Right Voice
by Jori

A trip through Mulder's brain while he is waiting for the right voice to come to him during Sixth Extinction.

*************

The words are right. The voice . . . is wrong.

Where is the right voice? Where is the voice I need?

I cannot hold out much longer but I will wait for it to come back to me. She will come back. She will not try to sway me with dry platitudes and empty promises. Promises that move around the darkened battlefield of my mind, bringing forth hard to hold memories of words that betray. No, these words aren't even right.

I know the bearer of this voice as well as I know the person I'm waiting for. Meaningless words of love flow so easily from this person, flowing from her tongue without thought. And they are nothing but hollow words, tokens of a love that was over long ago. I listen to her say them again and I want to break free from this prison and scream. Scream for her to prove it.

Don't tell me you love me --- show me you do! Save me from this place I cannot escape. I don't want to die to prove something. But mere words won't save me. Especially these words.

I know your reasons. I can feel them flow through my body and take hold of my brain. Love? The reasons have nothing to do with love. Save yourself. That is what you are best at. You have never saved me. There is only one person who can save me.

Only one.

********************

I feel as if the deep layer of leaves that surround me might fly up and obscure my brain more. I try to move, only to sink in deeper into the forest floor, getting lost even more with each passing second. There is nothing around me but the noises do not end. The crinkling sound the leaves should make cannot compete with that sound.

Over all the other din and confusion marching diligently through my brain on its path to nowhere, I can hear approaching footsteps. I try to find where they are coming from, but my vision is blurred as the wind begins to stir around me. The leaves fly up but do not hit me. They swirl in this autumnal world in my mind, doing a devil's dance of their own.

I recognize the gait of the person coming toward me easily even though I cannot yet make out the face. I have seen it come for me enough times in my life to never forget it.

"Dad?" I say to the figure as he moves through the trees and toward me. My vision is hazy as a mist rises from the distance. It wraps me in its vapor, forcing the leaves to abate. It assaults all of my senses before it blocks out all the voices around me.

Silence at last, if only for few seconds.

I will take anything.

"Son," is all he says to me as he approaches. His face shows no concern for me, for the fact that I am drowning in a world I cannot control. He puts out his hand for me to shake and I want to laugh at him. Even in death . . . even in dreams . . . he merely offers a hand to his only son. I am sinking and that is the best he can do.

Take me and hold me, Dad! I need you now. Please give me the answers I know you possess. Give me the reasons why this is happening to me.

"I can't," he answers even though I know I did not speak. I fight my own way out of the leaves and detritus and stand before him.

"Why not? I want answers? Why is this happening to me?" I ask as he steps back and looks at me with disapproval.

That will never change. Even on the verge of death, I have done something wrong.

"Because it must be this way. This must happen to finish it. To finish what we began years ago," he says. Even here in this this foggy avenue of my own brain he only offers half reasons and makes me ask more questions.

"What did you start? What did you do, Dad?" I ask, gripping his shoulder, wanting to shake the truth out of him. I can't read the thoughts of a dead man. The answers don't flow from him to me.

"The reasons you must die will be apparent soon enough. It just has to be," he says to me as he slips from my grip and walks around whatever this place might be. The fog swirls behind him as he paces back and forth. He traces his steps over and over, the ground crackling each time he puts a foot down. I want him to face me. To give me the answers no one else has been able to give.

"No," I say. Nothing has to be. If someone can help save my life then I'm not just going to give up.

He snorts and shakes his head at me. "You were once so inspired. I thought you could do it. You would be the one to find the answers and now look at you."

"I'm tired now," I say.

"Tired? You've only done this for seven or eight years," he says, a look of shame crossing his face and hitting me in the heart.

"It feels so much longer, Dad. It feels like I'm been doing this since I was twelve," I say, my words wiping his shameful expression off his face and changing it to one of anger.

"Let it go!" he shouts, and moves closer to me.

"Let it go? I'm supposed to die for it but you won't give me the reasons! You tell me to let it go while I let everything else go, too. Give me the goddamn reasons!" I shout at him. With my words, the fog moves back away from me and the outside noise makes its way into my brain. He keeps coming toward me.

I cringe not in fear of him but because of the noise. My father raises his hand and the noise stops. I am left in glorious silence again. The only voice I can hear is his. As if I'm a child and he is my whole world.

"How many times in the past have you been willing to die for this? How many times have you almost been killed looking for the truth? You are the truth. You just have to do this one thing. You have to die," he says and I wish I could block out his voice, too. But I can't.

"Why?" I ask again. "Will it save the world?"

He shoots a contemptible glance at me before laughing long and hard.

"What do you think you are, Fox? The Messiah? The second coming of Christ?" he asks, still laughing.

No. But perhaps you are Satan tempting me in the desert.

He doesn't respond. Doesn't deny it. Give it all up to appease his sins.

"I don't think it will take the second coming of Christ to repair what was done by people like you. It will just take the truth," I say. A bright light begins to filter through the woods and the mist, forcing my father to look at it. "Is that what it is, Dad? If I die, the truth won't be known? You would have me die to protect your goddamn little secrets?"

"You're tired, Fox," he says, repeating what I told him a few moments ago.

"Tired of the lies. Tired of the continuous deceptions," I say. "Besides, if I die, there is someone else."

"Ahh . . . your faith in her has changed, hasn't it? I would almost say you love her. Of course, you love yourself and your quest for the truth more," he says. His voice is growing more hollow as time goes on. "If you do this, then you can have her. Forever."

"If I die, I can have Scully? Are they going to kill her too?" I ask, my voice filled with panic.

"They don't have to. It can be everything both of you want. Others will be coming soon to offer you life. A different life. Remember that. Only I offer you the life you want," he says, and I am left in the dark.

****************

"Fox?"

The voice is right. The word is wrong.

"What?" I say to Scully. "What did you call me?"

"I'm sorry. I tried calling you several times but you didn't answer. I had to resort to the tried and true method of using your first name to snap you out of your daze. What were you thinking so hard about?" she asks me with a smile. I have my eyes closed as I massage my temples, fighting off this headache that lives with me now.

"What . . . did . . . you . . . need?" I ask, looking around my surroundings for the first time. Looking at Scully for the first time. She is radiant and happy and obviously pregnant. Her hair is longer than I've seen it in a long time, and piled up on her head. Her face is full and her eyes are bright. The weight of the world has been lifted from her shoulders.

No. This isn't real. This can't be real. Everything both of us wants. That's what he said. Everything.

"Mulder, are you okay?" she asks as she catches me staring with wide-eyed admiration at her round form.

"I . . . uh . . . what were you going to ask me?" I ask, not knowing what to say to her.

Who are you? How did that happen? Neither of them seem right.

"Can you pick Katie up from ballet this afternoon? I have an afternoon meeting I forgot about," she says, as she rushes me into the kitchen. I'm standing in someone's kitchen. My kitchen? Our kitchen?

"Sure . . . Katie?" I ask, shaking my head like an idiot. I have no idea who Kate might be.

"Don't tell me you forgot we have a daughter, Mulder. I know you said you bumped your head getting out of the car, but Katie is pretty hard to forget. Small person. About this high. Your hair. My eyes," she says as she pours herself a small glass of orange juice and places it on the counter. Scully opens a cabinet and reaches for a bottle of pills that are on a shelf she can barely touch. She fingers at them and they fall toward her, catching them before they hit the counter and rattles them at me.

"Good catch," I comment with a smile.

"Got to take my prenatals," she says as she pulls a large pill out of the bottle, swallowing it with her juice. "Can you put these back?"

I take the bottle from her and slip it into the space from where it fell, shutting the cabinet. I lean up against the counter and stare at her. She is wearing a maternity suit that flows over her round belly and falls to a length beneath her knees. And she is wearing flat shoes. Actually, she is wearing black tennis shoes.

"What time do I have to pick up Katie?" I ask, hoping I'm not supposed to know this. It's bad enough I'm going to have to figure out where I have to go, let alone at what time.

"Three o'clock." she mumbles as she goes digging through a cabinet.

I walk over to the refrigerator and begin to examine all the papers, menus and magnets hanging on it, hoping for some clue as to what my life is right now. Five pizza and two Chinese places that deliver. Well, not much has changed. A perfect report card from Fairmont Academy K-12. So Katie's in school. Some place named Groomingdale's with a drawing of a dog and a pair of scissors on it. We have a dog? I look around and see that there are bowls of kibble and water on the floor. We have a dog. We live in suburbia with one and a half kids and a dog.

God, I hope I don't drive a minivan.

While I'm trying to study my life from the front of a refrigerator, Scully goes about making herself a bowl of cereal and reading the newspaper.

She doesn't seem to notice me.

Dr. Andrea MacMillan, OB/GYN. Dr. David Sanders, pediatrics. Dr. Scott Schiller, urologist. Well, that just made certain parts of my anatomy crawl higher and cringe in fear.

Then I find it. A magnet with little toe shoes on it. The Ballet Centre of Richmond.

Richmond? Richmond, Virginia?

"Aren't you getting tired of the long drive to work every day, Scully?" I ask, wondering why we picked Richmond. Her eyes meet mine and a puzzled look crosses her face.

"We only live twenty minutes from the ME's office, Mulder. Much closer and we'd be living in the morgue," she says, looking at her watch.

"Okay," I say, trying to figure out what in the hell I do.

"I know it is quite a commute as compared to you walking to the den and turning on your computer, but I really don't want to perform autopsies at home," she says as she stands up and rinses out her juice glass. "Speaking of which, I said I'd be there by noon and that is what it is now. Don't forget to let Murphy in."

"Murphy?" I ask, puzzled. She walks to me and studies me closely, putting her hand on my forehead.

"You forgot we had a dog, too? How hard did you bump your head, Mulder?" she asks. She pulls me toward her and kisses my forehead with the loving kiss of a mother who can make all the hurts go away. That is what I need. Where is my mother in this all?

"I'll be fine," I say, pulling her into my arms. It's so familiar, yet with the round belly protruding in between us, unfamiliar at the same time. We adjust so we fit and I kiss her.

Oh, where are you Scully?

"I'm right here," this Scully says, pulling away from my kiss and answering an unspoken question.

"Of course you are," I say, and the look of puzzlement crosses her face again.

"I'll see you later. If you aren't feeling better before you have to pick up Katie, just call Ashley's mom. She'll bring her home," Scully adds, before leaving my arms.

"Ashley," I say, trying to not make it sound like a question.

"That's right. I'll call you in a while," she says as she walks away from me. Or waddles, I should say.

Everything we both want. But what happened to what we both had?

****************

There are pictures of us hanging all over the house. Wedding pictures. Honeymoon pictures. Pictures of me holding my first baby. The one who is a ballerina but I have yet to meet. And then there are pictures of that baby as she's grown into a little girl. I pull one down off the mantle and stare at it. Her smile is infectious and I guess she is about six or seven years old. Her hair is light brown and falls in loose curls around her face. Her eyes are lighter than mine, looking more like her mother's. She is beautiful.

And if I die, she can be mine. Or so they say.

I place the picture back over the fireplace and return to my quick study of my life here. I open a door and discover what must be my den. It is filled with papers and books and I really have no clue as to what I do. Did I stop the inevitable downfall of earth as we know it? What happened to my subterranean life at the FBI? I have no idea what I am. Until I look at the bookshelf.

'The Hunt: A Study in Criminal Profiling' by Fox W. Mulder. 'Lost Souls: The Victims of Serial Killers Speak Out' by Fox W. Mulder. 'Forgotten Innocence: College Campus Murders' by Fox W. Mulder.

Well, at least I don't write science fiction.

The light is blinking on my answering machine and I check the messages. There is one from a woman who claims to be my assistant confirming my appointment to interview John Lee Roche next Tuesday at nine o'clock in the morning.

Roche? I killed Roche. Or at least I did in another world. You know, that world were Scully can't have children and I'm not some old FBI agent who has been writing true crime stories.

Did we win, Scully and I? Did we defeat 'them' and show the world what they really were? The answers are not easily found. There is no giant plaque hanging on my wall declaring that Special Agents Mulder and Scully saved the world from certain alien colonization.

I close the door as I leave, not ready to delve into that area of my life. I don't know what to do with myself and my head is starting to pound. From where I supposedly bumped it? I climb the stairs and open one of the bedroom doors. The entire room is done in watercolor pastels and the walls are covered with images of ballerinas. Katie's room.

The next room is a nursery done in blue pinstripes and accented with nautical stars. A boy? We are having a boy? A girl and a boy. Everything we could want.

Finally, I find the master bedroom, set the alarm and lie down. I have to. My head hurts too much. I can have this all. This will be heaven for me. But what about Scully? The Scully I left behind? Will she become this Scully? I can't imagine how.

*******************

A little girl dressed in pink leotards comes bounding toward me, spinning once before leaping into my arms. She wraps her arms around my neck and hugs me tight.

"Hey, Katie. What's up?" I ask as she places soft kisses on my cheek.

"I got it, Daddy! I got the part. I get to be Clara in the junior Christmas production!" she nearly shrieks in my ear as she hugs me tighter. All I can do is hug her back, holding her as if I have known her from the day she was born. If I die this girl I do not know can be the lead in the Nutcracker Suite.

"Well, that's reason to celebrate. Why don't we call Mommy and tell her," I say as I put her down on the ground and watch her dance around in her little leather ballet shoes.

I pull out my cell phone and hope that Scully is stored as number one in the memory dial. Luckily, she is. Number one just like always.

"Scully, it's me. Katie has something to tell you," I say as soon as she answers and Katie shrieks her news to her mother now. She tries to tell Scully everything as quickly as she can and I can't help but watch her. She is so beautiful. So tiny, yet so strong. Her hair is pulled up and soft tendrils play around her face as she tells her story in such an animated fashion.

"Daddy says we are going to celebrate tonight! Can I invite Ash?" she asks, looking at me. I nod yes. "Dad says it is okay."

The two of them talk for another minute before she hands me the phone back. She twirls to the car and climbs into the backseat and buckles herself in without being told.

I drive and try to come up with innocent questions to ask that won't betray that this world did not exist this morning. She answers anything I ask with glee and I try hard to remember Samantha at this age. She was bright and beautiful, too. But not quite this exuberant.

"How was school today, Katie?" I ask, hoping somewhere in this conversation, she'll give me her age or grade level.

"It was okay. I'd rather go to the performing arts school than that one," she says, the first tinge of disappointment crossing her voice. I don't know the whole story here. I don't want to mess something up.

Mess what up? This world exists only somewhere in my drugged mind. Except every minute that I am here, it becomes more real. More of what I want. It is safe. The answers don't matter. The only truth is right here sitting in the backseat. The truth will be home from work soon.

This . . . all of this is the truth.

"Katie, what did we say about that school," I say. Please clue me in, kid, as to what the person who was your father before this morning might have said.

"Next year. You and Mom said next year," she says. I look at her in the rearview mirror as she stares at the passing scenery, her face looking disappointed. Her face looking more like mine than it has since I met her.

"Then next year it will be," I say as I turn onto our street, searching for the house I just left a while ago. There it is. A two story colonial. I wonder who picked it out? I pull into the driveway and hit the button to open the garage door. Katie leaps out of the car and races into the house. I follow as quickly as I can, hoping to ask her more questions.

"Daddy! You forgot to let Murphy in," she says as she opens the back door. A sheppard mix comes bounding in from the backyard, covering Katie with wet, sloppy dog kisses. She doesn't seem to mind as she sits on the kitchen floor and lets the dog jump all over her.

"Hey, Murphers . . . guess what? I got the lead!" she says just as excitedly as she told me and Scully. Of course, neither of us licked her entire face because of the news. "I'm going to change and work on my spelling words . . . oh, and call Ash. Let me know when mom gets home."

She grabs the cordless phone and is gone. Seven? Is that really what a girl of seven is like? I can hardly remember. But I most certainly would love to get to know her better.

***********************

The two girls amuse themselves between pieces of pizza with incessant chatter while I stare at Scully. She's so damn beautiful like this. So happy. I already know I retired from the FBI a little over three years ago after getting shot in the line of duty. I read it on the dustcover on one of my books. Then I went looking for the wound, hoping this wasn't the reason I needed a urologist. Judging from Scully's present condition, there's no problem with that part of the plumbing.

"What did the doctor say?" I ask and she narrows her eyes at me.

"I never said I was going to the doctor," she says, lowering her voice to barely audible. Katie doesn't seem to even be aware that she has parents right at this moment. Parents. My mind still trips over that word.

"I read it on the calendar. So, what did she say?" I ask again. Why would she go to a doctor's appointment without wanting me to know about it? Please say she is well, that cancer doesn't touch this world that might only exist in my mind.

"Dr. MacMillan said that everything is okay," she says with a slight smile. She touches my face briefly before pulling her hand away. "And that since the spotting has stopped, we can . . . you know."

"Hmmm... I love that doctor," I say, wishing I knew everything about this baby. Wishing I knew everything about the baby who came before and is now sitting and discussing some band I've never heard of with a friend.

"I knew you would be happy," she says, her smile growing. Oh, I love her more when she smiles. But as easily as it came, her smile fades. "So why are you going to interview the man who shot you?"

"Excuse me?" I ask, almost dropping my drink.

"Roche. Why interview him? He ended your career. Ended that career, I should say," she asks and I realize that I really need to dig deeper into my past in this life. Roche shot me? I killed him. I could swear to it.

"I don't know . . ." I start to say, knowing I have no real answer. I can't even make one up considering I thought he was dead.

"You are going to ask him about that heart again, aren't you?" she asks, and I try to mesh that world with this world and it doesn't make sense. We have this seven year old child -- I found a baby book . . . I know she was born August 25, 1992 -- yet Roche occurred three years ago and Scully was there . . . or was she?

"I have to, Scully. I have to know," I say, trying to give the appropriate answer. Why else would I see Roche if he were still alive? I don't have all the answers in this life, either. I thought I'd have all the answers.

"Let it go," she says, echoing the words my father said before I came to this world. I can't let it go. I can't let it go. I have to hold on. I have to.

She gently rubs my hand with hers, looking me in the eye. She wants me to let it go. Or someone does. And those eyes make it so easy to consider.

Just let it go and die.

*******************

"Mulder," she moans as I enter her slowly. I feel her hands move across my skin, caressing me, loving me as she pulls me closer to her. That isn't easy to do considering her full shape.

She is worth dying to have. I have almost died for her before. I can do it now. I will have all the answers. And this *is* the answer. I would be willing to die to prove their point if this is what I got in return. If Scully could have this, too.

Scully moves beside me, as I slip in and out of her with slowness that I can only owe to fear. Fear of hurting her. Of this being too real or not real enough. I'm scared that I will open my eyes and she will be gone in the morning or else I'm scared I will be here forever. I cannot decide which frightens me more.

"It's okay. You can move, Mulder. You won't hurt me," she says, and I wish it were true. I wish nothing would ever hurt her again.

"Scully, please don't forget I love you," I whisper to her. "No matter what ever happens. Don't forget that I would die for you."

She stops moving and her eyes fly open, penetrating my very soul.

"What are you talking about?" she asks, sounding scared. She places her one hand upon my face and holds it there, her touch so warm I could melt.

"Nothing," I say, knowing this Scully would never understand.

I begin to move in and out of her body again, and it doesn't feel like the Scully I'm used to. No, this is a Scully who is pregnant and a mother already. Her breasts are round and her body proportions are unfamiliar. Is this what I want? Am I really giving Scully what she wants by choosing this?

I want to know what will be gained by giving it all up. What will happen if I die? Will it guarantee a life for her? Not this life but a real life? Help me figure it all out. Am I really the answer? Does she need me here or does she need me there?

I am lost somewhere in this brain of mine. I look at her and she is so real. I need her. I want to give her everything.

She takes my hand in her hand and strokes it gently. I can hear what she is thinking. I can hear everything she is. Everything she would do for me.

I look at this woman in bed with me and these cannot be her thoughts. Her eyes are shut tight as our bodies move together. No, her thoughts cannot be of saving me, for in her mind, I'm already saved. I can hear them, but cannot find her. I need to find her.

******************

The voice is right. The words are right.

I struggle to find her, but I can only see the Scully who is with me.

"I need to see him," fills my mind and I no longer know what I want.

My mind is filled with the words I've been waiting for. Words that are enough to leave this behind. Tell me, Scully? Tell me what you want? Tell me if this is everything you've ever wanted. I cannot tell you what I want right now. You have to tell me.

I want to give this to you if this is what you want. I would die for you as I am sure you would die for me.

No. They will tell me I must die but this is not what our world will be. I will be gone and you will be left alone. You are still before me, but I know it is not real. It isn't everything we want. Not anymore. Not without the answers first.

Suddenly, you are gone. The house is gone. The children . . . are gone. All that is left before me is my father.

"Are you sure, Fox?" he says, and I've lost Scully's voice. I fight to find it again, that voice that is so right. Instead, my father continues on. "Others will offer you everything they think you've ever wanted and you will not be as strong to turn them down. They will give you answers but the answers will be lies. I was willing to give you a life."

"It isn't the life I want," I say, knowing that there is only one person I want to spend my life with. One person. And that person is here. I don't want a version of her playing a role in a life we did not create together. My mind tries to fight through the muddle to hear her. To hear the only answer I need.

"Please. Hold on," the voice says before it disappears, getting lost with all the others.

And I will. I will hold on.

the end

*********************

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