Title: Negative Utopia Author: prufrock's love (prufrocks_love@yahoo.com) Rating: R. Classification: Novel, Post-colonization, Serious Angst, MSR, RST for the shippers, Everybody/other- but it turns out really bad, Secondary character death, Implied rape, Scully POV, Mulder POV Summery: After the world ends, Mulder and Scully's struggle to survive at any cost. Spoilers: Through Season 7 Distribution: However you like. Feel free to correct typos. Actually, please correct typos. Feedback: No. Really. Just enjoy. Disclaimer: Not mine; don't sue. This isn't intended for profit. Author's notes: There are strong elements of romance in this story, but die-hard MSRs who adored "Cycles" may not like this. It's not...light. Rereading it, it reminds me most of The Stand (but much, much shorter) and Terminator, if that helps. I have an idea for another MSR, so hold on to your flames for a few weeks- this is what the muse sent me this time around. Can't piss off the muse. For those that like to play "find the obscure reference," they're not that obscure this time and include Brave New World, 1984, Fahrenheit 451, The Handmaiden's Tale, Lord of the Flies, The Stand, and a few biblical (not Ghostbusters!), the Mad Max movies and Independence Day. All quotes used as transitions are cited, so they're easy. The Greenbrier Bunker in White Sulphur Springs, WV is a real place and (free plug) open to the public for really expensive, really cool tours, none of which profit me, either. James Randi heads a foundation which offers a million dollar prize to anyone who can scientifically demonstrate the paranormal, and the prize remains unclaimed. Apologies to Randi, Newt Gingrich, and Pat Robertson- at least I didn't kill you off, and that's always a big danger in my stories. Introduction: The aliens have come and gone, leaving the planet devoid of civilization except for a few pockets of survivors. By making a deal with the Greys, Mulder has saved Scully only to lose both himself and her into the madness that follows colonization. "Negative Utopia" tells the story first from Scully's and then Mulder's point of view as they fight to survive in the wasteland and to come to terms with who they've each become- to themselves and to each other. Fundamentally a dark love story about Mulder and Scully with guest appearances by Skinner, Krycek, Marita, Gibson, and The Lone Gunmen. It draws heavily on classic negative utopias such as Fahrenheit 451, 1984, Brave New World, and others and incorporates many elements of the X-files mythology. Be warned that the general reaction from readers (to Section I) has been "darkly excellent." Characters in this story are the ones we know and love from the X-files after an apocalypse destroys everything they use to define themselves. It answers the question: what becomes of humans when there is no humanity left? Who is sane when there is no sanity? Negative Utopia by prufrock's love *** 2 August 1914 Germany has declared war on Russia. Swimming lesson in the afternoon. -diary entry, Franz Kafka Outbreak of World War I *** Part I: Scully I am his now. It's still surprising to me how readily I think of myself as property. As though I have no say over my life anymore, no voice. In truth, I don't. I haven't for a long time. Granger, the leader of the colony where I was living- 451- told me to pack my things this morning. I obeyed, although there wasn't much to pack- a change of clothes, my doctor's bag, a few toiletries, an old picture of Mulder and one of my family. And the watch. I dug the man's watch out of its hiding place- duct taped under my night stand- and wrapped it in my spare pair of jeans before stuffing it in the very bottom of my duffle bag. No one was going to steal my dirty jeans. I figured I'd been traded to another colony again. A doctor was a powerful bargaining chip and winter was coming. They needed supplies. I looked around the old house that had been mine for the last few years and said goodbye to things I'd come to think of as my own. A vase of fresh flowers from the man next door, my examine room, a warm bed that I slept alone in. None it was actually mine, of course. I only hoped the next colony would be as nice to me. I hoped it was a colony I'd been traded to and not a single man. Maybe Skinner had found a way to get me back. Could I go back to him at Alpha Colony? It was safe with him, too. Yes; I could go back to Skinner. I didn't hate him. I understood. Maybe it was Mulder. Maybe Mulder had finally found me. No. I can't even think that after this long. Mulder is never going to come for me. I hope it's Skinner instead of a stranger. I can still feel his hands and breath on me, so careful. As careful as Mulder was. STOP THAT! Don't even think it! He's never going to come back for you. I pulled myself up to my full sixty-two inches, took a deep breath, and opened my front door to discover who my next owner- or God forbid- owners, was. Mulder was standing in the shadows of my porch next to a wooden box about the size of a milk crate. I thought at first he was a mirage, one of my dreams come to life. No, he was really there. Finally, really, there. I wanted to touch him, but he didn't move- he was so still he could have been a statue of a vengeful angel. Mulder had no expression, made no sound to acknowledge me. The leader lifted the box lid, nodded, and without a word, handed my duffel bag and doctor's bag to him. The deal was done. Whatever the terms were, they were acceptable. Mulder walked down the cracked steps without looking at me and got into the driver's seat of a green Jeep. I followed quickly like a child tagging along at his heels, afraid to look back. Afraid I would feel the Grander's hand on my shoulder stopping me, asking me where I thought I was going. Hours have passed now and Mulder still hasn't spoken. He's older- it has been more than five years since I last saw him. His hair is cut short and his face is tanned, as though he spends most of his time outdoors. Gone are the expensive suits, replaced by serviceable denim, cotton, and leather. He's clean shaven, which is odd these days, but he hasn't shaved today. There's a gun and a knife on his hip, normal apparel now, and more weapons and survival gear in the back seat. I see a long, roughly healed scar on his forearm and another on his jaw, evidence of violent encounters- with who or what exactly, I don't know. He's still slim, but his body is denser, rougher. Shoulders are broader; muscles built by survival instead of bench presses. In short, Mulder has hardened. He doesn't seem to notice that I'm staring at him. In fact, he doesn't seem to notice much of anything except the dashboard and the asphalt road ahead of us. Mulder just drives silently, through mile after mile of nothingness. The bigger cities were destroyed, not by the aliens, but by humans. What wasn't burned or looted in the initial panic was bombed once governments toppled and extremists got their fingers on the "nukes" buttons. Some cities are still supposed to be hot, although I think only the smaller bombs hit in the US. I'd heard that China was wiped clean, but you hear all sorts of things. By the time the aliens were in place to start their breeding programs two days later, there wasn't much left to breed with. Once colonization began, the seas boiled and the skies fell. Any humans that could be found were rounded up and infected with Purity by the aliens directly since the bees were mostly annulated by the bombs. I don't know of anyone that survived the concentration camps- if they found you, you died. If you were stung by one of the bees, you died. I'm guessing there aren't more than a hundred-thousand people left on Earth, which means there are several billion extra gray alien bastards roaming the universe now. They gestated, hatched, and moved on within a month, leaving the planet raped not only of its citizens, but of its civilization. What followed reminded me of a Stephen King novel- pockets of survivors began to emerge and regroup into colonies. Most survivors were those already infected with Purity or vaccinated by the Consortium- including Mulder and me- who couldn't gestate. There were a few others, though, who managed to escape the human toll and evade the aliens' camps and bees. We peaked out like gophers after the hawk flies on, searching for direction. As civilization arose from its ashes, it reformed and regressed thousands of years. There was no law except to survive. Trade what you have, if you have it, for what you need, or kill and take what you want. The strong survived, the weak either died or became property. I became property. I didn't realize that at first. It wasn't like someone stood me on an auction block one day and started the bidding. All I wanted to do was survive and avoid being raped or dying of starvation or exposure. I didn't suddenly wake up one morning and realize that I didn't control my life anymore- it was a slow progression. First, as a woman, it attracted dangerous attention for me to leave the colony, so I immediately became dependent on others for food and supplies. I had to ask for everything I needed, from a pocketknife to underwear- embarrassing, but safer. I knew the men I was with- Skinner and The Gunmen- and they took pride in seeing I had everything I could ever want. Since I couldn't hunt or forage very far, I had no idea what was really happening outside of the fences I lived behind- only what others chose to tell me, although I trusted them. I knew they didn't tell me some of the horrors they saw, but I probably didn't want to know. I was seeing enough horror in my little medical clinic. I noticed I wasn't consulted about major decisions because I couldn't do the heavy physical work of rebuilding or fight in the battles between colonies, but that seemed fair. I didn't want to vote on how high to build the fence or where to build the barn anyway. It was easier to align myself with one powerful man and let him defend me than to fend off advances from every male around. That was a matter of convenience. Sure it was. Looking back, I can remember the first time it happened, but I didn't notice until it was too late. Somehow I slid down that slippery slope one day at a time and now there was no clawing my way back. I was property and I had just been traded. I've been treated much better than most women. Dramatically better, thanks to Mulder and medical school. As a doctor, I belong to the community, not to a single man anymore, so the community had an interest in my being well-cared for. I've never been actually raped or hurt and I always have clothing and enough to eat. A man tried to force me once and was later found in the woods after his exile with both his hands cut off; a strong warning for other men. Mulder's warning. My skills were for sale, but my body belonged to someone else. Now Mulder has come to claim it. I am Mulder's now. That thought brings a surge of warmth between my legs even as my stomach knots in fear. I am Mulder's now. I still have no choice. As I notice the pressure in my bladder and the emptiness in my stomach, Mulder pulls the Jeep off the road into the trees and stops. He gets out and disappears silently into the woods, leaving me sitting in the passenger's seat. So it is true- he can still hear others' thoughts as clearly as he could five years ago. I've heard stories about the great Fox Mulder, but it's hard to separate fact from legend. Mulder is a mystery man, capable of killing with a thought. His preferred weapon is a pistol, a straight razor, his bare hands. Mulder fights for the aliens, the rebels, the humans, or for his own gain. He kills for profit, for revenge, for pleasure. He was too dangerous for any colony to accept him, so he roams. He is a monster, a hero, a tragedy. Any of the rumors could be truth or lies or somewhere in between; I had no way of knowing. I only knew that I had been alone for a long time until this morning. But I am Mulder's now. Mulder returns and hands me a bottle of water, an apple, and a wedge of cheese from a bag in the backseat. He must have been somewhere with a dairy to trade recently. There was no shortage of fresh water and game, but anything that required processing, like cheese or butter, is rare. Few people have the skills necessary and those that do often used those skills to keep themselves alive, rarely having excess to trade. That was how colonies emerged- providing protection for inhabitants in exchange for services for the colony. Farmers farmed and hunters hunted while warriors warred. Men realized quickly that they had to eat in order to fight. There were other benefits in a colony- a group leader could trade for things an individual could never afford- a doctor or an engineer. Leadership was gained and maintained by violence, if necessary, and fighting between colonies was legendary. Disputes over boundaries, trading rights, women- anything, could spark a gorilla war between men with little to lose. Both colonies I have lived in had rules similar to the laws Before and breaking the colony's rules could mean anything from a fine to exile to execution- it depended on the colony and the leader's mood. For a woman, exile from the safety of a colony could mean a slow death. There was no where to go even if I was desperate enough to run- the whole planet is the same wasteland. It's getting dark now. The further the sun sets, the tighter that knot in my stomach gets. Night means beds. Women are too rare After and sex is too expensive a commodity- ownership of any woman came with certain inalienable rights. And I am Mulder's now. Mulder would never hurt me; I'm just a little nervous. And Mulder is being a little weird. A little? We'll have to stop soon. Even Mulder wouldn't brave headlights in the dark to keep driving- announcing he was a sitting duck to anyone who might be watching. He still doesn't speak or look at me, but his face is haunted in the dying light; a man whose eyes have seen too much. He turns off the road into a long dirt driveway and stops the Jeep behind a peeling white farm house where it can't be seen. I follow him into the dim interior, clutching my duffle bag and trying to control my shaking. What do you want from me, Mulder? Do you still love me? Is this where you live now, Mulder- a quiet farmer in the middle of nowhere? Are all the legends about you lies? No- he doesn't live here. No one's lived in this house for a long time. This is just a place to spend the night. I watch Mulder rig all the windows to make noise if they're opened and brace the doors closed, locking out the night. He finishes his rounds in the bedroom, standing at the foot of a stranger's bed. I take the hint. I love Mulder- I can do this. I'd rather do it willingly than be forced. Not like this isn't force. I do have a choice. I can run away and be gang-raped by the first group of road warriors that catches me or I can undress. I unlace my boots to get them off and let my jacket fall on the floor- it probably can't get any dirtier. Jeans off next, then over-shirt. I don't have any pajamas, so I lay down on the bed in my panties and t-shirt. I love you, Mulder- please don't hurt me. I'm cold. I'm so scared. I pray he hears me. He doesn't bother to even undress- doesn't even take off his boots. In the dark, I hear him set something heavy and metal on the night stand- a gun- and the bed shifts as he lays beside me. I'm very still, waiting for a touch. When it doesn't come, I roll away from him and will sleep to take me instead. We slept like this once, Mulder. Do you remember that night? Knowing there would never be another like it- two scared people trying to save each other with flesh in the shadows. The bed shifts again as Mulder moves towards me. I try not to flinch, holding my breath. A hand rests lightly in the small of my waist, tentative and comforting, and I feel safe. For the first time in years, I feel safe and I sleep. Dawn. I wake to Mulder wrapped around me instead of the blanket, and I forget for a sleepy second that the world has ended. We're still in DC or a motel room somewhere and Mulder has fallen asleep in my bed. God, Mulder, don't you have your own room? Not that I'm complaining, but it doesn't look good. Then sun burns away my dream and I remember. No more motels, no more FBI, no more innocence. We aren't staying here. He's left a bucket of water for me to brush my teeth and wash off my topmost layer of dirt, and by the time I finish, Mulder is filling the Jeep's gas tank and loading water and supplies that were hidden in an outbuilding. This must be a safe house he uses. Rumor has it that he criss- crosses the country regularly alone, making the trip that others fear. The walled colonies are somewhat safe; the empty plains filled with real road warriors are not. I get in the Jeep as Mulder starts it and another day on the road begins. He looks at me, really looks at me for the first time with sad hazel eyes. Oh, Mulder- I love you. No matter what you've done or who you've become, I still love you. I feel him inside my mind, listening. He puts the Jeep in gear, eyes straight ahead now. I brave a hand on his denim arm and he lets it stay. Mulder drives without stopping across the plains, passing cars that have been shoved into the ditches by someone to clear the road or taking dirt paths across the fields where the road isn't passable. If there is another soul alive here, I don't see him. There are fields gone to seed and an occasional shell of a burnt house visible from the road, but no humans. I wonder how these people died. They probably weren't killed in the initial riots or by the bees- did any of them survive, escape the alien's concentration camps? Or did they lay terrified under chicken wire while the black oil dripped onto them, gestating and exploding in their bodies as it took life? Mulder stops to let me empty my bladder again between the rows of corn and I see a figure approaching the Jeep from behind as I return. Whoever it is, I can't see his hands. I yell for Mulder to look out and he pivots and pulls the trigger without hesitation. The shot catches the dark-skinned boy in the center of his forehead, killing him instantly. Mulder must have become a better marksman since I last saw him. I examine the dead boy out of habit and my need for something to do in my shock. He doesn't have a weapon. He doesn't have the back part of his skull anymore, either. "How did you know he was going to hurt us?" I ask Mulder. "I didn't," comes his blank response as he starts the Jeep. I swallow against the urge to vomit and get in, leaving the body of a boy not old enough to have peach fuzz on his face laying in the road for the buzzards. I know Mulder can talk now, but he doesn't say anything else as he drives. I let my mind drift away from the horror and sleep lightly in the warm sun against his shoulder. I can't judge him. I didn't have to survive what he survived. Mulder was the reason I was safe and sheltered in all this madness. *** Penetrating so many secrets, we cease to believe in the unknowable. But there it sits, nevertheless, calmly licking its chops. -H. L. Mencken *** The phone rang just after midnight on a Monday morning. Damn it, Mulder- it was a holiday. No chasing bad guys on a holiday. I figured he felt too lousy to do anything anyway- he'd had another monster headache Friday afternoon and I'd sent him home to sleep it off when I still couldn't find anything wrong with him. Not that it wasn't fun checking, but he seemed okay. I had a CT scan scheduled for him tomorrow and was planning on making him wear a hospital gown so I could ogle that cute ass. Hey- he would have done it to me. Mulder's voice on the line was forceful: "Pack like you're going camping and call your mother. Tell her to get out of the city. I'll be there in thirty minutes, Scully." I was already stuffing a bag. Mulder didn't give me orders unless it was important. Life or death. "Why, Mulder? Where are we going?" "They're coming." And he hung up. I didn't need to ask who "they" were. I telephoned my mother with the message and told her I loved her. I was waiting on the curb when he pulled up. Mulder took a Bureau car- he could care less about protocol. If he was right, by tomorrow, there wouldn't be anyone to object. We drove southwest, flying down the interstate as visions of "them" chased us. Sunrise found us just over the Virginia border and revealed giant discs hovering silently in the sky, looking remarkably like Independence Day. I wondered if Mulder ever saw that movie? Mulder stopped behind a huge hotel and I realized where we are. The Greenbrier. The Greenbrier bunker in White Sulphur Springs. The bomb shelter built covertly under the luxury resort decades ago to house Congress in case of nuclear attack. It wasn't a government secret anymore- but the aliens didn't know that. Skinner was already there, as were The Gunmen and a few politicians I recognized from CNN, waiting to close the main door. Mulder and the others pulled the second concealed blast door connecting the bunker to the hotel shut with an immense metallic echo, sealing us off from the world before its inhabitants awoke to find judgement day had come. As Skinner threw the bolt, locking us behind tons of reinforced steel, silence pervaded. Were we all there were? Out of five billion people, were we ten or so the only ones who knew? How did Mulder know? "I can hear them in my head," he answered me. I didn't ask out loud. "I can hear you, Scully," he said. "Hear, Scully." "Hear, Scully." *** It could be that God had not absconded but spread, as our vision and understanding of the universe have spread, to a fabric of spirit and sense so grand and subtle, so powerful in a new way, that we can only feel blindly at its hem. -Annie Dillard *** I shake myself awake. Mulder is speaking, his voice rusty. "We're here, Scully. We won't stay, but you can clean up." "Here" is yet another farm house with skinny chickens in the yard and children playing on the front steps in their underwear and diapers. A pretty woman comes to the door, holding a rifle. When she sees Mulder, she lowers the gun and returns to the house without speaking, leaving the door ajar. Maybe no one speaks outside of the colonies. Mulder gets a bag out of the back seat and takes it in the house as I stand in the yard fending off hungry chickens and a friendly milk cow. He's bartering- some cigarettes and whatever else- for what this woman sells. I can guess what it is that she sells. Through the window, their bartering looks pretty heated. The woman keeps shaking her head "no" and I see Mulder clenching his fist. She sees it too and backs off. Women didn't fare well After. That was all it was called- Before and After. Firstly, there weren't many women After. I was probably the only female that had been vaccinated, and very few had been infected with Purity. Most of the others that survived were flukes- hunters out in the woods up north, fisherman out in boats- almost all men. After the aliens left, the bees died, and rebuilding began, the few females were important pawns, but pawns. Some lived as wives if their husbands were powerful enough to keep them safe, but most didn't. Most made their way with the skills they had. Like this woman. Her swollen belly and the children on the porch were evidence of another post-colonization phenomena I had encountered- no birth control. I'd delivered many babies in the last five years, most of them unwanted. Latex breaks down quickly and pills, if you could find them, were outdated. Within two years, any woman of childbearing age looked like something out of the middle ages. I'd seen some women with five children under the age of five. Mulder comes out and nods curtly at me. I step over a dirty dark-haired toddler and preschool-aged boy on the wooden steps and go to him. I know this woman. I've seen her. Her expression indicates she obviously knows and dislikes me. Mulder looks at her threateningly and her overt distaste fades into mere annoyance. Then I remember- she's one of Mulder's informants. Worked for the UN. Name starts with "m"- Miranda, Matilda? It doesn't matter- now she's just a whore. She must have a man watching out for her; there was no way she lived alone out here. I see Mulder doing something mechanical in the back yard with the little boy and the toddler following him around- they know him, he must be here a lot. Then I realize who Miranda/Matilda's protector must be. Her Big Brother. Again, I do not judge. Our parting words were "Survive. No questions." I did what I had to; I guess Mulder did too. Perhaps I can even make myself believe that. The blonde woman grudgingly fills the tub for my bath, carrying water from a pump in the yard and heating several pots on the stove. I lay back in the luxury; I can't remember the last time I bathed in something besides a stream. There is even soap and razors. Shampoo and deodorant. There was no shortage of supplies After, but getting them from place to place was still a problem. Anything with a shelf life that survived the looting was there for the taking and there weren't enough people left for there to be shortages; the supplies were just in isolated pockets. Several colonies had established local trade routes, but not many. Most were self-sufficient, trading for what they need with whoever happened by. Mulder must bring her these things. He could bring a whore shaving gel, but he couldn't come get me for five years. Looking out the window as I dry, I see Mulder offer the older boy a lollipop beside the stream. The boy takes it shyly and sits beside Mulder on the bank, leaning against him. They could be any poor rural father and son or uncle and nephew enjoying the warm sunshine in their back yard Before, except that I saw Mulder shoot another boy point-blank this morning and threaten a woman with his fist an hour ago. I will not cry. I will not cry. I can feel the lump rising in my throat, but I will not cry. Sometimes, I'm sure it's not real. That this is a bad dream that I'll wake up from. It's- surreal. Aliens invading, civilization collapsing. It was a movie I'd seen or book I'd read. There were even jokes about it- the colony I was living in was "451," and "Alpha" before that. Drugs and alcohol were "soma." There were "unpeople" and "big brothers," "road warriors" and "savages." A rival leader was a "Randall Flagg" and a woman not a whore or a professional was a "Martha." Post- apocalypse humor. Clean, practical clothes have appeared in place of my dirty ones and I put them on, marveling that they fit. I remember silk and cashmere fondly- it was still available, but useless. Functional is the fashion; cotton, denim, wool, and leather. Mad Max meets John Wayne. I dry my hair in the breeze and watch Mulder bathing nude in the stream, hard muscles rippling in the sun. The little boy sits on the bank, already scrubbed clean and wearing tiny Osh-Kosh overalls. No shirt, but miniature burnt yellow work boots identical to Mulder's. He's holding Mulder's gun and knife, still savoring the last licks of his lollipop. That child can't be more than four. You don't let children have guns, Mulder. And you let them get sticky candy all over themselves and -then- bathe them. Even I knew that. I remember Mulder teasing me when we went undercover as a married couple once Before- how he jokingly barked orders at me, aping a redneck accent. I resisted the urge to jokingly kick his butt. Mulder, in general, had been scared to death of my temper and knew exactly how far he could push me before I lost it. If that man out there that looks like Mulder barks an order at me, I'm following it, whether it's to get in the Jeep or to take off my clothes and get on my hands and knees. I'm not questioning him and I'm not giving him advice on how you care for little boys. Just because he hasn't hurt me doesn't mean he won't. I know danger when I see it. God- what happened to him? When Mulder returns to the house, hair still damp, he opens the hood of her Chevy truck in the driveway. The boy sits on the left fender, handing him tools and watching. He tinkers a bit and the engine hums to life. My Mulder that couldn't fix a dripping faucet. The woman brings Mulder a rag to wipe off his hands and a glass of water. I didn't get a glass of water, but I get the feeling she doesn't like me very much. If I were her, I wouldn't like me very much, either. It's afternoon now- only a few more hours of daylight. I don't want to spent the night here, Mulder- not with her. I can't lie on the other side if the wall and listen to you have sex with her, Mulder. I don't want her to listen and gloat while you have sex with me. Please don't remind me that I am as much your property as she is. I try to think that as loudly as possible. A man with a familiar face emerges from the corn fields, holding the customary rifle, his other sleeve empty. Krycek. Wonder how well he shoots with one arm? He and Mulder exchange glares and the oldest boy runs and hides behind Mulder. Krycek leers at me and Mulder puts a hand on the pistol on his hip, warning him. Krycek turns and vanishes into the fields without a word, the toddler trailing after him. Guess Mulder is the better shot. I don't even worry about the possibility of Mulder offering me to another man- Mulder is not good at sharing. The woman brings a dirty baby to me to check. I pronounce her fine and probably underweight, and the woman nods and returns to the house, closing the door loudly behind her, never speaking to me. I'd like to check her pregnancy and the other children, but that isn't requested. Mulder starts the Jeep and I get in, thankful that we're leaving. I'm not asking any questions- I don't think I want the answers. The oldest boy climbs over me and settles himself in the back seat, fastening his seatbelt, humorously enough. Mulder just drives west into the dying sun. We spend the night in another abandoned house, the boy sleeping curled up against my chest and Mulder against my back- like some bizarre blended family. I thought perhaps Mulder was waiting for me to get cleaned up before we had sex, but that doesn't seem to be the case. Maybe that isn't what he had in mind after all. I'm not sure I like that possibility any better. I still don't know the boy's name or why he's with us. Like Mulder, the child doesn't say much. Morning brings more west again. I can see the outlines of the gray Rocky Mountains on the horizon in the distance. The miles hum by as the air cools and the Jeep's knobby tires singing against the pavement lull me. *** Black holes would seem to suggest that God not only plays dice but also sometimes throws them where they cannot be seen. -Stephen Hawking *** The bunker smelled like a battleship- lots of metal and grey paint. Vast. No sounds invaded to tell us what was happening aboveground- were the rebels striking back or was the planet already dead? Mulder said the ships were moving into place and would soon begin collecting specimens. That was the word he used; how the aliens think of us. No, the rebels were losing. People were dying. Mulder closed his eyes and scanned through the radio stations of thoughts he must have been hearing. He couldn't find my mother or brothers, but that didn't mean anything- there were so many thoughts to listen to and he could only listen, not necessarily know who he was listening to. The bunker had space and provisions for several hundred people and we were less than a dozen. Our watches said it was night again, although there was no sign- no way to tell night from day. We fanned out through the dormitories and rooms, trying to get our bearings in the maze of hallways. Mulder led me to a room on a floor all to ourselves and I followed without question- my first steps down the slope to becoming property. When he closed the door, I sat on the bed, buried my face in my hands, and cried. I was embarrassed to be so weak, but I couldn't stop. The last few hours had been too much for me to absorb and I needed to shut down for a while. Mulder held me as I shook, sharing my tears. I could feel him inside my head, a gentle probing pressure. Light pressure to feel what my body felt, more intense throbbing to listen to my thoughts. He could feel my grief and shock, but I couldn't feel his. Early in the morning I had finally fallen asleep against his chest when I heard him startle awake and gasp. "It's quiet." "What's quiet?" I whispered, like the aliens would hear us fifty feet underground under twenty feet of cement and steel. "The thoughts- it just suddenly got very quiet." Mulder listened in the blackness, tuning to someone who might have an answer. "Mushroom clouds, Scully- nuclear bombs. They've wiped out the cities." "The aliens?" "No, we did it." God, he must have just heard millions of people die. What that must sound like... "Are the aliens still coming?" "They're coming- they want me. They're looking for me." "Why, Mulder?" "They know I can hear them. They want me to help them communicate. They can't find me, though, so they're searching... they're searching for you. The chip- they're searching by the chip in your neck. I can hear them. They haven't found you yet, but they will. They don't want you, Scully; you already have Purity- so do I, but they'll still kill you to get me." He had to run, to get away from me before the aliens could get him. But where could he run too? We were locked under tons of steel. I didn't realize until years later that I never considered that I should leave the bunker- for him to stay safe. "The bombs are still exploding, Scully- the cities are burning and they can't search through all the interference. Not for another few hours, anyway. Then I'll have to go." There was no more talking. Alone in the dark, cinder block room, in the too-narrow, too-short bed, I kissed him. Not the way I'd thought of from time to time, but hungry and frightened. I was desperate to find something to cling to- something normal and enduring in a world that was changing too fast for me to comprehend. Mulder's mouth was more gentle than mine, as though he was savoring a delicate desert. He made love to me the same was he'd touched me for years- carefully exploring new territory and waiting for my reaction before proceeding. He set the pace with me following like a scared teenage virgin being seduced by her teacher. Finally, Mulder stopped waiting for me to be an equal participant, laid me back on the rough sheet, and worshiped every inch of me- memorizing my body because he might never see it again. This wasn't the kind of lover I wanted to be for him, but that night, it was all I could give. I told myself I couldn't let him go without proving to him that I loved him. I told myself this was about love. I could feel Mulder being distracted by his thoughts, pulled away from me by the screaming tides outside the bunker. "Just me, Mulder. Come inside me," I whispered, and the throbbing in my head increased until it blocked out even my listening to my own higher brain. I felt the brief pain as my body accepted his and soft lips apologizing onto mine. I could feel my sensations, but there was no room for cognition, no rationalization, no doubts. Mulder shared my every sensation, intensifying his own experience, and allowing him to play my body like a fine violin. Afterwards, our bodies separated, but Mulder stayed in my head, listening to my sleepy thoughts. My fears. My desires. In that night, he knew my truths. "They've found you, Scully. They're coming." I bolted upright at those words. Mulder was dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed. "I love you. I'll ask Skinner to take care of you- just stay with him. I've been listening to everyone and he's the best choice. He won't let anyone hurt you, but... he likes you, Scully. Just do what he says, OK? I'll come for you when I can. Until then, I want you to survive- no questions about how you do it." A thousand thoughts flooded my mind at his words. No, don't leave me. Run, Mulder- don't let them catch you. Take me with you. I don't want Skinner- I want you. I can take care of myself. How long- how long until you can come? Hurry. I love you too, Mulder. Please. But Mulder was gone. I heard his footsteps in the long cement hall, leaving me. I ran to catch up and heard him talking to Skinner. "Take care of her, sir. I can hear what's happening already to the women outside and I don't want that to be Scully. I won't let the aliens hurt you all, but you'll have to keep her safe here. Just you. Don't let anyone else... Don't hurt her, sir." Mulder must have heard my thoughts, because his next words were, "I'm sorry, Scully. Go back- I don't want you to hear this. Just survive- no questions." I retreated back into the cold room, sitting on the still-damp spot on the bed, curling into a ball and sobbing. Down the long hall I heard twenty tons of blast door swing slightly open, then a monstrous clangy thud as it quickly slammed shut again. *** God does not play dice with the universe; he plays an ineffable game of his own devising, which might be compared, from the perspective of any of the players, to being involved in an obscure and complex version of poker in a pitch dark room, with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a dealer who won't tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time. -Gaiman and Pratchett *** We stop for lunch and to let the restless little boy stretch his legs behind a grain silo. I ask him his name as Mulder slices another apple for him with a huge hunting knife, cutting off the peeling like my mother used to do. The child shrugs, huge hazel eyes watching me. Old eyes. "Boy. We just call him Boy," Mulder says. Boy nods. I haven't heard him speak yet either. Mulder seems to know what the boy needs, just like he knows what I need, although he gives him more food that he could ever eat. He gets a rifle out of the back of the Jeep and vanishes into the tall grass and random rows of corn. After about twenty minutes, I hear a shot and see a large goose fall from the sky. Dinner. "He won't hurt you, ya know." So the boy can speak. I thought it might have become a lost art. His slow, measured words are too old for his years- they remind me of the way Gibson Praise spoke. "He's takin' you someplace safe. He likes you." "Can you hear like he can?" I ask, and the boy bobs his head up and down childishly- the way a four-year-old should. A shit- eating grin crosses his face and mischief glimmers in his eyes. He reminds me of someone I used to know Before... Mulder. He reminds me of Mulder. This is his son. The toddler and the baby were Krycek's or some other man's, but this boy is Mulder's. Mulder and that whore's. A second shot and another bird drops from the sky. Mulder must be hungry. Two fat geese are added to the back of the Jeep and we pull back on the road. West. Always west. ***