehend the meaning of the black oil which swam over the eyes of the first Chinese infected. IT had spread to America so quickly. The children were now being slaughtered as the cities burned. The elderly were killed also, too old to create new life and far too feeble to work in the camps. Mulder now understood what his family had been through sixty years ago, running from the SS and Nazi Germany.
Mulder gathered the money and placed the dogtags around his neck, shaking in fear. He wrapped his leather coat around himself and felt his gaze wander to the unwashed knife which lay on his countertop. It would be so easy to end it now.... But to abandon Scully, to abandon all hope of creating a rebellion, that would be unable to bear.
Instead he waited for the knocks on his door. The six rapid knocks to those willing to co-operate, which They seemed unable to decode. He thought of the children he'd seen killed, those even in his own neighborhood, as They took them into the streets and burned them alive, their screams filling the apartments, the smell of the flesh burned off their small bodies fouling the air.
It hardly needed to be said that Mulder didn't sleep anymore.
His nights were filled with wishful thinking, carefully strategized
plans for rebellion which lacked the most crucial details and considerations.
Mulder looked up as the knocks came upon his front door. He opened it timidly, despite the knowledge that another like himself had called. There stood a young woman, nearly a child, perhaps only fifteen years old. She swallowed nervously and watched him. "Your doctor is here."
Mulder glanced down the hallway. "Where?"
"Not here. You'll be heard. I'll take you to him."
Mulder followed the girl into the hallway, closed the door and
allowed himself to be led down the stairs, the power cut to the building long ago. The girl led Mulder behind the building, into the alley where he came upon Krycek so painfully long ago. There, a man stood, an ancient black bag of medical supplies beside him. Mulder felt lightheaded at the smell of bodies all around him, mostly those of the elderly, one man whom he recognized as a neighbor in the floor below him.
Mulder watched his doctor for a moment, watching the older man's movements, before realizing, with no small amount of irony, that this man was a member of Hasidim, the extremely pious order of Judaism. Normally a man of this faith wouldn't be caught dead working on a Friday night, or working at all under these conditions, but Mulder supposed that desperate times called for desperate actions. Besides that, this man probably figured, as Mulder did, that an act of mercy to a man such as this, could not be seen as sinful under the eyes of God.
The man looked up from his instruments and surveyed Mulder's face. "You're one?"
Mulder nodded. The man smiled.
"Then let's keep this indiscretion between you and I. No one
needs to know." The man glanced heavenward and Mulder had to chuckle. His good humor was short-lived, however, as he saw the man begin to sterilize his surgical equipment. Out of his pocket came a lighter and he quickly ran it across the scalpel. Mulder knew that in a few minutes that would cut through him. Thoughts pertaining to anesthesia left his mind with quick prayers for survival.
The man turned to Mulder and sighed. Snow still lay upon the bodies of the dead from the night before. The young girl gently laid a blanket across Mulder's shoulders. He glanced up at her. Their methods were confusing him. The man put on a pair of latex gloves and turned to Mulder. His voice was soft, and thickly accented from the Yiddish he'd spoken his entire life.
"This is going to hurt more than anything you've ever experienced in your lifetime. But I will do this well for you. You'll be all right. My daughter's got to help me, you can't be embarrassed from her." Mulder nodded thoughtfully. "Is there anything you need?"
"I'm going to scream."
The man looked around a minute, then grabbed a wooden cane
out of the grip of a dead man. He deftly snapped it in half and gave Mulder a short, straight length of it. "You have to be quiet. Squeeze Calista's hand if you must, but don't scream. It won't be the first time she has gotten a broken hand doing one of these."
Mulder nodded and sighed softly. The doctor nodded and gently laid Mulder down on his back, wrapping the blanket carefully around him. He wordlessly undressed Mulder for the procedure and exposed his genitals to the world. The doctor quietly grabbed his scalpel, threw up a quick prayer in Hebrew, and cut into the agent. Mulder screamed and squirmed away violently, forcing the man, unwillingly, to cut open his body. Mulder placed his hands between his legs and curled onto his side, sobbing and shaking. The doctor sighed and the girl stepped forward to straighten Mulder upon the ground. The doctor lined the edges of the cut with a small amount of anesthetic, the smallest droplets he could spare. Mulder finally calmed, and the doctor quickly straddled Mulder's thighs, holding him down. The girl placed the cane between Mulder's teeth, effectively stemming all words of protest from his mouth.
The doctor cut again, this time carefully opening his patient, searching for the correct ducts to be cut. Mulder ground his teeth against the cane, his body arching and shuddering in unbearable pain. Eventually the cane splintered and split, the wooden shards imbedding themselves in his lips and gums, even as he screamed. Blood ran from the corners out of his mouth as the surgery went on, but his consciousness stubbornly remained throughout the procedure.
After forty agonizing minutes it was all over, and cuts crisscrossed Mulder's body where he had tried to avoid the surgeon's knife. He hadn't meant to fight, but the pain was something horrifying he'd never imagined. The man had been right, but after the surgery he helped Mulder to his feet and walked him back to the front of the building, willing Mulder back to his apartment with his softly spoken prayers. Mulder thanked him as best he could and climbed the stairs to his apartment, dropping to the floor in a heap without even closing the door.
The Present Time
Mulder awoke to find Scully beside him, gently tending to his body. Unsure of time and place, he lay nude upon his bed while Scully gently bathed his burning skin. Scully saw the look of confusion on his face and gently stroked back his hair. "It's all right, Mulder. You've been asleep for close to two hours. You're exhausted."
He pushed himself off the bed, his head pounding. "I can't..."
Scully shook her head and carefully watched him. "No, Mulder.
It's time for you to rest. Andrew can wait. We've all been given tomorrow off. You can catch up on your rest."
Mulder sighed. "I'm sorry, Scully."
She furrowed her brow. "What for, Mulder?"
"For being this way. I'm not accepting my responsibility in our
"Mulder, you're a father to fifteen beautiful young boys and you are subjected to tests not unlike alien abduction on a monthly basis. Mulder, you do everything in your power to keep up your part of the work. I couldn't ask for more from you."
He watched her for long minutes. "I try so hard, Scully. They haven't got parents, and every boy needs to know his parents love him. I just want to give them some of what I've got to give."
She nodded and smiled, tenderly laying a sheet over his body.
"You have so much love inside you, Mulder."
He watched her closely. She gently laid a hand on his chest. "I just don't want to see you get your heart broken."
Mulder sighed and looked away, thinking of Andrew and his boys and all that needed to be done to prepare them for life outside the compound. He reached out and gently took Scully's hand, laying it on his chest before closing his eyes, letting himself fall into a deep, relaxed sleep.
Two Years Later.
I grew up with Mulder's stories of his childhood. How he and Samantha would swim in the ocean and eat bologna sandwiches, how he played baseball with friends (right field) and could've gone to University of Massachusetts on a basketball scholarship. He told me how he was on the rowing team in college, how they'd let him run for miles and miles across England.
Very much unlike my father of sorts, I was born at the age of
twelve, four years ago, for the sole purpose of completing an agenda. I
have fourteen twin brothers, and I am the favorite child. Mulder
doesn't love them any less, but he shares a kinship with me that we
both find comforting. He's lately been teaching me all I need to know
to lead a resistance against the alien race which created me. I know
that there has been a vaccine, and a conspiracy of silence among men
now trained only to rule the workers, the now-unspoken millions. I have
been vaccinated against the black oil and it is my job, as my father
tells me, to vaccinate the others. I still don't know how to do it. I don't
have a vaccine. My father says there will be a man to contact me, to help me, but how will I know who this man is? How will he find me? I don't know.
Scully's kind to me, as she is to everyone, but her heart lies not with us, or even her own daughters. I lies with Mulder. She's taken care of him these years, carefully working to keep his alcoholism in control, to help him handle the daily stresses of knowing that your world may be destroyed in an instant. They still take my father regularly, returning him bleeding and barely responsive, his eyes hemorrhaging still despite the fact he can no longer see. They've done that to him, I know They have. Perhaps to hamper his escape, since They know he is the most dangerous one, the one who may set us all free. I am merely taking his place, none of the ideas or strategies are mine. They are all of his doing. I am doing the physical work for him, for his body is too riddled with pain and disability.
He tells me I'm going to one day go for a run and never come back. As simple as that. I'll hop the fence to the compound, run my way through the corn and never look back until I've safely met up with my father's contact in the distant hills. It's not a complicated plan, and he says that it is precisely the opposite of what They would be expecting from Fox Mulder. Plus that, I'm not Fox Mulder. I may be his clone, but I am not him. There is a difference between the Fox Mulder of today and the Fox Mulder of thirty years ago.
Scully quietly led her partner to the low cement wall, gently settling him there to listen as the boys played basketball. His blind eyes tracked the children, despite the fact he couldn't see them, his ears telling him all he needed to know, the grace and power of the boys in motion. Not far, he could hear the whispered tales of the girls as they sat beneath the trees. Even at sixteen years old, the two sexes showed next to no interest with each other, excluding, of course, the two most outgoing children who have long since been separated, found together in a bedroom not long ago.
At the approaching footsteps, Mulder listened intently. One of the boys. Andrew, most obviously, the only one who would tear himself away from a game to spend time with his blind mentor. The child sat at Mulder's feet, smiling when Mulder's hand reached out to gently lay atop his long brown hair, confirming his position.
Andrew smiled and sat back against the wall, watching Mulder as he listened to the continuing game.
"Eric is winning."
Andrew smiled at Mulder's ability. Eric, the athletic one, now
made another basket, laughing happily, joined by the remainder of his team. "Doesn't he always?"
Mulder smiled shyly. "You could win if you tried."
"It's not my interest to win."
Mulder's smile grew wider. "What is your interest?"
Andrew smiled, remembering, with the famous Mulder memory,
the story of Deep Throat, the first contact. "The Truth."
Mulder glowed inwardly at the brightness of his protg. "What have you done today?"
Andrew considered the dark tan of his arms. Mulder poked him lightly.
"Did you hear me?"
Andrew sighed. "Yes..." He ran a hand through his hair. "I
haven't done anything today. I'm all out of leads, Mulder."
He sighed. "I'm being called into a meeting later with Them. I might be able to find something for you there."
"Is Scully invited?"
He nodded. "I think it may have something to do with all of you
rather than the Project."
"What makes you think that?"
A half shrug from Mulder as he turned his head to Scully,
hearing her rustling papers not far from them. "A feeling."
Andrew watched him for long moments. "Are you mad at me, Mulder?"
Mulder's head dropped down to face the boy, as if he hadn't remembered he couldn't see him. "What possible reason would I have to be mad at you, Andrew?"
"I don't know. You don't seem pleased with everything I've done."
Mulder struggled with his tongue for a moment before finding the presence of mind to slide off the low stone wall and sit beside Andrew. He reached out his arms and gently felt for the boy before pulling him tight against his chest. Mulder's words were quiet. "You will never know how proud I am of you, Andrew."
The boy buried himself in Mulder's rare embrace.
Scully watched the two men hold each other with a shiver of fear down her spine. Something told her tonight's meeting would not go well.
Andrew woke with a start, shocked at having his privacy interrupted so suddenly. A quick glance at his clock showed him it was only shortly after midnight, and the smell of liquor on Mulder's breath was enough to send him into fits of panic. Mulder stood in the middle of the room, his blank gaze fixed upon the opposite wall. Andrew pushed a hand through his hair and swallowed hard, trying to find his voice.
Andrew was silenced by the unmistakable sound of Mulder's
tears, a hitch in his throat and the soft stillness of his sorrow.
"Mulder, what's going on?"
The older man crossed the room to sit on the bed of his
progeny, one large hand softly caressing the boy's hair. Andrew only grew more frightened by the gesture.
"Mulder? It was the meeting, wasn't it? They're going to do something, aren't they?"
Mulder nodded, his eyes closing, tears flowing silently down his cheeks. His voice was but a whisper in the room. "They're taking you."
Andrew's mouth dropped open in shock. Tears filled his soft brown eyes.
Mulder flicked his tongue over his lips and swallowed the saliva collecting in his mouth, stimulated by his tears. "They're taking all of you. They said you know enough now. That you're old enough. Ben and ..." Mulder sighed. "They said they proved that you were all ready to reproduce. They're taking you in tomorrow. We only have one night to do this, Andrew."
The boy sighed deeply. "Are we supposed to know?"
Mulder shook his head. "No. But that's too your advantage.
Nothing you do with be considered suspicious."
"What am I going to do?"
"I'm going to the Camp in the morning. I'll get a message out to
my contact and we'll carry out our plan on schedule. We always knew what to do, now it's just a matter of finally moving into action."
Andrew sighed deeply. "Dad, I'm scared."
Mulder nodded, hardly noticing use of the endearment. Andrew
shivered and Mulder gathered him into his arms unthinking, gently rocking the boy against his chest.
By two a.m., Andrew was nearly asleep, while Mulder sat beside his bed, his gaze fixed upon parts unknown, seeing, in his mind's eye, horrors greater than Andrew could begin to imagine.
Mulder's voice barely penetrated Andrew's haze of sleep, his words hardly making a dent in the young man's thick protective shell. "You will be the father of the human race, Andrew."
The boy's eyes slid open. "No, Dad. You will be. You always have been." He slid into a deep sleep.
Beside him, Mulder continued to gaze, thinking of all the preparations that would need to be made.
Disclaimered in Part One.
The boys watched Mulder climb wearily into the army jeep, making his way to the workers' compound, headed out for parts unknown. They slowly turned to their seats beside the alreadyy prepared girls, making themselves comfortable in their desks. At the head of the room, Scully sat, her eyes red-rimmed and raw, as if she had been crying for many hours. Slumped in his seat, his forehead burning with fever, Andrew watched her through his pounding headache, praying to the God his father taught him, comforted by the soft words of his own private prayer.
Mulder met his contacts in the administration building, using his power over the previous shadow syndicate to secretly plan the downfall of the Plan. Andrew's guide and mentor would be met in the foothills around the fields, ready with the weapons and magic in hand. From there the two, one a child, the other a veteran of the project, would be ready. Carefully concealed weaknesses in the government would be exposed and in a matter of hours the framework would be in place for rebellion. Lives would be lost, but success was inevitable.
It was agreed that the price would be worth the purchase.
Mulder slowly walked across the compound, using his memory as a map towards the stand of trees where he knew Andrew would be hiding. He knelt beside the boy with the only encouragement being the boy's soft breathing. Mulder could feel the heat radiating off the boy's body and a thin sheen of swear covered his palm as he touched the boy's forehead.
"You're sick, Andrew."
"I'm fine, Dad..."
Mulder frowned slightly, gently letting his fingers alight on the
boy's carotid artery. "You've got a fever. Are you feeling okay?"
"Dad, it's nothing..."
"Have you been sick?"
A nod sensed more than felt.
"Why didn't you tell me about it?"
"I don't want to ruin your plans."
Mulder shook his head, getting swiftly to his feet. "Get up, son.
Scully can help you." A pause. His voice lowers several decibels. "Though I get the feeling you could probably be better helped if you were alreadyy out there."
"What do you mean?"
Mulder quietly lead Andrew back to the main buildings of the
compound, his hand gentle upon the boy's shoulders. "I'm sure they have better medicines than we do."
"But what, Andrew? But we're civilized? I'm not allowed to take
a day off from teaching after they blind me and you think that's civilization? Andrew, I don't think I've _ever_ lived in a civilized world.
Women gave birth to children and weren't allowed to stay in the hospital longer than a few hours. I think the wandering bands out there live more civilized lives than any of us. They take care of their sick, they live their lives humbly. They work _with_ the earth, rather than against it. I find that civilized."
"How did you survive, Dad?"
"I was a different person then, Andrew. I was depressed."
"And now you're an alcoholic. Your point?"
"Andrew, I know I'm an alcoholic. I needed to drink to cope with
it. I still need to sometimes."
"I've drank what you drink, Dad. How can you stand it?"
"It hurts me, Andrew. That's why I drink it. Sometimes I need to
feel that hurt to know I'm still alive. It lets me cry. Most days I think I
need that more than anything."
"Like when you used to cut yourself?"
Mulder nodded tightly and bit his lip. "Exactly like that."
Mulder nodded and breathed deeply, pawing blindly for the door
as Andrew held it open for him. "Are you going to be able to go jogging tonight?"
Andrew nodded, this time making every effort to close himself off from Mulder emotionally. "I just need some fresh air, I think."
Mulder nodded, knowing everything which flowed through that young mind. There were benefits to being the father to your own clones.
Andrew hugged Scully goodbye, then said goodnight to his brothers, before finally walking out into the darkness with Mulder. Their parting words were simple messages of luck and love, hope for the future and being reunited in freedom. Andrew put his arms around Mulder in a fierce embrace, hot tears soaking through Mulder's thin shirt.
"Don't forget to cry, Andrew. It's the most important thing you'll ever do for yourself. Don't let your emotions control you. Let them have their say in who you are, but don't try to own them. They're a part of you. You need to love them like any other."
Something cynical within Andrew wondered when his father had found time to become so wise, before or after the slitting of wrists and thighs, during or after the long drinking binges? But another part of Andrew took ahold of those words, clutching them against his breast and thanking God and everything else in the world for his father.
Andrew jogged away from his father with tears streaming down his cheeks, running until he hit the cornfields, until the helicopters and lopsided pyramid crafts came chasing after him, running on and on until he might collapse, then pulling hidden strength from a reservoir he didn't know he'd had until he had finally reached the wooded hills, watching as the crafts and choppers searched through the corn for his body, thought to be riddled with bee stings and oil as it lay in the stalks.
Andrew ran to the predesignated spot, a clearing in the woods where his father brought him nearly three years ago, a place Andrew remembered with crystal clarity. There, in the trees, stood a tall man, perhaps his father's age, with long dark hair and black eyes. Not the eyes of those infected by the oil, but black eyes rimmed with pure white, like a strange reversal of an oreo cookie. Andrew knew this man from his father's stories and he shivered in a conscious attempt not to run.
They had been assigned no safe word, nothing but the assurance from Mulder that Krycek would prove himself with something no one else could ever know.
Krycek stepped close to the boy, looking him in the eyes, struck by the similarity he held with his adult counterpart. Andrew was shocked by the quickness of Krycek's movements, the soft kiss planted upon the corner of his mouth, the exact place Mulder had described when the countdown to colonization began.
Andrew nodded softly, then watched as Krycek brought out a syringe, trusted completely as the yellow liquid was injected into the trembling flesh of his bicep.
Immediately he screamed. His father.... _Krycek_ had betrayed him. Betrayed both of them. Andrew cried out only twice before he fell to the ground, writhing in pain, clawing at the back of his neck as agony ripped through his spine. Krycek fell to the ground beside him, wrapping him up in his arms before gently grasping Andrews hands around his own chest, preventing himself further injury.
The boy screamed and writhed in pain, his body jerking and spasming in rejection for long minutes until finally he came to a halt, limp an exhausted, as the black oil ran from his lips and nose before finally drying in stains upon Krycek's already ruined black jeans.
The boy gave a soft moan before slipping into unconsciousness, looking up at Krycek's face once more, thinking that it had not been as bad as he expected, this death inside of him.
Andrew awoke looking up at a face he didn't recognize, one of a boy perhaps his own age. If not for the dull ache in his bones and the intensity of his own emotions, Andrew might have run in fear, but he learned quickly that to make the effort to so much as take a full breath sapped his strength.
The boy standing by Andrew's side reached out a hand and, in a single fluid motion, pulled him to his feet. Andrew looked around for several minutes, then caught sight of Krycek several feet away, watching him warily.
Andrew found himself surrounded by perhaps a dozen young people, three boys and nine girls, all of whom he found somehow strikingly beautiful, completely unlike the fifteen berScullies at home. Andrew swallowed hard, was surprised when a small metal cup covered in peeling white enamel was brought to his lips. He drank deeply of the water, thanking the girl who offered it with an honest smile.
Without a word, he was led to their campsite and offered a blanket on the ground, noticing this was their only shelter in the cool evening, their camp made around a fire. It had to be sometime about midnight and he was keeping them awake. Then again, he trusted that they were teenagers and used to that sort of thing. He watched them dine quietly on scraps of meat and corn, presumably taken from the fields surrounding the compound.
Their dress consisted of anything they could find, and he recognized more than one item of clothing discarded by him or his brothers and "sisters". He watched the way the teens interacted, the way the girls acted as Scully usually did, with shyness and quiet strength. The boys moved quietly around the girls, each outnumbered three to one, each considerate and kind to his favorites, two of which, Andrew suspected, were in the early stages of pregnancy.
Obtusely, Andrew wondered if he, as the son of the father of the new human race, would be asked to assume that same role. He dropped his gaze into his lap, playing absently with his hands, when he suddenly felt someone beside him, that someone being Alex Krycek.
Andrew had hear the stories of the man's deceit, of his defection and his murderous impulses, yet he also knew that his father had to trust this man, and that his father would never put him in danger if he doubted even for a moment. Andrew looked at the older man for long moments, studying his face, battle scarred from many years of hardship. Andrew was also not deceived by the nearly perfect facsimile of an arm which was not truly there. Krycek spoke softly, his voice low, hid message hidden from the other young people.
"You look just like him."
"This surprises you?"
Krycek smiled. "Do you have any idea what you're up against?"
"I've been planning this for three years. I've heard every story. I
have no idea."
Again, the older man parted his lips in a smile. Andrew suppressed a yawn, but Krycek was not fooled. "Get some sleep. We'll do it tomorrow."
Andrew nodded and laid down on his side, curling up instinctively. Krycek stood and walked away. Andrew settled to sleep, but stiffed suddenly when a warm body came to rest against his. He opened his eyes and found himself face to face with one of the girls, a beautiful creature with long brown hair and dark eyes. She gave Andrew a slight smile and settled into his embrace, leaving him to wonder just exactly what the hell was going on.
Andrew awoke in the early morning, the telltale pressure of an erection pulling him from sound sleep. He moved to roll over, but instead found himself pinned to the ground. He opened his eyes in shock, surprised to find the girl who laid down beside him no longer beside him, but, rather, straddling his thighs. He tried to squirm away, but found himself held fast, as well as almost unwilling to move. He wanted to see what would happen if he waited for her to make the first move.
She quietly unzipped his khaki pants, gently pulled the length of him from his boxers. She then leaned forward, consciously making eye contact with him, to gently kiss him. He followed her lead willingly, his virgin lips finding the new experience quite thrilling, with particular thanks to the fact he might as well be nude. The girl gently ran her hands across his young body, carefully maneuvering herself above him, giving him no warning before gently lowering herself onto him. Andrew grabbed at the blanket with both fists, his body tightening uncontrollably, his mind clouded and completely unresponsive as she slowly worked herself upon him. He lay there, perfectly still, as she worked on him, his body so alive with pleasure he was unable to focus on taking a breath, unable to do more than moan softly as he climaxed inside of her.
Andrew slowly fell back to earth, his mind suddenly clear, suddenly filled with a thousand questions. He turned his head to find the girl lying beside him, breathing deeply and gently stroking his hair. Andrew watched her for several long moments before finding himself able to speak, his voice still deep and raspy from his now-fading arousal. "What's your name?"
She smiled. "Christina."
"Why did you....?"
Her smile grew wider and she reached out to gently caress his
cheek with one fingertip. "Things like that can't be wasted. It's not easy to populate an entire planet all by yourself."
"But you didn't even ask me...."
"Andrew, I gave you plenty of time to tell me no. I've heard a
lot about you. I want to get to know you. But sometimes there isn't time for that."
He nodded wearily, almost understanding. She grinned and returned to his embrace, laying her head against his chest. "Go back to sleep, Andrew. There's still a few more hours of darkness left."
He reached up to tentatively run his fingers through her hair before breathing a deep sigh and drifting back off into another session of deep sleep.
Mulder listened intently to the men speaking not far from him, seeking any evidence of uprising in the works. Everyone was angered by Andrew's dash for freedom, and the fourteen remaining boys were sullen and quiet for the remainder of the day, unable and unwilling to accept the fact that one of their own had ran. They all secretly agreed, however, that if one of the boys was destined to take the risk for his freedom, that Andrew should be the one.
Sixty miles away, in a small compound of healthy, working people, Alex Krycek slid unnoticed behind the security measures, his guest, a young man restrained with twine, passing through with no more than a disinterested gaze. It was not uncommon for the working vaccinated to bring in the occasional teenager from the woods as a prisoner.
Making his way down the carefully planned streets, Andrew was amazed and nauseated by the similarities this held with the Nazi death camps Mulder had taught them about again and again, drilling it into them that such a thing must never happen twice. Andrew assumed that Mulder's Judaism had been the motivation behind that, but now, he realized, it was a warning for him and the remaining children that the current living conditions of the slave-workers must be put to a halt.
Krycek led the boy into a bunk of healthy males perhaps Andrew's age, then immediately set himself to the task of injecting them with the vaccine, watching as the young men individually became aware of themselves and, realizing their plight, turning to Alex and Andrew for guidance. The two indicated the way out to them and were rewarded with their utter willingness to co-operate, their ability to overcome the fact that their last conscious thought was as they were each individually taken by the Colonists.
The men quickly hopped the back fences into the immediate woods, each grateful for the oversights made by the administration in their confidence that the vaccine was no longer produced, that the formula was long forgotten. No one, however, had considered Fox Mulder's eidetic memory, and the hundreds of medical files he had overlooked, each one including some small, yet vital piece of the puzzle when it came to reconstructing the fluid which saved both his and Agent Scully's life.
As the evening drew to a close and Fox Mulder quietly nursed his last screwdriver before bed, heavy, booted feet, made their way towards his door. It opened with the heavy contact of a man's shoulder splintering wood, and Fox suffered no small amount of surprise as he was lifted onto his feet and taken to speak with the administration.
With the framework already in place, time passed quickly between the beginning and the end of the uprising. In six months the colonists were all but completely destroyed, with the remaining fleeing so quickly that no doubt was left in the minds of the remaining humans that they would not again likely be bothered by the black oil.
Andrew was well on his way to fatherhood, with a four month old child growing within his new wife, despite his tender age of only seventeen.
The remaining sons of Mulder and daughters of Scully were given positions among the newly formed government, determined to set up the world quietly and without fuss, leaving the country open to those who desired shelter from the world.
In the hills of Appalachia and the plains of Oklahoma, children still wander in search of their own lives, forming tightly-knit communities, separating themselves from the world they watched deteriorate into near-nothingness, a world taken over in a day by a creature that could have been stopped if it wasn't for the greed and secrecy surrounding their government.
No one blames them for their need for secrecy. They respect them.
Alex Krycek was killed in a small rebel battle, his body buried where it fell, two days following the end of the rebellion.
Dana Scully's knowledge of the alien colonists, as well as the other remaining forms of life, was gathered and recorded, thoroughly documented. She was then released into society, living a quiet life not far from the New England coast.
Fox Mulder passed from this earth on the first day of the uprising. After being taken into custody by the colonists for interrogation, he died of natural causes, namely, heart failure due to stress, age, and fatigue.
Scully believes that he was being interrogated by the colonists regarding Andrew's whereabouts and that, in his final efforts to protect someone he loved, Fox Mulder's heart finally broke.
It's Andrew's opinion that Fox Mulder would rather sacrifice his life and his sanity for the sake of another, and he remains honored that he was chosen as the one.
Fox Mulder's grave overlooks the beaches of Massachusetts, one of the few places which remains almost exactly the same as it did when he was a small child on the Vineyard, playing lazy all day pickup games on the beach with his sister Samantha, long before his life was invaded by nightmares of abductions and the horrific truth about the existence of extra-terrestrial life.
Copyright Kathleen Brown, August 24, 1998.
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