When Worlds Collide
by bellefleur

Email: bellefleur1013@yahoo.com 

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Vaguely for seasons 10 and 11.

Disclaimer: These characters are mine now. Chris Carter has 
created his own AU versions, and he and FOX can keep them. 
My Mulder and Scully never broke up and never will.

Summary: Scully finds herself in a world where everything 
is the same and yet somehow different. How will she settle 
into this new reality with a Mulder who is devoted to her 
and yet isn't really hers?

Notes: This story is based on my latest theory of how to 
make sense of the madness that is the X-Files reboot. There 
are still certain episodes and scenes in the reboot that I 
haven't seen yet and have no desire to. So, some of this 
story may not match up exactly with every detail of those 
episodes. This is based on the general ideas as I 
understand them from the message boards.

I haven't felt inspired to write any fanfic, even to redeem 
this mess, for the past two years. I credit James Wong with 
creating an episode decent enough for me to feel inspired 
by these characters again ("Ghouli"). That's not to say I 
absolutely loved this episode, but at least it brought me 
back to the characters.

I first posted this story as a draft. I have since added 
more to it. I still reserve the right to add more parts to 
fill in more gaps, but I doubt I will make changes to the 
ending.

Timeline: The story starts at some vague point between I 
Want to Believe and season 10, and it roughly meanders 
through some of the stories in seasons 10 and 11, 
concluding after the events of all the Struggles.

Updated 3/22/18.

*****
 *****

Scully woke up with a raging headache, and she didn't even 
know why. Her memories were too fractured for her to make 
sense of them. She remembered a mirror and a flash of 
light, then the darkness. Now the searing pain in her head. 
She couldn't even open her eyes long enough to figure out 
where she was.

"Scully?"

But she did know that voice.

"It hurts" was all she managed to force out.

"What hurts? Your head?"

God bless Mulder for figuring out that clenching her head 
between her hands meant that her head hurt.

"Let me get you some aspirin."

She was going to tell him that she shouldn't take anything 
until she knew what was causing the pain, but he was 
already gone, and she couldn't get the words out anyway.

"Here."

Scully opened her eyes enough to see his extended hand, 
with a couple of small pills in it. She was in too much 
pain to argue. She took the pills and swallowed them down 
with the glass of water he offered her.

"Why don't you lie down for a while?" Scully didn't protest 
as Mulder leaned her back in bed and pulled the covers up 
to her shoulders. In her few moments of lucidity before she 
drifted back into the darkness, she recognized that she was 
at home in her own bed. But she couldn't shake the feeling 
that something wasn't quite right.

***

It was dark when Scully woke again. The bedside clock said 
5:46, but she was too disoriented to know if that was AM or 
PM. The other side of the bed was empty. A lamp was glowing 
dimly on the table next to the empty side of the bed.

She sat up carefully and tried to get her bearings. Her 
head felt better, although she was still foggy. Possibly a 
side effect of the meds, if Mulder had given her something 
stronger than aspirin. She hadn't looked at the pills 
closely enough to recognize what they were.

Scully looked around slowly. Her thoughts were focused 
inward, so she wasn't really paying attention to what she 
was seeing-until her eyes landed on the mirror across the 
room. She didn't remember hanging a mirror there. And why 
did it make her hair look almost blonde?

Scully crawled out of bed and hurried over to the mirror 
for a closer look at herself. It wasn't just the coloring 
of the glass. Somehow her hair looked different than the 
last time she had seen it. And the pajamas she was wearing 
were unfamiliar. They were her style, but she didn't 
remember buying them. A gift from Mulder?

"Hey, you're awake. Feeling better?" Mulder cautiously 
entered the room and slowly approached her. His expression 
grew more puzzled as he drew near. Maybe he was simply 
reflecting her own confused look. Because her confusion was 
only continuing to grow.

This was Mulder, and yet it wasn't. He looked like Mulder, 
he sounded like Mulder, but in some intangible way, Scully 
knew that he wasn't. Clone? Shapeshifter? Her mind began to 
run through all the terrifying possibilities.

"Scully, what's going on? Maybe you should go back to bed."

"Where am I? What do you want?" She was trying not to 
panic, but wasn't succeeding. All she could think about was 
how to make it through the door without him catching her, 
so she could make an escape.

But it was too late. He grabbed her by the shoulders. 
"Scully, it's me. We're at home. This is our bedroom. You 
just need to wake up more, and then you'll see where you 
are."

Was she still asleep? Could she be dreaming? Maybe that 
would explain what was happening. But this didn't feel like 
a dream. She felt wide awake. And terrified.

"C'mere." Mulder pulled her close and held her tight, 
rocking her slightly from side to side. It was meant to 
comfort her, but it only made her more anxious. This wasn't 
Mulder. Oddly enough, he felt like Mulder, but somehow he 
didn't smell right.

But this wasn't a dream. Scully was sure of it. That was 
the only thing she could be sure of right now. She took a 
deep breath and tried to think more clearly. If this was 
really their house, or based on it, then the kitchen was 
downstairs.

"Thanks, Mulder. I'm feeling better now." She put her hands 
on his chest and tried to pull back a little. "I think my 
blood sugar's too low. Can you get me something to eat?"

He took a good look at her, and then he smiled a little. 
"Of course. Something in particular?"

"Anything's okay. Maybe some toast?"

"You rest, and I'll be right back." He kissed her on the 
forehead before releasing her and leaving the room. He 
pulled the door closed behind him but left it ajar.

Scully had to act fast, but quietly. She pulled open a 
dresser drawer, only to find Mulder's clothes where hers 
should have been. She opened one of his drawers, and there 
were her clothes. At least they were clothes that she 
recognized. Everything was the same, but different somehow. 
Scully grabbed up a shirt and some jeans and headed for the 
bathroom. She set aside her confusion and tried to focus on 
what to do next.

Scully hastily changed and freshened up. Not until she had 
rinsed and dried her face, ready to leave the room, did she 
finally let her eyes settle on the image in the mirror. 
Mulder wasn't the only one who wasn't quite himself. In the 
brighter light of the bathroom, she could see her 
reflection more clearly. It was her, but it wasn't. There 
were more lines than she remembered. A scar on her forehead 
seemed to be missing. And the hair-when had she ever worn 
her hair like this? It was definitely blonder. She had 
never bleached her hair this color.

The flight left her, and the confusion took hold. This had 
to be more than a dream, but maybe it was really all in her 
head. Maybe there was something medically or 
psychologically wrong with her that was distorting her view 
of reality. Or maybe something was wrong with her memories.

Whoever this Mulder was, he didn't seem to intend her harm. 
In fact, he acted just like Mulder would. She needed 
someone's help to figure this out, so she might as well 
start with him.

Scully quietly made her way down the stairs, taking in the 
details as she went. It was their house, alright, but she 
continued to find things different from how she remembered. 
Could she have memory loss, from a head injury or long 
illness, and she had lost a block of time? Had she been 
missing again, and she couldn't remember it?

She followed the soft noises into the kitchen. Mulder had 
his back to her as he stood by the counter, buttering some 
toast. No, this man clearly did not intend her harm. Not 
only had he made her toast, but he had an entire tray made 
up with steaming tea, a bowl of fruit, and even a flower. 
Her heart melted at the sight of it, and unexpected tears 
started to well up in her eyes.

At her small sniffle, Mulder turned around. "Hey, you 
didn't have to come down here. I was going to bring this up 
to you."

"I see that. Thank you."

"Have a seat." He took her by the hand and led her to the 
table. "Are you feeling a little better?"

She let him seat her. "A little. But I'm still pretty 
groggy. Things don't quite make sense to me right now."

"Like what?" He frowned at her as he set the tray in front 
of her.

"Like...I'm feeling a little disoriented. I'm not sure what 
day it is, or even what time of day."

Mulder felt her forehead as he answered. "It's Saturday, 
January 11, and it's late afternoon." He looked at his 
watch. "Or evening, now. You've been sleeping all day, so 
I'm not surprised you feel so groggy."

"What did you give me? The pills." A rumble from her 
stomach told her that she actually was hungry, and she 
gratefully took a bite of the toast.

"What pills? Oh, this morning? I don't know, whatever you 
usually give me when I have a headache. From that little 
white bottle."

That explained nothing, other than that she should give him 
a lecture about unknown medication. She needed to glean 
more information from him, but she didn't want to worry him 
too much, or to raise questions about her sanity.

She sipped from the tea. "What happened on Friday? Do you 
know what caused my headache?"

"You don't remember?"

"Mulder, give me the benefit of the doubt here. I told you, 
my head isn't very clear right now. Just talk to me about 
the last couple of days. Maybe it will help to bring 
everything back." She tried to act nonchalant about it as 
she finished the toast.

Mulder didn't look fully convinced by her casual attitude, 
but he didn't object.

"Yesterday, you had a double shift at the hospital. I hate 
it when you pull those crazy hours, but you tell me it's 
part of the job, so I put up with it. You came home late in 
the afternoon. You were exhausted and complained of a 
headache. You said that something really strange had 
happened, but you didn't explain what. I helped you get 
ready for bed, and you climbed in and went right to sleep. 
This morning, you woke up in pain, I gave you some pills, 
and you went back to sleep. Then you woke up again about 
half an hour ago, hungry, and acting a little weird."

Scully mulled this over as she dug into the fruit. The last 
half of his explanation she remembered. But Friday was 
still a blur. Although, the part about driving home and 
crawling in bed seemed vaguely familiar.

"Maybe you should call in sick tomorrow, Scully."

"I'm working tomorrow?"

Now Mulder really looked concerned. "Yes, you're scheduled 
to work tomorrow. We already had this conversation. I think 
you need more than twenty-four hours off after a double 
shift, and now it looks like I'm right. They're working you 
too hard, Scully, and it's obviously starting to take its 
toll. Look, if you don't call in to cancel, I'm going to 
call in for you."

She just nodded her head. She couldn't argue with him, 
because she was still too confused to understand what was 
going on. She remembered her job at the hospital, but she 
thought that she always had Sundays off, and she couldn't 
recall debating with Mulder over her work hours.

Mulder seemed frustrated, either with her or with the work 
situation, and got up to leave the room. She was grateful 
for a little bit of space, so she could figure out what to 
do next. She needed to investigate, to figure out the best 
that she could what was different and what she remembered. 
And if need be, she would lay it out for Mulder, and they 
could try to make sense of it together.

***

"An alternate reality."

"Mulder, that's ridiculous."

"No, it's scientifically plausible. Every decision we make 
reflects an infinite number of possible realities."

Scully rubbed her forehead. "You're making my headache come 
back."

They had been sitting at the kitchen table for what seemed 
like hours, as she carefully laid out for him her 
predicament, and Mulder, in full X-Files mode, had 
swallowed the whole story and started offering outlandish 
explanations.

"I don't know how else to explain it, Scully. You said that 
everything's just slightly off. Things are the way you 
remember them, but not. That's the textbook description of 
an alternate reality."

"Or a mental breakdown," she mumbled to herself. She got up 
from the table and crossed to the sink to fill a glass of 
water. She leaned back against the counter and took a sip 
of water. "So, for the sake of argument, let's say that I 
am in an alternate reality. How did I get here? How could 
this possibly happen?"

"That's the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. If we knew 
how it happened, then maybe we could figure out how to 
reverse it."

"To send me back."

"Yes, to send you back. Although, we really should consider 
the consequences before we pursue that course of action."

She didn't like the sound of that. "What consequences?"

"Well, some theorizing on alternate realities suggests that 
once a person moves into a new reality, they replace the 
version of themselves from that reality, essentially 
pushing them out. The person they replaced, then, ceases to 
exist."

"You're saying that if my consciousness somehow came to 
replace the consciousness of the Scully from your reality, 
then your Scully no longer exists?"

"That is one theory, yes." His restrained voice betrayed 
the emotion he was trying to hold back at that thought.

"Then, what about in my reality? Do I still exist there?"

"You may be considered missing, or if only your 
consciousness has transferred, then your body may still be 
there, without your consciousness."

"So, I would essentially be in a coma. But what if I went 
back? Could I return to my own body?"

Mulder got up and poured himself a cup of coffee. "I don't 
know about you, but I know that in my reality, Scully has a 
living will. No extreme measures. If you're on life 
support, you may not stay that way very long. Although, if 
your Mulder is anything like me, I'd say to hell with your 
living will, and I'd do everything in my power to keep your 
body alive long enough for me to figure out what happened 
to you and bring you back."

She had to smile at that. No matter what was different, in 
some ways they were still the same people in any reality, 
and still fighting for each other.

"Listen, Scully, I don't know how to explain what happened 
to you. Not yet. But we're trained investigators, so let's 
investigate. Let's go back to the hospital, reconstruct 
your day, and retrace your steps. We're bound to find some 
clue as to what happened."

***

But there was no clue, no evidence. No explanation. Only 
theory. Scully had her theories, and Mulder had his, but 
the one they kept coming back to was the alternate reality.

In the process of their investigations, Scully did learn 
more about how much was the same. She still worked at the 
hospital, with the same position and same people, although 
a few of the patients were different. And even though it 
was the same hospital, it was located in DC rather than 
Virginia. She still had a utilitarian apartment close to 
the hospital, which she used as a crash pad after long days 
or during bad weather when the long drive back to their 
remote, rural house was too long or too dangerous. And, as 
she could tell by the photo on the bedside table in her 
apartment, she still had William.

She also couldn't help but notice that in this reality, she 
and Mulder weren't wearing wedding rings. But she couldn't 
bring herself to ask him about it. They were clearly 
together, living together as a couple, but she didn't know 
the state of their relationship. Had this Mulder proposed 
to his Scully a few years ago, as hers had done? Had his 
Scully refused him? Or had this Mulder never gotten around 
to asking?

Gentleman that he was, Mulder started sleeping on the 
couch. He never said that's what he was doing. He simply 
said he'd be up late, but when she woke in the morning, he 
had never come to bed. Ever since they'd theorized that she 
didn't belong here, he clearly knew how uncomfortable she 
was, and he was trying to give her the distance she needed. 
But she still felt like an imposter. It wasn't fair that he 
couldn't sleep in his own bed, next to the woman who looked 
and sounded like his own partner. Whatever his own feelings 
about this situation, he was keeping them close to his 
chest.

***

Scully threw the last of her things into the car and got 
in. She refused to look in the rearview mirror as she 
pulled away from the house. She knew that Mulder was 
standing on the porch watching, willing her not to go. But 
she had to.

She knew that Mulder was hurt by her actions, deeply hurt, 
but she needed some space. As much as he looked and acted 
like Mulder, she still knew he wasn't HER Mulder, and she 
felt like if she got any closer to this man, as she so 
wanted to, then she would be betraying her husband. Even 
though it was with himself.

The whole situation was too bewildering for her to wrap her 
head around. She didn't believe in alternate realities. 
Well, not really. She understood the scientific theory 
behind them, but for all the bizarre things she has 
experienced while on the X-Files, she had seen nothing to 
convince her that alternate realities were more than 
theory. There were any number of other explanations for 
this predicament that were more plausible. Except, somehow, 
the alternate reality idea made the most sense.

She missed Mulder-her own Mulder. And she knew that 
wherever he was, whatever was happening, he missed her too. 
It felt like they had only just started out their lives 
together, as a legal, married couple. No more running from 
the law or the FBI, or whoever else was chasing them. No 
more living in the shadows. They could be Fox Mulder and 
Dana Scully, together, in the open, and live like normal 
people.

But nothing would ever really be normal for them. In fact, 
abnormal was normal. She figured she should have seen this 
coming. Things were just too comfortable and too sane. Her, 
working as a doctor, even if she did have some odd hours. 
Him, finally getting back into the groove of writing and 
researching, with some occasional consulting for the FBI. 
They had even talked about getting a dog, although they 
hadn't found the time to shop for one yet. He wanted a big 
dog, she wanted a small one. Always coming at things from 
different angles, yet always together.

Scully tried to stifle her tears at what had been lost. She 
couldn't give up yet. Whatever had happened, she would find 
a way to undo it. She would find a way to get back. She 
needed Mulder, and he needed her. Their vows were forever, 
despite all odds. They always had been.

***

Scully knew that she wasn't making things any easier for 
either of them. She couldn't be with Mulder, not really, 
not in the way they both wanted to, but she also couldn't 
just walk away. She was living in her apartment, with the 
handful of belongings she had loaded into the car, and she 
was convincingly going through the motions at work. At 
least the work was helping to keep her mind occupied. But 
her time off gave her too much silence to go home to, and 
too much time to think. The rest of this reality was close 
enough to her own that she could stay here if she had to. 
But she couldn't let go of the fact that somewhere her 
husband was waiting for her.

She and Mulder talked on the phone at least every other 
day. If he didn't call her, then she called him. They 
talked about everything, and nothing, but not about what 
was really important. Scully knew that if Mulder had found 
a way to undo this, he would tell her about it. And she 
knew that he was still looking.

For all the phone calls, though, they didn't see much of 
each other. Apparently this Mulder had a bit of a phobia 
about driving, so he didn't drive much and ventured out 
into town very rarely. He had become quite a hermit, 
ordering his groceries online and having them delivered. A 
few times she drove out to the house herself and left 
something for him on the porch, but she never knocked, and 
he never came to the door.

It was just too much for her to see him. When they only 
talked on the phone, it was easier for her to pretend like 
everything was normal and nothing had happened. But if she 
were to see him in person, to be in his presence, it would 
make it all too real. Either the truth that he wasn't 
really hers would come flooding back to her, or she would 
give in and fall into his arms, soothing his hurts, 
consequences be damned. And so she consoled herself by 
listening to the drone of his voice, pretending that the 
distance between them was less than an entire universe.

***

"Scully, I need you on this."

His argument seemed weak, but his plea was genuine. Maybe 
he simply wanted to see her as badly as she wanted to see 
him, and he would concoct any scheme he could think of to 
make an excuse to get together. Even some lame story about 
needing her to verify the claims of an internet conspiracy 
theorist. Just like old times. At least, in her reality.

So she agreed to meet Mulder, to provide the scientific 
analysis he needed to prove or debunk this man's claims. 
And she tried to control the flutter in her chest at the 
thought of seeing him again.

***

How had he let him talk her into this? Reopening the X-
Files? Returning to the FBI? At their age? It all seemed so 
preposterous, but she really couldn't say no to him.

As the schemes unfolded around them, it was intriguing to 
discover what things were the same in this reality, and 
which things were different. Yes, they still had a son 
together, and she had still given him up for adoption. But 
the conspiracy they were escaping and the explanations 
behind it weren't quite the same. Even the explanations 
surrounding William's conception and birth, and what was 
special about him, were different. People who were supposed 
to be long dead were still alive, and people who were 
supposed to be trusted confidantes were actually working 
for the enemy. But no matter what the reality, she would do 
anything to find her son again and to ensure that he had a 
future. She owed it to the Scully whose place she had 
taken, because she knew that the other Scully would do no 
less for her. If the only way to find that truth was to 
return to the FBI, then she would do it.

The harder part would be working alongside Mulder again. 
Not that she found this version of him hard to work with. 
The hard part would be continually reminding herself that 
he wasn't really her Mulder. But the connection that held 
them together was too great to deny. Mulder needed the 
truth about William just as much as she did, a truth 
intertwined with the truth about his own Scully. And maybe 
in the process they would come across a case on alternate 
realities, and try to find a way to send her home.

***

When you tell yourself something for long enough, sometimes 
it's easy to convince yourself of it, even if you've 
forgotten the reason why. Or, at least, this was Scully's 
excuse for continuing to keep Mulder at arm's length. They 
were together almost all the time, but she insisted on 
keeping up appearances: separate residences, separate hotel 
rooms. Separate beds. She justified it to herself, and to 
Mulder, by saying that they were partners again and needed 
to maintain certain boundaries, but it was a flimsy reason. 
The FBI didn't care, and neither did Skinner. Mulder had 
always thought that boundaries were made to be crossed, 
although he seemed to respect her need for distance. She 
drew the lines, and he didn't cross them, although he did 
poke his toe over every now and then to test to the waters, 
or her resolve.

The fact is, she missed her Mulder, and he missed his 
Scully. They belonged together, in any reality. Enough time 
had passed that she had forgotten the nuances that made 
this Mulder someone other than the man she married. He was 
just as familiar to her as her own. She knew he had long 
since given up hope that there was a way of reversing this. 
Too much time had passed, and if she left, chances are he 
would never get his own Scully back. Scully even wondered 
sometimes if he truly believed she was from another reality 
or whether he thought she had simply suffered some cerebral 
event from too much stress. Honestly, sometimes she 
contemplated that herself.

Scully knew it was only a matter a time before she finally 
gave in to him. After all, they needed each other. They 
always had.

***

Another town, another case, this one with deadly figments 
of the imagination. Facing up to other versions of 
themselves, and facing their own fears.

They lay in bed, holding each other close, yet worlds 
apart. It was a bizarre conversation, for foreplay or 
afterglow or even on a first date, but the truth is, there 
were still some things the two of them didn't really know 
about each other. This Mulder hadn't gone through fertility 
treatments with her. He hadn't stood beside the bed with 
her as they held their son for the first time. He hadn't 
been there with her all those years on the run, when they 
reflected on the dangers of bringing another life into the 
world even if they could-and when they whispered in the 
darkness how they both felt they would be betraying William 
if they raised another child while their son was still out 
there, lost to them.

This Mulder had gone through his own journey with 
fatherhood and fertility, similar to hers and yet 
different. With topics as sensitive as these, the two of 
them had never really discussed the nuances. And it was 
clear that Mulder doubted her commitment to him. Really, 
though, that was her own fault. She was devoted to him with 
every fiber of her being, but still she maintained a 
distance between them. How could he be anything but 
uncertain?

But her resolve had weakened past the point that she could 
fight it anymore, and she really didn't want to. Especially 
lying there in Mulder's arms, remembering the feel of him. 
She missed him so badly, any version of him. And he clearly 
loved her, as herself, not just as a doppelganger for the 
woman he loved.

And so she invited him in.

***

(ATTHS.)

[This was the ending to the first draft. Keep reading for 
the new ending.]

***

The last time Scully had found herself on a bridge with a 
light hovering over her, it had been a dream. This time, it 
wasn't a dream but a nightmare. That horrible dream-vision-
about the virus had come true. And here she was, standing 
on the bridge, hoping against hope that she would once 
again wake up to find out none of it was real.

The events of the last twenty-four hours had unwound so 
rapidly that she could hardly recall clearly everything 
that had happened. O'Malley had called Mulder to tell him 
that what they predicted had begun. Mulder raced off to 
find some way to stop it. After finding Skinner crumpled on 
the ground, Scully had rushed him to the hospital, only to 
find there absolute chaos as one person after another came 
in with symptoms of the quickly spreading plague.

Somehow, in the madness of the last day, Scully had found 
Mulder again, here on this bridge. She still believed that 
the only cure for him was related to William. But this 
time, she didn't even know if William was alive or where to 
find him. Then there was the bright light shining down on 
her, and she could only stare into it, frozen in place, as 
it got brighter, and brighter...

***

Scully found herself in utter darkness. The air was 
breathable, but somehow it felt thick, unnatural. She 
couldn't move, although she didn't feel any restraints. She 
wasn't lying down, but wasn't really standing either. She 
felt...suspended.

Although she couldn't see anyone, she could sense that 
someone was near. Behind her perhaps. She mustered what 
courage she could and decided to see if at least her voice 
would work.

"Who are you?" she asked, with more strength than she felt.

"Someone who's putting right what went wrong."

The voice was familiar. She heard the strike of a match, 
and off to her left a flame flared to life. She recoiled 
from the face it illuminated. "The Smoking Man," she spat 
out in recognition.

"No. Not the man that you know. I'm the original." He 
touched the flame to the wick of a candle sitting on a 
table, then he blew out the match. The small light seemed 
oddly bright, and the light continued to grow. But all it 
revealed was more inky darkness.

"Original what?" Scully asked.

"The original owner of this face, this DNA. I came long 
before the man you know. He was one of many imposters. An 
evil man with an evil agenda. And too much self-made 
power."

She couldn't disagree that the Smoking Man, C.G.B. Spender, 
was pure evil. But she didn't know the agenda of this 
"original," as he claimed to be. "What do you mean you're 
putting right what went wrong?"

The man drew closer, which only cast his face more in 
shadows. "I believe someone once told you that the best way 
to predict the future is to invent it. Am I right?"

She couldn't move enough to nod, so she simply said, "Yes."

"That's what your smoking man, as you call him, has done. 
He's discovered the key to changing the past. He's used 
that key to tamper with the timeline too many times, to 
rewrite history so he always comes out on top. Every time 
he's doomed to die, he goes back and changes the 
circumstances, so he survives. And every time he does so, 
reality becomes more fractured."

"You're talking about time travel?"

The man paced around her slowly, casually, his hands buried 
in the pockets of his well-tailored suit. "It's more 
complicated than that, but yes, to keep it simple, it's a 
form of time travel. Time. Dimensions. Universes. They're 
all intertwined. And one man has twisted them into a 
convoluted mess, all so that he can come out on top, in 
every reality."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I think you already know the answer to that. You've 
already figured out that the reality you've been living in 
is not your own. It's not where you belong. It's not what's 
meant to be. Your son understands that as well. It's part 
of the connection you share."

"The visions..."

"The visions are a part of it, yes. You've both had 
glimpses of other realities, although the human mind is not 
made to comprehend these truths. It has been a struggle to 
understand what you're seeing, hasn't it? But once I set 
things right, the visions will stop. You'll never know that 
you had them."

"What about the other realities? Do we still exist there? 
If I leave this reality, will the Dana Scully that was here 
return, or is she gone for good?"

"So many questions. But I cannot offer you all the answers. 
All I can tell you is that all will be made right. And 
you'll never know that anything was wrong."

Whether it was his words or his maddening pacing, she was 
starting to feel dizzy. She tried to grasp onto some truth 
to ground her. "But why me? Why am I here, wherever 'here' 
is?"

He stopped right in front of her. "Because you're the key 
to everything."

"What? I don't understand."

"You see, Ms. Scully, you never die. In every reality he 
builds, every new truth he creates for himself, you're the 
variable that never changes. He can't kill you. He can't 
corrupt you. You are the flame that burns brightly in his 
swirling darkness."

She pushed down the terror that was threatening to take 
hold. "So, you're going to kill me, and it's all going to 
stop?"

He laughed softly. "No, my dear. I'm not going to kill you. 
You can't die. I'm going to kill him. Once and for all."

"I still don't understand. Why am I here? Why won't you let 
me go?" She was feeling more light-headed, more confined, 
and felt she might soon lose consciousness.

"Even if I explain it to you now, you won't remember the 
answers. Don't worry. I had to bring you back to the 
beginning, to the origin point, so that I could undo what 
he's done. But once he's gone, for good, I'll return you to 
the life that you knew. The life that was meant to be 
yours."

She struggled against the darkness that was beginning to 
claim her. "To Mulder..."

"Yes, to Mulder. Always to Mulder."

His words echoed in her head as the blackness consumed her.

***

Scully opened her eyes, only to close them again. The light 
from the windows was too bright. It reminded her of 
something, but the thought was fleeting. Like a forgotten 
dream.

"Mom?"

"Mmm. What?" She rolled over onto her back and threw her 
arm over her eyes to block out the residual light filtering 
through her eyelids.

"Mom!"

"What?" she called back, a little stronger this time.

"Get up already. We're going to be late for the game!"

Scully opened her eyes again, blinking at the ceiling and 
waiting for reality to catch up with her. The game?

Then it all clicked into place, and she was out of bed like 
a shot. William's baseball game. The state semi-finals.

"I'm up! I'll be ready in a few minutes!" she called toward 
the open bedroom door.

She checked the clock, only to realize that it wasn't as 
late as he'd led her to believe. She still had time for a 
shower.

Stumbling into the bathroom, Scully grumbled as she kicked 
aside Mulder's damp towel. How many years now had she been 
nagging him to hang up his towel instead of leaving it on 
the floor after he showered? Some things never changed.

As she stood under the hot water, trying to shake off the 
last vestiges of sleep, she couldn't help but feel the 
lingering shadows of a strange dream, just out of reach. 
But she couldn't dwell on that now. She needed to focus on 
today. William had a chance to shine in the competition for 
the state championship. He was hoping to get a full-ride 
scholarship for baseball, and even more, maybe to catch the 
attention of some major league scouts. Of course, Scully 
was hoping that he would give more serious thought to med 
school, but she knew that Mulder was just as excited about 
the possibilities of a baseball scholarship as William was, 
and she didn't want to dash the dreams of either of them.

"You ready yet, Scully?"

A wave of cool air hit her. "Close the door, Mulder. You're 
letting in a draft."

He stepped inside the room and shut the door. "C'mon, we're 
going to be late."

She sighed and turned off the water. "No, we're not. I 
swear, you're more anxious about this game than William 
is."

She opened the shower curtain to find Mulder holding a 
towel open for her. She stepped into it and let him wrap 
her up in it, into his arms. He dried her off briskly, with 
a little friendly groping along the way.

"It's the state championship, Scully," he explained to her 
excitedly, as though she didn't already know. "His team 
could win it all this weekend. I never won the state 
championship."

She smiled into his chest while he squeezed the drips out 
of her hair. "I know you're proud of him, Mulder. I am 
too."

He let the towel fall to the floor and pulled back to look 
at her, winding his arms tightly around her waist. "Who 
would've thought that we'd be here, with a son almost in 
college, maybe even headed for the pros? Even in my wildest 
dreams, I never expected it to turn out like this."

"Even in the wildest ones? Who knew your dreams were so 
tame?"

He pinched her lightly. "You know what I meant."

"I do know. But I think you underestimate what the two of 
us can accomplish together. We've always made a great team. 
Our son is evidence of that."

He smiled. "Yeah, we do make a pretty good team, don't we?"

Suddenly Mulder didn't seem in any hurry to leave. He 
pulled her closer and leaned down for a long, deep kiss.

"Mom! Dad! Let's go already!" William's voice was close, 
possibly even coming from their bedroom.

"Mmm," Mulder mumbled halfheartedly through their kiss. 
Scully just hoped William knew better than to open the 
bathroom door.

She wrapped her arms around Mulder more tightly. They would 
stop, soon enough, and hurry off to the game. But she 
cherished moments like this. Moments when they could 
remember that this is where they belonged. Just the two of 
them, together. Despite all odds.

Moments when she knew that everything was just as it should 
be.

*****
 *****

Notes: And that, my friends, is what a series finale is 
supposed to look like.

This ending is dedicated to monicado, who has never stopped 
believing.