From The Ghost Of A Memory

by Amanda Moon



**********************



*Eleven*


Three Days Later


It took some convincing to get Mulder to leave the case in the hands of Fort Dodge authorities, but the Bureau would not let us stay there any longer than necessary, and he had no concrete proof of necessity. Just a couple of vivid – okay, very vivid, Mulder – dreams. So we returned to Washington, and stamped "Solved" on the file folder.

Now I know Mulder is usually right about these things, but I can honestly I felt resolved when we got back. Everything added up, with the evidence pointing to the archetypal small-town psycho, and my curiosity regarding the night with Darren and Daniel had been quieted because of it. I went home and took a very long bath.

No sooner did I emerge from the bathroom than I heard a familiar knock at the door. I tied on my robe and went to let him in.

"Scully, I don't want to bother you but I – oh. Sorry, I guess it's a bad time," he said, noticing my state of undress.

"No, it's okay Mulder," why do I always ... "Come on in."

Mulder hesitated, then crossed the threshold. "I found this old X-File from 1949. It's incredible – the case is exactly the same. Only it's from Austin, Minnesota." He showed me the file, and I noticed the stamp on the cover.

"Mulder, it was solved," I informed him.

"I know, just like this one. But look – " (he pulled out a photograph) " – who does that look like?"

I studied it for a moment. "Oh my god ... it's Darren."

"Pretty spry for a man of seventy-five, wouldn't you say?"

"But it's impossible."

"Impossible," he sighed. "You always say that. Every single time. And every single time it's the only conclusion we can arrive at. Haven't you learned anything from working with me?"

"Mulder, it could be his grandfather."

He shook his head sadly. "Sometimes I think you don't believe in me." He produced a two records of fingerprints, one an original and one a computer printout. "In all your years as a scientist you still haven't been able to coerce genetics to account for identical fingerprints."

"What do you want me to say, ‘Oh, alright Mulder, I'll abandon the perfectly reasonable solution that Derrick Geffen is a loony who has a talent for engaging in loony behaviour, i.e. murder ...'? Why can't you ever accept things for being slightly more mundane than you'd like? Why does it always have to fill you up like this? Can't you just take a moment to surface from your pile of paper and breathe?" Mulder was looking slightly crushed, so I softened my tone. "All I'm saying is that ... you are an amazingly devoted person, and it's hard to watch you throw your heart into something that you're never satisfied with. It's never over."

The solemness that had been hovering between our faces finally landed on his. "I don't want it to be over," he said.

"Then how can you move on?"

"I don't want to move on." He was beginning to get that look in his eyes, that look that he gave me just before he tried to kiss me in the hallway and that terrible bee intervened. I looked from his eyes to his mouth and back to his eyes. He's so absorbed it's exhausting. He really can't move on, and it wouldn't help him to do that. He has to put his whole soul into finding that beautiful, ever-elusive truth, or he feels nothing. I know this, but I get frustrated sometimes.

I opened my mouth like I was going to tell him to go, hoping he would interrupt me with a kiss. He didn't, though. So I had to say it.

"I think you should go home ... and leave this for tomorrow."

And he did.



*Twelve*


Just like she told me to, I went home. Musing on my own foolishness, driving in my stupid car in the stupid rain, back to my stupid apartment and standing in front of number 42 for a fucking stupid moment, wondering whether or not I would burst into tears as soon as I got inside.

Yes.

Fuck.

It's like she takes every chance she can get to doubt me for the sake of doubting me, ignoring the striking pattern of our career together which indicates that my far-out theories, however implausible, are always closer to the truth than her caution and cynic. How can she pride herself on those inconclusive tests which she holds up to the Bureau as a useless – oh, but utterly believable – shrug of the shoulders? I would rather have the water cooler people call me Spooky than be so adverse to a teensy leap of sci-fi faith that I make my partner cry.

I sat down on the couch and buried my face in my hands. I reached around to take off my gun and put it on the table, and then resumed choking quietly, filling with pain, feeling the tears begin to stream. This was one case, and she had turned it into a metaphor for my whole life. The way she stared at me ... I must have looked so stupid. She must have wanted nothing more than for me to leave her alone, let her have a moment of peace. God. Does she know how cruel that was?

I wiped the tears away and stared into the darkness, only now noticing that I had neglected to turn on a light. Then I remembered I didn't care, and closed my eyes. I hated the fact that I could tell the shadows of my apartment from the shadows of a motel room, or from the shadows of any other place that was not a symbol of permanency, of being forever stuck on this side of the impenetrable wall of truth.

I stopped crying and listened to the air. Something was different. Something was looming indiscernibly out of the ordinary, had I not grown so accustomed to my ordinary. I knew. And then ...

"Dobrui vyeh'cher." (And the subtitle reads, Good evening.)

I leapt to my feet and reached for my weapon, only to discover that it was no longer on the table, but rather in the hand of the intruder, who was pointing it at my chest. I grudgingly held my hands up and looked at him with disgust. I should've noticed him taking my gun, really. I don't know how he got it, but more important than that was whether or not he was going to kill me with it. Darkness usually make things happen faster, but for some reason the look exchanged between us was delayed. It's the craziest thing, but as we stood there for what seemed like minutes, with the contour of his face defined by the patch of streetlight seeping through my window, I knew he wouldn't. Kill me, I mean. After years of encountering this face that seemed to belong in the dark, I felt I could read it. He wasn't just here for a fight, he had something to say.

"Go ahead then," I told him. "What is it, Krycek?"
*Thirteen*


He sighed. "I'm getting tired of breaking in and threatening you like this," he said. "If anything, you should be coming to me for information. Why is that?" He sounded genuinely confused. "Why do I show up and force you to let me tell you things?" A reflective tone wriggled into his words, then quickly dissipated. "Ah, I digress," he said, and dropped his arm to his side. Somehow, that gesture expressed the same informality with which he'd introduced himself to me five years ago, telling me his name – "Krycek. Alex Krycek." – and conceiving the original sin. It pissed me off. So I seized the opportunity and jumped him.

"Oh, what was that for ..." Krycek grumbled as he tried to push me off.

"For being a bastard." Overcome by my own violence, I drew him into the wrath, throwing him to the floor and punching him, punching him, punching him in the face, struggling as he fought me off and crushed his arm across my neck, rolling on top of me. Krycek discarded the gun and sent it sliding to the other end of the room, out of reach for either of us. I lunged at his throat and when that failed, attempted to clip him in the jaw, which succeeded in forcing him to abandon supporting himself on the arm he was strangling me with. He crumpled onto my chest, unable to hold himself up with his prosthesis alone. I clambered to get out from under him, but incredibly, he regained his strength and pinned me. I was actually impressed by how well Krycek had adjusted to his handicap, and for a moment I did nothing but lie beneath him. As he continued to wrestle against me, I became aware of something clouding our movements. At first it was too vague to identify. Then Krycek pulled away briefly, and I felt more conscious of the absence of pressure than I'd been of the pressure itself. I knew the discomfort of his letting up, but hadn't noticed the perverse comfort of his body against mine. In the instant he fell back upon me, I noticed it.

Despite my attempts to stifle it, a frustrated whimper slipped out of my throat. I prayed that Krycek thought I meant it in pain. To my mortification, he paused and looked right in my eyes. I bit my tongue and glared at him viciously. A hint of a grin appeared in the corner of his mouth, and he shifted slightly, making the friction between us appear less inadvertent. Then he forced his thigh between my legs and rocked into my groin. This time I heard him make a sound, one I thought I'd heard him make before, in the airport in Hong Kong. Kind of a growl.

"Mulder, I came here to tell you something about the case you're – ah! fuck – working on."

"What. That I'm right?" I panted.

"Of course you're right. But the vampires," he swallowed with difficulty, "the Syndicate is preserving them. They were created ... to be used as a control."

"What?"

"For the alien occupation." Krycek took a deep breath and slowly sat up. Then he lowered his voice and started to explain. "It was a Rebel idea. They made ... alterations, in the genetic makeup of a select group of life forms, causing those life forms to have superior abilities. Abilities that make them significantly resistant to the alien virus, Purity. But they were discovered, and now the aliens employing the Syndicate are in control. Preserving the supernaturals to perform experiments on, after colonisation." He was still breathing heavily. "They covered it up. This, and all those other shit cases you've been staying up nights trying to find answers for, all the vampires, the supermen and telekinetics. Cases that have been completely impervious to the FBI's high-tech investigative measures – and for what. To prevent mankind from casting off the shackles of order and turning precious America into an anarchy? No. People will accept anything as long as it's presented right." Intensity burned in his eyes, those melodic green reservoirs. "Give it to them as the latest messiah of medical science. The worst that could happen is someone bottles vampire's blood and makes a killing – ahem. Excuse the pun – as a merchant for the Fountain of Youth. But no one would go even slightly nuts."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Are you saying ... that rebel aliens created biological anomalies in the inhabitants of Earth, and sustained them for millions of years, only to have the other aliens find out and end up using them as lab rats later?"

"That's the first time I've heard you say ‘rat' without meaning me."

"Hey, for all I know you could be a biological anomaly." Nope, too late. You said it, Mulder.

Krycek giggled – giggled, in the middle of his dead-crucial apocalyptic speech – and I knew that wasn't a sound I'd heard him make before.

I sighed heavily, unable to quite take in what he was confirming. "Why are you telling me this? What can I possibly do about it?" I despaired.

Krycek looked offended. "Why the hell do you think I'm telling you this? Because I hate you? Because I abhor you so much that I'm willing to – no, that I insist on breaking into your apartment to give you the information that could save your fucking life, not to mention the lives of about five billion other human beings?!"

"I don't know why you're telling me this! I don't understand a goddamn thing you do and I never have!"

"Understand this," he placed his hand on the back of my neck and pulled my head close to his, kissing me with such fury that in an second I forgot myself, my job, my life. Nothing was so wanted, nothing in the universe had ever been so blessedly anticipated. It was devastating.

He pushed me back onto the floor and held me as if he was afraid a tornado would come and sweep him away. He kept kissing me the same way he'd always attacked, expert and unrelenting, and moved his hand down my chest in a shameless and frantic caress. As much as my mind continued to reject the notion that any of this was really going on, there was no doubt in my body. It took me a while to find the power to respond, but finally I stirred and touched the shoulder of his real arm, pushing gently for him to let up. When he pulled away there were angry tears in his eyes. He stared at me briefly, then stood up and paced a couple of nowhere steps.

I rose cautiously, expecting him to snap and explode at me. He looked so crazy, such a victim of his own psychotic existence, my only thought was to get rid of this inner conflict – am I supposed to console him or kill him? All this time. I did not have to admit it to anyone but myself. The passion between Alex Krycek and me had never asked for any more defining than that.

Is he gonna leave?

Get out.

Nothing's coming out of my mouth.

I hate you.

Someone I wouldn't be alive without.

Murder.

Those eyes.

Trust no one.

My own father.

The truth.

Every word a lie.

Forget it.

Your body.

Hit me.

Kiss me again.

"Alex." He wouldn't look at me. "Alex." I couldn't let him out of this now. I went over and held his face in my hands, gazing once again into the depths of his eyes until they were eclipsed by impossible eyelashes. I tilted my head and bent to lick his mouth, gently running my tongue along his lower lip, then harder, sucking his lip. He let out a ravished sigh and started to grind against me. I held his hips and pushed into him, crushing him to the wall. Everything around us faded.

We undressed and touched with vulgar need, making our way somehow to the sofa, kissing everywhere. Fingers like a inclement breeze over skin. Pulses thundering in time. Unspoken signals taking over as he sank to his knees, lingering in the quicksand of his ardour, and took me into his mouth, which was softer than could be believed. But all I could do was believe – right up until the moment his soft mouth turned to fire, and an electrical current bolted through my body. I shuddered and verged on a scream. There were no questions. If I had imagined this before, I was off by miles. I am not capable of making this up. He was the most beautiful thing. So beautiful. The darkest angel, with the heavenly tongue of a demon. Drawing me in and making the tempest swell until I felt I would drown, never sure if I was breathing properly.

By one truly graceful move, we shifted position so that I had him under me, holding him by his hips as I dove again for his gorgeous mouth. Sweat pooled on our skin and ran rivers in our crevices. We were slick over each other, lustrous in lust, and I saw him arch up, his head thrown back, that divine neck bare. In my besiegement, I pierced him as Zeus should impale a storm cloud with a dagger of lightning. Over and over, I voiced my only intelligible thought: "Alex." I heard him moaning, but didn't know what he was saying.

"Pazhalsta ... oh ... ja lublju tebja ..."

We flooded together, and collapsed like a dam in a hurricane.

*


Consciousness became me in the form of quiet rain drizzling down my window. It was still dark, and I couldn't see the clock. As I came to, I noticed I was naked, and slumped over on my couch, covered by a blanket I didn't know I owned. Things sparkled back into my head one at a time. A fight with Scully. Hot tears. Then, Alex. I sat up with a start, hoping to god he hadn't gone.

"Alex?"

To my disappointment, nothing. Nothing but the silent shadows of my apartment. I wrapped myself in the blanket and went to sit by the window, watching the solemn indigo sky gradually warm to a tongue-coloured pink. The night picked up its stars and shuffled off to the other side of the world.



*Fourteen*


"Mulder!" Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang. "Are you in there?"

The door opened a crack, and a squinting eye peered out warily. "Gimme a second." Rustle, rustle. Zip. Clothing noises. I could not believe it – I know I'd told him to go home, but I meant alone. I thought he might suffer a little for failing to kiss me. Where does Mulder find these girls anyway?

He unlocked the chain and casually opened the door. I started to tell him why I was there, but he interrupted – "Scully, am I glad to see you."

"Why's that?" I asked, more perplexed than I let on.

"We're going back to Iowa."

"That's what I came to tell you – how did you know?"

He frowned. "How did I know – how did you know?"

"What?"

"I thought it was my idea. We're going to save the world."

Now I frowned. It's okay, Dana, he's prone to these sudden changes of mood. I handed him the plane tickets and explained that we'd been assigned to investigate a case that seemed somehow related to the murder. The AD had been vague about what constituted ‘somehow related,' but when he started saying words like ‘abduction,' I knew Mulder would leap at the chance to tie the whole thing together, however he was planning to do it.


Several Hours Later

I elaborated on my explanation on the plane. "Ten people. Six men, four women. They claim they were called to the Hayes/Jones residence shortly after midnight last night, Central Standard Time. ‘Called' in the sense that they awoke feeling an inherent compulsion to go there," I summarised. "Seven of the ten do not recall anything between arriving there and finding themselves back in their homes, but can all verify that there was a time loss of approximately nine minutes."

"There, what does that tell you about alien abduction statistics?" asked Mulder. "Only thirty per cent of the occurrences ever get out."

"That's a bit of an extrapolation, don't you think?" I flipped through the file.

"What did the three have to say?"

"After reporting the incident, they were individually questioned by authorities. They recalled bright lights, a sense of weightlessness, and the ensuing feeling that they were being operated on. Being injected with substances they could not identify."

"Have they been examined?"

"Yes. Each of the ten people had a small implant in the back of his or her neck, an unidentifiable metallic substance – " a look of alarm crossed Mulder's face, recalling the implant in my neck after I was abducted, and the onset of my cancer after it was removed – "found by X-Ray and not yet removed from any of them." He sighed, relieved. "It stands to reason that they were injected with something, although no needle marks were found, as a biological substance was discovered in their blood. This substance too had been labelled ‘unable to be classified' as of yet, but what we're not supposed to know ... is that it appears to be genetically altered blood."

"How do we know what we're not supposed to know?"

I smiled. "We dug a little deeper in search of the truth."

He smiled back at me. "Scully, you doll ... "


We arrived in Fort Dodge and reported to local authorities. Sheriff Carrie greeted us, chuckling, "Now aliens is where I draw the line." He was as sure as I was that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for these events – which is not to say we were entirely positive, just that we had a similar degree of skepticism. The abductees told us nothing new, but certainly put a lot of emotion into the recounting of their stories. On paper, the details seemed remarkable similar to my abduction and the multiple abductions of Cassandra Spender, but I soon realised that there are many kinds of lights, many kinds of tiny metal implants, and many other kinds of incongruities. I decided I'd best keep to myself my theory that the people of Fort Dodge were having a little trouble dealing with the fact that their fifteen minutes were up, and had thus staged an elaborate hoax. So here we were, indulging them.

Mulder was looking restless and unsatisfied with our findings. He told me to book our motel rooms (saying ‘room' in a stumble before adding the ‘s'), and then went off for a drive.



*Fifteen*


He was coming back. Of course he was coming back. This would be fun.


We were dining that evening around seven o'clock. Daniel conjured up a wonderful asparagus dish and entertained me with his usual charming anecdotes. Afterwards, we had tea (I must get some more – we're running out) and sat by the fire.

"Shall we go out?" he asked.

"Where would we go, that we haven't been a million times?"

"Let's go to Vegas."

I laughed. "Too tired."

"I'll carry you."

"Carry me all the way to Vegas?"

"Maybe not. Why don't we go home?"

"Because we have to stay here. Only a little while longer."

"It's been too long. When are they coming?"

He looked so sad. "Soon," I said. "I miss Australia too."

"It'll be different by the time we get back." He put his arms around me and rested his head on my shoulder.

"Everything will be different." I touched his face. "Mulder's coming back, you know. He has to. He has to uncover the truth."

"How long will that take?"

I looked at the grandfather clock in the corner. "Oh, about nine minutes," I said.

Dan smiled vaguely. There was a comfortable silence for a minute or two. After that, it grew faintly uncomfortable. I didn't want to invade Daniel's thoughts – we didn't do that with each other, except during sex – but I got the strange sensation that he wasn't as happy as he was letting on. Stepping on egg shells, I asked, "Is anything wrong, Dan?"

He hesitated, then mumbled, "No." As far as I could tell, it had been a very long time since Dan felt the need to lie to me. Why was he doing it now?

"I don't believe you," I said gently.

Pause. "Neither do I." He uncircled his arms from around me and sat up slowly. "I wish ..." he sighed to calm the quiver in his voice, "I wish I always felt this way."

"What way is that?"

I wanted to see his eyes, but he looked away. "Loved," he said. "I think ... I think sometimes you feel more toward ... your victims."

I could not believe what he was saying. "What? You think I love the people I kill more than I love you? God, Dan, where have you been? That's insane," I told him.

"I said you feel more toward them. I know it's not the same love. I just ... I wish I could do that to you." Now he met my eyes. "I used to do that to you."

"I don't know what you're talking about – I don't kill for sex, if that's what you're implying. I have sex to kill."

"Oh please. You think I don't know how much you enjoy what you do? You think I don't know that you were never planning to kill Agent Mulder? You forget that I know you, Darren. You didn't even need him, you just wanted it," he spat out.

"Well where were you all that time? What were you and Agent Scully doing? Hm?"

"Oh, you – you fuck! I can't even tell you what happened there because right now I am having a hard time believing that I was upset over you when she consoled me. You've become so caught up in this life that you can't even remember what it's like to be human, to feel the need for companionship deriving from the constant threat of your own mortality. Take away that threat and you – you go bonkers. Don't you realise that we've had the very essence of life taken away from us? I thought you could handle it, but apparently not." With that, he stormed upstairs.

"Dan, wait," I called. I didn't want a fight like this. He had hurt me with those words, and I realised that words don't hurt unless they're true. It couldn't be – I never meant to neglect him or our relationship. On the surface I always thought I had sex to kill, and enjoyment was a side effect. But it was true that I'd never intended to kill Mulder. I felt awful.

Daniel slammed the door after himself and I stared at it for a while. Then I decided it was best to leave him alone, maybe later he wouldn't feel so vulnerable. I went back downstairs and returned to staring into the fire, now contemplating my past, my present and my overwhelming future. Suddenly there was a sharp knock on the door. I answered, fully expecting to see Agent Mulder, but instead found a man slightly taller than I, with dark green eyes, wearing a black leather jacket. Panting slightly. Holding a gun.

"Do it to me," he rasped.



*Sixteen*


"Excuse me?" I tried to sort through the chaos of his thoughts. Panic. Rage. Anxiety. And some kind of need. But he wasn't serious with the gun. That was a plus. What's he asking for? How does he know about me? Who is this man?

"Now. Do it. Come on, however you do this – I have to get out of here alive."

Then I understood. "Alive? Oh no ... I can't help you there," I told him with a wicked smile.

"Fucking vampire humour," he muttered. "Are you gonna do it or not?"

"Of course not, I don't even know your name yet. Why don't you come in? Would you like some tea?" I escorted him into the living room and poured him some tea. "My name is Darren Hayes. Lemon?"

"Yeah. Please." He eyed me suspiciously, but put down his gun. "I'm Alex Krycek." I peered into his thoughts at the mention of his name – great way to learn about a person, you know. Mindreading can be like falling off a cliff if the person's not thinking about anything in particular. You kind of trip into them. But often, as it was with Alex, it's like diving into a swimming pool. I can't explain much better than that. Anyway, I immediately saw that Krycek was not his real name, but there wasn't much chance of my learning what his real name was. I saw several ranks and titles around him. Comrade ... Officer, perhaps ... Agent. Agent Krycek.

"Are you with the FBI?" I asked.

His eyes widened. "What ... what are you doing? How did you know?"

Half-smile.

"I was. I used to be." Blink.

"Are you a friend of Agent Mulder's?"

"Uh." He genuinely didn't know. What is a friend anyway?

"Sorry. Really. You know him, though."

"Yes. Did you ... I have to ask, did you do something to him?"

"Did I do something to him? Hard to say. Something was done, at any rate."

"What? What happened?"

"He and Agent Scully were here investigating the terribly unfortunate murder of a married couple here recently. I thought they should wait for the rain to let up before they went anywhere. Then ... I couldn't let them go." I sipped the tea I'd poured for myself while I was speaking. It was almost cold. Yech. I concentrated on the teacups for a minute, and they began to steam. That's better. "If you're thinking I turned them into vampires, you should know I did not. But that is what you'd like me to do, isn't it. To you." Sip. "To everyone." He nodded slowly in agreement, and drank his tea. I glanced at his hands for some reason, and noticed that one of them was artificial. I briefly attempted to hack into the file that contained the memory of losing his arm, but it was like trying to crack a safe. A great deal of his memories appeared locked, off limits, or somehow ... as if they'd been planted there in place of ones removed. It was unlike any mind I'd encountered. Full of skeletons. A ghost-filled machine that had been programmed and reprogrammed with very specific orders – what to feel, what not to feel. And something in it was wearing out. Getting sore and tired from not feeling enough, or feeling too much. Even just to look in his eyes was to stare into a hopeless, unreadable green void, an abyss which could be gazed into only if it could gaze also.

"Do you know the potential you hold? The power that's just running through you in your blood?" he asked, a little shaky.

"We are fully aware of what we can do. What we will do." Sip. "When Mulder comes back."

"How do you know he's coming back?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Well, you told him to."

Krycek was obviously at a bit of a loss for words. My talents seem to have that effect on people. I've met some very openminded individuals in my time, but no one – not even Agent Mulder – could seem to entirely believe me, or Daniel. So here was someone who clearly considered himself quite the bad guy, electrified at the thought of power, and yet in witness of my ability, he was ... spooked. It amused me.

At that time there came another knock on the door, and I excused myself ever so politely to answer it. Krycek stood, which seemed a gesture of respect, but which was probably more of a reflex in order to keep an eye on me. I opened the door, and indeed it was our guest of honour, Agent Mulder.

"Tell me what you know," he growled.



*Seventeen*


"Please, come in. I was just getting to know your friend here, Alex ..." I turned to Krycek, "may I call you that?"

"Uh."

"Good." Mulder stepped inside and gave Krycek an indelible look of utter perplexity. It's a shame they can't hear what each other is thinking, I thought.

You bastard. What are you doing here? How could you leave like that? You have everything I've ever wanted. Answers. Maybe you can't find them now, but they're there. The truth is in you. Why can't you help me? Whose side are you on?

I'm so scared. All my life I've been betraying the people I love, and sometimes falling in love with the people I betray. It's just what I do. I haven't had a choice. I don't feel anything anymore. Except with you. I don't know who I am. I don't know how things are going to turn out.

That exchange of expressions struck me. It meant so much, I suddenly felt far too involved. I felt myself being drawn into their minds. The fate of the world was resting on the shoulders of these men, and their emotional instability was alarming. I mean, man, talk about the love that dare not speak its name ...

"Tell me what you know," Mulder repeated, his voice cracking. "What are you?"

Uh-oh. That's it.

That's just it.

The way he said it or something.

Don't know. There was too much going on in too small a space. But something happened that had never happened before. I saw what I was. Vampire. What does that mean. Scare people. Drink blood. It was not so unusual, day to day. It was normal. But not now. Not with all this human emotion and unfiled memory taking up residence in my head, coming from them - god, what is it about them? Why does this mean anything at all to me?

It's because ... because they remind me of me and Daniel.

How is this happening?

That's just it.

The way he said it or something.

What am I?

In an instant, still-motion frames of every person I'd ever killed flashed before my eyes. All the puncture wounds spouting at once. All the bloody kisses. Crushing mouths together. Slicing through skin. Ripping. Draining. Draining. The summit of every extortion wracking me mentally, suddenly a vision that this could be the whole world. The world, a vampire.

"What happened when Scully and I were here before? What happened that night?" Mulder's voice was rough but I was too caught in my vision to realise. I looked at him slowly.

"You know ... all those people you were sent here to interview? They were called here to be abducted, taken aboard an alien ship and given the hybrid gene. Yes, it has been perfected." I told him. "These people are no longer entirely human. It will be some time before they realise the full effects of the gene, before they notice thing like ... cuts healing immediately. Green blood. Superhuman strength. The ability to shape-shift."

"That can't be. Their stories aren't consistent," he argued. "And the implants are different."

"Of course. People remember what they want to remember. Experience mixes with fantasy and sci-fi movies after a point. And wouldn't it be suspicious if all alien abductees, from all corners of the Earth, were given exactly the same implant?" Mulder's jaw was clenched, conveying a fear that he was teetering on the edge of believing me, and that would mean an even heavier emotional weight to bear. "You want to know what happened to you and Scully that night?" He nodded solemnly. "Mulder, have you ... have you cut yourself lately?"

"No!" he screamed. "That's not possible! There's no way I am going to let you tell me my future's been reduced to becoming a slave! Now tell me what I can do!"

"You can do nothing. Your fate is spelled out. Resist or serve - well, you must serve."

Krycek understood all too well. "Oh, god ... It's too late, Mulder." he stated uselessly.

"Fuck you, and your fucking ambiguity! If someone as cowardly as you can resist, so can I. And I can save Scully." He turned to me, his eyes burning into my face. "Do it to me."

"Mulder, you can't! We don't know what that would do to a hybrid!" yelled Krycek. Now he was staring at me too. "You have to help!"

It was so confusing. Yelling out loud, yelling in their minds. I have to do something, but I'm not sure what ... I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Dan. There were no questions - he had seen the visions in my mind, knew I was realising the fate of the world and my own inhumanity. He cleared it all away in one fell swoop. All the death that was in me, all the death in the room, gone. Then everything was quiet and there was no more yelling. And then it was so quiet I could hear everyone breathing. It sounded cold. Cold and blue. And then the room took on a familiar glow, and I realised what was happening.

It was too soon. How could this be? I was still locked in Daniel's gaze, until he pulled me forward into a kiss that froze us. We wandered from mind to mind, felt the fear, but it was all right. There was no one in us but us at this moment.

It's like light years of travel to meet your next door neighbour. You know it's always been you. I love you more than life.

Life does not exist. Saving the world is about being bigger than life. I love you more than love.

Peripherally I was aware that the other two were locked as we were. I wandered into them.

There is nothing to forgive when you were never who you were and you will never be again.

Resistance is the only way to show you I am sorry. I can find your answers. Everything you've ever wanted. The truth.

Truth is beauty, and beauty truth.

But beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

What can I say. I want to behold.

The light glowed more intensely and it became nearly impossible to move, but I had no choice. I grabbed Krycek by the collar of his jacket and pierced the skin of his neck with my teeth. The blue radiated with such severity, I could hear nothing. Nothing. Wait.

"Ohhh ..." Alex grew weak as desire coursed through him. He slumped gently to the floor and I followed, drinking out his blood as he reached for my wrist. He kissed my hand and arched desperately for my mouth, but there was no way I could let him do that now. I pulled my wrist away and tore it open before covering his mouth with it. He was so far gone, I felt sorry for him. He convulsed as he drank, and seemed unable to quiet the cries he continued to emit. I had developed at least some degree of control over such feelings in my experience. I must admit, I was exercising that degree as much as possible. Mulder looked on but remained frozen by the light. I placed my hand on Alex's chest, and knew he had no hope of release until the transformation was complete.

We stayed that way for nine minutes. Changing. Changing the world.



*Eighteen*


It has been so long, and almost no one remembers how things used to be. We have told this story thousands of times, attempting to recapture our past.

There may be a couple hundred members of the Resistance. At the time of this writing, all of us - Darren, Daniel, Fox, Alex, Dana - are existing, and resisting. We have been forced to live in secrecy, for fear of being terminated. The Supernaturals do not take kindly to being used at test subjects, and if that's the way we feel, we are considered useless to the aliens. It all used to be so simple ...

But we have got our knowledge. Our weapon. Even if it appears irretrievable.

We have got our truth.

Our past comes from the ghost of a memory, and we will cherish it as any good ghost should be cherished.



*~ Fin ~*


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