Title: An Audience of One Author: nevdull (nevdull@mailcity.com) Rating: PG Category: SAH Archive: Yes, anywhere. Disclaimer: The usual. Feedback: You bet. Thanks: Jesemie, her evil twin, and their cats, for their remarkable feedback and encouragement. Spoilers: None in particular, but there's some familiar dialogue sprinkled throughout. Notes: There's an incredibly tiny reference to my earlier story, "Thank You, Drive Around." You can find that here, if the mood strikes: http://members.tripod.com/nevdull/thank-you.html Summary: Storytime with a tough crowd "You know when I was a kid, just kicking a can around the yard was entertainment enough." "Mulder, you're an incurable technophile. You were probably bored for the first twenty years of your life because no one had invented pay-per-view." He grunted. "You're just peeved because the virtual reality game you spent five bucks on was only rated G." She wasn't sure why he looked at her strangely just then. "Agent Scully, Agent Mulder, they're ready for you." In unison, they nodded to the junior agent, and entered the room with identical expressions of fear. "My name is Dana," she said, squatting down. "What's yours?" The boy screwed his face up, as if he couldn't decide on an answer. "Joseph," he said finally. Scully rocked back on her heels. "That's a great name. Does anyone call you Joe..." Her question was cut short as the interrogated decided at that moment he needed to run across the room and throw himself under a plastic bench. "Okay," she said loudly. "I guess that's a 'no'." Someone tapped her on the back. "Where's my dad?" Dan sulked. He had made himself known the moment they'd entered by blowing into a plastic bugle and announcing himself as, "Dan, Master of the Whole World." The bugle was one of dozens of toys haphazardly dumped into the playroom in a desperate attempt by largely childless agents to make the space entertaining for kids. Predictably, the sheer volume of choices ensured that most of the children had heretofore elected to sob. Scully shuffled over to the scratched plastic window and pointed. "Look Dan, your dad's right there where he's been all along." Dan sniffled and nodded. Dan's father had been unwise enough to agree to the whole enterprise and was lined up with all the other kids' parents along a colorful, whale-shaped counter. Many of them were clutching drinks of a strength not usually found in family restaurants; all were wearing similar expressions of forced good cheer and optimism. "Wave hi," Scully said, and herself waved at the line-up of restrained parental terror. A few gestured back haltingly; most seemed overwhelmed with the effort to appear relaxed. "See," she said through teeth locked in a grin, "everything's fine." Dan stared sullenly at his father, sized up the older man's robotic parade wave, and mumbled, "Where's my mom?" He shuffled away from the window to the corner where Joseph had begun to patiently disassemble the bench. Mulder swatted an errant helium balloon from his face. "Is it too late to go back to the arcade?" Scully sighed and stood up. The balloon passed unmolested over her head. "Let's keep the maturity level correlated with height, shall we?" Raising her voice, she asked, "Is anyone here hungry?" Fifteen hands shot up immediately. Mulder breathed deeply and spoke into his sleeve. "Can we have fifteen Happy Combos brought in ASAP?" "Fourteen," Scully whispered. Joseph had abandoned the bench and was waving both arms. Fourteen mouths thus subdued, the agents were able to relax into their ill-fitting, molded chairs and survey the area. The children were nearby, crowded around the table inhaling their lunches, the parents flitted nervously in the main hall, and the rest of the patrons of the Chunk-O-Cheese family restaurant were blissfully unaware that the tallest occupants of the playroom were FBI agents and not unusually dry-witted babysitters. Other agents roamed inconspicuously throughout the restaurant: a few washing dishes, several spinning out long meals in the dining hall, one tasked with fishing sobbing children out from the pool filled with colorful balls. All of them on careful watch for one unpleasant perpetrator. Three kidnappings from DC-area family restaurants, none of the victims yet recovered. There were no particular leads, but one critical (and unpublicized) trend -- the perp seemed to be moving in a clear trajectory. Law enforcement felt confident they'd covered all possible target restaurants for the next attack. Assuming there was a next attack. Scully was uneasy with using any children as bait, but Mulder felt, not unsurprisingly, that the possibility of recovering the missing children was worth the risk. By the time they'd argued and finally agreed, all of the likel y restaurants had been assigned to other teams. This particular Chunk-O-Cheese was well outside the kidnapper's circumference. Thus the two agents were alert, but not seriously expecting a confrontation. At least, not a confrontation with the kidnapper. "I want my juice!" was the first cry. The already red-faced boy named Ethan had darkened to an alarming shade of crimson. "Ethan, I just saw your juice. What did you do with it?" "I don't know," he said between sobs. Scully looked around. "Has anyone seen Ethan's juice?" A sallow-faced girl to Scully's right was coloring not just outside the lines, but often outside the border of the page and onto the table itself. "I saw it," she said, swinging her legs. Mulder watched her dig the crayon into the Formica. "Where did you see it, honey?" She didn't look up. "My name is Megan. And I'll tell you if you tell us a story." This was a popular bargain. Most of the children cheered, except Ethan. Ethan still wanted his juice. Mulder laughed uncomfortably. "Oh, I'm not sure I know any..." "Oh, come on Mulder," Scully said, trying not to smile. "You tell me outrageous stories every week." Some of the children giggled. One whispered loudly, "Moldy!" "That's not the same," he protested. "Those are case... C-A-S-E-F-I-L-E-S." Scully raised an eyebrow. "You mean you don't have any light-hearted tales of E-X-S-A-N-G-U-I-N-A-T-I-O-N? Perhaps a cheery fable about A-L-I-E-N H-Y-B-R-I-D-S? A heartwarming parable involving a boy and his F-L-U-K-E-W-O-R-M?" "Okay, that's enough out of Y-O-U," he growled. A large boy with thick plastic glasses blurted out, "Are you saying 'shit'? Because when my mom and dad spell stuff, what they really mean is 'shit'." "No!" the agents said simultaneously. "I can tell a perfectly good story if I want to," Mulder continued. "Better than you, anyway." "Bet you can't." "Bet I can." "Bet what?" Mulder considered this. "You win, you get to hold my VCR hostage for a week. I win, you play kick the can with me." "I don't know how to play. Do I get lessons with that?" "As always." Hmm, she thought. "Deal." "One thing," he added. Neither noticed the playroom had gone completely silent. The children were enthralled by the verbal seesaw. Scully leaned over a plastic molded chair and asked, "What?" Mulder leaned over an identical chair, which was awkwardly low for his needs as a prop. "You have to go first." She rolled her eyes. "Chicken." "I believe you've cornered the market on that one." She ignored him. "Okay. An original children's story." "And nothing scary." "MAKE IT SCARY!" came the chorused reply. "Okay, not too scary." "Aw," complained Megan, the errant colorer. "A not-too-scary original children's story," Scully amended. "One that's better than yours." Mulder gestured for her to take a seat. On cue, the children crowded around them. Joseph circled behind Scully and sat cross-legged next to her chair, looking up. Scully sat slowly, thoughtfully. She glanced at the windows surrounding the playroom for a moment, but the activities in the restaurant were utterly normal. It was unlikely that the kidnapper would strike here, yet they had so much time to pass. And there was the matter of the bet. "Once upon a time," Scully began. The young girl awoke with a start, although the source of her awakening was not immediately apparent. The ship continued to sway gently as it always did in calm waters; her cabin was as comfortably dark and warm as usual. Nevertheless, she sat up carefully and fully alert; she knew something was very wrong. Then she heard it again -- the sound that had alarmed her in her sleep. A dull thud from the deck above. The resourceful girl rose from bed and dressed as quietly as possible. She put on her fine but sturdy shoes, and tied her flowing red hair sensibly back from her face. She was afraid, but she knew what she needed to do first. Avoiding every squeaky plank, she crept from her cabin down the hall to her father's. The captain of the ship would not have been in his chambers at that early morn; she was not looking for him there. Instead, she crossed to his dresser, and removed his pearl-handled pistol from an inlaid wooden box. Of course, the pistol was not loaded with gunpowder -- the girl knew better than to use weapons for which she had not received extensive firearms training in a controlled setting. Nevertheless, she tucked the gun away in the small of her back, and moved silently along the wall towards the stairs leading to the fore deck. She heard nothing but the sound of the ocean echoing through the hall; this itself was unusual as the crew, while always kind to her, was generally of the more unruly breed of sailor. She began to wonder if they had all mysteriously vanished, as in the fantastic stories she'd often been told. She believed none of them, of course, but was nevertheless afraid. Then came the moaning from the mess hall. She forgot climbing the stairs altogether and immediately turned towards the door to her left. It was careless and dangerous, but she could think only of the suffering person inside. I hope it is my father, she thought, and that he is not badly injured! But when the undaunted maiden burst through the entrance to the hall, she was perhaps more startled to find -- Scully paused, her eyes far away and expressionless. No one moved, or even blinked. Finally, Dan yelled, "Found _what_?!" Scully smiled. -- to find the kindly ship's cook, who always delighted her with his wild tales of distant lands. Her father frowned on his exaggerations, believing that Cook would inspire her to abandon her studies and take to the high seas, but he never forbade them from speaking. Father also believed that she could make the best choices for herself, despite being only a young girl. Thus, her heart cried out at finding her beloved Cook gagged and bound in a corner of the mess hall. His eyes were closed -- he had not seen her -- and it appeared he had been struck in the head. The plucky young heroine ran to him and began to untie his bonds, admonishing, "My dearest Cook, please refrain from motion, as a vicious scalawag has done harm to your cranium, perhaps inducing a concussion or even cortical edema -- and I fear I have not a drop of cortisone by which to lessen the swelling should fluid begin to accumulate in the interstitial space! I beg of you, move not!" Cook responded to her ministrations with a sad, grateful smile. "Ah, young miss. It should come as no surprise to you that after all my adventures, it should end this way. Please remember that of all the peoples of the New and Old World, you were my one in..." The girl frowned as she patted his head with the sterile gauze she prudently carried in the pockets of her britches at all times. "Cook, you will hush now. You are not to die, not in my care. But before you rest, you must tell me of the men who have done this to you, and where I might find my father." Cook smiled wearily as he recounted the story of the ship's boarding by pirates, and her father the captain's heroic struggle to repel the brigands. Then his wounded face fell. "The rest of the story is not so grand, I fear. The crew was taken aboard the pirate ship as slaves, and your father, because he refused to abandon his vessel (knowing you were still aboard it), he was brought to..." He turned his head suddenly, unable to continue. The girl leaned forward, brushing away an errant lock of his hair and looking into his eyes. "What, dear Cook?" Scully paused dramatically. Megan's crayon, which she had been unconsciously digging into the table, snapped, and everyone in the room jumped. Everyone but Scully, who simply continued. Cook met her gaze finally, and said, with infinite sadness, "He was brought to the top of the crow's nest, in this demon sun, so that he might die a painful death and be fodder for the filthy birds of carrion." Inwardly, she gasped, but as she always did in times of crisis, the girl kept a calm face. "I will go to him." Cook gasped, and grabbed her arm. "You mustn't! Those men are fiends! You cannot imagine what they are capable of!" "He is my father," she said simply. "If I can save him, let me." Cook stared at her for another minute, wide-eyed, and then let go. "Irish to the core. Always stubborn." She administered one final examination of the wound, elevated his feet and advised him to drink plenty of fluids and to remain awake at all costs. She touched his hand fleetingly. "I will return for you." She fled from the room and up the stairs, slowing only when she emerged on the sunlit deck. She pulled out her father's pistol and held it before her with two hands, pointing it ahead as she picked her way through the barrels of rum and grain tied to the deck. The crow's nest was aft of her present location; the ship was silent and the pirates were nowhere to be seen. Finally, she emerged from the maze of barrels and stopped in fear. Ahead, the crow's nest rose into the burning morning sun. To port, the pirate's ship was anchored several hundred yards away, its skull-and-crossbones flag taunting her. She could make out the figures of her father's crew on the deck. She looked up, and squinted into the sunlight. So, so far up, she could just make out the observation platform at the top of the crow's nest. The feet extending over the edge were certainly those of her beleaguered father. She must save him, but how to carry him down from that enormous height? Her thoughts were interrupted by a tremendous explosion to port. She watched helplessly as an enormous cannon ball arced at high speed from the pirate vessel, striking the deck of her ship and plunging through the wood. "Aiee!" she screamed, grasping at some nearby rope as the ship lurched to one side. Instead of righting itself after the impact, it continued to tilt towards the water. The cannon ball must have fallen through the bottom of the ship. They were sinking! Glancing upwards once more, the girl tied the rope to herself and ran back down the stairs, slipping occasionally on their steep angle. She dashed into the mess hall, which had begun to fill up with water. Cook was slumped on the floor with half his face submerged. "Cook!" she yelled, shaking him. Quickly, she dragged him to the high end of the room and skillfully performed CPR (thanking her stars she'd kept up her certification). Cook spluttered, coughed up water, and slowly came to. "I've got to get you out of here!" she said, and dragged his much-larger body up the stairs and out onto the deck. She started to pull him towards the crow's nest pole, which was no longer perpendicular to them but was now leaning heavily to port. Cook made a few halting steps, but then collapsed. "I can't go on. You save your father without me." "No!" She had to yell to be heard over the sounds of boards breaking, of waves crashing into what was once the lower deck. The ship lurched further into the water. "You will come with me, good Cook, and you will come with me now! Just pick up your feet and make it happen!" And somehow he did, scrambling alongside her up the crow's nest. They stumbled as the ship leaned towards the water, losing their footing, tangling in the handrails, occasionally buffeted by fierce waves which had begun assaulting the sinking ship. As quickly as they could scale the mast, though, the doomed vessel brought them closer to the sea. The young girl looked up, and saw that while she was now mere feet from the top (and thus her beloved father), they were also perilously close to the surface of the sea. She made a decision. The girl cut the rope still tethering her to the deck, and instead tied it around the mast. She took the free rope from the other end -- the end tied about her waist -- and tied it to the barely conscious cook. Finally, she looked up at the heavens, and prayed for the survival of her loved ones. At that moment, the weight of the crow's nest became too much at its steep angle, and the massive spire of wood snapped at its base. The brave young woman, her father, and the ship's cook all plummeted into the sea, strapped as they were to the pole... ...and rocketed upwards moments later, rebounding out of the water on the sheer buoyancy of the wooden mast... ...settling on the surface of the sea, floating only yards from the pirate ship. Behind them, their beloved vessel disappeared into the depths. Quickly, the girl cut the ropes tethering them to the mast. Her father was conscious, but confused. "There's no time!" she exclaimed, putting her knife between her teeth and swimming to the handrails leading up the pirate ship. Heedlessly, the now-soaked heroine scaled the side of the ship and leapt over the railing on the deck. She executed a perfect roll and, without slowing for an instant, scrambled to her feet and ran for the crowd of crewmembers at the fore. "Rise up, my friends!" she cried. "Your captain is aboard and he needs you!" Slowly, the defeated air among the new slaves lifted, as did their shackles and chains. "It is the captain's daughter!" they cried, casting away their bonds and turning to fight their captors. Satisfied that she had ignited their spirits, she fled approaching pirates back to where she had climbed on deck. She found Cook, even in his weakened state, helping her winded father over the rail. "Father!" she gasped, kneeling before him, "You must appear to your crew, as even now they are risking their lives. I know you are tired, but you must incite them to fight for their freedoms! And now I must..." She bit her lip and said no more. She then turned to run, but Cook's strong arm grabbed her delicate hand. "M'lady, I fear you intend to confront the pirate captain himself. I cannot let you undertake such a foolish action, especially one so personal." She tried to shake herself free. "Without my father's vessel, personal interest is all I have left. I must avenge my family's honor." "But you are only a young girl!" "I think it is the latter rather than the former which distresses you so," she said icily. "Now unhand me, for I do not wish to wrestle." She tore away from him and ran down into the bowels of the ship. It took little time to locate the cabin of the pirate captain -- the cowardly rogue had retreated to the most fortified room as soon as her fellow sailors had begun to retaliate. The door was locked, but this presented no difficulties to the plucky maiden. She removed the pin from her hair, the red tresses falling down her back, and inserted it into the lock. With a deft twist, the lock gave way. She reached for the pistol, but it had been lost to the sea; instead she pulled her knife from her short boots. After one deep breath, she pushed open the door. The room was filled with the most acrid smell; for all his ill-gotten wealth it seemed the pirate chose to smoke only the foulest Virginia tobacco. She could see no farther than inches from her own face. She stepped bravely into the stench, and exclaimed, "By virtue of the Miranda Code, I declare you in violation of Seafarer's Act, and it is my right to demand that you free those you have brought aboard, and turn your vessel over to its rightful captain." She hoped the fear in her heart did not reach her voice. There was silence for a moment, and then the acrid smoke parted. The pirate captain emerged and sneered at her. "I had no idea there were such children aboard my ship." The girl brandished the knife before him. "Mind what I say, or I shall be forced to do you harm." The captain snickered, pulling out his own, much larger knife. "Do as you must." And he began to advance on her, one creeping step after another... Scully was leaning over the table now, walking her fingers slowly and precisely across its surface towards a spellbound and utterly quiet Ethan. He watched the approaching digits with delighted fear, and trembled just a bit when they paused only inches from his chest. She held them there, menacingly. "Dammit Scully, then what?!" Mulder blurted out. Scully's eyes never wavered from Ethan's, although her mouth quivered slightly in a suppressed laugh. "Then very well!" the girl cried, and let loose a flying kick. The pirate's weapon was knocked from his grasp and disappeared into the smoke. He gasped, and grabbed his wounded hand. Several unladylike words issued from his crooked mouth. Emboldened, she stepped towards him, her own knife still before her. "I am a sailor's daughter," she laughed. "Do you think I have not heard such language?" Snarling, he feinted to the right, and then swung out to the left, grabbing for her knife. She dodged him easily, and scored him on the wrist for his insolence. "Arr!" he cried. Blood issued from the wound at an alarming rate. "I have cut you in a major artery, it seems," she said mildly. "It does not seem endangering now, but I swear on my father's name that if it is not attended to properly, you will die." By way of answering, he slumped against a wall and uttered a groan. "Now, you will follow me to the deck, and you will call off the pestilent filth you call a crew. Then you will give control of the ship to my father, and you will submit yourself to the brig until you are brought to the mainland and locked away for good." "Please," he gasped, "I cannot lose my ship. I have guides to fantastic treasures you will otherwise never see in your lifetime. I can give these to you and send you on your way, but you must allow me to keep control of my vessel, and heal me of this blasted wound!" She heard the sound of footsteps pounding down the stairs -- she knew not whether she would meet pirates or sailors. Hurriedly, she said, "Your kind has created a culture of lawlessness on the high seas, and I will tolerate no more of it. If you will not agree to my demands," and here she stepped back, "you will have to hope your bleeding stops on its own." Hollering in the hallway; she recognized Cook's voice calling for her. Inwardly, she was relieved -- they had succeeded -- but she wanted the captain to admit defeat only to her. Blood had begun to pool around his feet; he regarded his hand with increasing terror. "Don't kill me, please!" "Are you not the man who attacked my father?" "Please!" More blood issued from the wound as he cried out. "You attacked my father!" "Yes!" he said finally. Blood was everywhere. "I concede! My ship, she is yours! Now I beg of you, evil maiden, stop this wound!" Just then, the door was thrown open, and Cook scrambled into the room. "Unhand her!" he cried, pointing a pistol at the pirate captain. "Cook!" "My lady!" "What are you doing?" "Has he laid a hand upon you?" "Stare at me not, I am fine." "Please!" the pirate cried again. Exasperated, she turned to the fiend and tightly wrapped his wrist in her remaining piece of sterile gauze. When the bleeding had ceased, she dragged him to his feet and threw him to the mass of sailors who had crowded into the cabin. "Let him take up not another moment of our time," she hissed. There was a general murmur of agreement, and the defeated captain was escorted from the room. Eventually, only the young woman and the cook remained. He stared at her in amazement, and then got down upon one knee. "M'lady, I am in awe of your prowess as a fighter and a leader. You have humbled all of us, and we are grateful for your help in saving our crew." He looked down for a moment, and then gazed back up at her soulfully. "I have not spoken to your father of this yet, but I must know now, at this very moment..." He paused again, unable to continue. She gazed back at him, and reached to caress his face. "Oh, dear Cook," she said softly, and paused. Then her expression changed. "You're crazy! You are very much my senior, and I have not even begun to experience life. I have many years of medical apprenticeship ahead, and training to become a sailor, and languages that require studying, and am I not even sure I would want to be betrothed to any man." He looked humbled, so she laid a kiss on his forehead. "Go and tend to my father. I will join you shortly." He slunk out the doorway, leaving her alone in the cabin. It had largely cleared of smoke, and she could see now the dozens of chests, drawers, and crates crowding the room. "Now," she whispered to herself. "Where the hell are those treasure maps?" "The end," Scully said, focussing on the room for the first time since she'd begun the tale. Fourteen pairs of eyes were staring at her, their mouths in a perfect "O" of shock. Fifteen, counting Mulder. She blinked. "Oops. I didn't say that last bit, did I?" Mulder shook his head, not in disagreement, but disbelief. "I liked the blood!" opined Megan excitedly. "Yeah!" several others agreed. Scully looked down at the boy near her feet. "Joseph, what did you think?" He considered for a moment. Finally, he answered, "I like a pirate." Mulder shifted in his seat, driving his knees into the plastic table. Wincing, he muttered, "Some of the dialogue seemed awfully familiar." "Mmm," she said non-committally. "So that's your idea of 'not-too-scary'?" he asked. "People bleeding to death? Sinking ships? Slavery?" He frowned to himself. "And what kind of children's story features words like 'edema' and 'interstasis space'?" "Interstitial," she corrected automatically. "And let's not even talk about how my gender was represented," he added. "I was redressing a long-standing imbalance in the gender roles inherent in children's literature." "I'd like my children's story with a side order of doctoral thesis, please. To go." She was standing now, and so could put her hands on her hips. "And I suppose you could do better?" He stood, too. "Of course." Joseph, who had been following closely, asked, "Will there be a pirate?" Scully answered Joseph, but looked only at Mulder. "Alien space pirates, most likely." Joseph cheered. "No," Mulder said softly. "No space pirates." Scully snorted. "Tibetan vampires, then." "No." "Blood-sucking Asian wolf-hounds with telepathy." "Sorry to disappoint." Scully raised an eyebrow. "I don't believe for one second you can tell a story with even a shred of believability." "Well, you're probably right about that," he said, but failed to explain. She frowned and sat, tousling Joseph's hair as she did so. She said nothing but looked at Mulder expectantly. "A long time ago," Mulder began, sitting down himself, "in a land far, far away..." A long time ago, in a land far, far away, there was a boy who found a magical tree. There was nothing obvious about its magic; in fact, the boy noticed the tree only because it was the only young thing in the midst of a very ancient forest. All the other trees towered so far above him that their tops became lost in the clouds. This tree was different. It was as tall as he was, and he was not a particularly tall boy. He regarded it with interest for one moment, but no more (little boys rarely concern themselves with nature, when the world of their imagination is at hand). He stepped back under the canopy of the old growth, resuming the story in his head (in which he fearlessly defended his family's land from marauding -- yes -- space pirates). Just then, he heard a rustling sound. He turned, and then blinked in surprise; the tree was not moving, but he was sure the sound had come from it. It _had_, he thought. Then he heard the cracking of dry leaves, this time from behind him. "I guess I was wrong," he muttered. "Wrong about what?" came the quiet reply. A small girl had stepped out from the dense underbrush, and was looking at him shyly. She carried a bag over one shoulder. "Dunno," the boy said, and shrugged. "Where are you from?" The girl did not look at him, but instead gazed up towards the leaves of the giant trees. "The valley," she said, and pointed behind her. "Oh," he replied. He wasn't supposed to play with children from the valley. The magical tree rustled again. This time he saw it, and there was no wind. He crossed to it and bent down. "What are you doing?" the girl asked. "Did you see the tree move?" he said, brushing dirt from around its base. He didn't know what he was looking for. "Trees don't move," she answered matter-of-factly. His hands touched something hard. He wiped away the dirt around it, revealing a small plaque in the ground. "'The Forgetting Tree,'" the girl read. He jumped; she was right behind him. "I can read," he muttered. He cleared more dirt from around the small tree, but found nothing else. "What does it mean?" she asked. "I don't know." "Did you forget?" He looked up at her in surprise and saw that she was smiling. He smiled, too (and this was a boy who did not often smile). "There you are!" exclaimed a voice behind them. The two children jumped up, startled. It was the boy's brother, leaning against a particularly tall tree. The older boy spit on the ground, and snarled, "I heard you guys talking. She's from the valley. I'm telling on you." The girl backed away; unconsciously, the small boy stepped in front of her. "No you aren't." "I am too," the brother taunted. "You'll be in so much trouble." "But she's nice!" the boy hissed plaintively. "I don't care. She's not like us." The boy was rapidly becoming hysterical. "So what?! I want to talk to her. I don't see why I can't!" "Because that's how it is." The brother threw a clump of moss at the girl to startle her. She shrieked in fear, believing at first it was a rock, but then held her own. "I hate you!" cried the young boy. "You always want to ruin everything for me! Just forget that you were ever here!" The wind that swirled around the clearing just then should have knocked them over, but it seemed to come from all directions at once. The boy and the girl cried out, covering their eyes as they were battered with dirt and debris. The wind howled for what seemed like hours, and then just as suddenly, it stopped. They blinked and looked around. Neither realized they were clutching the other. The boy's brother was where he had been, but his expression was very different. Rather than wearing his smug sneer, he looked confused. He rubbed his eyes and started to walk off towards their home, moving slowly, as if unsure of the way. "Brother!" the boy called. "Will you tell them?" The brother disappeared into the underbrush, but he could hear the hesitant reply. "I'm... I'm not sure... I don't remember." The boy and the girl were then alone. They looked at each other (stepping away from the other's grasp), and turned towards the tree. It did not move. "Were you playing?" the girl asked eventually. "Before I came here?" She grabbed a braid and bit the end of her hair. "Yeah." "Can I play too?" He shrugged, but smiled. "Sure." "Okay," she said, and put out her hand. Without knowing quite why, he took it, and together they left the clearing. Behind them, the tree rustled. Mulder paused, and took a sip from his soda. "That's it?" Ethan asked. He'd forgotten his juice. "No, that's not it," Mulder answered, leaning forward on the table. "After that day, the boy did not see the girl or think of the tree again, until a long, lon g time had passed..." A long, long time had passed before the boy again saw the magical tree. So long, in fact, that he was no longer a boy, but instead was a young man. Again he wandered the woods of his childhood home, but this time it was with an eye for its value. Not its value as something of natural beauty, but as a way to sustain their family. He needed to know which of these grand old trees could be cut, as they were exceptionally valuable to ship-makers. So the boy, now a man, came upon the same clearing that he had found many years before. Although he had not considered the events of that day since they occurred (people are strange that way), he remembered them clearly the moment h e saw the magical tree. There were a few differences. For one, the tree had grown almost to his height. For another, the plaque that declared it "The Forgetting Tree" was uncovered. He remembered the tree, and he remembered the girl. He was completely unsurprised to see her emerge from the woods then, as much a young woman as he was now a young man. "I was here earlier," she said, and her voice had deepened and become beautiful. "I cleared away the leaves. I knew you were coming." He lay down the ribbons he used to mark the trees he believed should be cut. He moved towards her, to embrace her as an old friend. She stared at the ribbons and then back at him. "Are you cutting these trees?" "Yes," he said, puzzled at her response. "It is how my family survives." She pursed her lips. "I did not realize you were one of them. Your family doe s not merely survive; it profits from the loss of others." He put down his arms, which had been ready to gather her. "What do you mean?" "My family lives in the valley. When these trees are cut, nothing holds the land to the slopes of these mountains. During the rainy season, whole villages are washed away. Many people lose their homes or even perish." She blinked. "You did not know this?" He looked down, shamed. "My father did not tell me." She stepped into the clearing and put her hand on his arm. "You must stop them. My home is on the slopes of this hill. These trees protect us." Although she was talking about the ancient woods, her eyes settled on the small tree. He pulled her towards him, and held her for some time. Releasing her regretfully, he said, "I cannot disobey my father. These trees would bring us great profits, and now that I have seen them I must tell him of them." "But my family is in danger!" He put his hand to her mouth. "Perhaps there is another way," he said quietly. And he muttered words too quiet for her to hear. The wind began to pick up, just as they remembered it. "Go!" he yelled, over the torrent. "Go now!" For a moment, she only stared at him, and then she understood. She began to back out of the clearing, but paused to call out, "I will visit you tomorrow. Even if you do not remember this day, I want you to remember me!" She did not hear his reply, and when the winds ceased and she returned to the clearing, he was gone. Mulder's voice was low, conspiratorial. "And the next day, she dressed in all her finery, and she visited the home of the young man. He did not remember her from the previous day (nor did he remember the stand of ancient trees), but he did remember her from his youth, and he was overjoyed to see her. His parents did not approve of her, because she was from the valley, but they expected this. "They did not expect to be cast out by her parents, but they were in the cruelest way. Her parents saw in him everything that was wrong with the people in the hills, and told her to make a choice. She did, but not without tears, and together the young couple left their land to find a new home for themselves, alone. "And they were very, very happy together, but it was a difficult life and one full of hardships. The comforts of family she could have enjoyed were denied to her. He tried to believe that she could return at any time to her old life, and sometimes he tried to convince her of this. It never worked, though, and remained their only argument. "One day they learned that a mudslide had swept into the valley and taken her village away. Many of the villagers had escaped, but they were unable to know whether her family had been lucky. They did know that she could never go home to them again. And he knew (or at least, the man believed) that it was his fault." Mulder paused. One of the girls gasped. Several of the boys yawned. Scully was aware of none of this. She was staring at him. "Despite her loss," he continued, "she never held him responsible. After many, many years of building a life together, they were successful, and happy, and had a family of their own..." The man did not return to the land of his birth for many, many years, until he'd made a family of his own. He walked the old paths again because they were his -- there was no one left to disown him, as everyone in his family was dead. He was a very ancient man. Far too old to be carrying the burden in his arms. He had confirmed what he had always suspected; his father had eventually found the beautiful old trees, and had cut them down. The slopes of the hills were thus exposed so that a simple rainstorm was enough to wash them away, and to destroy the last hope that the young girl (now an old, old woman) could reconcile with her family. He followed a path that seemed so familiar, and yet was so alien. The trees were gone, but nothing was built or planted in their stead. The hills were now dotted with endless stumps, and the sky overhead seemed far away as it never had when it had been touched by the forest canopy. He found the magical tree easily; it was the only living thing within miles. Perhaps it had been too short to cut, or perhaps its very magic had frightened the axe men. With a grateful sigh, he laid his wife down near the tree. Her breathing was slow and even; the drugs had worked well. The plaque was clearly visible -- there were no leaves to cover it -- but the man squatted down and brushed its surface nonetheless. He wondered if it were magical enough still for what he intended. He feared it had never been. He stood up and looked around. Never before could he see so far -- from here to his father's house, down the ruined valley, across as the ground rose up again in another hill. His world as a child had been only as large as the next stand of trees. Today, his world was this valley, and his wife, the source of all the happiness he had ever known. Because he knew no ceremony for this task, he simply spoke aloud. "She should forget she ever met me." The wind began to pick up. "She should go back to that day, turn right instead of left, and never find me in these woods." Infertile dust began to blow around them. The woman stirred. "She should live a life without the pain of loss I have caused her." The woman regained consciousness as the whistle of the wind kicked up into a roar. Without the trees to contain it, the dust stormed around them, coalescing into a funnel. She could hear nothing of what the man said, but again she understood. The man could hear nothing of what she said in response, but he saw her lips moving. He tried to cry out in protest -- he himself wanted to remember her -- but the words were swept away by the wind as he uttered them, and he could not even hear himself. The wind became faster and more violent. Blindly, they reached out, and held each other for one final moment before the gusts tore them apart. The last thing the man heard was the sound of the magical tree itself being ripped from the ground. Then he heard nothing. Except the sound of his brother's voice. "Because that's how it is," the older boy sneered. "I hate you!" cried the young boy. "You always want to ruin everything for me! I wish you forgot you were ever here!" "Yeah, well that's not happening any time soon. Now get over here -- I was supposed to bring you home for dinner." The brother grabbed his sibling by the collar and dragged him into the woods towards their home. The young girl watched the pair leave the clearing, then reached into her bag to finish the task her family had assigned to her. The girl retrieved a single seed and planted in the middle of the empty clearing, then marked the location on her map so she could find it again and tend to the growing tree. She left that place, and never quite remembered to return. Mulder sat back in his chair. All was silent. Finally, Ethan weighed in his verdict. "I want my juice." Megan jerked her hand towards one corner of the room. "It's over there by the bench, stupid." Ethan darted off; the other children began talking at once to each other and wandering away from the table. Scully realized for the first time that there was pressure on her thigh; she looked down and found Joseph leaning against her, asleep. Megan resumed her coloring in earnest, but spared Mulder a suspicious glance. "That was boring," she said. "I didn't get it." Mulder's eyes flicked to Scully. She looked down, and swallowed. "Mulder, I..." The door to the play area opened. The junior leaned through the doorway. "I just got word from the team in Falls Church -- they've got our man." "We'll be out in a minute," Mulder said. The agent nodded. "What a relief," he added, before closing the door behind him. Joseph stirred. "I fell asleep," he yawned. "How does it end?" Mulder and Scully looked at each other for a long moment. "It hasn't," she said.