Twilight Xone Soliloquy

It was dark. That was obvious, even if it was the only thing in the basement that was. The individual solitary light in the crowded, confused, cramped corridor slowly began to disappear as the last firefighter made his way out of the room.

Fox Mulder stood at the door, slowly making his way inside, and at the same time trying to comprehend what had made his life's work go up in smoke. How did it start? Who started it? Who could have done such a thing? Why am I so obviously hated? Why am I doing this anymore? Why do I force myself to continue on this never-ending search for the truth, when all it's gonna get me is rejected - time after time after time?

He was silent, scanning the room, trying, with great difficulty, to find answers to his questions - failing. His mind was too confused at this present moment to be able to attempt to comprehend the events in his past. Besides, he had spent too much time comprehending them - what was the point anymore?

Slowly, Scully entered his view, and, knowing this, put her arms around him, feeling his pain, knowing how much he must hurt; to be so dejected and so knocked back and so lost and yet still seeming to thrive, if only to find Samantha. That fateful day was the only thing pushing him now, she knew that.

That, and the search for the truth. The truth.

And as the camera pulled back to a shot of them standing amongst the ashes and the remnants, a police light quickly shone, alternating red-blue-red-blue behind them. Then, and only then, when the true X-Phile had captured the fullness and the gravity and the tragedy of the situation, did the picture start, slowly and sadly, to fade to black.

'The End'.

What an episode, Alex thought to himself, relishing in the delight of his favourite show. What more could you need from such a masterful programme like that? Thrills, excitement, tragedy, and even a little car-seat cameo from Ratboy himself! Fantastic, he concluded. Completely and utterly fantastic.

He turned. 'Wouldn't you say so too, Mulder?,' he chatted amiably to the picture on the wall. He rose. 'I mean,' he face filled with sympathy - empathy, Marita might say. She thought him to be a sensitive kinda guy. He liked that. 'I'm really, really sorry your office got, like, burned and everything, but I, I don't know...' He paused, mid-thought. 'I guess it kind of made everything more final. You know? I mean, it's not as if I support the CSM, or anything, but you know what I mean, right?'

Mulder didn't reply, choosing instead to continue to stare blankly out of the glossy, colourful sheet of paper covering - well, practically, anyway - one half-wall of the shared apartment.

'How about you, Queequeg?' He leaned over to pet the small terrier on the head. 'Like that?'.

Queequeg barked. 'Good girl, you've got good taste,' he laughed, then frowned slightly as Queequeg's skin started to acquire an unearthly blue glow. Strange... ?

He began to turn the way he'd seen his two favourite FBI agents do practically every second episode (well, he thought so, anyway - but he wasn't criticising it), then smiled reassuringly to himself, and to Queequeg. No need to panic, he thought, he'd just forgotten to turn the video off. Stupid. He was getting paranoid.

Leaning down, he clicked off the VCR, and put the cassette back in its case, piling it beside the other 'The X-Files' videos he'd acquired. Of course, if he hadn't tuned into the show by accident alone one night while Marita had swanned off out somewhere - well, he was bored - he'd have missed the whole thing. But he had tuned in. He was thankful for that.

He absently looked at his watch. 10:13:09.03pm. It was nearly time for bed, but he had to see his most favourite clip again: the 'pucker up and kiss my ass' one. He loved that! Skinner was his favourite character - besides Mulder and Scully, of course. The CSM, the rest of the Syndicate, and that complete idiot Spender didn't really count for much as far as he was concerned. OK then, he told himself leniently, you can see it just once. Then bed. FBI class in the morning, as well as a couple of essays on Fanfic for the X-Files University.

He felt himself lucky he'd found at least someone else to share his passion with - after all, Marita obviously couldn't give a damn. Ah well. He supposed she wasn't interested in that sort of stuff. Her choice. Besides, she seemed to be too busy for him nowadays: she was being awfully secretive... nah. She wouldn't do that to him. She was too nice. She loved him too much. She didn't go in for all that deceit stuff.

And with that thought in mind, he leaned down and switched the VCR on again, searching for the video with his favourite episode on - where was it? - whilst at the same time, with his special replica fake plastic arm he'd picked up at the last X-Files EXPO, leaned over and started to grab a handful of sunflower seeds from the bowl that sat on the coffee table, which also held a copy of something called 'Roman a' Clef' - apparently some seedy disgusting porno mag he'd picked up at a newsstand as he'd passed that morning - of course, he'd spent the rest of the day trying to hide it from his FBI tutor.

One of the stories had looked good, though - a 'Cold War Barnburner', apparently: 'Second Chance'. Only problem was, he hadn't had a chance to finish it yet. I must make time for it, he thought, and turning from the magazine and back to the videos, he resumed his search, his back turned to the window, where a newly taped 'X' hung, the light from the table lamp shaping its silhouette, for all outside to see.

The next day started with the sun shining. Alex Krycek was already up - in truth, he'd gotten up hours ago. He had a couple of tests - mental and physical - today, and besides, he wanted to finish his fanfiction essay for the XFU. He wondered if Marita had come home last night, when he was in bed. Probably. He'd go and wake her up.

He started toward the bedroom, smiling - well, you knew she'd be in a bad mood, as always - but he loved her for that - "Marita, dar-" - oh. She wasn't there. Where was she, he wondered, puzzled. This was a mystery in itself. She wouldn't be at work, not this earl- or would she?

He strode back toward the desk he was working at and picked up the phone. He dialled the number, 555-1310, and was relieved when he heard her voice - "This is Covarrubias." Strange. That wasn't the normal way she answered the phone. "Marita, hey! I was won-"

"Get off the phone, Alex," she hissed.

"What?!"

"Get off the phone, or- never mind." And with that she hung up, slamming the phone down. Hell, he could hear the clunk of the plastic against the wood at his end.

What the hell was that? She hadn't been loving to him, as she usually was, she hadn't let him chat to her, she'd been, well... bitchy, really. That wasn't a word he used often, in truth, but she had been. He didn't know how to describe it. He contemplated this for a while. Maybe she was just having a bad day. The Special Representative to the Secretary-General of the UN did have a lot to do, after all. He sighed. He'd forgive her.

And with that, he picked up the phone again, this time trying callback. It was one of those brand-new phones. Apparently it had all of these special features. Or something like that, anyway. Actually, Marita had bought it, and in truth, he wasn't supposed to touch it, it was her work-phone, but in the heat of the moment earlier, he hadn't really thought about it.

Never mind, he thought. She won't know.

The phone rang again. And again, Marita answered the phone, rather strangely. "Marita, what is-"

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

The dialling tone seemed to ring through his entire ear. Christ! He didn't say that often, either. There was only one thing for it. He was going to have to go and see her. It was right that he did have tests, yes, but he had a lunch break. And when Marita and he had started dating, he'd go and see her in her lunch break. And as far as he knew her lunch break times never changed. He made his mind up. That was what he would do. And then he continued with his work.

When the time came for him to leave, he did so. Getting into his brand-new FBI-rookie-regulation Ford Taurus, he drove the distance to Quantico.

The first test was a kind of mental agility thing. Procedure for dealing with criminals, arrest protocol, that sort of thing. He'd revised from the day he started the course. This was what he wanted. And nothing was going to get in his way. Besides, he was sure he knew the stuff. And so he did. He sailed through the test, or so he thought- no, he had sailed. With wings flapping, he thought happily.

One thing always made him crazy, though, he reflected. A couple of his fellow students had been talking about some new cases that had been discovered: marked under X. They'd laughed at how one of the agents working on them believed in the existence of extraterrestrials. As if! They felt it right, therefore, to call him "spooky". Well, he'd had enough, listening to them being horrible about someone they didn't even know. He believed in that sort of stuff, anyway. So he'd punched one of them. That had been the only discrepancy in an otherwise uneventful morning.

Anyway, never mind that. It was time for lunch. Time to go and meet Marita. He didn't know it, but he'd started to walk unusually slowly toward his car. What was wrong with him? He loved her, she loved him... or at least she should, he thought, somewhat bitterly. It sure didn't seem like she loved him anymore.

Come on, Alex, he thought to himself. Cheer up. I bet she'll be all smiles by the time you get there. She's probably just got PMT or something. Yeah, he thought, smiling a little. That'll be it. PMT.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" she screeched. "You're not even supposed to be here, Alex, so just get the hell out. Go on." She motioned toward the open door - he'd hardly had a chance to walk through it. "Go. I'll see you at home."

"But, but-"

"Go."

"Fine." His tone turned poisonous. "That's just fine with me." He turned and strode out, slamming the door behind him.

She sighed, cupping her head in her hands. It wasn't his fault. He didn't know what she was involved in. Hell, if he wasn't so obsessed with Scully and Mulder and everything else in that damn useless, pointless, stupid show, she'd tell him. According to what she'd been told, she (along with the rest of the Syndicate) would rule the world. Alex would rule the world along with her, if he wanted. If he was interested enough. But no. He had to go and waste his time with aliens, for Christ sake, aliens that weren't even real. Fake. Kids dressed in polystyrene, or whatever else Fox could think up. She hated him for that. She thought he loved her more than that.

And as she watched him out of the window, striding toward the car - a Ford Taurus, gimme a break - and as she felt the oil, the thin black unknown film, slip across the very skin of her eyeball and make its way inward, she knew. She knew that he loved her. The only thing now was to convince him to join her. "We can rule the world, Alex," she whispered. "We're going to. Just you wait and see."