SANCTUARY BY: Cheryl Cohen (Alias: The Stinker) and Annie Reed (Alias: FancyKatz) ;) Forward ************************************ Annie and I started this story several months ago. In fact we started bouncing around ideas for a sequel right after we finished "Devil's Advocate. Okay, we didn't expect it to take this long or be this long but somehow the characters seemed to take on a life of their own and each insisted that they have their moment in the sun. Hence, what follows is ninety pages of love, sadness, joy, sex, misunderstandings, violence, insanity, aggravation, frustration, humor, death...and life. Life is a short display Of God's proud handiwork Given us only for a moment In order To envy immortality...J. Gary Please be warned, this tale contains, graphic violence, adult language, and adult situations. Although there is sex involved in several scenes, it is not what I would consider graphic nor is it out of context with the story. I like to leave a little bit to the imagination. DISCLAIMERS ETC. ******************************** This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright infringements are intended. ************************************ Chapter One The Escape Lucy's hands were shaking... either with nervousness or excitement, she couldn't tell which. It took her three tries before she was able to punch in the access code in the correct sequence. Thank god she got it right on the third try... otherwise the system would have locked her out and she would have had to wait another half hour before she could try again, and a half hour later would be too late. She glanced over her shoulder as the light above the door changed from red to green and the lock disengaged. No one was looking. But then again, she really didn't expect anyone to be there. She was the only nurse on shift in this end of the building this late at night. Just her and the guard, and Henry always went to the can at the same time every night. He was probably in the middle of the sports section right about now. Lucy slipped through the open door and into the darkened hallway beyond. The "guests" of the state were all supposed to be sleeping... some with the help of little pills she had given them earlier in the evening. But this night she knew three of her patients were awake... awake and waiting for her. She stopped in front of Jordan's cell, her hands fumbling with the key. Strange... in a place as high tech as this one, the individual cells were still locked with old fashioned keys. Keys which could be duplicated with very little effort, as Lucy had found out. Guess they figured no one would ever be able to get past the computerized security system at the ward entrances. And no one probably could, at least not without a little inside help. Lucy finally managed to get both locks open and had just turned the latch when the door was snatched out of her hand. "Hey babe," Jordan whispered to her, one strong arm snaking around her waist. "I knew you'd make it." Jordan's blue eyes blazed down at her, a smile on his handsome face. Lucy felt his gaze burning into her soul and as he kissed her, she felt her heart skip a beat and her knees threatened to buckle under her. Never in her life had someone affected her the way Jordan Chambers did. "You got the other keys?" he asked, pulling her along down the hallway while his eyes, ever active, searched the darkened passage for any hidden dangers. "Yeah, right here," she said, handing him the keys. "Jordan, are you sure about this?" Breaking Jordan out was one thing, but he'd insisted on bringing Keith and Mitchell along too. Keith was a harmless boy as far as Lucy was concerned, but she was afraid of Mitchell. "I told you," Jordan whispered harshly, "all of us go... all three of us. You got that?" he asked, jerking her hand, his eyes burning into her. She nodded her understanding . They went down the hall quickly and quietly, and within a few moments Keith Reese and Mitchell Tyler had joined them. Lucy tried to suppress a shiver as she led the trio back to the ward's access door and the guard station beyond. All excitement was gone now, only the nervousness was left...nervousness, and a sense of approaching doom. The access code once again opened the door to the guard station. Beyond the guard station was the door to the outside world. Henry had not yet returned from his nightly appointment with the john and Lucy permitted herself a small sigh of relief. She checked the monitors in the guard station and was relieved to see that the closed circuit system that monitored activity in Jordan's ward was still inoperative. She didn't intend to ever come back here but she also didn't want video evidence of her part in helping three criminally insane convicts escape. "Hey, Lucy, you seen the comics?" Lucy's heart sank as she recognized Henry's voice coming down the short hall from the restrooms. She saw Mitchell flatten himself against the wall as Jordan pulled her down with him on the floor of the guard station. Keith crouched on the floor next to them. Unless Henry looked up at the security mirror mounted in the hallway where the wall met the ceiling, he wouldn't be able to see Mitchell hiding around the corner until it was too late. Lucy's training almost made her cry out a warning to Henry but Jordan clamped a hand over her mouth and no sound escaped. Henry was too intent on finding his paper to look up into the mirror. As he passed the corner, Mitchell turned and drove his knee into Henry's groin. Air escaped Henry's lungs with a soft "oompf" and as he started to double over, Mitchell drove the heel of his hand up into the bridge of Henry's nose. Splinters of bone from the impact rammed into Henry's brain and he was dead before he hit the floor. Mitchell grabbed the gun from Henry's belt, his gaze lingering hungrily on the dead man's form, his eyes shining with a n almost inhuman fury. But the still rational part of Mitchell's mind knew that now was not the time, so he left the dead man alone and rejoined the others. Together the foursome moved out through the front door. Lucy and Jordan sat in the front seat of her car, Mitchell and Keith in the back. Lucy fought back the tears which threatened to overflow when she thought about Henry. It was all so unnecessary... they could have immobilized him. Mitchell didn't need to kill him. As they neared the guard shack, Keith and Mitchell scrunched down out of sight in the back seat, and Jordan moved to the floorboard in the front seat. Lucy felt his hand stroke her legs. "Just like we planned babe," he said. "Take it nice and easy." His hand moved upward, stroking her intimately and Lucy suddenly found it hard to concentrate on her driving. "We're almost home free." As the lights signaled their arrival at the gate, he withdrew his hand and huddled in the dark shadows of the car. "Lucy, what's up?" the tower guard asked from the shelter of his bullet-proof shack. His voice sounded tinny over the speaker. Lucy knew that video cameras mounted on the outside of the shack wouldn't be able to penetrate the gloom in the car. "Don't feel so hot, so I'm taking an early out," she said, speaking into the microphone she knew was next to the speaker. "Madelaine told me to go on home. She said she'd come over and check the ward for me later." This was not lie... Lucy had told the head nurse she was going home sick. Might as well keep the lies to a minimum, she'd figured. She just hope no one had discovered Henry yet. "Hope you're feeling better soon," the guard said as the front gate began to open. Lucy drove through... her heart in her throat, waiting all the while for the guard to order her to stop, to pull gun on her. But nothing happened and Lucy drove through the gate and into the night beyond. After about 15 minutes, Jordan told her to pull over so he could drive. Lucy found a quiet side street... easy in this neighborhood... and pulled off the road. The area was rural, with homes scattered sparsely about. It seems no one wanted to live near the state loony bin. Jordan and Lucy got out of the car. Mitchell got out after them. "Gotta take a leak," Mitchell said, moving off into the night. Jordan nodded at him. Grabbing Lucy's hand, Jordan moved her out of range of the car headlights. He pulled her roughly to him and kissed her deeply, his hands moving over her body. Lucy felt her body melt into him, her doubts and fears disappearing. How could something that felt this good be bad? "Do you love me, Lucy?" Jordan whispered to her. "Yes... oh yes," she murmured as his lips moved across her neck and throat. "Do you believe in me, Lucy?" he asked, his voice harsh with emotion. "Yes," she replied breathlessly, her hands in his hair. "Then you shall find salvation," Jordan promised. Lucy never felt the blow that broke her neck, just as she had never heard Mitchell come up behind her. Jordan laid her down softly in the meadow where wildflowers had bloomed only a few short weeks ago, before the first cold snap of the season had killed them, as surely as the cold in Jordan Chamber's heart had killed Lucy. "Sorry, Lucy," Jordan whispered down at her, his handsome face reflecting no remorse, "sometimes believing is not enough." Keith watched all this from the car. He had seen Mitchell creep up silently behind Lucy, and he knew what was coming. But he didn't understand why... Lucy had always been good to him, had never looked on him with disgust like the other nurses, had never mistreated him like some of the ward attendants, had never hurt him like the doctors who were intent on "rehabilitating" him. He would ask Jordan...Jordan would know. Jordan knew everything. He jumped from the car and as he approached Jordan's figure, standing god-like over Lucy's still and lifeless body, his own body took on the submissive posture that it always did whenever he was in Jordan Chambers' presence. Meekly, he looked to his 'savior' and asked a question. "J...J...Jordan," he stuttered softly, "Sh....sh...she helped us. Wh...wh...why did she have to d....die?" Jordan steeled his cold, emotionless eyes at his faithful follower. "She was a harlot, Keith... they all are, and you need to know that," he replied in a judgmental tone. "Pleasures of the flesh are their only concern." Jordan turned his back on Lucy's prone body, causally draping an arm around Keith's shoulder and leading the boy away. "Through my carnal knowledge of Lucy, I have taken her evil unto myself and purified her soul," Jordan explained. "She has paid the price of her sins with her life, but her spirit, now free from blame, may enter paradise." Keith raised his boyish face heavenward and smiled a smile of self-righteous confirmation. "L...l..l...like Jenny?" he asked. "Yes, like Jenny," Jordan confirmed. "What you did took courage, Keith. It takes courage to offer the path to heaven to another soul. Someday everyone will come to understand that, just like I do." He was exonerated. Keith felt the doubt instilled in him by his therapy lift from his soul. It had been 'right' to sacrifice Jenny before she could defile herself with him. His girlfriend had gone to her creator with a pure heart and an innocent soul...of this he had made certain. He'd prepared her for her journey to Eden by carefully removing all evidence of her sexuality so she would never again be tempted to sin. Jordan was the only one who'd ever understood him. His parents hadn't understood. They called him the devil's spawn and had shunned him. The authorities could not even comprehend his reasoning. But Jordan...Jordan could. Jordan gave credence to Keith's doctrine of violence and a blessing to his depraved insanity...and with good reason. For Keith had found his god in Jordan and his only purpose in life was to follow whatever mandate Jordan Chambers deemed appropriate. What Keith didn't understand, and would not have believed even if someone tried to explain it to him, was that Jordan Chambers needed Keith as much as Keith Reese needed Jordan. It's hard to be a god when you have no one to worship you. "Get your fucking ass back in the car you stupid little faggot," Mitchell sneered with loathing, "and quit looking at Jordan like he's some kind of goddamn Messiah." Mitchell faced Jordan with hungry slitted eyes. "This girl was no challenge," he complained, "and neither was the guard." Mitchell fingered the gun that was tucked into his waistband as he shuffled across the now barren meadow to the car. The gun was just for backup...Mitchell was quite capable of killing people with his bare hands, and in ways that were much more personally satisfying than the simple ways he had dispatched the guard and Lucy. After a few steps, Mitchell realized that Jordan hadn't moved. Fucking amateurs. "Are you coming, Chambers, or are ya gonna wait for the cops to show up?" Mitchell growled. Jordan fell in step beside Mitchell and began to preach the gospel according to Jordan Chambers. Mitchell stopped suddenly. He turned on Jordan with an angry glare, and trembled with pent up fury. "Save your pseudo-religious bullshit for that feeble minded asshole in the car," he swore. "I know for a fact that there *is* no god. I'm living proof of that," he spat, eyes shining with hatred. His rock hard body tensed with the training he'd received as a good Company man... back when he had been paid to kill, long before killing was a necessity for his own survival. He looked into the night, feeling the beating of the small hearts of the night animals in his blood as surely as if he'd heard it with his ears. He saw an owl swoop after a field mouse, heard the mouse's small, shrill death cry, and felt his own blood race. "I feel the urge, Chambers, I need to kill again...soon," Mitchell warned. "I can taste their blood, feel their fear...the high. I need my 'fix', my 'drug'...my *joy*. Get it for me, Jordan...or I'll *take* what I need," he threatened. "You *dare* to threaten me?" Jordan growled, eyeing Mitchell with an equally evil glint. "You may be 'well trained', but you better remember that I'm certifiably 'mad.' I believe the exact term used to profile me was 'brilliantly psychotic' with tendencies toward megalomania. It was further recommended to the authorities that rehabilitation would be an unwarranted waste of the taxpayers money and they should lock me up and throw away the key. Jordan grabbed Mitchell's shirt and pulled the larger man in close. "So don't fuck with me," he whispered menacingly. "You never know what'll make me snap." He released Mitchell and stalked off toward the car. Mitchell stood still for a moment, clenching and unclenching his hands at his sides. Soon he wouldn't need these two assholes. Mitchell contented himself with mentally planning their demise. The thought made him smile, a smile that didn't quite make it up to his eyes. As they neared the car, Keith nervously ran his hand through his unkempt hair. "Jordan...Jordan...!" he yelled excitedly. "We gotta find a place to stay. It says on the radio that there's gonna be a blizzard tonight." "Wait here," Jordan ordered as he turned and walked purposefully back to Lucy's body. Once there, he removed her starched white shirt, draped it across one arm, and returned to the car. Jordan tossed the shirt to Keith in the back seat of the car. "Put it on," he commanded. Keith stared back in confusion. "Why?" he asked uncertainly. Wearing girl's clothes...uh uh. Oh no, he couldn't do that. Keith's head started jerking back and forth, a small sound building at the back of his throat. What would people think...that he was some kind of freak, some kind of sissy boy No, no, no, no, no..... "Just do it," Jordan replied impatiently. Keith continued to shake his head back and forth...'no.' Jordan's arm shot out and he grabbed Keith by the chin, forcing Keith to look at him. "People will be a lot more willing to 'help' a young innocent looking kid in a nice white shirt than a couple of hard lookers like us in prison grays," he explained with a handsomely convincing smile. Keith looked up into Jordan's blue eyes...Jordan was saying that he needed him, was relying on him to help the group. Nobody had ever relied on him before. Keith calmed down and returned Jordan's smile as he stripped out of his hospital-issue shirt and put on Lucy's clean white one. Jordan had been driving for about an hour and a half before he was forced to coast the car to a stop along the shoulder of the rural country road. He banged his hands violently on the steering wheel and cursed. "Stupid bitch could've at least filled the damn gas tank," he mumbled heatedly. Reaching over the gearshift, Jordan unceremoniously nudged Mitchell awake. He'd dozed off about a half hour after they'd left Lucy's body. "Hey, wake up Tyler, we have a problem," he complained loudly. "What?" Mitchell asked with irritation clearly reflected in his voice. Sleep was the only peace he could ever expect to know in this life, and he got precious little of it. Just another minor "side effect" of his special training. Now, with his mind fully alert, the burning desire to kill coursed once more through his veins with renewed passion. He hated what he was but he *was* only what the Company had made him. There was nothing to do except satisfy his needs and fulfill his destiny. Mitchell's look was not lost on Jordan. He caught he starving demented glare that shimmered hauntingly in Mitchell's hard uncaring eyes, the hunger that was reflected in his face. The 'look' even made Jordan shiver involuntarily. Mitchell Tyler was dangerous. Jordan knew that Mitchell didn't give a rat's ass about him or Keith, and would just as soon kill both of them if he didn't think he needed them to survive. He bore allegiance to no one and snuffed out life indiscriminately, driven by demons not of his own design. Jordan knew that sooner or later he'd have to help Mitchell's soul find its place in eternity, but right now he needed Mitchell's special talents. "We're out of gas," Jordan ventured tentatively, reluctant to press his position as 'leader'. "Then I suggest we find a place to hide out before the sun comes up, the cops discover we're gone, and the weather changes." Mitchell opened the door and slid gracefully from his seat into the pre-dawn darkness like a panther preparing for the hunt. Jerking the rear door open, Mitchell took out his irritability on Keith by kicking the soles of Keith's shoes as he lay snoring in the back seat. "Get your ass up, Boy Scout," Mitchell goaded with icy calm, "time to take a hike." Keith reluctantly scrambled from the car. He grimaced as he stumbled on one of the pebbles that were scattered over the unevenly paved road. With Mitchell leading the way, three dark silhouettes of evil quickly blended into the shrouded shadows that ominously lined the lonely back road. ****** continued in part 1b ********************************************************************** From xangst@frii.com Fri Oct 18 04:42:51 1996 Sanctuary part one continued... Melissa Scully drove slowly up the dimly lit driveway to her mother's house, nearly rear ending her sister's car when she slammed on the brakes and slid six feet on the ice and snow that covered her mother's driveway. The clock on the dashboard glowed 4 AM and Melissa felt like she'd been driving for years. Strange, Melissa hadn't expected her sister to be spending the weekend. The last thing she'd heard before leaving for Key West was that Dana and her mom would be staying in Miami with Fox. In their phone conversation just the other day, her mom had told her that they'd wanted to keep him in the hospital for at least another week so Dana's presence here was definitely puzzling. God, she was exhausted. Her various flights had been canceled and rescheduled three times due to weather and she'd begun to think she wouldn't make it home at all but would be camping out in some airport terminal. Now that Melissa was finally home, she wasn't sure she had enough energy to even get out of the car. An unexpected yawn caught her off guard and her hands unconsciously rubbed at the sleep that had hardened in the corners of her eyes. Raggedly she climbed the porch steps and entered the darkened house. Damn the luggage, Melissa thought tiredly, it can wait in the car until morning. The sun began to peak out timidly above the dark horizon, revealing the cool clear blue of a cloudless sky. But there was a hint of red in that sunrise, a precursor of the storm the weather service had forecasted for later today. Jacob Priestly smiled with satisfaction as he baited his hook and dropped the line into the hole he'd cut in the ice. He may listen to the weather service, but he lived by the Farmer's Almanac, and it had predicted a hard and early winter. Usually he couldn't indulge in ice fishing until later in the season, but this year he'd been able to enjoy his singular passion earlier than he normally would. Jacob's family had lived in this part of the country for generations. Besides being a strong believer in the Farmer's Almanac, he also put strong stock in all the sayings his mother had taught him as a boy. Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning...red sky at night, sailor's delight. There'd be clouds in the sky before this day was over...he'd bet his life on that. Jacob had hiked to this very spot every year for the past 40 years of his life and was exceedingly proud of the fact that at age 60, he could still make the trip. The early morning air was clear and pristine and Jacob inhaled its invigorating coolness deeply, reflecting on how wonderful his life had been. He glowed with anticipation as his line grew taught and bounced several times beneath the cold water... the fish were biting well this morning. Even though she thought he was crazy for getting up before dawn just so he could sit out on the ice, he'd have he'd have plenty of fish for his other half to cook tonight. Jacob's mouth watered in anticipation...his Sarah was a great cook. As the trio rounded the bend of the frozen lake, Mitchell Tyler stopped suddenly and sniffed the air. Jordan put up his hand, halting Keith's forward strides, and motioned him to remain still. He'd learned to recognize Tyler's transformations from witnessing his brief episodes at the hospital/prison. Without the medication the staff gave Mitchell to keep him under control, Jordan realized that even *they* had cause to fear him. Tyler's eye's narrowed with animal-like concentration as his breathing quickened. His muscles tensed with the anticipation of the hunt. He sensed the presence of his prey, heard its breathing, smelled the salty sweat of its fragile flesh. The savage blood that had run in the veins of his ancestors for a millennia now boiled in his own and all color fled his vision. The prey was helpless, unaware of the beast that stalked him. Jacob looked up from unhooking his fifth catch of the morning and spied a young man approaching him from a small clump of trees nearby. It hadn't occurred to him that there would be anyone else on the lake at such an early hour so the boy's presence had initially startled him. Keith smiled disarmingly and Jacob relaxed and smiled in response. He wasn't really a kid, Jacob thought on second glance. Maybe about 22 or 23. And he must be freezing out here without a coat...He was wearing just a white shirt and some dirty gray pants. "Sir," Keith spoke softly, "my car b...b...broke down. C...c...could you p... p...lease direct me to the nearest house in these parts where I might be able to use the phone and call a tow truck?" Jacob spoke in an easy neighborly tone, "That'd be the Scully place about a quarter mile down the road on the left...you can't miss it." "Thank you very much," Keith replied politely. Jacob flinched in surprise when he felt the cold, hard, steely press against his right temple. An angry, inhuman voice growled behind his head. "Strip, old man, "it ordered. In a few moments, the old fisherman stood in his underwear on the ice. He was shivering with either cold, or fear, or more than likely, both. Mitchell's eyes glowed an unearthly red in the diffused pre dawn light. Instead of feeling relief that he was no longer looking at the business end of the gun, Jacob was suddenly sure that he would not be alive to see the coming storm and would never taste his wife's cooking again. The serene morning silence was abruptly shattered as Mitchell threw back his head and screamed a frustrated howl of anguished primitive fury. He propelled himself at his terrified victim with the force of a hunger-crazed wolf. Jordan and Keith were compelled to watch with a kind of dreadful fascination, like motorists passing a fatal car crash. As they looked on, Mitchell, without the benefit of instrument or weapon, ripped the still beating heart from the old man's chest, tore at his jugular, then gripped his frail neck between clenched, bloodied teeth and shook the limp form with murderous frenzy before dropping what was left to the ground. Holding the dripping heart, Mitchell raised his arms to the sky and screamed again. "This is for you, you sons of bitches," he yelled. "Someday this will be you! I swear by all that's unholy...some day this will be you." Mitchell dropped the heart next to the old man's body. Panting heavily, he licked his hands, shivering with the sensuous pleasure the taste of the old man's blood brought him. A woman would have been better...then he'd have been able to satisfy all his needs...but this would hold him for now. As his system began to calm down, his vision returned to normal... at least what passed as normal for Mitchell. He dipped his hands into the frigid water beneath the hole in the ice, and then cleansed the remaining results of his madness from his body. Finally he donned the old man's worn pants and red flannel shirt that Jordan held out to him. Keith exhaled the breath he'd been holding. And people called *me* sick, he thought. At least they wouldn't have to deal with Mitchell's unnatural compulsion for at least another day or so. Rummaging through the old man's tackle box, he picked out a long, narrow 10 inch filet knife and sheath and stuck the blade end into the top of his boot. Well, you never know when a good knife would come in handy. He'd seen the way Mitchell had looked at he old man, had seen all of his physical responses to killing. Keith had tried to avert his eyes while Mitchell changed clothes, but he'd still seen. Keith had no intention of being a victim, of *any* kind, of Mitchell Tyler. He hadn't been able to defend himself in the hospital, but he'd find a way to defend himself here...oh yes, he would. "Wh...wh...what do we do now, J...J...Jordan," he asked his mentor with a demented kind of innocence. A diabolical grin slowly spread across Jordan Chamber's almost serene face as he looked toward the deserted road. "We're gonna make a house call, my son...." Brightly colored, flowered curtains caught the morning sun, splattering the off-white walls of the room with diffused shades of reds, yellows, blues, and greens. A kaleidoscope of colors filled the cheery little bedroom and gently caressed the peacefully sleeping figure snuggled deep within the patchwork quilt on the old fashioned feather bed. Dana stood in the doorway for several minutes just watching him. It always amazed her how childlike and innocent he looked in his sleep, so much so that she often had to resist the urge to place a teddy bear in his arms. She chuckled quietly to herself at the image that particular thought conjured up in her mind. A hand gently squeezed her shoulder in understanding and Dana turned her head to look into her mother's smiling eyes They shone with deep affection as Margaret also took in the sight of the handsome young man who had come to mean so much to her daughter...and to her. "The doctor said that he's going to be just fine," Mrs. Scully reassured her daughter once again. "If he 'wasn't', I'm certain that they wouldn't have let Fox leave the hospital, let alone fly home with us." Dana glanced back at the fine-featured face and silky dark hair that was buried into the fluffy pillow on the bed. She also noticed with interest that one bare shoulder peeked out seductively from beneath the covers. Snapping her attention back to her mother, Dana voiced her concerns. "That's the *point,* mom...according to Dr. Grayson, he should still be in the hospital. They only let him out a week early because I'm a doctor, we promised to watch him, and they couldn't make him behave." "Well give the doctor credit," Margaret whispered, "he obviously recognized the fact that we have more 'pull' with Fox, than he or the hospital staff. You of all people, should know that a patient is likely to recover more quickly when he is surrounded by 'family' and friends." A wide grin spread across Dana's face when her mom's voice paused with emphasis over the word 'family.' "Okay mom," she replied quietly resigned while backing out into the hall and closing the bedroom door. "I'll try my best to stop hovering over him. It's just that.... that...well," she shot her mother a look of pure exasperation, "Fox Mulder is a walking 'trouble magnet.' Sometimes his desire for truth overrides his common sense and his insatiable curiosity and willingness to believe in just about anything, interferes with his natural instinct for self preservation. Margaret Scully laughed out loud. "What you're trying to tell me in your own unique round about way is that Fox tends to jump in head first without testing the water and gets hurt much too often because of his impulsiveness. Scully's eyes crinkled ruefully. "How is it you can take anything I say and reduce it to one sentence?" Margaret smiled thoughtfully. "I guess it comes from years of living with William Scully Sr.. You're a lot like your father, you know," she told her daughter as they moved off down the hall. "Oh, and if I were you," Margaret added, "I think I'd continue to hover....discretely, of course." "Mom..." Dana complained. "Oh, don't 'mom' me, Dana Katherine," Margaret chided. "Outwardly, Fox may complain, but deep down inside....he craves the attention. In my humble opinion, Fox Mulder is long overdue for some good old fashion TLC and don't let him convince you otherwise. Somewhere along the way, someone has convinced that dear boy that he's not 'worthy' of happiness. I'm not pointing any fingers because it wouldn't change anything, mind you," she added hastily. " But let's just say I believe it's 'our' mission to turn him around," she informed Dana with a conspiring grin as they headed back down the stairs to the kitchen. Cooking breakfast for her husband and children had always been one of Margaret's favorite chores of the day. However, since the children had grown up and moved away, and her husband's death the year before, it was a 'chore' that she no longer got to perform very often. She was enjoying herself immensely. The house was full and everything just felt right. Dana was home again......with Fox. If Dana could only have seen the look on her face when Margaret had suggested they both come home with her. It had been matched only by the look on poor Fox's face. Margaret chuckled to herself at the memory. The cat was out of the bag, so to speak, on Dana's relationship with Fox. "Mom, how did you know?" Dana had asked. "Oh, I just had a feeling," Margaret had replied with one of her most inscrutable smiles. What? Did her daughter think she was blind? It was fairly obvious to her and probably to anyone else who'd take the time to really look. They stared at one another and touched more often than any two people she'd seen in a long time. Lord, she thought with amusement as she mixed the pancake batter, if Dana's father knew they were sharing the same room, let alone the same bed, he'd have rolled over in his grave. He was always one to stand on propriety--at least where 'his little girl' was concerned. Margaret, on the other hand, 'knowing' her daughter...and finally...Fox, realized that any type of 'propriety' had been violated long ago and to keep up 'appearances' would be a foolish, hypocritical waste of time...and space. And right now space was at a premium in the Scully household. Bill Jr. had arrived Friday afternoon with the kids while his wife was out of town and Melissa had shown up early this morning. Well, most of her family was here anyway, and that made her heart light as she scrambled eggs and flipped pancakes. Standing at the stove next to her mother, Dana grinned impishly as she turned the sausage. She knew she'd be getting yet another lecture from Melissa about the 'horrors' of eating meat. I don't know what she's got to complain about anyway, Dana thought. Melissa had been allowed the luxury of sleeping in given her late arrival time, and Mom had made sure there was fresh-squeezed orange juice to go with breakfast, just the way Melissa like it. Dana turned around in time to see her older sister appear in the doorway, her nose wrinkling with disgust. "Must you insist on cooking animal flesh this early in the morning?" she complained loudly. Well speak of the devil, Dana thought wickedly. She purposely exaggerated the act of inhaling the sizzling sausage's aroma. "Oh....and to think, I made these just for you, Dana teased. "I guess Mulder and I will have to eat them all by ourselves," she added solely for her sister's benefit. Dana knew Mulder's insides were still too screwed up to handle anything as heavy as sausage yet, but it was a sneaky way of letting her sister known that he was here. "Mulder?" Melissa asked in surprise. "You mean Fox is here? She turned and looked at her Mother with disbelief. Margaret, for her part, intended to stay out of this conversation. Sometimes her daughters could be so competitive. "Mother, why didn't you say something?" Melissa complained. "Look at me. I look like a bag lady," she fretted. "Relax sis," Dana snickered while taking in the sight of Melissa's well worn, terry cloth robe, fuzzy slippers, and bedraggled hair. "If Mulder was one to take much stock in appearances, we'd all be in trouble right now." "Who's in trouble?" Bill Jr. echoed in his loud booming voice. He strolled into the kitchen fully dressed in his IZOD tennis shirt and Dockers pants, followed by two squealing, yet equally well dressed children. Bill leaned his large, muscular frame up against the kitchen counter while the kids immediately zipped through the doorway and into the living room to watch cartoons. "You are," Margaret scolded, "If you don't keep the noise down. Fox is still sleeping." Bill pouted and snitched a piece of egg with his fingers as Dana carried the pan full of scrambled eggs by him on her way to the table. So his sister had finally brought a guy home with her. Okay, so he was her partner. The other guy he'd met about three, maybe four years ago, had been her instructor. Bill hadn't really liked him too much--the guy had no sense of humor and was a little 'old' as far as he was concerned. But Dana had liked the old stick in the mud, so he had tried to be cordial. Bill had a feeling this guy was different. If his mom liked him, and he had no doubts that she did, he must be an ok guy. The idea that his mom must approve of this fellow surprised the hell out of Bill. She had never liked any of Dana's men 'friends,' yet she spoke of this one like he was family. He hated to admit it, but that fact kinda made him a little jealous and before he quite realized what he was doing, he let his jealousy slip out in the form of a slightly biting retort. "Hey, the guy was asleep yesterday afternoon when I got here. What's he got? A side job testing mattresses???" Bill could see that his remark really irritated Dana. The reasonable adult in him that advised that he should stop while he was ahead gave way to the persistent inner child and with typical brotherly skill, he went in for the kill. "But I bet he wasn't 'sleeping' *all* night---was he 'Dani-doo'? No endurance huh?" That last jibe was just too much. Dana spun around suddenly, reached up and dumped the scrambled eggs over her brother's head. "I'm going to go see if Mulder's awake yet, mom," she spat out tersely. He needs to eat." Turning sharply on her heel, Scully marched out of the kitchen, ignoring her brother's stupefied look, and angrily climbed the stairs. "Moron," Melissa muttered as she side-stepped her egg covered brother to get to the table. "How many times has mom told you not to wear your food," she said, poking him in his side. "Mom.....!" he whined. Margaret shook her head slowly. No matter how grown up her kids were, some things never changed. "Bill, clean up this mess and scramble some more eggs," she said with a patient tone known to mothers everywhere. "Perhaps one day you'll check out your information 'before' you insert your foot in your mouth. For once, Fox is doing what he's supposed to be doing...sleeping, and taking it easy. On your sister's last case, he was caught in an explosion and was critically injured. In fact, the poor man nearly died. He was just released from the hospital yesterday morning so kindly take it easy on them both," she admonished. Margaret wiped her hands on the kitchen towel and hung it neatly back in place over the oven handle. "You two finish setting things up here," she instructed. "I'm going upstairs. Dana may need some help getting him down here if he's awake." Bill appeared suitably remorseful and gently grasped his mother's elbow as she walked by him. "I only meant to tease her," he said guiltily. "I'll go up and see if she needs some help." He shook the last remnants of egg out of his hair over the kitchen sink, then turned slowly and shuffled out of the kitchen. "Maybe brother Bill isn't such a 'weenie' after all," snickered Melissa in between bites of pancake. Margaret closed her eyes, rubbed her temples, and plopped down heavily onto the kitchen chair. She'd obviously forgotten that having her children home was just as much of a chore as it was a joy. "If it doesn't bother your sensibilities too much, could you get some more eggs out, Melissa?" she asked with a deep sigh as she contemplated scrambling up another batch. At this rate they were going to run out of food before the morning was over. ******** End part one From xangst@frii.com Sat Oct 19 06:29:50 1996 SANCTUARY BY: Cheryl Cohen (Alias-The Stinker) and Annie Reed (Alias-FancyKatz) Forward ************************************ Annie and I started this story several months ago. In fact we started bouncing around ideas for a sequel right after we finished "Devil's Advocate. Okay, we didn't expect it to take this long or be this long but somehow the characters seemed to take on a life of their own and each insisted that they have their moment in the sun. Hence, what follows is ninety pages of love, sadness, joy, sex, misunderstandings, violence, insanity, aggravation, frustration, humor, death...and life. Please be warned, this tale contains, graphic violence, adult language, and adult situations. Although there is sex involved in several scenes, it is not what I would consider graphic nor is it out of context with the story. I like to leave a little bit to the imagination. DISCLAIMERS ETC. ******************************** This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright infringements are intended. ************************************ Chapter Two Okay, What did I do now? Dana crossed the bedroom floor softly and carefully sat on the edge of the bed. Mulder was still sound asleep. She couldn't believe that he'd slept so long or so peacefully. He needed the rest and she almost decided to leave him alone. No, she had to wake him. He had to eat sometime. "Mulder..." she whispered, mischief playing about her eyes. He swatted absently at the tickle that her soft breath invoked in his ear, moaned softly, and pulled the covers up under his chin. Dana eased herself down, brushed her lips lightly over his eyelids, and once more whispered into his ear, "Fox, wake up now." Mulder's lids fluttered in protest, opened slowly, then his eyes focused on her. A radiant smile lit his face like the luminescent beams of the morning sun shining through the bedroom window. "I was having this 'wonderful' dream," he told her softly in delighted awe. "I've always been afraid of dreaming because I'd always thought of dreams and nightmares as being--well, the same, at least they were for me. But this was a real dream, Dana," he murmured excitedly. "It's been so long," he continued, "I...I just never thought that I'd ever just dream again." "Well, Sherlock, what was this dream about?" she inquired. Dana smiled broadly, getting caught up in his euphoria. The tips of Mulder's ears tinged slightly pink and he lowered his eyes shyly. "It was about you," he hedged with seeming embarrassment. "It was ... uh, kind of 'erotic' in nature," he replied, grinning in spite of himself. Unable to hold back any longer, he finally blurted out, "I dreamed we were making love, then the whole room was filled with little girls, lots of them, and all the sudden they all turned into you!" This statement was followed by a low rumble of laughter that originated somewhere deep within his chest and spilled out over his lips like a cascading waterfall. "Now, I must admit to some confusion here, " he chuckled softly, "but you have to agree it's a definite step up from a nightmare." Mulder's laughter was contagious and she found herself sharing in his mirth. He had a beautiful laugh and she was elated to find out just how much she enjoyed the sound. "Okay, Scully, you're into dream analysis." he snickered, reverting back to the way he addressed her when she was working. "So, "What do you make of this one?" he asked, raising one questioning eyebrow. "Ummmm. So ze good heir Mulder vould like an interpretation of ez dream?" she asked, arching her own eyebrow to accompany her imitation of Dr. Freud. Mulder laughed at her. "Offhand, I would say that just possibly, Fox Mulder might have a secret desire for his own personal harem." She chortled in response to his shocked expression and tousled his already unruly hair. Thankfully, the hair that had been burned in the explosion was growing out thicker than it had even been before. Smiling, she bent over and gently kissed his lips. "That's sick, Dana," he complained in a mock serious tone. "One of *you* is more than enough to keep me occupied. A whole room full of you would put me back in the hospital." A bemused expression settled on his face. Reaching up behind her neck, he pulled her closer and brushed his lips along the curve of her neck. His breath was warm against her skin as he murmured softly, "Ah...but what a way to go." Dana pulled back slightly and watched the unbridled sparkle of joy kindle in his deep hazel eyes. There it was again, that difference in him, that fundamental shift in his personality that allowed him to experience and feel all the good things that life had to offer. Something inside Fox Mulder had changed over these last few months since she'd awakened from her coma. Dana had felt it even more when he'd first opened his own eyes at the hospital just a few weeks ago. It was vague and she couldn't exactly put her finger on it. The difference was....subtle in the beginning, then progressively more open. He reminded her of a child along the ocean's shore... tentative at first, running away from the waves, then cautiously sticking his toe into the water before wading in, and finally diving beneath the surface and splashing with delight at his new discovery. She knew that he had faced his own mortality before but never had there been anyone else in his life to consider besides himself. Now he had her. Perhaps the fact that he'd nearly lost everything had shocked him into facing his own emotions...his own feelings about her, his life and how he had been living it, or 'surviving' it. In any case, most of his gloominess and guilt had lifted and it was a happier more relaxed Fox Mulder that faced her now. Whatever it was, she'd decided that she liked it. She liked it very much. "Dana?" he asked with concern. She realized that she'd been staring at him for several seconds. Startled back to the here and now, Dana remembered the reason for waking him up in the first place. "The only place you're going right now," she said with conviction, "is down stairs to eat breakfast." She slipped her arm behind his back to help him sit up. "Ahem...." grunted Bill from the doorway. Surprised by her brother's voice, Dana jumped. The sheet dropped down around Mulder's waist, revealing one large, freshly pink scar along his lower ribcage and several others of various sizes scattered haphazardly across his chest and shoulders. His arms and hands had healed quickly but were still a slightly lighter skintone than the rest of him. Bill caught himself staring and immediately averted his eyes. Mom was right, he thought, this man looked like he'd been through seven kinds of hell. But in the short time he'd observed them, he'd also seen how this guy had been looking at his sister. The man obviously loved her, plain and simple. Bill made a decision and quickly went over to the bed to help. He steadied Mulder with one hand while Dana got Mulder's clothes. Mulder looked up at Bill, and with his help, Fox swiveled slowly until his legs were over the edge of the bed and his feet touched the floor. "I swear I'm not usually this much trouble," Mulder said with a grin as he stiffly pulled on his jeans. "Thanks." Dana helped him slip on his shirt and carefully buttoned it for him, trying to avoid touching the scarred half-healed areas that were still a little painful to the touch. Standing unsteadily, Mulder walked slowly toward the door and down the hall to the stairs. He stood at the landing for several seconds, looking down the stairway like it was a gauntlet. Well, hell, he thought....in his condition, it was a gauntlet. But he'd make it somehow. Just as he was about to take that tentative first step, he felt a strong arm slide around his waist and firmly grasp his belt. "If you can...put your arm around my shoulder, I won't let you fall," Bill's booming, friendly voice promised. "Our family takes care of its own. Just thought you should know what you're getting into." Bill laughed heartily at Mulder's reaction to being called family by Dana's protective older brother and Bill suddenly had to resist an overwhelming urge to smack Mulder on the back. Something about this guy was just, well, likable. "You're gonna need all the help you can get with this bunch, Fox. Especially, the women," he muttered, "they're particularly ornery." He looked at Dana and winked. "Mulder, not Fox," Dana corrected her brother. "I think mom's the only one who can get away with calling him Fox." "I stand corrected," Bill replied. "Once again." Dana stared in disbelief while big brother Bill supported Mulder as they made their way down the stairs. Bill had always been overprotective of his sisters, more so now that their father was no longer around to do the job. And from their conversation in the kitchen earlier, she'd expected him to give Mulder the third degree like he did to every other man she had ever brought home for them to meet. She hadn't counted on them getting along, at least not right away. This was a first...and she wasn't exactly sure how to take it. The phrase echoed in her mind and once again she yielded to its wisdom as she followed her brother and Mulder slowly down the stairs to the living room. Dana paused briefly at the landing with her hand on the banister to steady herself, hanging her head down momentarily as she tried in vain to fight off the heavy feeling of fatigue that had been her constant companion these days. This is positively ridiculous, she thought angrily. She'd had plenty of sleep so there was absolutely no reason for her to be this tired, and she'd be damned if she would turn into some kind of fragile flower at this point in her life. Oh...give yourself a break, Dana Scully, she argued with herself. You've been through a lot in these past few months. Hell, you've been through more shit than most people have to face in a lifetime and your body's obviously still trying to heal itself. So your system's a little screwed up, so what? It's a wonder that anything works at all at this point, she laughed silently to herself. Dana was drawn out of her thoughts by the sound of Mulder's voice calling her name. "Dana? Dana, are you alright?" he asked, anxiously noticing her momentary lapse at the landing. Bill's eyes followed Mulder's concerned gaze and both men eyed her expectantly. "I'm fine," she reassured them. But it was easy to see that they didn't buy it. She raised one eyebrow in contention. "I just moved too quickly and got a little dizzy, so sue me," she replied crankily, bounding energetically down the remaining stairs. Bill accepted her answer without question, but Mulder wasn't entirely satisfied with her explanation. He didn't get a chance to press the matter, however, because Dana's mom chose that moment to appear at the foot of the stairs, effectively ending any chance Mulder had to pursue the subject. Dana breathed a sigh of relief as Margaret diverted Mulder's attention away from Dana by redirecting it to herself. "Would you three get in here, please," Mrs. Scully growled good-naturedly as she herded them all into the kitchen. "Breakfast is ready and everything is getting cold." Margaret smiled at the chorus of "yes, ma'am's" that responded to her instructions. Sometimes the simplest things made you appreciate just how good life could be. Mitchell Tyler finished doling out the old fisherman's supplies to everyone. Keith breathed a sigh of relief when he realized that Mitchell hadn't noticed the missing knife. He zipped up the parka the old man had been wearing. The hood was fur lined and Keith pulled it up around his head. He had been shivering, whether from the cold or from nerves he couldn't tell. But the parka was soft and warm, and he tried to lose himself inside it. "Here, take it," Mitchell growled at him, handing him a cup of coffee from the fisherman's thermos. Keith accepted the steaming mug, trying not to look at the dried blood under Mitchell's fingernails. He normally didn't drink coffee -- he didn't like the taste -- but he wasn't about to tell Mitchell that. "How long do you think it'll take us to get to the Scully house?" Jordan asked Mitchell. Mitchell narrowed his eyes against the sunshine gleaming off the snow. "Walking in this stuff," he said considering the ice and drifted snow. "Probably about half hour, tops. Unless Junior over there slows us up." "He'll keep up just fine," Jordan insisted. "Besides, he's our point man. Who could resist an innocent face like that?" Jordan grinned over at his follower before turning his attention back to more immediate matters. Like the persistent growling in his stomach. "You find anything to eat in there?" Jordan asked, motioning to the remains of the tackle box. "Just a couple of biscuits. You planning on making them multiply to feed us, Chambers?" Mitchell jeered. "I hear bread goes real well with fish." Jordan's face darkened with anger. He knew Mitchell was making fun of him. "Just remember who it was who managed to get you out of that hellhole, Tyler," he spat in the larger man's face. "If it wasn't for me, you'd be spending the rest of your miserable life rotting away inside an 8 by 8 room pumped full of drugs . So show a little respect, if you don't mind." Jordan made a point of turning his back on Mitchell and reaching into the tackle box to retrieve the biscuits. He divided them among the three of them. It wasn't much, but it would have to do for now. Jordan was confident that they would eat much better soon. He knew it, and he was never wrong. Margaret directed Mulder to a place at the table that contained a plate piled high with what appeared to be double portions of everything. He looked down at it with surprise then back up at her. " Mrs. Scully, I've never been much of a breakfast person," he commented in a humble, yet apologetic tone. Uh oh, Dana mused, covering her smile with her hand. Bad move, Mulder. Margaret gave Mulder the once over with her penetrating stare. "Not a breakfast person, huh?" she echoed. "Yes, well maybe that's it then...." she said cryptically. Mulder raised one eyebrow questioningly in slight confusion as to what in hell she was referring to. But no one at the table would meet his eyes, and Mulder got the distinct impression that he'd said something wrong. Maybe Mulder was in the dark, but Margaret Scully had no problems seeing exactly what was necessary. It was obvious to her as the nose on her face that this man had been alone much too long. No one had ever cared enough to insist that Fox Mulder do anything for his own good, with the possible exception of her daughter. Well that was going to change right here and now, she decided with determination... whether he liked it or not. Margaret steeled her eyes at the young man standing shakily before her. She knew that she could get away with what she was about to do for the same reason her daughter got away with it---Fox cared. She had her doubts that just anyone could make him do anything that he really didn't want to do. In fact, previous experience had taught her that he could be bullheaded, stubborn, and downright mulish if not handled correctly. The mere fact that she knew that he cared deeply for them gave her the edge and Margaret Scully used that type of knowledge with practiced expertise for years on the Captain. She also had no doubts that Mulder would realize exactly what she was doing. The Captain had always known, but he let her get away with it just the same. And after all, Mulder was a very intelligent man and a psychologist to boot. But she knew that he would comply anyway just because of who and what she was to him. "Young man," she finally replied evenly, Dr. Grayson informed me before we left the hospital that you hadn't been eating. Is this a continuation of that behavior?" Mulder opened his mouth in surprise at the demanding tone in her voice. What exactly had he done to upset her? Past experience with his own mother certainly yielded no clues. After Sam's disappearance she almost stopped cooking altogether and could not have cared less if anyone actually ate or not. His head still felt like it was stuffed with fluffy white clouds and his brain simply refused to put two and two together. The only thing he could think of was that he was 34 years old, for chrissakes, and he was being dressed down by Mrs. Scully like he was a ten year old boy. His reply, though stubborn, was polite. "No ma'am it is not. It's just that I refused to eat hospital food that looked like someone else had eaten it first." This last remark caught Bill in the middle of drinking his juice, which he ended up spraying all over his plate, Melissa choked loudly on a piece of pancake, and Dana coughed noisily into her hand. Margaret ignored her childrens' reactions and pressed on undeterred. " Oh, so I take it that my breakfast doesn't meet with your approval either?" she countered with a hurt expression. Oh shit, Mulder thought desperately. The last thing he *ever* wanted to do was hurt Mrs. Scully's feelings. While he could live with the fact that the entire Bureau thought that he was a kook and a weirdo, what Mrs. Scully thought of him was important to Mulder. He didn't stop to analyze why it was so important. It just was. Dana stifled a laugh as she read the near panic look on his face. She'd seen this look before. In fact, she'd been the cause of it on most occasions. She waited for what she knew would follow. Yep, there it was...the uncomfortable shuffling of those big feet and then the bowed head. Now for the unsure, mumbled reply. God, he was adorable when he was in this 'oh shit, what do I do now' mode. "Uh, no. Breakfast looks great," Mulder stammered with uncertainty. "It's just that I'm not very hungry." "Well, then, sit down and eat what you can," Margaret insisted. Jesus, why was it that this one tiny woman could make him feel like he was a kid again? Mulder looked to Dana for support but found only a wry smile...the same smile that seemed to adorn everyones' face at the table. Was this some kind of conspiracy that no one bothered to tell him about? They'd ganged up on him and he didn't have a chance. He was outnumbered and outmaneuvered so Fox conceded defeat gracefully. "Yes ma'am," he finally replied with due respect and meekly took his seat at the table. Dana almost felt guilty over not backing Mulder up but in this instance, she was in total agreement with her mother. Both women had anguished over Fox's obvious weight loss during his hospital stay. In their opinion his long, lean, frame had become way too thin and much too pale, so as Mulder had guessed, they had secretly conspired to remedy the situation post haste. Watching Mulder pick dutifully at his food, suddenly began to really tick Scully off. If he'd spend as much time worrying over his own welfare as he did worrying over hers, he wouldn't get himself into such predicaments in the first place. Dammit, sometimes she felt like giving him a good swift kick in the butt. While pondering that thought, she began to help herself to her mom's home cooking in a big way. Everything smelled so good and she was really hungry. Before she'd realized it, she'd piled her plate high with just about everything that her mom had made. Mulder brought his fork to his mouth and froze in midair, staring in wonder at his normally conservative breakfast-eating partner as she woofed down everything that wasn't nailed down, and in record time. He covertly glanced around the table and was relieved to find that he wasn't the only one who noticed the aberration in Dana Scully's eating habits. ******** continued in part 2b From xangst@frii.com Sat Oct 19 06:30:26 1996 Sanctuary part two continued... Dana was too absorbed in her own thoughts to realize that everyone else had stopped eating and was staring at her. How in the hell do you keep a man like Mulder out of trouble, she wondered with trepidation. This was getting way out of hand. It seemed that every time she turned around she ended up in some hospital waiting room or emergency ward, waiting to find out if *he* was gonna be okay. Well, she could always cuff him to the bed again. A wistful smile appeared on her face at the memory but that pleasant thought was suddenly interrupted by a feeling that she was being watched. Looking around the table she saw that the feeling was well founded. Her entire family, including Mulder was staring at her with what she interpreted as acute bewilderment. Breaking the frozen moment, Mulder took his napkin from his lap, blotted the milk from Dana's upper lip and placed it gently on the table. Then with a familiar lopsided grin, he cautiously pushed his plate over to her with one finger as though she might suddenly mistake the appendage for a sausage and gnaw it off to the knuckle. Mulder's eyes sparkled with a dubious glint..."Here Scully," he teased lightly, "take mine---I can't eat any more anyway," he finished with a soft chuckle. The room erupted with titters, giggles, and snickers. Dana's face deepened to an intense reddish hue when she realized that she had single-handedly eaten nearly everything that her mom had placed on the table. "I guess I was hungry," she offered as her only explanation. "No kidding," Bill piped up with a laugh as he pushed back his chair and got up to leave. Two, young, lightly freckled faces cackled relentlessly from the opposite side of the table. As if their father's action was a preprogrammed signal, Matthew and Meredith Scully scrambled from their chairs, grabbed their coats and elbowed each other as they tried to simultaneously squeeze through the kitchen door to the porch outside. It had turned out to be a very cold but clear and beautiful day and after an hour of watching cartoons before breakfast, the Scully children were ready to cut loose. They were met at the back door by Kelly, a jet black cocker spaniel their grandma had rescued from the pound, and the kids' giggles were joined by playful barks and growls. Melissa, also following her brother's example, rose from the table, casually walked by Dana's chair and nonchalantly dropped her uneaten toast on the plate that Mulder had so carefully pushed in front of her sister. Glancing mischievously over one shoulder, she snickered softly, "I'd normally give that to the dog, but you know what they say...waste not, want not." Melissa ducked quickly out of the room before Dana could reply. Dana lowered her eyes toward the table and felt her face grow hot with embarrassment. She endured the lump that had formed in her throat but was unable to deny the tears that gathered unbidden in her eyes. Mulder watched in stunned disbelief as tears rolled silently down Dana's cheek. He had expected a witty slam, perhaps a biting comeback, or even a punch in the arm...*anything* but what he was seeing. Dana saw the shocked look on Mulder's face and it was just too much for her. She slid her chair back violently, bolted from the table and nearly ran from the room. Mulder caught Dana's chair as it threatened to tip over and hit the floor. Three alarm fire bells started going off in his head. This was *not* typical Dana Scully behavior...hell, this was not even what he'd come to know as *atypical* Dana Scully behavior and he couldn't help feeling that he was responsible for it in some way. He tried desperately to think of what he might of said or done to elicit that kind of response but nothing stood out as a possibility. He turned to Margaret, total and absolute worried confusion etched in his features. She shrugged her shoulders in response...she was at as much of a loss as he was. Mulder fumbled unsuccessfully for a moment before he was able to get out of the chair to follow her daughter out of the room. Margaret Scully was alone in her kitchen once more. A slight smiled formed on her lips as she began clearing the table. An old Scottish lullaby came to mind and she hummed it to herself. Poor Fox...she could see in his eyes that he was really worried about her daughter. Whatever the problem was, she was certain they would work it out. With these two it would not be smooth sailing ahead, as the Captain had been fond of saying, but stormy seas followed by calm water. And after the storm there were always the most glorious sunsets. Margaret smiled at the memory of her own glorious sunsets with Dana's father. Theirs had not always been a smooth relationship either, but the ride had been worth it. She was glad that Dana had picked someone that her dear old mom actually liked. Well, adored is more like it, she admitted to herself. And he was tall. Perhaps this time....she pondered as she filled the dishwasher and turned the knob. Mulder nearly collided with Bill as he chased after Dana. Bill had been headed for the front door when he'd been cut off in the hall by Mulder. "Hey Mulder, where's the fire?" Bill asked as he donned his coat on the run. "I was going ask you the same question," Fox replied, conspicuously searching the room with his eyes. Damn... it was empty. Where the hell did she go? "Did you see Dana run through here?" he asked solemnly. "To answer your first question, I'm going to the store. The weather service says that we're gonna be in for a one hell of a blizzard by late this evening, so I'm going to town to pick up some supplies just in case we get snowed in. Besides, mom said thanks to me we're out of eggs." Mulder raised his eyebrows at that, but Bill waived him off. "Don't ask. It's a long story. To answer your second question, Dani doo blew through here like a tornado a couple seconds ago. "She grabbed her coat, and stomped outside." Bill favored Mulder with a typically 'Scully' smirk. "What happened? You two have your first argument?" he snickered in a teasing tone. "Hardly the first," Mulder admitted with a somewhat pained expression, "and more than likely, not the last," he grumbled under his breath. Making his way onto the front porch, Fox spotted Dana trudging through the snow to a singular tree standing steadfast and solitary against the elements. Even through her thick winter coat he could make out the stiff set of her shoulders and he knew she was angry about something. He slipped on the coat he'd snatched from the hall closet on the way out and began to fight through the snow in an attempt to follow her. Something was wrong. Damned if he knew what, but there was something wrong here and he was probably the cause of it all. He'd probably done or said something without even knowing it, but whatever it was, he had to make it right. This couldn't wait. He would never let it wait again. That tiny woman trudging angrily through the snow was the most important thing in his life and he had vowed when he woke up in the hospital that he wouldn't ever let a day go by again in which he didn't let her know it. That didn't mean they couldn't disagree or even get royally pissed at one another for various, usually mundane reasons, it just meant that he would never, ever leave her hurt or angry. Sort of the Fox Mulder variation on the old "never go to sleep angry" rule. So Mulder stumbled on through the snow, awkwardly trying to reach a destination that seemed a lot farther away than when he'd first set out. God, it was cold. The sun glaring off the snow stung his eyes and the thin, icy air burned in his lungs, making just breathing difficult. He was beginning to think that he'd overestimated his capabilities here and had overdone it just a tad. Yep, he'd definitely screwed up. His heart pounded in his chest as a thin film of perspiration appeared on his forehead. He felt sick, suddenly dizzy, and frustrated as hell at his own body for betraying him. Bill Scully stood by the open car door and watched in amazement as Mulder relentlessly pursued an obviously distraught Dana. Bill cupped his hands and yelled, "Hey Fox...What are you? Nuts? Mom said you're supposed to be resting...I don't know....I don't think mom will classify a trek through the snow as 'taking it easy'. I'm warning you....you better get your butt back here before she sees you." Bill sighed heavily and mumbled under his breath, "well at least this time somebody else's ass is gonna be in the sling instead of mine." Dana turned around at the sound of her brother's voice just in time to see Mulder collapse into the stark white snow. What in the hell does he think he's doing, she thought with a tinge of irritation and a lot of concern. I t suddenly occurred to her that he may have misinterpreted the anger she directed inwardly toward herself as anger directed outwardly toward him. By this time he'd no doubt convinced himself that he was the cause of this stupid hormonal flux and was racking his brain trying to figure out exactly what he'd done to make her unhappy. It always amazed her how easily he accepted blame for just about everything under the sun. She had a good idea that his family had a lot to do with that attitude. But since he seldom even mentioned his parents or what his life had been like with them, she might never know for sure. Grunting with effort, Dana sloshed back toward the prone figure in the snow. Bill started walking toward her from the opposite direction but Dana managed to get to Mulder first. Kneeling, by his side she gently turned him over. He smiled with uncertainty as he looked up at her, and spit out a mouthful of snow. "Hi?" he managed to blurt out, followed by a distinctively apprehensive grin. "Just what in the hell do you think you're doing out here??!!?" Scully fumed. "Uh...." He began to move his arms and legs up and down in the snow as Dana looked on dumbfounded. "Snow Angels," he replied seriously, trying to keep his face from betraying the hilarious absurdity of the action. "I've always wanted to make snow angels," he repeated quickly running over the words before they betrayed the laugh that was stuck in the back of his throat. This was totally too much...if she could just see the look on her face, he thought as he lost total control and burst out laughing. Dana, realizing she'd been had got up and playfully kicked him with the toe of her boot. "Come on...get up...You know you shouldn't be out here," she lectured him. Mulder's face darkened slightly as he contemplated as to whether or not he actually *could* get up. "Dana, I....I really don't know if I can...Guess I got a little tired and the tree looked a whole lot closer....and...." "And you really did collapse in the snow," she added slightly pissed that he'd try and deceive her even though she knew it was because he didn't want her to worry. "Not exactly. I just moved too quickly and got a little dizzy, so sue me." He threw the words she'd uttered on the stairs earlier back at her as his embarrassed smile changed to a look of concern. Damn that memory of his, Dana thought ruefully. She hated it when he did that to her. It was a little disconcerting to know that everything she did, every way she looked, every word she uttered would be flawlessly filed away in that brain of his for future use. It just wasn't fair play. "Dana," Mulder paused, shifting in the snow. He tried to get up but only managed to raise himself a few inches from the ground before falling back into the snow, exhausted from the attempt. Mulder groaned angrily and slapped his arms into fluffy, wet whiteness by his sides in frustration. He absolutely *hated* feeling helpless. Dana waited patiently while Mulder dealt with his brief bout of frustration, then she helped him sit up. "Dana," he began again softly, "what's wrong? Have I done something to upset you? I mean, I was just teasing you at the table. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings." He paused briefly and assumed a guilty posture. "I guess it was a stupid thing to do in front of your family." He stared at the ground then fixed his gaze on her with those soft, pleading, penetrating hazel eyes. She could never hide from them. Sometimes she felt that he could see into her mind, her heart and her very soul with those eyes. They were magical. He could see everything there was to see about her and still love her, regardless of what he found. What she felt from him was unconditional, no strings attached. It just *was.* Dana reached out and stroked his cheek tenderly. "You haven't done anything except piss me off by rushing out here when you should be in the house, on the couch or in bed where it's warm. Mulder's eyes were still on her face, still searching for a reason behind her behavior. How in the hell could she explain something to him that she didn't even understand herself? What could she tell him...that she'd had a hormonally emotional blowout, the mother of all PMS bouts rolled into one? She wasn't even certain that was a plausible explanation. While she didn't feel like herself, she didn't exactly feel sick either, just different. She would never, however, admit that to 'mister I gotta worry about everything.' Geez, he'd have her in the hospital so fast it'd make her head spin. No doubt he would insist that they test her for everything from rickets to cat scratch fever, especially after nearly losing her before. No, she would not admit to anything, not just yet. He wouldn't let it go, though, and as Bill arrived to help him up, he murmured to her in a strained whisper, "we'll talk about this when we get inside." Not if I can help it, she thought stubbornly, as they slowly made their way back to the driveway. As they neared the car, Mulder gently shook himself free of the supporting hands that had helped him through the snow. The driveway had been shoveled free of snow, and his ego would only allow him to accept just so much help before it rebelled. "Thanks, I'm okay. I can make it now," he said as he tried to convince them with a smile of apology. "You let me be the judge of that, Fox Mulder," Dana snapped reprovingly while leading him up the front steps. She watched his unsteady gait, ready to grab him if he should fall. When they'd reached the top step, he swayed slightly. She automatically reached out to steady him and pointed forcefully to the porch swing. "Sit," she ordered in a tone that negated any argument from him. He complied reluctantly, opening his mouth to protest but he took note of her posture and expression and quickly closed it, judging that she was entering a particularly bitchy mood. "Stay," she added as an afterthought when he shifted his weight on the swing. Oh, enough is enough, Mulder thought belligerently. "You want me to 'roll over' and 'beg' too??" he quipped with just a hint of sarcasm. Bill snorted with amusement. This was great. These two would provide him with hours of entertainment for years to come. Finally he'd met a guy his baby sister couldn't verbally pulverize or bully. He snickered again until he found himself on the wrong end of a Dana Scully 'dagger' stare and figured he'd better make himself scarce. "Gotta go to town, now," Bill blurted out quickly as he opened the car door. "Hey Fox, can I get you anything ?" he called out over his shoulder as he got into the car and shut the door. "Huh?" Fox muttered distractedly. "Oh yeah, a bag of sunflower seeds would be nice." He stole a side glance in Dana's direction and then looked back at Bill and swallowed hard. "You sure you don't need some company?" he asked hopefully. "No way, Mulder. Stay and face the music, pal," Bill chuckled as he rolled up the car window and pulled away from the house. He turned on the windshield wipers to brush away the snowflakes that had just begun to fall from the sky. Although still widely scattered , the flakes were large and fluffy, filled with the promise of the approaching storm. Bill had a sudden feeling that he should hurry. Watching his only means of escape slowly backing down the driveway, Mulder had no choice but to deal with the problem that had brought him out here in the first place. He turned his gaze toward Dana and cleared his throat. "Okay. So if *I* didn't do anything to upset you, what's wrong?" he asked tentatively. Her silence was not reassuring, so he tried again. "Talk to me, Dana. I'm still you're best friend. Trust me just like I trust you. Let me help," he pleaded. Dana looked up suddenly, a wicked grin playing at the corners of her mouth. "You know," she teased, turning toward him, "I might ask you to roll over, but you'd never have to 'beg,'" She raised one speculating eyebrow while she slipped her hand searchingly up the inside of his thigh, hoping that he'd be distracted enough not to notice that she'd completely disregarded his last question by slyly replying to his previous retort. "Don't change the subject..." What he intended to be a stern reply transformed into an involuntary gasp as her slender fingers stroked him intimately. This was not fair play...foreplay maybe, but definitely not fair play. It had been too long since they'd been together in that way, and his body was quick to respond to her touch. Strike that thought, Mulder, he told himself. You're in no condition for anything as strenuous as what you're contemplating. But his body wasn't listening to his brain, and oh, lord, it felt so good. He was beginning not to care if she was being fair or not, which is what she intended, no doubt. He forgot what he wanted to ask her about as he slid one hand inside her coat and under her blouse to gently message her soft, full, very full(?) breasts. She looked up at him with those bright, loving eyes and he lost all pretense of reason. Finally, with all control melting away like a burning candle, he covered her mouth with his own in a gentle, yet fervent, passionate kiss. His tongue softly stroked her lips, then drove deeply within her mouth and held her captive. Only one thought echoed through his mind, and he finally broke away from the kiss so that he could give voice to his thoughts. "Dana....god, Dana....I love you," he whispered breathlessly into her hair. "I know I don't say it enough...but never doubt it, Dana...never." "I know you do," she soothed, " Do I have to tell *you* how I feel? I would rather see it in your eyes and feel it in your touch than have it whispered a million times in my ear. She planted a kiss on his neck beneath his ear, then nipped gently on his earlobe. "Words are a dime a dozen...Show me, Fox," she purred, "and I'll show you," she moaned softly in a low throaty growl as the physical response of his desire for her pressed hard and urgent against her slender, delicate hand. A violent slamming of the front screen door made them both jump. They quickly attempted to retract hands and straighten clothes that had caught at unnatural angles . "Can't you guys go upstairs and grope in private?" Melissa smirked. "There are children playing outside ya know," she teased ruthlessly, lowering her gaze to include Mulder's obvious state of arousal. Boy, it sure was fun getting even with her little sister for all those times Dana had interrupted Melissa and her dates on the living room couch, not to mention this same front porch swing. Dana didn't have to look to know that Mulder's face was now probably a variant color of beet red and more than likely a mirror of her own face. "Come on Mulder, let's go inside, she commented with a sisterly glare at Melissa. "It's kind of cold out here." "That's funny," Mulder panted, holding open one side of his coat for effect. "I thought it was rather 'hot.'" He sighed as he very slowly got up with Dana and headed for the door. ******** end part two From xangst@frii.com Sun Oct 20 07:20:30 1996 SANCTUARY BY: CHERYL COHEN (ALIAS-THE STINKER) AND ANNIE REED (ALIAS-FANCYKATZ) Forward ************************************ Annie and I started this story several months ago. In fact we started bouncing around ideas for a sequel right after we finished "Devil's Advocate. Okay, we didn't expect it to take this long or be this long but somehow the characters seemed to take on a life of their own and each insisted that they have their moment in the sun. Hence, what follows is ninety pages of love, sadness, joy, sex, misunderstandings, violence, insanity, aggravation, frustration, humor, death...and life. Please be warned, this tale contains, graphic violence, adult language, and adult situations. Although there is sex involved in several scenes, it is not what I would consider graphic nor is it out of context with the story. I like to leave a little bit to the imagination. DISCLAIMERS ETC. ******************************** This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright infringements are intended. ************************************ CHAPTER THREE A wolf in sheep's clothing Dana followed Mulder into the house, with Melissa close behind. None of them were aware of the three pairs of eyes that had watched them from a small wooded patch nearby. Hidden in a small clump of snow-covered evergreens, they had seen a young man try to follow a small red-haired woman to the old knarled tree at the far end of the property. They had watched him falter and fall into the snow. Three calculating minds observed that he had to be assisted back to the house. Three predators smiled as another man left in a car soon after and they realized there was one less obstacle between them and their goal. They saw the two small children playing in the backyard with their yapping dog, and watched as a second woman appeared on the front porch to interrupt some very heavy necking between the frail young man and the small red-head. Good, Jordan thought, this was perfect. The only guy they'd seen was obviously injured or ill. That left two women, two kids, a dog, and whoever else might be in the house and they'd soon have that piece of missing information as well. Getting that information was Keith's assignment, and Jordan had the utmost faith in Keith's ability to complete his task. Keith could play the innocent boy next door perfectly. After all, he'd been doing it all his life, and if it hadn't been for that one little slut who'd tripped him up, no one would ever have been the wiser. Mitchell moved up beside Jordan, impatiently shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Jordan recognized the telltale signs of Mitchell's growing bloodlust with some surprise, but he managed to mask his surprise from the other men. He hadn't expected Mitchell to feel this special need again quite so soon after killing the old fisherman, which meant that the drugs the state doctors had given Mitchell to control him were wearing off sooner than Jordan expected. He had hoped Mitchell would be able to hold it together longer than this, but maybe he'd have to alter his plans just a little. No problem, of course. Except that he'd given Mitchell the only gun they had. Even with the righteousness of God on his side, Jordan had no illusions about being able to take Mitchell out without a gun. "Chambers," Mitchell growled at him, This isn't gonna take much longer, is it? It's getting fucking cold out here and I ain't gonna freeze my ass off while those people in there are all warm and cozy," he snarled. "Take it easy, Tyler," Jordan hissed. "You of all people should know that we can't go barging into the place without knowing what we're up against." Jordan turned his gaze back toward the house, watching Keith make his way through the snow to the door. On a last minute inspiration, Jordan had tugged down Keith's hood and plopped the old fishing hat on his head. Watching him now, Jordan thought Keith looked like one of the local yokels. "Better watch it, boy," Jordan went on, feeling suddenly sure of himself as he felt righteousness and strength flow through his veins. "Get your head outta your ass and think for a change. Besides, you fuck this up for us and I'll kill ya," Jordan added with a chilling smile. Mitchell seethed with contempt at being called a 'boy' by this smiling maggot-filled turd. It was only with a monumental effort that he managed to control his ever-present violent impulses because he realized that, at least this time, Chambers was right. Years of ingrained training in surveillance and reconnaissance, these precautions had once been second nature to him...how could he have forgotten his training? He was becoming a slave to his enhanced primitive, primordial desires. He realized that he was relying more and more on his violent animal instincts rather than on his intellect or reason. Soon there would be very little left of the man that had once been Mitchell Tyler, the finest black ops man the company had ever had. Mitchell knew that meant there was precious little time left for him to finish his one last mission. >From his hiding place, Keith had spied on the man and woman on the porch swing. His form had been completely hidden from view by the thick branches of one of the groups of fir trees that were scattered throughout the property, so Keith hadn't worried about being caught watching. Peeking through the snow-covered branches, Keith stared with rapt fascination as the young woman practice her vile art of seduction. The man was obviously distracted and unprepared for the woman's sexually aggressive behavior. He appeared to succumb too easily to her sensual overtures of erotica, and caught off guard, he had returned her passion with equal fervor. Jordan was right, Keith thought with conviction. No matter what their outward appearance, they *are* all harlots. He watched the woman stroke her victim underneath his clothes, and discovered with dismay that even he was not unaffected by what he was watching. Shamefaced at his own vulnerability, Keith had torn his gaze away from the scene. His body now under his own control again, Keith moved stealthfully through the trees toward the backyard. Jordan had pulled down the hood of his parka and jammed the old man's fishing hat on his head. Keith hoped he fit in because he felt foolish, but Jordan had said he looked perfect. He cautiously maneuvered his way to the edge of the tree line which bordered what would have been a back lawn during warmer weather. Now it was a barren 40 foot stretch of snow broken only by small footprints and the tracks of the children's dog. Keith knew as soon as he hit the open stretch he would stick out like a sore thumb, and he took a deep shuddering breath as he prepared himself for his performance. Zipping up the parka that he'd scavenged from the old fisherman's belongings, he remembered the rush he felt when he'd deceived the old man. But that had been only one old man and all he'd had to do that time was distract him. Keith's confidence began to waver when he thought about all the people who could be in that house, all the things that could happen to him once he was inside. His pulse began pounding in his ears as his imagination took over, his breath coming in shallow pants, and for one brief instant Keith considered just running away. Running away from the house, from the demented monster that was Mitchell Tyler, even from Jordan Chambers. Running so far and so fast that no one could find him, no one could hurt him, and no one would ever tempt him again. Then an amazing thing happened to Keith Reese. He discovered that fear , this intense, even his own fear, excited him beyond anything he had ever experienced before. He clutched the trunk of the tree in front of him as his body spasmed in release. Instead of feeling the shame he usually felt when his body betrayed him this badly, he felt exhilaration. This must be what Jordan feels when he takes the sins of harlots into himself, Keith thought, and maybe what Mitchell feels when he kills. Finally, he understood. Keith straightened his shoulders with renewed determination as he left his cover in the shadows behind him. The wetness on his skin, the only outward sign of his recent revelation, was freezing in the cold air, but Keith ignored it. He knew that the long parka covered whatever might have soaked through his clothes, so no one in the house would see. Instead, he concentrated on the task at hand. Do this right, Keith repeated to himself over and over again as he walked across the snow.. Be convincing and don't screw up. Jordan believes in you, you can do this. He's depending on you to come through, which means he trusts you, Keith reminded himself proudly. Keith sauntered as easily as he could through the snow-covered yard to the back of the house. He managed to climb the porch steps and reach the kitchen door before the two noisy children and the frisbee-chasing mutt could notice him. Dana gently shoved Mulder through the open front door into the foyer as Melissa backpedaled in front of them. Once in the foyer, Dana immediately began removing Mulder's wet coat. "Melissa," Dana intoned with authority while peering over her right shoulder, "go upstairs and bring down another set of Mulder's clothes and a blanket. He's cold, especially his hands," she said, giving Mulder an impish grin. Raising an eyebrow at this last remark, he leaned heavily against the wall as Dana knelt down to untie his equally wet shoes. "This is embarrassing," he groaned. "I can't dress myself. I can't walk down the stairs, much less 'up' the stairs. I can't even untie my own goddamn shoes," he sighed with frustration. I'm being treated like a freaking kid for crying out loud." Dana rolled her eyes up at him. "No, you haven't been treated like a child. I have never treated you like a child," she replied defiantly, while trying in vain to maintain a solemn face. "Oh no?" he asked and opened his mouth to complain a little more, but he never got the chance as Dana interrupted him with a stern glance. "No," she stated flatly. "However, after this last unbelievably idiotic escapade," she grinned wryly, " I just can't help myself. I have to say it. Mulder...you're grounded." She snickered at him as she claimed possession of his only pair of shoes. "Oh great," he mumbled with a look of long suffering patience. "Oh, and Mulder?" Dana waited until she was sure she had his undivided attention. "Melissa was right," she said with conviction. "About what?" he inquired with puzzlement as he scratched his bare foot on fabric of his still wet jeans. "About 'groping in public.' You know, you really should try and control yourself," she teased "What?" Mulder squeaked incredulously. "Me? You started it," he said indignantly. "I never did," she lied blatantly as she stood up beside him. Mulder looked down at her looking back up at him. As their glances locked in a silent tug of war, Mulder's inner voice filled his head. Mulder made a mental note to xerox copies of his degree from Oxford and wallpaper his bathroom with them. "You know..." Mulder began evenly, "this all started when I tried to find out why you were so unhappy earlier. I didn't forget. I may get *distracted* but I always remember where I left off. Actually, I'm kind of hurt to think that you really didn't want my body and that whole groping session as Melissa called it was just a delaying tactic." He exaggerated a hurt pout, gazing at Dana with puppy dog eyes and an overdone protrusion of his bottom lip. "Boy, if that was an example of a delaying tactic' looks like I'm going to have to take lessons in battle strategy from my baby sister," Melissa quipped sardonically as she descended from the stairs with a handful of clothes. "You might try some lessons in tact while you're at it," Mulder added with a forced smile. "This is family-- who needs tact? Tact I can get at work," Melissa countered with a wink as she handed him his clothes. "Oh, by the way," she grinned devilishly, holding up his pair of black silk boxers and stretching the waistband with both hands, "nice, but I sort of pegged you as a 'briefs' kind of guy," she teased with ruthless affection. Mulder narrowed his eyes at her, reached over and snatched his underwear from her hands. "First impressions can be deceiving," he warned, desperately trying to keep a straight face. "I found briefs to be a little too confining," he added as one corner of his mouth curled up into a covert smile. He stole a glance at Dana, who sported a shit eating grin and nodded in agreement. Moving slowly, he turned and crossed the living room, limping slightly. "Where are you going?" Dana asked as she followed behind him. Mulder stopped in front of the downstairs bathroom door tucked away beneath the stairs. "I've got to use the bathroom and change clothes, and I'd like a little privacy. That is, unless you want me to change in the living room. Your 'tactless' sister might not mind, but your mom may not appreciate the show," he mumbled tiredly. "You'd be surprised what mom would appreciate," Dana said with laughing eyes. "Dana, nothing surprises me anymore," he said as he opened the door and stepped inside. "Do you need some help?" Dana asked. She knew that the walk outside and even the short trek across the living room had exhausted him. In spite of his comments to the contrary, Dana knew he was still weak, in some pain, and fighting with bouts of dizziness. All she needed was for him to fall down and hit his head on something. "I don't think so. This is one thing that I've been able to do since I was two," he stated proudly. Another thought crossed his mind, and he made a half-hearted attempt to leer at her. "Unless, of course, you'd like to hold it for me," He suggested. She smiled thoughtfully. "Maybe later, Sherlock," she replied. "Let me know when you're ready to get dressed, okay? Be a good boy and don't kill yourself in there by trying to put your pants on when you know you don't have the strength or flexibility to do it. I don't want to have to send you to your room." "I'm trembling with fear," he whispered with mock terror as he shut her out. "As well you should," she yelled threateningly through the closed door. Mulder slumped up against the bathroom door, closed his eyes, and blew out a puff of air from between pursed lips. Alone at last. For a 34 year old bachelor who'd never had a family life to speak of, all this family all at once was a little overwhelming. They were gonna drive him nuts with their concern. Now the shoe's on the other foot, huh, Mulder, he thought, ironically. You wondered why Dana got so annoyed when you hung on her every move during her recovery. Well, now ya know, nit wit. You were driving her stark raving mad with your overprotective Boy Scout mode. She's getting back at you for all the times you treated her like a porcelain doll and you deserve everything you're gonna get. Well, at least taking care of business was easy. The male of the species may be endowed with this symmetrically unaesthetic appendage, but hell, he thought with some amusement, there were occasions when it sure came in handy...like when you hurt everywhere and you're as stiff as a three day old piece of road kill. At least he didn't have to sit every time. Another very unprofessional thought crossed his mind and he grinned broadly-- in some instances the ridiculous looking body part was a downright enjoyable necessity. He gave himself a mental shake. Get your mind out of the gutter, Mulder. Thinking those kind of thoughts about Dana will only cause you pain if you attempt to play them out right now. "Yeah, but it'd be worth it," he mumble out loud with a devilish snicker. Turning to look into the mirror, Mulder winced at his reflection. "Christ, what the hell does she see in you anyway. Ya look like shit, Mulder," he mumbled to himself. At least his hair was growing back. Thank goodness baldness didn't run in his family--just high foreheads, if his dad was any indication. He hadn't liked his reflection at all in the hospital, and had momentarily suffered from an illogical fear that for some reason his hair wasn't ever going to grow back. But that mysterious green goo that Dr. Jay had covered him with seemed to accelerate hair growth, as well, and his hair was now a respectable length. He turned away from his reflection and started to pull his wet jeans off. Looks like you're gonna have to sit this time anyway, pal, he decided as his balance gave way when he tried to stand on one leg to get the other leg out of his jeans. Slowly he lowered himself to a sitting position on the toilet and slowly wriggled out of the wet denim. Why did his legs have to be so damn long anyway? He concluded that bending over at this point was not conducive to his continued good health as a wave of dizziness made his head swim. "Shit," he uttered softly as he pulled the last of the wet fabric off his legs, trying to ignore his churning stomach. The dizziness he felt bending over was having a definitely unpleasant effect on the remains of his breakfast. "I am going to do this by myself," he murmured with quiet determination. "I am a fully capable adult male. I have stared mutants in the eye, fought invisible demons, and won over one stubborn, willful redheaded spitfire." He pulled the dry jeans on with concentrated effort. He then removed the wet shirt and replaced it with an oversized t-shirt. "Piece of cake," he muttered with satisfaction and a slight gasp of exhaustion. Dana knocked on the door. "Are you all right in there," she asked worriedly. He'd been in the bathroom an awfully long time. Melissa came up behind Dana at the sound of concern in her sister's voice. "Are you sure you're ok??" Melissa repeated. Mulder sighed. An image from a movie filled his mind--a little girl sitting in front of a snow-filled television screen -- and the words 'they're *baaack* echoed through his head. So much for solitude. "I'm fine, just fine," he replied in a strained voice. "Now if somebody could just levitate me from here to the couch, everything would be just peachy." This was just another little tidbit of proof that he indeed, was not Irish. What luck?? Here he was--two beautiful women pounding at his bathroom door-- and all he could do was sit there and gasp for air. Dana knew it. He'd tired himself out trying to do too much, too soon. "I *told* you that you needed help," she said. "But would you listen? Oh, no...not you, Mulder." Two impatient Scully sisters stood on either side of the door, hands on hips in mirrored determined poses. "Stubborn, pigheaded..." Dana muttered in exasperation. "Ornery, don't forget ornery," Melissa added helpfully while tapping one foot on the aged wooden floor. The sisters exchanged one look that said it all -- men. "Go away," Mulder chided in a slightly annoyed tone, although at that moment he didn't know who he was more annoyed at--the women outside the door or himself for his inability to tackle even simple things like changing clothes without getting unbearably tired. " Besides, I've already handled everything in here myself," he grumbled smugly. "I bet you have," Dana teased, giving the door another rap with the knuckle of one finger. "Alright, alright," Mulder groaned, "I'll be out in a minute, Okay??" Fox slumped back against the cool porcelain tank. Geez, all he needed was just a few minutes to rest and get it together. He laid his head back and twisted his neck around to try and relieve the knotted muscles that had formed there, then he grabbed the side of the sink and pulled himself up to an unsteady standing position. Maybe Dana was right, he conceded. He really didn't feel so well. His breaths came in short gasps and room was just a little out of kilter. The only place Fox Mulder wanted to go right at this moment was straight to a bed, a couch, or anywhere else that he could just lie down. Margaret finished cleaning up the kitchen and finally got her chance to plop down in an empty chair at the table to read the Saturday newspaper. Normally she would have asked one of the girls to help her, but she knew they had their hands full elsewhere. She'd heard the commotion ensuing in her living room and intuitively knew it probably had something to do with their reluctant 'patient.' She'd let the girls handle him for now. She instinctively knew that Dana could make him behave and with Melissa's unflappable will, the poor soul didn't stand a chance. She chuckled silently to herself. Poor, poor, Fox...surrounded by Scully women and no place to run. She wondered where they'd cornered him this time. She knew Mulder could be frustrating and aggravating because he'd never learned to depend on anyone completely. More than likely the thought of being helpless really frightened him. Most men were used to being able to handle anything that came along, especially men who'd been alone as long as Fox had been. Situations beyond his control had forced him to be 'helpless' more times than any human being should have to endure. Helpless -- just like he had been when Dana had disappeared. She had seen the fear on his handsome face when her daughter had been taken and felt his anguish and frustration at his inability to act. Dana had also told her of his situation concerning his sister's disappearance. That one event, something that occurred when Fox had been just a child, was the beginning of the circle of guilt, shame and helplessness that haunted him. It was fanned into flame, no doubt by two selfish and unfeeling parents, she thought angrily. He was wounded and the scar, although not visible to the naked eye, was something he had carried with him throughout his life. Emotional scars like that may never heal, she pondered with dismay. But she had seen something in Fox. She had seen with her intuition, or whatever you'd want to call it, a capacity in him for such tenderness and caring that it made her want to cry. She had also seen the depth of his love for her daughter and that in itself caused her to love him even more. Margaret was suddenly jolted from her reverie by a persistent knocking at the kitchen door. Strange, no one around here ever knocked and if they did, it was usually the front door. She got up, folded the paper on the table and crossed the room to the door. Cautiously she opened the heavy inside kitchen door to reveal a man of about 22 or 23 years standing on the other side of the screen door.. She smiled warmly, noticing his shy stance and silly fishing hat. "Can I help you?" Margaret asked curiously. Keith nervously scrunched the floppy hat from his head and held it respectfully against his chest. "Yes ma'am," he replied politely. "I w...was fishing at the lake earlier this morning -- b..bby the way, they're rr...really biting, in case you're interested." he offered enthusiastically. "Anyway, on the w...wway home, I hit a patch of black ice, m...mmy car went off the r..rroad about a quarter mile back, and now it's st....stuck in a snow bank. I was j....jjust wondering if maybe someone here might be able to h...hhelp me pull it out?" Margaret considered his dilemma for a few moments. Something was tickling the back of her brain, but she couldn't quite place her finger on it. She decided to ignore it for now. No reason to make this nice young man wait for her while she tried to sort out her thoughts. "Well, dear, my son has gone to town and I'm not sure when he'll be back," she replied. "Maybe my daughters, if they both put their minds to it might be able to help you pull it out, but I wouldn't count on it. And poor Fox can't help you. He just got out of the hospital yesterday so I wouldn't even want him to attempt it. Perhaps you should call a towing service," Margaret suggested. "Ma'am, that s....sounds like a good idea. Would it be okay if I c...came in to use your phone?" Keith asked. Margaret nodded and opened the screen door to let Keith into the kitchen. Keith absently placed the hat on the stool next to the counter as he reached for the phone. Margaret opened a drawer and pulled out a local phone book. Taking the book from her hand, Keith smiled gratefully, then looked up a number and began to 'dial.' Margaret turned momentarily to pour a cup of coffee and Keith took the opportunity to slide his thumb over the small button by the keypad, cutting the connection. "Would you like some coffee," Margaret asked. This young fellow looked absolutely frigid with cold and she'd always had a soft spot for strays. Keith nodded his head, 'yes' and accepted the steamy mug that she offered him. Coffee, twice in one day. Doesn't anyone drink hot chocolate anymore, he wondered. Then Keith began his imaginary conversation with a nonexistent tow truck operator. He hung up the phone with a shrug. "They s..said they'd be out as soon as they c...could," he told her. "Would you like to wait here?" Margaret asked. "No...no, that's okay," Keith replied, momentarily rattled. He hadn't expected her to be so nice. "They r...really shouldn't be too long, and besides, that c...car's my baby and I hate to leave it alone out there. It w...was a gift from my folks for graduation," he added with a burst of inspiration. He thanked the dark-haired woman profusely for the coffee and her kindness as he went out the kitchen door and trudged back into the snow. He even took a moment to smile and wave to the kids. He was surprised when the kids actually waved back. Jordan would be so proud of him, Keith thought. He'd gotten the information they needed and the woman suspected nothing. He congratulated himself for leaving the hat. That was something he'd thought of all by himself, and it would give him an excuse to get back into the house when the time came. Keith experienced a momentary pang when he thought about how nice she'd been to him and what Mitchell would probably do to her. But then again, his own mother had been nice to everyone else except her family. Looks could be so deceiving. Margaret watched the young man's retreating figure from her kitchen window, saw him wave to her grandkids and watched the youngsters wave back. He'd been so nice and polite, not like a lot of young people in the world today. Margaret hoped that his luck would change soon for the better. "I'm warning you for the last time," Dana threatened. "Come out of there right now, Fox Mulder, or I'm coming in after you." As far as she was concerned, he'd been in that bathroom way too long and he was beginning to seriously try her patience. Mulder leaned weakly against the door and grasped the knob. He almost wished that she *would* come in and get him. He was just too tired to worry about it any more. Melissa pointed at the door knob. It began to turn and the door slowly opened as Mulder sagged heavily against the door frame. "I did it," he smiled softly with satisfaction. "Did what?" Margaret asked, entering the hallway to investigate all the noise that seemed to originate there. "Nearly killed himself cavorting in the snow and being generally uncooperative, that's what," Melissa retorted. Mulder in turn, launched a particularly pained expression in her direction. "Don't you have a crystal ball to polish or a palm to read somewhere," he countered in a hushed voice. When you don't have a viable defense, might as well go on the attack. "Oh, I don't know, let me see," Melissa barked back at him while she snatch his hand away from the door and turned his palm up to study it. Uh, oh... this wasn't working out like he'd planned. "Says here that a petite red-headed woman is going to make your life a living hell, a motherly dark-haired woman will call you Fox every chance she gets, and the red head's sister is going to stuff you full of herbal tea if you don't behave right now and do what's good for you," Melissa rattled off in a rapid-fired burst. "Come on," Scully ordered. "Let's get you off your feet before you fall down." The three women alternately supported and herded Mulder in the direction of the TV and gently lowered him into the recliner. Mulder settled back into the cushioned softness, slumping slightly with relief. Dana let go of his arm, crossed the living room and disappeared into the kitchen while Margaret unfolded a blanket across his hips and Melissa dropped the remote into his lap. Melissa and her mother followed Dana into the kitchen. "Who were you talking to, mom?" Melissa asked. "I thought I heard voices out here a couple of minutes ago." Margaret raised an eyebrow at her oldest daughter and a playful glint filled her eyes. "Oh, really? You actually managed to hear something in between badgering poor Fox?" Margaret poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and sat back down at the table. Well, Margaret thought, so much for reading the paper in peace. "Ok, yes, you did hear voices," Margaret admitted. "A very nice young man came to the back door because his car slid off the road. He was looking for help in getting it out of a snow bank, but all I could do was let him use the phone to call a tow truck." A frown creased Dana's forehead as she listened to the conversation at the table. Sometimes she wished her mom wasn't quite so friendly and helpful. Opening the door to a stranger was a dangerous thing these days, even in a rural area like her mom's neighborhood. Lord knows you can't tell the crazies from the rest of the world by looks alone. Mulder was proof of that, she thought with a guilty snicker as she finished filling his glass at the sink and turned the faucet off. On her way back to the living room with his medication, she spied a strange looking hat on top of one of the kitchen stools. "Does this belong to that man?" Dana asked, pointing at the hat. "Oh, good grief," Margaret said. "He must have forgotten it. Do you think we ought to try and return it to him?" Melissa peered at the ugly fisherman's hat. "I think we just ought to throw the thing out, mother," she replied. She grabbed the hat off the stool and headed for the garbage. "Don't you dare, Melissa Scully," Margaret scolded. "That doesn't belong to you, and you never know, he might come back to get it." As Margaret reached to take the hat from her daughter, Melissa drew in a quick breath and dropped the hat on the floor as if it had suddenly become too hot to hold. "Melissa, what's wrong?" Margaret asked in alarm. "I don't know," Melissa replied. "I got the strangest feeling when I touched that hat. You know the feeling, mom... like a goose walked over my grave." "You probably just poked yourself with one of the lures on the hat," Dana scoffed. Good thing Mulder wasn't hearing this, she thought. He loved to tease her about her 'psychic' sister, and if he'd been in on this little scene, she'd never have heard the end of it. Dana made a show of bending over, picking up the hat, and replacing it on the stool on her way out of the kitchen. ****** end part three From xangst@frii.com Mon Oct 21 01:44:24 1996 SANCTUARY BY: CHERYL COHEN (ALIAS-THE STINKER) AND ANNIE REED (ALIAS-FANCYKATZ) Forward ************************************ Annie and I started this story several months ago. In fact we started bouncing around ideas for a sequel right after we finished "Devil's Advocate. Okay, we didn't expect it to take this long or be this long but somehow the characters seemed to take on a life of their own and each insisted that they have their moment in the sun. Hence, what follows is ninety pages of love, sadness, joy, sex, misunderstandings, violence, insanity, aggravation, frustration, humor, death...and life. Please be warned, this tale contains, graphic violence, adult language, and adult situations. Although there is sex involved in several scenes, it is not what I would consider graphic nor is it out of context with the story. I like to leave a little bit to the imagination. DISCLAIMERS ETC. ******************************** This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright infringements are intended. ************************************ CHAPTER FOUR Suspicions Mulder had just gotten somewhat comfortable in the recliner when Dana reappeared a few minutes later with a glass of water in one hand and a colorful collection of capsules and tablets in the other. "Take your medicine, Mulder," she instructed forcefully. Mulder took the glass and the pills, then swallowed his medication dutifully without comment. Antagonizing all three Scully women at once would be decidedly unwise, he thought. He knew Dana always managed to get even with him, and he felt a realistic fear of reprisal at the thought of crossing either of the other two Scully women. The funny thing was, even as he was chafing from the lack of privacy, and although it was difficult for him to admit, there was a small part of Fox Mulder that languidly reveled in the attention that these three lovely women were willing to lavish upon him. He was amazed, perhaps even a little embarrassed when he realized how much he wanted that attention, needed it. Dana took the glass from his hand and affectionately stroked his hair away from his face. Mulder tilted his head back to look into her smiling face. My God, his mind reeled with a sense of wonder, she was so radiantly beautiful. And wonder of wonders, she loved *him.* How did he get so damn lucky? The words of a song found their way into his memory. '...How did I ever win your love? What did I do, what did I say? To turn your angel eyes my way...' Sometimes it was hard to believe that this was for real, that this was actually happening to him. That thought panicked him. Maybe this wasn't real, maybe this was all just some wonderful dream. He would wake up alone and afraid, and she would be gone. "Mulder? Fox..." she called out to him softly. At first she'd thought that he'd zoned out on her but the sound of her voice brought him back from where ever he'd been. The desperate longing she saw reflected in his eyes reached deeply into her soul as she bent to gently caress his lips with her own. "Please be good," she pleaded. "I really *need* you to get better *soon,* she cajoled with a voice full of promise. Mulder nodded dreamily at first, his thoughts still swimming through his mind. Then the sudden realization of what she had actually said to him suddenly sank in and he snapped back to the here and now.. She wanted him. She must miss their physical intimacy as much as he did. It had been over a month now since he'd last held her in his arms and thoroughly expressed his love both emotionally and physically. The memory of that night still burned hot in his blood. Oh, this was pure hell, he screamed silently. He was well enough to feel the longing and the desire, but still incapacitated enough not to be able to act on it in any kind of way he felt would be adequate. He was not one to do anything half way, especially not that. Mulder made a firm resolution to himself to try and be a little more cooperative and a lot more careful. A sly smile formed at the corners of his mouth and a dangerous sparkle brightened his eyes. "I'll try," he finally said to her, "I really will," he reiterated, attempting to convince Dana of his sincerity. Margaret knelt down beside him and placed her hand on his knee. Looking away from Dana, he saw Melissa standing by the couch. Funny, he hadn't even heard them come back into the living room. He wondered how much of his brief conversation with Dana they'd heard, but it soon became abundantly clear that Margaret, at least, had heard enough. "Fox...," Margaret began in a tone that he'd grown to recognize as the 'eye before the storm,' "there is no *try* about it, dear. You *will* remain right where you are, except of course to use the bathroom. You get up from that chair for any other reason and I will personally take you to the hospital and admit you myself. Is that understood?" Fox Mulder, the man, resisted being told what to do. But Fox Mulder, the boy, recognized a mother's loving yet firm tone when he heard it and instinctively responded to it. "Yes ma'am," Fox replied with lowered eyes. He'd been properly and righteously chewed out. He knew he deserved it and he knew he'd worried them with his carelessness. Margaret stood up and turned to leave. But before she walked away, Mulder reached up and clasped her hand. "Mom?" he said tentatively. Margaret looked down at him with inquiring eyes. "Thanks," he mumbled shyly. She responded by lightly ruffling his hair and patting him gently on the head. Margaret glanced toward her daughter and smiled. "He's all yours, Dana honey, and I don't think he'll be giving you any more trouble. Will you?" she asked Fox with a voice as stern as the look on her face. Mulder grinned sheepishly and nodded his head 'no.' "Good," Margaret stated with satisfaction. "Dana, I'm going to try and finish reading my newspaper before everything is yesterday's news," Margaret remarked tersely as she headed back to the kitchen. "Melissa, do you want the funnies?" she offered as a broad hint for her older daughter to accompany her. "Yeah mom, I'm right behind you. I could use a good laugh." Melissa brushed her fingertips along Dana's arm, then followed her mother to the kitchen. After her mother and sister had left the room, Scully seated herself on the couch beside the recliner, quietly hoping that Mulder had forgotten or at least dismissed her behavior earlier this morning. Fat chance, she thought ruefully as she turned and caught him studying her unobtrusively. Mulder quickly averted his gaze and narrowed his concentration to the half empty bag of sunflower seeds that he'd left on the end table the day before. He crunched noisily, spitting the hulls into an empty ashtray, then awkwardly fumbled with the TV remote. The silence between theme was deafening as Mulder channel surfed for several minutes before finally deciding on an episode of MST3000. Damn him, she thought guiltily. Mulder always seemed to instinctively know when something was bothering her. Sometimes it could be a real pain in the ass having this man so connected to her. There were times that she could swear he knew what she was feeling even before she did and this was apparently one of those times. The doleful expression of his eyes relayed the message loud and clear. It might as well have been written on a post-it note and stuck to his forehead. He was slightly hurt and perhaps even a little disappointed that she hadn't yet confided in him. Well, she didn't have anything concrete to confide, now, did she? Oh, get real, Dana argued with herself. You're a doctor. What would *you* tell a patient who came to you with your symptoms? Mentally she listed them all, and for the first time she allowed herself to consider another very plausible explanation. Oh God, you don't suppose...!?! She panicked and drew in a quick breath that turned into a clearly audible gasp. Mulder turned his head suddenly at the sound, forgetting for a moment that moving that quickly wasn't a very good idea. He immediately regretted it as the sudden movement made his eyes hurt and his head swim. He managed to focus a concerned stare in Dana's direction. "You Okay?" he asked. Dana's expression had transformed itself from a look of pure panic to a mischievous self-satisfied smirk. "I'm fine...just fine, Mulder." She chuckled softly and looked at him in wonder for several seconds. "What?" he asked in total confusion, puzzled at yet another unexpected change in her attitude. Mulder couldn't tell anymore from one minute to the next whether he would get a passionate kiss or a slap in the face. Dana's ocean of conflicting mood swings was starting to make him seasick. "Oh, it's nothing," Dana assured him with a lazy, knowing smile. "Nothing? Nothing!!??" he sputtered incredulously. "In one morning you've alternately cried over breakfast, bitten my head off, then tried to seduce me. You nearly passed out on the stairs, you look completely exhausted, and you still tell me that 'it's nothing'? Didn't you think I'd notice?" His eyes widened in disbelief, and his normally cool composure was really beginning to slip. Cool off, Mulder, he told himself. Getting into an argument isn't going to help. With furrowed brows, he squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger in a vain attempt to alleviate the pressure that was building up behind his eyes. Finally, he seemed to come to terms with his frustration. He took several deep breaths, his features visibly relaxing. Mulder reached over and tenderly grasped Dana's hand. "Look Dana," Mulder sighed with a forced effort at calm, "I'm sorry if I've said or done something and I'm sorry even if I haven't. Seeing you so unhappy this morning really hurt," he admitted, lowering his eyes. "I didn't mean to press you for answers that you weren't willing to give me, but I was worried about you--still am," he mumbled softly. So much for acting under the assumption that what Mulder didn't know, wouldn't hurt him. She should have known better. Smiling, Dana broke free of his grasp, clasped his face in both hands and stared directly into those liquid hazel pools. "Listen to me and listen good," she growled in the sternest, most businesslike voice she could muster. "For the last time, you are not directly responsible for any emotional or physical aberration that I may have displayed lately. Although I'll admit that I haven't been quite up to par, it's also true that I've been through a lot. I'm obviously suffering from some kind of hormonal imbalance or something. And if it'll make you feel any better, I promise I'll go to the doctor on Monday and get checked out. Okay?? Those beautiful, expressive eyes inches from her face still questioned her, still worried about her. "Look, Mulder...if I was sure of what's going on, please believe me, you'd be the first to know." A small pang of conscience stabbed at her. Well, it was the truth, she rationalized. She *wasn't* sure. Dana smiled at him reassuringly and trailed her fingertips lightly along the strong, well-defined jaw line as she reluctantly removed her hands from his face. This time his eyes revealed that he'd bought it... perhaps not all of it, but enough to appease most of his concerns and some of his curiosity. Mulder's countenance brightened as a crafty smile slowly replaced his previously intense expression. He grabbed the remote and pushed the mute button, effectively silencing Servo's obnoxious remarks at the chincey grade D Sci Fi movie that filled the screen. He looked at Dana with unadulterated boyish enthusiasm and grinned. "I've always wanted to do this," he quipped as he launched into a truly inspired commentary of hilariously bizarre remarks and dialogue that could only come from Mulder's own warped brand of humor. Dana loved many things about Fox Mulder, but the ability to make her laugh was probably one of his most endearing qualities. This time he outdid himself. Dana found herself roaring with uninhibited laughter. With sides aching, she gasped for air and brushed away the tears that rolled down her cheeks with the back of her hand. He was in positively rare form today, she told herself, while trying to regain some form of control. Mulder rejoiced in her laughter and permitted himself a silent smile of satisfaction. This was the way it should be for her--always. He would gladly play the fool if it kept joy in her heart and laughter upon her lips. He vaguely heard her gulps fade into giggles, then reduce themselves into tiny hiccups before he drifted away. He was so tired. A shadow of a smile still played about the soft lines of Dana's mouth as she watched the remote slide from Mulder's limp hand and clatter hollowly onto the floor. Dana fervently wished that he could always be as content and happy as he was right now. Certainly she could think of no one else who could be more deserving. Dana Watched him sleep for a few minutes, then got up from the couch, bent over and tucked the blanket in securely around Mulder's waist. She picked up the remote from the floor, intending to put it back on the table, when her eyes inadvertently lingered on the over laden ashtray filled with a disgusting pile of sunflower seed hulls. She breathed in the musty smell and suddenly felt her stomach lurch as the sight and smell became too much for her. Rushing into the bathroom, Dana made it just in time to empty the half-digested remains of her breakfast into the toilet. She immediately regretted having eaten quite so much this morning. If she'd have stuck to her normal bagel and juice, she would have been done with this disgusting business a lot sooner. "God," she groaned softly, while splashing her face with the ice cold water from the bathroom sink. She leaned one arm on the sink, holding herself up. The face staring back from the mirror was white as sheet. She brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. Somehow she had the feeling this wasn't going to be the last time she would find herself in this position. "Mulder, " she mumbled hoarsely, "I'm either going to kill you, or kiss you...I just haven't decided which." Dana dried her face on a towel and headed back toward the kitchen. She stopped briefly on her way through the living room to plant a gentle kiss on Mulder's forehead and was rewarded with a gentle snore. She left the television set on for background noise, a little touch of his own home to help him sleep. Keith had followed his own tracks from the Scullys back door to the tree line, then had sloshed through the snow as he circled the house to the clump of trees edging the country road and the Scully's driveway. This was where he was supposed to meet Jordan, but no one was here. Scanning the trees, he jerked his head nervously from side to side. "J...Jordan, J...Jordan, wh...wh...where are y...you?" he called out in a loud whisper. "I g...got it, J...Jordan," he announced proudly. "Everything you wanted me to get." Still no response. "C...come on, J...Jordan, i...it's me," Keith sputtered, panic creeping into his voice when no immediate answer was forthcoming. No...no, they couldn't have left him. Jordan wouldn't leave him. A loud crack echoed through the stillness as Jordan Chambers appeared from behind a nearby fir, his foot snapping one of the large dead branches that littered the ground. The sound was only partially deadened by the snow that had drifted in underneath the tree that had shed the branch, and in the general silence of the day, it was as loud as a gunshot and more than loud enough to scare Keith out of his wits.. He spun around clumsily in the snow that had piled up in between the trees and nearly fell to his knees before grabbing a tree limb to steady himself. "Wh..where's Mitchell?" Keith asked when he noticed that Jordan was alone. For a second he had been brave enough to look Jordan in the eyes, then remembered his place and lowered his gaze in submission. "He went on ahead," Jordan replied. "He was getting...impatient, so I sent him to keep an eye on the brats playing in the back yard until you got back here. Come on, my son," Jordan said grabbing Keith's elbow. "We have to find Mitchell before he takes it upon himself to act alone, and you know as well as I do what that could mean. You can tell me what you learned on the way." With Jordan leading the way, they headed back through the trees toward the Scullys' back yard, the unsuspecting children...and Mitchell. Matt and Meredith Scully squealed with delight as they tossed the bright red frisbee high into the air and watched it sail across the yard. Kelly chased after it, a black smudge against all the bright white snow. Huge snowflakes fell from the sky, the leading edge of the impending storm, and Matt and Meredith intended to make good on every moment their grandmother would allow them to be outside in the snow before the storm, and grandma, chased them inside. Kelly was not a big dog, and in some areas the snow was so deep that she had to jump from one spot to the next in order to chase the frisbee. But that didn't dampen her enthusiasm one iota. Barking to let the world know that this frisbee was *hers*, Kelly jumped up and Snagged the saucer-shaped object between her gleaming, white teeth. Then the shiny, black bundle of fur bounded back toward the laughing children, her tail wagging happily like a rotating helicopter blade. Rolling playfully in the snow, the children giggled joyfully as they fought for possession of the crimson disk. Kelly wasn't about to give up easily, because after all she'd worked hard for this thing, and she growled deep in her throat locked in mock battle with the kids. Matt finally rescued the frisbee from Kelly's mouth and she backed up in the snow, waiting for him to throw it again. This time Matt threw it hard toward the trees that bordered the backyard. "Get it girl!! Get it," Matt's voice, urged as the blur of fur sped by him. Matt bounced up and down in the snow and teased Meredith by swiping her blue and gold sweater cap from her head. He stuck his tongue out menacingly at his sister, then tilted his head back to try and catch snowflakes on his tongue. Kelly suddenly came up short of her mark and stopped at the line of trees. Something was wrong here, the smell of the trees wasn't right. She lowered her head and sniffed, her tail sticking out straight behind her, no longer wagging in a friendly rhythm. The scent she picked up was evil, pure evil, and she sensed that it meant harm. Kelly's ears flattened against her lowered head as canine lips curled up away from canine teeth in a low threatening snarl. Unlike the mock growl she had used with the children, this sound signified that she meant business. Muscles twitched in tension beneath her sleek black fur, then sprang into motion as Kelly leaped into the shadows to defend her home.. Mitchell felt, rather than saw the dog's attack. As Kelly jumped at him, he reached out swiftly with one hand, seized her by the throat, then ruthlessly slung the animal into a tree. Kelly's body connected with the unyielding wood with a heavy thud. The family pet yelped once in surprise and then dropped to the cold earth in a lifeless heap, her neck broken. Mitchell's veins coursed with adrenaline. The thrill of the kill was now fresh in his blood. He glared out of the darkness created by the trees, his eyes filled with an insatiable hunger and his gaze fell on the two small children who wandered in confusion near his hiding place. He shuddered with anticipation. Just a little closer, he thought with cunning malevolence, .just a little closer. The man he had once been, the man who would have been sickened at the mere thought of what Mitchell was contemplating, was nearly gone now. Only the hunger remained, the over-riding need that burned in his veins. His eyes glittered with an undefinable evil and his hear pounded in his chest with an unnatural rhythm. "Kelly, Kelly," Matt called out impatiently. "Here Kelly, you dumb dog," he yelled with irritation while stepping closer to the shadows. He could have sworn she'd gone into the trees over here somewhere, but then again, he'd been looking up at the sky trying to catch snowflakes. Grandma'd be real upset with him if Kelly got lost. Meredith held back several feet. "Grandma said not to leave the yard," she worried. "You're gonna get in trouble." "Only if you tell her, squirt. You're just chicken," he taunted her, folding his hands under his armpits and flapping his elbows.. "Bawk! bawk! bawk! Look at the big chicken." "Am not, and don't call me squirt," his sister fumed as she closed the distance between them. She gave her brother a healthy shove which backed him farther into the trees. She started to cringe back from her brother's expected response when two large hands appeared from out of nowhere, snatching both children off their feet and into the gloom. With one smooth motion, Mitchell tossed the boy to the ground, hard, next to what remained of the dog while he lifted the girl into the air before him. His eyes filled with a maniacal intensity that betrayed the struggling beast within. ******* continued in part 4b From xangst@frii.com Mon Oct 21 01:45:01 1996 Sanctuary part four continues... Meredith opened her mouth and tried to scream but no sound escaped. Matt was lying in a stunned heap on the ground and couldn't help her. For some reason she couldn't get her voice to make any sounds, so she did the only thing she could remember being taught to do. Twisting in Mitchell's hands, the little red-haired piece of fire sunk her teeth into Mitchell's right hand while she kicked out with her legs. Her left foot struck home, driving one small waffle-stomper snow boot effectively into his crotch. After all she was a Scully and Aunt Dana had always told her to never give up without a fight. Surprised by the attack, Mitchell dropped the girl to the ground. Her kick would have driven any normal man to his knees, but Mitchell was no longer a normal man. Screaming with pain and rage, he raised one giant fist, and prepared to pulverize the little troll into dust. "Mitchell, no!!" Jordan Chamber's stepped in between Mitchell and the children, his voice full of authority, demanding to be heard. "Not yet," Jordan seethed, "I may need them later." Jordan summoned every ounce of righteousness within him to look into the beast's eyes, trying to reach the man inside. "Think, Mitchell...think!! They're just children. They can be taught the true way. My congregation can begin here with these two. I can take them to Sanctuary with me on my holy mission to Canada." Mitchell slowly lowered his hand with difficulty. The pain in his body was subsiding and so was his rage. He'd just as soon kill the piece of shit that stood in front of him, spouting all his phony religious hyperbole, as the two children on the ground. But not yet. He still needed Chambers, at least for a little while. He backed off from the children. "I don't give a flyin' fuck about your truth, Chambers, or your Sanctuary, or your sacred missions," he spat out with contempt. "I only have one mission left in my miserable life and that's to find the goddamn son of a bitch who made me what I am today. And when I find that sorry sack of shit, I'm gonna pull his brains out through his asshole," he sneered sarcastically. "And I don't care if I have to go through every operative in D.C. until I find that Marly smoking bastard. And I also don't care if I have to go through you," Mitchell warned. He shook his head and stepped away from the group, attempting to compose what was left of his sanity. Keith stepped over an oozing mound of fur that looked like it might have once been a dog. Apparently Mitchell hadn't been content just to kill the animal. Keith shivered, remembering the old fisherman. At Jordan's direction he bound Meredith with her scarf and pulled her to her feet. Her eyes were wide with fright and Keith felt a now familiar excitement rush through his body. Meredith was frantic. One man she might have been able to handle, but not three. Although she didn't understand everything the men had been yelling about, she understood enough just by their actions to know that she and Matt were in very big trouble. Now they'd tied her up and she couldn't run away like she'd been taught. Just as she decided to try her voice again and scream for help, Keith shoved a gag into her mouth. Matt stirred softly. His expression turned to terror as he beheld the bloody carcass of what was once his best friend, lying just inches away from his face, her loving soft brown eyes strangely flat and vacant. Matt couldn't scream, he couldn't cry, and he couldn't yell. In fact, he couldn't do anything except peer blankly into those vacant brown eyes and tremble in silence. He offered no resistance when Keith pulled him to his feet, bound his hands behind his back and shoved a gag in his mouth. Jordan grabbed each child roughly by the upper arm and drug them through the snow, skirting the the open yard as he angled toward the back porch. Mitchell followed suit along the other side of the property, while Keith walked boldly through the yard and up to the back door. Keith took a quick glance through the window and spied all three women seated at the kitchen table apparently engaging in a heated discussion of some kind. Good, he though thankfully, all the woman were in one place, but what about the guy? He was nowhere in sight. Well, the dark-haired woman had said that the guy had been in the hospital so he was probably in one of the bedrooms. In any case, Keith dismissed him as a threat. Taking his time while he waited for Mitchell and Jordan to move into place, Keith finally knocked on the door and waited patiently while the older woman got up from the table. She opened the door and smiled at the young man she'd spoken to earlier. "Excuse me ma'am," he began timidly, "Did I leave my hat her earlier? It's really starting to snow out here and I think I'm gonna need it." "I thought you might come back for that," Margaret replied, stepping back into the kitchen to get the hat. She turned around to give an 'I told you so' look to Melissa and Keith saw his opportunity. Keith snatched the kitchen door from Margaret's hands, slamming it into the wall. With lightening quick skill, he charged into the kitchen, pulling the knife from his boot with one hand and grabbing Margaret Scully with the other. Margaret felt the cold, razor-sharp steel press precariously against her throat and froze in fear. Any movement, however slight could very well end her life and she wasn't ready to leave this world quite yet. Everything happened so quickly and unexpectedly that Dana and Melissa hadn't had time to react before Mitchell rushed through the door with his pistol leveled at Scully's chest. Dana froze. She recognized the unsteady glare in the big man's cold, angry eyes. He was insane. Melissa panicked and stood up suddenly. "The children!!" she cried out in despair. "Where are the children?" Mitchell's aim wavered slightly with Melissa's outburst, then he widened his field of fire to include her. Dana watched the man's upper lip curl into a snarl and her blood ran cold. "Sit down!" she hissed at her sister. For once Melissa offered no argument and plopped back down in her chair as her knees buckled under her. For several seconds the group in the kitchen seemed frozen like a still life painting. No one moved, and the only sound was heavy breathing. They were waiting for something, Dana realized. Moments later, Jordan Chambers nonchalantly strolled through the door, roughly pushing the children in ahead of him. He shoved them to the floor violently and smiled, but it was a false smile, reminiscent of the painted evil grin on a ghoulish Halloween mask. It was almost like he staged this, Dana thought, like it was some kind of grand entrance. "No!!" Margaret managed to scream when she saw the children thrown to the floor like they were inanimate dolls someone had tired of playing with. She'd temporarily forgotten about the knife held tightly against her throat. These were her grandchildren. How dare these animals hurt the children. Keith pushed the knife just a little tighter to her throat to remind her who was boss here. Margaret drew in a quick breath in pain as the knife nicked her skin, drawing the tiniest amount of blood. Keith smiled a self-satisfied smile as her fear began rushing through his body, and he tightened his other arm around her as well, backing her tightly in against him. Margaret tried not to let her disgust show as she felt his reactions through her clothes. Jordan's eyes darted about the room and took in the situation before his gaze rested on the tiny redhead, still seated at the table. The others reacted as he thought they would but the small one... she was different. This woman was dangerous. She hadn't made a move against them, but Jordan sensed her penetrating eyes weighing the possibilities of her predicament as she calmly calculated her options. Unlike the others, she'd shown no fear of them, and she hadn't lost her cool when he'd brought the children in. There had to be something, some way to control her, and he knew he'd find it. But if he couldn't, he'd just give her to Mitchell. The thought made him smile. Jordan silently concluded that this woman was dangerous. She showed no fear and didn't lose her cool. Mulder was jolted awake by a loud cracking noise. At first he attributed the sound to children slamming what sounded like the back door. He closed his eyes and began to doze off again when something tickled his intuition, insisting that all was not right with the world. Mulder knew that he had no basis in fact for this persistent supposition, but over the years he'd learned to except and trust his instincts...and right now, his instincts were sending him alarm messages of major proportions. The hair stood up on the back of his neck and his stomach knotted with anxiety as he heard another thudding noise, immediately followed by a muffled scream and then several unfamiliar male voices. Mulder fought momentarily to clear his mind of the remnants of his sleep induced fog. Willing himself awake, he reached over and grabbed the phone by the couch. The line was dead... not a good sign. He put down the phone and scanned the room, desperately seeking anything that he could use as a weapon. Nothing. Well, Mrs. Scully, he thought with dismay, Good Housekeeping would award you their seal of approval for maintaining a childproof home. Shit!! As quickly and quietly as he could, Mulder tossed the blanket aside and brought the recliner into a sitting position, wincing at the slight creak it made when he moved the handle forward to lower the footrest.. His first inclination was to rush into the kitchen. Someone was hurting the people he loved and he wanted to be there with them to keep them safe. Luckily he resisted the urge as the reality of his condition hit home. He couldn't *rush* in anywhere, let alone confront several men of unknown size, not to mention that he had no idea whether they were armed and if so, with what. Hell, he'd already expended most of his energy just getting out of the damn chair. There had to be something he could do. Scully's gun was upstairs in the night stand drawer. He'd seen her put it there yesterday. So what, Mulder?? It might as well be deep sixing it with Captain Nemo for all the good it's gonna do you. There was no way in hell that he'd ever be able to get up the stairs before being discovered. Options?? Options... What options, he asked himself angrily. Fuck, he didn't have too many goddamn *options.* Mulder gathered himself up and with monumental effort. He managed to stumble across the living room to the only available choice open to him. The fucking bathroom. He cracked the bathroom door open just enough to slide inside, noticing in alarm that the blasted thing creaked. Funny, he didn't remember it making that noise before. Shit, he'd forgotten Mulder's Law, number 127A: Things only creak when you're trying to sneak. He suddenly considered himself lucky that he hadn't had to contend with Mulder's Law number 127B: When attempting to move stealthfully, all shoes develop stereophonic squeaking like a gym locker full of mice. Inching the door closed, he leaned up against the wall and made a conscious effort to slow his breathing. But he found it difficult to concentrate due to an unexpected bout of nausea that suddenly held his stomach in an iron grip. "Not now," he whispered out loud. "Please...not now." Unfortunately, his body refused to obey. Bending over with a spasmodic jerk, Mulder noiselessly tossed his proverbial cookies into the toilet, then grabbed a hand towel off the rack to muffle his gagging coughs as he cleared the rest of the mess from his throat. He rolled his eyes heavenward. "Gee, thanks a bunch, I really needed that," he sighed. Mulder's eyes darted around the small bathroom. Come on Margaret, he pleaded silently, there's gotta be something here I can use. Why did she have to be so damn tidy and conscientious? He reach up and opened the medicine cabinet over the sink. "Oh wonderful, another 'squeaker,'" he grumbled quietly. Searching through the cabinet shelves, he encountered the usual assortment of over the counter drugs, and beauty supplies. All in all, things weren't looking too promising. He picked up a Bic razor and eyed it with disgust. Doesn't anyone use double edged anymore. Double edged razors could really do some damage, but this thing? What the hell could he do with this...abrade them to death? "Hello..." he mumbled with excitement, "what have we here?" Mulder removed a prescription bottle from the back of the cabinet and read the label. A broad grin covered his face. "Tranquilizers...yes!!!" Sure, the bottle was almost two years old but they'd probably still work. At least these held some promise, he thought as he emptied the bottle into his jeans pocket. Mulder slowly lowered himself to the floor and went through the cabinet under the sink. Nothing here, damn it...Wait, wait. Oh great. All he could come up with here was a spray can of Scrubbing Bubbles and a squirt bottle of Ty-D-Bol. Oh, I'm just so lucky, he grumbled sardonically to himself. Herein lies everything you'd ever need for the effective eradication of unsightly scum and shit. How apropos. Well hell, he could always get the Scrubbing Bubbles to arrest them and the T-D-Bol man to read them their rights. Brilliant Mulder, just brilliant. Suddenly he'd found himself wishing that he'd watched MacGyver more often. He could use some advice right now on how to convert everyday household cleaning supplies into exotic lethal weapons. The physics and chemistry part he could handle. It was the mechanical aspects that always seemed to trip him up. Crouched down by the cabinet, holding the aerosol can of bathroom cleaner in one hand, Mulder's mind wandered briefly to another time when he'd needed skills he didn't possess. How in the hell did he ever manage to earn his Eagle Scout? He was mechanically inept and couldn't follow a fucking map if his life depended on it. It wasn't like his dad was a big help either. They'd left him in a clearing with a compass and a map and told him to find his way out. He knew all the steps. He knew the map. Hell, that blasted thing was permanently imprinted on his brain, yet he couldn't for the life of him, figure out what to do with the information. And to top it all off, the stupid compass always went haywire whenever he'd tried to use it. Finally, he'd wadded up the map in frustration and shoved it into his backpack along with the compass. Following an inner guide that he didn't quite understand but had grown to trust, he just started walking. Mulder had arrived at the campsite ahead of schedule much to the surprise of his troop and the Scoutmaster. He then remembered, with just a little guilt, that he'd never told anyone that he hadn't used the map. He'd made it somehow, just like he'd make it this time, he vowed with determination. Mulder looked at what he had to work with. Well, nobody said it was gonna be easy. Why couldn't he at least get stuck behind a door that opened out? The bathroom was only a little bit bigger than your average closet. Figuring in the space that the door took up when it opened, that didn't leave him much room to maneuver. He tried not to worry about Dana, but he couldn't help it. He was worried about them all. Anything that he could do to divert attention away from the women and children would theoretically improve their chances of surviving at the very least. If he could just keep them alive until Bill got back, they might have a fighting chance. Bill? Christ, he'd have to find a way to warn him. Pulling himself up slowly from the floor, Mulder spotted a tube of chapstick on the sink next to the toothpaste. He picked it up, studied it briefly and stuffed it into his back pocket, remembering Dana's explanation for the writing on the mirror in their cabin when they were on board the cruise ship. It could work. All he had to do was get close to an outside window. This was an older home and he'd noticed that the original windows had not been replaced with more energy efficient double-paned storm windows. In fact, moisture on the inside of his bedroom window had frozen last night, creating an interesting crystallized image on the pane this morning. If he could manage to get close to an outside window for just a few seconds, he could write his message and hope to hell that the temperature outside dropped enough to freeze the moisture around the pattern on the window. Oh come on, Mulder, talk about your longshots, he complained irritably as he lowered the toilet seat lid and sat down, trying as best he could to conserve his energy. Cradling his face in his hands, he prayed that just once, even just for a little while, he could experience a normal, everyday typically mundane family life without the usual, or rather *unusual,* interference of various and sundry mutants, aliens, clones, serial killers, and nut cases. Maybe when this was over he could move the family to Australia or Bora Bora, somewhere way off the beaten path. He sighed deeply, commanding his annoying inner voice to be silent for once. He knew he'd eventually be discovered in here and he needed to be prepared. Mulder closed his eyes, concentrated on the sounds, and waited. Jordan nodded at Keith who withdrew his knife from Margaret's throat and threw her to the floor. She landed next to the children, who had scooted beneath the table, trembling in fear. Glancing over her shoulder in defiance, she freed her grandchildren from their bonds and pulled them close, encircling them protectively with her arms. Meredith cried softly against her grandma's shoulder, tears flowing in tiny rivulets over her freckled cheeks as her tiny arms wound tightly around her grandma's neck. Tears, Margaret could deal with. What she couldn't cope with was the vacant, unresponsive stare that claimed the light in Matt's eyes. Meredith pointed to Mitchell. "He killed Kelly," she choked out between hiccuping sobs muffled into Margaret's shaking body. My god, Margaret reeled in disbelief. She held her daughters' shocked looks of revulsion, imagining with horror what the boy must have witnessed. Mitchell caught Keith by the shoulder. "Where's the man staying with them? You said there was a guy here too. So where is he?" Mitchell hissed. Can't these fucking amateurs get anything right. Keith shrugged his shoulders and started to explain but Mitchell ignored him, effectively silencing him with a glance. "Just don't give me any more bullshit about the man being injured and not being a threat. If he's *alive*, he's a threat." Dana desperately tried to control her reactions to that last remark. The way the man emphasized the word 'alive' made her skin crawl. Mitchell scanned the faces of the women in the room, intently interrogating them with his eyes. They glared back at him, and he felt a firm resolve of silence clamp down around each one like a suit of armor. They would tell him nothing. "So he has a fucking fan club, huh? Is the man worth dying for?" he uttered in a low growl that grew like the distant thunder in an approaching storm. He was only answered by their angry stares. "Very well, if that's the way you want it..." Mitchell's voice was calm and even. He handed the gun to Jordan. "I don't need a weapon for this." Jordan let the gun hung at his side as he watched Mitchell go to work. Looking back at the women, Mitchell found that his eyes were drawn to Dana. Although she hadn't moved since they'd burst into the house, and her face was still blanched pale with the shock of the sudden violence that had invaded their home, Mitchell knew that she wasn't afraid of him. This one was different. Well, if she wasn't afraid of him now, she soon would be. Mitchell covered the small space between himself and Dana in just a few steps. His intense gaze bore into her in an attempt at intimidation. "I always enjoy the hunt," he told her with a menacing evil edging into his voice. "Sometimes, it's better than sex," he sneered reaching over to fondle her breast. The fire leaped from Scully's eyes as she raised her arm and with a quick movement, violently knocked away his hand. "But only sometimes," he added with an obscene smile. Grabbing Dana's arm, he pulled her from her chair and drug her to the doorway. "Let's go find your boyfriend, shall we? Keith says your a real slut for this guy." Mitchell turned toward Keith who nodded emphatically. "I'm just dying to know why." Mitchell glanced over his shoulder as he pulled Dana into the living room. "Keep and eye on em', Jordan and if they give you any trouble...kill em'" ***** end part four From xangst@frii.com Tue Oct 22 04:26:45 1996 SANCTUARY BY: CHERYL COHEN (ALIAS-THE STINKER) AND ANNIE REED (ALIAS-FANCYKATZ) Forward ************************************ Annie and I started this story several months ago. In fact we started bouncing around ideas for a sequel right after we finished "Devil's Advocate. Okay, we didn't expect it to take this long or be this long but somehow the characters seemed to take on a life of their own and each insisted that they have their moment in the sun. Hence, what follows is ninety pages of love, sadness, joy, sex, misunderstandings, violence, insanity, aggravation, frustration, humor, death...and life. Please be warned, this tale contains, graphic violence, adult language, and adult situations. Although there is sex involved in several scenes, it is not what I would consider graphic nor is it out of context with the story. I like to leave a little bit to the imagination. DISCLAIMERS ETC. ******************************** This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright infringements are intended. ************************************ CHAPTER FIVE Old Enemies Dana held her breath as Mitchell pushed her ahead of him into the room. Mulder was tougher than he looked. He couldn't have been soft and survived all the hell he'd been through but this man was about two inches taller and had Mulder outweighed by at least fifty pounds. He was also incredibly strong. Her arm felt like it was in a vise and she was beginning to lose the feeling in her fingers. She didn't have to look to know she was going to have one hell of a bruise on her arm where Mitchell held her. She only hoped he would let go before the lack of circulation did serious damage to her hand. But the thing that had Dana worried most of all was Mitchell's animalistic viciousness. That was something that was totally foreign to Mulder's psyche. Mulder just wasn't a killer by nature. Circumstances may have forced him to kill before in self defense or in the defense of another, but he'd only done so when no other options had been available. He'd even resisted the overwhelming urge to kill even when the act, in her opinion, would have been morally justified. She'd heard from Skinner that her normally gentle partner had nearly crushed Duane Barry's throat with his bare hands, but even then he'd resisted, pulled himself back from the brink. Dana's stomach churned. On a good day, Mulder may have been able to hold his own with this ogre but in his present condition, *she* could probably beat him up. They pressed further into the room and Dana released a sigh of relief when she spotted the empty recliner and the blanket lying on the floor in an untidy heap. Mitchell grasped the blanket with one hand and held it to his nose, deeply inhaling the scent. "He's close by," Mitchell leered at her with a diabolical grin, "I can smell him. I sense his fear...for you?" He looked surprised that his intended victim appeared more concerned about the woman that he held captive than his own grave predicament. "Good, a challenge. This one will fight." Dana felt a chill run up her spine as, unbelievably, Mitchell licked his lips like a starving coyote in anticipation of the kill. "What *are* you?" Dana cried in horror. Mitchell laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "Haven't you heard, my dear?" he asked with a facetious snarl, "I'm the new breed of human, the perfect secret weapon because I'm a self-contained killing machine. Unfortunately, the good doctors went a little too far, so this failed government experiment that you see standing before you was too valuable to destroy but much too dangerous to let live. I have become what crawls in the deepest recesses of your worst nightmare...but I'm very, very real." Dana shivered and hoped Mulder could hear what the man had said. Mitchell raised his head and sniffed the air, then walked quietly toward the bathroom door. Mulder's muscles tensed as he stood by the door, his breaths little more than whispers of air. The voices were close. Dana's was soft and roughly laced with fear. The other voice was deep, strained with rage and spoke of being a failed government experiment . Oh god, what part of hell had invaded their lives now? Mulder felt the evil approaching. It was as palpitant as the racing heartbeat that pounded in his chest. Looking down at the Scrubbing Bubbles in his hand, he suddenly felt grossly inadequate and comically absurd. Maybe he should use the Ty-D-Bol instead. Decisions, decisions, he thought stupidly while remembering every clichÇ' every written: 'when the going gets tough...,' 'the best defense is a good offense,' 'You can't roller-skate in a buffalo herd...'. Hey, wait a minute, where'd that one come from? Probably from the same place as 'you can't bump off a psychotic serial killer with a can of Scrubbing Bubbles'. I know, I know, he told himself, you work with what you've got. He rolled his eyes upward once more in supplication to whoever might be watching. It's just that sometimes, he thought, I wish you'd be a little more generous with the available materials. I mean a grenade launcher or flame thrower would really come in handy right now, you know? The door knob began to turn slowly in Fox's hand. He silently held his breath as the heavy wooden door inched its way inward. Thank god this is an old house and not one of those new fabricated jobs with cheap hollow-core doors, Mulder thought gratefully. The door was now a quarter of the way open. Mulder made his move. Tightening his hand suddenly on the knob in his hand, he pulled the door the rest of the way inward with sudden force and just as quickly reversed the action by throwing his entire weight against the solid wood, outward and into the face of whoever was on the other side. Mulder heard a heavy thud and a muffled curse as a heavy weight bounced off the opposite wall of the hallway. He gathered up what strength he had and propelled himself through the doorway in Kamikaze fashion, ending up atop his intended target in an awkward sprawl. Mulder caught sight of Dana rushing toward him in an effort to help. He sprayed the stinging foam into his adversary's eyes and punched the big man soundly in the jaw with every ounce of strength he had left. "No," Mulder demanded in a loud whisper. Upstairs...the gun. Get the cellphone and call for help." He hoped the battery was still charged. When they were together, the cellphones seldom got used since the only calls they usually made were to each other. Dana hesitated briefly. Mulder seemed to have the situation under control so she nodded in understanding and fled toward the stairs. She'd almost reached the top step when a cold, sadistic voice froze her in her tracks. "Going somewhere, little one?" Jordan asked her ominously. Scully's shoulders sagged as she turned slowly to face her tormentor. She grimaced involuntarily as she saw that Jordan held the gun barrel so tightly against her mom's temple that the surrounding skin had turned white from the pressure. Behind him, stood Keith firmly grasping Melissa by the shoulder as she protectively enfolded the children within her trembling arms. Keith thought she felt soft and willing under his touch and the scent of her perfume was intoxicating. He would have to cleanse this one's soul for sure. No doubt Jordan would want the feisty red head for himself. Jordan motioned to Dana with a nod of his head and she began to slowly descend the stairs. From the corner of her eye, she saw Mulder struggling slowly and quietly to get to his feet. He was still far enough back in the shadow of the darkened hallway that Jordan had not yet noticed the two figures that had been prone on the floor. She tried her best not to look in Mulder's direction. He needed a little time to get back into some kind of cover so Dana attempted to keep Jordan's attention focused on her. "Please don't hurt my mom," she pleaded convincingly, willing Jordan to keep looking at her as she walked down several more steps in his direction. She was nearly at the bottom of the stairs when he reached out suddenly and pulled her off the staircase and onto the floor in front of him. Dana sprawled on the floor, the breath going out of her with a soft "whoosh" as Jordan placed his foot on the small of her back, insuring that she wouldn't be able to move. "Mitchell!! Mitchell, where the hell are you?" Jordan yelled. He lowered his gun from Margaret's head and rolled Dana away from him with his foot. "Get up Bitch," he ordered. Dana sat up slowly, trying to catch her breath, then used her arms to push herself up off the floor. Her body felt bruised from the impact with the hardwood floor and a small trickle of blood ran from her lip where it had been caught between her teeth and the unforgiving floor. And as if that weren't enough, her stomach was threatening to dump whatever was left in it all over her shoes. Not now, she told herself. Backing away from the stairs, Jordan noticed movement in the hallway and Dana saw his finger tense on the trigger. "Mitchell, is that you?" Jordan glared at Dana through slitted diamond eyes. "Turn on the goddamn hall light, now," he commanded as he waved the pistol at her and motioned to the switch. The light came on, revealing Mulder standing by Mitchell's still prone body. Dana gasped as a large calloused hand shot out like a bolt of lightening, grasped Mulder's left ankle and sent him crashing down hard onto the wooden floor with such force that she could hear the air rush suddenly from his lungs at the impact. A blood curdling howl escaped Mitchell's lips as he rose with inhuman speed and drove his knee into Mulder's right kidney. The rage was primordial and primitive as the demon within him picked up this frail human flesh and threw it against the wall. Dana and Margaret screamed his name simultaneously, "Fox," came from Margaret's lips..."Mulder," was Dana's benediction. The demon seethed as it held its victim against the wall by the neck. Yes, this is what it was meant to do, what it was designed to do -- to kill without the need for weapons or tools outside of its own body --and it knew how to do it very, very well. It sizzled with the mindless wrath that coursed through its veins. But something was trying to break through, to reach the mind of the man trapped within the hellish fiend. Gradually, as recognition blurred through its tortured brain, the devil calmed, confusion replacing the anger on its face. Mulder... Fox Mulder. It knew that name. *He* knew that name. Reason attempted to reassert itself. He could not kill this man. Why not? the demon demanded like a spoiled child denied a favorite toy. He relaxed the pressure on the man's throat as the human part of him sought its way through the confused signals assaulting his overtaxed brain. The man whose life he'd held suspended in his hand, drew in a deep, shuddering breath and his face lost its bluish tinge. Finally he remembered and released his grip totally. The man slumped to the floor, wheezing for breath. This was FBI Agent Fox Mulder, the one who had caused Mitchell's present enemies more distress than all their other 'assignments' combined. They had wanted him dead more often than he could count, but they were not allowed to dispose of him. He was important to the others, therefore, he was protected from the more direct means of disposal that they normally used. But his enemies were clever. They had tried to use Mulder's own carelessness against him. They had tried to trick him, bribe him, and push him over the edge. But somehow, this one man always managed to survive in spite of all their underhanded meddling. Although he'd never met Fox Mulder, Mitchell Tyler had always respected and admired this non conforming trouble maker. Mitchell looked down at the bloody mess his demon had made. He could not bring himself to kill the one person who'd caused that Marly smoking mother fucker such unrelenting grief, not even to satisfy the beast that lived within him. Mitchell bent over Mulder's still body, gently lifted and carried him to the couch. Carefully he placed the unconscious form on the cushions. Dana let out a sob. Seeing the look on Mitchell's face, Jordan relented and allowed her to go to him. "I'm a doctor," she pleaded with Mitchell, who was still standing over Mulder's still body, "please..." Mitchell nodded with what she interpreted as a sorrowfully repentant expression and backed away from the couch. Slowly and carefully she removed Mulder's shirt. Her examination revealed that some of his previous wounds had reopened from the onslaught he'd just endured at Mitchell's hand. His kidney was badly bruised and a small amount of blood filled his mouth, but if she could keep these animals away from him, he'd survive. Now fully in control of himself again, Mitchell looked down at the young man and shuddered. He knew shrapnel scars when he saw them. Had the Black ops bastards finally tried to kill Mulder? From the number and placement of the scars on Mulder's body, it looked like they'd nearly succeeded. And he'd almost helped them finish the job. Mitchell Tyler found himself trying to deal with emotions that he hadn't felt in a very long time....guilt and regret. Jordan stared in disbelief at Mitchell's sudden change in demeanor. He'd never seen Mitchell stop in the middle of a transformation before without the aid of medication and the gentleness with which he'd handled his intended victim puzzled Jordan even more. "What the hell is going on here, Mitchell?" Jordan rumbled. The temporary softness in Mitchell's eyes hardened to coal as he turned away from Mulder and returned Jordan's icy glare. "You have your mission, Chambers and I have mine. I know of this man," he stated in a low controlled voice, pointing back to the man lying unconscious on the couch behind him. "He can get me into where I need to go to complete *my* mission." "Fox Mulder," Jordan repeated out loud. "The name sounds familiar. I know it...I've seen it or heard it somewhere." Not being able to remember irritated Jordan to no end like an itch he couldn't scratch. But then again he'd never been too good with names, especially the names of the souls he'd dispatched to an early rendezvous with the lord. "I'm not surprised," Mitchell sneered, "he's FBI. I'd never met him personally before, but the name is, shall we say, well known to the 'special' government groups." Margaret and Melissa glanced worriedly at Dana as she continued to examine Mulder's wounds. Tears stained their faces and silently slid down their cheeks, dripping slowly to the small braided rug at the foot of the stairs. They shook uncontrollably, yet dared not move to help her. During her examination of Mulder, one part of Dana's mind had been following the conversation between the two intruders who referred to each other as Mitchell and Chambers. This did not sound good at all. Both seemed to have their own agenda, and neither one seemed above using her family, and most especially Mulder, to further their own cause. Of the two men, Mitchell appeared to be more dangerous, especially if his claims of having been a 'company man' were true. He was definitely schizophrenic. She had identified two separate personalities within him, and so far only one looked like it could be reasoned with, and then only to a point. And to top it off, Mitchell knew Mulder, knew that he was FBI. For whatever reason, Mitchell thought that Mulder could help him with his 'mission', whatever the hell that was. For the time being, Dana decided that her own involvement with the FBI should be kept a secret, because if Mitchell knew that he had another healthy FBI agent to use, he might decide he didn't need to worry about keeping Mulder alive. Finished with her exam, Dana arose and warily approached Mitchell. "I need my bag," she informed him anxiously. "I need to close up these wounds, and quickly, or he's going to go into shock." Jordan had had enough. He was the 'leader' here. Why was this bitch asking Mitchell for permission? He pushed his way forcefully between them. "What bag?" he demanded in a tone that dared anyone to question his authority. Dana turned to Jordan. There was a power-hungry glint in his eyes, and if it hadn't been for the gun in his hand, he would have reminded her of a school yard bully demanding a smaller kid's lunch money. As long as he held the gun, he would be just as dangerous as Mitchell, she realized. "I told you. I'm a doctor," she explained as patiently as her frayed nerves would allow. "Mulder needs medical attention, and I need my bag, please," she pleaded. Dana loathed the idea of begging to this slime mold but she'd gladly get down on her hands and knees and kiss his freaking toes if it got her that damn bag. She'd checked Mulder out the best she could without the aid of her medical instruments and although he looked like he'd be all right, one thing nagged at the back of her mind. She hadn't been able to find a source for the blood in his mouth and she needed her stethoscope to check for internal injuries, not to mention the sutures needed to close his reopened wounds, and the painkillers she knew he'd need when he came to. "Why should I give a rat's ass about a man who should be dead?" Jordan laughed mockingly at her and deliberately baited Mitchell. He had the power here and it was about time everyone understood that. "Hey, Mitchell. Why didn't ya kill him? Don't tell me your getting a conscious this late in the game," Jordan added sarcastically. "He's only alive because he's no good to me dead," Mitchell replied half-truthfully. "Now, get her the goddamn bag," he roared. Dana saw a glimpse of his other side in that command and an involuntary shiver ran up her spine. Apparently Dana was not the only one who noticed. Jordan looked down at the stubborn little redhead, some of the pompousness gone from his eyes. "Where is it" he grudgingly asked. "Upstairs under the bed." Dana made a tentative move toward the stairs to get her bag, but was stopped short when she felt a vise-like grip clamp down on her shoulder. "No. You didn't ask for permission to go, so you stay here." Jordan taunted her. In control, yes he was, and he'd show everyone just how much. Jordan looked over his shoulder at Keith, who still held Melissa tightly with one hand. He smiled thinly at his dutiful disciple, and Dana saw madness in his eyes.. "You go, Keith, and take the woman with you... take your time," he commanded. Keith returned Jordan's smile and trembled in anticipation. Jordan thought he was ready, Keith reasoned with sudden joy. His time had come. Would ushering this tainted soul into the light of salvation be as satisfying as what he'd experienced earlier as the result of his fear? The mystery of the unknown beckoned as he pushed Melissa up the stairs ahead of him. Dana and her mother exchanged worried, frightened glances as Melissa and Keith disappeared from sight. Neither woman wanted to consider the connotations of Jordan's vague instructions to Keith. Margaret clutched her grandchildren to her, their faces buried in her dress. So much violence, she thought. Children should not be exposed to this, and as frightened as she was for her family, she was also very, very angry. More than her mother, Dana knew what men like these were capable of. She and Mulder had seen photographs and been to crime scenes that displayed their handiwork. She had conducted autopsies of the victims of such psychopaths, and she was suddenly struck with the thought that she might never see her sister alive again. Trying to drive such negative visions from her mind, she was temporarily distracted by a soft, painful moan from the couch. ******* continues in part 5b From xangst@frii.com Tue Oct 22 04:27:22 1996 Sanctuary part five continues... Mulder's arm slipped from its position by his side to dangled loosely over the edge of the couch, his long, elegant, bloodied fingers lightly brushing the smoothly polished wooden floor. Dana cautiously moved to his side as Margaret moved the children as far away from the blood and pain as she was allowed. They sat huddled together against a wall at the far end of the room. Is Uncle Fox gonna die, Grammy?" Meredith cried softly. "No honey. Uncle Fox is gonna be just fine. We're all going to be just fine," Margaret reassured the child with a conviction in her voice that she wasn't sure she felt. Another garbled moan escaped Mulder's lips, followed by a convulsive cough that left a fresh stain of crimson on the floral pattern beneath his mouth. Dana grasped his shoulders in alarm to lessen his movement, then placed a cushion under his head and shoulders to help him breathe. Mulder inhaled sharply and his eyes flew open suddenly in pain when she moved him. "Mulder," Dana whispered softly, "can you hear me? You're going to be okay. Mulder?" Mulder felt like he'd been broken in half. He heard Dana's voice on the edge of his consciousness like a beacon calling him home. He wanted to follow the voice but the closer he got to it the more the pain licked at the corners of his mind like a raging fire...he hated fire, but he loved Dana. As awareness flooded through like a rampaging river through an earthen damn, pain exploded in his mind and body like a million pinpricks of light. He moaned again and his face screwed up in pain. Slowly he opened his eyes to gaze at the light that had guided him home. Her smiled warmed him. Her gentle touch eased his pain. He suspected from the look in her eyes that he must be in trouble again. "Dana? What happened?" His speech slurred lazily like a wino coming off of a four day drunk. The room was spinning around him, and he closed his eyes in an attempt to steady his reeling senses. Dana considered him with a rueful expression. "Well," she sighed loudly, "let's just say that you're attempt at becoming a lethal weapon was not entirely successful. It seems that the only person you're lethal to, is you." Mulder opened one eye in a modified squint, hoping that if he looked at the world only part-way, it would at least keep still. He found that his attempt was only partially successful. "Oh...you mean...the usual scenario repeated itself again," he mumbled dejectedly. She smiled tenderly and tried to get his mind off his pain by gently teasing him. "You know, this must be some kind of record for you, Mulder." Now what the hell did she mean by that? Even though the room had finally stopped spinning, he admitted his mind was still a little foggy and more than a little sluggish. He knew he should have been able to pick up on what she was getting at but he had to reluctantly admit that he was at a loss. "Record?" he finally asked hoarsely. "You haven't even been out of the hospital for more than a day before you managed to get yourself beaten up again," she chuckled as she brushed her lips against his forehead, then dropped them by his ear. Hoping he was alert enough to understand, she whispered lightly. "There are three men. I believe at least two of them are insane and the one behind me has a gun. Another took Melissa upstairs and the third, I don't know. I think he is, or was, government. We're in trouble. She pulled back to reveal Jordan Chambers standing behind her. Mulder's eyes froze in agonized recognition. He knew this animal. He'd helped capture it and put it away many years ago when he'd worked in the Violent Crimes Section. They'd told him Jordan Chambers was as good as dead. He'd told them good as dead just wasn't good enough. They'd said that in time, he'd forget this monster, he'd told them that for him, forgetting was not an option. Jordan Chambers had never seen Fox Mulder but Fox Mulder most certainly had seen Jordan Chambers. He'd been in his head, seen his carnage, lived the nightmare that Jordan Chambers had created. Finally, on a cold winter's day in late January, based on the information he'd provided to his superiors through the profile that he'd created, the evil was captured and locked away from the rest of humanity in a state hospital for the criminally insane. His recommendations had put this vile creature where he'd belonged and he'd been more than happy to sign his name to the commitment papers. Now this nightmare disguised as a man had obviously escaped to spread his malevolence to the people Mulder cared about most. He'd been right. Good as dead had not been good enough. "Mulder?" Are you okay?" A look of recognition and rage blew across his face, as violent as the tempest storming outside their shelter and it frightened her. He knew this insane man who had invaded their home.. If Mulder knew him, there was also a good chance Jordan knew Mulder too. However, she reminded herself, Mulder's memory was photographic...Jordan's was not. Mulder narrowed his eyes and glared defiantly at Jordan. "What do you want from us? The car keys are in the hall closet. Why don't you just take them and go?" Jordan's eyes gleamed with an unholy light, reflecting the self-confident smile on his face. "Oh I intend to Mr. Mulder, I intend to. But I'm afraid I can't just leave you here. You see, I need the children to begin my ministry." Mulder's eyes flared at that statement and Dana noticed the slight twitch in his jaw and the tightening of his muscles beneath her hand. "As for the rest of you, your destinies are preordained." Jordan paused, then added, "Mitchell needs you for his own reasons," he told Mulder. "Keith needs to usher a soul into eternity, a doctor could come in handy on our journey, and right now I'm hungry. I certainly hope your mother can cook." Dana tried to ignore the dread that settled in her heart at Jordan's pronouncement of Melissa's fate. She was already out of sight and right now there was nothing she could do about it except trust Melissa to be able to take care of herself, at least for the time being. Worrying about Melissa would do nothing but distract her, and distractions could lead to a mistake that would put the rest of her family in jeopardy. "Who's Mitchell?" Mulder asked Jordan with a gasp. The pain was really starting to get out of hand. Jordan laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "He's the ugly mutant who nearly ushered *you* into eternity." Mitchell Tyler moved within Mulder's view. The way the big man studied him, a strange mixture of curiosity and hunger, made Mulder extremely uncomfortable. There was intelligence here, Mulder thought, maybe buried deep inside his psychosis, but this was still a thinking, reasoning man. He remembered Mitchell's unrelenting attack on him, the unnatural speed with which he moved, the ferocity in his eyes, his impossible strength and agility, and Mulder knew instinctively that whatever insanity plagued Mitchell's soul was instilled within him from an outside source. Not drugs -- the change had been too quick, almost like a light switch being turned on and then off. It had to be something else, something infinitely more sinister. He had an uncanny feeling that Mitchell was a victim. He was someone who had given in, possibly after a long and desperate struggle, to the only path that was provided to him. Mulder also knew that in spite of what his instincts told him, he would have to find a way to destroy Mitchell Tyler. Keith followed Melissa into a small bedroom at the far end of the hall. Her soft flowing skirt clung seductively to her shapely body. What Keith at first thought was perfume, now had a more earthy scent like the fresh smell of grass after a spring rain. He shivered with anticipation. Roughly Keith grabbed her arm and turned her around to face him. She had to be at least nine or ten years older than he was, yet he found this woman extremely attractive. Jenny, he thought with amazement, paled in comparison to the mature beautiful woman standing before him. With a look of revulsion, Melissa turned abruptly, jerking her arm violently from Keith's grasp as she stumbled slightly on her way to the bed. As Melissa bent over to slide the black leather bag from beneath the bed, Keith's eyes envisioned her body beneath the soft fabric. A soft fanatical whisper fell upon her ears, getting closer and closer. "I can make you pure," Keith murmured over her shoulder. "I can take your evil into myself and prepare your soul for paradise... give it sanctuary. Jordan has shown me the true way. I know how to save you," Keith's voice lilted hypnotically. Melissa was nearly lulled into false calm by the soft melodic quality of Keith's velvety voice when she was rudely brought back to reality. As she stood with the bag in her hand, Keith reached out and possessively grabbed the soft, firm, fold of her bottom through the gauze-like material of her skirt. Before Melissa could react, Keith brutally shoved her face first against the wall. Desire exploded along every nerve in Keith's body. He could feel the fear emanating from this woman at his unexpected actions. More...he needed more. He forced his hand down the front of Melissa's skirt and an unhealthy ecstasy filled his entire being. So this was his reward. This was what Jordan wanted him to experience. Melissa screamed, but the sound merely caused Keith to smash her face into the wall, which just seemed to excite him even more. Keith's intentions exploded unbidden into Melissa's mind as he ripped at her blouse. Unsatisfied with her position, Keith jerked her away from the wall and slammed her hard to the floor. The black bag flew from her hand, its contents scattering in disarray into a wide arc that bounced off the wall trim in all directions. No, no, oh no, her dazed brain cried, and she barely perceived a heavy weight pressed down upon her chest. With one large hand, Keith pinned both of Melissa's wrist to the floor above her head while he pulled at her undergarments and unzipped his pants with the other. Hard and throbbing, he pressed himself between her thighs and trembled with anticipation. This is what Jordan felt when the evil left the harlot's body!!! He *was* a true disciple. Jordan would be proud. Melissa's initial shock and terror soon transformed into an uncontrollable rage when she fully realized what was happening to her. She bit down her fear, concentrating instead on her anger. Quivering like a beaten puppy was not going to help her survive. With a bizarre kind of detachment, Melissa gazed into her attacker's innocent looking boyish face and was struck by the inconsistency of his appearance with the savagery of his actions. Like a junkie who needs bigger and bigger doses to get a rush, Keith wanted more. The woman no longer looked afraid of him. She should be afraid of him. He needed her to be afraid. With his free hand he ripped open her blouse and grabbed the tender flesh inside, squeezing and twisting savagely. Melissa cried out in pain, but still he saw no fear in her eyes. His groin was throbbing, urging him to complete the task, but she was still not afraid of him. Then he remembered the knife. She would be afraid of the knife. Keith reached down to grab the serrated blade from his boot. Twisting his body so that he could reach, he overbalanced himself and Melissa saw her chance. Pushing with her legs, she toppled Keith off of her and he let go of her wrists to break his fall. Seizing the only opportunity she thought she'd get, Melissa balled up the fist of her right hand and sent it crashing into Keith's now unprotected crotch. Dana Scully school of self defense, she thought to herself idly. A scream of agony escaped Keith's lips as he rolled onto the floor in a protective fetal position. Melissa scrambled frantically to the night stand where she knew her sister kept her gun. She snatched open the drawer and retrieved the weapon. Oh God, Melissa panicked. She knew absolutely nothing about guns. That was Dana's department. Now that she finally had a weapon, she hadn't the faintest idea of how to use it so she slipped it into her skirt pocket and ran out of the room. Dana's head snapped up in alarm at the sound of her sister's screams. Her mother, leaving the children by the far wall, got up and ran toward the stairs. Unfortunately for Margaret, Mitchell Tyler was directly in her path. Mitchell grabbed the tiny woman, held her flailing and hissing form in one arm as he ripped the phone cord from the wall. He bound Margaret's wrists and ankles with it and deposited her none to gently on the other end of the couch. "Jesus Christ, I can't watch them all, Jordan," Mitchell complained loudly. Dana jumped to her feet to protest but found herself warming the cushion next to her mom as a result of her efforts. Mulder painfully pushed himself into an upright position in spite of Dana's orders to him to remain where he was. Subsequent pleading glances from her that silently asked for his obedience, went unheeded. "What do you want?" Mulder asked again, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. Another scream drifted downstairs and all heads turned toward the sound. Mitchell shot a look at Jordan, unsure if the sound was male or female. "I'd better go check it out," Mitchell grumbled belligerently as he climbed the stairs. Mulder saw the unshed tears brimming in Margaret's terrified eyes. He watched Dana as the same look replaced the control that she'd fought so hard to maintain. He could not bear to watch their pain, to just sit here and listen to the screams from the upstairs bedroom, unable to do a damn thing about it. Dana's mom and sister..God, the children, even Bill..they were like family to him. Hell, they *were* his family. The only family that he had. Dana caught the not quite sane glare in Fox's eyes. Her breath caught as she contemplated what he was thinking and feeling. She knew this man better than any other human being on this earth, including her own family and his control was slipping--badly. He was loyal, gentle and loving with a nearly uncompromising sense of ethics but he was also the most empathetic person she'd ever known. It was ironic that the same quality that enabled him to get inside the heads of serial killers, also threatened to push him over the emotional edge now. Please Mulder, don't do anything stupid she prayed, silently watching the fire of righteous rage build behind dark eyes grown cold with anger. Another scream pierced Mulder's soul and he lost what little that remained of his control. "You fucking son of a bitch!!!" Mulder yelled hoarsely with unthinking, blinding fury. "They should have fried your ass when they had the chance. Life in prison, for you, is an insult to humanity and an abomination of justice. I told them that," Mulder panted as he ran out of breath. "They promised to do as I asked," he gasped. "And what pray tell was that?" Jordan snarled, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Mulder met the madman's eyes with open, honest hatred. "That they should lock you up and throw away the goddamn key," Mulder spat out, his voice dripping with venom. "I remember that phrase," Jordan growled, "and now I remember the name that went with it--'Fox Mulder,'" Jordan's voice shook with rage. "You!!! You sent me to that hell hole!! YOU!!!" Jordan roared and pulled the gun into his hand, closing his fingers around it in a fist as he raised it above Mulder's head. The blow came quickly, striking Fox squarely along the side of his head just above his left ear, opening his flesh with a sickening smack. "No!!" Dana cried, lunging over Mulder just in time to prevent the second blow from connecting with his face, absorbing it with her own body. Fire shot through her shoulder blade, up through her neck and down her left arm to her fingertips. Jordan pulled at Dana angrily, trying to remove the only obstacle that stood between his rage and its cause, but her right hand clung to Mulder protectively with fierce determination. Frustrated beyond all reason, Jordan hit her again. Once in the hall and away from Keith, Melissa ran to her mom's bedroom, went inside and locked the door. Not trusting the flimsy lock, she propped a heavy antique vanity chair under the door knob. Faintly, she heard heavy steps come up the stairs and enter Dana's room. They would find her. No matter how well she hid, sooner or later they would find her. Suddenly Melissa remembered Bill. He would be home soon. She couldn't just let him walk in on this, or worse, be shot as soon as he got out of the car. She had to warn him. But how? A half-remembered question from her childhood ran through her thoughts. What would dad have done, she asked herself calmly. As a child, whenever she'd wondered what the right thing to do was, she'd always asked herself what her dad would have done. It had always worked for her then, and it worked once again for her now. A voice from long ago whispered in her mind and she knew what to do. "Thanks daddy," Melissa mumbled out loud as she opened the closet door and removed the flag from the top shelf. The heavy fabric was still carefully folded, as it had been on the day it had been given to her mom at the funeral. As quietly as possible, Melissa ran across the room to the window and opened it slightly. The snow flurries had picked up considerably, blown about by the wind, and heavy flakes blew in through the open window. The sky was also darker than it should have been for this time of day, an ominous sign, and visibility was already less than a half mile. The storm was moving in more quickly than expected. Maybe Bill wouldn't get back, she thought with dismay. Carefully, she unfolded the flag and hung it upside down out of the window, then closed the window so that the flag was clamped into place between the window pane and the sill. Bill would recognize the universal distress signal. Melissa only hoped that he'd be able to see it through the snow. She used her skirt to mop up the little puddles left on the sill and the floor by the melting snowflakes. Finally she closed the curtains, walked back to the closet and huddled in one dark corner, surrounded by the scent of her mother's perfume that still lingered on her clothes. She pulled her blouse tight around herself, trying not to give in to the shakes. Do what they would expect you to do, Melissa told herself. She waited. She didn't have long to wait. In just a couple of minutes, she heard a crash as the bedroom door gave way. Peeking through the crack around the edge of the closet door, Melissa saw Mitchell Tyler enter the room followed by a limping, disheveled, and bruised Keith. Mitchell carried Dana's black doctor's bag in his hand. Melissa flattened herself flush against the wall of the dark closet and held her breath as Mitchell scanned the room. He immediately headed toward her hiding place. Melissa felt his mind reaching for her and knew that he'd found her. "What *was* he? she asked herself frantically. The mind she sensed was dark and foreboding, awash with conflicting emotions. Rage, fear, hunger, and hatred swirled in confused eddies with sorrow, guilt and an overpowering need for revenge. Evil and good warred with monumental intensity for control of an unnatural and horrifying compulsion. Mitchell felt the woman's mind make contact with him. She knew that he 'sensed' her and knew where she was. Reaching into the closet, he grasped her wrist, and pulled Melissa back into the light. "Now that you two have had your fun," he growled, "I think it's time we all went back to the party." Holding Melissa's wrist tightly, he escorted her from the room and down the stairs. Keith followed behind, quietly subdued with embarrassment. He would never regain Jordan's respect now...he had failed, failed miserably. ******* end part five From xangst@frii.com Wed Oct 23 05:24:40 1996 SANCTUARY BY: CHERYL COHEN (ALIAS-THE STINKER) AND ANNIE REED (ALIAS-FANCYKATZ) Forward ************************************ Annie and I started this story several months ago. In fact we started bouncing around ideas for a sequel right after we finished "Devil's Advocate. Okay, we didn't expect it to take this long or be this long but somehow the characters seemed to take on a life of their own and each insisted that they have their moment in the sun. Hence, what follows is ninety pages of love, sadness, joy, sex, misunderstandings, violence, insanity, aggravation, frustration, humor, death...and life. Please be warned, this tale contains, graphic violence, adult language, and adult situations. Although there is sex involved in several scenes, it is not what I would consider graphic nor is it out of context with the story. I like to leave a little bit to the imagination. DISCLAIMERS ETC. ******************************** This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright infringements are intended. ************************************ CHAPTER SIX Body Work and Unexpected Liaisons The small woman was much stronger than she looked, but after several blows, Jordan finally managed to pry her away from her protective posture, covering the man on the couch. He raised the gun, still clenched lengthwise in his fist, ready to deliver another blow to the focus of his anger. On the couch, the dazed, bleeding young man weakly lifted his arm in a useless attempt to protect himself. "Jordan, NO!!" Mitchell's booming voiced filled the room, demanding immediate and unconditional obedience. Jordan made no move to lower his hand. Shaking with fury, he glared at Mitchell. "Fox Mulder is the one who betrayed me ... took my thoughts and used them against me. He tracked me down like some common criminal. He's the one who recommended that I be put in that hell hole without possibility of reprieve." Jordan's voice turned low and dangerous. "You want your revenge Mitchell, I want mine." Still holding Melissa by the wrist, Mitchell moved next to Jordan. Melissa tried not to shrink back from the anger she felt emanating from these two, and the nearly visible crackling energy that stabbed back and forth between them. "Don't equate your sick revenge with my situation, Jordan," Mitchell sneered. "You chose to be what you were. What you got in the end, was what you asked for. Remember the trail of molested and mutilated childrens' bodies you left behind for him to follow? Agent Mulder is an honorable man -- something you know nothing about. He only did what he felt he was morally obligated to do, so don't kid yourself that we're the least alike. My revenge is directed at a dishonorable man, someone who knowingly made me into something less than human without my knowledge or consent." Mitchell stopped for a moment, struggling to contain the need that burned through his veins at the mere thought of his enemy. "I was transformed into a viscous animal that kills without reason or remorse...whose entire being contradicts the morality of the man I once was. No, I don't think our motives are remotely similar. Stop now, or I'll set the beast free. If you think you can shoot me before I kill you, then go ahead and gamble. You feeling lucky, Jordan?" Jordan stood silently for several minutes, weighing his chances at survival against Mitchell's threat . Mitchell was standing close enough that he could rip his throat out in only a couple of steps, probably before Jordan could even aim the gun. Now was not the time, he reasoned. Reluctantly Jordan lowered his hand to his side and stepped away from the couch, glaring explosively at Mulder in the process. Holding Melissa by her forearm, Mitchell slowly lowered her to a sitting position on the floor by the couch, then reached over and deftly removed the gun from Jordan's hand. Melissa sat silently rubbing her arm, her face pale from the mental shock of their argument. They want to kill each other, Melissa thought, but something was holding them back. She wondered how much longer her family could stay safe in the face of such madness and rage. Dana had seen her sister's torn clothing, the white and pasty look of shock on her face. At least she was still alive, Dana thought with some measure of relief. Melissa could wait -- Mulder couldn't. Taking the black bag that Mitchell proffered to her, Dana pulled out several lethal looking syringes. Her action elicited the expected reactions from Mulder, including the familiar cringe. Damn, she'd thought he'd be dazed enough not to notice. "Come on Mulder, don't act like a baby...especially around these guys," she whispered urgently. Thankfully, a soft whimper was his only reply. With Jordan temporarily subdued, Mitchell walked over to the couch, observing Dana as she worked. Dana watched in fascinated dread as Mitchell reached out and dreamily ran his finger down Mulder's bloodied face, bringing the fresh blood to his mouth, and removing it in a suckling manner. The thick, sticky substance was sweet and slightly salty to his taste and he felt the blood fever surge within his veins once more. "What's in the needles?" he asked Dana, eyes glowing with an unearthly light. "Just pain killers and a wide range antibiotic," she stammered, returning her gaze to Mulder who was in obvious distress. "What pain killer...specifically?" Mitchell pressed. "Demerol," Dana answered, confused by Mitchell's sudden interest in Mulder's medication. Without warning, Mitchell snatched the syringes from her hand and injected himself. Dana saw the tension in his features slowly ease until his face was almost normal in appearance. "Why did you do that?" Dana cried. "Mulder needs that medicine, and I don't have any more." Mulder grasped Dana's arm and gently squeezed it. "It's probably my guess that he needs it worse than I do," Mulder wheezed tiredly, glancing at Mitchell with a look that conveyed his understanding. "You...are a very perceptive man, Agent Mulder," Mitchell sighed, feeling his beast recede to a drug-induced shadow of its former self. He turned his head to look at Dana, and she was struck by the fact that Mitchell now looked no different than most of the agents she and Mulder worked with at the Bureau. "Please believe me," Mitchell told her, "his pain is nothing compared to what I'd become without this 'medication.' It's not a pretty sight." Mitchell motioned to Keith toward Margaret. "Untie her and see what she can cook up in the kitchen. I'm hungry." With a furtive glance at Jordan, Keith moved over to the couch and did what he was told. Once loose, Margaret reached down to Melissa, sitting on the floor at her feet, and stroked her hair, eyeing her with a mother's worried stare. Melissa tried to smile back at her mom, to reassure her that she was okay. Still smarting from the blow he'd received from Melissa, Keith broke them apart, pulling Margaret up from the couch and into the kitchen. Mitchell drew back the living room curtains, looking at the snowstorm raging outside. His eyes narrowed in though. Either we leave here now or we're gonna have to stay here until the storm breaks," Mitchell grumbled. He stared down at Mulder. "I don't think this one can travel so it looks like we're gonna stay awhile. We might as well get 'comfy.'" Dana took her suture kit out of her bag and noticed Mulder grimace in anticipation. "I'm sorry Fox. This is going to hurt like hell," she informed him while biting her lower lip. "Doesn't your mom have any Scotch Whiskey? Even the cowboys had whiskey or a bullet to bite , or a really cute horse to get their minds off things," he smirked, though the effect was dampened by the pain reflected in his eyes. Dana got up, eyes riveted by turns on Mitchell and then Jordan, waiting to see if either man would try and stop her. Apparently they knew what her intentions were because they allowed her to cross the room without interfering. Dana stopped in front of an antique liquor cabinet that had been her dad's pride and joy. Wherever he was stationed, this liquor cabinet went with him. She hoped her mom still kept the key in the same place. Reaching up to the top of the cabinet, she breathed a sigh of relief as her fingers touched the small brass key that opened the cabinet. She opened the doors to reveal a large selection of spirits -- the alcoholic type, she thought with an inappropriate giggle. God, the stress must be really getting to her. Stress, what stress? she argued with herself. I'm only about to stitch up the man I love with only a little alcohol to dull the pain. Piece of cake. Choosing a tall dark bottle, she returned to the couch and handed Mulder an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels. "I was kidding," Mulder mumbled feebly. "I wasn't," Dana confided. "Drink it," she ordered. "I can't afford being drunk at a time like this," he said, disbelieving that she would actually make the suggestion. "Why not? I have no more painkillers to give you, Mulder. So you pass out from pain, or I reduce you to a drunken stupor. Either way the results will be the same, so shut up and drink it." There was no arguing with that woman once she'd made up her mind and he was just too worn out to fight with her about it. Reluctantly, Mulder took the bottle from her hand, fumbled awkwardly with the top, stubbornly refusing Dana's help to get the damn thing open. The first swig made his throat burn and set his stomach on fire. Fox Mulder was not much of a drinker. Cousin Katie had teased him often enough about that. The second swig made him feel light headed and dizzy and the third pushed him over the edge of sobriety. Oh, this was embarrassing. He was of Scottish decent and totally unable to handle 3 large swigs of American whiskey without getting looped. "Daaana," Mulder slurred, "don't tell...shhhhhsh," he shushed, trying to put his forefinger to his lips and missing comically. The way his head was wobbling, she was amazed that he even came close to finding his lips. His eyelids drooped slightly then snapped back open as an errant neuron decided to kick in and remind him that he was trying to say something. " Oh...yeah, Dooon't tell cousin Katie bout this...okay. Sheee'd never... lemme forget what a luuush I am," he burped none too gracefully. "Oops..." His eyes took on a semi - vacant glaze, as he gesture haphazardly through the air with the half empty bottle. "Mulder, I think you've had enough." Dana reached for the bottle several times before finally snatching it from his hand as it passed by her nose. Carefully, she set the whiskey down on the end table, next to Mulder's still full ashtray, and somehow she managed to fight back the bile that waited at the back of her throat as the pile of sunflower seeds attacked her senses once more. If this kept up, she thought ruefully, Mulder was gonna have to find a new favorite snack food, at least for a while anyway. She'd be damned if she was gonna hug the toilet every time he decided to indulge in bird seed. "Hey, hey...Scuuullllyyy," Mulder sang under his breath, his eyes mimicking those of a child who'd been contemplating forbidden thoughts. "Um...you...like....ah...lim..lim....limerks..limmerrs.." He paused momentarily, trying to get his tongue unstuck from behind his teeth. He gave up and found a different word that didn't require extensive tongue manipulations. "poems?" he finally blurted out. "Yes, I like poems very much," Dana said, humoring him. At least he'd forgotten about the needles. "Ya wanna hear one?" Mulder asked in a conspiring tone, his hand cupped around his mouth as he whispered into her ear.. "I jusss heard it the o--ther day...really...issa goood one. Agent..uh....wassis name told me...ya knoow Aggent wassis name, doon't you?" "Yes, Mulder, I do seem to recall an Agent Wassis name, but I don't want to hear a poem now, Okay? You need stitches...again," Dana explained patiently. "so hold still and be quiet." "Aaahhh come on, Daaana. Juss one? " he pleaded. She could see the puppy dog eyes being put on standby. "Okay, Mulder...just one. Then you promise to be good...right?" "Uh huh... Here is it is," he said proudly with one of the most uncoordinated smiles she'd ever seen grace his handsome face. "Theerrre once was a...man...um...he was fromm uh...Kent, Ah....wait a minnute...yeah...I remember. Whose....dick was increbdib..incredbid...encribdibly..." "Incredibly!!!" Dana yelled out, unable to endure the wait. Jesus, at this rate they were all gonna usher in the new century with this awful piece of rhyming Americana. "Thass it, Dana...you know him?" he asked with a voice cracking like an adolescent teenager. He stupidly arched one eyebrow and muttered incoherently for several seconds, then pouted childishly. "Oh, now I haave to start oover." "No...Mulder, just start from where you left off," she suggested forcefully. "Wheerre's that?" "Incredibly," she offered. "Thas right, Um....bent. .. To stay outta troouble, He um...stuck it in double..and ...uh.. Shit, what waas it....Oh yeah, and instead of cooming... he...ah.....Went!!!! Ahhhh hahaha, Daaana....goood one huh????" he giggled as he reached up without warning and playfully pinched her right breast. "Mulder!!!" She lightly slapped his misbehaving hand back down to his side, attempting an unsuccessful glare. Any other time she would have welcomed his attentions but he sure picked one hell of time to get amorous. "Uh oh...I've beeen a baadd boy, hmmm??" "Yes...very bad," she agreed with a slight smile. " But I'll forgive you if you just put your arms down, lie still, and be quiet." Dana firmly grasped Mulder's shoulders and gently helped him lower himself back down to a prone position on the couch. He hadn't exactly passed out but hopefully he was thoroughly ripped enough not to feel too much pain. Dana felt the color flush to her cheeks. Holy Christ Almighty, she thought, unbelievingly. Only Mulder could have the audacity to tell her a blue limerick and totally embarrass her in front of not one, but two fricking criminally insane killers who just happened to be holding them hostage. She put her face in her hands and slowly shook her head. God, she loved this idiot. Dana raised her eyes to Mitchell who stood towering above her like a fortress wall. She expected the worst but was totally unprepared by what she thought she saw. Was that tormented demon of a man....did she actually see him...smile? Unable to decide exactly what she saw, she decided to let it drop and moved on to more immediate concerns. Dana motioned toward her sister who still sat at the foot of the couch, clutching her blouse tightly across her chest. Melissa still looked like she was in shock, but Dana had no alternatives. "I need her help to hold Mulder still," she explained to Mitchell. Melissa's head shot up immediately at her sister's words. "I ...can't do that," she uttered with frightened uncertainty. The thought of restraining another human being for the express purpose of inflicting pain made her physically ill. She knew it would be for Mulder's own good, but that fact really did little to alleviate her anxiety in the matter. Her sister's request was even more upsetting due to the fact that this wasn't just *any* human being. This was someone she cared about. The vision of Mulder writhing in pain beneath her hands was too horrible to contemplate. Melissa slowly shook her head 'no'. "Dana, I...just can't do it." she cried mournfully. Melissa's felt her face grow hot even though the room had chilled. She felt like a coward. Dana needed her help. Fox needed her help and what was her response? Sorry, no can do. Grow up, Melissa, she thought angrily. This is the real world, about as real as it gets. And in the real world just wishing for something won't make it so. Sometimes you have to do things you think you aren't capable of. You have to draw on an inner strength you never knew you had, just to get by. Look at Dana, she was doing that. Melissa knew the last thing Dana ever wanted to do was to hurt Fox, but she also knew that her sister loved him enough to do whatever she had to in order to help him, regardless of how she felt about it. Perhaps that's why Dana was with him and she wasn't, Melissa mused, shamefully surprised at the slight tinge of latent jealousy that accompanied her train of thought. She bowed her head humbly and purged that thought from her mind. "Please, Melissa," Dana pleaded, "I need you. You don't even have to look, just hold him down." Stiffly nodding her head, Melissa slowly got up from the floor and positioned herself by Mulder's head, gently placing her hands on the side of his face. At her touch, he opened one drowsy eye and grinned at her. She stroked his cheek, careful to avoid the blood on his face, and he closed his eye again, drifting off into a whiskey induced slumber. Dana began carefully cleaning the blood from around his head wound and Melissa felt her stomach turn over. She couldn't watch this. She closed her eyes as she carefully applied enough pressure to immobilize him. Satisfied that the wound was as clean as it was going to get, Dana pulled out what looked like a tiny upholstery needle threaded with suture that resembled the wispy silk of a spider's web. She took her time and painstakingly placed each suture through the soft fine skin, drawing the edges of the cut into a fine, thin line. Melissa did well holding Mulder's head in place, and to his credit he did little more than whimper and try to flinch away from the pain. Still, when she finished with his head wound, she was fighting back hot tears. Not now, she told herself. You're not done yet. She moved methodically down his body, repairing what she could. His temporary acquiescence to Mitchell long forgotten, Jordan stormed through the room, anger, and hatred, leaping from his eyes like a static charge. "Why in the hell are you allowing this, Mitchell? You say you need him alive for *your* mission...Okay, I'll buy that. But I'm telling you, it's a waste of time to fix him up and make him pretty cause when you're done with him...I'm gonna tear him apart. You got that, Mitchell?" Mitchell didn't bother to answer Jordan. All his ranting and raving had become tiresome. He looked down at Agent Fox Mulder and suddenly realized how difficult it would be to kill him. In a strange sort of way, he was quite certain that he like the man...he was also quite certain that he did *not* like Jordan. With his drugged beast out of the way for now, feelings that he had not expected to encountered were making once clear objectives more difficult to justify. Taking advantage of the opportunity Jordan had inadvertently given her by distracting Mitchell, Melissa leaned forward as she braced herself down on Mulder's shoulders. "I have your gun," she whispered nervously to her sister. "What?" Dana silently motioned with her lips. "I have your gun. It's in my skirt pocket," Melissa whispered, allowing hope to shine from her eyes. She repositioned herself closer to Dana and as her sister reached down to the black bag on the floor, Dana slid her hand skillfully into Melissa's pocket, retrieving the weapon and placing it under the sofa cushion. "It was a good try," Dana quietly sighed, "but the clip is in the night stand on the other side of the bed....the children...I couldn't leave it loaded." "What are you two whispering about," Jordan asked with a sharpness in his voice that set Dana's teeth on edge. "We were just saying that we thought a nice sweater would feel pretty good right now. It's getting a little chilly in here," Dana explained warily, pointing to the goose flesh that suddenly appeared on Mulder's bare chest. Nice timing, Sherlock, she thought affectionately as she pulled the blanket up and tucked it protectively around him. Mulder groaned slightly and hugged the blanket to his chest. He'd finally passed out, either from the pain or the whiskey. One thing was certain -- he was going to have one hell of a hangover. Jordan considered her statement. He had to agree that it did seem to be a few degrees cooler than it was even just a few minutes before. The temperature must be dropping quickly outside, he reasoned. "So, Doc, where do you keep your winter 'attire,' " Jordan asked in a sarcastic tone. "Upstairs. I could get a couple of sweaters for you. Mulder has some that I know ...Keith, that's his name, right...Keith can wear and maybe you. My father's might fit him," she said, gesturing toward Mitchell. "Speaking of Keith. What the hell is taking so long in there?" Jordan turned toward the kitchen. "Move your ass, Keith! A man could starve to death ..." he bellowed impatiently. Margaret winced at the sound of Jordan's voice. She was surprised to see the same reaction on Keith's face. He's afraid of this man, she thought to herself. So afraid, yet he admires him, wants to be like him. This poor soul, in his somewhat demented logic, must have erroneously picked that man as a role model or maybe even a father figure. Perhaps if she could talk to him, she could make him see that he was being used. It couldn't hurt to try. "Does that man frighten you, dear?" she asked Keith in her most motherly voice. She didn't challenge him by staring at him. Instead she kept her eyes on the sandwiches she was cutting in half and placing on the plate. Keith was startled that this woman would start a conversation with him. She must know what he'd tried to do to her daughter. Maybe, unlike his own mother, she understood sanctuary too. Understood the kindness and selflessness of what he'd tried to do, understood that he was trying to offer salvation to her daughter. Surely that was something a mother would want for her child. Keith responded to something in her voice, a tone that made him feel warm and safe just like he used to feel a long, long time ago. "Oh, nooo ma'am," Keith replied with enthusiasm, "Jordan doesn't scare me. He's my savior...Jordan knows everything. He'll take us to sanctuary and we'll be safe. You know, he can take your sins into himself and make you clean, prepare you for salvation. Yes he can." Keith smiled reassuringly, his face transformed with the fanatically glazed look of a religious zealot. "And how does he do that?" Margaret asked, returning the leftover sandwich makings to the refrigerator. To her amazement, Keith blushed. "Oh, ma'am, I don't know if I can tell you that, at least not specifically. But Jordan has to be...ah..'joined' ... with the person he's cleansing when they die. That way their sins pass into his body and they can leave this world pure and clean." Keith's implication was clear. Margaret had no trouble imagining exactly how Jordan performed these 'cleansings', and she tried not to let her disgust show on her face. Maybe she could reason with Keith. Surely he couldn't really believe in such a thing. Margaret touched the top of his hand and patted it lightly. "No mortal being can atone for the sins of another, Keith. That is something each person must come to terms with, within themselves." "That's blasphemy!" Keith uttered in a harsh gasp, his eyes hardening into two dark empty pits. She didn't understand after all. Just like his mother -- just like everyone else. She didn't understand, didn't believe. She'd tried to trick him. He should have known better than to listen to her soothing tones. "Hurry up, Jordans waiting." Keith roughly pushed her through the doorway nearly making her spill the plate's contents on the floor. Barely managing to keep her balance, she passed the food out to Jordan and Mitchell. Staring down at Mulder, she concluded that he wasn't in any shape to eat as passed him by. She offered a sandwich to Melissa, who politely refused. After holding Mulder down and watching her sister stitch him up, Melissa didn't think she'd ever get her appetite back. Dana also shook her head 'no' to the food. Dana quietly told her mother that she was sick to her stomach and needed her antacid in the night stand on the *right* side of the bed, should she find herself in a position to get it. Margaret read her daughter well. Dana wanted something in the night stand but she knew that whatever it was it most certainly wasn't an antacid. "Jordan, I'm cold," Keith complained like a whining child. "We were just discussing that," Jordan replied. He looked over to Dana and came to a decision. "The bitch says there are sweaters upstairs. I vote we go get em'" Dana started to move toward the stairs but Jordan raised his hand, effectively stopping her forward motion. "No, not you, Florence Nightingale. I don't trust you. We already know Keith can't handle that one," he added, pointing at Melissa. Keith's cheeks burned bright with the memory of his humiliation. "No, I want her to go," Jordan motioned with a flourish of his hand at Margaret, indicating that she was to go upstairs with Keith. Keith, however, showed a reluctance to go with her. He couldn't usher this one into paradise. She was too much like what he'd wished his own mother could be. She frightened him. "What the hell's the matter with you?" Jordan demanded, noticing Keith's apprehension. Take grandma there upstairs and pick out a few nice warm sweaters. Or would you rather stand there and freeze your ass off?" Jordan stood glaring at Keith. He didn't like having to repeat himself and he sure as hell never thought he'd have any trouble with Keith, of all people. Keith shook his head "no" and turned toward the stairs. In the end Keith Reese feared Jordan more than Margaret Scully. With Margaret leading the way, they slowly climbed the stairs and entered Dana's bedroom. Margaret crossed the room to the closet where she spied Dana and Mulder's things hanging up neatly side by side, all mixed in together. That simple fact spoke volumes to Margaret of just how close her daughter was to this shy, often quiet and cerebral young man. She found herself briefly wondering why they didn't make their obvious commitment to each other official. Maybe once they all got out of this mess, she would have time to talk to Dana about that. Giving herself a mental shake, she pulled out two of Mulder's sweaters. They smelled clean and fresh with just a hint of musk that she recognized as Mulder's own warm, unique scent. It was strangely reassuring. Draping the sweaters over one arm, she bent over the night stand. "Dana wanted me to get her antacid," she explained to Keith as she pulled open the drawer. Thankfully he stayed on the other side of the room, so she was able to use her body to partially block her actions. She held up the roll of tablets with one hand to show Keith, briefly wondering to herself why her daughter had started taking these things. Maybe their adventure on the cruise ship had left Dana with lingering physical problems. Margaret hoped it was nothing serious. She deftly slipped the ammo clip from the drawer into her other hand which was conveniently covered with sweaters. Keith kept glancing out the bedroom door, half afraid that Jordan or even worse, Mitchell, would come bounding up the stairs telling him that he was taking too long. In his haste to complete his assignment and leave with his dignity intact, Keith hadn't noticed Margaret's extra little movement. Margaret handed Keith one of the sweaters as they passed through the doorway and back down the hall. She watched as he slipped it on, trying desperately to think of a plan. Margaret knew that soon she would have to relinquish the other sweater to Jordan Chambers and in doing so, reveal the 9mm clip that she held in the palm of her left hand. She had no pockets. Now what? "Wait," Keith said abruptly, grabbing her shoulder. "What about Mitchell? We need one for him too, remember?" He looked at the other closed doors leading off the hallway. "Which room, grandma?" Margaret stopped in her tracks. The idea of one of these animals wearing anything that had belonged to her husband was repugnant, but she knew Mulder's clothes would never fit Mitchell and the last thing she wanted to do was get something of Bill's and alert them that another man was supposed to be here. The Captain would want us to survive, she reasoned, and he'd have given these thugs the shirt off his own back if he'd thought that it would help. Margaret nodded to her own bedroom door. "In there," she said. "I couldn't bring myself to give away all of my husband's things after he died. I think I still have a few of his sweaters in my closet." Moving through the doorway to her bedroom, Margaret noticed the broken door frame and the heel marks on her door. Melissa must have locked herself in here, she thought. But why? Margaret kept no weapons in her bedroom. Surely Melissa must have known that. She opened her closet door and began rummaging around on the top shelf for the sweaters. She knew there were a couple up here someplace. Margaret frowned up at the shelf. Something was missing. It took her a second before it registered...the Captain's flag was gone. It must have been Melissa, but what in the world had she done with it? Margaret resisted the urge to look around the room for the flag, concentrating instead on bringing a sweater down from the shelf. Slowly closing the closet door, Margaret noticed the drapes by her window moving slightly. Now that she thought about it, the room did seem to have a bit of a draft. Looking closely through the sheer inner drapes that covered her window, she caught just a glimpse of dark red in between the window pane and the sill. Good girl, Margaret thought with an inner smile. She turned and walked briskly out of the room before Keith could notice the draft. Walking down the stairs, Margaret focused on her own dilemma.. She frantically searched for a convenient yet accessible spot to ditch the item that could possibly save their lives. The solution to her problem loomed ahead of her like a neon sign screaming, 'deposit clip here.' As she neared the bottom of the stairs, Margaret slowed her steps to an annoying snail's pace which prompted Keith to shove her forward roughly. Feigning a misstep, she bumped into the plant at the foot of the stairs and a gray metallic object silently dropped into the pot of dirt. ***** end part six From xangst@frii.com Thu Oct 24 02:29:08 1996 SANCTUARY BY: CHERYL COHEN (ALIAS-THE STINKER) AND ANNIE REED (ALIAS-FANCYKATZ) Forward ************************************ Annie and I started this story several months ago. In fact we started bouncing around ideas for a sequel right after we finished "Devil's Advocate. Okay, we didn't expect it to take this long or be this long but somehow the characters seemed to take on a life of their own and each insisted that they have their moment in the sun. Hence, what follows is ninety pages of love, sadness, joy, sex, misunderstandings, violence, insanity, aggravation, frustration, humor, death...and life. Please be warned, this tale contains, graphic violence, adult language, and adult situations. Although there is sex involved in several scenes, it is not what I would consider graphic nor is it out of context with the story. I like to leave a little bit to the imagination. DISCLAIMERS ETC. ******************************** This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright infringements are intended. ************************************ CHAPTER SEVEN Revelations Bill Scully glanced at his watch anxiously one more time. He couldn't believe how much time he'd spent on a simple little grocery expedition. But then again the drive into town had been hazardous and it had taken him nearly an hour just to get to the store. Now he'd already spent another two hours in the grocery store trying to find all the items on the list his mom had given him. Well hell, it wasn't his fault this excursion was taking so long. He hardly ever did the grocery shopping -- his wife usually handled that chore -- and after all these years he still found it nearly impossible to decipher his mom's handwriting into anything remotely legible. The Scully children had probably been the only ones who'd never been able to fake a note from their parents to get out of school. None of them had ever been able to come even close to his mom's scrawl. Bill never had known how his teachers were able to decipher what his mom had written. He held the paper sideways and upside-down before irrationally tossing the note into the cart. "Might as well be Egyptian hieroglyphics," he complained irritably. Finally giving up, he pushed the cart enthusiastically toward the far end of the store. "Pretzels and beer" he muttered happily. Okay, it wasn't on the list--at least he didn't think it was-- but then again, who knew? That last entry kinda looked a little like pretzels and beer if you held it at just the right angle. He knew where to find those particular items and he had a sneaking suspicion that his new pal, Mulder, would appreciate his creative inspirational interpretation of his mom's written word. In fact, if he knew his mom and sisters as well as he thought he did, the poor guy would probably *need* a cold beer by the time Bill got back. When he got right down to it, he felt just a little guilty for deserting Mulder and leaving him in the 'enemy' camp, but as long as they were bothering Mulder, they wouldn't be pestering him. He shuddered, remembering the few times that he'd been sick. Jesus, he grinned to himself, they've probably mothered the poor bastard to death by now. Scully women were notoriously annoying that way. Although he didn't really know Mulder that well, he still felt a genuine affection for the man. Mulder was a kindred spirit, someone he felt comfortable with. From some of the stories he'd heard, he hadn't been exactly sure what to expect. He was pleasantly surprised and relieved, however, to find that aside from an odd professional specialization and a few off beat ideas, Mulder was a fairly normal, likable fellow. Bill grinned and shook his head. Reaching what he considered to be his favorite part of the grocery store, Bill grabbed two 'party pak ' size pretzel bags and a case of beer, snatched an extra large bag of David's sunflower seeds off the rack, and put them all in the cart with the rest of the groceries, then went off in search of the shortest check out line he could find. Damn, if a short check out line was a wild animal, they'd be on the endangered species list. The snow was really coming down. Bill had to scrape at least four inches of the heavy white stuff off the back of the car just to get the trunk open, and the sparse traffic in front of the store was moving along the street at a snail's pace. It looks like we're gonna be in for a good one, he thought. For once the weatherman seemed to be on target. While loading the bags into the car, he decided that perhaps he should stock up on a few extra household supplies, just in case. Anyway, none of the frozen stuff was going to melt out here if he took a few extra minutes. Closing the trunk, he walked back to the shopping center and into a hardware store a couple of doors down from the supermarket. Hardware stores fascinated him...always had. There were always so many interesting things to discover and he had always been a tinkerer at heart. His dad had been much the same way, always setting up a little workshop no matter where the family had been stationed. He'd spent a lot of hours with the Captain, at least when he wasn't away on assignment, learning the proper way to use the proper tool for the proper job. And they were always coming out with new little gadgets. Bill pushed a cart up and down the aisles, snagging a few things he thought he might need, but mostly just looking at what was available, mentally filing the information away for future reference. When he finally looked at his watch, he gasped in surprise at the time. Oh shit! It was after 3:00 o' clock. He hadn't meant to spend nearly an hour walking the aisles. Mom was gonna kill him. Belay that...she was gonna tongue lash him , skin him alive, and then kill him. He remembered how hard the snow was falling. He'd be lucky if he made it back before dinner. What was he thinking? Tonight's dinner was in the back seat of his car. Oh boy, he'd really screwed up this time. His hardware purchases paid for, Bill headed toward the shopping center's main exit, walking quickly and muttering under his breath. As he passed by a TV repair shop, something on one of the TV sets in the window caught his eye. The bright blue logo of a local network affiliate shown in the corner of the screen next to the words "Special Bulletin." But that wasn't what first attracted his attention. It was the picture of the car that filled the frame. He'd seen that car somewhere... he was sure of it...and recently, too. Bill stopped and stared at the screen, racking his brain for a memory that eluded him. He'd nearly given up when a sudden revelation brought the recollection into focus. He'd seen that cart just a few hours ago on his way to town, parked by the lake on the Old Mill Road not more than a quarter of a mile from his house. Running inside the store, Bill turned up the volume on the first TV set he encountered, much to the chagrin of the shopkeeper. He listened intently as the local anchorman spun the tale of horror that surrounded that particular vehicle. As he listened, a series of involuntary shakes raced through Bill's body. Though he'd never been one to subscribe wholeheartedly to his mom and sister's 'talents,' there was no getting around what he was experiencing. He had a bad feeling about this, a very bad feeling indeed. Using the store's phone, Bill immediately phoned his mom's house. The line was dead. His stomach tied in knots. He tried Dana's cellphone number--ditto. As a last resort, he finally called the police, who in turn notified the FBI. Local police and FBI agents assigned to the case descended on the sleepy little shopping center in a matter of minutes. Bill's morale had deteriorated quickly but not as quickly as the weather outside. From the time he'd called the police and the time they'd arrived, the wind had grown into a monstrous howl, blowing snow across the ground in great white sheets. The storm had finally hit with all its fury. Bill could barely glimpse his car in the parking lot, and what he did manage to see made his heart sink. The car was now buried in a good foot of snow, and it was still coming down fast and furious. The roads in town must be nearly impassable by now, and there was no way anyone would be able to get out to his family tonight. Bill's first instinct was to find the nearest snowmobile and head out to his mom's, snow or no damn snow. But a calmer part of his brain insisted that once he left town, he would lose his bearings in all that blowing whiteness. There was no choice but to wait for a break in the storm. Bill joined the officers and FBI agents when they retreated to a local precinct. Even with tire chains, the patrol cars skidded and slid along the streets which were now all but deserted of traffic. Bill saw a snow plow pass his patrol car, the yellow warning lights reflecting dully off the falling snow. The plow was barely keeping up. Whatever was going on at mom's, no one was going in or out in all this mess. He muttered a long forgotten prayer asking for their safety, hoping that God was still listening to him after all these years. Once at the precinct, Agents Hestor and McGuire led Bill to a small warm room and offered him a hot cup of coffee, then began the task of trying to sort out exactly what they were up against. Agent Hestor watched Bill Scully bring his coffee cup up to his mouth, noticing the tremor in the man's hands and the haunted look in his eyes. This guy is really upset, Hestor thought. Maybe this time they had a solid lead. He walked slowly across the room and placed his hand gently on Bill's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. "I know you've probably gone through this once already, Mr. Scully, but I want you to start again from the beginning," Hestor told him calmly. "Nobody's going anywhere tonight, so take your time and tell us what you saw." Bill put his coffee cup down and ran a hand through his hair. "Okay," he said, blowing out an unsteady breath while he tried to organize his thoughts. "I heard about this storm heading in, and I'd used up all the eggs this morning, so I told mom that I'd go to town for supplies just in case we got snowed in." "Who's we?" McGuire asked. "Me, my two kids, my mom, my two sisters, and my sister's partner," Bill replied. "A family reunion?" Hestor inquired. Underneath his bland question, aimed mainly at getting the guy calmed down enough to remember details that would be helpful to them, Hestor was keeping a mental count of the males and females stuck alone out in that house, not to mention little kids. Depending on the sex of this 'partner,' the odds didn't look too good right about now. A house full of women and little children alone in a snowstorm, and somewhere out there in all that snow were three monsters who preyed on women and children. Shit. "No, no, nothing like that. Just a chance for mom to get most of her kids in one spot at one time. Sometimes things just work out that way." Geez, Bill thought, I hope I don't sound as stupid to these guys as I sound in my own head. He had a sudden image of Matt and Meredith, alone and frightened, and suddenly he didn't care how stupid he sounded. God, just help my kids, he prayed. "Okay, so I was on my way into town," Bill continued. "I had just gone about a quarter mile down the road when I saw the car parked near the lake. I really didn't think too much about it at the time. I mean, people park their cars there and go fishing all the time, so I thought it was just some diehard who didn't want to leave the ice even with a storm blowing in." "Anybody in the car?" McGuire asked. Bill shook his head. "No. I didn't see anyone." When McGuire didn't ask anything else, Bill continued on with his story. "I did my shopping and I was going by the TV shop when I saw that same car in the news bulletin, so I rushed inside and listened to the news report. I tried to call home but the lines were dead and my sister's cell phone wasn't working, so I called the police." "Mr. Scully, how did you know that it was the same car?" ask McGuire, genuine curiosity crossing her face. "Oh, that's easy, I remember the license plate. My sister has been lecturing me for years about being more observant. She's an FBI agent too. She's at the house along with her partner. He was hurt pretty bad on their last case and well, he's not a very good patient so they sent him home with her. She's a doctor. If these men are there...they could be in real trouble." "What's your sisters name?" asked Agent McGuire. "Dana Scully. Her partner's name is Fox Mulder," Bill added. They hadn't asked about Mulder, but Bill figured that was going to be the next question, and he was trying to be as helpful as he could. "Shit!," exclaimed Hestor. "Get on the phone to Washington. I want every record they have on Dana Scully and Fox Mulder. You better put in a call to Assistant Director Skinner too." "You believe him?" McGuire asked softly, skeptical after all the false leads they'd investigated all day. "You bet your ass I do," Hestor replied crossly. "I went to the academy with Spooky Mulder. He's a little out in left field, but dedicated, a decent guy, and one hell of an agent. I heard they stuck him with a partner a few years ago to keep an eye on him but I couldn't remember who. Now I remember. Anybody who can keep up with Mulder has to be a damn good agent in her own right, and if that's her brother," Hestor added, nodding toward Bill, "yeah, I believe him when he says he saw the license plate." McGuire left the room. Hestor poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and began pacing, counting off the seconds that ticked by at a maddeningly slow rate and glaring at the snowflakes that blew by the room's small window. Bill Scully sat staring morosely into his coffee cup, not seeing the muddy brown contents but a mental movie of the life and times of the Scully family, the birth of his children and their bright, happy faces as they ran out to play in the snow only that morning. Both men looked up when McGuire returned about a half hour later looking grim. "We've got a potentially explosive situation here if these men are in that house, Hestor." Bill, overhearing their conversation, got up so quickly he almost knocked over his coffee. "What potentially explosive situation?" he demanded. McGuire stared at Bill Scully, trying to make up her mind whether to include him in the conversation. What the hell, she thought. It's his family -- he's got a right to know. "We already knew that all of the escaped prisoners are violently psychopathic, and as if that's not bad enough, we have a new problem now. One of the escapees was originally apprehended and put away due to information provided in a profile created by Agent Fox Mulder, Ph.D.. He was witness to and signed the commitment papers for one..." McGuire paused to look at the printout, "Jordan Chambers. Hestor, this animal was a real sicko back then, and I don't place much stock in the state's efforts at rehabilitation" She turned her head slightly and lowered her voice. "Hestor, this one could get real messy, real fast," she murmured, trying to keep Bill Scully from overhearing her last remark. Hestor nodded imperceptibly, agreeing with her assessment. "Did Mulder testify against this guy?" he asked. "No," McGuire replied. "That's one thing we have going for us. Chambers never actually saw him. But if Chambers discovers that Mulder's written affidavits were instrumental in his sentencing..." McGuire didn't have to finish her sentence. None of them had any trouble visualizing what would happen to the Scully family if Chambers found out it was Mulder who had put him away. Walter Skinner finished his last file review for the day, removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes while trying to remove the endless clutter of carefully typewritten words from his brain. It didn't help. He placed the last file neatly on top of the others in his out basket and unconsciously straightened the few personal items that adorned his desk.. Some days this job with its endless bureaucratic bullshit could really wear a person down. Had he known long ago that accepting advancement would mean greater, not lesser, frustration he might have opted to remain a field agent. At least then he could feel like he was doing something meaningful, instead of constantly walking a tightrope over an endless shark-filled sea with no safety net to catch him if he fell. His mouth quirked in a small, fatalistic grin -- getting fanciful in your old age, Walter, he chided himself. Actually his situation at the Bureau felt more like getting caught in the jungle with snipers behind every tree and no one to cover your back. Well, pondering 'what if's' certainly is getting me nowhere fast, he thought. At least he'd managed to avoid any major crisis today...big jungle, small bullets, and today none had found their mark. A quick workout in the gym would clear his head, even though at the moment working out was the last thing in the world he really wanted to do. Skinner sighed tiredly as he got up to retrieve his suit coat from the back of the chair when the phone rang. Don't answer it, his inner voice tempted him. He paused, staring at the phone, then quieted the temptation just to leave with a muttered, "shut up." He picked up the receiver and listened for several minutes. ******* continued in 7b From xangst@frii.com Thu Oct 24 02:29:44 1996 Sanctuary part seven continues.... "Shit!!!" Skinner rumbled angrily, hanging up the phone. He stared out his office window at the dark D.C. night, absently rubbing his lower lip as he pondered what he'd just been told. What was it with his wayward pair of agents. Why in the hell did every crisis always seem to involve them and why did he care. Well that's a stupid question, his inner voice ragged at him. In fact, that's probably the dumbest question you've asked yourself in longer than you can remember. Those two particular agents remind you a lot of yourself before all of this bureaucratic nonsense and political manipulation took over your life. He stood silently, looking about his office...all neat, tidy and official, and more than likely... bugged. The answer to the world's stupidest question was that Walter Skinner cared because he had a lot more in common with Fox Mulder than he'd ever like to admit to anyone, especially himself. Now an old case had come back to haunt him...and Mulder. A particularly unsavory case. A brief memory passed through his mind, a memory of a new, young agent hell bent on saving the world. He was idealistic, incredibly naive, unrelentingly stubborn, and undeniably...brilliant. Skinner had watched as this young man threw everything he had, mind, body, and soul, into his work. In fact, he seemed to use his work as conduit to alleviate some vague feeling of guilt that haunted an otherwise enlightened spirit. Whatever his motivation, there was no question that this kid got results. Along with others both in and outside the Bureau, Skinner had admired Fox Mulder. At that time Walter Skinner had just been appointed Assistant Director, the youngest ever to hold the position. One of his first administrative decisions had been to put this young agent in the Violent Crimes Section because of his uncanny ability to get inside the heads of these monsters who created the bulk of the work in the VCS. Skinner didn't understand how it worked, but it did work, and most importantly, it got those miserable excuses for humanity off the streets. Skinner had been content to let Agent Mulder do his job in his own unique way, but he'd neglected the human side of the equation, concentrating instead on the numbers, that high 'case solved' ratio that would reflect well on Skinner's own ability to do *his* job. Skinner and Mulder -- they'd both been on the fast track within the Bureau. With twenty-twenty hindsight, Skinner now knew that he'd neglected to see the pain each new case inflicted upon Mulder's own psyche..until the unforgettable case of Jordan Chambers. Somehow Mulder had gotten so empathetically wound up in this ogre's head that before he'd finally managed to capture the fiend, the man's mind had physically made the agent ill. Still Mulder had hung on, refusing to quit, refusing to sleep, nearly refusing to eat until Chambers had been caught and placed behind bars. When Skinner had gone to personally congratulate his shining star agent, he'd been shocked by the young man's appearance. Finally realizing that each case had become too personal for Mulder, that he felt each death was his responsibility, Skinner decided to pull Mulder out of violent crimes and assign him to the x-files that he'd requested the month before. He'd almost made that decision too late. In the time since, however, he'd begun to wonder if serial killers would have been a safer bet. At least with them, you knew who your enemies were. Now, one of Mulder's own personal horrors, Jordan Chambers, was loose and quite possibly with Mulder at this moment. Skinner decided that storm or no storm, he'd make the trip himself. It was the least he could do. Margaret pushed herself awkwardly away from the dark green elephant ear house plant at the foot of the stairs, brushing dirt off of her hands and reassuring her worried daughters that she was okay. Regaining her balance, she offered the remaining sweater to Jordan, reverting back into her timid, subservient grandmother mode. If they wanted to think of her as a helpless, frightened female...let them. Perhaps they wouldn't perceive her as a threat. That would be *their* mistake. Jordan grabbed the sweater out of her arms, his disgust at her clumsiness written plainly on his face. Margaret's mask of submissive acceptance slipped only briefly as her eyes flashed, revealing the anger that she'd kept so carefully hidden. Her rage welled up within her as the images of what these men had done to her family flooded her mind -- her grandchildren huddled fearfully against the living room wall, Melissa's haunted look of shock, Dana's injured shoulder, and Fox, poor Fox, unconscious and bleeding on the hallway floor. So much violence...how could anyone deal with so much violence, especially within the sanctity of your own home? The visions playing in her head at an ever-increasing speed threatened to overwhelm her sanity. No, she berated herself gently, no, you can't afford the luxury of 'losing it' now. Holding it together could possibly be their only chance for survival here and she wasn't going to blow it by falling apart at the seams. The mask fell back into place as Margaret moved over to the couch and placed a trembling hand lightly on Dana's shoulder. Wincing slightly at her mother's touch, Dana didn't cry out but lifted her worried eyes toward her mother's face, then turned her attention back to Mulder as she continued to gently probe the darkening discoloration that was expanding over Mulder's right 7th and 8th ribs. On her cursory examination of him earlier, she had checked his lungs, heart, and bowel sounds and found everything fairly normal, considering what he'd been through. The slight bruising she'd detected was to be expected for someone who'd been slammed to the floor with such force as he had, so she had disregarded it as just a bruise and let it go. But it wasn't just a bruise. When she'd sutured his reopened wounds, she'd noticed the light bruise had begun to blacken and spread. Now it seemed to cover most of the right side of his chest. Well, she finally had an inkling as to where the blood in his mouth had probably originated. Evidently, when Mitchell had driven his knee into Mulder's kidney, he'd also driven a fractured lower rib against his liver as well. A laceration of the liver could be a serious thing and without x-rays it would be difficult to assess the injury. However, she noted with relief, that the bleeding had been minimal and had already stopped. Chances were pretty good that the damage to Mulder's liver was relatively superficial and would remain so, as long as she could keep his cute little buns firmly planted on the couch. In any case, vigorous movement would be out of the question. Luckily, he was in such a sorry state that she couldn't foresee him moving much of *anything* in the near future. Still..a little ice wouldn't hurt to keep the swelling down. Dana felt her mother's hand move away from her sore shoulder. Surprise registered briefly on Dana's face as she watched her mom stroke that damn uncooperative strand of hair from Mulder's eyes and softly kiss his forehead. Margaret slowly turned her head toward Dana and away from Keith and Jordan. Locking eyes with her daughter, Margaret mouthed the words, 'clip...plant.' Thanks mom, Dana thought. Well she didn't have to belong to MENSA to figure that one out. Now, the $64 million question was how in the world was she going to get to the damn clip, take it out of the plant, and get it into her gun without anybody seeing her. Perhaps a diversion of some kind... This would be a good time for an appearance from David Copperfield or Houdini's ghost. Hell, she'd even settle for one of Mulder's little gray men but the chances of any of them showing up were about even, so she set her mind to work on an alternative plan of action. "Mom, I could use some ice here," Dana hinted in a low voice. Jordan grunted with disgust as he watched the two women hovered over Mulder. What a waste of time and effort. Mitchell had saved Mr. FBI's ass so far, but it would be a long wait for the storm to lift and he wasn't in a hurry. There would be plenty of time for fun and games later. He grinned as his imagination conjured up images of the type of fun and games he had in mind. Jordan's thoughts were interrupted by a rumbling in his belly, and the smile fled from his face as his body forced him back to the present. He was hungry, pretty damn hungry as a matter of fact. His stomach was growling, reminding him that he'd waited way too long between meals. He was Jordan Chambers...he didn't have to wait for anything or anyone. Time to make another command decision. Jordan pointed at Margaret and screamed, "Get that bitch in the kitchen to make some real food. I don't want any fucking sandwiches this time." He was gratified to see Melissa and the children jump at his sudden outburst, although the old lady and the doc just stiffened. They'll learn, he thought to himself. "If she can't handle it, take the doc but somebody better make something good," he sneered at Keith. Margaret got up suddenly. "I can handle it. What would you like?" She'd be damned if she'd leave another one of these animals alone with one of her children again if she could help it. Hopefully they would send Keith with her again. She knew he was just as dangerous as the others but she also instinctively knew how to intimidate him. Her apron had big pockets and perhaps she could get the ice Dana had asked for as well. She began to walk toward Keith. To her dismay, Jordan shoved Keith backward and moved toward her instead, pulling her away from the edge of the couch. "Last time I sent you with Keith, he let you make those damn sandwiches," Jordan grumbled. "If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself." "Hey, Jordan," Mitchell called from the other side of the room. "Guess you'll be needing this," he snarled sarcastically as he tossed the gun to Jordan. "Women and children can be really dangerous you know," Mitchell added. Jordan caught the gun in mid-air and once more contemplated using it on Mitchell. One of these days his disrespectful taunting was going to go just too far. He pushed Margaret through the open doorway, barking orders to her as he went, Mitchell's mocking laugh following him through the door. Mitchell might have to be taught a lesson. Jordan Chambers was in command here, and he would not have his authority usurped again. Shaking his head, Mitchell lowered himself to a chair across from the sofa and stretched his legs. Even though he'd been laughing just a moment earlier, Dana noted that no humor seemed to have reached his eyes...strange, flat, watchful eyes of a predator. Now that he was sitting down, Dana noticed a slight twitch in the muscles of his body, a tension that would not ease, even with the aid of the drugs he'd taken earlier. She wondered how long the drug's effects would keep Mitchell civil and what would happen when their effects wore off. If his attack on Mulder was any indication... Dana shook her own head and turned once again back to Mulder. She couldn't afford to think about that right now. She had too many other concrete things to worry about besides nebulous 'what if's'. She needed to get the damn clip out of the plant, she needed to get Mulder some proper medical care, hell, *she* needed some proper medical care herself. Whatever changes Mitchell would undergo would happen with or without her worrying about them. Perhaps by the time it finally happened, they would be able to find a way to help themselves out of this predicament. Listening to the howling wind beating against the windows, combined with the soft shush of the blowing snow, Dana realized that they would have to help themselves. Any help from the outside would be slow in coming...maybe too slow and too late. Keith followed Mitchell's example and plopped down in the chair opposite Mitchell, unconsciously adopting the older man's posture. Keith continued to stare at Melissa, reveling in the sense of power he felt when she trembled under his unrelenting gaze. He then shifted his eyes to Dana who only returned his stare with a defiant glare of her own. That was not good. He needed their fear. Fear was necessary for the cleansing of these rancid souls. This woman refused to fear him. Why? Didn't she know he had power over her? He would have to make her feel his power, make her afraid of him. As he turned the problem over and over in his mind, Dana Scully became Keith Reese's new obsession. Mulder stirred and slowly opened his eyes. Oh God, he knew he'd felt sicker, but at the moment he couldn't exactly remember when. At Mulder's movement, Dana disregarded Keith's leering stare and focused her attention on the awakening man beneath her fingertips. "Try not to move around too much," she ordered affectionately, using one hand to cradle his face, her thumb gently caressing his cheek. Mulder blinked slowly and swallowed several times before deciding to see whether he still had a voice. "I hadn't planned on it," he finally croaked out with a wry half smile. He felt like he was trying to speak with a mouth full of peanut butter and by the look on Dana's face, it probably sounded that way too. As the fog lifted from his brain, Mulder took a quick look around the room, noting the continued presence of Mitchell and Keith. "I see our party guests are still here. Why is it that I'm always the one who gets the hangover?" he muttered under his breath as he struggled to sit up. "I told you not to move around," Dana implored, making an effort to push him back down. "Dana...I have to go," he replied in a breathy whisper. "Go where?" she asked. "There's no place *to* go. We have a blizzard outside and armed criminals inside. So tell me, where are you going to go?" she lectured him. "I seem to remember drinking nearly a half a bottle of Jack Daniels several hours ago. Do you have to ask?" His eyes crinkled with exasperation. "But...Mulder...you can't go," Dana stammered. Mulder eyes widened in surprise. Something was going on here. Okay... what exactly was she trying to tell him with that absurd statement? Was this some sort of tactical restriction insisted upon by their captors or a medical diagnostic observation" Mulder's gaze drifted toward Mitchell, then Keith. They both appeared disinterested in their hostages at the moment so why the moratorium on bodily functions? "What do you mean, I can't?" Mulder asked in a cracked whisper. One eyebrow suddenly climbed upward, disappearing beneath a stray shock of hair that stubbornly drooped over one eye. "Dana, there's only so much room in there. I don't think I have much of a choice in the matter," he replied, squirming uneasily to stress his point. Wasn't it enough that he hurt all over and felt like someone had set a firecracker off inside his head. Now he was being told to 'hold it'? He felt like a kid again, and an unpleasant memory barged its way into his brain. He was riding in the back seat of the family car on the way to his Aunt Carol's house. His dad had refused to stop no matter how much he'd begged. They'd gotten off to a late start, and his dad, nothing if not punctual, was bound and determined to still get there on time. Mulder's pleas for a pit stop had gone unanswered and the human body had its limitations, even for a thirteen year old boy. When they finally did pull over, it had been too late and his dad had beat the shit out of him for embarrassing him. The memory was as clear as the day it happened. The pain and shame pulled at him even now with 21 years worth of distance to separate him from the memory. Dana recognized the haunted shadow that crossed his face. He was remembering something and she could tell it wasn't pleasant. The shadow always accompanied the sad and painful emptiness that shone from his eyes when his mind played back what his special memory wouldn't let him forget. Sometimes he would tell her what had caused the shadow, sometimes he wouldn't. She never pressed him for she knew that whenever he worked it out, eventually he'd always confess his soul to her. Dana brushed her fingers lightly over his cheek and he came back to her. "All I meant was that you shouldn't move," she explained, "and that you should wait until Mom can help us move you." He eyed Melissa. "But Melissa..." he started. Dana raised her finger to his lips, " is with the kids and can't help us," Dana finished. Mulder took in Melissa's torn clothing and the tight way she held herself, and he remembered what had happened to her. "Is...she all right?" he asked worriedly. "Did they hurt her?" "She'll be fine," Dana comforted him. "But you have to wait for mom. Either that or..." she looked toward the half empty whiskey bottle on the end table. Mulder followed her gaze and sighed. "Or piss in a bottle. Yeah, I get the message. I really wouldn't mind so much as long as I could get one of those Bozos to drink it," he grinned. Dana's eyes sparkled with mischief as her hand covered the smile that threatened to erupt across her face. How he could make jokes at a time like this was beyond her. How she could laugh at them was even more amazing. Okay, so he couldn't go pee, but he was damned sure not going to stay flat on his back. Pushing up with his arms, ignoring the disapproval on Dana's face, Mulder straightened up into a semi-sitting position on the couch. It hurt like hell to move, and the pain wiped the grin off Mulder's face. A quick glance at Mitchell told him that the big man had not moved. Apparently he didn't believe Mulder was too big of a threat, and Mulder had to admit that he was probably right. Mulder trained his gaze on Keith and studied him for several seconds, then glanced at Melissa who had taken her place with the children during Margaret's absence. ******** continued in part 7c From xangst@frii.com Thu Oct 24 02:30:19 1996 Sanctuary part seven continues.... Melissa suddenly looked frail and vulnerable to him. He had never considered Melissa vulnerable before, and she certainly was not frail. If anything, she had as much spark and fire within her as Dana, if not more. The sight of her in that condition fueled the flames of his protective nature, prompting him to ask a question. "Why?" he sighed softly, turning his face toward Keith. Keith brought his head up and momentarily stared into space, seemingly unaware that a question had been directed at him. Mulder nodded toward Melissa and repeated his question more boldly, eliminating any doubt as to who he was talking to. "Why do you want to hurt her?" Keith stared at Mulder but didn't answer. Dana closed her eyes and fervently wished Mulder would learn when to shut up. She understood that out of all their captors, Mulder felt Keith was the weak link, that perhaps by trying to understand him, Mulder could reason with him. At least, as much as you could possibly hope to reason with a deranged man. She also knew, however, that Keith was extremely unstable. If Mulder, decided to pursue this line of questioning, he would be navigating some seriously treacherous ground. Not that she was any better qualified to deal with the likes of Keith. Med school classes and academy training never really prepared a person for facing a lunatic out in the field. When you were in a situation, you did your best, tried to say the right things, and hoped like hell it would all turn out right in the end. The best tool a field agent had was instinct, and the only one she'd ever met with instincts equal to, if not better than her own, was Fox Mulder. She trusted Mulder with every fiber of her soul, and in spite of all the flack most people at the Bureau dumped on his shoulders, she couldn't help but admire him. There had been a time when she wouldn't have been able to admit this to herself that she could admire a man like Mulder, but that time was long passed and now she was scared. Dana Scully was scared and she didn't feel ashamed of that fact. Mulder had taught her that it was all right to be scared. She'd made a crack to him once, long ago, about him being a hero. He'd calmly stated that he'd been scared shitless--and that 'heroes' were no different than anyone else. "Heroes" were just normal people placed in abnormal situations who, in spite of their 'fear,' managed to survive and possibly take some one else with them. He'd called her *his* hero that day, informing her that she was the best thing that'd ever happened to him since he'd discovered peanut butter. She'd hoped that was a compliment. "Just tell me why, Keith. I really want to know," Mulder continued, his voice deceptively calm and steady, yet quietly insistent. The object of Mulder's interest slowly arose from his chair. Melissa flinched back against the wall at Keith's movement, but he ignored her. Instead, he strode across the small room, stopping only when he'd reached a position that placed him directly above the couple on the couch. Mulder felt Dana's grip tighten on his arm as Keith stood looking down at them, his brown eyes dark and unreadable. Sensing her apprehension, Mulder nudged her away from his side under the pretense of getting a better look at Keith. In reality he'd been vaguely aware of her being hurt earlier when she'd tried to protect him from Jordan's wrath. He wasn't an experienced clinical psychoanalyst and he'd just as soon have Dana out of reach in case he made a mistake in his conversation with Keith. He wasn't about to let her get injured on his account, not again. Banishing what emotions he could from his face, Mulder concentrated on the few positive feelings he could find within himself, getting his mind ready to deal with Keith. He didn't like doing this. It drained him and gave him headaches but it was a necessary form of communication of sorts. It worked for him when he was in the VCS. Hopefully, even though he didn't understand it, it might work for him now as well. He considered it 'meditation'...a clearing of the clutter in his mind to allow him to consider the possibilities... to understand the motives of another human being. Mulder knew some people considered this ability a gift, but he was more critical of himself than anyone else could possibly be. He refused to think of himself as gifted, choosing instead to think of his 'spooky' ability as nothing more than another useful investigative technique. Keith locked his suspicious, troubled eyes on Mulder's. Seeing only sincere questions in their smoky depths, not he revulsion or ridicule he was used to, Keith relaxed visibly. Maybe this man really did want to understand, and for some reason Keith found himself wanting to explain and justify his actions. Somehow he knew he'd be understood. " I...I d...d... don't really want to hurt her," Keith stuttered, his face reddening as he realized that was not quite the truth. He didn't want to hurt, but he *did* need her to be afraid of him, to be afraid that he would hurt her, otherwise he couldn't complete the task. But he couldn't tell this man that, not yet. What he really needed to tell him was about salvation...and Sanctuary. "She's so beautiful, I want to save her soul from eternal damnation. I *have* to save her, and if you knew how you'd want to save her, too. "But how can hurting her save her, Keith?" Mulder asked, still in the same calm, reassuring voice. Keep him talking, Mulder told himself, and stay calm and focused, no matter what he says. Keith tilted his head and looked at the man on the couch like he was a small child you had to explain everything to. He could see by Mulder's expression that he wanted to understand, but he just didn't get it yet. "The evil in her soul has to be purified before she can have sanctuary, Keith explained patiently. "I don't want to hurt her, but I have to be joined with her for the evil to be removed. That way I can take her evil into myself and her pure soul can be freed to join those in sanctuary. It's the only way," he said reasonably. "Who told you this," Mulder inquired, "Jordan? Did Jordan tell you this?" "Of course Jordan told me," Keith said with a grin and a slight roll of his eyes. Had this been any other circumstance, Keith might have resembled the stereotype teenager saying 'no duh!' to a parent's stupid question, but Mulder didn't need to remind himself that this was deadly serious. One wrong move and this 'teenager' would issue all their souls into sanctuary. "Jordan knows everything," Keith continued. "He takes care of me, loves me. He's the only one who ever has. My parents didn't understand me, you know," Keith said, his face clouding over at the memory. "They hate me, I know it. They think I'm a monster. They've always hated me. They told me I was evil. Everyone told me I was evil until Jordan found me and showed me that what I did was righteous." Keith's face lit up again at the mere mention of Jordan. That son of a bitch, Mulder told himself. He found a poor, love-starved, delusional boy and turned him into a disciple. Mulder knew what he had to do. Somehow he had to make Keith see that whatever halo Keith saw on Jordan's head, there were horns underneath holding it up. But knocking Jordan off the pedestal Keith had set him on had to be done delicately, and Mulder was beginning to get one hell of a headache. "He told me that I was right to save my girlfriend, Jenny, before she was defiled," Keith was saying, nodding his head up and down as he began to pace excitedly in front of the man on the couch. "But to do it right, to really cleanse a soul, there must be a joining first to remove the sin. Then I must destroy all the temptations of the flesh and the soul will be free to enter Paradise. There's evil everywhere, in everyone. There are so many souls to save. You know, Jordan said that it was the evil in my dad that made him beat me and that it was my right and duty to slay that evil and I did," Keith added proudly. "Keith, how can you know if someone is evil? Do you just look at them and know? Or does Jordan decide that for you as well?" Mulder asked. "Everyone has evil in them," Keith replied. "Everyone except those who accept Sanctuary, like I have, like Jordan has." "How can little children be evil, Keith? Jordan has molested and murdered children. Keith...how much 'evil' can a 4 year old girl have?" Mulder pleaded, his eyes wet with emotion as his damnable memory showed him an internal slide show of every crime scene photograph, every tiny mutilated body. "*Everyone* is evil!" Keith insisted. "It even says so in the Bible, my mother told me so! Everyone is born with original sin, and you have to accept your savior before you can be free from that sin. My mother made me pray every night until my knees hurt and my back ached asking God to relieve me of my sin, but he never did. The only one who ever did that was Jordan. He was my savior, and he's your savior, too. You have to accept Jordan and Sanctuary before you can be clean, or we have to cleanse you ourselves to make you pure and ready for salvation." Mulder suppressed a shudder. Keith's mind had taken religious dogma deeply ingrained into him by his mother and twisted it into a fanatical obsession with Chambers. The only way to combat that was with a little religious dogma of his own, and Mulder wracked his brain for an appropriate response. Finally coming up with something he thought might work, he took a deep breath before beginning to speak. "Keith, my family was never too religious, but I do remember something I read in the Bible. It says not to put false prophets before God, doesn't it, Keith?" Mulder waited as Keith stopped pacing, clearly trying to remember. Finally, Keith nodded slowly. So far, so good, Mulder thought. " Jordan tells you he rapes, murders, defiles, and mutilates to save his victims' souls from evil, Mulder continued cautiously. "A savior doesn't kill, Keith. A savior lays down his life for others, he doesn't take lives. Keith, Jordan Chambers is a false prophet, the very evil that you seek to destroy. He has tricked you, he has lied to you. He told you that all of this is for the salvation of souls from eternal damnation. People like Jordan Chambers are what the Bible warned us about." Keith held himself very still in front of Mulder, his brown eyes dark and unreadable. Mulder wished he knew what was going on in Keith's mind, but he didn't have a clue. When Keith didn't say anything, Mulder took that as his cue to keep on talking, and he decided to try and push the point home. "Keith, anyone can make a mistake. Everyone wants to be loved and accepted for who they are, and when people we love don't accept us, we look around for someone who will. But it has to be the right kind of love and acceptance, not the kind that Jordan has taught you. Mistreatment by those you love is not an excuse to pass that sorry family tradition to other innocent people, and it's definitely not an excuse for torture and murder." A synapse finally fired in Keith's brain, and a single thought broke through -- this man had just insulted Jordan. Although he tried hard, Keith didn't understand a lot of the rest of the stuff the FBI man had talked about, but he did understand that he said Jordan was wrong, that *he* had been wrong. How could he possibly know what Jordan had saved him from? "Wh..what would y...you know!!" Keith screamed into Mulder's upturned face, his hands balled into fists by his side.. Mulder's eyes shone with a remembrance of his own private hell. "What do I know??!! I'll tell you what I know," his voice shook with the force of emotion that he could no longer control. "I know the pain of loss of part of my soul and the agony of guilt and blame for something beyond my control. I know the disappointment of rejection by a father who damned me to hell on more than one occasion and the indifference of a mother who'd given up trying; the feel of a lighted cigarette on a young boys flesh, the blood in my mouth as punishment when I'd cried; the embarrassment of explaining to doctors how I fell down the stairs five times in two months; the anguish of wanting to tell someone --anyone -- and the agony of not knowing how... And most of all, the fear that maybe it was all my fault. The list goes on. But one thing is certain. I will never raise my hand to any child of mine in anger--never. The abuse stops here with me and I will not allow it to ever go further. Your decisions are yours alone...not your parents, not Jordan's, and not mine. When all is said and done, what you become is *your* responsibility, Keith...*Yours*." Exhausted, Mulder leaned back against the couch as a single tear ran down his cheek. Dana's mouth fell open in shock. She'd known that there'd been problems in Mulder's family, especially after his sister's disappearance but she'd refused to speculate on the severity of the dysfunction until now. Suddenly a lot of things were much clearer to her. This revelation explained a lot about Mulder's behavior and his obsessions. The signs had always been there, she'd just refused to acknowledge them. How could she have been so blind? Dana had always known that Mulder was a mentally strong person. He had to be, putting up with the 'Spooky Mulder' nickname and reputation and not flying off the handle at someone. But the simple fact that he'd been able to handle the weight of all that emotional baggage he'd just unloaded for all those years and not wig out totally said volumes about the kind of man he had become. She had never been more proud of him or more protective. Though she knew it was illogical, she prayed silently that if she could help it, no one would ever hurt him again. She wanted to reach for him, to hold him, comfort him...but she knew why Mulder had pushed her away and touching him wasn't necessary. He knew how she felt. "Just know this, Keith, Mulder added after a long pause, "Jordan Chambers doesn't kill and maim for the sake of salvation. Jordan Chambers kills because he likes it." Keith had taken a small step backward in reaction to Mulder's outburst, realizing that the hurt he perceived in the Agent's eyes reflected his own pain and emptiness. Agent Mulder understood, yet he still called Jordan evil. How could Jordan be evil? Jordan Chambers gave Keith's life meaning and his work validated Keith's existence. Jordan wouldn't mislead him...Keith had always believed that. But this man's eyes revealed only sincerity and truth, and he said Jordan had lied, that Jordan was a false prophet and Keith had been misled. If Jordan had lied to him, then his parents had been right -- He *was* devil's spawn and the souls that he had freed, all the work he had done, it was all in vain. But no, it couldn't be....no, no, on...because if that was true, then his own life was forfeit . He had sinned, had followed a false god, and he knew the punishment for that, oh yes he did, and he heard his mother's voice inside his head berating him once again for being an evil child. Keith's uncertainty fed his confusion and a dim flicker of conscience appeared to glimmer within his dark soul. But Keith was unprepared to bear that kind of guilt and he was certainly not willing to pay the price of his sins, and the fragile spark of conscience died. No, Jordan would never lie to him!!! He believed in Jordan's truth and his faith would not be shaken by this man who would try to trick him. Not willing to listen any more, Keith turned and stalked away, opting to sit on the stairs rather than return to his own chair. Mulder closed his eyes. He could almost hear the door slam shut in Keith's mind. He just refuses to see the truth, Mulder thought. He felt Dana's hand squeeze his arm gently, and he opened his eyes to look into hers. Although she didn't say a word, Mulder knew she believed he had given it his best try. Too bad the best hadn't been quite enough. He closed his eyes again, trying to get a little rest for whatever the next crisis would be. Mitchell had observed the exchange between the two men with interest. No wonder the Black Ops had considered Agent Mulder such a threat. Anyone who could even remotely sway Keith's fanatical allegiance to the all powerful, all knowing Jordan Chambers, had to be one persuasive son of a bitch. An honest, intelligent man with a sense of purpose was one to be feared by an oppressive, manipulative authority in any society. That was a historical constant. Feeling a familiar stirring inside himself, Mitchell frowned. The man-made demon was pressing his sanity once more, the need to kill pounding at the dam in his brain like a river in flash flood. He knew that soon his control would be gone and someone else would have to die. In a way, he envied Keith, for that poor demented soul had no awareness of his insanity. He fully and totally believed that the horrors he committed were righteous and justified and in his heart and mind he held no remorse or regret. Mitchell had only told a half truth when he'd said that he'd turned into something that killed without conscience. The animal demon within him that destroyed and maimed, that creature reveled in the act. But to his sorrow and anguish, the man that he still was, the man trapped by the demon's fury, was aware of the demon's actions and remembered every deplorable and horrifying scene with perfect clarity. His superior had not seen fit to remove his conscience when they'd destroyed his humanity and for that...he would pay, and dearly. ****** end part seven From xangst@frii.com Fri Oct 25 17:17:27 1996 SANCTUARY BY: CHERYL COHEN (ALIAS-THE STINKER) AND ANNIE REED (ALIAS-FANCYKATZ) Forward ************************************ Annie and I started this story several months ago. In fact we started bouncing around ideas for a sequel right after we finished "Devil's Advocate. Okay, we didn't expect it to take this long or be this long but somehow the characters seemed to take on a life of their own and each insisted that they have their moment in the sun. Hence, what follows is ninety pages of love, sadness, joy, sex, misunderstandings, violence, insanity, aggravation, frustration, humor, death...and life. Please be warned, this tale contains, graphic violence, adult language, and adult situations. Although there is sex involved in several scenes, it is not what I would consider graphic nor is it out of context with the story. I like to leave a little bit to the imagination. DISCLAIMERS ETC. ******************************** This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright infringements are intended. ************************************ CHAPTER EIGHT Mind Games Smoke curled up to the ceiling, unnoticed by the room's only occupant. He'd quit caring about his smoking long ago, quit caring about much of anything, as a matter of fact. Maybe if he ended up speaking through a hole in his neck, his body ravaged by cancer, he might care then, but he doubted it. Regret was not a luxury he allowed himself to feel. He had a job to do, a necessary and often thankless job, and regret just didn't figure into the picture. Even when things didn't turn out exactly as planned, he never regretted his actions. He just cleaned up the mess and moved on. He took a long swig of beer as he watched the action on his new television. He'd had to move from his last apartment rather suddenly and had been forced to leave his meager possessions behind. Another late night visit from a certain troublesome FBI agent was something he wished to avoid, and the simplest way had been just to disappear into the urban sprawl that surrounded the nation's capital. If it had been any other agent, he would have stayed in his old apartment and the agent would have disappeared. But for reasons known to only a select few, this particular agent could not be directly eliminated. If he managed to get himself killed on the job, well, that was just one of those things. Picking up the channel changer, he set his beer down on the end table next to the report that had been faxed to him earlier. Terse and to the point, the report informed him of the escape of three criminally insane convicts. Mitchell Tyler was one of the escapees. Mitchell Tyler -- a mess he thought he had dealt with years ago, but one that had reappeared like some magician's disappearing/reappearing ink. Only Mitchell Tyler wasn't some magician's slight of hand. Tyler was real, flesh and blood, and was no doubt headed back to D.C. to even the score. Sitting there in the darkened room, letting the smoke escape through his parted lips, he felt the first glimmer of fear he had felt in a long, long time. I'll be damned, he thought to himself. There was something left to care about after all. The wind howled outside the tiny precinct building like a rabid wolf, blowing a nearly solid curtain of white across the empty streets, giving the town the eerie, deserted feel of a ghost town. Anyone with any smarts at all was inside patiently waiting out the storm, gearing themselves up for the inevitable hard work of digging out from under Mother Nature's latest blast. Agent Hestor was not a patient man. He nodded and grunted intermittently as he paced the floor, phone in hand. He'd never been fond of waiting, especially when he knew time wasn't on his side. Now he had to contend with the impending arrival of Assistant Director Skinner, of all people. Why would the Assistant Director of the FBI directly involve himself with two field agents? Spooky Mulder must be a whole lot more important than he gave him credit for. Well, Skinner might be on his way but he sure as hell wasn't gonna get here tonight...at least not in this weather. Hestor had a half dozen snow plows on standby, nearly the town's entire fleet, ready to clear the roads as soon as the storm let up. He'd done everything he could in the way of preparations for a raid on the Scully house, up to and including, having emergency medical backup on standby. He snorted once, frowned, and slammed the phone receiver into its cradle with a resounding crack. "Careful Hestor," McGuire intoned patiently, "Don't mistreat the equipment just because you didn't like the message. I'm getting fed up with having to fill out all those damn requisition forms for all the damaged equipment that you've destroyed." Hestor ignored her, not that she really expected a reply. Waiting was grating on all their nerves. Agent McGuire studied the young man sitting on the edge of the cot on the other side of the office window. He wrung his hands anxiously, shoulders tense and drawn tight as he leaned tiredly over his knees. She wished she had some good news to tell him but unfortunately, he'd just have to wait along with everybody else. The phone interrupted her thoughts with its obnoxious, infernal buzzing. Someday she was gonna have them put a real 'ringer' on that goddamn thing. "Yeah, McGuire," she answered with the monotony of routine. Her posture suddenly straightened and her tone grew formal, prompting Hestor to give her his undivided attention. "Yes, Sir...I'll tell him, sir. If the weather clears before you arrive...go without you. She paused to listen, and her eyes grew wide. Oh, God. Goodbye Sir...." McGuire didn't bother to hang up the phone, but turned and threw it against the wall. "Shit!!!" she shouted at the top of her lungs as the phone hit the cinderblock with a crash. Hestor stared at her open mouthed. "Jesus, McGuire," he breathed. "Now who's gonna have to fill out the goddamn forms? What the hell happened? Who was that?" "That, dear partner, was Assistant Director Skinner with some very disturbing information." McGuire's eyes bored into her partner. "It seems that not only are we dealing with some full fledged psychotic loony tunes but one of them is some weird unusual case study. It appears that this guy kills in some kind of frenzy. He doesn't need a weapon, Hestor. He rips people apart with his bare hands like a rabid animal. They had him drugged to control his 'seizures' and what they'd given him will wear off soon if it hasn't already. God, I hate this," she said, beginning to pace to try and work out her frustration. "We're running out of time and there's not a damn thing we can do about it. I'm afraid we're not gonna find much left when we finally get through. Better prepare that poor man in there for the worst." Skinner drove along the snow covered roads, his face a study in concentration. Motorpool had tried to talk him out of going, even in the Bureau's best equipped four wheel drive, but one look from him had silenced their protests. In spite of the reports he'd heard earlier, the roads were not quite as bad as he'd expected. Even though the tail end of the vehicle had slid sickeningly several times, he'd managed to keep it under control. He'd been through worse weather and he was determined to get as close as he could to his destination before giving up for the night. Damn you, Mulder, he cursed silently. What the hell is it with you and fucking trouble?? Answer me that. But there was no one to answer him except his own inner voice, and for some unknown reason, it had decided to take a more reasonable tone tonight. It reminded him that in all fairness, this time Mulder hadn't done anything to elicit the trouble he and the Scullys were in. Trouble just seemed to seek him out like ants to sugar. Skinner had always thought Mulder was special and he did the best he could to keep the young man's ass out of hot water whenever possible. But lately keeping Mulder's body and soul intact was becoming a full time job. Weird shit just kept gravitating in Mulder's direction no matter what he did. "Shit, Mulder," Skinner mumbled out loud, "Why couldn't you just attract a normal psychotic serial killer like everybody else?" Walter cringed at the fact that he'd just entertained such an absurd thought. He feared he might be contracting a severe case of Mulderitis and with his luck there probably wasn't a damn cure. Keith stood motionless on the stairs, silent and brooding, watching while Mulder shifted his weight, uncomfortably trying to find a position that didn't seem to press his bladder into his kidneys. This wasn't an easy feat since he felt like the entire liquid volume of the Potomac had been bottled up and deposited into the organs in question. "Dana," Mulder groaned softly, "I sure hope your mom is an expert in microwave cuisine because if she doesn't get out here real soon, I'm not going to be responsible for the ensuing flood." His lower back throbbed with a dull, pounding ache and a sharp, scraping sensation beneath his lower ribs made him wince in pain whenever he tried to move. Needless to say, the extra water pressure didn't help matters much either. This was ridiculous. Didn't anybody else have to go besides him? Hell, Dana was always in the bathroom lately but now all of the sudden she was the pillar of control. 'Wait for mom,' yeah, right... Dana hated to see him suffer so, but she wasn't exactly without discomfort either. She just wasn't as caustically vocal about it as Mulder. Looking over at Melissa and the kids, she noticed that Meredith was squirming around, and even Matthew was looking like he was trying to find a comfortable position. It was obvious that they'd all need a break...and soon. Perhaps she could arrange something when her mom returned to the room. Keith got up and looked at them, then walked back over to his chair. "Feeling a little 'backed up', huh, Agent Mulder?" Keith laughed scornfully. Dana stifled her smoldering anger and bit back an angry reply. No sense making their situation any worse than it was by antagonizing this asshole. Dana wondered just how much Keith had heard of her conversation with Fox. She hadn't thought that he'd been listening since he'd exhibited no reaction or sign of interest. Evidently she'd been wrong. They'd have to be a lot more careful of what they said to one another in the future. It wouldn't be beyond these spitefully deranged men to deny their hostages the dignity of attending to their basic needs. Jordan Chambers, for one, seemed to thrive on the humiliation, intimidation, and degradation of others. Mulder, however, was not inclined to let Keith's acid question stand without a challenge. He'd given it his best shot but had been unable to break through the barriers of this man's psychosis. Now he was just plain fed up with this little creep deciding when he could and couldn't go pee. He was just about ready to cut this little bastard down to size with a biting retort of his own when he caught the all too familiar 'shut up, Mulder' grimace on Dana's lovely face. Granted, even though half of Mulder's brain was on auto pilot, he could still sit here all night trading barbs with this malevolent, maladjusted Miscreant and not even break a sweat, but for once he took the time to consider what repercussions might be directed at his adoptive family should he give in to his impulses. Letting out a deep breath, he slowly closed his eyes, settled back and quietly accepted Keith's taunts without comment or expression. A little indignation was a small price to pay to keep this moron happy and unfocused. Above all, Mulder didn't want to risk a repeat of another Jordan Chambers-type incident with Keith. They'd all endured enough suffering for one day and he'd be damned if he'd incite any further occurrences by way of his temper and big mouth if he could help it. Of course that wasn't his only motivation for backing off. He'd already exceeded his allotted quota for butt kickings in a 24 hour period. If he managed to get himself pummeled one more time tonight, Dana would probably save everyone the trouble and just kill him herself. Dana had tensed and braced herself for what she thought would be the inevitable Mulder reaction to Keith's jeers but to her surprise, no responding remarks were forthcoming. This was not Mulder's normal behavior pattern at all. Dana knew he'd been tempted to indulge in a verbal fencing match with this lunatic. She could tell by the slight telltale shift of his shoulders, the determined set of his jaw, not to mention the cant of one brow and the undeniable flash of challenge that had flickered through his eyes. She'd sent Mulder her customary glare of warning that usually preceded one of their spats about him refusing to heed her 'warnings.' This time, however, he'd acknowledged her unspoken concern with a covert nod. Deferring to her judgment in this instance without argument or objection, Dana had watched Mulder bite back his impulses and settle back into an uncharacteristic reticence. Now he projected a calm, quiet acceptance that she was finding extremely disturbing...abnormal, at least for him. She was beginning to worry. What the hell was he up to, she wondered anxiously. The bland facial expression he presented to Keith was a far cry from the anger and humiliation that she *knew* boiled just under the surface. She'd been with him long enough to recognize when he was overcompensating the control over his emotions and right now she could almost hear the gate slam shut and the drawbridge raise as he clamped down on all expression with an iron will. The answer appeared in her head, and she knew it was true almost the instant she thought it. He's afraid, she realized, afraid to do or say anything that might result in retaliation against my family...*our* family, she amended. Keith, meanwhile, seized the opportunity that Mulder's silence offered and continued his relentless verbal attack on Mulder with a vengeance. His tirade covered a wide variety of topics that ranged from questioning the legitimacy of his lineage to insinuations concerning his sexual preferences. Mulder stoically endured the abuse, refusing Keith the satisfaction of a reaction. After all, he wasn't totally unfamiliar with this type of treatment, he thought with a strange sense of deja vu. Keith's face suddenly wavered from view and was replaced by the tormenting features of Mulder's father. 'Tune out and turn off,' Mulder told himself with practiced skill. Funny how defense mechanisms work, he pondered objectively. It was the only useful thing that his relationship with his father had taught him and somehow the knowledge of that tragedy, though painful and sad, reinforced his vow to never, ever, inflict that kind of experience on his own children...should he ever have any, that is. Mulder may have been able to tune Keith out, but Dana had just about had enough. Her eyes blazing, she opened her mouth to give Keith a piece of her mind when she felt Mulder's grip tighten on her arm. He slowly shook his head and smiled, ever so slightly. "It's not worth it, Dana," he murmured in a voice that only she could hear. She locked eyes with him. Knowing that he was speaking from experience, she had to admit that perhaps he was right and she let her anger dissipate. Instead she reached out and lightly caressed the side of his face, making him wince. She noticed with sympathy that his face had swollen considerably, nearly closing one eye. >From the kitchen, Dana could hear the clanging of pots and pans and an occasional muttered curse. Soon the warm, friendly aroma of spaghetti sauce filled the house and belied the turmoil and danger that harbored itself within its sturdy walls. The speed with which the aroma filled the air told Dana that it definitely wasn't her mom's homemade sauce, but to these guys, Ragu was probably a gourmet treat so it really didn't matter. A new scent made Dana's empty stomach rumble loudly. Garlic bread... just the thought made her mouth water. She began to wonder if their captors would allow them to eat or force them to watch in suffering silence. Though it would be uncomfortable, especially with her appetite as out of hand as it had been lately, she knew she could survive missing a couple of meals without any ill effects. Just think of it as a diet, she told herself convincingly. Your clothes have gotten a little tight lately. Mulder, on the other hand, was prone to bouts of hypoglycemia, which he would deny if asked, so he tended to snack on a continual basis to compensate for it - namely those blasted seeds. The fact that he'd had nothing to eat since early this morning gave her cause for concern. His blood sugar levels had to be bottoming out by now, she figured with forced medical objectivity, yet he failed to mention having any difficulties with it to her. Small wonder. Between his pre-existing injuries, the beatings, and a lingering hangover, the headache, dizziness, and nausea that usually accompanied missed meals probably blended in with everything else. She also worried about the children, especially Matt. Even though he'd been squirming a little, along with the rest of them, he still continued to be withdrawn and unresponsive. He'd only eaten his lunch earlier today after Melissa had fed him like a baby. Physical wounds she could handle. They were concrete -- black and white -- like her beloved science, but this kind of emotional trauma was vague and shadowy, not unlike Mulder's unexplained phenomena. Where she excelled in the scientific method and the certainty of fact and proof, he rejoiced in the pursuit of unknown possibilities and the discovery of spiritual truths. Mulder was one of the few adults that she'd ever known who could consistently view the world with awe through the wondering eyes of a child. Lord knows, she didn't know what to do for Matt, but she had absolute faith that Mulder could help him. If not now, then later, when everything was over. He had trained, for God's sake, at one of the most prestigious universities in the world. That training, added to his natural compassion, empathy, and seemingly unending patience, seemed to evoke a feeling of comfort and trust, especially with children. If anyone could get through to Matt, it would be Fox. Perhaps someday, when Mulder found his truth and the X-Files were behind him, he would use his rare gifts to help purge other young victims of their demons and in doing so, exorcise some of his own. For now... for now, Dana Scully would work on the more immediate physical problems. First and foremost among those was getting everyone who needed to go, to a bathroom and everyone who was hungry, fed. ****** continued in 8b From xangst@frii.com Fri Oct 25 17:18:04 1996 Sanctuary part eight continues.... Dana got to her feet slowly, ignoring Mulder's pull on her arm. Someone had to get things rolling here. Sparing only a glance toward Keith, she approached Mitchell cautiously. When he wasn't having one of his violently strange seizure-like episodes, he seemed to be the most rational of the three criminals. Trying to find an inner strength, she positioned herself In her most demanding stance, standing above Mitchell as he sat in the chair. Forcing herself to be calm, she made her request. "Look," she said fiercely, "you people have been to the bathroom several times since you've been here and we haven't been allowed to go once. If you don't want this place to start smelling like a urinal, somebody better make some arrangements -- and fast." Shit! She hadn't meant for it to come out quite that way, but she was just so damn pissed... literally, she thought with a silent giggle. Oh God, Mulder cringed. Sometimes Dana could still surprise the hell out of him and scare him to death at the same time. Fearing the worst, he tensed and readied himself to move, regardless of how much it hurt. But an unexpected bemused expression appeared on Mitchell's face instead of the anger that Mulder had feared, and Mulder let himself relax a little. Mitchell looked up at this tiny little sprite of a woman, her eyes bright with indignation, her hair wildly framing her face in a mass of flame as fiery as her temper. She sort of reminded him of a pixie... a very angry pixie. A slight smile crept onto his lips. That's twice now, he thought with some alarm. He hadn't smiled in years. Sure, he'd had no reason to smile for longer than he could remember, but today he'd caught himself indulging in that expression not once, but twice. Mitchell shook his head slowly. What was it with these people? he wondered. In his long and varied career he'd had experience with more than a few hostage situations, but never in all his years had any hostages acted like this one little family. He got up from the chair, thinking that his height would intimidate this woman, but the stubborn little nymph refused to back down and obstinately stood her ground, even though her head barely reached his chin. Her head was tilted back, and he could still see the fire in her eyes. "Oh, all right," Mitchell growled, giving in. He didn't like being bullied, particularly not by someone this small. Something inside him, however, insisted that he accommodate her. "One at a time... and leave the door open," he demanded. "Open?!!?" she sputtered with undisguised disgust. "Yeah, open," Mitchell repeated. "I don't want to take any chances of getting another door slammed in my face. If you have a problem with that, we can forget the whole thing." He glared back at her, waiting to see if she would back down a little. "Fine," she conceded reluctantly, dropping her eyes from his. Turning in a huff, she marched over to the far wall to Melissa and the children. Keith began to protest, but one look at Mitchell silenced any comments he might have had. Jordan didn't say they could do this. Oh, he was gonna be mad when he found out, yes he would be. No one made decisions but Jordan, no siree. Keith sure wouldn't want to be in Mitchell's shoes when Jordan found out. One by one they took turns in the bathroom relieving themselves, while the others stood guard with their backs to the doorway in and effort to preserve modesty. Dana didn't think anything had ever felt so damn good in her whole life. Well.... maybe *one* thing felt better, she thought with a sardonic smirk. Dana was the last of the women and children to take advantage of the bathroom break. She was just emerging from behind the others when Jordan strode into the room, dragging Margaret roughly behind him. He took in the small group huddled by the bathroom in a single glance, and the anger practically jumped off his face. "What the hell is going on here, Mitchell?" he screamed. The big man turned his head slowly towards Jordan, seeming to barely register his presence even though Jordan's scream had made the rest of them jump. He motioned lazily with his hand as he addressed Jordan's strident voice. "Head call," Mitchell said with a nonchalant air, "and if you don't want the place smelling like a fucking latrine, you'll let em' finish," he continued with a sly look at Dana. Jordan thought for a minute and decided that, no, he wouldn't like that at all. He'd had enough of that smell in prison and he certainly didn't want to smell it here if he didn't have to. He shoved Margaret toward the group. "Go on, do what you gotta do and be quick about it," he instructed her with a condescending tone of voice. When they'd all finished, Dana and Margaret went to the couch to try and help Fox to his feet. Well, so he'll be a little embarrassed, Dana thought with a small grin. It'd still be better than the alternative. "What do you two think you're doing?" Jordan snarled as he walked over and pulled the two woman roughly away from Mulder. "He hasn't been yet," Dana pleaded while Mulder tiredly slumped back into the cushions. "Time's up," Jordan laughed harshly. He grabbed Mulder's swollen face tightly just below his cheekbones with one hand, squeezing the tender flesh within his grip until his victim's eyes watered in agony. Margaret and Dana looked on, helpless to do anything, for in Jordan's other hand he held the gun. Jordan slowly rotated Mulder's face from one side to the other as if he were appraising a prize piece of livestock. "What do you think, Keith?" Jordan asked his protÇgÇ', turning Mulder's head toward the young man who now held Dana and her mother by their arms. Jordan was asking *his* opinion. Keith was overwhelmed with joy, but then a thought struck him. What if he said the wrong thing? Jordan's question hadn't exactly told him what he expected for an answer. Keith finally decided that since he wasn't exactly sure what Jordan was asking him, the best thing would be just to nod and say the first noncommittal thing that he could think of. "I think he's kinda pretty to be FBI," Keith hedged expectantly. Jordan took another look at his captive and smiled. "Too pretty to waste," he leered suggestively. Mulder gagged with revulsion, the meaning behind Jordan's comment more than apparent. "Fuck you!" he managed to whisper hoarsely through clenched teeth. "Exactly," Jordan hissed as his eyes bore into Mulder's with hideous intent. He brought his face down to within inches of Mulder's. "I have ushered many souls into heaven's sanctuary, Mr. FBI man. God has no sexual preferences, you know." He laughed harshly at Mulder's expression, then shoved Mulder violently back down on the couch, bouncing his head off its wooden armrest Mulder's stomach wretched -- there was nothing he could do to stop it. Between the innuendo in that last little exchange, added to the almost palpable evil he felt emanating from that man, his stomach simply rebelled. If there had actually been anything in it, he would have thrown up as well. As it was, he simply gagged, coughed, and endured a nasty bout of dry heaves. Satisfied that he'd gotten the desired reaction, Jordan walked away and headed back to the kitchen. "Time to eat. Everyone into the kitchen... except *you* of course," he announced as he pointed at Mulder's ashen face. "I'll stay here, too," Dana informed him as she broke away from Keith's hold on her arm. "You don't understand h...." Jordan interrupted her. "That wasn't a request," he snarled. "I said *everyone* but him, and that means you, too. Leave him," he ordered as they all filed into the kitchen. Everyone, that is, except... Mitchell. "You coming, Mitchell?" Jordan turned to ask him, slightly annoyed that once again Mitchell had managed to disobey a direct order. "I'll eat later. Someone has to stay here and watch this guy if your gonna leave him here, or did that ever occur to you?" Mitchell commented sarcastically. Fucking brain donor. Jordan chose to ignore that last remark, mainly because he knew he thought better on a full stomach than an empty one. He'd figure out what to do about Mitchell *after* he ate. Mulder lay back on the couch, exhausted from his last exchange with Jordan. The room was empty except for Mitchell and himself. Jesus Christ, he really felt like shit. Mitchell's eyes were closed, but he couldn't trust the man to be asleep. Mulder was amazed that he'd finally discovered someone who actually slept less than he did. He didn't waste too much brain power on Mitchell. Right now he had his own problems. His bladder had gone from uncomfortably full to downright painful. If he didn't get relief soon, he would simply burst... not a pleasant thought. He looked at the bottle on the end table. Originally he'd joked about alternate uses for said bottle, but now... now that damn thing was looking better and better. So this was Jordan's version of 'fun and games', huh? Humiliate the hostages, a variation on the dog pack theory -- brow beat everyone until they accepted that you were top dog and everyone else was shit, and then no one would give you any trouble. It was a time-honored way of intimidating people. Mulder had no doubt that sooner or later it would get worse than this, but for now at least it was just humiliation. Okay, he'd play along. There were, however, just a couple of things that Jordan didn't know about him. He hated to lose and he wasn't above cheating to avoid it. Fuck the rules, he decided. If Jordan wants to play dirty... he could stoop to his level, even if he had to cut his legs of to do it. How did that saying go again??? How low can you go? When he was this angry? Pretty damn low. He took another look at Mitchell, eyes still closed... steady breathing. Well, Mulder, it's now or never. Fox reached over and grasped the whiskey bottle in one hand. No sense wasting good booze, he rationalized as he took several hefty swigs from the remaining liquid before pouring out what was left between the couch and the table, leaving about a third in the bottle. Besides, if Jordan fell for it, Mulder was almost certain that having a good buzz would be a definite plus in his favor. Damn, he really enjoyed it when he allowed his mind to be devious and underhanded. The whiskey hit his empty stomach like a bomb, and its effects on his mind were practically instantaneous. Sneaking another look at the apparently-asleep Mitchell, Mulder's face screwed up into a 'little boy with his hand in the cookie jar' grin. So what's the big deal here anyway? he thought belligerently to himself. He'd had to suffer the humiliation of randomly pissing in a fucking cup for the government's benefit on a regular basis, so a bottle was just a little bigger that's all, although the neck of the bottle was a little narrower than what he was used to. Hell, now that he thought about it, he bet the government doctors couldn't even identify half the stuff floating around in his pee anyway. What a waste of taxpayer's money. The near empty whiskey bottle disappeared under the blanket, and after a few seconds' worth of fumbling and adjusting, a look of pure ecstasy and relief covered his features. All right, so it wasn't as good as sex, but he'd sure rate it a close second. A few seconds later a nearly full whiskey bottle took its place back on the end table and a much happier Fox Mulder contentedly waited for Jordan's return. Mitchell Tyler peeked out from beneath a heavy lidded eye and allowed just one more covert smile to grace his lips. He'd seen the whole thing, of course. It was amazing what people would do when they thought no one was watching, although he knew that in this instance Mulder had little choice. Under different circumstances, he could really learn to like this guy. That was a surprising thought. In his line of work -- back when he had been working and before he became an unwilling science experiment -- he'd gone out of his way not to like anyone, to avoid making friends. Keeping himself free of friendships and emotional entanglements had been just one more way of ensuring that his soul was his and his alone. If the bastards he worked for -- and against, at times -- had discovered anything or anyone that Mitchell cared about, they would have used that information to control him. But in the end they'd found another way to control him, and his soul had been lost in the process anyway. Now feeling that budding spark of kinship, maybe even friendship, glowing faintly within himself, Mitchell wondered if the price he'd paid all these years was too high. This unusual thought was abruptly interrupted as he found himself needing to rally his control against the escalating pressure of his mutated evil. Mulder looked up suddenly as something penetrated the fuzzy blanket the whiskey had created in his brain. A dark mind reached into his consciousness, groping for a ray of light to sustain its sanity. He nearly succumbed to its black depths before realizing it was Mitchell's struggling human essence that was searching his mind for order and stability. Mulder trembled at the unfamiliar contact. Whatever demon possessed this man must be regaining control once more, and for Mitchell to seek strength from *his* mind, the situation must be grave indeed. Mulder had never considered himself psychic or telepathic in any way. Instead, he'd always written off occurrences of that nature, in regard to himself, as hunches, luck, or coincidence. Although he was eager to accept extreme possibilities in others, he had never been able to consider them in connection with himself. Now, however, denial became more difficult. He felt Mitchell's inner battle explode within his own mind just as clearly as he'd heard the voices in his head those many ears ago that told him not to be afraid. But now he was taxed way beyond his own limits. Exhaustion, hunger, and pain consumed whatever strength he'd had, and Mulder wasn't sure he had any left to give or if he should even try. This man had tried to kill him and threatened his family. Why on earth should he help sustain him at the risk of his own life and of those he loved? Mitchell sensed the conflict, anger, and vulnerability raging within this outwardly calm man laying before him. Mitchell knew he needed a little push, something to demonstrate that no matter how bad he thought things were, they could get infinitely worse. Gathering up the control he had left, Mitchell dropped a small portion of his mental barrier, allowing a vestige of the rampaging evil to penetrate Mulder's unprepared mental defenses. Mulder reeled with horror at the unbridled power of darkness that momentarily assaulted his senses and he understood. This could not be set loose here or they could *all* die -- sadistically, with a prolonged agony that would only serve to feed this monster's insatiable hunger. He stared up at Mitchell, his mouth partially open in an involuntary gasp. As Mitchell withdrew the unwanted visions from Mulder's unprotected psyche, another image took its place. An all too familiar silhouette reclined in the shadows, rings of white smoke circling the figure's smug, uncaring face. 'Cancer Man,' Mulder's brain registered without conscious effort. The scene changed abruptly and Cancer Man now lay before him, sprawled on the floor in an almost unidentifiable heap of bloody pulp. Waves and waves of violent loathing and hatred mixed with an unparalleled lust for revenge permeated his being like a saturated sponge. Mulder felt sick in mind and body as he realized that some of these 'thoughts' could very well have been his own. Mitchell nodded as if sensing Mulder's unspoken fears. "The thoughts were *mine,* Agent Mulder," Mitchell uttered contemptuously. Mulder appeared startled and confused by the answer to the question that he'd only 'thought.' Telepathy...?? Is that possible? Mitchell focused his unwavering gaze on Mulder and answered the young man's questioning eyes. "Just another side effect of yet another unsuccessful government experiment," Mitchell explained sourly. "You wanted to kill that scum. I felt it... yet you didn't. Why? Perhaps our missions are much more similar than you realize. Maybe you'd like another chance." Mitchell raised his brow in inquiry. "No!" Mulder replied hoarsely, with barely leashed emotion. "I can't murder another human being in cold blood, not even if the bastard deserves to burn in hell. I don't have that right." "That sir, is your weakness... and possibly, your strength," Mitchell sighed. "I, on the other hand, am no longer quite human, as you can see, and am no longer bound to your lofty, ethical ideals." "What happened to you?" Mulder asked softly. "Someone somewhere decided they needed a more efficient killing machine, Agent Mulder," Mitchell said, his strange eyes flat and emotionless, yet Mulder knew there was enormous anger bottled up inside. "They decided to use someone already trained to kill, and trained very well. I was never told, never asked if this was what I wanted. Just one more injection in a series of injections for diseases with names I couldn't pronounce. Only the experiment failed, and they never had a backup plan, a way to bring me back to what I was. The man you call 'Cancer Man' was my superior. What was done to me couldn't have been done without his authorization. You've been to his home, you know where he lives. You will help me find him, Agent Mulder." "I don't know where he is now," Mulder replied truthfully. Mitchell shrugged. "Maybe not, but he knows how to find you and when he does... he'll find me, too. That's why you have to help me to control this horror in my soul. My last mission -- my *only* mission -- is to find him and show him exactly what he's created and what it's capable of. If the animal wins and I kill you and the others, I may never be able to complete that mission. And *that*, Agent Mulder, is the only thing left that has any meaning for me now." Mulder studied the man intently. "I feel you're losing the battle," he replied softly. He wriggled his hand into the pocket of his jeans and withdrew a handful of the tiny white tranquilizer pills that he'd confiscated from the bathroom that morning and offered them to Mitchell. "Here, they're tranquilizers... take them. Maybe they'll help for a little while." Where there is life, there is hope, Mulder thought to himself. If Mitchell's maniac impulses went unchecked, life would most certainly cease and hope along with it. Mitchell took the pills from Mulder's outstretched hand and swallowed them all in one giant gulp. As the medication hit his bloodstream, he felt the urge to kill recede and his vision clear. He had no way of knowing how long the medication would last, but for now they would be spared. ****** end part eight From xangst@frii.com Sat Oct 26 06:27:52 1996 SANCTUARY BY: CHERYL COHEN (ALIAS-THE STINKER) AND ANNIE REED (ALIAS- FANCYKATZ) Forward ************************************ Annie and I started this story several months ago. In fact we started bouncing around ideas for a sequel right after we finished "Devil's Advocate. Okay, we didn't expect it to take this long or be this long but somehow the characters seemed to take on a life of their own and each insisted that they have their moment in the sun. Hence, what follows is ninety pages of love, sadness, joy, sex, misunderstandings, violence, insanity, aggravation, frustration, humor, death...and life. Please be warned, this tale contains, graphic violence, adult language, and adult situations. Although there is sex involved in several scenes, it is not what I would consider graphic nor is it out of context with the story. I like to leave a little bit to the imagination. DISCLAIMERS ETC. ******************************** This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright infringements are intended. ************************************ CHAPTER NINE Revenge is Sweet The black government issue four-wheel drive pressed onward through the blowing snow, traveling much too fast for the prevailing weather conditions, even with the on-the-fly four-wheel drive engaged. Walter Skinner gave up trying to see the road and just aimed the car toward the glowing lights of the small town in the distance, trying to stay somewhere in between the trees that lined each side of what he hoped was the road. What the hell was he doing driving in a snowstorm anyway? "I must be out of my fucking mind," he grumbled belligerently. Why did Mulder always affect him this way? He wasn't Fox Mulder's legal guardian, damn it, so why was it that he felt so... so... responsible for him? Skinner tried to be optimistic about the outcome of this situation but it didn't help knowing that Mulder had the survival instincts of a fucking lemming. All right, so he'd broken the ultimate unwritten rule and allowed himself to become attached to this stubborn pain in the ass. In a weird sort of way, Skinner realized that sometimes he felt an almost fatherly pride in both of his troublesome agents. They continually crossed that line, the one he was afraid to step over, and they managed to do their job with precious little support from the Bureau. Yes, he was proud of them, although he'd damn sure never let them know it. Skinner's car finally slid to a stop in front of the local precinct building. Cursing softly, he forced the car door open against the wind and snow. Muttering to himself again about what kind of an idiot would be out in weather like this, he made his way to the front door and trudged inside, shaking snow off his topcoat and stamping it off his feet. A sputtering desk sergeant told Skinner where to find the special agents in charge of this case and he headed back toward the interrogation rooms. Amusement flickered across Skinner's features as surprised field agents snapped to attention when he walked by. It was somehow comforting knowing that his position could still evoke a little intimidation in his subordinates. Lord knows, he'd never get that kind of reaction from Mulder. Position and power never had made much of an impression on that one. In fact, now that he thought about it, unlike the ever present horde of back stabbing, ladder climbing wannabes, Mulder was one of the few people in the Bureau who actually felt his work took priority over making the necessary, correct, butt kissing, career moves. Skinner knew that Mulder could have made that ladder-climb to power rather quickly if he'd been so inclined. He'd had the connections, the intelligence, and the talent, but unfortunately, he also had a conscience. Perhaps that partly explained Mulder's unusual knack for accumulating the support of some pretty powerful people. They knew he had no interest in ousting them from their precious positions and had no ulterior motives other than his own unrelenting search for the truth. Mulder was a rare treat for these people... someone they could actually trust. Skinner's introspection was interrupted when he reached the small, warm room that had become 'home' to Agents Hestor and McGuire while they searched for three insidious killers. He opened the door without knocking. McGuire stood up suddenly, seeing Skinner's figure filling the doorway behind Hestor, who'd had his back to the door. "Good evening, Sir," McGuire said respectfully. Few field agents ever really got to see the Assistant Director in person and she felt just a little nervous. Hestor took a quick glance over his shoulder at the sound of her greeting, mumbled a quick hello, and returned his gaze to the printout he was studying. He'd met the Assistant Director before and wasn't nearly as nervous as his partner. Besides, he wanted to finish what he was reading. This could be important to the operation... very important. "Oh, really?" Skinner intoned crankily. "What's so good about it, Agent McGuire? I missed dinner. My workout's canceled. I had to drive out here in the worst snowstorm of the year. And two of my best agents are more than likely holed up with three serial killers, one of whom would like nothing better than to skewer one of the aforementioned agents like a shish-ka-bob and burn him at the stake. And you say it's a 'good evening'?" Assistant Director or no Assistant Director, she didn't have to put up with that kind of attitude, McGuire fumed. "Excuse me for asking, *sir,*" she replied testily. Skinner took a deep breath, held it, and slowly let it out. She had a right to be annoyed, he thought. "I apologize, Agent McGuire. I'm tired, frustrated, and more than a little concerned. How about starting over?" he conceded. McGuire pulled her lips into a slight grin. "Sure," she answered, willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. She'd heard about Bulldog Skinner, and she'd just experienced his bark first-hand. Luckily, he'd stopped there. This time. She had no doubt that if she ever screwed up, she would experience much more than she just had, and that was something she seriously hoped to avoid. "What do you have so far?" Skinner asked, slipping back into his usual clipped, voice of authority mode. McGuire proceeded to fill him in on the situation that they suspected was going down at Margaret Scully's house, as well as the counter-measures they were implementing. Hestor looked up occasionally to comment but directed most of his attention to the printouts on his lap and the information that glowed eerily on his computer screen. "The National Weather Service predicts about a three or four hour window of calm between the fronts around eight o' clock tonight," Hestor commented with a hopeful expression. "Do you think it's feasible that we could get in and out of there in three hours? I checked with the snow plow drivers and they tell me the plows can handle it." "I suppose it just depends on what we find when we get there," Skinner theorized. "Are you reasonably sure these men are actually in the house?" Hestor pointed to the man in the other room who sat at a desk, intently drawing something on a large piece of paper. "*He* thinks so, and so far all of the evidence we could gather seems to support that suspicion. I've got him drawing a floor plan of the house for us, not that we really need it. I had a full set of blueprints sent over here from the county recorder's office. It's just that giving him something concrete to do seemed to help calm him down." "Scully's brother?" Skinner inquired. He thought he could see a family resemblance. Hestor nodded. "Yeah, his two little kids are stuck in that house, not to mention his mom and his two sisters. I think he's taking it pretty well. If it were *my* family stuck out there, I'd probably be throwing things by now." Hestor looked over at McGuire and then turned his attention back to Skinner. "Sir," Hestor began tentatively, "may I ask what would prompt the Assistant Director of the FBI to take such a special interest in a field agent like Spooky Mulder?" "You can ask," Skinner told him with a sigh. " *Agent* Mulder's not just a field agent, he's the supervisor of his own department and as such, answers directly to me. I was responsible for assigning him to the Chambers case in the first place, so it's only right that I should be here now." There were other reasons for his presence, of course, but this was all these people needed to know, and all he was going to tell them. Skinner's mouth drew into a hard thin line. "I want all your manpower and equipment ready to go by eight o' clock just in case for once, the blasted weather service is right and we do get that three hour window." Skinner glanced at his watch. "That gives us about two hours to come up with some kind of plan. I suggest that we use our time wisely." To the casual observer, they would have appeared to be the essence of a perfect family portrait. It could have bee a scene right out of Norman Rockwell's American Dream, a quiet family dinner in a cozy kitchen, warm and safe from the blizzard howling outside. It could have been had it not been for the fact that the men seated at the kitchen table were violently insane, and the women and children were hostages to the madness of their unwelcome guests.. Jordan and Keith served themselves first, if you could call diving into the spaghetti like a couple of hunger crazed hyenas,'serving themselves.' Margaret was hesitant to interfere in their feeding frenzy by venturing to ask about food for the children, so she settled for placing a plate in front of each daughter and grandchild, then set an extra one aside just in case they changed their minds about Fox. She waited patiently for some sign that would indicate Jordan's willingness to let them eat, but after being soundly ignored for several minutes, Margaret took the initiative and began to serve the spaghetti and bread to her family. Dana thought that perhaps she could somehow palm a piece of bread during the meal to give to Mulder later, but the two men watched her too closely. She also noticed the same attention being paid to her mom and sister so, any chance of getting food to him died with the thought. Dana hated the tight, anxious feeling that festered in the pit of her stomach. She hated the rage she felt at what was being done to her family, especially to Mulder. Jordan would kill him if he could, of that she had no doubt. Her only hope lay in the agony of knowing that Jordan would prolong his suffering for as long as possible before he did. It was ironic that Mulder's pain might actually be the instrument that would buy him time, time enough to get out of this mess in one piece. Meredith watched the grownups eat dinner. The bad men paid absolutely no attention to her. Good, she thought. She took a small bite out of her bread and skillfully slid the remainder into her palm and then up into the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Feeding Kelly from the table had honed her ability to pilfer just about anything from her plate, even under the watchful eyes of well meaning adults, and this time no one was even watching. Uncle Fox was hungry, she could tell, and the tall man with the cold blue eyes had been really mean to him, had hurt him and made him sick. Maybe some bread would make him feel better. Food always made *her* feel better. Margaret was the last one to be seated and she knew that she'd be the last one to get up. Going through the motions, she wasn't even certain that she was really even hungry anymore. Quietly she watched Dana push the food around her plate and stare off into space... a far cry from her joyous eating binge at breakfast, Margaret thought despondently. Next to her, Melissa was trying to get an indifferent Matt to taste some of his spaghetti. While he wouldn't serve himself, if she actually fed him he would eat. The sight brought tears to Margaret's eyes and she had to turn away. She'd be damned if she'd cry in front of these animals. Picking at the pasta on her dish, Dana suddenly felt nauseous. What if this was to be her 'last meal'? She'd always pictured her last entree' enjoyed in this life as something just a little more exotic than Ragu and Bahama Bread with garlic. She twisted another forkful of spaghetti and forced herself to eat it in spite of her upset stomach. You might not get another chance, she convinced herself as she swallowed with difficulty. Melissa was relieved that the meal was proceeding so far without incident ... a lull in an angry sea of fear, her intuition echoed through her mind. She didn't have to be psychic to know it would not last. It was nearly 8 o' clock when Jordan scarfed down the last piece of bread after sopping up the remaining sauce on his plate with it. He arose from the table and stretched languidly while rubbing his stomach with one hand. "Dinner's over," he announced in a commanding tone. This had been a long, eventful day and he was getting tired. Slowly, he wandered over to the counter and started rummaging through the drawers until he found what he was looking for. "Heads up," Jordan yelled at Keith as he tossed the roll of duck tape across the room. Keith expertly snatch the roll from the air, immediately deducing Jordan's intentions. "Tape em' up, Keith," Jordan instructed, "all except for grandma and the kids, and our favorite FBI agent out there. I'll take care of him myself." Keith nodded and began tearing off long, dangling pieces of tape. He stuck each piece to the edge of the table until he had the correct number of strips he thought would be needed to complete his task. Oh shit, duck tape, Dana thought desperately. She despised duck tape. It was too damn efficient. She'd been tied up with a number of materials but duck tape was the worst. Unlike rope or cord, duck tape had no loose ends to work at, very little space to get anything between, no knots to work free, or rough edges to catch on anything. And on top of everything else, when and if you finally got someone to take the damn stuff off, it quite effectively removed all of your hair and a good part of your skin with it. Melissa cringed at the sensation of Keith's touch as he lifted her from her chair. She shuddered involuntarily as he purposely traced his fingers down the length of her bare arms before grasping her wrists, jerking them behind her back and securing them with tape. Making sure the tape was secure, he pushed Melissa forcefully back down in her chair, then reach out his hand to grab Dana and repeat the procedure. "I don't need your *help*, " Dana told him as she stood up on her own and positioned her hands behind her back. Keith stared at her suspiciously. She was being much too cooperative and it put him on edge. He pulled her arms back tightly and wrapped the tape around her wrists a few more times than he'd originally intended, trailing the tape halfway up her forearms. With her arms pulled together unnaturally tight behind her back, Dana was forced into an awkward posture which had the net effect of stretching her shirt tight against her chest. Jordan stood back from the table and leered in appreciation at the sight of Dana's full breasts straining against the soft fabric of her shirt. Dana knew damn well what he was looking at and glared back at him, but deep inside she experienced a glimmer of fear. She didn't like feeling helpless, and having her arms taped up behind her back left her very few options if anyone decided to take advantage of her. Keith followed Jordan's gaze and began to feel the familiar tingle he'd experienced hours before as a result of his fear. And something more. For the first time, he thought he sensed fear in this woman, and that only added to his excitement. Jordan, mindful of Keith's reactions, smiled knowingly. "Not yet, Keith," he purred. "Not just yet." Agent Hestor paced the room and looked out the window one more time. The snow had piled up in drifts against the buildings but the gale force winds had abated, at least temporarily, and the snow wasn't falling nearly as heavily as before. He turned around abruptly, nearly bowling over McGuire who had come up behind him to look over his shoulder. "I say we go for it," Hestor announced rapidly. "The winds have died down and even though I've never had the utmost faith in the National Weather Service, it appears that they're right on the money this time." He walked across the room to stand in front of Skinner. "I'd say it's now or never sir, your call." Hestor stepped back and held his breath, waiting impatiently for a reply. A shadow of indecision crossed Skinner's face briefly, then disappeared. Right or wrong, there was no time and he had to act. He shook his head once then looked directly into Hestor's eyes. "Do it," Skinner stated decisively. The quiet of the office suddenly erupted with a flurry of activity. "It's a GO!! It's a GO!! " McGuire shouted almost simultaneously over the radio and telephone. Bill Scully stood amid the ensuing activity clutching the floor plan he'd drawn in his right hand, and looking every bit like a little boy who'd suddenly found himself lost at the fair. Skinner noticed Bill's look of confusion and made another command decision. He just hoped it wasn't the wrong one. He crossed the room and grabbed the young man by the elbow. "Put your coat on," Skinner said as he lifted Bill's jacket off the back of the chair. He guided Bill toward the front door and into the street. "Come on, you can ride with me." Skinner opened the door and gently shoved Bill into the back seat of his four-wheel drive. "Must be getting soft in my old age," Walter mumbled grudgingly under his breath as he reached out to attach the bubble light on the vehicle's hood. The powerful sound of the snowplows' engines pierced the silent night as they rumbled into action. Lined up in a diagonal row across the snow-covered street, their solemn parade of flashing lights made an eerie sight in the otherwise still night as they headed out of town. It would still take about an hour or more for this strange caravan to reach their destination, but at least now they were doing *something.* Keep telling yourself that, Walter, Skinner thought as he followed the trailing snowplow at a maddenly slow pace. Keith ran his fingertips down the side of Dana's neck and lightly across her collar bone before dipping down to unfasten the first button on her shirt. "There, that looks more... comfortable," he whispered behind her ear, licking his lips. Dana closed her eyes, trying to shut out the revulsion she felt at Keith's obscene caress. She told herself to ignore the body that was behind her, pressing up against her, making its intentions clear. Instead, in her mind she pictured Mulder's laughing eyes, the strong yet gentle arms that held her so tenderly, the long elegant fingers that sent tingles down her spine, the way his soft, full lips felt on her own, his breath in her hair. Keith may touch her physically but there was only one person who touched her mind, her soul, and her heart as well, and he was on a couch in the living room, waiting for her. Margaret wasn't about to watch her baby girl be molested right in front of her eyes. She moved forward to grab Keith's hand but she wasn't quick enough to avoid being backhanded by Jordan's blow to her face. She fell heavily to the floor only to be jerked roughly upward by her arm and plopped unceremoniously into a kitchen chair. Her hands flew to mouth which was already beginning to swell, and reluctant tears fell from her eyes. "Like I said, Keith... later," Jordan said, pulling Dana away to stand behind her sister. "Good things come to those who wait, my son. Rest before recreation," Jordan sneered as he gathered up the cowering children, Margaret, and the two sisters, herding them back into the living room. The first thing that met Dana's gaze as she entered through the doorway was Mulder's relaxed form still keeping the couch company. She sighed with relief. He was still there and still in one piece, relatively speaking. Leaving him behind with Mitchell had weighed heavy on her mind for she had sensed a violence in the man that went far beyond anything that she could attribute to insanity. The second thing Dana noticed was the fire in the fireplace. Mitchell must have started it. It gave the living room a warm glow. No, more than that, she realized. Mitchell hadn't shut the glass doors that covered the fireplace, and even the screen wasn't pulled shut all the way, so the warmth of the fire itself spread out across the room. Under different circumstances, the fire would have given the living room a romantic look. But right now romance was the last thing on Dana's mind. She just hoped they all got out of this situation in one piece. Before they could stop her, Meredith broke free, ran to the couch, and knelt beside her adopted uncle. She placed one hand on his forehead and held his hand with the other. Mulder opened his eyes wide with surprise and smiled shyly, then wryly as he felt the young girl press the piece of bread into his palm. "Thank you," he whispered, touched that she had taken such a risk for him. Even through a whiskey haze, he'd recognized the potential sacrifice she'd made by giving it to him. "Any time, Uncle Fox," she whispered back into his ear as she lightly kissed his cheek. ****** continued in part 9b From xangst@frii.com Sat Oct 26 06:28:30 1996 Sanctuary part nine continues... Margaret moved quickly to the couch to pull Meredith away. Whatever Jordan had planned, it most certainly would involve Fox and she didn't want her granddaughter anywhere near Jordan. She gently pulled Meredith away with one hand and deftly removed the gun from beneath the sofa cushion with the other, placing it in the oversized pocket of the apron that she still wore. She exchanged a solemn look with Fox and knew that he had seen what she had done and he had regretted that she felt she had to do it. Margaret didn't. The captain had always said to 'always take advantage of your opportunities...' Who was she to argue with sound advice? Well, so far the weather was holding off, thought Skinner as he watched the white countryside go slowly by through the artificial illumination of his headlights. Not that the snowplows weren't doing their jobs... they were actually making good time considering the conditions. It was the urgency of the situation that made the seconds tick by agonizingly slow. Fifteen, perhaps twenty more minutes until they would arrive. A lot could happen in fifteen or twenty minutes. He thought of the man that Mulder referred to as 'Cancer Man' and his mood suddenly soured. Dammit, he helped when he could. Mulder certainly didn't make it easy for him. At least this time he didn't have to rage against orders he didn't agree with and couldn't understand. At least this time he wasn't losing his balance trying to stay on that fine line. Dana and Melissa were dropped to the floor against the opposite wall near the fireplace, facing the couch. Mitchell took notice of Magaret's swollen and bruised mouth and Dana's unbuttoned shirt. These people didn't deserve this, he thought angrily. He'd only hooked up with Jordan and his asshole sidekick Keith to get out of prison and get where he needed to go. Well, he didn't need them anymore now that he had Mulder. It was just about time to lighten the load. He felt the monster within him begin to stir even with the help of the pills Mulder had given him. Anger was his demon's natural state, and his anger at Keith and Jordan was fueling its fire. This was a losing battle, he knew that. He would kill again just as sure as the sun rose and the Marly smoking bastard wouldn't die of cancer. Soon it would only be a question of who, and Mitchell prayed that when the demon finally did break free, he would have enough control left to determine who lived and who died. Dana's gaze drifted back to Mulder, noticing the uncharacteristic glaze in his eyes, and the unsteadiness of motion when he moved. He should have been unbelievably stressed by now but he appeared almost jovial... and by the looks of his blanket, still 'dry.' The man must have kidneys of steel. She knew this behavior. He was, at the very least, semi-polluted again, but how? Looking at the whiskey bottle, she noticed that it was nearly full... too full... She looked back at him, then back at the bottle, then back again at him. He caught her questioning stare and just winked at her goofily with his good eye. She would never underestimate him again. Stifling a laugh, she lowered her eyes to the floor for the simple reason that she couldn't look at him and maintain a straight face. Why was Dana staring at him? What'd she want? Mulder knew what he wanted and tried to wink at her with the wrong eye and rediscovered that it was already closed. Then his alcohol soaked brain remembered the bottle and whined amid the crackle of misfiring synapses, 'but I didn't drink that much,' to which the minority of sober neurons replied, 'empty stomach, stupid.' It's really difficult to be suave and debonair when all the components of your brain are in the midst of a civil war. Mulder thought he was turning his head. Whoa.... he watched the room sway at an odd angle. How'd it do that? Must be an earthquake, he reasoned with all the logic that Jack Daniels would allow. He winced and groaned audibly as his head bounced off the wooden floor. He found himself looking up into the rather angry face of Jordan Chambers just before Chambers grabbed his arm and hauled him upward at what felt like the speed of light. Shit, no one told him he was going to experience gee force training on top of everything else. Some things you just don't do to people who are prone to motion sickness and that was one of them. He didn't know why Mr. Serial Killer Asshole was so upset with him. So he puked on his fucking shoes. Big deal. There'd been nothing in his stomach except some sour booze. He suddenly wished he'd eaten a lot of something really gross ...like sushi, or chili, or even better... sushi and chili. He grinned at the thought. Jordan cursed and threw Mulder back on the couch, violently jerking his arms behind him as he wrapped the duck tape agonizingly tight around his wrists. Mulder gasped as he felt something tear low, inside his ribcage. Even through the haze, he'd felt *that*. He was sobering up fast. Dana strained at her bonds uselessly. The look in Jordan's eyes suggested that he was tired of playing games and meant business, and suddenly she was very afraid for Mulder. Throwing up on Jordan's shoes was definitely *not* the way to keep yourself in one piece. "What's the matter, Jordan?" Mitchell jeered, a rusty laugh forcing its way out from his tortured soul. "Can't handle a few women and an injured drunk without throwing your weight around?" "Shut up!" Jordan screamed at him. "Shut UP!!" "Mr. Big Man," Mitchell continued, egging Jordan on. "Why don't you come try to tape *me* up?" Jordan glared at Mitchell, almost ready to take him up on his offer. Then he saw the glint in Mitchell's eye, the familiar bunching of his muscles under his clothes, and felt the comforting weight of the gun in his pocket. No, now was not the time. He turned his attention back to Mulder. "No more booze for you, Mr. FBI," Jordan snarled. "Torture's no fun when the subject can't feel it," he laughed, reaching for the whiskey bottle. "I'll just take care of this for you, remove the temptation, shall we say." "You don't want that," Mulder slurred, wrinkling up his nose. Jordan narrowed his eyes as he spoke. "How would you know what *I'd* want?" Mulder tried his damnedest to squint with his good eye. "Oh, I juss thought you'd go for those sissy drinks... like daquirs... daqueras..., you know thooose stupid little drinks with the umbrella thingees in em', or shirrlllyy timples...temples. Whiskey's a *man's* drink," he managed to blurt out. Jordan scowled, somewhat taken aback that given the predicament he was in, this guy had the audacity to taunt him. Jordan raised the whiskey bottle to his lips. "I'm tellin' you...don't ddrinnnk that..." Mulder stated with as much emphasis as he could muster. He knew there was a reason he liked that story. Dana exchanged glances with her mom and sister, sighed heavily, then rolled her eyes heavenward. "Mom, when this is over, lock up the liquor cabinet and throw away the key. I don't want him anywhere near the stuff," she muttered. Jordan's features took on the appearance of superiority as he raised the bottle to his lips, and he chugged down half the contents of the bottle before the taste hit him. "Shit!!!!!" he screamed, gagging on the remaining liquid he was spraying from his mouth onto the floor. "This tastes like piss!!!" "I told you not to drink it," Mulder said with an innocent smile. "Juss call it home-brew," he snickered drunkenly. "Mulder, 1960...it was a verry good year." He didn't immediately register the backhand that split his bottom lip, but he could taste the blood in his mouth, uncertain of exactly where it came from. Funny, he didn't remember being able to see stars in the living room before. The weather must be clearing up, his fuzzy brain reasoned. They'd finally passed the abandoned car... Lucy's car. Bill Scully had been correct. The snowplows had almost hit it when they plowed by it. Now it was buried in the dirty snow the plows had thrown off the road. Skinner wondered how much hard evidence would be left in the car by the time they dug it out and the snow thawed. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Skinner could make out the lights of the Scully house in the distance. If the men were in there, he hoped they weren't too late. They came closer and closer to the lights until the outline of the house stood out against the blackness of the night and the pristine whiteness of the snow. "How in the hell are we going to know if those monsters are really in there?" Skinner wondered out loud. "Oh, they're in there alright," Bill Scully said with conviction. Skinner gave him a questioning look, then followed Bill's pointing finger toward the house. Skinner didn't have to ask twice. He was well aware of the meaning of an inverted flag. "Hestor, get your men in position," Skinner spoke into the communications link. "But don't do anything until I give the word." Skinner turned back to Bill Scully. "Mr. Scully, where in the house would your family most likely be? " Skinner asked. Bill ran his hand through his hair, trying to second guess his family. Skinner had no idea of what he was asking. "I had to help Mulder downstairs this morning and I don't think he'd be able to get back upstairs without my help. If he's downstairs, chances are so is Dana, and if Dana's downstairs, mom and Melissa are with her. I guess, they'd either be in the kitchen or the living room. At this time of night... I'd say living room." Bill looked back toward the house and saw the faint puffs of smoke rising from the chimney. "They've got the fireplace going. So I'd say the living room's the best bet." Jordan glared at Mulder with an intense hatred. He wanted to hurt him, he wanted to hurt him more than physical pain would allow. He wanted to rip every shred of humanity from this man, rip out his heart and hand it to him, and have him know that Jordan Chambers was the one who destroyed *his* life. And he knew just how to do it. Jordan slowly allowed his gaze to fall on the petite redhead who'd been such a pain in the ass. He smiled with demonic pleasure. Mulder followed Jordan's eyes and his heart froze in panic. The man knew his weakness, what he feared most. He knew and he was going to deliver a punishment that Mulder knew was worse than death. "Keith," Jordan began slowly, "I have decided to give you a second chance to achieve sanctuary for a wayward soul. Not many people get a second chance, Keith, but I have faith in you." Mitchell wrestled with his demon. He was losing the battle, and he didn't like the direction this situation was taking. He had tried to taunt Jordan into attacking him before, knowing that his demon would be satisfied, at least for the moment, with Jordan's death and no doubt Keith's shortly following, but Jordan had failed to take the bait. He knew from experience what Jordan had in mind for this young woman and he also knew that Fox Mulder did, too. He sensed the young man's terror in his own mind. The thoughts were fragmented and confused, possibly because of his alcoholic ingestion but he was aware enough to deduce Jordan's intentions and frightened enough for the woman to act irrationally. Mulder would die to protect this woman, and Mitchell could not allow Mulder to be killed, no matter what Jordan wanted. He hadn't come all this way to abandon his mission now. Mitchell felt the adrenaline shoot into his veins, along with the strange substance that loosed his demon, and he noticed the color leaving his eyesight. His blood boiled. Jordan walked away from the couch and over to the women sitting against the wall. He paced in a line before them, stopping in front of each one to stare in silence. He turned and pulled Dana to her feet, separated her from the others, and threw her to the floor in front of the fireplace, directly in Mulder's line of vision. So intent on his revenge, Jordan didn't notice the transformation taking place in the corner chair. Instead, he motioned for Keith to come stand next to him. "Here is a soul for you to save, Keith... a candidate for sanctuary," he stated with evangelical zeal. "This is your final chance to prove yourself, Keith." Dana's eyes grew wide as the full meaning of Jordan's words struck home. Even death row inmates get a better last meal than Ragu', she thought disjointedly. Keith sensed her fear and his body responded hungrily. This would be better than the last one, he thought, and he threw himself on top of her, ramming one leg up between her thighs. Melissa sensed her sister's fear and helplessness, and her own experience came rushing back at her. Overlaying everything was a heavy, putrid odor of evil that was almost more than she could bear, and she began to cry. "NOOOOO....." Mulder cried as Keith began to rip away Dana's clothes and fumble with his own. "You bastard," Fox gasped, raising himself from the cushions in an attempt to throw himself at Keith's form. But the alcohol prevented him from moving with his normal grace, and he was unable to push himself up with his hands. He landed instead on his knees, pushing himself along the floor with his legs and drowning in a red sea of pain. The only thing that kept him moving was the pain and terror he saw in Dana's eyes and the insane hunger on Keith's face. He never even heard Jordan's laughter. "I have to be joined with you," Keith muttered, more to himself than to the terrified woman under him. "I have to join you, then remove your temptation to sin again, and then you'll be ready for sanctuary." The last shred of clothing holding him back was gone, and he rested one arm on the woman's collarbone to hold her down while he used his other hand to guide himself towards the goal that was squirming underneath him. He had never been so ready in his entire life. Mulder wasn't going to make it in time, he could see that, and ice settled around his heart as he realized he was going to let Dana down. He wasn't go to be able to protect her. He couldn't believe it when she turned her head to look at him, letting him know with one glance that it was okay, she didn't blame him. Then she cried out in pain as Keith slapped her face, turning her head back toward him. "Look at *me*," he hissed. "I have to see your fear." The next cry Mulder heard was an unearthly scream that set his teeth on edge and sent a shiver through his soul. The dark fury that had once been Mitchell Tyler slashed at Keith from behind, lifting the lighter man into the air. The momentum of the blow sent him rolling across the floor and into the open fireplace. Keith screamed as his hair caught on fire and he began batting at his head with his hands. Mitchell followed Keith with blinding speed and savagely removed the only part of his anatomy that he had seen fit to expose on his attempted attack on Dana. Mitchell held the detached member in his hand high above his head and howled. "May you find sanctuary, you son of a bitch," he yelled, "and may you *never* be tempted again." With that, he reached down and with one final swipe, ripped out most of Keith's neck. The resulting spray of blood effectively doused the fire that had burned Keith's hair, and Keith's body collapsed weakly on the floor. Mulder rolled on top of Dana, using his body as a protective cocoon, and turned his head away from the gory scene. He'd never witnessed anything like *that* before and just the thought of it made his lower regions burn. Mulder had just turned back toward Mitchell when gunshots rang out in rapid succession. Spurts of red blossomed on Mitchell's upper body. The big man took two steps before he fell forward and crashed to the floor next to Margaret, Melissa, and the children. They were huddled together with the childrens' faces buried into their grandmother's side, all weeping softly. Mulder shuddered as he felt the man's psyche reach out to him one final time, and then it was gone. Jordan stuffed the weapon back into his pants, stooped and pulled Mulder away from Dana by his bound wrists. The pain he felt was nearly unbearable and he cried out as Jordan threw him against the wall. Laughing insanely, Jordan bent over him and pressed the cold steel of the gun against Mulder's temple, his finger tightening on the trigger. A gunshot rang out into the frigid night and Skinner gave the word to rush the house. There was no more time, and he feared he'd waited too long as it was. As the agents and local officers reached the front porch, another shot echoed through the house followed by silence and the muffled sound of a child crying. They rammed the front door open in a dynamic entry but stopped dead in their tracks, stunned by the scene of mayhem that met their eyes. The stench of death assaulted their senses. Bodies covered the living room floor and blood splattered in random patterns on the floor and part of the wall. The smell of burned flesh permeated the air. A single, small women stood alone, trembling at the foot of the stairs as the gun slowly slid from her hand and fell to floor with a thud. Clinging to her apron, a young boy sobbed uncontrollably. What the hell happened here? It was only after the intial shock that Skinner realized that some of the bodies were moving. Skinner quickly located his wayward agents, and while he was relieved that they were among those who were still alive, he was shocked by their appearance. Agent McGuire knelt beside Scully and gently cut away the duck tape binding her wrists. Skinner draped his jacket over Dana's shoulders to cover what the shreds of her shirt did not, and he tried to avert his eyes from the remainder of her torn clothing. Recovering her senses, Dana looked over at Mulder who was sprawled in an unnatural position about two feet away from her. "Mulder??" she asked hesitantly. Skinner nodded in understanding and turned his attention to the slowly moving form behind him, carefully cutting away the tape around wrists and hands that had nearly turned purple with lack of circulation. He also took note of the agent's condition, opting to leave him in the position he was in until the paramedics got to him. Skinner looked over his shoulder and nodded to Scully. "Relax, he's alive. Paramedics are here to take care of him." Reaching over toward the couch, Skinner retrieved an empty whiskey bottle and studied it with curiosity. He took one whiff and nearly dropped the bottle. He leaned over Mulder, placing his hand gently on his bare shoulder, and stared into his slightly dazed, dilated pupils. "What happened here, Agent Mulder?" Skinner asked in mock sterness. Mulder allowed one corner of his mouth to quirk up in an attempted grin. "Gee, I guess he was pissed off cause I watered down the drinks," Mulder whispered hoarsely before unconsciousness claimed him. "Always a smartass," Skinner grinned, patting the shoulder gently before leaving him to the paramedic who'd begun to treat him. Margaret sat on the couch wrapped in a blanket that the EMTs had given her. She was shivering violently, but not from the cold. Skinner carefully sat down beside her, silent for several minutes before venturing to speak. "That was some shot, Mrs. Scully," he complimented with genuine admiration. "Margaret," she corrected him. "My name is Margaret." She stopped as another shiver overtook her, and Skinner noticed that underneath the far-away look in her eyes, there burned a bright, angry fire, the same fire he'd seen in Scully's eyes from time to time. Now he knew where she got it, not to mention the courage that seemed to run in this family. "The Captain was away a lot," Margaret continued. "He thought it was a good idea for me to learn how to use a weapon. I did." she stated matter of factly. "Yes ma'am, you most certainly did," Skinner replied with a heartfelt smile. He put the phone down and lit another cigarette, drawing the smoke down deeply into his lungs. Mitchell Tyler was dead, killed by one of the lunatics he'd escaped with. The autopsy would be botched, of course. No one would ever know the truth about Mitchell Tyler, but then again, no one needed to know. The experiment would not be repeated, at least not the same exact experiment. The right people knew not to try again. As for the rest of the world... what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. He wondered if Mulder knew Mitchell Tyler's significance. Maybe the man had talked, had been coherent long enough to peek Mulder's interest. He'd find out soon enough, of that he had no doubt. He knew more about Mulder's movements than the man did himself. Strangely enough, he found he didn't care one way or the other whether Mulder investigated Mitchell Tyler. Even if Mulder was interested enough to look into it, he would find no proof, no answers to his questions. And now there would be no one to help him. He got up to get another beer from the fridge and allowed himself a small moment of satisfaction. Mitchell Tyler. One more mess effectively, if not efficiently, disposed of. No regrets. ******* end part nine From xangst@frii.com Sun Oct 27 05:07:11 1996 SANCTUARY BY: CHERYL COHEN (ALIAS-THE STINKER) AND ANNIE REED (ALIAS-FANCYKATZ) Forward ************************************ Annie and I started this story several months ago. In fact we started bouncing around ideas for a sequel right after we finished "Devil's Advocate. Okay, we didn't expect it to take this long or be this long but somehow the characters seemed to take on a life of their own and each insisted that they have their moment in the sun. Hence, what follows is ninety pages of love, sadness, joy, sex, misunderstandings, violence, insanity, aggravation, frustration, humor, death...and life. Please be warned, this tale contains, graphic violence, adult language, and adult situations. Although there is sex involved in several scenes, it is not what I would consider graphic nor is it out of context with the story. I like to leave a little bit to the imagination. DISCLAIMERS ETC. ******************************** This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright infringements are intended. ************************************ CHAPTER 10 Special Dispensation EPILOGUE "Oh, come on, Dana," Fox whined for the umpteenth time. "Everybody's out of here except me. I've been stuck in this bed for three days with all this crap hooked up to me. I feel fine. I am fine. Can I go now???" Dana didn't respond, just stood there gazing at him with those calm blue/grey eyes of hers. Well, I've got nothing to lose, he thought. Might as well keep going. "And one other question..." He lifted his right arm up slightly until the clanging of metal on metal halted his motion. "Who in the hell handcuffed me to the goddamn bed?" "His eyebrow rose in suspicion as he looked at her. "Halloween's over, Dana. Give me the key, okay?" he pleaded. Dana calmly walked around the bed and sat down on its edge. "First of all, you're the only one of us who needed surgery. Second, all that *crap* is necessary to keep an eye on you or your doctor wouldn't have ordered it. And third," she said, fingering the handcuff on his wrist, "I didn't cuff you to the bed, although it's one hell of a good idea. Let's just say that the cuffer was a very tall distinguished man with a bald head and glasses." "Skinner????!!!" Mulder squeaked. "Skinner," she confirmed. "He muttered something about being tired of you interfering with his workout schedule and for at least a few days, he'd have some peace and quiet without having to wonder where in the hell you were and what hospital to send all the damn insurance forms to," Dana said with humor in her eyes. She waited for Mulder to reply, but he was still in shock at the idea that his *boss,* of all people, had chained him to the bed. How humiliating! She was about to say something calculated to soothe his battered male ego when she suddenly had that unsettling feeling of being watched. "I really didn't expect to see you again quite so soon, my dear," a now familiar voice admonished. Startled by the unexpected visitor, Dana snapped her head up suddenly to find that strange little man leaning nonchalantly against the hospital green of the doorway. For some reason she couldn't quite identify, he always reminded her of a leprechaun in search of his pot o' gold... a very wise leprechaun. "Madam!!" he looked at her indignantly. "I have never been, nor shall I ever be that mythological creature you so vividly picture in your very vast imagination. I may, however, audition for a part in Finnian's Rainbow, should one ever become available. Delightful play, don't you think?" Dana snorted with amusement. Where on earth did he come from? She didn't hear him arrive, but then, of course, she never did. That particular penchant of the man really irked Mulder, she thought with certain glee. Their visitor strolled over to the bed and stopped, crossed his arms in a judgmental manner, and moved one finger up to his chin. "Oh, what now?" Dr. Jay shook his head in disbelief, taking in the bruised and battered young man occupying the bed in front of him. Mulder rolled his eyes upward, and squirmed uncomfortably under Dr. Jay's piercing gaze. "It's not as bad as it looks," Mulder tried to explain. "They're just over-reacting. I don't know why they insisted on hooking up this damn EKG thing anyway. I'm fine," he insisted. "Oh, stop complaining, they'll disconnect it and send you packing tomorrow, so just try and be civil in the meantime," Dana lectured him. A playful grin danced over Dr. Jay's face as he turned to Dana. "Can't you even keep him out of trouble long enough for his wounds to heal properly?" he inquired lightly. "I'm going to have to invest in Bioepidermal rejuvenator stock just to keep him supplied." Dr. Jay pointed an accusing finger at Mulder. Caught again, Mulder thought, and he could only shrug apologetically. "Bio what?" Dana asked, her voice laced with curiosity. "'Green Goo', to you, dear girl," Dr. Jay replied, slightly amused by the fact that he had inadvertently made one of those ridiculous rhymes. "Thank the heavens this little escapade will only require a minor sliming," he added with an exaggerated sigh as he walked gingerly over to the side of the bed and seated himself on its edge. Pulling his hands from his pockets, he produced a small bottle with one hand and a capsule filled with green powder with the other. Mulder eyed the substances with apprehension. "What is that stuff and who exactly are you? How did you get in here? Where are you from and what's your interest in me?" Mulder had stopped momentarily to catch his breath and open his mouth to begin yet another flurry of questions when Dr. Jay raised one hand in a halting motion, physically silencing Mulder's voice. Mulder looked at Dana and back at Dr. Jay, surprise written plainly on his face. One hand went to his neck, rubbing his throat in a vain attempt to bring his voice back. Dr. Jay tilted his head back toward Dana, who was staring at him in open-mouthed shock. How in the hell did he do that to Mulder? And could he teach her that little trick? He raised one eyebrow in contention, then looked back at Mulder. "My dear boy, some questions are best left unanswered, at least for the time being. You just can't let sleeping dogs lie can you?" Dr. Jay said with a smile. Mulder's eyebrows furrowed, betraying his irritability at not being able to respond vocally. Before Mulder could protest, Dr. Jay emptied the small capsule of powder over the sutured gash in Mulder's head, then added several drops of liquid from the bottle to the powder. Dana watched in amazement as the substance took on the slimy 'living' quality that she remembered from the last time she'd seen it. The goo attached itself to the injury on Mulder's head and split, slowly sending green slimy tendrils inching their way down his face and neck. Finally they oozed beneath his hospital gown and targeted his other wounds, binding themselves to the painful areas like a living green band aide. Mulder gasped as his pain eased and a tingling sensation took its place, making him itch. Dr. Jay, noticing the distinct annoyance plastered all over Mulder's face, stared directly into the young man's dark eyes and raised his hand once more. "Don't call me 'dear boy'. I'm 34 years old for crying out loud!" Mulder blurted out, astonished at the sound of his own voice. Dr. Jay smirked. "In comparison to me, you *are* a 'dear boy.' Of course, I could always just call you Fox," he threatened. "How did you do that?" Mulder mumbled, his curiosity winning out over the frustration he felt at being so efficiently silenced. "Merely a simple useful technique," Dr. Jay informed him with a distinctively sly expression. Dana's gaze drifted over to Mulder and mischief filled her clear bright eyes. "Dr. Jay, can you teach me how to do that?" she asked with a chuckle. "Ha, ha, Dana. Very funny," Mulder replied with a full pout registering on those very sexy lips. Dr. Jay looked slightly confused. "I should think that under the circumstances, Fox...excuse me, Mulder... you would be inclined to be a little more cautious. A great deal of responsibility will soon rest upon your shoulders, young man." Mulder stared at him in confusion before sending a questioning look to Dana. What responsibility? She answered him with a shrug of her shoulders. "What the hell are you talking about, now?" Mulder asked, clearly puzzled. Dr. Jay turned to Dana. "You haven't told him?" he asked bluntly. "Told him (me) what?" Dana and Mulder questioned as one. Dr. Jay was astounded. "For the life of me, I cannot comprehend how your species could be so... out of touch," he grumbled under his breath as he turned to leave. "Of course, *I* knew immediately when your..." Dr. Jay broke off his train of thought, realizing that he nearly had said too much. Again. A huge smile lit his distinguished features. "Fox Mulder... Dana Scully. Be good to each other. You're all that you have---for now." "Now what's that supposed to mean?" Mulder snickered, looking up to find himself talking to thin air. "I wonder if he realizes how annoying that is," Mulder grumbled. Unable to resist a sudden urge, Dana reached out and stuck her finger in the living green mass that throbbed on the side of Mulder's head. One corner of Fox's mouth drew slowly upward, his face a study in patient tolerance. "Dana..." Mulder's soft voice entreated her. "What?" Dana asked absently, preoccupied by the green substance that had yet to disintegrate from her finger. That's odd, she thought. Last time it disappeared immediately. Finally she looked up to meet his eyes. "Get your fingers out of my goo," Mulder chuckled softly. "There are a lot more interesting things to finger than green goo," he added with a lustful leer. "Ooooo, you must be feeling better," Dana purred. She walked over to the curtain that separated Mulder's bed from the rest of the room. "Show me... if you're up to an inspection," she leered back while slowly pulling the curtain closed. Mulder leaned back and closed his eyes, gasping when he felt her touch. "Uh, Dana? Those aren't your fingers," he panted heatedly a few moments later. "So now you're an anatomy expert?" came the muffled response. "Oh, Lord, far be it for me to instruct a doctor in the fine points of anatomy," he gasped. A shrill, high pitch tone sounded throughout the room. Worried faces studied monitors, looking for the source of the sound. "Flatline in room 402!!!" yelled the nurse at her station. Crepe-soled shoes hit the floor at a dead run. Frantic whispers emanated from behind the sterile white curtain. "Uh, oh," Mulder cringed. "It was an accident, Mulder." "Put it back, maybe they won't notice." "Of course, they'll notice. You just flatlined!!" "But I'm not dead -- in heaven maybe --" he winked. "But definitely not dead." "Believe me, Mulder," she let her gaze drop. "I am very well aware of the fact that you're not dead." "Yeah, but they don't know that. Is this it?" he asked, picking up the remains of the diode from the bed. "Give it here, Mulder." "You don't have to get nasty." "Oops!" "What do you mean...oops?" "I dropped it on the floor..." "Shit!!" "Dana......" he chided with feigned shock. "Sorry. Let me do the talking." "Think I'll let you do the talking. This is one explanation I've got to hear." "Shut up, Mulder." Medical personnel rushed through the door, crash cart in tow just as Dana stepped out from behind the curtain. "False alarm," she yelled. "Everything's under control," she added quickly. "He just rolled over and accidentally pulled the wires off." Orderlies and technicians slowly left the room, all except for one nurse who'd noticed the flush reddening Dana's cheeks and who'd taken the time to peek behind the curtain. "Dr. Scully," she whispered in a conspiring tone, "perhaps you should finish what you started before that poor man in there explodes," she giggled loudly. "I'll consider any further 'alarms' as null and void. Have fun." The nurse's laughter could be heard echoing all the way down the hall. Dana stepped back inside the privacy of the curtain. She couldn't be certain, but a rough estimate told her that the tent he'd pitched could probably house a family of five, along with a couple of dogs, a cat, and a two car garage. She smiled to herself. Let's see what she could do to break camp.... "Mulder? Oh, my...." she sighed as she pulled back the sheets. "Sorry..." he grinned sheepishly. "For what?" "Embarrassing you?" "Mulder, do I look embarrassed?" she eyed him seductively. Nope, he knew a wide variety of Dana Scully expressions and there was definitely no embarrassment here. Her mood was obvious. It was as obvious as the soft pair of lips that slowly caressed their way down his chest. She trailed her tongue lightly around his scars as if she could kiss away the pain, and she didn't even notice when a tendril of green entered her mouth and slid softly down her throat. Mulder's body trembled with anticipation. He felt wonderful, invincible, contented, and unbelievably happy. Total euphoria exploded all at once in mind, body, and soul as his love for this beautiful woman expressed itself in physical terms as well. "Mulder, are you all right?" she gasped, still trembling. "Oh... boy!!!" he managed in a breathy moan. Trying to watch out for all the wires still attached to his body, not to mention the damn handcuffs, he moved to pull her into a tender embrace. The night nurse coming on duty pointed frantically at the monitor. "Nurse Walden, there's a flatline in 402!!!" Nurse Walden calmly looked at the screen and smiled. "At it again, are we?" she murmured. She turned to the night nurse. "Don't worry about it, hon. Believe me, that man is very much alive. Besides, his personal physician is there to jump start him if he needs it and she's extremely... competent." Nurse Walden giggled in spite of herself as she turned down the monitor's volume and left for the night. Dr. Jay felt their encounter in his mind and smiled. Fox Mulder had finally chosen wisely. Dr. Jay wished that he could tell him more. But for all his searching for the truth, Dr. Jay did not think that, in the end, Fox could handle what the truth actually was. It could possibly destroy the young man's gentle spirit and faith in his beliefs. Dr. Jay would willing give his life to prevent that from ever happening again. Was this the feeling known as... love? It was an extremely enlightening emotion. No wonder most humans spent an inordinate amount of time in search of it. He congratulated himself on having introduced the adaptogen to Dana without her knowledge. It would help and protect her with what was to come. Hopefully it would make things... normal. They were all his responsibility now. FINE