From: sumrall@delphi.com (L. Sumrall)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Consider The Possibility (short story)
Date: 28 May 1996 07:05:16 GMT


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A long time ago...

((on Earth, before you even think it))

  Bill Mulder struggled with the key in the lock. 
He was tired, dead tired, and really didn't feel
like fooling with the damn thing. He tried to
focus his dry, aching eyes. Maybe he had the wrong
key in the lock. He did. 
  Succeeding in finally breaking into his own
apartment, Bill shut the door and leaned heavily
against it. He didn't bother turning on the lights.
As soon as he worked up enough enthusiasm, he
would simply stumble to his bedroom, pull off as
many pieces of clothing he could until his last
reserves of energy ran out, and fall into a
deep, dead sleep.
  "I should call him," he thought to himself,
as he shrugged out of his overcoat. "I should
let him know how it went."
  *In the morning. Do it in the morning. It
can wait. What hurry is he in?*
  Bill agreed with his inner voice. 
  Toe to heel, he pulled off his leather patent
shoes and kicked them into the corner of the
living room.
  Someone knocked at the door.
  *Oh God, not now. Please not now.*
  Bill shuffled lazily back to the front door and
peered out through the peep hole.
  _He_ was standing out there in the hallway.
  *He had to come check up on me. He doesn't
trust me. Hell, who am I kidding? _He_ doesn't
trust anybody.*
  Rubbing his eyes, Bill opened the door. The bright
light from the hallway temporarily dazzled him. "I
was going to call you in the morning," he started
to explain.
  _He_ stepped into the small apartment, uninvited.
"It IS morning, Bill. Three o'clock to be precise."
  *Nitpicking bastard* "Look, the reason I didn't
tell you right away is because everything went
without a hitch, it's all in place, I haven't slept
in 28 hours, and I thought it could wait until
morning. You're not going to get a very coherant
report out of me in the shape I am. Wouldn't you
rather I be rested and comprehensive in the--I
mean, later in the morning?"
  "I want to know now, Bill," was his terse reply.
"Tell me about it. Is it all in one piece?"
  Bill could feel his knees wanting to give, to
allow him to sink down into the carpet and make
a bed right there on the floor.
  He nodded. "We think it's all in one piece.
It looks whole to me."
  "Where is it?" _He_ took an eager step forward.
  Bill blinked, his thoughts beginning to wander.
"Whadya mean? It's where you told us to put it."
  "And where did I tell you to put it?"
  This wasn't making any sense. Was this a test,
to see if Mulder had followed directions like a
good little secret agent man?
  Then, filtering through the hazy fog of exhaustion,
something occured to Bill. They had been standing 
here talking for a good five minutes, and _he_
hadn't once lit up. Bill had known this man for
a good while, and knew _he_ never went one
minute without a cigarette in his hand, let
alone five.
  Bill started feeling a cold chill work up
his spine. He had always trusted his instincts,
and they hadn't failed him yet. Something
was very wrong here.
  Bill smiled. "Don't you remember?" He carefully
started to reach for his holster. "It's where
you told us to store it. At the bottom of the
rabbit's hole."
  He whipped out the pistol, but his body's 
reactions were slowed considerably due to his
lack of sleep. The other man easily captured
Bill's gun hand in one of his own, then wrapped
the fingers of his free hand around Bill's
throat.
  Bill squirmed, attempting to break free either
his hand to shoot, or his neck to breath. He
wasn't succeeding at either endeavor. He brought
up his other hand to dig his nails into the
fingers cutting into his throat.
  "Where is it," he was asked again. 
  Mulder couldn't understand why he was being
attacked by _him_. "Why are you doing this?"
Bill managed to gurgle. "I did what you told
me to do."
  The grip around his throat tightened, slowly
cutting off the air to his lungs. Bill started 
seeing bright spots before his eyes from the 
oxygen deprivation. He also thought he saw his
attacker's face...ripple.
  *This is impossible*
  The contours and lines of his attacker subtly
shifted and changed. Bone structure and 
cartilage shrunk and expanded, until a whole
new visage was created. It looked vaguely
familiar to Mulder.
  "You will tell me what you did with the 
ship," the stranger demanded one last time.
  *A dead man can't answer your question,
sucker. Let me breath!*
  Bill clawed wildly at his neck. The pain
was starting to fade. Was that good?
  *No, you idiot! That means you're losing
consciousness. You're dying!*
  Blackness started to sink into the edges
of Bill's vision. He stared into the cold,
hard eyes of his killer. They were narrow
with pleasure, watching the futile struggle
of the human being, when suddenly they flew
open in surprise and..could it be, pain?
  The release at his throat was so sudden,
the air flow into his starved lungs hit
him like a hammer. Bill collapsed to the 
floor.
  He looked up to see the stranger before
him reaching behind, grabbing at his neck,
then he, too, started to crumple to the
floor.
  A stinging sensation started to burn
Bill's eyes. This wasn't from sleep, it
was from something starting to fill the air.
A noxious fume, so powerful, it made his
eyes tear and his lungs, still sucking in
deep breaths, start to contract and burn.
  The body of his attacker fell stiffly
to his knees, then fall over hard like a
tree trunk. Through the haze of his
eyesight, Bill could see another figure
standing behind in the doorway. It held 
something small and narrow in it's hand. 
It's face was indistinct; round eyes and 
a pig's snout. No, no. It was a gas mask.
  As Bill started to slide into 
unconsciousness, his blurry eyesight 
took in one last note:

  High heels.

        *    *    *

  "Bill? Bill, can you hear me? Wake up."
  *No, not again!*
  Bill fought against coming awake.
  "Damnit, Bill. Wake up! I know you can
hear me. If you don't wake up, I'll make
the doctor give you something to MAKE
you wake up."
  *You would, wouldn't you.*
  Reluctantly, Bill Mulder fought his
way out of the dark fog. He blinked.
His lids felt like sandpaper scrapping
against his tender eyeballs, but he
opened them up.
  The first sight he saw was of _him_,
standing at the foot of the bed. He
was flanked on both sides. To his left
was a man known only as The Major; a
military liason. On his right stood _his_
prize assassin, known only as Agent Black.
  Bill glanced around him, recognizing an
Army hospital room.
  "What happened?" Immediately, Bill
regretted speaking. His mouth, throat,
and lungs burned.
  "That's what I want to know," _he_
asked. Disregarding hospital rules,
_he_ brought a lit cigarette up to
_his_ mouth and took a drag.
  "When I didn't hear from you about
your assignment, I went over to your
apartment myself, to see why you hadn't
reported in to me. I found you on the 
floor. You appeared to have been attacked.
Who did it, Bill? Who did this to you?"
  Mulder squinted his eyes at the man.
Was it possible? Had there been just the
slightest tone of concern in the man's
voice? 
  "I--I can't remember. I had come home.
I was so tired. There was...somebody."
  "Who, Bill? Think."
  "I...I can't. What's happened to me?
Why do I hurt so?" He rubbed his chest.
  "You've apparently breathed in some
toxic gas," Agent Black explained. "It's
irritated your mucous membranes."
  "There was something else," _he_ went
on to say. "We found a green residue
beside you on the carpet. It was a
rather *large* stain, almost the size
of a man."
  The Major came in closer and leaned
over Bill. "Your attacker, Mr. Mulder.
How did you kill him?"
  "It wasn't with your gun," _he_ said. 
"We checked. It hadn't been fired."
  "What did you use," The Major
continued. "Where is it? Where is
the weapon?"
  "I--" Bill coughed, the pain radiating 
through his body.
  "Do you still have it? How did you get
it? Is it in a safe place?" The Major
pressed on with his questions.
  "I don't <> have it." There was
no use pretending ignorance of what they
were searching for, but they didn't need
to know everything. "There was...someone
else..but he was choking me...I was 
starting to black out...everything is so
vague...I can't remember."
  "So you're saying someone else has the
weapon," Agent Black asked. "Do you know
who it was?"
  Bill's gaze traveled over the three 
standing there, waiting for his answer.
He looked at The Major, a man who sincerly
believed in what he was doing was in the
absolute best interest of his country. He
looked at _him_, who's one goal in life
was to have his fingers in everybody's pie.
Perhaps not have total power, but to be a
player in the game, always. He looked at
Agent Black, her face devoid of any emotion.
Her eyes had once been described to him as
similar to a cobra's right before the strike.
All he saw warm hazel.
  "I don't know," Bill finally answered. "As
I told you, I was starting to black out, and
the fumes were burning my eyes. I couldn't
see anything."
  _He_ dropped the stub of _his_ cigarette to
the linoleum floor and ground it out with
_his_ shoe.
  "It's all right, Bill. Considering the
situation, it's understandable you weren't
able to see who else was there. Of course, if
anything does come back to you, you will tell
us. In the meantime, you'll receive the best
care our country can provide. You'll be up
on your feet and back to work in no time."
  _He_ turned around and started out the door,
the other two automatically falling in behind
_him_.
  She didn't dare look back, as her high heels
clicked against the tile floor down the hall.

        *    *    *

  He lit up another cigarette.
  *Damn them. Damn them both. They think I don't
know? They think they've fooled me? I know she's
been unfaithful. But why Bill Mulder? The son
of a bitch. He's weak! He's nothing! He takes
orders from me! I'm the one with the power. Why
did she chose him over me? I know she's the one
who saved his life, and he lied to me to protect
her. So touching. I don't know how she got a hold
of it, but she's got the weapon. I won't confront
her about it just yet, though. She's still 
useful to me.*
  *But I'll never forget their betrayal. Never!
Let them think they're getting away with it. Let
them think they'll be able to be happy. Oh yes,
that would be supremely humorous. Give it to them.
Give it all to them. He'll want to get out one day,
and I'll let him, good friend that I am. I'll even
let her go, too. Who knows, maybe they'll marry.
Yes, they will, and they'll think to settle down
to a normal life. He'll become just another cog
in the government machine, and the blood-thirsty
witch, she'll transform into the bland suburban
housewife. And when they think they have it all;
home, security, a family...
  *That's when I'll take it away from them.*

        THE END

 Okay, I said I would explain this short scenario
to you. Oh, if you live somewhere that HASN'T
shown "Talitha Cumi" STOP READING RIGHT HERE!

We were discussing TC on the forum, most 
specifically the relationship between MulderMom
(What is her name, anyway???) and CM. I'll be
honest, as I was watching the beginnings of
TC, I had the horrible thought we were about
to learn MulderMom (MM for short) had had an
affair with CM, and he was really Fox's father.
Perish the thought, I know, but still, would've
been a neat plot twist, eh? So then we wondered,
just how much does MM know about the aliens
and the Deadly Icepick (DI) that's needed to
kill them? Maybe she's not so innocent after
all. That's when it struck me. We already 
know from previous episodes that Bill Mulder
and CM have worked together. What if, MM has
also at one time worked for this shadow government,
and who knows, perhaps that's how she and Bill
met.
  So in case you were confused throughout the
story, here it is in plain English: Agent Black
is MulderMom in an earlier incarnation.

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