Archiving: Yes to Gossamer, all other archivists, please just let me know it's going

Author's notes

Archiving: Yes to Gossamer, all other archivists, please just let me know it's going. That's the nicest form of feedback.


Date: May 1998

Spoilers: All up to and including The End.

Rating: G

Category: V

Keywords: Angst

Summary: Post episode vignette, Scully's POV.

Author's notes: Waiting for June 19 and season 6 (which CC told me face-to-face Saturday was really happening.)

Oh, in light of the recent debate, I have NO objection to publicly posted feedback. Sometimes it's good for the ego, you know?

Disclaimer: All characters you recognize are the sole property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, Twentieth Century Fox Television etc. None whatsoever belong to me. No money was made from the creation or distribution of this story.

Do not post to ATXC I will do so... thanks.

End Game Redux





I can't believe this. This can't be happening. Oh, God, the look on his face. The utter shock and disbelief. What else will they do to him? Yes, to him. This room, this little corner of the world, was his and his alone. The things they do, and have done, to me are not inconsequential, don't get me wrong, but this... this, was done to him. Hurt me, don't hurt my friends, and they have hurt my very best friend.

I move forward and grip his arms, laying my head against his chest. I can hear his heart beating, feel his shallow breathing, but other than that I have no real indication that he's alive. Maybe he isn't alive anymore. I wonder if this will finally be what destroys him.

They've tried everything else, why not this? Looking past his arm I see the devastation of what was once our office. Yes, our office, even if he created this space himself. He opened it up to me, for our work, for our quest for the truth. Make no mistake, this was always his space, his place to be, but it was also our office. I'm not sure even I understand the distinction. It's an intangible, I guess.

This is it then, they've done it. Taken from us even the meager shreds of evidence and scientific fact we'd managed to scrounge and save as proof of our arguments, and destroyed it. All of it. It's all part of the game to them. Move, countermove. Check and mate.

It ends here then, I guess. This is their last, clear indication that the stakes are high, that they are not to be trifled with. You'd think we'd have gotten it when I was taken, or Missy was shot, or when they played the 'cancer card', first causing it then providing the cure. We thought we were at least on semi-equal footing now. What a joke.

They are in control, always have been, always will be. Well, there are ways around that. Like when my brothers made up rules I didn't like, I have options, and so does Mulder. God, Mulder.

Listening to his dead, flat voice tell me about Diana and their past working relationship was difficult, but at least we were talking again. Sitting there, in his darkened living room, we'd begun to explore other topics, plans, options, when Skinner's call interrupted.

Finally, a reaction from Mulder. I feel his arms come up slowly, his fingers clutching my shoulders tightly. His grip is desperate, and I wince slightly at the strength of it. I'll have bruises there tomorrow, but none greater than those that darken our souls tonight.

They think they've destroyed us with this, I know it. Maybe they have. If they can do this, in the basement of the FBI building, what else will they do? Where can we go? Why go anywhere? They'll always be there.

I feel Mulder pulling back slightly and I look up into his eyes, seeking the steady strength of his hazel eyes. Instead of the solid, firm resolve I've come to trust in and rely on over the years I see only the sad gaze of a small boy who has once again lost something he held so dear. They've done this to us, taken our resolve, our purpose from us. They are in control here, not us. That was never so evident before tonight.

Mulder looks as lost as I feel, as we stand there holding onto each other. This is not the embrace of lovers, but the fragile attempts of two people trying to cling to the only solid truth they know. Each other.