By Falling In And In - 5/5
SUMMARY: Things go AU after DeadAlive, and Scully must answer the following question: "So what do you want to do? Do you want to live separately? Do you want a place together? A creampuff wedding gown and a Barbie Dream House in Reston?"
RATING: R
SPOILERS: Through DeadAlive
DISCLAIMER: Breaking seal constitutes acceptance of agreement. Proceed at your own risk. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. For recreational purposes only. Driver does not carry cash. And, as always, thank you for choosing Aloysia Airlines for your direct flight from 1013 to fanfic.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Writing this story was a really interesting experience, because it deals with Mulder and Scully raising William together and I am not so much a fan of either AU or familyfic. But I did want to try my hand at writing one, and surprised myself by having a lot of fun with it. It was also a good chance to revisit the Charlie I wrote for Love's Austere And Lonely Offices. As mentioned in the summary, this pretty much goes AU from DeadAlive. I imagined Mulder having been in a coma for a week or so, then spending a few days at the hospital, then coming home.
CSM quotes Johnny Tremain without troubling himself to mention it.
Many, many thanks to Amanda for telling me I could do it, to Dasha for encouraging the first draft, and to Scarlet for kicking my ass on a fairly regular basis.
****
June 20, 2010
"Happy Father's Day!" William shouts, running into their bedroom. "Dad, are you awake?"
"Mm. I am now." Mulder rubs his eyes before propping himself against the headboard. "What's up, buddy?"
"I got you a present." He thrusts a rectangular parcel into his father's lap. "They wrapped it at the store. I don't know how to do wrapping paper. Open it."
Scully yawns, rolling onto her side to watch. "He picked it out himself. I don't know what it is either," she says.
Mulder tears the paper off, then removes the lid from the box. He pulls away the tissue paper to reveal a square clock. In the center, above the hands, is the word "Whatever." The numbers one through twelve are jumbled up in the lower left-hand corner. Mulder and Scully laugh aloud.
William grins delightedly. "You like it? Really?"
Mulder removes the clock from the packaging for closer inspection. "It's perfect. Thank you."
"I thought it would look good in your office. And maybe your students would think it was funny."
"It's going to look great in my office. You'll have to visit again and pick a spot for it. Come here and give your old dad a hug."
William clambers onto the bed to wrap his arms around his father. Then he lets go and sits back on his heels. "I thought a tie would be boring. And you don't really wear them."
"He used to wear horrible ties," Scully tells her son. "Really awful ones. So if he ever gets a job where he has to wear them, you and I are going to pick them out."
"My ties were not that bad," Mulder says. "They were refreshing. And besides, this is coming from the Queen of Shoulder Pads?"
Scully hits him with a pillow and William shakes his head. "You guys are so weird."
****
April 7, 2011
Scully shuts the door, then walks over the thick Persian rug to settle behind her large desk. Two decades of hard work have finally paid off, and she is now the lord of her own small fiefdom. Her field office oversees the District of Columbia as well as the state of Virginia. She runs her hands over the blotter, taking in the crisp scents of toner and paper and freshly cleaned carpet. Her reverie is interrupted when the phone rings. Scully answers it, still relishing the sound of her new title.
"SAC Scully? There's a Melvin Frohike here to see you. Shall I send him in?"
Scully groans inwardly, but directs her new assistant to admit him. She flicks imaginary specks of dust from her immaculate desk and straightens the already-straight painting on the wall behind her. The door opens and Mulder walks in.
"Mulder! Where's Frohike?"
Mulder feigns astonishment. "You're already using your office to conduct salacious affairs? You could at least pretend you're not disappointed to see me."
Scully rolls her eyes. "Frohike isn't here, is he?"
"Don't cry. I'm sure he'll stop in if you ask nicely and offer up a few choice government secrets. Frohike's firmly committed to mixing business with pleasure, G-woman." Mulder pushes the door closed before walking over to perch on Scully's desk. "Nice digs, Scully. The décor is rather uninspired, but we can fix that up for you in no time. I have a few extra posters to get you started. Then we'll work on a bobble-head collection."
"Thanks just the same, but I'd rather not garner a reputation for clinical insanity just yet."
Mulder smiles, leaning across the desk to kiss her. "Shall we christen it? I came all this way …" He runs his forefinger under her collar.
She draws back to give him a stern look. "I know you know me well enough to know that I wouldn't even entertain the idea. So really, why are you here?"
"I don't know if I want to tell you now. That was a pretty cold rejection. I think I'll just head home and drown my sorrows in the rest of that key lime pie." He slides off her desk, then walks back to the entrance.
"You're up to something. But I have lunch with Skinner, so I'm afraid whatever you've got tucked up your sleeve is going to have to stay there for a while."
"You do not, in fact, have lunch with Skinner. You have lunch with me."
Scully gets up from her chair to join him at the door. She pulls out her Blackberry and then brings up the calendar, holding it in front of Mulder's eyes. "I beg to differ." She puts the phone back in her pocket.
"Tsk, tsk," Mulder chides. "He didn't even tell you he bailed? Walter, Walter, Walter."
"Mulder," she says with a trace of exasperation. "I'm quite pleased to see you, but I'm not canceling."
"I've already taken the liberty."
She stares at him. "You what?"
He opens the door, walking into the waiting area without answering.
"I'm not kidding. Mulder, are you serious? What did you do?" Scully follows him past her assistant's desk and into the hallway.
Mulder stops briefly at a potted fichus tree to collect two thermal bags bearing the George Washington University logo. "Call him if you don't believe me. He was very understanding. Do you think he suspects we're sleeping together? Anyway, it's all sorted out, so quit griping."
"Mulder, Skinner and I have some budgetary matters to discuss. Personnel issues. And I have my eye on two very promising students at the Academy. What on earth possessed you to cancel my lunch meeting?" Her arms are crossed.
"Demons? Maybe you should call a priest." He continues to the elevator and presses the down button. He steps in when it arrives, holding the door for her. "So are you coming or what?"
Scully closes her eyes for a second, then sighs and goes to the elevator. Mulder smiles beatifically as he presses the button for the main floor.
The elevator descends quickly, dinging before the doors slide open again. They walk through the lobby, where a few people nod and whisper. Scully smiles in the imperious-yet-casual manner she has perfected. They exit the building onto Fourth Street and into the bright warmth of a Mid-Atlantic spring day.
"I really haven't got the time for this," Scully says, shielding her eyes.
"You don't get enough fresh air," he insists, steering her towards F Street. "You'll shrivel up."
"This from a man who voluntarily spent a decade in the basement?"
"And look how I turned out."
They walk in silence for a time. Mulder takes Scully's elbow and pulls her onto Third. They follow it down to C Street, where they turn right, and then pass the District Court Building. Mulder stops her at the entrance of the John Marshall Memorial Park. "Voila," he says. "We're here."
"Where?"
"Lunch. I find monuments to deceased Supreme Court Justices aid the digestion."
They enter the park, walking down the steps by the Constitutional Pillar. Mulder scouts for a space on the bright grass. Having spotted something suitable, he strides across the lawn and sets his bags down. He unzips one and removes a large George Washington Colonials stadium blanket, which he unfolds, then spreads out. He sits down and looks over at Scully, who has her arms crossed. "Come," he urges her, setting out plates and utensils. "Partake of the bounty that I have procured for you."
"And what exactly have you procured?" she asks, picking carefully across the grass. Her heels sink into the turf every second step, giving her an oddly jerky gait. She attempts to look dignified and Mulder attempts not to look amused.
"I don't know, actually. I told the nice man at Dean and DeLuca that I was hoping to score with some uptight Fed and needed a picnic fit for such an endeavor. He said he'd do his best."
"You're always thinking of me," she says, sitting carefully on the blanket.
"Naked."
Scully digs through the bags, spreading the contents across the blanket. "I'm quite impressed. You may get lucky after all."
"There should be some kind of chocolate something. I was very specific about that."
"Aha!" She lifts out a box tied with a bow. "What have we here?" She opens it, revealing two small chocolate cakes decorated with gold leaf. "Very pretty."
He removes the box from her hand. "You have to eat your healthy food first."
Scully selects a crab cake and bites into it. "With pleasure. Oh, this is very good."
"Aren't you glad I screwed with your day?" he asks, helping himself to an oyster.
She chews thoughtfully. "I have come to appreciate the richness your impromptu diversions have added to my existence."
"Does this mean my brilliant plan to seduce you with food has worked? Your desk looked very sturdy. What kind of wood is it? Teak?"
Scully laughs. "Even if I were inclined to risk my career on such an enterprise, I have a meeting with Senator Atwater at two o'clock."
"Scully," Mulder says patiently, "if anyone understands the need to break up the afternoon with sexual indiscretions, it's the members of our esteemed legislative branch."
Scully shifts over and rests a hand on his knee. "I used to think you were a terrible influence on me," she tells him. "That you were encouraging me to be too reckless and too irresponsible. And that I was giving into it. But I came to realize that taking risks is the only way to ever truly make any worthwhile advances. I like to think I've learned to be a good agent. Hopefully a good SAC. And that's due largely to your influence."
"Well," he says, hoping his voice is steady. "I guess you've earned your dessert now." He passes her the box, which she accepts. Then she sets it down and takes his hand instead.
****
October 15, 2011
Scully takes her shoes off after the last of the guests leave. She sits on the stage at the front of the Mellon Auditorium; chin in her hands, elbows on her knees. It was a good party, but it is past two in the morning and she is drained. Behind her, the band is relaxing and polishing off leftovers.
Mulder wanders back in from the bathroom, striding past the empty tables and chairs to sit next to her. His bowtie hangs at either side of his unbuttoned collar, his jacket over his arm.
"You're a fierce party animal, SAC Scully."
She grins. "You had a good time?"
"You make an old man feel appreciated. I always loved this building."
"I know. And fifty's not old." She likes the touches of grey at his temples.
Mulder laughs. "We'll see how you feel when your turn comes in a couple of years."
She bumps his shoulder with her own. "As long as you don't mind sleeping with an old lady, I'm sure I'll be fine with it." Scully gets to her feet to stretch. Without her shoes, the long dress puddles like ink on the floor. She kicks at it in annoyance with her bare feet.
Mulder slips his oxfords off. He stands up and walks behind her, nodding once to the band leader. "You're too short to be a proper chin-rest like this. Get those heels back on."
"Smartass," she says, turning to face him.
Mulder slides his arm around her back, taking her left hand in his right. A piano tinkles onstage, then the woody notes of a clarinet float down. "They're playing our song," he tells her.
"I didn't know we had a song."
"We do. It's…whatever this is."
"Moonglow." Scully pulls away for a moment, reaching down to gather the hem of her dress. She loops it through one of the thin shoulder straps, then takes Mulder's hand again. "That's better."
"I've known you almost twenty years," he muses, leading her smoothly across the floor. The mellow sound of the xylophone rises behind them. "And what a long, strange trip it's been." He holds her close, his hand almost as wide as her waist.
Scully laughs. "That may be the understatement of the year."
"Wishing you'd run screaming for the hills when you still had a chance for normalcy? You could have avoided a lot of tragedy, you know."
Scully presses her cheek to the starched white landscape of his shirt. "And what? Trade William for Emily? You for my sister? It doesn't work like that, Mulder. You can't balance a life like a ledger book. I'd be lying if I told you there are things I wish hadn't happened. But I made a choice to be here, to live this life. And taken as a whole, I wouldn't undo it. Look at you. What you've lost. What about all the things you could undo?"
He shakes his head slowly. "No, I wouldn't either." He tilts his chin down so that her hair brushes against it. She's wearing the same perfume she always has. "But I should have asked you to dance more."
"None of that," she says softly. "You're not allowed to be maudlin at your birthday party."
"I'm not maudlin. I'm reflective. And the party's over."
"The band's booked until three, there are at least two unopened bottles of champagne, and the caterer hasn't packed up the rest of the desserts yet."
"In that case," Mulder says, "I'm hereby filling up your dance card and then we're raiding the kitchen." He raises his arm, guiding her under it. Scully twirls beneath the gilded ceiling, her laughter ringing like a bell in far corners of the cavernous room.
****
July 7, 2012
Mulder turns the air conditioning up a notch, staring vacantly out the window at a ladybug on the side view mirror. He startles when the car door opens.
"Jumpy?" Scully asks as she climbs into the passenger seat. She sets two cups and a paper bag into the cup holders, then pulls the door closed. "So. William is dropped off and, presumably, watching the movie. He was so pitifully mortified that one of his friends might see us that I only walked him as far as the edge of the food court. But I spied on him until they all bought tickets and went in."
"He'll probably write a tell-all book about how cruel we were to him."
"Probably. He's at the age where kids like to imagine they're the result of spores. We're officially uncool, Mulder."
"Excellent. Does this mean we can start showing naked baby pictures to his friends? Because I like the one where he's wearing your shoes and holding your badge."
Scully laughs. "I love that picture. But he would probably never recover. Oh, here's your pretzel." She passes him the bag she brought in.
"Thanks," he says, removing his snack from the wrapping. "Mmm. Bless that Auntie Anne. You didn't get anything to eat?"
She wrinkles her nose. "They're too greasy. I just got some lemonade. Iced tea for you."
Mulder clutches a hand to his chest. "She can be taught!"
"Watch it or you're back on root beer. So. What are you up for? The movie's two and a half hours long, plus I gave him twenty dollars for video games and food. He said not to come back before eight."
Mulder swallows the last mouthful of pretzel. He wipes his fingers carefully on one of the little paper napkins that came in the bag. "Are you aware that the back seat of this car has approximately 37.4 cubic feet of space?"
"Nobody likes a math geek, Mulder."
"I do. I like them very much."
"One may use any of the antiderivatives of a function to compute its definite integral," she says seductively, twirling her straw.
"You should never drink and derive, Scully."
She leans over until her lips just graze his ear. "When dealing with a wave function which has an infinite vector with a discrete index, one approaches it in the same manner as a finite vector, but the sum is extended over all the basis elements."
"The probability of us committing a lewd public act is rapidly approaching one," he says as her left hand slides up his thigh.
She sits back to watch him for a moment, drumming her right fingers on her knee. "Let's get a room."
"What?"
"Let's go to a hotel for a few hours. Somewhere nice. We'll check in, order room service, and get our money's worth out of the bed. Then we'll come fetch poor, sad William whose parents are pathetic and embarrassingly dull."
Mulder stares at her. "Turn around slowly so I can stab you in the back of the neck."
She laughs. "What? You don't want to?"
"I'm not sure how to convey my eagerness without looking tragic."
"Convey it, by all means. I won't tell anyone." Scully inches her left hand up to unzip his jeans. "I brought you tea, Mulder. Doesn't that mean anything to you anymore?"
Mulder gives her a long look. "Of course it does," he says, shifting the car into drive.
"And really, even if it's just fate, I think it would be an awful shame waste such a golden opportunity." Scully works her hand through the opening in the front of his shorts, and Mulder nearly takes out a small cypress as he veers towards Westpark Drive.
****
December 16, 2012
They sit outside on the deck, watching the logs burn down in the large stone fire pit. The sky is low with shaggy grey clouds. Night is creeping in as the sun advances westward.
Scully checks her watch. "We need to head out soon if you still want to do dinner at Dave and Buster's, Will. You know how packed it gets on the weekends."
William shrugs and stifles a yawn with the back of his hand. "Yeah, I guess. I'm kind of tired though. Maybe we should just stay home. Can we go next weekend?"
Mulder leans over to briefly press his hand to his son's forehead. "Are you ill? I have never heard you pass up ribs and Tokyo Cop."
"I'm okay. I just don't feel like going anywhere." He rubs his eyes with a gloved hand.
"Are you sure you're all right?" Scully asks, sipping from her mug. "You do look a little pale."
"I'm fine. I just haven't been sleeping so good lately is all."
"No? How come?"
William leans forward and jabs at a log with the fireplace poker. He watches as the black wood crumbles to reveal a glowing red center. Little sparks swirl upwards in an eddy on the thermal updraft. "Forget it."
"No such luck, I'm afraid," Mulder says. "I'm cursed with a very good memory. What's going on?"
"Nothing."
Scully studies him for a moment, wondering when exactly their fat-cheeked baby became the lanky boy next to her. William has her sharp nose and blue eyes, but his mouth and his build are Mulder's. They can lay equal claim to his wide stubborn streak and recent tendency towards emotional restraint. Over time, she has learned that the best way to gain control is to give some up. "It's fine," she tells him. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."
They sit in silence for a few minutes, listening to the fire pop and crackle. William stares down into a mug of hot chocolate. Mulder tosses some pinecones into the fire, and the air is soon full of their wintry scent.
"I hear people talking all the time, even at night," William says suddenly. "People but not people. And they're, you know, in my head or whatever." He drums his feet against the built-in bench seat.
Scully doesn't risk a glance at Mulder. "People but not people? Can you explain what that means?" she inquires gently.
He shrugs, looking as though he wishes he hadn't said anything. "I don't know. Like it's one voice but it's also a lot of voices. And you can just tell it's not a regular person." He takes a long drink of his hot chocolate.
Mulder's fingers are tapping ceaselessly against his thighs. Scully can see him resisting the urge to interrogate their son. "Can you remember anything that they said?" he asks in a carefully even voice. "Even a little thing might be important."
"They don't really have words. It's like I just know their ideas. They're getting close, whoever it is. I can just feel them getting nearer all the time."
Scully's head jerks up only a split second before her mug slips from her hand and shatters on the deck.
William stares at her, bewildered, as he picks up flashes of strange memories he can't understand. His mother, years younger with a belly like a full moon, screaming on a table. A little girl who bled green blood. His father, lying ashen and gray in a forest clearing. His grandmother standing at a grave with the name Fox William Mulder on the stone. Cancer, nosebleeds, babies in metal jars, a man smoking a cigarette.…
He closes his eyes and presses his hands to his face, unable to move. Mulder lifts him up and they all go into the house, leaving the fire to burn itself out. Once inside, Mulder carries William to the couch. He lays him down and drapes a blanket over his curled form, then sits next to him. Scully sits near his head, running her fingers over his fine hair and his soft neck.
You lied to me.
"We didn't lie," she says. Mulder looks over, watching the two of them.
You didn't tell the truth.
She sighs. "It's complicated, William. We had planned to talk to you about these things at some point in the future, but -"
Dad knew. All those times he went away…
"Your father had some suspicions, but it isn't as though we knew anything for certain."
Aliens are coming here? For real? Like War of the Worlds?
Scully smiles in spite of herself. "War of the Worlds? I have no idea. That's just it. We don't know exactly what's coming."
"It's almost December twenty-first," Mulder says in a dead man's voice. "He might not be so far off."
Scully shoots him a warning glance. "Mulder, I don't think this is the time for -"
You went to Antarctica. You saw things there. Then Dad was…away and you saw that too. Are we going to die?
Scully's face falls. "I don't know." She speaks steadily so that the sob in her throat will stay there. William's pulse is fast under her fingers. "We're going to do our best to keep you safe. That's all I can ever promise you."
Mulder turns sideways, stroking his son's back with one hand. He rests the other on Scully's leg and, together, they stare out the bay window to watch the cold face of the moon rise like a Peeping Tom.
****
The man in the car takes the headphones from his ears and sighs. He pulls out his cell phone, lighting a cigarette as he dials and listens.
"I didn't expect to hear from you quite yet," says the voice on the other end.
"It has to be tonight," he says. "Now."
"Tonight? I thought you wanted to wait until -"
"Gas the house." He hangs up the phone. He does not get out his binoculars to watch the activities across the street. Instead, he puts his car into drive and the sleek black sedan whispers down the dark road like a shadow.
****
Mulder unconsciously recognizes the wumwumwum sound of the ceiling fan before he sees it. It is a soft, rhythmic heartbeat noise, like that of a washing machine. He opens his eyelids, which are heavy as a portcullis, and immediately slams them shut as sharp white light floods in.
He sits up, then opens his eyes again carefully, shielding them with one hand. He is at first certain that his vision has been damaged because the world is white and hazy, but he soon realizes that he is in a bed draped with swaths of mosquito netting. He glances down and sees that he is wearing gauzy white pajamas that look like scrubs. There is an IV in his arm and a papery feeling in his mouth. His head feels like an anvil wrapped in cotton balls.
Mulder bats the netting aside and pulls the IV out. Gingerly, he swings his legs over the side of the bed. He stands, slightly shaky, but the floor remains firm beneath him as he takes a few steps across the gleaming hardwood floor. "Scully!" he calls in a crackly voice. "William!"
A woman runs in and takes his arm. "Ah, Mister Mulder," she says. "You need to rest some more. And you took your IV out. You are probably still dehydrated." She wags her finger in dismay.
Her voice has a musical lilt. Caribbean, maybe? He can't decide. Mulder tries to pull his arm from her grasp, but nearly loses his balance. He grabs at the wall. "Where are Scully and William? Who are you? And what the fuck is going on?"
"They're in the next room. They woke up a few hours ago and they're doing fine. My name is Aralai. I'm a nurse, and you are at a medical treatment facility on Tivua Island."
Mulder stares at her. "Where is Tivua Island? And why I am I there? Here. Whatever."
"It's in the South Pacific. Fiji. Mister Mulder, please sit down. Your blood pressure is very low and I'm worried you will pass out. Someone is going to explain it all to you. Just relax."
"You get Scully and William in here and I'll relax." He leans against the wall, looking pale and stubborn.
Aralai sighs, then leaves the room. She returns a moment later, ushering Scully and William in before her. "You see? Everyone is fine. Sit down now." Her voice and her expression are stern. She turns sharply on her heel, disappearing around the corner.
Scully runs over to him. "Mulder!" she exclaims with relief. "You're all right."
William looks anxious, but smiles as he walks closer. "Hi," he says.
They appear exhausted, but otherwise fine. They are both wearing pajamas like his. Mulder slowly returns to the bed. William climbs next to him, leaning against his father's side. Mulder drapes an arm around him, then looks up at Scully. "Do you have any idea what's going on?"
She shakes her head. "No one will tell me anything. They kept saying we had to wait for you to wake up, then someone would come talk to us."
"I want to go home," William says in a small voice. "It feels wrong here."
"We will," she assures him. "As soon as we can."
"You are home, William," comes a smooth, familiar voice from around the corner. The voice is joined by a familiar face, though instead of his usual suit, the man is wearing brown linen pants and a white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" Scully snaps before she can stop herself. William blanches at the venom in her tone and tightens his grip on Mulder's arm.
"You know what these miraculous recoveries are like," says the man. "Cancer, cerebral inflammation…hardly anything's terminal if you know the right people."
"I must warn you that my temper is extremely short right now," Mulder informs him. "I'm all out of patience, so whatever you have to say, say it fast. What's going on?"
"William knows. He doesn't realize it yet, but he knows."
William looks up at this stranger who makes his mother recall terrible things. "I don't know anything."
"Let's take a walk, shall we? Mulder, I'll call for a wheelchair if you'd like."
"No thank you." Mulder pats his son's shoulder reassuringly. He gets to his feet again, holding onto the wall. He feels stronger this time. Scully hovers anxiously at his side, and William rises from the bed to half-hide between them. They follow their visitor to the doorway, then out into a bright, airy lobby painted a soft shade of green. The lobby leads out to a ramp, which slopes down to a white beach at the edge of a lapis sea. They all walk down towards the shore.
"Paradise," says the man, drawing in a deep breath. "Don't you think?"
"Gorgeous," says Scully. "Send a postcard next time."
He smiles at her. "Do you know what day it is? It's the day after the end of the world, Dana. I couldn't send you a postcard if I wanted to."
"What are you talking about?"
"It's December twenty-second. Life as you know it ceased to exist on the twenty-first."
Scully gapes. "We lost six days?"
"More like four, really. What with the time zones and all, I can't give an exact -"
"Shut up," Mulder snarls. "Just get us home."
"I've already told you. This is your home now." He strolls ahead of them. Small waves splash around his feet.
William scuffs his feet through the sand. He walks to the edge of the Pacific Ocean, looking down at the crust of seaweed and shells that mark the surf's retreat. "It's gone," he says, gazing out over the water. "Everything's gone."
Mulder and Scully look at one another, then at their son. "What's gone?" Mulder asks.
"The strings. The people. The…way things touch." He looks frustrated by his inability to articulate himself. He turns to the mysterious person beside him. "You're my grandfather."
"I am."
Behind them, Scully flinches and Mulder clenches his teeth, but they remain otherwise still.
William takes his grandfather's hand in his own. "You've done awful things," he says quietly. "You shot your little boy."
I did.
"You watched me for my whole life, and you did good stuff for us. You brought us here, away from the…the aliens. They're really real?"
I have no reason to lie to you. Do you believe me?
William shuts his eyes and focuses for a moment. "Yes."
Good. This is one of the safe places. They won't come here. They'll remain on the continents and densely populated areas, scavenge what they can over the next decade or so, then leave.
Scully, unable to tolerate it any longer, starts for the water, but Mulder catches her shoulder. Her body is rigid, but she waits.
The boy hangs his head and works his toes into the wet sand. "So everyone I know is…?"
Dead? Probably.
Fat tears slide down his cheeks and fall into the saltwater below. He lets the hand go.
Don't cry for the dead, son. They're past caring.
"I'm crying for me because I'm sad." He wipes at his face with his sleeve. Then he looks over his shoulder and watches his parents for a moment. "They hate you. I think maybe I should too."
William's grandfather stares past the breakers. I can't tell you what to think or what to feel. I'd advise you not to let anyone do that. Virgil said, 'facilis descensus averno.' Do you know what that means?
"No."
It means, 'It is easy to descend into Hell.' But it's not easy to come back out. Don't let anyone own your actions. It's a cheap way to live.
William squeezes his eyes shut until he feels like he can open them without crying. He turns around and heads back up to his parents. His mother is ashen and there is a hard set to his father's face.
"What did he tell you?" Mulder asks in a tight voice.
"The truth," William answers.
****
September 3, 2018
Scully sits on a sugar-sand beach, drowsing in the early evening heat as fat clouds scud across a delphinium sky. She wears a white cotton shift and no shoes. From the corner of her eye, Scully sees a figure coming past the low fence, backlit by the sun. Squinting, she raises a hand to shield her eyes. "Mulder?" she calls.
He comes closer and sits down next to her, his rolled-up sleeve brushing her bare, brown arm. "Dr. Livingstone, I presume?" His worn shirt is soft as flannel, and his long legs appear even longer in the frayed khaki shorts.
"Hey. Where's William? I wanted to show him how to fix the flange on the sink."
Mulder works his toes into the warm sand. "He has no time for plumbing. Jesse finally got the projector working again, so Will and Lusiani went to a movie. Though the pickings are slim. Tonight it's either Little Shop of Horrors or the second Austin Powers."
"Better than the solid month of Star Wars prequels. I noticed Lusiani had been hanging around quite a bit lately. She and William have been playing H-O-R-S-E a lot since you got the basketball hoop back up."
"Yeah, well. You know, that boy of yours sure gets his ass kicked a lot for someone with a pretty good backcourt game," Mulder observes derisively. He reaches over to grab a coconut from the ground, rolling it towards the water, but it stops short. "Dammit."
Scully smiles. "He's trying to be gentlemanly. And Lusiani's too polite to tell him it's condescending."
"She had better watch herself. Mulder men are notoriously dashing and seductive. Not that I need to tell you that. You threw yourself at me like a drunken prom date the first time I took you to a movie."
She sniffs. "I did not throw myself at you and you did not 'take' me anywhere. We saw that horrible, horrible movie together out of a sense of duty to Skinner."
"For whose flashlight you had, apparently, been harboring an unrequited longing." They can talk about him with ease now, though it took almost a year for the names of those they've lost to stop cutting like a butcher knife.
"Richard Gere," Scully muses, poking idly at a section of palm leaf near her hand. "I still can't quite believe it. It was preposterous! Richard Gere had a substantial head of hair, you realize."
"Richard Gere looked like a collie," Mulder says. "Funny-shaped eyes."
Scully grins at him, then reaches out to pluck dried grass from his shirt. "You know, not everyone gets to have their lives made into a movie AND a book."
Mulder snorts. "Yes, well, that's all very nice for you, Miss I Was Played By Tea Leoni. Miss Noble of Spirit and Pure of Heart. Meanwhile I got Gary Shandling and -"
"I never thought you were a ticking time bomb of insanity," she reassures him. "But I did agree that your psyche was warped."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
Scully laughs, shifting to lie with her head in Mulder's lap. Her long hair, now a blend of copper and silver, drapes over his leg. "Not all of the time it wasn't." She watches a few petrels swoop down over the water in search of a meal.
Mulder smoothes her hair back from her brow, twining it around his fingers as he stares beyond the sea. "What do you think is out there now?"
She sighs. "I don't know. I used to think about it all the time. Obsessively so. But eventually, I just stopped somewhere along the way. It's as if Out There stopped being real."
"I know what you mean. This is the whole world now. I forget things. Like traffic. Remember traffic?"
"I do that too. You know, after Antarctica I thought I'd never want to see snow again. But I do miss it from time to time now. No more white Christmases."
"Well, it's been twenty years. You've had time to warm up, I guess." His fingers are light against her slim throat. "No more haunted Christmases either."
"Mmm. That was a good Christmas. Psychotic hallucinations and all."
"You played hooky for me," he says fondly.
"I wanted you to open a present on Christmas. And I hated the thought of you being alone." She runs a hand over his calf.
"Well, as our shared hallucinations go, it was much better than the mushroom thing."
"That was a nice addition to my journal. 'Today Agent Mulder and I did massive amounts of 'shrooms and almost died. Yet again.' "
Mulder laughs. Then he reaches down to take her hand, drawing it up to press her knuckles to his lips. "You did throw yourself at me in LA," he murmurs against her warm skin. "You know you did."
"Oh, please. You showed up at my room in nothing but tuxedo pants under the dubious guise of borrowing an ice bucket."
"Mine was cracked." He rests her hand back on his leg. Then he scratches his ear thoughtfully. "Do you think it was cracked because I beat it with my shoe for ten minutes?"
"I wouldn't rule out the possibility," she says, mounding sand over his foreleg. "But perhaps it was just shoddy workmanship."
"Well, we'll just chalk it up to serendipity. Oh, hey, we need to go catch a few fish before the sun sets if we're going to be eating."
Scully sits up to avoid the sand as he shakes his leg free. "What about the boar?" she asks. "Didn't Thomas and Ratu kill a boar?"
"Nope," Mulder says, getting to his feet. He extends an arm to Scully, pulling her up. "Apparently Ratu slipped and sprained his ankle this morning. So no boar. Which I only just discovered. Thomas and I might give it a go tomorrow, but it's fish tonight."
"Fine by me," Scully says.
They brush the sand from their clothes and walk down the beach to where a red rowboat sits in the sand. They push it out into the water until it no longer scrapes the bottom. Scully climbs in, followed by Mulder. She reaches below the seat to retrieve a battered hand net. He begins to row out into to the lagoon and she leans over the side, peering down into the water.
"So what's on the menu tonight? Mulder asks.
"Mangrove snapper, sea bream, and some of those little barracudas."
"I'll have the snapper please, garcon." He rests the oars in the oarlocks.
Scully hangs her arm over the edge, flicking her wrist to dip the net into the water. Her first two tries are unsuccessful. "I think they're onto us," she says, gazing at the fish in annoyance. "Mulder, is it wrong that part of me doesn't care what's out there anymore? I mean, fundamentally I do. If I really and truly contemplate how horrifying it must be, how much we've lost, I get sick. But I don't want to go back. I don't ever want to have to pick up the pieces. I don't want William to have to see whatever ruins are left."
The net cuts into the water again and Scully triumphantly tips two flopping fish into the bottom of the boat. Once they go still, Mulder wraps them in banana leaves and stacks them in a small basket.
"There's nothing wrong with that. Or if there is, I'm wrong with you." He watches her capture and deposit several more fish. "I didn't want it to be real. For all those years I railed about no one believing the evidence at hand, I didn't want to believe it all myself when it happened. But those satellite images before the blackout..." He trails off, shaking his head. "What purpose would going back serve? To gawk and live some post-apocalyptic Mad Max existence?"
Scully nods. "That's where I am. How much do you think William remembers? I haven't really discussed it with him. He doesn't like it to be brought up."
"I don't know," he says, topping off the full basket with more banana leaves. He slides over to rinse his hands in the clear blue water, then dries them on his shorts. "I tried to stop it all somehow. I really thought I could. I feel like a colossal failure sometimes."
"We're alive, Mulder. You didn't fail. William's very happy. And so am I. I know you wanted to go see it all for yourself, but I'm glad you listened to reason. Australia's thousands of miles from here and there's no reliable transportation."
"Reason, threats…it's all the same," Mulder says, smiling. He reaches over to brush a fall of hair from her face. Above them, the clouds have turned lavender and the sky burns pink and orange. Back on shore their house awaits, and out past the wide, wide sea lies what's left of the world. They sit in their small boat, in the gloaming, and watch the day go down to dark. High above them, stars begin to bloom like cereus. Many of them are distant suns to their own lonely planets. The tide rises up the beach and Mulder pulls at the oars to follow the waves home.
****