Title: Microscopic
Written by: SpookyLady
Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Samantha Mulder, Dana Scully, Jeffrey Spender, Cassandra Spender and the Cigarette-Smoking man don’t belong to me, (although I wish they would). They belong (blah blah blah) to CC, 10/13 and Fox.I'm not really sure whom the song "Red Right Hand" does belong to, but I assume it belongs to Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.
I am not getting any money for this story, so don't sue me ! If you will, you just get a bunch of paper and Beatles records, because I don't have anything else. *S*
Category: Vignette
Rating: G
Spoilers: Minor references to "Patient X", The Red and the Black", and "The End"
Summary: Spender’s thoughts after "The End".
Archive: Yes
Dedication: to Chris Owens, who plays Spender (he’s the cutest male FBI agent after Mulder).
Special thanks to: my Muse Cathy, whose hilarious remarks about "The X-Files" make my life better. Also to a "couple" of critics, who helped me make my story better.

* * *

"You’re a microscopic cog in his catastrophic plan
Designed and directed by his Red Right Hand."
"Red Right Hand", by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, "Songs in the Key of X"

* * *

A couple of firemen are still here. I can smell the burned paper and wood, the stench of fire extinguisher liquid is in the air. I stand still for a moment. I know what happened. Mulder and Scully have to be here. I would bet my whole money on it.

"Agent Spender !" someone calls me.

I turn around. There stands Agent Scully, pale, her auburn hair in disorder. A dark hand print is on her sweater. It is on her shoulder, and it’s too big to be her own. It’s Mulder’s, I think. I am already thinking about something sarcastic to say to Mulder. But hell, my brain refuses to obey me. After sixteen hours of doing paperwork I feel like I’m dead.

"Can you help me ?" she asks. Her voice is trembling. She is looking down, on the floor, on the tip of her shoe.

"Yes," I say without even thinking. She really looks like she may use help.

She makes a sign for me to follow. We are walking into hole in the wall where just an hour ago was the door that led into Mulder’s and Scully’s office. Now the office is just a bunch of burned paper, furniture and metal, depressing and dark. Mulder is standing in the middle of the room, with his back to us.

"Can you help me get him to the car ?" she asks, looking up at me. Her eyes are unusually vacant, and she seems to be looking through me as she speaks. I nod.

I stand at the threshold, watching Scully move towards Mulder. I can hear her whispering something to him. ‘Mulder’, ‘car’ and ‘Spender’ are the only words my tired brain understands.

Scully is holding Mulder’s hand. She’s on his right, I’m on the left. Mulder is walking like a robot, his eyes wide open. I glance over to Scully. She is looking even paler, time from time glancing at Mulder.

We get to the elevator. Scully presses a button. Mulder leans on the wall. I can see Scully wiping away a tear. We all are in a one small elevator and in three different places at the same time.

We finally get to the car. Scully squeezes a smile and a ‘Thank you’ out of herself. She produces car keys from her bag, opens the car door. Mulder walks around the car. I go a couple of steps back. Scully sits down at the driver’s seat, Mulder is sitting at her side in the passenger seat. He looks somewhere behind my head, his eyes still full of that terrifying emptiness.

Scully starts the engine, and that noise makes me look away from Mulder for a moment. When I look at them again, I catch a last look of the twosome: Scully and Mulder, side by side, looking through me in nowhere.

Suddenly I want to run, to run away from the man who wants to give me ‘access’ and who claims to be my father, from the maddening emptiness I see in Mulder’s and Scully’s eyes. I saw a reflection of myself in their eyes, I saw myself as they see me: a man who tries to make a career by all means, being a moron to people he hates.

I want to admit to myself that I hate Mulder, but I do not hate him, I’m just afraid of what people think of me, when Mulder isn’t. I know all wild stories told about Mulder in the bureau, and I saw a couple of X-Files myself.

I don’t want be laughed at. I always am playing a serious man, trying to be the opposite of Mulder, but I sometimes forget that we are looking for the same answers. But the only thing I get are the lies. He at least knows some of the truth. He did not give up hope, unlike me. My mother is missing just a couple of months, and I don’t hope to ever see her again. His sister has been missing two thirds of his life and he still believes she is alive.

I suddenly remember about the file the man was holding in his hands. I just remembered ‘Mulder’ on it. It has to be the famous Samantha Mulder file. Everyone in the building knows about her, everyone who visits the basement has seen a picture of her. Mulder claims to have spoken with her, claims that he saw clones of her. He has something to believe in. I’m envious of him.

I go back, trying not to think about what happened, but my thoughts always return to the incident. The silent gaze of two pairs of eyes is not leaving me alone. They pierce my soul and make me feel guilty. Go away ! I shout inside, but they stay. I want to be tiny, to hide from all that happened. I remember a song I heard on the radio last night. It had a word in it that would describe my state perfectly. I want to be microscopic.

* * *

Comments ? E-mail me at beyond_the_sea@usa.net.

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