TITLE: The Lost Day AUTHOR: Justine Toh EMAIL: ptoh@accsoft.com.au DISTRIBUTION: anywhere but keep my name attached SPOILER WARNING: anything up to and including One Son RATING: G KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully friendship CLASSIFICATION: MSR, Angst, Story, Crossover - references, could be considered spoilers, to CONTACT the novel by Carl Sagan DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and all contained therein belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. No infringement is intended. SUMMARY: After colonisation Mulder and Scully deal with their shaken faiths and try to get back on track. AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is my first submitted fanfic. It rests on the philosophy that it's not just the destination, it's the journey. God, religion, faith and love are addressed. The context of post-colonisation just provides a framework for Mulder and Scully to confront their feelings about these concepts. The song Scully plays for Mulder is 'Don't Dream It's Over' by Crowded House. No infringement intended in using the song, either. It was also used in the TV adaptation of Stephen King's "The Stand" because it's a great post-Apocalyptic song. Lyrics follow story. -THE LOST DAY- "I always knew the day you'd finally believe me would also be the worst day of my life." "Mulder-" He hurriedly grabbed her wrist. "No, Scully, let me finish. There's no time any more." "What? No time for what?" She wrenched herself out of his grip. The moment was gone. Maybe he'd tell her some day. Maybe not. Depression hung over him like a cloud. "Time doesn't mean anything any more. It's all gone to hell. Since the landing." Her jaw tightened. Weary defeat skulked behind his eyes. Her eyes pierced him with withheld anger. Controlling herself, she spoke quietly. "You've given up." "What else is there to do?" He cast his eyes down, his soggy tie hanging limp from their mad dash through the rain into the grey carpark where they now sat, shivering. Taking pity on his slack form, slumped against the concrete wall, her soft words echoed. "You can't give up." The compassion in her voice made him look up. "Mulder. You were right about all of this. All of it. I have to know that you still believe we can get through this. Despite all that's happened, all that might still happen." She struggled through without crying. The dejectedness in his voice made the tears fall. "So you finally want to believe." *** It had happened so quickly, without warning. No one had time to prepare. Except for those men who had planned this day for fifty years and who had then tried to subvert the deal they had made. That had disastrously fallen through. So they decided to just survive. For themselves. Holed up in mountain caverns with enough supplies for ten years and enough food to send them to bed with full stomachs. Facetiously they toasted to the end of the world. Mulder had desperately wanted to hunt them down, make them pay. He didn't. America was the first to fall. December 31st 1999. The last day of the world. The faith people placed in the White House and all therein was crushed. News bulletins screamed headlines of terrorist attacks. Surviving political figures, like cockroaches who had survived the destruction of the dinosaurs, took advantage of the cataclysm, demanding action, revenge. In the offices of the Pentagon decorated fingers itched to push buttons. But aiming where? No one had claimed responsibility on earth. Little did anyone know the treachery, the blame, lay within the government, yet perpetrated by those who once had America's best interests at heart. Before they were corrupted by power. But nothing happened. The world was brought to a virtual standstill. Christmas was long gone. New Years Eve parties were forgotten. Tinsel and ribbons danced drunkenly in the air to phantom guests. Instead people all over the world sat glued to their television sets as CNN's 24-hour coverage interviewed the fourth cousins of the president. No one paid attention to the sky any more. What was the need? So no one saw the clouds gathering. *** Furiously she scrubbed at her eyes, forgetting her usual calm. "Yes, I want to believe, damn it. Finally." This, coming from Scully. She shifted on the floor, attempting to be comfortable, though the floor was hard and unforgiving. "We can't give up, Mulder." Mulder said nothing. She tried a different tack. "Would you stop sulking and help me?" That got a rise out of him. "What do you want me to do? There is nothing we can do! I know nothing of the details of the plan. I'm just as ignorant as everyone else! Maybe I knew of the plans for colonisation but nothing further. I can only guess what's in store for us now!" His wet lips glistened in the wan light. She gathered her strength. "Help me plan. There has to be people around willing to fight. And if you, the one man on earth who knew about all of it and yet wasn't complicit in the deception is ready to give up then we are finished. Then the Truth you searched for for years is -nothing-. What about Samantha?" *What about me?* She fumed silently. Pain clouded his eyes. "And you?" He whispered. Scully's stomach felt lined with lead. "And me." *** The ships had penetrated into the blue sky two days after the fall of the White House. Small, frail beings with long limbs and large eyes overran the earth. Their frailty belied their viciousness, their almost predatory movements. They declared what would have been the 2nd January 2000 Day 1. The first day of the new world. The day before they had demolished all structures. Communication systems were disintegrated. The Internet left an invisible trail of cyberjunk in its wake. If you could not see it, did that mean it never existed? Scully imagined that the Internet would soon take on the stuff of legend, something the adults of tomorrow would vaguely associate with their childhood, an invisible net that connected people like some incorporeal umbilical cord. Some strange alien force neutralised firearms. And that was not all. Trains, planes, and automobiles: nothing worked. The FBI was now an empty husk. Special agents scattered like broken leaves on the wind. They didn't bother with camps - thinking that as long as they froze any military capability mankind would be ineffectual. They were right. As long as a dispirited ideology ruled the world with the loss of the most powerful political leader, mankind was ineffectual. Completely useless. But Mulder's depression was not for the loss of the President. His resulted from almost thirty years of searching for answers, bound up in the enigma of Samantha's disappearance. Like the layers of an onion slowly peeled back, by the time July 1999 rolled around he felt he was close. So close. But what greeted him at the core? A rotted centre bearing the promise of Apocalypse. Such good intentions had underwritten Mulder's work. But somewhere along the way, they too had changed. The turning point could conceivably have been when he'd left with Diana for El Rico. Did he even stop to think about his mother? Or anyone else for that matter? He had come to understand the conspirators' logic of concealment. Mass panic at the impending doom would be disastrous. And would people accept as their champion the son of one so heavily implicated in the duplicity? So gradually, Mulder too had been corrupted. Bad outcomes became inevitable. Mulder wrestled with himself. Would it have been better to never know? To never have searched? His eyes sought out Scully. She sat calm, controlled. But her blue eyes shone through like a beacon of light in the omnipresent darkness. If he had never embarked on this crazy journey, he would never have known her. And she would have never suffered because of him. Self-hatred stirred within. *** Thus what would have been the first day of the new millennium was lost forever. *We'll never get that day back.* Scully mused. *Just like those three months I was missing.* A more disturbing thought provoked her. *Will I get Mulder back?* Years later, Scully would contemplate what might have happened on that first day. Perhaps a barbecue at her mother's house, Bill and his family crowding around. A phone call from Charlie calling from somewhere over Sargasso Sea. She'd have dragged Mulder over to share in the new year celebrations, out of his self- imposed isolation. Bill would've avoided him like the plague but Scully would've kept him comfortable with reassuring looks, meant only for him. Perhaps. Maybe one day they would be able to reclaim that day. She hoped. But now Scully realised her own mission. Just as Mulder was wallowing in despair over the outcome of his - and even more so since Samantha still eluded him, Scully saw what she had to do. If he had but a morsel of hope to stir him into action, she could confidently declare that all was not lost. It was all a question of faith. By restoring his, she could reinvigorate her own. Fingering her chain, she reached behind and unclasped it. Mulder's tired eyes looked at her once again. What are you doing? They asked. Wordlessly, she fastened it around his neck, then cupped his cheeks with her hands. Her eyes drank him in. Her eyes swam in his vision. Reaching up to clasp her wrists his eyes closed as the tears slipped over his cheeks, as silent as a whisper. "Scully." His voice broke on her name as he simultaneously raised it in benediction. She held him in the carpark. *** They'd managed to sneak out of the carpark undetected. Since the White House, D.C had become a war zone. Fires raged unchecked in the streets. Looting had turned what was once the nation's capital into a slum. In short, anarchy was the rule of the day. Scully led the way. Mulder followed, seeing in her his future. Together they avoided the shouts and the probing torch-lights of pillaging youths who had had their self-destructive prayers inadvertently answered by the invasion. Who knew what they were capable of? And since their firearms were useless, Mulder and Scully had only each other as protection. Walking through those dark streets long since dried they warily looked from side to side on their way to Scully's apartment. Home. She opened the door, grateful that her place had so far been untouched. Mulder's had been a different story. He'd taken one look at the wreckage and grinned without mirth. "Feels just like old times." His voice was sardonic, empty. Managing to sift through the rubble he'd gathered his things. No mementos save one family picture taken when he was eleven. He took his badge, his gun, extra ammo - *what for?* - some clothes, a sleeping bag and sensible walking shoes. There wasn't any food in his apartment. Meanwhile she'd checked his fish tank to find the light flickering on and off, and little bloated bellies floating face up. She saluted them down the toilet. Flush. *** He collapsed on her couch while she bustled around, gathering her belongings. She rummaged in her cupboards, found some bread, bottled water and dry biscuits to eat. She dumped it in front of him. "Eat." The situation struck him as unbearably funny. Here civilisation was crumbling around their ears, and articulate, rational Scully was already familiarising herself with cave- speak. "Eat drink man woman, Scully?" She smiled sadly then continued her packing. *** They decided to wait until dawn before leaving. Neither had slept in over a day. But neither could they now sleep. She tossed around in her bed, he on her couch. Getting up, she stalked into the lounge room with her quilt. He was staring up at the ceiling, one hand under his head, the other running her chain between his fingers. "Mulder." he looked up. "move over." She climbed over him, ignoring the surprise on his face. She settled herself so that his arm naturally curled around her. Resting a hand on his chest she drifted off into a fitful sleep. Invasion was well into its thirteenth day. *** Deserted towns sat frozen in time by the lack of fluxus. Petty crime stamped its signature on the night, to be witnessed by day. But where had the rest of mankind gone? Scully wished she knew, for then maybe she'd have some direction. For now her and Mulder just tried to get away from the cities. *Maybe they did set up camps.* She shivered. It would be easier to disappear into the countryside where wide open plains would hide them. She constantly raised prayers for her mother, for Skinner, even for Frohike and the rest of the Lone Gunmen. But most of all for Mulder. But she had trouble believing God would let this happen. Stigmata she would not reject outright, since she'd witnessed it first hand. Having Emily taken away from her she could nearly accept. Invasion by an alien species? That was something else. Mulder continued to deflate. Scully was at a loss. He made the same bland jokes, but his eyes had lost that little lightness she'd come to rely on. Snuffed out by absolution. Little did she know that she was his faith. *** Mulder dozed fitfully under a sycamore tree, a soft wind cloaking him in warmth. Scully took out her walkman. She had a supply of batteries pilfered from empty general stores. For weeks they'd tried to pick up a signal, any signal. Scratch that, not 'they', but her. She'd looked for any sign that somewhere, mankind was mobilising a resistance. Static began to wear on her nerves. But for now she placed a treasured cassette inside and gently prodded Mulder. His tired eyes questioned her but she remained silent. Walking away she sat on a nearby rock, drawing her knees up under her chin. She let the sun warm her face. "Nice try." The bitterness in Mulder's voice startled her. "'Don't dream it's over', huh Scully? Trying to send me subliminal messages? Won't work. It is over." She twisted to look up at him, anger igniting at last. Frustration tore through her at his stubborn mind-set. "Since when did you start becoming resigned to the way things appear? Haven't you always made life difficult by espousing the most incredible theories under the sun?" He changed his stance, placing his hands on his hips. It read 'Okay, you wanna fight? We'll fight.' But his voice was controlled. "Since when did you become a believer? It took you so goddamn long to believe me. And now you finally do... I'm at a loss. This is not the normal you, Scully. The normal you would be rationalising the situation out of your ass." Her eyes narrowed. "When was the last time *you* felt normal." A statement, not a question. Her voice lowered, concern creeping in. "What is it with you, Mulder? I've never seen you so defeated before. What about resistance? And-" "Resistance is futile, Scully. Don't deceive yourself." Her ire returned full force. She got up and faced him, fierce. "It is when your outlook is so damn bleak. There's still a chance. We can fight." "Fight? With what? Have you forgotten that guns don't work?" He was breathing heavily into her face now. Her raised voice thundered in his ears. "Well what about strategy?! There must be a loophole somewhere in their defence. Nothing is infallible. Maybe we can destroy whatever pulse it was that neutralised firearms. In any case, fighting is better than living like animals, scrounging food whenever we can. Running away from other men and God knows what." She took a breath. "This is a temporary existence Mulder. It can't go on. We're in limbo." She was flushed. Heat radiated from her. He stood back from her. "What's all this 'we' crap? If you're so bloody set on a resistance, why don't you organise one?" He instantly regretted his words. 'One is the loneliest number', a voice wailed in his head. She was stunned, immediately cold. *Crap*? What the hell? Composing herself, she assumed a mask. Silence. She walked away. *** Coming back to their makeshift camp at night she sat far from him and methodically unrolled her sleeping bag. "Scully-" "I don't want to talk, Mulder." *Big surprise.* "I'm sorry." "Don't apologise if you don't mean it. Goodnight." She turned away from him. *** She couldn't sleep. It wore on her like an insect bite. Impotence caused her eyes to overflow, though she succeeded in stifling her sobs. She had no idea how to proceed. Now that she was depressed, her mind heaped other sadness on top of all her present ones. *I can never go home any more. What has happened to my mother? What has happened to Mulder? How can I help him? How can I help myself? Where are we going? Where is there to go? Where is God?* *I feel so alone.* *Although we may not be alone in the universe, in our own small way on this planet, we are all, alone.* Scully wondered the fate of Jose Chung. She cried to herself quietly. Back in the old days she had never even contemplated such a scenario as this - complete and utter invasion, and herself bawling over the fate of the world. Even though Mulder had harboured suspicions for years and had acquired what he considered incontrovertible evidence in conspiracies perpetrated by men and extraterrestrial beings ... she had come to believe in the former yet still so adamantly deny the possibility of the latter. She thought about talking to him. Could she? If she could not draw him out of this mood what would happen? Were they doomed? They and the rest of the world? What a sad end to the human race. *It's not supposed to happen like this. Not like this.* She gritted her teeth. She didn't notice Mulder until she felt his warmth next to her back. He sat next to her, smoothing her hair, stroking her back. His hushed, sleep-drugged voice wafted out of the darkness, enough to break her heart. "I wanted you to believe so badly I jumped at any chance to prove to you the existence of alien life. Now it's everywhere we go, always on our mind - and I don't know how to get it back to good - or what used to pass as good, anyway. "Naturally I would be overjoyed the day you'd finally believe me - when you were at last presented with undeniable, irrefutable proof, but I think I knew somewhere at the back of my mind that it would also be the culmination of my worst fears." He was continuing the conversation he'd started back in the carpark. Her lip trembled as she wiped away her tears, only to send a fresh river down her cheeks. She had never seen him so broken, his spirit trampled on by so much agony. She had not seen the look on his face when he'd come to visit her that night in the hospital, caused by the threat of her impending death. It was the same as this one. He was just older. More lines bleeding around his red eyes. "So you're on a massive guilt trip. This whole thing is a hollow victory." Her voice was morose, clogged with tears as she wept for them both. "A victory that reeks of the worst kind of defeat." He was silent. She wiped her nose. "Sitting around defeated isn't going to alleviate that." "I don't know what could." She could drown in those eyes, they were swimming with so much anguish. She was almost drowning in her own tears, her own sorrow. Could she bear both of their worries? She offered him her strength, practically pleading with him to take it. "Yes you do." He considered her words, turning the words over on his tongue, weighing them one by one. "Yes. I do." She had barely begun to feel that great weight lift when it suddenly overpowered her again, crushing her. "But I don't know if I can. I'm sorry Scully. About before, what I said. About everything." *You're one sorry son of a bitch. Not a whole lot more to say.* The voice rang in his mind intrusively. He returned to his sleeping bag and tried to get to sleep. She sighed, debating whether progress had been made. Her eyes were heavy like she'd been drugged. She felt like she was groping around in the dark, crying. An image came to mind, a woman smashing her lamp against smooth rock and whimpering in the darkness, knowing the inevitable was fast approaching. *** For Mulder, God was not an issue. He was almost convinced He existed, but he'd rejected Him after months of prayer had failed to return the lost sister of a broken- hearted 12 year old boy. Silence had answered Mulder on all occasions, on the faces of his parents, his own in the bathroom mirror. So Mulder turned his back on God. In his view, they'd abandoned each other. But he understood, if not respected Scully's faith. He thought it added to her complexity as an individual. He knew her private struggles with her faith. He thought it strengthened it. It gave him hope she *could* believe in things she could not see, not understand. It strengthened his belief in her. Which is why he wore her cross at his neck. It soothed, reminded him of her passion, her intensity. He wondered at her thoughts on the religious implications of the invasion. God did not speak of alien beings in the Bible. He wondered if she would rely on God as tenaciously as she did before. Now that human history will be defined in terms of pre- and post- invasion. Not that He'd managed to creep in on her everyday life. But for Scully God had been something to fall back on, a reliable backstop, despite the fact that her faith was laced with doubt, with questions. He had failed on many occasions to be that backstop. Had she lost faith in him? He wouldn't be surprised if she had. After all, where was his in himself? She probably would continue to rely on God. Whether or not Mulder believed in Him he knew one thing for sure: if you had faith you were halfway there. *** Mulder awoke shortly before dawn. Wistfully he regarded the deep blue sky as that dark chasm yawned before him, waiting to spill its secrets. No longer would it hold the same promise for him. Those stars, those billions and billions of stars all twinkling in that vast abyss - millions of them could sustain life. Handfuls of those millions probably did. He felt very small. He wondered why he was so predisposed to look up. Why he'd always felt like celebrating when he'd caught a glimpse of a shooting star. When it came to the crunch, all that really mattered to him was grounded on earth. But with sadness he realised that you'd never be able to tell. He was an anti-social workaholic pushing middle-age who lived alone, save for perpetually changing fish. He had one true friend out of five billion earthlings and release for him was pin-up girls, phone sex and trying to deliver down- trodden women from an unforgiving world. Lucy. Melissa. Kristen. Marty. The names flashed through his mind. He imagined he saw a little bit of Samantha in each of them. She might have aged since she was taken, but she remained frozen in time for him, eight years old and the last great innocent. And what about her? She had become less of a unique person and more of a life-changing quest. A religion. But the endless frustrations surrounding Samantha's disappearance had eroded that faith. Twice she had returned, twice she had left. The second departure stung, for, so consumed in her own life, she didn't want to know him. And it wasn't certain that that particular Samantha was a clone. A worrying thought nagged persistently. Was *she* a lost cause, too? In trying to save those other women, was he forever recycling his penance for losing Samantha? Was he really looking for her? Or for some lost part of himself that had stranded him in that pre-pubescent age, at once a man but at once a boy? Abandoning those thoughts to the far recesses of his mind where he stored his reasons to torture himself, Mulder told himself that the day he found Samantha, all would fall into place, all would be explained. Colonisation would miraculously be averted, Earth would somehow be immune to the alien virus, he'd have the pleasure of bringing C.G.B Spender to his own particular brand of justice, and he'd marry Scully and sweep her off her feet to ride off into the sunset. If he ever found Samantha. But Scully, she was here, she was more than tangible. But was she with him? An impassable gulf now gaped between them, created by their quarrelling. Yes, she did care for him. Immensely. As he did for her. She had wept over life, over herself, over his lost faith, and above all over him. But they seemed at crossroads: she staunch in her conviction that he must take action, he desperate to shirk that responsibility. For once, Mulder wanted to cede all responsibility to her. He was so tired. He couldn't handle this. Like any religious crusade the ordeal had demanded his life, his soul, his all. He felt drained, the last of his spirit spiralling down an infinite sewer, the gurgle at the end ripping, echoing, deafening. He remembered all that he had put her through. Since knowing him she had lost that self-assured composure. Her beliefs had been challenged many times. She had emerged stronger for it. But her face had lost that freshness, that innocence she'd worn like a badge of honour that first time she walked into his office, all round eyes, red hair and pristine suit complete with buttoned-up-to-the-neck collar. And he felt terrible, and that despondency was enough to further protract his procrastination. *I wonder if I will ever stop causing you pain, Scully.* Looking at her back sadly, he thought Scully was at present more distant than the stars in that dark sky. *** He rummaged through her rucksack, searching for her walkman. He pulled out a hard, rectangular object. He opened it and stared at it in wonder, turning it over in its hands as if examining some long-gone, precious artefact. Which it was. His eyes misted over as he bit his lip. *** She sniffed and woke up. A soft breeze curled around her and brought the scents of a desert's morning on its tail. She stretched, her back sore from being hunched in a foetal position for nine hours straight. "Morning." He handed her a box drink. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth at the thought that she would only ever drink this 5% fruit, 95% sugar solution under the direst of circumstances. "What?" She looked up. He looked quite fresh for an emotional wreck. His eyes were still red, but his posture was straight. A redwood among mere sprouts. "Nothing." She said. *** She went back to sucking on the straw, her eyes squinted in concentration at a nearby tree. He was still reeling with wonder at what she'd kept in her rucksack. At her secrecy. But perhaps he could understand it. Had she produced it, most likely he would not have accepted her gift. He'd already refused the hope she'd offered to him. And this was a gift he could not afford to refuse. As far as he was concerned, it was the Holy Grail. *** They wandered along the desert roads, talking little in the dry heat. Scully was still quite distant, and seemed to be further withdrawing into herself. Perhaps she'd given up on him completely. He wouldn't have resented her if she had. She'd tried hard, and Mulder knew what a stubborn ass he could be. And anyway, she hadn't yet played her trump card. He worried about her. She looked too thin, undernourished, bunched up under her heavy rucksack. And the sun was harsh on her fair skin. But in true Scully fashion she'd refused his help. Mulder smiled inwardly at her own stubbornness, her pride. Tugging on her chain he suggested they take a break. To his relief, she agreed. A can of tinned fruit each was the going ration. He'd pressed her to dig more into their supplies, but she declined, "Not until we reach another store, Mulder." Ignoring his look of concern she ate with great relish. Her mouth full she mumbled, "The sugar will give me energy, Mulder." He couldn't help but smile. "And this comes from the woman who liked nothing more than a non-fat rice tofutti dreamsicle on a Saturday." Scully licked her lips, the sugary syrup almost sickening, but she knew she'd need the kilojoules. "In my past life." His smile faded. "You're still living it, Scully." She paid him no heed. "Who'd be able to tell?" Her blue eyes gazed at him lazily. His eyebrows gathered together. He did not like this careless Scully. Was this the Scully that had slept (?) with Ed Jerse? Almost kissed Van Blundht? Sat perched on Padgett's bed? Was reduced to giggles in Las Vegas? Where was her urging? Her faith? Her prodding of him to take action, any action? Where, indeed? *** "How about we rest here for tonight? The weather's quite warm." Scully set her pack down on a flat rock. Mulder squinted into the setting sun. "I don't know. I think we should continue a little bit more." "Why? Where are we going? Nowhere." Scully sat down, clearly beat. "Besides," she continued, untying her shoes, "we can build a fire." She gestured toward the surrounding rocks, "They'll conceal the smoke." Mulder thought a minute. "Okay." He said finally. He settled himself, unrolling his sleeping bag like a picnic blanket. Together they sat while the setting sun bid them goodnight. "Hey, Scully." "Mmm?" she murmured, her eyes closed. "Pass the walkman?" She tried not to let her surprise show, just opened her eyes slowly. "What for?" her eyes challenged him. A ghost of a smile flickered across his face. "We'll see." He said, mysterious. She obliged him, digging through her ruck sack. She pulled out her diary. "What's that?" Mulder prodded, his interest caught. "What? Oh that? It's just my diary." She resumed her digging, deliberately off-hand. *Just a diary? Just a diary?* She did not see the hurt in Mulder's eyes. "Here." She produced the walkman with a flourish. He took it feebly. "Maybe later." He placed it next to him. Scully's brow creased, confused. She was fast losing patience, but hey! They had all the time in the world. All the time in the world until Mulder found himself again. Or until I die, she thought bitterly. *** The fire crackled gleefully and sent sparks shooting into the air. "Shooting stars", murmured Scully. "What?" Mulder perked up, scanning the darkened sky. "No, here. On earth." Her tone was light. "Oh." "With me." Her voice now rimmed with raw pain. Under the callousness that had so deftly settled over her she was still smarting because of Mulder's behaviour. Because he wasn't himself, she was even less sure of herself. And she felt their combined burden was too much to bear. She thought she could manage it, but she conceded defeat. So she had locked the world out and tried to pretend she didn't care all had gone to hell. It was no use. Her heart hurt more when she was in denial. Wasn't that the pain of being Mulder's partner for the last six years? She didn't see Mulder watching her, his intelligent eyes forming a resolution. Mulder was determined not to be remote any more. Not on earth, not in the universe. Not any more. One thought drummed in his head. *Does she know she's all I have, all I want, all I wish I could be?* "Back to earth, Scully." He snapped his fingers near her ear. She jumped, "What?" "Lie down and stargaze with me." He offered his arm for a pillow. She hesitated for a moment, caught in indecision. Then the thought *Oh God, I don't want to be alone* claimed dominance and she acquiesced. Lying down beside him she stretched out like a cat, leaning her head on his arm. The bitterness faded away. The fire crackled softly, warming their sock- clad feet. She chuckled self-consciously. "What?" Mulder asked. "Nothing." Boy, if they kept up these jam- packed conversations soon they'd have nothing left to say. "Seriously, what?" She considered his prodding. She gave in. "I was just thinking, I never thought a night like this would ever happen." The vagueness of her response made him smile. "What aspect of 'a night like this'? Stargazing? Stargazing with me? Or stargazing with me in the desert while lying on what passes for a nice warm bed these days?" She was silent for awhile, contemplating their peaceful situation. The quiet breeze, the warmth at their feet, lying together on his sleeping bag. Mulder's ideas on how to get warm intruded in on her thoughts, making her smile ruefully at all that innuendo they used to throw around. God, if they'd any idea back then where they'd be in two years time... She thought she'd better respond to his question. "Star gazing. You know, Mulder, for all your preoccupation with alien life, we've never once in our partnership done something like this. You've dragged me all over the place looking for UFOs but never for stars." She sounded wistful. And he felt it too. The longing for companionship had always lurked in the back of his mind, abdicated in favour of 'more important things'. But what exactly was the nature of 'more important things'? He didn't know anything any more. Brushing that thought away, he pointed out some constellations to her. "See that one over there, Scully? To the left of the Big Dipper. Tinted blue, about south-east of that cluster of stars. It's standing pretty much by itself." Though she couldn't see which one he was referring to, she humoured him since he'd gone to so much trouble describing it. "Yeah." He looked at her, ready to take a step out of limbo. "That's you. All alone out there but still fighting the good fight." She was touched, but didn't know why. She still couldn't see it. "And where are you, Mulder?" She asked, turning to look at him. His eyes regarded her sadly. "On earth. Someone has to be here to watch over them." He looked up at the stars once again. "Though it won't be the same any more." He turned to her once again. She chose to look up at the sky at that point. "Where does God fit into all this for you, Scully?" She paused. "Are you asking me if alien life disproves God's existence?" "If you want to put it that way. I'm just wondering about your thoughts on it." She took a moment to mull over his question, gather her thoughts and methodically arrange them in order. And then realised the question demanded an expulsion of thought, not a dissertation of logic. "I still believe in God. Even if I tried to let my faith slip away I wouldn't be able to. How can I not believe in a place like this? Look at where we are, Mulder. The wide open space of the desert. The sky stretched out over us like a canopy. Here's where God makes the most sense. Can you feel it?" Her eyes flamed. She'd never spoken of God like that before. He was conscious of her small cross burning into his skin at the hollow of his throat. "Actually, I just feel really small." He said conversationally, noting with a little irony the truth behind his flippancy. She barrelled on. "Concerning alien life, though, I don't know. Extra-terrestrial life either makes God very small or very big. I don't know how I would cope with either possibility." He both admired and was exasperated at her. She could cope with anything, and yet she still underestimated her strength. "What do you mean you don't know how you would cope? 'Any faith that admires truth, that strives to know God, must be brave enough to accommodate the universe'." She supported herself on her elbow, facing him, a little triumphant smile on her face. "Carl Sagan's CONTACT. Said by Palmer Joss." His eyebrows tweaked in surprise. "Scully." He said, approximating that tone of voice he'd used months ago when she'd suggested spontaneous human combustion. Her small smile twitched at her mouth but she otherwise ignored him. "That answers your question I presume." They were quiet for awhile. He broke the silence. "When did you read CONTACT?" She looked at him pensively. "Ages ago when you ditched me to go off on your own personal crusade I was at your place, waiting for you or someone to show up. I found it near your fish tank. It kept me occupied." "It doesn't seem like your taste in fiction. You obviously liked it though." "Yeah, I did. That conversation between Palmer and Ellie from where you quoted from was great. And later on, when Ellie discovers the truth about her family I especially liked the final message: "For small creatures such as we-" "-the darkness is bearable only through love." Mulder finished for her. They shared a small, intimate moment, stolen from the world gone mad. They tucked it away safe inside them where spread a balm over their fractured souls. It was theirs alone. Scully's voice was introspective when she broke the silence. "And throughout the whole course of the novel, Ellie had such passion for her search. Like you." Seeming to mentally shake herself she changed the subject and lay back down next to him. "So Mulder, where's that faith of yours that's brave enough to accommodate the universe?" Her tone was light but her meaning was obvious. He stiffened next to her. She imagined his eyes got that shuttered look. For a moment she thought he was going to leave her until he cooled down but instead he propped himself up on his elbow and stared at her. "It's bound and hidden in that backpack of yours, that's where." He said calmly. "What?" "Your diary." He explained patiently. "Everything's in your diary." She sat up and reached over to pull her backpack over. Her hands went questing and resurfaced triumphant. She looked down at it, quiet. "What are you doing going through my stuff?" She asked, turning it over in her hands. "I was looking for the walkman." "Why?" She challenged him. "To see if I could pick up any signals. You never know, maybe somewhere out there people are trying to communicate. Maybe people out there have started a resistance." The look on his face was bland but she fancied she saw a spark glinting in his eyes. "So I assume you looked through it?" He bit his lip. "Only when a photo dropped out." She spread the hard covers of the diary and held it upside down, letting the pages fan beneath her. Nothing fell out. Her eyes spoke volumes. "Okay, I was being nosy." "What did you think when you went through it?" She turned to the first page and scanned her youthful scrawl. "You mean what did I think when I discovered that you've kept a diary about our partnership ever since that first case? I mean, it's not a diary about *us* so to speak but a record of everything related to the conspiracy, C.G.B Spender, colonisation." She gave it to him. "You're wrong about one thing, Mulder. When you think about everything we've uncovered - it all relates to us in some way. We've been affected by the conspiracy, just how we've affected it. It is a diary about us." Somehow he liked the sound of that. He and Scully against the world. "I was wondering, why did you bring it?" "You know why." She sat up straighter, crossing her legs. "Remind me." She thought she could discern the motive behind his words. He was asking for her help, her hope. For her faith. And now he was willing to let it soothe him, she would give it to him freely, and he knew it. She took a deep breath. "To help you get back on track. Mulder I know how painful this must be for you. The invasion, the dispossession of earth. You were right. All those years, and no one listened. I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't listen a lot of the time. As you said before, your vindication is undercut by the realisation of your worst fears. And even though this diary documents every development in the conspiracy that the invasion is the end result of, every page has seen the world through the eyes of how it used to be. I brought this for you to remind you what we could reclaim through resistance. And remind me. I accepted that the world was changed for good on the 2nd of January. But this diary carries with it remembrance of that first day of the year 2000, the lost day, that the aliens have tried to efface by imposing a new calendar. Although we haven't got any military power against them, this is my, our, way of fighting back. I wasn't going to show you until I had completely lost faith in myself to bring you back." She did not feel the tears running unchecked down her cheeks. The fire was dying down, its warmth giving her face an unearthly glow. "Scully," Mulder began, but he shook his head, overwhelmed, his bottom lip quivering. She touched his shoulder and spoke, her voice hushed. "It's okay, Mulder. I did this for me too, you know. For us." He took a moment to regroup and gain control of himself. "That's just it. I don't mind being caught in my own private trap but the fact that you're with me every step deeper into it is what's killing me." She fell silent for a moment, then said quietly. "Don't you think that if I didn't want to be here I wouldn't be?" "It's not like you've got anywhere else to go, Scully. Now, anyway." "That's true." She conceded, smiling sadly. "How can I convince you?" "Don't. Please don't. If you did I'd have to start a resistance purely out of gratefulness." He laughed sardonically at himself. "Don't give me ideas, Mulder." She smiled at him, then leant down and hugged him, burying her wet face against his neck. His arms encircled her and held her until her knees hurt from crouching against him too long. Gently she pulled herself back until he released her. "I feel that as long as we have faith we can survive anything." Mulder had never seen this side of Scully. This earnest, pious albeit not fanatically religious side of her had not previously ventured out before him, hold its upturned hands out in offering. "I feel that as long you're with me I can go on." Mulder confessed, reddening slightly. She did deserve to hear, after all. She graced him with one of her luminous smiles. "Don't put me on a pedestal, Mulder. I'm not divine. I want you to have faith in me, in us, but I don't want to be your faith. Is that as confusing as it sounds?" Thoughts ran through his head. She wanted to stand by his side in life. She did not want to turn him into a martyr suffering at the altar. He nodded mutely. She laid a hand on his arm as if to reassure him. "I want you to know, though. I feel the same way." She smiled at him thoughtfully while he mentally filed the look on her face away for future reference: How Scully looks when she's in Love. His heart swelled. "So what about that walkman?" *** They stayed close that night, cocooned in their joined sleeping bags, each of them thankful that they'd managed to bridge another gap between them. There was still so many unanswered questions but for now it was enough. Before she drifted off to sleep, Scully mumbled, "Mulder?" "Mmm?" "What photo were you referring to when you lied about reading the diary?" "The one of you and me in the hospital." "There's more than one of them, you know." "I know." His arm tightened around her as his breath softly caressed the back of her neck. She fell asleep with a smile on her face. -END- Don't Dream It's Over Crowded House There is freedom within; there is freedom without. Try to catch the deluge in a paper cup. There's a battle ahead; many battles are lost, But you'll never see the end of the road while you're travelling with me. Chorus: Hey now, hey now, don't dream it's over, hey now, hey now, when the world comes in. They come, they come to build a wall between us. We know they won't win. Now I'm towing my car; there's a hole in the roof. My possessions are causing me suspicion but there's no proof. In the paper today; tales of war and of waste, but you turn right over to the TV page. Chorus Now I'm walking again to the beat of a drum, and I'm counting the steps to the door of your heart. Only shadows ahead barely clearing the roof Get to know the feeling of liberation and relief. Chorus Don't let them win. Don't let them win.