The Switch: An X-Files Fanfiction

Prologue

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
11:37 pm
March 25th, 1994

Mulder's POV

        Scully and I had just picked the lock on the door to the abandoned building that I believed held something to that of extraterrestrial origins. I didn't think anything out of the ordinary was going to happen. I just thought it was going to be a bunch of human-alien hybrids,  or just aliens for that matter. No, what ended up happening wasn't what I expected to happen at all.

Scully's POV

        As we walked through the dark and empty halls, with each footstep creaking because of the old floor  and each breath getting heavier with anticipation as to what would be found in this dump of a place. Mulder and I each unstrapped or guns from their holsters, loaded them with bullets, and held the gun at our hips as we walked,  looking through the doorways we passed by in the hallway. It felt like we were walking down this same hallway for hours, and I was about to give up, until Mulder pointed something out.

        "Scully, is it just me or do all these doors look EXACTLY the same to you?"

        "Well, Mulder. It's an old apartment building, what do you expect?  It's just like the doors at your apartment or mine. They all look the same."

        "Well, yes, I figured that one out, Captain Obvious," He said, trying to get me to smile as I hadn't done so in a while, which he semi-accomplished-- I snickered just a bit. "No, what I'm pointing out is that there are no numbers on the doors,  and they are all placed on the exact spot on the wall as the door on the other side of the wall. Even the spacing is the same between the doors."

        He did have a point,  there. But still, there are apartments like that, aren't there?

        "Well, Mulder, what do you think the reasoning behind this is? How do you explain this extremely long hallway?"

        "I believe this place is holding something of extraterrestrial origin, and that one of these doors is holding it. We just have to figure out which door is the odd one out,  and maybe we'll find it."

        I am resisting every bit of instinct telling me to slap my face right now, because of how remotely impossible that sounds.

        "Mulder... Why... How... Ugh. OK, listen to me, what reason would anyone have as to putting some alien into an old apartment room that is different from all the rest,  which in this case, is highly unlikely to find because of how detailed everything is? In fact, the only difference that might help us would be either the direction each screw head is facing or the color of the grain in each door frame, or, or..."

        "Scully!! I think you might be on to something!!!"

        I am?

        "I am? What do you-"

        "Quick! Check the screw heads on each door on the right side of the hallway,  while I take the ones on the left. It's got to be the screw heads... It has to be."

        The last couple sentences were barely audible, almost as if he didn't want me to hear him sound desperate. Which he did sound like, something that's not like him. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be Mulder. To actually be him. To see how it feels to have people avoid him, or me, if I was him at that point. I just wonder....

        "Scully? You there? I can't look at the doors on each side while you fantasize over there about who-knows-what."

        "Huh? Oh, sorry! I just got a little carried away, that's all..."

        "Say, about what were you thinking about?"

        "That's classified information, Mulder. I have the right to remain silent." As I say this, I stand up straight as making it clear that I am not open with sharing what (or in this case,  who) I fantasize over. He just shrugs and gets back to work looking at the screw heads on his side of the hallways. And I guess I went back to doing that as well.

Mulder's POV

       This was possibly the most boring moment I've ever experienced. As I walk by each door, I stop, look at each screw head on the door handle, and then look at the screw heads that hold the frame to the wall. Then I go to the next door. It got tiresome, especially since all we have to work by are flashlights that are starting to dim, having been on too long. As we move down the never-ending hallway, with the silence ringing in our ears, due to the silence, Scully speaks up.

        "Mulder, what even brought you to this conclusion?"

        "You say that like you doubt my conclusion..."

        "No! Well, sort of- I mean, out of all the old buildings, all the science buildings, you choose this, this old, rundown apartment building. Why? What information were you given? Who gave you the information? Why didn't you tell me when you first attained the information?"

        She sounds a little angry and frustrated with me.

        "Why did I choose this building out of all the others? Well, it wasn't a matter of choice. Deep Throat gave me a letter that told me where to go for this extraterrestrial. I didn't want to tell you, because you don't seem to trust him, and because I was going to tell you over a candle-light dinner." I joked about the dinner, but I don't want her getting mad at me. I already have enough people mad at me or just annoyed with me, I don't need Scully in that group.

        "Deep Throat?! Well, I guess you're right, Mulder, I don't trust him. He shouldn't be trusted! You don't know who he works for!"

        "He works for the Senate."

         "And are you absolutely positive of that? How do you know he isn't just a strange man working for the people who keep destroying or evidence... someone who just hangs around the House of Representatives and just pretends to be a part of it? How do you know?"

        "I, I just know. I can trust him like I trust you."

        This is true. I can trust Scully with my life, and Deep Throat? Almost just as much.      

        "I just don't understand why you would trust him but... never mind. What exactly did the letter say? Do you happen to have the letter with you?"

        "Of course I have it with me, why wouldn't I?" I take the letter out of my left inside breast pocket and hand it to Scully. As she was reading it, I thought about how it would feel to be like Scully, actually Scully. I wonder what it would feel like to have people say hi to me in the hallway in the J. Edgar Hoover building down in Washington D.C. I wonder what it would feel like not believing. Only believing when there is proof. When there is definite proof and evidence right in front of my eyes. How does she not believe? And how does she not have neck problems from looking up all the time because of her size? I hope she doesn't strain her neck when she looks up to talk to me...