A Different Sort of Life 1/4 - X Files fic
This is my week of clearing the dust bunnies from the back of the settee or something. Here is another long neglected offering, a fic which I've been writing on and off for like three years or something. It's my first X Files fic, but as X Files is my first fandom love, I wanted to enjoy the process - I did. Anyway, here it is:
Title: A Different Sort of Life (1/4)
Author: Wendy.
Email: starrycynic@aim.com
Disclaimer: I am not Chris Carter and never will be. It's all his.
Summary: Mulder leads Scully off to investigate crop circles in Kansas and inadvertently the dynamics of their complex interaction. Set in early Season 6 of The X Files, just after "Triangle".
Rating: Low on the blush-o-meter.
A Different Sort of Life 1/4
It is 4 in the morning and Mulder is thinking. Some old movie is on the TV and he is unable to sleep. The couch feels lumpier than it should. He shifts his body into sitting and pulls the rug over him. He thinks maybe the heating went off because his apartment is freezing cold. He does not bother to move. It doesn’t matter.
He wonders what Scully is doing. He is worried that she is mad at him, but he doesn’t know why she should be. She had dropped him home from the hospital late last night, making sure he was settled with water, painkillers and warm clothes before scuttling off for home. She hadn’t said much. Just the usual “Get some rest, Mulder” before she shut the door, leaving him alone with a head full of questions. What really happened on the Queen Anne? Why wouldn’t she believe him? And if he was just hallucinating, why does his jaw hurt like hell?
He doesn’t think that he will be getting any answers tonight.
Again he reruns his patchy memory of the last 24 hours. He had awoken in a hospital bed alone. His first thought had been of Scully, then a burning need for water. He had reached with clumsy hands for the jug, his fingers feeling like indistinct blurs of flesh. The jug had clattered downwards. He had startled at the chill of the water seeping through the sheets into his skin. Memories of the ship and Nazis and Scully, “I’ll never see you again” rushed and jumbled in his brain.
“Nurse!”
But Scully had not come. Or Frohike or Langly or Byers. The nurse had said he needed his rest and that his visitors would see him later. Later had come and Scully’s gentle censures and Skinner’s angry boss man words had been his touchstone reality as he ebbed in and out of consciousness. Lips on his, soft and shocked, sharp, fast blow to the jaw. His whispered “I love you” to Scully. What was real, what was not, he did not know. He doesn’t know now. He wishes he did.
His hands wander to the phone and now he is dialling her number. Ring, ring, ring, ring and she picks up. He sighs, a gentle puff of air, relief spreading slowly through him. He didn’t think she would answer.
“Mulder? Is that you?”
He realises he has not yet spoken. “Yeah, it’s me. I couldn’t sleep.”
He hears a catch in her voice and a sharp rustle of sheets that he imagines means she has sat up quickly. “Mulder, are you okay?”
“I think so.”
“You think so?”
“Mmmhmmm.”
“Mulder, the Demerol is still in your system.”
He laughs, short and loud. He hears a soft tut of disapproval from the other end of the phone.
“Scully, have you ever wondered about alternate realities?”
“Not really.” He frowns. Maybe it shows in a slight dip in his breathing, because she continues with more enthusiasm. “There’s the idea of multiverses; that our observable universe is only a part of the entire physical reality. So hypothetically, I’d have to allow for the possibility that other universes exist.”
“So you’re open to the idea that there can be shifts in time, that multiple realities can co-exist alongside our reality and that all we have to do to see these other worlds is to find a tear in the space-time continuum?”
“Like you say you did on the Queen Anne?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Come on, Mulder. You can’t seriously believe that you went back in time to the 1940s and single-handedly saved us all from the Nazis. It sounds like something out of ‘Quantum Leap’.”
“I didn’t say that I single-handedly…” He dries up, running out of steam. “You were there, Scully.”
There is a crackle of silence, then her voice comes warm and breathy. “Sure I was, Mulder. Now get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The connection clicks off and he’s left listening to the monotonous shrill of the dial tone. He places the handset back and lies back down. He’s still cold and the couch is lumpy. The X Files are out of his hands and his partner thinks he’s on crack. He turns onto his side and pulls the rug up to his face. Oh well. He’ll face that problem later.
Sleep creeps upon him and he accepts it. It is a gift only Demerol can bring.
~~
He wakes early for a Sunday. It is a little past seven am and soft rain is pattering against his window. Little rivulets of water dance and twirl across the glass making intricate and sparkling patterns, before plummeting dramatically into freefall en route to their doom on the window sill’s edge. Raindrops lived short but adrenaline-filled lives. He kind of envies them.
The needs of his bladder make themselves known, and he reluctantly pulls himself up off the couch, heading heavy-limbed towards the bathroom. Once the mission is complete, the world of the living has descended on him and he is now fully awake. His brain neurons spark determinedly and he is hungry for the next big chase. He remembers a post on a newsgroup about UFO activity in Kansas. The race is now on to find out more.
After hours spent on the computer, he is ready. He runs out of the door, ready to rendezvous with his latest source. This could be a big one. The phone rings and rings. The answer machine clicks on. His laconic voice rolls across the empty apartment. “This is Fox Mulder. Please leave a message.”
“Hi… Mulder, it’s me. You’re not in so I assume you’re better.” There is a big pause. “Well, um, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He returns back late, way past the early hours and the blinking light on the answer machine fails to catch his eye. Research mode is where he is and where he remains for a long, long time.
He listens to the answer machine, finally, when he realises that he has not heard from Scully. He glances at his watch and sees it is almost 6am. He cusses softly. It’s time for him to go to work.
~~
Monday.
He arrives at their crappy open-plan, on-view-to-all office early, with a spring in his step. He throws his briefcase onto the desk, not caring that it scatters Scully’s meticulous report of their latest fertiliser investigation into messy disarray. He has a new case. That’s all he is thinking of right now.
Anyway, he has found the perfect way to link it to huge piles of manure and thus avoid another incurrence of Kersh’s wrath. And Scully’s. She is the last person he wants to annoy right now. He needs her on this one.
Lights in the sky in Kansas. It could be UFO activity, it could be some freak refraction of light, but it doesn’t explain the crop circles or the source who claims to have been aboard the mother ship. Mulder has been around the block enough times to be sceptical of this, but he knows that without Scully’s strict science he’ll be off out on a limb without a leg to stand on - or some such crappy cliché he’s mixing all to hell. But the point is that she’ll keep him honest; she won’t let him sacrifice the truth for some quick fix answer. And if this is a load of manure, Scully’s help will let him know.
He sets off in search of a 402, determined to play the case for a simple investigation to verify that fertiliser is not being used for nefarious purposes such as homemade bombs. There are an abundance of farms, a large amount of fertiliser and best of all, it’s Kansas, far, far away from the all-seeing eyes of Kersh. He and Scully should be free to explore the extreme possibilities that this case may offer. After a month with nothing but waste product, a talking cow would be a highlight.
He enters Kersh’s office, his best poker-face on display. “Sir, I would like to request permission to investigate a case in Kansas, involving a farmer’s purchase of vast amounts of fertiliser.”
Kersh stares at him balefully, his eyes narrowing. Mulder’s expression does not flicker. “And what would interest you so much about a big pile of manure, Agent Mulder? Last thing I heard, you were above such investigations.”
Hot anger pools in Mulder’s gut. He balls his hands into fists, muscles tightening and twisting at the slur. Kersh smirks, the catty reaction of a man who knows he has all the power. The knowledge bolsters Mulder and calm flows through him, spiriting the anger away. He will never let them win.
“Agent Scully and I have reason to believe, following our research, that this man, Charles Colwyn,” skimming a series of records, reports and ID photographs across the desk to Kersh, “has purchased a huge quantity of fertiliser for reasons not related to farming. A number of factors, such as the time of year and the identified low ratio of arable to non-arable farming activities taking place on Mr Colwyn’s property, would indicate the need for checks to be made to ensure the legitimacy of Mr Colwyn’s use of fertiliser.”
Kersh glances over the evidence that Mulder has presented him with and then thrusts it back towards him. “Looks like you have yourself a case, Agent.”
Mulder nods, retrieving the papers from the desk and preparing to make his retreat. But Kersh hasn’t finished with him yet. “I’ll be watching you. You and Agent Scully.”
Mulder lifts his chin defiantly and walks out. “That’ll be fun,” he mutters under his breath.
When he arrives back at his desk, Scully is there. He greets her with a mischievous grin.
“What?” She is already suspicious. He disarms her with a stack of case paperwork, which she takes with a disgruntled ommmph.
“We’re off to Kansas, Scully.” She scans the top page of the paperwork and looks back up at him. Her eyebrows raise and her mouth is hard set. Convincing her will not be easy. “Fertiliser and more fertiliser wait for no man.”
“Mulder, it’s a hay farm. In Kansas… at the tail-end of fall.”
He grins. “And your point is?”
She puts the paperwork down on the desk. “Why do I have the feeling fertiliser is the last thing this is about?”
“Because of our stellar communication skills, garnered from six years of partnership?”
She shakes her head and stands, looking at him expectantly. “Start by communicating what this case is all about and then we’ll see.”
He leads her from the office, beginning to explain, but he knows he’s already got her. She’s too damn curious not to follow a lead and too loyal to abandon him; and as exasperated as hell that he knows all this and how to use it to his advantage, without her being able to do a thing about it. Being a psychological profiler sure has its advantages some days.
Scully’s annoyance is transient today. Her quiet smile lets him know that he is forgiven. He basks in its warmth. There is no woman on this earth who can smile as simply as Scully. No woman whose smile is so rare.
He hopes this trip to Kansas will offer them both more opportunities for smiling. God knows they could both do with a slice of the lighter side of life.
Title: A Different Sort of Life (1/4)
Author: Wendy.
Email: starrycynic@aim.com
Disclaimer: I am not Chris Carter and never will be. It's all his.
Summary: Mulder leads Scully off to investigate crop circles in Kansas and inadvertently the dynamics of their complex interaction. Set in early Season 6 of The X Files, just after "Triangle".
Rating: Low on the blush-o-meter.
A Different Sort of Life 1/4
It is 4 in the morning and Mulder is thinking. Some old movie is on the TV and he is unable to sleep. The couch feels lumpier than it should. He shifts his body into sitting and pulls the rug over him. He thinks maybe the heating went off because his apartment is freezing cold. He does not bother to move. It doesn’t matter.
He wonders what Scully is doing. He is worried that she is mad at him, but he doesn’t know why she should be. She had dropped him home from the hospital late last night, making sure he was settled with water, painkillers and warm clothes before scuttling off for home. She hadn’t said much. Just the usual “Get some rest, Mulder” before she shut the door, leaving him alone with a head full of questions. What really happened on the Queen Anne? Why wouldn’t she believe him? And if he was just hallucinating, why does his jaw hurt like hell?
He doesn’t think that he will be getting any answers tonight.
Again he reruns his patchy memory of the last 24 hours. He had awoken in a hospital bed alone. His first thought had been of Scully, then a burning need for water. He had reached with clumsy hands for the jug, his fingers feeling like indistinct blurs of flesh. The jug had clattered downwards. He had startled at the chill of the water seeping through the sheets into his skin. Memories of the ship and Nazis and Scully, “I’ll never see you again” rushed and jumbled in his brain.
“Nurse!”
But Scully had not come. Or Frohike or Langly or Byers. The nurse had said he needed his rest and that his visitors would see him later. Later had come and Scully’s gentle censures and Skinner’s angry boss man words had been his touchstone reality as he ebbed in and out of consciousness. Lips on his, soft and shocked, sharp, fast blow to the jaw. His whispered “I love you” to Scully. What was real, what was not, he did not know. He doesn’t know now. He wishes he did.
His hands wander to the phone and now he is dialling her number. Ring, ring, ring, ring and she picks up. He sighs, a gentle puff of air, relief spreading slowly through him. He didn’t think she would answer.
“Mulder? Is that you?”
He realises he has not yet spoken. “Yeah, it’s me. I couldn’t sleep.”
He hears a catch in her voice and a sharp rustle of sheets that he imagines means she has sat up quickly. “Mulder, are you okay?”
“I think so.”
“You think so?”
“Mmmhmmm.”
“Mulder, the Demerol is still in your system.”
He laughs, short and loud. He hears a soft tut of disapproval from the other end of the phone.
“Scully, have you ever wondered about alternate realities?”
“Not really.” He frowns. Maybe it shows in a slight dip in his breathing, because she continues with more enthusiasm. “There’s the idea of multiverses; that our observable universe is only a part of the entire physical reality. So hypothetically, I’d have to allow for the possibility that other universes exist.”
“So you’re open to the idea that there can be shifts in time, that multiple realities can co-exist alongside our reality and that all we have to do to see these other worlds is to find a tear in the space-time continuum?”
“Like you say you did on the Queen Anne?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Come on, Mulder. You can’t seriously believe that you went back in time to the 1940s and single-handedly saved us all from the Nazis. It sounds like something out of ‘Quantum Leap’.”
“I didn’t say that I single-handedly…” He dries up, running out of steam. “You were there, Scully.”
There is a crackle of silence, then her voice comes warm and breathy. “Sure I was, Mulder. Now get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The connection clicks off and he’s left listening to the monotonous shrill of the dial tone. He places the handset back and lies back down. He’s still cold and the couch is lumpy. The X Files are out of his hands and his partner thinks he’s on crack. He turns onto his side and pulls the rug up to his face. Oh well. He’ll face that problem later.
Sleep creeps upon him and he accepts it. It is a gift only Demerol can bring.
~~
He wakes early for a Sunday. It is a little past seven am and soft rain is pattering against his window. Little rivulets of water dance and twirl across the glass making intricate and sparkling patterns, before plummeting dramatically into freefall en route to their doom on the window sill’s edge. Raindrops lived short but adrenaline-filled lives. He kind of envies them.
The needs of his bladder make themselves known, and he reluctantly pulls himself up off the couch, heading heavy-limbed towards the bathroom. Once the mission is complete, the world of the living has descended on him and he is now fully awake. His brain neurons spark determinedly and he is hungry for the next big chase. He remembers a post on a newsgroup about UFO activity in Kansas. The race is now on to find out more.
After hours spent on the computer, he is ready. He runs out of the door, ready to rendezvous with his latest source. This could be a big one. The phone rings and rings. The answer machine clicks on. His laconic voice rolls across the empty apartment. “This is Fox Mulder. Please leave a message.”
“Hi… Mulder, it’s me. You’re not in so I assume you’re better.” There is a big pause. “Well, um, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He returns back late, way past the early hours and the blinking light on the answer machine fails to catch his eye. Research mode is where he is and where he remains for a long, long time.
He listens to the answer machine, finally, when he realises that he has not heard from Scully. He glances at his watch and sees it is almost 6am. He cusses softly. It’s time for him to go to work.
~~
Monday.
He arrives at their crappy open-plan, on-view-to-all office early, with a spring in his step. He throws his briefcase onto the desk, not caring that it scatters Scully’s meticulous report of their latest fertiliser investigation into messy disarray. He has a new case. That’s all he is thinking of right now.
Anyway, he has found the perfect way to link it to huge piles of manure and thus avoid another incurrence of Kersh’s wrath. And Scully’s. She is the last person he wants to annoy right now. He needs her on this one.
Lights in the sky in Kansas. It could be UFO activity, it could be some freak refraction of light, but it doesn’t explain the crop circles or the source who claims to have been aboard the mother ship. Mulder has been around the block enough times to be sceptical of this, but he knows that without Scully’s strict science he’ll be off out on a limb without a leg to stand on - or some such crappy cliché he’s mixing all to hell. But the point is that she’ll keep him honest; she won’t let him sacrifice the truth for some quick fix answer. And if this is a load of manure, Scully’s help will let him know.
He sets off in search of a 402, determined to play the case for a simple investigation to verify that fertiliser is not being used for nefarious purposes such as homemade bombs. There are an abundance of farms, a large amount of fertiliser and best of all, it’s Kansas, far, far away from the all-seeing eyes of Kersh. He and Scully should be free to explore the extreme possibilities that this case may offer. After a month with nothing but waste product, a talking cow would be a highlight.
He enters Kersh’s office, his best poker-face on display. “Sir, I would like to request permission to investigate a case in Kansas, involving a farmer’s purchase of vast amounts of fertiliser.”
Kersh stares at him balefully, his eyes narrowing. Mulder’s expression does not flicker. “And what would interest you so much about a big pile of manure, Agent Mulder? Last thing I heard, you were above such investigations.”
Hot anger pools in Mulder’s gut. He balls his hands into fists, muscles tightening and twisting at the slur. Kersh smirks, the catty reaction of a man who knows he has all the power. The knowledge bolsters Mulder and calm flows through him, spiriting the anger away. He will never let them win.
“Agent Scully and I have reason to believe, following our research, that this man, Charles Colwyn,” skimming a series of records, reports and ID photographs across the desk to Kersh, “has purchased a huge quantity of fertiliser for reasons not related to farming. A number of factors, such as the time of year and the identified low ratio of arable to non-arable farming activities taking place on Mr Colwyn’s property, would indicate the need for checks to be made to ensure the legitimacy of Mr Colwyn’s use of fertiliser.”
Kersh glances over the evidence that Mulder has presented him with and then thrusts it back towards him. “Looks like you have yourself a case, Agent.”
Mulder nods, retrieving the papers from the desk and preparing to make his retreat. But Kersh hasn’t finished with him yet. “I’ll be watching you. You and Agent Scully.”
Mulder lifts his chin defiantly and walks out. “That’ll be fun,” he mutters under his breath.
When he arrives back at his desk, Scully is there. He greets her with a mischievous grin.
“What?” She is already suspicious. He disarms her with a stack of case paperwork, which she takes with a disgruntled ommmph.
“We’re off to Kansas, Scully.” She scans the top page of the paperwork and looks back up at him. Her eyebrows raise and her mouth is hard set. Convincing her will not be easy. “Fertiliser and more fertiliser wait for no man.”
“Mulder, it’s a hay farm. In Kansas… at the tail-end of fall.”
He grins. “And your point is?”
She puts the paperwork down on the desk. “Why do I have the feeling fertiliser is the last thing this is about?”
“Because of our stellar communication skills, garnered from six years of partnership?”
She shakes her head and stands, looking at him expectantly. “Start by communicating what this case is all about and then we’ll see.”
He leads her from the office, beginning to explain, but he knows he’s already got her. She’s too damn curious not to follow a lead and too loyal to abandon him; and as exasperated as hell that he knows all this and how to use it to his advantage, without her being able to do a thing about it. Being a psychological profiler sure has its advantages some days.
Scully’s annoyance is transient today. Her quiet smile lets him know that he is forgiven. He basks in its warmth. There is no woman on this earth who can smile as simply as Scully. No woman whose smile is so rare.
He hopes this trip to Kansas will offer them both more opportunities for smiling. God knows they could both do with a slice of the lighter side of life.