TITLE: World Without End,
Book Three (4/?)
AUTHOR: Rachel Anton
E-MAIL: RAnton1013@aol.com
Once upon a time Scully told me that she yearned for a normal life, that sometimes she wondered what it would be like to settle down, start a family. I think it was just a passing thought for her, though. I think I'm the one who wanted that, deep down inside. What else was my entire life's work about, after all? I wasn't looking for the holy grail. I was looking for my sister, for a family.
What I might not have realized at the time was that I'd found a family in Scully. Found and lost. Now she's getting her normal life, as abnormal as everything else around her has become. The first time she said that, I'd hoped she was talking about us, about settling down with me. Maybe she was, but it doesn't matter now. She's found her domestic bliss with someone else.
I was wrong about Scully. She's not really a different woman than she used to be. She's still the person I fell in love with in all the ways that count, the ways that made her Scully. She'll always be strong, brave, stubborn, infuriatingly logical. The differences come from the experiences she's had without me and in who she's come to love. Changed, yes, but still Scully. She's just not my Scully anymore.
Not my Scully, but very possibly carrying my child.
The cool external calm I managed to maintain when she told me this life-altering news was for my own sake as well as hers. I wanted to be strong, supportive for her, but more than that I feared that if I were to let myself react immediately, instinctually, I would've been reduced to a pile of blubbering, begging mush. There's no way that could have been good for anyone. It certainly wouldn't have convinced her to have this baby. Who wants their child to have an emotional basket case for a father?
Anyway, I wasn't sure what I was feeling. Even now, almost two hours later, I'm still uncertain. I know that my stomach is in upheaval, that I can't enjoy the tasteless mush masquerading as lunch this afternoon even though I was starving when I woke up this morning. All I can seem to do is push the brown and green piles around on the plate and stare out the window of the cafeteria like a disconsolate mental patient.
It's strange to think how circumstances will alter the way an event is viewed, the impact it will have. There was a time when the thought of getting Scully pregnant was about as close to heaven as I dared to dream. In fact, most of the time I wouldn't dare. It seemed not only impossible, but grossly impractical. Had it happened, though, I would have been elated.
Now our situation is altered so drastically that parenting Scully's child is an infidelity, a bastardization of a dream. It should make me want it less. It should, but it doesn't.
A few months ago, I sat in this same spot wondering about my karass- this group of people assembled around me, inextricably connected to me- and what the purpose could possibly be for our connection. Is this it? Is this why we're here? To bring this life into the world?
God, I shouldn't want this. But I do. I really do. As painful as it might be to see her have a child with another man, or to raise my child with him, leaving me as some sort of post-apocalyptic weekend dad, I still want it.
I'm not a fool. I know that no matter who the biological parents are, if Scully has this baby it will be their baby. Yes, if it's mine she will certainly let me be a part of its life, but I know that they're going to have their little family and that I'll always be an outsider. As upsetting as that may be, it doesn't change the fact that I want to see her bringing new life into this dying world. I want another fresh, innocent soul to become part of my karass.
I used to think I'd be a terrible father. Emotionally damaged, impulsive, self-obsessed in the extreme, not to even mention my shady and questionable family background. It seemed wrong, unfair to bring a child into my world.
I told Scully that it was a better time to have a child now. I wasn't just talking about our environment. I like to think that I still have my drive, my intensity, my will to seek out justice and truth, but more than that, I'd like to survive. I'd like to see the human race grow and thrive, rather than wither and die, even though I'm no longer a part of it.
Perhaps if we come out of this alive, all of us, the world will be a better place. Maybe we'll have learned something. Or maybe not. Who really knows? The most important thing for me is that I feel more equipped, more prepared to be a father now than I ever have in my life.
I don't just hope that she has it. I hope that it's mine. Maybe I'm even more selfish than I used to be. I know it would be more difficult for her if it were mine. But I've got so much of myself to give now, so much love going to waste.
It is her decision, though. I've given her my perspective. There's nothing more I can do now, so it's best to just put it out of my head. Best, but probably not possible. Kind of like eating. I give up.
Outside the cafeteria, in the quad, people are sitting on benches, playing with makeshift Frisbees, lying on blankets in the grass, catching a few rays of a rarely seen sun. It is a beautiful day, and the problems plaguing us seem to have been temporarily forgotten in favor of a little fun and frolic.
I wish I could forget. I'd like to frolic.
Maybe one game of Frisbee, to get my mind somewhere else.
Just as I'm beginning to seriously contemplate it, I see him. He's easy to spot in this sea of frivolity. Dressed in black, as always, looking even more sullen than usual, he's headed right for me. For a minute everything and everyone else seems to disappear. Showdown at the O.K. Corral.
I hear Scully talking to me.
//Does he know? Yes, that's partially why I'm telling you. I'd steer clear of him for awhile if I were you. No, I'm not worried about that.
And I'm not. I tried not to take offense at the fact that she thought I'd be afraid of him, that she seemed to think I should be. I never have been before and I see no reason to turn into a coward now.
I have to give him some credit for taking the direct approach. I expected arsenic in my lunch or a prick with a poison pen. Some kind of tricky, nefarious, underhanded response. Something typical of Alex Krycek. I didn't think he'd just come up to me in the light of day and instigate some kind of confrontation. It's actually almost a relief.
He's looking for a reason to hit me. Any reason at all. I can see it in his eyes, in his stance once he's just a few feet away from me. No use putting it off.
"Potatoes are kinda runny today," I tell him, pretending he's headed for the cafeteria when I know that he's here for me. Nothing else, no matter what he might have told himself. I know it because that simple comment is all it takes.
The first punch is a direct hit to the jaw and it sends me reeling backwards with its surprising intensity. I didn't expect him to hit me that hard right away. Or at all, honestly. I expected a little tussle, a fistfight, not a goddamn death match.
"Fucking lying BASTARD!" he hollers, pushing me against the brick wall of the cafeteria.
The next few moments pass in a blur, a flurry of flying fists and the black of my spurting blood blinding my eyes. He hits me with his fake arm and I register somewhere in the back of my head that it packs more of a wallop than his real one. Damn thing must be made of lead. I used to think we'd be an even match if he had both his arms. Now I know the loss is actually his advantage.
I hear him saying things to me, shouting words like "liar," "bastard," "hate." Liar. Over and over again. What the hell is he talking about? That damn truce? Or something else entirely?
This goes back farther, deeper than what's happened with Scully. He does hate me, resent me, probably more than anyone else in the world. For more reasons that I ever realized. His arm, all the time he spent "living with the rats," his whole damn pathetic life, all the problems he's ever had can be traced back to the day he met me, whether or not any of it was actually my fault. It was my fault for being my me to his him. That's how he sees it, and I feel it in every blow he delivers.
Angry, I register through the haze of pain and confusion. He's angry. But more than that, sad. I could swear he looks about ready to cry. Disappointed, betrayed, horrified by his own emotions. And he should be. Alex Krycek's emotions are horrifying. The way he handles them is even worse.
I don't start to fight back until I realize he's probably going to kill me.
*************************
When I regain consciousness, I'm in an unfamiliar place. A bed, but not my room and not the infirmary. There's a black lacy shawl hanging over the window next to me, causing the light to come through in a strange way, creating dancing patterns on the opposite wall. It smells like honeysuckle. I have no idea how I got here.
I close my eyes again, convinced that this is a dream, or the waiting room to get into heaven. Then I feel a cool softness on my forehead. Could it be an angel kissing me?
It's not. It's a washcloth. It's Roseanne cleaning my wounds.
"Don't try to get up," she orders, pushing gently at my chest. Was I trying to get up? God, I'm so confused. I wonder if I've got a concussion.
"Where…what happened?"
When I talk I feel like I've got marbles in my mouth.
"You got your ass kicked," she informs me helpfully.
"No, after that. I…OW!"
Goddammit! What is she doing to me? This is worse than the initial beating.
"Sorry, I've gotta clean out these cuts or you'll get infections."
She's got a bottle in her hand, filled with some noxious fluid that she keeps pouring onto my flesh, right on the spots that hurt the most.
I reach up to scratch an irritating itch on my forehead. She grabs my hand before I can get there.
"Don't scratch at your stitches."
Stitches? Jesus Christ.
"How did…what…"
"Shh, stop talking. You're in my room. I'm fixing you up. You're gonna be fine."
"How did it end?" I finally manage to get out.
"I broke it up."
"You did?"
"Yes, I did. I stepped between you. You were already on the ground so it wasn't hard. All I had to do was remind him the entire place was watching and he stopped."
Why hadn't I thought of that? God knows he wouldn't want Scully finding out about this. Never mind the fact that it will diminish his authority even more for everyone to see him lose control like that.
Bastard went completely apeshit on me. After all those years, all those fights, I never thought he had it in him. Not like that, hand to hand, man to man.
I guess it's not surprising that he's capable, but God, who'd have thought the son of a bitch would fight like that?
"I would've," she answers. Did I say that out loud? "Anyone who fucks like that is bound to fight with the same intensity."
I'd throw up if I had the energy. A wave of nausea rolls through my stomach and my eyes slip shut again.
I dream of being fucked by Alex Krycek and giving birth to twelve little babies that look exactly like him.
*************************
He sleeps for almost four hours. I could leave him. He'd be safe. I know the way his body works. The conversion has left him with a much heartier constitution than your average human man. He sleeps to heal, to rejuvenate. Once he wakes up, his cuts will be scabbed over, his head will feel better, his bones will be repaired. It's really quite remarkable.
Yes, I could leave him, but I don't. I stay and watch him resting peacefully between my sheets, enjoying his company even in slumber.
I probably shouldn't have said what I did about Alex. I forget sometimes what it's like for people when they're in love. I forget sometimes that he loves her.
I used to wish that I could feel that, but seeing what it's done to him, to her, even to Alex, it makes me feel grateful that I've been spared. Still, sometimes when I look at Mulder, I wonder.
When he wakes up, it's dark outside. I've got my reading lamp on and I'm sitting at my desk, trying to concentrate on the ten-year-old copy of the New York Times spread out in front of me. Alex never understood my interest in the library's archive of old magazines and newspapers. "Ancient history," he'd grumble when he'd see me reading. Well, I like history. I don't have any way of learning about mine, so I take what I can get and learn about theirs.
Tonight though, as I said, I've been watching Mulder. I haven't been able to muster up any curiosity about the election of the second to last president of the United States. I know it was Clinton anyway. I'm not totally ignorant.
His eyes flutter open during one of my particularly long staring bouts and he smiles and croaks out a request for water. I hand him the glass sitting next to the lamp. It's full, waiting for him.
"Better?" I ask once he's swallowed the entire contents down. He smiles with clear and lively eyes. He licks some droplets of moisture from his lips.
"Compared to what?"
I laugh and he looks startled at the sound. I guess people don't laugh much anymore.
"What time is it?" he asks, sitting up with no noticeable difficulty. His stitches look ready to come out already.
"Probably about seven."
"Monday, right?"
"Yes, Monday."
He nods, looking relieved to hear that he hasn't been sleeping for days.
I walk over to the bed and sit beside him, check his bandages and stitches. Everything seems to be healing nicely, just as I thought. I probably don't need to be playing nursemaid anymore, but it's nice to sit here in the near-dark touching his face.
Once I'm done with the lingering examination I stop touching him, but I don't move away and neither does he.
There's so much I want to know. Why didn't he fight back? Does he think he deserved what Alex did to him? Did he deserve it? How does he feel about Dana's pregnancy? Does he even know? What's it like to be in love?
"So…what happened?" It's the only way I can ask him anything without giving anything away. I wish I could just know that she told him, but who ever knows with her?
"Well, you said it yourself. I got my ass kicked."
"Yeah, but why? What did you say to him?"
"Say?" he laughs. "It doesn't matter what I said, Roseanne. I didn't need to say anything."
"So he just started beating the crap out of you randomly?"
He scratches his head and looks towards the ceiling.
"N-no, not randomly exactly. There were a lot of reasons. But the main catalyst was the um…Scully's…"
"Pregnancy?" I finish, putting him out of his misery. He looks relieved and that relieves me. He knows already. He was just wondering if I did.
"Yes, the pregnancy. And the…um, circumstances surrounding it."
"You mean the fact that you had sex with Dana?"
His eyes widen in surprise at my frankness. I'm not sure why. We both know what happened. Why dance around it?
"Y-yes, there's that. And the fact that I sort of lied about it."
"You did?"
"Well, I more or less told him it wasn't going to happen, and then it did."
"But if you didn't know it was going to happen, how is that a lie?"
"I didn't know, but I wanted to and I knew that and I didn't care that I was telling him something different because I just hated him."
Well, that still doesn't qualify as a lie in my book, but I guess it wasn't very nice. I can see how he'd feel bad about it. I can't see how it's justification for what Alex did though. Then again, I've never been able to understand the violence people inflict upon each other on a daily basis.
"This wasn't your fault, Mulder."
"I know that," he nods. I wonder if he really does, though. I suppose there's nothing more I can say to convince him.
He runs his fingers through his hair, takes another drink of water, scratches at his stitches and this time I don't stop him. I'm just hoping he doesn't decide he's well enough to leave yet.
"So, um…you and Krycek?" he asks after a lengthy pause in the conversation. Me and Krycek what?
Oh. I guess he's referring to the idiotic comment I made before. Why does he care about that? Why would anyone care about that?
"Oh…yeah. For awhile there we were fucking like bunnies."
He laughs a little nervously, turning an adorable shade of pink. Have I embarrassed him? God, he's so different. Different from any man I've ever known.
"When, um, when was this?"
"Ummm…"
Shit, I can't even remember it was so long ago. There were so many others, before and after. If I told him how many he'd probably be embarrassed for me.
"A long time ago," I settle on. "Before he even brought Dana here."
"So it wasn't when they were together then?"
What is he on drugs? If so, I wish he'd share them with me.
"God, no. I don't think he's been with anyone else since the day she came here. He was committed to her before they even got together. I really think if it hadn't been for him she would have…I don't even know what."
"She told me he saved her. That's a lot for her to say."
"Yeah, he really did. She was in a bad way. He used to tell me about it sometimes, ask me for advice about how to handle it, which was weird in itself. He'd never asked for my help with anything before. But then when Bryan told me he saw Alex combing her hair…well I knew he'd really fallen for her hard. I thought, Alex Krycek? Combing someone's hair?"
Oh shit. I'm doing it again. He doesn't wanna hear about this stupid stuff. Why can't I just shut up already?
"I…I'm sorry. I shouldn't talk about this stuff. I'm sorry."
He waves his hand across his face and shakes his head.
"No, no. It's okay. It really is."
He really does look okay. Thank God. Still, this probably isn't the best topic for future discussion with him. How much of a moron am I anyway? He's finally having a real conversation with me and I keep dumping this crap on him.
"So what…what about you?" he asks.
"What about me?"
"Um, nothing really. I was just wondering…if you were um…."
"What? Do I long for him? Lie awake nights wondering why her and not me?"
"Well, I wouldn't put it that way but…"
He trails off and I just laugh. I guess it's an understandable question coming from someone who doesn't know me all that well, someone who wasn't here at the time. Still, it makes me laugh.
"No. It was just sex, Mulder. I didn't love him. He didn't even like me."
"Oh, I see."
I can't tell if he's disappointed or relieved that I'm not torn apart by jealousy and bitterness. I think he's glad, but it's so hard to tell with his deadpan expression.
"Do you…um, do you feel things like that?" he asks carefully.
"Like what? Jealousy?"
Or are you talking about love, Mulder?
"Yeah," he nods. "Jealousy, anger, those kind of things."
"Sometimes I do. I didn't used to, but I think I've learned them."
"Like Spock," he smiles. I don't know what the hell he's talking about, but I smile and nod anyway.
"Do you think she's gonna have it, Mulder?" I can't resist asking, taking advantage of the fact that he's here, that he's talking.
He ponders the question for a minute, looks out the window and then back at me. I wonder if he wants her to have it, if he wants it to be his. I wonder if he'd like to be a father.
"I'm not really sure. She seemed pretty confused when I talked to her," he says. I suppose confusion is a good sign. At least she's thinking about it.
"But did you get a sense either way from her? Did she seem to be leaning more towards keeping it than she was before?"
"I really don't know, Roseanne. Why are you so concerned about it?"
A very good question. One which I don't have much of an answer for.
"I don't know, Mulder. I honestly have no idea why I care, but I do. I can't stop thinking about it. I just feel like if she doesn't have it…"
What do I think is going to happen if she doesn't have it? Will the world end? Didn't that happen already?
It's so peculiar for me, the entire concept of babies. I haven't been around them much and never having been one myself, they've always seemed almost like little mutants to me. The prospect of having one around should be disconcerting to me if anything. But it's not.
"I dunno, I just want her to have it. I'm afraid to even talk to her about it because I feel so strongly and I'm afraid I'll say the wrong thing."
"Well, I'm sure she'll make the right decision. She always does."
Oh, I'm not so sure about that. Not sure at all.
"Mulder, do you think everything's gonna be all right?"
"Define everything."
"I'm scared," I tell him. I don't know why I tell him. I just do. "I've never been scared in my entire existence, but lately I've been really really scared. What do you think is gonna happen to us all?"
"I…I don't know, Roseanne. I wish I had something reassuring to say, but I really don't know what's going to happen anymore."
"I know," I sigh, cursing myself yet again for asking him to give me something impossible. "I'm sorry."
"No, don't be sorry. It's normal to be scared. I'm scared too. We're all scared."
"I've never felt like this before though, Mulder."
"What do you mean?"
He turns towards me, curiosity glimmering in his eyes.
"Do you have a feeling something bad is gonna happen? Some kind of premonition?"
"No, no nothing like that. I just…I guess I just never cared much before. I've always had kind of a blasé attitude about everything, but lately…I dunno, things just seem more real to me."
He startles me by covering my hand with his own, by looking deep into my eyes and smiling softly. My stomach does a crazy flip-flop.
"Maybe you're just becoming more human and less clone. Maybe we're rubbing off on you."
He rubs his palm against my knuckles to emphasize his words. Rubbing off on me. Maybe you are, Mulder. Maybe you are.
End Chapter Four
Continued in Chapter Five
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