Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Files.
Spoilers: For "Fire" and other episodes that talk about Samantha's back-story and Mulder's childhood. In "Fire," Mulder tells Scully that his friend's house burned down when he was a kid and that he spent the night in the ruins guarding the house from looters. I have chosen this time for my own convenience as canon is not specific about the date of the fire.
Like A House Afire
January 22, 1974
Mulder sprawled on his best friend's couch, his long legs propped up on the coffee table. Jake's posture was no better, but who could expect more from a pair of teenage boys? Both were engrossed in Frankenstein, the evening Sci-Fi classic.
Leaning forward, Mulder snagged a piece of pizza from the cardboard box resting on the coffee table. He absentmindedly munched away, watching the climax of the film with half-hearted interest. Jake was still wrapped up in the movie, but Mulder's agile mind had already moved beyond the film.
As hard as Mulder had tried to distract his mind, his eidetic memory prevented him from forgetting the significance of the date. Not that he would have forgotten the day had he possessed an imperfect memory; kidnapped little sisters' birthdays were important to all big brothers who had failed to protect their sisters.
He cursed his eidetic memory, not only because it remembered too well, but also because it remembered too poorly. Mulder could remember flawlessly his argument with Samantha and his parents' reaction to Samantha's disappearance, but his normally flawless memory could not recall a single moment of his sister's actual kidnapping. How could his near-perfect memory have lost time like that?
Jake sat up and stretched, stood up, and turned off the television. The movie was over, and both guys knew that nothing worth watching would come on for the rest of the night.
"Wanna play some pool?" Jake asked, grabbing the last slice of pizza.
"Why not?" Mulder said. It beat trying to sleep.
Mulder won both games with joyless precision, his monotone voice calling balls and pockets with emotionless boredom.
"Wanna play again?" Jake asked, reaching for the nearest pocket.
Mulder shrugged; if Jake wanted to lose again, Mulder was willing to put off sleep for another few minutes.
"Or maybe we could just get ready for bed," Jake said, taking Mulder's pool stick and resting it and his own on the table.
Mulder shrugged again.
"Whatever," he said.
"You can sleep on the couch," Jake said.
"I always do," Mulder said.
"I'll get a blanket and pillow," Jake said.
"Thanks," Mulder said.
They walked back into the living room in awkward silence. Mulder stood by the couch, and Jake walked down the hall to the linen closet. He returned with a firm pillow and a heavy quilt for Mulder, who thanked him.
"Don't mention it," Jake said. "I'm just glad my parents let you come over."
"Not all parents would trust two teenage boys alone under the same roof," Mulder agreed.
"Yeah, well, once I told them what today is…"
"What is today?" Mulder asked, his face blank.
"Well, you know," Jake stammered. "A few months ago…I mean…your sister…"
"There is nothing special about today," Mulder said vehemently. "Nothing at all. It's just another day."
"Sure, F…Mulder," Jake said, putting his hands up. "You're right. I guess I was thinking of a different day."
"Guess so," Mulder said, turning away as he made his bed.
"I'll just…go to bed myself," Jake said, turning to go.
"Sleep well," Mulder said.
Jake walked to his bedroom in silence, and Mulder wondered why Jake still wanted to be his friend. Most of Mulder's old friends had grown tired of his terse replies and mood swings, but Jake still invited him over to his house and sat with him at lunch. Most importantly, he did not believe the whispered gossip that suggested Mulder had hurt his sister and had invented his story.
Mulder turned off the lights and settled on the couch, vowing to be a better friend to the one guy he had somehow managed to avoid pushing away. He tried to sleep, but tossed and turned as his mind refused to shut down.
Talk about the brain that wouldn't die, Mulder thought irritably.
With a muttered curse, he got up and walked to the television. He turned the sound knob all the way down, and twisted the channel knob until he settled on a cheesy-looking spaghetti western. The B-movie was good company, and Mulder eventually lapsed into a fitful sleep.
He was strapped to a hard, flat surface, and he could not see. He could hear the beeps and clanks of what he assumed to be machinery, and footsteps clacked against some sort of hard surface. His ears also picked up the rustle of fabric and what sounded like boiling water.
Mulder—or whatever he was—struggled to move mentally, but his muscles would not obey his mind. He was about to panic when he heard a metallic clank followed by an electric hum. His body began to tingle, and without further warning, every cell in his body crackled and burned before coming to glorious life.
Eyes opening, the Mulder-thing saw huge glass windows, lab equipment, and a man wearing a white lab coat. Grunting, the Mulder-thing strained against his padded leather restraints, thrashing about on the steel table in an attempt to break free.
"It's alive!" the evil scientist shouted, cackling madly.
The scientist's insane laugher abruptly ceased as another electric hum filled the tower chamber. He ran toward the giant switch, but failed to flip it before another bolt of lightning struck the rod on the roof, sizzling its way into the laboratory. Instead of electrocuting the creature on the table, the energy blew up the machine to which the creature was attached.
Sparks flew all around the Mulder-thing, some embers searing the creature's flesh and others setting the scientist's lab notes and potions on fire. More of the room began to burn, and the acrid smell of smoke wafted over the Mulder-thing. Hair-singeing heat pressed in from all sides, the flames shining brightly all around the creature firmly bound to the table.
The Mulder-thing struggled continually against his bonds, terrified of the fire and flames around him. He could no longer see the scientist, so he knew there was no hope of release. Helpless, he stared into the bright flames as they burned ever closer.
He gave one last heave and felt the table tip over. His shoulder rammed into the floor, the thud inaudible over the crackling, roaring flames. The Mulder-thing yelled hoarsely…
And awakened to find himself on the floor of Jake's living room, tightly cocooned in the borrowed quilt. Mulder heaved a sigh of relief, trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare. He looked up…
And found himself in the midst of another nightmare. Mulder was wedged between the couch and the coffee table, but he could see that flames had already consumed the kitchen and had moved into the living room. Thick, noxious smoke billowed all over the room, robbing the air of oxygen and replacing it with poison. The television exploded, emitting sparks and fizzling out like a dying sparkler.
Mulder coughed, a deep, hacking sound bursting from his throat. The flames moved steadily toward him, prompting him to struggle out of the quilt that had pinned him in place.
Jake! He thought, panicking. The fire had completely surrounded the living room, except for a small gap miraculously free of flames.
Hall! Mulder thought, instinctively crawling toward the gap, nose to the floor. His lungs continued to rid themselves of fumes, seizing Mulder's body with wracking coughs. Mulder's nose came to a sudden, painful halt and he panicked again, but it was only Jake's door.
My nose would be the first body part to reach the finish line, he thought.
Taking one last breath, Mulder stood up and opened Jake's bedroom door. He swiftly closed it, and shoved a few of Jake's jeans and sweaters under the door to keep out smoke.
"Jake!" Mulder shouted, shaking him awake.
"Wha?" Jake muttered.
"Fire!" Mulder yelled.
"You sure?" Jake asked, blearily looking around the bedroom.
"No, I guess I just imagined it," Mulder said, pulling back Jake's covers.
"Cold!" Jake said as the air hit his bare arms and legs.
"Throw on some clothes while I open the window," Mulder said, his long legs crossing the room quickly.
Smoke was billowing around the cracks on the sides of the door, and the room was getting noticeably warmer.
"If you take any longer getting dressed, you won't need to worry about the cold," Mulder said.
"Do I have time—" Jake asked, gesturing around the room.
"No," Mulder said. "Come on. Now."
Jake grabbed a few more pieces of clothing off the floor and the blanket from his bed and ran to the window, gazing sadly at his possessions. Mulder punched out the screen, and Jake jumped out into the cold winter night.
Flames licked around the door, so Mulder grabbed the window sill. His eyes landed on something, and he dashed to the corner closest to the door. He grabbed the duffel bag handle and heaved, stumbling to the window. Mulder threw the bag out the window and jumped after it, relieved at the brisk infusion of sharp, fresh air as he took his first clean breath in what seemed like hours.
Sirens sounded in the distance, and the shadowy forms of neighbors huddled in their own yards. None of them ventured onto Jake's lawn, as if they were afraid of catching a fire like one catches cold. At least one of them had been decent enough to call the fire department, although Mulder could not see how the firemen would be able to do more than contain the blaze.
The next few hours passed in a hellish blur as he and Jake became the stars in their own macabre nightmare. My parents are out of town at a business conference. No, this isn't my brother, this is my best friend. He saved my life. No, I don't have their contact information; it was in the kitchen. No, sir; my parents live across town. Yes, sir; they know I'm here. No, sir; I don't want to go home. I want to stay with Jake. No, sir; I have no idea how the fire started. I was asleep, and so was Jake.
The questions themselves were innocuous, but the smoking, charred wreckage of what had once been Jake's house lent the scene a surreal quality. Eventually, the firemen were called away to a three-alarm warehouse fire; the neighbors melted back into their warm, cozy homes; and Mulder and Jake were left alone.
"So, uh…should we head over to the neighbors'?" Mulder asked, gesturing at the house next door.
"The lights are on, so maybe the Macknowskis are home. We could call our parents, and you could go home," Jake said.
Mulder could tell Jake's adrenaline rush was finally wearing off, so he figured Jake's idea was a sound one. Besides, it was too cold to remain outdoors, especially now that the fire had been extinguished.
Mulder turned to leave, but he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Soundlessly, he bent over and unzipped the duffel bag he had rescued from Jake's burning room. He withdrew Jake's most prized possession: his Louisville Slugger. Jake was quiet behind him; he had either seen the movement as well or was lapsing into shock.
Standing up, Mulder watched as three tall figures emerged from the other neighbors' backyard, all of them carrying large sacks. Mulder stiffened, tightening his grip on the bat. He walked across the yard, intent on intercepting the three figures before they reached the relatively undamaged back door.
"Can I help you?" Mulder said, stepping out of the shadows.
"Uh, we were just coming over to make sure you were okay," what appeared to be the leader said.
"That's very kind of you, but as you can see, we're perfectly safe," Mulder said, bat still held at his side.
"You shouldn't be standing out here in the cold all alone," another man with a big nose said. "It isn't safe."
"I don't see anyone around who wants to hurt us," Mulder said.
"We certainly don't mean you any harm," the third man said, his yellow teeth smiling unconvincingly. "We're just fulfilling our neighborly duty."
"Well, consider it fulfilled, then," Mulder said. "We're just fine here. Thank you."
"You agree with your buddy here?" Big Nose asked Jake. "Whatsamatter, son? Cat gotcher tongue?"
"No, sir. I mean yes, sir," Jake muttered.
"Leave him alone," Mulder said. "This was his house. It's been damaged enough. Please leave."
"I guess we're finished here," the leader said.
"Good," Mulder said, making sure the men noticed the Slugger.
The men turned around and walked away, cutting back through the neighbors' yard. Mulder's shoulders slumped, and a wave of weariness washed over him as intensely as had the waves of heat hours ago.
"They'll come back," Mulder said.
"Yeah," Jake agreed, staring off into space.
"I'll stay," Mulder said.
"Me too," Jake said.
"No," Mulder said. "Go to the Macknowskis. Call your parents. Tell them what happened. Get some rest. I'll stay."
"Can' leave you out here 'lone," Jake said, his words starting to slur. "'s cold."
"Doesn't matter," Mulder said. "I won't sleep anyway. I won't let them hurt your things."
"I'll go to the Macknowskis, call my parents," Jake said. "'m comin' back."
"You do that," Mulder said, settling onto the cold, hard back stoop.
Jake stumbled away; Mulder watched until the Macknowskis let him in. Hopefully they would dissuade him from coming back outside.
He turned his attention to the other neighbors' yard and kept his eyes there. Those slimeball looters would come back; their kind always did. They were predictable, down to the weapons with which they would likely return. Mulder didn't mind; he was sure he could handle those cowards.
Smoke rose off the cooling remains of Jake's house, shrouding everything in acrid mist. Mulder breathed in the pestilent fog without noticing its presence. Silent, unmoving, and unfeeling, Mulder sat on Jake's back steps, Louisville Slugger resting across his lap. Time passed, but Mulder was unaware of it.
Lost time, he thought, snapping out of his stupor. His mind latched onto the concept, worrying at the problem as it had since Samantha's disappearance. He had failed to notice the past few—he checked his watch—hours because he had been in a sort of trance. Could he have somehow been in a trance when Samantha was kidnapped?
All he could remember was a vague feeling of helplessness, something bad attached to being called Fox, and an unsettling feeling that time had moved on without him. What could cause him to black out at such a critical time?
Mulder's mind continued to chew on the problem, but that failed to distract it from the sound of three men approaching the back stoop. Standing to his feet and swinging the bat loosely, Mulder drew himself up to his full height.
The men were older and bigger, and they were also armed with bats.
At least they didn't bring knives to a bat fight, Mulder thought.
"Out of the way, boy," the leader said, swaggering to the bottom of the stairs.
Mulder said nothing.
"He said, out of the way, kid," Big Nose said, brandishing his bat.
"Actually, he said, 'out of the way, boy,' but I suppose that's too tough for you to remember," Mulder said, raising Jake's Slugger.
"I'll show you tough," Yellow Teeth said, raising his bat and walking toward Mulder.
"Hang on a minute," the leader said, halting the other man's swing. "Maybe we can talk this out. No need for violence, right?"
Nobody replied, but the leader continued anyway.
"Look, son," he said, "what's this to you? I mean, why are you risking your own neck for stuff that doesn't even belong to you? You could always tell your friend you tried to stop us and failed; he'll never know. Why don't you just drop that bat and walk away, okay?"
"I can't," Mulder said.
"Why not?" the leader asked.
"Because Jake is my best friend. He and I get along like a house afire," Mulder said.
"You have a warped sense of humor, boy," the lead looter said. "Almost makes me wish I didn't have to hurt you. But I want what's in that house, and I'm not gonna let some puny punk like you keep me from getting what I want."
A strange feeling began to grow in Mulder's chest, a feeling like he had never experienced. He realized that it was rage or anger or hate or…he could not tell, not from such a great mental distance. His breathing hitched, and he could feel his vision narrowing. A gleeful, fierce smile spread across his face, and his hands tightened around the handle of the Slugger.
That's what someone thought about my sister, Mulder realized. Someone decided they wanted her, and they were going to take her. They didn't care about what she wanted, what I wanted, or what Mom and Dad wanted. I'm not gonna let them hurt Jake, though; I won't fail him like I failed my sister. Samantha…
His body tensed, and his teeth bared themselves further in a feral smile. He could already sense the dull, satisfying thud of bat on flesh and bone.
Hips before hands, he thought, a soft chuckle escaping his throat.
The leader backed up a step, and his accomplices did the same.
"We're leaving," the leader said, continuing to back away.
"Aw, c'mon, man! We can take him!" Big Nose said.
"I know that look!" the leader whispered. "Something in that boy just snapped, and I'm not going to be the one he unloads on."
"I think you're a coward, and I'm not leaving empty-handed," Yellow Teeth said.
He strode toward the stairs and swung his bat at Mulder. Lightning fast, Mulder sidestepped the blow and pivoted around the looter, swinging with all his might at the looter's back. The looter let out a howl of pain and stumbled down the steps, limping away into the darkness.
Mulder descended the steps, ready to take on anyone else who would dare set foot in his best friend's burned-out home. He would not let anyone harm Jake's things. Nobody was coming near Jake's things. Nobody was taking…
Nobody was there. He slumped in disappointment, but slowly felt relief replacing his bloodlust. He examined the Slugger and was glad to see it was still in good shape. Jake would have been disappointed to lose his Slugger at this point, since the only other possessions he still had were a blanket, a few articles of clothing, and his duffel bag full of baseball gear.
Mulder briefly considered going over to the Macknowskis, but rejected the idea. He doubted the looters would come back, but he didn't want to take any chances. Nothing and no one would get a chance to harm Jake's things.
Besides, he did not want to spend time with people. He hated their pitying glances, their furtive whispers, their tiptoeing efforts at tact. True, his whole body was a block of ice, but at least he was safe.
And not at home, he thought. Dad's probably passed out drunk by now, and Mom's probably softly crying into her pillow. My circumstances are ideal compared to theirs.
He stood on the stoop the rest of the night, staring off into space as time passed. His hands molded to the baseball bat, freezing in place. While Mulder knew in the back of his mind that he might end up with frostbite or hypothermia, he didn't care.
All in all, Samantha's birthday wasn't as bad as it could've been, he mused. At least I got to lose some time…