EMXC 1st Year fanfic- October 1, 1994 thru October 1, 1995 Archived: 10/01/95 ============================================================== Sorry this is out of season, but the idea didn't hit me til last week. Ususal diclaimer: used without permission, no infringement intended. PLEASE comment, my e-mail box keeps telling me how lonely and isolated it feels. I don't wanna have to get the thing a therapist! The following story was written without the advice, consent or knowledge of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting or Ten Thirteen Productions. No infringement was intended; the story is meant for private downloading, and not to be circulated in print. Countdown by Stacy Cowley (Isoma@aol.com) 2/01/95 Amid the noise and chaos of a party going full swing, Dana Scully felt completely out of place. The FBI's office New Year party was as much a political event as a social one, and *everyone* was expected to put in an appearance. Mulder, of course, never did. Scully envied him right now, curled up on his couch, no doubt, watching a movie with a name like "Bikini Beach Bash." She would have been much happier right now in her terry cloth robe with a huge bowl of ice cream, laying on *her* couch pitying herself for spending New Year's Eve laying on her couch in her robe. But since the X-Files division was none too popular with the higher-ups, she'd figured at least one of them should come. And so here she was. "SCULLY!" a voice across the room cried. Glancing over, she saw agent Mike Leowitz barreling towards her. The man proposed to her at least one a week, and was clearly determined to take advantage of the fact that Mulder wasn't around to glower at him. Scully was in no mood to listen to his attempts to be charming for the next hour. Casting around, she prayed fervently, As Mike drew closer, a huge smile plastered across his face, Scully darted out the nearby door and headed for the staircase. The office! She could get some work done, then reappear just before midnight and make nice with Skinner. Pulling out her keys, she unlocked the door, flipped on the light, and shrieked. Sitting on the floor, surrounded by files, papers, and photographs, was Mulder. "Mulder, are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Scully accused. "What on Earth are you doing here this late, in the middle of this mess, and in the dark? You said you were leaving for the day!" Looking sheepish (, Scully thought, her annoyance changing to amusement), Mulder replied, "It's sort of my New Year's tradition. Going through last year's cases and cleaning out the file cabinet." Changing the subject, Mulder held up a jar containing a few tiny green things. "Remember these, Scully? " Taking the jar, Scully looked closer and recognized the prehistoric insects they'd run into a few months ago. "Where did you get these?" "There were a few dead ones lying under the car mats. They still glow in the dark." Grinning wickedly, he asked, "Wanna see?" "I'll pass. My mother always told me not to get caught in the dark with strange men." Mulder looked wounded. Ignoring him, Scully sat down and began leafing through the debris. A vaguely familiar black-and-white photo caught her eye. With a nostalgic jolt, Scully recognized the picture of a huge, triangular aircraft. Allegedly built by the military using alien technology. "From our second case," Mulder said, leaning over and peering at the photograph, remembering. His face clouded over. Reading his mind, Scully scooted over and gently put her hand on his arm. Also remembering. "When I picked you up from the compound, I was worried to death. Only my second case ever, and my lunatic partner was already getting us into trouble. Then, when I saw how dazed you were, and everyone was denying you had even *been* on the compound. . ." Shaking her head, she added, "That was the first time I realized how closely I was going to have to watch you. You and your talent for getting into bad situations. I mean, Jesus, Mulder, trading yourself for a hostage, it's either bravery or stupidity. And I'm beginning to lean towards the latter." Mulder shrugged. "It's a gift. Besides, who managed to get half the Bureau out searching for her and an old boyfriend last year?" Instead of laughing, as he'd expected, or zinging him back, Scully suddenly sobered. Reaching into the stack on the floor, she pulled an audio tape out of the pile and stared at it blankly. One of Jack Willis' analyses of Warren Dupre and Lula Philips. "Scully," Mulder started awkwardly, "I didn't mean to. . ." His voice trailed off. "No, it's OK. It's just that. . .I don't know. I've been thinking about that case a lot recently." Mulder studied her. Ever since she'd gotten out of the hospital, she'd been slightly withdrawn, not quite herself. Something had clearly been bothering her for weeks, something big. "Any particular reason?" Scully hunched over, hugging her knees. "I'm not sure. I guess the whole thing with Duane Barry reminded me of Jack. Not that I remember much," she added quickly, then paused. "Maybe that's part of the problem." Defeated, she sighed, "I don't know." "Scully?" "Hmm?" "Have you been having nightmares?" She looked up quickly, startled. "How did you. . .?" She sighed again. "Yeah." Mulder nodded sympathetically, he knew the feeling. "Do they make any sense?" "No. Just fragments, bits and pieces, but. . .I can *feel* it. The same feeling I had with Jack. The fear, the exhaustion, the terror. . . and I *can't remember*!" She looked up at Mulder, silently pleading with him. "Something happened to me, Mulder. Something I can't explain." Looking in her eyes, Mulder saw panic and fear. . .and uncertainty. Uncertainty? Suddenly he understood. "Mulder. I've seen things this past year that *I can't explain*." Then she was crying, softly, trying to hide the tears from him. , he thought . Mulder reached out and gently pulled her toward him, hugging her and stroking her back reassuringly while she cried. Upstairs, the noise of the distant party intensified, and the dull roar became a steadily growing chant: "10. . .9. . .8. . .7. . .6. . .5. . .4. . . 3. . .2. . .1. . .1995!!!!!!!" Downstairs, Scully shakily pulled away from Mulder's shoulder. Trying to regain control, she stammered, "I'm sorry, I. . ." "Scully." Mulder picked up her hand and clasped it firmly. "Don't explain. I understand." Looking in his eyes, Scully saw the warmth there and knew that he did. A moment later, Mulder laughed lightly. "Well, now that it's 1995, are you going to share your resolutions with me? Mine are to further embarrass the Powers That Be, make sure that the folder they have on me grows at least two inches, get yelled at once a week, and convince the world that Elvis is alive and well." Scully groaned, then added, "And I resolved to continue officially denying any knowledge of your existence or activities." Then she quieted, glancing around the office, at the mess on the floor that was the last year of Mulder's life. , she wondered. . Her work and her life had always been separate. . .*had* always been. Until now. "Actually, I do have a resolution," she said determinedly. With all she had seen, all she had been through, she knew there was only one way to put her tormented mind to rest. "To. . .to open my mind to extreme possibilities. The truth *is* out there, Mulder. And we'll find it." End.