From: "Alicia K." Date: Mon, 02 Aug 1999 20:26:01 -0500 Subject: xfc: "Looking For America" by Alicia K (1/2) Source: xfc From: "Alicia K." Title: "Looking For America" Author: Alicia K. Rating: PG-13 for some language, violence, non-graphic sex, and disturbing themes Keywords: Post-colonization, major character dead at the beginning of the story. Yikes! Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Thanks for letting me borrow them, Chris. Archiving: Ask first, please. Chances are I'll say yes. Feedback: Betcha by golly wow! Spartcus@execpc.com Summary: In a post-colonization world, a lonely woman named Kate befriends a lonely FBI agent with a dark heart. I wonder who that is? Author's Notes: I never thought I'd be writing a story with only half of the Mulder/Scully dynamic. I never thought I'd be totally obsessed with a TV show, either. Funny how those things work out. Special Thanks: To Ophelia, Joanna, Caz, Lisa, and Jamie for their wonderful, much-appreciated beta skills and encouragement. And to Paul Simon, whose acoustic live version of "America" inspired this story. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX "Looking For America" by Alicia K. The necklace fell gracefully, as if in slow motion. The ocean breeze prevented it from dropping straight down into the turbulent water; it caused the chain to twist and turn, pirouetting through the cool air in a delicate dance. Sudden tears caught in my throat for this woman I had never met, but I swallowed them quickly. This was not my grief to bear. I wanted to look to the man who stood not ten feet from me, to see if he was shedding the tears that I could not, but I was reluctant to take my eyes from the descending necklace. Whether I was expecting some kind of sign, I couldn't say. But when the late afternoon sun hit the small cross, the brief, brilliant flash was like a beacon, signaling to the man who stood on the cliff above. I let out the breath I didn't realize I had been holding as the gold cross and chain disappeared from my sight. Finally daring to glance at my companion, I saw his eyes drift slowly shut, his chin dropping to his chest, shoulders giving up their stubborn set. After another long minute of silent vigil, Mulder sat down on the edge of what used to be California. I silently retreated, leaving him to mourn for the woman he called Scully. XXX Northern Wisconsin Six Months Earlier Uncle Jim's cabin was still standing. That in itself surprised me; no one had been up here in years, except for the caretaker that Mom had hired to keep it clean and off the condemned list. I arrived with my car, my suitcase, food, and two notebooks, ready to face a world with no phones, no memories of my ex-boyfriend Dan, and no stress. Instead, I found the late night AM radio talk shows filled with warnings and told-you-so's as the paranoid talked with frantic voices about an approaching storm. I laughed about it a little that first night, reaching over to switch off the old radio before turning over to fall into a deep sleep. "The aliens are coming!" the voices raged over static-filled radio waves, sounding even more frightening in the utter darkness of the hot, still night. "Colonization will begin Labor Day weekend!" 'Aliens,' I thought with a laugh. 'Right, buddy. Little green men.' It didn't actually hit me that the voices belonging to Scott from Denver, Bob from San Francisco, and Melvin from DC were speaking the truth until an announcement from the president came over the air. He declared a state of emergency, but didn't elaborate. I remember being angry at his vagueness, anxious and disgusted at the way Washington was keeping the country in the dark. The broadcast was brief and terse, and he urged people to seek shelter or leave the major cities. The static-covered voices returned then, and my thought of 'I didn't know there were actually people named Melvin' was quickly lost amidst the feelings of utter dread that came with the increasing urgency of their voices. Sitting in a chair on the patio, the cheap radio by my side, I kept glancing down at my watch, checking the date, making sure that it really was only two days before the Labor Day weekend. The air was heavy and moist. Mosquitoes fed on me as I sat there in the dark looking out over the eerily calm lake, but I merely slapped at them absently, often too late to stop the sting and itch. Just before dawn, the crickets ceased their chirping, and I knew with sudden certainty that Scott from Denver, Bob from San Francisco, and Melvin from DC had been wrong. The raving voices on the radio became unnerving static, and I knew it had begun. They were early. With silent panic and trembling hands, I walked back into the cabin and let myself into the ancient bomb shelter that Uncle Jim and Grampa had built long ago. I sat on the cold, hard cement in the dark, damp corner and wept, praying frantically to a god I wasn't sure I believed in. And I waited. Was I waiting to die? Waiting for a bright light and weightlessness? I didn't know. I didn't know how long I remained in that shelter, illuminated only by an ancient flashlight that I used stingily. My watch had stopped at 4:45 AM on Thursday morning, at the same time the radio voices had become static, the same time the crickets' chirping had ceased. When the fear became too much and I was ready to face whatever awaited me outside my cement fortress, I threw open the doors with a ragged cry, half hoping that someone (something?) was waiting to kill me. The terror out there was no less than inside my cramped cement refuge. The world had grown still and silent, the air thick with heat and something that I couldn't quite put my finger on but knew was inherently evil. The lake's surface was glassy, looking as if nothing could disturb it. It looked like I could walk across its surface, a post-apocalyptic Christ. I almost laughed at that thought. I even opened my mouth to let the sound out, but it stopped short in my throat as I looked up to find the sun. The sun was red. Not the red of a beautiful sunset, but the rich red of blood and death. And in the air hung the sound of a constant, unearthly hum. My body felt numb and cold. Clenching my chattering teeth, I returned to the shelter. 'Hell of a way to learn that we aren't alone,' I thought as I perched tensely on the hard floor, biting down on the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming. XXX It was so quiet, this new world. I missed my mom and the whirring of her exercise bike as she rode it down in the basement. I missed my friends, the way they would egg me on as I sang karaoke in a smoky bar. I missed music, too. I had never been one to sit comfortably in silence. I had to have background noise: the TV in the other room, a CD in the stereo. But all the radios had been silenced. There was nobody left to man the stations, to play songs to drive away the loneliness that no longer only crept in during the dead of night; that loneliness was now a given, occupying the aching silence of the new world. I sang to myself, talked under my breath, anything to keep my ears from ringing with the heavy quiet. I had stumbled out of the cabin after a long week of fear and discomfort, my ears straining to hear signs of the low hum. There had been nothing. My fingers had turned the knob of the radio, desperately listening for signs of life out there. Only silence blared out of the speakers. My tears had resurfaced as I frantically threw my things into the car. Wiping them from my blurred vision, I had attempted to start my car. Nothing happened. Nothing. XXX I walked, carrying what I could in my bag: what was left of my water, a little food, a flashlight, another pair of sneakers. In a moment of clarity, I had recognized the wisdom of taking a second pair of comfortable shoes if I would be walking . . . Where? Where would I be walking? I supposed I would go home first, to see if there was a home left to go to. After that . . . I just didn't know. And so I walked. I passed motionless cars with dead drivers on the highway. I passed bodies lying on green grass and in gardens, all with thin trickles of dried blood tracing a crooked path from their ears. Some of the bodies were not human, but my stubborn fear kept me from moving in for a closer look. I saw only their chalky skin and long fingers as I hurried past. I let myself into empty convenience stores, gathering water and food. I helped myself to cartons of cigarettes and smoked them eagerly, despite the fact that I had given them up several years ago. They gave me an odd comfort, soothing what was left of my numbed nerves. My wish of finding one other living being finally came true as I walked into St. Louis, singing tunelessly under my breath. I stopped to rest, drinking from the jug of distilled water I carried in my heavy backpack. The tepid water dripped from my mouth, mingling with the hot tears seeping from my eyes. I wished that I could have been with my mother when she died. Maybe then I would be dead as well, instead of wandering aimlessly in this broken world. I didn't know where I was going and I didn't know what I was going to do. I was determined to find another survivor. I had to know that I wasn't alone. Then I could figure out what came next. I put the bottle away and looked up at the familiar arch shining in the harsh midday sun. "Hey!" The sharp voice startled me, and I spun around so quickly that I tripped and fell forward. I would have braced myself with my hands, but my arms got tangled up in my backpack. Lying in an undignified heap in the dry grass, I squinted up at the owner of the voice, a bearded blonde man in a University of Georgia sweatshirt and jeans. "Who are you?" he demanded in a thick Southern accent, and as my shocked brain fumbled for the appropriate response, other faces appeared next to his, both male and female. "I . . ." I stammered, then burst into tears. "Where did you come from?" "Jack! Leave her alone, she's frightened!" The owner of the sympathetic voice knelt beside me, smiling kindly. "Are you all right, sweetheart?" she asked gently. I swiped at the tears and looked up into her eyes. "I . . . you're . . ." She helped me sit up, and I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to stop the tears. "I thought I was the only one left." XXX The forty-six survivors had come from the east and the south, having survived the invasion by retreating underground in shelters, like me. Jack was from Athens, Georgia. Melinda was the Virginian who had come to my rescue. Nathan and Kristin were two of the ten children in the group. Sonja was pregnant and terrified. All were shell-shocked, wandering across the leveled country in a wide-eyed daze. Many carried guns and other weapons, but hadn't had much use for them. They had taken up temporary residence in a deserted Holiday Inn in St. Louis, resting for a few days to gather their strength and hopefully scavenge for more supplies. Upon arriving three nights before, they had chosen the hotel and cleared the building of the decomposing bodies in their now-familiar routine. I stood by the dirty pool that night, chain smoking and trying to still my trembling hands. Earlier, around a conference room table, Jack and several others had told me the story of the invasion. Attempted invasion, as it turned out. It had been swift and violent. Mere hours after the initial invasion, a counter attack had occurred. Alien rebels, they informed me. They appeared human, with the exception of having no discernible facial features. It was as if they had seared all of their visible orifices shut, it was explained to me. The rebels had destroyed the attacking aliens as fast as they had arrived, then turned their weapons on the rest of the world. Their weapons struck down every living being and had emitted an electro-magnetic pulse that had rendered all electronic devices utterly useless. A violent shudder had passed through me as they talked; I couldn't shake the image of Mom falling to the ground, blood trickling from her ears. The destruction had ended as suddenly as it had begun, but the aliens had worked quickly. Those who had been aware of the approaching doom had taken cover in old fallout shelters as I had; we were the only ones spared, and there weren't many of us. Odd that underground dwellings built to save ourselves from each other would save us in an attack from another planet. They told me this as if it were common knowledge, which struck me as odd, even while this information overwhelmed me. I had gripped my head to stop it from spinning and asked in a rough voice, "How do you know all of this?" Melinda had splayed her hands out on the table before her, studying them carefully as she responded, "One of the survivors from DC told us." She had given a short chuff of a laugh. "He said that he had known about it for a long time, and that it had been planned by ours and other governments years ago." Her haunted gray eyes had met mine then. "Can you imagine?" I could. I could imagine just about anything now. I flicked another cigarette butt into the murky water, staring down at a lone body that was lodged at the bottom of the pool, trapped underneath a poolside table. I wondered fleetingly how he had gotten there. "You got a light?" I turned at the sound of the flat baritone voice. He stepped forward from the shadow of the doorway and was illuminated by the moon. He was tall and lean, cheeks covered with faint stubble. His dark hair hung raggedly over his ears, scraping the collar of his battered leather jacket. I reached into my jeans pocket for my lighter and offered it to him. He turned towards me, his eyes flicking over me briefly before lighting the cigarette between his full lips. His eyes were hooded and dark. I was sure they, like all the others', held indescribable sorrow and a tragic tale. Just like mine. He took a long pull on the cigarette; in the silence of the late hour, I could hear the thin paper burning, turning into ash. I shuddered with a flash of delight at the slight sound and pulled another cigarette from the rapidly dwindling pack. Throughout the tales of horror I had been told earlier, I had kept quiet, save for my one question. What more could be said? I had grown accustomed to this new, silent world. Regaining the ability to communicate with anyone else seemed beyond me at the moment. And what was there to say when all the participants had seen their world destroyed? So I welcomed the silence of the man at my side. I didn't know his name, but I had seen him just beyond the edge of the group, just out of reach, just out of their circle. I wondered where he'd come from, I wondered whom he had lost, I wondered what his name was, but I didn't want to speak. When his cigarette butt joined mine in the pool, I wordlessly handed him another. The lighter had remained in his hand, and he lit my next one for me. Post-apocalyptic chivalry, I thought, a little smile peeking around the cigarette between my lips. "Gonna rain tomorrow," he murmured, tilting his face towards the moon above. "Halo around the moon." He spoke absently, his voice surprisingly tender, as if he were conjuring up a beloved memory. I looked up to confirm this and gasped slightly at the ethereal beauty of it. "You must have a little sailor blood in you." "No." All tenderness gone from his voice and expression, he flicked the cigarette into the pool and shook his head shortly at my offer of another. "You came from Wisconsin?" I nodded. "You?" I thought maybe he hadn't heard me or was just ignoring me, but he finally answered, "Back east." Conversation felt strange, almost like I was speaking in a foreign language. "How long have you been with them?" I asked with my sluggish tongue. "From the start." "Is it still September?" I asked tentatively, hugging myself against a sudden chill. He looked at me, an unreadable expression on his face. "Tomorrow's Halloween." I blinked a few times, confused. How long had I been in the cabin? I had lost count of the days in the shelter, living on the smallest portions of food I could stand and peeing into a bucket. I had no idea how many days and nights I had traveled, driving and walking through the states. I would have to start keeping track. Maybe then I wouldn't feel quite so lost. I shook my head, clearing the cobwebs and tossing my cigarette away. "Trick or treat," I mumbled. He gave a sound that may have at one time qualified as a chuckle. "Trick or treat," he repeated. I was seized then with a weariness that made my bones ache. Maybe I would try and get a few hours' sleep before the group headed west again in the morning. "Good night . . ." I said, trailing off where I would have spoken his name. "Mulder," he filled in for me, dismissing me with a nod and an uncomfortable expression. "Mulder," I echoed. His back was to me now, lost in his past, I guessed. I turned and went inside. XXX Nightmares were common. Everyone had their demons, their ghosts and terrors that came to them in the darkest hours of the night. The sounds of torment were not uncommon in the camps we set up each night, wherever we chose to stop. My own nightmares came quickly, showing their faces as soon as I drifted into sleep. I dreamt of dark bomb shelters and cold, hard concrete and brilliant flashes of white light that killed everything it touched. I dreamt of voices filtering through my radio. But instead of Scott from Denver, Bob from San Francisco and Melvin from DC, it was my mother, Nana, and Dan, all calling for me, their voices small and static-covered through the speaker. Then the voices would fade, replaced by a heavy silence that never failed to bring me back into consciousness, fresh tears on my cold cheeks. I got used to it quickly. There wasn't much else to be done about it. There was no solace to be found with these people, other than the basic comfort of knowing that there were others. There were others elsewhere, too. "Vancouver," Mulder had told me a day or so ago, when it finally dawned on me to ask whether we had a specific destination or not. "There are camps there, survivors." I didn't know how he had come across that information, and I didn't bother myself with wondering. I didn't ask many questions. Talking seemed like such a waste. Some sick part of me decided that I almost preferred traveling alone, so that I could sing to keep myself company. It was better than the cold quiet that permeated our group. We walked for hours without the sound of one lone voice, as if we were all zombies, shuffling to find fresh flesh on which to feed. The only time I welcomed the silence was during those late hours, when I would move away from the camp and its smoldering fires, sitting on the edge of wherever we were. I smoked endless cigarettes acquired from the ghost shops of ghost towns we passed through, moving like ghosts ourselves. "Hey." I flicked my eyes over to Mulder, who was settling down a few feet from me, lanky legs akimbo on the hard ground. "Hey," I responded softly, tossing the pack of Camels and lighter over to him. I knew that Mulder often stayed up at night, forgoing sleep to wait for dawn away from the camp. I had found him watching the sunrise several times, and it struck me that he looked like he was waiting for something. Or someone. I half expected to see someone walking towards him one morning, a mere speck on the horizon at first, but growing as they approached, as the sun rose high and bright behind them. I pictured this person racing to catch up with us, having been left behind "back east" weeks ago. They would follow our tracks, picking up clues as to our path along the way. I think he was waiting for Scully, whoever that was. I didn't even know if that was a man's name or a woman's. I only knew that when Mulder did sleep, Scully was the name that he screamed as he awakened with a violent lurch. From the way he screamed I assumed that Scully was dead and would not be coming out of the horizon at the next sunrise. XXX I had always wanted to visit California. It seemed like the place to go, the place to be if you were as celebrity-crazy as I had been when I was younger. I always meant to just throw my shit in my car and take a road trip for a couple of weeks. I would stay with my aunt and uncle in Culver City, see all the sights, drive up the coast and marvel at the Pacific. It was Mulder who told me that California was gone. I again had no idea how he had come to know this bit of knowledge, but I decided I didn't want to know. The epitome of the American dream, the ultimate destination of so many dreamers had fallen into the sea, like all its pundits had long ago predicted. The invasion had set into motion a chain of events that had culminated in the largest earthquake this world had probably ever seen. The San Andreas Fault had given a mighty heave and pushed its western host into the ocean. This made me so sad. It filled me with a surprising ache, as if this loss meant more to me than the loss of my family, the loss of my corner of the universe. California was gone, and I had never gotten to see it. After Mulder had told me this news, I started to wonder why I was going to Vancouver. What was up there, besides the promise of other human beings? There was no civilization; only tattered ruins and shattered lives remained. That's all that remained anywhere. Did we think we could recreate a society? Or would we merely come together only to realize that there was nothing left, and would never be anything left? I began to lag behind the group, even going so far as to sometimes wander off in a different direction, just so I could hear the sound of my own voice again. Another night fell, and this time there was soft talk coming from the camp. I sat apart, as always, smoking and listening to the monotonous murmurs from a distance. Instead of comforting me, the sound of the talk made me feel anxious. I didn't want to be with them anymore. I wanted to . . . I didn't know what I wanted. I wanted my life back. I wanted to see Mom again. I wanted to sing along to my Indigo Girls CDs. I wanted to run with my dog. "They're heading north tomorrow." Mulder's voice startled me, and he took the offered cigarettes from me as he sat down. "They'll have to cross the mountains eventually." "Yeah," he agreed. After exhaling ghostly white smoke into the air, he said, "I'm not going north." I turned to him then. "Why?" I wondered if there was another group of people that he somehow knew about. "I have to go to California." His shoulders moved in a quiet laugh. "What's left of it, anyway." Tilting my head up towards the sky, I pondered the thousands of stars hanging motionless above us. Every night I watched carefully, waiting to see pinpricks of light moving towards us across the sky, becoming larger and larger until they landed to finish off the lives they had failed to destroy. "Take me with you," I requested quietly. He dipped his head, tracing a pattern in the dirt with the lighter. "Kate." "I have to go." He turned to me, one corner of his mouth lifted in what appeared to be a smile. "You have to." "Yeah." "Why do you have to?" I fiddled with the soft pack in my hands, the cellophane crinkling between my fingers. "I don't know." I could feel his dark eyes on me for a long, silent while, until he finally nodded and whispered, "Okay." We sat together and watched the sun rise hours later, but said nothing more. From: "Alicia K." (Disclaimer and other fun stuff in part one.) XXX When we left the next morning, the rest of the group watching us silently, I felt a little like Maureen O'Hara riding off into the sunset with John Wayne. Only in this movie, there would be no happily ever after. "You will find nothing but a country that ends too soon," Jack had told me as Mulder gathered supplies. I had only nodded at him. Not so long ago I would have argued with him, but what was the point now? As Mulder and I reached the top of the hill, I turned to watch the others begin their journey to the north. "Kate. Let's go." Mulder's voice drifted over the hot breeze to me from where he waited, halfway down the hill already. And we walked. XXX The desert was darker than I expected. I had known it would be dry and dead, the sun's rising and falling splashing the rocks and sand with colors that belied the horror the earth had become. But at night, after the colors had seeped into the barren ground, it was cold and lonely. The only light came from the slowly dying fire far behind me. As I settled onto the rapidly cooling sand, I tugged the blanket around my shoulders and briefly wondered if I should be concerned that I had wandered so far away. It's not like there was anyone or anything left to approach me. It was just us. Or was it? If there were camps still in Canada, or groups like Jack's, slowly trudging towards the promise of life, what was to say that there weren't others? Listening to the silence made me believe that there were no more. Having grown up in an environment that had been thick with nature's sounds, I was used to the noises of crickets and frogs, even the occasional snap of twigs under an animal's paws. I had never visited the desert and had no idea what the night sounded like. I was fairly sure that it hadn't sounded like this. The silence was almost painful, pressing onto my ears like mounting pressure in a climbing airplane. I cleared my throat, just to hear a sound, then drew my knees to my chest, resting my cheek upon them. The night air flitted over me, cool like a caress, but not comforting. XXX In the middle of yet another ghost town, Mulder spotted a store down the street. As he turned his head to call back to me, the bright sun flashed upon an object at his throat. I wondered how I had not noticed it before. I allowed my eyes to linger on the cross as he brushed his hands off on his battered jeans. It seemed out of place on his neck. I had barely spoken with him since St. Louis, but I got the sense that he was not a religious man. Maybe it was the way his hazel eyes shone with horrified knowledge, as if he knew something that the rest of us didn't. Maybe it was in the way his hands trembled when he lit our shared cigarettes. Maybe it just struck me as odd that anyone could still believe in a god that had struck us down so cruelly. I hurried down the hill and joined Mulder inside the store. In the rapidly dying light of day, we gathered what we could: two jugs of water, a few cans of soup, some beans, two ace bandages. A spot that I assumed used to be a park became our camp for the night, and we dined on beans and water around the sputtering fire. Cigarettes and silences were again shared as we watched the stars come out. I itched to carry out my nightly ritual of wandering from the fire, but I stayed. "Do you still believe in God?" I asked. Mulder's head jerked up, as if startled by my question, as if he had forgotten that conversation was an option. He appeared puzzled, and I gestured to the cross on the delicate gold chain around his neck. His hand slowly rose to touch the small cross, and his lips formed silent words before he replied, "I never did believe." His voice was no more than a ragged whisper, and I had a sudden flash of the man he used to be, speaking his thoughts confidently, in a silken baritone. I wanted to ask about the cross, but the way he was looking down at it made me swallow my words. Reaching around to unclasp the chain, he held it in his hands, looking down at it with such reverence and sorrow that I knew it had belonged to someone else; he wore it as a reminder of what he had lost. Wife? Daughter? Had it belonged to this person named Scully? "She's dead." His words were unprompted, and I fleetingly wondered if I had been thinking out loud. Then he laughed, a bitter barking sound that startled me. "Everyone's dead, though, aren't they?" He weaved the chain through his fingers, still staring intently at it. I watched the firelight dance upon it, making it seem as if he wore bands of muted gold on every finger of his left hand. "Were you with her when she died?" I asked. It seemed to me an odd question to ask, but I felt I needed to know. I hadn't been able to be with my mom and nana when they died, but maybe not everyone shared this guilt that I carried. "Yes." I prodded the smoldering fire with a stick, wondering if he would continue but not wanting to ask for his story. It was his to tell, his to give. He leaned over and reached inside his pack, emerging with a scrap of paper. Wordlessly, he handed it to me. It was his Scully, and she was beautiful. Intelligent blue eyes looked sharply into the camera, the smallest hint of a smile on her full lips. She was as pale as I was tan, and I fingered the unruly black braid that hung down my back as I enviously studied her auburn hair. I handed it back to Mulder, who looked at it lovingly, touching it in a brief caress before carefully replacing it among his things. "Your eyes are a lot like hers," he said absently, running a hand through his dark hair. "We made it to Virginia, but they attacked us while we slept," he continued in a low, dull voice. "We were so exhausted. I don't think I'd ever slept so soundly; we'd been travelling for days. It had taken us so long to get out of DC . . ." His hand made a tight fist, clutching at the thin chain. The cross glinted against his long, elegant finger. "She didn't hear them come up on us. Looters, I guess." He shook his head slightly. "I didn't hear them either. When I woke up, she was lying beside me, bleeding, and I couldn't do anything for her." His voice dropped to a whisper again. "They took everything." I closed my eyes, seeing him in my mind as he cradled his Scully in his arms, helplessly crying as her blood seeped out onto the lifeless ground. As my eyes drifted open again, he unwound the chain from his fingers, the cross dangling from his hand. "Leaving her there was the hardest thing I've ever had to do." I wasn't sure if he even remembered if I was there, just across the fire. "I buried her and left her." A heavy minute passed before he got up and swiftly walked out into the night. His voice hung in my ears. XXX I was tired. I was tired of the silence and tired of smoking endless cigarettes beside a small campfire, but mostly I was tired of walking. I wasn't the type of person with an innate sense of wanderlust. I liked having a home. Now that there was nowhere to call home, it looked like I didn't have any choice. Maybe I never would again. I could have continued on to Canada with the others, but I had chosen to follow Mulder. Perhaps it was because I felt that I needed to see California, now that everything was gone. Perhaps it was because Mulder was the only one to offer me any kind of companionship. After he had told me about Scully, Mulder began to speak more freely, as if my questions had broken through the dam he had built around his vocal cords. He told me how he had stumbled upon the group, about what they had seen as they traveled. Lying on my blanket, I would watch the fire dance upon the sand, letting his voice lull me. I didn't speak up much with my own stories, but I think that's the way he liked it. I wanted to know more about his Scully, but I was hesitant. Who was I to take the only thing he had left? XXX Lying on the dry grass away from our camp, I tossed a cigarette away after only two puffs. I felt impatient, but I didn't know what for. The night seemed heavy to me, as if it too was waiting for something to happen. Hell, maybe the rest of the country was about to fall into the Pacific. There was a moderate breeze that night, which made me think we were close to our goal. As it blew across the open land, the dry brush and sand whispered around me. I smiled, listening to the welcome sound. That slight sound managed to cover the approaching footsteps and I never heard them come up behind me until the knife was at my throat. My cry was muffled under a thick, callused hand. The man holding me didn't speak, but his breath was heavy in my ear. Not daring to move even the inch required to look at my captor, I closed my eyes as rough hands squeezed at my body. What a way to find out that there are others, I thought, swallowing mad laughter as my jeans were quickly unbuttoned and yanked down over my hips. Didn't get to see California, I thought as a mouth bit wetly at my ear. With an odd sense of calm, I wondered if they would kill me. That thought was followed by the realization that I wanted them to. The knife suddenly left my throat, and the scramble of my captors sent me to the ground with a muffled sound. Finally daring to open my eyes, I saw Mulder standing over the body of a man. My would-be-rapist's jeans were around his ankles, and a pool of blood was rapidly spreading from his slashed throat. Mulder made no sound, not even as the other man rushed at him, knife at the ready. He made no sound as they toppled to the ground, both knives skittering away upon impact. Bile rose in my throat as I realized that the thick sounds of their primal fighting were welcome to me after so many months of eerie silence. I didn't know where to look - at the dying man, or at the sickly fascinating sight of Mulder killing the other with silent, methodical fury. I tilted my head back and looked up at the dark sky. I wondered if our invaders were watching us at that moment, laughing at the way we fumbled blindly in our new world. When Mulder said my name, I realized that the sounds had faded, and we were alone again. I shuddered, then nodded that I was all right. The sound of his harsh sobs made me finally turn to look at him. He sat beside the body of the man he had just killed, not bothering to hide his tears. I rose to go to him, not sure if he would accept my comfort but needing some of my own. I stumbled, forgetting that my jeans were still around my knees. Awkwardly pulling at them, I knelt beside him and tentatively touched his shoulder. He looked at me briefly before quickly turning away. An overwhelming sense of loneliness swept over me as I realized what he must be thinking - why couldn't he have saved her? My hand dropped from his shoulder as tears of my own sprang to my eyes. I suddenly wished that they had killed me. I don't think I had actually thought of it before, but it was so clear now - never again would I feel loved, or cherished, or even desired. There was simply no one left to do it. I moved to get up, but his hand on my knee stopped me. I looked down at his elegant, bloody fingers resting against my still half-bare leg. "You're all right," he whispered. I looked up into his hazel eyes, seeing a warmth that I hadn't seen there before. A tear slid down my cheek, and I allowed his hand to guide me to his lap, where I laid my cheek against his thigh and closed my eyes. With the comfort of his hand stroking my hair, I slept. XXX I awoke knowing that we were close to our goal. The air had been growing moist during the week since the attack, and I was sure I could smell the sea salt in the breeze. It had rained steadily for the past couple of days, and the river we camped near flowed swiftly and fully. I had bathed and swam in it the night before underneath the full moon, and the cool water had felt heavenly on my tired body. Wanting to feel that again, I shed my clothes and hurried over to the river only to find Mulder already there. The droplets of water on his skin caught the early morning light, and the sight of him covered in little sparks of sunlight stopped me in my tracks. I stared at him in awe for a good minute before I fully comprehended the fact that he was naked. It had been so long since I had felt even the dimmest spark of sexual desire, and the flush of warmth that dawned in my belly hit me with such force that I gasped. Without any thought of embarrassment I let my gaze drift slowly over him as he splashed handfuls of water over his body. He wasn't as thin as I had first thought when I met him - when? Days, weeks, months ago? - but was lean and muscled, with narrow hips and smooth chest. My eyes traveled down over his muscled legs, and when I had reached his feet, I raised my eyes again to find him watching me. The flush quickly spread to my face when he didn't avert his gaze in modesty. Out of instinct, I raised the blanket I carried to my chest to cover my nudity, but it faltered when he still did not look away. Feeling not unlike Adam and Eve in a twisted version of the Garden of Eden, I let the blanket fall and found myself walking towards the water. His eyes never left me, nor did he move, even as I stood before him and laid my hands on his chest. I let my hands slowly press over his skin, smoothing away the droplets of water. My index finger circled the small, round scar on his shoulder, knowing it was a bullet wound but not wanting to know the particulars that surrounded it. A sudden thought came to me as I touched his flat, brown nipples - I didn't know who this man was. Who had he been? He had killed those men in a manner that suggested he had done so before. Was I standing in a river naked with a criminal? Not that it mattered much now. If he hadn't harmed me so far, I could only assume he would not now. He finally moved to touch me, raising his hand to softly brush his knuckles over my cheek. Taking a small step closer, he lifted my face up to his and kissed me. I closed my eyes and let myself pretend that I wasn't having this post-apocalyptic encounter, but that I was back in Wisconsin, kissing Mulder in my darkened apartment. Maybe we had just gotten back from a first date, or maybe he was already a familiar lover. Maybe I could open my eyes right then and find myself there, in my own bed, shaking from the residual memories of this awful nightmare. The kiss ended, and my eyelids slowly drifted open. I did not see the comfort of my own bedroom, but Mulder before me with tears on his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he choked, turning abruptly and splashing towards the shore, where he grabbed his jeans and disappeared over the rise. XXX We didn't speak a word of our encounter at the river as we continued west, towards the ever-closer end of the road. I watched him as we walked, watched the way he kept reaching for the cross at the base of his throat, how his fingers caressed it, as if looking for reassurance or forgiveness. The silence continued until late that night, when I was awakened by the sounds of Mulder's cries as he called for his Scully. The screams quickly faded to sobs. It only took me a brief moment to decide what to do. I rose and went to him, kneeling beside him and brushing the dark hair from his face tenderly. He awoke immediately with a jerk, but I shushed him with two fingers over his lush mouth. He murmured his confusion, wrapping his hand around mine and drawing it away. "Let me," I whispered, placing a soft kiss on his mouth. A second, longer kiss and his arms pulled me down to his side. It wasn't a purely selfless decision on my part. The desire that had bloomed this morning refused to be swept back under the rug. So let him pretend I was his Scully, at least I would be gaining release, too. As his hands and mouth roamed over my body, I felt a spark of envy towards the ghost between us. I could imagine being this man's lover, enjoying his kisses and caresses, spooning in a big bed with him as a gentle breeze blew through an open window. I didn't realize I was crying until he hovered above, poised to enter me. With an infinitely tender gesture, he brushed the tears from my cheeks with his thumb, a soft smile on his face. "Kate." My eyes met his, startled to hear my own name from his lips. I had expected this to pass wordlessly, or perhaps her name to fall from his lips at his climax, but this was unexpected. Maybe I had been nave to think that I could be a substitute for Scully. Maybe I had misjudged this entirely. Had misjudged him. "It's all right," he whispered, kissing me. The cross burned into my skin as he pressed his face against my neck, entering me swiftly. XXX "I've never smoked after sex before," I told him as we did just that. Mulder chuckled, a rare and welcome sound. "First time for everything." He tossed the lighter back to me and inhaled deeply. I wiggled my bare toes in the still-warm sand. I was a little sore, but physically satisfied. Physically. "Tell me about her." He exhaled loudly toward the dark sky, the smoke leaving his lungs like a gray cloud. "What do you want to know?" I want to know why you scream for her every night, why you wear her cross although you don't believe in God. "Was she your wife?" "No. Partner." "Partner-lover, or partner-partner?" He hesitated before replying, "We were FBI." "That explains your bullet scars, then." Another chuckle. "Kind of." I let that pass. "Would it be a dumb question to ask why you wear her necklace?" He plucked it from his skin, looking at it closely, as if he hoped to find the answer engraved on it. "She always wore it. Even when it got lost, it always found its way back to her." The following silence was interrupted by his fond laugh. "She saved my ass more times than I care to admit." He paused, seemingly deciding whether or not to continue, then tossed his cigarette away and began to tell me about their life with the FBI. As he talked, Scully began to take shape in my mind, becoming more than a picture, frozen in time. She had been his best friend, his confidante, his strength, and his better half, to hear him tell it. It was obvious that he loved her, I decided as I watched him absently pull apart a new cigarette. The thick emotion in his low voice gave that information away readily. I couldn't discern whether or not they had been lovers, and I didn't know how to ask without sounding jealous. But I was jealous. How could I not be, knowing that even though I was practically the last woman on earth, his heart would never be mine? He might like me, respect me, even care for me, but I could never fill the hole in his heart. "Why are you going to California?" I asked, swallowing the useless envy. "Scully grew up in San Diego. Her sister and daughter are buried there. It seemed like a fitting place to go." "She had a daughter?" His eyes burned into mine. "Look, what's with the twenty questions, Kate?" He flicked the tattered remnants of the cigarette into the fire. "Why do you have to go to California?" I plucked at the worn threads on the blanket. "I've always wanted to go there. I figured I'd go and see what was left of it. It may be my last chance." "Then are you going to join the others?" "Are you?" I shot back defensively. We looked at each other for a long, silent moment before dropping our gazes sullenly. I realized I hadn't really considered what would happen after we reached California. I could either continue north or not. Finally I shrugged. "I don't know where I'm going and I don't know what I'm doing." How could anybody know? Life as anyone knew it was gone, and we were all left to wander around in permanent shell shock. "That's the best I can do right now," I added, crushing my cigarette under a rock. Mulder reclined on the blanket, hands folded beneath his head. "I think that's the best anyone can do right now," he said softly. XXX We reached California the next day. I don't know if we were in what used to be San Diego or not. It was difficult to tell, when all that remained was rubble and rock, poking through the eerily calm water far below us. It looked a lot different than I expected, I thought inanely. Mulder didn't even glance at me, but walked to the very edge of the cliff, so close that I feared he would disappear over the edge with the rest of the state. I sat upon the edge a few feet away, my feet dangling over into nothingness. It would be so easy to let myself fall, to become part of the rubble and not have to worry about what would happen next. I pushed a rock over the edge and strained to hear it reach the bottom, but of course heard nothing. Jumping off the edge of the world would be easy. Living would be harder. Living alone would be reason to throw myself off the cliff right then and there. A sharp, high-pitched sound reached my ears, and I looked up into the sky and smiled with delight to see the lone seagull gliding high above. I turned to Mulder, excited words poised on my lips, but stopped when I saw him reach behind his neck to undo the clasp of the necklace. He held it tightly in his grasp, staring at the small gold cross. After long minutes he flung it over the cliff, and we watched its descent, watched the sun glint off of it, watched his last connection to his Scully until it was gone. Mulder then sat down, head cradled in his hands, and stared unflinchingly into the setting sun. XXX I had left him there, wanting to give him some privacy - what a joke, privacy in a world of two - and hung back a ways, smoking a few cigarettes and wondering if I would see him again. I half expected to return to the cliff to find him gone, having given in to the same temptations that I had, his body broken on the rubble below. So when he appeared before me, I was fairly surprised. I stood and trembled with a nasty anticipation, wondering if this was where he was going to say goodbye. "How did you survive?" he asked instead. I blinked, startled at the question. "In an old bomb shelter in my uncle's cabin, surrounded by miles and miles of forest." He nodded, the hint of a smile on his face. "We're either among the luckiest people ever to have lived, or the unluckiest. I haven't decided which yet." I chuckled slightly. "I think I've seen enough of California. I'm going to head north." I met his gaze. "Are you coming with me?" He flashed a brief, hesitant smile. "Yeah. I think I will." And we walked. XXXXXXXXXXXXX All feedback treasured and faithfully responded to at: spartcus@execpc.com Come visit! http://www.execpc.com/~spartcus/Main.html