Title: Spooky Scully and the Ice King
Author: Gina Rain (ginarain@aol.com)
Rating: PG-13 (for language, although I'd like to meet 
someone over the age of five who doesn't already know 
these words)
Category: MSR, S, A
Spoilers: Season 8 (although it's not really a season 8 
fic), Fight the Future, and The Beginning
Archive: Sure. 
Summary: Sometimes, in order to face the future, you 
need to visit the past.
Disclaimer: David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson ARE the 
X-files. This generation of the series, anyway. It 
legally belongs to CC, 1013 and Fox. They should get 
proper respect for that but they should also all get 
down on their collective knees and pay homage to the 
actors who gave these characters soul and dignity--
through it all--including season 8. Um, I guess this is 
a kind of iffy disclaimer, isn't it? Don't tell anyone, 
okay? 





< No. We are WE.>

 

He closed his eyes and willed his brain to slow.

He wanted time back. He yearned for it.  

No, not even that. What he really wanted was to rewrite 
history. 



"Do you want to share with the class, Mulder?"  Her 
voice interrupted his thoughts. Interrupted the night. 
His soul rejoiced as much as it could nowadays. And it 
was getting easier. Even he could see that.

"Share? As in sharing thoughts? Why, Sister Spooky--
you've changed even more than I imagined since I've 
been. . ." He couldn't say it.  She didn't like the "d" 
word. She deserved never to hear the "d" word again.

"Mulder. If you want to refer to me as Spooky anything, 
kindly use the term, 'Mrs. Spooky.' I have never felt 
very sisterly toward you."

She stood before him as he sat on the armrest of the 
couch. It had been a good place to stare aimlessly out 
of the window, while his thoughts wandered in their 
usual nocturnal field trip.  The light of the moon gave 
her hair a soft, smoky glow. It was a full moon. That 
surprised him. He hadn't noticed before she came into 
the room.

"I don't know, Scully. 'Mrs.' implies a voluntary 
commitment. You sure you want to own up to that?"

"Very," she ran her fingers lightly through his hair.  
It felt good. It felt very, very real. "Now, you were 
about to tell me what you were thinking about."

"I was?"

"Yes. You were."

He took a deep breath. No secrets.  No big deal.

"I was thinking about how I'd like to change our first 
time."

"What was wrong with our first time?"

"Nothing. It's just that it happened too late. "

"Too late for what?"

"Too late for us to enjoy being you and me--we. Instead 
of the grand WE that we are now."

She smiled a little. She understood. She really had 
turned into Spooky Scully. 

"Exactly when would you have liked our first time to 
have been?"

"That night we shared a bed. "

"Um, Mulder. . ."

"Not sharing it like that. I mean, platonically. On our 
way back from Boston, remember?"

"Oh."

"I gather you don't agree."

"Well, no--I don't."

"Why not?"

"Because--I really can't think of a time I disliked you 
more."



November, 1997

Cold, so cold.

Such a cold, heartless bastard.

She had asked if they could stay in Boston one more 
night.  The case was solved; the weekend had officially 
arrived. No backlog of work waiting in D.C. Storms had 
been predicted all day long. Up and down the East coast. 
At least, in the morning, the worst would be over and 
the plows would have cleared the major roadways. But  
Mulder had to be Mulder. Always on the run. Even if 
running toward nothing.

Maybe he did have something to run to. Someone.

She shuddered and drew her jacket more tightly around 
herself. She didn't look to her left to see if Mulder 
was experiencing any discomfort. She knew the answer to 
that anyway. Nothing ever got to him. He probably 
enjoyed the lack of heat in the car. Kept his senses 
alert. Kept him constantly poised for action. It was all 
for the quest. Well, it's not like he didn't warn her. 
Right from the start. Only one thing mattered. 
Compassion toward his partner did not enter into the 
equation. She was expected to be superhuman. Nothing 
less was tolerated.

<"Fox, I'm chilly. Can we just pull over and find a 
hotel?">

She could almost hear the smarmy, low tones of Diana's 
voice in the car. Worse than that, she could almost hear 
the screech of the brakes as she imagined Mulder's haste 
in accommodating her. Great, Scully thought. She 
couldn't even catch a break in her own imagination. But 
that was exactly the problem, wasn't it? She couldn't 
reach past the boundaries of reality--not even in a 
daydream. The one time she had done it before had taught 
her a lesson that would not easily be forgotten. 

A few months ago, they clutched at each other for dear 
life in the middle of nowhere. Cold the likes of which 
neither had ever felt brought about an emotional 
stripping that had allowed every ounce raw emotion to 
surface and even death didn't seem as strong as the bond 
they had at that moment. That was a fantasy.

They came back and everything had changed. She wasn't 
repressing her love because of a cause greater than the 
two of them. Greater than anyone or anything. She was 
repressing it because it wasn't returned. 

"You keep me honest."  Pretty words but not what he 
needed or wanted in this life. It was just all he had at 
the time. He needed someone and would go to the ends of 
the earth not to be left totally alone again. But when 
'she' came back into the picture, he had what he really 
wanted. Someone to agree with him. Someone to smile at 
all his jokes; nod seriously at all his ravings. Warm 
his bed at night. What more could he ask for?

Maybe a guilt-free way to get rid of his current 
partner. Which is why she was the recipient of subtle 
and not so subtle hostility. Maybe he was hoping she'd 
blow up and leave. Her choice. Not his. Can't stand the 
heat… In the meantime, poor Mulder was stuck with 
Scully. And poor Scully--well, she had no right to feel 
sorry for herself. Others seemed to want the job of Fox 
Mulder's partner and she should just feel grateful that 
it belonged to her.

She turned her body as much as she could so she almost 
completely faced the passenger's side window. The 
steadily falling snow seemed to make the internal 
temperature in the car much colder than even the broken 
heater could account for.  

If he had any feelings for her, as a human being, they 
never would have left Boston until the car was repaired 
or replaced by a rental. He knew the heater was beyond 
hope five minutes into the trip.

Of course, if he had any feelings for her, they would 
never have got into the car in the first place. He would 
give more than a casual thought that she might--just 
might--be suffering a little post traumatic stress from 
her time in Antarctica. That the cold might represent 
more than even the sizable physical discomfort.

 He had expected her to bounce back like the Energizer 
Bunny and being the good little rabbit she was, she had. 
Showed up to work with signs of frostbite covering her 
cheeks. Stood as proud and as tall as her small frame 
would allow. Ready to take on everyone. Ready to stand 
by his side.

Still ready to stand by his side. Sit by his side. While 
the lummox drives on--uncaring--while she alternates 
between freezing to death and having flashbacks of being 
wet and naked in sub zero temperature.  And feeling so 
lonely. Lonelier than when she was, in actuality, 
completely alone.  There was very little connection now. 
Just two people doing their jobs.

 

She closed her eyes tightly. She felt so tired. With any 
luck, hypothermia would be setting in and she'd be 
drifting off to a coma any minute now. 

It would be better than having him know she was crying. 
Over him.




What the fuck is wrong with her now? he wondered.

She had been acting strangely for weeks. First, she 
pulled the "I barely remember a thing of what happened 
to me in Antarctica" bit. Then, she hounded poor Diana. 
Just because she had enough faith in him to believe 
without scientific proof. Scully certainly had the 
ability to find proof but the capacity to just let go 
enough and believe in him. . .no. He supposed she 
probably wanted an apology for some of the silent 
treatment he had been giving her but she should actually 
consider herself quite lucky. He was fighting against 
the desire to just let go and blow up. Scream at her 
until she saw the light. Knowing that she never would.

Now, she was sitting in a corner--looking, for all 
intents and purposes, like she was trying to will her 
body through the car door and out into the snow. And she 
was crying.

And he knew she thought she was doing a good job of 
concealing it. 

He had been watching her, on and off, for quite some 
time.  A hand would come out from where it was hugging 
her own waist, and creep up to her face, brushing 
something near her eye before returning to its bizarre 
embrace. Was she really just sulking because she wanted 
them to stay in Boston? He didn't want to get stuck 
there all weekend. The city would damned near be shut 
down during a storm and with the way they were 
interacting, that could only mean extreme discomfort for 
both of them. 

He didn't know exactly what went wrong. They had been so 
close before she started behaving irrationally. Still, 
maybe he imagined the intimacy. It's not like they ever 
capitalized on their near encounter in his hallway. 
Hell, he wasn't even sure she remembered it. She never 
said anything.

He moved his head to the right and left, working out a 
kink in his neck. 

They only had another three hours or so on the road. As 
they drove in a southerly direction, the snow wasn't as 
bad as it had been in New England. Of course, it might 
have been nice if the fucking car had heat but it's not 
like they hadn't been in rough conditions before. They 
were troopers. 



Scully was kicking herself. The more she tried to stop 
her uncharacteristic bout of tears, the more they flowed 
freely. She wasn't brushing them away fast enough before 
another would slide down her cheek.

She needed to see someone when they got back home. Not a 
Bureau shrink, either. She could never completely trust 
a Bureau counsellor to keep what she said in complete 
confidence no matter what oaths they took. If she 
indicated difficulty dealing with Mulder, they would 
soon be separated. She had no doubt about it. 

Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing. 

Perhaps they would partner him with a tall, leggy 
brunette with industrial strength tits. Why not? One was 
already in the office. All they had to do was get rid of 
Spender and he was no great loss to the x-files anyway.

She would make an appointment. She should have done that 
the minute they got back from Antarctica. She was losing 
it because she never dealt with any of her emotions or 
fears. There. All nicely rationalized. Even her madness 
could be neatly categorized for easy . . .reference.

God. Everything. Everything revolved around him. 
Everything came back to something they experienced. 
Something he said. Something she responded to. She was 
his wife without any fringe benefits. No, scratch that. 
She was a dinosaur. Women didn't have modern marriages 
in this way. They didn't give themselves up, totally and 
completely, to one person. She could have all the 
arguments with him she wanted. She could keep a separate 
apartment and pretend to have a separate life. 

It was all a sham. Her entire life revolved around him. 
And she doubted she'd get so much as a once a year 
Christmas card out of him if they parted now.

 





She had finally fallen asleep and that's when it got to 
him. She was softly hiccoughing. Just like a child who 
cried itself into a non-peaceful slumber. He was tired 
and had to pee, anyway.  They could stop and she could 
run off to the ladies room and compose herself.

He stopped at one of the endless traveler's rest stops 
along the I-95. She still hadn't woken up. He went 
around to her side and opened the passenger's door and 
she stirred when a cold gust of wind hit her square in 
the face. He took her arm from its tightly locked 
position around her own body and grabbed her hand. Ice 
cold. Even though it had been tucked against her. He 
hadn't felt her this cold since. . .

"Why didn't you tell me you were cold?" He spit out.

She looked at him. Eyes still sleepy. Still red-rimmed. 
His tone of voice woke her up quickly. She snatched her 
hand away from his.

"I thought begging to stay in our warm motel in Boston 
was enough groveling for one night. Pick me up a cup of 
coffee, if it's not too much of a bother. I have to go 
to the bathroom."

He watched her stalk off on unsteady legs. She went 
straight to the rest room as he made his way to the 
restaurant section and ordered coffee for two. First she 
was crying; now she was angry. And they called him 
Spooky. The way she had been acting lately. . .so unlike 
any vision he ever held of her. With the weather the way 
it was, at least two and a half more hours on the road 
lay ahead of them. In a car with no heater. Maybe she 
wasn't feeling well. The tears, the anger and now the 
extremely long stay in the bathroom was convincing him 
of that. He watched her coffee get cold and signaled to 
the waitress. 


Scully stood, warming herself with the hand dryer, for 
several minutes. She only gave up her spot when someone 
else needed to use it. Finally, her fingers could move 
again without much discomfort and she used them to apply 
a fresh coat of  makeup. She rarely did this in the 
middle of the night when Mulder was her only companion. 
But she needed the layer of defense it gave her. And she 
needed a little camouflage for her earlier crying jag. 
Hopefully, they could get through this break quickly so 
they could get in the car and be home in a few more 
hours. Home. She'd lock herself in. Double bolt the 
door. Put a chair under the door knob and not move from 
her bedroom until at least Monday. She mentally counted 
her vacation and sick days. She had enough accumulated 
of both to last quite a while. 

She wouldn't use them but the option gave her courage 
and she stepped into the restaurant to find no trace of 
Mulder. 

Fucker. Cold, heartless bastard. Fucking cold heartless 
bastard. 

Jackass.

She went up and ordered a large cup of coffee and went 
outside to the car. He was already seated behind the 
steering wheel.

She got in and resisted the urge to slam the door 
closed. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of 
knowing that his actions disturbed her. She broke open 
the small perforated section of the coffee lid and took 
a sip. If she drank slowly, she might make it last a 
while. Keep the cold at bay for a half-hour, maybe.

Mulder silently started the car and drove.

Scully watched through the window with eyes that weren't 
paying all that much attention to anything. Until she 
noticed they were not on the highway. She wouldn't ask. 
He probably asked for directions of some sort and found 
a short cut. That's all they needed. To get lost at this 
point.

He stopped the car and got out. Traveler's Rest Motel. 
She watched as he stood by the large picture window that 
was lit with harsh florescent lights. The office, she 
would imagine. No curtains. Like a mini-stage. Mulder 
handed a credit card to the bored receptionist and soon 
she handed it back with a key.

He came out and opened the trunk. Then, her door opened 
without ceremony.

"Let's go. We've got a room."

She sat there.

"Come on. You're cold. I've got us a room. With heat. 
That actually works." A small smile crept across his 
face. One that she almost forgot about. It had been so 
long since she had seen it. Directed toward her, anyway. 
And it was genuine.

She got out of the car and followed him.  Was there any 
other option?


She emerged from a very hot shower feeling a bit warmer. 
But just a bit. That worried her in some vague way. 
Maybe she really hadn't felt all that warm in months but 
only noticed now. Or maybe she was just going insane. 
That was an option to consider. Strangely comforting, in 
a bizarre way. She hoped insanity would bring a sense of 
peace. That would be nice.

She rummaged through her travelling case.  She had a 
pair of sweat pants and an old tee shirt that looked 
warmer than her satin pajamas. She put them on, added a 
pair of socks, and went out to their room. One room. 
Didn't worry her at all. No question of rule breaking 
now. He didn't seem to care one way or the other. That 
much was confirmed when she saw the cot he had unfolded 
and rolled parallel to the bed. Always reassuring to 
know you're right.   She went straight for it and pulled 
one of the spare blankets that was stacked at the foot 
of the bed. 

He stood on the other side of the room, staring at her.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm baking a cake. What does it look like I'm doing?"

"The bed, Scully, is yours."

"No. There is absolutely no way you can fit on this 
small thing and I have no problems with it whatsoever. 
So, forget it."

"Get in the bed, Scully. I'm not kidding."

She got on the cot and snuggled under the covers.

"Fuck you, Mulder," she murmured into the pillow as she 
closed her eyes tightly.

She felt herself, and her blanket, being lifted from the 
cot and deposited, none too gently, on the bed.

She sat up and squelched a desire to murder him without 
further hesitation.

"Mulder--I don't know what the hell is wrong with you 
but if you want to sleep with your legs hanging off the 
fucking bed--be my guest. I'm sick of trying to second-
guess you."

She wiggled herself under the tightly made bedding and 
smoothed out the blanket that came with her during her 
unexpected mid-air flight. She rolled to her side and 
made herself comfortable again. Until he crawled in next 
to her and draped himself casually around her in a 
spooning position.

"Mulder?"

"Shhhh. . .when you fall asleep, I'll go to the cot. You 
need to warm up. You're still very cold, you know."

"So are you."

"Me? No, I don't feel cold."

"I didn't say you 'felt' cold."

Too much information. Too much revelation. 

"You think I am cold?" He asked with a tone of genuine 
amazement in his voice.

"Yes. I do," she said softly, feeling the tears stuck in 
a small ball lodged somewhere in her throat.

"Look, Scully. I wasn't thinking before when you asked 
me to stay in Massachusetts. . ."

"No. You weren't. But why would you. It's only me, 
right?" It was kind of easy to talk to him when she 
wasn't looking at him. Kind of like confession. The 
option of face-to-face confession was there but she 
preferred the old, dark booths. She liked this. 

"Tell me. Tell me what you're feeling," he quietly 
asked.

"No," she sighed. She wanted to but it would just start 
another argument. Adding more ugliness to the ugly 
situation they were already in.

"Tell me, I really want to know."

"You think I'm so strong. All the time. And God knows, I 
try to be. I try to live up to your expectations. To 
everyone's expectations. But, don't you think--for one 
minute--that sometimes it's just too much? Sometimes the 
cup is filled to capacity and overflow is inevitable? 
With the cold weather,  I've been having flashbacks of 
what happened to me and even if I didn't--don't you 
think it's going to take a little longer than a few 
months to get over something like that? Especially if I 
never had the chance to deal with it in the first place. 
But, no--why should you? You're Spooky Mulder--profiler 
extraordinaire who can get into everyone's heads and 
feel what everyone is feeling. But not the Ice Queen's. 
Why even try? Everyone knows she feels nothing."

Shit. A few tears had started rolling again. But he 
couldn't see that. And her voice gave nothing away. As 
long as she kept breathing, kept breathing. Regular, 
steady breaths. 



 But he wasn't saying anything. He was probably asleep. 
She almost laughed out loud at the thought. The ultimate 
irony. 





What do I say to that? he thought. 

She's was right, of course. He hadn't given her 
traumatic experience with the alien virus much thought. 
Not  as to how it might still be affecting her. Once she 
was rescued, he thought of how it affected the world; 
how stupid she had made him look during the review board 
meeting; how it tied in with colonization. He hadn't 
thought it bothered her on a base level. The fact that 
she kept everything inside was no surprise to him so he 
should have made allowances for it.

"I'm sorry, Scully."

She sighed softly. 

"No," she said. "Forget it. I'm expecting you to read my 
mind again. That's probably unfair. I haven't really 
been feeling well and. . .I don't know what I want. I--
just don't want this."

"This?" He tightened his grip around her. Funny how that 
was his first instinct. He wouldn't say the words but he 
knew that somewhere in his psyche a little voice was 
saying, "mine," and holding on for dear life.

"The way things are lately, Mulder. When we got back to 
the D.C., I swear, no matter how bad things looked, I 
thought we could take on the world and win because we 
were so. . .connected. And it's all fallen apart since 
then. All of it. Maybe we just need different things. 
Maybe--you could talk to--Diana--and have her use her 
influence to get you back onto the x-files. I can--be 
reassigned elsewhere and. . ."

"No." He gripped her almost painfully now. "I don't want 
to work with Diana. I want to work with you. Is this 
what it's all about?"

"She's part of it, but unless you haven't been listening 
to me. . . certainly not all of it."

"I didn't go to the ends of the earth to save Diana," he 
whispered against her cheek. It should have been 
romantic. It seemed a bit desperate, even to him. 

"You were never in a position to do so. And you were 
never in a position where your potential failure to save 
her would add to your already immeasurable supply of 
guilt. If you had been. . .I'm sure you would have done 
the same."

"Scully--I told you. I told you in my hallway. I know 
you probably blocked that out of your mind as well but--
I did tell you how I felt about you. How very much you 
mean to me."

"You also ran off the minute I did exactly what you said 
I did best. And I'm not saying you lied. I'm saying you 
said what you thought I needed to hear. What you thought 
you needed to say. And you did what you thought would be 
best. To save 'us' when it looked like you would be left 
alone. But you don't have to be alone now. You can have 
someone who understands you better. Who you have. . 
.history with. Who you could have the entire package 
with. Work and home."

"What?" He sat up and looked down at her, noticing the 
tear tracks on her face.

He rolled her on her back and pulled her up to face him.

"I don’t want Diana--at work or home. Just because I 
give a former friend the benefit of the doubt does  not 
mean I'm suddenly going to drop a partnership--a 
relationship--that has meant everything to me for all 
these years. God, Scully. . ." 

He pulled her to his chest and held her face against 
him. He felt the moisture seep through his tee shirt. 
Silent treatment be damned. He could get himself into a 
lot of trouble if he got overprotective of his pride.

"I can't believe you'd think this way, or feel this way. 
After everything we've been through." He leaned back a 
bit and looked in her eyes.  "And, I'm not condemning 
you for doing this. I can sort of see how it could 
happen but--well, I've had some weird ideas about you 
lately, too and--I think we're going to need to talk 
about all of this. Get it out in the open and not harbor 
everything."

He saw her smile. "I've been thinking of seeing a 
psychologist and now you pick the time to go into full 
professional mode."

"I couldn't treat you anyway. It would be a case of the 
blind leading the blind."

She closed her eyes, still smiling. Her seated stance 
was looking a bit unsteady to him. She had a very rough 
day and was falling asleep sitting up.

He gently pushed her back against the pillows and lay 
down beside her on his stomach, with his arm draped 
casually around her waist. His face was inches away from 
hers on the other pillow.

She looked at him through half-closed eyes.

"Couples therapy?" he whispered.

"Well," she said sleepily, "first, I need to work out a 
few things on my own. Then, we would probably need to 
actually become a couple. . ."

Her watched as her eyes widened in horror over the words 
she had let slip. 

He pushed himself up a bit and looked into her eyes. 

"I'm sure I can call in some favors when the time 
comes." Just the smallest bit of an emphasis on the 
word, "when." He knew she noticed.  He could see her 
relax and see the tiniest spark in her eyes. He leaned 
forward and kissed her on her cheek, as close to the 
corner of her mouth as he could possibly get. That, he 
wanted to save for a more perfect moment. Cold-free, 
argument free, misunderstanding free and bug free. 

"Warming up?"

She opened her eyes for a moment and nodded briefly. He 
felt her move her hand until she was lightly grasping 
the one he had around her waist. It still was when the 
strong winter sun shone through the drab curtains the 
next morning.


2001

"You really hated me?" Mulder asked.

"I never said I hated you. I said I disliked you."

"But not after that night."

"No. Not after that night."

"So. . .if I had made my move back then. . ."

She laughed a little. He was unused to the sound of 
laughter. Especially coming from her.

"Mulder, you wouldn't have 'made your move' back then. 
The time wasn't right."

He got up and looked out of the window again. Something 
inside him hurt. On so many different levels. Their 
timing was wrong for everything. She stood behind him 
and pressed her face against his shoulder blade.

"We don't have to be the royal "WE" right away, Mulder. 
I've had time to prepare for this. You haven't. You can 
take as much, or as little responsibility as you want."

He turned slightly and looked at her.

"I want the full package. I do. I feel so selfish. I am 
selfish. It's just we had so little time being 'just' 
us. I feel cheated. It feels like we're the butt of some 
great cosmic joke. Give them an ounce of happiness and 
then make sure they pay big time. And that's not even 
what this is. This is a gift. This baby. And I  
grateful. I just need to make a whiplash adjustment 
before Junior arrives.  I need to quickly mourn over the 
loss of us, while inside. . .it seems like I could mourn 
that loss forever."

She nodded.

"You understand all that?"  He asked.

"Yeah. I do. Kind of like what I was doing in Boston 
that night. Standing right next to you. . .sitting right 
next to you. Working with you every day but feeling such 
a sense of loss. I think I might have wanted to start 
over again at that point, too. Probably go back to that 
moment in your hallway but this time--bring along a huge 
bottle of Raid."

Mulder laughed and felt a knot inside release.

"I guess, Mulder, the thing I learned back then. . .and 
maybe it's something I keep reminding myself--in order 
to keep myself sane--is we don't have complete control 
over our lives. Whenever we thought we did, well--it was 
just an illusion. You know, someone up there really 
loves us. But there must also be a renegade archangel or 
something who really has us on his shit list. It leads 
to--interesting complications. When all is said and 
done, though, we've still got each other. We haven't 
lost that. We've just gained new hope, new life and a 
new beginning."

He made the attempt to put his arms around her rather 
sizable waist.

"Scully, you're getting mushy on me in your old age."

"It's the hormones."

"You won't have that excuse soon, you know."

"It's not an excuse," she took her hand and gave his 
behind a firm pinch.

"Scully! You're about to be a mother!"

"A mother of a child who will learn to take schedules 
naps.  And now, we know better. Time does not stretch 
indefinitely before any of us. We  take advantage 
of every opportunity."

"We will?" he asked, with a decided gleam in his eye.

"You won't be mourning 'us' for long, Mulder. That much, 
I can promise you right now."

"A voluntary commitment?"

"A very voluntary commitment."





And he did.



Author's Notes: 
(This story has not been beta-read, by the way. I kept 
my beta--the wonderful Christina--busy enough this 
season)
I know I just posted a story last week but--well, this 
is my Requiem, I suppose. No, I don’t plan on "retiring" 
from the fanfic world but, I'm feeling the pain, as I'm 
sure most of us are.  
Mostly  for the great unknown. This is the week we find 
out whether or not to weep over the wonder of the final 
Duchovny-Anderson era episode or hurl tomatoes at our 
sets and burn surfboards in protest.
I hope for the first. I fear, and suspect, the second. 
But, before we find out for sure, this  is one of the 
ways I'd like to see things end.
With a nod to the past and a look toward the future. 

    Source: geocities.com/ginarainfic