The Supplication Of A Dead Man’s Hand - Part 1
Title: The Supplication Of A Dead Man’s Hand
Author: memories_child
Spoilers: This is post The Truth so everything goes.
Warnings: Character death.
Rating: PG-13 for language
Word count: 12,299
Disclaimer: As much as I’ve begged CC and co. The X Files still doesn’t belong to me.
Summary: Colonization has come and Mulder and Scully are powerless to stop it.
Author's Notes: This was written as a 2009 xf_santa gift for thediagnosis. I’m sorry it’s so long after Christmas, but RL has been a bit manic. Nevertheless, I hope you had a great holiday, and wish you all the best for the new year. I hope you enjoy. Thanks to cadiliniel for the beta. All remaining mistakes are mine.
I
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper
Except for the sound of the wind whistling through the deserted streets the city is quiet. There are no blaring horns, no cries from hot dog vendors or newspaper sellers. The only sound is that of the wind as it stirs the pages of the days-old newspapers left abandoned on the sidewalks; the sound of the wind travelling through a city that has been forsaken.
The sky is a leaden grey, steam from the heating ducts of the last Federal offices billowing upwards in steady streams and obscuring the sun. A sheen of fine, white snow covers everything; cars, buildings, the half eaten corpse of a dog. This is Mars incarnate, ruined and desolate, the shape of the buildings, seen from space, turning into a simulacra of a face - the only thing to prove that anyone was ever here.
The thudding of footfalls breaks the silence. They echo down the street, reverberating off the federal buildings that line the road. A man skids around a parked car, feet nearly falling from under him as he slides on the compact snow, and then he recovers, hands skimming the icy tarmac, and sprints down the road.
“Mulder,” a voice calls from the shadow of a doorway halfway down the street behind him. The man slows, glances at a red-headed woman sheltering a blonde boy behind the ruined hulk of a car.
“Scully,” he calls back, eyes darting to the windows of the building. “Stay there. I’ll be back for you.”
From behind him comes the tramp-tramp of boots, thudding their rhythm through the still air.
“Mulder” -”
“Stay there, Scully. Keep William safe.”
The noise of the boots comes closer and closer, and Mulder takes off again, snow billowing behind him. Scully hunkers further down in the doorway, the car the only barricade protecting her and the boy.
The soldiers jog around the corner, a troop of fifteen, twenty, black-clad militia, automatic rifles held firmly in their gloved hands. They follow Mulder down the road, their leader giving only a cursory glance to the sidewalks to the left and right. Scully tries not to breathe. She can see, if she peers through the car’s cracked windshield, Mulder pausing at the end of the street. Come on, come on. Get out of there, she mutters to herself. He stays motionless.
The leader of the soldiers raises his arm and the troop comes to a halt. He barks out an order and, as one, the soldiers fan out, raising their rifles so their sights are set on Mulder. Still, he doesn’t move.
“On three, fire,” the leader says. “Remember we need him alive. Do not shoot to kill.”
Get out of there, Mulder, Scully thinks. We’re safe. Just go.
“One.” The leader’s voice rings out in the silence.
Mulder tenses, shifts his gaze to the doorway where Scully and William are hiding.
“Two.” The soldiers’ fingers tighten on their triggers and Mulder breaks into a run. He pounds the pavement, arms pumping, each footfall pushing him forward. He hears a distant three from the other end of the street, and then pitches forward, stumbling and falling, clutching at his chest and registering a handful of blood before blackness descends.
X
Mulder opens his eyes as a pair of lips touch his cheek. The sky above him is the color of the end of the world, the powdery white snow floating above him. He closes his eyes again against the white flakes whipped into the air by the wind. He can feel it settling on his lips, icy and cold, soaking into his blood stained shirt and working its way into the wound in his chest. Earth to earth, dust to dust, he thinks, and somehow he manages to smile.
“Stay with me, Mulder,” he hears Scully’s voice next to his ear and smiles again. It’s ok, he wants to tell her, as long as you and William are safe it’s ok. But the words don’t come and he lies still with his head in her lap, her hands wrapped around his.
“It wasn’t auto-erotic asphyxiation at all,” Scully says and a laugh breaks through the surface of the pain he is now carrying, blood bubbling through his teeth with the noise.
“And you told me the end of the world was no time to be making jokes,” he isn’t sure whether she hears him, but through the darkness that is surrounding him as he lowers his eyes he thinks he sees her smile.
In the end it comes down to this: a cold wind eddying through the ruined streets; his head resting in Scully’s lap; her hands cradling his heart, trying to stem the blood that pools like a waterfall between her fingers.
In the end it comes down to this: the knowledge that, after all this time, they have failed.
Part Two
Author: memories_child
Spoilers: This is post The Truth so everything goes.
Warnings: Character death.
Rating: PG-13 for language
Word count: 12,299
Disclaimer: As much as I’ve begged CC and co. The X Files still doesn’t belong to me.
Summary: Colonization has come and Mulder and Scully are powerless to stop it.
Author's Notes: This was written as a 2009 xf_santa gift for thediagnosis. I’m sorry it’s so long after Christmas, but RL has been a bit manic. Nevertheless, I hope you had a great holiday, and wish you all the best for the new year. I hope you enjoy. Thanks to cadiliniel for the beta. All remaining mistakes are mine.
I
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper
Except for the sound of the wind whistling through the deserted streets the city is quiet. There are no blaring horns, no cries from hot dog vendors or newspaper sellers. The only sound is that of the wind as it stirs the pages of the days-old newspapers left abandoned on the sidewalks; the sound of the wind travelling through a city that has been forsaken.
The sky is a leaden grey, steam from the heating ducts of the last Federal offices billowing upwards in steady streams and obscuring the sun. A sheen of fine, white snow covers everything; cars, buildings, the half eaten corpse of a dog. This is Mars incarnate, ruined and desolate, the shape of the buildings, seen from space, turning into a simulacra of a face - the only thing to prove that anyone was ever here.
The thudding of footfalls breaks the silence. They echo down the street, reverberating off the federal buildings that line the road. A man skids around a parked car, feet nearly falling from under him as he slides on the compact snow, and then he recovers, hands skimming the icy tarmac, and sprints down the road.
“Mulder,” a voice calls from the shadow of a doorway halfway down the street behind him. The man slows, glances at a red-headed woman sheltering a blonde boy behind the ruined hulk of a car.
“Scully,” he calls back, eyes darting to the windows of the building. “Stay there. I’ll be back for you.”
From behind him comes the tramp-tramp of boots, thudding their rhythm through the still air.
“Mulder” -”
“Stay there, Scully. Keep William safe.”
The noise of the boots comes closer and closer, and Mulder takes off again, snow billowing behind him. Scully hunkers further down in the doorway, the car the only barricade protecting her and the boy.
The soldiers jog around the corner, a troop of fifteen, twenty, black-clad militia, automatic rifles held firmly in their gloved hands. They follow Mulder down the road, their leader giving only a cursory glance to the sidewalks to the left and right. Scully tries not to breathe. She can see, if she peers through the car’s cracked windshield, Mulder pausing at the end of the street. Come on, come on. Get out of there, she mutters to herself. He stays motionless.
The leader of the soldiers raises his arm and the troop comes to a halt. He barks out an order and, as one, the soldiers fan out, raising their rifles so their sights are set on Mulder. Still, he doesn’t move.
“On three, fire,” the leader says. “Remember we need him alive. Do not shoot to kill.”
Get out of there, Mulder, Scully thinks. We’re safe. Just go.
“One.” The leader’s voice rings out in the silence.
Mulder tenses, shifts his gaze to the doorway where Scully and William are hiding.
“Two.” The soldiers’ fingers tighten on their triggers and Mulder breaks into a run. He pounds the pavement, arms pumping, each footfall pushing him forward. He hears a distant three from the other end of the street, and then pitches forward, stumbling and falling, clutching at his chest and registering a handful of blood before blackness descends.
X
Mulder opens his eyes as a pair of lips touch his cheek. The sky above him is the color of the end of the world, the powdery white snow floating above him. He closes his eyes again against the white flakes whipped into the air by the wind. He can feel it settling on his lips, icy and cold, soaking into his blood stained shirt and working its way into the wound in his chest. Earth to earth, dust to dust, he thinks, and somehow he manages to smile.
“Stay with me, Mulder,” he hears Scully’s voice next to his ear and smiles again. It’s ok, he wants to tell her, as long as you and William are safe it’s ok. But the words don’t come and he lies still with his head in her lap, her hands wrapped around his.
“It wasn’t auto-erotic asphyxiation at all,” Scully says and a laugh breaks through the surface of the pain he is now carrying, blood bubbling through his teeth with the noise.
“And you told me the end of the world was no time to be making jokes,” he isn’t sure whether she hears him, but through the darkness that is surrounding him as he lowers his eyes he thinks he sees her smile.
In the end it comes down to this: a cold wind eddying through the ruined streets; his head resting in Scully’s lap; her hands cradling his heart, trying to stem the blood that pools like a waterfall between her fingers.
In the end it comes down to this: the knowledge that, after all this time, they have failed.
Part Two