Spoilers: Some imagery from "Demons" (US4)
Set during the events of "One Breath" (US2)
Author's notes follow.
Ticking
by Martha Little
mwlittle@mindspring.com
*******************************************
Now you'll never get to heaven, Mama said
Remember Mama said - ticking, ticking.
Grow up straight and true blue, run along to bed
Hear it, hear it - ticking, ticking.
*******************************************
He sat uncomfortably in the cool of the darkness. The high-back
leather chair off to a corner afforded a sweeping view of the nearly
empty room when lit, but at night, in the dark, the setting of the
hardwood floor became a stage where the events of the past played
themselves out. To manipulate, to reinvent. To be recast.
But first he would need to remember.
What was it about that night? What could he not recall?
A car turned onto the street of the apartment complex, its headlights
filtering in through the slits of the closed blinds opposite him. The
rays reflected off of the particles of dust circulating the
oft-ignored room, creating a snowy curtain that would then part and
present a tableau from his past.
His parents were arguing. He and Samantha were upstairs - they had
heard every word. Or sort of heard. It was like listening to a
cassette player with rundown batteries while on a really bad acid
trip. The lights that popped white like those old camera flash cubes
and then faded. The sound of the wind outside of the house that
November evening that seemed to wrap around the occupants of the first
floor and carry the voices straight back to the hellhole where their
lives had oozed forth.
Memories and flashbacks were all he had to keep him company these
days, and he wished that they would just fall off the ends of the
earth. Like his parents. Like his sister.
//Not my baby.//
His mother was crying on the couch. Not just the sobbing of sadness
but with the gut-wretching agony of being made to face your
executioners without the comfort of a blindfold. Of being the target
in a game of Russian Roulette when three chambers have been tested
against your temple and you are running out of chances too damn fast.
Does it matter now who was holding the gun?
//You're a little spy.//
There's a shadow in the corner. There is always that shadow in the
corner opposite himself. Watching. And waiting for the next move.
//Take her - not me.//
He flinched at the sound of the voice from the past, his voice.
He could see his younger self from a distance. He was leading her
down the staircase, dragging a screaming Samantha after him.
//Take her. Take her, not me.//
Over the years, his mother had withdrawn. Denied herself the pleasure
of being a mother because the son had made the decision for her. The
father who would not decide had withdrawn for different reasons - for
he was now afraid of the son who would act so selfishly.
The smoking shadow in the corner took note and smiled.
And tonight, Mulder remembered.
***********************************************
Don't ever ride on the Devil's knee, Mama said
Remember Mama said - ticking, ticking.
Pay your penance well, my child, fear where angels tread
Hear it, hear it - ticking, ticking.
***********************************************
Years later, Mulder would repeat the request.
//Take her.//
There was no emotion in his voice. There was none left. It had been
beaten out of him years earlier. He had learned as a child to detach
himself from the personal, from the emotional side of getting involved
with a subject. He had taken the screen that his parents had been
able to shield themselves with and fortified it with an iron
resolution. Of course, in the end, it had been shown that all his
parents possessed was a veil - thin and delicate like lace, easy to
tear to see the cowering figures that they had become.
He had them sent away when they were no longer useful to The Project.
And now he had made a similar decision. It was a flippant suggestion,
made out of scorn for someone who acted at times like his bratty
little sister. To take her away so that he could be left in peace.
//Take Scully.//
The man before Mulder that day had paused in mid-drag of a cigarette
and remembered a night long ago. When Mulder, then a mere child, had
struck out angrily at a world that he did not understand without fully
anticipating the consequences. From that night, however, the child
had grown stronger in perseverance and made his own unique niche in
the Consortium. The man that Mulder had become was the embodiment of
all that the smoking man had hoped for and more.
A decision had been made. There were no expressed regrets or
lingering doubts.
None that shown, at least.
As he remembered those two instances from the past, Mulder looked for
the smoke that had always signaled approval. But he was alone now, in the
stillness of the dark, and the air was clear.
He had never worried about Samantha's fate; he had been told that she
was alive, but he never thought to ask if she was safe. Likewise he
had never worried about Scully, because he knew that she could take
care of herself and would therefore be safe.
Why had he begun to think about her? Or even care? Why now?
Because she had come back?
Because she had survived?
No, it wasn't that, he thought. It was something *about* Scully. He
let his mind explore the possibilities of that notion. She had
changed, but then anyone who had been missing for the amount of time
that she had been with the variety of experimentation that he knew had
occurred *would* be changed.
But there was something else there. He felt it in talking with her at
the hospital and prompted her to discuss some old cases. She kept
mentioning her work at Quantico which Mulder found unusual as she had
been assigned to the forensics lab upon the dissolvement of their partnership.
Her early lack of stamina and confusion would account for some memory
loss, but what about the differing memory of events? She should have
simply remembered nothing, not make up something new.
Unless she was not the same woman who was taken. Not *really*.
Unless she was *another* Dana Scully.
Unless . . .
*************************************************
You've slept too long in silence, Mama said
Remember Mama said - ticking, ticking.
Crazy boy, you'll wind up with strange notions in your head
Hear it, hear it - ticking, ticking.
*************************************************
end
Notes: The title and referenced lyrics are from "Ticking", lyrics by
Bernie Taupin and music by Elton John and are used without permission.
If you know the entire song, please do not infer any greater meaning
between the song, this story, and recent national events. This was written
during and just after the 1998 Thanksgiving holiday.
This is a chapter in a larger AU piece that has been going nowhere
fast for a number of months. Thanks to those who have read and made
suggestions previously - gizzie, SallyH, and Plausible Deniability. (
geocities.com/area51/labyrinth/1495) (
geocities.com/area51/labyrinth) (
geocities.com/area51)