#herrenvolk

No one would remember him, and if they did, they would struggle to remember a name they were never told. The memory of his existence would remain occluded by the shadows he lived in.

Someone once told me-

There was a man-

A friend in the FBI-

Somewhere along the way he’d lost himself, and these men would make sure there would be nothing left of him to be found.

The bitter taste of copper feels sharp on his tongue. A bead of sweat trails down his face, falling into the corner of his eye before sliding down his cheek in place of the tears he refuses to shed. He swallows. The corners of his vision are blurring, but Mulder’s door frame is crystal clear.

Being a part of this world meant making sacrifices. It was foolish to expect to gain something without giving something in return. Fox Mulder couldn’t get that through his thick skull. His loyalty to Agent Scully was an Achilles heel on his favored leg.

Give or take a few months and she’ll be dead; they said the tumor was likely the size of a golf ball by now. There was a betting pool on when she’d get her first nosebleed.

He could tell she didn’t even know she was dying. His wife hadn’t either, but then again, a bullet to the back of the head was a lot less noticeable than a cancerous growth, even if it was the same hand pulling the trigger.

Mulder would have to learn to live with it, just like he did.

His blood was seeping into the wood, staining the areas where the varnish had worn thin. It would be polished over, maybe replaced with tile by morning.

It wasn’t how he imagined his last act. His hair wasn’t gray, the lines on his face weren’t deep enough. His golden pond was empty and his swan song was out of tune. Unlike all those bastards, he didn’t have any children to live on in his memory — so he would just have to use one of theirs.

Dragging himself over the threshold of Mulder’s door frame felt like nails digging into his flesh. His hands shook as he raised his arm and struggled against the weight of this moment.

The old man didn’t get to choose his successor, but he would.

Their conversations hadn’t extended beyond the lies and half truths they were trained to expound, but he was proficient in reading between the lines. Beyond the prim pantsuits and coiffed platinum hair was a woman who knew the men in charge were no better than children playing with matches.

She’ll know what to do.

S R S G

Read the rest of All Eyes Lead to the Truth on Archive of Our Own!