Life Cycles: The Unveiling

by Susan Proto 

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Part 3/5


Spring, 1996

They paid the last of the tolls on Interstate 84 and
reached Interstate 90 at about 6:00 p.m. The rush hour
("rush-hour" ... What kind of traffic was it? It's a
compound adjective, and it needs a hyphen.) traffic was
having an impact on how far they progressed to Boston.
(Evil, thy name is passive structure. How about, "The
heavy traffic slowed their progress to Boston." Or,
"Rush-hour traffic kept Scully from racing away from this
bad characterization.") Also, (Why "also"? It doesn't
really advance the previous thought.) Scully's stomach
was starting to rumble, as the granola bars they had
picked up from the vending machines at the last toll area
just did not satisfy her. (Only peeled grapes fed to her
by an adoring Mulder wearing only a loincloth while Skinner
fanned her with palm fronds could do that.)

"Mulder, do you think you could handle some dinner. (Um.
This is a question, and therefore needs a question mark.)
The traffic's going to be a little heavy for a while
longer, and I'm getting really hungry." (The goddess
needs to eat!)

He looked at her and immediately felt guilty, again.
(Mulder's Guilt Complex is a previously documented
phenomenon. No need for "again".) "I'm sorry(,) Scully,
why didn't you say anything?"

"Mulder, I just did." She sounded a tad exasperated.
"Don't go traveling on some guilt trip because I'm
hungry, okay? We've got far enough to drive without you
taking any detours," she said seriously, but with the
hint of a smile on her lips. (This is actually a good
line. Too bad the plodding exposition ruins it.)

"Okay," he replied. "I guess I'm feeling a little hungry
too, since I used up my reserves a while back." (Anonymous
congratulates the author on the proper use of "a while".)

"Good, ("Good. Let's ...") so let's find a diner, eat, and
then you can drive the rest of the way since you're a
little more familiar with the area than I am. Deal?"

"Deal," he replied.

They (Technically, "She" is proper since only Scully is
actually driving.) kept driving until they saw a sign for
Food (right next to Gas, Lodging and Bait) and got off the
exit. (Got off the exit? No. Took the exit, or exited the
freeway.) They found the small diner easily (unnecessary
adverb), parked the car, and entered the nondescript
eatery. The young waitress led them to a booth and left
them with a couple of menus. ("... left a couple of menus
with them." Otherwise it's the waitress leaving with the
menus.)

"So, how are you feeling now, Mulder?"

"Okay."

Scully looked at him and wondered just how far from the
truth that was. He slept in the car after she gave him the
Tylenol, but he would only take one instead of the
normally prescribed two. Since he was tall, the potency
would be that much less than it would be for someone,
say(,) of Scully's stature. ("Of Scully's stature." What?
She told me to say it. And right about now I would kill
for a complex sentence, or a paragraph that allows me to
infer something.)

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

"Yeah, sure." He wasn't all that convincing. (Show, don't
tell! "His soft murmur was far from convincing.")

"Better make sure you eat something light, since your
stomach probably isn't totally settled yet," she advised.
(Mommy!Scully appears. Ick. Have her internalize this. We
know she cares, but at this point in their partnership
they'll both be damned if they're vocal about it.) She
wanted to make sure he ate at least something. (Clumsy
exposition strikes again.)

When the waitress returned, Scully ordered tuna on whole
wheat with lettuce and tomato, and a cup of tomato soup,
while Mulder ordered scrambled eggs and toast with jam.
Scully requested a cup of coffee, while Mulder requested
just ice water. (We don't need to know EXACTLY what they
ordered. "When the waitress returned, they gave her their
orders. Scully asked for coffee, but Mulder wanted just
ice water." There. See? Simple, smooth, unencumbered.)

"No iced tea?" she asked curiously.

"No, for some reason I'm just in the mood for ice water.
Weird, huh?" he asked with a lop sided (lopsided) grin
formed (No need for formed.) on his face.

#####################################################

They had eaten pretty much in silence. Scully ate her
sandwich hungrily, while (but) Mulder (just) picked at the
eggs and toast. He was thirsty, as a result of being
dehydrated from the earlier incident, so he drank the ice
water eagerly. (He did drink the ice water eagerly; the
episode by the roadside had left him dehydrated.)

After freshening up in the rest rooms (restrooms), the
partners climbed back into their (the) car. This time(,)
Mulder was in the driver's seat(. End here ... most of us
would assume Scully would take shotgun.) while Scully took
the navigator's side. They drove back to the highway and
continued for another hour till they got to the entrance
to Interstate 93.

"We're practically there, Scully. Actually, we made pretty
good time, considering we made a few stops." By the time
they actually arrived in Boston proper, it was a little
before eight o'clock. The partners were tired and
desperately in need of stretching their limbs out after
the almost nine(-)hour trip. (Show, don't tell again.
"They arrived in Boston a little before eight. Scully's
entire body protested when she moved to get out of the
car; nine hours of travel had left her stiff and cramped."
Also, I know it's difficult to keep thinking of new ways
to say things, but the repetition of "the partners" is
very tedious.)

They found a Comfort Inn and went to check in. Scully went
in to do the honors. She considered the fact that this trip
was on their own time and therefore was their own expense.

(Anonymous would like to pause at this point for a few
comments: This author's biggest stumbling block is her
over-attention to detail. Each writer has his or her own
style, I know, but the simplistic style and plodding pace
had me skimming over a lot of this whole series. A good
beta could have tightened things up considerably. For
instance, if I were the beta reader, for the previous
paragraph I would have suggested, "They found a Comfort
Inn, and Scully went in to do the honors. Considering the
fact that this trip was on their own time and therefore
their own expense, she asked for one double room." Then you
don't need the next paragraph, and it leads into the
clerk's comment. So we have action, pace, movement. Good
things all. Okay, end of comment. Back to your regularly
scheduled witchiness.)

"I'd like a double room for the night please."

"Do you want two doubles or two queens?" (asked the clerk.)

After only a moment's thought, (she said,) "Two queens,
please."

Scully handed over her credit card, signed them in, and got
the key cards. She returned to Mulder, who was waiting in
the car, and told him to drive over to room 137.

Mulder parked the car in front of the room, and popped the
trunk. He removed the luggage and dropped Scully's bags in
front of the door marked 137. (More examples of unnecessary
exposition. Two sentences take care of it all: "Scully got
back in the car and told Mulder to drive to Room 137. He
dropped Scully's bags in front of the door, then looked
around and wondered, "Where's my room, Scully?")

"Where's my room, Scully?"

She looked a little uncomfortable, but decided (knew) that
it really was the most practical way of approaching things,
so she nonchalantly said, "Right here. I decided we'd save
some money, since this bill's not being picked up by Uncle
Sam, so I thought we would share a room. You don't mind, do
you Mulder?"

Mulder's mouth gaped as he stared back at her. "Scully?(,)"
he asked (said), "Are (lowercase "a," this isn't the start
of a new sentence) you sure about this? I mean, you know
how little I sleep. I'm afraid I might disturb you." (Whoa!
Where did this Mulder come from? At this point, he would
*never* talk about bothering Scully with nightmares. Denial
ain't just a river in Egypt, folks. End after "Are you sure
about this?")

"Mulder, it's because I know how little you sleep that I
figured this might make the most sense. You, yourself,
(Those commas around "yourself" are unnecessary. And if you
change the previous paragraph you can eliminate the first
sentence. It's stronger, anyway.) said you've been having a
reoccurring (recurring) nightmare. I don't want to be too
far from you tonight, just in case you need me, you know,
my medical expertise." (A good place for Scully to stumble
verbally, but try this: "... need me -- er, I mean my
medical expertise.")

Scully felt herself blushing (blush). *Need __her__
indeed,* she thought. *He needs a family who's (that's) not
so damned dysfunctional, that's what he needs.*

Mulder felt himself blushing. *__Need__ her indeed,* he
thought. *I've needed her for so long, but now I want her
even more.* (Funky way to show italics. I'd 86 the
asterisks as internal thought indicators, use 'em for
italics, and go for the old-standard single quotes. And
the underscores are very unwieldy.)

"Okay, Scully, it's your call." He grabbed the bags while
Scully opened the door.

After Scully hung up their dress clothes in the closet for
tomorrow's service, and unpacked the few pieces of clothing
from their small sports bags, she asked Mulder if he would
like to go out for a walk. He appeared to hesitate at the
invitation. (Nope. Nuh-uh. Scully would not hang up his
clothes. He'd either hang them up himself or leave 'em on
the chair/bed. How about, "Scully put her clothes away,
hanging up her dress for tomorrow's service, then asked
him if he would like to go for a walk ...")

"It's a beautiful evening, and I really need to stretch out
a little. C'mon, I don't want to walk in the dark alone."
She knew that last line would twist his arm. (Out, out
damned exposition!)

"With pleasure, m'lady." And he offered the crook of his
arm, which she happily pushed her hand through. (He offered
the crook of his arm, and she slipped a hand through it.)
With the other hand she grabbed the key card and left. (She
grabbed the key card with her other hand, and they left.)

They walked silently together along the town road (there's
only one road in this town?), each immersed in their own
thoughts, but feeling most (take out "most") comfortable
walking along the side of the one person they trusted the
most. (Too many words. Obfuscation. "... comfortable in
the presence of a trusted friend." Subtlety, folks. It's
what's for dinner.)

#####################################################

April 13, 1995

He remembered being (Mulder was) surprised when he (his
father) called and asked him to come to _his_ home in West
Tisbury. (Again with the underscores. After further
rumination, I have to say I'm against them. They're not
attractive and pull me out of the story. I realize in the
plain text world our options are limited, but asterisks
are our friends.) Mulder wasn't feeling well himself at
that point, and didn't know if he was up to dealing with
his father. (I would delete that last sentence, and address
it in the next paragraph.)

He hadn't gone to his home often and was reluctant to go
there now, but when Bill Mulder phoned he sounded upset.
And he told him there were things he needed to discuss
with him. Things that needed to be told. (Ugh. "Things" is
quite possibly the laziest word a writer can use. I am also
disconcerted by the frequent use of "and" to begin a
sentence. Pronoun issues, too. Try this:

"Not feeling well himself, Mulder was reluctant to go. But
his father had sounded distressed and urgent on the phone,
so Mulder went.")

Mulder watched as the door opened in front of him. When he
saw his father standing before him, he saw a tired,
defeated man. (The door opened to reveal a tired, defeated
man.) Mulder offered his hand to shake, but the older man
reached towards him to embrace him. ("... but the older man
embraced him." Action, kids.)

Mulder returned the hug in shock. He couldn't remember the
last time his father hugged him. He couldn't remember the
last time his father expressed any kind of affection for
him. (Make the two previous sentences one: "He couldn't
remember the last time his father hugged him, much less
expressed any kind of affection for him.")

"Dad? Dad, what's wrong?"

The senior Mulder motioned him into the living room. He
seemed worried and apparently wanted to discuss something.
After a bit of small talk, Bill Mulder excused himself.
"I have to take some medication, Fox. I'll be right back.
Then there are things I need to get off my chest. There are
things you should know, Fox, " he said uneasily. He left to
go to the bathroom, where he kept his medication. Mulder
sat and fidgeted in the living room, waiting.

(Whoa! This paragraph is problematic on many levels. If
this is Mulder's POV -- and I'm really not sure if it is,
which is not a good thing -- Mulder could see that his
father appeared worried, but not that he wanted to discuss
something. Mulder would not think of his father as "the
senior Mulder." Mulder wouldn't know that his father was
headed for the bathroom, or that he kept his medication
there. I gave the ep transcript a read, and Bill does
comment about the medication, but it's treated far too
ham-handedly here.

To wit: Our fair author suffers from the affliction of Too
Much Information. Some details don't need to be shared. We
don't care if Agent Coolio decided to go to the bathroom
at 3:57 p.m., no matter how bad he had to wee-wee. Good
writing is all about good decisions, Gentle Reader; 'tis
*always* better to err on the side of silence. Respect your
readers, and you know what? They'll respect you.

So. With a little judicious wielding of the red pen, this
atrocious concatenation could become readable. Let's give
it a whirl, shall we?

"His father appeared worried as he motioned Mulder into
the living room. After a bit of small talk, he excused
himself, saying something about medication. Mulder stayed
in the living room and fidgeted."

Ah. Don't you feel better? I know I do.)

BANG! (I laughed out loud when I read this. I mean, c'mon.
"BANG!" does *not* create dramatic tension in any way,
shape or form. Sure, it's the sound a gun makes, but ...
ug. Ug ug ug.

"A shot rang out, and when Mulder found his father on the
bathroom floor, it was too late to save him. 'Forgive me,'
said the father, but he died before the son could ask what
there was to forgive." Just a suggestion.)

#####################################################

April 12, 1996

Scully felt him gasp for air. She felt him clutch her arm
tighter, and she in turn, grasped him more firmly as well.
(And we're back to the exposition. We're out of character
again, too; Mulder would never show this much emotion
while out on a walk, of all things. He and Scully are
masters at the art of hiding their feelings.)

"Mulder? Are you all right?"

"Yeah, Scully. I'm all right," he said(,) a little
breathlessly. "I just think a little too much for my own
good."

She gave him a knowing look(. Delete the rest of it before
Scully talks.) and then said, "You know, I'm getting a
little tired. Would you mind if we went back to the motel
room now?"

"Not at all," he responded gratefully. Mulder realized
Scully could have kept walking all the way to Quincy
Market, but she was well aware that he was feeling drained
and fatigued. (Nice try for local color, but there's no
perspective! How far were they from Quincy Market to start
with? I can see that it's a distance, but it's little
details like this that make or break the atmosphere.)

When they returned to their room, Scully announced she was
going to take a quick shower and change into her pajamas.
(Sigh. I am very tired of pointing out the places where
the tone is pandering, simplistic and almost condescending,
as if the author wants to make absosmurfly sure that we
have any and all information needed to "get it." From now
on, I'm just going to mark the spots with "TMI," and
perhaps a few words about what I got. Mumps, possibly.
They might be more fun.)

"So, you want company, Scully?" he asked teasingly.

"Not tonight, Mulder. May I take a rain check?" she asked,
way too seriously for Mulder to take it calmly. (No no no
no no no no no! A thousand times, no! Scully does not ask
for anything. She would say, "Not tonight, Mulder. But I'll
take a rain check.")

"Anytime you want to cash it in, you let me know," he
responded in a tone that he tried very hard to keep even.
(Mulder would, however, say this, and in this way. Good.)

"I'll let you know (I will), don't worry." And with that,
Scully grabbed her night clothes and went into the
bathroom.

About a half hour later, (TMI) they traded places. When
Mulder emerged from the bathroom with his hair wet from
the shower, he saw Scully was already laying in the bed
closest to the television(,) (Delete: ". She was") channel
surfing (channel-surfing) with the best of them.

(Serious POV problems here. The author does not seem to
know whose head she wants to be in, so we have a dizzying
mix of Mulder, Scully and 3rd person schizophrenic POV.)

"Hey(,) Scully, I figured I would take that bed since I'm
usually up all night watching the tube ("the tube?" Since
when would Mulder call it this? It's a TV.) anyway."

"It's okay, Mulder. We can share," she responded
casually(.) (This next bit could be put to good use in the
following paragraph. You'll see.) without taking her eyes
off of the television.

Mulder's incredulous look was wasted because Scully never
took her eyes off of the screen. (See?) He watched her pat
the bed as an invitation to join her, so he slowly walked
toward the bed.

"Scully?" He wanted to make sure he wasn't misinterpreting
her actions. She scooted over to one side and pulled the
bed sheet (bedsheet) and cover up ("cover up"? The bed has
blemishes? No, it's a bedspread.) to allow him access. (Is
she still staring at the TV through all this? Very odd.
Very un-Scully.)

He crawled into the bed and sat stiffly by her. Scully
smiled inwardly at his shyness, and decided she needed to
let him know there was no pressure, no threat, nothing to
fear. She inched her way to his side and laid close to his
arm. (TMI! Show, don't tell! "Wanting to put Mulder at
ease, Scully inched ..." Gets rid of some filler, too.)

"I think I'm going to close my eyes, Mulder. Good night."
(Stilted. A simple "Good night, Mulder," will do.) She
relaxed her body as much as she could while laying next
to him. She wanted him to know how much she cared about
him and wanted to be there for him, but at the same time,
she wanted to avoid pushing him into a situation neither
of them might not be ready for. (TMI. "She relaxed, though
not fully, waiting for his reaction.")

"Good night Scully." ("Night, Scully." Even though these
two are emotionally stunted, they're still very comfortable
with each other. Let them be themselves. Then again, why
start now? Ah well, at least Ms. Proto is consistent in her
mischaracterizations.) He allowed himself to relax more and
more as the minutes ticked away and Scully herself fell
into a deeper sleep. (We're playing POV Roulette again.
TMI, too.) As she slept, he felt her unwittingly nestle
closer to him, until he had no choice but to raise his arm
and pull her closer toward his chest. He wrapped his arm
around her shoulders and breathed in the scent of her hair
and her whole being. (A nice moment, lost in wordiness.)

He felt her snuggle into his arm and chest, and he moved
still closer to her as well. (Any closer and they'll be
doing a Vulcan mind meld.) He actually felt relaxed. He
felt sleepy, and decided it was time to rest. He left a
wake-up call for six thirty (6:30) a.m. and closed his
eyes. He fell into a deep sleep within minutes. (It takes
about 20-30 minutes to get to REM sleep, so that's a bit
inaccurate.)

#####################################################

November 27th, 1973 (Dating these flashbacks isn't
helpful; they only make the Gentle Reader have to go back
and think what might have happened on that particular day.
The section breaks are enough of an indicator that
something different is about to happen.)

He was laying (Lying. A quick mnemonic device: Hens lay
eggs. People lie down.) there, wondering if he would ever
move again. His body felt as if it were frozen stiff. He
felt cold. He felt so cold.

He heard the voices all around him, but he couldn't
discern what they were saying. He recognized high pitched
(high-pitched) voices, women's voices, but he couldn't tell
if one of them was his mother's.

He was sure he heard his father's voice among the many
different male voices that surrounded him. He knew it was
his father, because it sounded angry. Why was he angry?
Fox laid so still, the anxious figures that hustled around
him thought he might be dead. However, one of the men in
the dark suits shouted out that he could see him breathing,
and directed someone to get an ambulance to the site as
quickly as possible. (I see what you're saying, but you've
bored me silly while saying it. Again, get somebody
who'll wield that red pen. Excise!)

Fox opened his eyes. He could see unfamiliar faces milling
about the room. He looked to the center of the room and saw
the Stratego game laying on the floor where he and his
sister were going to play a round of it. He noticed the
television was on, but the sound was turned down so he
wasn't sure if The Magician was still on or not.

He looked over to his left and saw his father's handgun
laying on the floor. Fox didn't understand why it was on
the floor. His father always kept it locked up in a box at
the top of the closet. (This could be kind of a surreal
account of the whole deal, but here it's not nearly long
enough or emotional enough to be convincing.)

His father. Where was his father? He heard his voice
talking angrily with someone. (Pronouns!) Was he yelling
at his mother? Where was his mother? Who was his father
shouting at? No, it sounded like another man was yelling
back at his father.

Fox wanted to yell to Sam, and ask her what all of the
excitement was about. He wanted to ask her a lot of
questions when another person, a woman, came over to him.

"Hi Fox. I'm Amy. Fox, can you hear me?" she asked in the
most gentle voice he'd ever heard.

Fox made eye contact with Amy, but that was about all he
could do.

"Fox, do you know remember (Pick a verb, any verb.) what
happened here tonight?" she asked, even more gently then
(than! Homonymcide, though it is the first.) before.

He shook his head slowly. He wanted to know why all these
strangers in dark suits and ties were in his house. Even
Amy was wearing a dark suit. He didn't understand why
everyone was so nervous.

"Why?" was all he could manage.

"Fox, your sister, Samantha, has disappeared," she
responded.

Fox stopped talking (didn't talk. He never really started,
so he can't stop.) after that. The events of the evening
came back in a torrent of memories. He saw the bright
lights. He tried to get his father's gun, but it fell out
of his hand. He saw the strange, short, yet at the same
time, elongated (Gentle Reader, take note. Ms. Proto has
just demonstrated how to completely botch a description.
"He saw figures at the front door, peculiar and short but
long-limbed." Not perfect, but better.) figures at the
front door.

He remembered watching Samantha as she was levitated toward
the light in (coming through) the window. He remembered
hearing her scream for help, but he could only lay (lie)
frozen, as if in suspended animation. Now, he could hear
his father's voice, along with some others he'd known only
as men from his father's job.

"What the hell did he see? What the hell did he see?" Bill
Mulder screamed at the group of consortia (Consortium,
singular with a capital "c") members.

"Bill, calm down. He probably won't remember a thing. And
if he does, you know that can be taken care of," the man
with the cigarettes responded as he placated him.
("... responded, trying to placate him.)

"Damn it, Jack. It wasn't supposed to happen like this,
and you know it. How could they have taken her? They were
supposed to take him. You know they were supposed to have
taken him.

"Now he's of no use to anyone. God damn it(,) Jack! Who
screwed up here? I want someone to own up to this, Jack.
I want the person who fucked this up to admit it!! They
were supposed to take him, God damn it. Him! Not my
daughter, him!" Bill Mulder shouted. "Go take care of
this(,) Jack. I mean it, go get my daughter back, now!"
(In the canon world, Bill Mulder doesn't seem to have
ever possessed this kind of power. Consortium members
also have traditionally been very controlled, even in
times of great anger. These histrionics feel like a crutch
for the author -- easier to let him yell than think up
some good dialogue, after all.)

Bill Mulder dismissed him, (Now, now. Does it seem that
Bill Mulder would *ever* be able to dismiss Cancer Man
like a butler? Thought not.) and watched him go into the
next room to use the telephone. He looked over and saw
his wife, Elizabeth, (POV! He'd know his wife's name,
wouldn't have to think it.) looking on helplessly. "Get
out of here, Elizabeth!" he shouted. (See? He'd speak it.)

"Amy, give her something. Now!" he ordered. (How the heck
would a woman have broken into the Consortium's ranks?)
The young woman went to a black medical bag and retrieved
a hypodermic. She filled it with a heavy sedative and
proceeded to easily lead the already dazed Mrs. Mulder into
her bedroom. (TMI. All you'd need was an "Amy complied.")

Bill Mulder looked around the room as the various members
of the (C)onsortium picked up evidence to clean the area
(sanitized the house, maybe?) before the police and
paramedics arrived. He was still seething about the screw
up (screw-up). He was becoming angrier and angrier by the
minute. The others could tell he was close to exploding
and kept their distance. (Nobody expects the Spanish
Exposition! Oh. Sorry. Wrong skit.)

The next thing Fox remembered was seeing his father hover
over him. Bill Mulder's face was screwed up in a grotesque
grimace of anger. Suddenly, he began kicking the child as he
laid on the floor.

Fox felt the kicks in his back and his kidneys and his
groin. Before anyone realized what the older Mulder was
doing, a kick landed in his face which caused the child
to involuntarily yelp out in pain. (POV-a-go-go! And more
wordiness. "Before anyone could stop his father, a kick
to the face made him yelp in pain." It's interesting to
note that cleaning up POV can help cure pronoun issues.)

"Shaddup (Very dialectical. "Shut up," I think. The Mulders
are old guard New England stock, remember, not Cletus the
Slack-Jawed Yokel.) you no, good, (no-good) worthless piece
of shit. They were supposed to take _you_! (Return of the
Killer Underscores!) You! Not Samantha. They were never
supposed to take my little girl. My little love. My
beautiful little love. (Ick. This almost makes it sound
like Bill was interested in his daughter as more than a
daughter.) Damn you! Damn you!" he shouted over and over as
he kicked his already bruised body over and over again.
(Biiiiiig pronoun issues, but the larger problem has to do
with canon misfires. See below.)

Finally someone noticed the beating Bill Mulder was
bestowing upon his helpless twelve year old son, and with
the help of another consortium player, pulled him off of
his son. (A horrible, horrible, terrible, no-good, very
bad sentence. Your subject and verb are entire hemispheres
apart, and who is doing what to whom with whom? Ack.) The
boy was now lying (lay; the use of "now" in any other tense
than the present is awkward, and to switch tenses here not
only destroys momentum but confuses the Gentle Reader.) in
a fetal position, moaning softly(.) to no one in particular.

"It was you! I wanted them to take you! You, you little
bastard, you!! You little bastard! You!" Bill Mulder
screamed over and over.

(All right. Listen up, and listen good. BILL MULDER MIGHT
HAVE BEEN A BASTARD, AND LATER A DRUNKARD, BUT THERE IS
NOTHING IN CANON TO INDICATE HE WAS EVER, *EVER* ABUSIVE.
He's really nothing more than an older version of Mulder
who thought he'd serve his country by "protecting" the
truth instead of chasing after it. By all accounts, he
could have been quite a decent dad before Samantha was
taken. So to have him beating the shit out of his son on
a regular basis does *not* ring true. And yes, you can say
we're in an alternate universe, but it's no excuse to take
such liberties with an integral part of the Mulder family
backstory. Oh, this makes me angry! We know Mulder's
childhood was not a happy one. But if the author had taken
even a moment to envision the myriad ways in which parents
can make their children suffer *without* using their fists
and feet, we all would have been a lot better off. Not to
mention Mulder.)

end of part 3/4 (Note: In the beginning of this part it
says 3/5. Details, details.)



----------------------------
Evilness Rating:
4
Utterly inane.


Who Are These People?
5
Talking about their emotions? Leaning on each other without
imminent death or major injury? Not the Mulder and Scully
we know.


I speche Goodly:
3
I winced through most of it, and what bothers me is that
it's all easily fixed by a good beta or simply reading her
work aloud.


I R a gud speler:
5
Probably the best thing about this dull exercise. Only
one homonymcide.


GAK-o-tron:
5
Cripes. "Trust," that magic word, should only be
bandied about by those with a license to do so. That
scene on the bed in the hotel room was painfully trite.


Laziness Quotient:
4
"Let's see ... I want to get Mulder and Scully together
*and* have some MulderTorture! What's the easiest way
to do this?" She found it.


Mary Sue Quotient:
2
Not so bad here as in other parts, I don't think.


Death to Clones:
4
Once you've read one MulderTorture, for the most part
you've read 'em all. Even though this is labeled
"vintage," it isn't particularly original or compelling.


And Your Point Was:
4
I quote Midwest: "It will either be a benevolent
third-party set-up, or some caring and sharing awfulness
to get our stalwarts together in honey bunny hug hug
shmoopy wedded bliss." Right on, sister. Looks like that's
where we're headed. A fine destination, but the highway's
full of potholes.


General Evil Ranking:
5
This is a story that could have been fantastic with a good beta and attention to detail. But as Pat Riley once said, "If you could and you woulda, then you shoulda."


                                                                                            Wildcard:

                    Anonymous is very angry at the flagrant disregard for characterization and canon. See rant above re: Bill Mulder.