From: Jessica Mabe Date: Tue, 24 Aug 1999 15:51:48 -0700 Subject: 1947 (1/4) by Jess Source: xff TITLE: 1947 (1/4) AUTHOR: Jess EMAIL ADDRESS: jessica@amazon.com DISCLAIMER: Only in an alternate time-line. And I don't own the Wizard of Oz or Quantum Leap, either. Gee, there's a shocker. DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere, just let me know. SPOILER WARNING: nothing huge RATING: PG-13 CONTENT WARNING: Um... none, really. CLASSIFICATION: UST, MSR, X-File SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully must decide whether the possiblity of saving the world would be worth never knowing the other existed. Author's note: Yes, I really had that dream. Really. Don't ask. No, I've never been to Roswell. Or 1947. But I think it's reasonably accurate. I'm about to start a "real" writing project, but had to get this one out there. It's been bugging me for months. Especially Arthur. He's a real pain in the ass when he wants something. And due to the complete lack of humor in this one, funny stuff is at the end. Enjoy. Email me, I'm feathering my nest with them. "Mr. Talbot," Mulder said, gently touching the old man's arm. "Tell me again what year you think it is?" Mr. Talbot glanced from Mulder to Scully, eyes narrowed with mistrust and fear. "1947, of course. What the hell else year would it be?" "And who is President of the United States, Mr. Talbot?" Scully asked, a rising feeling of dread in her stomach. "Harry Truman, damnit. Same as yesterday and the day before. Now would one of you please tell me what the hell is going on here?" Scully sighed and leaned her weary head on her hand for a moment, staring at the old man across the table. They had been questioning Mr. Talbot, or dealing with Mr. Talbot, or arguing with Mr. Talbot for nearly eleven hours, since he tried to go home from his job as a security guard at a shoe factory only to find he had stepped into another time period. She didn't even want to think about the early morning flight to New Mexico and the sudden stomach-twisting drop that sent her scrambling nearly into Mulder's lap. Mr. Talbot was waiting for an answer, and she thought ruefully that the last half-day had probably been a lot worse for him than it had for her. His weather-beaten hat with its wide striped cotton band reminded her of her grandfather. There was something about a man in a good wool hat? "Mr. Talbot," she said as calmly as she could, "I certainly wish I could explain this to you, but I have to assure you that it is, in fact, 1999." "The hell it is," Mr. Talbot said firmly. "Scully," Mulder glanced at the door and stood up. She followed him out into the hall. "We aren't getting anywhere with this," Mulder said in disgust. "He doesn't know anything about temporal rifts, or wormholes, Scully. He's just trying to figure out what happened to Mrs. Talbot and all the little Talbots and why he can't just go back to his job at the shoe factory." Scully sighed and nodded. "Mulder, if Mr. Talbot was born in 1895 and disappeared from his job at Baker Shoes on July 3rd, 1947? keeping in mind that this could still be an elaborate hoax, though that is looking increasingly unlikely, I would say the man sitting in front of us could indeed be Malcom Talbot at age fifty-two." Mulder grinned. "Then I suppose for once, Scully, we are in complete agreement about something." "Mulder, we're often in complete agreement about how something appears to be now, we just can't agree on how it got that way." He smiled and nodded. They had been so distant lately, she thought, it was nice to see him joking, even if was just a bit. "So what next, Scully?" "Well, we're still awaiting the arrival of Mr. Talbot's grown son, who from what I understand was estranged from his father at the time of the disappearance, so he's been difficult to locate. But once he's established a visual i.d., we can do a genetic i.d. Then I suppose it's just a matter of figuring out how on earth Mr. Talbot walked into work one evening in 1947 and walked out in 1999." Mulder leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, a gesture Scully knew well. She had long ago learned to recognize the signs of Mulder's determination. "What say we pay a little visit to the Baker Shoe factory?" She grinned, a very rare thing indeed these days. Sometimes she felt stingy, as if she were holding back candy from her classmates. At other times she was intensely aware of her own power and guarded it carefully. "Mulder, can't you ever get enough of Roswell?" xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Mulder pushed the door to the empty building open slowly, coughing as a thick cloud of dust gave way around the creaking frame. "Boy, this must have been a hell of a shock for poor Mr. Talbot," Scully whispered, holding her coat sleeve across her mouth. The interior of the building, dark and somber, echoed with each step she took. Mulder lifted his flashlight and aimed at nothing. The light cut a thin path through the dust and dry air, illuminating very little. A bit like my life, he thought, and grinned to himself. "Well, you can tell why they supposedly stored UFOs here in the Seventies," he said, following his partner's shadowed form. She moved carefully, lifting her tiny feet only as much as absolutely necessary; silent as a cat. "Mulder, there's a light coming from behind that door," Scully said, her voice still hushed as if she were in a church. They made their way toward what had obviously been the office. Mulder slid one hand over Scully's padded shoulder and rested it there, keeping tabs on her in the darkness. He felt her draw her gun and quickly raised his own beside her. It sometimes amazed him how easily they moved together. He could only imagine their connection if they were ever to do something more than stake each other out. Without the light they normally relied on to communicate, he could only squeeze her shoulder to let her know he was ready. With a quick twist of the knob, she threw open the door and was immediately silhouetted against the soft white light of a desk lamp. The office was empty of human life, but something strange had indeed occurred there. The desk was free of dust, lacquered and shining like a great tree trunk in the center of the room. Black and white photos hung on the walls, a radio played swing music softly. Papers lay on the dark green desk blotter, ready to be signed, as Scully took a cautious step into the light. "Mulder, look at this? these ledgers are all dated 1947." He nodded, expecting it, and followed her inside. In the gentle light, she was diffused and sweetly shaded, like an old painting. She ran her fingers over the top of the desk blotter and showed him their dust-free tips. He puzzled over what it could be; a rift in the time-space continuum, as they liked to say in science fiction novels. A mini warp, drawing objects long-neglected back into the warm glow of their past. Mulder shut the door behind them and walked over to the photos hanging on the back wall. "Look at these, Scully." She came to stand beside him, and as always when she was near, he felt a strange humming, like electricity. "Mulder," she murmured, "what the hell is going on here?" They stared for a moment at the framed faces, men long dead. The president of Baker Shoes stood with President Roosevelt in one, Babe Ruth in another. "Must be the location," he said lamely. "Can you imagine, Scully, this is the world you live in and then you step out into ours?" Touching the gentle lines of the dead president's face, he sighed. "Think how innocent they were then." "Most people still are," she pointed out. "We're just the lucky ones." "Lucky enough to know the truth, right?" "Or pieces of it." She pushed the chair back from the desk and opened the drawers. He watched her push through a few files, loose pencils and paperclips. "There's nothing here worth noting," she said. "I don't understand this, Mulder. Did this little room just happen to arrive here like this? Or are we?" And then they both stopped, frozen with the new thought. "Mulder," she whispered, "open the door." He stepped forward and threw it open, half expecting monsters or aliens or cigarette smoke. He was too accustomed to horror, however, and could barely process his thoughts when all he saw were? shoes. Boxes upon boxes of shoes, stacked neatly against one wall of the now-dim warehouse. The now-dim, clean and clearly in-use warehouse. xxxxxxxxxxx Scully closed her eyes for a moment, and then opened them again to stare at the silk-covered, deep red, just-her-size pair of platform pumps Mulder was holding. "Very retro," he noted, his voice only slightly tinged with panic. "Or not," she added, sounding just as strained, "maybe we're just futuristic." It was surreal. Standing in the spotless room, surrounded by stacked crates of New Look pumps in every shade of slubbed silk or deeply tanned leather or even, as they discovered toward the door, real alligator. If she wasn't so deeply disturbed, she'd be in heaven. "Try these on," Mulder said, running with the moment in the way only he could. "They're even higher than the ones you have on." She glared at him. "This is not happening, Mulder. We are not in 1947. We just aren't." "I'm inclined to disagree with you, Scully, but if we stay here in this warehouse any longer, it may be 1948 before we find out." Scully looked back at the little office, still clean and brightly lit. "Let's try it one more time," she said. Mulder nodded and ushered her back inside. Closing the door, they stood together in the small space. She was intensely aware of their breathing, the tandem rhythm of it. The time ticked away slowly until at last they opened the door again. Nothing but shoes and silence. "Ok?" Mulder said softly. "Now do you think we ought to venture out?" Tapping down her panic, she nodded. They walked slowly to the other end of the building and pulled open the outside door. Early evening darkness greeted them, soft and slightly pink from the sunset. The empty street stretched toward town. The empty street. Scully closed her eyes and leaned briefly against Mulder for support. Two hours ago this place had been bustling with grimy, edge-of-town life. Now, the warehouse sat at the edge of a vast expanse of nothing. In the parking lot, if the dirt strip in front of them could really be called that, sat the hulking form of a Ford sedan. "Do you think," Mulder said at last, his voice weak, "that's Mr. Talbot's car?" "Probably," Scully said, mind whirling. "If I accepted that we are actually standing in Roswell, New Mexico in 1947, which I refuse to do, no matter what anyone says." "Ah Scully," Mulder said softly, "still skeptical. That's why I love ya." "Why do you always pick the worst possible moments to declare your undying love, Mulder?" He looked startled and she realized stress had just loosened her tongue a bit too much. "Why, Scully, is there a time it would be more convenient for you?" She groaned and rubbed her eyes, waiting for the present to come tripping into view like a bright light in the darkness. Mulder placed one warm hand in the lower part of her back and pushed gently. "Come on. Let's go see just how innocent Mr. Talbot was." xxxxxxxxxxx The keys were in the ignition, hanging in front of them like small silver charms, proof of their journey back in time. No one in modern-day anywhere left their keys in the ignition overnight. For half an hour, they sat in the car. Watching the darkness deepening, trying to figure out what it all meant, why they were there. Then at last, Mulder started the engine. Scully glanced over at him, wary. "What are you doing? Where are we going to go? I think we should stay here. I think we should go back into the office? I think?" He shushed her with a finger to her mouth. Letting it trail across her lips as he left her, speechless. "I know someone here." "Huh?" She was staring at him as if he'd just said he would be unzipping his skin in a moment to reveal his true reptilian self. "Arthur Dales." She seemed to absorb this. "Which one?" "The police man. He should still be on the force here. I think we should be able to find the police station pretty easily. Roswell can't be that big a town in 1947. Hell, it's a pimple in 1999." Scully half-smiled and leaned back in the seat, stretching and settling in as she always did before he left the parking lot. Some things, he thought ruefully, never changed. "What are we going to tell him? Hi, we're agents Mulder and Scully from the FBI that doesn't really exist yet and we need to get back to the future and hey, you haven't seen a DeLorean hanging around here, have you?" Mulder steered the car out onto the lonely road, noting that it was not yet paved. "Scully, I'm amazed at how your acerbic sense of humor always surfaces at the moments of greatest stress in our lives." "Funny, Mulder," she said as they sped toward the lights of town. "You don't look particularly stressed to me. In fact, you look as if you're enjoying this immensely." He glanced at her, pressed into the seat, eyebrow up, and realized that as long as she was there, he was indeed not above enjoying himself. "Scully, if this is a chance to get you in skirts all the time, I'm all for it." End part 1 of 4 Email me, you know what I like... TITLE: 1947 (2/4) AUTHOR: Jess EMAIL ADDRESS: jessica@amazon.com If you send me emails, I promise not to jump off the bridge when the all other kids do it. Town seemed to come from nowhere. One minute they were speeding toward it, the next they were in the middle of the two streets that represented Roswell, New Mexico, 1947. The police station's neon sign blinked brightly in the desert air, Roswell's own little touch of Vegas. They pulled up in front of the building and sat for second, listening to the engine die. Scully waited for the stupefying ache in her stomach to subside, but found it simply twisted tighter every time she thought about it. "So, Mulder, just what are we going to say to Officer Dales?" He shook his head. "I don't know." She sighed and looked up as a single bright light flashed across the sky, a shooting star in the bright desert sky. They both stepped out of the car to watch it and she heard Mulder's sharp breath behind her. "Scully, what day is it?" Turning to look at him, she saw the bright whites of his eyes and felt her lungs deflate like balloons. Mulder had an cause. "I don't know, Mulder. I don't even know definitively what year it is. Why?" "Well, when did Mr. Talbot disappear? fifty-two years ago exactly, right? July 3rd, 1947. Which would, if this is all correct, make it about seven o'clock on that same night. Ok? which means tomorrow evening, about this same time, something is going to fall from the sky in Roswell, New Mexico. Something very, very important." Scully couldn't help herself. Once the laughter boiled up from her panic-stricken middle, it simply couldn't be held back. She could remember a similar reaction, many years ago in a cold, rain-lashed graveyard. "Oh God, Mulder, how the hell do you do it?" she gasped. "I mean, do you plan this shit?" Mulder was staring at her, plainly confused and a tad hurt. "You see the significance, don't you, Scully? You realize why we're here?" That stopped her, instantly, like having a very damp blanket thrown over her head. "Why we're here, Mulder? You mean aside from the astounding coincidence that we just happened to have stumbled onto some sort of time warp, if you accept that sort of thing happening in an abandoned shoe warehouse, which I don't?" He nodded and stepped forward, looking down at her with an intensity that made her want to grip her own sides in an effort to stay upright. "I don't believe in coincidences. We are here to stop them. To expose them." She shivered. "What are you talking about?" "Not now," he said, suddenly moving toward the station. "We'll discuss it tonight. First we have to enlist Officer Dales as our ally." "Ally?" she whispered, following him inside the small building. "In what war?" xxxxxxx Arthur Dales looked just as he had in the newspaper photo Mulder had saved in his wallet. Tall and kind, without the lines of cynicism gained from years of pain. There was a certain melancholy to his soft gaze tonight, and though Mulder knew exactly why it was there, he had not expected to see it so profoundly. "Officer Dales, thank you for meeting with us." The young officer shook their hands and looked at them blankly. Mulder realized that in 1947, they must both have seemed a tad out of place. Especially since Scully was wearing pants. "My name is Fox Mulder, and this is my partner, Dana Scully. We work for the FBI." Dales glanced at Scully curiously. It occurred to Mulder at that moment that there were no women in the Bureau in 1947. He smiled weakly at Dales and continued. "How can I help you, Agents?" He was still looking at them like they were far, far from home. Mulder sighed. "Mr. Dales, I have a story for you? and I'm not sure you're going to believe it. But I'd like to start out by telling you how sorry I am about Mr. Exley." Dales' face remained emotionless. "Thank you, Agent Mulder, I appreciate your concern. Josh Exley's death was a tragedy." "Mr. Dales, I know it was more than that. I know who Josh Exley was." Scully shifted beside him, not following the conversation. Dales remained impassive, smiling pleasantly. Mulder decided to push it a little further. Lowering his voice, he added: "I know what Josh Exley was." Dales' eyes widened slightly at that. "What are you talking about, Agent Mulder. Who told you about Josh?" Mulder smiled at that. "You did." For a moment, both men simply stared at one another, then Dales frowned. "I don't remember ever meeting you before? unless?" His face froze. It occurred to Mulder in that moment that Dales might be getting entirely the wrong impression from all of this. "No? I'm not one of them," he said hurriedly. "You told me. But you told me as a very old man. And that's what we're here to explain to you. You know me, Mr. Dales, but I won't meet you for the first time for another fifty-two years." There was a moment's silence as the three of them considered one another. Then Arthur Dales sighed. "You're saying you're from the future?" Mulder and Scully nodded in unison. "1999," Mulder added. Arthur nodded, still as blank as paper. "You realize that if you'd told me this a week ago, I would have said you were nuts." "I think you'd still be justified in that assumption," Scully said softly, speaking for the first time. "We can hardly believe it ourselves." "Well, Miss?" he hesitated. "Scully," she supplied. "Miss Scully," he continued. "The events of the last week have left me a bit more open to? how can I put this?" "Extreme possibilities?" Mulder added. "Yes, exactly. Extreme possibilities. You don't look nuts, not that that's any indication, but then neither do I, and I certainly have felt a bit crazy lately. Look, I'd be interested in hearing your story, but I don't think this is the place. Do you folks feel like getting a little something to eat?" Mulder heard his own stomach growl gently. "I don't know about Agent Scully, but I sure would be. But um, Arthur? You're buying, I'm afraid." xxxxxxxxxx On his final slice of pie, Arthur Dales nodded and swallowed without his eyes actually bugging too far out of his head. Scully had listened quietly to Mulder's explanation of their journey and she had to admit, it sounded reasonable enough. Follow person's supposed path to point of departure, depart, arrive. Simple enough, though completely implausible. "So," Arthur Dales said softly, sipping a Coke, "what happens now, assuming I believe any of this crap?" Scully leaned back in her seat, watching the stars pass outside the diner's window. Evening in New Mexico. Evening in 1947. What would it be like to stay here, in this quiet place, where the only threat on the immediate horizon was the Red Menace and Joseph McCarthy? Where the world was just cleaning up from war and preparing for the prosperity of the next decade? Would it really be so terrible to be stuck with Mulder in this place? Twisting her straw in her drink, she glanced at him, trying not to get caught. How many times had she looked at him like this, memorizing his face in brief moments? The Coke was bubbly on the surface of her tongue, dissolving there as she watched him. Yes, she thought, Mulder would make almost any place bearable, though she would never tell him that. "Arthur, something momentous is about to occur here." That again. Of course, Mulder was in his element now, his medium. What did he have in mind? Certainly not settling down in Fifties bliss with her, she noted, grinning in her head. "What's that, exactly?" "On July 4th, 1947, a spacecraft will crash in a field on the outskirts of Roswell, New Mexico," Mulder began. "Though there have been other moments of accidental contact, this is the first time a nearly intact alien craft will be found. And, this time there are EBEs." "EBEs?" Dales asked. "Extraterrestrial Biological Entities." "Oh. Josh's kind." "Exactly. They won't survive the crash, unfortunately. Or maybe fortunately, for them, since the military is about to instigate a policy of execution on sight. At any rate, the technology found in this craft is so revolutionary, the military are still trying to create a working ship with it nearly fifty-five years later." Arthur stirred his drink carefully, as if he were considering the nature of ice and soda. "And this means, what? Exactly?" Mulder leaned forward, excited by his own ideas. A legend in his own mind, she thought with a smile. "The men of our government knew about this crash and hid that knowledge from the public. By 1999 they also know about an imminent alien invasion which is supposed to wipe out all human life, leaving any unlucky survivors as alien slaves. They have a way to prevent this invasion from succeeding, a cure, if you will, but they are intent on using that knowledge only to save themselves and keep their shadow government in power. It is my intent, with advance knowledge of this crash, to arrive before the military, to steal remnants of the alien craft and the dead EBEs and to expose this information to the American people, allowing them to choose their own fate." For a moment she sat in stunned silence, too angry to react. Not again, she thought. How many times did this have to happen before he realized how upsetting it was? She could still remember the first time he'd done it, in an institution in Oregon. She'd stormed out then. With a bitter glance at her partner's face, Scully pushed her way out of the booth and stalked into the rapidly cooling desert night. Ditched, she thought, staring at the vast twinkling spread of light, the stars from which their future would come smashing down. Ditched again. xxxxxxxxxxx "Ok, Scully," Mulder said softly, coming to stand behind her. "What did I say now?" He could feel the anger seeping from beneath her clothing, heating the air around her. She was so volatile, she melted him instantly, a steady chemical reaction never reaching equilibrium. "Jesus, Mulder, did you plan on telling me about your little idea any time in the near future? Or were all our allegiances over when we stepped out of that warehouse?" He was surprised, to say the least. It had never occurred to him that she wouldn't want to follow his lead here. After all, this was not her forte; alien crashes and Roswell mythology. Of course, he thought, she was not objecting to his idea, at least not yet. She was objecting to his treatment of her. And she had a point. As usual. "I'm sorry, Scully," he said, one hand on her shoulder. Arthur stood behind them at the door to the diner, finishing a milkshake and smiling like a man who realizes he's just lost his mind. "I should have told you what I was thinking first. This is all new to me, too." She relented, sinking into his space and sighing deeply. "I think we need to rest, Mulder. It's late. We need to stay somewhere, to talk about this. I need time to think." He nodded and squeezed her gently, feeling Scully at last through all the cloth and padding. "I've got an idea on that front, and it's one you won't mind. Come on, let's go borrow some cash from Arthur." She let him guide her back to the diner, standing on the sidewalk beneath the open sky. Arthur looked from one to the other, trying, he was sure, to figure them out. He wished him luck. "Arthur, Agent Scully and I are in a bit of a bind financially. I don't think the local motels are going to take our money." He withdrew his wallet and handed Arthur a new $20 bill. "Looks like play money. This is the most unbelievable thing I've seen yet." Handing it back, he eyed Mulder suspiciously. "You want to borrow money?" "Just for tonight, Arthur. See, on July 5th, Larry Doby of the Cleveland Indians is going to be the first black man to play in the American League. Unfortunately, they'll lose to the White Sox, six to five. Larry will strike out as a pinch hitter, though on July 6th he'll go one for five in his first full day as a first baseman. You and I, if we're still here then, will drive over to the nearest bookie and lay a quick bet. I guarantee a winner." Arthur smiled. "Alright, you've got me. I'm going to take a chance, Agents Mulder and Scully, and believe what you're telling me. Just till tomorrow. If this doesn't pan out, I'll feel like a fool and I'll be out twenty bucks, but hell, I needed something to take my mind off Josh and you're as good as anything else. Here you go, try the Jiffy Motel on the outskirts of town. Five bucks a night, including coffee in the morning." Mulder accepted the money from Arthur's outstretched hand and then shook it generously. "You know," he said. "When I first came to your door, in 1999, looking for information on the alien bounty hunter and Josh Exley, you said 'what took you so long?' At the time, I just thought you were a crazy old coot, no offense. Now I realize what you meant." "I'll try and remember that when I'm the crazy old coot." Grinning foolishly, Mulder pulled Scully into the old Ford and headed for the blinking neon lights of the Jiffy Motel. He had not been so giddily full of anticipation since the first time he got laid. God bless you, people of Roswell, he thought. You're about to save the world. end part 2 of 4 TITLE: 1947 (3/4) AUTHOR: Jess EMAIL ADDRESS: jessica@amazon.com Email me, I read them aloud to Tiddlywink and Squirt, my goldfish. Really. Scully sat on the edge of the double bed in the room she would be sharing with her partner that night and groaned. "How is it, Mulder, that you not only manage to find the biggest dive in town, despite it being a very small town, but that as is the usual with us, there's only one room left? I would have liked some privacy." Mulder was ignoring her, flipping through the black and white pages of a magazine he'd picked up at the gas station on the way there. He was, of course, on "her" bed, not on his own. "Look, Scully, Forties porn." She glanced down at the grainy photo of a girl in a negligee, leaning over the hood of a monstrous Chevy. "See? Only you would find that when I send you out for chips and drinks." He rolled over next to her, sipping a bottled root beer, his concession to the complete lack of bottled ice tea. She still wanted to smack him, but in the muggy warmth of the unair-conditioned room, it seemed to require too much energy. She noticed he was now staring at her. "What?" she asked, patting her hair self-consciously. "Do you know how beautiful you would look in one of those tight little suits the ladies wear now?" he asked, still sipping innocently. "Flattery will get you nowhere," she replied, heart pounding like a giddy teen. "Besides, the New Look is about to debut, Mulder, and women everywhere will soon be sporting skirts so wide they can't fit through doors." "You'd be equally beautiful with a little Grace Kelly do," he mused. "I could start wearing fedoras and big lapelled suits." Panic suddenly overcame her, rushing in like on a tidal wave of realization. They were stuck in 1947. She remembered when her father had died, how one moment the grief was just hovering around her like a pesky fly and then she was submerged in it, drowning in the truth of it. How could they be here? How could it really be possible? Scientifically, it opened doors that weren't even built yet, but she had long since stopped being only a scientist. Ever since those theoretical scientific events had started happening to her, Dana Scully, and not some lab rat. "I want to go home," she whispered. Mulder was suddenly next to her, wrapping his arms around her and gripping her tightly. "I'm here," he whispered back, stroking her hair. "It's ok, Scully, we're here together. It's going to be ok." She rested against him, feeling their emotions rise and shift together, attuned to one another. The danger was always in moments like this. She withdrew and rubbed her eyes, a bit petulantly. Mulder watched her, intent on reading her needs. "I think we should talk about your idea, Mulder," she said, desperate to get his eyes off her. "Ok," he said, leaning back and leaving her to breathe a deep sigh of regret and relief. "Let's talk. What do you think of it?" "I don't know?" she worried the plan in her head, tearing it like a terrier with a rabbit, "? you're operating on the idea that we can alter history, change time. There is no real basis for that assumption, Mulder. Theoretically, whatever we decide to do tomorrow will have already happened by the time we step through that warehouse door again. We could be fussing over an impossibility." He nodded and rested his head on what she had already mentally staked-out as her pillow. "I thought of that. But it's worth a try, Scully. Think of the possible ramifications. We could basically pull the rug out from under the Consortium before they've even begun. Imagine a world, Scully, where at the very least the public has to admit to the existence of extraterrestrials. Imagine what it would be like to be dealing with conspiracies that weren't immediately dismissed as crack-pot nonsense. Think what it could mean to us." And then suddenly, with the clarity of late-night revelation, she knew why this conversation was giving her the chills. "What if there is no us?" He sat up at that, staring at her. "I refuse to consider that possibility." It was so Mulder, able to examine the minutia of impossibility but unable to accept something as stark as reality itself. She remembered his reaction to her cancer and smiled. "Mulder, you and I both know that without the conspiracy of silence, even if these men would still be operating to save themselves, we would no longer be necessary. The heart of the x-files would cease to be a mystery. Without that mystery, who's to say that Blevins would assign me to you to debunk your work? Who's to say that Cancer Man wouldn't stick to mere political assassinations? Without the men to begin the conspiracy, why call me in?" Mulder's face was unreadable in the pale light of the lamp near the bed, but she could feel the tension slipping from him like sweat. "Maybe I'd need you," he said softly. "Mulder, without that conspiracy, it's possible your sister would never be taken. I know you've thought of that." He nodded, picking at the edge of the blanket. "Without her disappearance, what are the chances you'd even end up in the FBI, much less the x-files? What sort of person would you be then, without the haunting pain?" "Scully," he said softly, "I have considered some of this. Would it really be so awful if we never met?" She stared at him, unable to believe what he had just said. "Mulder? You even have to ask that?" "No, think about it, Scully." He scooted closer to her, persuasive. "Your sister would still be alive. You would never have been abducted, never had cancer, never lost Emily, never have become infertile. Every pain you've suffered? they would disappear, wiped clean." "Pain is relative, Mulder. Not having you in my life is no guarantee I wouldn't suffer any pain. It might not be of the same magnitude, but then again, it might. I don't regret my life, you know that." "I know." He was so close now, she could sense the rising of his chest before each breath. "And I wouldn't want to lose you. But if we never even knew it had happened, if you woke up one day and didn't even know I'd existed, would that be so terrible?" She knew the answer, but closed her eyes instead. "I like my life the way it is," she whispered, hoping that would suffice. "And I like mine, but we are acting selfishly if that's all we consider. If saving the world meant losing you, I'd do it. And so would you. We both knew that, it's part of the bargain." "Oh," was all she could say. He stood and moved stiffly to his own bed, lying down and adjusting his weight to a small symphony of springs. "I think we should get some sleep, Scully, and if necessary, we'll talk some more tomorrow." In other words, she thought, you will take the time to talk me around tomorrow. But what if we don't save the world, Mulder? The doubts that sometimes played at the back of her mind surfaced again. What if the Consortium did know something they didn't? What if, when it was all said and done, the Consortium was as necessary to the survival of their world as they thought themselves to be? And what would it cost them if indeed their actions at this time made things worse instead of better? Would she really want to wake up one morning to find that instead of battling for the truth with Mulder by her side, she was just another nameless victim in a pandemic of unheard-of proportions? Most importantly, would she want to wake up day after tomorrow without the now-steady sound of Mulder's breath in the room beside her? xxxxxxxxx Mulder was dreaming. It was the strangest thing? Scully stood next to him, but she didn't really look like Scully. Her hair was divided into two thick red pigtails and she wore a blue checkered dress, very fit-and-flare, and sparkling red shoes. Behind him, he saw Skinner and Krychek walking, but they weren't the men he knew? Skinner wore a fringe of brown hair around his face and he had whiskers. And Krychek? appeared to be wearing rags. He looked down at his own body and saw his legs clothed in what looked like aluminum cans. And then he realized, as self-aware as was possible in a dream, that he was in Oz. Scully was Dorothy, Skinner was the Cowardly Lion, and Krychek was Scarecrow. He, of course, was the Tin Man. They were not on the yellow brick road, which would have clued him in immediately, but were instead standing in the great chamber where the Wizard of Oz operated. At least, he thought that was where it was, but it had been so long since he'd seen the movie, he suspected his was making most of it up. Scully/Dorothy suddenly cried out: "Toto, come back!" Queequeg shot past him, an orange ball of fur, and grabbed the edge of the curtain. From behind it, he saw the Cigarette-Smoking Man emerge, frantically pumping the bellows of a giant organ. And then he was awake, listening to Scully potter around in the bathroom. He tried, in the lovely remembering half-state of the dream, to recall what the Tin Man was searching for? ah, he thought as Scully stepped out with a towel wrapped around her head. His heart. "Scully," he said, feeling buoyant in the soft morning light. "I had the funniest dream." "Mmm hmm?" she said, only half interested. "I dreamt you were Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz." She looked up at that, her face red from brushing her hair upside down. "I was who?" "Yep. And it's true, Scully. You just want to go home, right?" Nodding, she pulled her hair back into a ponytail. He hadn't seen that in years. Of course, there were no available hairdryers in their 1947. "I suppose I do. Do you think that clicking my heels together three times would do anything?" He shook his head ruefully. "Probably not. Guess who Skinner was." She seemed to think about it for a second. "The Wicked Witch of the West?" Mulder laughed and shook his head. "The Cowardly Lion. Searching for his courage, only to discover he already has it." She smiled. "I like that. Who was the Scarecrow?" "Krychek. Figure that one out." Her face was so young, he thought. Free of make-up. They had come here with nothing, and now they were seeing each other as they truly were. "Searching for information he already has?" she said. "The DAT tape?" They both laughed at that thought. "So you were the Tin Man, right?" He nodded. "And Queequeg was Toto." "That's lovely," she whispered, looking touched. "Searching for your heart, Mulder, only to discover you already have it?" He realized they were staring at one another, and that once again something had begun between them. "I'm not sure it wasn't stolen at some point," he said softly to her. "Mulder," she said, equally softly, but the moment was already gone from her face, "if you have your way, I suspect you will get it back." And he wasn't sure, was she thinking of the return of his stolen sister, or returning his heart to him? Or perhaps, he realized, she was thinking that it would never be hers in the first place. xxxxxxxxxx Arthur picked them up from the diner at ten o'clock and drove them in his ratty old Ford out to the site. "You'll be interested to know that Malcom Talbot has been declared officially missing," he said as they scrambled over an irrigation ditch toward a field of corn. She had visions of bees, of giant Jiffy poppers, and barely managed to suppress a shudder. Fortunately, this corn was not yet ripe and stood to Mulder's waist. Mulder was subdued, even a bit depressed, Scully thought, watching him scan the area with Arthur's binoculars. This should be the most exhilarating time in his life. I've ruined this for him, she thought. How unfair of her. How selfish. But she was selfish. If it were Mulder or the whole world? she was fairly sure she would chose Mulder. At least, she would now, as the threat of losing him advanced like an unknown army. "We could park a truck there, behind those trees," he said quietly. "We would remain unseen and out of any immediate danger." Arthur nodded and marked the location on a map. Scully stared out across the scrubby desert, letting the soft breeze ruffle her hair. She hadn't been able to wash out her underwear the night before, what with Mulder in the room. So now she felt? musky and miserable. Sweaty and sticky. Why were they here? To foil the conspiracy? Some sort of strange Quantum Leap scenario, sent to right history's wrongs? She wanted only to shower in her own room and put on clean clothes? to get up in the morning from her own bed, knowing her routine. It wasn't just the threat of losing Mulder. Scully was nothing if not a creature of habit. Without the structure of her daily existence, her life would become unbearably frightening. Control was everything. Of course, without him, she would still have control, perhaps even more so. So maybe it was mostly Mulder, she thought ruefully. Maybe it had been for years. "Where will we keep the stuff we find?" Arthur asked. "The? E? E?" "EBE," Mulder answered. "In a refrigerator, I suppose. If possible. The other stuff, the artifacts? they could be kept in any storage facility. A garage? a warehouse?" "There isn't much here," Arthur said, looking around. "Roswell's not exactly a boomtown. Maybe my garage? Would it be safe there? I mean, for me?" "Scully?" Mulder turned to her. "What do you think?" "I think it would be all right," she said slowly. "We have no way to test radiation levels, but none of the civilians who originally came in contact with wreckage have ever reported any side effects." It was bizarre, discussing this. Talking with Mulder about the destruction of her entire life. She sighed and waited for them to finish scouting the area. "I'll get us a truck and something to keep the um? entity in, ok? Why don't you two grab an early dinner and then we'll head back out here?" Arthur was excited, busy but practical. He and Mulder had bonded, she could tell. That strange camaraderie that developed between men when a problem needed solving. She was glad he had someone to relate to at this moment, which should be the most momentous of his life. All she knew was that if she could, she would grab his hand and run like hell away from Roswell and all it entailed. end part 3 of 4 TITLE: 1947 (4/4) AUTHOR: Jess EMAIL ADDRESS: jessica@amazon.com Email me, I'm fasting for world peace and it helps keep my mind off pickles. Not really. Mulder felt his excitement like something coiled in his belly. He was finally going to see it. A spacecraft, an alien ship, was going to crash into the ground at his feet and everything there? it would be real at last. He would be able to lift a chunk of it and press it into Scully's hands and say: "See, here is what we needed. Here it is." Scully. She was so subdued. So quiet. He knew she was apprehensive about what they were going to do, but he was sure once they began she would see the importance of it, the need for action. And this was it, he reminded himself. The beginning. The moment of recognition. He wanted to grab her and shake her and shout joyous nonsense in her ear. This was it. They finished their meals as Arthur arrived in a battered pick-up that was old in 1935. He was wearing a jaunty little plaid hat that Mulder could swear was in fact an "investigator" hat. He looked like he ought to have a little white placard with the word "PRESS" stuck in the front. Even Scully smiled as Mulder helped her in to sit between them. The cab was cramped and he couldn't help but feel the thrumming press of her body next to his. He wanted to reassure her that it would be alright. He couldn't imagine a future that didn't contain her, contain them. They were fated to be together, as they always had been. He had confidence in their ability to survive this, somehow, and find each other again on the other side. What would it be like to know her as a healthy, comfortable man? Would he love her as much, he wondered, if he didn't also need her to complete him? Banishing any doubts with the warm length of her leg against his, he knew? he knew they would be together. It was as inevitable as the events of this night. Come on, Scully, he wanted to say to her. I need you on this. I need you to believe. He slid his hand along her leg until he found her own small clenched fist. Unwrapping her fingers, he replaced their curl around his own and sighed. And then suddenly she was thrashing next to him, her hand on the dashboard, her body tensed. "Stop the car, Arthur." Obligingly, he pulled over and to Mulder's shock, she slid past him and pushed her way out to the side of the road. Scully, his normally healthy and controlled partner, was violently throwing up her dinner on the side of the road. He stood a few feet behind her, letting her have her dignity, until she wiped her mouth and looked at him with bleary eyes. "You ok?" he asked gently. "I can't do it," she replied. Panic made him stumble toward her and take her elbow in his hand. "What do you mean? I need you here, Scully. I need your science." She stared at him, her face crumbling. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen, this loss. It hurt him and made him inexplicably angry. How dare she do this to him now? "Oh Mulder," she sighed. "You don't know the full implications of your actions. You are being rash, you are taking chances not just with our futures but with everyone else's. I realize why you are excited about this, I know what this could mean to you, but this isn't right and I won't do it, even if it means finding your sister and never losing mine. I'm sorry, Mulder. I won't stand by while we possibly erase everything that matters to me." He was stunned by the force of her, by her surety. "Scully," he said. "Why didn't you voice your objections earlier?" "Would you have listened?" she asked, crossing her arms. "No," he admitted. "Please try to understand? I need this, Scully. I need control for once in my life." She shook her head. "You've always had control, Mulder, you just never used it. Go ahead. I won't stop you from doing what you believe to be right. I never would. I never have." He touched her then, just below her chin, and lifted her face to his. "I wanted to share this with you?" "Why?" she whispered, "so you could take it all away later? I won't let you do that to us, Mulder." And with that, she began to walk back toward town. He willed her to look back, to turn and run to him, but she was already on the road. He only hesitated a moment, watching her slowly recede from him. "Come on," he said to Arthur. "We don't have much time." xxxxxxx Scully had once wondered if it was possible to be completely broken-hearted and still function. When Emily had died, she had felt it like someone slashing her with a knife. But the pain had made it real for her, had forced her to get up each morning and work. She now knew that it wasn't just an anomaly. She could, in fact, be totally destroyed and still walk the mile back to their hotel, listening the whole way for a car that never came. She could arrive at the motel and scan the parking lot for a vehicle that wasn't there. She could walk into the lobby and ask for an extra room key for a room she was supposed to be sharing with someone who wasn't in it. She could sit on her bed and watch the sky through the open curtains without crying for the man out underneath it. 7:55. Mulder had said it was going to happen at 8:03. What must it be like for him right now, out in the field with Arthur, eyes scanning the sky for the first light trail, the first sign of movement? Was he still upset? She hoped not, for both their sakes. Right now she was bearing enough sorrow for them both. When would the change take place, assuming it would happen at all? Would she have a moment of realization, where she was neither this Scully, nor the other one, but something in between - pure essence of Scully? Or would she simply be the other person, suddenly, wiped clean of all the myriad moments she hadn't even known she treasured until now? 7:59. What if no change ever happened? What if she and Mulder were simply stuck forever in 1947, only now with the knowledge that if it came down to it, he would trade her for the world, any world? She understood his need for control, certainly. She felt it too, the glory of the idea of shaping history. But wasn't that what the Consortium thought they were doing all along? How foolish, how human to think they could influence the course of nature. They were all pawns to nature, part of some great plan they were too small to understand. Like standing in the middle of a life-size map of the world and trying to see Africa. 8:01. Scully stood slowly, stiff from the night's cool air and the walk, and stepped out the door to stare beyond the parking lot at the dark night sky. It took a moment, but then she found it. A small, shimmering streak of light, a shooting star. Only this star wasn't fading. It was growing larger, more substantial with each moment. 8:02. Oh God, she thought, let him be ok. Don't let him get too close and get burned. She wished she were there. Let us find one another again, Lord. Please. 8:03. She felt, rather than heard, the crash. Like someone thumping once on a table, the earth seemed to jump beneath her feet, and then settle. There was no bright flash of light, no fire. Just silence. No wonder no one had found it that first night. And then it was over, for her anyway. She turned back to the quiet room and lay down on Mulder's bed. The pillowcases, when she buried her nose in them, held the faintest tint of him, watercolored and thin, but there. She wondered if he would smell like that in an alternate time-line? She didn't want to cry, exactly, just bury herself deep enough that nothing he ever did could hurt her again. Then she heard the knock at the door and all her efforts to stamp herself down were gone. She had thrown the door open and was in his arms before she'd even had time to fully register the look of awe on his face. "Oh Scully," he breathed into her hair. "It was so beautiful? and so? terrible. I wanted you there so badly." She inhaled him, slithered under his coat and pressed against him. Don't go, she wanted to shout, don't go. "But Mulder," she lifted her head, suddenly aware of the time, "what did you do with the EBE? With the parts from the ship? It's only?" she looked down at the glowing example of Nineties technology on her wrist "? 8:15." "I know," he said softly. "I didn't do anything. I didn't want to, in the end." She smiled, looking up at his gentle face. "Better the devil you know, eh Mulder?" He shook his head and took her face in his hands. Her heart began to jump. "No Scully? better the woman I know, then the one I don't." He meant it, and she could see the delight in his eyes was only partially related to what he had seen at the site. "Mulder?" she began. For the second time, she realized, he had traded the shadow of Samantha for the reality of her. "Are you ready to go home?" he asked. "What do you mean?" she said. "How do you know we can?" "Call it a hunch," he smiled. "And you know about my hunches, Scully." xxxxxxxxx Arthur Dales stood behind them, pondering the dust-coated empty office in the middle of the spotless warehouse. "It was clean before, right?" Mulder nodded. Scully stood beside him, her hand laced in his. She hadn't let him go since they'd left the motel. It was as if she were trying to wiggle close enough to simply be him, and right now, he wanted her to be herself. He gave her a gentle push and set her in motion toward the office. "You don't mind if I use that tip you gave me, right Mulder?" Smiling, he patted Arthur on the shoulder. "Only if I can use the one you gave me." Arthur looked confused for a moment, then smiled. "Mystery of the heart, Agent Mulder?" "Mystery of the heart, Officer Dales. Only this time, I plan on listening." Tipping his hat, Arthur Dales closed the door gently on the office, shutting them away. In the darkness, Mulder felt Scully breathing next to him. "What if we open the door and it's 1991, Mulder? Who's to say it'll be 1999?" "If it is, Scully, I'm going to go find my younger self, explain that he's about to meet the most wonderful woman in the world and tell him firmly not to fuck up quite so much." He was aware of her smile, even without the light. "What would you tell your younger self?" he asked her. She hesitated for a moment and then answered. "Change your clothes when you get back from Dallas." He was still for a moment and then burst out laughing, reaching for her and pulling her into his arms. "I tell you, though," she continued, her head against his chest, "if there's no standard government issue navy blue Ford Taurus outside, I'm heading right back in." Reaching slowly toward the place he knew the door should be, Mulder felt the knob and gently turned. "Ok," he whispered, "I'm opening the door." She nodded against him and he gave the door a little push. Straight into the very surprised shoulder of Assistant Director Walter Skinner. "My God, we just checked that office five minutes ago? where the hell did you two come from?" Mulder loosened his hold on Scully's arms, though only barely. "Um, Sir?" he began and looked down to see Scully smiling at him. "Oz." xxxxxxxxx Scully was exhausted. She still wasn't home, but the hotel in Arizona at least contained a change of clothes and a hairdryer. She wasn't sure how long they had been questioned, but Mulder had gone back before her. It seemed that they expected wild stories of time travel from him, but from her it required more substantiation. She pushed the key card down through the lock and waited for the green light, enjoying her sudden brush with technology. Tossing her coat onto the chair beside the little breakfast table, she was surprised to see a familiar brown box on the bed, a note taped to the top. She slipped it off and opened it, irrationally worried. "Scully," she read, "the boys from the third precinct found this in the office at Bakers. Looks like they're yours, somehow." She opened the lid and slipped out one of the deep red silk platform heels. With a smile, she replaced her Pradda pumps with the vintage shoe. It fit perfectly. She slid the other on and took a few tentative steps. When she looked up, Mulder was standing in the connecting doorway, grinning at her. "Find your heart, Mulder?" He stepped over to where she stood and lifted her off her shimmering red toes to kiss her, deeply. "You had it all along, you little? witch," he replied. "Mulder," she said breathlessly as she slid his tie from around his neck. "You clearly have me confused with Glinda, Good Witch of the North." He pushed himself against her, grinding gently until she was backed up against the wall. "I don't have you confused with anyone. I know exactly who you are," he whispered, sliding the tip of his tongue around the tender edge of her ear, "?Dorothy." end part 4 of 4 Now for the funny part I promised you all: This is my husband's and my outline for the first X-files Porn Flick: (ok for older minors, just silly names) The Sex-Files: Return of Deep Throat Staring: Fux Mulder Dana Sullied Walter Skin-her Alex Crotch-itch Diana Fistme Deep Throat XXX The Lone Cum-men: Phalicky, Bi-ers and Schlongley The Masterbating Man The Well-Endowed Man Written and Produced by: Kiss Harder Directed by: David Donttouchme Enough Silliness! Email me, or I'll write a plot for it, too.