Title: He Belongs to Me
Summary: Post-Truth – Mulder claims to have found a way to save anyone who is willing to listen from the upcoming alien invasion – but things do not go according to plan. Light MSR, set mostly in England.
I would like to thank daydr3am3r for the inspiration of the title, and part of the story, I in no way take credit for the idea.
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Files, they are the property of Fox, 1013 productions, Chris Charter, etc. I also do not own the lateral thinking puzzlers in this, they were taken from Lateral Thinking Puzzlers, by Paul Sloane. Seeing as I am not Paul Sloane, I therefore do not own the puzzlers.
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NOVEMBER 13, 2003
CANARY WARF, LONDON, ENGLAND
1:54 AM
Scully panted, her breath drawn in long ragged gasps. She still held her gun, though her hands trembled from fatigue and cold. Not just her hands, either, but her legs, her entire body, in fact, was quaking. It would be no surprise to find this woman had hypothermia. Her once flaming hair was matted to her head, extinguished, clothing drenched. Anyone looking at her would be able to see that this woman was tired yet determined, not willing to give up. She probably would die before giving up, considering the stakes. Oh yes, the stakes were very high, and the game wasn't one she was willing to lose.
Her gun was directed at a man, a familiar man, the man who claimed aliens had granted him immunity from lung cancer. She saw the man only for what he had done, what he had done not to him, but to everyone close to him, and now to the one person who had become of closest of them all. And that is how he should be seen, for this man has, of his own will, committed crimes against society and against others, creatures not from this earth. No, Scully was right to hate him, hate him for what he'd done.
Mulder began to stir and was delivered a swift kick to the stomach for his trouble – so long as he didn't die, the offending thug could do what he pleased.
"DON'T TOUCH HIM AGAIN," the fierce words came from a flaming haired woman who was nearly a foot and a half shorter than the thug. Her eyes flashed dangerously, daring the man to push her just that little bit further.
She was right to hate him, because it hadn't started here, it started long before Fox William Mulder was even born, for the man had become an unwilling chess piece, whose identity had not yet been determined. He was played like a pawn yet utterly essential to the equation, fighting for what he sought to uncover while inexplicably aiding the truth to continue its hiding. He was a very interesting man indeed, one who had been abused his entire life by people who considered him to be an inferior, people who desired nothing more than to use him, use the piece they had so carefully crafted. Except, now, the piece was no longer doing as it should. Granted, he was here, but he certainly was not acting according to plan.
SEPTEMBER 19, 2003
WASHINGTON, D.C.
3:15 PM
The phone rang several times before Dana Scully could get to it, hands busy putting in diamond studded earrings.
"Hello, Dana Scully speaking."
"Why Scully, I don't believe I've ever heard you answer your phone that way before."
She recognized the familiar voice immediately. Though the two no longer worked together, they still kept in touch – a lot. More than most partners would, if you catch my drift.
"Mulder, what is it?" she allowed a tinge of exasperation to color her voice.
"You have to promise to hear me out, Scully."
She was silent for a moment before she answered. "All right, I'll listen."
"We need to go to England."
Scully held her tongue rather than demanding an immediate explanation.
"Remember how I told you that we needed to listen to the dead, that they would speak to us, tell us how to save ourselves if only we were willing to listen?"
"Yes, I remember, Mulder." her voice was soft, remembering the gravity of the situation.
"Someone spoke to me."
* * *
Scully had almost finished packing her suitcase when she heard the familiar rapping of knuckles on the apartment door.
"Come in, it's open!"
Mulder entered, removing their tickets and his passport from the bag before dropping it to the floor.
Scully zipped up her bag and took the proffered ticket. Before she could look at it in detail, Mulder spoke.
"I got us the earliest flight I could, it leaves at 6:45. We're going to fly into Gatwick Airport in London, then we have to take a train to get to London proper. Once there-"
"Mulder, where exactly are we going, and why? Who spoke to you?" She interrupted, although she already knew the answer to the last question.
Mulder considered his words before replying.
"Samantha told me that we needed to go to Greenwich. Once we get there we should be able to figure out where we're going."
"What do you mean, she told you? Mulder, how did you see her?"
"I'll explain it to you in the car."
Scully sighed, knowing she wouldn't get it out of him until he was good and ready.
"Whose car are we taking?"
"It doesn't matter, I'm still driving," he teased.
Scully rolled her eyes, a small smile spreading across her face, mumbling under her breath. "Machoman. . ."
* * *
They ended up taking Mulder's car, and after several carefully planned taunts in the elevator Scully managed to obtain both his keys and driver's seat.
Scully didn't prod him to tell her about how he'd heard Samantha – brown nosing wouldn't get her anywhere, it'd more likely just irritate him. After ten minutes of driving silently, Mulder finally decided to explain.
"I couldn't sleep so I was watching Plan 9 from Outer Space-"
"That makes 43, doesn't it?"
"And I went to go to the bathroom-"
"Where are you going with this, Mulder?"
"Will you please stop interrupting me?" It wasn't quite a snap, but his words stung.
She winced, then allowed him to continue without further infringement.
"And at first I thought it was one of those psychic commercials that always comes on, but it soon became apparent that it wasn't the television."
He paused, expecting her to make a comment, some cynical response, but she simply glanced at him before returning her eyes to the road.
"I could tell it was Samantha…" a mask of pain took over his face and for several seconds he was lost to torturous nostalgia. "She told me I needed to go to Greenwich, that there I would find something that would lead me to where I needed to go…that to understand I needed to see everything I would see."
Scully slowed the car, ready to pull to the side of the road if need be.
"You're sure this was a…visitation, Mulder? Not some hallucination brought on by lack of sleep and a desperation to save yourself? People have been known to-"
He turned haunted eyes to her, stormy eyes which matched the skies of London. Her words puttered out at the sight of those eyes.
She swallowed twice before she could speak, though she knew no words could answer to that. Pain that deep never healed, wasn't allowed to heal. Some people needed that pain to remember, because forgetting would be the worst thing that could happen to them. Mulder was one of those people.
So she had to settle for trying to communicate all the hope and compassion and sympathy she could, that and a plea for forgiveness, for what had happened to Sam all those years ago and doubting him in the one thing he was the most certain of and for not being to help. But not pity, certainly not pity, after all he'd gone through he didn't deserve to be put through the shame of being pitied.
After less than three seconds she broke the contact so she could see where she was driving.
There was no point in apologizing if she was going to run them into a lake.
