End-of-the-world WIP amnesty

[melannen]

In response to my friend, who when I made a comment about how, according to Mulder and Scully, we have until Saturday, responded with "The X-Files? Wasn't that show in the '90s? What does that have to do with anything?"

...I give you two XF WIPs of mine, both set in late December, both untouched by me for about eight years. (They are never going to be finished, so I am giving you plot summaries of the big plans I had.)


A Last Illusion, AU, Mulder/Scully

This one is actually only sort-of AU, about a Mulder and Scully whose lives have been very different. Also apparently when I wrote the bits I have it was nearly all dialogue, hmm. It starts out with an establishing shot of how very fluffy everything in this AU is (their wedding anniversary is Dec. 20th, which is also my parents', because it gives them the longest wedding night possible.)

"Melly's supposed to be reading Number the Stars for class. Make sure she reads that and not Lemony Snicket, she can be tricky. And if Emily has one of her attacks, which I'm sure she won't, but if she does, all three of them know what to do, but the medicine is in her backpack and you have the doctor's number--"

"Dana. We'll be fine. I'll take care of everything. Don't worry."

"Oh, and don't let Will talk you into spending the whole week playing Risk again, either. He's been developing Strategies, I hear."

"I promise. As long as you don't let Fox talk you into playing board games all week. I can't believe you two, really. All you wanted for your twentieth wedding anniversay was, and I quote, "A week where there's nothing we have to do but lay around on the couch, and nobody to interrupt us.'

"Hey, I like that couch."

"You *would*. You aren't still supposed to be so disgustingly in love after this long, you know. You two are the most boringly perfect couple I've ever heard of."

"Emphasis on the boring, or the perfect?"

"You're just jealous."

"Of course I am, Fox. You've spoiled all your friends for marriage, you know."

"Oh, come on now, Sam. You're not doing all that badly. What about John?"

"I don't think John wants to commit. And honestly, I'm not sure I do, either. Sometimes he talks about the idea that there's a perfect match for everyone out there somewhere. And I look at you, how well you fit together, and I wonder how much i really am missing out on."

"Sam--"

"Mom! Aunt Sam! Are we *ever* going to leave!"

"Alright, alright, coming! Goodbye, goood luck, I don't want to hear a peep out of you two until Christmas morning--"

"And don't forget to feed my goldfish again, Dad!"

"Are we really that boring, Fox?"

"I like boring. In fact, I love boring. Want me to carry you over the threshhold again?"

"Where did you hide the beer?"

"Under the pile of dirty clothes in Will's room."

"WHAT?"

"Well, I figured that's the last place he'd look--"

"You expect me to drink something that's been there? You expect me to *touch* it?"

"Hey, you handle things much more disgusting than that everyday in the morgue. What movie to you want to watch?"

"Wanna bet? I don't care, whatever, you pick it."

"Okay . . . I know, how about something romantic and nostalgic, like the movie we were watching the first time we--"

"--as long as it's not Caddyshack again. I can only enjoy that so many times."

Mulder stuck his tongue out."

Then things start to go a little strange:

"The beer's warm."

"That's from the heat generated by decomposition, like at the bottom of a compost heap. I stuck the rest of them in the fridge. So what's the movie? It's A Wonderful Life?"

"Hey, 'tis the season. Besides, I know how Jimmy Stewart always gets you hot--"

"Yep, you sure know what turns me on, Fox."


"*Yawn* Grab the remote and turn it off, would you?"

"Can't. Too tired."

"You know, we really are getting old. I ought to be ravishing you right about now--"

"Fine with me, as long as I don't have to be awake for it--"

"You maligning my manhood again?"

"Not at all-- Hey, what the heck is that rat bastard Krycek doing speaking for the FBI?"

"What? After all he did? And look in the background, Skinner's just *sitting* there, letting him--"

" . . . What *did* he do, Fox?"

" . . . I have no idea. Considering I've never known anyone named Krycek. Or Skinner . . . I *do* sort of recognize the man sitting on the left, though, the one with the cigarette--"

"oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I think he was a friend of my parents. I don't remember seeing him around much after Sam was born and they split up, though, so he must have sided with my mother after the divorce. Funny seeing him again."

"Especially considering the weird reaction we both had to the other people there. That was bizarre, Fox. For a second I was sure I knew that man. I viscerally hated him."

"'m sure it's just some sort of psychological reaction to stress. Like the man said--"

"No, Fox, something really strange happened just now. To both of us, don't deny it. I think we should investigate."

"I think I have a better idea--"

"just look up the names we remembered, at least--"

"Shush."

"MMMMph -- well, maybe-- "

"why do I always let you talk me into these things?"

...And that is all I have written. :P In the next bit, just for fun (and because Mulder is still Mulder and can't resist poking things with sticks, and Scully has to know) they do some research, and when then triggers some more weird flashes of memory, they mess around with some new-age spirit-vision techniques that Melissa had recently been obsessed with, and start to see even clearer glimpses of a much darker alternate life they might have lived. Then they laugh at how creeped out they're getting, and fall into bed together.

Two days later, they wake up to find that Washington DC (along with Melissa, Samantha, and the kids) has been destroyed in a massive attack of unknown origin, communications are sporadic and the infrustructure is already starting to fail, and everything is terrible.

They huddle together for a few days just grieving and trying frantically to find out if anyone survived, but Mulder gets it into his head that they have to go west, to find something that he swears will fix everything, and Scully can see no reason not to, so they load Mulder's pickup truck will all the survivalist equipment they'd been half-jokingly collecting for most of their lives together, for no reason they could articulate, and set out.

Then there's an interlude of typical apocalypse-road-trip adventures, XF style. Eventually they wash up in a little town in Missouri, and specifically outside a certain abandoned self-storage unit, that in this universe was never cleared out, and they unroll an old Persian carpet and meet a certain djinni.

Because it turns out that this universe, where everyone Mulder ever loved got to have their happy, peaceful lives, is the result of a wish he made in the episode Je Souhaite, a wish that he very carefully wrote out to avoid all possible loopholes... but he forgot to specify that the invasion wasn't going to happen (or perhaps he didn't know enough about it to wish it safely away.) And because Mulder and Scully and their friends hadn't spent the last twenty years fighting in the shadows and getting the world ready, there is no way to stop it. Everyone is doomed.

...unless Mulder's last wish is unwished.

He can't do it, though, it was his third wish, and a new timeline doesn't mean a new set of wishes. So Scully has to. She has to wish her happy marriage, her sister's last twenty years of life, her three beautiful children, out of existence completely, for the sake of the whole world.

But it's Scully, so she does. And then we skip back to the episode Je Souhaite, right before Mulder makes his last wish, only this time, instead of spending it on himself, he wished the djinni free.

...and then we cut to the djinni sitting at a coffeeshop, and Scully walks up, and says, "You wanted to talk to me?"

And the djinni says, "Yeah. I'm not quite free yet, see. You still have two wishes left."

...And then we cut to the canon ending with Mulder and Scully having a date night with beer and Caddyshack.

Old Familiar Carols Play Teena Mulder/CSM, goes AU post-Herrenvolk

Washington, D.C.
December 21, 5:08 PM

Fox Mulder picked up the phone. "Mulder."

"Fox? You're home? I-I was expecting to get the machine."

"Yeah, left work early today. Who is this?"

"It's your mother, Fox."

"Mom? Wha?" He paused to turn down the volume on the television set. "Why are you calling me? Is everything okay? Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine. In fact, I'm better than I've been in a very long time -- I've just gotten back from a shopping trip down to PA, and, well, there were some unexpected happenings. I wanted to call to tell you you're coming home for Christmas this year, for once."

"What? Mom, no, I have plans, I'll be busy--"

"Fox, I have asked very little of you in your life, but you are coming home for Christmas this year."

Mulder straightened slowly from his slump on the couch. "Mom, what's happened? What's wrong? Are you in trouble?"

"No, of course not! I've never been better in my life." She sighed. "I thought I would suprise you but I suppose I should have known better than to try to keep secrets from you, of all people. Perhaps it's wiser this way, anyway. Fox-- I'm engaged. I'm getting married again."

"What? Mom, that's wonderful! I didn't even know you were dating anyone."

"Well, I wasn't. Not exactly. It was a bit sudden, actually. I told you my shopping trip was eventful."

"Tell me you didn't fly down to Vegas and get stoned on Blue Nun again."

"Fox! Of course not. It was nothing like that this time. And it didn't happen last time, either, I don't care what the police reports said. No, I've known him for a very long time. When I ran into him in Reading we just-- worked a few things out, and we decided the time was right, finally."

"You've known him a very long time? Mom, how long?"

Another sigh. "He was a friend of Bill's from the Army, actually. I've known him since well before you were born. We'd fallen out of touch lately-- for the most part-- although I understand you've made his acquaintance a few times. Through your work."

"Mom! You didn't!"

Icily. "I didn't what, son?"

"You've got to be kidding me. No. _Who is he_, Mom?"

"You can ask him that, while you're here on Christmas morning."

"Mom. No way. No. There is no way--"

"Fox." He shut up. "You are coming here for Christmas. I don't care what your excuses are. You can even bring that red-haired partner of yours, if she wants to come. But you be will be here. You will speak to my fiance in a civil and polite manner, behave in such a way as to do your father proud, and you will wish us joy sincerely enough that I can believe you mean it. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Mom."

"Good. I'll see you soon, then. Merry Christmas."

Mulder dropped the phone down on the cradle, then curled up, his arms to his chest, and began shaking his head. "This can't be happening. This can't be happening. This can't be--"

Reading Inn, Reading, PA
December 14, 7:45 PM

Teena Mulder shifted one of her bags of shopping to her hip and fumbled with the keycard to her hotel room until it clicked, then kicked the door open with a snow-booted foot. She took a step forward, then paused, feeling strangely nervous, and wondering if Mr. Henrys down the street had been right that little old ladies shouldn't take vacations by themselves. Then she realized what it was. The _smell_. And then it was too late to run.

He grabbed her arm and yanked her roughly inside, slammed the door shut and latched it. Pulled off balance, she ended up on her hands and knees amid a pile of tumbled packages.

"Good. I got here first." His voice was the same as always: Rough, solid, and very, very sure of itself.

Teena didn't look up at him, staying safely on the floor, facing the window across the room. "How dare you," she said instead.

"It was necessary." Shuffling sounds: he had turned, back to the door, fully facing her now, she thought. "I am going to lock you in this room," he continued. "I hope it will not also be necessary to tie you up, while I am gone."

"That depends," Teena said, the adrenaline rush fading and leaving her trembling. She scrabbled on the floor for the comforting touch of her handbag. "Are you going to tell me why this time?"

"I do not think that is necessary either."

She found the bag, red leather and nearly new, and hoping the nervous movement was hidden by the bulk of her body, in her long coat, she reached her hand inside. "Perhaps not," she said, her voice gratifyingly steady. "But you still might find it wise." After her stroke she had realized that her strategy of repression would not work forever; stirred up by her son and the passage of time, the past would inevitably find her again. As it now appeared it had. This time, perhaps, she would be prepared, capable at last of laying it to rest.

She rose onto her knees and half-turned, her arm raised toward him, aiming the dainty .22 she'd taken to carrying directly at his heart.

His face went very blank. Surprised, are you, she thought grimly. I bet that doesn't happen very often.

Then he made a sudden turn, facing away half away now: she was gratified to she that she did not flinch. He deliberately raised a hand to his breast pocket and began the ritual of lighting one of his awful cigarettes-- he'd got Bill smoking them, too, during one of the worst periods of their marriage. "You won't kill me," he said calmly, taking a drag of his cigarette. "It would solve nothing: The hotel security would hear the shot, and you would be left in a worse situation than before, still without your answers and now under suspicion and unprotected as well."

She conceded his point with a half-nod. "I won't kill you. I doubt this little gun could do it, anyway, unless I aimed very carefully. But I could incapacitate you. When the security arrived I would tell them that I was merely a frightened senior citizen who defended herself against a sinister man who had invaded her room. All of which would be true, which is, I'm sure you're aware, the best sort of lie. And then I would call my son the FBI agent, and he would get me my answers. Which is, after all, what he is trained to do. And under these circumstances I think he'd be happy to do a favor for his old mother, with you injured and imprisoned." She smiled, unwilling to shrug for fear of upsetting her aim. "I think it would work. I'm just trying to decide where would be best to shoot you. The shoulder?" She moved the gun to demonstrate. "Your leg? I have heard that the gut-shot is very painful, and quite dangerous without medical help. Of course, my aim is not very good; I am new at this and have not practiced much. I tend to shoot . . low." She smiled toward the indicated area.

"Would you think less of me as a man," he said, "If I told you I find you extremely attractive right now?"

"I will do it," she said. "You and Bill, you taught me about doing what is 'necessary.' Talk."

He sighed, dropped the cigarette and ground it out on the floor. It was a non-smoking room, Teena thought. She would have to pay for that. Better than bloodstains, though. She quelled a hysterical giggle.

"Perhaps it would not surprise you to learn that I am a man with enemies," he began suddenly.

"Making enemies was always one of your greatest talents," she agreed.

"One of them?" he asked with an interrogative eyebrow, then continued, "Some of these men, unfortunately with a certain level of independent resources behind them, have come to the conclusion that I could be... influenced by a threat to your safety."

...and then it becomes clear that he's aware of an imminent threat to Teena, and in fact she is his weak point and by coming her to protect her he's pretty much conceded that. On the other hand, she has no particular objection to letting him go out and defend her, since it's entirely his fault they're in this situation. So she agrees to stay in her hotel room, door locked, gun at the ready, while he goes and takes care of it.

And of course he does, in the same romantic-action-hero-knight-in-shining-armor style that made her fall for him when they were young. Only they're not young anymore, and when he's almost, but not quite, entirely neutralized the threat, he has a heart attack. In view of Teena's hotel window.

So she very calmly and collectedly calls emergency services - police, to scare off the last of the hit squad, and ambulance for him - and then runs out to do CPR until they get there. (I think she probably has to shoot at least one of them herself, though, because hotness.)

When he wakes up in hospital she's sitting there waiting for him and points out that now that he's made it perfectly obvious to everyone in the network that he is completely nuts over her, all of his enemies will start gunning for her, and what does he plan to do about this?

He has no plan. He might have been able to pull something out if not for the heart attack, but even then, 'keep Teena alive' was about the limit of his plan.

She sighs, and points out the obvious solution, because she's not actually new at this game: for a civilian who can act as leverage on him, it's no holds barred, but by long-standing tradition, if he married her, certain protections would come into play.

...thus the absolutely horrifying Christmas dinner that was foreshadowed at the beginning.