Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

J. Edgar Hoover Building
November 26th, 1998
11.50 PM

As Dana Scully returned to the FBI Headquarters, she realized it had gotten quite late. She took the stairs down to the basement and shed her coat, put the sandwich and coffee she’d just gotten from the convenience store down on the desk. She hadn’t had lunch, and if she was going to get through the rest of the case file tonight, her brain needed fuel. She yawned, and stretched a little.

Mulder was gone. Not gone-gone, as in 'I was abducted by Cancer Man' gone, just the ordinary Mulder gone, as in 'Hey Scully I discovered something that really excited me so I’m off to Podunk, Middleofnowhere SEE YA' gone.

He’d probably resurface by tomorrow. When he had rushed out the door, he had shouted something she didn’t pay much attention to—something about a local... something something sighting. ‘Can you believe it, Scully? Right here, in D.C!’ and she had wavered him away, content with the idea of having their office to herself for one night. Mulder's absence would give her the chance to go over all the gathered evidence without him rambling about various theories. A Mulder-free night when you could actually hear yourself think was nice for a change.

Scully settled back into her office chair, unwrapping the sandwich; the faint smell of questionable deli meat filled the air. Wonder what kind of meat it was. After the chicken scare a couple of years ago she sometimes thought about becoming a vegetarian. But then there were ribs… She flipped open a case file, took a bite. 

She’d hardly begun chewing when she heard it – footsteps outside in the corridor. What, now. Nobody except herself and Mulder was usually down here this late. And it wasn't Mulder; his pace was quick, steps heavy and soles cheap. Most men at the Bureau wore leather soles, but Mulder went for rubber and they squeaked. Skinner was out of town, and that annoying Agent Wilder she'd promised an analysis was hopefully tucked in bed asleep. 

Bang.

The door to the office slammed open and standing in the doorway was a person whose hood was pulled up and their face completely obscured by a mask. They were pointing a gun directly at her.

Oh. It was going to be one of those nights. Scully slowly put the sandwich down, still chewing, and lifted her hands in the air. The intruder didn’t move or speak, just kept pointing the gun directly at her head. 

What did they say at that course back at Quantico where they were taught how to handle a situation like this? It was stored there somewhere, in the back of her mind. The first thing was something down the line of… Building a relationship.

Build trust, and the captor might come around.
She couldn't see so much as an inch of their face, and it was hard to tell how much they could see of her. Okay, now. Keep gaze, and voice, nice and steady. Stay calm.
“I can see that you want something from me. Why don't we talk about what it is that you need from me?”
The intruder reached into their jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper and slowly extended it toward her. The gun never wavered.

Make sure they understand your intentions.
“I am going to use my left hand to take the paper. Is that okay?”
The intruder nodded.
Scully very slowly lowered her left hand and extended it towards the figure, unfolding the paper with one hand. There was a single line scrawled on it:

You will come with me.

They didn’t want to talk. She could think of many reasons this person didn't want to talk. One was that they didn’t want her to hear their voice. Another was that this person might not even be a person, but something else. And if this… being wasn’t a human, the FBI’s negotiation methods might not work, but for lack of a better option she would have to keep trying.

Acknowledge the suspect’s dominance.
“Okay. You’re in control here. I’m not going to be an obstacle.”
The intruder reached into their jacket again, pulling out another note.

Good. Leave your phone and weapon on the desk.

Scully slowly removed her gun from the holster, putting it on top of the file she five minutes ago was working on.
“Alright. You’re calling the shots here. I’m putting my phone and gun down.”

Buy time. Remind them you’re FBI.
“But I want you to think this through. I’m an FBI agent. If you take me, you will end up having the entire Bureau searching for you tomorrow.”

It doesn't matter right now.

The intruder waved at the door again, gesturing for her to leave the office first. She stepped out in the corridor and was handed another note.

Garage.

Okay. That was good. Down the garage there were surveillance cameras which meant that the masked person couldn’t put her in the trunk unnoticed. Provided that they knew about the cameras. Would it be a good or a bad idea to tell the masked person about the cameras?

As they entered the elevator she closed her eyes briefly. This was not the first time she’d been in high-pressure situations, and each time, she had managed to keep control. Sort of, at least. And this should be no different. But it felt different. This captor was different, they didn’t seem to follow a kidnapper’s rules. There was no exchange of demands, and thus no way to figure out their motive. No communication beyond the notes. They didn’t seem to want to negotiate. It just seemed like they wanted compliance.

It was ironic how happily she had wavered Mulder away this morning – sin did carry its own punishment. Worst case, he’d be gone for days. And with Skinner out of town… It could definitely be a while before someone even realized she was missing.

The elevator stopped at the garage floor and immediately, the masked person aimed their gun at the corner where the surveillance camera was hidden and shot it to pieces. 

How did they know about the camera? Was it someone from the Bureau? She really shouldn’t have turned that date proposal from Agent Ingalls down…

The masked person put the gun against Scully’s back again and handed her another note.

I just wasn’t sure we could get into the car without my weapon being seen. You drive.

Scully unlocked her car and sank into the driver’s seat while her captor got into the passenger seat and a note appeared, folded neatly, just like the others. 

Drive toward 270.

A highway that would take them far from D.C.. This was not good. She knew the route well—a little too well. It was mostly isolated stretches of road, few places to stop, few chances to run. Mulder would have a hard time tracing her tracks down that highway. 

Go. 

She slowly put the key in the ignition and pressed the gas pedal, backing out of the parking spot. As the garage doors opened and the car slid out into the night,  the masked person slid her another note.

Good girl. Here we go.

Chapter Text

2630 Hegal Place, Alexandria
November 26th, 1998
11.50 P.M. 

Fox Mulder was lying on his sofa, scribbling in the margins of a file. Scribble, scribble, scribble, bam. He threw the pen across the room. It bounced of the wall close to the fish tank and he slouched down, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

The clock on the wall showed almost midnight. Hours. He’d spent hours going over this damned evidence that just didn't match the rest. Dozens of reports and a thousand files and phone calls and the trip to the outskirts of D.C. this morning hadn't yielded anything, either. He could already see Scully's eyebrows heading for the stars when he told her that the reported sighting had been… well, part of a bachelor party.

His stomach made a gurgling sound. It had been trying to get his attention for a few hours but he had been too busy with the cogwheels in his brain twisting and turning to do something about it. He should eat. Or maybe... he could go over the timeline once more. Just one more time. Try to put the events together in a different way, there had to be a way to put it all together. It always was, he just hadn't... He reached for his calendar, and then he realized it: in five minutes, it would be November 27th.

It would be twenty-five years. Twenty-five years of searching, of following leads that weren't leads, of chasing slivers and shadows and whispers. If he wanted to,  he could throw one hell of an anniversary party. He closed his eyes for a moment, ensuring he could still see Samantha’s face. 

He still could. But it was frozen in time, her eyes big and innocent, her new front teeth a little too big for her face, forever eight years old. His old flashbacks flooded over him – the light, the night, the sound of the tv. Always the same. Sometimes he wondered if his rememberings were an actual memory, or if it had become an image of a memory, one that had solidified over the years, obscuring the actual events and holding no such thing as truth. 

Mulder leaned back on the sofa. The ceiling was swimming in his tired vision and he heard Scully’s voice in the back of his head: you need to take a break, Mulder. Get some rest. Yeah, maybe he did need some rest. He yawned, and padded down the hallway to the bathroom. Scully would have to make this crap make sense to Skinner in her report, somehow.  

But as he'd gotten a blanket and was about to make himself comfortable on the sofa again, contemplating throwing a VHS party for one, his computer dinged. The only person who emailed him at this time of day was Frohike, and he'd promised to send over some data on that UFO sighting in Wyoming, if he found anything. He probably did. Why not print it out and turn it into a nice little bedtime story? 

There was a new email in his inbox, but the subject and sender fields were all blank. Unless Frohike felt a little extra paranoid tonight this message was from someone else. He clicked it open:

I have something that can help you find her. Meet me at Raven Rock as soon as possible. You’ve got clearance.

Mulder sighed. Well, well. This certainly wasn't the first time he'd recieved some vauge ass hint like this. Could very well be somebody just pulling a joke on his behalf. He tried to check the details of the e-mail, but it really was all blank. He clicked around a little, but all there was was that single line of text. Yeah. Most likely some crackpot trying to mess with his head. He should leave it. 

But… Raven Rock was no ordinary location. It was a top-secret military installation buried in the mountains. 

I have something that can help you find her.

He knew better than to rush ahead to another faceless informant. Okay, he should know better than to rush ahead to another faceless informant. But. What if this was it? Some day, a lead was going to be the one, wasn't it? 

Nobody could say Fox Mulder didn't want to believe. He grabbed his coat from the rack and got out in the hallway. Raven Rock wasn’t far—an hour and a half, maybe less if he pushed it.

                                                                                                                    ***

The engine of his brand-new Ford Taurus was eerie quiet as the car travelled a dark and empty road. In the distance, the outline of Jacks Mountain loomed and the forest was dense around the car with century-old pines and ancient oaks growing close together, forming a thick mass that not even night vision goggles could see through. Mulder shifted uncomfortably in the seat. In addition to the creepy silent engine, this truly was a stupid car—way too small for his long legs. He had protested when Skinner wanted to upgrade from his old Crown Vic, which had plenty of legroom for people taller than 5'3", but Skinman had not been listening. Said something about that the cars had to fit everyone. Well, yeah, everyone but tall people, then. He shifted in his seat, trying to make himself more comfortable and glanced at the dashboard clock. 1:15 A.M. Fifteen minutes to go.

I have something that can help you find her.

He sure had been burned before; there wasn't enough fingers in the world to keep track of the number of times a nameless source had offered him scraps of information that led nowhere. And yet, he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He was like a dumb dog, jumping and barking at everything with the slightest resemblance to a bone. But the alternative was accepting that Samantha was gone, and that was too soon. Not yet. Just another bone. It might be the one.

And as he finished that thought, the base came into view. Whoa. He'd expected it to be large and intimidating, but there actually wasn’t much of it visible above ground—a few access roads, some heavily guarded gates, and one or two anonymus above-ground structures, all dimly lit by security floodlights that cast long shadows across the terrain. Hell, the whole thing seemed to have been built to blend into the rugged landscape of the mountains.

There sure were a lot of stories about this place. His favorite was that Raven Rock wasn’t just an emergency bunker, but a headquarters for a shadow government that would take control of the U.S. in the event of a national emergency. Seemed just as likely.

Another was the story about Raven Rock’s role during the Cold War, as part of the U.S. plan for government survival in the event of a nuclear attack. Some tin-foil hats—himself, amongst others—argued that Raven Rock still served as part of a Cold War-style doomsday scenario, with military and political elites preparing for global conflict or mass depopulation events.

Yep. This base sure had its own mythology. And here he was. Raven Rock wasn’t just some conspiracy theorist’s fantasy. It looked very real.

Mulder slowed the car as he approached the checkpoint, rolling down his window. A guard stepped forward. He looked… serious. 

Mulder reached into his pocket, flashed his badge.
“Special Agent Fox Mulder with the FBI. I have a meeting.”
The guard looked at his badge, then back at Mulder, eyes narrowing slightly before nodding.
“You’re cleared.”
The guard stepped back, waving him through as the heavy gates clanged open.

He parked near a side entrance, and got out, shivering in his coat. This was one hell of a cold night. Above his head the sky was overcast with low-hanging clouds that obscured the moon and stars, and the mountains around the installation loomed like silent sentinels, their peaks shrouded in mist or fog that had settled over the landscape. The lot itself was empty and eerily quiet. Hell, was the entire facility holding its breath?

As he approached the entrance, the door clicked open on its own, spilling dim light onto the parking lot. So this was where his tax money went. Fancy door-openers.

He peeked inside. Looked safe. So far, at least. He stepped into a narrow hallway with flickering fluorescent lights and at the end of it, a door stood ajar. As a reflex, he checked that his gun was in its holster before stepping through the doorway.

He was standing inside a very small room, lit by a naked bulb, that didn't really contain anything except a metal table underneath the lamp. Behind the table stood someone, looking right at him. The someone was tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair oddly perfectly styled, and he had a long, gray military woolen coat draped over him.

That was one hell of a weird coat—it kind of looked new and old at the same time. It drew attention. Not the kind of style informants usually went for. Looked like the guy was reenacting World War One in the year 2091. But that could, of course, be a disguise as good as any.

The man rose from his casual leaning and walked towards Mulder. He was grinning – like a maniac? – and extended his arms in what could be interpreted as a welcoming gesture.
"So, here’s the guy who’s always chasing after little green men."
Aw, jeez. Not another jester. He should just have stayed at home tonight, calling Scully and bothering her with some new theory.
"If by 'little green men,' you mean extraterrestrial life forms whose presence the government denies, then yes. That would be me."
The man gave him a long, lingering look, trailing his jawbone.
"I got to know a lot of things about you, Mulder, but they didn't tell me you’ve got style.”
Okay. This… was maybe something else than the ordinary crackpot. Or just a different flavor of crackpot. Mulder cleared his throat a little.
“Who are you?”
The man had moved uncomfortably close to him now, sizing him up and down.
“Why don't you address me as Captain.”
Captain, huh.
“What exactly are you a captain of?”
The Captain chuckled.
“Oh, a little bit of this, a little bit of that. Let’s just say I’ve been around.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. He was not up for playing games this time a day. Mulder reached for his gun holster, letting his hand rest on it. The Captain noticed, and held up his palms.
“Easy, there, Agent Mulder. I come in peace.”
Well, that was yet to be proven.
“What do you know about my sister?”
“I know you’ve been looking for her for a long time. And I know that every lead you’ve followed has led to nothing.”
“So do I. Answer my question.”
“Feeling eager, are we, Agent Mulder?”
Aw, jeez.
“Answer my question.”
“I’m not the answering question’s kind.”
“What kind are you, then?”

The Captain had an annoying smirk on his face. He made a little gesture towards his hip and as a reflex, Mulder pulled out his gun, poiting it at the Captain, but at the same second, so did the Captain. His grin grew wider. 
"I never said I wasn’t the dangerous kind."
Mulder cocked his gun. 
"Well. Neither did I.”
The Captain waggeled his eyebrows.
“I know. That's why I invited you here. To give you something. Let’s put the guns down and have a little chat.”

Yeah. Okay. He could do that. He sank his gun down onto the table, and so did the Captain as he offered Mulder to sit down.
“I’m not here to waste your time, Mulder. I wouldn’t have brought you to a place like this if I didn’t have something important to offer.”
“And what’s that?”
The Captain reached into his coat, pulling out… What was it? It looked like a large, brown leather bracelet.

“This.”
Mulder frowned, stepping closer to get a better look at the object.
“What is that?”
The Captain dangled the… whatever it was in front of his face.
“Let’s just say it’s everything you’ve always wanted.”
It was amazing how small they could make video collections these days.
“It’s a time-travel device.”

Oh. That was... odd, even for the X-Files. Mulder had seen and heard plenty of strange things over the past years, but time travel…  was beyond any crap anyone had ever tried to shove down his throat before.

“Time travel. And I’m supposed to believe that?”
“Isn’t that usually your partner’s line?”
Well. The man had a point.
“Let me tell you something, Agent Mulder.”
“Speak your wildest dreams.”
“I’ve met a lot of people in your line of work. Most of them would’ve written me off as a crackpot by now."
"You’re not exactly giving me a reason not to."
The Captain leaned back in his chair, grinning widely.
"Agent Mulder. Don’t tell me you've become a skeptic?”
The Captain batted his eye-lashed at him.Why would he bat his eye-lashes?
"I wouldn’t say I’m skeptical. Let’s just say that I over the years have gained a healthy distrust of people who claim to know too much. Which also extends to people who claim to be able to time travel."
“You don’t have to believe it. You just have to use it. And you want to believe, right?”

He always did. Mulder crossed his hands in front of him, on the table and slowly leaned in:
“Okay, then. Let’s say that this is actually a time traveling device. Why would you give it to me?”
The Captain’s grin returned.
“I can’t go into the details, but let’s just say… I’ve been watching you. You’re the right man for the job.”
“What job?”
“Again, no details. The only thing you need to know is that I will benefit from you going back to prevent your sister’s abduction.”

Oh. Yeah. He should have seen that coming. It was just… not a particularly good answer. It was too slippery. But he couldn’t walk away from this, could he? If there was the tiniest chance that this would work… He had to take that chance, hadn’t he? Worst case, he’d look like an idiot to Skinner when trying to explain what he’d been doing today.

“You're saying I would be doing you a favor by preventing my sister’s abduction?”
The Captain nodded.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Usually, there is no such thing as a free lunch. Does this job include giving up my left kidney?”
The Captain shook his head, his grin widening slightly.
“Nope. If helping you gets me a little breathing room from some people I’d rather not deal with, well, then it’s a win-win, isn’t it?”

Okay. Let’s say he actually could go back. He would be able to fix everything. He could stop Samantha’s abduction before it ever happened. He stared at the battered device in the Captain’s hand. A little time machine. It was absurd. Impossible, even, but hell, everything he’d chased over the years had once seemed impossible. Maybe this was just opening up a new dimension of truths. He pushed away the little Scully in the back of his brain that shouted ‘Mulder, you’re nuts’.

The Captain looked back at him.
“So, we have a deal, then?”
“Yeah. We have a deal.”
The Captain rose from his chair again, started pacing around the room.
“Great. But before you go jumping through time, Mulder, you need to understand some things. There are going to be rules.”
Of course there was a catch. There was always a catch.
“If you’ve been watching me you may know that obeying rules is not exactly my favorite thing.”
The Captain grinned at him.
“Yes, I’m aware of that. But you’ll have to obey them this time. It’s not exactly rules, by the way. They are, well, the laws of the universe. Time is… complicated. It pushes back.”
What did that even mean? Time pushes back? He had to ask Scully later.
“I’ll be careful.”
Like he always was, wasn’t he? Fox Mulder was born careful. He reached out for the device, but the Captain pulled it away from him.
“Uh-uh. No. Rules first, mister. Are you ready to hear the rules that apply to the vortex manipulator?”
“What did you call it?”
“A vortex manipulator. Manipulates the vortex. Sometimes shortened to VM.”
Um, okay. He had to ask Scully about the details later.

“Tell me about the rules.”
The Captain held up his index finger.
“One: you can't cross your own timeline. This means you can’t ever be seen by yourself.”
“What happens if I cross my own timeline?”
“The universe will implode.”
Okay.
“I will try and avoid that.”
The Captain held up a second finger.
“Two: You can't destroy the vortex manipulator.”
“What happens if I destroy the vortex manipulator?”
“The universe will implode.”
“I'm starting to see a pattern here.”
The Captain held up a last finger:
“Three: when you've done a time jump, you have to wait at least three hours before you do another one.”
“Because – let me guess – otherwise the universe will implode?”
“No. The device might overheat and then the guarantee is no longer valid.”
Nobody ever told him that time travel also included taking the return policies of the universe into consideration.
“I’ll try and make sure it gets back to you in decent shape. That’s all?”
“That’s all.”

Mulder extended his left hand and the Captain strapped the vortex manipulator around his wrist. The device felt heavier than he’d expected.

So. This was real. Was this real? Yeah, it had to be real. Or, well. It seemed very real. He glanced up at the Captain.
“How does it work?”
“It’s simple: you input the location, date and time. Press the button. Boom—you’re there. And, oh, I had it serviced recently and it’s still adjusting to the tweaks. It might be a little… unsteady at times. Just take it nice and easy.”
Mulder nodded and looked down at the little display, typing in

Chilmark, Massachusetts
November 27, 1973
8:14 PM

Scully would have… opinions on this. If he got out alive of this, he should probably never tell her.
The Captain put a hand on his arm.
“Mulder… One last thing. Let me remind you that time doesn’t like to be changed. Every little change back there, just if you’re even seen by somebody, might send ripples through time, causing unforeseen effects. You may be winning your sister, but you could lose something else.”
“I’ll take that risk.”
“You’re a devoted big brother. Willing to risk everything for her.”
Mulder looked up.
“I’ve been risking everything for her my whole life.”

The Captain didn’t answer. He just stepped back, his hands slipping into the pockets of his coat as he gave Mulder a small, almost resigned nod.
“Good luck, then.”
This was it. Was this it? The Captain cleared his throat.
“This is usually the part where I tell people to take one last look around—just in case things don’t turn out the way they expect.”
Mulder huffed.
“I've found that I very frequently lose things that are important to me. I’m used to it.”
“I’ll leave you to it. Good bye.”

The Captain saluted him with two fingers against his forehead and left the room. He fumbled a little with the device, trying to get the coordinates right. Then, he hit the button. 

This could very well have been the moment when the Captain started laughing like a maniac, and the Gunmen appeared out of nowhere, mocking him to death for believing this was a time travel device - but it wasn’t.

Something entirely different happened. The air around him seemed to crack as the lights in the room flickered. A strange pressure filled the space, like the pull of a powerful current when diving into a wave. The ground beneath his feet vibrated as the hum of the VM grew louder. Then he was weightless, as if the floor had dropped out from under him. The room around him stretched, distorted, blurred and twisted until the space dissolved into a swirling whirlpool of light.

                                                            ***

Mulder’s knees buckled as he hit the ground. He stumbled forward and – what? The ground felt oddly soft beneath his hands. He wasn’t sure exactly what had happened but at least it was something since he was no longer in the dimly lit room with The Captain. 

There was grass beneath his hands and a smell of gasoline in the air and a distant rumble of engines. It was insane, but it seemed to have actually worked.

Chapter Text

Route 270, Maryland
November 27th, 1998
1.16 AM

Scully thought they had been driving for about an hour. And they were most likely going up north, if she was not mistaken they’d passed through Frederick not that long ago. The highway was pitch black and empty; there were very few other vehicles in sight. Very few chances to be seen, or heard. 

Beside her, her captor sat silently in the passenger seat, gun pointing right at her side. If they were to fire now, it was highly likely she'd be mortally wounded. They seemed oddly aware of that, prodding her side with the gun, cocking it every now and then.

Their mask obscured their face entirely; it was impossible to tell anything about them. There was a slight possibility that there wasn't even a face, maybe not even a head, beneath the mask. Stranger things had happened to her. She would not be surprised if she had to add “being abducted by a mute headless kidnapper” to the list of bizarre things that she had experienced. 

As signs indicating the exit for 140 came into view, she was prodded lightly at her right hip. A note.

Turn left. 

A smaller road. Okay. Scully slowed the car and made the turn. Even though the road was only lit by the car's headlights, she could see the landscape shifting. The way ahead seemed hillier, more undulating, and the car began to settle into a rising and dipping motion. It felt like they were climbing a mountain. Focus, Dana. The probability of once again being taken to a mountain to replace someone destined to be picked up by an alien ship was low. Very low. The odds of it happening the first time were about one in a billion, and a second time… well, that probably couldn’t even be calculated.

This person beside her could be almost anybody, but they didn't seem overly hostile, or crazy, for that matter. No Donnie Pfaster, no Eugene Tooms. Unlikely a Duane Barry. Very quiet, even polite. If she had to take a guess, this probably had something to do with the government conspiracy she sometimes found herself in the middle of. That kind of kidnapping. The captor didn't want her because she was pretty or fragile, they didn't want her for being a woman, they wanted her because she was an FBI agent. Or Mulder’s weak point. 

“I think this would be easier for both of us if you told me what it is that you want. It’s hard to deal with a kidnapper who doesn't want to negotiate,” she said, eyes still on the road.

You’ll understand when we get there.

“I suppose I will.”
And now her stomach growled. She hadn’t finished her sandwich at the office, and even when she bought it, she had already been running on fumes. But as they passed a sign for a roadside fast food joint just a few miles ahead, she was handed another note:

Stop for food. You’re going to need it. 

Why would she need food later? Was this some kind of trap? Should she try to refuse? What were her options? And why didn’t the Bureau teach its agents how to deal with mute kidnappers without demands?

Scully made the turn into the drive-thru lane.
“Would you like something?”
The captor shook their head.
“But you want me to eat?”
A silent nod.
“And I should just get what I want? Nothing for you?”
Another silent nod.
“Okay, then.”
She rolled down her window as a voice crackled through the speaker.
“Good evening, and welcome to Emmit’s Burgers. How can I help you?”
“Good evening. I’d like a cheeseburger and fries. And a black coffee, please.”
“Anything else?”
“No, thank you. That’ll be all.”
But then she felt a prod on her leg and saw a note:

Make it two. Extra cheese on the burger. And an iced tea.

So they did want something? Okay.
“Sorry, can I double that? Two burgers, extra cheese on one of them, and fries. One black coffee and an iced tea, too, please.”
The voice crackled again.
“Sure, ma’am. That’ll be 7.45.”

When they reached the window, the teenage cashier’s eyes widened in alarm. To be fair, it wasn’t every day you saw someone in a black ski mask buying burgers. Scully quickly pulled out her badge from inside her coat.

“I can see that you’re getting a little frightened, but there’s no need to be. We’re with the FBI, and my colleague and I are just… trying out some new disguises.”
The girl didn’t look very convinced, so Scully quickly handed over the cash and rolled up the window. As they left the drive-thru, she glared at the captor while grabbing the bag.
“You’re going to get us both arrested.”
She pulled into the parking lot and reached over to get the bag of food, but just as she was about to put the car in park, she was handed another note.

Don’t park. Keep driving.

“We’re not eating?”
The captor shook their head.

Later. We have someplace to be, soon.

Okay. She put the can in drive and stepped on the gas, turning out on the road again and a few minutes later, the road began to slope upward. Yes. They were definitely heading up on one of the large, looming mountains. 

We’re almost there.

Almost where? 

Turn left.

“What happens if I don't?”

Her captor tapped the gun on their knee.  

You will cease to exist. 

At least that was clear. She made the left turn. Yes. They were definitely going up the mountain. They drove into an area thick with dense forest, the bare trees closing in around them, forming a dark tunnel that seemed to swallow the car whole. On the other side of the tunnel, a few light poles appeared, illuminating what looked like a large structure, along with some smaller buildings and towers. As the car approached and pulled up to an entrance gate, a large sign came into view:

Welcome to the Fabulous Raven Rock Mountain Complex.

Chapter Text

Mulder slowly lifted his head off the ground. Ouch. The time-traveling business would definitely appeal to more customers if they worked on comfort.

But, okay. Assuming he hadn’t gone insane—which was absolutely a possibility, but if he chose to believe he hadn’t—it looked like he was no longer in the present day. 

He had landed behind a large, white house that seemed vaguely familiar, though he couldn't really put his finger on where he'd seen it before. Some godforgotten case in Kentucky? Plausible. Behind the house were people walking by on the main street, and it looked like they wore... hats? Too bad he didn't bring one. He stood up, brushed off his knees, ran a hand through his hair. Then reached into his pocket, turned off his cell phone, and removed his tie.

As he closed in on the white house he realized what it was – it was the Chilmark townhouse. He’d been playing back here as a kid, but in his childhood, there had been bushes and trees back here. Now, whenever now was, it was just a large moved lawn, a few small trees sprinkled around. 

He rounded the corner of the house and stepped onto the main street. Oh. Okay. There were very few cars around, and judging by the ones that were actually there, this wasn’t… the '70s. The smart thing to do would be to lie low in a bush, waiting for the VM to cool off so he could make another time jump, but it would also be a little interesting to see what the surroundings looked like… After all, he’d never be coming back. It could be fun just to know the exact date he’d landed in. He had to have some serious proof later when he told Scully all about this. 

On the other side of the street he spotted a little newsstand that caught his interest. He took a quick look around. The street was mostly empty; yet, no one seemed to have noticed anything odd about him. Chilmark was even when he was a kid close to a rural village, and as he very well remembered, any outsider was usually ogled thoroughly. He shot one last glance over his shoulder nad crossed the street to have a look at today’s newspaper:

“RAAF Captures Flying Saucer on Ranch in Roswell Region”

No. This couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t. This newspaper, this very edition. July 8th, 1947. He’d been searching for it for years, wanting to know the name of the journalist who wrote the article. It had been blacked out in all the copies he’d gotten his hands on. Hell, he had spent half his life chasing down this exact newspaper, and here it was. An original edition, right in front of him. What were the odds? He’d never thought he’d live to see the day he found this paper, and now that he had, he couldn’t get it.

He scratched the back of his head. Okay. Exactly how bad would it be if he got a copy of it? Just glancing a little at a newspaper wouldn’t change that much, would it? But he couldn’t buy it. Partly, because he couldn’t interact with anyone, and partly because he didn’t have any money. If he snatched it… Even if he was a fast runner, it was still pretty risky. If someone caught him, there would definitely be interaction.

But. Yeah. What the hell. He hadn’t spent his life avoiding risks and playing safe, why would he now? Screw the laws of the universe.

He grabbed the last copy of the newspaper and took off as fast as he could down the main street. At the end of it, he screeched around a corner and dove into a waste container conveniently placed outside the McMartin house, pulling the lid shut over himself.

***

A couple of hours later, after reading the article and discovering the name of the journalist—Solveig Rodriguez, which sounded suspiciously like a fake name, but he’d leave that for future Mulder to investigate—he pulled himself together to make another time jump. He punched in the numbers on the VM and closed his eyes, holding his breath when he was squished through the vortex.

When it subsided from his view, he found himself inside what looked like a public bathroom. Interesting. This thing really wasn’t very precise. He slowly pushed the stall door open and peeked out. No one was washing their hands, so he snuck out of the stall and the bathroom.

He was standing in the middle of a small coffee shop. Ah, yes. This wasn’t as inaccurate as he’d first thought—he was at the only coffee shop that had existed on the Vineyard during his childhood, it was located up north in Tisbury. He had a quick look around, and judging by the clothes of the people inside, he wasn’t too far off from 1973, either. This could very well be it.

But just as he was prepared to make a really quick exit and figure out how the hell to get to Chilmark without being seen, he froze. Uh. No. No, no, no. What were the odds? He groaned inwardly. This night, of all nights in history? Really?

But unfortunately, yes. There she was, effectively blocking his way out. Rebecca looked just as he remembered her: bright-eyed and pretty, completely unaware that her date was about to launch into a monologue about extraterrestrial life that would last the better part of two hours.

And right across the table sat Fox William Mulder. The nineteen-year-old version of him, that would be, taking a deep breath to start said monologue. His hair was long and unruly, looks had clearly not been a priority at the time, and he was wearing a shirt with a large collar and a pullover that could only be described as hideous.

He and Rebecca had both attended Tabor Academy on the mainland, so they had taken the ferry together every morning for five or six years. He’d always had the impression that, unlike many of their peers, she at least didn’t actively despise him. She was always nice—and very pretty—so when they accidentally bumped into each other while he was home from the UK for Christmas, he ended up asking her to have coffee with him hoping that maybe, just maybe, she would like him enough to help him lose his virginity.

Well. He clearly remembered how this date ended, and it was not with him losing anything but his dignity. Mulder slowly retreated behind a large plant. It was a shame the universe didn't implode when he’d stolen that newspaper because this very moment he'd love to have altered or even better: erased from history entirely.

Wonder how many of his future problems with women stemmed from this very moment. In fact, it was plausible that the Rebecca Andersson incident had come to define his entire future love life. Ouch. If this had ended differently, maybe he’d even have the guts to tell Scully how he really felt about her.

He glanced over at his younger self, who was nervously fiddling with the menu, clearly struggling to find words that would appeal to the girl in front of him. The awkwardness was palpable. Oh Lord. The only thing worse than living through this moment was having to watch someone else live through it.

He couldn’t take this any longer. Besides, further problems were bound to arise from the fact that he was positioned right outside the bathroom: he clearly remembered visiting the bathroom about seven times that—no, this—particular night, trying to calm himself down. But he definitely didn’t recall a creepy guy hiding behind a plant outside the bathroom.

What were his options here? He had a quick look around and saw a man at the bar who looked… serious. He was probably in his sixties and had a proper look about him: dressed in tweed, he gave the impression of being a college professor, he could easily pass for teaching at Yale. Perfect. Mulder pulled out a pen and scribbled a few words on a napkin. Then, he slowly approached the presumed professor and placed the napkin on the bar, pushing it toward him.

The presumed professor read the note, looking confused, and opened his mouth to speak, but Mulder was quicker. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge.
‘F-B-I,’ he mouthed silently. 

The presumed professor looked a little scared but read the napkin again and nodded slowly towards Mulder before he rose from the bar and made his way over to young Mulder and Rebecca. He cleared his throat and leaned down, placing a hand on young Mulder’s shoulder.
“Excuse me, but aren’t you Fox Mulder?”
Young Mulder and Rebecca looked up, surprised. Young Mulder was clearly confused.
“Um, yeah…?’
The presumed professor cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your date, but I’ve been following your work. The theories you’ve been discussing? I’ve read about them. Brilliant, really.”

The professor's performance was a little wooden, but the poor fella couldn’t be held responsible for that. After all, he’d been threatened into it.

“You’re… familiar with my work?” Young Mulder’s eyes were wide. “The paper, you mean?”
“Absolutely.” The presumed professor smiled stiffly at the teenagers. “I don’t mean to intrude, but as I saw you, I just had to say something. You’re on the cutting edge of something big.”
Rebecca looked interested.
“Cutting edge, you say?”
The presumed professor nodded.
“Definitely. The government’s been keeping tabs on UFO sightings for years. Mulder here is on to something, even if no one else believes it yet.”
Young Mulder blushed, clearly thrilled. Rebecca’s eyes flicked between the two men, her interest growing.
“Wow, Fox. You never told me that.”
Young Mulder looked down at his hands.
“Well…”
“Oh, sorry, I’ll let you two get back to it.” The presumed professor gave Rebecca a small nod. “Congratulations. You’re in good company tonight, Miss. And you, Mister, good luck with your work.”
Rebecca smiled at the presumed professor.
“Yes, Sir, I can tell.”
And then she turned to young Mulder, absolutely beaming. He looked both embarrassed and proud, unable to meet her eyes. Instead, he turned to the presumed professor.
“Um, thank you very much, Sir.”
“Of course. It was nothing. Goodbye. I’ll keep my eye on you.”

Young Mulder, still flushed from the encounter, glanced nervously at Rebecca. She leaned in closer.
“You’ve always had a lot of theories, Fox.”
He stared at her. Probably unsure if she was mocking him or genuinely interested.
“Uh… well, yeah, I guess. There’s just—there’s a lot people don’t know.”
Rebecca smiled at him.
“I’m starting to see that. You’ve got me curious now. You’re like a puzzle, you know that?”
Young Mulder swallowed.
“A puzzle?”
“Uh-huh.” She nodded. “And I think I’d like to solve it.”

Mulder saw his younger self’s face turn beet red. Nice take, sonny. And now Rebecca leaned in just a bit closer, her voice dropping to a near-whisper.
“Why don’t you come back to my place? We could… talk more about other secrets you might have been keeping.”
It was easy to spot the second young Mulder’s brain short-circuiting as he processed what she was asking. Her smile was very coy now. Not even his stupid teenage self could misinterpret that, could he?
“You mean, uh…”
Young Mulder was apparently trying to stay cool, but failing miserably. Rebecca laughed again, then reached out and gently touched his arm.
“Relax, Fox. I’m not asking you to write an essay on it. Just come with me, we’ll just chat a little.”
One thing that clearly didn’t change over time was that some people just didn’t understand that some other people had an oh so much easier time writing an essay than just “chatting a little.”
“Please?”
Rebecca was already standing, reaching out for young Mulder’s hand. And he slowly extended his hand towards her, accepting her invite.
“Okay. Yeah, let’s, um, let’s go.”
And then Rebecca winked at his younger self, grabbed his hand and led him out of the coffee shop.

At first, Mulder felt relief. Finally, some justice! This was a victory for all dorks, not just the one he’d been (or, um, still was, but with a somewhat updated cover), but for all dorks, worldwide. All the Frohikes and Byerses, and that kid Joe from middle school who the bullies tortured all day long and…

In the midst of the swelling pride, he suddenly felt a strange little tingle inside. It was the slightest shift, like the turn of a very small key in a very small lock somewhere within him, but it did something—something with his mind, with himself. He sensed that it had something to do with… fire? A burning building and some children flashed before his eyes. And then there was a gardener, a tombstone, some views from Oxford, the university, the bar, a naked female body, another…  it felt a little like there was a movie rewinding in his mind and then it went silent again, the only thing remaining was a very small feeling of loss, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

He shook off the feeling and exited the coffee shop. Another two hours until he could go again, and this time he’d have to get it right. Even a guy who didn’t care much about rules and regulations could get a little worried when thinking about how breaking them might risk the whole universe. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he had this gnawing feeling that he’d just interfered a tiny bit too much with things that weren’t all that important.

***

The first thing Mulder heard when he came around from traveling through the vortex the third time was the sound of waves lapping against the shore. He was lying on his stomach in golden, fine-grained sand on a beach, red cliffs towering high above him. The sky was a piercing blue, seagulls squeaked overhead, the sun was shining and the smell of saltwater hung thick in the air.

As he turned his head, he could see the faint outline of the teapot. Oh. That one had always been his favorite. He and Samantha had played a lot on that specific cliff formation when they were children, but over time, erosion had worn it down, and by his twenty-seventh birthday, it was gone. 

This was Jungle Beach. Or, as they renamed it later—Lucy Vincent—but he and his family always used the old name. His dad didn’t approve of Lucy; she was too much of a 'modern woman,' he used to say. But as sure as this was his childhood beach, it sure wasn’t fall. The air was far too warm for November in Massachusetts. He’d probably have to wait. He could wait for her forever.

But maybe he didn’t have to. As he rose from the sand dunes, his eyes landed on a small canoe drifting not far from shore. A boy and a girl sat inside, the boy standing up, rocking the boat back and forth with a reckless grin on his face. The girl, with long brown hair, was shouting something to the boy while gripping the sides of the canoe. She was too far away for him to see her face clearly, but the brown hair, the build—it had to be her. He’d recognize her anywhere. He could only hope the boy wasn’t him.

"Samantha!”
He sprinted toward the water, waving, but she didn’t hear him. The waves soaked his pants and coat, but he didn’t care. She was right there.
“Hey! Samantha!”
He could see the boy standing up in the canoe, rocking the boat harder. The girl’s protests grew louder, her voice high-pitched with frustration, but the boy ignored her, laughing as he tipped the canoe dangerously to one side.
“Sit down!”
Mulder could finally hear what she yelled, but it was too late. The canoe tilted sharply, and before either of them could react, it flipped. Both kids tumbled into the water with a loud splash. Oh, what the… These waters had strong currents—he’d been dragged down more than once while ignoring his parents' warnings.

He shed his coat and dove into the waves. When he reached the girl, he grabbed her arm, pulling her up toward the surface. She coughed and gasped for air as Mulder dragged her back toward the shore. He couldn’t wait to see her again. But as they reached shallow water, he got a good look at her face. And it wasn’t her. Of course it wasn’t her.  

This girl was in her early teens—twelve, maybe thirteen. And she was pissed. She wiped the water from her face and wrung out her hair, glaring angrily at him.  “Who are you and why are you yelling at me when you should be yelling at Digger?”
Digger? What was Digger?
“It's Jason, you moron!”
The boy came walking up behind them, coughing and sputtering. Ah. That was apparently Digger. Digger stared at them.
“What about the canoe?”
The girl glared back.
“Yeah, what about it?”
The boy crossed his arms over his chest.
“I’m not getting it.”
The girl turned to Mulder.
“Are you getting it, Sir?”
Uh, no. That was not going to happen. He scratched his head.
“I, uh, no, I—what year is this?”
The girl glanced at the boy.
“Um, it’s 1981, sir. Did you hit your head?”
No, but he almost wished he did. He was almost a decade off.
Mulder turned his back to the confused kids and walked away, dragging his coat in the sand behind him. Oh, the irony. He’d gotten his hands on a bleeping time machine, but it was slightly malfunctioning. What were the odds?  

He was getting tired of trying to pass time while waiting for the VM to get ready to jump again. He sighed. Better find another container to hang around in.

Chapter Text

Chilmark, Martha's Vineyard
November 27th, 1973
8:45 PM

The fourth time Mulder hit the ground falling out of the vortex, there were wet leaves and squishy mud beneath his hands and knees. The air was misty, and in the distance was the unmistakable sound of the raging autumn Atlantic.

It was nighttime. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he first recognized the McKenna house, then the Galbrand’s. If he turned his head just a little, the Mulder house would come into view.

He was home.

Parked on the street, outside the house, was a car. As far as he could tell from the distance it was the blue Ford Falcon his father had driven when he was a kid so he was probably not that far off this time. He ducked behind some bushes. If he had indeed made it to the right year, there were a lot of people around who really shouldn’t see him. He kept low, moving through the neighbors' backyards, slowly approaching his family home from the back.

As he got closer, he bent down and crawled like a marine through the wet grass, aiming for the small hill behind the house. From there, he would be able to get a good look inside the living room. And as he lay in the mud in the bushes of his childhood garden, he saw two people exiting the house. They could very well be his parents. And yes, as the man started talking he was sure – those were his mom and dad. He caught some of the words exchanged out on the porch, part of it didn’t quite make it through, but it was something along the lines of:
“Fox, take good care of your sister tonight.”
His twelve-year-old self, teetering on the edge of voice change, croaked back, a little annoyed.
"Yeah, Dad, of course, Mom. We’ll be fine, just go.”

This was it.

Now he just had to wait. Just wait, for about fifteen minutes and then it would happen. Only this time, it wouldn’t. He hadn’t exactly figured out how to prevent it yet, but he was pretty good at improvising. Worst case, they’d have to take him instead.

Mulder lay low in the bushes, listening to the wind and the sound of the television from the living room:

"...she had erased a conversation between President Nixon and H.R. Haldeman while transcribing this tape. Woods testified that she erased only about five minutes of the conversation, but the tape contained an eighteen-minute gap…’

Any minute now. The lights would go out, the house would go dark, everything would tremble, and then there would be the bright light. The ship. Samantha would float out the window, and then he’d grab her…

But before any ship from outer space appeared, a foot came down hard on his left hand and he bit the inside of his cheek to stop a scream from escaping; something definitely broke in there. A gun cocked:
“I knew the CIA would send someone.”

Mulder slowly turned his head and looked up. Above him, a silhouette loomed against the dark night sky.  A heartbreaking young version of his father was towering over him, hissing through his teeth:
“Who are you working for?”
“No one. Just myself.”

His father grabbed him by the collar, yanking him out of the bushes. Mulder groaned. The damn hand was very likely broken. Though shorter than him, his father was strong—broad-shouldered and still not that old, about to turn forty-seven in a couple of days and now he was looking up into his future son’s eyes, holding the gun to the tip of his nose.
“You’re telling me you’re one of those freelancers?”
“No, no… Um, listen. I don’t want any trouble. If you just let me go, I’ll leave.”
“Why would I believe you?”

Yeah. Why would he? He sure wouldn’t have, himself. His father glared at him, seeming to process things before making up his mind. Eventually, he lifted his gun off Mulder’s face.
“Okay. If your sorry ass is off my property in ten seconds, I never saw you.”

That was all Mulder needed. When his father let go of his lapels, he sprinted down Vine Street.

***

The next time he returned to November 27th, 1973, 8:25 PM, Mulder was careful to take a different route. It was unclear what would happen now that he’d have to cross his own timeline not only once, but twice and you didn't wanna challenge the universe more than necessary.

Keeping low, he moved across the street instead of through the backyards, making sure he stuck to the shadows. When his parent’s house came into view, he crouched behind an electrical power station from where he could see his parents leave the house, hear himself croak a goodbye. But halfway to the Galbrand’s it happened – his father put his hand on his mother’s arm, whispered something to her, and turned around. Mulder saw him disappear into the bushes behind his own house.

Mulder felt his heart sink. It was harsh to see it all play out like this. During this little time travel trip it’d become painfully obvious that his father had been physically present during Samantha’s abduction, standing right outside their house and probably even supervising, somehow.

What kind of person sent one of his children away to face an unknown, horrible fate, making the other believe he was guilty of it? What made a person want to hurt their children that much? If this was his DNA, he would make sure it was never passed on any further.

Mulder watched as his father cocked his gun and reached into the bushes to drag the earlier version of himself out by the collar. He could hear the low grumbling exchanges of words and then, the first version of himself fled down the street.

He checked his watch. The ship would be here any second. But nothing happened. The minutes just kept ticking and still no ship. He watched as his father retreated down the street, walking briskly toward the little park at the end and Mulder rose from his knees and slowly followed.

When reaching the park, he spotted someone else familiar. On a bench beneath some read oaks, sat his mother. His jaw tightened as he watched his father sit down on the other end of the bench, a big gap between them. His mother was sobbing uncontrollably and his father was just sitting there, looking out in the night, waiting for her sobbing to subside. Not a word of comfort, no hand on the shoulder, no nothing. 

Mulder ducked into the bushes, having a hard time to decide whether he wanted to actually hear this conversation or not. Eventually he settled for 'hear' - in this case, bad news were better than no news - and he moved closer, crouching, until he was close enough to hear their voices. 

His father cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry, honey. There was an… unforeseen event. We’ll have to reschedule.”
His mother sniffled and looked up.
“How am I supposed to say goodbye to her another time? How can you do this, Bill?”
“Teena. It’s for mankind. You’ll have to think of that, the greater good.”
His mother blew her nose.
“How long until they try again?”
His father’s voice grew quieter. Mulder strained to hear the answer.
“A week from now.”

***

Mulder felt his feet hit the ground for the third attempt to save his sister. The night was right, and the date was close, but still wrong—December 4th, not November 27th.

Since he’d never lived through this night—or had he? It was like he didn’t know anymore—he had no memories of it and no idea how things would play out. Presumably, his parents would leave the house again.

And so they did. They put their son in charge of the house, kissed the kids goodbye, and left. For real this time, it seemed. At least his father wasn’t lurking outside in the shadows. Mulder had made sure of that after scanning the entire garden.

He made a bold move when he shouted from the backyard.
"Hey! Fox! Fox Mulder! Get out here! It’s Tiny Archibald!’

The back door opened, and his twelve-year-old self peeked out into the yard. That would give him a few minutes. The front door was usually unlocked, and tonight was no different: he slipped inside, carefully avoiding the third creaky floorboard from the left.

He grabbed his father’s car keys from the secret little hook behind the coat rack and sprinted down the hallway. Samantha was in her room—her back turned, kneeling on the floor, carefully arranging her dolls in neat rows.

"Fox?’
She turned to look at him. She looked frightened. Why was she frightened?
“Who are you?”
She took a cautious step backward, clutching one of her dolls tightly against her chest. His throat tightened. He was going to scare her—there was no time to explain.
“I’m a friend. Don’t be afraid. I’m going to take you somewhere safe.”
He stepped toward her, grabbing her arm. She raised her voice, calling for her brother.
“Fox!”
Oh no. No, no, no. He clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Shush. Don’t scream. Nobody’s gonna spoil us.”
“Fox! Help! Fox!”
Mulder tightened his grip over Samantha’s mouth, lifted her up, and ran.

Outside, the wind howled. The cold air hit him hard, but he barely felt it as he sprinted toward the car with Samantha in his arms. He held her close—finally. Finally, she was with him.

He put her in the passenger seat and the car's tires screeched when he made a U-turn. A few houses swept by and his headlights cut through the mist as he aimed for the South Road that passed through West Tisbury. The North Road might be faster, but it was better to take the least populated route.

Samantha had been quiet for the past ten minutes, but then she cleared her throat a little. 
“Where are we going?”
“Away. I’m going to take you far away from here.”
Samantha looked at him, her small face pale in the dim light.
“Sir, I’m a little scared.”
“I know. But I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

In half an hour, they reached the Oak Bluff Marina. It was empty, as it always was off-season. He checked the timetable—another twenty minutes before the ferry embarked for Falmouth. Samantha sat quietly, small and still in the passenger seat.
“You hungry?”
She shook her head.
“No. But I need to use the bathroom, Sir.”
He smiled at her.
“That’s okay. There’s a public restroom right over there.”

He stepped out of the car and opened the door for her and she got out, stood beside him. He couldn’t help but smile again. Finally, she was with him. She was here, and nothing else mattered. She looked back at him, so small and so beautiful. Her brown hair, her eyes… the prettiest child he had ever seen.
“Sir, I can go by myself.”
“No, I’ll come with you.”
“That’s okay, Sir. I’ll be fine.”
He bent down, crouching beside her.
“Samantha. I never, ever want to lose you again. Of course, I’ll come with you.’
He smiled at her and reached for her hand. She took it, and together they walked across the street.

Inside, he opened the door to the bathroom for her.
“I’ll be right here.”
She nodded and closed the door behind her.

He could wait forever for her and he did, he waited. And waited. Thinking about her pretty little face in there. After ten minutes, he knocked on the door.
“Samantha? We need to get going.”
“I’ll be right out!”
“Okay, no worries, take your time. I just wanted to remind you we need to catch the ferry in ten.”
“Yes, Sir. Just another minute.”
“Of course. I’ll be right here.”
A few more minutes passed. He knocked again, but this time no one answered.
“Samantha?”
No answer.
“Sam? You need to get out now!”

When she didn’t answer his third call, he kicked the door in. The bathroom was empty. The little window above the toilet was open. It was just large enough for an eight-year-old to fit through. Ah, crap.

As Mulder rushed back out onto the empty street, he called out into the night.
“Samantha!”
His cries were carried by the wind, swept out over the black ocean. She was nowhere to be found. Everything was just darkness, howling winds, and little snowflakes swirling around in the heavy gusts.
“Samantha!”
He ran toward the water. She liked to play by the pier, by the boats that were often moored there.
“Samantha!”
Then, he saw her. She was at the end of the pier, climbing up some rocky boulders.
“Don’t move! I’ll help you!”

As he ran out onto the pier, the wind’s howls grew even louder. He could hardly hear his own voice anymore. Little snowflakes peppered his face as he raced toward her.
“I’m coming to get you!”
She climbed even further out on the rocks.
“Don’t touch me!
He stood right below her.
“Sam. It’s me. Fox. You don’t have to be afraid.
She kicked at him.
“Get away from me!”

The rocks were high and slippery, and as he began his ascent toward her, reaching out, begging her to come back to him, she kicked at him again, climbing higher. Then, all of a sudden, she lost her footing and fell backward, down into the Atlantic Ocean.

It didn’t matter that he threw himself after her into the raging waters, swimming, tumbling, fighting the undercurrent. He was pulled down for too long, lost his breath, came up again, gasping for air. He called her name over and over into the black December nothingness, diving again, drifting, growing weaker and weaker, until at last, he was washed up on the shore, out of breath, out of strength, and feeling life itself draining from his veins.

As he lay on the wet, cold sand with a broken wrist and a pounding head and an empty heart his mind could only produce one single thought:

Scully. He had to go get Scully.

***

Edgar J. Hoover Building
November 25th, 1998
9.38 AM

When the hallways of the Hoover Building basement materialized in front of Mulder, he crashed against a wall, hitting his head hard. Dizzy, he got to his feet, his soaking wet clothes clinging to him, and half-stumbled, half-ran toward his office. Come on, Scully. Come on, come on, come on. Be at work.

But as he stumbled over the threshold, clutching his useless left hand to his chest, no Scully was to be seen. Instead, there was a large man, tall and broad-shouldered, sitting behind his desk. He immediately rose from the chair as Mulder rushed in.

“Where the hell have you been?”
You go to hell.
“Where’s Scully?”
“Who?”
“Agent Scully. I need to talk to her.”
“I don’t know who that is or where they are, but I don’t have time for  humoring you, Mulder. If you want to play games, feel free to do it on your own time, but right now, you’re supposed to be at the board hearing. We’ve given you plenty of chances, but your behavior is becoming a liability.”

Mulder stepped closer and, with one hand, grabbed the man by his lapels.
“What a coincidence. Even though I don’t know who you are, your behavior is a liability to me. Didn’t you hear me? I said: where is Agent Scully?”
“Let go of me, Mulder.”

Mulder didn’t let go. The man tapped at his forehead with his knuckle.
“You clearly hit something, Agent Mulder. I’ve been your supervisor for the past five years. Maybe if you weren’t so preoccupied with your little extracurricular activities, you’d remember that.”

Mulder let go of what was apparently his supervisor and sprinted out of the office, the man calling furiously after him. Where was Scully? He had to get Scully and he ran through the corridors, failing to navigate – the entire layout of the Hoover building felt off. It took him several wrong turns before he finally made it to the garage.

His car was parked in its usual spot. Or at least, a car he seemed to have the keys for, which would do. He fumbled for his phone. Maybe his relationship with Scully was different here. His hands trembled as he scrolled through his contacts.

There was no Dana Scully in his phone.

Instead, the person he had on speed dial one—and seemed to call frequently—was a Dylan Lucas. He hit the call button.

“Lucas.”
Oh. It was Scully's voice.
“Scully, it’s me.”
“Mulder? What did you call me?”
“... Scully...?”
“Why would you do that?”
“Never mind.” He could feel his voice starting to tremble. “I... I need you.”
“Mulder, what’s going on?”
“I need you. I did something stupid.”
“Mulder, are you okay?”
“No. I’m not. I’m heading home. I need you to come. I need you to come right now. Please, just come to my place.”
“What happened?”
“I can’t explain it yet. I just… Please. Meet me at home.”
“Mulder, I can’t just—”
“Please! I need you.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. His heart pounded like a sledgehammer in his chest. Finally, she let out a quiet sigh.
“Okay, Mulder, I’ll come. I just need to get hold of Alex. I was supposed to do drop-off today.”
“Drop off what?”
A pause.
“The kids, of course. See you in a bit.”

Scully hung up. Mulder stared at his phone. His heart sank to the bottom of the ocean where it settled peacefully next to his little sister.

Chapter Text

Raven Rock Military Base
November 27th, 1998
2.18 AM

When the gates to the base opened, aided by some credentials the captor produced from their coat, Scully slowly drove through. The captor gently prodded her knee with their gun; it seemed like they wanted her to make a left turn. Left is was.

This brought them to what looked like a side entrance. It was lit only by a few dim security lights, casting long shadows across the ground. Everything seemed misty, with little particles of water dancing in the beams of light outside. Scully put the car in park and turned her head toward the passenger seat.

“We’re here.”

The captor waved their gun, indicating with a small nod that Scully should get out of the car. She slowly unbuckled her seatbelt.
“As I’ve said before, I won’t be an obstacle. But I want to remind you, you don’t have to do this. There’s still a way out. If you try to tell me what it is you want, the bureau will negotiate.”

Get out.

Okay, then. Still no negotiations. She got out, still held at gunpoint, and very slowly, with her hands in the air, she walked toward the entrance. You’ve got this, Dana. Stay focused. Obey them, don’t be an obstacle.

The captor produced an access card from beneath their coat and swiped it; the heavy door groaned open and revealed a long hallway that disappeared into the depths of the base. What was this place?

She felt the gun press against her back. Okay. Clearly a signal to move forward. They walked down the hallway and stopped outside a steel door.

When we enter, you’ll do exactly as I say

Sure. They opened, and pushed Scully over the threshold. It was somewhat dark in there, a small, windowless chamber. Looked like it was filled with technical equipment, most likely military graded. And in the center of the room was... Mulder?

Yeah. Mulder.

He was hunched over a table in the center of the room and he looked a little ill, or, no, it was just a strange blue glow illuminating his face, emanating from a... leather bracelet strapped to his wrist. He was pounding on the bracelet and tugging at some straps, of course completely engrossed in this whatever is was-thing. He didn’t even look up when the door opened.

Scully cleared her throat.
“Mulder.”
He startled and looked up, his eyes widening when he saw her, hands in the air, a gun pointed at her back.
“What the hell—?”
Before Mulder could finish, the captor took a step forward, their gun still trained on Scully. A note:

Hand over the device

Mulder’s eyes flicked from Scully to the captor and back to the leather thing strapped to his wrist. He was hesitating. Oh, thank you, Agent Mulder. My life’s worth for an old piece of leather. He squinted his eyes.
“What is this? Who the hell are you?”

The captor didn’t answer. Instead, they pulled Scully closer, an arm around her neck, the gun pressed against her head. Another note:

As I said: hand over the device

The room fell silent. Scully could see Mulder’s gaze flicker slightly—it was the exact look he had when his mind was working at lightning speed. The captor cocked their gun.

Hand over the device, or she dies

Then, Mulder finally made his decision. He removed the bracelet from his wrist and handed it over to the captor, who immediately strapped it on, tampered with it for a moment, and... vanished into thin air.

“Excuse me?”
Scully should probably have felt something other than surprise – relief that she wasn't killed, maybe - but all she could feel was her brows sky rocketing as she started to look around.
“Where did they go?”
Mulder sank to the ground and buried his face in his hands.
“So it did work.”
Scully crossed her arms and stared at him.
“Mulder. There was a person here a few seconds ago. A person that has been threatening to kill me for the past two hours.”
“Yeah. I can see why.”
“You can see why? Why they brought me here, apparently only to get that thing from you? What was that?”

Mulder craned his neck to look at her. 
“Okay. I need you to listen very carefully–” he lifted his hands, palm out, as if in self defense, “–it was… a time machine.”
This was insane even by Mulder standards.
“A time machine?”
“A time machine.”
“And where have you been? To check if Elvis’ body was really in his coffin?”
“I never got to use it.”
He sighed.
“I was going to try… to get to Samantha.”

Of course. She reached out and touched his arm.
“Mulder... Even though time travel is theoretically possible, no one has come even close to actually achieving it. This person was probably a con artist, maybe an illusionist.”
“An illusionist? Who’d kidnap an FBI agent to get what, their wand?”
Mulder glared at her.
“This was the real deal, Scully. I just know it.”

The night outside the base was still and cold and Mulder walked a step before Scully, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, eyes fixed on the ground as they made their way toward the car. 

About halfway to the parking lot, Mulder turned to her, walking backwards, his gaze shifting between the base and her, his hands still buried in his coat pockets.
“I really thought this was my chance, Scully.”
“I know, Mulder. I'm sorry.”
He gave her the tiniest smile.
“Thanks.”

When they reached their cars, Mulder leaned against his and let out a long breath, rubbing his face with both hands.
“Mulder. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sure. I’m just starving. I haven’t eaten since… I don’t know, 1973. Just need to pull myself together a little before driving back to D.C.”
That was a strange coincidence.
“I might have something edible in my car.”
He groaned.
“Scully. Don’t say it’s that nonfutti popdream fake tofu thing. I’d rather starve.”

She popped her trunk.
“Tonight’s offer at the Scully’s Supremes: a hamburger with extra cheese, fries, and: iced tea.”
Mulder blinked, staring at her in disbelief.
“You’re joking.”
She handed him the bag, and his eyes lit up in that way that always made her worry she was grinning uncontrollably when he looked at her. Stupid squinting puppy eyes.
“Scully, you just became my favorite person in the entire world.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Mulder, because ten minutes ago you seemed ready to throw me under the bus in favor of the chance to time travel.”

Mulder didn't reply. He just waggled his eyebrows and flashed her his most charming grin before reaching into the bag and pulling out the burger, his eyes lighting up as he unwrapped it.
“An iced tea, Scully.”
She smiled at him.
“Love is a beautiful thing.”
Mulder mumbled with his mouth full of cheese:
“I would never want any other kind of love.”

She leaned against the car, arms crossed over her chest, as she watched him devour the fries. She’d always liked watching him eat. There was something so very normal about it—seeing him chew, tending to a physical need of his, made him seem more like a real person. One who had needs beyond chasing after little green, no, sorry, little gray, men and crazy government conspiracies.

“I should remember that all it takes to get you on board with reality is a cheeseburger and a few fries.”
“The key here is really the iced tea,” he mumbled through a mouthful of food, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. She just shook her head and reached for the iced tea, opened it and held it out to him. 

“You’re a lifesaver, Scully.”
“Ain’t I always, Mulder?”
He swallowed the last bite of his burger and reached out to touch her cheek. She really wanted to believe that the look he had in his eyes could be interpreted as love.
“Of course. The only one I ever need.”
“Ditto.”

As they had both finished eating and Scully unlocked her car, she threw a question over her shoulder:

"Mulder. Who do you think it was?"

He shrugged.

"I dunno. Maybe the Captain found out that the universe had changed its return policies?"

Chapter Text

2630 Hegal Place, Alexandria
November 25th, 1998
10.14 AM 

Mulder stood frozen by the window. She should drive up any second, now, he’d been checking his watch every other minute for the last half hour and please, Scully, please. Just come.

Finally, a black sedan pulled up outside his building. Mulder watched as the door opened and a woman in a black coat with short auburn hair got out. One could only hope that Agent Dylan Lucas’ mind was as intact as her looks. 

When she opened his door with the key she apparently still had, he became certain. The only thing that had changed was her name—well, that, and her marital and motherly status—but the way she moved, the way she carried herself, was Scully.

She stepped inside and crossed her arms as she glared at him.
“You better have one hell of an explanation.”
Definitely Scully. He took a deep breath. Okay.
“Scully. Come on in. If I ever–”
“Mulder. My name is not Scully.”
Right.
“Um, Lucas. If I ever needed you to listen to me, it’s now. I know you’re going to write me off as insane, but please: just hear me out.”
Scully nodded slowly.
“Okay, Mulder. I’m listening.”
He took a deep breath.
“I traveled back in time and found Samantha. And then I lost her. I need your help to go back and get her again.”
Scully closed her eyes.
“One insanity at the time, please. First of all, who is Samantha?”
Oh. This was not good news.
“My sister. She was abducted by aliens when I was twelve, remember?”

Scully stared at him. Her eyes were the size of ping pong balls. Oh, please, Scully, come on. She pinched the bridge of her nose.
“I said one insanity at the time.”
She sighed, serious now.
“You never told me your sister’s name, Mulder.”
He didn't?
“Okay, sure. Her name is Samantha. And now I need you to go back in time with me to save her from being abducted by aliens.”

Scully slowly grabbed his hand and led him towards the sofa, and grabbed him by the shoulders to gently push him onto it. Then she sat down in front of him on the coffee table.
“Okay. Let’s… Um, my first takeaway here is that your sister’s name is Samantha. And you… uh, have found a way to save her?”
He looked at her and she met his gaze, ever questioning, oh Scully. He slumped back on the couch and slouched down, hiding his face in his hands.

“What exactly have I told you about my sister’s abduction?”
She spoke slowly, carefully:
“You told me that when you were twelve, she was abducted by a man in his mid-thirties. The only thing you ever saw, or remembered, was his long, black coat and that he stole your fathers car to race off with her.”
Scully paused.
“A few days later, her body was found in the ocean. It was assumed that she either managed to get away and fell in or that the perpetrator dumped her in the water. You told me this only once, ages ago. You’ve never mentioned it again and you never told me her name.”

Mulder had never listened to anyone in his entire life, and to this day, he’d never regretted it. But now, trapped in something worse than his most haunting nightmare, he regretted not listening to the Captain. He had no idea what possibilities he had left. Was this even fixable? What would happen to Samantha if he crossed his own timeline a fourth time? And what about this… married-with-children Scully, Lucas—would he have to deal with her for the rest of his life? Was it even possible to live in a world where Scully was married to someone who wasn’t him?

He whimpered.
“I screwed up.”
“What did you say?”
Scully had leaned in close to him, stroking his hair.
“Mulder, I didn't hear you.”
He mumbled into his hands.
“I screwed up. I screwed up so badly.”
She exhaled. 
“I'm right here, Mulder. We’ll try and make it right, together. Okay? But you need to walk me through it.”

This was still Scully, or some part of her. She would help, she’d carry him as she always did. He could feel himself tearing up, sniffling a little as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand:
“What do you know about time travel, Scully?”
She stroked his head.
“It’s Lucas, Mulder.”
You could always count on Scully to get the details right. He looked straight at her.
“Lucas. What do you know about time travel?”
She huffed.
“Well, that it’s theoretically possible but hasn't happened yet for… a lot of reasons.”
He took her hand between his. 

“Now I want you to open up your imagination and for a short while believe all of that theory to be possible.”
She nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
“And I want you to listen carefully. I promise you, on the Bible and every alien in the universe that everything I tell you from now on is the truth, and nothing but the truth. Okay?”
Another slow nod.
“Tell me, Mulder.”
“I traveled in time. I can't explain it myself, but this thing –” he showed her the vortex manipulator – “is a little time traveling device. It was given to me with the sole purpose of me going back in time to prevent my sister from getting abducted. And so I did. But things didn't… go according to plan.”

Scully didn't move.
“Who gave it to you?”
He sighed.
“I don't know his real name. He called himself the Captain. He told me there were rules, for instance, you couldn’t cross your own timeline, you couldn’t be seen by yourself…”
“Let me guess: you didn't follow the rules.”
He just looked down at his hand. She knew him too well.

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him för a moment.
“Okay. Let me see if I can sum this up.”
Scully leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest.
“You got a time travel device from this Captain and used it. You did this to try and save your sister, Samantha, who was… um, abducted by aliens. You didn’t manage to save her the first time, so you went back to fix it, crossing your own timeline. By doing so, you broke the Captain’s rules, and now, to avoid further breaking them, you want me to go back in time with you to get Samantha?”
He nodded.
“Something like that, yeah.”

Scully exhaled and buried her face in her hands.
“Mulder. You realize this is by far the most insane idea you've ever presented to me?”
“It's not an idea, Scu– Lucas. It’s what happened. And I didn’t only screw up Samantha, I screwed up other things, too, Skinner’s gone and your name, your name is different, that’s why I call you Scully. It’s your real name.”

He was rambling now. Scully’s eyes darted around a little. She had that look on her face that he knew meant she was processing a lot of information. She flicked the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip and a moment later, she lifted her head and watched him.

“Okay, Mulder. Let’s assume for a moment that what you’re telling me is true… If so – and God forgive me for even discussing this with you –  if so, if it’s true, you have created a predestination paradox.”
He rose from the couch.
“I'm predestined to save her?”
“No, that is not what it means. It means that everything that happens from the very moment you laid your hands on that device, is predestined to happen. Otherwise the universe can't exist within its own logic…”
She trailed off a little.
“...And it would also mean the Novikov self-consistency principle doesn't apply…”

He was pacing now, looking straight at her.
“But I have to be predestined to save her. I’ve spent my whole life trying to save her. Why else would I have been handed the device in the first place?”
He rushed over and yanked Scully off the table. She had to come with him.
“One more jump, and we can fix it. We don't have to break any more rules, you can save her! That way I won’t be crossing my own timeline again!”

Scully backed away, retreating toward a corner of the living room.
“Mulder, I don’t know…”
Oh, no. No time for hesitation. She had to come with him. He followed her, grabbed her sleeve. His beacon in the night. She was going with him.
“We need to get going.”
She tried to back further into the corner, hitting the wall.
“Come with me. I need you.”
He blocked her in with his arms, preventing her from escaping. She wasn’t going anywhere but to 1973.
“Mulder…”
Now she turned her face away from him—she shouldn’t turn her face away. No one should ever turn their face away from him. He leaned in close and his voice was nothing but a low hiss:
“You’re coming with me, whether you want to or not. I’m going to hold you as close as possible, and we’re going to save her. We’re going for her, Scully.”
Scully pressed a hand against his chest, trying to push him away, but uh-huh. She wasn’t going anywhere.
“Mulder… you’re scaring me.”
Scared? She was scared of him? This was nothing. He’d show her scared. He backed off, flipping the coffee table upside down. It shattered into pieces, papers and glasses flying across the room. He screamed at her:
“You should be scared! Everything’s falling apart, Scully!”

Scully stared at him for what felt like an eternity. Then, very slowly, she opened her mouth:
“How does it work?”

His throat felt so tight he couldn’t speak, and in a split second, his eyes spilled over. She took his hand in hers, wiping away his tears with the other. Oh, Scully. She was with him. They were going back together. She could meet his sister—his baby sister—and even himself as a child. That would be odd, but fun. She could see his parents, too, and…

“Mulder. How does it work? I’d like to know, you know, for scientific reasons. It's not every day you come across a time machine.”
“Oh. Right.”
He showed her how to punch in the dates and numbers. She just slowly nodded. He could see the cogwheels turn inside her head.
“This is very interesting. Extremely. Where did you meet this Captain?”
“Raven Rock.”
“Interesting. When?”
“Yesterday… Tomorrow… or, I don’t really know what day it is, but… it was right after midnight November 27th.”
Scully looked at him.
“Uh- huh. Okay.”

He cleared his throat.
“Are you ready? Just hold on to me really tight, and it should work.”
She hugged his waist, securing her arms around him. This was the best thing he knew, feeling his little frame against his larger. Oddly enough, it created a feeling of being entirely safe. Good. Pure. True. Like a home. He put his arms around her and hugged her close. This time, they were going together. 

But before he could finish the thought, Scully had pulled out her gun and shot him in the abdomen. He felt the bullet tear through parts of his stomach that should never have been touched. He doubled over, collapsing to the ground.
“Scully…”
“I’m so sorry, Mulder. So, so sorry. But trust me, everything will be fine.”

The last thing he saw was her removing the vortex manipulator from his wrist and putting it on her own. Then, the room started spinning and everything went black.

***

Edgar J. Hoover Building
November 26th, 1998
11.50 PM

Scully crouched in the bushes around the corner of the Hoover Building. It was dark and cold and she didn’t have the best view over the street, but any minute now, any minute.

And there she was. Long black coat, heels, auburn hair gleaming under the lampposts. It was nothing but surreal to watch herself walking towards the entrance from the little convenience store right across the street with a coffee and a sandwich in hand. 

Scully trembled slightly as she pulled the black ski mask over her face, raised her sweater hood, and cocked her gun. It was time.