Afterthoughts, by G. Harbowy Not such an original title, but you'll get over it. This story takes place after the credits fade on "Red Museum", mid 2nd season. This means you should keep in mind that all that cool Anasazi stuff hasn't happened yet. This episode and the characters within were lovingly created by Chris Carter and everyone else over at 1013 Productions. I don't mean to infringe in any way. Rated PG for realistic language and discussion of the same kinds of violence etc. discussed in the episode. Somewhere Above Michigan 3:45 PM CST We were on our way home from Wisconsin, after another frustrating case of an overzealous local law enforcer who let his feelings get in the way of his job. I knew Mulder was still burning mad over the actions of the sheriff, though it had certainly happened many times before. Small towns especially, it seemed, prefered to shoot first and ask questions later, and that just wasn't the way Mulder operated. (To the point, even, of not shooting when he should, but that's an old story. Another story. For another time.) No, Agent Mulder believes in the search for the truth, and you can't tell anyone much about the truth if you're dead. I do a pretty mean autopsy, if I do say so myself, but there are some things a body just can't tell us. Like who it worked for. Why it followed us from D.C. to the middle of nowhere. It's inconceivable that these thugs would be careless enough to allow themselves to be identified. We can search for wallets, fingerprints, even a plane ticket in a suit pocket, until we're bluer than a corpse, but we won't learn anything that the men who pull the strings don't want us to know. To my left, Mulder's fist tightened around his vodka. He only drinks on a flight when he's coming home from a frustrating case. I can't nap with him fuming next to me like a well- groomed storm cloud, rattling his ice to keep time with the imaginary arguments raining through his head. The only thing more distracting than the crunch of those damned sunflower shells is the crunch of ice cubes between angry teeth. I didn't think talking to him would make him feel any better, but I was getting bored of my own predictable train of thought. What bothered me about the case was the landlord with his little camera set up behind the mirror, and that wasn't something I thought I was able to talk about with anyone, not even Mulder. I mean, I know people like that exist, with their catalogued libraries of kiddie porn. Violating entire families for their own sick pleasures. But it gives me the creeps the way nothing else does. At that point, I preferred to talk about Mulder's frustration than to keep quiet and stew in my own revulsion. "They did it to us again," I opened. Nothing like a little empathy to start up the conversation. "We should expect it by now. How many times has this happened?" He sighed. He didn't turn his head, but dropped his gaze into his drink. "I don't know what's worse -- that they kill these people who could actually do something good for the world by testifying, or that they do it out of revenge and anger, and then can shout protocol when they're done." He was right. It was always preferable to take them alive. But, if they were armed, and especially if they'd fired on you, you were well within your rights to shoot. If you wanted to shoot for other reasons, you just had to make sure you could say they were armed, and no one would bat an eye at you. Ah, the sweet stench of corruption was right at home in the fetid swamp that Washington had been built on (in more ways than just geographically). "Have you ever shot out of anger, Mulder?" "Only on the firing range. Never at a living target. You may think I let my personal life interfere unduly with my work, but you have no idea what a tremendous amount of shit I hold back. How about you, noble Doctor?" I shook my head, though he wasn't looking at me. "I'm more likely to shoot to delay than shoot to kill, anyway. You know, blow out a kneecap or something. I tend to agree with you about the relative usefulness of live suspects over dead ones. But no, I don't think I'd shoot out of anger. Though sometimes, Mulder, you really push my buttons..." He smiled, finally. I did, too. -------------------- Home 9:28 PM EST I hadn't really thought about the case once I finished my report. Until I got ready for bed. Being alone in that empty apartment when I'm used to having Mulder around 24/7 can be kinda scary, in a lonely sort of way. I like having time to myself, but I like knowing someone's near, too. But it hit me as I began to undo the little pearl buttons on my blouse. I looked up, frozen, into the mirror in front of me. That man. That disgusting man with his pinhole and his videotapes. My skin crawled. How many years had he had been there, in his dark little hole, spying on that family, watching them dress and undress. And they never knew about it. I shrugged the shirt back onto my shoulders. Buttoned it, fast. I turned off the overhead lamp and went back to the mirror, examining it closely, looking for beams of light on the opposite wall. I'm ashamed to say, I went through every room in the house, doing the same thing with all the mirrors. I even pried off the back of the bathroom medicine cabinet. I wasn't going to rest until I was sure no one was watching me, bugging me, violating me. After the mirrors, I started with the cabinets. Looking for modified electronics. I'd been bugged before, so I knew I could be again. Chances are, though, I knew more hiding places in my own house than anyone else would. Removing the plates from all my electrical outlets was the last step. I was satisfied that I was really alone. When Mulder does things like this, I call him paranoid. But I know I'm not paranoid, I'm just being cautious. Besides, after an extended vacation you can never be too careful. The mere what-if brings a knot to my stomach and a shiver up my neck. The thought of being watched surreptitiously on the job annoys me. In my own home, it scares the shit out of me. Maybe in the morning I'll call up and order one of those motion-sensing alarms. Just for when I'm not here. Just to be on the safe side. ---------------- 11:21 PM EST Ring. Ring. "Mulder." "Mulder, it's me." "Scully? You still up?" "I'm sorry to wake you, Mulder. I just wanted to say...well..." "What is it Scully?" "I just wanted to say that if you ever want to see what I look like, just ask me. Okay?" "Um.. sure. Is that all?" "That's all, Mulder. Goodnight." Click. ---------------------------- [end part 1/1] -- gblicher@eden.rutgers.edu Please send mail to o-cha@universe.digex.net Majoring in reverse psychology. Please don't visit my web page at http://www.universe.digex.net/~o-cha/grb.html