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Title: An X-Mas Carrol I was reading all the Christmas stuff, and it occurred to me that this would be something interesting to do. I hope you enjoy it. It's a spin off Dickens with Cancer Man as Scrooge. Oh, I gave Cancer Man a name. I couldn't very well do a story about him without giving him a name. So here it is. Merry X-Mas to all! (sorry, couldn't resist) and now, on to the show John Smith extinguished his cigarette. It was the last one from his third pack that day. He pulled another pack from his sportcoat and broke the plastic seal. They were imported, very fine tasting. Not that he could taste anymore, the years of smoking had killed his tastebuds completely. He was lucky he didn't have emphesema or cancer or something. John was sitting in an office, surrounded by mahogany and leather. It was one of the many comforts of his job, being the US leader of a world-wide shadow government. He liked his job, liked killing people who got in his way. He didn't like that he'd been looked down upon recently, but that was changing. He had Zama's notebook, and that brought him back into the graces of the MJ12. John took a puff on his cigarette, and noticed that it had gone out. He coughed twice, and brought out his lighter to fix the situation. He flipped back the top and brought the flame to the tip of his cigarette, but it blew out when he brought it close. "Those things will kill you, John." John spun around and caught someone who he had thought was his friend until he had discovered that he was helping Fox Mulder. "You," he said in disbelief. "You're dead. I had you killed." "Yes, I know." The man gave a broad smile that creased his forehead. "I'm here to give you a second chance, John." "A second chance at what?" "At making it into Heaven." "I'm pretty sure I'm going to hell anyway, what can you do?" "Do you know what day it is today?" "Christmas Eve. Any idiot knows that." "John, once upon a time you had some concept of goodness in you. Hell, you even show it now, occasionally. Very occasionally, but nonetheless, your soul is redeamable. You can be saved." "You're starting to sound like one of those damned TV preachers." "John, tonight you'll be visited by three ghosts. Do not take lightly what they have to tell you. It could save your soul." "Did it save yours?" "John, look at my feet." He did, and saw them incased in blocks of cement. "Didn't you notice that I wasn't walking around? I'm here to save you from what I've been through. Actually, I'm here to save you from worse. There are nine levels to hell, and chances are you'll be on level eight at this rate." "So, you're trying to save me from eternal torment, when you have to go through it yourself." "Consider it a gift. I didn't like the assignment, but those in charge have a different plan." The man disappeared into a puff of smoke, which John thought was fitting. He lit his cigarette and took a puff. He was sure that it had been his overactive imagination, not really him. The clock struck midnight. "Ah, the witching hour. What a nice thought, the witching hour on Christmas." He started to laugh, but was suddenly cut short. "What's so funny?" asked a petit red-head who looked very familiar. "Nothing important. Who are you?" "I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past. Oh, and I used to be Melissa Scully." Scully. Damn. That was Krycek's botched job, here to haunt him. Well, might as well ride this bad dream out, he figured. "Okay, Ms. Scully, where are we going?" "To your past. Specifically, to 1929, Christmas, of course. Take my hand." "If you say so." He grabbed her hand and felt the wind whip around him, which was odd, since his office had no windows. He opened his eyes when he realized that they'd been shut and saw a small house in the middle of some other small houses. The name on the mailbox out front said "Smith." "Here we are at your adoptive parent's house. This is two days after John Doe, #306 officially became John Smith. You never knew your real parents, but spent six years in a state-run orphanage. And to think that Newt Gingrich wants to re-open them." "Are you spouting politics at me, Ghost?" "Just a little. I'll try to keep it to a minimum." They walked over to the picture window that looked in on the living room. There was a green tree with candles on the branches and some presents underneath. "Look at you. You were so happy then. You had a family who loved you, and you were celebrating Christmas for the first time with real presents, not just the things they gave you at the orphanage." John gave out a smile, finally. "Yes, I was happy then, wasn't I?" "So what did happen to you? I guess we'll have to look later. How about 1947?" "Ooh, I like that year." "Well, here we are. I'm not sure where we are, but there you are, meeting with all manner of people. It's Christmas day, and you are out meeting with people deciding how to deal with aliens. Why?" "Because we had to know if we were being invaded. Roswell sent us over the edge, dammit. We had to know, so we asked all these people from all these countries to help us. What's so wrong with that?" "Nothing, I guess, except what came of it. Christmas, 1963?" "A month after Kennedy was shot? What of it?" "You know damn well what of it. You are here, sitting alone with a cigarette and a glass of scotch, writing a report to your superiors on how well Oswald did in performing his duties. You knew that Kennedy was going to expose you. Kennedy wanted open and friendly relations with these aliens." "So we had him shot, yes." "John, didn't you ever know love in your life?" "No. Well, once." "Christmas, 1945. After World War II. Is that her?" "Yes. She was very beautiful." They were looking at a redhead in a long dress, being met by a young version of John. He kissed her deeply, and she returned it. They walked into his hotel room. He was in the dress uniform of the Marines. "What happened?" "When I got involved in the Roswell incident, she couldn't stand my distance. She left me on October 13, 1947." "Well, we can't visit there. That's the limit of my powers. Only Christmas day. Listen, I'm done with you. I've shown you everything you need to know about your past. You will soon be visited by the Ghost of--" "Christmas Present, I know. I'll be here in my office when it comes." He sat down in the chair of his office, not quite remembering getting back to his office. He thought back to Maggie, and then dropped the idea of her. She was too long ago. She'd passed away three years ago. "John," he heard behind him, in a very familiar voice. "Who's there? Bill? Bill Mulder?" "Well, actually, it's Ghost of Christmas Present, but close enough." "God, Bill. How are you doing?" "I'm dead, John." "I mean besides that." "I'm not too happy about what you've been doing with Fox. But that's not important right now. I'm going to take you around and show you everyone we feel it's necessary to show you in order to make you change your ways. Well, here it goes." "Where are we going, first?" "To the FBI Christmas Party. This actually happened last night, but we're allowed a little lattitude." "Good God, who is Skinner dancing with?" "You should know her by now. That's Agent Scully." "Hmm. What is this supposed to show me?" "Well, if we look over here, we find Fox sitting by the punchbowl and stewing. He's really torn up over everything that's happened, John. He feels totally responsible for my death and for the death of Melissa Scully, moreso than Dana does, which is saying a lot." "Take me away from here. I can't stand Christmas parties." "Fine. How about tonight. Fox and Dana are celebrating Christmas Eve together. Thanks to you, they really don't have anyone else. Fox and his mother are barely speaking to each other, and both Fox and Dana are going to the Scully house for Christmas. My wife is going to spend Christmas with her sister. So, anyway, here we are at Dana's apartment." "They seem to be having a fine time." "It's not how good of a time they are having, John. It's that they have to spend it together. How many times do I have to reapeat that?" Fox handed Dana a present. "For me?" she said, in mock surprise. She opened it and found a small bracelet of braided yarn of different colors. "It's a friendship bracelet. You wear it to remind you of the person who gave it to you." "Thanks, Mulder. That's so sweet. Was this because you ran out of time?" "Agh, Dana. You know I had this all planned out from the start." "Well, Mulder, here's your present." Mulder eagerly tore into the gift, pulling out a small packet. "Sea monkeys?" "Actually, they're brine shrimp, but yeah. I thought I'd go easy on the gift giving this year." "Are you serious?" "Don't you like sea monkeys?" "It's great." "It's also not all. Dig a little deeper." Fox raised his eyebrow curiously at Dana, who scowled and pointed at the box. He pulled a layer of cotton from the top and underneath found a book. "The Handbook for First Contact. A guide for meeting aliens for the first time. Scully, that's perfect." He leaned over and hugged her. She returned the gesture, and fastened the friendship bracelet on her wrist. "I'll never take this off, you know that." "Of course." "What happens to them?" John asked. "I can't say. Besides, that's not my department. We're moving on. That stop was for my benefit." "Bill, where are we headed now?" "To a very familiar face. John, this is the Christmas Eve of Assistant Director Walter Skinner. He has no family to go to. He's in his office at the J. Edgar Hoover Building. He's not doing work, he's worrying about two thorns in his side--Mulder and you." "Now, this is more like it. I'm back to inspiring fear." "Not really, John. This man is lonely. Achingly lonely. And you've done it to him. He might have a life outside this office if it wasn't for your meddling in his affairs." "They're my affairs, too, dammit." "It's time to move on. Do you recognize him?" "It's goddamn Alex Krycek. Where the hell is he?" "I can't say. But thank's to your intervention in his life, he's running from everything. Ever see The Fugitive? Well, it's like that, except he did commit the murders. And, he's still dangerous to you, to Fox, to everyone near him. He's a loose cannon at large and ready to go off in your direction." "Take me back. I can't take this. What have I done?" "Fine. Here we are, back in your office. Have a nice life. Oh, Christmas Future will be by in a few. You can ask him all your questions. I don't know if he'll answer them, but you can ask." Bill Mulder vanished into a shaft of light. John lit another cigarette, for he was starting to go into withdrawl. As he raised it to his lips, a finger flicked it away. John turned to look at where the finger came from, and saw a large figure, in a cloak with a hood. The cloak was black, and he had a sickle resting on his shoulder. "And you are Christmas Future, who can't talk, right? I've read Dickens. I know the story." The hand pulled off the hood and revealed the face of Fox Mulder. "What the hell are you doing here? You're not dead." "No, but I'm not who I am. Death always takes on the form of the one the deceasing fears most. Since you fear Fox Mulder the most, I've come as him. And as his partner. Come on out, Scully." "Just a second, Mulder. The cloak is itchy." "Well, take it off." "I can't do that. He'd see, then. "What?" John asked. "What would I see?" "Well, now you've done it, Scully, you've peaked his interest. Let's show him." Scully emerged from behind--what? She walked out from behind thin air. She and Mulde stood next to each other and opened their cloaks so that John could see what was inside them. There were creatures, but John recognized them. They were small, weak, and large white heads and black, almond shaped eyes. Yes, they were Reticulans. "Let's see here," Mulder said, "there are seven of them, and they stand for the seven deadly sins. Since you've committed them all, you should know them." "Come on, cut to the chase. What is the future?" Mulder and Scully closed their robes and then opened them again. There was nothing in them, and then a picture started to form. Soon, it took over the whole of the room, the whole of John's existence. "This," the figure of Mulder said, "is your future. You've invited the Reticulans for open talks, let's see here, in 2005. You're emphesema has become worse, of course, but you refuse to quit smoking. Anyway, this is Chirstmas, 2005. It's a large party celebrating the new treaty between our peoples. Little does anyone know, both sides are breaking the treaty as it is signed. "Here you are, shaking hands and having mental conversations with your 'new found friends.'" "What is so bad about this situation?" "You mean," the figure of Scully said, "beyond the fact that you're lying through your teeth? That both sides have been in contact since 1954? That this latest treaty will be broken just like all the rest?" "Apology is policy, these days," said Mulder. "You deny everything, trust no one, but you forget that the truth is out there." "The truth," John said, thinking. "You mean, you two?" "Not just us," said the figure of Scully. "After drumming Mulder and Scully out of the FBI finally, they went on their own, more intent than ever to expose the truth, and they gained support. This meeting is the result of the election and actions of the new President, Doctor Dana Scully." "NO!" "Oh, yes," Mulder said. "I wouldn't fret, though. You're dead soon enough. When the Reticulans find out what you've done, they're not very happy." The picture changed and John saw himself alone in a dark alley. Then he saw a very large man. "No, not you," he saw himself call out. The man took the pick that he'd been carrying and shoved it into John's neck. He fell to the ground, dead. The man walked away and didn't look back. "What about everyone else?" "Well, Dana made Skinner Director of the FBI, and Ratboy--er, sorry, Krycek died in 1999 of TB. He'd probably still be alive if it hadn't been for your treatment of him." "Well, actually, I like him better dead." "Confidentially," Scully said, "me too." "This," Mulder said, "is the end result of your meddling." The picture changed and John saw large spacecraft landing on the the lawn of the White House. "This is 2018. This is the year that the Reticulans take control of earth, for her own good, they said. If it hadn't been for the likes of you, earth would still be her own world." "But everything I did was to save earth. You have to believe that." "It's not a matter of what I believe. It's a matter of what will happen, if you don't change." "Wait, if I change, then earth could be spared?" "Perhaps. I cannot see disparate time lines. I only see what will happen if nothing changes." "If you change," Scully said, "you might just save the earth, and your own soul in the process. You won't have to lug around three-hundred pound concrete slabs every time you want to take a walk." "I want to change. I do. I really do." John looked around him. He was back in his office. He looked at his watch. It was two in the morning. He figured he'd better go to his apartment and hit the sack. "Change," he said as he left the office. "Not on your life." Ta-da. How do you like it? C&C always welcome, flames extinguished, flamers pardoned, life goes on. -- the free radical :-} |