Dreaming Aloud pt1

by Jane Goodwin


Disclaimer: The X-Files, and any characters therefrom mentioned in
this story, remain the property of Chris Carter, 1013 productions, and
20th Century Fox. No infringement on copyright intended.

Rating: PG

Classification: AU, angst, MSR

Summary: Mulder must come to terms with the prospect that his
whole life at the FBI has been nothing more than a dream.


Author's note: I actually wrote this a couple of years back, but never
posted it here. I suddenly thought today that I just might. It's set
somewhere around season 5, I guess. Certainly before the movie
and Mulder and Scully's loss of the X-Files in season 6.


Feedback: Please review!! I'd *love* to hear what you have to say.
Or you can email me at LonegunGirl@subspacemail.com. Visit my
website at http://www.geocities.com/lonegungirl_1013/


"Another turning point,
A fork stuck in the road.
Time grabs you by the wrist,
Directs you where to go.
So make the best of this test,
And don't ask why.
It's not a question,
but a lesson learned in time.

It's something unpredictable,
but in the end is right.
I hope you had the time of your life."

- GreenDay "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)"


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Two torch beams darted wildly about, reflecting off the cool, shinny
surfaces of metal walls. Together, Agents Mulder and Scully walked
slowly, cautiously, down a long corridor which, through the thick
darkness, seemed to continue on without end. To either side of them
were thousands upon thousands of metal draws, each marked with a
different name. Each was the name of an abductee, a test subject.
Each contained files classified beyond the highest levels of
government, almost beyond government itself. Lots and lots of files.
Both agents knew that although they had been in many facilities much
like this before, none had been quite as special as this one. For, if
what their informant had told them was true, this filing system was the
key to realising their quest. If they could only play this right, they
would finally possess the irrefutable evidence they had been so
boldly seeking for six long years. Evidence of a project, a conspiracy,
and of a lie so far reaching that even the highest levels of power in the
country scarcely knew the scope and grandeur of the ultimate truth.

As they continued walking, it became clear that this particular
passage way, of which there were more, continued on for miles.
They'd been walking for what seemed like an eternity, and Scully was
beginning to slow down, dropping back slightly behind Mulder. But
nothing deterred Mulder. Something on one of the endless metal
draws caught his eye. He stopped and stared.

"Hey Scully, come look at this!" he yelled back to his partner, as he
reached out for the draw, removing dust from the label with one clean
swipe of his hand. He smiled boyishly to himself, as though he'd
been on a treasure hunt and just found the prize. There was no
answer.

"Scully?" he called again, diverting his eyes to the dark corridor he'd
just come down. Still no response. Mulder's heart began beating
faster and faster, and a wave of panic swept over him like a blanket.
"Scully?!" he yelled again, frantic. He ran back down the corridor with
his torch beam darting in front of him. He yanked his gun from his
holster and trained it in front of him, still running as he did so. What if
something had happened to her? What if *they* had taken her? He
pushed that thought from his mind, it only made the panic worse. The
torch, it's beam of light his only comfort, slipped from his fingers,
crashing to the cold floor, and the light it had once provided became
one with it's dark surroundings.

"Damn it!" Mulder exclaimed anxiously. In the thick blackness he
groped around for the reassuring bulk of plastic. As he searched,
there was a blinding flash of light from down the corridor, as though a
silent explosion had gone off. Mulder squinted at the focal point, but
was unable to clearly make out where the light was emanating from.
The strange thing was that it seemed to be all around him. Slowly, the
light began to fade, and Mulder could finally open his eyes
completely. What he saw was unbelievable. His eyes darted
between soft, white walls, and shinny, metal equipment. A harsh,
steady beep from somewhere in the distance met his ears. The room
was unfamiliar to him. Then Mulder noticed where he was lying, in a
bed with neat, white sheets. His nose turned up at a sickening smell
of disinfectant which only came with a sterile environment. And
suddenly, he knew where he was. He was no longer in the research
complex, but a hospital room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder lay there silently for a long while, his mind whirling, until his
thoughts finally settled on Scully. He bolted upright in his bed, only to
be met by a wave of dizziness and nausea which forced him back
down. 'What the hell...' he thought to himself, but lay back weakly. It
was then that he noticed a nurse in the far corner of his room, and she
noticed him. It was clear from the surprised expression on her face
that she hadn't been expecting him to wake up. Somehow the
woman's face was familiar...

She smiled at him. "Mr Mulder! Oh my god, I wasn't expecting..."

The voice gave her away. Mulder squinted at her.

"Marita?" he asked slowly.

She was caught off guard. "Well...uh... yes. Yes, Marita Covarubias.
Bu-But how do you know who I am?" Somehow, there was something
different about her. She certainly wasn't the normal Marita
Covarubias he knew. She seemed too happy and friendly. And her
voice, although it was unmistakably her's, sounded... lighter. And she
*was* wearing a nurse's uniform. Something didn't add up...

Mulder pushed the unsure thoughts from his mind. All he needed to
know now was that she was a familiar face, and she might just be able
to tell him what was going on. "Well why wouldn't I know your name?"

"It's just... I mean... We've never actually met. I've watched over you
for a long time, but I don't see how... Wow, this is amazing!"

"Marita... what do you mean we've never met?!"

Her smile faded slightly as she stared directly into his eyes. "L-Let me
go get Doctor Sampson." She turned and hurried excitedly out of the
room, turning back around briefly as she reached the doorway. "May I
just say, Mr Mulder... welcome back." She smiled warmly again, then
turned and exited the room.

Mulder was left alone, and his thoughts straight away returned to
Scully. Where was she? What had happened to her? The same
wave of panic he had experienced back in the research facility swept
over him.

Moments later, Marita returned with a man, presumably the Doctor
Sampson she had spoken of. This time, Mulder's memory didn't need
any jogging. He stared at the doctor, open mouthed, not knowing
what to say.

"Dad?" Mulder asked in disbelief.

Bill and Marita exchanged a glance.

"Mr Mulder, my name is Doctor Sampson. Th-this is unbelievable, we
never expected... Do you know where you are?"

Mulder laughed slightly. "Well, presumably I'm in a hospital. I don't
know why I'm here though. But... dad it's me, Fox."

Bill sat down softly on the side of Mulder's bed. "Mr Mulder," he asked
gently, "can you tell me your name?"

Mulder blinked in disbelief. "What kind of a question is that?! I'm Fox
Mulder, *Special Agent* Fox Mulder with the FBI."

Silence engulfed the room, and Bill and Marita shared another
glance.

"Look, I have ID in my jacket," Mulder continued.

"Mr Mulder... my name is Doctor Bill Sampson. Do you remember
what happened?"

"Look, now you're beginning to scare me. Your name is Bill Mulder,
my father. And yes, of course I remember. I was...I was, I mean, I was
in a research complex in Arizona. Scully and I were..." Suddenly, the
panicked thoughts of his partner's fate returned.

"Mr Mulder, try to rest. You've been through a lot."

"Where's Scully?!" Mulder demanded.

"Your wife should be here shortly, she was called as soon as you
regained consciousness."

"Wife?" Mulder chuckled slightly. "Scully isn't my wife, she's my
partner at the FBI."

"Mr Mulder, please try to rest," Marita soothed.

"No, I'm not doing anything until someone tells me what the hell is
going on here!"

"Mr Mulder, you were in an accident close to a year ago. Your car
collided with a tanker, and you were left in a critical condition. We
were able to stabilise you, but you were left in a coma. To tell you the
truth, we never thought you would wake up."

Bill turned to Marita. "Miss Covarubias, I have to go, but I'd like for you
to stay here with Fox until his wife arrives." He smiled first at her and
then at Fox.

Mulder placed a restricting hand on Bill's arm. "I wasn't in any car
accident, I don't remember being in any accident, and for the last time
Scully is NOT my wife!"

"I believe you're experiencing a mild form of amnesia, Mr Mulder. It's
something common in cases like yours. It should be only temporary,
and perhaps seeing your wife will help you along."

"I haven't got amnesia! I remember perfectly who I am and what I was
doing, there are NO gaps in my memory."

"I don't have all the answers yet Mr Mulder, but let me assure you that
you are Fox Mulder, and Dana Scully is your wife." He smiled again,
a look that was somehow foreign to Bill's face in Mulder's memory.
He scarcely ever smiled. He patted Mulder's hand gently, and with
that he turned and left the room, leaving Marita to sit beside Mulder's
bed. Mulder lay back more confused and frustrated than ever, and his
mind whirling. 'Maybe this is just a nightmare,' he thought to himself.
If only it had been that simple.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He must have drifted asleep again, for the next thing Mulder knew he
was looking up into the face of Dana Scully. Instantly, his face
crinkled into a smile.

"Scully! Oh, thank god you're alright! Perhaps you can talk some
sense into these people, they seem to have the strangest idea that I'm
not really me." He chuckled nervously. "It's been really weird. And
Marita doesn't seem to know who I am, and the doctor who's looking
over me looks *exactly* like my father, even though I know that's
impossible because he's, ya know, dead. So then I got to thinking
that maybe he *isn't* himself. I mean, Scully, we've seen it so many
times before. Men who can assume the identity of anyone, and who
can only be killed by the direct prick to the back of the neck. I don't
know anything anymore, Scully, you're the only person I can trust right
now, and you don't know what a relief it is to see you here." He
paused to give Scully a chance to speak, realising she hadn't said
anything yet. She had drooped her head and was staring at the
ground.

"Scully?" he prompted, reaching out a hand for the side of her face
and gently touching her hair. Slowly, she looked up at him. A tear
rolled down her cheek as she stared into his bright, hazel eyes.

"Fox, I... I..." she stammered, another tear, then another, left her eyes.
"Oh god." She looked back down again and tried feebly to wipe the
tears from her cheeks with her hands.

"Hey," Mulder soothed, moving his hand to stroke her cheek. "Scully,
what's wrong?"

"It's just... I mean... Fox, I-I never thought you'd, I mean... I missed you
so much." She buried her face deep in her hands.

Mulder half laughed. "You missed me? We've only been apart a
couple of days at the most."

There was a long silence between them. Finally, Scully spoke. "Fox...
what the doctor told you was true. You were in a car accident nearly a
year ago. Well, 11 months and 12 days to be precise. I-I've kept
count." She finished with a small, brave smile that Mulder could see
through straight away. You don't work so closely with someone for 6
years without learning a thing or two about them. Scully continued,
"Being a medical doctor myself, I can tell you that temporary amnesia
is common with cases like yours, and that your memory should return
completely in time."

"But Scully, I don't have amnesia! I remember everything. How we
were pointed towards that place in Arizona by Krycek, and what we
found there! Scully, what we found could be the answers to
everything we've ever dreamed. The vital clue in realising our quest
of the past 6 years. Only, I have no idea what happened. I was there
and then... suddenly I was here." Mulder frowned, unable to even
guess at what had happened.

"Fox... I don't share your memories of any of those events. I don't
quite understand this myself, but all I can tell you is that you *have*
been in a coma this past year."

Suddenly, Mulder felt completely alone. Even *Scully* seemed to be
against him. The only person he'd ever trusted, his only true
companion... no. That was impossible. There must be some other
explanation. He considered briefly that maybe she was in fact telling
the truth, but the thought itself was unfathomable. There had to be
another explanation. Perhaps it really wasn't Scully sitting beside
him. What if she was merely an illusion? A sheep in wolf's clothing,
maybe? A shape-shifting colonist, disguised as his partner to obtain
information from him. It seemed to be the only possible explanation,
at least in Mulder's mind. His eyes narrowed as he stared at whoever
it was he was in fact talking to.

"You're not really Scully. Who are you?"

"Fox... I don't pretend to be able to explain any of this to you. All I can
tell you is that I'm here for you." She paused, considering what she'd
just said. "Hell, what am I saying? I know you don't even remember
me right now. Just..." Tears once again began to swell up in her eyes.
"I'm gonna go now Fox. I-I'll be back later." She managed a weak
smile at Mulder, before getting up. Just as she was about to leave,
something on Mulder's bedside table caught her eye. She stopped
for a moment and reached out to set straight a rather sloppy
arrangement of fresh flowers. Mulder eyed her cautiously.

"Oww, damn it!" Scully suddenly exclaimed. As she pulled her right
index finger away from the flowers, Mulder realised that she must
have pricked herself on a thorn on the stem of a red rose which was at
the centre of the arrangement. More importantly, Mulder noticed
something that chilled him to his very soul. She was bleeding.
Bleeding red, *real* blood. Mulder's jaw dropped and he was unable
to move. The implications of what he'd just seen were too impossible
and life shattering to even contemplate. But if Scully was indeed real,
then...

"Oh my god," Mulder muttered under his breath. A sinking feeling
lodged itself deep in his stomach. He closed his eyes slowly, not
wanting to accept what he knew in his heart.

Satisfied with the flowers, Scully turned and exited the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder lay restlessly, his mind constantly replaying the events of the
day over and over, plaguing him like the pounding sound of heavy
rain which he couldn't turn off. Sleep was no comfort either. Every
time sleep came close, he'd jerk awake with the hint of a familiar
sound or smell, a face or setting he knew all too well flickering through
his mind. It was unnerving.

Stuck in a kind of nervous alertness and drenched in sweat, Mulder
clasped his hands in fists at his sides. Eventually, seeing that rest
would be impossible that night, he instead got out of bed onto still
wonky legs and walked over to the window. Thrusting the curtains
aside with a clammy hand and hoisting the window open, he stared
out blankly into the crisp darkness. Outside, almost all was still, with
the exception of a few lonely cars streaming along the road far below
him. From that height, he must have been on at least the fifth floor. A
cool stream of wind calmly blew into the room, surrounding him, and
for a moment Mulder's mind was peaceful, void of any conscious
thought. It didn't last long though, as quickly the never ending cycle of
images and thoughts returned. Maybe it was all true, maybe he wasn't
really who he thought he was.

Could it be that his entire life had been nothing more than a figment of
his imagination??? No, that was just too inconceivable, and
somehow he knew that was impossible. Defiantly, he shook his head,
and with it the thought from his mind. The most likely explanation
would be that this... this... whatever it was, was the illusion. He'd had
a vivid dream like this once before, in a time when his mind had been
plagued with the trauma of alien brain activity. He'd awoken from that
experience, just as he was sure he would from this. He smiled out at
the city, deciding instantly that that was the most logical explanation.

"Well, old boy, looks like you've got yourself your very own X-file," he
noted dryly to himself. It never had been quite fair that Scully had
been mentioned on two occasions in the files and he hadn't. At least
this was his chance to catch up, if that was any consolation. Mulder
knew it wasn't, but at least it was a slightly positive thought. That was
something.

Fox took in a deep lungfull of cool air and let it out slowly. The action
effectively cleansed himself of negative thought and fear, and he was
once again able to breathe normally. Yes, this was the illusion. The
thought seemed finite, and he slowly backed away from the window
and dropped back down to the bed. Peacefully this time, he
embraced sleep and the familiar memories of Scully and his world,
drifting into the world of subconscious.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Scully returned to his bed side. This time, Mulder had
the conviction of his beliefs, and thus he drew strength from the
knowledge that this was either a dream or some other form of illusion,
and was able to carry on a conversation with a curiosity and
amusement rather than the fear and confusion which had plagued
their last meeting.

"So, have they announced me officially insane yet or does that come
later?" Mulder asked with a grin as Scully pulled up a chair beside his
bed.

Tired and slightly sad eyes fixed on Mulder's face. "I don't think you're
insane, Fox. You're obviously just suffering amnesia of some
description."

"Oh, amnesia, eh? Right. Well how do you explain the memories I do
have, hmmm? As far as I'm concerned, something's gone wrong with
the rest of the world."

Dana took a deep breath, and continued. "As for what you think you
remember... well, what I'm thinking is you're remembering some sort
of powerful dream you had while you were in the coma. What you
think you know to be true, what you perceive as memories of your
life... I believe they're merely memories of what ever was going on in
your mind all this time, products of your subconscious as your body
regenerated. It's a rare occurrence, but not unheard of."

"Everything that I remember... a powerful dream?! Ha! A whole life
time's worth of memories in about a year real time. A think it sounds
like you're stretching there, Scully."

"Well, I mean, there are well documented cases of people waking up
from comas and remembering events and conversations which never
transpired..."

"But a whole lifetime?" He sighed and grabbed Scully's hand.
"Scully, you're a scientist. Always wanting to find the most logical
explanation. You know Occam's razor, Scully? The scientific
principal which dictates that, all things being equal, the most logical
explanation is likely the correct answer? Well I ask you, what's more
logical here? That I dreamt an entire lifetime of some other life... or
that I'm just plain nuts?"

"Look, I am a scientist, and yes, logically what I'm saying doesn't
make much sense. But right now, this seems the only possible
explanation to me. As for Occam's razor, well, that type of reasoning
works if all things are equal, just as you said. All things aren't equal,
Fox. You're not insane, you're able to carry on a normal conversation,
interact properly with others... you're not insane." Her voice became
slightly more heated as she continued to talk, gesticulating widely with
both hands.

There was a long silence. "You know, there's actually a third
possibility."

"Yeah, and what's that?"

"This could be the dream. After all, this little scenario roughly follows
the storyline of a Star Trek The Next Generation episode. The Inner
Light. Terrible episode, the type of thing that imprints itself on your
brain when you desperately want to put the whole ordeal behind you.
Picard suddenly finds himself in an unfamiliar world where he
eventually lives out an entire lifetime - and learns to play this *really*
annoying flute, - only to find that he's really only been unconscious
on the bridge for twenty minutes."

Dana considered this silently, unable to come up with a sufficient
response. "Well I dunno what to tell you, Fox, except that this is real."

"But it would be the most rational explanation, would it not?" Mulder
added, his eyes flashing with conviction.

"Yes, I suppose it would be," Scully conceded, before continuing, "if it
were remotely possible."

"Anything's possible, Scully. I think my little theory makes perfect
sense. I think Edgar Allan Poe said it best, 'dream within a dream'
and all that."

"Fox, Edgar Allan Poe was talking metaphorically!" Scully exclaimed
in an exasperated tone.

"But it's what you were suggesting anyway, isn't it? That my
perception, my reality, is all a figment of my subconscious?"

Scully gave a frustrated chuckle. "This is real! There's nothing more I
can say to convince you right now! We could debate this all day and
we still wouldn't get anywhere, because, conceivably, either of us
could be right!"

Mulder nodded acknowledgingly. "Touche. I guess that's true, to a
point. Ok, saying, hypothetically, that you're little theory was right.
That doesn't explain how I included people I'd never actually seen,
like my doctor for instance, in this little dream of mine now does it???"

"You're right, I can't really explain that. Not that it's ever been
conclusively proven, but it's long been speculated that people in a
comatose state can hear what's going on around them. That doesn't
of course explain the physical image of the people you remember
seeing.. but," she paused and began to laugh, "maybe it's the first
evidence that, whilst in a coma, people can actually see as well."

"My very own X-file, eh?" Mulder commented, almost to himself.

"What?" Scully asked.

"I said, I've got my very own X-file here."

Scully stared at him blankly for a moment. "What's an X-file?" she
asked with genuine curiosity.

That one comment disturbed Mulder more than anything. He opened
his mouth to answer her, groping for the words. Before he could say
anything, there was a knock on the door, and Marita Covarubias
entered the room.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything, I just need to take Fox's blood
pressure," she said with a smile as she breezed into the room.

Scully smiled back. "That's ok, I should be going anyway. I need to
pick Emily up from daycare."

It was Mulder's turn to stare unsurely at Scully. "Emily?" he asked.

"Emily, our daughter." She leant down over Mulder and kissed him
softly on the cheek. "I'll see you latter. By the way, Fox, you can call
me Dana." She turned and left the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the next few weeks, Mulder observed the events which
surrounded him with a sort of detached and almost clinical curiosity.
Dana eventually brought in Emily to see him, and he had to admit that
she was an adorable little girl, although there was something
indefinable that somehow made him uneasy. Physically, she was
identical to the little girl who Mulder remembered as being Scully's
daughter, and that made him feel almost scared and panicked.

The same unsettled feeling accompanied most of the events which
occurred over the weeks, and Mulder was rather at a loss to explain
them. As he continued to talk to Scully further, he eventually found
out that, apparently, in this world he was a university lecturer in
psychology - which, as it turned out, was how Dana and he had met,
whilst she was lecturing in mecicine. Additionally, he acted part-time
in an advisory capacity with the FBI, aiding in the creating of
psychological profiles for criminal suspects. According to the story as
Dana told it, he had first become involved with the FBI when a former
student of his had committed a series of murders in the DC area, and
the violent crimes division had contacted him to seek his assistance in
bringing the boy to justice. To Mulder, this notion didn't seem to paint
the American standards for tertiary education in a very positive light,
but still this event had marked the beginning of an association with the
FBI, which had eventually lead to Fox becoming more and more
involved in criminal profiling.

As the days rolled on, Fox was also visited on numerous occasions by
one of the hospital's resident psychiatrists - one Doctor Diana
Fowley. Strangely, the woman had claimed to never have met Mulder
before, which somehow made Mulder feel more than a little shocked
and confused. Each time she came to his room, Mulder would
dismiss her attempts at counselling or psycho-analysis abruptly, as it
appeared he was of the opinion that he by no means required a
shrink. It became clear to Fowley that Fox was protecting some level
of self delusion - however, in the interests of keeping her patient
happy, she eventually took the hint and stopped trying to force Mulder
to talk to her. Understanding the necessary and inevitable stages on
the road to acceptance, she decided it would probably be far easier to
just let Mulder come to the truth in his own time, as she was sure he
would.

After close to a month, Fox was informed that he could finally return
home - news at which Mulder felt mixed emotions. When he did first
step into Dana and his apartment, the surroundings conjured up a
somewhat familiar feeling, which Mulder found more than a little
disturbing. However, he soon pushed the feeling from his mind, and
was once again firmly resigned to the notion that this life was merely
the illusion, and that he would inevitably return to his old existence.

Not wanting to pressure Fox into moving too fast, Dana suggested to
him that for the first few weeks he might like to sleep on his own.
Quite relieved by this idea, Mulder agreed that that would probably be
the best way, and immediately volunteered to sleep on the sofa. After
all, he'd mused, he *had* been used to the sofa in his real world. And
thus, Mulder settled into the apartment quite comfortably.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

About two weeks later, Dana received a phone call. Fox heard her on
the verge of arguing with someone on the other end of the line, before
she finally said "I'll ask him," and bid whoever it was farewell.

Moments later, she entered the lounge where Mulder was seated on
the sofa.

"Ok, Fox, I just got off the phone with your mother." Dana gave an
exasperated sigh. "Apparently, our families have, together, organised
some big 'welcome home' party for you tonight. All of our relatives are
coming here at seven-thirty. Believe me, I had absolutely no idea,
and I totally understand if you want to just tell them to forget it. I tried
myself, but your mum was so persistent that I had to tell her I'd ask you
about it before she cancelled. You know what your mother can be like
sometimes." She hesitated. "Somehow, I uh... don't think she's going
to take no for an answer."

Mulder was about to respond, "No, I don't know what my 'mother' can
be like', but instead remained sill, just staring at the ground.

"Fox?" Dana finally asked.

"It's alright, they can come if they want. I suppose I have to see them
all at some stage."

He didn't sound very enthusiastic, and Scully frowned worriedly. "Are
you sure, Fox? 'Cause they really don't need to come, if you don't feel
up to it." She smiled supportingly, and Mulder felt sick.

"No, that's alright." He gave a small, sad smile, and even though
Dana knew it was forced, she nodded.

"Alright then." She glanced at her watch. "It's just after six now, I
suppose we should get ready. They're all bringing food and drink... I
guess they've had this organised for some time." She shot Fox a
lingering and supportive look, before turning to leave.

Once she was gone, the smile faded from Mulder's face. 'Oh god,' he
thought to himself, as his heart began to race. He lay back on the
couch restlessly. 'Well,' he finally mused, 'I suppose this will be
interesting, at least.'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At close to seven thirty, the first of the night's company began to arrive.
Emily, dressed up in an adorable blue dress which Dana had had to
force her to wear (it appeared that Emily far preferred her jeans), ran
excitedly to the door and opened it to greet her guests with a wide and
enthusiastic grin. Mulder watched from a distance where he was
standing over to the side of the room.

"Ah, there's my little girl," the familiar female voice began warmly,
reaching down to scoop up the little blue ball into her arms to hug her.
She continued into the apartment, Emily perched snugly on the
woman's hip, her little head nestled on the woman's shoulder. Her
gaze darted smoothly around the room, until her eyes came into
contact with Mulder's. They both smiled.

"Mrs Scully," Fox began, silently thanking the forces of the universe for
sending a familiar yet unthreatening person to their door first. "How
are you?"

Before she could reply, Dana entered from the bedroom where she
had been hastily changing her clothes. "Mom, hi," she added with a
smile.

Shortly after, Scully's brother and his family arrived, and Mulder was
glad to see that some things remained consistent no matter what
reality you were in... Bill Scully still had a problem with him, evident in
his decidedly abrasive tone and facial expressions. Ironically, Bill's
dislike of him was actually the thing that most made Mulder feel at
home that night.

Bill's family's arrival was followed suit by Scully's sister, Melissa, who
Mulder was more than a little surprised to see alive. With her was her
long-time partner, Alex. Although the temptation was there, Mulder
managed to refrain from telling them about the little irony in his other
life in which Alex had killed Melissa in cold blood. It was an
interesting spectacle, though, as Fox watched Krycek arrive wearing a
neat suit and tie. Even more amusing to him was when he
discovered, through casual conversation, that Alex was a lawyer.

Last to arrive were Mulder's parents. He himself answered the knock
at the apartment door, opening it to reveal his mother standing
outside. She smiled at him warmly and entered the apartment,
followed closely behind by Mr Mulder. What Fox saw shocked him, for
entering the apartment behind her was CSM. Mulder's mind froze
and his body accompanied it, as he stared in virtual horror at the man
standing before him.

The man smiled almost shyly, engaging Fox's eye contact. "Hello,
son," he began tentatively, as if almost afraid of what his son might
say to him.

Mulder forced a half smile, but other than that it was all he could do to
stare in shock.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

About 30 minutes into the dinner, Mr Mulder tapped gently on the side
of his glass to announce a toast. When he had everyone's attention
he stood, extending his arm and elevating his wine glass in front of
him. He cleared his throat almost nervously.

"I'd like to propose a toast to Fox Mulder, for a courageous fight back
from the brink of death to be seated here with us today. And, Fox, I
know I speak for everyone here when I say that, well, it's great to have
you back." He smiled warmly, and the rest seated around the table
began to clap and chatter loudly, as all eyes turned to Fox.

Confronted by the sea of faces, the room began to spin ever so
slightly, and then faster and faster. The cheerful smiles, the
cacophony of voices, the nearly twenty eyes all focused on him... Fox
felt sick, the overwhelming attention of these people he didn't even
feel he knew was nearly more than he could bear. Movements
slowed throughout the room for him, and the sound drained away,
until he could literally hear and feel the pounding of his heart,
surrounded by an endless row of smiling faces. After a few moments,
the noise began to crescendo once more. Mulder suddenly found
himself unable to breathe, taking in shallow and frequent gasps of air.
His mind whirled, and a single thought clanged around his brain over
and over. As the room became almost unbearable, Mulder rose
abruptly from his seat. Each pair of eyes trained on him seemed to
him to be accusing and questioning all at once. "I'm sorry," he
mumbled desperately, stumbling as quickly as he could away from the
table. Racing through the apartment on shaky legs, a tear forming in
his eye, he grabbed blindly for the doorknob and ran from the
apartment, not even closing the door behind him, leaving his family to
stare after him silently.

Mulder continued to run, and it wasn't until he was free from the
building and racing down the outside street, with the crisp breeze
flapping at his clothes and biting at his face, that he felt able to breath
again. He continued to run desperately as if sheer physical distance
from the family he'd left in the apartment would erase his pain, until
eventually, as he turned a corner, he collapsed hard on the side walk
into a crumpled heap, eyes stinging with tears and body shaking.
Exhausted and drained, he remained like that for a long time, an
eventual shower of rain falling from the sky as it was split across
violently by bright flashes of lightning. Mulder raised his head to let
the droplets pelt down against his face, each new streak of rain
concealing a matching tear track.

Finally, Mulder peeled himself from the sidewalk, his clothes
drenched and freezing, and began to walk aimlessly around the city,
until eventually, long after the rain had dissipated, he came to a
familiar building somewhere in the outskirts of Washington. He
smiled weakly at the welcoming glow of Reggie's, and wearily he
entered the establishment, making his way to the bar and ordering a
beer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder studied the reflected lights from above the bar as they danced
on the surface of the cool liquid his glass was half filled with. After
leaving his own party, Fox had travelled five blocks in hopes he'd find
a place he wasn't even sure existed. Comfortingly, the place did exist,
and here he was in the bar he knew so well, sitting alone with a drink.
He'd sat on that exact stool countless times... or had he? He didn't
feel he knew anything anymore. He tried to push the unnerving
thought as far from his mind as he could, as he took a gulp of his
drink. The surroundings seemed familiar, and that was all that
mattered to him at that moment.

It was then that he noticed a figure move past him and take up
residence of the neighbouring bar stool to his left. Slowly, his eyes
moved from his drink to the stool's occupant. He stared silently into
her kind, blue eyes, framed with neat strands of golden-red hair. She
smiled at him, then turned to the bar tender who had moved to their
position noticing Scully's arrival.

"Can I just have a soda water, thanks."

The bar tender nodded his acknowledgment, retreating to another
section of the bar to prepare the drink. There was silence for some
moments between Mulder and Scully.

"How'd you find me?" Mulder finally asked, swirling his glass and
concentrating his attention on the swishing liquid and the clinking of
the ice.

"I figured this was where you'd go. You used to come here a lot when
I first met you... it's a good place to drown one's sorrows."

The bartender returned with Scully's drink and placed in in front of
her. She took the glass in her hand and sipped slowly from the straw.

"How'd everyone take my sudden departure?"

Scully thought about this for a second, hesitating to find the right
words. "Everyone was a bit speechless, but I think they understood."
Her tone was soft and calm, and the soothing tones relaxed Mulder
almost instantly.

"Do you understand?" he asked after a time with a far away voice. He
really didn't expect her to, considering that he didn't even really know
why he'd been effected in the way he had. After all, he was resigned
to the notion that at any moment he'd wake up in his old world as
though nothing had happened. It had become harder with each
passing day to continue to believe in his version of the truth, but he
still held strong and had never once wavered. It was thus hard for
Mulder to understand, and he genuinely looked to Dana for some
enlightenment.

"Yeah, I think I do. It must have been quite overwhelming for you, to
see all those people who, in one respect, are so familiar... and yet
also strangers to you at the same time. It must have been
bewildering." She took another drink before adding in an even softer
voice, "I'm sorry, Fox."

Mulder looked up in surprise at Scully's last comment. "You... you
don't have anything to be sorry for."

"Yes I do. I should have foreseen your reaction. Looking back on it
now, all the signs were there. I shouldn't have put you through that.
It's just... it's just I thought that all the familiar faces might, you know,
spark your memory or something. It was selfish in a way, and I'm
sorry."

"Scully... I mean, Dana, remember it was me who agreed to let them
all come over. You tried to give me a way out, you have nothing to be
sorry for."

Dana smiled. "Yeah, well, I still think I should have stopped it."

Silence once again ensued between them, as both sipped slowly at
their drinks. "Fox, I..." Scully finally started, but again hesitated.

"What?" Fox asked, turning his gaze to her.

"Nothing. I know that nothing I can say is going to make this any
easier for you. But just remember that I am always here if you need
me."

Mulder smiled weakly. "I know you are."

Rested on the bar was Mulder's right hand, and Dana reached out
and grasped it in her own hand. At first, the human contact made
Mulder jump slightly, but eventually he eased down and allowed her
hand to gently caress his own, her nimble and delicate fingers
clasping around the contours of his partially curled fist. They sat there
like that for some time before returning home, the simple touch of a
hand communicating what Dana felt otherwise unable to articulate
with words. To Fox, such an act conjured mixed emotion deep within
him; he was both calmed by her touch, and at the same time
frightened. Unfortunately, it seemed to Fox that the fear outweighed
the comfort.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Mulder took Dana's advice and travelled to the FBI.
Mulder entered the J. Edgar Hoover building through the main
entrance; sliding doors fashioned from bullet proof glass. Fox couldn't
help but wonder sometimes whether the bullet proof glass was really
there to protect those inside the building, but rather to protect civilians
walking outside from the wrath of some disgruntled federal employee,
unsatisfied with their place within the government's chain of comand.
As he crossed the FBI seal painted impressively under foot, it
occurred to him how much the room resembled that library from
Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. "X marks the spot," Harrison
Ford's voice echoed through his mind, and Fox couldn't help but
smile.

He approached the security entrance with a row of metal detectors
supervised by visibly bored security personnel. Perhaps, Mulder
mused as he considered the mundane routine of such a position, it
was indeed these officers who the bullet-proof glass was in place for.
Randomly choosing one of the metal detector arches, Mulder moved
to pass through. As he did so, the man in charge of that particular
detector glanced up at him absently, and then returned his eyes to a
book he had been just as absently perusing. A split second later, the
man's head shot up once more, and a broad smile formed on his face.

"Mulder! You're back!" he exclaimed cheerfully as Fox removed his
keys from his jacket pocket and handed them to him.

"Uh... I'm sorry, you are?" Mulder responded blankly.

The man's smiled faded slightly as he stared at Mulder, but then his
eyes flashed with understanding. "Oh, of course, I forgot... yeah, the
guys told me about your, um, memory inconsistencies. I'm Danny, by
the way."

'Inconsistencies,' Mulder thought sarcastically, 'that's one way of
looking at it.'

"Nice to meet you, Danny," Fox responded, and then asked as he
walked through the metal detector and took back his keys, "The
guys?"

"The three stooges," Danny laughed, once again regaining his
cheerful exterior.

'Three stooges....' Mulder thought with more than a minor hint of
confusion. In an instant his expression changed with understanding.

"You mean... Langley, Frohike, and Byers?" he asked.

Danny nodded with a grin, and Mulder smiled back appreciatively.
"Thanks Danny, see you around."

"Yeah, see you around Mulder," Danny called after Mulder, adding, "I
hope your memory gets better."

Mulder turned back around from his position now a few yards away,
and added quite seriously, "Yeah, me too."

"By the way, have you given any further consideration to joining the
bureau full time?"

"Full time?" Mulder responded, once again confused.

Danny frowned. "Well, yeah... before your accident, there was talk
around that you were going to be made a full honourary agent and
move into our little community full time."

"And... I was considering that?" Mulder asked tentatively.

"Yeah, I think so. Really, Mulder, we'd love to have you around here
all the time."

"Right then, well, I guess I'll think about it," Mulder replied with an
indulgent smile after a lingering pause.

Danny smiled back, and both men returned to their business. With his
back turned and his long strides taking him further and further away,
Fox added under his breath, "That's a nice thought, Danny, but by the
time anything like that comes through, I'll be far gone from here and
back in my real position on the X-Files with Scully."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After consulting a number of rather misleading floor plan directories
posted around the corridors of the Hoover Building, Mulder
miraculously found himself standing outside a door, marked with the
names John Byers, Melvin Frohike, and Ringo Langley. Standing
outside, Mulder stared at the names for a long while. He considered
the irony of the situation, that these three anti-government
protagonists and conspiracy theorists were now employed within the
government's jurisdiction at the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The
thought seemed laughable.

The door being half open anyway, Fox gently pushed it the full way in
and entered tentatively. Inside the room was rather spacious, three
desks dotted around in a less than geometrical pattern, suggesting
that these three guys were no doubt exactly how Mulder had
remembered them - less than conforming to the status quo. Langley,
casually seated at his desk with his feat rested on his desk top and
playing some sort of computer game, was the first to notice Mulder
standing at the door. Nearly doing himself a serious injury due to his
position by jumping, Langley's eyes instantly widened with surprise.

"Oh my god... Mulder," he began, his words grabbing the attention of
Byers who himself nearly chocked on his coffee, and Frohike who
appeared to be having much fun with his paper shredder by absently
forcing through it pieces of what Mulder hoped were scrap paper; both
men looked up, startled.

"Mulder!" Byers exclaimed. "We weren't expecting you... I mean, so
soon." He smiled warmly.

"Not that we're not happy to see ya, buddy," Frohike added, jumping
up from his desk and moving towards Fox. "How're you holding up?"

"I'm alright, guys." Mulder allowed his eyes to travel around the room,
observing his surroundings with an air of curiosity. "Actually, I'm not
really here, I just wanted to see the place... ya know." Noting the
clutter and mess around the room, it occurred to Mulder how much
this office actually resembled his and Scully's. He frowned at the
thought of the X-Files, then added, "Well, to tell you the truth I'm here
at Dana's urging. She thought it might do me some good."

Byers grinned, "Ah, I can understand that. Dana's been keeping us
informed as to your condition, by the way."

Mulder nodded. "Yeah, she said she was." There was a long pause
in the conversation as all four men stared at one another, none of
them quite knowing what to say. Finally, Mulder broke the silence.

"Right, well, good to see you guys, but I've really got to go." He smiled
to indulge them, but longed to be back outside of the building in the
cool breeze.

"Oh, well, Mulder, ok if you have to go." Langley replied with a smile.
Clearly, he, Byers, and Frohike, were all slightly unsure as to how to
treat Mulder, and hadn't yet had the opportunity to gage his level of
remembrance.

"By the way, Mulder, my wife would love for you and Dana to come to
dinner some time," Byers added.

Fox considered this statement, then asked curiously, "Your wife...
Susanne, right?"

"Well yeah!" Byers exclaimed, "It looks like your memory might'nt been
in such a bad shape after all."

"I'm sure that'd be nice, Byers. I'll mention it to Dana." With that, he
turned to leave, his desire to be on his own overriding what ever part
of his brain governed his social graces.

He took a step towards the door, but was stopped by Langley's voice.

"You know, Mulder, we never did solve the case we were working on
when you had your accident."

Mulder stopped dead, and turned apprehensively back to Langley.
"Oh, and what case was it?"

"Guy named Modell. Killed a string of people, claimed to have some
form of telekinetic abilities which enabled him to, um... how did he put
it?" Frohike began, his memory failing him towards the end of his
story.

Mulder's eyes went wide, and his heart began pounding faster and
faster. "To 'push' his will on to others," Fox finished, a cold shiver
running through his body.

Frohike stared at Mulder in surprise. "Yeah, I think that was it. He
eluded capture, and he's still at large."

Mulder stared at the ground for a moment, his mind racing. He turned
to leave again, but stopped himself. He faced the Lone Gun Men,
gaining eye contact with each in turn. "Guys, do you think I could get
access to some of our old case files?" he asked tentatively, almost
willing them to say no, fear of what he might find in the files playing on
his mind.

The guys looked between each other, Byers and Langley shrugging,
meaning Frohike was left to address Mulder. "Well, yeah, I don't see
why not." He moved to his desk and retrieved from a draw a set of
keys, removing one. Handing the key to Mulder, he continued, "You'll
find them in our second office. It's down in the basement."

Mulder's eyes flashed with something indefinable, and he gave
Frohike an intense look, to the point where Frohike's own discomfort
forced him to overt his eyes. "The basement?" he asked in a far away
voice, small and nervous.

"Well, yeah," Byers added. "I admit, it's not the most fashionable part
of the Hoover Building, but it suits our needs. Just lock it up once
you're done down there."

"Yeah, thanks guys." He smiled at each of them in turn, before
hurriedly leaving the office with the key in hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder stood outside the basement office, a sort of feverish
apprehension tingling through his body. Nervously, he placed the key
Byers had supplied him with in the lock, and after a few jiggles, the
door gave way. Standing at the threshold of his old office, Mulder
gasped at the familiar surroundings, and literally had to force himself
to start breathing again. He entered, making a beeline for the filling
cabinet which, as far as he remembered, had been burnt to the
ground. A mental image of his char-grilled office flashed through
Fox's mind, and a hint of the despair he'd felt at the moment he'd first
witnessed the ruins of a place he'd once considered more his home
than his own apartment filled his heart, making him stop sharply as he
reached the cabinet. Opening the top draw, he grabbed a file at
random and opened it.

The file documented the investigation into a series of seemingly
unrelated murders, connected by the gruesome detail of the murder's
removal of... Mulder stared at the file, his heart racing. His vision
blurred, and for a long time he stopped breathing; standing transfixed
as he stared at the words in front of him. 'The removal of the victim's
liver,' Mulder finished outloud in a small and squeaky voice.

Mulder dropped the file to the ground as if to hold it a moment longer
would be to poison himself, and desperately he pulled another file
from the cabinet at random. Opening this one, Mulder was once
again left shocked, as it told the tale of Donnie Pfaster, a serial killer
who Fox himself had identified as a fetishist, who had been praying
on women in the summer of 1995, and taking with him the souvenir of
the women's hair.

Blindly he pulled yet another file from the cabinet, this one an old one,
dating back nearly seven years. It documented a case in which a man
claiming alien influence had abducted a woman from her Washington
home, and taken her to... Mulder drew his hand to his mouth, a feeling
of dread and panic running through his veins, and he took in a
shallow gasp of air.

The man had taken his victim to Skyland Mountain.

Frantically, Fox searched the file for more information, then froze
when he came to a file photo of the suspect. The man, identified as
one Duane Eugene Barry, was identical to the man who Mulder
remembered clearly by the same name.

Stunned, Mulder felt his legs give way below him, and he crumpled to
the ground. Staring ahead of him at nothingness, Mulder forced
himself to consider the implications of what he'd just read and seen.
For the first time, the reality of his situation finally hit Mulder. From
these cases, his subconscious would have had the raw material
required to create an elaborate... dream, just like that of his old life.
There, he'd admitted it. Fox squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to
believe what he now knew was very easily the truth. It all made sense
to him now, and he knew that once and for all he would never be
going back to his old life. Mulder squeezed his eyes closed, in an
instant feeling completely alone. Until that moment he hadn't let
himself consider that this indeed could be reality and not his former
existence, but that now seemed unavoidable. Fox suddenly felt
helpless; a tear began to roll down his cheek, and he could both hear
and feel his heart pounding frantically against the wall of his chest.
Through his panic and fear, the room around him began to close in
and his surroundings dissolved to black, until Mulder passed out on
the floor of the basement office, a vessel at the corner of his eye
breaking and spilling blood down his face and onto the carpet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Mulder regained consciousness, the outside world had already
long grown dark as the evening had set in hours ago, not that Mulder
could gage the time by the sun from his place in the basement of the
FBI J. Edgar Hoover Building. It was still longer before he actually
moved, lying rigidly on the ground staring at nothing. When he finally
did move, it was a slow and weary action as he rose to his feet.
Drained and dazed, he staggered to the door and eventually found
his way out of the building.

Outside the air was fresh and crisp, lingering remnants of the previous
night's storm causing a light rain. Clapping thunder continually ripped
across the sky, as the answering flash of lightning lit up the deserted
city, and the rain slowly washed away the dried blood and tears from
Fox's face. Cold and soaked, Mulder stumbled along the pavement, a
feeling of numbness which had accompanied him since the moment
he'd opened his eyes in the basement office covering his entire body
and mind like a thick blanket threatening to smother his soul. Over
and over in his mind, Fox just kept asking himself 'Why?'. Why had
the world played such a sick joke on him. Confusion and fear ripped
through him continuously, as he felt completely and utterly alone. He
considered how clear the truth had been in retrospect. Everything
he'd encountered had pointed to the inevitable conclusion of this
world representing reality. Yet, Mulder knew that, underneath, he'd
always known the truth, but had just stopped himself from admitting it,
allowing fear of the reality's implications to control and govern his
emotions and thoughts to protect his own sanity. He'd known the truth
right from the beginning, right from the moment Dana had pricked her
finger on that rose thorn, but he'd allowed himself to wallow in self
delusion.

Gradually, as Mulder wandered blindly considering the truth, the rain
pelting down on him making his strides progressively heavier, the fear
within him turned instead to anger. Water literally poured from the sky
now, thrusting a literal blanket of rain over Fox's surroundings.
Stopping abruptly in the middle of the road, clenched fists at either
side turning his knuckles to white, he whisked his head to face the
sky, welcoming the heavy downpour which filled his eyes and pelted
his face like sharp pin pricks. Glaring at the grey clouds gathered
overhead, the anger and loathing of a lifetime filled his veins.
Defiantly, he yelled at the heavens and the cosmos with all the fire
within him.

"Why?!?!?!!" he screamed into the sky, "Why did you do this to
me?!?!?!!" He stood transfixed, his eyes sharp and penetrating
through the gloom of the rain swirling around him; the sky's reply an
ear splitting clap of thunder which seemed to emanate from all
directions, and a magnificent flash which lit his face brightly, making
the tracks of his tears plainly visible. Unbridled rage fuming from his
heart, more and more tears of anger started to roll freely from his eyes,
as he thought of Scully and the life he would never know again. He
wept for the world, for the X-Files, and for the truth.

It was early morning before Fox finally staggered home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the following few weeks, Mulder lived his life in a daze, barely
uttering a word and never leaving the apartment. Most of his time he
spent sleeping, or in the times when he was unable to sleep, simply
sat and wallowed in his own deep depression and self pity. He ate
only the bare minimum to stay alive, finding no pleasure in the act of
ingestion. Occasionally he would watch television or turn on the
radio, but even when he did so his attention was distracted.

Dana worried constantly about him. Many times she made attempts at
conversation, but merely found herself brushed off with a short and
dismissive reply. She had twice contacted Dr Fowley, the psychiatrist
at the hospital where Mulder had been staying, and both times was
reassured that depression was a good sign, as it meant Fox had
begun to accept the truth. Fowley reiterated that Mulder would
eventually come through this phase, an inevitable step on the road to
his own psychological recovery, but that knowledge hardly made the
act of watching her husband waste away before Dana's very eyes any
easier. She had been advised to continue attempts to talk to him, but
Dana found that, rather than coming through depression to inevitable
acceptance, she saw Fox simply falling deeper into despair - and
herself with him.

Fox himself was haunted by vivid dreams of his old existence,
subconscious replayings of old memories more real to him than
anything else. Most nights he would awake intermittently with a start,
his clothes soaked with sweat. In amongst these dreams was the
occasional one of his life with Dana and Emily, which were both
comforting and frightening to him at the same time.

On one such night Mulder dreamt that he was with Emily at the beach,
and together they were building a sand castle. The white sand was
warm underfoot, soft and slippery. They were seated either side of the
growing structure they were creating with their hands, a tiny rock pool
their source of water to mould the growing formation. One by one they
were heaping handfuls of sand on top of each other, sculpting with
their hands and pressing into the newly flattened sides fragments of
pearly shell, small rocks, and seaweed. They talked as they built,
laughing together and playing. Eventually they finished their
construction, and the two of them stood back and marvelled at their
masterpiece, staring in awe at their creation, a conglomeration of the
very sand they walked on and the shells that shone as they caught the
light, transformed into a castle of wonder. They'd created a moat
around the castle, and now, as the tide drew further up the beach, the
castle's surroundings were gently bombarded with a boarder of water,
deeming the fortress impenetrable. They both smiled at the beauty of
the structure, before Mulder lifted Emily above his head, the little girl
squealing excitedly, and they ran together to the ocean's edge and
played in the shallow waters until the sun was nearly set, it's last rays
sparkling colourfully and peacefully over the rippling water, casting
shadows of red, pink, and orange.

Mulder awoke slowly, allowing himself to saver the last remnants of
his dream. Such a beautiful memory was not to be just discarded. He
sat up slowly, noting that the time was just after six thirty, and smiled
as he considered the memory of his day at the beach with his
daughter. It was a real memory, he knew, and a happy one at that.
He replayed in his mind sculpting the sand with his hands, almost
able to feel the fine substance in his fingers. He closed his eyes to
give the memory full justice, but no sooner had he done so than the
image in his minds eye changed, a flash of another scene in his
memory filling his mind. He was building a sand castle with a little
boy, the same as he had been with Emily, only this wasn't a castle... it
was a spaceship they were creating.

Mulder's eyes shot open and his smile faded. His memory had been
of another dream he'd had, what seemed like an eternity ago, a
symbol of his acceptance of his fate as a tool in fighting the future.
The glimmer of hope and happiness he'd felt just moments before,
dissipated just as quickly as it had come. His old depression
returned, and it remained firmly ingrained in him for some further
weeks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Headlights and streetlights flew past, like ghosts emerging from the
darkness. The steady, soothing movement of the car was enough to
cure any insomniac, as Fox was finding in the back seat as he rested
his head against his seatbelt. They had been driving a long time, and
despite himself, Fox's weary eyes were getting the better of him - or at
least his eyes. Just as he was on the verge of sleep, the sudden flash
of headlights bore down on him, emitting blinding light, the type
abductees describe as they're being elevated aboard an alien space
craft. There was a screech of brakes, the crunch of metal. The car
was sent flying.

Next thing Fox knew, he was lying on his back. He opened his eyes
to see that the car had done a 180ยก flip and was now resting on it's
roof. Broken glass was everywhere. He cringed at a shooting pain in
his right leg. He turned his head slightly and noticed the limp body of
a young girl beside him. His heart skipped a beat. Slowly, tentatively,
he reached out a hand and touched her. No reaction. In an instant he
forgot about the pain in his leg. He poked her again, a sudden panic
engulfing him. He shook her, harder and harder. She still didn't
move. He desperately shook the limp body, hoping above hope that
she'd finally respond. But she didn't. Tears began to freely flow down
his face.

"No! Please!" he cried out. "Samantha!"

Mulder jerked awake, covered in sweat. His eyes desperately darted
around his and Dana's apartment. He looked below him and realised
he was lying in the dark on the couch he'd fallen asleep on some time
before. He lay back, gasping for air, realising everything he'd just
witnessed had been a dream.

But no, somehow it had been more than a dream, he knew. Mulder
could actually remember those events. It wasn't a dream, but a
memory. He'd had a sister, Samantha, in his real life, too. She hadn't
been abducted by aliens though, she had died in a car crash as a
young girl. And Mulder had been there. Just like his other world,
she'd been taken from him in a bright light, and there'd been nothing
he could do to save her.

Just like Agent Mulder.

He suddenly felt helpless, and he couldn't think properly. His mind
was a fog, and the more he tried to centre his thoughts, the worse the
fog became. Sleep was impossible. It was all he could do to lie there.
Alone in the dark and more lost than ever, his heart cried out through
the silence, but there was noone to hear it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A long time passed. Mulder didn't know how long he'd lain there
alone, consumed by his own personal despair. He was startled when
the small figure of his little girl emerged from the hallway.

"Daddy?" Emily asked tentatively in a shaky voice.

Mulder stared at the girl for a long time. "Wh-what is it, Emily?" he
finally asked, just as tentatively.

She took a few steps closer. "I had a bad dream daddy. I'm scared."
As she got closer, Mulder could see that she was as white as a sheet,
and covered in sweat, funnily enough, just as he was.

"Don't... don't be scared. It's ok. You just go back to bed, it's ok."

She stood, staring into her father's eyes for some time. "Can I sleep
here with you, daddy?" she finally asked, her voice still shaking.

That was the question Mulder had been dreading. He wanted more
than anything to be left alone to his pain and torment. Just him and
his mind, running round in circles. He was in a dark place, and wasn't
in the mood to play father to a small child. He seriously thought about
saying no to her, but then silently scolded himself for even
considering it. This was his daughter, a young girl who needed him.
He couldn't just turn away. He mustered a weak smile.

"Sure sweetie, come here."

Her timid, fearful expression turned into a delighted smile as she
hoped onto the couch next to her father.

" 'night daddy," she said sleepily, and closed her eyes tightly.

Mulder looked at the little girl and stroked her hair. In an instant, his
sorrow seemed to melt away, like a switch had been flicked in his
mind. This small child had come to him for comfort, sought him out,
and somehow that meant more to Mulder than anything else in the
world at that moment.

For the first time in a long time, he smiled.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

End part 1