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They'd always said the first time was the sweetest.
He reclined in his seat and watched through heavy-lidded eyes as Lee was dragged bodily from the theatre. In one fluid motion he lit his Judas price of a cigarette, raised it to his lips and felt the acrid smoke etching the course of his life indelibly in the tender flesh of his esophagus. It was the same power that coursed through his veins at the firing of a gun, the recoil against his shoulder, a president's blood splattered on the pavement ...
He exhaled slowly, and reflected -
They were right.
It's Alive
Dear sir:
You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings.
Agent Mulder has taken up offices in the basement of the J. Edgar Hoover Building for the purpose of housing the newly formed X-Files Division of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. In the few days since this operation was set into motion, no primeval tsunamis have leveled the city, nor was the Washington headquarters eradicated by a freak bolt of lightning. The sole casualty has been the loss of a secondary copy room, from which Agent Henderson and his team will soon recover. In fact, Agent Mulder has already achieved closure on one particularly troublesome case.
You asked to be informed in the event that such an eventuality, against which you spoke most eloquently last month, should come to pass. Consider this memo your official notice. I sincerely hope that the misgivings you expressed will be allayed with celerity.
Your servant,
Walter S. Skinner
Assistant Director
Federal Bureau of Investigation
United States of America
Till The End
This is a tale of a meeting of two lonesome, skinny, fairly old white men on a planet which was dying fast.
They met in one of their favorite spots, a secluded corner of a racetrack in the middle of a particularly abandoned town in Virginia.
Someday one of them would walk out alone, and they both knew it, but neither chose to dwell on that fact any more than necessary to arrange for the providential demise of his opposite number. There were more important problems to solve.
"I'm not convinced," the first one said, in a clipped, British, holier-than-thou attitude.
"Mulder's the one. I'm sure of it." The other flipped his ash nonchalantly. "You'll see."
"We're running out of time. You can't afford to be wrong."
On another man, his smugly twisted expression might have been termed a smile. "I'm not wrong."
A cloud of smoke stung the first man's nose. His lips compressed. "Very well. This is on your head."
His eyes gleamed, mirroring the crimson embers of his cigarette. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
Leaning against the white picket fence, they watched the sun go down in silence, each contemplating the irony of one fewer day in the countdown to the end of the world.
Autognosis
It isn't that they taste good.
It isn't the texture, either.
It certainly isn't the thrill. He likes the hunt - but not for itself. If that were so, he'd take more than five.
It's analytical. He finds obstacles, removes them.
It isn't the satisfying crunch of bone between his pliant fingers, or the brilliant, pulsing blood that spurts, finally slowing to a deferential trickle.
Seven months in a sanitarium gives a lot of time for self-reflection.
He's thought of nothing else. His fifth liver.
It's hunger, need, addiction. Literally, a soporific.
And nothing can keep him from his final repose.
Revolution
"You say you want a revolution, Agent Mulder."
Mulder froze in his tracks. His eyes followed X warily as he picked his way through the abandoned alleyway.
"I may have mentioned something along those lines." Mulder's voice was guarded. "What did you call me here for?"
"One way or another, it's coming. Whether you try to do anything about it - or not." X's face was hard. He pressed the thick manila envelope into Mulder's hands.
"We all want to save the world, Agent Mulder." And with that, he was gone.
Mulder looked down at the package he held, frowning.
Mas Huevas Rancheros
Frohike turned up the volume and sighed contentedly. He leaned back on the couch and crossed his hands behind his head, surveying the detritus of a two-day Star Trek marathon.
Six crumpled beer cans, a two-liter of Coke and a gallon of orange juice. Two frozen pizza boxes; three microwave popcorn pouches; a plate of chicken bones. Seventeen used napkins, a squashed bag of cheese curls, and five now-empty Chinese takeout boxes he'd found in the fridge. Several Twinkie wrappers, an empty box of Cocoa Puffs, and a big bowl stained with salsa.
Frohike plopped his stockinged feet on the coffee table and let out a loud, satisfying belch. He grinned. Yeah, this was the life - the place all to himself, Counselor Troi for company, as much as he wanted to eat -
The lock on the apartment door clicked open.
"Frohike?" Mulder pitched his duffel to the living room floor. "Scully and I caught an earlier flight ho-"
Your Mom
Mulder wagged the gun again before holstering it.
"I want answers, you sonofabitch. Don't think I won't find them. And I'll bust your cancerous ass." His voice shook, barely controlled.
Spender leaned back and watched with amusement as Mulder stalked out.
"Your mother should know," he mumbled around his cigarette.
Mulder had his gun back out in less than a second.
"What did you just say, you bastard?" he spat. "Say it!"
"Nothing, Agent Mulder." His lips quirked. "I'm sure we'll meet again."
"Too soon for me." Mulder's eyes narrowed, but he turned and left.
Spender chuckled softly to himself.
Remission
She asked me if I'd ever witnessed a miracle.
I've seen some amazing recoveries. But at the heart of every remission is a sound, scientific, medical reason. If I look hard enough, it's always there.
I couldn't say it to her face, but in my heart I answered "no."
She should be dead. She should have been dead two weeks ago.
I've run all the tests. Her cancer is gone. As if it never was. Impossible.
All because of an inert metal sliver and a lot of hope.
Congratulations, Dr. Scully; I have seen a miracle, and you are it.
Addicted
The nurse glares at me as I light up in the hallway outside Teena's room.
Well, she'll soon have her mind on something else. Any second now she'll look at her monitors and notice the change in Mrs. Mulder's status.
It amuses me that anyone seriously thinks I'll smoke outdoors. But I'm not stupid enough to strike a match in a room full of pure oxygen.
Not when Teena's inside.
I don't care that she's in that bed because of me. Really.
I won't be here when the doctors start asking questions.
But I don't want to go just yet.
Товарищи
I don't lie. Never.
You don't believe me.
Who do I work for?
That's hilarious.
They never demanded loyalty. None of 'em.
Works better - truth, silence. Better than a lie.
No. No! I didn't kill your fucking father.
How? I can't tell you. I want to. I can't.
You despise me. Because I'm only out for myself?
You don't understand, you lucky bastard. You've got someone.
At least I don't pretend I'm some white knight, saving the world.
You're a fool. Chivalry's dead.
But I'm pulling for you anyway.
'Удачи тебе, товарищ'?
Yes, damn you, Mulder, I meant that, too.
Turned Around
"Diana, please leave." He held the door open, and she stood, facing off with him across the table.
"Fox, why?" She gripped her purse. "When I left for Europe, you said you'd always be here when I needed you."
"You've never needed me, Diana." He almost sounded sad. "And maybe I was wrong, and I've let you down, but when I said what I said, it was before ..."
"Before what, Fox? What's changed? You certainly haven't, all alone with your theories and your -" Something in Fox's face changed at the word "alone," and suddenly Diana went cold to her bones. Not that skeptical, red-headed tramp she'd dismissed as another transient nuisance .. no. It couldn't be.
".. You love her. Don't you."
The glow in Fox's eyes was the only answer she needed. Her stomach dropped ten feet.
As Diana gathered what dignity she could muster and breezed out the door, she couldn't resist one final jab: "She'll never love you."
She almost missed the whispered reply as the lock clicked into place behind her.
"You're wrong."
Tempered Steel
That hurt, old man.
You think you can take away everything I am, everything I ever wanted, you think it'll beat me?
You're wrong. Oh, you're so wrong.
He whirls, bangs his fist into the car's roof. Stifles a sob before he knows it's there.
Why'd you do it to her, you bastard? Her!
He breathes deep, leans his head against the SUV. Soon he grasps the latch with his good hand.
That's it, old man. I'm done. You live through tonight, I'll kill you. You're dead, old man.
Tires squeal; the truck peels out of the garage.
You're dead.
Stranger
Once upon a time there was a Martian named Valentine Michael Smith.
Of course, it wasn't pronounced that way. But if rendered into English, he thought it might sound something like that.
If pressed, he'd have to admit he wasn't really from Mars, either. More like somewhere just to the left of Mars. Right there, you see? Straight down the first base path? If you squint a little ...
He hadn't seen his home planet, or Mars, in a very long time, though, and in any case he really preferred to be called Josh Exley.
Good Dog
Scully whipped around, one hand on the hem of her blouse. She'd never known Queequeg to growl so viciously!
Nervous, she flipped the safety off her gun and inched down the hall. As she left the bedroom, she noticed her alarm clock once again read "6:66." Please, no, not again ...
After one last, deep breath, Scully turned the corner quickly, feet spread, gun steady. "Freeze! Federal agent! Put your hands ..."
She lowered the gun.
Queequeg, her little ball of sweet orange fluff, was happily munching on Donnie Pfaster's small intestine. There were several chunks out of his throat, in Pomeranian-sized mouthfuls.
Scully grinned. She picked up the phone and went to Queequeg's side. As she dialed the police, she ruffled the fur around his neck. He wagged his tail and grinned bloodily up at her.
"Good boy, Queequeg. Who's a good puppy? Yes you are, yes you are, sweetie! Come on, let's leave the evidence alone now, honey ..."
The Waste Lands
The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.
His mouth didn't smile, but his eyes did, grimly. He had his orders. Mulder was the most important part of the plan now, Mulder and his son; if either or both were lost, the schedule might be upset by several years. Ordinarily, he would have asked for specifics; he liked to understand the reasons behind his orders. But this time, it was personal.
Mulder would not escape him again.
In his black t-shirt and jeans, Mulder would not survive long under the hot sun. It was only a matter of time. And in the desert, in the middle of nowhere, Mulder had precisely nowhere to go.
The gunslinger loped across the ground, confidently, never tiring.
It did not occur to him to wonder why the man in black had allowed himself to be herded into the desert.
"Mulder!" Gibson whispered as the man in black tumbled haphazardly down the ladder of his hideout. "Hurry! Close the hatch! He's right behind you!"
Mulder dragged himself to his feet and slammed the camouflaged trapdoor shut above him. Finally, he collapsed to the floor, legs aching, breathing heavily, one arm flung over his eyes.
Gibson's eyes were shut in concentration. "I think it's okay now, Mulder. He's almost past - yeah. He ran right by, he didn't see."
Gibson helped Mulder to sit up, and handed him a cup of water. "It's okay. This place is safe. We can stay here as long as we have to."
Mulder downed the water greedily and wiped his brow on the sleeve of his t-shirt. He coughed. "Thanks, Gibson. I - I really owe you one." Mulder glanced around the dark, dusty underground hideout. "So what do you do around here for fun, anyway?"
Gibson grinned and shoved his glasses back up on his nose. "I have wireless high-speed internet."
Incredulous, Mulder laughed harder than he had in years.
The gunslinger slowed to a stop. He frowned. He had just realized he hadn't seen Mulder ahead of him for several kilometers.
No matter. The man had nowhere to run. In the middle of the desert, nothing vanishes without a trace. And there was no immediate hurry.
Resigned, the gunslinger returned to his ship, and settled in to wait.
Just Coincidence
Scully was surprised to find the office unlocked at 6:30 AM. Thoughts of Mulder and the baby crowded out sleep; she thought she might rest easier if she came to what had been his sanctuary.
Failing that, at least she'd get some paperwork done.
"Agent Doggett? I thought you'd been through all the old X-Files already." Scully wound between the boxes to where he sat cross-legged on the floor, and peered over his shoulder, curious.
Doggett jumped, startled, and he glanced up at her guiltily. "Well - well, I had. I was just ..." He trailed off.
Scully sighed, and sat down in Mulder's chair. "What's up?"
Doggett stared again at the file he held, tightly gripped, and swallowed. "What d'you now about this picture?"
He handed Scully a glossy 8x10, of children working in a field under a canopy. She kept her hands still and her voice calm as she looked at Samantha, mentally rearranging her features and shortening her hair to a boy's cut. Your guiding light for so long, Mulder ...
"Mulder discovered this farm in Canada several years ago. It's gone now. The girls are clones of his sister .. " Scully looked at Doggett again. His eyes were red-rimmed.
"Why?"
"Agent Scully, I never told you I had a son." He swallowed raggedly.
"No ..." Scully raised her eyebrows and peered at him. "Go on ..."
"1993. He was seven years old. Rode his bike around the block and disappeared. We never found him." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"That's him, Agent Scully. That's Luke." Doggett's eyes bored into the photo Scully held, at the tall, blond-haired boys working beside the darker girls. She was losing the battle to keep her hands steady. "I'm sure of it."
"There must be some -" Scully's protest died on her lips as her eyes met Doggett's.
"What the hell is goin' on here?" he moaned.
She Loves You
"You think you've lost your love."
John turned from Monica's bedside, eyes red and rimmed with tears. Audrey was at the door again. "Did you see Monica again? What did she say?"
"I saw her yesterday." Audrey took a vase of blue flowers from her cart and placed them beside Monica's bed. "It's you she's thinking of."
She turned back to Doggett and wrapped her arms around herself. "She told me what to say. She said: She loves you."
John's mouth fell open as Audrey pushed her cart back to the hall. She -?
Audrey turned back at the last second. "You should be glad," she barely whispered.
John swallowed and raised Monica's hand to his cheek. I am, he thought. Oh, Monica, I'll get you back. Somehow. I know you're still in there.
Suddenly his eyes narrowed as he thought back on what Audrey had said. Wait a minute –
Last Look
When the thrumming of the helicopters fades, blending with the desert wind, they stop the car at the edge of a cliff and look back.
In the distance they can see a thin column of smoke twisting to the sky, pitiful token of the immense destruction they've left behind.
Somewhere beyond the ruins is another truck like theirs. They can't see it, but they know it's there.
A tumbleweed blows by, topples eagerly over the cliff.
"Do you think we'll ever see them again?"
"I hope so, John." Her hand reaches for his and he squeezes, tightly.
"I hope so."
It Was A Dark And Stormy Night
It Was A Dark And Stormy Night
by stellar_dust
Part I
It was a dark and stormy night. Suddenly, the lights went out! A door slammed. A little girl screamed.
Suddenly, an alien spaceship appeared above the house!
While millions of people were succumbing to the alien virus, the smoking man watched and smiled. Meanwhile, in a small apartment in Virginia, a young man was having nightmares.
Part II
A light snow was falling, and the FBI agent with the vermilion hair had not found a new lead all day.
At that very moment, the Assistant Director of the FBI was making an important discovery. The mysterious patient in Room 1013 had finally awakened. She moaned softly.
Could it be that she was the little girl who was abducted by aliens, who was the sister of the young man in Virginia who loved the FBI agent with the vermilion hair? The A.D. frowned.
"They're here!" the Russian shouted, and forty thousand grey E.B.E.s descended into the capitol city. The two men rolled on the ground grappling between the murderous weaponry. A left and a right. A left. Another left and right. An uppercut to the jaw. The fight was over. And so the planet was saved.
The A.D. sat by himself in one corner of the coffee shop. He had learned about the Truth, but more importantly, he had learned something about life.
THE END