TITLE: Howling Wolves  

AUTHOR: Tasha 
                                                                      
EMAIL: tasha@thetruth.de 

POSTED: November 11, 2001

DISCLAIMER: Anybody you might recognize most 
definitely is not mine, never has been, never will be. 
And please do not pay me. 

CATEGORY/KEYWORDS: Post-Col, A, Other POV, 
implied M/S, D/S  
                            
RATING: R (language, content)

SPOILER: Season 8 as aired

SUMMARY: "There's this guy in my neighborhood, 
and some people call him strange..."

ARCHIVE: Please just let me know where it goes. 

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks to Cattie, Beta Reader 
Extraordinaire and faithful keeper of titles, who 
keeps on forgiving me that I refuse to write more of
the kind of stories she'd like to read while keeping 
me honest at the same time. You rock, girl. 

Happy Birthday, Kit, and thanks for the fun.


More Notes at the end.




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There's this guy in my neighborhood, and some people 
call him strange. Those who came here after The Day, 
that is. Those who haven't been living here long - and 
there are more and more people coming here now
these days - even call him weird. I dunno. Wouldn't 
call him weird. Strange, yes, but weird? 

People say he's lived in this place a long time. And 
"a long time" means he's lived here long before The
Day even. That sure is true. We came here a few 
months after the first fights had started up in those 
mountains that aren't there any more, and he was 
already living in the house he lives in now. Right 
there, across the street. 

My wife Lizzie used to say he's handsome. To be 
frank, I never thought of him as handsome, but then 
again, who am I to judge, right? Yeah, well, he didn't 
look too bad first time I saw him, I'll give him that. 
Rather tall and slender. Like a sports guy. Or a 
dancer, maybe. But we're not living in times where 
looks matter too much. Actually, last time I saw him 
he was scrawny. Like all of us. He's been sick or 
something. Like all of us.

The remarkable thing about him, though, is his eyes. I 
bet Lizzie meant them when she talked about handsome 
and stuff. They are this, well, this fiery blue, you know? 
Makes you think he looks right through you.

People say he used to be a cop before They came. Some 
people here even call him Cop, since no one knows his 
name. Last names don't matter anymore. And no one can 
remember talking to him on a first name basis. So he's 
just Cop. 

See, ex-cops and ex-soldiers are the ones most people 
here have a sympathetic smile for now and then. It's 
actually kinda like a mercy fuck smile. Oh, you poor 
stupid morons. Or they just bitch about them since they 
haven't been able to stop Them either. And wasn't that 
supposed to be their job? Huh? Anyway. It's not like it 
matters much what any one of us here in Section 4-B 
ever did before - well, you know. But when you hear 
the word 'cop', you go, "Well, well, was a cop and 
couldn't do one lousy thing about what happened that 
September, could he? Not more than any of us stinkin' 
losers could." 

Yeah, well. I've even heard rumors about him being an 
agent of some sorts, but I'm pretty sure that's just crap. 
There are also people who say that he fought Them in 
the first year, before he was almost killed during a fight. 
And then he came back here to hide. Or to wait for 
something. 

Probably crap, too. I have no clue who makes up those 
stories. Now that people can't just turn on the TV or the 
radio or the computer or God knows what else they 
used to turn on, they get bored. Now that they can't go to 
the movies anymore or to the library or to school or 
wherever they used to go before, they have too much 
time on their hands. Whenever they're not working, that 
is. So they make up stupid stories about people - about 
anyone who doesn't do a thing about it. 

Cuz that guy, you know, he's really quiet. Secluded, 
even. Lives in that big house he's apparently lived in 
forever. When Lizzie and I came here, there was still
smoking debris lying on every goddam corner of this 
stinking God-forsaken heap of shit we call City 4-B. 
And he was living next door. 

City, my ass. It's all going to hell, and there's nothing 
we can do about it. Not one thing. And that's the bitter 
truth, my friend. We better start dealing with it. 

I've been living here for three years and I've been 
sick of this place since the very first day. But 
nowadays you can't choose where your butt finds a 
permanent home, right? Right. You can't. You gotta 
be grateful for what you have, Max, other people 
were not so lucky, times have changed, Max, bitching 
about it only gets you in trouble, right? Oh, please.

But this guy, I've never heard him bitch about anything. 
I'm still damn sure he's in trouble somehow. He's up to 
something. Can't really say what, it's just this - this gut 
feeling I have, know what I mean? Last May, he was up 
and gone for almost a week. You can be pretty sure you 
get in big shit with Them if They catch you stealing 
away. You're not supposed to leave the Sector. Heck, 
and even more important, you're not supposed to stay 
away from work. If you break Their Rules, your ass is 
toast. I've seen things, so trust me on this one. 

When he came back, though, he brought this lady with 
him. A pretty redhead. Tiny. Painfully thin. Crying like 
a beaten child. He led her, his arms wrapped around 
her as if he was afraid she'd fall. And there was this 
boy, too. She was clutching the poor kid's hand as if 
she was never gonna let him go again. I can't really 
tell you how old the boy was. Maybe six, maybe eight 
years old. That's hard to say these days. Not many kids 
left. And when there are kids, they walk around like 
dead shadows. Being a kid is hard these days. Being a 
small grown-up is probably easier. 

This little guy was limping, and he was pale as hell. 
White, even. You know those newts that spend their 
whole life in dark caves without a single ray of light? 
They have this really white skin you can almost look 
through. That's exactly what this boy looked like. And 
I heard he doesn't speak one single word. Not ever. 

I hadn't seen them here before, so they must have 
come from another Sector. And that's where the fun 
part begins. You're not supposed to stay in a Sector 
other than the one you were assigned to. Actually, 
come to think of it, you're not really supposed to do 
anything any more, except work, I guess. But They're 
pretty serious about the Sector thing. So I wasn't really 
surprised when They came the next day and took him 
away. He was gone for almost four weeks. They let the 
woman and the kid stay, though. Max, I said to myself, 
there's more to this than meets the eye. 

Although we never really saw them, we knew they 
were there, and so Liz started preparing little food 
baskets for the two poor souls across the street. Not 
much, you know, since winter was coming, but Lizzie, 
God bless her, didn't want them to starve. She'd walk 
past the house and casually drop a bag or a box of food 
on the lawn in front of the Cop's house. She'd take it 
when no one was looking. I never went over there 
though to speak with that lady. I cherish my life, you 
know? It's all I have left.  

He did come back, eventually. I'll never forget that hot 
and humid night in June, when screaming brakes and a 
low thud suddenly woke me. I haven't been sleeping 
too great since the climate changed. In fact, I'm hardly 
sleeping at all, and if I'm asleep I'm up at any noise 
louder than a flea breathing. "Don't, Max, you'll only 
get us in trouble," Liz said when I got up and tip-toed 
to the window. I knew it was asking for trouble. But 
I still looked. 

It was him alright. They had brought him back for some 
reason I still don't really understand, but They'd made 
sure he wouldn't forget Them too fast. They didn't bother 
letting him climb off properly but just dumped him onto 
the street in front of his house. 

When I saw him lying there in this puddle that could very 
well have been a puddle of his own blood, moving his 
arms and legs lethargically without making a sound, all 
of a sudden I knew what it was I had missed all these 
years. Dogs barking. There used to be a lot of dogs before 
The Day, at least where I used to live, but nowadays not 
one stinking lousy flea-bitten cur sticks his nose into the 
air at night to howl at the moon. 

Sure, dogs weren't the first thing to vanish, but vanish they 
sure did. People gotta eat, you know.    

Anyway. I'm not gonna tell you here that I'm one of these 
heroes who save people's lives and don't give a shit about 
their own, cuz I'm really not. I'm just an odd old guy who's 
learned that staying out of trouble is better than getting your 
ass fried, but I still believe you gotta do what you gotta do. 
Even if the world around you is falling apart. 

"Stay put, Lizzie," I said, and went outside.    

Speaking of dogs - there used to be a time when I 
went for walks in the middle of the night just for the
sake of it. The stars, you know. I was addicted to the
stars. I mean, apart from being a die-hard insomniac 
who wandered around night after night. Not any
more, though. I'm still awake at night, sure, but I stay 
in my bedroom. Wandering around is too dangerous
now. And it's too damn depressing since there are no
stars any more for tired eyes to gaze on, no sirree. 
There's just that dirty red glow of burning cities now. 
Burning remains of former cities, that is.


But I digress. 


I hadn't seen him for a long time when I walked up to 
him that night, you know. I do recall shaking his hand 
in the weeks right after we got here, but that was years 
ago. And if this really was the same man I was looking 
down on now, I didn't recognize him.

He was so scraggy he actually looked fragile. His skin 
was crusted with mud and dried blood, and blood trickled 
patiently from a deep gash on his left temple, all the time 
in the world. He had nestled his twisted right arm against 
his chest in a gesture that looked almost like quiet 
resignation. He definitely hadn't had a decent meal in a 
long time. 

Since I didn't have a clue how to address him, I simply 
knelt down beside him. It took him a while to notice
me. With feverish eyes he looked up at me. Oh, great, 
I thought, what have you gotten yourself into this time?

Before I could jump out of his reach, he had extended 
a blood-covered, shaking hand and clasped my wrist. 

"Was he... was he here?" he asked, his voice so 
breathless I hardly understood him. 

"Who? I don't think anybody was here while you 
were - "

"They didn't take her?"

"She's here, son. She's still here. And the boy, too."

He actually smiled, and this smile from a man who 
was in so much pain and whom I was talking to in 
the middle of the night while everywhere around us 
hundreds of people were dying, like every night, 
almost made me laugh out loud. Oh, holy Christ, 
reality is such a sad little joke.

"He kept his word, then," he whispered.

I knew I probably shouldn't have asked, but I 
couldn't help myself. So I did ask.

"Who, son?"

"Mulder. He said I'd never understand why he did 
this, why he had agreed to - " His voice trailed off
into a husky cough. " - to join Them."

He was burning up, obviously talking in a fever 
dream now, and I didn't bother asking what exactly 
he was talking about. As I looked into his eyes, and 
saw that the fever had turned their once fiery blue to 
a nervous gray, I didn't even try to stop him, either. 
I just let him talk.

"I didn't know what had happened to her."

I nodded gravely, scanning the street for possible 
onlookers. Suddenly, he grasped the collar of my 
worn out, fading shirt - fading just like everything 
else - and pulled my face closer to his. I winced. 
His breath smelled of fever, illness, blood, dust, 
and hope.

"Did you know that she left him? More than four 
years ago?"

I shook my head. His eyes began to close.

"Yes, she did. And I've been looking for her for so
long... and she was just a few miles away..."

He gathered his strength to look up at me again. What
was that I saw there, glimmering in his eyes?

"She made me promise her not to look for her when she
left with him. I still did, though. Tried to find her. And 
then, when I heard what Mulder had done after the attack, 
I thought it was too late. I thought she'd stayed with him... 
but..."

"Son, maybe you shouldn't spend yourself like that."

He didn't even hear me. 

"I was wrong. All the time. She was waiting..." 

I watched him as he sank into a merciful unconsciousness. 
Then I got up to knock at the door of his house. 



Two weeks later, he was up and running again, and 
they were also packing and ready to leave. Where 
they were going, he wouldn't tell. 

One morning, he came to my house. Patiently, he 
waited at the remains of our former yard fence until 
I noticed him. He smiled when I approached him, and 
shook my hand like an old friend would have done.

"Thanks," he said. And, "I'm John."

I simply nodded. You know those moments when 
there's really nothing to say? Nothing at all? That 
was one of those moments. 

Two days later, they were gone. Cop, the lady and the 
boy. I heard he was gonna bring them to the other side
of the mountains, so that the lady and the boy would 
be safe. 

And I heard he was gonna join the Unit again.

I wish him luck.


Man, reality can be one sad little joke.






- - - End - - - 



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AUTHOR'S NOTES, Part Two:


The title of this fic might not be clear at once. I still 
decided to keep it because I feel it makes an 
important point.

At one point in the story, Max talks about dogs. They 
used to howl at the moon, but they are gone now. From 
Max' point of view, the dogs stand for the life before 
"The Day", before everything has changed. 

The night Doggett returns, Max remembers the time 
before "The Day", he recalls the dogs, then the 
stars, and he realizes that if he tries to hold on 
to the morals that were important before everything 
changed, the world can't be that bad. It's all much 
harder now, yes, but it is do-able.

The dogs didn't return, of course, but Max has found 
his wolf. He may not be howling loudly at the moon, 
but he's howling none the less.

So you decide: the wolf is either Doggett (who came 
back and thus proved to everyone, especially Max, 
that there is another way), Max' hope (which is coming 
back), days past (which he remembers), love (which 
basically everything is about) or mankind itself. 

Or a bit of everything.

Everything in this story is fictional, of course, but 
certain recent events may have contributed to the 
atmosphere and to some details in the description 
of Max' world.  


Thanks for reading. 


Comments, questions, suggestions, opinions?

Let's talk: tasha@thetruth.de