a piece of fanfiction

grass18, originally uploaded by tsarina_amanda.

Title: Everything Happens for a Reason
Fandom: X-Files
Rating: PG-13
Picture: [grass] credited to Dan
Written in 2007 for the Twicetold fandom exercise in 2007.

"Have you ever had moments where things get incredibly clear? When time seems to expand?"

Dana remembered the cloudy skies, walking out of the hospital with red tulips in her hand. She remembered the apothecary sign, the blond woman walking, the bicycle bell, street vendors and smoke and the late afternoon sunshine filtering through. She had thought she was losing her mind then, in that Buddhist temple space hidden away in the middle of the city. It had been a strange season in her life, full of grief. She remembered Daniel in the hospital, awake, then not, then sitting up in his bed. Saying goodbye to a part of her life in that hospital room. She remembered the tingling silence that seemed to lay over everything.

The same silence was ringing now like a chorus of bells. It drowned out everything. A lifetime of choices leading up to this moment, she thought with grim humor and coughed. A spasm of pain wracked her and Scully curled up a little tighter. The grass scraped at her cheek, dead and dry strands threaded with a few bright green shoots. A few feet awake the grass gave way to the concrete porch. She tried to look up, at the edge of the house. Nothing was moving. The windows were dark in the afternoon sunlight. She felt a cloud pass over, the warmth of the light fading from her skin. Scully coughed again and bright blood spattered the grass.

When they were taken off the X-Files, she wondered if Mulder would leave entirely. But he tried to settle into place, to give them both some breathing room from the wrath of the higher levels. They were assigned to pedestrian cases, kidnappings, robberies, cross state line crimes that attracted the nominal assistance of the FBI. They both gritted their teeth, and played nice. There wasn't much else to do.

The Stalker case was the first thing that came into their laps in months that could even be considered remotely interesting. Rumors of radioactive materials, brutal killings, a Ukrainian immigrant missing and suspected to be a serial killer. Mulder and Scully were assigned largely on the basis of Scully's forensic skill. The bodies were terribly mutilated, and a long time passed before they were found. The local law enforcement was loathe to even touch them, so she had free reign over the autopsies. Mulder went out into the field to poke around, ask questions. For awhile it even felt normal to them, chasing down crazy leads and rumors.

Crazy rumors brought them to an unassuming gray house in the suburbs, with a dying lawn and no fence around the back. The door wasn't locked, and Mulder went inside. She waited outside, cautious and watchful. In the middle of the week, in the middle of the neighborhood, no one was home. No one that they knew anyhow. The first shots were almost inaudible, and it wasn't until Mulder crashed through the rear screen door that Scully had any idea things were wrong. He had yelled at her to run, hitting the ground awkwardly. Steadfast as ever, she unloaded a barrage of cover fire as he scrambled away.

What came out of the house wasn't quite human anymore. At least, it had once been human but things went horribly wrong. The skin was all wrong, gray and scabbed over. Dana didn't know exactly what had been done, or what could go wrong to make something like that. She had started to move, skipping backwards and loading a second clip into her sidearm. But the thing that might have been Yuri Yevtushenko was also carrying a gun.

She felt the hot burn in her chest and her stomach. Getting shot hurt like hell, but the worst part was the queer heat of the bullet passing through your body. Scully wondered why no one ever mentioned that part. Dimly she was aware of her gun slipping out of her fingers, and of Yevtushenko rushing past her after Mulder. There were more shots, wild and random. The sound faded in and out, and then turned into the silent chimes of unseen bells. She laid down in the grass, feeling the coldness of the ground in late spring.

Some of the grass was green. Dana rubbed her hand in it, trying to separate the smooth living pieces from the dead ones. The light faded, came back, and faded again. She felt cold, and her chest hurt. She could taste blood in her mouth, and a part of her recognized that was a bad sign. This was how the paramedics found her, called by a housekeeper familiar with the sound of gunfire from her home country. They lifted her onto a stretcher, and the world tilted crazily. The last thing she saw was the sideways view of the house, the dying grass, the empty door.

"Maybe sometimes nothing happens for a reason Mulder."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."