From: the chicken Date: 19 Dec 1998 21:33:21 -0800 Subject: Journeys End at Lovers' Meeting (1/5) Journeys End at Lovers' Meeting-part 1/5 An X-Files/Dead Again Crossover by Sarah Stella e-mail address: starbright_89@hotmail.com distribution: sure, send it on to the newsgroup! i'd love it if you did!! as far as archiving, anywhere you'd like, just keep my name attached and maybe drop me a little note so i can come visit! spoilers: um, lessee, small spoilers for 'irresistible', 'tfwid', 'the end', 'the beginning', 'triangle' and 'the ghosts who stole christmas' rating: i'd say around a PG/PG-13 for some violence and some nasty language classification: XC UST/MSR keywords: x-files/dead again crossover, mulder/scully romance summary: when scully starts having some disturbing nightmares she unwillingly turns to mulder for help. from there they are both unexpectedly swept up into something...cosmic. okay, let's all do the disclaimer dance. they're not mine, i swear. they belong to some guy named chris and his production company and a whole bunch of other guys in suits who aren't me. this is just for fun so don't sue because it being the holiday season, i have no money. ;) also the characters of margaret and roman strauss aren't mine either. they belong to kenneth branaugh who wrote the wonderful script for the wonderful movie, 'dead again' (which i highly recommend) the title is a quote out of shirley jackson's 'the haunting of hill house' (which i also highly recommend!) and i assume she got it from somewhere but i got it from her, soooooo.... the stuff that isn't recognizable is mine, all mine, for good or ill. incidentally, feedback makes a great holiday gift and it's free :) cheers, sarah ====================================================== So you go 'round and 'round and 'round Another life another wound From death to birth from birth to death No time to waste no time to rest --Reincarnation, Deine Lakaien First there was darkness, deep velvet black like primeval midnight. Though there was no picture there was sound, like an old television set. A soft, almost-pleasing 'snicking' sort of noise. The man leaned forward very slightly as the guard behind him pushed lightly on his upper back with short, stubby fingers. Around the man's head, stray hairs fell gently under the guard's scissors like a light snow, disappearing into the wet ink darkness that pooled at the floor of the prison cell. His hazel eyes prismed flecks of gold, gray and green. "Strauss, you got a visitor!" a gruff voice announced unceremoniously from the cell door. "Isn't it nice to be suddenly so highly regarded," Roman Strauss muttered low under his breath in a liltingly beautiful voice, still tinged with an Austrian accent. Roman's haircutter let the other guard and Roman's visitor into the cell. The metal tray made a strangled clunk as the second guard set it down. "Enjoy it." Roman smiled wistfully but his expression was tinged with a trace of bitterness. He looked up at his visitor--an attractive man in his early 30s. Roman's bitterness increased. "Mr. Baker." It was more of an observation than a greeting. "Good evening, Mr. Strauss." Baker smelled of Wildroot Hair Cream, moderately priced cologne and expensive tobacco. A cigarette--hand-rolled from the look of it--dangled from his lips. "Looking for one last story for your readers? The condemned man's final meal perhaps?" Tendrils of anger were creeping into Roman's tone. "As you can see, I've become a great admirer of your work." Roman spread his hands expansively, indicating the myriad clippings that adorned the walls of his cell, each one detailing a part of the sordid story of Margaret Strauss's murder and each one written by Mr. Grey Baker. The first guard picked up his scissors once more and continued snipping away at Roman's hair. "So I see," Gray said evenly. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I didn't kill my wife," Roman said softly, his voice almost masked by the quiet 'snipsnip' of the scissors. "Then who did?" Gray returned quickly. Roman motioned him in closer and whispered into Gray's ear. The guard urged Roman to his feet, depositing the scissors on a nearby table. "Tell your readers, Gray Baker. This is all *far* from over." The guard prodded Roman out into the cellblock and began walking him past the rows of jeering inmates. At the end of the hall was the electric chair. A crowd of people had gathered there, the warden, the chaplain, more guards and a single, well-dressed woman with auburn hair. Roman walked faster. Gray was supremely puzzled by what Roman had said. Absentmindedly he traced his fingers along the top of the table. Roman's hair fell down in lazy cascades but the scissors that the guard had put there only moments before were gone. <> Grey thought. He nearly tripped over himself in his haste to get out into the cellblock. Roman and his escort were almost to the end of the hallway. "Stop!" Gray shouted, not knowing what else to say. Roman heard Gray yelling and he took off, running straight for the cluster of people standing in front of the electric chair. Roman skidded to a stop in front of the woman and raised the scissors above his head. "These are for you!" he shouted, bringing them down towards her chest in a glittering arc.... **** Dana Scully awoke with a gasping shriek. Her hands flew to her throat and for a minute it seemed like she could neither talk nor breathe. She was covered with a cold, clammy sweat that made her raw silk pajamas cling to her in unpleasant ways. Her pulse thrummed rhythmically in her chest like a well-tuned violin. She willed it to slow down even as she ran shaking fingers through her hair. For a split second she considered calling Mulder but then thought better of it. Instead, she pulled the blankets up to her chin, curling herself sideways and tucking her feet closer in to her body. She stayed that way until the first grayish wash of morning crept through her partially opened Venetian blinds. Groaning, she heaved herself out of bed and stumbled out into the kitchen towards the coffeemaker. Caffeine and lots of it was the only thing that kept her sane these days. The nightmares were getting worse. She couldn't explain it exactly because it was always the exact same nightmare but somehow, in some indefinable way, it was getting worse. Scully rarely remembered her dreams at all until the nightmares began. Now she absolutely dreaded going to sleep, fearful of the terrible pictures that painted themselves behind her eyes each night. After setting the coffee to brew, Scully returned to her bedroom and quickly splashed some cold water on her face and dressed herself. She applied her makeup carefully, spreading concealer liberally over the angry, bruise-like circles under her eyes and even then she only managed to dull them to a medium gray. Out into the kitchen once more, she poured her coffee into a spill-proof travel mug and raced out the door. In a strange way, Scully found that she actually missed not having a desk. Since she and Mulder had been reassigned to the VCS she'd had no privacy. Some days, especially lately, she felt the need to put her head down on her desk and have a good cry or a good nap--one of the two, she didn't know exactly which. But either one was out of the question in 'the bullpen' (as she'd secretly begun calling it.) Hell, even Dilbert had a cubicle. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she barely even noticed when Mulder came in, slipping easily into the desk in front of her. "Morning, Scully," he said, waving his hand in front of her unfocused eyes. "Scully?" he repeated, his voice deepened with concern. "What?...Oh....Morning, Mulder," she answered weakly. "You okay, Scully?" A small worry line appeared across his smooth forehead, his eyes searching her face anxiously. Quite frankly, she looked like hell warmed over and then thrust into the microwave again. Oh she was doing a good job covering it. Someone who didn't bother to look closer wouldn't even know, but Mulder had made a habit of looking closer. Especially lately. Especially since he'd told her he loved her. Or maybe it'd been since Christmas Eve and that haunted house. She looked like she had on the Pfaster case, right before she'd broken down and cried in his arms. Inside something was shattered but she still struggled to keep the calm, collected, icy facade in place. <> he willed silently. <> "I'm fine," she replied, her voice only wavering the tiniest bit. He wouldn't have caught it if he hadn't been listening for it. Mulder let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. There was something wrong, but after his behavior lately--after the way he'd treated her, trusting Diana over her--he really didn't deserve much better. Still, it made his stomach clench in anger. <> He shook his head slightly and smiled as encouragingly as he knew how. "Well, if you want to talk about?anything, my door is always open." He recoiled a bit as she seemed to wince almost invisibly. <> He smiled depreciatingly. They didn't even have a door to call their own these days; that was his fault too. "Excuse me." Scully stood and made her way slowly towards the ladies' room. She took one shuddering breath, willing herself to calm down. She was getting worked up and over what? A few silly dreams that was all. And yet...and yet.... They seemed almost *real*. And what about Roman? She could never tell anyone the truth about *him*, it was too bizarre to be believed anyhow. Scully shook her head to clear it. This was ridiculous, absolutely stupid. Everyone had disturbing dreams from time to time. It was no reason to panic. She pushed numbly into the bathroom and made for one of the stalls. Her knees wobbled unsteadily and she sat down hard. She rested her forehead on her palms before running her fingers shakily through her hair. The only noise in the bathroom was the sound of her gulping breaths as she struggled to regain control of herself. What made it worse was that Mulder thought *he* was somehow responsible for her condition. She had to smile weakly at that. <> Scully barely acknowledged the bathroom door opening. And it wasn't until he pushed open the unlocked stall door and knelt on the floor in front of her that she even realized who it was. "You shouldn't be here." "I thought we could start something, y'know, like Ally McBeal--breeds camaraderie." "That's not all it breeds," she returned automatically. He chuckled low in his throat before wrapping one arm around her shoulder and lifting her chin with the other hand. She was level now with his prismed eyes: gold, gray and green. <> He regarded her soberly but gently. "What's wrong, Scully?" She closed her eyes to block out the vision of his face. "I just haven't been...sleeping well. That's all." He softly brushed the delicate skin under her eyes with the very ends of his fingertips. "So I see," he commented, his voice a hoarse whisper. She could feel him steeling himself for the next question. "It...it's not something *I've* done, is it?" his voice was filled with anxiety. "No!" Her eyes flew open and she stood up quickly. "I'm actually feeling better now." He caught her elbow as she tried to squeeze past him out of the stall. "Perhaps we should continue this conversation in a more...appropriate place?" Scully tried to laugh but the sound caught in her throat. It was quite nearly the most pathetic thing Mulder had ever heard. His hands clenched involuntarily at whoever...or whatever could do this to her. His fingernails bit into his palms as he considered the idea that it still might be him. Once they left the bathroom, Mulder steered Scully toward the elevator. "Mulder, this is a blatant waste of Bureau time." "This is important to me, Scully. Please?" He shot her the same goofy, endearing look he'd given her after his escapade in the Bermuda Triangle. Scully shook her head in resignation. Did he know that he didn't have to resort to these kind of tricks? He'd had her almost from day one and she doubted that she could *really* refuse him anything. Neither one spoke until the elevator stopped moving and they emerged into the familiar, comfortable twilight darkness of the basement. "No one'll disturb us down here," Mulder said casually. He led her to a little-used conference room down a hall and around a corner from the x-files division. There were no chairs so he pushed a stack of three large filing boxes towards the table and gestured to Scully with just a hint of a flourish. "Have a seat." Gingerly, she perched herself on the stack of boxes while Mulder planted himself on the table. "I don't really see..." "So you've been having trouble sleeping?" "I've been having some nightmares, yes," she mumbled, twisting her hands. This was silly. This was also none of his business. She felt a spark of anger flare inside her and Mulder saw her eyes light for an instant with their old shine but she was too, too tired. "What sort of nightmares?" he asked gently, alarmed at what he'd seen behind her eyes. Scully without her flame was just...well...not Scully at all. "A man," she said evasively, "he's in prison for killing his wife...with a pair of scissors over some stupid piece of jewelry." Scully took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Now that she was saying it she found that it helped to tell someone. "Did he do it?" Scully looked at him strangely. "I don't know. Why should it matter?" Mulder shrugged easily. "Dreams are funny things. You never know what might be important." "The guard is cutting his hair--for an execution--when another man comes to see him. He's a newspaper reporter or something, I don't know. The prisoner whispers something to the reporter before they take him to be executed. But he took the scissors, Mulder," Scully's voice was a horrified whisper as she relived the dream for a second time that day. Her eyes closed tightly. "He's running down the cellblock and there's a woman in front of him. She looks like me. He's raising the scissors... 'These are for you!'" Scully yelled in a voice tight with terror. Her arms crossed in front of her face as if to ward off a blow. "Scully!" Her eyes snapped open. She was shaking uncontrollably. Mulder held her loosely as if he wanted to have her closer but was afraid to. Afraid she'd push him away or afraid of the way she'd acted Scully had no idea. "I think you should see someone..." "I haven't exactly had much luck with psychologists." "That's good because he's not exactly a psychologist." "Mulder." Though Scully's voice was tired she still managed to pin him with the Look. "There's my girl," Mulder laughed, smiling encouragingly as he helped Scully to her feet. She sighed, feeling some of the tension that had built up over the past two weeks slip out of her. "Who is this man, Mulder?" "He was more or less my mentor at Oxford, Franklyn Madison. He taught me everything I know about hypnosis and the way it applies to psychology." "Another hypnotist, Mulder?" The critical edge in Scully's voice almost hid the tremor of fear as she recalled her last session with a hypnotist. Mulder saw the emotions that flitted across her face and squeezed her hand warmly. "Don't worry, Scully. Franklyn's the best hypnotist on either side of the Atlantic." His face was a picture of innocence. "Would I lie?" Scully's only answer was an amused snort. TO BE CONTINUED.... Date: 19 Dec 1998 21:38:46 -0800 From: the chicken Journeys End at Lovers' Meeting-part 2/5 An X-Files/Dead Again Crossover by Sarah Stella disclaimer and other info in part one The Laughing Duke (Fine Antiques and Collectibles) was tucked into a small side street in Georgetown near the river. Scully looked askance at Mulder for a moment but followed him into the shadowy interior of the shop. It was dimly lit, pleasantly cluttered and smelled of oranges and spice. The air inside the shop was warm and made the already fatigued Scully sleepy. From some hidden location near the back a girlish voice was speaking. "...he let me call him Uncle Teddy. He insisted on it." Mulder and Scully moved closer to the source of the sound. "I'd sit on his knee in the Oval Office and he give me pony rides. Uncle Teddy loved to bounce me on his knee." "I'm sure he did," an amused British voice interjected. Mulder pushed back a heavy drape at the back of the shop, revealing a small room furnished only with a small table, two chairs and a large candle. A distinguished-looking, grandfatherly man with close-cut white hair sat opposite a 60-something woman. She was squirming in her seat with every appearance of girlish delight. "Now Eunice, there was a cherrywood secretary in the Oval Office when Presi--er, *Uncle* Teddy was there." "Yes." "Do you remember what he did with it?" "He gave it to Nancy Ingals, his secretary," the lisping, immature voice said. Scully raised a brush fine eyebrow in Mulder's direction. He just shrugged and smiled. "Thank you very much my dear. Now, when I count to three you will open your eyes, refreshed and relaxed. You will remember nothing that we have said here. One...two...three." Franklyn snapped his fingers. He patted the now-alert customer's hand. "There you are, Mrs. Barclay. I don't think you have to worry about those silly chocolate cravings anymore." "Thank you, Mr. Madison," she said in a voice as deep as any man's. Franklyn, Mulder and Scully watched in silence as Eunice Barclay drew back the curtain and exited the shop. "Now, what can I do for you..." Franklyn began automatically, "Fox!" Mulder recoiled at the use of his given name but didn't correct the man. "How are you, Franklyn?" Franklyn climbed to his feet and the two men embraced briefly but fiercely. "What have you been doing with yourself since Oxford? Last I heard you were some hotshot for the FBI." "I'm still with the Bureau," Mulder said noncommittally, not wishing to dwell on his success or lack thereof. "This is my partner, Dana Scully." "Enchante!" Franklyn exclaimed. He grasped Scully's hand warmly and kissed it. "And what brings you my way? Dare I hope this is a social call?" Mulder looked a little embarrassed. "Unfortunately, no, but I have been meaning to visit." "Mmm hmm." Franklyn nodded knowingly. He rested his right cheek on a palm. "Tell me all about it." As succinctly as he knew how, Mulder outlined Scully's dreams. As he did so he periodically glanced over at Scully to make sure she was still all right. "And these dreams have been going on for how long?" "About two weeks," Scully said quietly. Mulder looked at her, shock writ plain on his face. "It sounds to me like there's something bothering you." Scully's eyes narrowed a little as if to say, "Ya think?" of course she would never be so rude as to voice her opinion out loud. "There's nothing..." "My dear, that's why they call it the subconscious. It's a whole murky, gray area. I'll tell you what we'll do, let me hypnotize you and let's see if we can get to the bottom of your rather nasty dreams." Scully nodded her consent, hardly trusting her voice anymore. Franklyn pulled out the chair recently vacated by Mrs. Barclay. "Have a seat." Scully sat, Franklyn across from her. "Now my dear, I want you to look deeply into the flame. Concentrate on it. Imagine yourself falling into it. Now I want you to close your eyes and imagine that you are walking down a flight of stairs. With each stair you descend you become more and more relaxed. Are you relaxing?" Scully nodded slightly. "Now at the bottom of the stairs there is a door. Do you know what's behind the door? That's the thing you're blocking. *That's* what's causing your nightmares. When I count to three you're going to open that door and tell me what you see. But I want you to keep detached from the things that are happening, stay outside and above them. If ever you feel uncomfortable in the slightest I want you to close that door and return to us, do you understand?" Scully nodded again. "All right then. One...two...three. Tell me what you see." "I see...I see. The night we first met..." "Distance my dear, distance," Franklyn warned. Mulder felt an unexpected prick of jealousy. Who was the other half of the 'we'? And how long ago had it been? "The night Roman and Margaret first met..." "What year is it?" "19...48." **** There was light. Light everywhere, warm and sparkling, from a dozen chandeliers. <"Roman was a guest conductor with the Los Angeles Symphony. Everyone was terrified of him, except Margaret. Rachmanioff was on the program that night...."> Margaret's fingers flew across the strings as she followed Roman's frantic pace. The rest of the orchestra was wrapped up in the music in front of them. They were all afraid of him, afraid of what he would do if they made a mistake. Roman glanced over at the violins. Margaret tucked her instrument a little more snugly under her chin and winked at him. He was taken aback at first but quickly recovered his stoic composure. Margaret tossed her red hair at him ever-so-slightly and smiled. <"After the concert they went to Donnie's Nightclub and Margaret found out that Roman wasn't just a brilliant conductor...he also read palms."> Dancers and the upbeat strains of a popular tune swirled around them, but Roman and Margaret were an island to themselves. Roman sipped his champagne and regarded Margaret contemplatively. "I can tell your future you know," he remarked lazily, his Austrian accent warming his tones. "Oh really?" She laughed. Silver on crystal. "Really." She offered her palm, the smile never leaving her face. Roman squinted over it for a moment before shaking his head sadly. "Not much of a life line, but I see love...a great love to transcend all others." Her eyebrows quirked in surprise. "Would I lie?" Roman replied to her look. He got to his feet, extending a hand to Margaret. She accepted and he spun her around, dipping her wildly. She smiled, her laughter echoing to the ceiling. <"Roman took Margaret to his house that night. It was raining."> Lightning crackled as Margaret touched her fingers to the keyboard, following the notes she saw in front of her. "What's this?" she asked as she played. The chords were bold, resounding bravely through Roman's mansion. "It's from an opera I'm writing," Roman held up an obsidian-shiny mask with a pointed nose and a melancholy aspect, "about a monster." Roman sat beside Margaret as she played. He was so close he could see the water trickling out of her wet hair to run down her neck and disappear into her dress. "It's beautiful," Margaret commented before Roman kissed her. She had absolutely no qualms about kissing him back until he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the couch. She pushed him away a quarter of an inch. "We'll ruin it." "I'll buy another one," he assured her. <"Margaret's wedding day was the happiest of her life with only one thing to spoil it: Inga. Inga had been Roman's housekeeper in Austria. He had brought her and her fifteen year-old son, Frankie with him when he'd fled the Nazis but Inga had some troubles adjusting to Margaret..."> Margaret caught Inga's elbow in the hall. The wedding guests were all out on the back patio and in the gardens, conversing and generally having a good time. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about, Inga," Margaret said seriously. "Yes?" "I wonder if you and Frankie might move down to the bedrooms on the first floor." Her hands twisted but only slightly. "It is our wedding night and I think Roman and I would feel more comfortable if you weren't sleeping right next door." Inga's face hardened. "I heard no such thing from Mr. Strauss..." "But I'm Mrs. Strauss now, Inga," Margaret said forcefully, steel underlying her tones. Inga nodded reluctantly and Margaret went out to join her guests. Two more had just arrived, a man and a woman, journalists from the Times. She greeted them as politely as she knew how. "Gray Baker, charmed, I'm sure." Gray kissed Margaret's hand. "Look what I miss when I'm away!" He looked Margaret up and down in a way that made her a little uncomfortable. "Do you miss the war, Mister Baker?" she asked. "Every second, sweetheart," he replied quickly. She was almost relieved when Roman approached her. "Who are these people, darling?" His voice sounded a little strange and his touch was possessive. "Reporters. This is Gray Baker." The other reporter had wandered off. "How very nice to meet you," Roman said stiffly, eyeing Gray with consummate mistrust. <"That night, Roman gave Margaret her wedding present: a beautiful golden anklet, inlaid with emeralds..."> "It was my mother's," he explained, clasping it around Margaret's ankle. "According to legend, when a man gives his wife this anklet they are no longer two people but parts of the same whole and *nothing* can separate them, not even death..." <"Margaret loved her anklet mostly because Roman had given it to her. Times were getting harder though and Roman was finding it more and more difficult to find work. But not only Margaret and Roman were having financial troubles..."> As she pushed open the door to her room, Margaret hummed a snatch of Roman's opera. The first thing she saw was Frankie with his hand in her bureau drawer. "Frankie!" The boy jumped back as if he had been stung. His hands were stiff at his side, balled into fists. Margaret caught sight of something shiny, winking at her from his right hand. "What do you have there?" she demanded, forcing his hand open. The anklet dangled loosely from his fingers. "I wanted to gi-gi-give you a ch-ch-ch-charm for your j-jewelry," he said, trying to speak clearly despite his accent and his speech impediment. "For g-gu-good luck." "Well, thank you Frankie," Margaret said. Shaken, she hurried the boy out of the room. <"Later, Margaret told Roman about what she'd seen. She was a little hysterical and she insisted he fire them. Roman told her he couldn't, his anguish was clear. They had helped him flee over the mountains of Austria after his first wife had died, after he decided that he couldn't go on any longer...."> Scully's voice trailed off, her face was filled with the most indescribable peace Mulder had ever seen. It smoothed away all the lines of care that had marred that porcelain surface and turned her, once again, into the most stunning woman he'd ever seen--or ever hoped to for that matter. In the light from the candle she looked remarkably like the portrait of 'Flaming June' he'd seen housed at the Smithsonian--a work of art and genius. He felt his stomach twist in sadness that it was for Roman, not himself, that she wore this beatific look. Franklyn also seemed rapt, but with a strange sort of look on his face that Mulder had never seen before and couldn't quite identify. But then, quite unexpectedly, Scully's face crumpled up into an expression of unutterable pain. A few tears slipped past her tightly closed lids. "Go back to that safe place, m'dear," Franklyn advised. "When I count to three you will awaken refreshed. One...two...three." Franklyn snapped his fingers and Scully's eyes opened. They were very blue and very clear but they regarded Mulder with a new kind of implacable terror. "He killed her. I know he did. They seemed so in love.... Was it real though? Was any of it real?" "I think so." Franklyn sifted through a pile of magazines behind him. For a while the only sound in the room was the soft, shuffle-hiss of papers sliding off one another. "Aha. Here they are, Roman and Margaret Strauss. I must say, the resemblance is quite striking." He handed the magazine to Mulder who could do nothing but stare, openmouthed, at what he saw. It was impossible...well, improbable at best. In 1948 he was supposed to have been in the Warsaw ghetto--if his other regression had been accurate--but here it was, quite literally in black and white. "How is this possible?" Scully whispered, taking the magazine from Mulder's shock-numbed fingers. "It can't be." It must have been their wedding photo, something that would have made the cover of Time. May 1948, Roman and Margaret, he in his tuxedo and she in her wedding gown like some twisted doppelgangers, looking enough like Mulder and Scully to fool even the most astute of mothers. TO BE CONTINUED.... Date: 19 Dec 1998 21:43:09 -0800 From: the chicken Journeys End at Lovers' Meeting-part 3/5 An X-Files/Dead Again Crossover by Sarah Stella disclaimer and stuff in part one It was all too, too much. Scully leapt to her feet and headed for the door to the shop. The magazine fluttered in her fingers like an injured bird. Her mind whirled: strange dreams, Roman--he had always looked like Mulder, she just didn't want to believe it meant anything. <> she told herself firmly but unconvincingly. Margaret, the anklet, Gray Baker, the *scissors*. "Hey, Scully!" Mulder shouted. He jogged up to join her, grabbing for her slack hand with his own. She pulled away unexpectedly and looked at him with an expression of such pitiable terror that Mulder thought he should drop down dead right there in the street out of shame. "Scully, he's not me. I'm *not* Roman. Can't you see that?" "I'm trying to," she shook her head slowly, "You said so yourself, Mulder, souls come back, different each time but the same," her voice was hoarse, her throat was tight. "You don't believe..." "It's hard not to when the evidence is staring me right in the face!" She waved the magazine at him. "Sullivan Biddle I could discount, but this...?" She took a deep breath and he could see her gathering herself together. "You said you *loved* me Mulder," she said on the casual side of primness, she still didn't believe *that*. He opened his mouth to speak. "But I saw them. He really did love her but he killed her. That's not supposed to happen." "This is ridiculous, Scully...Dana. I'm *not* Roman." She sighed. "I believe you. It's just been a long two weeks...and now this? I can only take so much stress, Mulder." He nodded in agreement. "I know, M-Scully." Her eyes got very wide and she drew in a sharp breath. "I'll see you later," she told him shakily, quickly hailing a cab and getting in. "Shit," Mulder muttered under his breath. He hadn't meant to call her Margaret, the name was in the forefront of his mind and there she was and she looked too much like Margaret to be believed. "Shit," he repeated, hailing a taxi of his own. **** Mulder punched the familiar number and waited while it rang and rang on the other end. <> he supposed. <> He hung up before the answering machine could pick up. The second number flew almost as quickly under Mulder's anxious fingertips. The ringing was a hicking buzz on the other end. Once...five times...seven. "C'mon, pick up," he muttered urgently. The phone rang a couple more times before he heart the familiar click of a tape recorder. "Yeah?" Frohicke's voice had never been so welcome. "Turn off the tape, Frohicke, it's me," he said curtly. "It's off." "Turn it off!" He heard a soft click on the other end. "It's off." "Good. I need your help," Mulder confessed, some of the tension slipping out of his neck. "This is about the lovely Agent Scully, isn't it?" Frohicke was guessing but it was an educated guess. He knew Mulder well enough to read the stress patterns in his voice-it was either about Samantha or Scully. But there was something...something *warm* in Mulder's voice that made Frohicke decide that it was for Scully and Scully alone that Mulder desired the help. "Yes. Is this a secure line?" "Of course," Frohicke replied with a snort. "Good." Mulder told Scully's story so far as he knew it. When he had finished, Frohicke was very quiet. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, but there was a tinge of desperation underlying his voice. Frohicke didn't have the faintest idea of what he *could* do. "I need to talk to someone about this, someone with *professional* experience. I can't talk to Franklyn. He believes that Scully is Margaret even more than she does. I...I'm not convinced though." "You want to find another explanation?" Frohicke's disbelief was clear. "I never thought I'd see the day." "Are you gonna help me or not?" "Hold on, one second. Yeesh. Don't get your undies in a bunch." Frohicke put the phone down and Mulder was left alone with his thoughts. Why was he so reluctant to believe? Usually he could trace his (admittedly infrequent) disbelief to some sort of deep-seated prejudice against religion, but this wasn't the case now. <> The familiar phrase came, unbidden, to his mind. He didn't want to be Roman, even if it meant that he and Scully had been happy together in some past life. He didn't want to believe he could *ever* hurt her intentionally. Ever kill her...for real that was. "Okay, I found it." Frohicke was back. "Cosy Carlisle." He read off a Maryland address. "That's his work address." "Who's he?" "Used to be the best shrink around until he lost his license." "What did he do?" "Slept with a few patients, but don't let that bother you." "I'll try," Mulder said dryly. "Keep me posted, okay?" But Mulder had already hung up. **** "Cosy Carlisle?" Mulder called, walking into the back room of the grocery store. "I got 20 minutes left!" a shortish, grizzled man yelled back from atop a stack of packing crates. A small smile crept across Mulder's lips. He looked exactly like the kind of person Frohicke'd be friends with. "My name is Fox Mulder. I'm a friend of Frohicke's." Carlisle (Mulder just couldn't bring himself to think of him as 'Cosy') laughed. "How is that old bastard?" "Uh, he's fine. Look, I need some advice." "Haven't you heard? I'm no longer practicing." "I know that but you used to be the best..." "Hey look, pal, I'm still a damn good shrink," Carlisle snapped, "in this two-bit city or any other two-bit city. Sure, I fooled around, slept with a few patients..." "But they were grateful, right?" Mulder interjected. This man's high horse was a little too much to bear. "Eh, fuck you, okay?" "Are you going to help me out or not?" "Yeah I'll help you, but only for Melvin. As far as I'm concerned, you suck." "Likewise, I'm sure," Mulder muttered inaudibly before telling Carlisle about Scully's problem. To his credit, the shrink-turned-grocery store clerk listened without so much as a word. "So, what do you think?" Mulder asked when he'd finished. "You want my opinion? I think what you're dealing with a bona fide past life here." Mulder opened his mouth to protest. "'There are more things in heaven and earth,' my dear Fox. These things do exist, they're rarer than the tabloids would have you believe though. I once had a patient, horrible claustrophobia--this woman goes out on the Mall she gets panicky--anyway so one day I decide to hypnotize her, y'know, just to see what happens. So it turns out, when she was little her uncle used to take her into a closet and molest her, real sick shit. So I think, 'Okay, problem solved.' Wrong. The woman's still as scared as ever so I regress her further. Next thing I know she's telling me she's a girl named Lucia Cavelli from Brooklyn, New York--and let me tell you, this woman never got further than Delaware in her life. It seems that Lucia's family owned a funeral parlor and her brother would lock her in the caskets sometimes, just for kicks. So I bring her out of it and presto, you never saw such a change. Her claustrophobia's ancient history now. I think she actually took up spelunking or something." Mulder pulled the corners of his mouth back in disbelief. "So what am I supposed to do now?" "How the hell should I know? That's all up to you. You take what you've learned in this life and use it in the next. That's karma." "I thought karma was I do something bad in this life and I'm a termite in the next." "Hey, if you ask me pal, you're already a termite in this life in a shitty suit, okay?" "I was hoping for something a little more...helpful." "It sounds like this Margaret Strauss chick was burned by you pretty bad way back when. Reincarnation is all about payback. You burn somebody in one life they get a chance to burn you in the next. I'd watch your back if I were you." "Thanks, you've been very helpful," Mulder said sarcastically. He turned on his heel before Carlisle could think of anything to say in reply. **** That night, Scully's nightmare changed. She saw Margaret in bed, a large four poster with the drapes drawn. The room was dark but she could hear someone moving around. "Roman?" she called. "Roman?" The curtains that veiled the bed were at once roughly pulled aside, revealing Roman's figure wearing evening clothes and the monster's mask from his opera. He held the scissors in his hand, raised over his head. "These are for you!" he yelled, ripping the mask away to reveal not Roman's face with it's carefully groomed goatee, but Mulder's clean-shaven visage. Margaret screamed, her voice echoing through Scully's mind. Scully awoke with a gasp. Her eyes snapped open like shades rolling up. Mulder's face greeted her again and she unthinkingly flinched and raised her hands across her face as if to ward off the dream figure's blow. "Scully?" his voice was filled with care. She sat up straight, trying unsuccessfully to squirm away from him. Her sheets had become tangled around her legs and they seemed to grip tighter with each passing moment. "Oh God," she managed to articulate, her throat tightening with a fear she'd never really experienced before. "It was you." Mulder closed his eyes. She could see him fighting a surge of temper. "I'm *not* Roman, Scully. How many times can I tell you that? I'm not Roman and you're not Margaret." "No," she whispered, "but it was *you*, not Roman." "Dammit, Scully!" he groaned. "Here, I've got an idea." He yanked her out of bed and pulled her into the kitchen. After searching several drawers in a clattering, banging clumsy way he found what he was looking for--Scully's kitchen scissors. "Here!" He thrust the scissors at her, cold and glittering in the dim light. "If you're so sure I'm Roman, just do it. Kill me. That's the only thing that'll satisfy fate or karma or whatever the hell it is!" "I don't want to," Scully said, her voice small and frightened. "Oh God, Scully, I'm sorry." Mulder sighed and dropped the scissors with a jangle onto the floor. He gathered her into his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head. "I...I lost my temper. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me." "I'm scared, Mulder, of what I might do. I don't want to hurt you..." she pulled away for a moment and looked up at him, "at least not most of the time." He smiled at her and kissed her on the top of her tousled auburn hair, wishing he could do more, wishing he had the guts to do more. TO BE CONTINUED.... Date: 19 Dec 1998 21:46:52 -0800 From: the chicken Journeys End at Lovers' Meeting-part 4/5 An X-Files/Dead Again Crossover by Sarah Stella disclaimer and stuff in part one "Tell me then," Franklyn began evenly in his well-measured tones, "tell me when things started to go sour for Roman and Margaret." <"It was the night of one of Otto VanPearson's crazy costume parties. Margaret didn't want to go, but Roman insisted. His opera was nearly completed and Roman wanted to talk to Otto about something...."> They were by no means the most extravagantly dressed. Margaret wore a simple white gown that set off her pale skin and fiery hair. Roman wore his tux and the monster mask from his opera. While Margaret wandered down amid the throngs of people on the patio, Roman and Otto hung back. "Otto, I need money," Roman said frankly, lifting the mask to sit on top of his head. "My opera is almost finished, if I can just work another month I know I can..." "Roman, I already offered you a job, you turned it down," Otto reminded him gently. Roman made a 'pfft' sound through his closed lips. "Movies?" he sneered. "I can't write for the movies. You saw what happened last time. I...the critics..." "Bah! You're just too good for them that's all, too far ahead of your time." Roman patted Otto on the shoulder. "That's good of you to say, my friend," he said sadly. His eyes scanned the garden until they found Margaret. She was sitting on a bench just beyond Otto's pool. The greenish blue light made ethereal patterns across her back. His expression darkened as he saw Gray Baker approach her. **** "Is this seat taken?" Gray asked mildly. Margaret looked up at him and smiled. "Mister Baker, long time no see. Sit down." Gray sat. "Still miss the war?" "Terribly, I'm afraid. How are you doing?" "You mean with Roman? Splendidly." "Really? No marital difficulties whatsoever? Just between old friends, of course." "Of course." She smiled dryly at him. "You do know that he was married before, that he got all his money from his ex-wife?" Gray commented, scrutinizing Margaret's face. "We have no secrets from each other," Margaret said as evenly as she could. Secretly she was taken aback by the second piece of news but she didn't want to show it in front of a reporter. She rubbed at her arms. "It's getting chilly. Everyone seems to have gone in." "Would you like to?" "Maybe we should just sit here a bit longer." Gray shrugged, his eyes wandering until they lit on Margaret's ankle. "Say, is that the famous anklet?" "It is. I'm afraid it was all over the society pages." "Do you mind if I..." he gestured to her foot, "that is, may I take a look?" "Certainly." Margaret raised her foot and Gray held it gently in his hands, turning it a little so he could better admire the jewel. "May I ask you what you are doing with my wife's leg?" asked a hard voice from the shadows. "Roman!" Margaret jumped. "Mister Baker was just looking at..." "I know exactly what Mister Baker was 'just looking at,'" he replied, viciously mimicking her tone. He stepped closer to Gray, his hands clenched into fists at his side. "Look, Roman, I didn't mean any harm..." Gray began. He didn't have a chance to finish. Roman's fist connected solidly with his jaw. The blow sent him reeling back into the pool. "Roman!" Margaret's exclamation was a staccato shriek. **** "You didn't have to hit him! He was only looking at the anklet. The anklet *you* told me to wear so that everyone would see how rich we are!" "Don't think I don't know exactly what's going on between you and Gray Baker! I know he calls you, Margaret!" "Mister Baker and I are *just friends*! But while we're on the subject of secrets, why didn't you tell me that you got all your money from your ex-wife?" Roman laughed, a barking, strangled sound. "Because it's not true." "And why would a woman with a heart condition consent to make a trip over the mountains?" "We had no other choice. Margaret, the Nazis..." He threw up his hands. "This is pointless. I'm not going to justify myself to the papers!" He stormed out of the room. <"That night, Roman's unfinished opera echoed through the house for the last time..."> Margaret was asleep in her bed when he came in. Even the small scrabbling sounds he made at the door woke her. "Roman?" she called sleepily. "Roman?" Scully fell back into herself with a sharp intake of breath. "I don't think I can do this anymore, I'm sorry." She pushed her chair back from the table and jumped to her feet. She couldn't stand to see Margaret's love for Roman betrayed again and again. It struck too close to home and Mulder's own behavior towards Diana Fowley. Hell, it struck too close to his odd behavior on Christmas Eve. Hadn't they decided that it'd been all in their heads anyhow? Her mind was whirling. That was all twisted in with almost too-sweet memories--the warm way his arm had curved around her back when she'd shown up at his apartment, his face when he told her he'd gotten her a gift, the way he'd shaken, actually *shaken* her gift to him. She had to smile in remembrance. And then she looked at him now, really looked hard and her smile faded. What on earth was going on? Could he really be Roman? And did that mean that he'd....? She couldn't finish the thought, it was too awful. Scully didn't exactly run out of the shop but it was pretty close. "Scully, wait!" Mulder called after her. She ignored him. If she had to face him now she'd probably say something they'd both regret later. If they *had* been Roman and Margaret that meant that their love.... No, that was too confusing to think about. Mulder caught an inkling of the reason for Scully's reluctance to stay and he let her go with less resistance than he might have offered normally. The sharp, mechanical chiruping of his cell phone distracted him. "Mulder." "I found something." "Frohicke?" "The one and only. I decided to do a little digging for you. Roman Strauss's guard on death row, he wrote a book..." "And?" Franklyn was looking at him expectantly. "*And* I'm gettin' to it! He said that before he was taken off to be executed, Roman told Gray Baker who really killed Margaret. And get this, Gray Baker is still alive!" "Where's he living?" "I don't know. There's just a phone number." "So dial it. Tell him Margaret wants to know if he still misses the war." "What?" "He'll know what I'm talking about." "Will do." Mulder hung up and turned to Franklyn. "My turn." **** Scully arrived at her apartment approximately $10 dollars poorer but toting a Starbuck's caramel macciatto and a container of Cherry Garcia. Some days, all a woman needed was a cup of overpriced coffee and Ben and Jerry. Balancing her mail in one hand and her purchases in the crook of her elbow, Scully opened the door. She tossed the keys onto the couch and stowed the ice cream in the freezer. Business before pleasure, at least she could drink her coffee while she opened her mail. There was something pleasantly heavy in with all the envelopes so maybe it wouldn't be *all* bad. Letter opener in hand she sifted through the pile: leaflet for a carpet cleaning service, cable bill, a postcard from Bill, a letter from her cousin, pizza coupons, Chinese takeout menu, VISA bill and there it was, a brown paper package (tied up with string, she had to silently add). After carefully sorting the mail into three piles--junk, bills and personal--she ripped open the package. There was no return address, which automatically piqued her interest while alarming her at the same time. <> she chided herself, <> Scully carefully peeled back the paper and opened the box. Inside was a longish off-white satin bag. Who could have sent her such a thing? <> she asked herself, but immediately discounted the possibility. <> she wondered, opening the bag and taking out the object inside. It fell from her suddenly-nerveless fingers with a loud clatter. <> *The scissors.* Antique and beautiful, they had elaborate scrollwork running up the blades, which also looked freshly sharpened. Where the hell was her gun? She looked around wildly. **** "Let's go back to the night that Margaret was killed," Franklyn said smoothly when Mulder was sufficiently relaxed. "But I don't want you to be separate from the events. You must be a participant. Now, open the door and tell me what you see." "I see a hallway." "Whose is it?" "It's my hallway." "Who are you?" "I...I don't know. I'm looking for a mirror but I don't see one, just pictures." "What else do you see?" "I see my feet. They're bare. I'm hurrying faster now...running. Now I'm in my room. I'm pulling back the full-length mirror. The light catches in the silver surface, it's blinding me for a moment. There. Oh my God, I'm..." "You're what? What do you see?" "I'm Margaret Strauss." TO BE CONTINUED.... Date: 19 Dec 1998 21:51:26 -0800 From: the chicken Journeys End at Lovers' Meeting-part 5/5 An X-Files/Dead Again Crossover by Sarah Stella disclaimer in part one Margaret heard a sound behind her and jumped around with a strangled intake of breath. "Roman!" She smiled at him and he returned the expression, moving further forward into the room. "I'm sorry, dearest," he said, opening his arms wide. "I lost my temper. Forgive a foolish man?" "Of course," Margaret said, moving smoothly into his arms like she'd wanted to from the moment he'd walked in. Roman looked down at her, his eyes filled with gentle warmth that colored the orbs a soft golden brown. "You try to get some rest. I want to work on my opera. If I really push myself I think I can get it done in another two weeks." "That's wonderful," she said happily. Margaret raised herself on tiptoes and their lips met with a familiar passion. "Goodnight, Roman. Try not to stay up too late." He kissed her forehead softly in a way that almost tickled. "I'll try." Margaret mimicked his gesture and a strange air of finality settled over the pair. "Remember dearest, I love you forever." "Forever," she agreed. After he'd left, Margaret climbed into bed. She drew the curtains and flicked off the light. She had just drifted into a light doze when the door to the bedroom opened slowly, letting in a single shaft of brilliant light. There was a sound of footsteps approaching the bed. "Roman?" she asked uncertainly. But even as the words left her lips the magnificent, minor strains of Roman's opera drifted upstairs. The curtains opened. "Frankie," Margaret let out a breath, feeling her anxiety lessen. Frankie's face was hard. He raised the beautiful etched scissors high. "These are for you!" **** Mulder's eyes snapped open. "I know who did it." "Who?" Franklyn asked, leaning forward in his chair. He was obviously almost as absorbed by the case as Mulder and Scully. "Roman didn't kill his wife. He must have been crazy..." "Who?" Mulder opened his mouth but was interrupted by his cell phone. "Excuse me." He clicked it on. "Mulder." "I found him. He wants to see you in 20 minutes. Bring a pack of Morleys." "Why?" "'Don't ask questions,' he said, 'just do it.'" "Fine," Mulder answered, hanging up the phone. He nodded once to Franklyn before pushing his chair back roughly and rushing out the door. "Fox, your...." Franklyn held up Mulder's forgotten phone but he was already out of earshot. Shrugging, Franklyn peered at the phone. He pressed *69 and jotted down the number the automated voice rattled off to him. Frohicke picked up after the first ring. "Yeah?" "Who is this?" "Who's this?" "My name is Franklyn Madison..." "Oh yeah, the hypnotist guy. What do you want?" "Fox just left here. Have you checked on Dana lately?" "What's wrong with Dana?" "Nothing...I hope." On the quiet phone line there was an intense silence as Frohicke caught on. "You don't think Mulder would.... No, that's ridiculous. I've known Fox Mulder for years, he would never hurt anyone, least of all *her*." "That's how fate works! It keeps happening because everyone thinks that *this* time things'll be different! He's Margaret. Last time, Roman killed her and now they're both back. You figure it out." "Okay, I guess you're right," Frohicke said grudgingly. "I still think it's stupid but I'll go over and check on her." "You might want to bring a weapon," Franklyn said seriously. **** Mulder arrived at the Riverside Nursing Home just in time for the end of visiting hours. A brusque nurse directed him to Gray Baker's room. "Now, whatever he says, *don't* give him a cigarette." "Uh huh," Mulder replied, feeling the guilty weight bang against his right thigh. The nurse nodded at him and he opened the door. Gray Baker sat by the window, clothed in shadows. "I thought you'd never get here," he said, his voice raspy and metallic-sounding. "Do you have my cigarettes?" "They said not to give you any. Those things can kill you, you know." Gray laughed, a huffing harsh kind of laugh that made Mulder's stomach turn. "Come a little closer. Have a seat." He stuck his head out into the light and then Mulder could see why his statement had been so funny to the old reporter. Gray Baker had a hole in his neck a little bit smaller than a dime that he breathed through. Mulder sat. "So what about it?" Gray squinted at Mulder for a minute, turning his head sideways like an inquisitive cat. "You look just like him." "I'm not Roman," Mulder said, his words taking on new meaning in the light of the revelations in Franklyn's shop. "Sometimes fate works in strange ways," Gray said, nodding knowingly. "Nothing says souls have sexes though personally I liked you a lot better in your past life." Mulder snorted. "Here." He took the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and pushed them across the table. Gray grabbed for the pack like a drowning man grabs for the last life preserver. With a speed Mulder wouldn't have thought possible, he unwrapped the cellophane and stuck the first cigarette into his mouth. "Light?" he asked, his voice muffled by the cigarette. Mulder obliged with a match. Grey removed the cigarette from his lips and placed it over the opening in his neck. He breathed deeply and then exhaled, blowing smoke rings through his neck. "Want some?" he offered the pack to Mulder. "No thanks, I'm trying to cut back." Gray shrugged. "Suit yourself. What was it you wanted to know?" "I want to know what Roman Strauss told you before he died." Gray laughed, a painful sound coming from his mangled throat. "I had almost forgotten that! He didn't tell me anything..." "C'mon, Mr. Baker. I'm not stupid. The guard on death row said..." "Hey, screw the guard on death row. He didn't tell me anything. The bastard leaned over like he was gonna tell me something but then you know what he did? He *kissed* me, the sonofabitch actually kissed me!" Mulder had to smile at that but his expression sobered quickly. "Do you know what ever happened to the housekeeper, Inga, and her boy, Frankie?" "It's funny you should mention that because I do actually. I heard they went overseas for a while but then they came back and opened a little shop...antiques," Mulder's blood ran cold, "local place, the Flying Dutchman...the something Duke, I think." "The Laughing Duke?" Gray's face lit up. "That's it! Say, how'd you know..." But Mulder was gone, leaving the cigarettes and matches behind. Gray shrugged and lit another cigarette. **** The Laughing Duke was closed up tight when Mulder returned. He picked the lock with an ease born of familiarity. Once inside he heard the faint sound of canned laughter coming from the back room. He took out his gun and crept slowly forward. He pulled back the curtain to reveal a shrunken old lady, wrapped in shawls and blankets, dozing in front of the quicksilver flickering television. Not wanting to alarm her, Mulder shook her softly. "Inga!" he said urgently. Her eyes flew open and she looked befuddled for a moment before regarding Mulder shrewdly. "Where's your son? Where's Frankie?" "Frankie went out. He's a good boy, my Frankie." "You don't need to protect him any more, Inga. I know. Why did Frankie kill Margaret Strauss?" Inga sighed, pulling one of her blankets closer. "I was in love with Roman Strauss, or at least I thought I was. One day, I told him how I felt about him. He refused me in the kindest way, made me see that it would never work out. Oh, he loved Margaret too deeply. But Frankie, Frankie wouldn't understand. I tried to make him but he became fixated on Margaret. He hated her." **** Mulder's vision blurred and once again he was in Margaret's bedroom. "This is for you!" Frankie yelled, his face contorted with rage. She tried to crawl away and made it as far as the floor before Frankie caught her. "This is for my mother! And this is for me!" He stabbed at her again and again. When he had finished, Frankie grabbed the anklet from off of Margaret's ankle and ran from the room. Faintly...oh so very faintly...Mulder saw Roman running up the stairs and into the bedroom. "Oh God!" Roman's cry held the same searing, rendering pain that Mulder had felt when Scully had been taken from him. "Margaret!" He fell to his knees beside her body and cradled her head. Unthinking, he picked up the scissors, looking at them as if they were alien things and he still couldn't believe what they'd done. **** "After the trial and the execution we went to England. There, Frankie had tutors to correct his speech impediment. One tutor in particular, Oliver Monkton, told Frankie about past lives and reincarnation and hypnotism. Frankie became obsessed with the idea that Margaret was going to return to carry out her revenge on him. He was determined to stop her before she had the chance." Mulder placed his hands over Inga's gnarled ones. "Thank you." She smiled at him. "I'm tired of protecting him." She lifted a large pendant from underneath her shawls and blankets. Unhooking the small catch in the charm she removed an object that threw gold fire, even in the low light from the television. "Here." Mulder took the object from her hands, examining it more closely. The anklet. "Thank you," he said again before exiting the shop. Inga sunk further into her seat, sighing. But her sigh turned into a gasp as a pair of heavy hands settled on her shoulders. She looked up, her face relaxing. "Frankie! I had to tell him. You understand, don't you Frankie? I was tired of keeping your secret." He nodded warmly at her. "Of course I understand, mother. You did the right thing. Now, let's get you to bed, shall we?" Franklyn helped his mother into bed, tucking the covers in around her. She had just closed her eyes when the pillow came down on her face. Franklyn held the pillow until she stopped thrashing and then he removed it. He checked quickly for a pulse and, finding none, he closed her eyes. "Sleep well," he whispered before following Mulder. It didn't take a genius to figure out where he was going. **** The sun was sinking fast when Mulder pulled up in front of Scully's apartment. He skipped the elevator, dashing up the stairs two and three at a time. Of course the door was locked. Mulder pulled out his key and unlocked the door only to be met by the chain. "Scully!" he yelled through the crack in the door. "Scully open the door! I have something to tell you about Roman and Margaret!" "I don't want to!" she yelled back, her voice filled with ferocity and...was it?...yes--terror. "Scully! Roman Strauss didn't kill his wife! You have to believe me!" Mulder reached his hand around the doorjamb, worked the chain off and opened the door only to be greeted by the greasy looking barrel of Scully's gun. "Look, I have something to show you." He reached slowly into the inner pocket of his suit jacket where he'd stashed the anklet. Her blue eyes were very wide over the black gun. Mulder could clearly see the strain of the past two weeks writ across the planes of her face. His fingers closed over the anklet. Something cosmic clicked into place. "This is for..." Scully's finger tightened a little too quickly on the trigger and the gun went off with a shout that filled the whole apartment. She watched with horrified eyes as Mulder's body dropped through space and then lay very still. The gun clattered out of her suddenly-numb fingers. "Oh shit!" She dove to his side. "Mulder." Thankfully she had only hit him in the shoulder. She opened his fingers to reveal the anklet. He stirred slightly under her hands. "That makes two I owe you," he croaked. She smiled a trifle foolishly at him and never even heard Franklyn enter her apartment. The next thing she knew, a sharp pain split her skull and she tumbled into the welcoming darkness of unconsciousness. When she fell, Scully jarred Mulder's wound, causing his vision to go gray. He was just barely aware when Franklyn shifted Scully's body off of his own. He felt his right hand manipulated and a curiously heavy object placed into his upturned palm. Lifting his head slowly he opened his eyes a crack. The scissors. His fingers tightened around them and his eyes fell shut again. The familiar sharp click of a gun being cocked roused him from his stupor. Franklyn had wrapped Scully's fingers around a small, slivery derringer. He opened her mouth and placed the gun between her teeth. With a primal yell that even he didn't know he was capable of, Mulder lunged over Scully's body and drove the scissors into Franklyn's thigh. Franklyn screamed in pain and fell sideways, clutching at his leg. Mulder got to his feet, albeit unsteadily, stood with his back to the door and pointed his own gun at Franklyn. "Stop right there, Frankie," he said, adding the old nickname for emphasis. "I knew you'd be b-b-b-back," Franklyn said, his face twisting. "So I am." Mulder raised his gun a fraction of an inch higher. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Mulder heard the familiar voice from behind. "Fro..." But the first syllable was barely out of his mouth before Frohicke tackled him. Mulder's knees buckled more out of surprise than the force of Frohicke's blow. The gun skittered out of his hand. "I won't let you do it, Mulder. You can't kill them. You're not yourself." "Goddammit, Frohicke get off me! Roman Strauss didn't kill his wife, it was..." "F-f-frankie!" Though Franklyn's voice was shattered, his grip on the gun was firm enough. "Oh." It was all Frohicke could think of to say. "Someone must have called the police after the first shot, Frankie. They should be here any minute." "I want to f-f-f-f-finish this!" "So do I." Scully's voice was edged with steel as she aimed her gun at Franklyn's back. Mulder shot her a relieved look. With her eyes blazing and her red hair mussed she looked like nothing so much as an avenging Valkerie. Franklyn turned on her, his own eyes burning with the hatred that had eaten away at him for fifty years. Even Scully flinched for a moment. Mulder grabbed the gun in his calf holster and fired. With a small sigh, Franklyn fell forward. Instinctively, Scully caught him in her arms and lowered him gently to the floor. She checked for a pulse but found none. "He's dead, Mulder," she said, struggling hard to keep the relief out of her voice. Reaching up, she closed Franklyn's eyes. "Frohicke, I want you to go downstairs. When the police come, stall them for a while. We need some time to think." Frohicke responded to Mulder's request with a tense nod. The door swung shut behind him. When he'd gone, Scully turned to Mulder with an expression of weary amazement. "Mulder, what just happened here?" "Fate takes a hand, Scully." He smiled at her. "Fate," she repeated faintly. "Journeys end at lovers' meeting," she said, not knowing really why she said it. Mulder crossed the floor to where she stood in three large steps and enfolded her in his arms. "Do they?" She tilted her head up towards his face. "That's what they say," she replied lightly. Then her face grew serious. "I want to thank you, Mulder, for believing me, even against your better judgment. I know I'm not always as...open minded as that, but," he held up one finger to shush her but she continued, "it really means a lot to me. I just wanted you to know that." "Anytime, Scully." There was a long, comfortable pause. "Before the police get here and confiscate it as evidence," he released her and stooped down, scooping the anklet off the floor where it had fallen in a golden and emerald puddle. He gestured to her couch. "Have a seat." "Mulder, I..." He shot her a pleading gaze and any protests she might have had died on her lips. "It's ours in a way anyhow, that is if you believe in all that stuff?" he added a lift at the end of his statement, turning it into a question. She sighed tiredly and sat. "Maybe I do." But the way she gazed intently at him made him suspect that it wasn't past lives but what the anklet represented that she believed in. Unending, undying, unbroken love. His fingers shook a little but he managed to clasp the jewel around her ankle. "There." He met her eyes with a delighted expression. There was a knock on the apartment door. "That'll be the police." Impulsively, she leaned in to kiss him sweetly but briefly on the lips. Mulder's mouth parted a little under hers and he sighed against her skin Scully relished the shivering sensation that coursed through her limbs before whispering, "Journeys end at lovers' meeting, Mulder. I guess it's true." "I had a feeling it might be," he said warmly, catching her hand in his. THE END!! feedback is always appreciated of course. :) this is only my second x-files fanfic. :D