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casinobwinbonusbwin-blog · 7 years

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robot-radar · 7 years

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2017 Jaguar F-Pace

2017 Jaguar F-Pace Review

Magnificence and common sense are so frequently fundamentally unrelated. Be that as it may, every once in a while, something happens that figures out how to be both fun and touchy, ready to draw on the strings of the heart while fulfilling the piece of his cerebrum where all the solid counsel of his mom dwell. 2017 Jaguar F-Pace is an amusing to-drive SUV that additionally happens to be a standout amongst the most far reaching, powerful and focused costs in the conservative extravagance section.

The principle target of Jaguar when it halted creation of its first SUV was sufficient. Mission finished, be that as it may, have been included with a slight partition of the length of the wheelbase to the ground being decreased in the eyes, the subsequent vehicle was ended with more back legs, and load space uneasiness utilize the Unpaved land, the greater part of its rivals.

An optional goal was to drive with an indistinguishable eagerness from Jaguar vehicles and games autos. Utilizing an indistinguishable mechanical bone from XE and XF sports vehicle and a sort of F-motivation, 2017 Jaguar F-Pace is without a doubt a standout amongst the most alluring SUV driving class.

An inflexible guiding, an exceptionally unbending structure, perfectly created and completely wheel-mounted back suspension framework are gainful. The excursion might be somewhat relentless for a few, be that as it may.

#gallery-0-17 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-17 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-17 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-17 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

2017 Jaguar F-Pace 35t Premium

2017 Jaguar F-Pace Configurations

2017 Jaguar F-Pace 20d

The support of these dynamic abilities is a couple of appealing motors. A supercharged V6 motor produces 340 drive (or 380 in the S show) at a cost where the greater part of the contenders has turbocharged four-chamber and 100-pull less. The increasing speed is as anyone might expect better than most, and is created alongside a high evaluating of the motivated F debilitate framework.

For the individuals who need to keep their fuel charges low, the 20d model has a productive turbo diesel motor, which joined the BMW X3 as the main other SUV in the fragment to offer such a motor (the Audi Q5 TDI is suspended the emanations because of VW embarrassment).

Inside, the lodge is elegantly finished, pleasantly brightened with quality materials and outfitted with happy with seating. New Jaguar is another Touch Pro InTouch mark interface with noteworthy responsiveness, huge virtual catches and adaptable menus.

Additionally, studies are expected to play out a full decision on contending frameworks (the same for less, the standard interface of the InControl touchscreen) however our underlying examinations were at any rate positive.

What’s more, indeed, this is the thing that we for the most part feel about the Jaguar F-Pace, 2017. Albeit different encounters are positively fundamental, we are certain of the exactness of our underlying response: This is one of class pioneers.

The F-Pace contributes adequately to the sort of element driving background offered by the Porsche Macan, the polish of the Mercedes-Benz GLC-Class and the adjusted character of the BMW X3. Also, despite the fact that it may not coordinate the Acura RDX esteem, it has a tendency to be less expensive than the value like different opponents said above. Things being what they are magnificence and reasonableness can exist together.

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2017 Jaguar F-Pace 35t Prestige

2017 Jaguar F-Pace 35t R-Sport

2017 Jaguar F-Pace Black

2017 Jaguar F-Pace Gear and Qualities

2017 Jaguar F-Pace is an extravagance minimized SUV with limit with respect to five travelers. There are five levels of hardware: Base, Premium Luxury, R-Sport and S. Everything except S are accessible with an engine choice (indicated 20d and 35t). There is likewise an adaptation accountable for S known as the primary release, just 275 are expected for the United States.

The F-Pace construct comes standard in light of all wheels, 18-inch wheels, back end, voyage control, journey control, raise window, LED route lights, programmed wipers, keyless passage and start, electric seats with Two seats with eight conformity, a 40/20/40 collapsing back seat, a calfskin trimmed controlling wheel, slant and Luxtec simulated cowhide, a programmed darkening rearview reflect, InControl to ensure crisis interchanges administrations, material touch interface Electronic InControl 8-inch telephone and sound framework and speakers Bluetooth meridian 11 with USB, media player interface, helper sound jack and CD player. A back view camera and satellite radio can be included independently.

Premium includes 19-inch wheels, raise see camera, control mirrors and movable controller memory capacities. The Vision bundle includes programmed bi-xenon headlights with programmed leveling and washers, front and back stopping sensors and a ready framework.

The model in view of two F-Pace and premium can be strengthened with a crisp bundle that includes warmed front seats and back seats, warmed windscreen and warmed directing wheel that enhanced cowhide. They can likewise be furnished with an incorporated InControl material route framework.

Including extravagance F-Pace a large portion of the above alternatives and front and back stopping sensors, gear, icy pack, cowhide upholstery, four-situate front lumbar, flexible controlling wheel, collapsing back armrest, cell phone applications. It does exclude the visually impaired cautioning framework, which is adjusted, is incorporated into the Vision Prestige bundle, which additionally incorporates versatile LED headlights.

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2017 Jaguar F-Pace First Edition

2017 Jaguar F-Pace Interior

2017 Jaguar F-Pace R Sport

R-Sport includes 20-inch wheels, extraordinary styling components, a discretionary extravagance hardware, haze lights, a programmed braking cautioning, programmed sun bars, an all the more forcefully strengthened front seat with a recreated leg rest in the Adjustable calfskin dashboard.

The F-Pace S is prepared similarly, however has an extra 40 horse suspension versatile (discretionary in the Prestige and R-Sport) and different styling components.

The Prestige, R-Sport and S can be outfitted with front seats with solace and comfort electric ventilated back seats, a remote control to crease the back seats and an electric entryway with signal control. The Technology bundle includes a full arrangement of LCD instruments, a 3G remote framework in a meridian encompass sound framework with 17 speakers and a superior 10 inch touch interface Pro InControl with configurable menu screens and enhanced usefulness.

They can likewise be furnished with a head-up show, rooftop rails and a waterproof “movement scratch” armlet that permits you to open the auto with the key still inside.

R-Sport and S can be outfitted with all extravagance inside overhauls including four programmed temperature control zones, extra air conduits to the back seats, redesigned floor coverings and structure, inside lighting hues and 10 refrigerated glove compartment.

The driver’s bolster unit includes versatile voyage control, crash cautioning before a speed confine warning, three extra stopping cameras and a programmed stopping framework (parallel, opposite and exit). They can likewise be fitted with 22-inch wheels.

The principal release incorporates the greater part of the alternatives and choices to the unique paint, pooch tooth change inside and stitched calfskin refreshed with an exceptional saw tooth teeth.

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2017 Jaguar F-Pace MSRP

2017 Jaguar F-Pace Price

2017 Jaguar F-Pace White

2017 Jaguar F-Pace Execution and MPG

Each 2017 Jaguar F-Pace comes standard with four-wheel drive, eight-speed programmed gearbox, paddle move levers, slant begin help and a programmed begin and stop framework. There are two motor alternatives.

The 35t all-wheel drive models have a 3.0-liter V6 turbo that produces 340 strength and 332 pound-feet of torque in all forms with the exception of the S and the main release where it produces 380 pull. The couple has not changed.

Panther trusts that the base part will bring about a period of 0-60 mph in 5.4 seconds or 5.1 seconds with the S. Both are among the speediest in the fragment. The efficiency is assessed by the EPA to be 20 mpg consolidated (18 city/23 roadway). This is much lower than contenders with a turbocharged four-chamber less intense. This is about the same as the Macan S.

The AWD 20D models have a 2.0-liter 4-chamber turbodiesel in-line that produces 180 pull and 318 pound-feet of torque. It is ordinary for a motor of this sort. Puma trusts it will increment from zero to 60 miles/h in 8.2 seconds, which is ease back however like the BMW X3 diesel. No appraisals EPA was accessible at the season of composing these lines, yet Jaguar trusts it will be in the upper scope of 20 mpg consolidated.

2017 Jaguar F-Pace Security

Each 2017 F-Pace comes standard with automated stopping devices, dependability and footing control, front side airbags and long side window ornament airbags. Camera sensors and stopping mirrors are discretionary on the construct model and standard in light of all others.

The programmed crisis stopping mechanism and the consummation of the bolster course are standard on the Sport R and S dazzle sports framework and back pass cautioning is additionally standard in this specific situation and discretionary reward and extravagance.

2017 Jaguar F-Pace To the Inside

The F-Pace lodge may not be as snappy as the outside, but rather all things considered it is classy and developed with materials of sufficient quality. The atmosphere controls are fantastic and the new Touch Pro InControl framework (discretionary) incorporates vast virtual catches, speedy answers and clear design. We require additional time than was conceivable amid our first collection, in any case, and we have not met the InControl based touch framework.

In advance, the F-Pace figures out how to mix lift while sitting tight for a SUV, with more than one auto subtype situate. The seats themselves offer more than sufficient condition and notwithstanding coming about space for the taller drivers.

The back seat, then, offers more legroom than most contenders, albeit a standout amongst the most critical motors in the front. Head tallness is not precisely ample, but rather the head is not brushing the roof (even with the sunroof).

The freight space is magnificent for the portion, which measures 33.5 cubic feet with seats up (best in class) and a limit of 63.5 cubic feet (just outperformed by Volvo XC60). This is chiefly the consequence of its profundity more than expected.

Also, for the individuals who will utilize the load region or the rooftop to convey a surfboard, kayak or open air enterprise articles, you may be keen on the discretionary action scratch F-Pace: Jaguar script opens the auto, abandoning you the key in the bolted auto.

2017 Jaguar F-Pace In the Driver’s Seat

The F-Pace 2017 looks more like a SUV sports vehicle in the driver’s seat – notwithstanding for moderately focused games models. Its corners are level and unremarkable impressionism projections are gotten with an unbending structure and a completely coordinated suspension.

The four wheel drive framework sends the majority of the power in the back in many conditions, making a favorable usefulness and sentiment a back wheel drive vehicle. And after that there are the uncommon direction: light and steady in their endeavors, was brought up in input and solid in their reactions.

In the engine, the supercharged V6 offers a 35t help, whatever the driving circumstance, with a somewhat boisterous motor note that can absolutely move toward an unmanned light plane exhausted amid typical driving. Diesel 20d ought to feel sufficiently solid to the city or when you have to build the ability to cross the street yet you will see the absence of force on a slope.

With two motors, four-wheel drive framework that standard taking care of, it has additionally demonstrated its incentive in the crate, sending energy to the wheels they require. Alongside this liberal land and go romping innovation obtained from the cousin of Land Rover, the 2017 Jaguar F-Pace can handle the precarious, dangerous, tractor-filled and rough trails as opposed to its character.

2017 Jaguar F-Pace – Is an Amusing to drive SUV that additionally happens to be a standout amongst the most far reaching powerful and focused Costs 2017 Jaguar F-Pace Review Magnificence and common sense are so frequently fundamentally unrelated. Be that as it may, every once in a while, something happens that figures out how to be both fun and touchy, ready to draw on the strings of the heart while fulfilling the piece of his cerebrum where all the solid counsel of his mom dwell.

#2017 Jaguar F-Pace #2017 Jaguar F-Pace 20d #2017 Jaguar F-Pace 35t Premium #2017 Jaguar F-Pace 35t Prestige #2017 Jaguar F-Pace 35t R-Sport #2017 Jaguar F-Pace Black #2017 Jaguar F-Pace Configurations #2017 Jaguar F-Pace First Edition #2017 Jaguar F-Pace Interior #2017 Jaguar F-Pace MSRP #2017 Jaguar F-Pace Price #2017 Jaguar F-Pace R Sport #2017 Jaguar F-Pace White

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leiascully · 6 years

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Fic: Between A Rock And A Hard Place (Part Four)

Timeline: Season 10 (replaces My Struggle in the All The Choices We’ve Made ‘verse - Visitor + Resident + etc.) Rating: PG Characters: Mulder, Scully, Tad O’Malley, Sveta (established MSR) Content warning: canon-typical body horror (mentions of abduction, forced pregnancy, etc.) A/N: I’m collecting all the related stories that go with Visitor/Resident under the title “All The Choices We’ve Made”, because it felt right at the time. This story is an alternate My Struggle that reflects M&S’ growth/change in the ATCWM ‘verse. I’m weaving canon dialogue into the stories in an attempt to keep the reframing plausibly in line with canon.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

It seems inevitable that Sveta and O'Malley will want to meet with them again, so Mulder short-circuits the whole thing. He's impatient in his old age. He was impatient in his youth. He texts O'Malley and asks for the name of Sveta's hotel. He's waiting in the lobby with a coffee when she comes down. Scully's back at Quantico. He expects O'Malley to find her in the morgue. A tv personality shouldn't have that kind of access and yet. O'Malley clearly knows which strings to pull. Sveta wanders down eventually, startled when he waves at her as she crosses the lobby with halting purpose in her step. She turns to him and wavers, like she's torn between wanting his help and fearing that no one can help. Another symptom for his checklist. He waits and finally she steps toward him.

"Agent Mulder. Hello."

"Hey," he says. "Dr. Scully asked me to check on you." It's as close to truth as he can get.

"That's so kind," Sveta says. "I knew she was kind."

"Can I buy you a coffee?" Mulder asks.

"Thank you," Sveta says. They order and he pays, and they return to the table he claimed, his newspaper still open to the half-done crossword.

"I had a few more questions for you myself," he says, after some small talk.

"I know," she tells him. "You can ask."

"There was a moment when we were talking to you about your abductions - about your pregnancies. We asked you a question and you looked at Mr. O'Malley before you answered. Why?"

She laced her fingers around the heat of her coffee cup. The barista hadn't even tried to get her name right. There was just a Z and a scribble. "Because it's not exactly the right question."

"I'm sorry," Mulder said. "I don't understand."

"Mr. O'Malley told you it was aliens who took my babies," Sveta said. "But I don't believe it's aliens who are taking them."

"If aliens didn't abduct you, who did?" Mulder asks, already certain of the answer.

Sveta's lip trembles and her eyes shine with tears that threaten to brim over. "It's difficult to talk about. The memories are difficult and the answers you want...they're dangerous, Mr. Mulder."

Twenty years ago, they would have sent a girl like her to distract him. Twenty years ago, it would have worked. He was a knight errant then, imagining he could save every damsel in distress. He's learned not to gallop off in all directions now, though he paid more than he should have for the lesson.

"Everything stays between us, Sveta," he promises. "This isn't an interrogation. It's not on the record. It's just a conversation."

"The things I've experienced," she chokes out. "They've affected my entire life. They've made it impossible to have anything like a normal existence."

Mulder leans forward, reminded that therapists guide a conversation in much the same way interrogators do, and he's trained in both. "What are you afraid of, Sveta?"

"That it only gets worse," she says, and the tears spill over at last with perfect cinematic timing. He believes in her pain. He also believes in O'Malley's showmanship.

"Who took your babies?" he asks in his most soothing, most confidential voice.

"Men," she says in a hoarse whisper. "They took me aboard their ships. Their human ships. I was afraid they would kill me if I ever told anyone the truth. When I saw Mr. O'Malley...he seemed like my best chance to find out what happened to me."

"You didn't see a doctor because doctors did this to you," Mulder says.

"Who could I trust?" Sveta asks, tears running down her cheeks again. "They would erase the evidence. Call me a liar. They're the liars."

"You can trust me," Mulder says. "You can trust Dr. Scully. Our job is to protect you while we bring justice to those who harmed you."

"You work for the government," Sveta sniffles.

"Sometimes the best place to find the lies is inside the house," Mulder tells her. "They call me a liar too. They call Dr. Scully a liar."

"How do you keep going?" Sveta asks. Her eyes are wet and she looks so young.

"One step at a time," Mulder says. "Right now, your trauma is an open wound. You'll heal with time. And you'll help us bring these men to justice."

"I want to believe you," Sveta says.

"Me too," Mulder sighs.

He calls Scully from the car. She sounds distracted as she answers.

"Is he there?" Mulder asks. "Why am I even asking, of course he's there."

"Of course, Assistant Director," she says. "Just finishing the preliminary notes. Let me wash up and I'll be right there." He hears her turn her face away from the speaker. "So sorry, but I've got a meeting."

"What a shame," says O'Malley's voice, distantly, muffled. "Let me know if you ever want to grab dinner sometime. I'm sure you're a veritable library of information. I'll bring the Scotch and you bring the weird science."

She laughs politely and he hears the door close behind her and then the sound of water running. "Sorry, Mulder. I pretended to hang up and put my phone in my pocket."

"At least you got offered dinner," Mulder says. "You going to go out with Tad O'Malley? The Tad O'Malley? He'll show you a good time."

"I'm married," she says casually but firmly, and his heart flipflops in his chest. "How was Sveta?"

"Rattled," he says. "You were right. The same story about humans abducting her, and O'Malley just running with the notion of aliens. No one can really explain the craft without ET, but everything since then - all the work after the initial abduction, anyway - that's been us. Humans."

"Does that surprise you?" she says after a pause.

"No," he says. "You?"

"No," she says. "I seem to recall you having a meltdown over the same revelation sometime circa 1998."

"I seem to recall you being next to Cassandra Spender as she vanished off a bridge the same year," he counters.

She sighs. "There are days I don't regret getting that tattoo."

"We've been chasing our tails for decades," he agrees.

"They'll reopen the X-Files if he asks them to," she says. "You know they will. And then what will we do?"

"That was my next question," he says.

"We can't help her without access," Scully says. "But it's highly probable we can't help her at all. Ten year of unraveling the lies and we never got any definitive proof we could take to the public."

"You were right," he says. "We need help."

"He brought me a collection of photographs," she tells him. "He wanted me to tell me if they were alien hybrid children."

"Were they?" Mulder asks.

"I can't make that kind of designation based on a photograph," she says sternly, "but my medical opinion, which I shared with Mr. O'Malley, was that they shared a rare disease called microtia, which causes children to be born without the external apparatus of the ear. Rare, but not unearthly. Alien in appearance, but not in origin."

"Did he ask you about the X-Files?"

"Of course," she says. "He wanted to know if I missed the work."

Mulder taps on the steering wheel. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him it was some of the most intense and challenging work I'd ever done," she says. "I told him I thought I had felt most alive when you and I were working together."

He swallowed against the lump in his throat. "Laying it on thick, Dr. Scully."

"I told him that working with you had led to the most intense and challenging and impossible relationship of my life," she says. "And after all of that, he still tried to ask me out."

"Intense and challenging and impossible aren't necessarily positive," Mulder tells her. "You left an opening."

"He wasn't really listening," Scully says. "But you know I love a challenge, Mulder."

"Yes, you do," he says.

"We need to talk to Skinner," she says.

"I'm on it," he tells her, and hangs up.

Skinner meets them after hours at the elevator. They all ride down together. Scully kissed Skinner in this elevator once, Mulder seems to remember, but he only heard about it later from the security guard watching the video feed. He doesn't remember much from that particular adventure anyway, except kissing whoever Scully was in 1939 and getting a gaudy bruise for it. They don't talk on the way to the basement. The place smells the same. The office still has pencils in the ceiling. Somebody's taken the trouble to gut and repaint the place, and it still has pencils in the ceiling.

"Where are the files?" Scully asks.

"I don't know," Skinner says, but he looks away as he says it. Play the game, Mulder thinks, and they'll find out later.

"You said no one had been down here, that it hadn't been touched," he says, letting a little anger color his voice. Skinner will forgive him. They all have to play their parts. New paint means new bugs.

"Not since you and Agent Scully left the Bureau," Skinner says.

"We're back now," Mulder tells him.

"You certainly are," Skinner says. "As of this morning, you're reassigned to the X-Files, pending approval."

"Whose approval?" Scully asks.

"It's above my pay grade," Skinner says.

"We need access," Mulder says, "and we need backup. We need a staff. If the X-Files are so important, there should be more than two agents."

"I'll see what I can do," Skinner mumbles. "Your mysterious benefactors seem willing to allocate whatever resources are deemed necessary."

"Who do you take orders from, sir?" Scully asks sharply.

"All you need to know is that I'm looking out for you," Skinner says dismissively. "I've always looked out for you."

"We've been led through one dark alley after another, and all of them dead ends," Mulder says. "What makes this time different?"

"The world is different," Skinner says. "Since 9/11, this country has taken a very big turn in a very strange direction. I'm not the only one who wished you were still down here. You've got friends in high places."

"All the better to spy on us," Scully says.

"The danger is real," Skinner tells her, "but the opportunities are too. You can do something about it, agents. Together. You may be the only ones left who can."

"Do we have a choice?" Scully asks. She's gotten better at lying in the intervening years. Mulder isn't certain whether he should be grateful for that.

"Do you ever?" Skinner says.

"We'll need desks," Mulder says. "And a new poster."

"I'll see what I can requisition," Skinner tells him. "Welcome home, agents."

Scully goes back to the hospital after they finish the paperwork, murmuring about test results. Mulder doesn't mind. He has his own contacts, even after fourteen years out of the game. Tad O'Malley isn't the only one with a fan base, not that he likes to think about his informants that way. It's evening by the time he gets to the Mall, but he enjoys the walk. He's missed working down here: the bustle and the restaurants, the museums and the tourists. He walks toward the Washington Monument.

"Is the hour absolutely necessary?" says a voice at his shoulder. "I had dinner reservations."

"It was important that I see you," Mulder tells him.

"We made an agreement about our meeting in unsecured environments," grumbles the doctor. Apparently working in Area 51 makes a person paranoid forever. He can relate to that. He's just lucky that anyone who was in Roswell when the crash handed is willing to speak to him.

"I can't provide a high-security cordon like your former establishment," Mulder jokes. "For one thing, I don't have a couple hundred square miles of desert to drop the facility in the middle of or a guard to patrol the perimeter. But anyone who's out here isn't looking at us. I called you because you said if I ever put the pieces together, you would confirm."

"And have you put them together?" the doctor asks.

"I've met someone," Mulder hedges. "I've seen something."

"You weren't even close before," the doctor scoffs. "Warring aliens lighting each other on fire. Weaponized bees. Every distraction they organized for you, you swallowed hook, line, and sinker."

"I was being cleverly manipulated," Mulder says in a tone even he hears as sulky. "I admit to a certain credulousness in my youth."

"And what brings this new clarity?" the doctor asks.

"I saw an ARV running on free energy," Mulder tells him. "I touched it. I saw it disappear."

"That's what they all seem to do," the doctor grumbles.

"Their scientists said the materials were salvaged from Roswell." Mulder paces back and forth. "The technology exists. And it's been in use, being used on humans, for human testing that has been consistently misreported as alien abductions."

"So you believe you know how," the doctor muses.

"Yes," Mulder says. "And I think I know why."

"That 'why' is more complicated than you may ever know, Mr. Mulder," the doctor tells him.

"I've heard that a lot over the years," Mulder says. "Try me. Sixty years ago, we were warned about the military-industrial complex gathering too much power. Now alien technology is being used against us. Not by aliens or with aliens as I believed in the past, but by a venal conspiracy of men against humanity."

"You're wasting my time," the old man said dismissively, turning away. "There's always a bad man in the shadows or a monster under the bed."

"What are the tests for?" Mulder demands. "The babies? The samples? The implanted DNA?"

The doctor squints as he steps under the streetlight. "You tell me, Mr. Mulder."

"Ten years ago you came to me, saying you couldn't take your secrets to your grave, that you couldn't live with it." Mulder steps into the doctor's personal space.

The doctor sighs. "I"m a man of medicine. I didn't know how my work would be used. The lies are so great, Mr. Mulder. I imagined that I would come forward, but I knew that the truth must be unassailable. I am not sure that kind of truth exists anymore."

"Let me tell the world," Mulder tells him.

"They'll make a mockery of us," the doctor says sadly. "They'll pillory us in the town square."

"So what else is new," Mulder says. "I've been a punching bag before. I can take it."

"These men are capable of knocking you out," the doctor says. "You're nearly there. You're close." He turns away. "You listen to me because I was there in Roswell, but Roswell has become a smokescreen."

"So I've been told," Mulder says to himself. He wonders when all the informants began to sound the same. They promise him the truth but only speak in riddles. They offer him the world, but won't give him the map. He'd have better luck with a sphinx, and she'd probably be more coherent.

He goes home. That, at least, is new, that after submerging himself for hours in the kind of paranoia his younger self lived and breathed, he gets to emerge from it and go home to spend his life with Scully.

She's reheated the chili and she's sitting at the table in the kitchen, stirring sour cream into her bowl. "I wasn't sure when you'd be home," she says.

"Sorry," he says. "I meant to text you, but I had to talk to someone."

"Just like old times," she says.

"Except I get to come home to you," he says, and leans down to kiss her. "How were the test results?"

"Strange," she says.

"But you expected that," he says, ladling chili into a bowl and joining her at the table. "Didn't you?"

"They're in line with the results from around the time of my cancer," she tells him.

"You're disappointed," he says.

"I don't know what I was thinking," she says, dropping her spoon. "I thought maybe the chip had removed the junk DNA, or that something about the pregnancy had rewired my system. Dr. Parenti told me that all of my test results were normal. But I suppose he lied about almost everything."

He aches for her, thinking of her going through all of that alone. “I’m sorry, Scully.”

She lifts one shoulder. It isn’t quite a shrug. “I never quite learned to trust no one.”

He smiles at her. "And Sveta's results?"

"Like mine," she said. "Anomalous. Like purity control, all those years ago, and all those women in Pennsylvania." She looks at him across the table and reaches for his hand. "I wish it weren't always so personal."

"Me too," he says.

"Do you still believe we can save the world?" she asks, her voice just slightly shaky.

"I want to believe," he tells her.

"So do I," she says. "I badly want to believe that there is some point to all of this, if we take up this cause again. We've come so far, Mulder."

"One foot in front of the other," he says. "That's how you walk through the desert, Scully. Or the fire."

"It's always worked for us," she says, smiling at him. "I just hope that Sveta's all right. I don't trust O'Malley's intentions. She's vulnerable. She wants answers as badly as I do. I know what that can do to a person."

Mulder sighs. "He'll contact us again. He's had his chance to influence us separately. Do we play along, pretending to be true believers, or do we reject his tangled web of conspiracy theories so flimsy and fringe even a teenager would be ashamed to believe it?"

"To be fair to teenagers, they're ashamed of most things," Scully murmurs. "It is the part you were born to play."

"We all have our faith, Scully," he jokes. "Our belief in things unseen."

"I know," she says.

#xfiles fic #xf fic #xf alternate season 10 #xf revival fic #mulder x scully #my fic #atcwm verse

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leiascully · 6 years

Text

Fic: Home Again (Part 5/5)

Timeline: Season 10 (replaces Home Again in its original order in the All The Choices We’ve Made ‘verse - Visitor + Resident + etc.) Rating: PG Characters: Mulder, Scully, Bill Scully, the Trashman (established MSR) Content warning: canon-typical body horror (dismemberment) A/N: This story is an alternate Home Again that cleaves fairly close to the original but reflects M&S’ growth/change in the ATCWM ‘verse and makes reference to past cases. I’m weaving canon dialogue into the stories in an attempt to keep the reframing plausibly in line with canon.

Here’s the end of it, and here’s the link to all of it on AO3:

She spends the entire drive to Philadelphia staring out the window as tears roll down her cheeks. She isn't even actively crying, just leaking. Lachrymose. Lagrimosa. If she were a statue, it would be a miracle. She wishes she were a statue.

At the lab, Mulder introduces her to the lab techs. She smiles politely, eyes dry at last, but she can't remember their names, even when she looks at their nametags. She has one hand in her pocket, worrying the coin necklace like a talisman, and her phone in the other hand, waiting for Bill to call. Their mother may be dead, but her life isn't over. There will be loose ends to tie up, certificates to file, legal documents to be read and analyzed. Her body was, in some ways, the least significant part of her existence, until it failed. It's a lesson Scully has learned over and over as a forensic pathologist.

"I broke down the paint samples you chipped away from the Trashman's signature," says one of the scientists, gesturing at an expensive-looking machine. "I used vibrational spectography to analyze it. It defines binders, pigments, and additives that are in spray paint. The binder present in this breakdown was patented by a brand called Cannonz - that's with a z - and used only in their high-end spray paints."

Scully Googles it. Cannonz with a z makes a lot of spray paint, but when she puts in Philadelphia, the results narrow. "Product locator indicates there's only one store in Central Philadelphia that carries it," she announces.

"Then it's time for a visit," Mulder says, and they're off. The forward motion feels good. It feels productive. When she's still, her insides churn and her mind slips inevitably back to the hospital.

"You want to stake out the store?" Mulder asks.

She opens her mouth to say yes, please, let me work, but then reconsiders. The few times she's been in a hardware store, she's been too noticeable. Men assume she doesn't know what she wants, or that she's a DIY blogger, or that one way or another, she needs their attention. It'll be better if Mulder does it and she stays in the car.

"No," she says. "It's a little conspicuous. Better if I drive."

"Okay," he says.

+ + + +

Mulder lurks in the hardware store, pretending to look at sandpaper and paint. It's easy and absorbing to flip through the paint chips. Maybe they should redo the bedroom. He hasn't, since she moved back in. Maybe it's time for a new look to go with the reboot of their old life. Something to signify that the times have really changed. They've never really lived anywhere that had color on the walls.

He knows she's right and she would be conspicuous. A beautiful woman in a suit in a hardware store is unlikely to be an everyday occurrence, especially one who occasionally weeps in an understated and elegant way that breaks hearts. As far as he's concerned, she's always the center of attention.

Movement catches his eye. There's a young man by the spray paint. He knocks cans of Cannonz Premium into his basket: black, light grey, dark grey, white. There's no hesitation in his movement. Mulder follows him, walking casually with his fistful of paint chips, moving toward the front of the store. The kid looks back over his shoulder. Mulder detours down another aisle, glancing at a display of fans. When he catches up again, the kid has ditched his basket of paint and is headed for the front door. Mulder trails him. He follows the kid out the front door at a reasonable difference. Scully's in the car. Her head is bent, looking at something she's holding, probably the necklace her mother will never get a chance to explain. He whistles, wishing he didn't have to, and her head snaps up. She shifts out of park and follows him.

Mulder runs, wishing he wasn't wearing dress shoes. Scully catches up to him and pulls over a hundred feet away. He flings open the door and climbs into the passenger's seat.

"That way," he says, panting. They run the kid to ground at a warehouse in a fenced-off wooded lot. Mulder jumps out of the car and regrets it as his knee twinges. Some parts of them are getting too old for this. But he glimpses the kid and takes off in pursuit, Scully close behind him. They clamber through a hole in the chain-link fence. The kid stops to unlock a door. He's polite for a vandal and potential murderer.

"Federal agents!" Mulder calls, just as the kid gets the door open and vanishes through it. Mulder shares a look with Scully and they go in. It's dim inside the warehouse, like most of the warehouses he's been in, but his reflexes are still sharp and he reaches for his weapon almost without thinking as he sees the kid draw a gun. Scully has the kid in a headlock almost before either of them can react. He wonders if she took up jujitsu in the time they were apart. She's impressive. Then again, she always was. She hands him the kid's gun and cuffs the kid.

"We're looking for the Trashman," Mulder says.

The kid sighs. "Why would I know where he is?"

"You had the paint," Mulder tells him.

"Is it a crime to buy paint?" the kid snarks.

"No, but it's a crime to deface other people's property," Scully says.

"With the same paint the Trashman uses," Mulder points out.

"Why are you looking for him?" the kid asks.

"We believe he may be a key witness in a murder case," Scully says, looking at Mulder.

"There might be compensation in it for the person who could help us find him," Mulder says.

"Lead with that next time," the kid grumbles. "You want the Trashman? Take the cuffs off and I'll take you to him."

"How do we know we can trust you?" Scully asks.

"You're the ones with the guns," the kid says.

She raises her eyebrow at Mulder. He shrugs. They've had this discussion more times than he can count. It hasn't needed to be verbalized for decades. The potential reward outweighs the risk. He's pretty sure Scully could throw this kid. She uncuffs him and the kid rubs his wrist.

"We kept our end," Mulder says.

"Right this way," the kid says, like a sarcastic maitre d'. He leads them through the warehouse to another door that he unlocks with his jingling ring of keys. There are stairs dimly visible beyond it. The kid points down to them. Mulder pulls out his phone and turns on the flashlight. He should have brought a real one. There were years when he never went anywhere without a flashlight. The one on his phone is brighter, but harder to balance across his gun. Twenty-first century skills.

"I'm just letting you know," the kid says, "from here on down, there's no light. Power's out."

"Crime doesn't pay the bills," Mulder jokes. The kid pretends to laugh. The three of them start to ease down the stairs. It's dark, but the stairs seem to be in good condition, and they're even. The light from their phones casts dizzying shadows around their feet, but that's something Mulder can deal with. He spent decades in the shadows. When they're what must be most of the way down, the kid shoves them suddenly into the wall and pelts back up the stairs. Mulder sighs. Scully shoots him a sideways glare.

"What?" he says. "I wasn't going to shoot him. He's a kid and it's dark. You want to do the stairs, be my guest. I'm too old for that shit."

She rolls her eyes. "Mulder, back in the day, I used to do stairs in three-inch heels."

He glances at her feet and shines his phone at them. "'Back in the day', huh. Three inches not enough for you anymore?"

She rolls her eyes again.

"Go for it, G-Woman," he tells her.

"I'm not leaving you alone in the dark," she says.

"By all means, ladies first," he tells her, making a sweeping gesture. She comes down the last few stairs and steps onto the warehouse basement floor. They make their halting way across it, but the floor is mostly clear. It's the dark that's the danger. The light washes it away, but it flows back around them as they move. Mulder's shoulders tense. There's something down here, or someone; he knows it with a certainty he can't shake. His nerves twang. Suddenly, there's a flicker of white at the edge of their pool of light. It freezes as the light touches it, and then flees, straight into a wall. It hits with a thud and falls to the ground. They run to catch up, but it's gone. There's only a pale puddle, a muddle of cloth. He nudges it with the toe of his shoe. It leaves a smudge.

"What the hell?" Scully says.

Mulder shrugs, already proceeding. At the end of the corridor, there's a locked metal door. Mulder locks eyes with Scully and then bangs on the door with his fist, hoping his phone won't fly out. "Federal agents! Open up! If you're in danger, we're here to help."

"I am in danger," say a voice inside. It's a baritone, slightly raspy. "Go away."

Mulder glances at Scully. She nods. He kicks open the door, creaky knees be damned. He's just lucky this one opens in. He's made the mistake before of trying to kick in a door that opened out. They burst into the room like they're on a movie set. There's a statue in the middle, human-sized, of a human-shaped figure with a trash bag shirt and a Band-Aid on its nose. Mulder gets chills down his spine, remembering other statues with other faces inside them, wet clay plastered slashed-open faces, a muse like a demon that drove an old mentor to murder. He takes a step toward the statue.

"Put the guns down!" says the voice. "They don't work on them! Put them away! They don't work. I've tried. I've tried to shoot them."

Behind the statue, there's a man. He's hiding behind a shopping cart full of spray paint cans. The shadows stripe his face, cutting him into checkers. They aim at him, guns and lights trained toward him.

"You the Trashman?" Mulder asks.

"Turn down the light, man," the Trashman says. "Turn down the light. If they don't see me and I don't see them, they can't hurt me."

"What's the opposite of hiding in the light?" Scully murmurs. She points her light toward the floor but holds her weapon steady. Mulder turns his flashlight off.

"Thanks, man," the Trashman says. "Hold on, I've got a candle. Candles aren't enough to attract them."

He straightens up from behind the cart, pulling himself up on the wire frame, and shuffles over toward a workbench. He strikes a match and lights three little candles. Scully reluctantly turns off her light, but she doesn't holster her weapon.

"We can place you near the scene of two different murders," Mulder says. "Why don't you explain that to us."

"The people on the streets - the homeless people, the street people - they ain't got no voice, right?" the Trashman says, leaning against the workbench. "They get treated like trash. I mean, actual trash. It's like this. You throw your grande cup or your Coke bottle in the right trash can under the sink - if it's recyclable, if it's not - you tie it in a bag, you take it outside, you put it in the right dumpster. You feel good about yourself. You saved the world, a little bit. Kept global warming at bay, spared a sea turtle or two. Garbage truck comes to take the trash away. One way or another, it's not your problem. Just like magic. But it is your problem, because it piles up in a landfill, or it gets floated out to sea on a barge, or it gets incinerated, and now there's toxins in the water and in the land and in the sky. But you don't see the problem, so there is no problem."

"Is someone incinerating the homeless population?" Scully asks.

"It's a metaphor," the Trashman says. "People treat people like trash, like if they can just sweep them somewhere else, there's no problem. They don't fix the problem. They just try to eliminate the symptoms."

"So you fixed the problem?" Mulder asks.

"I did my part," the Trashman says, some kind of pride in his voice.

"By killing Joseph Cutler and Nancy Huff?" Mulder asks.

"There were two art thieves too," the Trashman says. "The ones who stole the billboard. They've been taking my work for months, selling it to the people who cause the problem. That's why I switched to brick. Can't steal brick." He pushes a hand through his hair. "I was just trying to give those people a voice the only way I know how. Through art, not violence. I wanted something I could put around town so they wouldn't be forgotten. A stencil that looked over the Bad Suit Building Man, the Lawn Gnome Suburban Lady. A reminder for them. A stop sign."

"Why'd you put up the art after the fact?" Mulder demands. "We've got footage that shows that the graffiti on the billboard wasn't painted until the morning of Cutler's murder."

"I didn't do it," the Trashman protests. "That wasn't me. I made the stencil, but I didn't paint the billboard. I only thought him up, you know? Those people who got killed - that was him. Only him."

"Who, exactly, is him?" Scully asks.

"You saw those things in the hall," the Trashman says. "I heard you."

"Yeah," Mulder allows.

"I made them," the Trashman says. "I didn't mean to, but I made 'em. They'll go away, eventually. They're kind of fading out, the less I think about it. But the Band-Aid Nose Man...he's different. He's got a life of his own."

Mulder turns to look at the statue. It doesn't move.

"Tibetan Buddhists would call him a Tulpa," the Trashman continues. "A thought form using mind and energy to will a consciousness into existence."

Mulder glances at Scully. Motor oil and coffee grounds, he thinks, red footprints staining the plush white carpet in a perfect suburban McMansion. "Tulpa is a 1929 Theosophist mistranslation of the Tibetan world 'tulku', meaning 'a manifestation body'," he says. "There is no idea in Tibetan Buddhism of a thought form or thought as form. And a realized tulku would never harm anyone. That's antithetical to the Buddhist tradition."

"A thought form made of trash seems unlikely at best," Scully murmurs, and Mulder knows that she remembers it too.

"Okay," the Trashman says. "But Buddhist or philosophist or whatever, I'm telling you, I spend a lot of energy on my art. I meditated on it. I put all my energy into the Band-Aid Nose Man, and somehow, I willed it to become what the street people needed. Someone who didn't see them as trash. Someone willing to deal with the problem."

"That's a powerful wish," Scully says.

"I thought about what I wanted him to look like, what I wanted him to be, and why I wanted him," the Trashman says, shuffling through a pile of papers. He holds up a sketch of the Band-Aid Nose Man, beaming like a proud parent, and Mulder feels a pang in his heart. He remembers Maggie holding up a photo of William like that. Their son, no less a miracle, no less a thought made form. They wished devoutly for him, prayed for him, and he was made flesh.

"I didn't bring him here," the Trashman says. "He came to me. I didn't expect him, but he told me what he wanted to be. What he wanted to do. All we do is hold the pencil, or the clay, or the words, or whatever the medium. I think there must be spirits and souls floating all around us. And if you think real hard or you want them so, so bad that you can't think of anything else...they come to you. They pass through you on their way to existence. And then they become alive with a life of their own."

Scully's breath hitches like a hiccup and Mulder knows she's thinking of William and of her parents, of the spirit she saw when her father died and of the way her mother slipped away.

"This is what came to me in my dreams," the Trashman says earnestly. "From some other place I can't fathom. It's more powerful than I even imagined. But now it's alive and it's out there, right down to the Band-Aid I used to hold the clay in place while it dried. Who would copy this? Who could? And did you smell it? It smells like nothing on this earth. It has its own life now. Does what it wants. Goes where it wants. I just wanted to scare anyone who took dignity away from the homeless, who treated them like trash. I just wanted them to know that fear. That's where the violent idea popped into my head. It was just an emotion, just a notion that went through my head while I was making it. They treat people like trash, so they should know what it feels like. But ideas are dangerous. Even small ones. It uses that violent thought now. It thinks that's what it's supposed to do. Put them in the trash."

Scully looks mesmerized. She shakes her head. "You are responsible," she says. "If you made the problem, if it was your idea...you're responsible for whatever destruction it causes. You put it out of sight, so that it wouldn't be your problem. But you're just as bad as the people you hate."

Mulder doesn't think the Trashman can hear the ache in her voice. He wants to tell her that their son was never a problem. But it isn't the moment, and he wasn't there. She's told him of the moving mobile, of the powers their son might have shown, of the danger inherent in those abilities. He can't believe that Scully's child would have used those powers to destroy or to harm, but he could believe it of his child. Maybe they called to the universe and a spirit answered, and they just didn't have the time to understand its purposes. Benign or malign, William is out of their life, but Mulder isn't sure if that kind of connection can ever be broken. He kept looking for Samantha. Maggie asked for Charlie. The act of creation is powerful. Maybe that tie can't be severed.

"If what you believe is possible," he says, returning to the Trashman, "the last person involved in the relocation would be Landry."

"He got the injunction lifted," the Trashman says. "He was bragging about it in front of the HUD office, letting everybody know. They're moving people out to Franklin Hospital tonight. There's signs posted and everything."

"Don't leave the state," Scully says. "We may need to speak with you again."

The Trashman laughs. It's a hollow sound. "Got nowhere to go."

"That's what they all say before they run," Mulder says dryly. "I think we'd better bring you along with us."

They take the candles as they climb back up the stairs. The Trashman seems convinced any more light will attract more of his ghouls, or tulpas, or whatever they are. They don't seem to have as much power as the Band-Aid Nose Man. Still, Mulder would rather avoid any delays. He gets out his phone and looks up the number for Landry's firm. The secretary, alarmed, gives him Landry's cell phone number, and Mulder dials quickly.

"Mr. Landry," he says when his call goes to voicemail, "this is Agent Mulder with the FBI. I need you to call me back. It's urgent."

Scully's on the phone with the Philly PD. "We're looking for Daryl Landry," she says as she opens the door and gestures the Trashman into the back seat. The GPS sends them on a convoluted route back to the HUD office. Mulder checks his watch. By the time they pull up in front of the office, the yellow school bus is gone, leaving only a cloud of diesel fumes. Scully, with a grim set to her mouth, puts Franklin Hospital in the GPS.

"Just trash," the Trashman says. "That's what he thinks of them. Put them in the right bin and they'll disappear, like magic. Put them in the right bin and they'll be somebody else's problem."

"Thank you," Scully says. "Very helpful."

The hospital is a big building, half of it lit in the dim of the evening. They run in through the doors, the Trashman behind them.

"Landry?" Mulder bellows. "Where's Landry?"

"He took my dog," a man says. "He sent my dog to the shelter. I need my dog. I told him I wasn't coming if I couldn't have my dog."

"I tried to tell him," a woman says. "I tried, but he kept going."

"Which way did he go?" Scully demands.

The woman points. They clatter down the hall, dress shoes noisy on the tile.

"Ugh!" Scully says. "That smell!"

"Like nothing on this earth," the Trashman says. "I told you."

There's a scream. They burst into a room. It's tiled, lined with showers, with benches down the middle. There's no exit except the one they came through. On the floor of one of the showers is a heap. That's the best way Mulder can describe it. The heap was a person until recently - that much is clear - but that person has been...disassembled. Next to the heap is a phone, blood splashed across the illuminated screen.

"There's only one way out of this room," Scully says, easing forward, peering into the stalls. "He screamed just seconds ago. How did we not see whoever did this to him leave the room?" She scuffs her foot like there's something on her shoe. "Mulder," she says.

When she moves her foot, there's a Band-Aid stuck to the floor.

"I told you," the Trashman says.

"How do we find him?" Mulder demands.

"How the hell would I know?" the Trashman says. "I didn't plan this. I didn't tell him to do it."

"Are you willing to say that in a sworn statement?" Mulder asks.

"Yeah, man," the Trashman says. "Call me in."

"We can hold him overnight," Scully murmurs. "Talk to him in the morning."

"Let's do it now," Mulder says. "There'll be somebody to talk to him at the police station. We'll turn him over to them." He looks at her. "Let's go home, Scully."

He sees the gleam of tears in her eyes. "Home," she says quietly.

"Yeah," he says. "Let somebody else write the report. We'll fill in what details we can, but...." He shrugs. "It's an X-File. It's unexplainable. I'm learning when to let go."

"It's not easy," she whispers.

"I know it's not," he says.

"Are you letting me go?" the Trashman asks.

"No," Mulder says. He picks up his phone. "Can I speak to Detective Dross? We've got a situation out at the Franklin Hospital that relates to his case."

They wait at the old hospital until Dross shows up, fielding questions about dogs and when people will be able to go back to their usual spots. The Trashman seems calm. Maybe the Band-Aid Nose Man's murder spree is over, the violent notion having run its course. Maybe the Trashman's a sociopath. Either way, they're turning over the case. Someone else can run the truth down to its burrow. He's taking Scully home to their own house, where she can cry her eyes out in peace, and he can hold her in his arms and cry too for a kind woman who held him close when no one else understood what he might lose.

+ + + +

The funeral is sweet, but short. Bill gives a speech. It's surprisingly gentle. Scully gives a speech too. She stands at the lectern, hands braced on the sides.

"Mom was always there for me when I needed her," she says, keeping her voice deliberate and low. "She was always there for all of us, no matter how far away we went. And I know that she's still here for us. For her children, her grandchildren, and all of us. Her heart...her heart was so big. And I'm going to miss her so much."

"You should take the ashes," Bill says at the end. "You knew her the best. You were at Dad's funeral. Just take them to the same place."

"I will," she says.

Mulder holds out his hand. "Sorry to see you under these circumstances," he says.

Bill, after a moment, reaches out and shakes hands. "Maybe next time there will be better ones."

"Let's hope so," Mulder says.

"I've got to get to the airport," Bill says. "I couldn't take any more time away. But I know you'll do the right thing."

"Thank you," Scully says.

Bill hugs her, a little stiffly. She hugs him back.

"I wish Charlie had come," she says.

"It's a little far," Bill says.

"I know," she tells him. "Still. You made it in from Germany."

"You of all people should know that Charlie's different," Bill says.

"Melissa was different," she says, her words curling into each other with remembered affection. "Charlie's just...Charlie."

"You're all different," Bill says. "I guess we're all different. But you're the one who went the farthest, Dana."

She scoffs. "I'm the one who stayed home."

"Not physically," he says. "You're the only one who did the unexpected."

She draws back a little. "Bill, I don't know what to say."

"I was a little envious," he says. "We all were." He hugs her again. "Take care of yourself, Dana."

"You too," she says. "Give my love to Tara and the boys."

"I will," he says.

She looks at Mulder helplessly. He shrugs very slightly and hands her a handkerchief as Bill strolls away. She picks up the urn.

"Where are we going?" Mulder says, pulling out his keys.

"I'll tell you on the way," she says.

They drive to the beach where Scully once watched her father's ashes being scattered. She cues up "Beyond The Sea" on her phone as they tip Maggie's ashes into the waves.

"We should have gotten a boat," Mulder says.

"It's all right," Scully says. "Mom always liked to stay close to shore." They sit on a log and watch the waves wash up and over the sand, distributing the dark smudge.

"I know she's still with you, Scully," Mulder says, putting a gentle arm around her shoulders.

"She is," she says. She sighs. "I've been thinking about thought forms."

"I thought we agreed that the thought form was a stretch at best," he says.

"I know now why Mom asked for Charlie, even though he was out of her life," she says. "She wanted to know before he left that he'd be okay. She gave birth to him. She made him. In a way, isn't that a thought given form? He was her responsibility. And that's why she said what she said to us."

"We gave him form," Mulder says softly. "William."

"Didn't we?" she says. "We wished for him. Mulder, we wished for him so hard. Maybe that's how he came into the world. And she wanted to know that we were okay, that he was okay."

"I'm sure he's okay," Mulder says. "You made sure of that."

"We gave him up to keep him safe," Scully says. "But I can't help but think of him, Mulder. I can't help it."

"Neither can I," he says.

"I'm so happy that we're back on the X-Files," she says. "I knew I would miss it, but I didn't know how much. And I believe we will find the answers to the mysteries we're seeking, side by side." She turns to him. "But our mysteries - some of them can never be answered. I won't know if he thinks of us, or if he's ever been afraid and wished that I was there, the way I wished for my mom so many times. Does he know that he's adopted? Does he doubt that we love him? I have this necklace, this quarter, and I have so many questions, and I'm sure I'll only have more as we go through her effects. Does he have questions? Does he look in the mirror and see us?"

"I'm sure he knows that he's loved," Mulder says. "By us, by his parents. By everyone who knows him, probably."

Her voice falters. "I just have to believe...Mulder, I have to believe we didn't treat him like trash. Our son, Mulder."

He pulls her against his shoulder and she bursts into tears.

"You didn't have a choice," he says as she sobs, her tears soaking into his lapel. "Scully, he knows. You did the right thing. When you meet him, that won't be a mystery." She feels his lips mumble against her hair. "He'll know how hard we wished for him, how wanted and cherished and treasured he was. He couldn't not know that, seeing you."

She cries until she can't cry anymore, and it helps, as much as anything could, and then they go home.

#octoberficfest #xfiles fic #the x-files fic #xf alternate season 10 #mulder x scully #my fic #atcwm verse

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leiascully · 6 years

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Fic: Between A Rock And A Hard Place (Part 5/5)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | AO3

It's not a surprise the next day when they emerge from the Hoover Building, where they've been supervising the setup of all of the new computers, to see Tad O'Malley's gleaming black limo. The door opens. They get in.

"Glad we caught you, agents," O'Malley says with a grin.

"We're not hard to track down," Mulder says.

"It's the chip in my neck," Scully says dryly, and Mulder isn't sure he's ever heard her joke about it before. But maybe she's spitting into the wind too, reminded of how whoever is behind all this has tampered with her at a molecular level. He admits it is easy to direct (or misdirect) that frustration at Tad O'Malley.

"Hi," Sveta says, waving at them from across the car. O'Malley hasn't brought out the champagne this time, but she's clutching a bottle of Perrier.

Mulder leans back against the leather seat. The car certainly is plush. The perks of selling out, he imagines.

"I didn't think you'd come, Agent Scully," O'Malley says. "After all, your work is so important. So I took the liberty of coming to you." He opens a small fridge concealed under the seat. "Perrier?"

"Thank you," Scully says, accepting a bottle. "What are you doing here, Mr. O'Malley?"

"Exposing a global conspiracy that's crushing the soul of America," O'Malley declares. "Agent Mulder knows what I'm talking about."

"You're ready to make a move?" Mulder asks.

"The Truth Squad with Tad O'Malley with a world exclusive," O'Malley tells him. "The story to end all stories."

"Why don't you give us a preview?" Scully says, settling into her seat.

O'Malley leaned forward. "We begin with a war. The Civil War. The United States splits in two. A new government forms. They mint their own currency. They make their own laws."

"They perpetuate the enslavement and genocide of millions of people," Scully murmurs.

"That enslavement creates the haves and the have-nots. And the halves begin to believe, to truly believe, that they are above the law. That they can meddle with the fates and lives of people they start to consider subhuman: black, white, Native American, and everyone else. An experimental program to create a better person through a variety of methods, including surgical intervention and selective breeding."

Sveta shivers. Scully looks at her compassionately. She reaches for Sveta's hand.

O'Malley doesn't seem to notice their discomfort. "The shadow government continues to exist after the war. The genetic engineering of a superior human continues in the shadows of the shadow. And they have other secrets."

"It all sounds like a ghost story," Scully says in that even voice that immediately sends Mulder into full alert. "Designed to scare children."

"Children should be afraid," O'Malley tells her.

"Everyone should," Mulder says, and he sees the shiver in her eyelid that means she's trying not to roll her eyes at him. "It's a conspiracy bigger and more secret than the Manhattan Project, with tentacles reaching back into the very roots of America."

"The metaphor is mixed," Scully says.

"All the more apt," Mulder tells her. "The Civil War set the stage and World War I gave us access to new technologies, but it wasn't until victories in Europe and Japan that the drama really ratcheted up for the rest of the world."

"Political and economic conditions became perfect for execution of the larger plan," O'Malley declared. "The success of the program in the former Confederate states had spread to the re-United States. Agents of the conspiracy, swearing their allegiance to President Grant, had infiltrated the highest levels of government. World War I and World War II had weakened the European powers that might have held the US in check. As it was, they were delighted to accept the offer of help from the United States, and if it came with a price, they were happy to pay it. Their scientists began working with our scientists. The project stretched those insidious tentacles to grasp the entire globe."

Mulder grins. This is his wheelhouse. Even as much as he's been jerked around and lost his faith, it's still exhilarating to put together the pieces of the puzzle he worked at for half his life. "Paper Clip. Experiments in the aftermath of the atomic bombings. The crash at Roswell leading to cannibalized alien technology and cannibalized alien corpses, all resources that furthered the project."

O'Malley breaks in. "The bomb was the latest threat of extinction, but not the first. The energy of the explosions acted as transducers, creating wormholes that drew in alien ships just like the one that crashed at Roswell, ships that ran using electro-gravitic propulsion. Sacrificing those alien lives with their extraterrestrial biology and their advanced technology delayed our self-immolation on the altar of democracy."

"World leaders signed secret memos directing scientific stuff of alien technology and biochemistry," Mulder puts in. "All in the name of furthering the project, creating a new species that could survive alien invasion or whatever else might wipe us out. Classified studies were done at military installations, extracting alien tissue. S4, Groom Lake, Wright Patterson, and Dulce: all part of a network of black sites where tests were conducted using advanced alien technology recovered from the ships." He glances at Sveta. She has one hand over her mouth. "Tests including human hybridization through gene editing and forced implantation of the resulting embryos in unsuspecting human subjects." He swallows and tries not to look at Scully, but can't help meeting her eyes. "Embryos with extraterrestrial DNA."

Sveta gasps. "Why do such a thing and lie about it? Our own government?"

"Aliens aside," Scully says, "the American government has conducted experiments on unsuspecting populations as a matter of policy. The Tuskegee Syphilis Study lasted for years beyond the point where they could have cured the patients. The scientists in charge chose not to inform their subjects because they were African-American. They let them die horrible, preventable deaths, claiming it was all in the name of science. Genetic material was extracted from a sample of a tumor taken from a black woman named Henrietta Lacks and used without her consent or her family's. Other people have been sterilized against their will, or stolen from their families. I doubt we'll ever understand the full extent of the violence done to the indigenous peoples of the Americas." She exhales loudly. "While I cannot substantiate all of Agent Mulder's claims, I have found evidence of anomalous genetic material being implanted or otherwise introduced into the DNA of numerous subjects, including myself. And you."

"What are they trying to do?" Sveta asks.

"That's the missing piece," Mulder tells her. "We've learned so much, but some part of this eludes us."

"But it's not hard to imagine," O'Malley breaks in. "A government hiding, no, hoarding alien technology for seventy years, at the potential expense of all human life and the future of the planet. A government inside the government, secretly preparing for more than a hundred years for the long-awaited event."

"The takeover of America," Mulder says, feeling sick to his stomach.

"And then the world itself," O'Malley says with an almost religious fervor. "By any means necessary, however violent or cruel. Severe drought brought on by weather wars conducted secretly using aerial contaminants distributed via chemtrails and high-altitude electromagnetic waves. Perpetual war waged overseas, a drain on our resources and our energy engineered by politicians to create problem-reaction-solution scenarios to distract, enrage, and enslave American citizens at home with tools like the Patriot Act, the National Defense Authorization Act, and pure old-fashioned jingoism, abridging the Constitution and its promised freedoms in the name of national security. Every dissident, every minority: a terrorist in situ. Vietnam, but this time they're doing it right."

"Militarize the police forces," Mulder says slowly. "Martial law. FEMA building prison camps. Mercenaries fighting under our flag, but not under our orders."

"The corporate takeover of food and agriculture," O'Malley says smugly. "It's already begun. Monsanto. Dicamba. They've got pharmaceuticals and healthcare in their pocket too. An insurrection of men and women with clandestine agendas to dull, sicken, terrify, and control a populace already consumed by consumerism."

Mulder leans over to Scully. "I didn't really like Wall-E," he whispers. She shakes her head at him.

"A government that taps your phone, collects your data, and monitors your whereabouts with impunity," O'Malley says with a flourish. "A government preparing to use that data against you when it strikes and the final takeover begins."

Mulder nods slowly. There is a seed of truth in O'Malley's conspiracy-addled rant. He's been seeking it long enough to know it when he sees it. The nation is poised on a precipice. All the rest of it is lies, smoke and mirrors, a way to turn the paranoid and the credulous into easy money. But somewhere, under eighty mattress-thick layers of right-wing garbage, is a pea-sized truth, and he's the princess shifting uncomfortably.

"The takeover of America?" Scully asks.

O'Malley leans forward. "By a well-oiled and well-armed multinational group of elites that will cull, kill, and subjugate."

"Happening as we sit here in this car," Scully says.

"It's happening all around us," O'Malley tells her.

"It's been happening for years," Mulder murmurs. "The other shoe waiting to drop."

"It'll probably start on a Friday," O'Malley says. "The banks will announce a security action necessitating that their computers go offline all weekend."

"Digital money will disappear," he says.

Sveta looks startled. "They can just steal your money?" Scully squeezes her hand.

"While the banks are vulnerable, they'll detonate strategic electromagnetic pulse bombs to knock out major grids. Traffic lights, security systems, everything: gone. Hospitals will be on backup generators indefinitely. It will seem like an attack on America by terrorists or Russia."

"Or a simulated alien invasion featuring alien replica vehicles already in use," Mulder murmurs.

"An alien invasion of the U.S.?" Scully says.

"The Russians tried it in '47," Mulder reminds her. "Or they took credit for it, anyway."

"They'll take more than credit this time," O'Malley says. "This goes worldwide. Everything that has happened for the past seventy years has been engineered by this global conspiracy, these shadow players. The structures they've built are designed to crumble, tearing America apart at the seams. They'll build a new world on the ruins of our current one. It will happen soon, and it will happen fast."

Scully shakes her head. "You can't say these things," she tells O'Malley.

"I'm gonna say them tomorrow," O'Malley says with an almost religious fervor in his voice.

Scully frowns. "It's fearmongering, isolationist techno-paranoia so bogus and dangerous and stupid that it borders on treason. Saying these things would be incredibly irresponsible."

"I hate to say this, Scully, but if this is true, it would be irresponsible not to say it," Mulder says reluctantly.

"If it's the truth," Sveta says, "you have to say it."

"It's not the truth," Scully says.

O'Malley grins that smarmy grin. "Agent Scully, with all due respect, I don't think you know what the truth is."

"The only thing I don't know is where you're taking us," Scully says, ice in her voice. "Except on a wild goose chase."

"It's lunchtime," O'Malley says. "I thought you might want something to eat."

It's clear from the look Scully gives him that there is a long, long list of people she would rather have lunch with before she deigned to have lunch with Tad O'Malley. In fact, it might be approaching seven billion people long.

"I think what Agent Scully is trying to convey is that we've got to decline your invitation," Mulder says.

"You believe me," O'Malley says to Mulder with certainty.

Mulder looks at Scully. She looks back at him, her eyes tight just at the corners. "I might have, back in the day. My doctor says paranoia is bad for me."

O'Malley sits back, disappointed. Scully's shoulders loosen. She glances at him and there's something between approval and gratitude in her eyes. He smiles at her.

There's a pinging noise. Scully checks her email on her phone. Her brow creases. She scrolls through something, then flicks back to the top and reads through it again. "This is strange."

"What?" Mulder leans over.

"Sveta, the lab retested your samples. A new tech was running the machines, and a number of test results were compromised. In fact, they retested your samples twice to be sure. Your DNA shows no anomalies." Scully looks up. "Whatever's been done to you, it had nothing to do with this project."

"Nothing?" Sveta and O'Malley ask at the same time.

"That can't be right," O'Malley says. "Retest her."

"I don't want to be tested again," Sveta says.

"You're my evidence," O'Malley tells her angrily. "You have to."

"She doesn't have to do anything," Scully tells him. "She's under our protection now."

"We'll see about that," O'Malley says. He presses a button. The driver pulls over. He opens the door. "Goodbye, agents. Goodbye, Sveta."

"What will you do?" Sveta asks him as she climbs out of the car.

"I'll do what I do," O'Malley says. "I'll tell the truth."

The car door slams shut.

Truth Squad with Tad O'Malley the next day is a runaway hit: high ratings, viral content, memes, gifs, and a media uproar. "I promised you the truth today, but that truth has come under assault," O'Malley says, looking into the camera, and they roll footage of Sveta confessing to reporters, accusing him of telling lies.

"I am so sorry if I misled anyone," she says tearfully, wringing her hands in front of her.

"They get her?" Mulder asks.

"She should be safe," Scully tells him. "They'll work on relocating her."

"Material witness?" Mulder asks. "That's a bit of a stretch."

"It won't be by the time all of this is over," Scully says grimly. "I went to the hospital to collect the samples and had our labs run them again."

"And?" Mulder says.

"Sveta and I share a lot," Scully says. "Including anomalous genetic material."

"O'Malley must be furious," Mulder says, propping his hands on his hips as he thinks.

"Rumor is they're going to pull the plug," Scully says. "No more truth, no more Squad."

"To his followers, that'll feel like a sign," Mulder says. "A shot fired across their bows."

Scully shrugs. "Damned if you do, damned if you don't. Either we embolden a liar, or we enrage his base."

"Politics have never been our strong suit," Mulder says. "You know, there's something called the Venus Syndrome."

"The plant, the planet, or something else I'm afraid to ask about?" Scully asks.

"The planet," Mulder says. "It's a runaway global warming scenario that leads us to the brink of the Sixth Extinction. Those with the means will prepare to move off the planet into space, which will have already been weaponized against the poor, huddled masses of humanity that haven't been exterminated by the über-violent fascist elites. If you believe in that kind of thing."

"Honestly, these days it sounds almost plausible," Scully tells him, leaning on one of the desks. Whoever has funded the untimely revival of the X-Files has been generous: they have two normal desks and four standing desks scattered around the office. It's much too flexible a workspace for two people.

Their phones go off almost in unison. They both reach for them.

"Skinner," Scully says.

"Skinner," Mulder confirms. He reads the message: Situation critical. Need to see you both ASAP.

They look at each other.

"Scully, are you ready for this?" Mulder asks.

"I don't know there's a choice," she says, but she sounds fierce and proud.

There are wheels turning somewhere. He can almost hear the gears of the world grinding. They won't get caught in the teeth this time, won't get torn apart. Whoever is behind everything they've been through will be exposed, finally and totally, brought to light. They'll have to open the wound to clean it out, but that's all right. They've finally learned how to heal. He opens the door for her and they stride toward the elevator together.

#xfiles fic #the x-files fic #xf alternate season 10 #xf revival fic #mulder x scully #my fic #atcwm verse

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leiascully · 6 years

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Fic: Between A Rock And A Hard Place (Part Three)

Part One | Part Two

They drop Scully and Sveta off at the hospital. Driving the limousine into the non-emergency lot at Our Lady of Sorrows feels even more pretentious than cruising the streets of DC, but at least Scully can still leverage a few privileges there.

"Call me when you're done," Mulder says to Scully. They're standing in the corner of a hospital waiting room with their heads close together. It feels like old times. He's aware of how easy it would be to slide back into that life. There are some things worth salvaging from their days on the X-Files, but they've worked hard to rebuild the rest.

"Where will you be?" she said, tipping her face up to his. It always made him want to kiss her. It still does.

"I don't know. He seems to have a plan." He jerks his head slightly at Tad O'Malley, who is staring into his phone again, conspicuous by the door. "Divide and conquer, right?"

"We're too smart for that, aren't we?" she murmurs, more than a hint of irony in his voice. "Mulder, he's got to have something he wants only you to see."

"Don't take the bait," he says.

"You too," she says. He leans down and kisses her on the cheek, because what the hell, he can. Their attachment to each other is no secret. She closes her eyes briefly. "Be safe."

"You know me," he says, and winks.

"That's why I worry," she tells him. He chuckles as he turns away and strides back over to O'Malley.

"I think they've got this," Mulder says.

"Good, because I've got something to show you," O'Malley says. "Something for the eyes of true believers."

"And seekers of truth?" Mulder asks.

"Them too." O'Malley nods at the limo. Let's get going."

It doesn't take that long to get there, or at least, not as long as it took to get to Low Moor. They stop at a gas station, and O'Malley reaches into a bag Mulder hadn't noticed and takes out a black hood.

"Top secret," O'Malley says. "I'm afraid I have to ask you to wear this."

"I'm not signing any dungeon-related paperwork," Mulder jokes. He reaches for the hood. "Allow me."

"I expected more resistance than that," O'Malley says.

"This isn't my first top-secret rodeo," Mulder says. "At least it's not a rubber gorilla mask."

"Didn't see that in any of the reports," O'Malley says.

Mulder slips the hood on. "Just don't break any fingers," he says. His voice is muffled by the cloth. It's hot, of course, but at least it's smooth, and it smells fine. Could be worse. He doesn't try to keep track of the twists and turns. There's no point. He just sits back and relaxes until the limo stops. O'Malley opens the door and then helps Mulder out. Mulder walks obediently wherever he's guided. He hears the creak of heavy metal doors opening.

"I want to prepare you," O'Malley says, a little too close, "for what you're about to see."

He pulls the hood from Mulder's head. Mulder blinks and looks around. It's what he expected: empty space, esoteric equipment, men in blue coats. A scientist sees them and starts walking toward them. Somehow there are rarely any women doing this kind of science. At this point, he's convinced it's because women have more sense than to fall for it. There's something recognizable, though.

"A Faraday cage?" he says. "For what?"

"Do you know what an ARV is?" O'Malley asks in a smug voice.

"That's what you brought me here to see?" Mulder asks.

O'Malley just smirks. "This is Garner," he says as the scientist arrives. "He'll walk you through the science."

"Right this way, Mr. Mulder," Garner says, and Mulder and O'Malley follow him through a gate into the Faraday cage. There's a craft inside, triangular and glossy. It's surrounded by a team of scientists who are making adjustments and taking readings. The thing is covered with little panels.

"That's an alien replica vehicle?" Mulder asks.

Garner nods. "Given your background, I would've thought you'd seen one before."

Mulder gazes at it. "Seen the real thing, or as real as it gets. Seen some convincing fakes too. Never seen one like this."

"What we're showing you, we do at great risk," Garner tells him. "Colleagues have had labs burned to the ground and work destroyed by our own government."

"I know how that feels," Mulder says. "May I?"

"Of course," Garner says, inclining his head. "Be my guest."

Mulder reaches out to touch one of the panels. It's smooth under his fingertips, warm and vibrating gently. The craft hums slightly louder and begins to hover, rising until Mulder's hand slides off it. One of the scientists is controlling it, he's certain, but it is impressive.

"It's running on toroidal energy," Garner tells him. "So-called zero-point energy. The energy of the universe."

Mulder imagines Scully would have something to say about that. "You're talking about free energy?"

"We've had it since the '40s," O'Malley interjects. "No fuel, no flame, no combustion."

"A simple electromagnetic field," Garner says, frowning very slightly.

"Kept secret for seventy years while the world ran on petroleum," O'Malley says dramatically. "Oil companies making trillions. The Middle East tearing itself apart. For nothing."

Mulder refrains from commenting on the quality of O'Malley's political analysis or the fact that O'Malley profits from every conflict. He gazes at the craft. Garner steps to his side.

"What I'm going to show you next is the most unbelievable part," Garner says. He's talking only to Mulder, Mulder thinks. O'Malley believes a little too much, tries to build hype around it when the facts are shocking enough. Garner thinks Mulder will see past the hyperbole to the actual miracle. Garner waves two fingers at one of the other scientists, who nods and flips a switch. The surface of the craft flickers and the air around it almost shimmers. When the glimmer clears, the craft has vanished.

"Gravity warp drive," Mulder breaths, and Garner nods. "How?"

"Element 115," Garner says. "Ununpentium."

"Where did you get it?" Mulder asks. "We can create it under lab conditions, but not in any stable state, and not in any quantity."

"Salvaged," Garner says.

"From where?" Mulder asks.

"You know where," O'Malley says. "Roswell. 1947. Along with the original craft and its pilots."

"Of course," Mulder murmurs.

"That's where it all came from," Garner says. Another flip of the switch and the ARV shimmers back into existence.

"It all comes back to Roswell," O'Malley says dramatically. "Every advance we've made. Every war we've fought. Do you see?"

"I do," Mulder says. It's the only answer O'Malley wants.

"We should be getting back," O'Malley says. "It's late."

"That sounds like my cue," Mulder says, and O'Malley hands him the hood.

"You see how important my pursuit of the truth is," O'Malley says in the car, once he's freed Mulder from the hood again.

"I see that it's made you rich," Mulder says. "Funny how much truth looks like conspiracy."

"You of all people would know," O'Malley says.

Mulder shrugs. "My pursuit of the truth has never been lucrative. I lost everything."

"And yet you fought to get it back," O'Malley says. "I respect the struggle."

Mulder smiles tightly. There's nothing to say to that. O'Malley cannot conceive of what he and Scully and their families have been through, to say nothing of the countless people he's interviewed with stories like Sveta's. Stories of pain and suffering. Stories of loss. Not clickbait to spook the masses and sell airtime at a steep markup to war profiteers.

They drive back to collect Scully and Sveta from the hospital. Scully looks a little pinched and Sveta looks tired. Mulder gives Scully a questioning look and she shakes her head almost imperceptibly. <i>Later.</i>

"I think we'll just get an Uber back to our car," Mulder says. "It's a long drive back to Low Moor. We don't want to keep you."

"Oh, I'm putting Sveta up in a hotel for the night," O'Malley says. "I've got a show to tape in the morning. Got to look fresh."

"I could stay if you will need me again, Dr. Scully," Sveta says.

Scully hesitates. "That might be wise."

"Don't worry about it," O'Malley says, patting Sveta on the shoulder. "It's my privilege to help her share her story with you." He hands Mulder a card. "This is my personal number, if you need me."

"Glad to hear it," Mulder says. "Good night, Sveta. Mr. O'Malley."

"Good night," Sveta says.

It doesn't take long to find an Uber. Mulder and Scully climb inside and talk about nothing, as if their day hasn't been filled with abductees. Scully checks her email. Mulder reads a message board. Not until they get into their own car does she turn to him.

"Mulder, whoever that girl is, something has definitely happened to her. I don't know about alien DNA, but she's traumatized, and her body shows signs of something strange. She has stretch marks that could have resulted from a pregnancy. She also thinks she can read minds."

"Can she?" Mulder asks.

"She knew we're together," Scully says, "but that isn't a stretch. She said that you had been depressed in the past."

"That isn't a stretch either," Mulder jokes, merging into traffic.

"She said we had a child together," Scully says quietly.

Mulder says nothing for a moment. "I don't think that's a secret," he says finally. "We were being watched. Surely that information is out there."

"She doesn't seem like the kind of person who would have dug that deep," Scully says.

"Did Byers?" Mulder asks.

Scully sighs. "She also claims to be telekinetic, but says she can't move things with her mind all the time."

"That's the rub, isn't it?" Mulder asks. "Can't get that Vegas gig bending spoons for the crowd unless you're consistent."

"She says it comes from the alien DNA," Scully says, and he knows she's thinking of William.

"When will you have the results?" Mulder asks.

"Soon," Scully says.

"Do you believe her?" Mulder asks. He pinches his lower lip between his fingers. God, he could go for some sunflower seeds.

"She seems to believe in her memories," Scully says. "I've seen strange things in the course of our work. Inexplicable things. I'm inclined to accept the possibility that something happened to her that has not been fully investigated."

"But not that it was aliens?" Mulder teases.

"It wasn't aliens who took me," she says. "At least, I don't think it was."

"There was a ship, Scully," Mulder says.

"There was a light," she says. "A light so blinding it could have obscured the less-than-extraterrestrial origins of an experimental plane. Whoever did what they did to me was human, Mulder, starting with Duane Barry and ending with the chip that CGB Spender gave you to put back in my neck."

"I remember chasing the train," he says. “One of the trains where they did their work.”

"Cassandra Spender was taken to one of those trains," she reminds him. "If aliens took her, humans took her apart."

"She reminds me of Max Fenig," he says. "Sveta, I mean."

"I agree," Scully says.

They are silent for a moment, remembering Max.

"I don't trust Tad O'Malley," Scully says at last, as they're parking on their street.

"Nobody should," Mulder says, setting the emergency brake. Just one of the many precautions he takes these days. "He's a snake oil salesman peddling poison."

"He wants to divide us," she says.

"I agree," Mulder says. "And I think you're right, he'll come to you next."

Scully makes a disgusted noise.

"Not ready for the lifestyles of the rich and famous?" Mulder teases. "I'm sure he'll offer you all that and more."

"He's a sleazebag," Scully protests. "Handsome enough, but a sleazebag."

"And what do you say behind my back, Agent Scully?" Mulder asks, reaching for the door handle.

Her face softens. "I love you," she tells him.

"The most inexplicable thing," he teases her, and they go into their house together.

#xfiles fic #xf alternate season 10 #xf revival fic #mulder x scully #the xfiles fic #my fic #atcwm verse

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leiascully · 6 years

Text

Fic: Between A Rock And A Hard Place (Part Two)

Part One

In the morning, Mulder texts Skinner: "We're in." They get a call ten minutes later, while they're lingering over their coffee.

"You're on speaker," Mulder tells Skinner, putting the phone on the table between them.

"You've been excused from your regular duties today," Skinner says gruffly. "You will meet Mr. O'Malley on Pennsylvania Avenue at 10 a.m. near the National Gallery of Art. He'll provide transportation offsite to meet the subject."

They exchange looks over the table.

"Sounds a little cloak and dagger," Mulder says.

"Mr. O'Malley insists on taking precautions," Skinner says.

"At least he doesn't seem likely to blow up the car while we're in it," Scully murmurs.

"Don't judge a talk show host by his cover," Mulder murmurs back.

"Agents?" Skinner says, just a touch of tension in his voice. He is probably being watched. They are always being watched. Pressure comes from the top and Skinner, Atlas-like, has borne the brunt of it so that they could dart between the shadows, bringing light to the darkness.

"We'll be there," Mulder says, and ends the call. He leans back in his chair. "What's the dress code for subterfuge?"

"I doubt it's black tie," Scully says. "I'm still wearing a suit."

"Come on, Scully, we're out of the office," he teases. "You've got an opportunity to break out the leather pants and the badass jacket."

She raises an eyebrow at him. "I was saving those for your birthday."

"That's better," he says immediately.

"I thought you'd think so," she tells him.

They're at the appointed place at the appointed time. Mulder squints through his sunglasses up and down the street. "Tad O'Malley isn't very prompt."

"I imagine he's the sort of man who likes to make an entrance," Scully says, crossing her arms.

"What do you mean by that?" Mulder teases. "You thinking of anyone in particular?"

"Of course not," Scully demurs with a smile. She glances toward the Capitol. "You know, Mulder, I hate to admit it, but something about this feels good." She looks at him. "Most of it feels like we're being taken for a ride, but part of me welcomes this."

"I know what you mean," he says.

She sighs. "Something else to discuss in therapy."

"The thrill of the chase is real, Scully," he says. "You can't blame your brain for enjoying the rush."

"I know," she says. "I just thought I'd...outgrown it, maybe."

"All the more reason some part of you craves it," he says. "Recapturing our misspent youth."

"I don't want to be most comfortable with my back against the wall," she says wryly. "And yet, here we are."

"With your back against the wall, you always know where you stand," he says, and a black limousine pulls up to the curb. The door opens and Tad O'Malley unfolds himself from the back seat. He's tall, even taller than he looked on television, and dressed like he's heading to a conference where he's the keynote speaker. Scully in her suit looks perfectly appropriate next to him. She shoots Mulder the tiniest smirk. He straightens his shoulders under his jacket and extends his hand.

"Fox Mulder," O'Malley says warmly, shaking Mulder's hand.

"That's quite a coincidence - that's my name," Mulder says just as warmly. "What are the odds?"

O'Malley makes a finger gun. "They told me you were sharp."

Mulder shrugs pleasantly. "It's a sharp world."

"Indeed it is," O'Malley says. He shakes Scully's hand. "Agent Scully."

"You make quite an entrance, Mr. O'Malley," she says.

"She's shot men with less provocation," Mulder jokes.

"Funny," O'Malley says.

"Did they tell you I was funny?" Mulder asks.

"Of course," O'Malley says. "A regular one-man show. Join me for a little ride?"

Mulder exchanges sideways looks with Scully underneath their sunglasses. He expected a show, but the limo is a bit much. "Right here is fine. I'm afraid I'm not dressed for a limousine."

"Allow me my small precautions," O'Malley says, gesturing to the open door of the car. "Low-flying aircraft often use what they call 'dirtboxes' to record conversations that I would prefer stayed private."

Mulder glances at the sky. There's a kid with a kite and the faraway glint of a commercial jet, but no drones, nothing hovering.

"Aircraft employed by whom?" Scully asks, arms still crossed. She leans back slightly on her heels. Mulder can see the glint of her ring on her left hand where it's tucked under her right arm. He wondered if she'd wear it.

"I'm afraid I can only speculate," O'Malley says, as pleasantly as if they'd asked him what the weather was or whether the Cubs would win the World Series. "Shall we?"

He folds himself back into the car. Scully shrugs imperceptibly, looking at Mulder, and they follow O'Malley in, taking off their sunglasses. The interior of the car is dark, the windows tinted probably beyond the legal limit. The partition is up between the driver and the passenger compartment, but even if it's two against three, Mulder likes those odds. He and Scully are strapped and they're scrappy. They've handled worse than O'Malley.

The limo is suitably appointed, luxurious almost to the point of parody. O'Malley reaches into a high hat full of ice and pulls out of a bottle of champagne, offering it to them like a maitre d'.

"None for me, thanks," Mulder says. "Scully?"

She shakes her head. "Mr. O'Malley, your precautions would seem to imply that you have enemies."

"Not of my own choosing, Dana," O'Malley says, his teeth bright as he smiles. He pops the cork and pours himself a glass of champagne. "Truth tellers will always face opposition, as I'm sure you know.

She inclines her head in what might be a nod. Mulder turns toward the window. The old habits come back fast; he can sense her next to him, poised to act if necessary. The city slides by outside and he presses the button to roll down the window. Nothing happens.

"Your windows are broken," he says. "That's a shame. It's a little stuffy in here."

"Oh, those don't roll down by design," O'Malley says, that salesman's grin still wide. "I had the vehicle bulletproofed."

"Sure," Mulder says. "All those gun-toting liberals in the Whole Foods parking lot. What if there's a run on quinoa?"

"How can we help you, Mr. O'Malley?" Scully interrupts.

"I know the briefing you received was brief," O'Malley says, turning the charm on her again. "I also know you've been out of the game a long time. But I'm not some Johnny-come-lately to UFO-related phenomena. I'm a true believer like yourselves."

Scully ducks her head. "I wouldn't categorize myself as a true believer."

"Nor would I," Mulder says. "I want to believe, but actual concrete proof has been strangely hard to come by. Not that that matters much these days. Anyone can claim to be an expert on the internet."

"Sometimes they even give you your own show," O'Malley says, still genial. Mulder can feel the prickle of Scully's disapproval, but O'Malley rubs him the wrong way. "I guarantee if you still ran the X-Files, you'd have a platform bigger than you can imagine."

"Perhaps," Scully says. "But for better or for worse, Mr. O'Malley, those days are behind us. We're off the paranormal beat, so to speak."

"I could give that all back to you," O'Malley says, leaning forward. He's only looking at Scully now. She gazes back, that enigmatic mask in place.

"Mr. O'Malley, how does a man with your conservative credentials come to consider himself a true believer in UFOs and 9/11 false flag conspiracies?"

O'Malley turns away from Scully, but Mulder can tell he doesn't have the man's full attention. "I take it you think my message is disingenuous?"

"Conspiracy sells," Mulder says. "It didn't in the 90s, but it's a hot property now. It pays for bulletproof limousines, among other things."

O'Malley's smile gets sharper. "You think I do it for the ratings?"

Mulder shrugs. "I think you're The O'Reilly Factor with a shopworn little gimmick. I think you're 4chan with a cable contract."

O'Malley snorts. "What Bill O'Reilly knows about the truth could fill an eyedropper."

"At least we agree on that," Mulder says pleasantly.

"Try me," O'Malley says.

Mulder taps one finger to his lip. "The Kelly Cahill incident."

"Kelly Cahill and her husband were driving home in Victoria, Australia when a craft appeared overhead. The Cahills lost an hour of time and Kelly was hospitalized with severe stomach pain after discovering a triangle-shaped mark near her navel," O'Malley recites. "As I said, my interest is real. What I need is your expertise."

"Our expertise for what?" Scully asks.

"I know what you've been through," O'Malley says. "Both of you."

"With all due respect, Mr. O'Malley," Scully says deliberately, "I doubt that's true."

"You're right," he says. "My apologies. I've heard the rumors. I've read the reports. I used to subscribe to The Lone Gunmen. Between your histories and your experience in law enforcement, you have the skills and knowledge I need."

"And why should we put those skills at your disposal?" Scully asks, ignoring the rest.

O'Malley leans forward, the flute of champagne dangling from his fingers. "I'm rattling some pretty big cages in the intelligence community, but I'm prepared to go all in. I'm prepared to blow open maybe the most evil conspiracy the world has ever known."

"That's quite an assertion, given the history of the world," Scully returns cooly. "What's stopping you from exposing this conspiracy? I assume your following would support you."

"If I'm putting my ass out there, I need to know I've got backing I can depend on," O'Malley tells her. "My viewers are with me, but like I said, these are big cages, and the players in them don't care about ratings. They know how to make people disappear."

"So does David Blaine," Mulder murmurs.

O'Malley ignores him, still looking at Scully. "I've got something to show you...and someone."

The limousine glides out of the city as they sit in silence. O'Malley sips at his champagne and checks his phone. Mulder and Scully glance at each other. Mulder shrugs and takes out his own phone, scrolling through Twitter and checking his usual news sites. Scully looks out the window. After nearly four hours of turning onto increasingly narrow roads, the limo makes one last right onto a gravel path that reminds Mulder of the driveway of the house they lived in when they first moved back, before the case with the priest and the organ trafficking. They might as well be going nowhere. Google Maps tells him they're in or near Low Moor, although there's not any signal. It's as good as he's going to get.

The limo pulls to a stop outside a small dingy house and Mulder hears the locks release. He opens the door and steps out, stretching. He offers Scully a hand out. She accepts it, surprising him, and slips her sunglasses back on.

"Aliens couldn't find this place," she says, as if aliens didn't find Skyland Mountain. "How did you, Mr. O'Malley?"

O'Malley smirks. "A man in my position finds himself contacted by interesting strangers."

"I imagine that's true," Mulder murmurs, lurking at Scully's shoulder, in his best for-your-ears-only voice. O'Malley can probably hear, but even in broad daylight, he's always felt like he and Scully have a back channel, code talkers communicating sub rosa. They walk toward the house. Mulder tries not to saunter like he's in a Western, strolling up to the local bar. The door of the house swings open and he automatically reaches for his gun and stops himself. He sees Scully flinch the same way.

"Everyone," O'Malley says in a self-important voice, "meet Sveta."

Sveta lingers just outside the doorway. She is young and lovely, vulnerable-looking, her skin dark brown and her black hair falling around her face. She looks at them as if she is not quite sure whether to bolt. That's the usual attitude of the people they interview. Mulder relaxes slightly. She looks exactly like the person O'Malley might have chosen to be a smokescreen for his flimflam, but she's nervous too. Somehow, that's a comfort.

"Sveta, this is Dana Scully and Fox Mulder," O'Malley says. Everyone shakes hands. Sveta's only tremble a little.

"Hello," Sveta says formally. Her voice doesn't shake. She's got a Midwestern standard accent. Not a lot of clues there. "Welcome to my home."

"Sveta suggested I call you," O'Malley tells them, standing next to her.

"You probably don't recognize me," Sveta says, looking at Mulder. "You interviewed me and my family when I was just a little girl. Right after my first abduction."

"I'm sorry," Mulder says. "I don't remember."

"We lost the majority of our files in a fire a number of years ago," Scully says. "Yours might have been among them."

"It's all right," Sveta says. "I'm sure you've been through a lot since then. Please, come in."

Scully looks at Mulder and follows Sveta in. Mulder follows her, his hand hovering near the small of her back. O'Malley brings up the rear, closing the door. Sveta pulls up her shirt. There are six circular scars around her navel. Scully leans forward.

"May I?" she asks.

"Of course," Sveta says, and Scully peers closely at the marks. "These are from over twenty years. I've lost count of how many times I've been abducted."

"The scoop-mark scars are classic," O'Malley says. "As I'm sure you know. And then there are the memories implanted over actual memories to make the abductees forget."

"We call them screen memories," Sveta says.

"I'm familiar with the phenomenon," Scully says dryly. She straightens up slowly.

"Things come back to me sometimes," Sveta tells her, letting her shirt fall back over her stomach.

"What kind of things?" Scully asks. Mulder recognizes the gentleness in her voice. It's the one she always saved for the times they had to interrogate children.

"Tests," Sveta says in a small voice. "Harvesting." She gestures toward her pelvis.

"Harvesting your ova?" Scully asks.

Sveta looks at O'Malley. He nods. "Yes," she says. "They made me pregnant. But they took the babies before they were born. They tried to take the memories, but I remember. I remember the lights. I remember the way my body changed. They do everything through here." She points at the scars.

"Tell them about your DNA, Sveta," O'Malley says in a hypnotic voice.

"I have alien DNA," Sveta says. "For sure. They take the babies out through here. They put the DNA in."

Scully glances at Mulder. "Have you had a doctor confirm that?"

"No," Sveta says. "I couldn't be sure that any doctor I visited wasn't one of Them." Mulder can hear the capital letter when she says it. Them. He used to talk the same way.

"Is that something you could test, Scully?" he asks.

Scully stares at him. He can sense her reticence. There is something childlike about Sveta, for all that she's an adult. One way or another, O'Malley is manipulating her. They have sacrificed enough children to this quest. He thinks back to the clones of his sister on the farm with the bees, the red-headed scientists in the facility where Scully's ova were stored. Emily. William. Uncounted others.

At last, Scully nods. "I'll examine you myself, Sveta," she says. "If that's all right."

"Thank you," Sveta says fervently, her hands clasped. Mulder knows the light in her eyes. Sveta, at least, is a true believer.

#xfiles fic #xf alternate season 10 #the x-files fic #xfiles season 10 fic #mulder x scully #xf revival #my fic #atcwm verse

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leiascully · 6 years

Text

Another chunk of Home Again, this time with Bill Scully.

"Mom?" says a familiar voice behind her. Scully turns. It's Bill. He has tears in his eyes and he's twisting an old baseball cap in his hands, but his khakis haven't lost their crease, even on an international flight. He looks exhausted.

"Bill," she says. "I didn't know you got in."

"My flight was delayed," he says. "You didn't call."

"No," she says, ashamed. He always makes her feel this way, like the thoughtless little sister. This time, she deserves it. "It slipped my mind. Her condition hasn't changed. But they're administering a medication that might wake her up. She changed her will."

"I thought this might have happened," Bill says heavily. "She said something once. It doesn't matter."

"I asked to speak with her doctor," Scully says. "That's all we can do until...until she wakes up."

"It's good to see you, Dana," Bill says, and he opens his arms. She hugs him. He smells like recycled air and sweat and her father's cologne.

"I'll give you some time with her," she says, and picks up the envelope. She wants to look at her mother's necklace again.

"Thanks," Bill says, sinking into the chair next to Maggie's bed. He takes her hand and presses it to his lips.

Scully slips away, heels echoing on the tiled floor. The hospital has a coffee shop, or at least a countertop where she can buy a coffee. She sits at a tiny rickety table and sips a scalding latte as she turns the coin over and over in her fingers. It still means nothing to her. It looks like it was minted in 1964, which is the year of her birth, but she would expect her mother to be wearing something that represented all of them. At least Melissa, in memory. Not her.

Her mother was asking for Charlie. She forgot, and she forgot to tell Bill.

She doesn't really remember the last time she saw Charlie. It must have been at some family event - Christmas or Easter or someone's celebration. They've talked on the phone a few times a year, but he's never met Mulder. He didn't make Ahab's funeral or Melissa's. He never met William.

Charlie is busy. She knows that. As an anthropologist, he works all over the world. He missed out on some of the Scullys' world traveling, being the baby, but apparently his interest was piqued, and his interest in languages keeps him in demand as a translator for some of his colleagues. He seems successful in his career, but she never knows where he is or if he's reachable. She touches his number in her phone, but the call goes to voicemail, the kind of message where it just reads off the number. She can't tell if it's still his.

An email, then. She opens her app and composes a quick message letting him know that Maggie is in the hospital, that it's very serious, and that he should come if he can. "She's asking for you," she types. On impulse, she includes a photograph of the necklace. Maybe Charlie can make sense of it. Maybe whatever their mother needs resolved will strike some chord in him.

She sips at her coffee. It's finally cooled to the point of having any flavor again, but she'd rather too hot than too cold in the hospital. The milk tastes scalded, but she appreciates the caution. Through the windows of the ward door, she sees another figure standing by her mother's bed. She hurries in.

"We have to extubate her," someone explains to Bill. It's got to be the doctor. Scully marches up behind Bill's chair and glares.

"What does that mean, Doctor Colquitt?" Bill asks.

"They want to take her off the ventilator," Scully says. "Even though she can't breathe. She's not strong enough."

"It's not necessarily termination," the doctor says. "But we have to honor the law and your mother's wishes. I know this is difficult, but you have to believe it's what she wants. It's all there in the document."

Scully's phone rings. She glances at the screen. For a moment, she thinks again that it says "William", but when she blinks, it's just Mulder. She shields her phone from Bill's view and answers.

"Yeah," she says. Nothing to give her away.

"I'm here," he says, and she turns to see him gazing through the doors.

"Do we have a choice?" Bill asks the doctor. He's slumped in the chair, rubbing his forehead. Dana recognizes her own attempt at stress relief.

"No," the doctor says, not without compassion. "I'm sorry. I know it's difficult."

"Come in," Scully says, and hangs up. Mulder pushes open the door.

"What's he doing here?" Bill asks, rising from the chair and turning.

"I asked him," Scully says.

"You're back together with this guy?" Bill demands.

"He's my partner," Scully says. "In all things." She holds out her hand as Mulder approaches and he takes it. "That's something you're going to have to deal with, Bill."

"Nice to see you," Mulder says with a nod. He doesn't try to shake Bill's hand. "If it helps, I know how you feel."

"It doesn't help, and I really doubt that," Bill says, turning away. "Sorry, Doctor Colquitt. I don't want to have this discussion here."

"Bill," Scully says, "there's no discussion."

"I lost my mother," Mulder says. "More than fifteen years ago, but it still hurts."

"Did you have to watch her pulled off life support?" Bill demands.

"No," Mulder says. "She took her own life, as a matter of fact. While we were working a case in California. I never got to say goodbye."

Something in Bill thaws. He sits back down. "At least we have that chance."

"Bill," Scully says, "we need to call Charlie."

"Oh, yes, your mother asked for someone named Charlie," the doctor says. "It was about her only moment of clarity, unfortunately. Have you been able to contact him?"

"I emailed him," Scully says. "I'm not sure the number I have is current."

"I'll call him," Bill says wearily.

"Have you spoken to him?" Scully demands. "Have you seen him?"

"Not recently," Bill says, "but I have his number."

"We don't have to perform the procedure immediately," the doctor says. "I have other patients to see. I can give you a few hours to discuss it, and to try to reach this person. But it does need to happen as soon as possible. Those were her wishes."

"I understand," Scully says. She feels hollowed out inside, like a dugout set adrift. She sits at the end of her mother's bed and squeezes her mother's feet with one hand. Doctor Colquitt nods and leaves.

Bill scrubs his hands over his face. "I need some sleep."

"Do you have a hotel?" Scully asks.

"Yeah, it's close," Bill says. "A nap. A shower. Some real food. I'll be back in a few hours."

"We'll hold down the fort," Mulder says, sitting in the chair Bill vacated. It's not his typical insouciant slump. He sits ramrod straight and attentive, surveying the machines hooked up around Maggie's bed as if he could extract some new piece of information from them.

"I thought you were on a case," Bill tells him, slightly less venom in his voice than usual.

"I took a personal day," Mulder says easily. "Supporting your sister is the most important work I could do right now. I've always liked and respected your mother."

"Yeah," Bill says. "She always liked you too." He shakes his head. "I can't even think straight."

"Go sleep," Scully says.

"Just for a couple of hours," Bill tells her. "I'll be back. Don't let it happen until I'm back."

"I won't," Scully promises.

#octoberficfest #xf alternate season 10 #atcwm verse

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leiascully · 6 years

Text

You know, I was really tickled by “A Man’s Mann” given the werelizard’s fantasies, but maybe “A Mann’s World” would be funnier. Anyway, here it is, possibly slightly less ableist, and batcrapless. Because I don’t believe Scully wouldn’t just fucking swear.

The first thing he does after he leaves the manager's office, after he calls the police to check in and let them know about the secret passageway, is deal with the animal heads in his room and Scully's. A roll of duct tape is a good enough stopgap, but since he has to run to the local Walmart anyway, he picks up a hammer and some nails and rehangs a couple of pictures in a fairly irreversible way, and nails the secret doors shut while he's at it. He's not too worried about any kind of charge for damage to the room. Scully just watches with the case file in her laps as he bangs away. The stuffed head in her room was a fox. Of course it was. It glares emptily at Mulder from the corner where he tossed it.

"It's a monster, Scully," he says, whirling with the hammer still in his hand and a couple of nails between his teeth. He spits the nails into his palm. "An honest to God monster, plain and simple."

Scully tilts her head and purses her lips. She's wearing his Knicks t-shirt. God knows where she got it, but that's all he wants to see her in for the rest of his life.

"I know what you're going to say," he tells her. "'Mulder, we can't base our entire case on the testimony of a drunk Peeping Tom' or 'Mulder, the very narrative of a transformation from man to monster, especially on the occasion of a full moon, is so archetypical as to be beyond admitting' or even 'Mulder, you're nuts', but I think we're dealing with an actual monster. Maybe that kind of transformation is described in werewolf myths and other stories of shapeshifters which may originally have been conceived of to explain away the violent behavior of people who'd been bitten by rabid animals before rabies was understood, but I don't think it's outlandish to consider, Scully, that some legends may be based on actual occurrences. We may turn up our noses at the common werewolf, but to discount the mythology of various indigenous peoples is foolish at best, and potentially ignorant."

She opens her mouth.

"To which I'm sure you're going to say, 'But Mulder, the idea of a werelizard defies every known law of science and nature.' Exactly, Scully. Every known law. As a scientist, you understand that our understanding of the universe in which we live changes frequently and at a fundamental level, based on new information. What if this creature that we've stumbled upon here could transform that understanding, creating a new paradigm for our comprehension of the relationship between humanity and nature, or even of our concept of life itself? Or maybe science created this being, accidentally or on purpose. Is this a genetic engineering specimen gone feral? A byproduct of a drug trial? Another trial run at a new face for humanity by a shadowy conspiracy within the military-agricultural-pharmaceutical complex? The next evolution of the human race, a being who cannibalizes us as we cannibalize the world we live in? And I know you're going to say, 'Mulder, that sounds like the ravings of a lunatic madman!'" He sets the hammer and nails down on the table. "I don't know what this thing is, Scully, and I don't know how it came to be, but...all I'm saying, is it's a monster."

Scully stares at him for a moment and then nods. She smiles indulgently at him and the tight coil of stress and anger and excitement in him eases.

"Yeah," she says slowly. "This is how I like my Mulder."

"You're agreeing with me?" He sounds incredulous even to his own ears.

"Absolutely not," she says. "Lunatic is one word for you, Mulder." She gestures at the window. "I should have been tracking your cycles all these years - my current working theory is that you have all your wildest ideas when the moon is full. But it's good to see you so impassioned. I've missed that part of our partnership."

"I haven't been impassioned?" he asks, looking her over in a way he can tell makes it clear how much he's enjoying her choice of sleepwear.

She smiles. "Not about work. Not like this."

"A soupçon of youthful vigor seasoned with wisdom, experience, and antidepressants," he says. "Oh, and speaking of which, I found his prescription." Mulder pulls the bottle out of his pocket and tosses it to her.

"Clozepine," she says. "It's an antipsychotic. Not a silver bullet." She raises one eyebrow.

"There are no silver bullets when it comes to mental health," Mulder says solemnly. "But what else would you give a werewolf? Werelizard. Were...something."

"That would depend on how the symptoms presented," she says. "Psychiatric medicine isn't my area of expertise."

"I think it's more than a coincidence that the man we saw in the portapotty when we were pursuing the werelizard is the man the manager identified as this Guy Mann," Mulder says, holding out his phone.

Scully snorts. "With a name like Guy Mann, of course he's a monster." She peers closer. "Mulder, his clothes."

"I know," he says. "White after Labor Day."

She shakes her head and picks up the file. "They match the description of what one of the victims was wearing when he disappeared." She holds out the page. "We need to talk to this guy."

"I agree," Mulder says. "I have an idea about where to start based on some of the trash I found in his room. But first I think we should get out of here. I've got a feeling this place is about to be shut down."

It is a crime, or at least some kind of tragedy, that changing hotels means that Scully has to get dressed, but Mulder takes solace in their solid lead and the fact that he can probably talk her into putting his Knicks shirt back on, preferably with nothing underneath, at least for his birthday if not while they're working a case.

+ + + +

The pharmacy - Lycans, which is either ironic or a neon sign - gives Mulder the name of the prescribing doctor the next morning, and before McDonald's stops serving breakfast, he's squinting in the sun outside the office of Dr. Rumanovitch. He wonders if Eastern Europeans get tired of being the stronghold of werewolf and vampire lore, or if it's an easy way to turn a profit. Six of one, probably. Either way, Dr. Rumanovitch welcomes him in warmly and offers him a chair.

"How can I help you, Agent Mulder FBI?" he asks.

"I need to ask you about a patient of yours who's a suspect in a murder investigation," Mulder says. "Guy Mann." He reaches across the desk and sets the pill bottle in front of Dr. Rumanovitch.

"Ah," Rumanovitch says. "Mr. Mann. A strange one."

"How strange?" Mulder asks.

"How strange are you imagining?" Rumanovitch asks.

"Strange enough to kill?" Mulder counters.

"The man I met did not seem to have that sort of instinct in him," Rumanovitch says, steepling his fingers.

"Ah," Mulder says, "but what if the man you met wasn't entirely himself? What if he could transform, possibly against his own will?"

"What are you suggesting?" Rumanovitch asks.

"I have an eyewitness who swears he saw Mr. Mann become a lizardlike creature," Mulder says, his voice and his eyes steady. "That lizardlike creature has been described by multiple witnesses at the scene of several recent murders."

"Dr. Gecko and Mr. Mann," Rumanovitch murmurs. He sits back in his chair. "I have a story to tell you, Agent Mulder."

Mulder inclines his head.

"Once upon a time," Rumanovitch says, "there was a village that was being tormented by a man-eating dragon. The local constable did everything he could to try to trap this creature, but nothing could stop it. In the end, he visited a local witch, who read his palm and told him the only way to kill the monster was to stab it in the liver with a lance made of green glass."

"The liver is the source of bile," Mulder says, thinking briefly of Eugene Tooms. "But is the green glass significant?"

"Who the hell knows?" Rumanovitch asks, waving his hands expansively. "In these old fairy tales, the monster must always be destroyed by some form of penetration. Perhaps a silver bullet, or a wooden stake, or perhaps a lance of green glass. Herr Freud would have much to say about our historical and current fixation with impotency, no doubt. But the constable would do anything to save his village. He had a lance fashioned of green glass and the next time the dragon attacked, he stabbed the creature right in the liver. But as the monster was dying, the constable realized he was looking at his own reflection. He was the monster all along, you see?"

"The moral being...?" Mulder asks.

Rumanovitch shrugs. "It's easier to believe in monsters out there in the world than accept that the real monsters dwell within us." He points to his head. "Some may live here, or some in our hearts, or perhaps even in our livers."

Mulder refrains from mentioning the Flukeman. "Not everything can be reduced to psychology. I've witnessed any number of unlikely transformations, physical and mental."

"Perhaps you're right," Rumanovitch says, clearly not meaning it. "At any rate, I was reminded of this tale because of your suspect's delusion that when the moon was full, he would turn into a werewolf."

"A werewolf?" Mulder says.

"Perhaps a werelizard would be more apt," Rumanovitch says. "He was my patient on Monday. In any event, I prescribed for him this antipsychotic. I doubted it would do him much good. I seem to have been correct."

"Why did you doubt it?" Mulder asks.

"He seemed pretty loony," Rumanovitch says, shaking his head, and Mulder wonders again if everybody in this town is just messing with him. He sighs.

"I assume Guy Mann is not a real name," Mulder says. "Your records don't provide much information. Do you know where I could find him?"

"I recommended that he go for a quiet stroll in the local cemetery the next time he felt an episode coming on," Rumanovitch says. "A tangible reminder that no matter how overwhelming our anxieties or convictions might be, they will soon be resolved when we are dead and buried for all eternity."

Mulder frowns. "Do you really think that's sound theraputic advice for a patient for whom you prescribed antipsychotic drugs?"

Rumanovitch shruggs. "It's what I do."

"Thank you, Doctor," Mulder says, getting up.

"Uh, a moment," Rumanovitch says, reaching for a pad of paper and a pen. He scribbles on the top sheet, rips it off, and hands it to Mulder. "A prescription for yourself."

"For me?" Mulder asks. "Why me?"

Rumanovitch leans back again. "Perhaps I've read you wrong, Agent Mulder, but I wonder: who is more in need of an antipsychotic? Is it the man who believes himself to be a werelizard or a man who believes that man? Hmm?"

Mulder drops the slip of paper in the middle of Rumanovitch's desk. "My doctor told me not to take candy from strangers."

Rumanovitch shrugs. "Suit yourself, Agent Mulder, but you look a bit liverish from this angle."

"If he comes back, let us know," Mulder says. "My prescription for you is to avoid engaging with him - whatever he thinks he is, he seems to be dangerous."

"Stay away from mirrors," Rumanovitch advises, winking. Mulder frowns and turns to leave. The guy better not turn into some kind of bat when he turns his back, or tomorrow Mulder finds out that his office was never here. Seems par for the course, though. Mulder's phone rings and he pulls it out of his pocket.

"Scully, what's up?"

#xf alternate season 10 #atcwm verse #mulder x scully #msr #xfiles fic #my fic

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leiascully · 6 years

Text

Here’s a couple more chunks of “A Man’s Mann”, my rewrite of MASMTWM. In my version, Mulder doesn’t casually chuckle at the idea that some rando might be watching Scully while she sleeps. 😒 Not cool, Darin. Not cool if randos are creeping on Mulder in his speedo either. I love a callback, but not to a time when Peeping Toms are acceptable motel fixtures.

The morgue is as familiar as a hotel room. Scully's in her uniform of scrubs. These are light blue. They really set off her eyes, Mulder thinks as he flips through the photos on his phone.

"This could be its ear," he says, squinting at the screen. "Or maybe it was making a fist? It's kind of curled around, whatever this is."

Scully sighs at her steel table as she examines the body. "Signs of trauma to the neck and chest. Possible bite marks from an unidentified attacker. Possible claw marks along the ribs."

"If I turn this one like this and hold it at arm's length, it looks like...something," Mulder says. "Hey, Scully, you ever do those Magic Eye posters?"

"I don't think your optical illusion is admissible evidence," she says. "Or particularly helpful, unless we both want headaches from trying to unfocus our eyes."

"This one's in focus!" Mulder declares. He walks up to the table, not looking at the corpse, and shows her.

"Hmm," Scully says. "And what is it, exactly?"

Mulder gestures with the phone. "It's a close-up. Of the creature. Not a monster, of course, Agent Scully, because monsters don't exist. Bigfoot has been debunked. Nessie is no more. But this is photographic evidence of someone or something that was undeniably humanoid, or at least human-sized, with scaly green skin. I mean, this is beyond even Gold Bond territory."

"Perhaps a Sasquatch in need of a deep conditioning treatment," she suggests dryly. "Or mange medication."

"I've got video," he says as the images on the screen start moving. "Check it out."

They both watch the video. It's about sixty seconds long. It's almost completely dark, except for occasional glimpses of the truck stop lights or Mulder's nostrils. There's a lot of screaming. The sound echoes off the tile and metal of the morgue.

"All I see is conclusive evidence that you don't know how to use your phone," Scully says.

"It's not my fault the app updated," he protests. "Ah!" The video shows a sudden red spatter across his face. "See that? It shot blood at me, Scully. Right in my eyes. From its eyes."

"I might be able to salvage enough from your sleeve to run an analysis, since you wiped it off," Scully says, turning back to the corpse, "but it's most likely residue from the previous attack on this victim. And as far as I'm aware, neither mountain lions nor bears are known for shooting blood from their eyeballs. Hmm. This is odd."

"We know we're not dealing with mountain lions or bears at this point, Scully," he says. "Whatever it is is bipedal, human-sized, and green."

"Humans don't shoot blood from their eyeballs either," Scully says, using something that looks like forceps to probe the wounds on the corpse. "I'm certain of that, or I would have had to sit through fewer of those meetings in Skinner's office."

"You and me both," he says. "But if we narrow our suspects down to green and scaly, we arrive at the irrefutable scientific fact that horned lizards are known to shoot blood from their eyeballs."

"And how big is the average horned lizard?" Scully asks. "The size of an adult human?"

"We're not talking the average lizard," Mulder says. "This one is clearly exceptional, and not just because it walks on two legs."

"I agree," she says.

"You agree?" he says, astonished.

She smiles. "I agree that your theoretical lizardman would be exceptional, Mulder, because my preliminary analysis of the bite marks on this victim suggests that the attacker was human. The size of the marks, the shape of the mouth, and the shape and size of the teeth are all very suggestive."

"My irrefutable lizardman doesn't look so plausible with human teeth," Mulder says. "Before that, though, extremely plausible."

"Oh, of course," she says with soft eyes. "That well-known perpetrator, the six-foot lizard."

"I think I had the poster for that movie," he says. "Pointy teeth."

"Aside from the fact that people have been killed, I am enjoying this," she offers. "These flights of fancy with you - I've missed them. Your ability to see beyond the rational world is inspiring in its own way."

"Only you would find my ravings about a six-foot lizard with human teeth romantic, Scully," he says fondly.

"Aren't you lucky I do?" she says. "It's getting late. I think we should head back to the motel. Get some sleep. Wash the blood out of our eyes. I'll let the ME handle the autopsy."

"You're lucky I find your biohazard protocols romantic," he grumbles, but he's already heading for the door. "But you know what's not romantic? Separate rooms."

"I don't know," she says, a secretive smile curving her lips. "It offers up its own set of possibilities, if you can figure out how your phone works."

"I'll Google the manual if I have to," he promises.

+ + + +

The motel is more than a little rustic. It's a lot rustic, in fact, in a way that looks forced. The light of the full moon glints in through the plaid curtains. The crickets outside chirp so rhythmically they might be a recording. Everything is made of wood. Even the mat in the bathroom looks like the cross-section of a log. He's half-glad that Scully's in a separate room. He doesn't really want to form any positive associations with this place. Mulder lies in bed still mostly clothed with the lights still on and stares up at the animal heads on his wall. He doubts anyone associated with this motel hunted down any stags or bears. The manager barely seemed to know where the ice machine was.

His mind circles his lizardman theory like a dog trying to find a place to lie down. Considering the testimony of the witnesses, a lizardlike creature does fit the description. He's seen it, or something like it, himself. He wasn't counting its eyes tonight at the truck stop, but he's pretty sure Scully owes him ten dollars. The human teethmarks don't fit, though, and there's no reason that a lizard would suddenly become bipedal, especially at such a large size. He hopes it's not another person in a latex suit. He's seen enough of those. He's pretty sure if he suggested that, Scully would tell him that the internet isn't good for him, but she's just as versed in that kind of thing as he is, at this point.

A scream rips through the air. "Ahhhhh! Monster! Help me! It's a monster!"

Mulder's up and pelting toward the door before he can remember to put shoes on. He doubles back, jams his feet into the sneakers he brought in case he had time for a run, grabs his weapon and his badge, and heads toward the voice. The door of the lodge's office is swinging open. Mulder sidles up to it and throws it open. The manager is inside, a washcloth pressed to his forehead. As Mulder watches, he peels the washcloth off his skin, douses it with cheap whiskey from the bottle in his hand, and applies it to the bloody wound on his head. He winces. Mulder does too. It doesn't really help that the manager is the kind of rangy, unkempt, middle-aged white man who looks like the town drunk in a Western, or the formerly willing accomplice to a mad scientist.

"Everything okay in here?" he asks.

"Uh, yeah," the manager says. "Sorry about the disturbance. Had a guest get a little feisty. Uh, go back to your room. Now. Please."

"I heard someone yell about a monster," Mulder presses. He's surprised Scully wasn't on his heels, but maybe she was showering. He knows she likes a long hot shower after she's been in the morgue.

"That's what he had the nerve to call me," the manager says. "I just asked him to pay his overdue bill. That's all. Does that make me some kind of monster?"

"In the eyes of the law, it would make him the monster," Mulder offers.

"Exactly," the manager says. He's got blood running into his eye. He wipes it away, splashes more whiskey on the washcloth, and slaps it back onto his forehead.

"Do you, uh, need medical attention?" Mulder asks. "My partner's a doctor. I'm sure she could help you."

"I'm fine, just fine," the manager says. "Please go back to your room. I wouldn't want you running into this monster. We don't have that kinda insurance."

"Fair enough," Mulder says. He backs out of the office, keeping his eyes on the manager, who just takes a swig from the bottle of whiskey.

Mulder wanders through the parking lot, not heading directly back to his room in case anyone's lurking in the shadows. One of the doors to the other rooms is open. He eases through it. The bed has been slept in, and it doesn't look like whoever occupied it had particularly sweet dreams. There's trash all over the room from various fast food establishments, and a plastic bag from some place called "Smart Phones Is US!!" The overhead light is fine, but the lamp from the bedside table is in pieces on the floor and the mirror over the sink is cracked. The various paintings and stuffed heads on the walls have been knocked askew or onto the floor. Whoever occupies this room has done a real number on it.

There's a pill bottle on the floor. Mulder leans down to pick it up. The label is smudged but legible. "Lycans Pharmacy," it proclaims. Clozapine, 450 MG, once daily, for one Guy Mann. Mulder puts it in his pocket.

"Not safe to leave your meds lying around," he murmurs to himself, as if he needs to justify his behavior. Maybe he does. Maybe that's what he's learned after all these months in therapy. He can't just go crashing through the world and expect to end up without bruises, or without bruising others. But this Guy Mann really shouldn't leave his medications on the floor of an unlocked motel room. Mulder's far from the worst person who might have retrieved them.

The trophy head in this room is a jackalope. Of course it is. Right after he's sworn them off. It seems lighter than it should when he picks it up and as he holds it to his face, he discovers he can see through its eyes, and not in any kind of metaphorical way: the eyes are hollowed out and so is the head. He holds it up, looking for where it hung on the wall, and yes, there's a hole there. Mulder tosses the jackalope head onto a chair, not without regret, and tugs at the edge of the hole. The panel of the wall swings open.

"Speaking of monsters," he says to himself as he steps into the secret hallway behind the wall panel. He wishes this was the first time. There was that town in Wisconsin with the good barbecue and the weird cult, for one. This one's better designed, and hopefully offers fewer opportunities for spying on children. He peeks through another hole to get his bearings. It's Scully's room; she's fast asleep.

"Oh, hell no," he says, and retreats to Guy Mann's room. He retrieves some of the fast food wrappers and stuffs them into the eyes of the trophy head in Scully's room. It's not a perfect solution, but at least it will keep her temporarily safe from prying eyes. He makes his way to the end of the hall and pushes open the hinged panel there. There's a giant brown bear on the other side, and the hotel manager, still alternately applying bad whiskey to his insides and his outsides.

"Oh, hello again," Mulder says, resting his hand gently on his weapon, just in case.

The manager turns toward him. "What the hell...?"

"Just looking for the ice machine," Mulder says.

"That's private back there!" the manager declares. "You're not supposed to be back there!"

"Sorry, couldn't hear you over the glaring invasion of privacy," Mulder says. "Speaking of which." He pulls out his badge and flips it open. "FBI."

"That's, uh, a security feature," the manager says. "You know, for, uh, security. After 9/11, I mean, I gotta know who's in my rooms."

"I'm not looking for an explanation," Mulder says. "I'll leave that to the local PD. I'm sure they'll be more than equipped to help find your victims."

"Hey!" the manager says. "What if I tell you what I saw earlier?"

"When you were screaming about monsters?" Mulder asks.

"Yeah," the manager says. "You're not gonna believe it. Not in a million years."

Mulder nods. "Try me."

"I was making my rounds," the manager begins, after another fortifying swig of whiskey. "Just like usual, just making sure everyone's...safe. I saw you last night. You seemed all right. You keep yourself fit."

Mulder rolls his eyes and motions the man on.

"And then, in that other room, that man's room, he was yelling about something. He kept staring into the mirror, just screaming about how every day it was the same thing, he was sick of looking at his own reflection. He busted up everything in his room, yelling about how his alarm clock was a bastard. He threw a chair at the mirror. Guess he really hates himself."

"Or the décor," Mulder says.

"But then!" the manager says. "He started screaming about how it couldn't happen again, how it had to be the last time, and he changed into a lizard! A lizard!! And then I screamed, and he screamed, and he knocked the head off the wall so I ran back in here."

"Yelling about a monster," Mulder finishes.

"Yeah," the manager says. "So you think you could see your way clear to not telling the fuzz about my little security feature?"

"Absolutely not," Mulder says with a grin. "They're definitely going to shut you down and deservedly so, I might add. Your so-called security measure is illegal as hell."

"Well, damn," the manager says, slumping into his chair. He looks at the bottle in his hand and then at Mulder, seemingly doing some complex math in his brain, but in the end, he just takes another swig.

Mulder sighs and takes out his phone. He opens the gallery and finds the photo he took of the sketch of the lizard man. "I do appreciate your cooperation when it comes to the matter of the monster. You said he turned into a lizard? Did he look anything like this? But, uh, with two eyes?"

"Yeah," the manager says, gazing at it. "That's him. That's exactly it." He taps the picture and it flips, showing the photograph of the man in the portapotty.

"Oh, sorry, meant to delete that," Mulder mumbles. "We were pursuing a suspect and we had the wrong guy."

"But that's him," the manager says. "The one I was telling you about."

"Not that man's room," Mulder says slowly. "That Mann's room."

"Yeah, I told you so," the manager says. "Guy Mann. I mean, so-called. He's hardly a man at all."

"Maybe there's hope for jackalopes," Mulder murmurs.

#xf alternate season 10 #atcwm verse #xfiles fic #xf season 10 fic #msr #my fic

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