Work Header

Those In The Grey

Chapter Text


It is thought that life is a spectrum. The choices we make and the things we do are either good, bad, or occasionally grey. Good, living on one end and evil residing on the other. Yet, we strive for good and demonize evil. Forgetting that good is also an extreme. I have decided not to live on the extremes but to live in the grey, Jordan. I will make my own choices. The Millennium Group resides on the end of good. That much is true.  You know as much as I what they have taken from us. So, there is no need for me to repeat it but you may not know what they do for the sake of good.

   They hold the cure for diseases waiting to release them at the right time. At the right moment. There are others who have abilities similar to ours. I know a woman who could see beings she called angels, and they used her Jordan. Used her until she broke.  Then, it was my turn. Now, it is yours. Good and evil will always battle, and those in the grey will pay the price. I am not saying that we should not use our powers/gifts/abilities to not help others. It is our responsibility to make sure our powers are being used in the way we want.  

   You have grown. You have changed, and your abilities are stronger and different from mine. YOU have to find your purpose and you MUST shape your power. It may seem that I am trying to do what I am warning you against. Push you and pull you. The choices and alliances you make matter, and they reverberate throughout our world.

   Be wary of the Millennium group and their agents. Question yourself and your motives. Take what you need from them. Do not let them do that to you.  Do not let them hide the truth in riddles for  which there are no answers.  

   After your battle with Lucy, I now understand that this war is immemorial. I thought it would end with me and you would be able to live the life you have always deserved. They knew it would pass to you because they have always wanted you. I was the fool in thinking that it would stop. There is no end, and the time is always now. For it is a war, Jordan and the causalities are infinite. I write this journal because I thought you would walk a different path. I did not know that this journal would be needed. I intend for my words to aid you. Use it with the knowledge that you have gained to create your own trove of information. Use this journal to ground you when you are feeling weightless. I had you and your mother for the hard times. The Millennium Group may think that they have cut me out of your life but here. I am. For you.

   Seeing you after all those years I have not known happiness like that since we moved to the yellow house.  I do not know whether I will see you again and tell you these things in person. Or you will find this journal after I have died.

 Remember Jordan you are your own person.


Chapter Text

When I sleep I would like to think that I am dreaming. It is a hope of mine and one that is quickly dashed. I do not sleep much Jordan, but my body feels rested and able. It is just my mind that worries me. My dreams are of the usual; dreams that are usual for me. Past cases, time that I spent with you and your mother, and other things. Those other things I thought were just my conscience trying to make sense of the world and how I experience it. Nothing is ever simple Jordan. Not for us. I laugh because Poe comes to mind. From childhood’s hour I have not been as others were—I have not seen as others saw. I was partially correct. I have never dreamed Jordan not like others. Yes, my conscience was trying to make sense of the world around me, but it was also working with my abilities. Giving me information that I did not have before. When I dreamed of your mother or you I was simply accessing a memory. They were not random, it was something that I chose in my time of need. Whether to laugh, cry, or think. For the other things I did not know what I was seeing/receiving. These things made me feel like I was dreaming, these things were the hectic part of mind I said. They were not.

I have said dreaming because this is the only way I can describe my sleeping moments. I could say receiving information, but it feels as if I already know the information. I just need more time to analyze it. Process it. Most likely it is all semantics, and dreaming is simply information in a form that we are not accustomed. My most recent dream has been about a man named Peter Watts. He was my contact in the Millennium Group. It is a complicated relationship that has changed our lives. Me, him, and yours. Peter…I haven’t heard from him since I took you from school. It was he who discredited me and it was he who saved us in our time of need. I had to show him the truth. In turn, the information he gave me saved us from the Millennium Group…temporarily. I have not dreamed or thought of him since. Mostly it is because I felt that any debt that I had to him has been paid. So when I slept, this dream surprised me.

I am in what I feel like is an enclosed room. There are no windows, no doors, vents, etc… On what I deemed to be walls played memories. I say play because it felt as if the memories were being shown and soon it would be time to switch the tapes. I look around the room somewhat dizzy because of the memories. It is not as if they were playing at such a fast speed, but it was so many playing at once and they just overwhelmed me. This dream felt like the behind the scenes of my mind. The floor of this room was void black. Like a black hole sucking in everything that surrounds it. Sitting atop of the floor are medium sized white fluorescent circles. It surprised me that these circles were able to give off such a strong glow on this all-consuming floor. The circles were scattered throughout the room only illuminating itself. As I walked to the nearest circle the memories begin to move at an incredibly slow rate, or they sped up. Some began to move backwards and others would enlarge or freeze. I bend down, and try to touch the circle but I feel as if I will fall into this void-like floor. I decide I would step into the circle instead because I was able to walk without the fear of falling and disappearing. Once inside the circle the memories stopped and only one remained on the “walls”. Looking at it, I cannot place anything. I recognize no faces, none of the sounds, none of the feeling they evoke, but I do know that it is one of my memories. I look around for another circle, and proceed to it. Same thing, but with a different memory. I become angry. A rage swells inside of me and I could tear these walls down and throw it into the void. I cannot not tell you now as to why rage was my first reaction, but in that rage I heard something.

Hissing. The hissing makes the room seem larger than what I intentionally thought. Echoing and lingering in this mind-environment. The hissing has taken me out of this rage and I begin to follow the sound. The memories were moving chaotically jumping from wall to wall. Going fast and slow at the same time. Images stuttering or blacking out. I was aware of this chaos, but the hissing was my main focus. I then see snakes. Hundreds of them moving and banging into one another. I am not sure of the snakes’ type/types. I feel like my mind was just creating imagery for me to fix on. They are moving rapidly and their movements matching the images on the wall, but in a fixed area. Not moving completely out of the space of another. While watching the snakes I see that they make a circle. So I step into it. Immediately, the walls are all covered with the word “sister.” The word was practically illegible written in a frenzy. They looked like carvings. Some lines were long and quickly ended and others were short and deep. Next, I see the shapes of a woman and man in some type of office.

A man that I will not forget. Peter Watts. He was talking to the woman sitting at a desk, searching intently through a large book. She was focused on the book and he was focused on her. Words began to flow into the room like the volume was slowly being increased. I quickly realize that it was Peter’s voice. “I thought we were in agreement BJ. I will go with you if want me too,” Peter says hands on the desk. “My wife-are you listening to me?” The woman has not taken her eyes off of the book. Managing to break her work trance she says to Peter, “I not going through with it Brian. I know he’s here. I’ve seen his face. Brian. I know him.” Peter is looking at her. He takes the book slowly from under her hands and strokes her face. “BJ you need to go home and rest. Please. It is not safe for you.” He gets up and grabs a jacket and begins to put it on the woman.

The walls are now repeating the same image now. It flickers in and out showing a woman standing over someone. I cannot clearly make them out but the woman has an image of a man superimposed over her. The man flashes between being old and young and his demeanor and expression matches hers. They were both the image of murderous intent. The walls are now covered with the word “mother” in the same practical illegibility as the word sister. As the words die out another voice flows into the room. “Have you heard of genetic memories, Scully?”

So, now I write in this journal of my dream. First, I must get in contact with Agent Mulder. After your fight with Lucy I have been wandering letting fate take me in the directions I am needed. It seems that I am now in need of assistance of someone who has aided me and I, him. The circle of time is inescapable.

Chapter Text

I am hesitant to contact Agent Mulder after Lucy lured and used him. I am not in control of Lucy’s actions, but I feel as if I pulled Mulder into a situation. One that almost cost him his life and mine. I have used cash for my needs along with an abundance of fake names. I am sure no matter what I do both you and others were able to follow. There is no real place to hide, but I do try. My dream was not disturbing, but it set me on a path that I had long ago forgotten in some way. What did disturb me was the fact that I let such important memories slip. It made me question whether those dreams playing were memories I was at risk of losing. Memories that I would need.

I needed time to think. Coincidentally, my travels prevented me from doing just that because I did not want to think. The dream I had was not a memory, but my abilities at work. The dream did give me a few details to work on. A pregnant woman named BJ. Peter Watts or who I feel is Peter Watts talking to this woman about an abortion. Presumably, a child that is the result of an affair. The carved words of sister and mother. It is not a lot to go on and I need a contact.

I immediately think of Agent Hollis. Emma Hollis is another former partner of mine. After I had begun the process of cutting ties with Millennium I started to work with the FBI again. I felt that this would enable me to use my powers in a way that I felt I controlled. Eventually, The Millennium Group starts to recruit Agent Hollis. The Group’s form of recruitment should be clear to you, Jordan. Everyone else would know it has emotional manipulation. For Agent Hollis, this meant dangling a cure for a disease in front of her. A disease they caused. Her father suffered from Alzheimer’s. I know that Alzheimer’s was not caused by the Millennium Group but his was. Agent Hollis’ father worked in the military, I was never quite sure as to which branch but his work was top secret. We, Hollis and I, could never quite find what he worked on. Things between the Millennium Group began to intensify, so they applied pressure onto Hollis. They needed an agent in place at the FBI and they felt that Hollis would be great. I could see their machinations a mile away. I warned her but she remained skeptical. Until her father’s doctor informed her of his condition. Usually, people who have Alzheimer’s deteriorate mentally, and physically. Both occurring at the same time, but Hollis’ father was deteriorating mentally and his body was growing stronger. With The Group’s constant harassment, and the cases we worked on that involved the Millennium Group, Hollis was able to piece the cause of her father’s disease together. Eventually, The Group takes her father without her consent and persuades her into their cause. Their persuasion is a highly effective one, and she joins. I tell you this Jordan because I feel like I have to. I am still having trouble with your involvement and now I know why the rage came on to me in that dream. The rage I hold towards you and the Millennium Group. I may never come to understand your involvement, but…I don’t know. I just don’t know. As for now, I need rest.

It has been some days after my last writing. More moving and more traveling. More hiding and less conscious thinking. When I sleep, the dreams force me to think. There are no coincidences, and I received a message. I do not question as to how she found me because I am quite sure that you are watching me. You, not The Group. You may even see me writing in this journal to you. The motel manager told me that I had a message to contact Emma Hollis and proceeded to give me a number and an email address. I still hesitated whether to call her, but I felt that wheels were already moving and I must talk to her sooner or later.

I was nervous for some reason. I am dealing with a friend that I left behind and a friend that joined The Group. I call and we talk. “Um, hello Frank,” she is quiet and most likely as nervous as I am, “I was told that you would be needing some information.” Her words tell me everything. The most important indicator is that she is still working with the Millennium Group. I cannot trust her, so it seems that I must talk to Agent Mulder. So I play dumb, but not surprised. She knows of my abilities and she would see through my behavior. “How are you Hollis? It is a bit surprising.” What I said was true and if I said any more that would have been a lie. A lie that Hollis would easily catch. She had the makings of an excellent profiler. I asked what she wanted to speak about, and now she must have caught a few indicators as well. “I will cut through the chase. Jordan indicated to me that you would be needing information on a case involving Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully and a man named Brian Tillman.” She gave me more information than I had at the moment.

I know you can read my thoughts or emotions, Jordan. Better yet, you may be able to see the future relating to me. So, I know you know what I know. This also confirms that you know about this journal in some way. You may not know what I am writing, nor know the impact that it will have on the future. I am clueless about the impact as well. I also was able to gather some hints as to why The Group would try and contact me. You guys gave a lot away with this call. Whether you meant too or not. First, it is clear to me now that Brian Tillman is Peter Watts. Second, that Peter was having an affair with B.J. and she was carrying his child. Third, I now have confirmation that Agent Scully and Mulder worked the case. Knowing The Group, this was probably what they wanted, but I also needed this anyway. I replied, “Agent Hollis, I have been roaming since I last helped the FBI. A case that I worked with the agents you mentioned against the Millennium Group. We adverted a disaster that they caused because they felt they could negotiate the apocalypse,” she coughed and shuffled the phone, “So it would help me to know as to why you are calling me about a case that I know nothing about.” Still this sentence was true, and I could feel the anger rising in me again. I could never get over the audacity of the Millennium Group. They would still try and recruit me after all of the truths that I have seen. After EVERYTHING they have done to me and the world. After all of the people that they have USED AND BROKEN. Anger or rage is not me, and I know if left unchecked I can lose myself.

Hollis clears her throat and speaks with a sternness to her voice, “Listen Frank, I know how you feel about my employers, and at times I feel the same way. I have made my choice, they do good things and some not so good. As of now, I know you need information. So, let me help you.” If only Hollis knew how things move in a circle. How she sounds like the man she has replaced. How she sounds like the man we are discussing. How that same man lost his life to this group. I speak using the residual anger, “Of course you KNOW, Agent Hollis. So help me in all of the ways that the Millennium Group has - Please. I truly need it. So here is my first order. Bring me back my dead wife that you killed. Yes. YOU. You are no different now. This is who you are, CORRECT? Another snake eating its tail. Another Peter Watts. Here is another order for you. Bring back Peter Watts, Bob Bletcher and Mike Atkins. People who were used and tossed away for the sake of a future that could not be negotiated. People who died because they just happened to be near me because of Millennium. HELP ME EMMA HOLLIS WITH THAT.” “Frank I-.” I hang up on her and noticed that the anger had its uses. I go take a shower, and do some conscious thinking. The sickly lime green walls. The cruddy tile floor, and the bathroom sink that may have seen better days all encourage me to focus on another moment. Another time. I think about my plan maybe it was a bit hasty hanging up on her. What’s done is done. I receive another message from my motel manager giving me the number of Agent Scully and the last known whereabouts of Agent Mulder. Which I already know. The Group must always have the last word, but I take the information anyway.

Agent Scully is still working for the FBI. As for Mulder, the FBI is his own version of the Millennium Group. I dressed and walked to a nearby diner. Patrons eating varying forms of a greasy American breakfast. Soon, I will also join the crowd. The diner has the old 60’s décor, but with a mix of sadness and this-is-all-we-got-so-deal-with-it-ness. The booths were neon blue and the tables had a polished silver top with dark red cushions going around it. The eating counter had the same design going on, only surrounded by stools instead of booths. The floor was…depressing. White tile that may have been alright a few decades ago. Now, they are practically a dark grey. Windows spaced out evenly throughout the diner. So patrons can get a good view of nothing but road and people itching to leave. So they can go nowhere. Much like me. There is no real back to the diner everyone is in view of everybody else. Such an odd layout. I chose a booth close to the door because I can see who is coming and going. Being followed by an all-knowing secretive organization can do wonders for paranoia. I make eye contact with the woman behind the counter to let her know I would like a menu. She quickly nods and heads into the kitchen. I can clearly see menus sitting on the counter. Strange.

Sitting down I notice a few eyes that linger on me. They were watching me from the time I walked in and were still watching me. I make eye contact with a few, and I notice their clothes. In this place, most of the customers were people staying in the same motel as I. There is not much else around here. Truck drivers can stay in their cabs, but people like me are staying in the motel. Even the people who work here. I noticed that the clothes of the people watching me were not quite right for this environment. It was like they were trying to dress the part. Trying to appear like people who had nowhere else to go. So, I think about who it could be. It is not the Millennium Group, I know who you are and they know who I am. You all know of my abilities. So there is no purpose in trying to scope me out. The only other conclusion is that this is the FBI. I guess they forgot I am a profiler. The FBI has burned me as well, or the Millennium Groups’ agents in the FBI.

The waiter comes over to my table with his eyes quickly shifting back and forth. I presume he was the owner of the place, and not actually a waiter. I would think the woman behind the counter waits on every one here. He was of a medium build, balding, and a sweat machine. Hairier than Bigfoot. The hair on his head comes down to the middle of his back. He keeps scratching one ear. Must be a wire. He stutters, “U-uh, hey man, what can I get for ya today,” his eyes looking me up and down, “I can name some of the specials for ya.” I look at him and take him in, “No, could you just tell me what type of sweets you have?” I probably shouldn’t drag this out, but I am hungry. He stutters again, “W-we only have pecan pie. Is that cool?” I nod and also ask for coffee. He goes off behind the counter and into the kitchen stumbling along the way. He did not even give me time to tell him how much pie or coffee I even wanted. Not even how much should I pay. I began to wonder as to why the FBI would hold a sting for me. I do not believe I warrant any type of operation. At most, a knock on the door and would you come with us sir? He comes back with two slices of pie and a large cup of coffee. Both are extremely sweet. p>

By the time I am done, I ask the women behind the counter how much. The charade is just about done. So, who can be behind curtain number one? As she is walking over I see a Crown Vic pull up. I reach for my wallet and the door opens. A women I recognized walks in and quickly makes eye contact with me. She comes to my booth and before she can say anything I greet her. “Hello, Agent Dana Scully it has been…15 years since we last worked together. This has been quite a show.” Agent Scully bites her bottom lip and sits down at the booth. “I apologize for the fan fair, but there are other people who seem to think that this was necessary.” I understood somewhat. “Sir, please come with me.” I laugh to myself and get up. From her tone and the look in her eyes she wanted to get out of the restaurant. I stand up and proceed to head out of the door with her not too far behind.