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Title: Great Men Universe: Part 1 Summary: A very, very old Krycek in 2065 wants to kill the new President Mulder in order to make the Mulders suffer. To do so he goes back in time to kill the man's father, eighteen-year-old Scott Scully, Mulder and Scully's son who was born without their knowledge via test-tube in '95. But unexpectedly, Scott gets sent back to 1998 where he must deal with our Mulder and Scully, teen angst, two Kryceks bent on killing him, and the arrival of the Fox Mulder and Samantha Scully (Scott's twin) from the future, to save him. Author's Note: IMPORTANT! READ ME! This takes place in the present, the near future, and the far future. It takes place across the lives of three generations of Mulders, but you only meet two, starting with our very own Fox. It skips around a lot, so pay attention to the dates which will be above each segment next to the astrices. (the plural of astrix, that means there will be two of them.) THIS HAS A PLOT!!!! ENJOY! Route 29 outside of Viroqua, WI, 11:17 AM The rental car cruised on the old paved road, hitting pot-holes and gravel patches easily, not at all disturbing the woman behind the wheel. A cell phone on the passenger seat chirped as she drove by yet another wheat field. "Scully," she answered. "Hey Scully, it's me. Listen, I've been talking to the police detective here and he says some unusual ocurrences have been reported in La Crosse. What did I tell you?" If Mulder couldn't see the look on Scully's face, he could hear it in her voice. "I'm not worried about what you told me, Mulder, but if Kersh finds out about this we're in for it again. I, mean, I can't believe I'm out here! I'm driving past fields as we speak...look, there goes a cow! Why do I even let you drag me into this?! Our JOBS and on the line, Mulder. You're not gonna find evidence of any government testing in The-Middle-of-No-Where, Wisconsin. We should be home doing background checks right now!" "All you can eat cheese buffet." "It's Thanksgiving." He relented, "Okay, meet me here in La Crosse and we'll go to one of their locals-only diners, get you the pilgrim platter." She smirked to herself. "And see the biggest six-pack in the world?" "You're cute when you're--" Something in the fields made her stop. She cut off his usually dry remark with, "Mulder, I'm gonna have to call you back." Scully hung up her cell phone and stopped the car. Getting out warily, she slowly began to approach the boy walking aimlessly in the middle of a giant flattened circle of wheat. The Pentagon, 10:13 PM The old man slowly smoked his cigarette. He thought. Earlier that evening the new President had made his first official adress of the year, other than the usual post-inauguration rig-a-maroll. And President Ireland Fox Mulder was certainly a success. His campain to cut back welfare was already on a roll; the excess money - which went to education, of course - rolling in. Peace talks between the still-fighting countries of the Middle East were imminent and eminent. The First Lady - the most styish and loved since Jackie Kennedy - attended Masses said by the Pope and was dolling out money to charities everywhere. Success. I. F. Mulder was a success, and a Great Man. As was his father Scott. And grandfather Fox. And great-grandfather Bill. Krycek brooded. Jealous, of all things to be, and that's what he was. He, the Greatest Man, true, he was a 95-year-old chain smoker kept alive by cutting edge ex-alien technology. But still, a Great Man; Hell, he had even invented the term. He remembered his youth, and wondered, how life would have been different, if he hadn't persued such Greatness. And who thought him great now? All his mentors were dead. They were dead when he met them, when they first used him and he hadn't see it. The one he admired the most, the one he really loved and wanted to be betrayed him for the two sons who refused to follow in his path. Gefforey Spender had been an idiot; a wuss. Torn between duty to his father who he hated and his laws which he loved so much; lived by the letter of the laws so well that he died miserable, alone, at the hands of the father he hated and without recognition for any of the work he did, although he did it perfectly by the book; his work had been pointless. Fox Mulder was a crusader, adopted at first by CSM, who chose him merely because Mulder's sister was C. G. B.'s daughter, and because Mulder's mother was the only woman the Smoker ever loved. Then the Cancerman changed his mind, tried Spender, (killed Spender) tried Fowley, and all before Krycek, and that rejection hurt Alex the most. So the Smoking-Man died. His legecy, unwanted by his living heirs, was assumed by Krycek, who wanted the Greatness because he was ignorant and ignorance is bliss. He got it along with everything that came with it. Now the Project was over, the issues resolved, the truth reveled. And Alex Krycek was alone and old and dying. And jealous. The Pentagon, 8:30 AM "Everything's ready, sir." "Excellent. Notify him." "Sir? Are you sure about this, sir? I've been told the tests weren't even finished when you ordered-" "Do it. Don't ask any questions." The other man nodded. "Sir." From his position behind the glass Alex watched the assassin Drake being straped into the huge machine. At his command the switch was thrown and lights flashed in silence, making it impossible to see. Inside that cage of a machine Drake gritted his teeth. The pain shot through him, growing sharper with every backward step he took in time. Virginia Academy Private High School "Hey Sara!" the sound of eighteen-year-old Scott Scully's voice rang out in the busy hall, causing many of his fellow seniors to laugh. Wishing someone would conveniently shoot him in the head, he shuffled towards his equally embaressed and overly annoyed ex-girlfriend. "Sorry," he mumbled. She rolled her eyes. "Really, Scott, why do you keep doing this? Look, I'm sorry, but I already told you I don't wanna go out any more. I have to get to class." Pushing her way through her mob of friends she headed for the computers-chemistry lab. The bell rang suddenly and within seconds the hall was deserted. Scott turned dejectedly towards the men's room to repair his damaged ego just as the assassin appeared behind him in the empty hall. Drake pulled the trigger and for a second Scott could heard himself scream. But instead of a cold bullet ripping through his flesh, he felt himself ripping through time, an uncalculated result of the time-space wormhole created by Drake's appearence. The time and location of his landing was purely random, unlike Drake's controled one. He was ripped back to outside Viroqua, Wisconson on November 26, 1998. The Pentagon Alex watched Drake's image flicker for a second, and then solidify again. He acted calm, but in truth he was furious. After the lights stoped flashing he joined the killer on the other side of the glass. "Scott and Sara Mulder are still alive, Mr. Drake," he said, "Inevitably so is their son." Drake was just as furious because he had failed to kill the boy. About this mistake he was defensive. "I pulled the trigger, and he disappeared! Just gone, 'poof', right in front of me!" "What happened?" the old man Krycek demanded. "I'm an assassin, not a scientist! I thought you guys were gonna test that thing! I don't know where he is." "Well apparently you didn't care to stick around long enough to see when he returned." "I waited until the school's bell rang; I'm not an idiot, I wasn't about to be seen!" "And the bullet?" Alex countered. "Gone with him I guess. Maybe he was shot, but with my aim he wouldn't have been alive to get back if he was." "Maybe your aim isn't as great as it would seem." "I get my jobs done!" Krycek sighed. "Whatever the case, Drake, this job wasn't done. I suggest you go back after the mother, the Sara girl. It usually takes two to make a Mulder." Virginian Academy Private High School "Did you hear something?" Sara asked suddenly of her best friend and lab partner. Said friend looked up from her laptop and smirked. "All I hear is old lizard lips barking out detentions up there. That is so Twentith Century; no one gives detentions anymore! Worried about Scott though, huh?" "Scott? Me? Not in a million years!" Sara declared a little too quickly. She fumbled idiotically with the cords of her computerized scanning microscope. Her friend raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you're not thinking about handsome Scully, maybe you'll tell me what you thought of our Social Sciences homework over Thanksgiving...I barely finished it, it took me forever!" "We had homework?!" Her friend laughed. "Oops, guess you were too busy NOT thinking about Scott to do it, huh?" "Go download a virus!" Sara snapped, "I'm going home sick!" Leaving her friend grinning after her, Sara collected her mini disks and slid her student card through the locking door slide. Equiped with electronic hall pass, she headed for the parking lot. But she was stopped in the deserted hall as Drake shimmered into being in front of her. Sara was too frightened to scream as the gun was pointed at her head; dropping everything she held, she closed her eyes and waited for the pain to come. But as Drake pulled the trigger the pain that shot through her was not the pain of a bullet. It was like being sucked whole body through a spaghetti strainer, only finding that you were stuck half way. Her screams were piercing and shrill in the air, but no one heard. It was the air that ripped by her in time-space, carrying her farther and farther away from home. Cheese Road Inn, La Crosse, WI "Wait here," Scully told the boy. He really wasn't a boy, though. She guessed he was about eighteen, but at that age you don't know what to call them. In any case it freaked her out just to look at him. He was the living ghost of young Mulder with auburn hair. And his eyes were blue. Scott sat on the bed in Scully's hotel room, a blanket wrapped around him. He couldn't remember much of anything important, and his head hurt. Somehow he felt comforted by the woman's presence--there was something familiar about her--but besides that everything felt wrong, like he didn't belong here at all. He thought it was December first, but it wasn't very cold outside, and it looked here like it was autumn. He couldn't name the President but knew all fifty-one states in alphebetical order. He didn't know his parent's names, but he knew he was not an only child. He looked at his hands. Nothing about them looked familiar, but he could swear on his life that he had recently broken a finger in two places from playing defense on his school's football team. He numbly checked the back pocket of his jeans and found a wallet. 12:31 PM Scully knocked outside Mulder's door and walked in without waiting for an answer. He was sprawled across his bed with a packet of sunflower seeds. Whatever noisy thing he was watching in the dim room he shut off as fast as he could. She ignored the video box on the night stand labled "MissXXX" and turned to her unabashed partner. "Scully, come to take me up on that Pilgrim Platter offer?" He grinned. She looked serious. "Mulder, there's someone I want you to meet, I...I found him on the side of the road outside Virogua...he's..." she didn't want to say it. "He was wandering inside a crop circle. He doesn't know who he is, Mulder, and he's the spitting image of you." She looked down as she spoke. Mulder sobered up immediately. "He's in your room now, Scully?" "Yes. I'm not sure about this Mulder, I think he may be in shock." "Is he as old as me?" By this time Mulder was standing. "No, early twenties, I'm pretty sure," Scully said. She led the way to her room. 12:35 PM Scott looked up as Mulder and Scully walked in the room. As he saw them walking together an image flashed across his mind of the same pair, older, but it was gone as soon as it came and he couldn't say where it had come from. But now he had his wallet, and now he knew his name. "Mulder, this is him," the woman said. "Scott." Scott's head jerked up at that. "How do you know my name?" Scott demanded. "Excuse me?" the man said. He was acting calm, but the expression on his face gave away that the site of Scott unnerved him. He walked towards the boy and took a seat. The man was so familiar...but as quickly as those thoughts formed in Scott's head they disappeared. He gestured towards Mulder with his wallet. "It says my name. Scott C. Mulder Scully. I have a license and a student ID card." The woman gave a sharp intake of breath. She reminded him so much of someone he knew. She spoke. "Scott...I'm Special Agent Scully, like I told you before. This is my partner, Special Agent Mulder." Mulder didn't wait for the rest of the introductions. "You say your name is Scott Scully. Have you looked in the mirror lately? Who are your parents?" he demanded to know. Scott shook his head. He looked at his driver's license picture again. He was the exact image of the man next to him, but shorter and with redish hair and blue eyes. "How old are you?" Scully wanted to know. Scott shook his head again. "I'm not sure. It says 'Under 21 untill 8/01/16' what does that mean? 'Date of birth: 8/01/95.' How old would that make me? What year is this?" Scully looked at Mulder and raised her eyebrows. Neither one answered him. She stood up and motioned for her partner to follow her outside. 12:39 PM "Mulder..." Scully began, her voice low, "could this have anything to do with Diana?" "His name isn't Fowley, Dana," Mulder said, more than a hint of irritation in his voice. "Okay, fine. Just don't even begin to explain any theories of yours. This boy is not a, a clone, or a government test subject or...or some hybrid created from Samantha's genes or anything else to do with the government that you might possibly come up with," she blurted out. Mulder leaned against the wall with his hands behind his back and shrugged. "I totally agree with you, Scully." "I'm not even going to ask if you just said what I think you just said because I know it's what you just said." "Even I can't come up with a spooky theory so quickly," he said dryly. "So you don't think he's from the government? The past, the future, anything weird like that?" "Let's see what he says about that, Scully. I think we should take him to see Dr. Norton." "Oh no, no. No, Mulder. Absolutely not." "Don't you even want to question him, Scully, see what he was doing walking around in the middle of a crop circle in the middle of nowhere on Thanksgiving?" he asked earnestly. She sighed. "Fine, okay, my day couldn't possibly get any worse, I'm sure of it." He flashed her a patented Mulder grin and held open the door to her room. 12:42 PM Room 113 Scully was seated on a chair opposite Scott, Mulder sat facing him on the end of the bed. They assumed their classic investigator roles, and the questioning began. "How old are you?" Scully asked. Scott looked frustrated. "I told you, I don't remember." He shrugged, "I think I'm still in high school, but it's all vague to me." "You think you might be a senior?" Mulder asked him. Scott nodded. "Yeah, yeah. That sounds right." Scully gave Mulder an apprehensive look. "Scott..." she began, "Are you even sure of your own name? That license may be a decoy." Scott looked at her truthfully. "I don't know," he said plainly, "It sounds right, to me at least. I feel normal going by it." Now it was Mulder's turn to speak. "Are there any other names you recognize, anything else you remeber? Do you know where you got your name?" he asked. Scott thought for a moment. "I think...I don't know. Samantha sounds familiar, I think it was someone's name that I knew...I just..," he sighed, not finishing his sentence. Scully tried again. "Scott, do you know what year it is? Who's the president of the United States?" she asked him, talking like she would to a child or a mental patient. Apparently he didn't like that very much. "No, I told you I don't! And I'm not crazy! I just...for Pete's sake, when did it stop snowing?!" he cried. Scully raised her eyebrows. She addressed him again, even more sarcastically this time. "Was it snowing the last time you looked outside, Scott?" "Damn it, believe me! I'm telling the truth! It was almost made a snow day, because they didn't expect the snow; you know it doesn't snow much where we live! You told me I had to go anyway to arrange that conference with the stupid Social Sciences teacher, she said-" Scott stopped, amazed. He was sweating. He panted for breath, shocked. Mulder handed Scully a piece of paper on which he had written: "Regression Hypnosis Therapy." Scully looked at him. After a while she nodded. The Pentagon Krycek again experienced the odd sensation of not seeing Drake for a split second, but again it went away in an instant. This time he waited for the assassin to come to him. He stood silently as Drake stomped through the door, allowing him to explain why the assignment had failed a second time. "I did do it! I'm telling you, she disappeared too! This is freaking me out, man, I didn't sign up for this! The minute I pulled the trigger, WHAM! Gone, just like her boyfriend!" he stood there panting nervously, hoping they wouldn't use this second failure as an added excuse to kill him. His one-armed superior pulled out an illegal cigarette and lit up. He waited a minute before speaking. "Well Drake, I hardly think you can be blamed for this catastrophe. Your methods have been efficient enough in the past...our past, that is. This machinary is untested." He let out a puff of smoke. Drake nodded. The man continued. "We'll put more study into what you say...each time one disappeared you had shot a bullet at them? Interesting. Well thank you Drake, you can go now. When we figure out what the problem is, we'll call you back to finish the job." Drake stood still for a moment, waiting for the catch. Then, nodding to Krycek, he turned and left. When he was safely out of hearing range Alex turned to his assistant and nodded, muttering: "Finish him." Somewhere in Medieval England Sara woke up in a hay stack. The sounds of a barnyard filled her ears. She was dazed, disoriented, and her head hurt. She knew who she was, but where was quiet a different story. She was so frightened when a chicken walked towards her that she didn't stop screaming till she passed out.
Offices of Dr. Norton Cross and Associates, Hypnosis Therapy specialists Scully and Mulder sat on chairs behind Dr. Norton, a trusted phsycologist they had used before. Scott sat in front of the doctor, eyes closed. It had taken some convincing to get him to agree to this, but they had, and together they had driven back from La Crosse the day before. Their excuses to Kersh were quite a different story. Scully had a notebook and Mulder had a list of questions for Norton to ask Scott. The doctor went through his normal hypnosis procedure, and the questioning began. "What is your name?" "Scott Charles Mulder Scully." "When were you born?" "I don't know." Norton, paused, unfazed, and tried another question. "What is your birthday?" "August 1st, nineteen ninty-five." In the back of the room Scully raised her eyebrows. Mulder silenced her with a glance. Norton continued. "How old are you, Scott?" "Eighteen." "What year is it now, Scott?" "2013." "And what school do you attend?" "Virginia Academy High." Mulder signaled to Norton to begin the questions on the list. Norton nodded. "What day is it, Scott?" "December 1st." "Scott, I want you to tell me exactly what's happening today, from the moment you wake up untill now, understand?" "Yes." "Where are you?" Scott began. "In bed, trying to sleep. My alarm clock is ringing loudly, but I didn't set it. I think Sam did, because I have to drive her to school today and last time I overslept. She was pissed." Scully was busy writing down, Mulder was intrigued. "What are you doing now?" Norton said. Scott continued. "Getting dressed. It's the first day back from Thanksgiving break, and everyone is rushing all over the place. Mom's yelling at me to get downstairs and eat breakfast. She's a doctor, she's always yelling at me to eat breakfast." Norton looked at the paper Mulder had passd to him. He asked the question indicated. "And your father?" "I just heard the Agent come in. I see him on the stairs, he's on his way up to use the guest bathroom, going to shower after his run. He slept over again last night, on the couch as usual. I tell him he's getting old; it's 6:30 and he's only just getting in. He used to jog at three in the morning; he did when I was little, and still does sometimes when he's worried. He's always worried about mom. About who she trusts, he says. He only trusts her, I can tell he doesn't trust me; but then why would he? I don't trust him and I don't care if the bastard knows it. Sam always yells at me for that. He trusts her. "He used to spend the night if he came over late to work with mom. Sometimes he wouldn't show up till three, and we wouldn't even have known he was there except for the sunflower-seed shells in the kitchen. They would always go out of town together, for work, they said. And then Grandma would come over. "But now that we're eighteen she only comes over if they leave on a school night. Now he says at least he doesn't sleep as much as me, and he's smiling. He must think I'm joking, but I never joke with him anymore. I tell him it doesn't count; he never sleeps at all. Neither does Sam; hereditary insomnia, he calls it. Mom gets mad whenever he says anything is hereditary or when Sam calls him 'Dad'. But Sam won't stop it, she started doing it when we were five and hasn't stopped since. Mom doesn't have to worry about me though; I've never called him that. And I won't until he acts like it. I used his name like mom wanted. We used to get along fine, but now I'm sick of this whole situation and all the pretending. I hate it. He laughs and goes upstairs, he'll probably sleep over again tonight. Sam is in the bathroom, so I don't even bother trying to get a turn. She always takes forever. I go eat breakfast while mom gets ready for work." "What about Sam? Who is she?" Norton asked, again as indicated by Mulder. Scully, always totally professional, was hardly looking at the words she copied down. "My sister Samantha, the genius. My twin. She isn't in any of my classes, but she shares a lunch period with me. And with Sara." Norton asked a question of his own accord. "Sara?" "My girlfriend. We're in the middle of a fight. Sam rushed off to her disc-locker as soon as we got to school. She knew I was going to try to talk to Sara, I can tell. Sara won't listen, I don't know what I did wrong. She tells me to stop bothering her and she doesn't want to see me anymore. She doesn't want me to take her to the prom. The Agent told me yesterday I should let her know how I feel. Like he's so good at that. Mom thinks I shouldn't push it. Mom's usually right, but there I go again, screwing up on his advice. Sara goes to class with her friends. I'm alone and embarrassed. I figure on skipping school but I have a conference with one of my teachers. And mom would be pissed if I started that again. I go to the men's room instead, he stops me." "Who stops you?" Norton asked. Scott looked terrified. "I don't know! Help! Help! Stop him! He's got a gun! Help me!" Scott screamed, his body beginning to spasm from fright. "What happens to you?" Norton asked calmly. "He's shooting me! He's shooting me! Oh my God! The pain! It hurts so much, I'm ripping through the air, I'm not there anymore! There is no hole...he didn't shoot me, but I'm in so much pain! And now...now! Mom! MOM! HELP ME! I SEE YOU, MOM! THE FIELD! I SEE YOU IN THE FIELD!" he stopped screaming suddenly, exhausted. "Where are you, Scott?" Norton asked, but Mulder signaled him to stop. "Field...wheat...lots of it...I don't know, my head hurts...mom, help...I see you...you're saving me...taking me to see him..." Scott stopped talking, his words jumbling together. Norten asked him who his mother was, but he didn't hear. He had fallen asleep. The Pentagon Krycek sat alone again, thinking. All he did now was think. There was no Syndicate now - he was the last Great Man. After the end of the Project - the anihalation of the alien virus by the rebel force, the deaths of the Smoking Man, Strughold, the rest of the members and with them the hybrids, clones, and all other evidence of the Project that had not been revealed by Scott's twin,Samantha,in 2033 - there was nothing left for Krycek to do but think. Of course he had some power; he was in charge of various secret projects at the Pentagon, but things weren't what they used to be. Men like he no longer existed. People just didn't respect him anymore, or his Greatness. He thought back to when he had said to Spender, that night in 1999 when the wuss had failed to kill the rebel infultrating the group, that there were sacrifices to be made to be a Great Man. That Spender's father Cancerman had sacrificed Spender's mother. Of course, that was before Krycek knew - the sacrifce of Cassandra Spender meant nothing to CSM - but Alex had meant what he said. Now here he was, ninety-fucking-five years old, never to be blessed in life and certainly not in death. Death would seem like a blessing to him now, no matter what followed it. There were times when he wished he had a son or a daughter, someone who might really look up to him. He thought about his flings with Marita, how once he had thought maybe it was more-- he had even tried to save her, by testing the vaccines on her - and then about the emotionless affair he had had with the Fowley woman after she joined the Syndicate. The lives and deaths of those women had meant nothing to him. He shrugged the memories off with a twitch of his gnarled body. Now all he wanted was revenge. Despite his losses Fox Mulder had been blessed. He had had Scully; he had had a family. He had had success and more happiness than Krycek could have dreamed of. So Alex wanted to go back and take that happiness away; he almost did, too, until something went wrong. Now he had to figure out how to fix the problem. Drake had been taken care of, of course, but there was still the matter of Scott and Sara, Ireland Mulder's parents - Ireland, he thought, What an ironic name for the president of the United States. - they were lost but must eventually return, for the president was still very much alive and very much a Mulder. And very much happy, successful, powerful, respected. Everything Krycek deserved. I. F. Mulder was a Great Man: leader of the free world. Well, Krycek thought, not for long. Scully's Apartment Scully was leaning against the wall by her front door, Mulder lying with his feet up on the couch. The boy Scott was shut up in the bedroom, fast asleep. Mulder and Scully had for the most part been silent since they brought Scott back from the Doctor's and put him to bed. The shock of realizing his amnesia, plus the strain of the therepy, had left him extremely worn out. They decided to let him sleep. "Mulder..." Scully said finally, "You know you shouldn't believe everything he said....patients in that state are prone to confab-" "Spare me, Scully. You know I believe him." "Mulder, there was no one there! I was alone in that field with him, he is obviously delusional. It was probably brought on by the stress of being attacked by whatever put him there--" "Maybe not," he said quietly. "What do you mean, Mulder? What are you trying to say?" She knew what he was trying to say. She just didn't want to say it herself. He didn't answer her. She tried again, "Mulder?" He kept his gaze on the ceiling while he spoke. "What if you're his mother, Scully?" Ok, so maybe she hadn't known what he was trying to say. She didn't answer; she was stunned. Partially because it was so outragious, partially because in some small way she prayed it might be true. She shook her head at him and his idea, even though she knew that from where he was he couldn't see. "Mulder, we both know why that's not possible," she said finally. "But it was possible for Emily, wasn't it," he said as a statement, not a question. They were silent for a long time, then interupted when Scott screamed in the next room. Mulder swung himself off the couch and headed for the bedroom door, but stopped when Scully said, "No. I'll handle it." He knew she was upset. Scully bypassed Mulder and quickly went into her room, closing the door behind her. Without even turning on the light she went to Scott's side and knelt down. He was screaming loudly about Samantha. Shaking off feelings of Mulder-deja vu she woke him gently. "It's okay. You're fine now. Don't scream," she soothed. He was calmed by her voice because he immediately recognized it; it had calmed him since he was five years old. He started to speak with closed eyes. "I know...I know mom...I was having that dream again...the one where me and Sam were in the laboratory-" then, sensing a correction coming, "--It's okay, you don't have to say it. Sam and I...and all the tests...I know you said we should try to forget, but I can't, I still get the nightmares, all the time...." She knew Mulder was in the room because of the patch of light that fell from the door frame. She wished he hadn't heard that. Someone turned on a light, and Scott opened his eyes. "Oh...oh, it's you," he said, sort of embarrassed. He sat up and Scully stood. "Scott," Mulder asked, "what tests?" Scott shook his head. "It was just a dream. Not real. People get nightmares." Scully gave Mulder a warning look and left to get the boy a glass of water. "I know," Mulder said coming closer, "I get nightmares. But nightmares are often reflections of what is real or what has happened or what the person is afraid of. Those nightmares are real for you, aren't they, Scott? And you remember why, don't you?" Scott sighed. Mulder was beginning to work on him, but was he just pretending to, or was the Agent really offering his trust? Not being sure, not being able to be sure, angered Scott. He was different from Sam, his honor-thy-father-and-mother (dispite the fact that legally they had no father) sister. He, the classic 'rebel without a cause' teenager, shallowly refused to give credit to the man who six years before (the pre-teen era) had been his hero. And young Scott's answer to Mulder's awkward place in his life? "Mulder's my dad, he's cool cause he lets me call him Mulder, but he's like an international spy or something, so don't tell anyone. It's really cool. He's really cool. Even for a busy guy like him, he plays army guys with me. But maybe it's not so fun for him, cause he gets to blow stuff up in real life. He's gonna run for president someday, and he said I can have his car. And tomorrow, me and Sam and him are going to see the lions at the circus! But I dunno why he wants to take Sam, her being a girl and all; girls are no fun. Anyway, I bet he'll feed 'em - the lions. He's really brave, and you bet he and my mom are like totally in love so it doesn't matter if they don't live together or get married, cuz they love each other--" "Why do you always have to be so damn pyschological?!" Eighteen year old Scott lashed out. Mulder was surprised; afterall, he didn't have teenagers to deal with. "Always?" he replied. "You know what I'm talking about, FOX! You're always trying to be two different things! You act like...an uncle, or, or a close friend...but you aren't just an uncle! You aren't a friend, Mr. Mulder! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE MY FATHER! Oh, you wanted to be there, sure, you wanted us to have your name, to meet your colleagues and your bosses, you always wanted to parade us around town with a huge banner that said 'I made this!' And maybe you did, for awhile, in your own weird way you acknowledged us...but long term you couldn't, could you? She wouldn't let you and you let her not let you! When she wanted you to give her all rights to us you did. Because you agreed with her that it was to 'protect' us. From what?!! You know as well as I do that if They want us back, They'll take us! So why worry? Why live in fear?! I won't live like this anymore! "How can a man who loves a woman with all his heart, whose children he shares, - no matter how they came out of it - who tries so hard to be a father in every way they us tell a father is, refuses to be one in the simplest sense of the word?! You didn't even tell us until we were old enough to be 'trusted'. Even though Sam's considered and treated you as 'Dad' since we met, you still don't want anyone to know; you stuck us in small private schools were we wouldn't be found! You never let us get any official documents, no social security; it's a miracle we even have driver's licenses! "You avoid what you find hard to deal with; you avoid ME! And you avoid the issue, damnit! Your damned repressed blah blah blah, unsloved sexual whatever, tramatic-fucking-childhood! You are so shit-deep in denial! See a shrink, damnit, Foxy, you made me do it! Always denial with you two, right? DENY EVERYTHING, RIGHT?! Now LOOK AT ME! There's no denying who my father is! SO ACT LIKE IT!" And then Scott stopped his ranting and just sat there shaking and sobbing quietly. Scully walked in and set the water glass on the nightstand. She glared at Mulder, who stayed where he was, unblinking and in silent shock for a minute. Mulder looked his future son in the eye. "Try telling me that in twelve years." And he left, heading for Caesey's, slamming the door behind him. For a long time she sat next to the weeping boy on her bed, unsure of how to comfort this stranger. "Talk to me, Scott," she said finally, seriously. Not with sarcasm or any hint of the voice she might use while talking to a mental patient. She addressed him as she would an adult, and he sighed. "I'm tired, mom. I just want to go home."
Virginia Academy High School Samantha was worried, Scott was nowhere to be found. She had heard what had happened between Scott and Sara earlier, but she also knew from one of her friends that Sara had gone home sick. So Sam walked over to the pay phones in the corner of the cafeteria and dialed. 555-1013 "Scully." "Mom, it's me." "Sam? What's wrong?" "Nothing - well, no, something. Did Scott go home sick today?" "No, honey, why?" Scully was still calm at 49. "He's not here - I can't find him anywhere...I don't know, I have a weird feeling about this." There was a long sigh at the other end of the line. "Wasn't he your ride today? Damnit, of all the days for him to ditch, he certain doesn't get that from me... Why don't you go home now, Sam, I won't be able to pick you up at three... AH! I can't even pick you up now! Call Mulder. I don't know, I thought Scott was over that skipping school thing." "Mom, I don't think-" "Call Mulder, Sam, I have to go, I have an au - a meeting now. See you later, okay? I love you! Bye!" Sam hung up the phone without feeling any better. But what could you do if your parents were agents with the FBI? Well, parent, anyway. No one was supposed to know that Mulder was her father so her mother never used the "F" word over the phone. Actually, she never used it at all. Denial, denial, denial. Boy, their family sure put the 'fun' back in disfunctional. Sam picked up the phone and dialed again. She knew he'd be only too eager to help - he seemed so confused sometimes over how he should act, but usually when he figured it out he acted like a dad. She felt sorry for him because Scott was so difficult. It means so much to him to have us. "Mulder." "Hey da--. Um, hi, Mr. Mulder. It's Samantha." "Sam? What's wrong? Are you okay? Where are you?" She almost laughed at his concern. Guess there was no need for the usual phone precautions. No matter what he thought, he wasn't good with stress. "No, I'm okay, it's Scott. He...ditched again. He was my ride, so..." "Oh, and Scully's got that autops - that meeting, right?" "Yeah. She told me to call you and to just go home now. Guess she has something at three she can't get out of." "Right, we both do. I'm on my way." Click. So much for good-bys, Sam thought. Ten minutes later he pulled up in a dark blue '12 Taures and she got in. The Pentagon, 11:30 PM Krycek was still as the machine reved up. He was strapped into that giant man-eating cage, waiting for the switch to be thrown, and for the pain to come. He hoped the stress of it wouldn't kill his frail body, but if you want something done right, you've got to do it yourself. Highway 9 outside of Georgetown, Virgina "So, Sam-I-Am, you feel pretty lucky getting this day off?" 52-year-old Fox Mulder grinned over the steering wheel at his 'little girl'. She grinned back. "I still think maybe something's worng...But I bet you like getting the day off more then I do!" she teased. He reached over and ruffled her short dark hair. "DAAAAAAd!" she shrieked. His eyes sparkled and he didn't correct her; Scully always did, but Scully wasn't around . "What? There aren't any boys here to see you - or are there?" He winked. "You didn't sneak any into the car while I wasn't looking, did you? What would Scully say?" She rolled her eyes. "That'd be an X-File!" she scoffed. He stopped smiling. "Sam, you know your mother thinks-" " - that I have no idea what you two really do? I know, I know. But I think it's a worthy cause - besides, who does she think handles all that paperwork on her day off? Certainly not YOU!" She regained her teasing manner, and he grinned. "Ok, as a reward, what do you say to blowing the rest of the day on ice cream and the Horror Film Festival at the Arlington Cinaplex? They've got the old fashioned wide screens and sound that's to die for." Sensing her answer, he gave up any intentions of being back at work by three and turned onto the rough, rarely used road that was a short cut to the theater. She smiled. "You're on, but if you get scared and scream like a girl, I drive back. And the car's mine for the next week." "You'd make me walk? Ok, but if you get scared and scream like a man - SHIT!" He slamed on the brakes, putting an arm out to protect her from flying through the windshield, the punch line to his joke forgotten. Standing in the middle of the empty road was an extremely old man wielding a new gun, in a spot that seconds ago had been deserted. Scully's Apartment Scott said, after about a year of silence, "Sam wants me to ease up on him. She says I am adding fuel to the fire. She thinks whatever wierd thing you two had going that you refused to change, even after we showed up, must have been worth it. Why is it so important that you preserve that pre-children platonic relationship? I just don't get it, mom. You never once acknowledged him as being my father. He has never said it, not in the twelve years you've had us - and legally, only you've had us - the only way I know, apart form the DNA, the resemblance, that's all crap: the only thing that matters is the look that he gets in his eyes when Sam calls him 'Dad'. And he looks so happy for an instant, until you correct her. And you know you always do...or maybe you don't know it yet, but you will. I almost feel sorry for him then; but I refuse to acknowledge him until he acknowledges me." "Those are some deep thoughts, Scott. Aren't you 18? Shouldn't you be thinking about girls or college, or how not to get caught skipping school? What would your mother say?" Scully asked with a small, skeptical Mona Lisa smile on her face. "Wherever she is, she must be worried about you." "Not where, when. And whenever you are, mom, I'll bet you're pissed." A sigh. "Scott you can't expect me to believe -" A loud knocking came from the front door, growing more and more insistant, interupting her. She got up, startled, and made her way quickly to the living room. "Mulder, if you're-" she didn't finish. The three shots left holes in the door around the handle, allowing the man to swiftly kick it in. He did, quickly, and stepped up to Scully before she could grab her weapon, hitting her forcibly on the side of the head, and knocking her out cold. Road outside of Arlington, Virginia Mulder turned the car off quickly, hitting the 'lock' button on his driver-side door. As the old, one-armed man approached slowly, gun pointed at Sam's head, he hardly moved. That old panicked expression, saved only for things were seriously wrong and last seen on display in the vending machine room of a federal building in Dallas, Texas, had returned. Its mirror image was creeping along the face of the young girl next to him. When the old man was nearly twenty five feet away, Mulder breathed a word to Sam, pointing with his eyes to the glove compartment. "Gun," he muttered. She had her hands up in the air, as did Fox, but with her right knee she slowly pushed up the button that released the glove box door. The small pocket gun slid into her lap. The man was about ten feet away by now, his weapon still level with Sam Scully's head. He wasn't about to fire, but the two in the car didn't know that. All he had to do was take the girl away...to his own time, where he could kill her quickly and easily and without any chance of a backlash. As he advaned, slowly, Sam slid the gun into the top of her left boot. (Thank God they had made a come-back, even if she couldn't stand the look.) Krycek moved to the passanger side door, opening it with one hand and keeping the gun steady with the other, the prosthetic. He couldn't have been able to fire if he wanted to. "Where are you taking her?!" Mulder demanded, glancing anxiously at the old man. Krycek smiled a greasy, faded smile. "Where you'll never find her, Mulder. Not in this life time." So saying, he roughly placed his good arm around Sam's neck, bending his elbow so that the gun in his false limb would touch her temple. He dragged her back with him, five feet, ten, twenty, and then he stumbled on a stone. Mulder sat in the car, watching as the younger Scully took the opportunity to elbow her captor in the face, then knee him in the groin, then turn him over and kick him to the ground. The frail ninety-five-year-old was no match for the young black-belt in karate. Krycek, stunned, dropped his gun and it went flying, out of his hand and ten feet to the left, off road. Mulder threw open his car door in the instant that the aged Krycek fell, running to his daughter to protect her. The car was between them, and Alex sensed his plan at the last moment; grabbed on to her heel so that Mulder was forced to fire one shot at him. The bullet seemed to stop, suspended in air, and Samantha could see every line outlined on her father's face, and every line deepened in the man's. It moved, faster and faster with the miliseconds that ticked by. Just when they could see it, a fraction of a inch from Krycek's face, his eyes glazed and insane, and his one hand clutched to Samantha's heel with more force he had every had in his whole life, even more than before the loss of his arm, its intended target disappeared. And so did the girl who's heel he was clutching. So fifty-two-year old Mulder stood, standing alone on the dusty deserted road with an empty car in front of him, it's door's left hanging wide as if to mock him about the the Scully, and the Samantha, that he had lost again. Again he had failed to save her. And he watched the bullet he had fired fly through the empty air and lodge itself stubbornly in a tree. Abandoned missle silo, New Mexico The old Krycek and the young girl landed with a thud, on the floor of a long hallway lined with empty file cabinets. Oh, he remembered this place. This horrible place, where the black oil forced its way out of him and into its space ship, so long ago. That must have been 1995 - he wondered what year they were in now. He didn't yet know that they were in the same year that Scott Scully had landed, and were actually a day after him. He didn't think much, for the girl was coming to. Rather than have her beat the crap out of him when she woke up, he took his extra gun from his coat pocket and knocked it hard against the side of her head. Then, with rope and handcuffs he had intended to use once they were back in 2065, he tied her tight and to file cabnet, so she would have much difficulty trying to move. Cursing his frailty and age, he went to seek help. MOMENT OF SAMANTHA SCULLY's ABDUCTION FROM 2013, 2013. Old Mulder paced, thinking. Why had they disappeared? How did the man know him? Moreover, how did he know that man? Where had he come from, and how? Why hadn't he gone for his gun when it fell, why had he practically forced Mulder to shoot him? And where was Sam? Mulder paced again, the wind ruffleing his graying hair. He studied the bullet in the tree, he studied the old man's gun. He let his photographic memory do the thinking for him. When the old man had first appeared, he did it out of nowhere. He hadn't jumped from the side of the road, that's for sure. And he wouldn't have had the strength to. He had been wearing a black trench coat, black pants, a black long-sleeved shirt, and his hand had seem oddly stiff on the trigger, as is it wasn't real. And in an instant the graying Mulder knew who his enemy was. Not stopping to question himself on the hows, the whys, he walked quickly to the roadside. He picked up Krycek's gun, closed his eyes, aimed, and fired. He landed on cold tile floor in November 27, 1998.
November 27, 1998 The prostitute stood alone, hugging her bare shoulders and smoking a cigarette. It was a slow night. Day after Thanksgiving, not many people were looking for a date. Must be the pressure of being with family; it keeps morals in place. She sighed, wanted to call it quits but she needed a fix, and for that she needed money. The one armed man in his mid-thirties pulled up in a dark car. She knew the guy, and she knew he wasn't a good payer, but what the hell. She started walkng towards him, but a voice stoped her. From the shadows an old man--very, very old--appeared, holding a gun. He said, "Move it, lady, unless you want your pimp and the cops down your cute little tail. You owe him some money, dontcha?" His voice was wheezy, and she weighed the facts. "Forget this, man. I'm splittin', this is shit." She stalked off and the old man slinked over to the younger one's car. Young Krycek sat at the wheel staring, confused, at the old Krycek walking forward. "I need your help," the old man said. Younger Alex scoffed. "Who sent you? And how did you find me here?" "YOU sent me, Alex. I knew you would be here...I used to come here, that one, her name was Roxy, right? I remember her. I remember you. That is, me. Listen to me, Alex. I'm a Great Man. You are. We're the same man...the age excepted, of course. And I've got two people, very interesting people, that I know you will want to meet. They will make you important. And Great." The Krycek in the car didn't believe the old loon, of course, but he thought for a minute anyway. After what he had seen..."Scully," he said to the ninety-five-year-old, "Mulder. You've got them, haven't you?" Older Krycek's eyes gleamed. "Yes," he wheezed, "I have." New Mexican missle silo Fox Mulder got up off the cold floor and looked around him. His muscles ached from the fall, and grimly he was reminded of his age. Fifty-two. He wasn't out of shape, and in fact he could have easily beaten up the average man fifteen years his junior, but fifty-two was still fifty-two. He remembered this place. It was eighteen years ago, if his memory was correct, and it always was, that he and Scully had found his sister Samantha's file, with her name taped over his. Or it should have been eighteen years ago. Mulder wasn't sure exactly what time he was in now, though suddenly he didn't care. He caught sight of his daughter crounched on the floor, tied, unconscience, to one of the never-ending file cabenits. Funny, he thought, I could have sworn they got rid of those. He didn't have time to think after that, for he heard footsteps coming down the hall. He grabbed the gun that was in Sam's boot and ducked into a dark shadowed doorway, from where he could see his daughter and the profiles of the two men approaching her. "This is it?!" the younger one cried. A muffled curse followed. Even at fifty-two, Mulder recognized the voice of Alex Krycek. And he realized the rat was probably still in his thirties, and he had only one arm, Mulder saw through the darkness. So, this is 1998. The young rat continued to rave. "You told me you had Mulder and Scully - and this is a kid! A girl! You-" "Be quiet!" the older one demanded, "I find it impossible to believe I was ever this stupid! Look at her, Alex, she is Mulder! And Scully! She's both! Don't you get it?" The younger Krycek knelt down in front of the girl, who was just coming to. He lifted up her head, and her eye lashes fluttered for a moment while her confusion cleared. She stared back at him with loathing, having inheirited and perfected her mother's icy glares. "So, Scully finally pumped out a coupla' kids, huh? Huh. Thought we took that away from her," the young rat whispered. Older Krycek ignored him. "There's another one, a boy; this one's twin. I did some research - the Mulder here knows of him, and he's got the kid staying with Scully. Having them both means I win, Alex, we win. Mulder will do anything to get them back, and we'll have the power - be Great Men! But I won't pretend I could take on the kid by myself. The girl almost beat me up, if I hadn't knocked her out cold - but forget that. We need the boy, Alex, and I need you to get him. I'm too damn old and frail - do us a favor: stop smoking, it's killing me." The young rat just grunted. He was still crouching in front of Sam, his one good hand stroking the side of her face. She was shaking, but glared at him without fear, only hatred. "Cute, isn't she," he half-mumbled to himself. From his post in the shadows the old Mulder tensed. Rat bastard could do what he wanted to him, but he wasn't going to touch Sam. His hand tightened on the gun, and he raised it, aiming at the kneeling Krycek's head...unexpectedly the young one-armed man dropped his only hand and stood, turning to face the older one. "Alright old man, where is this other kid?" The two walked quickly down the hall, ratman leading, ratbay close behind. Mulder rushed out and to his daughter's side. Scully's Apartment Young Krycek waited in the hall for the 1998 Mulder to leave. He could hear faintly through the walls a young man's voice, shouting. That must be the kid, he thought. He and the older man had flown in yesterday from New Mexico, and had tried Scully's apartment then but no one was home. They had waited, parked in the younger Alex's car, outside her apartment building all day today, and saw the three arrive at her home a little after five. Now they were in the hall, skulking around in the shadows, waiting for Mulder to leave. Young Alex wasn't sure he would; if they had a kid together they must have been fooling around, but neither Krycek was fool enough to think he could take on both Mulders single-handedly. (No pun intended.) Suddenly the door opened and slammed and they saw the retreating back of thirty-seven-year-old Fox Mulder going off to get drunk. After ten minutes of making sure he wasn't coming back, the younger Alex pounded on the door of Scully's apartment, after two minutes he shrugged his shoulders and shot three bullets at the door handle, breaking the lock and kicking the door in. The startled Scully barely had time to reach for her gun before he knocked his hard against the side of the head. Georgetown, 10:13 PM Sam Scully steped quickly out of the cab and waited while her father paid the driver. She was sure this was a dream, or a nightmare. But how many dreams take you back sixteen years? How many dreams are so accurate? Her father turned back to her and pointed to the building's front doors. She had been stunned when, in the 'missle silo' as he called it, he had come rushing to her aid; she still didn't understand how he had found her. They had boarded a small private plane to Virginia from an air base near the silo, using his badge and her gun as money for the fare. Astonishingly, he had on him among three hundred dollars one one-hundred doller bill printed in 1997. She hadn't thought paper money could last a much as sixteen years, but one doesn't look a gift horse in the mouth. With it they bought hamburgers, bottled water, and a cab ride to an apartment house outside D.C. As they mounted the steps she asked him, "What are we doing here, Dad? How will we get home?" He gave her a funny look and said, "Wait and ask your mother." He didn't say anything else until they were inside, and had taken the elevator up a few flights. He led her to a white front door, which, disturbingly, stood ajar. Knocking tentatively, he called out, "Scully?" and opened it all the way. The hall table was knocked over, and Sam recognized a lamp that at the moment, should have been standing in the guest room of their house in Virginia. Or was it in the future, in their house in Virginia? She was confused. Her father had gone into the bedroom, the kitchen, the bathroom, and no one was there. He was somewhere else in the apartment when she noticed the small blood stain on the rug in the front hall. She was startled, about to call out to him, when suddenly he walked through the front door. Or rather, a younger version of him walked through the front door waving a gun, reeking of beer, and holding a protective hand up to the (also younger) version of her mother behind him. Samantha gasped, stumbled backwards, and fell into the arms of her father just emerged from the bedroom behind her. She looked up, looked over, looked up again, and fainted. "I'm going to put her down on the couch," the older Mulder said, " Don't do anything rash, Fox, put the gun down. You shoot me and you shoot yourself." "Like hell I will-ll. Scully, close the door," the younger man said. Scully closed the door but then put her hand on his arm, lowering the gun. They watched as the grey-haired Fox carefully laid Samantha on Scully's couch. "Mulder, you're drunk," Scully said quietly, "Let me handle this." She looked away then, trying not to notice that both men had looked up when she said his name. She was more than a little confused. "Where's Scott?!" the 1998 Mulder demanded of his more distinguished counterpart. A pained expression crossed the older one's face. "I don't have him. That's why I need you - I was hoping to get here first, before Krycek--" He was interupted suddenly by the younger him. "Krycek? That ratboy did this?!" "No, ratman. A very very old ratman. He went after Scott and Samantha to get to me, I think, but he wasn't from my time, you're future...he was from the distant future; Sam and Scott's future. I guess something went wrong because Scott ended up here, and then I followed him to rescue Sam. So he came back to get your Krycek's help." Scully had been standing silently while the older man talked, studying Samantha, and she felt the oddest sensation creep over her. The girl just felt so right, like she belonged to Scully, someone for Dana to protect and nurture, in response to the protection Mulder had given her since they first started working together. She realized how much she wanted a daughter, how much Emily had meant to her, and how devastateing the news that she was infertile had been after her abduction. And then she got mad. "And we're supposed to believe you?!" she spat out, startling both Mulders. "You lying son of a bitch - this poor girl, and that boy, do you even know who they are?! You're working with Krycek, aren't you?" "- Scully-" "What, are you guys into kidnapping now? How many people have you hurt with your charades?" "- Scully-" "Time travel isn't possible--none of this is! Now I suggest you tell me who you are--and who these kids are - unless you want a serious lawsuit on your hands!" She drew her gun, and her Mulder turned to face her, standing between her and the older man. "Scully!-" "- Get out of my way, Mulder. I'm going to give this bastard what he deserves." "Scully, don't. I believe him." She deflated like a popped balloon. Head slumped, shoulders sagged, gun lowered, she collapsed on Mulder with the same sobs heard after the Donnie Pfaster case, the occurance of the Cancer, the death of Emily, and the burning of the X-Files office. Samantha chose this time to wake up. "Dad - what's going on?" He turned to her and said, "Shhhh." 1:03 AM November 29, 1998 The battered and beaten boy dropped to the floor. His hands were tied, his shirt bloody, and his head hurt. From his one eye that wasn't yet swollen shut he saw the men above him: the one-armed bastard who had just thrown him to the floor and the old man who told him what to do. In four days Scott had gone from Prom King Nominee to time-traveling amnesiac to a psyco's hostige. What a shitty week. Scott then decided that the most rational thing to do in this situation would be to concintrate on his surroundings and his captors; he let his heriditary traits take over. Leaning back against a wall with his swollen eyes closed, he listened. It was hard. He was tired. Water dripped slowly somewhere near him. The air he breathed was stagnant and tasted like mildew. The arguing of the two men hit his ears like the rustleing of tree leaves. They were far down the hall and obviously didn't want him to hear them, but he could. It wondered briefly if this was a dream. "So now what? The girl is gone!" "Yes, I hadn't thought of this..." "Thought of what?!" "Mulder must have followed me." "No, Mulder was at a bar. Mulder's drunk." "No, a different Mulder. The girl's father." "If you're tricking me old man-" "The Mulder from 2013." "What the fu-" "That means he knows - he's here." "Shit, and wouldn't he think to do what you did?!" "What I did..." "To get me. Your Mulder will get them, and they've got the girl." "Oh, yes. Well we can expect them then." "Sorry to bust up their family reunion with a killing spree-" The Scott heard someone else, and the Kryceks heard it too. He struggled to stay conscious, but then he was floating, and things were black, then white, then a foggy grey, and the voices were very far off, and all jumbled. "KRYCEK!" It was Mulder. But which Mulder? "Fuck!" A gun was grabbed from an old man's hand, and then footsteps, running down the halls, screeching shoes, hurried breath. "Alex, you can't!" an ancient voice wheezed, and then a gun shot, the sound of bullet bouncing off wall and lodging in metal. No one was hit. "Not with that gun! It won't work!" the mummy of a man continued, footsteps running down halls, past corridors, past Scott... And then Samantha was shouting, "He's here! He's here!" For a instant the fog cleared, then settled thick again, and Scot opened his eye to see a young one armed man whisk away his sister; closed them to hear a scream that reminded him of his mother, and the cursing voice of the agent, but younger. "NO! Her gun! You must use HER gun!" an old voice cried, and coughed, and sputtered. And its young, rat-like counterpart laughed and shouted, "Come and get her NOW, Mulder!" and the hammer of a gun from 2065 was cocked, but looking at it Scott could see it wasn't of his time, and in a moment of clarity he knew his sister would be fine. And then the gun was fired, and a man cursed, and a girl disappeared. And the Mulder Scott knew by his voice tried but failed to grab the gun from the younger ratboy because he was brave, Scott thought, or maybe he knew the truth about the guns? That you couldn't be killed with a weapon out of time. So shooting at a girl from the year 2013 with a gun in the year 1998 wouldn't hurt unless the gun was from 2013. Scott could hear a shuffle and a wrestling for guns, there were three guns; Mulder's from 1998, Sam's from 2013, and the old man's from 2065, that Krycek had. And Scott wanted to shout to Mulder the truth about the guns but he found that his mouth was beyond his control. So then there was running, but who was running? He couldn't open his eyes to see, but his ears told him, four men were running, cursing, and a woman was kneeling next to him. Wasn't it his mother? It smelled like her. "You're going to be fine, Scott." Sounded like her, too. Things went black again, then grey. Always grey. And then he heard, far, far off in his mind, but actually only a few feet away, a wheezing cry, "Alex, wait for me!" "You're slowing me down old man!" and then a gun shot, and a thud. One gun had found a familiar body. And more running, and then another shot, and another man dissappeared. The older Mulder whom Scott knew was gone, what would happen to him now? And then he blacked out. December 1st, 2013. Home. Scott woke up in bed. His door was open and a light knocking announced his mother's presence. "Hey. How are you feeling?" she asked as she entered. He sighed dreamily. Home. He was home, it was snowing outside, and his mother was good old familiar 49. Life was good. "Like hell," he said. And he meant every word of it. "Yeah, well, you sure took a beating. Wanna tell me how that happened?" A relization hit him. "I...I don't know what happened." "Yeah, well, that's ok, so long as you are. Your wallet's gone; I canceled your credit cards. Sam and Mulder found you along an old road today around 12:00...they were heading towards a film festival in Arlington...you're really lucky you know." She moved a strand of hair out of his eye and smiled. "So am I. I almost lost my baby." He grinned. "I'm not a baby..." "Oh, so what, you're still my baby. And until I finally croak, you'll always be. Now, since it looks like you're not going to tell me exactly why you weren't in school, I think I'll let you sleep. You need your rest Scott." She got up and started towards the door. "Oh, and by the way, Sara called. Says she had a really weird day and did a lot of thinking. She sent over about a dozen roses and some get well cards and says her prom dress will be pink, so pick a corsaige accordingly. Sweet dreams!" She closed the door behind her and didn't need to look to see the smile on his face. EPILOGUE The car clock read 3:15. Oops, he thought, Mulder would not be pleased. Oh well. He opened the door and got out as quietly as possible, regreting those last three beers. He could see the light on in the kitchen window. Mom, Grandma and Sam were off on some girls-only graduation shopping/sight-seeing trip to New York, leaving him home with the Agent to make sure he didn't stay out hours past curfew or get drunk on school nights, which is just what he did. He opened the front door and was half-way up the stairs when the hall light turned on and there was Mulder, sitting in a chair on the landing. So the kitchen light had been a decoy. Fuck. He had about three more days left to live before mom came home and beat the shit out of him. "What time is it, Scott?" Mulder asked coldly. He knew exactly what time it was. "Uh...three...3:15..." "So that would make you...oh, I don't know...four hours past curfew?" "And fifteen minutes," the boy said, defiance creeping into his voice. "Right." For several seconds niether one spoke. Then Scott started walking farther up the stairs, and when he got to the top he tried to pass Mulder on the right, but the older man stood suddenly, blocking his way. "You get home at three tomorrow, right Scott? That is when school ends, isn't it?" he asked, that steel coldness still in his voice. "No," Scott said, suddenly wishing he hadn't stayed out so late, "tomorrow I have wrestling tryouts...it's the last day, I have to be there or I won't make the team. I'll be home at-" "Skip it." Did he mean the answer, or the tryouts? Instead of asking, Scott said, "What?" "You heard me. Skip it. Come home at three. There's some stuff I want you to do around the house." He stood there, dumbstruck. "Uh...stuff?" "Yeah, stuff. Oh and Scott, that cute little red convertable of yours?" "Yea...Yeah?" "Mine." "Uh...um..." "And as a matter of fact, you better get some sleep. I hear it's going to snow a lot tomorrow. You'll have a pretty long walk, actually, especially after shoveling the drive-way and front porch. Give you some time to think about those four hours and...what did you say? Fifteen minutes? But thinking might actually be good for you." "Ok, uh...sure, uh, can I...uh, go...now?" "What? Yeah, sure. Oh and by the way," He said as Scott walked past him and towards his room, "You might just want to come home at three for the next four weeks...one for each hour, you know?" "Oh...um...ok, sir." "Oh, and Scott? No biggie, really. I find no reason to tell your mother." At his door Scott broke into a grin. He called over his shoulder, "Good night, Dad." THE END See Great Men Universe: The Beginning
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