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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

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Only One Choice, Chapter 5

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

They’re sitting in the car outside her mother’s house, and she’s stalling.

“Are we going inside?” Ethan asks with a confused smile, and she nods wearily.

She’s been dreading telling her family. Well, not her mother; Mom will be thrilled, as will Bill. Charlie will act appropriately happy but doesn’t actually care that much. But Missy….Missy will see right through her. She always does.

They exit the car and make their way to the front porch, her stomach twisting in her gut all the way. Ethan knocks, casting her concerned glances intermittently. She knows she’s not playing the part of “recently engaged” very well. She’s told Ethan that it’s just nerves, and that she hates making big announcements, which is true. She’s still trying to convince herself that’s all it is.

The door swings open and Charlie greets them with smiles and quick hugs, and they make their way to the kitchen where Mom is still finishing up dinner.

“Grab some wine and take a seat,” she directs them as they each kiss her on the cheek, “Missy should be here any minute.”

She pours herself a very full glass of wine after asking Ethan if he can drive home, then plants herself in an armchair that only seats one. She’s been craving personal space lately.

Ten minutes later, Missy breezes in the door, giving Dana a skeptical glance; leave it to Missy to immediately pick up on something being off. They better get this over with soon.

They all sit down and say grace. Missy holds her left hand and she can feel the moment her fingers make contact with the ring. Missy yanks on her arm and gives her wide eyes as everyone else at the table thanks the lord for their daily bread. Dana glances at her briefly and then looks away. It will all be out in the open momentarily.

“Before we dig into this lovely meal Mom has prepared for us,” Ethan begins, “Dana and I have some news to share.”

Oh god, here it comes. Maybe the huge glass of wine was a bad idea.

“Am I gonna be an uncle, D?!” Charlie says excitedly, and both she and Maggie shoot him an unamused glare.

“Not just yet, Charlie,” Ethan says with a cautious smile. “Dana and I got engaged. We’re getting married!”

Dana holds up her left hand with a thin smile, and Maggie and Charlie both provide appropriately big, happy reactions complete with hugs and congratulatory slaps on the back. Missy raises her eyebrows and looks at her baby sister with a bemused expression.

“Oh, this is such happy news, I wish your father could be here,” Maggie says, clutching her hand to her chest. “We’ll have to call Bill and Tara after dinner.”

Dana forces bites of pot roast down her throat and avoids her sister’s eye for the following twenty minutes, then leaves Ethan and her mother to share the news with Bill as she escapes to the back porch. Charlie, as usual, finds his way to the couch with a beer.

She’s sitting on the steps of the porch, working on her second glass of wine, when she hears the creak of the screen door behind her. She doesn't need to look to know that it’s Missy; she can hear the swish of her flowy skirt and the jangle of her stacked bracelets. Missy sits down beside her and they are quiet for a few minutes, the dark night illuminated by a waxing crescent moon.

“Is this really what you want, Sis?” Missy asks in a tone that’s soft and concerned.

“Of course, Missy. Ethan and I have been talking about getting married for years,” she says, hoping it sounds more convincing than it feels.

“I know. But…” she trails off and sighs.

“But what?” Dana prods her.

“Look, Sis, Ethan is great. I love him, and he’ll make a great husband. I’m just not sure he’s the right one for you.” Dana can feel her sister looking at her in the dim light, but keeps her eyes on the blooming hydrangea bush at the bottom of the stairs.

“He’s a great guy, Missy. He’s kind, and generous, and he has a stable job. He treats me really well. There’s no reason NOT to marry him,” she offers, taking a big gulp of her wine. “Dad loved him, he’d be so happy to know we got married,” she adds.

Missy scoffs. “Two years underground and you’re still trying to please Dad?”

“He was cremated, Missy,” she replies deadpan, avoiding the point.

“Okay, so two years underwater, then. Doesn’t change the fact that Dad liking him isn’t a reason to marry someone. Neither is them being great husband material. The only reason to marry someone is because you want to marry them. Do you want to marry Ethan?” She can feel Missy’s eyes on her face.

“Yes,” she says in a weak voice, unwilling to elaborate.

Missy sighs. “Okay, if this is what you want, I’ll be here to help you in whatever way you need. But if you change your mind-”

“-I’m not going to change my mind, Missy,” she cuts her off.

“Well,” Missy continues, “whatever happens, I’ll be here. Thick and thin, right?”

Dana looks at her sister then, and smiles as they clasp hands. “Thick and thin.”

The following week, she takes herself out for Sunday afternoon coffee to one of her favorite places near the apartment. She likes to go out alone for coffee or lunch sometimes, just to have some space to think. Lately, she’s been needing a lot of it. The cafe is bustling with the after-church crowd, which makes her feel guilty for not going to mass with her mother. It’s difficult to talk to Mom right now; all she wants to do is talk about the wedding, and that’s the last thing Dana wants to discuss. Ethan wants to get married soon, this fall, and the whole thing is so overwhelming she shuts down every time they try to talk to her about it. She wishes she could pause life for a while, until she can sort out her feelings.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she hears a familiar voice call from beside her, and she looks up to see Mulder, dressed casually in jeans and a grey T-shirt.

She smiles reflexively, the first time she’s felt a real smile tug at her lips in a week or more.

“Mulder, hi,” she says, genuinely pleased to see him. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, this place is right near my dealer’s house,” he responds, and flashes her that boyish grin at her shocked expression. “I was actually just checking out a record store around the corner and decided to grab some coffee. How are you?” The question feels so real, like he actually wants to know how she is. She doesn’t want him to leave.

“I’m well, would you like to sit down?” she says as she gestures to the empty seat across from her, pulling her hand back when she realizes that he’ll likely notice her ring. She surreptitiously slips it off her finger and tucks it into her pants pocket.

He sits, and she can’t help but take in the way his shirt hugs his broad shoulders, and the hint of defined pectorals underneath. He is a seriously good-looking man.

“So, whatcha been up to?” He asks, taking a sip from his to-go cup.

She should tell him the happy news that she’s gotten engaged, but she very much doesn’t want to.

“Not much, just cutting up dead bodies and teaching others how to do the same,” she responds dryly.

“Slicin’ and dicin’,” he says with a nod, and she feels a sense of relief at being able to make such a crass joke to someone who understands the kind of work she does.

“Exactly. How about you, working on anything interesting?” she asks, and never has a social nicety been more genuine.

“That depends on your definition of interesting, I suppose,” he begins, “we’ve got the face mutilator, the acid thrower, and the super-stabber, who you’re familiar with.”

“Quite the line up,” she retorts.

“I realize I didn’t get the chance to ask how you ended up at the Academy,” he inquires.

“Oh, um I was actually recruited out of medical school,” she replies, taking a sip of her coffee.

His eyebrows jump and he leans forward a bit. “You’re a doctor, then?” he asks, and she gauges only that he’s impressed, not surprised, which is a nice change of pace. People don’t seem to realize that it’s not a compliment to express disbelief that she, of all people, would be a medical doctor.

“Mmhmm, all pathologists are trained medical doctors,” she confirms with a nod.

“Your parents must be very proud,” he offers, and she makes a face.

“Not exactly. My father actually passed away a couple years ago, but he was less than pleased with my decision not to pursue medicine as a career. My mom is moderately more supportive, thankfully.”

She catches his eye and is surprised by the intensity of the look he’s giving her.

“I’m sorry to hear about your father,” he says as though he knew the man, and it catches her off guard a bit. She changes the subject.

“What about the X files, anything interesting happening there?”

“Well, no, given that they don’t exist anymore. You wanna hear about an old one I investigated?”

She nods emphatically.

“There was this team of researchers up in Icy Cape, Alaska. They were geophysicists, drilling ice core samples. They’d been up there a few weeks when there was an odd video communication received from one of the research team members saying “we are not who we are” before he shot himself in the head, then all communication went dark.”

“What happened to them?” Scully asks, leaning towards him. She’s immediately drawn in.

“Well, that’s what we went up there to find out; myself a physician, toxicologist and a geologist. When we got there, the whole crew was dead, only a dog that belonged to one of them survived. He appeared to be rabid, and he attacked me and our pilot. When we examined the dog, he had these black nodules on his skin.”

“That sounds like a symptom of bubonic plague,” Scully offers.

“That’s what Dr. Hodge thought too. Anyway, the pilot ended up getting infected as well, and we had to restrain him and remove this worm-thing from his neck. He died immediately after we removed it.”

“A worm-thing?” Scully asks, “what was it?”

“I’m still not entirely sure. The geologist found an ice core sample that was probably over 250,000 years old, and I think the worm came from the ice. Some kind of prehistoric parasite that overtakes its host. We eventually figured out that to kill it, you have to introduce a second worm into the host, and they’ll destroy each other.”

“Why haven’t I ever heard about this? It seems like the kind of discovery that would make the news, at least in the science community,” her mind is reeling, now with excitement.

“Well, that’s the thing. After we were evacuated, they destroyed the drill site and all the evidence.”

“They?” she inquires. “Who is ‘they’?”

Mulder smiles knowingly and she has the overwhelming urge to touch him.

“That’s the million dollar question, Scully. That’s what the X files sought to answer. Who, or what, is behind the mass coverup of information that would prove the existence of extraterrestrial life?” He says it so casually, like it’s the most irrefutable fact in the world instead of some half-cocked conspiracy theory.

“Huh,” she sits back in her chair. “Are there a lot of cases like that one? In the X files?”

Mulder’s mouth quirks, and she can tell that he’s pleased by her interest in his old work.

“Hundreds, though I only have about fifty in my possession. I took the juiciest ones, of course.”

“What else is there? Tell me about another one,” she asks unabashedly. She’s fascinated.

Mulder looks at his watch and makes a face. “I wish I could, but I have a prior engagement. I have them stored at my apartment, I could show you sometime, if you’d like. Do you like cats?”

Her eyebrows lift. “Is there an X file about cats?” she asks, and he laughs.

“No. Well, actually yes, but I’m asking because I have a cat. You aren’t allergic, are you?”

“Oh, no,” she says as she feels her cheeks warm.

He reaches into his wallet and hands her his business card. “Give me a call, or shoot me an email. I’ll show you what the FBI doesn’t want you to see,” he punctuates this with a wag of his eyebrows as he stands. “It was really good to see you, Scully,” he says with an earnest look, those eyes seemingly seeing right through her.

She swallows hard. “You too, Mulder,” she replies, and watches him walk out the cafe door.

She looks down at the business card in her hands:

Fox W. Mulder

Criminal Behavioral Analyst

Behavioral Science Unit

She wonders what the W stands for. She wonders why she cares.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files #alternate universe #x files fanfic

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greekowl87 · 6 years

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Fic: False Flags Redux 11/13

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) | AO3

Almost coming towards the end. Thanks as always to @mulders-boyish-enthousiasm and @scully-loves-ruthie for putting up with me. Tagging @today-in-fic.

You forgot about me, didn’t you? Honestly now, no one forgets about me. Not really. I remembered reclaiming myself, the 19th-century version of myself. A sea captain. I also remember being a gangster in the roaring 1920s as an enforcer for the Italian mob. I got good at killing and I loved it. I got three lifetimes jiggling around up there and it does get overwhelming. Multiple personality disorder is what the prison doctors diagnosed me. But it’s all me. It’s all me.

But when I saw her and knew. And him. Those bastards.

That bitch.

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia October 13, 1862

Scully pulled her shawl tightly around her as she walked nervously along the muddy main street to a small white building, the local tavern. She lowered her eyes as she passed a small group of drunk Union soldiers who whistled at her leeringly. She wrapped her arms around herself, hurrying her steps, wishing she had agreed to meet her baby brother with Mulder by her side. She would feel safer at the very least. She opened the door to the quaint establishment and noticed the soldiers and the few men she recognized from the town. The owner saw her enter and whistled. “You are expected upstairs,” the barkeeper told Scully.

Scully shivered, wishing even more than Mulder was with her. She felt so naked without him next to her. Quietly, she climbed up the wooden staircase to a room that was partially opened, the lamplight illuminating the otherwise dark hallway. She pushed the creaking door open without preamble and saw her baby brother Charlie, in full uniform, sitting at a table with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey between them. “Did you bring him?”

“No,” she said stiffly, “as per your request. I came alone.”

“Drop the act, Dana.”

Scully remained standing, her face cold and emotionless. Despite her short stature, his older sister’s pride poured forth with newfound confidence and authority that had not been there the last time he had seen her.“How did you find me?”

“You weren’t that hard to find,” he shrugged, nodding towards the empty seat. He poured them two healthy glasses. He collapsed in the antiqued wooden chair. “You look...good...given...despite everything.”

“Given everything? Despite everything?” Scully repeated slowly. She circled around the table and took the other glass of whiskey and knocked it back. She poured herself another glass with the recklessness of a man. “What a polite way of saying I fucked up and ruined the family honor.”

“You know the weight of your actions.” He watched her ominously. “You know what you did, Dana.”

“I’m happy,” she answered simply. She walked slowly to the opposite chair, took the glass and drained it in one gulp. “Isn’t that enough considering that I should be counted as a widow. I have not heard from Franklin before I fled Norfolk.”

“Well, you really did vanish. It was rather difficult for me to track you down.” Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Did your Lieutenant teach you that?”

She annoyed the barb and simply decided to be truthful. “He treats me like an equal and does not seem to mind that I can drink him under the table,” she said in reply. “Nor does he feel intimidated by my intellect. Unlike you.”

That was one of the things she loved about Mulder. Even though they acted as a traditional couple out in public and when in front of the Skinners, Mulder treated her every bit of his equal in private. They would read whatever books they could together and debate it over dinner. Mulder valued her intellect and opinion and was the only person who did, ever. Her family supported her studies but stopped when it came time for her time to marry at seventeen, they cast her aside to her new and awaiting husband, like tradition dictated... Scully doesn’t still know how she managed to put off her marriage to the Captain for so long but she did. But Mulder...Mulder was different. She sensed that about him the moment she met him at that dinner party. That’s why she took him to her bed that night, made her decision to take things into her own hands, and live happily with Mulder instead of in misery.

Charlie took his own glass and swished it around. “You were always the smartest of us, Dae. Bill the most loyal, Melissa the free spirit, me the clever one…”

Scully snorted. “Clever? Please. You could just talk your way out of trouble. How did I get stuck with the extra penmanship lessons and you didn’t? The exploding inkwell was all your doing if I recall.”

“No. That was Missy” he corrected with a smile, “I’m clever, but you, Dana, you were always the smartest.”

She snorted uncharacteristically. “You don’t like Mulder. You look just like father, Charlie.” She collapsed in the wooden chair, tucking her skirts under hair. “And stop looking at me like that.” She shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t appreciate you judging me.”

“You betrayed your marriage.”

“He makes me happy. Isn’t that enough? It was like pulling teeth with him to make him turn, but once he did...Charlie, I found a kindred spirit.” She sighed, downing the liquor. “I’m happy.”

“Who did the deed?”

Scully blushed. She remembered that fevered night the first time they tasted each others flesh. It had been unlike anything else that she had experienced. “It does not matter, but after Franklin left…” She sighed. “Franklin ordered Mulder to stay behind, to take care of me, to ensure I would be safe during his absence. That was when the invasion… then things happened. It was mutual, between us. He is a truly good man, Charles. I love him.” Scully took a deep breath and steadied herself. “He comes from a good family, Charlie. He’s honorable and just. He’s a good man.”

“Who are you trying to convince, Dae? Me or yourself?” Charlie poured another round between them, took his glass, and slouched in the chair. He looked at the cloudy amber liquid in his glass. “Despite our happiness,” he sighed, “you know how we were raised.”

“Duty before anything else,” she sighed bitterly. She sipped the whiskey. “Have you ever loved someone so much that it hurts?”

“Once. Maybe. I don’t know.” Her brother shook his head slowly. Scully was aware of both of her brothers’ marriages, how traditional they were and how Melissa disappointed their parents’ expectations, and how she was left bearing the torch. She followed it, for awhile, until Mulder. Scully took her brother’s silence as a ‘no.’ “Before Elizabeth, there was a girl from school but she...she was married before I could do anything.” He came aware of himself. “Stop changing the subject, Dana!”

“Charlie,” she began, “you asked me to spy. How many rules and traditions did you expect me to break without consequences? You lecture what I should do, who I should be.” Scully sighed. “You don’t understand. You’ll probably never understand.”

“Your husband’s alive, Dana.”

Like a bullet piercing it, Scully felt her heart skip a few beats. “What do you mean?”

“He’s in Alabama. Buchanan was promoted to an admiral,” Charlie spoke softly, watching his big sister’s stoic expressions. “Rumor has it that a new ironclad is to be built.”

“How does that concern me?” Scully focused her gaze suddenly on the opposite wall. God, she should have brought Mulder with her. Mulder. Just focus on Mulder and everything will be okay. “He left.”

“You need to go to Alabama to finish the mission.”

“I need to go?” Scully hissed. All of her emotions welled up inside her. “I will not go anywhere without Mulder. There is no mission without us!”

“You don’t know the man, Dana! How much do you trust him?”

Scully closed her eyes, unfamiliar fury working its way through her veins. When had she grown so bold? “I have always been the dutiful daughter, the good daughter. I have never once questioned my role in the scheme of things or done anything by myself. But for once, Charlies,” she spat, slamming her glass on the wood table, “I want to be happy. This is my life. My life. My choices. Franklin left me, abandoned me, and appointed Mulder as my guardian. But despite everything, Mulder is a better husband than Franklin ever was. Mulder...I love him, Charlie! More than you can ever imagine.”

“What about your country?” her brother pressed.

“Country?” she scoffed. “Which one? America or the fake Confederacy? Both sides are bloody. This war is nothing but a waste of human life.”

“Don’t go on sounding like one of the pacifists.”

“I’ve seen the destruction,” she continued, standing to her feet. “I’ve seen the fear. I’ve seen the suffering. All you have seen are the soldiers. What about the poor family who lost their father? What about the people who have lost everything?”

“What about the war effort, Dana? I thought that was what mattered to you?”

“What good is a war if there is nothing to believe in, Charlie?”

“You have a husband, not a lover. You are married, Dana. Even though your duty is to the country, it is also to your husband, and to God.”

“I am a widow. My husband is dead.” Scully swore. “Duty to my country, the United States of America, which is currently split in a bloody battle and my husband, my dead husband--” Scully laughed bitterly. “I married him because it was what our father desired, and I was Franklin’s second wife. He already had nine other children by his first wife. I was a social decoration. He doesn't love me, maybe once, but not anymore. He left Mulder to quote ‘take moral charge of me’ because I am a weak female. And he has not sent one word…”

“You ran, Dana,” her brother reminded her.

“I could see the light from across the river from the fires burning last year. I could only imagine what would happen.. We feared for our lives,” she began. “We were going to try for Richmond but we only got this far. We are waiting.”

“You need to continue our mission and go on without him.”

“What mission,” she hissed. “There is no mission without Mulder.”

“Your husband is alive, Dana! Rumor has it that they are laying a foundation for a new ironclad that we must know about.”

“I can care less!”

“What the hell, Dana?!?! Who cares about that traitor rebel?”

“What about Mulder,” she whispered, her voice become fragile. I care, she thought, I love him. “How would I explain him coming with me if I do? To continue the mission?”

“There is no Mulder. He does not a part of the plan, Dana.”

The words seemed to have finally sunk in. “So, what? You’re asking me to abandon him?” Scully asked incredulously. “After all he has done for us.” For me, she added mentally. He saved me.

“He was an asset and a deserter. A coward,” Charlie continued, grinding into her nerves. Charlie used to be the supportive one of her big sister, normally keeping his thoughts to himself while their big brother Bill had always been the hypercritical one. “And a rebel.”

“You don’t know him like I do.”

“Dana, he is an asset,” Charlie repeated. “I could care less about him. He is not my big sister, you are.”

Scully poured herself another glass and stared at it in thought. She could not imagine anything else with Mulder. In the short few months that they had been together, she was truly happy, a real happiness and love she had only read about in one of her books. Charlie shifted and sighed. “I am here until the end of November, Dana then I am heading home to Baltimore to mom for Christmas. Melissa will be there, and Bill and his new wife. It would be nice if you were to accompany me.”

“What of Mulder?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“Well, I guess the ultimately depends on your decision.”

She could tell her baby brother just gave her a veiled threat. She stood, dusting her skirts. “Thank you for the whiskey.”

She gathered her shaw and left coldly, out the door and into the muddy road. She felt stinging tears in her eyes as she hurried her steps to the small Skinner farmhouse, breezing passed Sharon Skinner and her husband and out back to the carriage house where she knew Mulder would be. He sat at the small table against the wall. There was a small fire going that he had made. He looked up with a warm smile but it slipped when he saw the heaviness in her blue eyes.

“Scully? Are you okay?”

She shook her head. She took off her shaw and hung it on a stray hook. “Mulder, do you love me?” she asked quietly.

“What sort of question is that?” he asked hesitantly. What was she doing? “Scully? Is there something wrong?

“Just answer me, Mulder! Do you love me?” she snapped. He took a deep breath and got up from the chair, stalking slowly towards her. She felt uncomfortable suddenly and backed against the door. He continued to stalk towards her until Mulder invaded her personal space and he rested both arms around her, encasing her against him. “Mulder,” she murmured warily.

“I would die,” he began, “before I let any harm come to you. You, Scully, are my guiding light. My guiding star.” She clenched her eyes closed and buried her face between them. “I love you, so much, it hurts, Scully. I would not through my life away from anyone else but you.”

The weight of the words hit Scully full force. Mulder was already an outcast and he had given up everything, literally, everything for her, including his honor and reputation and she knew that he would still bear the brunt of any accusations they faced to keep her honor intact. Charlie’s words echoed ominously, that she had to leave him, but her heart already knew the answer. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I will never abandon you,” she cried.

What had happened, Mulder thought sadly to cause this reaction. He hugged her tightly and she clung to him. “We’re okay, Scully.”

“I love you, Mulder,” she hiccupped in his ear.

“Why are you acting like this? What is wrong?”

“Not now,” she whispered, kissing his forehead. “Not tonight.”

“Scully, what did your brother say to you,” he continued to press. “Please tell me.”“Not tonight,” she whispered quietly, peppering his face with kisses. “Tonight, I want you to make me forget this war. Make me forget everything about it. I just want to feel you and pretend we were never married to anyone else before each other. I just want to feel like that we are the only two souls in existence.”

He nodded, understanding her request. If it was in his power to make her forget this war and everything hung over them if only for a brief few hours, he would do it. He would do anything for, including falling on his own sword in her name.

. . . .

Mulder spooned behind her and blanketed his body partially her own smaller body beneath the thick comforter and wool blankets. The fire in their small room was partially dying and Mulder was dreading getting up naked in the stark air to add more wood to the dying flames. Scully tugged his arm slightly and whispered, “Just a few seconds longer.”

“A few seconds longer and our toes will be ice later,” he murmured, kissing her unruly red hair. “A minute at most.”

Scully watched him wearily, his long back dancing in the shadows of the firelight. She could see her nail marks across his shoulder blades. He tossed a couple of logs onto the fire before shuffling back into the bed and swallowing her again. “Cold,” she huffed humorously.

“I could do that thing with my tongue again,” he murmured into her ear mischievously.

“Where on Earth did you learn that anyhow,” she breathed, writhing against him in memory.

“What do you think I was reading? It’s from a French author,” he nuzzled her neck. Scully sighed as he coiled tightly around her. “You wanna tell me what was wrong, Scully?”

“Franklin is alive, Mulder,” she confessed, barely audible. She felt him tense before pressing a possessive kiss into the back of her hair in response. “This doesn’t change anything?”

“No, not for me.”

She felt tears of relief in her eyes but her heart was still heavy. “Charlie told me this. But there is more, Mulder, he expects me to continue my original mission, spying and bringing intelligence to the Union army. Franklin was promoted to an Admiral and Charlie expects me to go to Alabama to be with him.”

“Where do I play into all of this?”

“You don’t, apparently,” she whispered.

She tensed against, waiting for the disappointment, as Mulder ran his large warm hand up and down her thigh. “You never once have said you are doing it yourself.”

“What?”

“Charlie is telling you what you need to do. You have not declared your own actions yet. That is what I love about you, Scully,” he said softly, kissing her. “You are capable of making your own decisions. I just hope that I factor into them somehow.”

“You do. You always do. There is no me without you. There is only us.” She heard his uncertainty. Slowly she turned to face him and caressed his cheek. “I just don’t know how yet, but there is no future without you. I’m not going back to Franklin. I just...I just don’t know what I can do.”

“We,” he murmured softly. “We’ll figure out something.”

. . . .

Norfolk City Morgue Norfolk, Virginia December 19, 1998

There was another body. Another murder. Another death that should have been prevented. She should have stopped him, not examining these deathly remains. Scully pulled the rubber apron over her blue scrubs and lowered the safety glasses and pulled on the medical mask. She stretched the latex gloves over her hands for the most secure fit. Glancing to the side of the medical bay, she saw Mulder hovering nearby, wearing a mask of wrought of concern, not for the case but for her. She arched an eyebrow sarcastically and he gave her a small smile. There was no future that did not include him. She remembered it saying it in the past. Her present self believed it.

“How bad,” Scully asked as she came to his side.

“Same M.O. My profile just more complicated. I can’t…” Mulder sighed and lowered his voice. “I can’t draw a complete profile with these specific actions. I need more.” More? As if reading her, he shook his head. “Not just then. And now. But in between. There has to be more. Did your research uncover anything else?”

“Maybe the prisoner of war camps,” she whispered, watching the ASAC and Diana Fowley enter. “I’ve read the thing but I can’t be certain.”

“We need to talk tonight,” he murmured in her hair discreetly. “I’m remembering more. By the way, you look adorable in the surgical mask.”

Scully felt herself smile. “Do you remember the French book you read?”

He licked his lips and smiled deviously. “That’s probably where I learned my, and I quote, ‘amazing tongue antics,’ and my love for sunflower seeds. I perfected it for you.” Mulder desperately wished he could comfort Scully. Instead, he squeezed her forearm. “Call me, if you need anything. I’ll be a few blocks away.”

“Are you going to try and finish the profile,” she murmured.

“Revise. The more I remember, the more he does, more connections and explanations are created. I need…” He took a deep breath. “I can’t find the answers.”

“You can,” Scully countered, glancing at Fowley. “I’ll call you. Okay?”

“I’d kiss you if I could.”

“I know. I would too. You just want to make all the other girls jealous.”

He smiled tightly. “Just call,” he reminded her. “I’ll be here.”

“I know you will.”

Mulder squeezed her forearm before leaving wordlessly out the back before Fowley and the ASAC could chase him. The past had cleared her head and made her feel more capable in the present. All the past months’ doubts about her and Mulder and the crone-bitch Fowley, she knew that Mulder was hers. Loyalty and love ran through time and souls. Fuck that bitch.

“Agent Scully,” ASAC Benson called. “We’re glad we caught you! Have you had a chance to perform the autopsy yet?”

“I haven’t had a chance to look at the body much less perform an autopsy.” She began. Thank God she was wearing a surgical mask to hide her facial features. “Agent Mulder is reworking his profile. Is there anything substantial you can tell me about this body?”

Diana was glaring at Scully (of course she was). “Same M.O. as the last body. Shot at the base of the skull, execution style.”

“Wonderful. How was the body identified?”

“Fingerprints. Buckley is not making an attempt to hide his work,” Diana continued, watching Scully was she readied her instruments.

“I would suspect not, after how he blatantly left his signature all over the last crime scene.”

“What does Agent Mulder think,” the ASAC asked.

“He’s unsure. He is going to revise his profile from a new angle.”

“Past lives. There has to be something with past lives,” Fowley interjected. Scully bit her tongue and readied her tape recorder. “Buckley wrote a journal which makes a mention of past lives, three exactly, which Agents Mulder and Scully make mention of in their report.”

“We mentioned he suggested such a notion. Agent Mulder and I concluded schizophrenia or some sort of mental illness. The report clearly shows that.” She knew the report. Fowley was not going to take that from her. “Agent Fowley is mistaken in her interpretation.”

“What is Buckley’s motivation then?”

Scully felt herself growing distant as she turned on the tape, refusing to answer the question. “This is Special Agent Dana Scully. The date is December 19, 1998, at…” She glanced at the wall clock. “9:37 a.m. I am about to perform the external examination of…” Scully paused, coughing slightly. She took a deep breath. “Katherine Buchanan, aged 31, white caucasian, red hair.” She opened the cadaver eyes. “Blue eyes.” . . . .

Mulder watched Scully from a distance before getting into their rental car. Scully would be safe here at the morgue with the other agents around her. Buckley would not be able to get to her. She would be safe. Mulder remembered the uncertainty and cloudiness that Scully described as the memories of her former past life, but the memories eventually settled and the secondary consciousness merged with his current one. The more he remembered, the more he loved Scully and the worried he became too.

In the car, Mulder withdrew a file with xeroxed portions of the journal, looking at mentions for times of being in Alabama and in a prisoner of war camp. After Scully called the other day, he did some research of his own, specifically about the prison camps. Personally, he had no recollection about such prisoner of war camps. He had been lucky. He and Scully eventually hid out the rest of the war as civilians or tried, so that when everything was said and done, they could have had a life together. Could have. They did. He remembered the look of terror in her eye as she confided remembering her own murder by Buckley (or was it Buchan?) over a century ago. Maybe he could have suffered something that caused him to mentally snap? Why about the anger? Was it directed towards him, Scully, or both of them? There had to be more. As he flipped through the copied pages, another name, Frankie Luciano, and mentions of speakeasies and prohibition. Mulder made a mental note to make a call to the FBI archives back in Washington.

He jumped when he saw Diana knocking on his driver’s side window. Reluctantly, he lowered it half way and raised an eyebrow. “What, Diana?” he asked her.

“You’re considering the past lives theory, aren’t you, Fox?”

Mulder set his jaw and looked at the road. “Again, Diana, profiling is not your job, it’s mine.”

“Why don’t you let me help? Agent Scully does not believe like you or I do. She is not open to the possibilities like we are,” Diana said. She held up a folder enticingly. Mulder eyed it like the snake offering the apple of knowledge. “This might be what you are looking for.”

He made no move to take it. Diana could not be more wrong. “Are you going to tell me what is in that file?”

“Mmm,” she smiled seductively and he frowned. “Come on, Fox. You know I have invaluable insight.”

“I’m certain you do,” he murmured, his mind flashing to Scully and the looks of revulsion she would no doubt give him if he did help. And now, with their trek into familiar, unknown territory and newly blossomed intimacy between them, he did not dare wreck that. “Excuse me.”

He rolled up the window, silently proud of himself in displaying a newfound willpower to ignore her siren calls. He shifted the car into gear and began the short drive back to the FBI field office, his mind dancing at all sorts of different possibilities

. . . .

Scully had performed a variety of autopsies. She had cut open old and young, men and women, adults and children. She had seen everything from alien viruses to heart attacks to the most violent ways possible. She had seen bodies tortured and mutilated. Hell, she had even examined an elephant that had been abducted by aliens. As a forensic pathologist and an FBI agent, she had to keep a cool exterior. There had been some that troubled her. Exhumations were never pleasant. Having to examine the polydactyl sisters and seeing her own daughter Emily on the table instead still haunted her. But this. This unsettled her just as much.

The victim, Katherine Buchanan, with red hair and blue eyes. The messages could not have been clearer. Obviously, he was trying to tell her something. A warning. Or simply that her time was coming. The victim’s body had been mutilated and desecrated, fortunately, Scully thought, she had died early on and did not suffer. But Buckley had continued, carving her body like a Christmas turkey. She had seen work similar to the mob, usually as a retaliation or to send a warning, when she had first been at Quantico. She had read how hitmen took pride in their work. Hell, she had even remembered seeing an article in one of her medical journals tracing the history of such violent killing tracing all the way back to Jack the Ripper.

But this...none of it made sense. Buckley was being careless. Or deliberate. Scully and the crime scene techs found his fingerprints all over the place. The technique of the killing, it was like Buckley had knowledge of the mob or of being a hitman, but none of it made sense. Scully cast one last glance at the covered body and peeled off her gloves and tossed them in the medical waste bend. She took off her safety glasses and gathered her tips and medical files wearily. She wanted nothing more than to take a hot bath and fall asleep in her bed, preferably with Mulder coiled about her.

“Agent Scully!”

She felt physically tense as she heard Fowley’s voice. She forced a smile. “Yes,” she sighed, “Agent Fowley,” force the smile, “what can I do for you?”

“Have you concluded your autopsy?”

“Yes, but the ASAC will have to wait. I still to write my findings down in a report.”

“Did you find anything noteworthy?”

“Aside from the violence post-death, then no. Agent Fowley, if you will excuse me, it’s been a long day for me. I would like to retire early. If you’ll excuse me.”

She turned to leave but Fowley held out a file. “Those wounds look like the work of someone in the mob, don’t they? And the victim, the victim looks an awfully like you, Agent Scully.”

“Coincidence,” she whispered dismissively. She was growing uncomfortable with Fowley’s presence. “What do you want?”

“I have information. I tried to give it to Mulder, but he dismissed it. I thought you would find more use for it.”

“I’m sure Agent Mulder had a good reason.”

“He mentions a past life as a mob strongman during the 1920s.”

Scully was quiet, measuring her words. “I suspect that might be more useful to Agent Mulder’s profile rather than my autopsy. If you will excuse, Agent Fowley, this report is not going to write itself.”

She gathered her notes and materials to her chest and walked quickly out of the door and down towards the locker room where her clothes and possessions were. Her mind was already trying to make sense of the new information and how it could impact everything. Quietly, she had begun formulating a theory and had yet to share it with Mulder. He obviously wanted revenge. He shot her, execution style in March 1865 in the back of her neck with a revolver while Mulder watched on. But the other victims...what was he trying to say? The first victim was shot like she had been. The second victim reminded her of her 19th-century doppelganger self, but the style of the killing and the mutilation post-mortem was worse. She shivered and opened the locker door, looking for her cell phone, and hit the speed dial number one.

“Mulder.”

“Mulder, it’s me,” she spoke quietly.

He was quiet on the other end of the line, likely noting the shift in her voice. “Scully, is everything alright?”

“I...I don’t know, Mulder. Where are you right now?”

“At the field office. Are you ready for me to pick you up?”

“Yeah.” She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Um, we need to talk about the profile. My findings today…”

“Scully, what is it?”

“That could have been me,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder to ensure she was alone in the room. “Mulder, he is trying to bait me.”

“Scully,” he called her name again. “You don’t know that. The second victim bore an uncanny resemblance but…”

“Her name, Mulder. Katherine Buchanan? That is no coincidence, it’s deliberate,” she pressed. “Remember William and Katherine? I’m surprised no one else has connected the dots.”

“Well, not everyone remembers their past life,” he soothed. “We do. Scully, I’ll be there in a half hour. Try and calm down. He isn’t making this personal.” Mulder paused, sounding utterly unconvinced of his own lie. “Just sit put.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she replied, glancing at the medical files. “I’m not going anywhere.”

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia December 10, 1862

“I’m not going anywhere,” Scully said, drawing herself to her full, small height as her baby brother Charlie sighed heavily. “I’m not leaving, Mulder. I don’t want to go back to Franklin. I don’t want to go back to the war and spying. I am not leaving him”

“Dana, you are talking nonsense.”

“You gave me a choice, Charlie and I choose Mulder.”

“I didn’t actually think you would go through with it,” he scoffed.

In the same small room of the inn, brother and sister stood and opposite ends like chess pieces. Queen takes bishop. Check.

“It’s my life, Charlie,” she said. “Do you know how unhappy I was with my life during the past seven years? I was miserable. Mulder has saved me in more ways than I know!”

“You’re using personal motive to disregard the larger fight. We can make a difference!”

“I did it so I could in the beginning, but it’s just not worth it to me anymore,” she said simply. “I watched the ironclads battle in that river, I saw hysteria grip Norfolk at the impending invasion from the Union army. I have heard the stories of bloody battles. I do not want to be a part of that anymore. Can’t you see? There’s much much more to life than this bloody war! I have a life with him, with us, there is so much potential!”

“So, what would you do? Stay here and be a farmer? With Mulder?”

“If I must. I’ll do anything to stand by him.” Scully shook her head angrily. “These people need help right here! I see countless refugees, civilian and freed slaves and the like come through here looking for a new life. I could help! I could teach! Do something. I don’t want to be a part of this war anymore. I want to help people rebuild.”

“Is that deserter Mulder talking or you, Dana?”

“It’s my life. I’m not going to Alabama. I’m staying here.”

Charlie drew a deep breath and finally nodded in resignation. “I guess, I guess I’ll see you when the war’s over then,” he said softly.

“Have you figured out what to tell mother?”

“I’ll think of something. Just keep in touch.”

Scully knew what he was saying. This goodbye could be the last or maybe, with the war over, she might be able to return home and face her family with Mulder as her new husband. But likely, she would never see any of her family again. “I’ll write Missy if I can, send word if I’m okay,” she said softly.

“I’ll let her know. What name will you be using?”

“Healey. Katherine Healey.”

“Mom’s name.” He nodded and gave a sad, wistful smile. He hugged his big sister and dipped his head. “Merry Christmas, Dana.”

“Be safe, Charlie.”

“Before I leave tonight, I will leave instruction with the commander of the garrison how you desire to help teach the refugees and the freed slaves. That way, you can begin rebuilding in your own way.”

“Thank you.”

He smiled. “Goodbye, Dana.”

She watched him don his officers cap and button up his overcoat and go out the door, down the stairs, and out into the night. Scully suddenly felt smaller, more alone. No one told her being brave and standing her ground could be so lonely. She pulled on her cloak and gathered her gloves and headed down the stairs and out into the night.

The main street was still muddy. It was always muddy. The mood was always cold. Sad. She looked up the night sky, wishing to see the moon and stars, but she only saw black clouds. And then a single snowflake. And then another. And then another. She closed her eyes as the first cold flurry hit her face and melt in the tear tracks that slid silently down her eyes. As she trudged back to the carriage house on the Skinners’ farm, the snow had grown heavier and had begun sticking to the ground. By the time she arrived back at the carriage house and lumbered up the stairs, she saw Mulder lounging on their bed, reading a book in the candlelight while a warm fire crackled across the room. He heard the door close and he dropped the book and sat up in bed.

When he saw the tears streak down Scully’s red cheeks, he knew. She picked him over her family, duty, and honor. She had chosen him, the deserter and loner from a conflicted past. “Scully,” he managed, unable to utter anything else.

She took off her cloak and gloves, let lose her dress and stockings and pillaged one of her nightshirts. Wordless, he opened the covers beside him and got ready for bed himself. One of the things he admired between them was their ability to excel at wordless communication. Once beneath their heavy blankets, she coiled around him for dear life and let the tears come. He held her tightly, kissing her unruly red hair, silently vowing to take care of the only family he had left.

. . . .

FBI Field Office Norfolk, Virginia December 19, 1998

Everyone else had gone home for the night except the graveyard shift who continuously monitored for the activity for Buckley. In a small conference room, over cold coffee and candy bars stolen from the vending machine down the hall, the partners sat across from each other in silence. Mulder flipped through Scully’s autopsy findings, taking particular care to read over her descriptions of the mutilations to the poor victim’s body. He felt his stomach flip sickeningly as he looked at the multiple stab wounds and carving Buckley had done to her body.

“Was she alive during all this?” he asked quietly.

Scully pursued her lips and shook her head. “She bleed out through her femoral artery. One of the first strikes he did. Sadly and as cold as this sounds, she died quickly before she could suffer anymore.”

“Your opinion, Scully, does Buckley know what he is doing?”

“Yes and no.”

“What does that mean?”

“He knows how to inflict pain,” she whispered, “make people suffer. I’ve seen similar cases of mob deaths when I was working on my residency in pathology. But he does not have the finesse knowledge. I believe he knicked the femoral artery accidentally while trying to...uh, mark her thigh. The most I can speculate is that the blade is a standard chef’s knife, nothing special, and likely impossible to trace.”

“And this has to do with another past life as Frankie Luciano?”

She shrugged. “Fowley seemed convinced.”

“She came to me, right before I left, offering information.” He tented his fingers in front of his face. “I refused her of course. But it didn’t stop me from doing my research.”

“You refuse her? Why?”

He just gave her a small, reassuring smile. “Well, I went back and looked at his journal. He mentions a name: Frankie Luciano. There was a small time, very violent man, attached to to the Big Seven Group during 1929 prohibition up in New Jersey.” He passed her an old copy of a xeroxed book sheet with an ugly man with a face of a bulldog. She narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“It looks nothing like him, Franklin or Buckley, except maybe...his eyes. He has the same eyes.”

Mulder nodded. “His journal mentions strange dreams that later become memories. Ring a bell, Scully?” Her eyes rose and met his and he nodded, answering her wordless question. “Just like us. What I don’t get is how come we have our same names instead of different ones? Were we always ourselves?”

Scully dug into her briefcase and passed him the picture she had found earlier at the museum in Newport News. He took it reluctantly and broke out into a smile when he saw it. “It is real, Mulder. We lived in the 1860s. That picture could have been taken yesterday as far as I am concerned. It is us.”

Mulder examined the picture with some fondness. Taken in the style of the times, it showed an 1863 Scully sitting formally in a chair with him, with short hair and a beard, resting his hand on her shoulder with her hand resting on top of his. Neither one of them smiled but it was them. “What else doesn’t make sense is how we look the same,” he continued. “Don’t you think?”

“It’s like looking in a mirror.” Scully shifted uneasily in her seat. “Even though we’re an adorable couple.” They both chuckled. “What started as dreams are as clear, crystal clear, as a memory to me, Mulder and I can recall them as easily as my own. And I know they are mine but I’m still me. I’m still Dana Katherine Scully, medical doctor and FBI agent.” She looked down at the picture of the 1920s criminal and then back to Mulder. “Does that make sense or am I just crazy?”

“Must be because you’re making perfect sense to me,” he teased lightly coaxing out a small smile out of her. “But this, Scully we can’t ignore. We have to bring to the attention of the ASAC and the rest of the task force.”

“How do we do that without making us sound crazy or bringing up past lives?”

“We may have to bring up past lives,” Mulder said, “just not ours.”

“Diana suspects something.”

“I know she does,” he sighed. “You remember from the Apison case, you suggested multiple personality disorder? I think we might be able to suggest something similar: schizophrenia. He’d already been diagnosed before we caught him. Buckley does not claim to be any of these past lives actively but he has the knowledge. One of the symptoms is believing thoughts are being inserted into one’s mind and, depending on how you read the journal, we could argue that. Hopefully, we can remember enough to catch him in the meantime.”

“What about the victims? It doesn’t take a genius to make the connection to me. The last victim looked just like me.” She shuddered at the thought. “Somebody was going to suspect something. We were the ones who originally caught him.”

“Not everyone knows about our past. “He held out a hand coolly. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, Scully. In the meantime, we can tie all this together and present it to the ASAC in the morning. I’m exhausted. You ready to head back?”

“I’ll drive us back to the hotel,” she volunteered softly, gathering their files.

. . . .

Holiday Inn at the Airport Norfolk, Virginia December 19, 1998

Scully did not know if it was her memories or the new thrill of being held by Mulder while she slept, but it felt right. It just felt right. It happened without discussion, almost automatically assumed as if they had been doing it for years. But deep down, Scully was glad she was not sleeping alone tonight. The autopsy from earlier that day still plagued the back of her mind, made her feel uneasy, and she knew, deep down, Buckley was hunting her again. Waiting. She felt Mulder unconsciously tighten his arms around her and snore slightly in his sleep. They would be all right. They had to be.

. . . .

You knew it was about revenge. I told you about it in the beginning.

It was transparently obvious. Blatantly so.

Mulder took my wife and he will pay. Again.

But there something thrilling about the hunt. It would be nothing to just shoot the man in the head and be done with it, but it takes real skill to lure your prey before making the final kill. I killed someone right away at the Oceanfront only because she knew who I was. She didn't count. The first woman was just meant to be a warning, but the second woman, mmm...it was just a matter of how creative I could get. And the crazy thing, I just loved it. The end is coming soon, don’t worry. But everything comes in threes before the big finale. This isn’t over yet. I will still have my day.

#false flags redux #xfiles #xf fic #case fic #msr #msr fic #txf #txf fic #mulder #scully #mulder and scully #historic au #fanfic #fanfiction

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