From slhamm@u.washington.edu Sun May 04 05:06:45 1997 Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: Passing the Torch (1/2) From: "S. Hamm" -------- Title: Passing the Torch, part 1 Rating: PG-13. Just a little violence. I'm erring on the side of caution here though. Category: ST, and strangely enough, no MSR (none, nada, zip, zero...) Archive: That would be cool. Archive away! Summary: Scully is forced into hiding. And there are people looking for her... (Character*s* die). Disclaimer: As much as I wish I did, I don't own Fox, Dana, Walter, or Blondie, 1013, Chris Carter and 20th Century Fox have that pleasure. On the other hand, Morris Allard and Marius Calley are all mine (and I'm sure those guys at 1013 are just heartbroken over that...) Notes: This is a sort of prequel to my first atxc fanfic, "A Scully Gets Her Wings". You don't have to have read the first one to understand it, but it might help a little. It will probably help a great deal if you read "Scully Gets Her Wings" *after* readng this one, though. I've had this one running through my head for months. It's where the idea for "Scully Gets Her Wings" originated. ***** Passing the Torch (1/2) By Susan Hamm ***** FBI Headquarters Washington DC November 21, 1999 12:30 PM Dana Scully opened the door to the office she had shared with Fox Mulder for eight years and, despite being a forensic pathologist, and having a clinical detachment that made her proud, she found herself nearly immobilized with disgust at the scene that lay before her. Lying on the floor, in a pool of his own blood, was Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner. The front of his usually crisp white suit-shirt was soaked with blood. There was very little left of his face. He had been shot at least fourteen or fifteen times, most of them in the head and chest. There was a gun lying next to him, a Colt .45 she recognized as her own off-duty gun. Mulder had warned her that the Consortium had been investigating the two of them. "We've finally come too close," he'd said one day three months ago, "Our lives are in more danger than they've ever been before." For once, Scully had believed. In the last three months, she had allowed Mulder and the Lone Gunmen to drag her from specialist to specialist, to thrust book after book of concealment and undercover techniques in her face. She had been taught how to keep out of sight. To disappear without a trace. But she had hoped that she wouldn't be forced to use her new found skills. Skinner's lifeless body took away any hope of preventing the application of her training. She realized she was still standing stock still in the open doorway. Gritting her teeth, she forced her emotions to the back of her conscious mind. If she was going to survive this, she couldn't let gut reactions interfere. Once her shields were up, she found it unnaturally easy to gather up her laptop and a handful of other items, and run quickly and efficiently out of the office, towards the fire stairs. As she climbed them towards the emergency exit on the ground floor, she was overtaken by a sudden concern for Mulder. It was so strong that she was forced to stop in mid-step. Her breath, already short, was taken away. All of a sudden, she knew that something terrible had happened to him. She burst out of the fire exit and ran for her car, wondering briefly why representatives of the Consortium hadn't been waiting for her when she came down the stairs. As she reached her Toyota and pulled the door open fiercely, she realized that discrediting her would be much worse than death. She jumped into the car and threw her laptop onto the passenger seat, turning the key in the ignition and throwing the car into reverse faster than she'd ever done it in her entire life. The car caromed out of the parking lot, tires squealing. **** 2630 Hegal Place Alexandria, VA November 21, 1999 1:33 PM Clouds covered the sun as Scully brought her car to a halt two blocks away from Fox Mulder's apartment building. She had resigned herself to the fact that her life as she knew it was over. The trunk of her car contained her computer and the suitcase that she kept there for emergencies just such as this. For once, following Mulder's paranoid instructions had helped her. She would never see her apartment again, she would probably never see her mother again, or her brothers. That was what hurt the most. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the emotions back again. Setting her mouth into a hard line, she checked the gun at her hip, making sure it was loaded, and got out of the car. She'd only made one stop on the way here, at a drive-through ATM machine where she'd taken out as much from her checking and savings as her bank card would allow her. As she advanced towards the apartment building, angling for the back entrance, she hoped that that five minutes hadn't delayed her too long to save Mulder. She was at Apartment 42 within minutes, just in time to hear a loud cracking sound, and see two men burst out of Mulder's apartment. She leveled her gun at them. "Freeze, bastards!!" The two men turned to her and frowned. They looked at each other, communicating silently. One of them reached into his coat. Scully shot him without hesitation. The other growled and charged at her, reaching for his own gun. She shot him as well, and then burst into the apartment. He was lying on the floor next to the couch that he always slept in, his back contorted, his neck at a highly unnatural angle. She rushed into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind her, and knelt next to him, feeling for a pulse. To her surprise, she found one. He was still alive, but judging by the position he was in, the next bit of walking he'd be doing was with St. Peter. She touched his cheek gently. The hazel eyes she'd seen so often alive with humor and care opened and looked at her. The life was draining out of them, but there was no trace of hopelessness there. "Scully... making a mess in my hall..." his voice was weak, "...the super's gonna... kill me..." he coughed, grimacing at the pain that act caused. The sight of her best friend, the person she trusted more than anyone in the world, lying before her broken and bloodied nearly broke her will. Fox Mulder could see the despair in her eyes, and knew that she was losing her desire to go on. As always, he could read her mind. Fighting off unconsciousness, he could only manage a rasp. "That's what they want, Scully. They thought... you were the one who would be the easiest to manipulate like this... They knew I'd go insane if I saw you like this... that my resolve would just be doubled... You have to be stronger than they think you are. They want you to forget the X-Files, to disappear. They've eliminated me, Scully... I suppose I signed my own death warrant... when I brought down the Smoking man... To all the others I was just an obstacle, to him I was..." another coughing spell overtook him, wracking his already fatally injured body. Scully realized she had tears in her eyes, "Mulder..." she paused and took a deep breath, "Don't worry. I'll carry on our work. I'll make sure those bastards pay for what they've done to you." "Don't make that your main concern, Scully. If you make yourself too prominent, they'll get you..." he grinned a bit, "I'll always be with you." His eyes met hers. The connection between them was far stronger than the Consortium knew. It transcended friendship, it even transcended love. Theirs was a bond that couldn't be broken like this, and they both knew it. "You have to go now, Dana. They're probably wondering what happened to their boys... You have to be gone when they come to finish the job..." Scully said nothing as she picked up her gun and got to her feet. A ghost of a smile touched Mulder's lips, "Trust no one, Scully." Scully briefly squeezed his hand and headed towards the door, gun at the ready. Mulder called out, "Scully!" She turned back, a tear finally escaping and rolling down her cheek, "Mulder?" "May the force be with you..." And she almost laughed as she left her partner, her best friend, her soulmate, and headed towards the stairs. It was the closest thing she came to laughing for a long time. **** As soon as Scully had left the room, a figure emerged from the shadows in the back of Mulder's apartment. It moved forward slowly, and stopped directly in front of Mulder, a gun in one hand. "That was touching." The assassin said, smiling a decidedly unfriendly smile. Mulder squinted, "You... it was you..." "Yes it was." The assassin pointed the gun at Mulder's chest, "I'm going to kill you, and then I'm going to find your pretty partner and kill her too." With that, the gun went off four times, and Fox Mulder exhaled one last time. The last thing he saw was the gaudy, bleach-blond head of his killer... **** Morland Apartments Parking Garage Arlington, VA December 12, 2032 10:13 PM Morris Allard stood behind a column near the elevators, just as he had been instructed. It unnerved him slightly that his meeting was taking place so close to his home, but he supposed it shouldn't have. He'd been doing this for the past 8 years. He didn't suppose he should let it start bothering now. He jumped just slightly as he became aware that someone was standing directly behind him. His hand instinctively went for his gun as he spun around quickly. "No don't overreact or anything, Mr. Allard." She stood there, having approached him without his even noticing. It seemed to Allard that that was always the case. She had an amazing ability to come and go undetected. It had unnerved him quite a bit at the beginning, and it didn't make him any more easy now. She'd helped him for eleven years, but he still didn't know very much about her. He had his theories, but nothing solid. A woman like the one standing before him wasn't easy to find information on. He was struck once again by how plain she looked. Standing before him in an intensely tailored black suit and blue overcoat, she looked like a businesswoman nearing retirement. She hadn't seemed to age in the years he'd known her. Her basic appearance had stayed the same, although she'd gone through many haircuts, hair colors, eye colors, outfits, identities, and even (with the aid of some big heels) heights. She didn't look like she could hurt a fly, she barely looked like she worked out. Allard himself was nearly a foot taller than her current height, which he estimated at around 5'3". Her face was a mask, the expression bland. She had probably trained for years to keep it that way. She had walls built up around her reactions. The only thing that would tip someone off to this woman as anything other than completely normal was her eyes. They were they eyes of someone who, as the cliché went, seen too much. Her eyes spoke of years of concealment, evasion, and bittersweet memories. Years in which there was very little that had happened to her that could even remotely be seen as good. And there was also a dangerous layer in her eyes that told anyone who might want to attack her that they'd better say a few extra prayers before proceeding. But behind all of that was not hatred, as he might have expected, but hope. Hope that someday, what she was doing would make a difference. "Do we always have to meet in my parking garage?" "We don't always meet like this, Mr. Allard. Unlike some others I know of, I don't particularly like creeping around in parking garages. The price of parking in them is murder. Things have just been getting rather... tense lately." He reserved comment on that, knowing that if he asked she wouldn't give him a straight answer anyway. "Did you have that information?" Her left eyebrow arched, "First antsy, now demanding. Be patient, Mr. Allard. You know what they say about good things." She reached into her coat, pulling out a small, letter-sized envelope and handing it to him. "That should lead you to the place you need to be. It's a batch of receipts for highly toxic chemicals, sent to a lonely little mail clerk in Houston, who apparently likes practicing plastic surgery with various caustic acids." "Nothing supernatural about this one, hmmm?" "I didn't say that, Mr. Allard." She half-smiled, an enigmatic thing that showed more in her voice than on her mouth, "In fact, I didn't even say that this was the man you were looking for. I simply said that this would lead you where you want to be." "Exactly why can I never get a straight answer from you?" "Because, Mr. Allard, in order to do what we both know you're going to have to, you have to be able to make connections with little or no hard evidence. I've been telling you that for years. I won't be around forever, and I figure you'd better learn to connect while I'm still alive." "What exactly does that mean?" "No one can run forever, not even someone with my connections and training." This time the bittersweet smile turned up on her lips, "I've been running for a long time. They're thoroughly pissed off at me by now, I suppose. They will catch up to me one day, and fairly soon. For now, I'll give you what you need to survive, and you'd better take it into account. I'm giving you these skills, because God knows, you might have to use them some day." "But you won't give me a straight answer." She turned on her heel and began to walk towards a darkened corner of the garage, throwing a glance over her shoulder when she was six feet away, "I learned from the best, Mr. Allard." Allard looked down briefly at the envelope she'd given him, and when he looked up again, she had disappeared into the shadows. She'd left him with the evidence he needed to clear up the case, and the definite impression that one day very soon he'd have to start coming up with this sort of evidence on his own. He headed back towards the elevator, looking through the receipts, frowning. He wanted to help her, and in order to achieve his goal, he might have to. ***** Morgan Building 423 Vincent Street Washington DC December 14, 2032 1:30 PM Marius Calley knocked on the door labeled "Meeting Room" and stepped back discreetly, so that those inside could get a good look at him before admitting him. After a fifteen second pause, a voice came through the speaker next to the door, "Please swipe your card and enter." Calley swiped the card through the magnetic slot, the door popped open. He entered the room, and stood for a moment as the door swung shut, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimness. The room was perpetually bathed in a soft glow from its only light source, in the corner opposite him. There were windows, but the blinds were never opened. Noxious clouds of cigarette smoke hung in the air, causing Calley to flinch briefly. He didn't like cigarette smoke, and since smoking had been largely eliminated over the last twenty years, he wasn't used to being exposed to it. But Calley was the type of man who adjusted easily. There was only one man in sight, sitting behind a huge oak desk in the corner of the room that contained the light. It was too dim to see him clearly. Calley could sense at least two other people in the room, silently observing him, probably the companions of the man behind the desk. "Mr. Calley," said the man behind the desk, "I trust you bring me good news." His voice was low and intense. There was cold hate behind it, but he was doing a fairly good job of keeping it moderated as he spoke. "We've found her," Calley said to him, his voice toneless. "Then gather your companions and proceed." Calley nodded shortly, his well-styled black hair shifting slightly, "How do you want it done?" "In the normal manner." Another nod. Calley bowed just slightly to the man behind the desk and darted his eyes to the corners of the room where he sensed the man's companions, just to acknowledge that he knew they were there. He turned efficiently and opened the door. "And Mr. Calley..." said the voice from behind, "If at all possible, make it extremely painful." ******* Tell me what you think. Good, bad, ugly, I'm ready for it all... Drop me a line, at slhamm@u.washington.edu S. From slhamm@u.washington.edu Sun May 04 05:18:12 1997 Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: Passing the Torch (2/2) From: "S. Hamm" -------- Title: Passing the Torch (2/2) Category: ST Rating: PG-13 for death and destruction (nothing Biblical, mind you, but...) Archive: Yep. Disclaimer: See part 1 Summary: Scully on the run. Acknowledgements: Thanks to Christine Duncan, Dawson Rambo, Kevin Patterson and everyone else who told me the first one was good. Also thanks to Miki Akimoto for beta reading it. If it didn't turn out right, it's because I completely ignored everyone else's advice... ***** Passing the Torch (2/2) By Susan Hamm ***** Anderson Arms Apartments 1121 Ducovny Ave. Arlington, VA December 14, 2023 1:00 AM Scully had had the apartment for two months, a long time for her these days. It didn't take her long to move into any given place. All she had was a suitcase of clothes, and a bag full of high-tech computer equipment. Anything more would have been too much. Living in one place for such a long time had almost given her the impression of having a regular home. She pulled into her parking spot in front of the building. As she got out of her car, she paused. There was something... But then it was gone. Eyes narrowed, she pulled her groceries out after her and headed for the front door. She swept her card, gaining access to the building. Circumventing the elevator, she headed straight for the stairs, climbing the single flight cautiously, hand on the sidearm she carried with her at all times. Her apartment was at the end of the hall, two steps away from the emergency fire exit. As she got closer to it, the feeling of apprehension grew stronger in the back of her head. By the time she reached the door, it was nearly overwhelming. Damn them. They were here. They had caught up with her again. Damn it. This was what she hated more than anything else, the loss of privacy, the loss of security. She could never stop running... Teeth gritted, she put her groceries down, and pulled her firearm quietly. Knowing they could probably see her, she decided to get it over with. Right now, it was simply a matter of whose wits were quicker. As she swept her card through the slot, she frowned. She was getting to the point where she was almost exhilarated by these things. They were a way to vent her frustrations. The door slid open, she went in low, firing three quick shots to her left. She heard one of them grunt, and fall to the floor. Too easy. This was too easy. Someone grabbed her from behind, one arm around her neck, the other hand on the side of her head. He was going to break her neck. "You idiot," she growled, her hands flying up over her head and grabbing her attacker by the shoulders. Planting her feet firmly on the ground, she flipped him over, and sent him flying into the assailant she'd shot. Spinning, she faced the third attacker, a tall, almost elegant looking man with excruciatingly well-combed hair, and a nearly delicate close-clipped goatee. "He told us you were good." "Obviously, your friends didn't believe him." "They are fools." said the man, "I have told them time and again that to underestimate the enemy is the greatest mistake one can make." "You're a smart guy," muttered Scully, wishing her gun hadn't been knocked from her grip by the man who'd wanted to break her neck. The well-groomed man was simply standing there, his pose rigid. "Aren't you going to try me?" There was a short pause, and suddenly, the man's hand whipped into his coat, produced a knife, and threw it straight towards her. The movement was lightning-quick. Scully had never seen someone move that quickly. Her reaction was late, she leapt to the side, but not in time. The knife missed it's intended target, but sunk itself into the flesh of her side. Gasping, she felt it slice through an artery. She fell to the floor. Pushing the pain back, she jammed her right hand under the knife, doing her best to staunch the flow of blood. The man who'd thrown the knife, was now charging her, at a vicious speed. There was a sort of grin on his face, not so much sadistic as admiring, as if he was surprised and pleased that she'd managed to dodge as much as she had. She greeted him by kicking him in the midsection and springing to her feet. The well-groomed man doubled over and backpedaled, surprised by the force of the blow. Sensing movement behind her, Scully gritted her teeth and pulled the knife out of her side, pushing her hand into the wound and spinning on her heel. The pain in her side was becoming harder to ignore. The man she'd flipped over earlier was running at her, she tossed the knife at him. Knife-throwing wasn't her strength, but she still managed to sink the knife into his upper thigh. The man sank to his knees, cursing. "That isn't very polite," growled Scully, her head beginning to spin. Kicking at him, she made contact with his head, forcing him back. His head impacted with the wall, knocking him out. More movement to her side, the woman who she'd shot was up and coming at her again.. Damn bullet proof vests. "You're going down, old woman," growled the woman Scully had shot. The woman raised her gun and fired a shot at Scully. Scully sensed the shot coming before it did and ducked. A profuse string of swearing from behind her told him that the woman had hit the well-groomed man. "Tsk tsk," Scully said, grinning through her pain, "You hit the man with the pretty hair." The woman was busy frowning at the wounded man. Scully drew back her fist and buried it in the woman's face with all the force she could muster. The woman went flying back towards the wall. Looking around, Scully noted that two out of the three were unconscious. The well-groomed man was still awake, but he was clutching at his chest. "Damn it!" he was muttering over and over. "You guys need to start training your operatives better." growled Scully, running out of the room, one hand gripping her side. She thanked God she kept her laptop in her car. She wasn't at all sure she could have carried it out of the apartment. **** Calley watched the woman leave, and tried to stand. "Damn it!" he muttered again. Sheridan and Fitch were two of his best, but they obviously weren't good enough. He shuddered to think of what his superiors would do to him when they found out. As he pulled his contact card out from the inside pocket of his coat, Calley reflected briefly on the action of a few moments ago. Scully was a good fighter, a scrapper who would work with what she had. Although she may not have made it out of the apartment if he'd thrown more men at her, she certainly would have taken a couple of them with her. He felt more than a little admiration for her. His knife throw had been lightning quick (ah, the wonders of genetic engineering), and she'd managed not to take it in the heart. The way she'd been clutching her side, however, told him that he'd hit something vital. He doubted she would survive it. Calley braced himself and grimaced as he punched the code into the card. A face appeared on the card, looking grim and not at all pleased. It was if the man had sensed that Calley had failed. "Well?" "We need medical assistance." Calley said, never one to mince words, "Our subject is away, but I believe she'll be bled out within an hour." "She'd better be, Calley. If she remains alive after tomorrow, I will have your head." "Understood." Calley replied as the card went blank. **** Morland Apartments #A-302 24601 3rd Ave. Arlington, VA 1:45 AM Morris Allard was nearly asleep when the phone started ringing. He glanced at his clock radio and frowned. Damn damn damn. It was nearly two in the morning. He'd only gotten back from Texas an hour and a half ago. Tomorrow was going to be filled with interminable mountains of paperwork for him because his partners' daughter was sick. Sighing, he reached over to the side table, turned on the light, and picked up the hand link. He frowned when no picture appeared on the screen. "Allard." he said, the sleepiness leaving him. "Hello... Morris..." said a weak voice from the other end. "Who is this?" Allard said frowning deeply. "Oh, I think you know... I need you to come and... get me..." "Where are you?" asked Allard, "What's wrong?" "I accidentally ran into a knife. Damn thing hit me in the side... I think it punctured something pretty important because there seems to be quite a bit of blood here." "What??" "Hey..." said the voice, weak and slightly delirious, "Even us medical doctors... don't know exactly what's getting hit in there..." "What..." "Quit... asking me that..." said the voice, getting weaker by the word, "I'd hurry up and get here... I'm getting blood... all over the pretty landscaping..." "Where are you??" he asked again, reaching for his shirt. "Ciccone Memorial Park..." muttered the voice, "... nice place..." "I'll be right there..." said Allard, pulling his shirt on. "Greaattt...." and the phone went dead. Allard dressed in forty seconds and grabbed his gun. Someone had done something to Scully, and they might not feel like leaving it at that. **** Ciccone Memorial Park Arlington, Va. 2:03 AM He found her slumped against a tree, her portable transmitter clutched in her right hand. She was propped up on top of something that looked like her old-style laptop. She'd probably had the thing since she'd gone on the lam. Kneeling, he gently lifted her left hand away from what seemed to be the source of the sizable pool of blood that was still spreading around her. The minute he made contact, her right hand whipped up, and gave him a good whack on the side of his head. He rolled with it, having sensed it coming, but it still smarted. She opened her eyes, looking ready to get alert. "Oh... it's just you..." "Good greeting. I come to try to get you to a hospital, and you smack me in the side of the head..." "No way a hospital's going to help this, Allard," she muttered, half-grinning, "I'm one of the best medical doctors I know, and I couldn't save me." her voice was weak, but she sounded resigned to her fate. She looked around a little, her eyes glazing a bit, "It's a pretty nice night. Y'know. I always wanted to die on a nice night. Good mild night... no clouds... Heh... nice and warm. Mulder didn't like nights like this... Too peaceful... He thought it was too suspicious..." she rolled her eyes back over to look at Allard again, "You look upset, Morris." "I..." Mulder? Fox Mulder? How did she know Fox Mulder? "Well, I'm not going to get to tell you all those things you weren't ready to learn..." "What the hell are you ..." "But I am..." she reached underneath her, grunting, pulling something out from under her back, "...going to give you this..." Morris frowned as he took her laptop from her, "Got some good stuff on there... solitaire, hearts, how to get in contact with upper level government contacts..." she was fading fast. "But..." he paused, at a loss. There was nothing else he could say. "You've meant a lot to me..." "Thanks... Morris..." she said, grimacing, "Y'know... you're the one... you're the one that'll bring them down... You have the power... And the brains... you just have to use it..." "I hope that I can..." "I do too." she said, looking at him, clarity returning to the deep blue eyes that were hidden behind the brown contact lenses. "You know, Mulder... would have been proud of this... of you carrying on with the X-Files..." "And he would've been proud of you too..." "Oh, God..." she said, grinning weakly, "This is turning into... an episode of Touched by an Angel..." "What?" She just shook her head, swallowing loudly. There was a moment of silence. Allard could do nothing for her. She'd known she was dying the minute she called him. This was simply a way for her to pass her computer, her legacy on to him. And she didn't want to die alone. He sensed that as he watched her eyes begin to loose focus. "You know something... Allard..." she looked at him again, her eyes clearing momentarily as she looked at him, "I've been waiting to see Mulder again... for twenty years... It's going... to be so... nice..." A last, ragged breath escaped her, and Morris Allard realized with incredible clarity who she was. She was the agent who had gone missing thirty-three years ago. She was Dana Scully. He reached down, and closed her eyes. There was nothing more to say. She was in a place of eternal peace now, of that there was no doubt. END **** If you want to be cheered up a little, you should go read "A Scully Gets Her Wings". It's over on the Gossamer Archives. (okay, that was a shameless plug, but it would probably make you feel better...) Any comments or questions or death threats can be sent to me at slhamm@u.washington.edu (I'm just kidding about the death threats. ----- "Both shows [Simpsons and King of the Hill] benefit each other. And the important thing is to, you know, kick Touched by an Angel's butt." -Mike Scully, Simpsons Executive Producer on ratings