Tovarisch

A key works the lock. Light slices the darkness and when his shadow's made it through the doorway you ram him shoulder first. Mulder goes down in a heap.

"You're losing it, Mulder..."

Or is it you? Everything's going to hell and look whose doorstep you've shown up on.

You wait for his rejoinder, his half of the 'Mulder's fists/your mind games' secret handshake. But time's a wasting. You lay it out: colonists and rebels, civil war, dinosaurs. Resist or serve.

He laughs.

Your heart catches, then pounds. He stares, trying to figure you.

Or himself.

It hinges on him now, but words won't make him see. Too much to say-- maybe unexplainable--and time's a thief on the make.

You lean forward, puzzled. His cheek is warm, the gun heavy as it dangles from your finger. Inside, you're shaking.

If only it had been different, the two of you riding the same horse.