March 5, 1999
Mulder's Apartment
5:25 pm
* * * * * *
The victor will never be asked if he told the truth. --Adolf Hitler
* * * * * *
Mulder was excruciatingly aware of the interplay of light and shadow. He
sat cloaked in the specter of the evening, staring almost incoherently
as the lights from the passing rush hour traffic beamed into his living
room. The lights flitted from one end of the room to the next, careening
like headless birds.
Beams of light momentarily illuminating then chased off, frightened. It
was as if the darkness burned the light and unable to tolerate it, the
light was cast off, only to be replaced with another.
The kaleidoscope of light vs. dark was enchanting, almost imbued with a
shimmering, sensual quality that caressed him and the rest of the room.
Shadow and light, light and darkness. On one level the chaotic shifts in
the degree of light, from one extreme to the other, was disrupting to
his equilibrium, but then the rhythmic swell began to have an odd
psychological effect, and he fell into the languid tempo.
Mulder closed his eyes, and his body begged for him to give in to the
exhaustion, let the tempo take over. When was the last time he slept? He
faintly remembered being woken up by the Gunmen...had that really been
the last time?
But no, he had to stay awake...Mulder couldn't take the chance that the
man would come and he would be unprepared, asleep. As if he could
sleep...
He opened his eyes and discovered his gun in his hand. He studied it,
confused. He remembered pulling it out, checking the clip, noting the
number of bullets, but then he had set it down. The last time he looked
in his hand he had held the report. How had the gun replaced the report?
Where was the report?
He glanced around and found it at his feet. He set the gun on the couch
next to him, and reached for the rumpled papers. He did his best to
smooth out the wrinkles against his knee. The report was astoundingly
comprehensive. Scully's complete medical records both unofficial as well
as official. He flipped to the most resent entry. It was a genetic test,
from blood taken during their recent forced 'quarantine.' He lifted the
paper closer to his face and studied the scrawled words written in the
margin. Half of it was undecipherable, but he was able to make out a few
words. "Praise gene? Compare... source? A change from previous..."
Was that Gibson? Mulder had a feeling it was, but couldn't be sure. He
needed her damn it! His memory afforded him a great amount of knowledge,
but was relatively useless for interpretation, at least in this
instance. That was what he needed Scully for. As if that was the only
thing he needed her for...
He would take it to the Gunmen soon enough so that they could help him
decipher the information, but that was later. Now he would wait, it
seemed that was all he was capable of doing now anyway.
He flipped through the pages and came to the last one, the one with the
final recommendations. It had been the only time in the report that he
had been mentioned.
"'There has been some concern regarding the subject's partner. Their
close attachment, as well as his known interference with our plans in
the past are causes for consideration regarding this subject. However,
given the immeasurable need, as well as limited time span, it has been
determined that this subject is the best candidate, and any difficulties
that arise related to her partner will be easily nullified.'"
'Easily nullified.' Is that what he had become? Easily nullified? So
impotent, so powerless to halt what was to come? That was certainly how
he felt. So little accomplished in these past days. And underneath those
words was Diana's signature.
Diana...his mind wavered with this new thought. He had been avoiding
thinking about her. From the beginning, she said. The X-files, his
regression of his memories of his sister...She had said that they were
his, those memories, that they hadn't been manipulated or created. Yet
he would be a fool to believe her now, after all of this. Hell, it was
obvious that he had been a fool for quite some time.
Manipulated memories, manipulated life...there seemed to be no real
difference anymore.
But he had wanted to believe her, even though his mind rebelled against
that thought. He had proof, his mind argued, that she had deceived him
from the beginning and he knew better than to start trusting yet another
lie. But his mind had not seen what he had, it hadn't seen the
expression in her eyes, the pain, the regret... and maybe something
more?
He had seen something in her expression. Something more than just a
story to placate him. As much as he hoped that she, and the report, had
lied, he knew it all to be the utter, painful truth. From the beginning.
And she had been the one to compile the report, and it had been her
words, her recommendation that had set this in motion.
And just what had been set into motion? He wasn't yet sure of specifics;
he didn't have the medical knowledge to be able to explain 'how' they
did what they did, but 'what' they did was obvious.
She was being changed.
Or was it: She 'is' changed? Had it already happened? His eyes squeezed
tight. Either way, there seemed to be little he could do. Even learning
exactly what was in the document would not offer any insight as to her
location. He had already pored over it several times over in the vain
hope of finding a place mentioned. Perhaps a facility that would be
used, or had been used in the past. Hell, he would be happy with just an
indication of what part of the world she was in. He unconsciously
shivered as the memory of Antarctica surfaced; both from the remembered
chill of the climate, as well as the nature of the 'trip.'
He moved his head slightly and his eye caught his gun at his side. He
picked it up, and once more it replaced the papers he had held in his
hand. Turning it indifferently between his hands, he felt the cold hard
metal against his palm, felt its heft, and contemplated his next move.
What now?
* * * * * *
The Cigarette Smoking Man entered the apartment with ease. He placed the
key he had used to open the lock in his coat pocket and closed the door
quietly behind him. Stepping further into the dark room, he tried to
differentiate between the objects of the room and the shadows that they
cast. He resisted the impulse to turn on the overhead light, not quite
ready to reveal his presence. He wanted to find Mulder first.
He knew that Mulder was in the apartment, surveillance had told him as
much, but it had been several minutes since he checked, and he could no
longer be sure as to Mulder's exact location.
When the room flooded with light a moment later, CSM knew exactly where
the other man was. Mulder stood beside him, hand still on the switch.
Mulder came through the kitchen doorway and cautiously approached the
man who had just entered. "Thanks for coming to me this time. It makes
it so much easier." Mulder said, sarcasm heavy on his lips.
The old man hid his surprise well. When he spoke, his voice was
controlled and even. "No hello or how are you?"
"I'm fresh out of pleasantries today."
"And no gun to my head this time? You disappoint me Mulder." He said
with a half smile on his face.
"My apologies. If it would make you feel more at home." Mulder's gun was
now even with the older man's left temple.
CSM did his best to ignore growing pressure next to his eye, and pulled
a package of cigarettes and his silver lighter from an inside pocket of
his coat. Ever so casually, he tapped one of the cancer sticks out and
brought it to his gaunt, parched lips. He moved his hand to indicate the
couch and chairs in the next room. "How about we sit down for awhile?
Make ourselves comfortable?"
"I could care less if you were comfortable." But Mulder led the older
man to the couch never the less.
CMS sat on the black leather couch, and Mulder sat in the chair next to
him, never taking his eye or gun off of him.
Mulder spoke. "Just tell me why. Why was she taken again? Why her?"
"But you know why, Agent Mulder. I'm sure you've read the report Agent
Fowley prepared. It really is a fine report. Diana sure has a gift for
the written word, wouldn't you say?" A drag from his cancer stick.
"Yeah, it seems that I'm discovering new and exciting aspects to people
all the time." Mulder's voice was flat, yet dripping with irony. "But I
still want to hear it from you."
CSM settled further into the couch, and considered Mulder's words for a
moment before proceeding. "That first time she was taken she wasn't
going to return. It was simply a ploy to have you believe what we wanted
you to. It was also a convenient way of separating you two. But she was
such a fine subject. She surprised us. So...how shall I put this? So
robust, so hearty. All the things we did to her, yet she survived. The
technology then was so primitive compared to now." He shook his head
somewhat amazed. He murmured almost to himself. "The things we did..."
His eyes refocused as he looked back to Mulder. "That was why she was
returned, we simply ran out of things to do to her."
Mulder's eyes glared as he struggled to maintain himself, to prevent him
from strangling that smug expression off of his face. He willed himself
not to react, to regain control of his emotions. He needed to hear what
the man had to say. Mulder tightened his grip on his gun as he continued
to hold it level with the other man's head.
The older man continued. "We returned her to you. And she surprised us
by surviving. So we kept even closer tabs on her. We were somewhat
surprised and disappointed when she developed the cancer like the
others. It is always sad when we lose one to the cancer...We thought
that that was the end."
"What about the chip you gave me?"
He dismissed Mulder's question with a wave of his hand. "It was mostly
just another method used to confuse your loyalties. We had tried it
before...with the others...They showed some reversal, but they didn't
live. But she did, once again. She really is a fine specimen." He
extinguished his cigarette and lit another. He waited for Mulder to
comment.
Mulder sat, absorbing the new information. "Continue."
"And of course, the icing on top. Her exposure to the virus and
subsequent exposure to the antivirous. Of course you did have something
to do with that. And even though your actions resulted in quite a bit of
work and re-planning for all parties involved, it worked out for the
best. You made her all the more valuable." He paused, took another drag
and almost casually added. "Oh, by the way, great timing in the
hallway."
The last comment finally got a reaction from Mulder. CSM smiled as
Mulder choked. The hand holding the gun wavered momentarily before
dropping to his lap. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't play stupid with me." His voice was abrupt. "We have surveillance
in the hallway. You've never even looked. I must say that you surprised
me Agent Mulder." Another smirk from the older man. "I never thought
that you would have the guts. I admit I was a bit disappointed that it
was interrupted. I was hoping to see something interesting." His
eyebrows raised; he took another drag.
Mulder couldn't remember a time when he wanted to hit someone more. He
wanted to grind his fist against the old man's lips until they were
bruised and bleeding, until they could no longer form that condescending
smirk. Mulder was surprised by his own restraint.
CSM continued. "But ah, cruel fate. Would you say that fate is cruel
Agent Mulder?"
"I don't believe fate has played much of a role in my life."
The old man nodded thoughtfully. "You're probably true. Someone once
said that the best way to predict the future was to invent it."
"So what is this future?"
"That brings me to why I am here Agent Mulder. I'm here to discuss your
future." He paused as he considered his next words. When he spoke
again, his voice bordered almost on tenderness. "You were always special
Mulder. You always held a special place in the grand scheme of things.
Your father had such plans for you. You're part of the future, what we
will all become. You are so much further along than the rest of us, and
you'll go so much further than we ever could."
"What do you mean by that?" There was no alarm in his voice, not yet,
only curiosity.
CSM ignored the question and continued as if uninterrupted. "Yes you're
quite special."
"Explain. What are you talking about?" The apprehension was obvious in
Mulder's voice.
He simply smiled. "Not yet. Not until you agree to my offer."
"And what would that offer be?"
The old man leaned in, and was completely serious as he addressed
Mulder. "Join us, join me now and you'll be saved from what is to come."
Mulder's eyes narrowed. "You've offered me this before. You already know
my answer. What makes you think that I'll change my mind now?"
He calmly took a drag from his cigarette before he spoke again, his
voice smug. "You don't know what I'm offering."
"Let me guess: The *Truth.* The mystical truth that is waved before me
and which leads me wherever you damn well please. No. I've enough of
this truth." Mulder's head nodded in the direction of the coffee table,
where the report lay. "I already know all that I need to."
CSM's eyes followed the path to the papers, and smiled slightly. "That's
nothing. Only a mere fraction of the whole. Are you sure you don't want
to learn more?"
"More?" Mulder asked incredulously. He had tasted enough of that truth,
so much so that its bitter fruit lingered and tainted the rest that he
was. Did he really want to know the rest? Not if it meant giving up on
Scully. "I'm not interested."
"Really? Agent Mulder not interested in the truth?" His eyebrows rose in
amusement. His serious nature of only moments before had already
disappeared.
Mulder sighed heavily. "I'm tried of playing this game with you. Tell me
exactly what you've come here to say."
"I have said it. I offer you the truth, which will in turn assure your
survival for what is to come. And maybe in the process, find out what
really happened to Samantha..." He trailed off as he carefully studied
Mulder's reaction.
Mulder didn't flinch. He knew the game this man was playing. He knew CSM
expected him to jump at any vague allusion to his sister. But this hand
had been played out so many times before, so many promises, so many
hints, and so many false hopes. Mulder knew better; he would not take
the bait. Instead, he asked about the only thing he cared about. "And
what about Scully?"
"Ah, Scully. It always comes back to her, doesn't it?" The old man
paused as he deliberated for a moment. "Would you like to see her again?
I could arrange an encounter if you would like." His lips curled into a
smirk. "Perhaps one last hurrah before her departure?"
"Her departure? Where the hell is she going?"
"You don't know? Really Mulder, I thought you were smarter than that.
Surely you must have guessed what's going to happen next."
"You are going to give her up to the aliens." Mulder had not thought
that far ahead, hadn't let himself, but he knew with a startling clarity
that this was the truth.
CSM nodded slowly, confirming Mulder's comment. "She's a necessary
sacrifice. You will come to understand this as you learn the rest."
Another slow drag.
His surge of grief was overridden almost immediately by rage. Mulder
felt his hands tighten around his weapon in his lap. It was no longer at
head level, but it was still aimed at the man across from him. "I don't
believe that. There had to have been another way."
"There isn't."
"Tell me where she is." Mulder demanded.
"Now, Mulder, we haven't made our agreement yet. Can't let you see her
until you join us."
"I will never join you. I won't be a part of a group that would do these
things."
"If you only knew... You're already a part of us, no matter how
unwilling you are.
Mulder's voice bordered on shrill, his frustration with the old man
surfacing. "Tell me what you mean."
"Will you be joining me?"
"Never."
CSM looked genuinely disappointed by this response. "That is too bad.
You would have been an asset to us." He paused for a moment. "We can't
have you running off half cocked, can we? We are at a very crucial time.
We can't have you interfering. You would really give up your life, your
future for her?"
"I'm not giving up on anything."
"But you are." Another slow drag, and then he extinguished the cigarette
and stood. He casually pulled his gun into view. "Like I said, can't
have you running around messing things up. You know, it is a real shame
that it has come to this. I'm going to miss you after all of these
years. I'm almost sorry." He said as he directed his weapon at Mulder.
Mulder stood slowly and raised his own gun. The older man glanced from
the tip of Mulder's gun to his eyes and smiled confidently. "Am I really
in danger? How many times have we been in this same situation?" He was
sure of his position in this struggle for power. "You can't kill me, I
have all of the answers. And no matter what you may claim, I know that
the truth holds too firm a grasp on you for you to shake off. You can't
kill me because you would be killing the one person who knows all that
you seek."
"So you know my nature. Who is the psychologist now?"
"Mulder, you're an open book to me."
"Then I suppose you know how this will end." Mulder indicated their
stand off, guns held to each other's heads.
The old man's voice was confident. "It ends with you dead, and me
walking away."
"Really? You think you know me that well?" Mulder felt an idiotic grin
spread across his face. It was as if someone had carved it into the
lower half of his face with a razor-sharp knife.
He smiled. "You forget that I created you, I made you the man you are
today."
"If you knew me at all, you would know that the promise of the truth
does not hold the same pull as it used to. And you would understand that
the worse thing that you could have done was hurt her. In doing so, you
sealed your fate." Mulder paused. "Do you believe in fate? I didn't
used to, but now I'm beginning to change my mind. I would like to
believe that there was a reason that we are here like this. It's a
chance to take back something. I'm going to take back my life. But there
is only one way to do so...by taking yours."
"That isn't something that you would do." The old man was only bluffing;
he could not hide the fear in his voice.
"Your creation has turned on you." Mulder paused again and smiled,
liking the sound of that phrase. He continued. "After all of these
years, after all of the times that I have held my gun to your head, you
have never believed that I would pull the trigger."
Mulder pulled the trigger.
* * * * * *
Mulder's Apartment
5:25 pm
* * * * * *
The victor will never be asked if he told the truth. --Adolf Hitler
* * * * * *
Mulder was excruciatingly aware of the interplay of light and shadow. He
sat cloaked in the specter of the evening, staring almost incoherently
as the lights from the passing rush hour traffic beamed into his living
room. The lights flitted from one end of the room to the next, careening
like headless birds.
Beams of light momentarily illuminating then chased off, frightened. It
was as if the darkness burned the light and unable to tolerate it, the
light was cast off, only to be replaced with another.
The kaleidoscope of light vs. dark was enchanting, almost imbued with a
shimmering, sensual quality that caressed him and the rest of the room.
Shadow and light, light and darkness. On one level the chaotic shifts in
the degree of light, from one extreme to the other, was disrupting to
his equilibrium, but then the rhythmic swell began to have an odd
psychological effect, and he fell into the languid tempo.
Mulder closed his eyes, and his body begged for him to give in to the
exhaustion, let the tempo take over. When was the last time he slept? He
faintly remembered being woken up by the Gunmen...had that really been
the last time?
But no, he had to stay awake...Mulder couldn't take the chance that the
man would come and he would be unprepared, asleep. As if he could
sleep...
He opened his eyes and discovered his gun in his hand. He studied it,
confused. He remembered pulling it out, checking the clip, noting the
number of bullets, but then he had set it down. The last time he looked
in his hand he had held the report. How had the gun replaced the report?
Where was the report?
He glanced around and found it at his feet. He set the gun on the couch
next to him, and reached for the rumpled papers. He did his best to
smooth out the wrinkles against his knee. The report was astoundingly
comprehensive. Scully's complete medical records both unofficial as well
as official. He flipped to the most resent entry. It was a genetic test,
from blood taken during their recent forced 'quarantine.' He lifted the
paper closer to his face and studied the scrawled words written in the
margin. Half of it was undecipherable, but he was able to make out a few
words. "Praise gene? Compare... source? A change from previous..."
Was that Gibson? Mulder had a feeling it was, but couldn't be sure. He
needed her damn it! His memory afforded him a great amount of knowledge,
but was relatively useless for interpretation, at least in this
instance. That was what he needed Scully for. As if that was the only
thing he needed her for...
He would take it to the Gunmen soon enough so that they could help him
decipher the information, but that was later. Now he would wait, it
seemed that was all he was capable of doing now anyway.
He flipped through the pages and came to the last one, the one with the
final recommendations. It had been the only time in the report that he
had been mentioned.
"'There has been some concern regarding the subject's partner. Their
close attachment, as well as his known interference with our plans in
the past are causes for consideration regarding this subject. However,
given the immeasurable need, as well as limited time span, it has been
determined that this subject is the best candidate, and any difficulties
that arise related to her partner will be easily nullified.'"
'Easily nullified.' Is that what he had become? Easily nullified? So
impotent, so powerless to halt what was to come? That was certainly how
he felt. So little accomplished in these past days. And underneath those
words was Diana's signature.
Diana...his mind wavered with this new thought. He had been avoiding
thinking about her. From the beginning, she said. The X-files, his
regression of his memories of his sister...She had said that they were
his, those memories, that they hadn't been manipulated or created. Yet
he would be a fool to believe her now, after all of this. Hell, it was
obvious that he had been a fool for quite some time.
Manipulated memories, manipulated life...there seemed to be no real
difference anymore.
But he had wanted to believe her, even though his mind rebelled against
that thought. He had proof, his mind argued, that she had deceived him
from the beginning and he knew better than to start trusting yet another
lie. But his mind had not seen what he had, it hadn't seen the
expression in her eyes, the pain, the regret... and maybe something
more?
He had seen something in her expression. Something more than just a
story to placate him. As much as he hoped that she, and the report, had
lied, he knew it all to be the utter, painful truth. From the beginning.
And she had been the one to compile the report, and it had been her
words, her recommendation that had set this in motion.
And just what had been set into motion? He wasn't yet sure of specifics;
he didn't have the medical knowledge to be able to explain 'how' they
did what they did, but 'what' they did was obvious.
She was being changed.
Or was it: She 'is' changed? Had it already happened? His eyes squeezed
tight. Either way, there seemed to be little he could do. Even learning
exactly what was in the document would not offer any insight as to her
location. He had already pored over it several times over in the vain
hope of finding a place mentioned. Perhaps a facility that would be
used, or had been used in the past. Hell, he would be happy with just an
indication of what part of the world she was in. He unconsciously
shivered as the memory of Antarctica surfaced; both from the remembered
chill of the climate, as well as the nature of the 'trip.'
He moved his head slightly and his eye caught his gun at his side. He
picked it up, and once more it replaced the papers he had held in his
hand. Turning it indifferently between his hands, he felt the cold hard
metal against his palm, felt its heft, and contemplated his next move.
What now?
* * * * * *
The Cigarette Smoking Man entered the apartment with ease. He placed the
key he had used to open the lock in his coat pocket and closed the door
quietly behind him. Stepping further into the dark room, he tried to
differentiate between the objects of the room and the shadows that they
cast. He resisted the impulse to turn on the overhead light, not quite
ready to reveal his presence. He wanted to find Mulder first.
He knew that Mulder was in the apartment, surveillance had told him as
much, but it had been several minutes since he checked, and he could no
longer be sure as to Mulder's exact location.
When the room flooded with light a moment later, CSM knew exactly where
the other man was. Mulder stood beside him, hand still on the switch.
Mulder came through the kitchen doorway and cautiously approached the
man who had just entered. "Thanks for coming to me this time. It makes
it so much easier." Mulder said, sarcasm heavy on his lips.
The old man hid his surprise well. When he spoke, his voice was
controlled and even. "No hello or how are you?"
"I'm fresh out of pleasantries today."
"And no gun to my head this time? You disappoint me Mulder." He said
with a half smile on his face.
"My apologies. If it would make you feel more at home." Mulder's gun was
now even with the older man's left temple.
CSM did his best to ignore growing pressure next to his eye, and pulled
a package of cigarettes and his silver lighter from an inside pocket of
his coat. Ever so casually, he tapped one of the cancer sticks out and
brought it to his gaunt, parched lips. He moved his hand to indicate the
couch and chairs in the next room. "How about we sit down for awhile?
Make ourselves comfortable?"
"I could care less if you were comfortable." But Mulder led the older
man to the couch never the less.
CMS sat on the black leather couch, and Mulder sat in the chair next to
him, never taking his eye or gun off of him.
Mulder spoke. "Just tell me why. Why was she taken again? Why her?"
"But you know why, Agent Mulder. I'm sure you've read the report Agent
Fowley prepared. It really is a fine report. Diana sure has a gift for
the written word, wouldn't you say?" A drag from his cancer stick.
"Yeah, it seems that I'm discovering new and exciting aspects to people
all the time." Mulder's voice was flat, yet dripping with irony. "But I
still want to hear it from you."
CSM settled further into the couch, and considered Mulder's words for a
moment before proceeding. "That first time she was taken she wasn't
going to return. It was simply a ploy to have you believe what we wanted
you to. It was also a convenient way of separating you two. But she was
such a fine subject. She surprised us. So...how shall I put this? So
robust, so hearty. All the things we did to her, yet she survived. The
technology then was so primitive compared to now." He shook his head
somewhat amazed. He murmured almost to himself. "The things we did..."
His eyes refocused as he looked back to Mulder. "That was why she was
returned, we simply ran out of things to do to her."
Mulder's eyes glared as he struggled to maintain himself, to prevent him
from strangling that smug expression off of his face. He willed himself
not to react, to regain control of his emotions. He needed to hear what
the man had to say. Mulder tightened his grip on his gun as he continued
to hold it level with the other man's head.
The older man continued. "We returned her to you. And she surprised us
by surviving. So we kept even closer tabs on her. We were somewhat
surprised and disappointed when she developed the cancer like the
others. It is always sad when we lose one to the cancer...We thought
that that was the end."
"What about the chip you gave me?"
He dismissed Mulder's question with a wave of his hand. "It was mostly
just another method used to confuse your loyalties. We had tried it
before...with the others...They showed some reversal, but they didn't
live. But she did, once again. She really is a fine specimen." He
extinguished his cigarette and lit another. He waited for Mulder to
comment.
Mulder sat, absorbing the new information. "Continue."
"And of course, the icing on top. Her exposure to the virus and
subsequent exposure to the antivirous. Of course you did have something
to do with that. And even though your actions resulted in quite a bit of
work and re-planning for all parties involved, it worked out for the
best. You made her all the more valuable." He paused, took another drag
and almost casually added. "Oh, by the way, great timing in the
hallway."
The last comment finally got a reaction from Mulder. CSM smiled as
Mulder choked. The hand holding the gun wavered momentarily before
dropping to his lap. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't play stupid with me." His voice was abrupt. "We have surveillance
in the hallway. You've never even looked. I must say that you surprised
me Agent Mulder." Another smirk from the older man. "I never thought
that you would have the guts. I admit I was a bit disappointed that it
was interrupted. I was hoping to see something interesting." His
eyebrows raised; he took another drag.
Mulder couldn't remember a time when he wanted to hit someone more. He
wanted to grind his fist against the old man's lips until they were
bruised and bleeding, until they could no longer form that condescending
smirk. Mulder was surprised by his own restraint.
CSM continued. "But ah, cruel fate. Would you say that fate is cruel
Agent Mulder?"
"I don't believe fate has played much of a role in my life."
The old man nodded thoughtfully. "You're probably true. Someone once
said that the best way to predict the future was to invent it."
"So what is this future?"
"That brings me to why I am here Agent Mulder. I'm here to discuss your
future." He paused as he considered his next words. When he spoke
again, his voice bordered almost on tenderness. "You were always special
Mulder. You always held a special place in the grand scheme of things.
Your father had such plans for you. You're part of the future, what we
will all become. You are so much further along than the rest of us, and
you'll go so much further than we ever could."
"What do you mean by that?" There was no alarm in his voice, not yet,
only curiosity.
CSM ignored the question and continued as if uninterrupted. "Yes you're
quite special."
"Explain. What are you talking about?" The apprehension was obvious in
Mulder's voice.
He simply smiled. "Not yet. Not until you agree to my offer."
"And what would that offer be?"
The old man leaned in, and was completely serious as he addressed
Mulder. "Join us, join me now and you'll be saved from what is to come."
Mulder's eyes narrowed. "You've offered me this before. You already know
my answer. What makes you think that I'll change my mind now?"
He calmly took a drag from his cigarette before he spoke again, his
voice smug. "You don't know what I'm offering."
"Let me guess: The *Truth.* The mystical truth that is waved before me
and which leads me wherever you damn well please. No. I've enough of
this truth." Mulder's head nodded in the direction of the coffee table,
where the report lay. "I already know all that I need to."
CSM's eyes followed the path to the papers, and smiled slightly. "That's
nothing. Only a mere fraction of the whole. Are you sure you don't want
to learn more?"
"More?" Mulder asked incredulously. He had tasted enough of that truth,
so much so that its bitter fruit lingered and tainted the rest that he
was. Did he really want to know the rest? Not if it meant giving up on
Scully. "I'm not interested."
"Really? Agent Mulder not interested in the truth?" His eyebrows rose in
amusement. His serious nature of only moments before had already
disappeared.
Mulder sighed heavily. "I'm tried of playing this game with you. Tell me
exactly what you've come here to say."
"I have said it. I offer you the truth, which will in turn assure your
survival for what is to come. And maybe in the process, find out what
really happened to Samantha..." He trailed off as he carefully studied
Mulder's reaction.
Mulder didn't flinch. He knew the game this man was playing. He knew CSM
expected him to jump at any vague allusion to his sister. But this hand
had been played out so many times before, so many promises, so many
hints, and so many false hopes. Mulder knew better; he would not take
the bait. Instead, he asked about the only thing he cared about. "And
what about Scully?"
"Ah, Scully. It always comes back to her, doesn't it?" The old man
paused as he deliberated for a moment. "Would you like to see her again?
I could arrange an encounter if you would like." His lips curled into a
smirk. "Perhaps one last hurrah before her departure?"
"Her departure? Where the hell is she going?"
"You don't know? Really Mulder, I thought you were smarter than that.
Surely you must have guessed what's going to happen next."
"You are going to give her up to the aliens." Mulder had not thought
that far ahead, hadn't let himself, but he knew with a startling clarity
that this was the truth.
CSM nodded slowly, confirming Mulder's comment. "She's a necessary
sacrifice. You will come to understand this as you learn the rest."
Another slow drag.
His surge of grief was overridden almost immediately by rage. Mulder
felt his hands tighten around his weapon in his lap. It was no longer at
head level, but it was still aimed at the man across from him. "I don't
believe that. There had to have been another way."
"There isn't."
"Tell me where she is." Mulder demanded.
"Now, Mulder, we haven't made our agreement yet. Can't let you see her
until you join us."
"I will never join you. I won't be a part of a group that would do these
things."
"If you only knew... You're already a part of us, no matter how
unwilling you are.
Mulder's voice bordered on shrill, his frustration with the old man
surfacing. "Tell me what you mean."
"Will you be joining me?"
"Never."
CSM looked genuinely disappointed by this response. "That is too bad.
You would have been an asset to us." He paused for a moment. "We can't
have you running off half cocked, can we? We are at a very crucial time.
We can't have you interfering. You would really give up your life, your
future for her?"
"I'm not giving up on anything."
"But you are." Another slow drag, and then he extinguished the cigarette
and stood. He casually pulled his gun into view. "Like I said, can't
have you running around messing things up. You know, it is a real shame
that it has come to this. I'm going to miss you after all of these
years. I'm almost sorry." He said as he directed his weapon at Mulder.
Mulder stood slowly and raised his own gun. The older man glanced from
the tip of Mulder's gun to his eyes and smiled confidently. "Am I really
in danger? How many times have we been in this same situation?" He was
sure of his position in this struggle for power. "You can't kill me, I
have all of the answers. And no matter what you may claim, I know that
the truth holds too firm a grasp on you for you to shake off. You can't
kill me because you would be killing the one person who knows all that
you seek."
"So you know my nature. Who is the psychologist now?"
"Mulder, you're an open book to me."
"Then I suppose you know how this will end." Mulder indicated their
stand off, guns held to each other's heads.
The old man's voice was confident. "It ends with you dead, and me
walking away."
"Really? You think you know me that well?" Mulder felt an idiotic grin
spread across his face. It was as if someone had carved it into the
lower half of his face with a razor-sharp knife.
He smiled. "You forget that I created you, I made you the man you are
today."
"If you knew me at all, you would know that the promise of the truth
does not hold the same pull as it used to. And you would understand that
the worse thing that you could have done was hurt her. In doing so, you
sealed your fate." Mulder paused. "Do you believe in fate? I didn't
used to, but now I'm beginning to change my mind. I would like to
believe that there was a reason that we are here like this. It's a
chance to take back something. I'm going to take back my life. But there
is only one way to do so...by taking yours."
"That isn't something that you would do." The old man was only bluffing;
he could not hide the fear in his voice.
"Your creation has turned on you." Mulder paused again and smiled,
liking the sound of that phrase. He continued. "After all of these
years, after all of the times that I have held my gun to your head, you
have never believed that I would pull the trigger."
Mulder pulled the trigger.
* * * * * *