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Title:
The REAL Ending Notes:
This story was written Tuesday, April 23, 2002, two days after “Jump the
Shark” aired. It just kind
of poured out… it was my second attempt at making sense of that horrible
mess of an ending. If nothing
else, it made me feel better. Hope
you like it.
"Jump
the Shark"--the fifth act Instead
of fading to black, the camera pulls back from the view of Arlington
Cemetery, the resolution of the image changing until we are obviously
looking at a TV screen. Our
view pulls back again, revealing the TV on a cart, an austere white
hospital room, and a young, anonymously good-looking man in a suit saying,
"It's a pretty rare opportunity to watch your own funeral.
We didn't think you'd want to miss it." The
camera continues to shift to three hospital beds, each cradling an
obviously weak but very ALIVE Gunman.
The guys are pale, shaky, hooked up to lots of medical equipment,
but still wary of their surroundings and the strange man in front of them. Byers
replied weakly, "I never thought we'd see anything ever again." "You
very nearly didn't," the earnest young man replied.
"Even five minutes later and we wouldn't have gotten to you in
time to save you." "So
if we're still alive--" Langly started-- --"And
I hurt too much not to be--” Frohike butted in, hating the quaver in his
voice. "--Why
are they burying us?" he
finished. Mr.
Earnest seemed to blush slightly, obviously uncomfortable.
"We were hoping to explain that to you a little later, when
you'd recovered more..." "Let's
hear it now, sonny," Frohike demanded.
"Where are we? What
have you done with us?" "--Not
that we're not grateful to you for saving our lives--" amended Byers. "--But
why should we trust you?" Langly
chimed in. "Ah,
I see you're almost your old, slow, simple-minded selves again,"
oozed an all-too-familiar voice from the slightly open door of their
room...and in walked Morris Fletcher. "What
the hell--" "No
way--" "You
son-of-a-bitch--” The Gunmen struggled to rise, move somehow, defend
themselves, but collapsed groaning as their strength failed them. "Is
that any way to talk to the man who saved your miserable lives?" He
grinned at them, dare I say...shark-like? "Actually,
gentlemen, he's telling the truth," the young man interjected, as the
Gunmen stared at him in shock. "I
called in quite a few favors with my former employers to get you guys out
of that mess," Fletcher drawled, "so don't you think you guys
should be a little more grateful, since I saved your butts and all?" Again
the Gunmen tried to rise, failed. "And
why should we believe you? You
got us into *that mess* in the first place!!!"
Byers shouted, uncharacteristically angry. "Thousands
of people would have *died*, you freak, while you stood back and did
*nothing* to stop it," snarled Frohike. "On
the contrary, I got *you* involved," Fletcher retorted. "I knew
you could save the world. It's
what you guys do, right?" "Yeah,
right," Langly shouted, but stopped, derailed by a coughing fit.
"You and that scum you worked for still nearly got us killed.
So why should we trust you?"
Byers and Frohike murmured their agreement. The
young men next to him stirred at that, looking distinctly more
uncomfortable. "Actually...Mr. Fletcher wasn't the only one who
should shoulder some of the blame for this crisis." That
got everyone's attention. "The
terrorists managed to steal the bioweapon they were using from one
of...our projects in development. It's partly why we agreed to step in and
save you." The
Gunmen stared at him, uncomprehending. Then: "So
why didn't *you* do something to prevent it? Stop the terrorists before
this whole thing happened?" "Many
of us wanted to, but our...superiors...were...reluctant to take action
that might have led to our possible discovery." "Why
you--you--you're as bad as *he* is--” Frohike started, but Earnest
interjected. "No,
no, it wasn't like that at all! I
tried--We tried--but you were a step ahead of us at every turn, we
couldn't get there in time--” He started again. "You gentlemen have
done your government and your country a huge service, and we're incredibly
grateful. Saving you was the least we could do to repay you for the risk
you've taken...and we'd like to do more." Morris
Fletcher clapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly, grinning a
wicked grin. "Now this
is the really interesting part." Byers,
Langly and Frohike looked at each other slowly. Earnest
paused, drew a deep breath, then soldiered forward. "We want to offer you gentlemen a job." The
Lone Gunmen looked at each other again, this time in shock. "There
goes the neighborhood," Fletcher sighed. "But really guys, it's
a great job. You'll love it. Power,
money, the women...Oh, the *women*..." "Let
me get this straight," Byers began slowly. "You want US to
be...Men in Black?!?" "Well,
it's not like...we don't really call it that...it's not exactly..." "You
want *us* to screw over the American public?
We don't hide the truth--we *report* it,” yelled Langly with
pride--and coughed again. "Get
somebody else to do your dirty work," Frohike growled. "Well,
I told you so,” Fletcher breezed, looking at the young man, then turning
to the Gunmen, "so typical of you losers.
And I've got better things to do than stand around and listen to
you spout this nonsense all day, so I'll be leaving now." "Security
will be waiting to escort you off the base, Mr. Fletcher," Earnest
replied, a chill in his voice. Fletcher
"hmmph"ed and left. The
young man closed the door behind him and turned to the Gunmen, his face
more earnest than ever. "It
wouldn't be like that! I
mean, you guys managed to stop *international terrorists* with nothing
more than some old junky computers and your brains.
Hell, you did better than *we* did.
Just think of what you three could do with up-to-date technology
and the full weight of the government behind you!
Think of all the good you could do for your country!" "And
just who decides what *good* we'll be doing?
And for who?" Frohike
asked. "I
don't think it's all been figured out yet. There's still plenty of time to
think about it, work out all the details.
But guys...please...” and now Earnest lowered his voice, stepped
toward them. "We're not
all like *him*. Some of
us...we've followed your work. What
you've done... what you stand for..." he paused, eyes burning into
theirs, admiration shining from his face, "...and we believe in you.
We need your help to make this agency into what it should
be--something that *helps* people, not just-- these endless power plays
and political garbage. Please,
guys, *PLEASE.* We need your
help." Then he stood up
straighter, spoke slightly louder. "Please
take your time, we know you're not quite on your feet yet, and it's a lot
to consider. But we do want
you to seriously think about it." "Man,
us as Men In Black. Wait
until Mulder gets a load of this," Langly laughed. The
young man's face suddenly turned sober.
"He can't know. No
one can ever know about this. Not
about your survival, our...involvement in this affair...none of it." "So
what happens if we refuse your offer?" Byers asked, quietly but
intently. "Do we just
disappear without a trace?" "I'm
sure that wouldn't happen," Earnest replied, but the discomfort on
his face was less than convincing. "Perhaps
we could place you somewhere like the Witness Protection Program-you'd
have to swear oaths of confidentiality of course--but we don't need to
worry about that now, not while you're still healing," he ended with
forced enthusiasm. "But
I should let you rest now, the doctors say you need lots of rest.
But please, gentlemen," and an honest concern crept into his
gaze, "consider our offer."
And with that, he left, closing the door behind him. "Yeah,
we'll keep it in mind," Frohike muttered. "So
how do we trust these guys?" Langly asked. "These are
*Conspiracy* people, guys! They're
*the Man*!" "How
do we *not* trust them?" Byers tiredly answered. "They've got us
exactly where they want us. We
don't dare say no." "So
maybe we won't say no," mused Frohike. "Maybe we can make this
thing work...our way." "You
mean, become the government's conscience?" Byers asked incredulously. "Become
secret agent avengers for the little guys?" Langly chimed in. "Why
not?" Frohike grinned suddenly. "If we can survive that virus,
hell, we can do *anything. * We're
the Lone Gunmen." And
as Our Heroes consider his words--and smiles slowly spread across their
faces--the scene begins to fade to black to the strains of "the Lone
Gunmen" theme... ...and
that old familiar "TO BE CONTINUED" appears... Author
commentary ahead: PG-13, at
least, for adult language and gestures.
Please keep in mind, this was written two days after the episode
aired, while my emotions were still running high… **********This
is the REAL ending guys, this *is* what happened. It *has* to have happened.
It's the only thing I can believe in, the only way I can stand it
long enough to stick through the last 4 eps, and then I'll be able to wash
my hands of the whole damn series. Brave
sacrifice my *ass*, those writers BROKE MY HEART.
They finally did something I can NEVER forgive them for, and RUINED
the show for me in the process. I
know the writers will never really do something like what I've
written--they made it very clear in that self-congratulatory piece of crap
they called an article in the latest XF Magazine.
There's no wiggle room, no way out.
But if they can bring back CSM--if they can bring back MULDER after
*he* was *dead and buried*, they could bring back the Gunmen.
I don't care HOW illogical it would be--I'd forgive *anything*, any
mishmashed, hackneyed plot device they could use, if only to get Our Boys
back. Somehow, without my
realizing it, they became my heroes, characters I could identify with.
They stood for truth, justice, and HOPE that each and every one of
us can be a hero, can make a difference.
They made a difference all right--but they lost, too.
And I can't stand that. After
all the death and destruction of the last few months, all the villains in
the world victorious, all the senseless tragedies...hell, I watch TV to
get AWAY from it. To be uplifted, entertained, inspired...not to have my heart
ripped out and stomped on just to amuse some *hacks* who think killing off
the Gunmen we fought for over a YEAR to save is somehow a
"tribute" to the fans. I
consider it "giving us the finger".
We *knew* they were heroes. We've
always known. They didn't
need to die to *prove* it. Enough
death--I want some *fun*. I
want my Gunmen back. And
*until* and *unless* they're back, consider me an EX-phile.
That's right--I QUIT. I
just don't give a Ratboy's ass anymore.
:::makes unmentionable gesture:::
Same to you, 10-13.********** This
fanfic may be freely distributed, as long as my name (CrusherJen) stays
attatched as the author. I
hope you've enjoyed it--it's only the 2nd fanfic I've ever done...and
probably saved me the cost of therapy.
:^D Well, Gunmen-related therapy at least, I'm still crazy in so
many other ways... :^D
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