The X-Files: BOOT CAMP
This story is taken from personal experience. It's a spoof of my high school band, and my first attempt at a serious story. It is set before the X-Files were reinstated. I started this just after "Blood" aired, but was unable to finish it for a wh
ile because of school work, and the prison they call drill team. At the end of the story, I have included an explanation of all of the band terms. No names have been changed to protect the innocent because no one
really is innocent. All characters, real or imaginary, are used intentionally without permission. No copyright infringement intended on The X-Files or Tori Amos. Insert
favorite disclaimer here.
BOOT CAMP
By: Alyse Wax (AlyseW@aol.com)
Scully awoke from a restless nights sleep. She was sore and exhausted. She looked around, trying to ascertain where she was. Then, without warning, the terrifying and confusing events of yesterday flooded her mind.
*************************************************************
It had been a hard day at work for both of them. Mulder had fallen asleep - thrice - doing wire tap surveillance. Scully had had to put up with bratty, smart-assed forensic
students all day. They both missed the investigations the X-Files had sent them on that were sometimes inane, but exciting, nonetheless.
They had gone to grab a bite to eat, catching up on what's happened in the past few weeks. Scully realized just how much she missed her ex-partner when he managed to make even wire tap's humorous.
Mulder drove her home. It was a beautiful night out, and Mulder had opened the moon roof. Scully gazed up at the stars dreamily. What a fun evening.
Suddenly, a bright white light, the headlight's of another car, Scully assumed, appeared in front of them.
"Hold on," Mulder shouted as he tried to swerve around the other vehicle. He didn't make it in time.
The next thing Scully remembered, she woke up, alone, on the floor of a 10' by 14' cement room with a steel door. It reminded her of Eve 6's cell. The only furnishings were a steel toilet and a hard cot.
Scully had been confused more than anything. She didn't know where she was, where Mulder was, what was going to happen, or how she was going to get home. But the frightened screams and sobs she heard from somewhere beyond the steel door quickly tu
rned her confusion into equal terror.
After hours of pacing (she knew it was hours because her watch was, luckily, in tact), she finally fell asleep.
*************************************************************
Scully shuddered as the last remnants of the memory faded. She glanced over to the small slot in the door that had just dropped open. Someone shoved a grey uniform and
shoes through the slot. They fell off the small ledge and to the floor. The uniform was followed by a note and a tray of food. Abruptly, the door of the slot closed.
Scully stood and went to the door. She picked up the note, which read: "You are our soldier. You shall do as you are told, or suffer the consequences. Put the uniform on. A
guard will be by to take you to training in two hours."
Scully glanced down at the tray of food. A gooey, grey substance, rubbery yellow stuff, and orange juice. She drank the juice, and tasted what she hoped was oatmeal. Geez, this is worse that hospital food, she thought.
Scully put on the uniform, folded her clothes neatly, and hid them away. They would make a good pillow or blanket if need be. She sat down on the cot and tried to choke down the rest of her breakfast, thinking about the days to come. What kind of
training? What had happened? Was Mulder here, wherever *here* was? She hoped she would see him at this "training" session.
Promptly two hours later, the door opened and a person with a gun, the guard, motioned her out. The guard was dressed in something that was a cross between an army uniform and a space suit. He was even wearing a helmet so that Scully couldn't see
his face.
He led her out onto a field, similar to a football field. The only difference was that a huge dome was built over the field, a black dome so that you could not see outside. Other humans were on the field, wearing the same uniform she wore. They w
ere all female, which proved to be a great disappointment to Scully. She had been hoping to see
Mulder.
A woman, the leader of the 25 women, who also wore a similar uniform as the guards, began shouting. "Set in five rows of five. NOW!" The frightened women scrambled to set.
The leader spoke again. "I am Lt. Clayton. You shall address me as such. You are here in what we call a drill team. We are preparing you for war. Our civilization fights
war much like the half-time of one of your football games. Over the next few weeks, you will be learning the basics, and eventually the routines that must be performed for war."
Scully's head was spinning. *Their* civilization? *Our* football games? Training for war? Where the hell was she?
Over the next eight hours, the drill team learned how to stand in blades, in fists, stand at a parade rest, and mark time. They dressed center, left and right. The women were
forced to marched up and down the field in perfect sync, both backwards and forwards. Diagonals, high Vs and low Vs, and parallels were also taught.
Lt. Clayton finally allowed the women to leave, but not before telling them that tomorrow she would not be as lenient. A guard came and escorted Scully back to her cell.
Shortly after returning to her cell, the evening meal came. Scully was relieved to find the food recognizable, and, for the most part, edible. A chicken leg, mashed potatos, and peas. She ate everything and left the tray on the door ledge to be t
aken away. Exhausted, Scully went to sleep.
************************************************************
Over the next few weeks, it was more of the same. Eight grueling hours of practice, learning the routines that would be used in battle. Scully lost weight dramatically and was
constantly sore and exhausted, as were the other women. This was due to the small portions of the two meals they were served daily and the exhausting practice schedule. Scully knew this was not the way to run an army, and since they were never allowed
to speak to Lt. Clayton, she decided to try a different approach.
She reached into the pocket of her trench coat, the one she had been wearing at the time they were abducted. She was reluctant to use the term "abducted," but she didn't know what else to call it. In the pocket, she found a notepad that she used t
o record notes at crime scenes and a pen.
Scully wrote a brief note stating that an exhausted, malnourished army would not win any battles. She left the note on her empty dinner tray, and went to bed.
The next morning, she immideately noticed that her note had gotten through to her captors. On her breakfast tray, she found eggs, toast, jam, cold cereal, and a slice of
melon. She ate hungrily.
At morning practice, Lt. Clayton made an announcement. "I have noticed that you are all exhausted and malnourished," she said, using Scully's exact words. "An army like that
will never win. So, starting today, you will all receive an afternoon break for lunch. In your cells, of course," she added quickly. "If I see a dramatic improvement, we will
begin to have ensemble. Ensemble means that we practice with the band and you are allowed to eat lunch and dinner in the mess hall. Now, let's begin."
Scully didn't care if she didn't get credit for the change in the conditions around here. It was changed, that's all that mattered. The other women around her looked positively jubilant.
That morning, they worked as hard as ever, maybe even harder than usual. But the 1:00 to 3:00 break they received (in their cells, of course) was absolutely wonderful.
************************************************************
The throbbing in her head woke Scully from a deep sleep. Oh no, she thought. Has it happened again?
Over the past few weeks, Scully had blacked out, and more than once. Whether it was from emotional strain or an external stimuli, possibly a combination of both, she wasn't
sure. The first time, she had blacked out on the field, just after the guard had taken her to practice after breakfast. The next thing she remembered was seeing a new breakfast tray
being set before her. When she checked her electronic pocket Rolodex, which had also seemed to be in perfect working condition, she saw that over thirty-three hours had passed.
All of these spells were accompanied by severe headaches and cramps, not to mention the extreme aching through every muscle. All of these symptoms were getting worse and worse with every spell. She was also growing increasingly scared of what was happe
ning during these spells. She didn't know what was going on, didn't want to know. Couldn't know.
With a groan and a lot of effort on her part to not throw up, Scully got up and went to wash herself with the basin of warm water that had been left for her, trying to wash away the uncertainty and fright. This was all too reminiscent of a time she
had tried to block out.
In her first year of high school, Scully's mother had made her join the drill team "It will help you make friends". So Scully joined, and a small part of her was excited about it. Until she had been there only a few weeks. She was excluded in the
worst way. Given no reason at all, Scully had not been allowed to perform at a single football game half-time show, not a single competition. She wasn't even allowed to practice, for she didn't have a spot in the show. She was told that new drills we
re being written, that she was an "alternate" and would fill in for people who were absent. All lies. It got to the point where the other girls resented her because they all thought that Dana was having fun, finishing her homework, not having to practi
ce, forgotten on that cold, lonely bench. She was even left out of holiday gift exchanges. This culminated in a furious confrontation between her parents and the teacher, and the eventual revocation of band and drill team funding. It was
the worst time of Dana's life.
Dana brushed away a tear as she got dressed. She gave up *so* much for that damned drill team, and she didn't get anything out of it, not even respect. And now, under similar
circumstances, she wondered how long she would go on being the victim.
At morning practice that day, Lt. Clayton made another announcement. "As of tomorrow, we will be holding ensemble. We have battle in two weeks. We must be prepared. Now, let's begin."
************************************************************
Scully awoke the next morning excited. She was sure Mulder was part of the band, and she really wanted to see him. She wanted him to give her his "out-there" explanation
of what had happened to them, so that she could give him her scientific explanation. Except she had none.
The guard came to take her to the field. It took every ounce of willpower not to run ahead.
When she got there, the rest of the band and drill team were assembling in their block. There was Mulder! He was standing in front of the block, but still at attention. He
was the drum major! She was so proud.
Lt. Clayton called them to attention. "As some of you know, I am Lt. Clayton. I run the drill team. This is Lt. Nelson, who runs the band." She motioned to the man standing
beside her. "Now, just because we are doing ensemble, don't you *DARE* think that you can goof off. We have battle in two weeks, and we WILL win."
They began practice. It was pretty much the same thing as before, the practicing on the field. The group practiced there routines and music, adding in more complex formations. One thing that was different was the fact that they practiced marching
up and down the concrete corridors, the drum beat vibrating so loud and hard against the walls that it felt like it was pulsating in your mind and reaching right down to your soul. Scully was sure that most, if not all of them, would suffer from some d
egree of permanent hearing loss.
1:00 rolled around, and the entire army was led to the mess hall, a large, cafeteria-type room. Scully got her tray of food, and then looked around for Mulder. She saw him in
the middle of the room, looking around. Assuming he was looking for her, Scully went up to him.
"Looking for someone?" she asked. He spun around.
"Dana! Are you okay? I've been so worried --"
Scully cut him off. "I'm fine," she lied. "Let's go sit down."
They sat at a table for two in the back corner of the mess hall.
"Mulder, what the hell happened? Where are we?"
"I don't know, Scully. I think we're in... I don't know, some kind of... other-worldly army."
"There must be some other answer," Scully said. "Maybe it's some other culture, another country, another religion. But another planet?"
"Ah, same old Dana Scully. Ever the disbeliever," Mulder chided. "Can't you just --,"
"believe," Scully finished. "No, my strict scientific upbringing won't allow it," she joked. "So are you okay?"
"I am, but I'm the drum major. Some of those other guys, though...."
Scully looked at him with a peculiar mix of concern and horror in her eyes. She was afraid to ask her next question, and was relieved when she didn't have to. Until she heard
what happened.
"Now, if you don't mind, can we talk about something other then where we are?"
The two of them shared their experiences of the last few weeks, joking and complaining just like old times. Scully was tempted, several times, in fact, to tell Mulder about her
spells, but something held her back. Eventually, it was time to go back to practice. Scully didn't know about Mulder, but she sure felt better knowing that he was here with her and
unharmed. Yet she couldn't fight the growing uneasiness she felt about Mulder's abduction theory. What other explanation could there be?
*************************************************************
Although it wasn't the first time Scully had a nightmare since she had been in this prison, as she had come to think of it, it was the first time she was able to remember one.
Many times she had woken up, trembling in fear, but unsure as to what, exactly, she was afraid of. This time, although the nightmare was not as severe as usual, she knew what she was dreaming.
In her dream, the X-Files had been reinstated (hey, anything can happen in a dream). She and Mulder were flying out to California, where their latest case was taking them.
The plane took off, and soon after, the P.A. system crackled to life.
"Hello. Welcome to flight 1303, non-stop from Washington, D.C. to Los Angeles, California. I'm your pilot, Lt. Clayton, and with me is your co-pilot, Lt. Nelson. Your
stewardesses, Abby, Cheryl, and Maura, will be coming around the cabins should you need anything. Enjoy the flight." The P.A. faded off.
In her dream, Scully turned towards Mulder. "Clayton and Nelson?" she cried.
"Ssh. Calm down, Scully," Mulder said, trying to comfort his increasingly panicky partner.
Scully looked at her companion incredulously. "Don't you *realize* who Clayton and Nelson are?"
"Of course I do. But it means nothing. They won't do anything to harm us. Why would they want to bring harm to their own army?"
"I guess..." Scully said, not sounding totally convinced.
"I *know*," Mulder assured her.
In her dream, both Mulder and Scully fell asleep, but were jarred awake an hour later by extreme turbulence, like none that either of them had ever felt.
"Attention all passengers!" Lt. Nelson's voice boomed out over the P.A. "We will be forced to make a crash landing! Please--" Before Nelson could finish his announcement, the plane was sudden jarred to a stop. People were screaming hysterically
, broken and bloodied. Many people were missing limbs, or were unconscious due to concussions. Other than a few cuts, bruises, and a possibly sprained ankle, Scully was okay. Mulder had a broken arm and some deep gashes, but was conscious. Scully qui
ckly tended
to him, and then went about trying to help the other passengers.
She was trying to revive an unconscious woman who was losing a lot of blood, when Lt. Clayton came up to her.
"Just what do you think you are doing?" Clayton demanded.
Scully looked up at Clayton, who still wore that helmet that kept Clayton's face a mystery. "I'm trying to save this woman. She's losing a lot of blood."
"I can see that," she retorted. "Now, move aside. The rescue crew can't reach us up here. We need to show these people how to march down to the pick-up site like a true
army."
"I'm a *doctor*. I can help. These people need--"
"What they *need* is for you to *step aside*!" With that, she slapped Scully across the face, sending her flying halfway across the cabin. Mulder immediately came to her aide, amazed at the relatively small woman's strength. Whoever she was, she w
as not human, at least not completely.
Scully finally came around, just in time to hear Lt. Nelson's announcement.
"Okay. The rescue crew has set up a meeting place at the base of this mountain. You are all to *march* down *in your set block*. I don't care that you're hurt. I don't want you to be pansies about this. Now let's get going!"
Scully awoke suddenly at the sound of her breakfast tray being slapped down on the ledge. Ironically, she was thankful for the monotonous reality, where she knew what to
expect. In dreams, who knew where you would end up?
She went to the ledge to retrieve her breakfast, like she did every morning. When she got there, her bare foot stepped down onto soft fabric instead of the cold floor she
had expected. When she looked down, Scully noticed a heap of clothes. Taking them over to the bed, she examined each piece. She found a pleated plaid skirt, white blouse, a
black vest, black socks and briefs, a lace jabot, white sneakers, and a wreath of flowers. A note was pinned to the blouse: "This will be your competition uniform. You're team
name is the Scots. You will make sure it fits, and then take it off. It is ONLY to be worn for competition. The flower wreaths will be worn in your hair, which will be French
braided."
Scully tried on the uniform. She was surprised to find that it fit perfectly, despite the fact that her measurements had never been taken. She ate her pancakes, which had long
since turned cold, then folded the discarded competition uniform and setting it next to her clothes, which she thought of almost as a security blanket. At night, she would often
wear her trench coat to sleep, feeling that sometimes it would help her forget the fear and confusion that had become daily feelings. Once, she even put on her regular clothes
and tried to pretend that this was just another repercussion of a case she and Mulder had been working. Except that it wasn't just another case, and she and Mulder may never work
together again.
The guard came, the same as he had every monotonous day, and took her to morning practice, the last practice before tomorrows... battle.
*************************************************************
The Scots boarded the bus silently. Scully mentally noted her surroundings, an automatic reflex she had developed after years of forensics studies. After converging on the field, the band lined up in their marching block, and were led down a long
corridor, past the mess hall, to a door at the end. Through the door, there was a long, empty room with tracks running in a pit in the ground, like that of subway tracks. The "buses", which closely resembled a monorail train, drove up. It was long and s
leek, and had two separate
compartments. The drill team, drum line, drum major, and Lt. Clayton were to sit in one compartment, while the rest of the band and Lt. Nelson sat in the other.
As Scully boarded the monorail and noticed that the train did not have a single window. After everyone boarded, the doors were sealed. What surprised Scully about this was
the fact that the doors were sealed so tightly that not a single beam of light was visible. It was as if the door and walls were made of quicksilver, for they seemed to almost *melt* together. She would have to ask Mulder about it later.
The seats were arranged around the wall of the train, so that they all looked towards the middle of the compartment. Soundproof glass divided the two compartments. Clayton took her place in front of the glass. Scully sat down towards the other end
, with Mulder on her right and a woman named Renee on her left.
Clayton stood and began to speak into a microphone hooked up to a loudspeaker. "Listen up," she barked. "Everyone is to remain seated unless otherwise told, *no matter what*. No eating, no singing, no shouting, no talking whatsoever. The trip wil
l take about 2 hours. When we get there, you will form your marching block and await further
instructions. Any questions?" A woman, whose name Scully was pretty sure was Anna, tentatively rose her hand. "Yes?" Clayton said crossly.
"Where exactly is *there*" Anna asked in a tone that held more self-assureness than her physical presence did.
"The battle field," Clayton said elusively. The Lieutenant who had been their captor for the past several months turned off the loudspeaker and sat down. The train lurched and
began to move forward.
And although Mulder couldn't tell her that everything would be all right, she was comforted simply by his presence, his hand around hers. Silence speaks a thousand words.
*************************************************************
The Scots marched stiffly out of the train onto the field, the steady dum-dum-da-dum of the drum the only sound. The field was identical to the practice field she had marched
so many times before, so much, in fact, that Scully began to wonder if they really had been taken to another field. It had been explained to the army that they were fighting in a
mutual spot, at neither army's field.
They marched to the end zone on the right. Nelson led the band to a separate area from the drill team. Clayton told the drill team to perform the stretching they had done
so many times before. Too many times. But this was... redundant. For 20 minutes, they stretched. And what was worst of all, Clayton came around and forced you to bend down
further and stretch farther than you safely could. At last, they rejoined the band and prepared for battle.
They first went out for pre-show. Both bands marched out from their end zones and met in the middle of the field.
When given the command, the Scot's drill team perform a four count move: First, snapping their hands out into low Vs, then bringing both hand behind their backs, grabbing both pom-pons into their left hand. On the third count, the left hand is brou
ght out into a low V as the right foot points out to the side. The hand is brought up to the temple in blades and the foot is brought in, flat against the leg, toe on the ground, simultaneously. This position was held for over five minutes. You had to
have good balance, for the consequences for waivering were severe. When it was over, both teams made an abrupt about face, and marched off the field. The other team, Scully didn't know or care who, went first. She didn't know what the other team did,
for she was too nervous to pay
attention.
Then, it was their turn.
Scully marched stiffly onto the field, a fake smile plastered on her face. This is it.
Scully set to her place. The music started, and she began. She felt drained, her movement mechanical. She shook her pom-pons, and moved around to where she had to. What would happen after this battle? she wondered as they went straight into the
next routine.
Before she even realized it, they were finished. Scully had no memory of the ten minute routine, complete with prop change. She had been too wrapped up in her own thoughts.
The team marched off the field into the end zone, again to that damned drum beat. Then came what Scully felt was the final verdict.
A tall, male judge stepped up to a microphone, wearing the same space suit that all the other officials wore. In fact, Scully noticed, everyone was wearing those damned suits
with those helmets, except for the bands and drill teams.
"We have decided," the judge began, "that the winners are the Tigers...." Scully paid no attention to the rest of his speech. She was too busy worrying about what would
happen now.
Scully followed as the Scots were led back to their train.
Once back at their home field, Lt. Nelson gave a short, anger filled speech.
"I am VERY disappointed in all of you idiots. I thought you were better than that. You were HORRIBLE! And you are of no use to us any more."
With that, Scully blacked out.
************************************************************
Scully awoke the next morning in her bed. *Her* bed. A dream, she thought. A horrible, horrible dream. She thought that her nightmares from high school were over with, but she guessed that there was one more left. She threw the bed covers off a
nd swung her legs over the side of the bed. Scully glanced down at her clothes and tried to stifle the scream that was rising in her throat. She was wearing the grey uniform.
*************************************************************
Since her last class ended at 4:30, Scully decided to go talk to Mulder. She *needed* to talk to Mulder. He would comfort her and tell her that she would be okay. All day,
she had this... unsettling feeling. Something had happened. Something so horrible had happened, she had buried it deep in her subconscious, possibly so deep it may never surface. Scully thought that may be just as well.
Mulder wasn't at his desk, and his picture of Samantha wasn't there. Not knowing what to do, Scully found her self wandering down to the old basement office the two of them had shared.
Although no one else had been assigned this office, Mulder's nameplate had long since been taken off the door. All of her and Mulder's personal effects had been removed
from the room, making it look... clean. Empty. Lonely.
She opened one of the drawers in the file cabinet, wondering if Skinner really had confiscated all of the X-Files. He had.
Scully sat down at Mulder's desk. For the hell of it, she opened one of the drawers, half expecting it to reek of sunflower seeds. It did.
Inside the drawer, she found a file. Skinner must have missed one, for it was the X-File Mulder had opened on his sister.
As Scully replaced the file, she noticed a picture frame at the bottom of the drawer, face down. Thinking it was the picture of Samantha, she picked it up and turned it over. It
wasn't Sam.
Instead, it was a picture of Mulder and Scully, together, taken at last years Christmas party. Scully smiled at the happy memory, of which there seemed so few lately.
"Memories...." Someone was singing behind her. She whirled around in her chair and came face to face with--
"Mulder! Where were you?"
"I was speaking with... a friend," he said elusively.
"A friend? Mulder, Deep Throat is dead. What did you do, hold a seance?"
"Let's just say he was a 'Deeper Throat'. He told me what happened."
Remembering the uneasy feeling she had had all day, Scully suddenly became nervous and edgy. She tried to determine what her chances were of getting out of the office before Mulder could tell her. The odds were against her, but she would try....
"Mulder, I don't want to know." She bolted up and made a bee-line for the door. Mulder grabbed her and sat her back down in the chair, never letting go of her. His grip was vise-like. "You *must* know. The truth has been kept a secret from us f
or so long. Don't turn away from it now. You must know," he repeated. Scully squirmed slightly, then, out of fear and exhaustion due to their recent experience, she gave up and slumped back in the chair.
"There is a group of alleged UFO abductees who have formed an... alliance of sorts," he began. "They gather groups of men and women to train them for battle. Exraterrestrial battle."
"No," Scully moaned, again trying to get out of that office. She didn't want to know, didn't want to remember.
Mulder ignored her. "They prepare these armies and then send them to do battle in the Reticulan Galaxy. Scully, we were two of those people. But we got through it. Are you
going to be okay? I realize it was hard--"
Scully finally broke free from Mulder grip and ran out of the office, tears streaming down her face, trying to tell herself that Mulder was wrong. But deep down, she knew
otherwise.
*************************************************************
Scully sat alone, silently staring out at the empty high-school football field before her, the only light being that of the bright full moon and near-by street lamps. She tried to sort out her mixed-up emotions, but it seemed impossible. She was c
onfused, anxious, depressed, and just plain *scared*. *What had happened*?
She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice Mulder's silent approach, nor did she hear the hesitancy in his voice when he spoke.
"Can I sit?" he asked uncertainly. She didn't answer, and taking that as the best sign he would get, he sat.
"Scully, I'm sorry," he said, figuring an out-and-out apology would be best to start out with. "I thought you deserved the truth. I thought you could *handle* the truth."
Scully sighed. "Mulder, unlike you, I never wanted to know the truth. Somewhere, out there, the truth is hiding, waiting to be discovered. I don't want to discover it, at least not this. Not this." Her voice faded off. "I've always been raised
to believe the scientific side of things. To believe facts that I could grasp, that I could *prove*."
"I know this is difficult for you to believe. You've never been a believer, and probably never will, but please, Scully, believe me now."
"I don't want to believe. I'm afraid...."
"Of what?" Mulder's voice became soft with concern. "Afraid that they'll come and take you again?"
Scully shook her head. "No, not that. I'm afraid... I'm afraid that I'll remember too much." When Mulder looked at her, she knew she could go on. She knew she could trust
him. "I get this feeling that I'm not remembering everything that happened. It's like... something happened, something so horrible that my mind automatically shut it out --,"
"It has been my experience with abductees that they often remember little or nothing of their experience. Many have been found with metal chips lodged in their cerebellum, as well as other signs that would point to the fact that they have had porti
ons of their memory erased. You remember Colonel Budahas --,"
This time it was Scully's turn to cut him off. "Mulder, I'm sure it was just some sort of selective memory blockage. It's a common psychological phenomenon in which the subconscious simply will not let the conscious mind remember certain experience
s due to the intense trauma," It felt good to argue like they used to.
Mulder put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Well, if you ever need anything, I'm always here," he said softly. She nodded sadly, melancholia setting in again. Mulder stood
and walked away slowly, wondering if either of them would ever be able to lead normal lives again.
Scully, lost in her thoughts, did not notice Mulder's departure. She simply stared out into the semi-darkness at the empty football field. Except in her mind, the field was
not empty.
THE END
"I think it's perfectly clear, we're in the wrong band"
-- Tori Amos, "The Wrong Band"
*************************************************************
TERMINOLOGY
Here are the definitions of the drill team terms I promised:
Blades: When standing at attention, your fingers are together, palms flat. Your finger tips rest lightly on your hips, elbows out at 45 degree angles. Extremely uncomfortable.
Fists: Again used when standing at attention. Hands are clenched in fists and are kept at your waist. Used mainly with pom-pons. Uncomfortable.
Parade Rest: When the drum major yells band parade rest, you go from attention and bring your hands behind your back and bring your left foot out so your feet are shoulder width apart. When in fists, hands are kept in fists, when in blades, hands are k
ept as blades. Mildly uncomfortable.
Marking Time: Baisically just marching in place until the drum major tells you to move forward.
Dressing: When told to dress, you have two counts to bring your hands up in front of your face, one in a fist, the other covering the fist. If told to dress center, you look towards center, right towards right, an left towards left. Uncomfortable.
Diagonals: They are just what they sound like. One arm is up at a 45 degree angle, while the other is down at 45 degrees. Extremely uncomfortable.
High Vs: Both arms are up at 45 degree angles. These are downright painful. Try it. I dare you. Chicken.
Low Vs: Both arms are down at 45 degree angles. Extremely uncomfortable.
Parallels: Both arms are held straight out to the sides. These, too, are downright painful.
Like I said, this is derived from my own drill team experiences. However, the abuses is mostly fictional. It is the exclusionary part, where Scully "flashes back". That is COMPLETELY true. The "final showdown" hasn't happened yet, although my parents
ARE furious and my dad does want the funding revoked. We'll see.
Please direct all comments, questions, constructive (not "You suck, man!") criticism to me, alysew@aol.com (AlyseW), but be gentle. This is my first story that was longer than three
pages. Al or Christine, if for some odd reason you are reading this, please take it with a grain of humor. Any Highlanders who are reading this, you never met me.
ile because of school work, and the prison they call drill team. At the end of the story, I have included an explanation of all of the band terms. No names have been changed to protect the innocent because no one
really is innocent. All characters, real or imaginary, are used intentionally without permission. No copyright infringement intended on The X-Files or Tori Amos. Insert
favorite disclaimer here.
BOOT CAMP
By: Alyse Wax (AlyseW@aol.com)
Scully awoke from a restless nights sleep. She was sore and exhausted. She looked around, trying to ascertain where she was. Then, without warning, the terrifying and confusing events of yesterday flooded her mind.
*************************************************************
It had been a hard day at work for both of them. Mulder had fallen asleep - thrice - doing wire tap surveillance. Scully had had to put up with bratty, smart-assed forensic
students all day. They both missed the investigations the X-Files had sent them on that were sometimes inane, but exciting, nonetheless.
They had gone to grab a bite to eat, catching up on what's happened in the past few weeks. Scully realized just how much she missed her ex-partner when he managed to make even wire tap's humorous.
Mulder drove her home. It was a beautiful night out, and Mulder had opened the moon roof. Scully gazed up at the stars dreamily. What a fun evening.
Suddenly, a bright white light, the headlight's of another car, Scully assumed, appeared in front of them.
"Hold on," Mulder shouted as he tried to swerve around the other vehicle. He didn't make it in time.
The next thing Scully remembered, she woke up, alone, on the floor of a 10' by 14' cement room with a steel door. It reminded her of Eve 6's cell. The only furnishings were a steel toilet and a hard cot.
Scully had been confused more than anything. She didn't know where she was, where Mulder was, what was going to happen, or how she was going to get home. But the frightened screams and sobs she heard from somewhere beyond the steel door quickly tu
rned her confusion into equal terror.
After hours of pacing (she knew it was hours because her watch was, luckily, in tact), she finally fell asleep.
*************************************************************
Scully shuddered as the last remnants of the memory faded. She glanced over to the small slot in the door that had just dropped open. Someone shoved a grey uniform and
shoes through the slot. They fell off the small ledge and to the floor. The uniform was followed by a note and a tray of food. Abruptly, the door of the slot closed.
Scully stood and went to the door. She picked up the note, which read: "You are our soldier. You shall do as you are told, or suffer the consequences. Put the uniform on. A
guard will be by to take you to training in two hours."
Scully glanced down at the tray of food. A gooey, grey substance, rubbery yellow stuff, and orange juice. She drank the juice, and tasted what she hoped was oatmeal. Geez, this is worse that hospital food, she thought.
Scully put on the uniform, folded her clothes neatly, and hid them away. They would make a good pillow or blanket if need be. She sat down on the cot and tried to choke down the rest of her breakfast, thinking about the days to come. What kind of
training? What had happened? Was Mulder here, wherever *here* was? She hoped she would see him at this "training" session.
Promptly two hours later, the door opened and a person with a gun, the guard, motioned her out. The guard was dressed in something that was a cross between an army uniform and a space suit. He was even wearing a helmet so that Scully couldn't see
his face.
He led her out onto a field, similar to a football field. The only difference was that a huge dome was built over the field, a black dome so that you could not see outside. Other humans were on the field, wearing the same uniform she wore. They w
ere all female, which proved to be a great disappointment to Scully. She had been hoping to see
Mulder.
A woman, the leader of the 25 women, who also wore a similar uniform as the guards, began shouting. "Set in five rows of five. NOW!" The frightened women scrambled to set.
The leader spoke again. "I am Lt. Clayton. You shall address me as such. You are here in what we call a drill team. We are preparing you for war. Our civilization fights
war much like the half-time of one of your football games. Over the next few weeks, you will be learning the basics, and eventually the routines that must be performed for war."
Scully's head was spinning. *Their* civilization? *Our* football games? Training for war? Where the hell was she?
Over the next eight hours, the drill team learned how to stand in blades, in fists, stand at a parade rest, and mark time. They dressed center, left and right. The women were
forced to marched up and down the field in perfect sync, both backwards and forwards. Diagonals, high Vs and low Vs, and parallels were also taught.
Lt. Clayton finally allowed the women to leave, but not before telling them that tomorrow she would not be as lenient. A guard came and escorted Scully back to her cell.
Shortly after returning to her cell, the evening meal came. Scully was relieved to find the food recognizable, and, for the most part, edible. A chicken leg, mashed potatos, and peas. She ate everything and left the tray on the door ledge to be t
aken away. Exhausted, Scully went to sleep.
************************************************************
Over the next few weeks, it was more of the same. Eight grueling hours of practice, learning the routines that would be used in battle. Scully lost weight dramatically and was
constantly sore and exhausted, as were the other women. This was due to the small portions of the two meals they were served daily and the exhausting practice schedule. Scully knew this was not the way to run an army, and since they were never allowed
to speak to Lt. Clayton, she decided to try a different approach.
She reached into the pocket of her trench coat, the one she had been wearing at the time they were abducted. She was reluctant to use the term "abducted," but she didn't know what else to call it. In the pocket, she found a notepad that she used t
o record notes at crime scenes and a pen.
Scully wrote a brief note stating that an exhausted, malnourished army would not win any battles. She left the note on her empty dinner tray, and went to bed.
The next morning, she immideately noticed that her note had gotten through to her captors. On her breakfast tray, she found eggs, toast, jam, cold cereal, and a slice of
melon. She ate hungrily.
At morning practice, Lt. Clayton made an announcement. "I have noticed that you are all exhausted and malnourished," she said, using Scully's exact words. "An army like that
will never win. So, starting today, you will all receive an afternoon break for lunch. In your cells, of course," she added quickly. "If I see a dramatic improvement, we will
begin to have ensemble. Ensemble means that we practice with the band and you are allowed to eat lunch and dinner in the mess hall. Now, let's begin."
Scully didn't care if she didn't get credit for the change in the conditions around here. It was changed, that's all that mattered. The other women around her looked positively jubilant.
That morning, they worked as hard as ever, maybe even harder than usual. But the 1:00 to 3:00 break they received (in their cells, of course) was absolutely wonderful.
************************************************************
The throbbing in her head woke Scully from a deep sleep. Oh no, she thought. Has it happened again?
Over the past few weeks, Scully had blacked out, and more than once. Whether it was from emotional strain or an external stimuli, possibly a combination of both, she wasn't
sure. The first time, she had blacked out on the field, just after the guard had taken her to practice after breakfast. The next thing she remembered was seeing a new breakfast tray
being set before her. When she checked her electronic pocket Rolodex, which had also seemed to be in perfect working condition, she saw that over thirty-three hours had passed.
All of these spells were accompanied by severe headaches and cramps, not to mention the extreme aching through every muscle. All of these symptoms were getting worse and worse with every spell. She was also growing increasingly scared of what was happe
ning during these spells. She didn't know what was going on, didn't want to know. Couldn't know.
With a groan and a lot of effort on her part to not throw up, Scully got up and went to wash herself with the basin of warm water that had been left for her, trying to wash away the uncertainty and fright. This was all too reminiscent of a time she
had tried to block out.
In her first year of high school, Scully's mother had made her join the drill team "It will help you make friends". So Scully joined, and a small part of her was excited about it. Until she had been there only a few weeks. She was excluded in the
worst way. Given no reason at all, Scully had not been allowed to perform at a single football game half-time show, not a single competition. She wasn't even allowed to practice, for she didn't have a spot in the show. She was told that new drills we
re being written, that she was an "alternate" and would fill in for people who were absent. All lies. It got to the point where the other girls resented her because they all thought that Dana was having fun, finishing her homework, not having to practi
ce, forgotten on that cold, lonely bench. She was even left out of holiday gift exchanges. This culminated in a furious confrontation between her parents and the teacher, and the eventual revocation of band and drill team funding. It was
the worst time of Dana's life.
Dana brushed away a tear as she got dressed. She gave up *so* much for that damned drill team, and she didn't get anything out of it, not even respect. And now, under similar
circumstances, she wondered how long she would go on being the victim.
At morning practice that day, Lt. Clayton made another announcement. "As of tomorrow, we will be holding ensemble. We have battle in two weeks. We must be prepared. Now, let's begin."
************************************************************
Scully awoke the next morning excited. She was sure Mulder was part of the band, and she really wanted to see him. She wanted him to give her his "out-there" explanation
of what had happened to them, so that she could give him her scientific explanation. Except she had none.
The guard came to take her to the field. It took every ounce of willpower not to run ahead.
When she got there, the rest of the band and drill team were assembling in their block. There was Mulder! He was standing in front of the block, but still at attention. He
was the drum major! She was so proud.
Lt. Clayton called them to attention. "As some of you know, I am Lt. Clayton. I run the drill team. This is Lt. Nelson, who runs the band." She motioned to the man standing
beside her. "Now, just because we are doing ensemble, don't you *DARE* think that you can goof off. We have battle in two weeks, and we WILL win."
They began practice. It was pretty much the same thing as before, the practicing on the field. The group practiced there routines and music, adding in more complex formations. One thing that was different was the fact that they practiced marching
up and down the concrete corridors, the drum beat vibrating so loud and hard against the walls that it felt like it was pulsating in your mind and reaching right down to your soul. Scully was sure that most, if not all of them, would suffer from some d
egree of permanent hearing loss.
1:00 rolled around, and the entire army was led to the mess hall, a large, cafeteria-type room. Scully got her tray of food, and then looked around for Mulder. She saw him in
the middle of the room, looking around. Assuming he was looking for her, Scully went up to him.
"Looking for someone?" she asked. He spun around.
"Dana! Are you okay? I've been so worried --"
Scully cut him off. "I'm fine," she lied. "Let's go sit down."
They sat at a table for two in the back corner of the mess hall.
"Mulder, what the hell happened? Where are we?"
"I don't know, Scully. I think we're in... I don't know, some kind of... other-worldly army."
"There must be some other answer," Scully said. "Maybe it's some other culture, another country, another religion. But another planet?"
"Ah, same old Dana Scully. Ever the disbeliever," Mulder chided. "Can't you just --,"
"believe," Scully finished. "No, my strict scientific upbringing won't allow it," she joked. "So are you okay?"
"I am, but I'm the drum major. Some of those other guys, though...."
Scully looked at him with a peculiar mix of concern and horror in her eyes. She was afraid to ask her next question, and was relieved when she didn't have to. Until she heard
what happened.
"Now, if you don't mind, can we talk about something other then where we are?"
The two of them shared their experiences of the last few weeks, joking and complaining just like old times. Scully was tempted, several times, in fact, to tell Mulder about her
spells, but something held her back. Eventually, it was time to go back to practice. Scully didn't know about Mulder, but she sure felt better knowing that he was here with her and
unharmed. Yet she couldn't fight the growing uneasiness she felt about Mulder's abduction theory. What other explanation could there be?
*************************************************************
Although it wasn't the first time Scully had a nightmare since she had been in this prison, as she had come to think of it, it was the first time she was able to remember one.
Many times she had woken up, trembling in fear, but unsure as to what, exactly, she was afraid of. This time, although the nightmare was not as severe as usual, she knew what she was dreaming.
In her dream, the X-Files had been reinstated (hey, anything can happen in a dream). She and Mulder were flying out to California, where their latest case was taking them.
The plane took off, and soon after, the P.A. system crackled to life.
"Hello. Welcome to flight 1303, non-stop from Washington, D.C. to Los Angeles, California. I'm your pilot, Lt. Clayton, and with me is your co-pilot, Lt. Nelson. Your
stewardesses, Abby, Cheryl, and Maura, will be coming around the cabins should you need anything. Enjoy the flight." The P.A. faded off.
In her dream, Scully turned towards Mulder. "Clayton and Nelson?" she cried.
"Ssh. Calm down, Scully," Mulder said, trying to comfort his increasingly panicky partner.
Scully looked at her companion incredulously. "Don't you *realize* who Clayton and Nelson are?"
"Of course I do. But it means nothing. They won't do anything to harm us. Why would they want to bring harm to their own army?"
"I guess..." Scully said, not sounding totally convinced.
"I *know*," Mulder assured her.
In her dream, both Mulder and Scully fell asleep, but were jarred awake an hour later by extreme turbulence, like none that either of them had ever felt.
"Attention all passengers!" Lt. Nelson's voice boomed out over the P.A. "We will be forced to make a crash landing! Please--" Before Nelson could finish his announcement, the plane was sudden jarred to a stop. People were screaming hysterically
, broken and bloodied. Many people were missing limbs, or were unconscious due to concussions. Other than a few cuts, bruises, and a possibly sprained ankle, Scully was okay. Mulder had a broken arm and some deep gashes, but was conscious. Scully qui
ckly tended
to him, and then went about trying to help the other passengers.
She was trying to revive an unconscious woman who was losing a lot of blood, when Lt. Clayton came up to her.
"Just what do you think you are doing?" Clayton demanded.
Scully looked up at Clayton, who still wore that helmet that kept Clayton's face a mystery. "I'm trying to save this woman. She's losing a lot of blood."
"I can see that," she retorted. "Now, move aside. The rescue crew can't reach us up here. We need to show these people how to march down to the pick-up site like a true
army."
"I'm a *doctor*. I can help. These people need--"
"What they *need* is for you to *step aside*!" With that, she slapped Scully across the face, sending her flying halfway across the cabin. Mulder immediately came to her aide, amazed at the relatively small woman's strength. Whoever she was, she w
as not human, at least not completely.
Scully finally came around, just in time to hear Lt. Nelson's announcement.
"Okay. The rescue crew has set up a meeting place at the base of this mountain. You are all to *march* down *in your set block*. I don't care that you're hurt. I don't want you to be pansies about this. Now let's get going!"
Scully awoke suddenly at the sound of her breakfast tray being slapped down on the ledge. Ironically, she was thankful for the monotonous reality, where she knew what to
expect. In dreams, who knew where you would end up?
She went to the ledge to retrieve her breakfast, like she did every morning. When she got there, her bare foot stepped down onto soft fabric instead of the cold floor she
had expected. When she looked down, Scully noticed a heap of clothes. Taking them over to the bed, she examined each piece. She found a pleated plaid skirt, white blouse, a
black vest, black socks and briefs, a lace jabot, white sneakers, and a wreath of flowers. A note was pinned to the blouse: "This will be your competition uniform. You're team
name is the Scots. You will make sure it fits, and then take it off. It is ONLY to be worn for competition. The flower wreaths will be worn in your hair, which will be French
braided."
Scully tried on the uniform. She was surprised to find that it fit perfectly, despite the fact that her measurements had never been taken. She ate her pancakes, which had long
since turned cold, then folded the discarded competition uniform and setting it next to her clothes, which she thought of almost as a security blanket. At night, she would often
wear her trench coat to sleep, feeling that sometimes it would help her forget the fear and confusion that had become daily feelings. Once, she even put on her regular clothes
and tried to pretend that this was just another repercussion of a case she and Mulder had been working. Except that it wasn't just another case, and she and Mulder may never work
together again.
The guard came, the same as he had every monotonous day, and took her to morning practice, the last practice before tomorrows... battle.
*************************************************************
The Scots boarded the bus silently. Scully mentally noted her surroundings, an automatic reflex she had developed after years of forensics studies. After converging on the field, the band lined up in their marching block, and were led down a long
corridor, past the mess hall, to a door at the end. Through the door, there was a long, empty room with tracks running in a pit in the ground, like that of subway tracks. The "buses", which closely resembled a monorail train, drove up. It was long and s
leek, and had two separate
compartments. The drill team, drum line, drum major, and Lt. Clayton were to sit in one compartment, while the rest of the band and Lt. Nelson sat in the other.
As Scully boarded the monorail and noticed that the train did not have a single window. After everyone boarded, the doors were sealed. What surprised Scully about this was
the fact that the doors were sealed so tightly that not a single beam of light was visible. It was as if the door and walls were made of quicksilver, for they seemed to almost *melt* together. She would have to ask Mulder about it later.
The seats were arranged around the wall of the train, so that they all looked towards the middle of the compartment. Soundproof glass divided the two compartments. Clayton took her place in front of the glass. Scully sat down towards the other end
, with Mulder on her right and a woman named Renee on her left.
Clayton stood and began to speak into a microphone hooked up to a loudspeaker. "Listen up," she barked. "Everyone is to remain seated unless otherwise told, *no matter what*. No eating, no singing, no shouting, no talking whatsoever. The trip wil
l take about 2 hours. When we get there, you will form your marching block and await further
instructions. Any questions?" A woman, whose name Scully was pretty sure was Anna, tentatively rose her hand. "Yes?" Clayton said crossly.
"Where exactly is *there*" Anna asked in a tone that held more self-assureness than her physical presence did.
"The battle field," Clayton said elusively. The Lieutenant who had been their captor for the past several months turned off the loudspeaker and sat down. The train lurched and
began to move forward.
And although Mulder couldn't tell her that everything would be all right, she was comforted simply by his presence, his hand around hers. Silence speaks a thousand words.
*************************************************************
The Scots marched stiffly out of the train onto the field, the steady dum-dum-da-dum of the drum the only sound. The field was identical to the practice field she had marched
so many times before, so much, in fact, that Scully began to wonder if they really had been taken to another field. It had been explained to the army that they were fighting in a
mutual spot, at neither army's field.
They marched to the end zone on the right. Nelson led the band to a separate area from the drill team. Clayton told the drill team to perform the stretching they had done
so many times before. Too many times. But this was... redundant. For 20 minutes, they stretched. And what was worst of all, Clayton came around and forced you to bend down
further and stretch farther than you safely could. At last, they rejoined the band and prepared for battle.
They first went out for pre-show. Both bands marched out from their end zones and met in the middle of the field.
When given the command, the Scot's drill team perform a four count move: First, snapping their hands out into low Vs, then bringing both hand behind their backs, grabbing both pom-pons into their left hand. On the third count, the left hand is brou
ght out into a low V as the right foot points out to the side. The hand is brought up to the temple in blades and the foot is brought in, flat against the leg, toe on the ground, simultaneously. This position was held for over five minutes. You had to
have good balance, for the consequences for waivering were severe. When it was over, both teams made an abrupt about face, and marched off the field. The other team, Scully didn't know or care who, went first. She didn't know what the other team did,
for she was too nervous to pay
attention.
Then, it was their turn.
Scully marched stiffly onto the field, a fake smile plastered on her face. This is it.
Scully set to her place. The music started, and she began. She felt drained, her movement mechanical. She shook her pom-pons, and moved around to where she had to. What would happen after this battle? she wondered as they went straight into the
next routine.
Before she even realized it, they were finished. Scully had no memory of the ten minute routine, complete with prop change. She had been too wrapped up in her own thoughts.
The team marched off the field into the end zone, again to that damned drum beat. Then came what Scully felt was the final verdict.
A tall, male judge stepped up to a microphone, wearing the same space suit that all the other officials wore. In fact, Scully noticed, everyone was wearing those damned suits
with those helmets, except for the bands and drill teams.
"We have decided," the judge began, "that the winners are the Tigers...." Scully paid no attention to the rest of his speech. She was too busy worrying about what would
happen now.
Scully followed as the Scots were led back to their train.
Once back at their home field, Lt. Nelson gave a short, anger filled speech.
"I am VERY disappointed in all of you idiots. I thought you were better than that. You were HORRIBLE! And you are of no use to us any more."
With that, Scully blacked out.
************************************************************
Scully awoke the next morning in her bed. *Her* bed. A dream, she thought. A horrible, horrible dream. She thought that her nightmares from high school were over with, but she guessed that there was one more left. She threw the bed covers off a
nd swung her legs over the side of the bed. Scully glanced down at her clothes and tried to stifle the scream that was rising in her throat. She was wearing the grey uniform.
*************************************************************
Since her last class ended at 4:30, Scully decided to go talk to Mulder. She *needed* to talk to Mulder. He would comfort her and tell her that she would be okay. All day,
she had this... unsettling feeling. Something had happened. Something so horrible had happened, she had buried it deep in her subconscious, possibly so deep it may never surface. Scully thought that may be just as well.
Mulder wasn't at his desk, and his picture of Samantha wasn't there. Not knowing what to do, Scully found her self wandering down to the old basement office the two of them had shared.
Although no one else had been assigned this office, Mulder's nameplate had long since been taken off the door. All of her and Mulder's personal effects had been removed
from the room, making it look... clean. Empty. Lonely.
She opened one of the drawers in the file cabinet, wondering if Skinner really had confiscated all of the X-Files. He had.
Scully sat down at Mulder's desk. For the hell of it, she opened one of the drawers, half expecting it to reek of sunflower seeds. It did.
Inside the drawer, she found a file. Skinner must have missed one, for it was the X-File Mulder had opened on his sister.
As Scully replaced the file, she noticed a picture frame at the bottom of the drawer, face down. Thinking it was the picture of Samantha, she picked it up and turned it over. It
wasn't Sam.
Instead, it was a picture of Mulder and Scully, together, taken at last years Christmas party. Scully smiled at the happy memory, of which there seemed so few lately.
"Memories...." Someone was singing behind her. She whirled around in her chair and came face to face with--
"Mulder! Where were you?"
"I was speaking with... a friend," he said elusively.
"A friend? Mulder, Deep Throat is dead. What did you do, hold a seance?"
"Let's just say he was a 'Deeper Throat'. He told me what happened."
Remembering the uneasy feeling she had had all day, Scully suddenly became nervous and edgy. She tried to determine what her chances were of getting out of the office before Mulder could tell her. The odds were against her, but she would try....
"Mulder, I don't want to know." She bolted up and made a bee-line for the door. Mulder grabbed her and sat her back down in the chair, never letting go of her. His grip was vise-like. "You *must* know. The truth has been kept a secret from us f
or so long. Don't turn away from it now. You must know," he repeated. Scully squirmed slightly, then, out of fear and exhaustion due to their recent experience, she gave up and slumped back in the chair.
"There is a group of alleged UFO abductees who have formed an... alliance of sorts," he began. "They gather groups of men and women to train them for battle. Exraterrestrial battle."
"No," Scully moaned, again trying to get out of that office. She didn't want to know, didn't want to remember.
Mulder ignored her. "They prepare these armies and then send them to do battle in the Reticulan Galaxy. Scully, we were two of those people. But we got through it. Are you
going to be okay? I realize it was hard--"
Scully finally broke free from Mulder grip and ran out of the office, tears streaming down her face, trying to tell herself that Mulder was wrong. But deep down, she knew
otherwise.
*************************************************************
Scully sat alone, silently staring out at the empty high-school football field before her, the only light being that of the bright full moon and near-by street lamps. She tried to sort out her mixed-up emotions, but it seemed impossible. She was c
onfused, anxious, depressed, and just plain *scared*. *What had happened*?
She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice Mulder's silent approach, nor did she hear the hesitancy in his voice when he spoke.
"Can I sit?" he asked uncertainly. She didn't answer, and taking that as the best sign he would get, he sat.
"Scully, I'm sorry," he said, figuring an out-and-out apology would be best to start out with. "I thought you deserved the truth. I thought you could *handle* the truth."
Scully sighed. "Mulder, unlike you, I never wanted to know the truth. Somewhere, out there, the truth is hiding, waiting to be discovered. I don't want to discover it, at least not this. Not this." Her voice faded off. "I've always been raised
to believe the scientific side of things. To believe facts that I could grasp, that I could *prove*."
"I know this is difficult for you to believe. You've never been a believer, and probably never will, but please, Scully, believe me now."
"I don't want to believe. I'm afraid...."
"Of what?" Mulder's voice became soft with concern. "Afraid that they'll come and take you again?"
Scully shook her head. "No, not that. I'm afraid... I'm afraid that I'll remember too much." When Mulder looked at her, she knew she could go on. She knew she could trust
him. "I get this feeling that I'm not remembering everything that happened. It's like... something happened, something so horrible that my mind automatically shut it out --,"
"It has been my experience with abductees that they often remember little or nothing of their experience. Many have been found with metal chips lodged in their cerebellum, as well as other signs that would point to the fact that they have had porti
ons of their memory erased. You remember Colonel Budahas --,"
This time it was Scully's turn to cut him off. "Mulder, I'm sure it was just some sort of selective memory blockage. It's a common psychological phenomenon in which the subconscious simply will not let the conscious mind remember certain experience
s due to the intense trauma," It felt good to argue like they used to.
Mulder put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Well, if you ever need anything, I'm always here," he said softly. She nodded sadly, melancholia setting in again. Mulder stood
and walked away slowly, wondering if either of them would ever be able to lead normal lives again.
Scully, lost in her thoughts, did not notice Mulder's departure. She simply stared out into the semi-darkness at the empty football field. Except in her mind, the field was
not empty.
THE END
"I think it's perfectly clear, we're in the wrong band"
-- Tori Amos, "The Wrong Band"
*************************************************************
TERMINOLOGY
Here are the definitions of the drill team terms I promised:
Blades: When standing at attention, your fingers are together, palms flat. Your finger tips rest lightly on your hips, elbows out at 45 degree angles. Extremely uncomfortable.
Fists: Again used when standing at attention. Hands are clenched in fists and are kept at your waist. Used mainly with pom-pons. Uncomfortable.
Parade Rest: When the drum major yells band parade rest, you go from attention and bring your hands behind your back and bring your left foot out so your feet are shoulder width apart. When in fists, hands are kept in fists, when in blades, hands are k
ept as blades. Mildly uncomfortable.
Marking Time: Baisically just marching in place until the drum major tells you to move forward.
Dressing: When told to dress, you have two counts to bring your hands up in front of your face, one in a fist, the other covering the fist. If told to dress center, you look towards center, right towards right, an left towards left. Uncomfortable.
Diagonals: They are just what they sound like. One arm is up at a 45 degree angle, while the other is down at 45 degrees. Extremely uncomfortable.
High Vs: Both arms are up at 45 degree angles. These are downright painful. Try it. I dare you. Chicken.
Low Vs: Both arms are down at 45 degree angles. Extremely uncomfortable.
Parallels: Both arms are held straight out to the sides. These, too, are downright painful.
Like I said, this is derived from my own drill team experiences. However, the abuses is mostly fictional. It is the exclusionary part, where Scully "flashes back". That is COMPLETELY true. The "final showdown" hasn't happened yet, although my parents
ARE furious and my dad does want the funding revoked. We'll see.
Please direct all comments, questions, constructive (not "You suck, man!") criticism to me, alysew@aol.com (AlyseW), but be gentle. This is my first story that was longer than three
pages. Al or Christine, if for some odd reason you are reading this, please take it with a grain of humor. Any Highlanders who are reading this, you never met me.
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