Resistance Headquarters
Control Room
9:04 pm
* * * * * *
People say that what we're all seeking is a meaning for life. I don't
Think that's what we're really seeking. I think that what we're seeking
is a experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the
purely physical plane will have resonances within our own innermost
being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive.
--Joseph Campbell
* * * * * *
Allen led Mulder to a huge room, the largest he'd seen in this facility.
Nearly every available space was taken up with monitors, computers, and
small flashing lights. What was not filled up with machines was taken up
with moving bodies.
Where had all of these people come from? Had they all been here all
along? In the entire time he and Scully had been there, he'd seen maybe
a total of ten people. He had assumed that this building was nearly
deserted. That was obviously wrong.
Mulder turned to Allen and nodded in the direction of the other
occupants in the room. "Who are all of these people?"
"Most are like me, the ones that I released. There are some, like Ed and
Dagen," he waved his hand in the direction where the two men were
sitting at desks, "which we recruited later. The ones that aren't here
are still on the ships that we control." Allen indicated a view screen
to Mulder.
Mulder glanced at one of the many screens, trying to make out the
readings, trying to figure out 'what' it was reading. He leaned in
closer to the monitor, and was now able to differentiate what he had
previously assumed were just dots. Some of the 'dots' were really in
fact small triangles or squares. He noted that numbers of each was
approximately equal to the other.
"We've become experts at monitoring them." Allen said, and even though
he was smiling there was no humor in his tone. "That's all we really
could do. Each time we would act, they would counteract, and neither of
us made any real progress. We were at a stalemate, until now. We finally
have an advantage."
And that advantage was Scully. Mulder nodded sadly, thankful that Allen
didn't elaborate further. "You've never said why you are doing this." He
said softly, turning to face Allen. "Please, I would like to know why.
Why did you free yourself? How did you know?"
Allen glanced around the busy room, trying to find an area for them to
speak. Motioning for Mulder to follow, he walked to a corner of the
room, grabbing two chairs along the way. They sat, Mulder, cautiously
relaxed; Allen, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly in front of
him. Allen looked down at his hands thoughtfully, taking several moments
to carefully consider Mulder's question.
"You like baseball?"
"I've been known to play a few games in my time." Mulder answered
carefully.
"A fascinating game. I've never played, but I've watched it. I didn't
always like it." He glanced up and a sentimental smile briefly lit up
his face. "I remember thinking at first that it was the most absurd
thing that I had ever seen."
Mulder, unsure what the correct response would be, remained silent.
Allen's eyes returned to his hands, and his smile disappeared as he
continued. "We never really had much contact with your kind until the
early 1940's; it was around that time we made our arrangement."
"Contact was still limited, even after the deal. It was believed that
exposure to your kind risked corruption, that we would become tainted
somehow. They were correct to believe this. There was one--he was one of
the liaisons between the humans and aliens. One day, after negotiations
of some kind, he was taken to a baseball game. After the game, he just
disappeared."
"I was sent after him, and eventually I found him in New Mexico, playing
baseball of all things." The odd sentimental smile returned, and just as
quickly disappeared as he spoke his next words.
"I found him, and when he wouldn't come back with me, I killed him." The
regret and disgust of his past actions were obvious in his voice.
"But--but when he bled, it was blood, human blood, not ours. It was on
my hands. It was real blood." He looked up again, and met Mulder's eyes.
Mulder was surprised to see tears in the corners.
"I knew him before, before... everything." His voice began cracking.
"He was my brother. Just before he died -- he laughed..." Allen's voice
trailed off as he slipped into the memory, "he always loved to laugh so
much..."
"I killed my own brother." He paused as Mulder took in the weight of
Allen's words. In a softer, more controlled and calmed voice he tried
to continue. "It wasn't until a few years ago that I could even grieve
for him."
Mulder wanted to offer him some kind of comfort. Comfort he didn't have
for himself. Mulder waited for him to recover, and when Allen spoke
again, there was no hint of a waver.
"He was the first one, the first to leave. Because I had handled the
situation so well, I was sent after the others. If they didn't chose to
come back, I killed them." Pause. "Not a single one chose to come
back," he added pointedly.
"I was envious of them, even as I killed them. They had found something
that had been taken from me. I was angry with them for achieving what I
could not. Jealous."
Mulder leaned forward in his chair. "How many of them were there? How
did they free themselves? I was under the impression that you needed to
be given the vaccine."
"I needed the vaccine, but the others did not. There were several that
left. So many, in fact, that I needed help in my efforts in retrieving
them. We shared the same identity so as not to confuse your kind. As far
as how they managed to leave...do you believe in miracles?" He asked and
smiled apologetically, knowing that that was not a very good
explanation. "We never could figure it out, and I doubt we ever will
know for sure. For each individual it was a different set of
circumstances that triggered a change within them. For my brother it had
been baseball."
"And the others? What triggered the changes in them?"
He paused, and carefully thought out his response. "The only commonality
that I can see, is that whatever the trigger had been for them, it made
them feel alive."
* * * * * *
Alien Ship
Samantha looked up from her post to the doorway. They were taking
another away. That was the third one in an hour who'd collapsed. Odd.
She glanced at the others working at their stations around her. She
briefly tapped into the mental network that every member of the ship was
naturally a part of. Everyone else was busily working; it seemed that
she was the only one who was distracted.
The fact that no one else noticed was not unusual. If it had nothing to
do with them, they didn't need to. The fact that she'd noticed was
causing her some concern. Why had she? Did it have something to do with
her?
She'd felt strange ever since she had heard the human's cry in her head.
The others had heard it as well, that single word that had been blasted
into their heads, but it seemed like she was the only one who'd noticed.
They seemed unaffected, but she was affected. She couldn't concentrate
on the task at hand, and as much as she felt the need to continue her
work, for the first time, in along time, she let curiosity take hold of
her actions and she walked out of the room. No one noticed her
departure.
It wasn't their concern.
The word the human had used resonated within her. Samantha said it out
loud as she walked down the hallway. "Mulder." It sounded odd to speak
the name out loud. The word felt both familiar and foreign on her lips.
She felt as if the word was a key somehow, and she was suddenly
desperate to find the lock that it fit.
She approached the room where the human was held. The human had the
answer, she knew this. There was no one near; no one watching the room.
It wasn't necessary, as it was impossible for the human to leave.
Besides, the woman was not considered a threat.
She activated the controls to open the door and entered. The woman lay
unconscious on the exam table. Samantha approached, placing her hand on
the woman's arm.
"What... what is a Mulder?"
* * * * * *
A shadow fell across Scully's face and she felt a hand on her arm. There
were words being spoken, but they were like cotton in her ear, muffled
and distant.
"What?" Scully asked, confused, not fully awake. Scully struggled to
open her eyes, but when she did, all she could see was a blurry figure
standing over her. She closed them again. The small effort had exhausted
her. She was so damn tired... So tired, she just wanted to sleep.
But the individual above her wouldn't let her. The figure spoke again,
this time more insistently and this time Scully could understand the
words. "Mulder. You said that word; I heard it in my head. What is a
Mulder?"
There was a familiarity about the voice that touched something within
Scully. It was familiar... yet... Scully struggled to grasp it... yet...
it couldn't be...
She opened her eyes once more and found a woman standing over her. A
woman that looked like Samantha, identical to the woman Scully had seen
years ago on the bridge. That horrible night when Mulder believed he had
traded his sister for her. Scully closed her eyes and shook her head
slightly. She found herself in a curious state in which she could not be
surprised. "Of course I run into Samantha. Why the hell not?"
"Samantha," she whispered.
Samantha's forehead furrowed in confusion at the sound of her name. "No,
I said Mulder. Please, tell me what a Mulder is. I must know."
"You're Samantha Mulder." Scully said wearily. This situation was
entirely too surreal. "That's your name. That's what Mulder means."
"No. That's not the answer." Samantha shook her head vigorously. "The
answer isn't me. You need to show me again. Like before."
"Before? I don't remember before."
"Before," Samantha repeated, "when I heard you in my head. We all did."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Scully said, genuinely
confused.
"It's more than just a name. When I heard you-- there was something more
than just a word. There was something..." Samantha paused, "...there was
something attached to it. I'm the only one who noticed; that means I
must need to know." An idea came to her. "If I could read you, I would
know." She moved her hand to Scully's forehead.
Scully struggled to pull her head away from Samantha's hand. "No, I
can't let you do that."
"Please, please let me. I *have* to know. I can't explain it..." She
paused, and Scully could read the desperation in her eyes. "I'm not
going to hurt you. Here," Samantha removed her hand from Scully's
forehead, and instead clasped Scully's hand. "Read me, and then you'll
know." She looked down at Scully with a mixture of pleading and hope.
"Please, help me know" she whispered again.
Scully looked up into Samantha's hazel eyes; the soft brown flecks, gold
traces, and smooth green undertones that Scully recognized. She had her
brother's eyes. A brother that she couldn't remember and was desperate
to know. Cautiously Scully began to let her walls down, to let herself
see Samantha. She could feel her consciousness mingle with Samantha's.
There wasn't any sense of animosity, or inclination of harm towards her.
Instead she saw only a black void, empty except for one thing.
A name.
It was literally a name, spelled out, bright against the blackness.
'Mulder,' and there was an intense sense of urgency surrounding it.
Samantha *had* to know. And Scully knew then that she was the one to
tell her. That it was somehow necessary.
"Ok," Scully whispered, when she opened her eyes, "first let me sit up."
"I'm not supposed to--" Samantha began, then quickly reconsidered. "Ok,"
she walked to a control panel. The restraints disappeared and Samantha
helped Scully sit up.
"What is a Mulder? How do I show her all that he is? I can't just sum
him up into a nice tidy description. She's right, it's more than just a
word; he is everything and more."
But she would try. Scully held her hand out and Samantha gripped it. She
would show Samantha everything. Scully let the images begin. They
shifted and flowed and combined, not totally making sense, not cohesive,
not linear, but exactly 'Mulder.'
And then it was Samantha leading the way, taking the images, voracious
in her thirst for information. Anything Mulder that Scully had within
her, Samantha found. The images came and went in a rush. Scully could no
longer keep tract or control the images that were revealed. It was
Mulder, over and over. And then it was everything.
It was a mixture of her own memories and the ones he had shared with
her. His thoughts; memories of his sister. It was the man she loved;
laughing, crying, smiling, thinking, breathing. A clumsy, mortal,
wonderful, honest man, who has had far too much misery and sadness for
one life time. It was him, utterly, painfully, human. A man who made
Scully whole, complete, and made her feel... he made her feel
'everything'...he made her feel alive.
Scully was becoming lost, and it was only when Samantha broke contact,
did the images abate. Scully opened her eyes and found her crumpled on
the floor, sobbing.
Samantha was repeating a word over and over, but this time it wasn't
Mulder.
This time it was "Fox."
* * * * * *
Resistance Headquarters
Control Room
9:52 pm
Allen was giving Mulder a tour of the control room-- anything to keep
Mulder occupied-- when they were interrupted by a shout from across the
room. "Sir! We have movement."
They weaved their way though the machines and the bodies and reached the
operator who'd called out. The previously humming room was silent as
everyone waited to hear the information.
"Are you sure?" Allen asked as he leaded over the man's shoulder to see
the screen for himself.
"Yes sir, I've already checked it twice. Their ships are moving to
position themselves over the major cities."
"What does this mean?" Mulder interrupted, not quite understanding; not
wanting to.
"They're moving into position. A countdown's begun. They're acting
sooner than we had hoped." Allen answered distractedly.
Trepidation entered Mulder's voice. "How long do we have?"
"Not long enough."
* * * * * *
Alien Ship
Alarmed by Samantha's intense reaction, Scully slid off the table and
wrapped her arms around the crying woman. As she did, their connection
was reestablished. Scully gasped as the confusing, whirling, emotion
filled thoughts entered her mind.
Panic flooded through Scully, as a fragmented thought caught in her
mind. Samantha had lost control; the others would be able to read her if
they tried. And if they did, they would know everything.
Scully had to do something, and do it quickly.
"Samantha, you've got to listen to me. You have to take control. Please
Samantha, please."
No response.
More drastic. "Samantha. Answer me." Scully cradled Samantha's head
in her hands, palms against each cheek. She concentrated, focusing all
of her energy on Samantha, imagining a wall being built, brick by brick,
holding in and giving structure to the swirling thoughts filling
Samantha's mind.
With the force of her will, Scully felt the control she held over her
own thoughts extend and encompass Samantha's. Scully removed her hands.
Samantha was still crying, but the hysterical nature of before had
retreated.
"Fox. I remember him. I hadn't thought of him for... I don't know. I
can't remember... I forgot him. I forgot him. Could he ever forgive me
of that?" she looked up to Scully, eyes overfilling with tears.
"It's ok. I don't think that they wanted you to remember. It's not your
fault; he would understand."
She didn't seem to hear Scully's words. "I have to stop what is to come.
I can't... I can't let what I'm feeling-- if it happens I'll have to
give this up. I can't." As she spoke, her words became more rushed.
Control was being lost again, draining away like water running free
through a sieve.
Again, Scully asserted control, this time much more firmly, and Samantha
calmed down again. "We have to be careful, we can't let the others
know."
"No we can't." Samantha paused, as she considered her next move. "I have
to stop them. I can't let what's going to happen, happen. I can't give
this up.
"Give what up?"
"Everything," she said simply. "You need to lay down; we can't let them
know that anything has changed."
Scully reluctantly laid back down. She saw the wisdom of Samantha's
words, but it took nearly all of her will to let the restrained be
replaced. "Can you stop them?"
"I can try." Samantha smiled. "I'm *able* to try. I'll come back to you
as soon as I can."
"Where are you going? Are you just going to leave me like this? Alone?"
To her own astonishment, Scully's voice began to shake. She didn't want
to sound so frightened.
Samantha leaned over Scully and brushed a red strand off her forehead.
"You won't be alone; I still need you." She smiled and reached her other
hand up to her own head. "I'll be with you, and you will be with me."
* * * * * *
Resistance Headquarters
Control Room
10:22 pm
Everyone in the room crowded around the small TV that had been brought
in. Each listened in rap attention to the broadcast. Even though they
could look to the monitors on their left and right for a more accurate
truth, all were drawn to the news anchor on the screen.
"--and the president has declared a national state of emergency. A
nationwide curfew has been implemented. For those of you just joining
our broadcast: Across the nation there are reports flooding in that say
that there has been explosions in many of our nation's cities. The
nature of the explosions has not been determined, but evidence would
suggest that this was a premeditated act. The explosions occurred within
minutes of one another across the nation and--" Her hand went up to her
earpiece. It was obvious that she was receiving instructions from the
producer. There was nearly 30 seconds of silence as she listened. The
anchor's face went white, and she struggled to regain her composure.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry for that interruption, but I have just
receive some more disturbing news. It seems that these attacks were not
localized to this country. Reports are coming in from Europe, Russia,
China, and elsewhere, that they too experienced these attacks, and at
approximately the same time that we did. Causality reports are just
beginning to come in and--"
The screen abruptly went blank, then to static, as the newscast was cut
off. The sound of static filled the air before Ed leaned forward and
turned off the TV.
The resulting silence was interrupted only by a small murmur in the
back.
"Fuck."
* * * * *
"We've failed." Dagen sighed, resigned.
"No. It doesn't mean that. It can't mean that." Mulder said, shaking his
head. "The vaccine has been introduced. If we just can wait-We have to
give it more time." "We have to give Scully more time."
"As the world collapses around us? We aren't even positive that it'll
work as we planned. What happens if we do wait, and it doesn't work?"
Dagen pointed out. "We can't take that chance. We have to act now."
Allen stepped forward and gave Mulder a steady look. "He's right,
Mulder. We can't take that chance."
"But what about Scully?"
Allen's next words hit Mulder like a sledgehammer to his chest. Each
word to be soon frozen in his memory.
"She is lost."
* * * * * *
Alien Ship
As Samantha walked though the hallway, she could feel Scully with her, a
pleasant, fortifying sensation that calmed her. She was certain that
without Scully's help, she would still be on the floor crying
uncontrollably. It had almost been too much. After so long without
strong emotion, suddenly being witnessed to Scully's feelings had been
incredibly shocking to her system.
And it wasn't just knowing Scully; it was also knowing Mulder... her
brother... Fox. She stumbled slightly as she tried to regain her mental
equilibrium. She'd forgotten him. She had forgotten everything.
She'd forgotten the rest of her family, her life with them. But memories
of her own were beginning to rise to the surface of her mind. She was no
longer relying solely on the information Scully had given her.
She saw her mother-- her father too. She remembered how it ended, how
the nightmare she hadn't known she was living had begun.
It was at the dinner table, her parents as silent as they always seemed
to be, and Fox was sitting across from her. He'd been the one to start
the fight earlier, although he would have argued otherwise. She got home
from school before he did, and had already staked her claim to the lone
TV set. When he came home ten minutes later, he had promptly turned the
channel from her choice to one of his.
The fight had escalated after that, as was typical for them. He enjoyed
teasing her, she loved the attention. His attention was all she got from
her family. Each took turns provoking the other, each enflaming the
situation; each secretly enjoying the game. By the time dinner came,
they had spent hours at it, but neither had grown tired. Sam sat across
from him, an innocent smile on her face, as she rhythmically kicked his
chair. He was able to sit through it for ten minutes, quietly plotting
his revenge, when his resolve broke.
"Mom, Sam's bothering me." He'd wined to their mother.
"I'm not even touching him!" she replied in mock outrage.
"Stop it, both of you. You've been at it all afternoon and I'm tired of
listening to you squabbling." Their mother said.
Her father spoke up then. "Fox you should be setting a better example
for you sister. I don't want to hear another word about this, out of
either of you." He glared at both of them a moment before returning his
attention back to his plate.
Normally, they followed their father's harsh authority implicitly, but
something had gotten into her that day, and a wave of impetuousness
filled her. Perhaps it was because Fox had absorbed much of the blame,
but whatever the reason, only a minute had passed before she was
swinging her leg again. But this time, instead of his chair, she made
direct contact with the shin of his leg.
Fox winced noticeably, but had managed to remain silent. She smirked at
him. He narrowed his eyes at her. He was feeling a little impetuous as
well. Carefully, ever so carefully, making sure that both parents were
looking down, he grabbed a pea and with his forefinger flicked it right
into her glass of milk. He held up two fingers and mouthed the words
'Two points.'
That of course was not the end; as if she could let it end like that.
After stewing a few minutes, and being unable to come up with anything
new, she simply kicked him again, in the same spot, but his time much
harder.
This time there was a reaction. He yelped loudly, and stood up too
quickly, in process sliding half his food off the plate and on to the
floor, and sending his full glass of milk across the tabletop.
"Mom!" he had begun to yell, eager to place the blame on Sam, but he
stopped when he saw his parents' reactions. They had moved away from the
table and stood next to him, each taking a firm grip on his arms.
"I thought that your father told you to stop this." Her mother hadn't
yelled, but her words sounded loud and bruising just the same. "He
specifically told you to set an example for your sister, and this is
what you do?"
Fox had a panicked look on his face. Their parents had never reacted
like this before. Never had they shown this display of emotion before.
They were disappointed in him; as if they expected so much more from him
than an ordinary twelve year old boy could be. Samantha had watched as
an indescribable look had passed between her parents. She had no idea
what it meant. She didn't know why they were so disappointed, and she
couldn't even begin to understand how she could even know this.
But then she did.
Before she could think about anything else, new ideas were coming into
her head. They were going to send him away; they were under time
pressures. That was why they were upset. Fox wasn't like they needed him
to be; he wasn't as he should be.
"No! Don't take him anywhere! You can't let them take him!" She shouted
before she had thought about the words coming from her mouth.
They'd dropped Fox's arms in surprise at her words. Her mother was about
to speak when her father stopped her. They moved away from the table.
Without saying a word about her outburst, her father simply said, "Both
of you clean this up, then to your rooms from the rest of the night. I
don't want to hear another word out of either of you." Samantha hadn't
been able to get more ideas then, but when they had looked at her with
an old, yet pleased smile, the first tendrils of fear had begun to curl
around her heart.
Samantha remembered waking up that night to see them standing in her
doorway. They stood, watching her as she pretended to sleep.
She didn't know what was happening to her, but she knew that she knew
what they were thinking. Fox wasn't going to be the one taken anymore.
Their other child showed much more promise.
When they left her door, she'd quietly cried into her pillow, not
understanding what was happening, or what it all meant, but knowing that
she had a good reason to be afraid.
When her tears had stopped, she'd gathered her pillow and stole into her
brother's room. She gently shook his shoulder, and when he woke, instead
of dismissing her like she had feared, he simply lifted up the edge of
his blanket and let her craw underneath. "Don't hog the covers," was the
only thing he said before falling back asleep.
He wasn't a bad brother. She didn't want him to leave; she didn't want
to leave him. They were all that they really had. But she was only
eight, and had no way to verbalize what was happening, although she had
wanted to so much. She fell asleep minutes later, able to forget about
what was happening for a while, sheltered in the protective warmth of
her older brother.
A week later she was taken.
She'd completely forgotten this. How could she have let that happen? She
forgot him, her sweet brother. This was why she'd been sent to the
floor. The memories of him, of her disappearance. It had been like the
first domino being tripped and after was a cascade of emotions and
feelings that she didn't know what to do with. In a very quick, very
intense moment Sam felt everything that it meant to be alive and love
and... everything. When it was over, when Scully had finally managed to
regain her attention, Samantha had been changed.
And she knew that she could never go back.
* * * * * *
Control Room
9:04 pm
* * * * * *
People say that what we're all seeking is a meaning for life. I don't
Think that's what we're really seeking. I think that what we're seeking
is a experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the
purely physical plane will have resonances within our own innermost
being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive.
--Joseph Campbell
* * * * * *
Allen led Mulder to a huge room, the largest he'd seen in this facility.
Nearly every available space was taken up with monitors, computers, and
small flashing lights. What was not filled up with machines was taken up
with moving bodies.
Where had all of these people come from? Had they all been here all
along? In the entire time he and Scully had been there, he'd seen maybe
a total of ten people. He had assumed that this building was nearly
deserted. That was obviously wrong.
Mulder turned to Allen and nodded in the direction of the other
occupants in the room. "Who are all of these people?"
"Most are like me, the ones that I released. There are some, like Ed and
Dagen," he waved his hand in the direction where the two men were
sitting at desks, "which we recruited later. The ones that aren't here
are still on the ships that we control." Allen indicated a view screen
to Mulder.
Mulder glanced at one of the many screens, trying to make out the
readings, trying to figure out 'what' it was reading. He leaned in
closer to the monitor, and was now able to differentiate what he had
previously assumed were just dots. Some of the 'dots' were really in
fact small triangles or squares. He noted that numbers of each was
approximately equal to the other.
"We've become experts at monitoring them." Allen said, and even though
he was smiling there was no humor in his tone. "That's all we really
could do. Each time we would act, they would counteract, and neither of
us made any real progress. We were at a stalemate, until now. We finally
have an advantage."
And that advantage was Scully. Mulder nodded sadly, thankful that Allen
didn't elaborate further. "You've never said why you are doing this." He
said softly, turning to face Allen. "Please, I would like to know why.
Why did you free yourself? How did you know?"
Allen glanced around the busy room, trying to find an area for them to
speak. Motioning for Mulder to follow, he walked to a corner of the
room, grabbing two chairs along the way. They sat, Mulder, cautiously
relaxed; Allen, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly in front of
him. Allen looked down at his hands thoughtfully, taking several moments
to carefully consider Mulder's question.
"You like baseball?"
"I've been known to play a few games in my time." Mulder answered
carefully.
"A fascinating game. I've never played, but I've watched it. I didn't
always like it." He glanced up and a sentimental smile briefly lit up
his face. "I remember thinking at first that it was the most absurd
thing that I had ever seen."
Mulder, unsure what the correct response would be, remained silent.
Allen's eyes returned to his hands, and his smile disappeared as he
continued. "We never really had much contact with your kind until the
early 1940's; it was around that time we made our arrangement."
"Contact was still limited, even after the deal. It was believed that
exposure to your kind risked corruption, that we would become tainted
somehow. They were correct to believe this. There was one--he was one of
the liaisons between the humans and aliens. One day, after negotiations
of some kind, he was taken to a baseball game. After the game, he just
disappeared."
"I was sent after him, and eventually I found him in New Mexico, playing
baseball of all things." The odd sentimental smile returned, and just as
quickly disappeared as he spoke his next words.
"I found him, and when he wouldn't come back with me, I killed him." The
regret and disgust of his past actions were obvious in his voice.
"But--but when he bled, it was blood, human blood, not ours. It was on
my hands. It was real blood." He looked up again, and met Mulder's eyes.
Mulder was surprised to see tears in the corners.
"I knew him before, before... everything." His voice began cracking.
"He was my brother. Just before he died -- he laughed..." Allen's voice
trailed off as he slipped into the memory, "he always loved to laugh so
much..."
"I killed my own brother." He paused as Mulder took in the weight of
Allen's words. In a softer, more controlled and calmed voice he tried
to continue. "It wasn't until a few years ago that I could even grieve
for him."
Mulder wanted to offer him some kind of comfort. Comfort he didn't have
for himself. Mulder waited for him to recover, and when Allen spoke
again, there was no hint of a waver.
"He was the first one, the first to leave. Because I had handled the
situation so well, I was sent after the others. If they didn't chose to
come back, I killed them." Pause. "Not a single one chose to come
back," he added pointedly.
"I was envious of them, even as I killed them. They had found something
that had been taken from me. I was angry with them for achieving what I
could not. Jealous."
Mulder leaned forward in his chair. "How many of them were there? How
did they free themselves? I was under the impression that you needed to
be given the vaccine."
"I needed the vaccine, but the others did not. There were several that
left. So many, in fact, that I needed help in my efforts in retrieving
them. We shared the same identity so as not to confuse your kind. As far
as how they managed to leave...do you believe in miracles?" He asked and
smiled apologetically, knowing that that was not a very good
explanation. "We never could figure it out, and I doubt we ever will
know for sure. For each individual it was a different set of
circumstances that triggered a change within them. For my brother it had
been baseball."
"And the others? What triggered the changes in them?"
He paused, and carefully thought out his response. "The only commonality
that I can see, is that whatever the trigger had been for them, it made
them feel alive."
* * * * * *
Alien Ship
Samantha looked up from her post to the doorway. They were taking
another away. That was the third one in an hour who'd collapsed. Odd.
She glanced at the others working at their stations around her. She
briefly tapped into the mental network that every member of the ship was
naturally a part of. Everyone else was busily working; it seemed that
she was the only one who was distracted.
The fact that no one else noticed was not unusual. If it had nothing to
do with them, they didn't need to. The fact that she'd noticed was
causing her some concern. Why had she? Did it have something to do with
her?
She'd felt strange ever since she had heard the human's cry in her head.
The others had heard it as well, that single word that had been blasted
into their heads, but it seemed like she was the only one who'd noticed.
They seemed unaffected, but she was affected. She couldn't concentrate
on the task at hand, and as much as she felt the need to continue her
work, for the first time, in along time, she let curiosity take hold of
her actions and she walked out of the room. No one noticed her
departure.
It wasn't their concern.
The word the human had used resonated within her. Samantha said it out
loud as she walked down the hallway. "Mulder." It sounded odd to speak
the name out loud. The word felt both familiar and foreign on her lips.
She felt as if the word was a key somehow, and she was suddenly
desperate to find the lock that it fit.
She approached the room where the human was held. The human had the
answer, she knew this. There was no one near; no one watching the room.
It wasn't necessary, as it was impossible for the human to leave.
Besides, the woman was not considered a threat.
She activated the controls to open the door and entered. The woman lay
unconscious on the exam table. Samantha approached, placing her hand on
the woman's arm.
"What... what is a Mulder?"
* * * * * *
A shadow fell across Scully's face and she felt a hand on her arm. There
were words being spoken, but they were like cotton in her ear, muffled
and distant.
"What?" Scully asked, confused, not fully awake. Scully struggled to
open her eyes, but when she did, all she could see was a blurry figure
standing over her. She closed them again. The small effort had exhausted
her. She was so damn tired... So tired, she just wanted to sleep.
But the individual above her wouldn't let her. The figure spoke again,
this time more insistently and this time Scully could understand the
words. "Mulder. You said that word; I heard it in my head. What is a
Mulder?"
There was a familiarity about the voice that touched something within
Scully. It was familiar... yet... Scully struggled to grasp it... yet...
it couldn't be...
She opened her eyes once more and found a woman standing over her. A
woman that looked like Samantha, identical to the woman Scully had seen
years ago on the bridge. That horrible night when Mulder believed he had
traded his sister for her. Scully closed her eyes and shook her head
slightly. She found herself in a curious state in which she could not be
surprised. "Of course I run into Samantha. Why the hell not?"
"Samantha," she whispered.
Samantha's forehead furrowed in confusion at the sound of her name. "No,
I said Mulder. Please, tell me what a Mulder is. I must know."
"You're Samantha Mulder." Scully said wearily. This situation was
entirely too surreal. "That's your name. That's what Mulder means."
"No. That's not the answer." Samantha shook her head vigorously. "The
answer isn't me. You need to show me again. Like before."
"Before? I don't remember before."
"Before," Samantha repeated, "when I heard you in my head. We all did."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Scully said, genuinely
confused.
"It's more than just a name. When I heard you-- there was something more
than just a word. There was something..." Samantha paused, "...there was
something attached to it. I'm the only one who noticed; that means I
must need to know." An idea came to her. "If I could read you, I would
know." She moved her hand to Scully's forehead.
Scully struggled to pull her head away from Samantha's hand. "No, I
can't let you do that."
"Please, please let me. I *have* to know. I can't explain it..." She
paused, and Scully could read the desperation in her eyes. "I'm not
going to hurt you. Here," Samantha removed her hand from Scully's
forehead, and instead clasped Scully's hand. "Read me, and then you'll
know." She looked down at Scully with a mixture of pleading and hope.
"Please, help me know" she whispered again.
Scully looked up into Samantha's hazel eyes; the soft brown flecks, gold
traces, and smooth green undertones that Scully recognized. She had her
brother's eyes. A brother that she couldn't remember and was desperate
to know. Cautiously Scully began to let her walls down, to let herself
see Samantha. She could feel her consciousness mingle with Samantha's.
There wasn't any sense of animosity, or inclination of harm towards her.
Instead she saw only a black void, empty except for one thing.
A name.
It was literally a name, spelled out, bright against the blackness.
'Mulder,' and there was an intense sense of urgency surrounding it.
Samantha *had* to know. And Scully knew then that she was the one to
tell her. That it was somehow necessary.
"Ok," Scully whispered, when she opened her eyes, "first let me sit up."
"I'm not supposed to--" Samantha began, then quickly reconsidered. "Ok,"
she walked to a control panel. The restraints disappeared and Samantha
helped Scully sit up.
"What is a Mulder? How do I show her all that he is? I can't just sum
him up into a nice tidy description. She's right, it's more than just a
word; he is everything and more."
But she would try. Scully held her hand out and Samantha gripped it. She
would show Samantha everything. Scully let the images begin. They
shifted and flowed and combined, not totally making sense, not cohesive,
not linear, but exactly 'Mulder.'
And then it was Samantha leading the way, taking the images, voracious
in her thirst for information. Anything Mulder that Scully had within
her, Samantha found. The images came and went in a rush. Scully could no
longer keep tract or control the images that were revealed. It was
Mulder, over and over. And then it was everything.
It was a mixture of her own memories and the ones he had shared with
her. His thoughts; memories of his sister. It was the man she loved;
laughing, crying, smiling, thinking, breathing. A clumsy, mortal,
wonderful, honest man, who has had far too much misery and sadness for
one life time. It was him, utterly, painfully, human. A man who made
Scully whole, complete, and made her feel... he made her feel
'everything'...he made her feel alive.
Scully was becoming lost, and it was only when Samantha broke contact,
did the images abate. Scully opened her eyes and found her crumpled on
the floor, sobbing.
Samantha was repeating a word over and over, but this time it wasn't
Mulder.
This time it was "Fox."
* * * * * *
Resistance Headquarters
Control Room
9:52 pm
Allen was giving Mulder a tour of the control room-- anything to keep
Mulder occupied-- when they were interrupted by a shout from across the
room. "Sir! We have movement."
They weaved their way though the machines and the bodies and reached the
operator who'd called out. The previously humming room was silent as
everyone waited to hear the information.
"Are you sure?" Allen asked as he leaded over the man's shoulder to see
the screen for himself.
"Yes sir, I've already checked it twice. Their ships are moving to
position themselves over the major cities."
"What does this mean?" Mulder interrupted, not quite understanding; not
wanting to.
"They're moving into position. A countdown's begun. They're acting
sooner than we had hoped." Allen answered distractedly.
Trepidation entered Mulder's voice. "How long do we have?"
"Not long enough."
* * * * * *
Alien Ship
Alarmed by Samantha's intense reaction, Scully slid off the table and
wrapped her arms around the crying woman. As she did, their connection
was reestablished. Scully gasped as the confusing, whirling, emotion
filled thoughts entered her mind.
Panic flooded through Scully, as a fragmented thought caught in her
mind. Samantha had lost control; the others would be able to read her if
they tried. And if they did, they would know everything.
Scully had to do something, and do it quickly.
"Samantha, you've got to listen to me. You have to take control. Please
Samantha, please."
No response.
More drastic. "Samantha. Answer me." Scully cradled Samantha's head
in her hands, palms against each cheek. She concentrated, focusing all
of her energy on Samantha, imagining a wall being built, brick by brick,
holding in and giving structure to the swirling thoughts filling
Samantha's mind.
With the force of her will, Scully felt the control she held over her
own thoughts extend and encompass Samantha's. Scully removed her hands.
Samantha was still crying, but the hysterical nature of before had
retreated.
"Fox. I remember him. I hadn't thought of him for... I don't know. I
can't remember... I forgot him. I forgot him. Could he ever forgive me
of that?" she looked up to Scully, eyes overfilling with tears.
"It's ok. I don't think that they wanted you to remember. It's not your
fault; he would understand."
She didn't seem to hear Scully's words. "I have to stop what is to come.
I can't... I can't let what I'm feeling-- if it happens I'll have to
give this up. I can't." As she spoke, her words became more rushed.
Control was being lost again, draining away like water running free
through a sieve.
Again, Scully asserted control, this time much more firmly, and Samantha
calmed down again. "We have to be careful, we can't let the others
know."
"No we can't." Samantha paused, as she considered her next move. "I have
to stop them. I can't let what's going to happen, happen. I can't give
this up.
"Give what up?"
"Everything," she said simply. "You need to lay down; we can't let them
know that anything has changed."
Scully reluctantly laid back down. She saw the wisdom of Samantha's
words, but it took nearly all of her will to let the restrained be
replaced. "Can you stop them?"
"I can try." Samantha smiled. "I'm *able* to try. I'll come back to you
as soon as I can."
"Where are you going? Are you just going to leave me like this? Alone?"
To her own astonishment, Scully's voice began to shake. She didn't want
to sound so frightened.
Samantha leaned over Scully and brushed a red strand off her forehead.
"You won't be alone; I still need you." She smiled and reached her other
hand up to her own head. "I'll be with you, and you will be with me."
* * * * * *
Resistance Headquarters
Control Room
10:22 pm
Everyone in the room crowded around the small TV that had been brought
in. Each listened in rap attention to the broadcast. Even though they
could look to the monitors on their left and right for a more accurate
truth, all were drawn to the news anchor on the screen.
"--and the president has declared a national state of emergency. A
nationwide curfew has been implemented. For those of you just joining
our broadcast: Across the nation there are reports flooding in that say
that there has been explosions in many of our nation's cities. The
nature of the explosions has not been determined, but evidence would
suggest that this was a premeditated act. The explosions occurred within
minutes of one another across the nation and--" Her hand went up to her
earpiece. It was obvious that she was receiving instructions from the
producer. There was nearly 30 seconds of silence as she listened. The
anchor's face went white, and she struggled to regain her composure.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry for that interruption, but I have just
receive some more disturbing news. It seems that these attacks were not
localized to this country. Reports are coming in from Europe, Russia,
China, and elsewhere, that they too experienced these attacks, and at
approximately the same time that we did. Causality reports are just
beginning to come in and--"
The screen abruptly went blank, then to static, as the newscast was cut
off. The sound of static filled the air before Ed leaned forward and
turned off the TV.
The resulting silence was interrupted only by a small murmur in the
back.
"Fuck."
* * * * *
"We've failed." Dagen sighed, resigned.
"No. It doesn't mean that. It can't mean that." Mulder said, shaking his
head. "The vaccine has been introduced. If we just can wait-We have to
give it more time." "We have to give Scully more time."
"As the world collapses around us? We aren't even positive that it'll
work as we planned. What happens if we do wait, and it doesn't work?"
Dagen pointed out. "We can't take that chance. We have to act now."
Allen stepped forward and gave Mulder a steady look. "He's right,
Mulder. We can't take that chance."
"But what about Scully?"
Allen's next words hit Mulder like a sledgehammer to his chest. Each
word to be soon frozen in his memory.
"She is lost."
* * * * * *
Alien Ship
As Samantha walked though the hallway, she could feel Scully with her, a
pleasant, fortifying sensation that calmed her. She was certain that
without Scully's help, she would still be on the floor crying
uncontrollably. It had almost been too much. After so long without
strong emotion, suddenly being witnessed to Scully's feelings had been
incredibly shocking to her system.
And it wasn't just knowing Scully; it was also knowing Mulder... her
brother... Fox. She stumbled slightly as she tried to regain her mental
equilibrium. She'd forgotten him. She had forgotten everything.
She'd forgotten the rest of her family, her life with them. But memories
of her own were beginning to rise to the surface of her mind. She was no
longer relying solely on the information Scully had given her.
She saw her mother-- her father too. She remembered how it ended, how
the nightmare she hadn't known she was living had begun.
It was at the dinner table, her parents as silent as they always seemed
to be, and Fox was sitting across from her. He'd been the one to start
the fight earlier, although he would have argued otherwise. She got home
from school before he did, and had already staked her claim to the lone
TV set. When he came home ten minutes later, he had promptly turned the
channel from her choice to one of his.
The fight had escalated after that, as was typical for them. He enjoyed
teasing her, she loved the attention. His attention was all she got from
her family. Each took turns provoking the other, each enflaming the
situation; each secretly enjoying the game. By the time dinner came,
they had spent hours at it, but neither had grown tired. Sam sat across
from him, an innocent smile on her face, as she rhythmically kicked his
chair. He was able to sit through it for ten minutes, quietly plotting
his revenge, when his resolve broke.
"Mom, Sam's bothering me." He'd wined to their mother.
"I'm not even touching him!" she replied in mock outrage.
"Stop it, both of you. You've been at it all afternoon and I'm tired of
listening to you squabbling." Their mother said.
Her father spoke up then. "Fox you should be setting a better example
for you sister. I don't want to hear another word about this, out of
either of you." He glared at both of them a moment before returning his
attention back to his plate.
Normally, they followed their father's harsh authority implicitly, but
something had gotten into her that day, and a wave of impetuousness
filled her. Perhaps it was because Fox had absorbed much of the blame,
but whatever the reason, only a minute had passed before she was
swinging her leg again. But this time, instead of his chair, she made
direct contact with the shin of his leg.
Fox winced noticeably, but had managed to remain silent. She smirked at
him. He narrowed his eyes at her. He was feeling a little impetuous as
well. Carefully, ever so carefully, making sure that both parents were
looking down, he grabbed a pea and with his forefinger flicked it right
into her glass of milk. He held up two fingers and mouthed the words
'Two points.'
That of course was not the end; as if she could let it end like that.
After stewing a few minutes, and being unable to come up with anything
new, she simply kicked him again, in the same spot, but his time much
harder.
This time there was a reaction. He yelped loudly, and stood up too
quickly, in process sliding half his food off the plate and on to the
floor, and sending his full glass of milk across the tabletop.
"Mom!" he had begun to yell, eager to place the blame on Sam, but he
stopped when he saw his parents' reactions. They had moved away from the
table and stood next to him, each taking a firm grip on his arms.
"I thought that your father told you to stop this." Her mother hadn't
yelled, but her words sounded loud and bruising just the same. "He
specifically told you to set an example for your sister, and this is
what you do?"
Fox had a panicked look on his face. Their parents had never reacted
like this before. Never had they shown this display of emotion before.
They were disappointed in him; as if they expected so much more from him
than an ordinary twelve year old boy could be. Samantha had watched as
an indescribable look had passed between her parents. She had no idea
what it meant. She didn't know why they were so disappointed, and she
couldn't even begin to understand how she could even know this.
But then she did.
Before she could think about anything else, new ideas were coming into
her head. They were going to send him away; they were under time
pressures. That was why they were upset. Fox wasn't like they needed him
to be; he wasn't as he should be.
"No! Don't take him anywhere! You can't let them take him!" She shouted
before she had thought about the words coming from her mouth.
They'd dropped Fox's arms in surprise at her words. Her mother was about
to speak when her father stopped her. They moved away from the table.
Without saying a word about her outburst, her father simply said, "Both
of you clean this up, then to your rooms from the rest of the night. I
don't want to hear another word out of either of you." Samantha hadn't
been able to get more ideas then, but when they had looked at her with
an old, yet pleased smile, the first tendrils of fear had begun to curl
around her heart.
Samantha remembered waking up that night to see them standing in her
doorway. They stood, watching her as she pretended to sleep.
She didn't know what was happening to her, but she knew that she knew
what they were thinking. Fox wasn't going to be the one taken anymore.
Their other child showed much more promise.
When they left her door, she'd quietly cried into her pillow, not
understanding what was happening, or what it all meant, but knowing that
she had a good reason to be afraid.
When her tears had stopped, she'd gathered her pillow and stole into her
brother's room. She gently shook his shoulder, and when he woke, instead
of dismissing her like she had feared, he simply lifted up the edge of
his blanket and let her craw underneath. "Don't hog the covers," was the
only thing he said before falling back asleep.
He wasn't a bad brother. She didn't want him to leave; she didn't want
to leave him. They were all that they really had. But she was only
eight, and had no way to verbalize what was happening, although she had
wanted to so much. She fell asleep minutes later, able to forget about
what was happening for a while, sheltered in the protective warmth of
her older brother.
A week later she was taken.
She'd completely forgotten this. How could she have let that happen? She
forgot him, her sweet brother. This was why she'd been sent to the
floor. The memories of him, of her disappearance. It had been like the
first domino being tripped and after was a cascade of emotions and
feelings that she didn't know what to do with. In a very quick, very
intense moment Sam felt everything that it meant to be alive and love
and... everything. When it was over, when Scully had finally managed to
regain her attention, Samantha had been changed.
And she knew that she could never go back.
* * * * * *