Deus Ex Memoria (God is in the Memories) or Crazy Game -- Author's Note: I don't think anyone really cares at this point, but just about everyone in this story belongs to Chris Carter or 1013 Productions or anyone but me. So, take as you will. I certainly don't want them. I always do a bit of hyperventilating when I get to the topic of X-Files. I have a deeply ingrained loathing of the show, for a number of reasons I won't get into in the author's note of a fanfic about the show. Silly, isn't it? I don't really mind the characters, though. It's like Ebert said about the characters in Home Fries. I wish I could beam them up into a different movie. So... ta-daa. This is a fanfic written because someone else did a really, really, really, really bad job at a similar idea. I don't feel too bad for stealing it and trying to make it better, because I changed the premise enough that I think it stands well on its own. I don't remember what the original story is called, anyway. And honestly, I probably wouldn't apologize if I did know. Mostly because even though I have no idea about self-mutilation, I have a better idea than the person who wrote that thing did. If Stiletto is plausible to even one member of my audience, I'm happy. Anyway. Back to the self-gratification. I'd like to thank WS2, without whom there would be no X-Files fanfic from me. Of course, now she's trying to make me watch West Wing. Not that I'd mind watching West Wing. It's just too much effort to go find tapes of it, that's all. I'd also like to thank Patrick, for dealing with me and for not twitching too much when I mention X-Files fanfic, and everyone else online for talking with me and not twitching too much when I... yeah. Thanks, guys. As always, email is appreciated at aris@sandwich.net. Enjoy. -- An innocent conversation suddenly takes a turn for the serious. Cigarette ash tumbles to the floor as a question is posed, rhetorical, but quickly becoming real and dangerous. A photon of light, speeding along at three hundred million meters every second, numbly follows a course that will lead it into collision with a hydrogen atom. A coin, resting on someone's thumb and forefinger, gets flicked lazily into the air. It twists, letting the probabilities of its fall work upon it. Every time a decision is made--X or Y, up or down, heads or tails--the infinite realm of possibilities that forms reality is reformed, and the universe collapses to a straight line. The question is repeated, some time later, more insistiently. This time, it is no longer rhetorical. The photon intersects the arc of the single electron, smashing into it with tremendous force. The coin sails toward the apex of its flight, and comes tumbling toward the ground, revolving around its axis. And every time a decision is made--X or Y, up or down, heads or tails--the infinite splits into a million different branches, splintering reality into a spiderweb of possibilities. The man hesitates. The electron spins sideways. The coin lands on its edge. -- It was a normal, grey day at Phyllis K. Doan Sanatarium. The rec room was empty, or nearly so, as Dana picked a bench and sat down with a book. The book was new; it was a gift from her sister, as a sort of consolation prize for not getting a visit. Dana stopped herself from getting angry with practiced concentration. Her family didn't understand her; she'd realized that long ago. It wasn't Missy's fault that the first time in a year she'd come back home from California her family decided to pull the wool over its little black sheep. Dana shifted uneasily in her rough outfit--neutral slacks and shirt, a calming color designed to soothe away any violent feelings--and stared at the cover. 'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance' it proclaimed in big black letters on a purple field. No time to tell Missy she'd already read it; no time to tell Missy much of anything anymore. She closed her eyes and wished, not for the first time, that her dreams would either go away or have the decency of coming true; that either she'd be normal and be let out to lead a normal life, or that she'd actually somehow *become* Special Agent Dana Scully, the woman who she sometimes thought she was. That's what had thrown her off, at first. The confusion. Waking up not knowing who she really was. Not knowing if she was supposed to be a Federal Agent or just a normal person. But the dreams were just that: dreams. Visions. Things that hit her sometimes when she was walking around. What her psychiatrist called subconscious constructs and normal people called delusions. There was no such person as Special Agent Dana Scully, there was no special section of the FBI for alien abductions, and there was no reprieve for people like patient ID #112773 Dana Scully, certified delusional maniac. Dana looked up from her book, and her breath froze in her throat. It was *him*. The rec room had wide windows looking out on the nurses stations and the main hallway. It was designed that way so the nurses could keep an eye on anyone in the rec room, in case the nurse on duty needed a hand with a patient. It was all very clerical, and most of the women in the facility tended to forget about the windows even existing. But they were clear enough that Dana could make out the features of the man signing in at the guest register. Carefully she pushed herself to unsteady feet, leaving the book on the bench. It would probably be shoved on the communual bookshelf by one of the nurses, but she didn't care. She was already at the doorway to the hall, watching as the man was led back into the personal rooms. The on-duty nurse looked up. "Where are you going, Dana?" Dana looked back for a fraction of an instant. "My room," she said shortly, and turned down the hall after *him.* He noticed her following after a few seconds, of course, and after glancing back a few times leaned over to ask his guide something. The nurse looked back, startled, and smiled at Dana before answering his question in low tones. Dana could imagine what the nurse was saying. It would be something like, "Oh, that's Dana Scully. She's one of the odd ones. Delusional, but she's harmless. Don't worry." "Don't worry" was a big thing among the staff. "Don't worry," when Lisa decided to snap and attack the windows, "They're plate glass and she can't get through," moments before she knocked herself silly on them. Halfway down the hall, and her room was fast approaching. She paused, hesitating between keeping up the charade and following the man further. He solved her dilemma, in part, by turning around and catching her staring. She bit her lip, but stepped forward anyway. "You're Fox Mulder," she said. It wasn't really a question. His eyes widened, but he nodded. "Yeah, I am. Do I know you?" She wanted to yell at him - Of course, I've been your partner for years - but she shook it off. No, that wasn't real. Not here, not now, not really. "I... not really. What are you doing here?" She realized after she said it what an impertinent question it was. Here, *he* didn't know who she was. And she didn't really know who he was, either. He could be someone completely different than the man in her dreams. Visions. Whatever. His jaw tightened, but he answered anyway. "I'm visiting my sister." Dana stared. "Your sister?" Her hands trembled, and she remembered the nurses bringing in the transfer, just a few days ago: 'This is Samantha, everyone, and she's going to be living here' - "Her? *She's* your sister?" Mulder backed away from her a little warily. The nurse smiled at him. "Don't worry, Agent Mulder," she said comfortingly. Dana found it hard to breathe again. He *was* a Federal Agent, then. It wasn't all just nonsense. "Dana, why don't you go back to your room?" Scully pulled herself up and gave Mulder her best Look. "We need to talk," she said, hoping her partner would get the hint. She took another step down the hallway, then remembered that it wasn't real. Well, she needed to go this way anyway, to get to her room. She reached her room, leaving the door open an inviting inch, then collapsed on her bed, shaking. This wasn't supposed to happen. Her dreams weren't supposed to be edging into reality like this. That's why they'd locked her up, right? So that she could learn how to keep delusion and reality separate? Having Mulder show up certainly wasn't helping. She sat there shivering for half an hour, giving halfhearted replies when the nurse came over to ask how she was. As the sunlight slowly started draining from her empty room, she became more and more certain that Mulder was just going to leave without wasting the time to talk with her. Then the door creaked open another couple inches. Dana looked up, startled to see Mulder pushing it open, his nurse and guide watching him from across the hall. She stood, backing away slightly. Whatever else, he had an intimidating physical presence, especially to someone barely over five feet tall. "You said you wanted to talk to me?" he said, once he was inside. The door remained open, the nurse watching but unobtrusive. Dana nodded, suddenly unsure. What do you say to the man that you've trusted your life to, multiple times... but only in someone else's life? "I... look, you're going to think I'm-" She couldn't stop herself from laughing. He stared at her, as if he was going to bolt out the door again, and she put up a hand. "No... wait... sorry, I was going to say, you're going to think I'm crazy, but of *course* you think I'm crazy. That's why I'm here." He sighed. "Well. Crazy or not, you sure seemed like you wanted to talk to me." "Yes. Yes, I do." She looked at him, trying to figure out how to explain. With her partner, she'd know what to say, but she wasn't sure that this man was the same type of person. "I... I know you." "How?" He frowned, flicking out a hand. "I mean, I can think of several ways you could have learned my name, but..." "I have... dreams. Delusions, whatever. You're in them." He looked incredulous, but she pushed on. "It's like I'm someone else, with my name, but I work in the FBI. I finished med school, joined up, and was assigned to work with you." Mulder narrowed dark eyes. "I work at the FBI, but I don't have a partner right now. I'm working-" he cut off, as if unsure he should go on, but shrugged and continued, "I'm working in the Violent Crimes department, under Tom Colton." "Colton?!" she yelped, surprised. "That asshole?" That startled him into laughter. "I wouldn't describe him that way," he said. She shook her head. "Well, you didn't go through the Academy with him. He's a brown-nosing creep. The only reason I didn't see it before that Tooms case was because he was so charming at the same time." He was staring at her, and she closed her mouth with a snap. Oh, God, it happened again. She'd forgotten what reality was real, and spoken too quickly. But Mulder didn't rebuke her, only frowned and asked, "Tooms case?" She nodded, hesitantly. "Yeah... Eugene Victor Tooms. It was... well, I *remember* that it was... um. In the dream, anyway. A case in ninedy-three involving a series of locked-room murders. Colton asked... well, I *remember* he asked me to work with it on him, and to invite... well, he *let* me... I mean..." she shook her head, not sure how to go on. "Look. Just tell me this as if it's all real, okay?" His voice was gentle, understanding. She wondered if the nurses had lectured him on it. Taking a deep breath, she nodded. "All right. Colton wasn't happy about working with you, because you'd picked up a reputation for odd theories and ... well, you came along, and found some fingerprints that connected with an X-file that you-" Mulder held up a hand, like a student waiting to be called on. "Ex... file?" Scully swallowed, hard. "You mean..." She shook her head. "Of course. If Samantha..." "What about my sister?" he asked tightly. She watched him, trying to gague his expression. He'd gone completely blank, self-contained. She'd seen that look on his face before, whenever he was reminded of his sister, but never with this angry light in his eyes. Sighing, she decided to go for broke. "Look... do you believe in the existence of... of extra- terrestrials?" Mulder stared at her, then started chuckling. He stopped when he realized she was serious. "Well... logically, no," he replied. "I mean, the distances between star systems aside, there's no real evidence to suggest that we've been 'visited'." He paused, then looked strangely at her. "You're smiling." Dana realized she was, and had to laugh. "It's just that... that's the same thing I said to *you* when *you* posed the question to *me.*" "But I never..." he grinned at himself. "Oh, right. Your 'dreams' or whatever." The grin faded. "So why did you mention Samantha?" "Because..." She swallowed, hard. "Because from what I keep... seeing, Samantha was abducted by aliens when she was eight. You spent the rest of your life searching for her. When you joined the FBI, you got involved with the X-files... investigations into paranormal phenomena. I was sent to debunk your work, but you convinced me instead... and we managed to uncover something. Something big." "A conspiracy to take over the world?" he asked jokingly. She shook her head. "To betray the human race to the aliens." He stared at her, and for one fleeting instant she thought he believed her. Then he glanced at the window and back, and she saw that his mind was closed. "It's late, and I need to be getting home. It's been an interesting conversation... Dana." "Scully," she corrected him. When he raised an eyebrow, she sighed. "It just sounds... more familiar, that's all." "Okay, Scully, then. I guess I'll see you around." With that, he turned and left, taking everything real in the room with him. Dana closed the door after him, to shut out the prying eyes of the nurses and the other wards. Then she carefully sat down on her bed and stared at the opposite wall for a long time. -- Mulder found himself staring at his work the next day and not registering it. It wasn't that he wasn't interested, it was more like half his brain had taken leave of its senses and was thinking about that... woman. That Dana Scully. The problem was, he thought as he put down the file and stared at the wall, that he was starting to believe her. What if her insanity really was some psychic gift of seeing other realities? What if she really was somehow connected to this other reality? No, Mulder, the other and more rational half of his mind said, you're not *starting* to belive her, you *want* to believe her. You want to believe that in some other reality, you live a life of adventure and mystery. You want to believe that you're not stuck under Tom Colton, the boss from hell, working on whatever cases he wants to shovel you. Head in the clouds again, Fox? Watched a little too much Star Trek, Fox? Shut up, he told that half of his mind, picking up the case file again. No, no, I know what you *really* want, the voice started again. You want to get rid of your sister. You want her to be abducted by aliens, because then you wouldn't have to face her being in that mental hospital for the rest of her life. He closed his eyes, trying desperately to calm down. That's not true, he thought, that's not true. I just want her well again. That's all. No, you'd rather have her be on some spaceship getting an anal probe, because then you could feel like your life amounts to something while you search for her. You'd rather have her in the hands of some shadowy government agency getting taken apart like a lab rat, because it would give focus to your purile, petty, *meaningless*-- "Getting anywhere on that profile, Mulder?" Colton's voice broke into his thoughts. Mulder looked up to catch his supervisor in the doorway, smirking at him. "Or were you just going to take the paper apart and put it together again?" Mulder looked down to see his hands curled around the now-wrinkled printout. A little self-consciously, he put the file on his desk and smoothed it out. "I'm working on it," he muttered. "Well *get* working, then. We have to make our report nine am *tomorrow.*" Colton gave him a scowl, then turned to leave. "Hey," Mulder said, then regretted it as Colton turned his hawkish gaze back on him. He swallowed, then continued, "Have you ever heard the name Eugene Victor Tooms?" Colton frowned. "How the hell should I-" He paused, then thoughtfully continued, "I... hmm. I might have. It sounds familiar for some reason." Mulder stared at him, then said, shakily, "Nineteen ninedy... three. Some serial murderer? Locked-room?" "Oh, *that* thing." Colton's scowl was back, darker than ever. "Yeah, I remember now. Tooms was the first suspect we caught, but he passed inspection and we let him go. Thank you *so* much for reminding me of the biggest unsolved case of my career." He gave Mulder one more glare for good measure, then left. Mulder stared at the file on his desk, but inside he was shaking. It couldn't be true. It had to be coincidence. Some random juxtaposition of names. Something. Anything. Anything. A few minutes later he picked up the phone and dialed. Ring. Ring. Click. "K. Doan Sanatarium, Lindsey speaking." "Hi, this is Fox Mulder. I'd like to make another visiting appointment." "Your sister's visiting hours are up this week, Mr. Mulder. Can I suggest-" "Not her. Her neighbor. Dana Scully." -- "Tell me more about this 'Tooms' character." Dana frowned at her visitor as they walked the grounds, carefully watched at all times by the staff. "That's not so important. I mean, we solved the case." He shook his head. "We didn't. And neither did Colton, from the reaction I got out of him." She snorted. "I don't doubt it. He never was the most open-minded of people, and he cared more about his career than actually solving the case." She sifted through the memories, actively trying to remember this time rather than blotting them out. "You found a fingerprint on a vent that no normal human could get through... a fingerprint that had been stretched nearly double. One that matched prints taken from a series of similar killings thirty years in the past, then thirty years before that." He snorted. "You're trying to sell me a story about an immortal killer?" "No. I'm trying to sell you *your* theory that Tooms was a genetic mutant who snacked on people's livers in order to hibernate for thirty years at a time. And that he managed to get into and out of places normal humans couldn't because he could somehow stretch himself to contort through ventilation shafts and chimneys." Mulder was looking slightly ill. "You didn't mention the livers part." She shrugged. "You didn't ask." He sighed. "You'll excuse me if I find this a *little* hard to swallow." "Well, you can look it up," she snapped, annoyed. That was unfair. He'd come back to see *her*, after all. He thought about it for a moment, anyway. "I could. Though knowing Colton, he probably buried it as deep as it could go to keep it from showing on his record." He smiled, and she had to smile with him. It was catching. "Where are these X- files kept, anyway?" "In the basement, in your office," she replied immediately, then sighed and rolled her eyes. "Sorry. Not your office. In a basement room, down the hall on the right from the elevator." "I work in the basement?" He seemed amused, rather than angry. "Well, that's one place to get away from it all." "You don't really believe me, do you?" she asked, suddenly afraid. "You're just humoring me." Mulder was quiet for a long time, long enough to worry that she'd offended him or somehow made him angry. But he only said, "I don't know. What you said about Colton... part of that was true. What you said about Tooms... part of that was true. I guess it might have been true, if things had gone differently." Dana let go of a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding. "All right. So I'm not entirely crazy." "Not entirely." They walked for a few more paces in quiet. "So tell me about another case 'we' solved." She laughed under her breath and sorted through the memories--memories? Visions? She wasn't sure what to call them any more. "Well..." She paused, suddenly struck by a thought. "Something wrong?" "I was just thinking... it's strange, but most of the *interesting* cases, we never really solved." He looked at her, seeming to see through her with his wide, dark eyes. She knew it was a trick of the light that made them change color like that... "What do you mean?" "Well... okay, once we were investigating a guy who had murdered his entire family, and assaulted a couple cops, because he thought they were all some Nazi war criminal. It wasn't just that his mind was twisted, his *vision* actually changed until he thought he was getting revenge on some murderer that wouldn't die." Mulder nodded, slowly. She continued, "Well, what we found was some transmitter that had been hooked up to the cable TV networks, that was... I don't know, using subliminals to make people think that reality... wasn't." A pause. "Is this making sense?" "Sort of." "And the same people who were doing this were part of that conspiracy." He winced, openly. "That again." He turned to her, hazel-green eyes flickering in the light, pain, anger, bitterness. "You're so sure of this?" She swallowed, said softly, "You were." "Why? For God's sake--" "Because they took your sister." She met his eyes, trembling. "And it was supposed to be you." It was a long time before he looked away and Dana could breathe again. "All right. So you have a lot of stories. Where's your proof?" Dana gritted her teeth. "Mulder, I've been in a mental hospital for the past nine years." She sighed and shook her head. "I'd suggest that you ask your father, if he was still alive--" "What?" He turned to her, eyebrows knitted in confusion. "He's not dead." "He's..." She stared at him, the thought dawning. "Of course. If... if everything hadn't..." "Now what does my father have to do with any of this?" Mulder asked, stepping closer to her. Scully closed her eyes. She hadn't realized how intimidating her partner could be, when he chose, and when he was angry at her... and what presence he had, standing next to her, so close... "Visiting hours are over, Agent Mulder." Dana opened her eyes, caught Mulder nodding at the nurse. "It's been an... interesting discussion, Dana," he said. She closed her eyes again and wished it would all go away. -- What do you ask a man who might, in the dreams and ravings of a madwoman, be involved in the greatest conspiracy ever constructed? What do you ask that man if he's your own father? Those two questions raced around inside Mulder's skull as he drove home from PKD Sanitarium. They weren't, he reflected, questions that normal people had to think about. They were questions for paranoid delusional maniacs, the people who went through a lot of trouble to prove alien involvment in the planning of Los Angeles' major sports arenas because they all lie on the same 34.1-degrees-from- north line. Which is, as everyone knows, Los Angeles' north latitude. Mulder shook his head. The agent who'd given him that argument--he couldn't even remember the guy's name, Spencer or Suspender or something--was crazy. But Mulder didn't feel himself falling into that kind of thinking. So why was he asking himself those kinds of paranoid, delusional questions? Because you're falling for that paranoid, delusional redhead. Next question? He hit the blinkers, mind still on autopilot, then coasted into the turnoff lane. He barely glanced at the sign as he arrowed his car down the familiar streets. Home. God, what a dreary thought. He hadn't been back in years. After his mother had died, and Samantha had... cracked, there hadn't been anything there for him. Just homework, and interminable visits by one of dad's old friends, a man whose face in Mulder's memory was always blurred by cigarette smoke. Aliens. Now there's a thought for you. Dad's old fishing buddies are really government or ultra-government workers who want to betray us to aliens. How could he put any credence in this at all? It was like that stupid movie with the guy and the plant from outer space. Kid's fare. Roger Corman movies. Aliens and vampires and werewolves, oh my. He used to love that stuff as a kid, but he'd grown out of that phase, thank God. Normal, sane, *rational* people didn't go and accuse their parents of being part of some massive worldwide conspiracy. Or watch Roger Corman movies, for that matter. Aliens. Nonsense. He'd go home, talk to his father, catch up on old times, and say, "Hey, I met this crazy woman over at Samantha's care facility..." and then he'd tell his dad what Dana had said, and they'd both have a good laugh about it. Sure. If he could talk to the man. He stopped the car in the driveway, stayed there for a moment with his hands on the wheel. After a few seconds, he consciously realized that his breathing was labored, his knuckles turning white. "Home sweet home," he muttered, then stepped out of the car. Up the driveway, past the rotting picket fence, up to the front door with its cracked and peeling outer coat of white paint. When was the last time he'd been home? Months, he was sure, if not longer. He'd spent most of his free time recently at work. Vacation just hadn't been an option. Of course, maybe if he'd spent his free time bonding with his father instead of with his porn pile, he'd be able to bring up this whole sorry mess better... Grimacing, he slammed his fist into the doorframe. Then he pulled his hand back and rapped gently on the peeling white paint. The door opened. Mulder watched the crack widen, stared his father in the eye for the first time in a year. "Hi, dad," he said. "Son," his father said, pulling the door back. "What brings you here?" "I just..." Mulder shook his head. "Can I come in? I just talked to someone who said..." He watched as his father's eyes crinkled at the corners, then blurted, "What do you know about aliens?" Mulder had been working in the FBI for a long time, and he recognized the guilty flash on his father's face before the old man tried to laugh the comment off. "Son, I don't know who you've been talking to down there, but--" "It's true, isn't it," Mulder said, stepping forward and pushing the door open. His father stepped back into the foyer, stumbling slightly. "That whole story. Sacrificing people so that we can live through some kind of... of what, invasion? What's going on?" His father's face spasmed, turned away. "I... son..." "It's *true?*" Mulder couldn't keep the incredulity out of his voice. "God, dad... what have you been dealing with?" His father had slumped against the wall, wrapped around himself. After a few long breaths he straightened, turned down the hallway. "I don't know how you found out," he said. "But there has been... you don't understand everything we've been trying to do." "I don't understand anything." Mulder pointed back at the door. "I've just come from a conversation with a mental patient who said she can see into an alternate reality. She says she was working with me in the FBI, and we're uncovering all this stuff, stuff you're involved in, stuff about turning the human race over to the aliens. Dad, she said that they took Samantha." He couldn't breathe. Everything was happening too fast and he couldn't breathe. "She said they took Samantha, and they were supposed to take me." "It would have been easier." His father turned, met his eyes. "It would have been so much easier... but I didn't have the heart. I hesitated. I shouldn't have hesitated." "Dad..." Mulder drew a shaky breath, another. "What happened to mom?" His father looked away, then looked back and took his arm. "Come on. I'll tell you. Everything." -- "Moving day, Dana!" This altogether too perky announcement greeted Dana Scully as she opened her door to the sight of several hospital faculty carrying empty cardboard boxes. She looked down at the box shoved into her hands with bemusement. "What..." "You're being transferred to another facility, dear. Nothing to be worried about; we're just getting another influx of patients and you've been cleared for transfer." "By who?" Dana asked as one of the doctors began piling khaki pants into one of the boxes. "Oh, don't worry. It's all cleared with Dr. Thomas. Now, what personal things do you want to take?" "I'll pack it myself, thanks," Dana said, retrieving one of her family photographs from the overly helpful nurse. "Where am I being transferred to, again?" "Another care facility. Don't worry, your family will be notified of your location." None of her questions got any better replies. Finally she threw up her hands in exasperation and helped the nurses to stuff her meanger belongings into four small boxes. They, and she, were loaded into the back of a minivan with tinted windows and driven out of the gated community into the unfamiliar city streats. The driver didn't invite conversation, and Dana was too far back in the van to give it a good effort. She sat, arms crossed over her stomach, feeling the pitch and sway of the road as she was pulled further and further from the only home she'd known for the past nine years. Finally, the van slowed to a halt, tires creaking on what sounded like a gravel driveway. A moment passed as the driver's window rolled down and the driver conferred with someone outside. The van's door slid open. Dana craned her head to see outside. Agent Mulder was standing there, a grin on his face. "Hey, Dana," he said. "Have a nice ride?" -- "What is this place?" Mulder looked around, taking in the courtyard, the trees, the tiny lake and stream. "Just a safehouse," he said. "Sort of a boarding house for people tied in with the project." Scully shook her head and turned away from him. "You mean the conspiracy, right?" "Well..." She looked back, a frightened look in her eyes. "They got to you. Mulder, they--" "You're the one who told me to ask my father," he said. "Well, I asked him. I talked with him. Dana, you only got half of the story. You don't understand anything." "But..." She was shaking her head, eyes focused on nothing. "But he was trying to get out. He was killed because he wanted out, and he was telling you--" Mulder sighed and rested his hand on her shoulder. She looked up and met his eyes, and he gave her a reassuring smile. "Why should he want out?" he asked. Dana stared, incredulous. He tried to explain. "Look, you only had half the story. You only saw the bad stuff. These people... they're trying to save the human race." "Trying to--" "They've already developed a vaccine for the Purity virus," he said. God, if she could only *see!* "With all we've learned about them, we can actually survive when the invasion comes!" "In the immortal words of Patrick Henry," Scully replied tightly, "'Give me liberty, or give me death.'" "How can you be so short-sighted?" She said nothing, just stared at him, accusation writ upon her face. He grimaced and turned away, looking around the courtyard. There was a bench behind them, in the shade of a leafless maple tree. He stepped back and sat down, Dana following his lead a moment later. "Look," he said, calmer now. "We have two choices. Fight, and the human race gets wiped out, or comply, and we survive. I don't see how the complete extinction of humanity is any advanage." "My God," she said. "I don't believe I'm hearing this. Not from you." "Here." Mulder reached out, took her hand. "You don't have to worry about any of this, all right? At least, not right now. I've set you up with a room, so you don't have to stay in that hospital. After all," and he attempted a grin, "We know you're not crazy... right?" She smiled, slightly. "I guess." "Good," he said, then leaned forward and kissed her. He didn't know what to expect from her--a right hook, perhaps--but after a moment of shock she closed her eyes and relaxed against him for a few seconds. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, she gasped and backed away. "Mulder, I--" "You were, just a second ago," he said with feigned injury and more than a little amusement. She stared at him, a look of betrayal on her face. He sighed and pointed at the building behind her. "Here. I'll show you where your room is." -- He was not the Agent Mulder she remembered. Though, Dana admitted to herself as she lay curled up on the bed in her new room, she wasn't exactly the Dana Scully she remembered, either. Special Agent Dana Scully wouldn't have taken this... behavior. She would have... she would have... Dana groaned and buried her head in her pillow. It was no use. It was like playing a futile game of What Would Jesus Do, something she'd given up about the same time she'd lost her faith. Special Agent Dana Scully had never really lost her faith. Sure, she'd drifted away from the Church a couple times, but she'd never known the heart-stopping, suffocating knowledge that God had stopped listening that Dana had felt on the day she'd first been locked into her room at PKD Sanatarium. Dana sighed, pushed her hair behind her ears, and sat up on the bed. The room she'd been given was spartan, to say the least. Slate grey walls and a gray-teal carpet, lit by a floor lamp in the opposite corner from the bed. The door was next to the footboard, a black rectangle in the otherwise featureless wall. It was larger than her old room, she mused, the security cameras were better hidden, and it had its own walk-in closet. Not that she had enough clothes for a walk-in closet. Or a normal closet, for that matter. But as far as furnishings went, the place was a little depressing. And it was Fox Mulder who'd given it to her. A Fox Mulder who was now working for the other side. It was enough to drive an otherwise normal, insane girl to screaming hysterics. Dana didn't feel like giving her captors the satisfaction, so she decided to do something constructive and search out some food. Standing up, she flipped her hair behind her shoulders and started for the door. Agent Scully had short hair; Dana had tried cutting hers to the same length, once, in medical school. Disaster. The resulting week was the main reason she'd been sentenced to PKD. Hand on the door, turn the handle. Locked. She sighed, returned to her bed and stared at the wall. Maybe her motions had been recorded on camera, and someone would be sent down to check what she wanted. Maybe they were going to put extra security measures on her because she wasn't content to stare at the walls all day. Or maybe they'd just ignore her, which was the most likely scenario. Someone knocked on the door. Before she could do much more than react, it opened, revealing Mulder standing in the doorway with a square wax-paper package in his hand. "Hey. Sorry for running off like that; meetings are hell no matter what side of the great conspiracy you're on." He grinned like it was a joke and held out the package. "I got you a sandwich." "Thanks," she said as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. She stood up, since it seemed like the thing to do. He smiled, and she had to smile back at him. He really did have an endearing smile... He wasn't the Agent Mulder she remembered. Too many shocks in a short time. She was shaking. She *was* insane, she was having a fit. It was all just a dream... she collapsed back on the bed, only peripherally aware of the man beside her, his arms around her, of burying her face in his chest. "Hey, it's all right," her partner said. "It'll be all right." Of course it would. When had it ever not been? He wasn't the Agent Mulder she remembered. "I-I'm sorry," she choked out. She was crying. God, everything was so confusing, and now she was going into hysterics. "I can't... I can't keep it straight..." "Don't worry. I'm not going to abandon you here, Dana..." He was so close. His hands were on her back, stroking her hair. His breath was warm, and he was holding her so close. She trusted him. Everything else was so big, so frightening, and she trusted him. He wasn't the same person. But she trusted him... -- 'I am Special Agent Dana Scully. I work at the FBI, I have a partner by the name of Mulder, and we've found out some stuff about our government that's pretty disturbing. I am me. Myself. I.' Scully looked around, wondering why she felt the need to preface her dream with a statement of identity. She was in a hallway, puce floor and mirrors covering both walls. There was some kind of mist obscuring her vision as she looked down the hallway to either side, but the mirrors seemed to continue forever. She took a look at her reflection, absently twitched a piece of hair behind her ear. Apparently her dream-self had already dressed and prepared for work. She took a step back and regarded her mirror image, smoothing the front of her blazer. Her mirror image put her hands in her pockets. Scully stepped back, holding her hands up. Her reflection didn't react. She stepped back again and ran into the opposite wall. Whirling around, she tried to make out her reflection. This time her reflected self wasn't even wearing the same clothes - she was in surgeon's scrubs, staring at the mirror with a weary expression on her face. Dana moved down the hall, peering into the next segment of mirror. Another warped reflection, herself in a threadbare suit, a briefcase in one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other... and a lectern behind her? She moved on to the next image, then the next. Images, some similar to her own appearance, some wildly different. Herself dressed like a fashion model? A ballet dancer? A TV repairwoman? The hall seemed to go on forever, which was perfectly normal for a dream hallway. She resigned herself to watching alternate images of herself all night--until up ahead, another Dana Scully stepped out of her mirror. Dana stared at her double. She herself had just cut her hair shorter, but this woman had hair down to the middle of her back. She was wearing khakis and a blouse in matching tan, worn jogging shoes on her feet. After a few seconds looking at the mirrors around her, she turned around and saw Scully. It was like looking in a mirror... only this mirror had a hesitancy in her features, nervous tics and worry lines that Dana had never found on her own face. It hurt to watch, almost. She wondered what had happened... who this other woman was. "Oh, my God," the other Dana said, "You're... you're her, aren't you." Dana frowned in confusion. "Me?" "You're the one whose memories I have." She put her hands to her head and stared, shock written on her features. "My God... I'm remembering this. I'm seeing it. I remember..." "My memories? Wait. I don't understand." The other Dana stumbled, put out a hand, and slid down the wall to the floor. Dana knelt beside her after a few seconds of silence, then reached out and shook her shoulder gently. "Hey?" "They're your memories," she said emotionlessly. "Walking down the hallway to the door, thinking the whole basement smelled like shoe polish and bad memories... 'FBI's most unwanted', a bad joke on top of a bizzare assignment... I remember that. I remember everything you do." She looked up, eyes hazy for a moment until they focused. "I was all right until medical school. I didn't leave, you see? You did. And suddenly I was waking up remembering a life I hadn't chosen. Every day, I didn't know who I was for a few minutes, and I'd forget, during the day... I kept thinking I was you. I remembered being you. So they locked me up." Dana didn't know what to say. She swallowed, hard. Was this just a dream, or... "Is this real?" she asked finally. The other Dana closed her eyes wearily. "It's all real," she said, as everything started going to gray, then black. "It's all real..." She woke, slowly. It was quiet, and she was content to lie in her bed for a moment, drowsy. The dream came back to her in pieces, like all dreams do, and she wondered what it meant. Her psychology prof would have gotten a kick out of it. She should ask Mulder when she got to work... Then she remembered. Then she *remembered*. Shaking, she reached behind her ear and pulled out a lock of hair. It was easily long enough to reach the small of her back. She curled up and hugged herself, shaking. With a mutter, Mulder reached around and put an arm around her, pulling her close; a protective movement born of instinct. Dana Scully closed her eyes and tried to stop shivering, telling herself it was just the cold, telling herself that the tears in her eyes had nothing to do with fear. - END