Interior battle
By Barbara Barnett VA--no romance
Spoilers: Gethsemene, Paper Clip
Summary: A missing scene toward the end of Gethsemene. What really happened
in Mulder's apartement after he left Scully in the warehouse.
Warning--nothing is resolved here...just author's own speculation.
Mulder considered Michael Kritschgau as he sat listlessly on his couch.
Considered the man, what he had revealed--and how, so coincidentally, he had
ventured into his and Scully's lives; and how he had irrevocably changed
them. The man had said nothing to him that he hadn't already considered at
least once or twice before. Mulder was a believer, but had the ingrained
skepticism of a researcher, an investigator. What had created the critical
mass, created this latest crisis of conscience for Mulder, who had lived his
life in constant interior battle: the believer and the investigator; the
rational man and the man of intuititve leaps?
Mulder's mind flashed images before him, each clear. It made no sense.
Kritchgau had met Scully coincidentally. He had not sought her out. He'd
nearly broken her neck, flinging her down the concrete back stairs of the
laboratory as he escaped with the stolen ice core samples...The ice core
samples. Why steal them? What was in them? Proof that the being the ice
surrounded was a fake? Mulder examined the semi-automatic on the coffee
table before him. Coward.
Scully had tracked Kritchgau down, and only then...after he attacked her,
stole the ice cores. Then. Then...he had "revealed" to her the "facts" of
the matter. The lie that had been Mulder's life, according to Kritchgau.
Why now? He'd asked Kritchgau in all sincerity. Why come to them now,
after how many years?
Kritchgau's answer...and then Mulder knew. Convinced beyond a shadow of a
doubt. Kritchgau was lying. "Because my son is dying." Was in the Gulf
War. A sad story. And, yes, Mulder suspected, strongly, in fact, that
certain issues relevant to the Gulf war were related to the overall grand
plan of the consortium. Mulder had, several times, speculated that the grand
scheme had something to do with creating a super soldier capable of
withstanding the effects of biological and chemical weapons. Weapons that
may have, in fact, been used by Sadam in the Gulf War... may, in fact, be
responsible for Kritchgau's son's illness...that is, if, in fact, Kritchgau
even had a son.
No, sudden anxiety over a dying son was certainly NOT the reason. Kritchgau
had not sought them out. Hadn't Scullly seen that immediately? But Scully
was seeing only what she wanted to see. Hear facts that supported her own
position and fears.
No, Kritchgau came to them because he'd been caught red handed. Revealed.
And he was trying to save his own ass. Who the Hell did he work for?
Agitprop. DOD. Agitation propoganda. At least that made sense. The guy
was a professional liar. But what about Scully? Oh Scully. " When did you
stop having any faith in me at all," He wondered aloud in despair?
"They gave me this cancer to make you believe." There had been tears in her
eyes. Unbearable tears. The words had been said. And three years of blame
hurled at him as a 100 mile-an-hour fast ball. Cruel? Yes. It wasn't like
Scully to attack a downed opponent. And after the blow administered by
Kritchgau, before he'd had the chance to analyze it...to put facts behind his
faith that Kritchgau was a liar, she struck him a direct blow. And she was
right, at least partially. Above everything else she was right about his
guilt in her illness. But this was nothing new. Kritchgau's "news" wasn't
news, it was just newly spoken, spoken in a new and surreal context.
Hadn't Mulder, long ago, accepted blame for Scully's abduction, ultimately
for her cancer? "What if I knew but didn't tell her about the consequences,"
he'd asked Skinner after she'd been returned? "Then you're as guilty as
Cancerman." And so it was. And so he'd lived with the guilt and the painful
knowledge. His fault for asking her to play with fire.
But what Kritchgau had told her, and what she now apparently believed, was
that ... NO! To make him believe...WHAT? In the existence of
extraterrestrials? He already believed that. He only sought hard evidence.
Evidence still elusive after many, many years. But Scully had said to him
that Kritchgau's words on the matter were what ultimately made her believe
his story. Believe in this professional liar, and disconnect from Mulder.
No, no. That's not entirely accurate, he thought. Scully had already
disconnected from him, months earlier. He glanced at the phone. The message
light was blinking on his machine. When had the phone rung?
He breathed a ragged breath, a deep shaky sigh, rubbing the heels of his
hands into his eyes, which stung with remorse, pain, hurt and anger. He hit
the playback button. "Mulder?" It was Scully. "Mulder pick up. Please. I
need to know you're alright. I know how what happened tonight...How you
must feel right now. Please..."
Mulder closed his eyes slowly. Was he so transparently fragile? He picked
up the phone, intending to dial her number. What would he say to her? He'd
never convince her. Not now. Not anymore. She no longer believed in him,
in his sanity, his quest, his skill. Nothing. There was nothing to say. It
was all said and there was no more. She believed that his life was a lie.
And, ultimately, that belief came to her with ease. And that was what hurt,
had so deeply wounded him now.
No, there was nothing left to say. His tears finally fell, mourning his
lonliness...the loss of life, oh God, he cried audibly gazing at the ceiling.
The loss of life. How many had died? Killed by the consortium. Why? To
make him believe? To cover a bigger lie...well yes, there was that, too. Oh
yes, he knew...he understood that there was a bigger lie...a horrific plan.
And he knew that that...that was the cause of Scully's cancer. The real
cause. Her, the Allentown women, and how many others? How many had his own
father been responsible for? What had it said in the Bible...the sins of the
fathers pass down for three generations...Oh, God, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry
Scully. I'm sorry Samantha. I'm so sorry.
And since he'd known of his father's own culpability in the matter, he made
his own personal quest one of righting the terrible wrongs of his father and
his cronies. "Didn't you know that Scully? Didn't you understand that it
stopped being about little green men long ago, long ago, when my innocence
died in an abandoned mine, in a hall of a million files and tissue samples.
Died, covered in the blood of innocents, victims left disfigured or
vanished, mutated or cloned." The tears flowed unabated, his eyes blurred,
stinging.
Mulder's semi-automatic stared at him. "Pick me up. You know what's the
honorable thing to do," it called out to him. Taunted him, laughed at him.
"I can't. I can't abandon Scully. Not now."
"You fool, romantic fool. She abandoned you, remember? She neither wants or
needs your help. Remeber? She's fine. Always fine. Much better than
you, I'd venture."
"It's the coward's way out."
"Well?"
The conflict waged for some time, minutes or hours, Mulder could not be
certain. It had become a battle of wills. His and his weapon's. Several
times Mulder nearly removed the clip to lock it away, but that would have
been the cheater's way out, cried the referee from yet another part of his
brain. And this, the battle for control of mind, soul, heart had to be won of
determination, not convenience. The victory needed to be clear and certain.
Rational mind over dispirited heart; bravery of spirit over withered soul.
The clip remained in place.
A voice from elsewhere: "The most terrifying nightmare would be if some
extraterrestrial life form was to contact us. It would create panic of the
worst kind..." Something familiar about those words. Mulder shook the
cowbwebs from his head, turning toward the TV. It had been set on the
Discovery Channel, which was replaying a symposium on extraterrestrial life.
Mulder had programmed the VCR to tape it. Cruel irony of ironies on this
very night. Ashley Montague's words just then. Words spoken in 1972. He
stared at the TV momentarily. His head clearing. Suddenly something was so
clear. Crystal. Something never before considered. He stopped the
recorder from taping and rewound a few feet, hitting the play button. There.
There it was.
A click as Mulder's door was opened, almost soundlessly. The soft pop of a
silenced weapon. Mulder turned toward the door at the pop. Blackness
overcame him before he could react.
The next morning
"Thank you for coming Agent Scully. Is it him?" The detective sergent
lifted the sheet to reveal an oblitterated face attached to...
"Yes, it's him."
Later that morning:
"Agent Mulder died last night of an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound to
the head."