From: jennyann@ix.netcom.com (Jennifer Lyon) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: "Too Close" 5/8 Date: 26 Dec 1995 22:27:13 GMT "Too Close" An X-Files Story by Jennifer Lyon Jenni10647@aol.com jennyann@ix.netcom.com ----------------------------------------------------------------------- -- Disclaimer: The X-Files and the characters therof belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and FOX network. The remainder of this story is mine. Consider this taking place somewhere in the third season. I owe a big thank you to a few people: my editor, Debbie Hewett; Ann Vanderlaan and Lynne (Buddyed) for biblical information; and Suzanne (Ecksphile), Ray (Gylford), Pat (DiRisha) for reading this for me in progress and encouraging me to finish it. Finally, since I have never been to the FBI and have little knowledge of its internal workings, I am exersizing some fictional license, as I am towards certain parts of the Christian religion. No offense meant to anyone's beliefs. The story is unrelated to any I have previously written. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- -- Part Five Two miles away Tibbit groaned, rubbing at his aching side. "Damn, that man can run!" Harper glanced at his partner with open amusement. Eyeing his partners short, albeit muscular frame, he teased. "I think he has about a foot's worth of leg space on you." Tibbit glared back, always a little sensitive about his height. He had been an all-star offensive lineman in college, and being passed up by the NFL because of his height still rankled. So he was a little short, so what? Harper grinned, then straightened in his seat, pulling the car up to the side of the road. "Well, we've certainly lost him." He sighed. "Skinner is going to have our asses for dinner." Tibbit frowned, staring around the darkening street. "This is ridiculous. I can't believe we're stuck playing babysitter for that kook." "That 'kook' is one of the Bureau's best agents. I saw him in action on a case down in Raleigh. His profile was so dead on that it gave me shivers. It was like he could see things no one else could. And with three agents already dead..." "Who's to say Mulder didn't do it himself? I heard that he had had fights with all three before they got hacked." Harper shook his head. "Na, Mulder was on the opposite side of the country when the first two murders happened. Unless you think he was able to teleport here and back, there's no way he could have done it." Tibbit shifted in his seat, stretching out an aching calf. "Well, considering the way he disappeared right in front of us, I'd almost believe it." "Start thinking things like that and you'll end up in the basement working with Spooky himself." Harper chuckled. Tibbit frowned. "Don't even think it..." He shivered. "Still, the man gives me the creeps. Did you see the way he looked at us before he started running?" "He was just playing with our heads. Probably got a kick out of dumping us. Bet you ten bucks he's sitting in a bar somewhere right now laughing in his beer." He pulled the car away from the curb, bringing it around in a U-turn to head back the way they had come. Tibbit nodded reluctantly. "No bet." He sighed loudly, then added fatalistically, "Skinner is going to kick our butts." - - - - - Office of the Assistant Director FBI Headquarters Skinner put down the file he was reading and glanced at his wrist-watch. Quarter after seven. Stifling a yawn, he got up from his desk, stretching out the sore muscles in his back. Definitely time to head for the gym. He liked to work out at least five times a week, though sometimes his schedule just didn't permit the time. Still, for a man his age, and one desk- bound to boot, he had managed to stay in pretty good shape. Donning his coat, he made sure he had his keys, then stepped through the door. As he locked the door, he found himself wondering just how Mulder had reacted to Tibbit and Harper. Making the assignment had been a difficult decision, weighing the effect of how it would look - like Mulder really was a suspect - against the likelihood that Scully's fears for her partner were real. In the end, the value of Mulder's life had tipped the scales. With any luck they'd catch the psycho soon, which would clear the situation. And give Skinner a brief respite. Striding down the hall, then waiting semi-patiently in the elevator, the tall, imposing Assistant Director still couldn't escape a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. This storm was hardly over, and he couldn't help being afraid for the man caught in the middle. How had one difficult, rebellious subordinate come to mean so much to him? Shaking his head as though to banish the thoughts, he checked out of the FBI building and headed for his car. Never once noticing the thin shadow following close behind. - - - - - Mulder ignored the stares that followed him as he ran for the elevator. He knew he was sweaty, the old torn Oxford tee-shirt sticking tightly to his damp chest and arms. The sweatpants were stained and grimy, and his hair was very likely sticking up on end. But his appearance was the least of his concerns. If he was right, then Skinner was in serious danger. Bounding out of the elevator, he raced for the AD's office, only to find it closed and dark. Frustrated, he banged loudly on the outer door. Come on, damnit, still be there! But there was no answer; the hallway was silent except for the low snickers emanating from a pair of agents walking past. Finally giving up, he leaned one hand against the door, rubbing at his sticky neck with the other. He had no proof that Skinner was in any danger, and if he tried to call out the cavalry and was wrong, Skinner would be furious. But somehow Mulder knew he was right. Turning around, he ran back for the elevator. With any luck Scully would still be in the building. - - - - - X-Files Division Dana Scully dropped into her chair, breathing a soft sigh of relief. As many autopsies as she had done in her career, many of them under far more difficult circumstances or on bodies so horribly damaged as to give anyone nightmares, conducting one on a man she had once considered a good friend was worse. Whatever else Tom Colton might have been, he had been full of life. The pale body laying stiffly on the metal operating table had been only a shadow of the man, a broken, damaged shell. Closing her eyes, she grabbed hold of her professional detachment and slammed the shutters down into place. But before she could do anything more, the office door slammed open. "Mulder?!" she exclaimed, staring wide-eyed at her frantic, dingy, sweat-soaked partner. As his intense eyes focused on her face, he slumped for a moment, then recovered in a burst of energy. "Scully, thank God you're still here. We have to find Skinner!" He hurried over to the desk and began tossing things around. "Wait...What's going on? MULDER!" She grabbed his arm, spinning him towards her. "Skinner is going to be killed next. Tonight. But his office is closed and he doesn't answer his cellular phone. We've got to get over to his home." "Skinner...but how? Are you sure?" "Of course, I'm sure!" Yanking out the big yellow phone book, he placed it on top of a pile and paged through it urgently. "Skinner....Skinner...Damn, he's not here. And Operations wouldn't give me his home address." "Of course they wouldn't if you went in there acting like this. You've got to calm down." Mulder met her eyes, watching him with deep concern. "Yeah, yeah...you're right." Running a hand through his hair, he only sent it into worse disarray, the thick dark bangs blanketing his forehead, short strands curling against the back of his ears and neck. "Look, I know this is just a hunch, but it all makes sense. Skinner is the next logical target, and I don't think our killer is going to wait any longer. He's got to be feeling the pressure. Hell, the whole Bureau is up in arms over this." "OK, say you're right. What makes you think Skinner would be attacked anywhere but here in the building? All the others were done here." "True, but security is tight, and Skinner is more likely to be noticed than the others were. It's easier to take him somewhere else. The deaths and their situation isn't that important to this guy. It's the choice of victim and the mutilation that matters." Scully weighed his words for a moment, then came to a rapid decision. She'd seen his wild hunches proven right one time too many not to take this one seriously. "All right, let me see what I can do." Mulder sat down wearily in his chair as she reached for the phone, briefly wondering why he was so upset. There had been times he could have strangled the AD himself. Then he caught himself, sickened that the thought had even crossed his mind. True, he had thought that all of the victims deserved a good right punch in the nose, especially Colton. But not this. No one deserved this. Well, almost no one. And besides, Skinner really wasn't all that bad. Mulder found himself reviewing his relationship with his boss over the past couple years. Rocky it had been, the two men aggravating each other on every level. Still, there had developed a kind of grudging respect. Perhaps in his own way, Skinner had tried to protect Mulder. He had given Mulder the X-Files back, and had been there when he was most needed, even after Mulder had belted him one. If only for that, Mulder owed him. "Got it, thank you Sarah." Scully hung up the phone and turned to her partner. "I've got his home address, but apparently he usually goes to the gym on his way home. I've got that address too." Mulder got back to his feet. "The gym - why doesn't that surprise me?" Scully chuckled, though she grabbed her own weapon from the desk drawer and carefully examined the clip before putting it in its holster at her waist. As she followed him out of the small office, she glanced at him, retorting coolly. "Well, you certainly won't be out of place." - - - - - Capitol Health and Fitness 687 Grand Ave. Washington DC Hefting the gym bag over his shoulder, Walter Skinner left the warm and brightly lit interior of the health club for the chilly darkness of the parking lot. Dressed casually in jeans, sweater and dark blue jacket he looked less like a federal bureaucrat and more like a blue collar worker, big muscles still warmed by exertion, bald head glistening with a faint sheen of moisture from the shower. His determined stride eating up the concrete, he sighted his car in the corner and skirted around the edge of the lot to reach it. The attack came seemingly out of nowhere, a sudden sweep of sound behind him, forcing him to turn, arm half- raised in instinctive protection. But he was not quite fast enough, and a hard metal object slammed down against the side of his head with a sharp crack. He staggered, the bag slipping off his shoulder to land on the concrete, while he dropped to his knees. Wrapping one arm protectively over the source of the excruciating pain, his other fumbled at his waist, reaching for his gun. His assailant was quicker, and chose to hit that elbow instead, sending a river of agony screeching up his arm, flooding down to the very tips of his fingers. But Skinner was a fighter, and he didn't give up easily, twisting aside, he pushed himself upwards, ignoring his glasses as they hung unevenly from one ear. He squinted into the shadows, hazed by a fog of pain as well as the cover of night, tightening his body into a ready crouch. Turning slowly, all he could make out was a narrow form, one long arm outstretched, moving towards him with bitter intent. HHEEELLLAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHUH," Skinner screamed, as it descended again, barely missing the side of his head, instead bouncing off his shoulder. He fell onto the wounded arm, a small part of his mind recognizing it was probably broken, then sliding into blessed unconsciousness. His attacker breathed a sigh of triumph, only to freeze at the sound of footsteps behind him. "Federal agents! Don't move!" cried a woman's voice. Sharp clicks warned of guns being cocked, and he turned on his heels and dove behind a nearby car. Rolling over, he stifled a groan as his shoulder hit the pavement hard, then he picked himself up and ran. Behind him, he could hear voices shouting, and then the sound of footsteps racing after him. Drawing in deep drafts of the cold night air, he burst into a gallop, running as though the hounds of Hell were behind him, for in his mind, they were. - - - - - "Federal agents! Don't move!" Scully shouted at the first sight of the spindly silhouette, cloaked in darkness, raining blows down on an unmoving figure on the ground. It seemed to pause for an instant as she raised and pointed her gun, then it was gone, disappearing behind the blunt shape of a car. Mulder raced up and past her, his long legs eating the ground in pursuit, and she left it to him, knowing she could never keep up. Instead, she went to the body on the ground, tucking her gun into its holster and reaching for her cell phone, even as she came to her knees. Her heart skipped a beat as her fears were confirmed, the faint light from a lamppost reflecting off Skinner's shiny head. He was curled up into a ball, his left arm cradled against his chest. Stabbing at the phone, she put it to her ear, then reached down to check his pulse. It was there, beating strong in his throat, but blood was already trickling down from a wound on his right temple, and his skin was damp and cold to the touch. Shrugging out of her coat as best she could, while shouting into the phone, she demanded an ambulance and back up, knowing that the words "officer down" would stimulate the fastest possible response, praying that it would be quick enough. Dropping the phone in order to get her second shoulder out of her coat, she wrapped the cloth around the man trembling at her feet. He moaned and shifted in place, and she gently, but firmly, restrained him. "Easy, sir, stay still. Help is on the way." He reacted to the sound of her voice, his eyes fluttering as he tried to focus on her face. "Whhhhhh," was all he got out, and she tried again to soothe him, speaking slowly, rhythmically, soothing him with the sound more than the words. Meanwhile, her eyes were darting again and again to the road, her ears alert for the sound of sirens, her mind repeating over and over again..."Hurry, please hurry, please hurry..." - - - - - A few blocks away Mulder ran, suddenly wishing he had not decided to take such a long run earlier. His muscles were aching and his lungs felt like they were on fire. He could just barely see his quarry's shape as it darted through the semi-darkness ahead. Thin, narrow, covered in a long dark cloak, it suddenly shifted direction and shot across the street, barely avoiding an oncoming car. Mulder broke into the street after it, the flash of the headlights giving him no more than a glimpse of form and color, the hair was light, the figure tall and straight as a board. Male, as Mulder had already assumed it to be. Using the hood of a parked car for leverage, Mulder leaped onto the sidewalk, and shot off down the alley, slowly gaining ground on the other man. His muscles complained, then stretched and accommodated, though not without the silent promise of vengeance to come. But his body was long used to running, his penchant for the track developed in early adolescence. And so he got closer, and closer... Then he came up abruptly against a brick wall. The alley was a dead end, but the man had entered, so where... All thought ended in a lightening bolt of pain, a quick explosion of agony on the back of his head, then an answering blow to the back of his shoulders. Darkness shuttered his mind. - - - - - Capitol Health and Fitness Tibbit and Harper were the first on the scene, beating the ambulance by a few long minutes. Scully acknowledged them with spare glance, her attention focused on the wounded man cradled in her arms. Harper bent to a crouch beside her, his eyes wide with shock and concern. "Will he..." "He's got a concussion, possibly a fractured skull. And the arm is definitely broken. It will take X-rays and an MRI to see how serious the head injury is." Scully reported tensely, her professional demeanor fighting with her emotions. For all of the rough times between them, she respected her boss deeply. He had done his best for her and Mulder, more than once. "The attacker?" Harper's inquiry was bareboned, as the ambulance finally made its screeching way into the parking lot, its flashing lights throwing an eerie, every changing gleam across the scene. "Didn't get a good look at him. He took off as soon as we got here. Mulder is in pursuit." "Mulder? Which way did they go?" Harper took Scully by the arm, helping her to her feet as she relinquished the still unconscious Skinner to the paramedics. As he was loaded first onto a stretcher and then into the ambulance, Scully turned and pointed towards the back of the lot. "That way!" Then she turned and leaped up into the back of the ambulance, coolly issuing commands. The door slammed shut, and the ambulance squealed its way back out into the street, but even before it turned the corner, Harper and Tibbit had cleared the back edge of the parking lot, tracing Mulder's steps as best they could. - - - - - In the Alley A brilliant flash of light from the top of a passing ambulance fell across the face of the man at his feet, and Ezekiel found himself suspended in mid-movement, his muscles frozen in place. He stood there for a moment, unbreathing, like a stone statue, one arm upraised, the metal wrench clasped in suddenly icy fingers, his heart stilled within his chest. Oh no. Ohno,ohno,ohno...Oh Dear GOD, NO! He never realized he spoke it aloud, would never have recognized that soul-sick remnant of a voice as his own. The wrench tumbled out of his numb grasp and clattered to the ground behind him, while he sank to his knees. Reaching out, his entire body trembling, he pulled the unconscious man on the ground closer to him. There was only faint light emanating from a window above and the street lamp several feet away, but it was just enough for recognition. Tears welled in his eyes, and he groaned the sick, low moan of an injured animal, only to find the sound echoed by the man in his hands. That broke through the thunderstorm of emotion, and he anxiously sought and found the pulse racing in the neck, then felt for the heat of breath passing through the lips. It was warm and moist against his chilled palm, and he nearly cried aloud in relief. "Mulder..." Ezekiel whispered, and received another groan in reply. The wounded agent shifted, one hand curling up to reach for his head, but Ezekiel gently restrained him. Pulling the bigger man up into his lap, he wrapped his arms around him and sobbed... ...The walk from the alley, where he had left Mulder curled up unconscious behind an evil-smelling dumpster was wrought with agony. His heart was pounding in his chest, the fierce eyes of God and his angels boring into the back of his head. He could feel the weight of their disapproval and disappointment. It was an accident, he wanted to scream. But his mind kept screaming 'my fault, my fault, my fault...' Still, he kept going, pushing through the dark of the night until he found his car, set off on a silent side-street, and gratefully slid behind the wheel. He had a chance to make things right, and he swore he would not fail again. Finally, he managed to get the car wedged deep in the alley with enough room to open the car door so that he could get Mulder inside. First, he attempted to pick him up with both arms under his back, but the senseless agent was much bigger and heavier than expected, with limbs that seemed to go on forever. Awake and in motion, Mulder was as graceful, as sure as a panther on the prowl, but in this state, he was nothing but long loose strands that dragged and caught and flopped. Giving up on picking him up as one might carry a child, Ezekiel gently settled him on the ground and shifted to take him below the arm pits. Dragging him worked well, at least until they got to the car. It took at least fifteen minutes of pushing, shoving, maneuvering, tugging, but he somehow managed to get Mulder into the car seat...sort of. One leg still trailed outside the car, and his head fell back between the two seats, but it was a start. Ezekiel paused to gasp for breath, rubbing at aching elbows and scraped knees, and bruises that were sure to implode along every surface of his body. However, he considered it a small price to pay, only a small measure of the reparation still to come. "Mmmm," Mulder groaned and began to shift, his head falling back even further until Ezekiel reached over and caught him. Trying to hold Mulder upright, careful of the wound trickling blood down through the thick dark hair and onto the fair skin, Ezekiel felt downwards with his free hand until he found and released the control for the seat back. Pushing it down as far as it would go, he carefully levered Mulder into a recumbent position, and moved that one last leg into the cavern below the dash. Mulder groaned again, thick eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, but Ezekiel soothed him with a loving touch and soft words. "Easy...take it easy...you're ok. I'm going to take care of you, just rest. I'll take care of you," he promised as he retrieved the blanket from the back seat and wrapped it around Mulder's body. Mulder felt only the comfort of the voice in his ear and the hands cradling him, and he settled down with a soft sigh, and a whisper of the one name he had come to associate with such sensations..."Scully..." he breathed before his eyelids settled and he fell back into the soothing darkness. Ezekiel jerked slightly in response, his entire body tensing and then releasing. Of course, he realized quickly, of course. Who else would Mulder call for but her - his Mary Magdalene? The woman he had redeemed and turned to the cause of God. It was only right, for soon enough Mulder would be returned to her care. Shrugging off his overcoat, he tucked it under Mulder's head, then carefully closed the car door. ------------------------ End Part Five ------------------------ =========================================================================== From: jennyann@ix.netcom.com (Jennifer Lyon) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: "Too Close" 6/8 Date: 26 Dec 1995 22:31:07 GMT "Too Close" An X-Files Story by Jennifer Lyon Jenni10647@aol.com jennyann@ix.netcom.com ----------------------------------------------------------------------- -- Disclaimer: The X-Files and the characters therof belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and FOX network. The remainder of this story is mine. Consider this taking place somewhere in the third season. I owe a big thank you to a few people: my editor, Debbie Hewett; Ann Vanderlaan and Lynne (Buddyed) for biblical information; and Suzanne (Ecksphile), Ray (Gylford), Pat (DiRisha) for reading this for me in progress and encouraging me to finish it. Finally, since I have never been to the FBI and have little knowledge of its internal workings, I am exersizing some fictional license, as I am towards certain parts of the Christian religion. No offense meant to anyone's beliefs. The story is unrelated to any I have previously written. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- -- Part Six St. Mary's Hospital Pre-Dawn The search for both Mulder and the suspect was now under full-swing, though nothing had been found. While Tibbit stayed with it, working his way down yet another dark alley, Harper left to make his way to the hospital. He found Dana Scully sitting in the Emergency Room lobby, one hand clutching at a steaming cup, the other clenched on the edge of her chair. Her normally vivid blue eyes were wide and pale as she recognized him, and she started to her feet. "Did...?" But he was already shaking his head. "I'm sorry, no sign of either of them." She took a deep breath and sat back down, looking much like an air mattress that has had the plug pulled. She simply deflated. Harper sat down beside her and remained quiet for a moment, allowing her to find the words on her own. "I hardly saw him. He was just a shadow. I know he wasn't too big, maybe 5'7'' or 8''. And very thin. There wasn't much light. Skinner was down, and it just seemed right that I would stay with him while Mulder..." Her voice wavered on his name, but she clamped down on it so quickly that Harper couldn't have sworn he had truly heard it. And when she continued speaking, it was in the voice of a cool and collected professional. "Skinner has a concussion and a cracked skull, as well as severe bruising and a broken arm. They're doing X-rays and an MRI to see if any slivers of the skull were driven into the brain itself. It depends upon which areas were damaged as to whether they leave any such fragments in place or try to remove them surgically." She paused to take a sip of her beverage, the rich smell identifying it as coffee. Then she finally met his eyes directly. "He took Mulder, didn't he?" Harper shrugged his shoulders, his face grim. "It is a possibility. We've got men blanketing the area; if they are still nearby, they'll be found." Scully gave a broken laugh, the sound as bitter as shattered glass. "That's IF they are still in the area." "We'll find them," Harper promised bitingly, his voice sharp and angry. "There are only so many possible suspects, and everyone on duty in the FBI during the four 'incidents' is being located and questioned...again." Scully smiled, though it was not a happy expression and her eyes remained as cold as diamonds, diamonds bluer than the sea itself. "It's still a lot of people, and I doubt our killer is going to make himself easy to find." She glanced at her drink and frowned, then put it on the side table with a sigh. "I'd better go help." Harper restrained her with a gentle hand on her shoulder, showing no response when she flinched away, turning to face him with sharp words on her tongue. But he spoke first, "No, let us do our job. You're needed here. Skinner might be able to help when he wakes up, and you should be here in case he does. Look, I promise to let you know the moment..." "No." Her voice was unyielding, cold as marble. "Mulder is MY partner, he needs me, and if he is going to be able to communicate anything to us, I'll be the one he'll try to reach." Harper nodded. "All the more reason for you to stay in one place, where he could expect you to be. Besides..." He swallowed hard. There was no easy way to say this, but somehow she read it before he could frame the words. "Those bastards!" she hissed. "No one really thinks..." "Mulder was with me, we left the FBI together. There are witnesses to that. Unless they think I was involved in it too..." Her eyes flashed dangerously, and Harper instinctively put up a hand between them. "No, of course not," he soothed anxiously. "Look, four FBI agents are dead, and all had had confrontations with your partner. Now he is missing, right after a nearly fatal attack on the AD. People are just...upset..." he finished unhappily. "Yeah, well not as upset as they're going to be if Mulder ends up dead because they're too busy trying to use him as a scapegoat instead of finding the son-of-a-bitch who kidnapped him!" Her voice remained low, and was all the more formidable for its softness. A man twice her size, Harper still found himself feeling intimidated by the small fiery-haired woman standing in front of him, hands on her hips, her rich mouth pursed into a thin line above a forward-thrust chin. "We are searching, and doing our best to match up your description with possible suspects. We will find them, BOTH of them." He gave her a tentative smile. "Not everyone thinks Mulder is ... " "Crazy..." she finished for him, undaunted. He smiled wryly. "Yeah, well...There are a lot of people in the Bureau who have a hell of a lot of respect for that man, and regardless of his reputation, he is still one of us. The FBI takes care of its own, and that includes Spooky Mulder." She wasn't particularly consoled by this, but she did settle back a little. Just enough to let him breath again. "Sit tight here for a while, and let me know right away if Skinner is able to talk. If he could identify his attacker, it would help us a lot." She frowned, not bothering to even nod her acceptance, but she finally sat back down and reached for her coffee. As he turned to leave, she called out after him, "And you call me..." "You'll be the first to know," he promised, and then he was gone. Scully sat still for a moment, fighting the urge to get up and run after him. To run out and start searching herself. But she didn't have a clue where she could start, and that realization stung hard, even harder than the knowledge that some fraction of their coworkers really did blame Mulder for these murders. That simply infuriated her, that anyone could think her brilliant, compassionate partner could be capable of these killings. Certainly, he had a temper and core of solid steel, will-power that sometimes awed her with its strength, and an edge of darkness born of anguish and bitter experience. He could be fierce in his anger towards the killers they sought, ruthless in his determination to find and expose the truth, but no one who had seen him with the victims of violent crime could ever doubt the goodness of his heart. He had a way of reaching out to those in pain that was simply breathtaking; they would turn to him, trust him, before they would let anyone else come near. It was as though they could feel without anything being said that this man not only cared deeply and honestly, but also *understood* with a sensitivity that ran to the innermost part of his soul. "Oh God, Mulder," she moaned under her breath. "Where are you?" - - - - - 1846 Magnolia St. Chevy Chase, MD Mulder was only barely aware of being half-carried out of the car and into the warmth of the house. A brush of cold air assaulted his senses, sending shockwaves of pain through his throbbing skull and down the back of his spine. No sooner than he could groan in protest, than he was hit with a wave of heat and light. Squeezing his eyes shut, he staggered against the hands holding him up. "Easy, just a little more..." a voice sounded hazily in his ear. His feet half-dragged on the thick carpet, not making a sound, then he was falling...falling... and landing on something soft and yielding. Reaching up to cradle his head, he curled up into a ball, his legs dangling off the edge of the cushioned surface. Again, someone was there, lifting him up, rolling him over to lay on his back. His legs were lifted up, his head propped on a cool linen pillow. Settling down into the welcome comfort, his mind fragmented, bits and pieces flying across the surface like bright bubbles. Images, faces, sounds...ideas. But it hurt too much to focus, each time he tried to reach for one, his hands unconsciously lifted up to swat at the air, only to be gently restrained again. His eyes blinked rapidly, and he shifted again, trying to sit up. Firm hands took hold of his shoulders and pushed him down. The edges of his awareness caught the sensations of his shoes being removed, a warm cover wrapped around him, a catch of pain in his head as fingers adjusted his position. Above it all floated a steady sound, a voice, one he knew he should know, but couldn't place, reassuring and tender, soothing him down into welcoming darkness. - - - - - Ezekiel swept back the dark, silken strands of hair from Mulder's forehead, then moved upward to probe as gently as he could at the reddened, already swelling wound on the top of the semi-conscious man's head. Biting back a cry of sympathy and anguish, he pulled away and stumbled for the kitchen. Moments later he was back, clutching a towel- wrapped bundle of crushed ice, a wet washcloth, and a bowl of warm water. Mulder stirred again, but his eyes never opened, his hands again fluttering at his side. "Shhh," Ezekiel whispered, brushing the sweaty face with the damp cloth, wiping away the grime from the smooth skin. Then he turned his attention to the head wound, wiping it clean, then pressing the ice-pack to the spot. That elicited a throaty moan, but Ezekiel held on, until the sound dwindled off into steady breathing. Next, he tackled the expanse of arms and chest, turning the bowl of water muddy with dirt and the faint tinge of dusty blood. It took two changes of the water, and the application of scissors to the old tee-shirt, but he finally got the worst of the scrapes and cuts treated. The bruises were already beginning to show in purplish relief against the pale skin, but there was little more he could do. Wrapping the blanket around the bare chest, he then contemplated the rest of the job. His hands trembled as he considered his options, but the wet stain of blood soaking through the thin cloth on the right thigh forced his decision. Averting his eyes as his pulled on the black sweatpants, he somehow managed to get them down those long legs and off. He pulled the blanket up to protect the modesty of his senseless patient, then busied himself with the washcloth, clearing away the still-oozing blood. Luckily, none of the cuts were serious, though the almost blackening bruises showed in a distinct band across the middle of the front thighs where he had struck hard with the metal wrench, unknowing of the identity of his target. That understanding broke a sob from his throat, and even as he adjusted the blanket across the length of the body, he own chest began to shake. Once done, he remained on his knees beside the couch, tears streaming from reddened eyes. Seizing hold of one limp hand, he clutched it against his cheek, slid down until he was sprawled on the floor, and cried aloud. - - - - - Turning the hurricane of emotions into a rush of activity, Ezekiel handwashed Mulder's clothes and his own, then dropped them into the dryer. He started a pot of herbs boiling on the stove, using one of his mother's old recipes for healing tea. Watching it begin to bubble, he remembered her clearly, her mouth pursed as she spoke of the evils of modern medicine, certain that it was the devil's work designed to interfere with the plans of God. But still, her teas had been a comfort to all the sick and dying of the parish, and she had dispensed them with kindness and the love of God. Surely, her son could do no less for the earthly angel lying wounded in his home. As the pungent smell of the herbs boiling on the stove top permeated the air, he checked briefly on Mulder, only to find him sleeping peacefully, the lines of daily care and trouble eased from his face, leaving the sharply defined features with an innocence that was startling in its simplicity. Ezekiel adjusted the blanket over the slumbering man, unconsciously trailing his fingertips across the neck and jaw. There was more yet to do, and he attended to it with meticulous concern. First the bath had to be run, and food prepared for later. And then he sat down beside the couch and patiently cleaned his gun yet again, stopping every so often to gaze with shining eyes at his sleeping guest or race into the bathroom to check the tub. Finally both tasks were done, and after a quick trip to the kitchen to retrieve a mugful of the boiling tea, he knelt down in front of the couch. Holding the steaming mug in one hand, he reached out with the other, tentatively, to touch Mulder's shoulder. "Sir...Agent Mulder...Mulder..." he urged, ever so gently shaking the sleeping man. Mulder muttered, shifted, curled over onto his side, then jerked awake, his hands clutching at his head. "Be still," Ezekiel warned, sliding his hand under the back of Mulder's skull, supporting it as it fell backwards. Mulder turned to lie fully recumbent, though his now partially opened eyes were focused tightly on Ezekiel's face. "Withers?" he whispered in a raw voice. "Yes, sir." Mulder's eyes opened wider. Licking at his dry lips, he asked, "Where?" "Safe." Ezekiel replied. "You are safe." Mulder's eyes flickered around the room, then back to the younger man's face, focusing hard. Ezekiel felt that penetrating hazel gaze drive right through him, and knew in that instant that he had indeed been right from the beginning - that Mulder did indeed have the sight of God. Mulder's next words were only confirmation, the question altering into certain knowledge as he spoke. "You? It was you." Ezekiel smiled for the first time that day. It lit up his narrow face, taking away the sharpness of the mouth and eyes, making him look even younger than he usually did. "Of course." Relief that it would all be open between them at long last made the blood course hard though Ezekiel's veins. Barely restraining the need to pour it all out, all the years of waiting, the anxious days and nights, the joy of triumph and the anger at those still deserving of vengeance, he lifted up the strong- smelling cup of tea. "Here, I made this for you. It was my mother's recipe, and will help your headache. Do you think you can sit up?" Mulder watched him for a long breath, then pressed both hands down into the cushions, pushing himself upwards. A low groan emanated from between his clenched teeth, but he made it to a partially upright position. He was about to sit up further, when Ezekiel reached out to hold down his shoulder. "I think that's enough for now. Here drink this, while I check on the bath." He held out the mug careful not to spill the hot liquid. Mulder closed his hands around it, accepting it, then he sniffed at the contents, his mouth pursing tightly. Ezekiel chuckled, getting to his feet. "I know it smells a little odd, but it will take the pain away without making you sleepy. Go on, it will make you feel better." Mulder shot him a suspicious look, and Ezekiel's face softened into gentle understanding. "I'd never deliberately hurt you, you have to know that. I want to help you, to keep you safe." His eyes turned liquid, pleading. Mulder nodded tensely, still clutching at the mug with both hands. His own eyes were wide and vivid, green tints sparkling in the darkened irises. He slowly pressed the edge of the cup to his mouth and tipped it slightly, only to draw it away sharply. "It's hot," he said hoarsely. Ezekiel nodded. "Take your time. Drink as slowly as you need to. In the meantime your bath is almost ready. Excuse me," he turned and left the room. Mulder sat motionless, though his eyes darted around the room like those of a hunted animal seeking shelter. Searching for whatever answers he could find, he assessed his surroundings. He was on a long couch along one wall of a square room. There was a small vestibule off the right, and a hallway that obviously led to other rooms. The furniture was simple, mostly plain, solid wood, with little in the way of comfort outside of the sofa he was on. The walls were covered with religious pictures, bright colored scenes depicting biblical events, filled with the glowing figures of angels and saints, mixed with several large crosses. Where he would have expected a television to sit was instead a small table which supported half-circle of candles in ornate holders and a pair of photographs. Peering through the haze of his injuries, Mulder could see that one was of an unsmiling woman, blond hair framing a nearly emaciated face, the intense eyes the only source of light in the picture. He turned his attention to the other, and nearly gasped aloud at the sight of his own face staring back at him. In the photo, he was turned slightly to the side, looking to the left of the camera, his face intent and determined. Without getting up to look closer, he knew he wouldn't be able to see any more detail, and even the slight shift in position to get a better angle to look sent waves of pain crashing through his temples. Sliding down into the embrace of the couch, he took a careful sip of the tea, and felt the heat of it rush down his throat. He took another, feeling it numb his throat, and he closed his eyes, fighting another wave of dizziness. He was still sitting sprawled on the couch, the still hot mug clutched to his chest, when Ezekiel returned, a heavy terrycloth robe over one arm. Coming to halt next to the couch, he looked at Mulder anxiously. "The bath is ready...do you feel up to it? I think it would make you feel better." Mulder's eyes opened and he tried to sit up further, grimacing. "I...I think so." He kept trying to focus his thoughts, but they skittered around. He was worried about Skinner and Scully, and knew he had to find out more of what Withers was up to. He was in no shape to try to fight physically, and one memory that was clear from the alley was the loss of his gun as it fell out his fingers in response to a blow across the back of his shoulders. This time he had forgotten to attach the second gun to his ankle, and even if he had, he supposed it would have been taken from him already. Ezekiel reached out to steady him, and Mulder couldn't help leaning into the support. "Withers..." he murmured, then he pushed at his memory, reaching for and finding the first name..."Zeke..." he began. "No, my name is Ezekiel!" Mulder started slightly at the vehemence in that response, then had to swallow a cry of pain as the sudden motion caused a resurgence of agony behind his eyes. Ezekiel saw the reaction, and he was instantly solicitous. "It's okay," he soothed gently. He sat down on the edge of the couch, wrapping his arms round Mulder's shoulders to hold him still. "My classmates at Quantico thought my name was funny, so they shortened it. I put up with it from them, but I didn't like it much." Mulder almost nodded, but stopped himself in time. He did give a low chuckle. "Yeah - I know the feeling." Ezekiel smiled at him. "I'm not ashamed of my name, it is a good name. The name of a prophet. Yours is a good name too. The fault is not in the names, but in the people who would use them as insults." Well, that was hard to argue with, though Mulder was never going to like his first name. He didn't reply directly, instead he caught the other man's eyes and asked the one last question - the important one. "Why, Ezekiel? Why?" Ezekiel didn't bother skirting the question, he answered immediately and directly. "To protect you." "Protect me? I don't understand. Why me?" "Because of who you are." Mulder frowned at that, and Ezekiel almost laughed. "It is hard for you to see yourself properly, and that too is the way it ought to be. Only a true chosen one would not see his own worth, being humble before God and man is a rare virtue these days. Still, I knew the first time I saw you. All of my life I had prayed, begged for a chance to see an angel, and had never once been blessed. And then suddenly there you were. You glowed with the light of God, it streamed through you, almost blinding me with its power. Yet, I doubted, fighting against the will of God until I was forced later to see it clearly. Then I could no longer doubt the evidence of my own eyes." "Memphis?" Mulder again made an intuitive leap, sensing he was only confirming the other's beliefs, yet unable to stop his mind from making the connections it was bound to make. Ezekiel nodded. "You saw the evil and stood against it. The others, they struggled against you, most out of disbelief and fear. But a few...I could see the taint of evil in them. Not quite as dark as the demon you sought there, but still agents of the Devil placed in your path to confuse and misdirect. They worked hard to spread lies against you, to make others believe you were crazy, when you were only walking the path that God had set out for you." His face shone with joy, his voice bright with excitement, the words running into each other in his need to have Mulder understand. "And then I knew that was why I had been sent there too. Why I had seen you again, and then been privy to their vile acts against you. And saw you accept it all without striking back, taking the burdens upon yourself as only a true saint would." Mulder opened his mouth to speak, but Ezekiel rushed ahead. "I know you could not do otherwise. You could not soil yourself with their blood, nor lower yourself to their level. You had the work of God to do. You had to focus on that, your very nature made it a necessity. That is why I was put here, to sweep your enemies aside to allow you to do what you must without their interference." He smiled as though all was now clear. Mulder took a deep breath, trying to reach for the right words. "Ezekiel, I am not some kind of saint. I'm just a man like you. And they really didn't harm me, I mean I know they were bastards, but what you did wasn't necessary..." Ezekiel looked at him with patient understanding and warm affection. "You don't see it yet, perhaps you never will. But that doesn't really matter. I know what needs to be done, and so will you in time. But for now, you need rest and healing. Come on, let's at least get you into the bath. Afterwards, if you feel up to it, I'll heat up some dinner for you." The thought of food did not go over well, the nausea that erupted in Mulder's stomach destroying his attempt to argue further with his attentive 'captor.' Gagging slightly, he leaned forward, struggling to keep from vomiting helplessly. Thin, but surprisingly strong arms tightened around him, cradling him as he bent his aching head towards his knees, then convulsed as his stomach's needs overcame him, forcing out the remnants of his earlier meal and the few swallows of tea taken more recently. Ezekiel held him until he was done, then picked up the washcloth he had used earlier and gently wiped Mulder's mouth. Shaking slightly, Mulder could only stay leaning down onto his knees, gasping softly. "There, there, you don't have to eat anything until you are ready. In the meantime, we should get you cleaned up." With that Ezekiel took Mulder by the arms and lifted him upward. Mulder muttered under his breath, still fighting the dizziness, but he went willingly enough. He was too tired to fight, and a part of him had to admit that the idea of getting into a hot bath sounded pretty good. He would never remember much of the trip to the bathroom, or of being settled onto the toilet seat, but once he was there, he found himself focusing weakly on Ezekiel who was staring at him with a slightly confused expression. Mulder looked up at him, then down at himself, a slight blush of discomfort tingeing his face as he realized he was dressed only in his underwear. Ezekiel stared from him, to the full tub, then back, then blushed bright red. "Ummm, do you think you can..." Mulder blinked, nodded, then wished he hadn't. Stifling a low groan, he answered with more confidence than he felt. "Sure," he replied, gaining a look of pure relief from the young man. "I...umm...I'll go clean up in the living room. Just call if you need help." He edged backwards towards the door, gasping as he collided with it. He took hold of the door as though hanging on for dear life, then slid back into the hall. Closing the door partway, he leaned in again, "I'll leave it open so you can call for me, okay?" Mulder lifted his right hand in a mock salute, unconsciously holding his breath until he was alone. Then he buried his face in his hands, threading his fingers up through the dark bangs covering his forehead. He remained crouched there, bare legs sprawled outward, elbows resting on his knees, head pressed down into his arms, his entire body shaking. The bruises were coming out in sharp black and purple splotches across his shoulders, arms and legs, with a large yellow region marking the lower right edge of his rib cage. A further probe of the top of his head tore tears from his eyes. ----------------------------- End Part Six ----------------------------- =========================================================================== From: jennyann@ix.netcom.com (Jennifer Lyon) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: "Too Close" 7/8 Date: 26 Dec 1995 22:37:13 GMT "Too Close" An X-Files Story by Jennifer Lyon Jenni10647@aol.com jennyann@ix.netcom.com ----------------------------------------------------------------------- -- Disclaimer: The X-Files and the characters therof belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and FOX network. The remainder of this story is mine. Consider this taking place somewhere in the third season. I owe a big thank you to a few people: my editor, Debbie Hewett; Ann Vanderlaan and Lynne (Buddyed) for biblical information; and Suzanne (Ecksphile), Ray (Gylford), Pat (DiRisha) for reading this for me in progress and encouraging me to finish it. Finally, since I have never been to the FBI and have little knowledge of its internal workings, I am exersizing some fictional license, as I am towards certain parts of the Christian religion. No offense meant to anyone's beliefs. The story is unrelated to any I have previously written. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- -- Part Seven Listening to the faint sounds of motion in the other room, every sense acutely tuned to the potentiality of footsteps in the hall, Mulder finally lifted his head and examined his options. Weapons? None. Could he walk? Possibly. Could he fight his way out? Not likely. Using the back of the toilet as support, he got to his feet, then staggered back down onto the seat. Ruefully, he realized that the answer to question number two was less possible than he had thought. So what now? While every bone in his body that wasn't screaming in pain was yelling at him to get the hell out of there, his instincts told him he was not likely to be in any immediate physical danger. However, the same could not be said for anyone else at the Bureau. Had Skinner survived the attack? Mulder felt a deep rush of guilt. For all of their troubles, he had at least respected the man. And Scully? Where was she? Was she looking for him? Would she be the next target? Too many questions and not enough answers. Which meant he had to get Ezekiel talking. And keep him distracted long enough for Scully to track them down. And that meant dealing with the question of this bath. He eyed the big white tub and its steaming contents, a part of him admitting it looked incredibly inviting. But he was loathe to leave himself naked and defenseless in Ezekiel's hands. That thought brought up another possibility - just how fixated on him was the kid? He wouldn't...? Mulder groaned in frustration, stared at the slightly open door, then came up against one simple fact. If he didn't get himself into the tub, Ezekiel was going to insist on helping. No sooner had he thought that, than he found himself moving much faster than he would have considered himself capable of. Off went his underpants and over he went into the tub. Right into a large amount of very hot water. *Sigh* God in heaven, it felt obscenely good, and Mulder sank down burying himself as deeply as he could. His body was far too long as usual, and he had to compromise by dunking one section of himself after another. Propping his feet up on the edges, he slid down until his entire head went under, drawing in a mouthful of the clean water, then expelling it in a stream of bubbles. Pushing himself back upwards, he drew his feet down, bringing them under the surface, allowing his knees to stick up out of the water. Closing his eyes, he leaned back, pressing his arms into his chest and twisting his knees sideways. He remained still in the water for a long moment, not even opening his eyes in response to a soft tap on the door. It was only when he felt the presence of eyes staring directly down at him, that he let his eyelids lift slowly. Ezekiel was standing above him, staring wide-eyed like a startled doe and something clicked in Mulder's mind. "Quantico. You were in one of my lectures at Quantico, weren't you? The young man's gaunt face lit up into a brilliant smile. "Yes." He sat down on the edge of the toilet, draping the previously forgotten bathrobe over his arm, his fingers toying nervously with the edges of the thick, knotted fabric. "After that lecture I read everything I could find by you. Papers you'd written at Quantico, case reports on file in the library, your publications. I even sent off to Oxford for your doctoral dissertations. They were both brilliant!" Mulder half-smiled. "Thanks." His expression turned grim, his usually full mouth tightening into a thin line. "Ezekiel, they are going to find you sooner or later. You've killed three...four..." he stumbled over the change in number, finding it difficult to accept Skinner as a victim. "Four federal agents. I can't protect you from this." Ezekiel waved his hand in dismissal, though his voice was sincere and certain. "I know that. I knew from the beginning that once my work was done it would be my time to fall. I accept my fate. In fact I'm almost looking forward to it. I'll get to see my mother again, and all the angels. Death does not have to feared, for Heaven awaits those who serve God." Mulder bit at his lower lip in concentration. Finding the right words was not easy, he needed to get through without setting the kid off into another killing spree. He unhappily settled for another question. "And now your 'work' is done?" "No." Ezekiel shook his head vehemently, his face brightening, though this time it was with the gleam of pure rage. "No, I have one more task to complete..." Then he abruptly relaxed, the tension leaching from him, and he smiled warmly. "But first, I need to take care of you..." "Take care of me? I'm fine." Mulder protested warily, his bright hazel eyes hardly blinking, as though he was afraid to lose vision for even a split second. "I'll help you wash your hair and your back, then we'll get you into bed. And later you can maybe eat something. You have to keep your strength up, you know. Besides, I don't want Scully thinking I didn't take proper care of you." "Scully?" Mulder tensed, "She's my friend, not my enemy. Ezekiel, you wouldn't..." Ezekiel paused in the process of retrieving a bottle of shampoo from the cabinet, and turned to give Mulder a wounded look. "Harm Scully? Never. She's proven her loyalty to you. You redeemed her, turned her path to that of the righteous. Women can be dangerous, they all carry the seeds of Eve's betrayal within them. But you saved her, brought her out of the arms of demons like Colton. You took a harlot and made her into a servant of God." Ezekiel's pale eyes burned, his hand incongruously waving the bottle of shampoo as though it were a holy relic. Relief mixing with the knot of panic in his belly, Mulder forced himself to nod slightly. "Yes...umm...Scully is of great help to me." Ezekiel smiled and came to sit to on the edge of the tub. "I know," he replied gently. "So have no fear for your handmaiden, I will send her to you when the time is right. For now, let us tend to simpler tasks. Such as getting you clean in body to match the purity of your soul." "Cleanliness is next to Godliness..." Mulder quoted dryly, half expecting another tirade, but he got only a smile and the pressure of hands on his shoulders urging him forward. Deciding he had better not push his luck, he followed instructions, leaning up into a sitting position, clasping his hands around his calves and resting his chin on his knees. The shampoo was cold on the top of his head, but the warm water turned it rapidly into suds, and Ezekiel's touch was both delicate and tender. In fact, Mulder found himself wondering why had never bothered to get his hair washed when he got it cut. Or why he hadn't ever taken up Scully's offer to cut his hair on the occasions it got long enough to annoy him, instead of rushing off to a barber who would spray, cut and get him out the door in about fifteen minutes flat. The nearly erotic sensation of having gentle fingers caressing his scalp convinced him that if he ever got an offer again he was not going to turn it down, and further, that this was something he was definitely going to explore the next time he managed to find a woman interested - and interesting - enough to explore it with. He chuckled lightly against his knees as Ezekiel began washing the shampoo out of his hair, feeling the suds trickle down his back and shoulders, even across his face and arms. As far as being kidnapped by a psychotic killer went, this really wasn't all that bad. In fact, as Ezekiel began washing his back, delicately over the bruised areas, kneading the muscles in the few areas not sore, he decided that he could *almost* enjoy this. That thought tipped him over into hysteria and he began to shake, water splashing around him as he rocked back and forth, giggles forming in his throat and bubbling out of his mouth like soap bubbles. Ezekiel paused, then stopped, dropping the soap bar and moving to tighten his hands on Mulder's upper arms, trying to hold him still. Mulder continued to rock, his laughter turning harsh, and Ezekiel leaned closer, wrapping his arms around him, ignoring the water as it flooded up over them both in violent waves. "Mulder!!!" Ezekiel cried out, hanging on to him tightly, his own face screwed up in fear and anguish. Just as suddenly as Mulder had started shaking, he stilled, seeming to even stop breathing. Then he took in a rasping gulp of air and jerked his head around to stare into Ezekiel's eyes, the only reflection of the pain of that motion lost in the burning intensity of his eyes. "Skinner is dead, isn't he? Ezekiel felt pinned by those eyes, like a specimen under a microscope, but he couldn't escape them. "I don't know for sure, there wasn't time to finish. I'm sorry if I failed you." "Failed me? Do you think I wanted you to kill those men? Thou shalt not kill, Ezekiel. Thou...shalt...not...kill." Each word was punctuated, sharp-edged and cold. "I know, but that only applies to humans. They were demons with human faces, put on earth to torment you. You know that. I saw the pain they caused you." "They never really hurt me," Mulder protested, but this time his eyes faltered and Ezekiel correctly read the reaction. "You hide it well, but I could see it in your eyes, your face, even the way you held yourself. Every blow they delivered you felt deeply. I've seen that look before. After my mother died, I went to live with my grandmother in Florida. The man who lived next door used to beat up on his wife. Everyone knew it, but no one did anything. I saw the same expression in her eyes that you get sometimes. Like you know the blow is coming, but you are resigned to it - accept it. I don't know about her, but I do know that YOU never deserved it." Mulder swallowed hard, his eyes darkening in color. This hit too close to some open wounds in his soul, and he was hard put to deny a truth he was long familiar with. The admission flew out of him before he could stop it. "Yes, of course it hurts sometimes. I hate the way they look at me sometimes, like I'm one step from being carted away by men in white suits. But it's not that important, Ezekiel. It doesn't really matter what they think as long as I'm free to do what I know is right. I can cope with them, and they don't really mean harm, they are just blind. Or afraid." "Yes, most of them are afraid," Ezekiel nodded in understanding. "I was afraid too at first, until it all came clear. But some of them are different. Those vengeful spirits were bent on tearing you down. You have to see that." "Perhaps," Mulder met Ezekiel's eyes again, desperately trying to find the center of sanity in the young man still cradling him against him, as though terrified to let go. "But it is my fight. I have to cope with them, I have to find my own way through the obstacles in my path. I knew the choices I made would not make life easy. I knew there would be people trying to stop me. Perhaps they are God's way of testing me. Or maybe God is letting the Devil challenge me for reasons of His own - a trial of faith. Either way, I must face it myself. Please..." Mulder's mouth trembled slightly, his eyes pleading, giving Ezekiel his utterly best, well-practiced, 'convince-the- nurse-to-let-me-do-what-I-want-even-though-the-doctor-said- no' look. It had worked on almost everyone he had tried it on - with the one noticeable exception of Scully who was a sheer terror when she was in her medical mode. It had an effect this time, he could see Ezekiel react to it, a softening around the eyes, and an answering tremble around the mouth. Closing his hands around Ezekiel's shoulders, he insisted again. "Please, no more killings. Please." Ezekiel wavered, emotions tumbling around in his head. He let go of Mulder and stumbled backwards, grasping onto the edge of the tub to keep himself from falling to the floor. His knuckles turned white, while all color fled from his face. Mulder watched him with dilated eyes, still curled into a tight ball in the bathtub, water dripping from his soaked, disarrayed hair in rivulets down his face and neck. "Ezekiel" he whispered, but the young zealot was unable to cope with the possibility that he had been wrong, and his face shuttered hard, his mind closing down against the unbearable. Getting to his feet, he seemed to pull into himself, then he shook slightly, and turned to Mulder as though the conversation hadn't occurred. "Come, we must get you out of there and into bed." Reaching for the robe, he held it up in front of him, averting his eyes. Mulder drew a deep sigh, then pulled himself to his feet and stepped out of the tub. He took the robe and wrapped it around him, feeling the moisture soak from his body into the thick cloth. Ezekiel took him by the arm and led him out into the hall, Mulder braced himself against the doorframe briefly for support, then took a deep breath and shoved hard against the smaller man. Ezekiel cried out in surprise and went sprawling onto the floor. Mulder turned on his heels and ran back down the hall. Crashing into the living room, his eyes lit on the front door and he raced for it desperately, the ends of the too-short bathrobe flapping wildly across his thighs. Seemingly inches from reaching the door, his wet feet slipped as he left the carpet for a stretch of polished wooden floor. He tottered, fighting for purchase on the suddenly slick surface, reaching desperately for the doorknob. His hand found it, but his balance was already lost, and his entire weight pulled him down, the determined grasp of his hand on the knob spinning him around so that his back slammed hard into the unyielding heavy oak door. Down he went, bouncing against the door, the impact on the back of his skull sending shock waves of agony through his brain. He groaned, his head coming to lay limply against his still outstretched right arm, the fingers still pinned to the knob. Pushing the other hand against his knee, he tried to pull himself back upward, but he was struck by a wave of dizziness. Staggering in place, he sunk back down, this time giving up on the doorhandle in favor of cradling his wounded head. There, Ezekiel found him, curled up into a fetal position, arms wrapped tightly around his throbbing skull. "Dear God," Ezekiel whispered, sitting down to take him into his arms. Mulder protested weakly, ineffectively trying to push the other man away, but Ezekiel ignored his attempts. "Be still," he warned. "You're only going to hurt yourself more." Mulder ignored him, still trying to push him away, forcing Ezekiel to grab both of his arms and hold them tightly. "Stop it!" "Go to hell!" Mulder retorted angrily. "Let me go!" "I can't!" Ezekiel paused, drawing in a ragged breath. His voice turned soft and pleading. "I know you're hurt and afraid. But I can't let you go now, not like this. You need rest and care. Let me get you into bed, then I promise I'll call Scully and have her come look after you." "No." "Mulder, please. You can barely stand up, and you've probably aggravated the wound on your head. You need to be resting. I've got the guest room all prepared for you. Please believe me, I am not going to hurt you. I want to take care of you." Ezekiel began to babble, the words tumbling over each other while he cradled Mulder in his arms like a hurt child. Mulder gave one more half-hearted attempt to push Ezekiel away, twisted his head to take one more desperate glance at the door, then moaned as pain lanced through his temples in protest of the change in position. "Ok. All right." His voice broke into Ezekiel's tirade, causing it to break off in mid-syllable. Mulder stared wearily into the thin face only inches from his own and sighed. "Maybe lying down for a while would be a good idea." The sun dawned on his captor's face, teeth flashing into beaming smile. "Yes, you'll feel better after you've slept for a while." Supported by Ezekiel's firm grip, Mulder managed to get his feet underneath him, but the dizziness struck again, sending the world spinning around him in violent circles. Mulder blinked, then shut his eyes tight, grabbing hold of Ezekiel to steady himself. "I've got you. Hold on, we'll take it one step at a time." It was indeed a slow progress, and Ezekiel ended up half-dragging Mulder into the hallway. Partway, the dizziness eased slightly, and Mulder was able to take the last few steps down the hall and into a small bedroom on his own. Again the furniture was simple and plain, a white coverlet on the mattress, the one chair and bureau made of unvarnished wood. A painting of Jesus on the cross was prominent above the metal bed frame, and a small wooden cross took the place of a mirror above the bureau. Ezekiel yanked down the white bedspread and sheets, then helped Mulder into the bed. Then he pulled the covers up to Mulder's chin and sat down beside him on the edge of the mattress. Mulder lay still, fighting the pain, struggling to focus his mind for one last attempt at conversation, but Ezekiel forestalled him. Reaching out tenderly to brush the bangs back off of Mulder's temples, he spoke softly, but with certainty. "I wish this could have been otherwise, but I have one last task to perform and I can't let you be involved. You'll be safer here, and I'll make sure Scully finds you. She'll take care of you once I'm gone." Mulder felt his heart skip a beat, and his hand darted out to seize Ezekiel's arm. "What do you mean - another task? What are you planning to do?" he demanded. Ezekiel smiled sadly. "They blamed you for the killings, that was my fault - and a mistake I must rectify. Do not worry, this is the way it was meant to be. I know you don't understand it yet, and perhaps never will. Maybe that is part of my trial. All will be clear when it comes time to face God, and until then, all I can do is make sure you are safe. The least I can do before my time is up is to ensure that two more of the demons will no longer be a threat." "No, please, listen to me..." Mulder's voice broke off in shock as Ezekiel abruptly broke into motion. Before Mulder could respond physically, he found himself handcuffed to the heavy metal bed-frame. Yanking on it, he turned angrily towards his captor. "For God's sake, stop this now!!! Let me go!!!" But Mulder's blaze of impotent fury gained him only another sad smile. "I wish it didn't have to be this way, but I have to be certain that you are kept safe. I swear this won't be for long. I'll send Scully to you soon." Ezekiel reached out again to stroke Mulder's cheek, only this time the captive yanked his face away from the contact, his eyes burning coal-black. "God bless..." Ezekiel whispered, then he turned and left the room, turning off the lights as he exited. Mulder heard a bolt slam shut, footsteps moving away and then silence. Leaving Mulder alone in the dark - - - - - St. Mary's Hospital Mid-day Scully paced the hallways of the hospital, fists clenched at her side. She hated waiting, even when she knew it was necessary, even though she had had plenty of experience with it. Waiting... For news of whether her boss would come out of his coma and whether her partner was alive or dead. God, Mulder, she thought, please be okay out there. Arching her head back and forth to relieve the knots bunched in her neck and shoulders, she winced as the bones in her cervical spine cracked. She gingerly rubbed at the back of her spine, then turned the corner and wandered back towards to the nurse's station. Just as she was within a few feet of the semi-circular white desk, one of the starchly white-clad women looked up from the phone and gestured at her. Scully broke into a run, skidding up to the desk with little of her usual composure. The nurse held out the receiver and Scully had to force herself not to snatch it out of those ebony fingers. "Scully," she said, pressing the warm black plastic into her ear, cocking her head to the side. A bright cascade of hair swung down to half-obscure her face as she listened intently to the barely familiar male voice speaking in her ear. "Agent Scully, this is Agent Withers." Scully's mouth pursed as she tried to place the name, but he was already talking again. "Agent Mulder wanted me to tell you that he is all right and that he needs you." "You found Mulder?" A sunny smile broke out on her face, her red lips curving upwards over pearly white teeth. "Yes, Ma'am. He's been hurt, but he's fine!" The young man's voice hastened to reassure her. "But he needs you to come as soon as you can. And he asked if you could stop by his apartment and pick him up a change of clothes on the way - his old ones took a bit of a beating." "Umm, sure, I can do that," she responded with a slight chuckle. If Mulder was already concerned with his clothes (and the man could be a true dandy when he was in the mood) then he definitely had to be all right. "What about the killer, did you find him?" "No..." the young agent hesitated, then rushed out the words. "He hasn't been discovered...yet...but don't worry. It will all be taken care of. Right now you must go to Agent Mulder. I think he might have a concussion." Scully sighed, if she knew Mulder he probably had a serious wound, and was busy trying to pretend it didn't exist. "OK. Don't let him get up or move around a lot, and I'll be there as soon as possible." She paused, then quickly added. "Oh, where is there?" She could almost hear him smile through the phone. "1846 Magnolia Street in Chevy Chase. I know it is a bit of a drive..." "That's ok." She glanced briefly at her watch. "Keep him quiet and I'll be there in about an hour at most." "Good, and thank you Agent Scully." "Thank you," she echoed with heartfelt sincerity. Skinner was still out of it, but it looked as though he was holding on, and Mulder was safe. Thank God, she whispered under her breath as she dropped the receiver and nodded her thanks to the nurse. Then turning on her heels, she raced for the elevator. - - - - - Mulder's Apartment Mulder's apartment was dark, quiet, and rather musty. Crinkling her nose, she promised herself that when this case was settled, she'd make sure he thoroughly cleaned the place out. It wasn't really that he was too messy, he actually kept the place pretty well picked up, it was simply that he never went past the surfaces, and his mind was usually preoccupied with other things. Ah well, nothing for it now, but to try to pick out something relatively clean. Ignoring one rather smelly pile of discarded clothes, her eyes alighted on a pair of plastic-bagged clothes hangers suspended from the kitchen doorway. Pulling them down and removing the plactic covers, she smiled in triumph. A clean suit and shirt, no less, and a pair of ties. She brought them out into the light from the window and shook her head. The second was definitely uglier than the first, so she took the darker patterned one and dropped the bright paisley over the back of his desk chair. Gathering the others up in her arms, she hoped he didn't need underwear, too. There were limits to how much digging she was going to do in his private belongings. Deciding this would have to do, she turned to the door, only to be startled by the abrupt chiming of her cellular phone. Reaching into her pocket, careful not to drop the clothes draped over her arm, she freed her cell phone and put it to her ear. "Scully." "Agent Scully, where are you?" It was Greenstein, and he sounded distinctly unhappy. "At Agent Mulder's apartment, of course. What's going on?" "What are you doing there? I thought I had told you to stay at the hospital!" "I did, until your man called and told me that Agent Mulder had been found." "What the hell do you mean, Agent Mulder has been found? Did you hear from him? Where is he!?" Scully held the phone away from her ear as Greenstein's voice rose into a shout. She waited for him to finish, then she spoke calmly into the phone, even though her stomach was beginning to tighten up into a knot. "I received a call from one of your men telling me that Mulder had been found, that he was hurt but alive, and that he needed me to pick up a change of clothes for him and come check over his injuries." There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, then Greenstein spoke more softly, this time with sincere confusion coloring his voice. "That doesn't make any sense. None of my people have reported finding Mulder. In fact, I just called the hospital to tell you that we had found his gun in an alley not too far from the health club, and that there were signs of a struggle and some blood on the ground." "Oh my God," Scully whispered. "The man who called said he was an agent..." "The killer?" Greenstein spoke sharply. "Did he say anything more?" "Yes, he said his name was..." she paused, thinking hard. "Williams...no, Withers!" she told him with some excitement. "I knew his name and voice was familiar. He's in the Computer Crimes Division, and helped fix Mulder's computer recently." "Withers...," Scully could almost hear the wheels turning on the other end of the phone until a small rush of air against the receiver told her a connection had been made. "He is on our list, was in the building during all three deaths, but was dismissed. No reason to tie him to any of the murdered agents or to Mulder. We hadn't gotten to him yet this time..." "It has got to be him!" Scully exclaimed, then her head jerked upright, staring off into space as her fears reasserted themselves. "Dear God, he's got Mulder! But I think I know where they are." "What? Where?" "1846 Magnolia in Chevy Chase - that's where he told me to come." "1846..." Scully distantly heard him shouting instructions over his shoulder at other people, and the faint echoes of their replies. "OK, Scully we'll get a team out there as quickly as possible..." "I'll meet them there," she interrupted, then clicking off the phone she ran out the door. Back at FBI headquarters, Greenstein was left shouting into a dial tone, "No, Scully. It could be a trap!!! SCULLY!!!!!" ----------------------------- End Part Seven ----------------------------- =========================================================================== From: jennyann@ix.netcom.com (Jennifer Lyon) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: "Too Close" 8/8 Date: 26 Dec 1995 22:39:45 GMT "Too Close" An X-Files Story by Jennifer Lyon Jenni10647@aol.com jennyann@ix.netcom.com ----------------------------------------------------------------------- -- Disclaimer: The X-Files and the characters therof belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and FOX network. The remainder of this story is mine. Consider this taking place somewhere in the third season. I owe a big thank you to a few people: my editor, Debbie Hewett; Ann Vanderlaan and Lynne (Buddyed) for biblical information; and Suzanne (Ecksphile), Ray (Gylford), Pat (DiRisha) for reading this for me in progress and encouraging me to finish it. Finally, since I have never been to the FBI and have little knowledge of its internal workings, I am exersizing some fictional license, as I am towards certain parts of the Christian religion. No offense meant to anyone's beliefs. The story is unrelated to any I have previously written. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- -- Part Eight Magnolia St. Chevy Chase The drive seemed endless. Struggling to get through the morning rush-hour traffic, Scully's nerves were frazzled by the time she drove up the sharp incline that was Magnolia street. Greenstein's men had barely preceded her by a few minutes, leaving their cars parked discretely along a side-street. Scully pulled in behind one and was out of her car almost before it had come to a complete stop. Her hand closing on the butt of her gun, she caught up with a pair of agents edging along a thick green hedge. One turned and acknowledged her with a quick nod, she returned the greeting, falling in beside him. As they got closer to the house, Scully whispered urgently, "How many?" "Six, one team at the back door, another watching the street. We've got the front." "OK, I'm with you." He opened his mouth to protest, but one look into her angry, determined face and he swallowed the words. His partner was a few steps ahead, his eyes scanning the empty street. He turned and gestured quickly, and in unison all three broke across the street. Scully's shorter legs forced her to work harder to keep up, but she made the distance less than a second after the two larger men. Bursting up the driveway, they fell into formation around the door. Scully held her gun in front of her, clasped in both hands, her breath coming in short gasps. Lining up beside the second of the agents, the lead man ready on the other side of the door, she silently counted along with his fingers as he ticked them off... One...Two...Three... And then the door was open with a kick and a crash. All three agents holding their guns outstretched, they slid into the house, eyes alert, bodies and heads twisting at the slightest sound. Scully pressed her back against the wall, and pointed her gun before her towards the kitchen. A short, deep breath, then she moved, stepping into the open space beyond the table, skirting a chair half-drawn out, as though abandoned in mid-use. There was a bubbling sound behind her, and she spun, lifting the gun to the ready, only to be confronted with an overboiling pot on the stove. Throwing one more glance behind her, she reached over cautiously to turn off the burner. Then she took one more look at the room before leaving it. Just as she reached the hallway, there was a shout from deeper in the house. Instantly in motion, she nearly collided with another agent, both bringing their guns to bear, then sighing in relief as they recognized each other. Another shout caught their attention, and they hurried down the long hallway, side-by-side. "We've got Mulder!" One of the other agents poked his head out of a doorway and gestured at them. Scully drew in a whistling breath and began to run. A moment later, she was pushing her way past two of the men to find Mulder blinking up at her from a bed, his right wrist securely handcuffed to the metal frame. The white coverlet was tucked up almost to his neck, leaving the dark of his hair to spill across the matching white pillow in sharp contrast. His skin was nearly as pale as the sheets, but his eyes blazed feverishly, green highlights glittering around dilated pupils. "Mulder..." she breathed his name under her breath, then replaced her gun in its holster even as she moved to his side. He attempted a smile as she sat down on the side of the bed, unknowingly taking the position Ezekiel had not too long before. And like Ezekiel, she reached out to stroke Mulder's cheek. But this time, Mulder accepted the caress with a sharp jolt of joy and relief. Focusing on the welcome sight of her face, he spoke wryly, but sincerely. "You took your time." - - - - - Mulder sat up on the edge of the bed, rubbing at his sore wrist. He eyed his exposed legs, and resisted the urge to hold the edges of the robe together. He wasn't sure whether he ought to be embarrassed or amused, this was hardly a comfortable situation. But then again, nothing that ever happened to him was ordinary, so he'd gotten as used to the unusual as anyone could. "Stop that!" Scully scolded as she sat down beside him, placing the inevitable black doctor's bag on the bed. "It hurts," he argued plaintively, but he let go of his wrist, extending it out in front of him. A broad band of red circled it, just below the edge of the palm, framed by a ring of bruises already turning a vivid mix of purple and black. "I'm sure it does. What did you try to do, force your hand through the cuff?" "Well..." He shook his head, then winced at the strike of pain behind his eyes. She looked him over critically, trying to decide which wound to examine first, then sighed. "We ought to get you to a hospital." "I'm fine," he insisted, even though his eyes were liquid with tears and his head felt like someone was pounding on it with a jackhammer. "Hold still," she told him, ignoring his protests as she proceeded to attend to his wrist, wiping it down with antiseptic, then wrapping it with a cotton bandage. "OK, now let's take a look at your head." He tried ineffectively to push her away, but she grabbed his arms and held them down. "Either you hold still or I'll go get one of Greenstein's men to do it for you." He thrust out his lower lip, his eyes pleading, but she was adamant. Reaching up, she ran her fingers through the still-damp black strands of hair, eliciting a groan from him when she hit a sensitive spot. Frowning, she pushed his head to the side, one hand cradling his cheek while the other poked as gently as she could at the swollen, bruised area on his scalp. "Hmmm..." she murmured, then reached for more of the antiseptic. "It looks like the swelling isn't too bad. Still, we ought to get it X-rayed." Mulder grimaced, but held still to let her finish until the door opened to admit an unsmiling Greenstein trailed by another agent. "How is he?" Scully released Mulder's head and turned to look up at the men towering above her. "He's probably got a concussion, there are serious bruises and contusions on his shoulders, arms, and legs, and I'm not convinced that his wrist isn't broken. But he'll probably live." "Ahh thanks, Scully," Mulder responded. "Glad to hear *that*." He sat upright, staring up at Greenstein and asked the question burning in his mind. "Any sign of Withers?" Greenstein frowned, paused, shifting on his feet. That got both Mulder and Scully's instant attention. "What is it?" Scully asked anxiously, looking from one unsettled face to the other. "He managed to get into headquarters before we got the word out to take him in for questioning." "And..." Mulder prompted, attempting to get to his feet. He staggered, but Scully was there to support him, and he leaned against her gratefully, his eyes never leaving Greenstein's now haggard countenance. "And he's taken the VCS bullpen hostage with a submachine gun, probably stolen from the evidence room." "Damn," Mulder muttered. "Has he killed anyone yet?" Greenstein shook his head. "Not that I know of, but at least two agents and a secretary have been wounded. The Hostage Retrieval Team is trying to get them released, but he's not responding well. Mostly, he's just been waving guns around and spouting a religious tirade about saints, betrayals and angels." Mulder managed not to nod, just barely catching himself in time to prevent the pain such a movement would cause. Instead, he simply frowned. "Yeah, he's convinced I'm some kind of religious martyr, chosen of God, and it's his job to protect me from what he sees as demons with human faces - and that seems to be almost anyone I've crossed paths with recently. Look, I've got to get there ASAP. There's a chance he might just listen to me. Not much of one, but I doubt anyone else will get through." He looked down at himself and nearly groaned. "I don't suppose anyone brought me a change of clothes?" Scully smiled. "Actually, this time you're in luck, Mulder. Withers specifically asked me to bring you some clothes. They're in the car." Greenstein nodded to the agent behind him, "Go get Mulder something to wear, and have someone call in to the Bureau. Tell them to stall as best they can until we get there." The agent nodded and left. Turning back to Mulder, who was still holding onto Scully, Greenstein half-smiled wryly. "This guy really has a thing for you, you should see what we found in the other room." "What?" Mulder took a step forward, fighting for his balance and finally winning. "He must have been following you for months, he's got a wall plastered with photos. Not to mention a video collection and some audio tapes. It even looks like he bugged your office." "What?!" Mulder and Scully exchanged glances, her blue eyes wide with concern. "Yeah. I can't believe this nutcase got into the Bureau without someone catching him." Greenstein shook his head in disbelief. "He's got a shrine set up; candles, flowers, lots of crosses and religious stuff, and photos of you in the middle of it all. And a weird selection of objects. Sunflower seed husks, a half-eaten sandwich in a plastic case..." "Good God," Scully whispered. Mulder rubbed at the back of his neck, then sat back down wearily on the bed. She turned to look down at him, her concern writ large on her face. He reached out to tap her arm gently. "I'm okay, Scully. He really didn't want to hurt me; he kept saying how he wanted to take care of me." He chuckled, though the humor never caught in his eyes which were as hard as diamonds. And twice as bright. "Hell, he put ice on my head, fed me herbal tea, cleaned up after me when I threw it up. Then he gave me a bath, washed my hair, and tucked me into bed. Oh yeah - then he handcuffed me to the bed, but I guess you can't win them all. But I've got to say, this was definitely a full-service kidnapping." - - - - - Violent Crimes Division FBI Headquarters Ezekiel swung the machine gun around, half-smiling as the demons and sinners facing him cowered beneath their bravado. He checked briefly to see that the wastebasket full of guns beside him was out of reach of the demons then he began to recite scripture again. He could see the wisps of evil curling around them as they sought to evade the words of God, and he focused on those dark, oily tendrils as they floated and convulsed in the air. His eyes tracked one as it slid up towards the ceiling, then back down to wind around Tibbit's neck. Bringing the muzzle of the big black weapon to bear, Ezekiel broke off in mid-sentence. He paused, then laughed, suddenly feeling giddy. As though he already had the wings of an angel holding him aloft. Somewhere in the background a voice was emanating from the speaker phone, but he ignored it. No, he had important tasks to accomplish. He had to destroy these two demons, publicly, in front of these sinners - so that they would know the power of God. So that they would never think again to speak or act against God's earthly agent. Mulder... Ezekiel's thoughts flew anxiously back to the last vision he had had of that almost too beautiful face. Damp tendrils of hair had been plastered to the high forehead, while the eyes had blazed out of the pale skin like burning coals. The color had been transcendent, translucent, not brown or green or gray - but a vibrant mix that was a color all its own. Unique and glowing with all the light of heaven itself. There was anger in those eyes, yes, for Mulder did not quite see what he truly was. And perhaps, Ezekiel decided, that lack of self-recognition was for the best. For what a burden it must be, to bear the hand of God upon your shoulder. Ezekiel himself felt only the shadow of that regard, but it was still almost too much to be borne. He knew he would die this day, the knowledge of his destiny giving him more joy than pain, more acceptance than fear. But not...quite...yet... Tightening his grip on the gun he stepped closer to Tibbit and prepared to fire. "STOP!" The voice rang out, clear and bell-like, filling the air. Ezekiel paused, then his eyes shifted to see the one man he had prayed would not be there. "Put down the gun, Ezekiel," Fox Mulder said, taking another step into the room. He was pale in his dark suit, the splash of color in his tie reflected in his focused eyes. They were steady and calm, and he held himself like a runner at the starting line, balanced on his toes and ready to move. One hand was held out in front of him, the sleeve loose over the white stripe of a bandage, the other remaining at his side, the fingers wide-spread against his hip. "No..." Ezekiel murmured. Then louder, "NO! You were safe, I left you in a safe place. Scully was supposed to take care of you, not bring you here!" He shifted backwards, still keeping the gun on Tibbit who stood motionless, barely breathing as he waited a chance, any chance, to act. Ezekiel's eyes blinked and watered as he stared up at Mulder, seeing more than just the thin, slender form of the man, but also a nearly blinding glow of light. Streams of incandescent yellow surrounded him, flowed from him, the slow motion of his hands creating waves, small sparks firing at his fingertips. And behind him, just barely visible, was the large, winged shape of an angel. Gasping, Ezekiel nearly dropped to his knees. Finally, at long last, he had been favored with the sight of one of God's holy messengers. It was faint, and he could see the wall and ceiling through it, but it was there. Watching, waiting, and judging. "Please, you must go from this evil place," Ezekiel told Mulder. "These demons would hurt you if they could, you must not give them the chance. I will cleanse this place so that it is free of their taint. Free of the darkness and the smell of brimstone. You must feel it!" Ezekiel knew he was babbling again, but he couldn't restrain himself. The words simply tumbled out of him as he prayed for Mulder to listen and understand. There was some understanding on that mobile face, and a deep heartfelt sadness that brought a tremble to the full lower lip and a softening to the piercing gaze. But before Ezekiel could finish, Mulder lifted his hand again and shook his head. "This must stop now, Ezekiel. Please, give me the gun." "No...no..." "Listen to me. These are innocent people. They have done no harm, you must let them go. Please, let them go." "No! They are evil. Can't you see the demons within, the darkness that surrounds them? It poisons the air, I can see it and touch it. These two must die, to force the others from their wicked path." "At least let Scully tend to the wounded." Mulder pointed to a young woman crumpled against a nearby desk, her white blouse stained with a blossoming red flood. "She is of no harm to you or to anyone, please, let Scully minister to her wounds." "She profaned your relationship to your handmaiden with sly, lustful slander. She should be punished!" "With her life? It is too much. And does not the Bible say 'recompense to no man evil for evil...avenge not yourself...for as it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay saith the Lord, be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.'" [Romans 12] As he quoted, Mulder slowly stepped forward, one foot at a time, inch by inch, closer and closer to a wide-eyed, wavering Ezekiel. When he was finished, Mulder stopped and stood still for a moment. "Please, there is no reason why this woman has to die. Grant life instead of death, I beg you, Ezekiel. For my sake, if for no other. I cannot bear another life lost." Ezekiel's head felt like it was pounding. He couldn't focus, couldn't quite make sense of what he was hearing. The words came through a fog, like bullets cutting through cotton, muffled, yet biting in their intensity. He didn't know what to do! This wasn't the way it was supposed to be! Mulder remained silent this time, waiting. And the silence accused worse than the previous flood of words. Swallowing hard, Ezekiel's eyes finally noticed the small, red- crowned head of the woman in the doorway, her bright blue eyes glued to Mulder's tall frame, her entire body tensed. Ezekiel glanced from one to the other, then down to the woman on the floor, and at last, he nodded. Mulder glanced sharply over his shoulder and his look was all Scully needed, in an instant she was across the room and kneeling beside the wounded woman. "Thank you," Mulder's voice was warm and sincere. "You chose well. Now please, before anyone else is hurt, give me the gun." "No, not yet," Ezekiel's voice caught in his throat. The room was practically spinning around him, strands of light fighting with strands of blackness, the blazing presence of the angel striking at his senses in sharp contrast to the shadowed glimpses of horror circling around the two men beside Mulder. "I must destroy the two demons. Once they are banished back to Hell, then all of these others will be free of their influence, and you may return them to the light of God." Turning towards the two watching agents, Ezekiel brought the gun to bear. "NO!" Mulder moved like lightning, launching himself between the muzzle of the big gun and Tibbit's chest. Ezekiel released the trigger, jerking backwards with a cry of panic. "Nonononononono..." he moaned. "Put the gun down," Mulder spoke slowly and clearly, his face grim and determined. "Please, get out of the way. I don't want to hurt you, please, you should not be here...." "I HAVE to be here. No one else dies, unless it is me. If you want to kill someone, you'll have to kill ME first." "No, Mulder..." Ezekiel groaned the words, his throat sorely dry. He swallowed again and again, his tongue flickering out to wet his parched lips. His skin broke out in sweat, leeching moisture from his body, while his hands shook as they held the weapon aimed off to the side away from Mulder. Mulder stood his ground resolutely, his shoulders held high and braced, his gaze unflinching. "You'll have to go through me to get to anyone else. I'll die before I let you kill another soul." And then it came to Ezekiel that like the Son of God before him, Mulder was willing to die for the sins of his fellow man, to take the burden of their evil upon himself. The gasp that emanated from Scully's lips as she turned to watch, and the anguish writ large on her face, was only one more confirmation. For she did not interfere, accepting Mulder's sacrifice as one ordained, her sorrow enlightened by her knowledge of its holy nature. Lifting the gun back up, he directed it at Mulder, this time deliberately. Could this indeed be the task for which he had truly been chosen, to send another chosen one on to his maker, return another son of God to his heavenly father? The world seemed to narrow down to the two of them, Mulder balanced in front of him, his face calm yet fierce, and the gun held between them. Ezekiel tried to tighten his finger on the trigger, but it wouldn't respond. Instead he simply trembled, the joints in his hand screaming in pain, unwilling to respond. Then there was another blinding flash of light in his eyes, and Ezekiel reeled backwards a step. Mulder remained frozen in place, and Ezekiel belatedly recognized it had not come from him but from the angel itself. And THEN Ezekiel knew the final truth. He knew what he had to do. Ever so slowly tipping his wrists upwards, he raised the gun until it was pointed at the ceiling. Mulder drew in a deep breath, but did not change position, and then the world stopped. All but the hands holding the gun. In a split second they twisted around, turning the muzzle of the gun towards its bearer, and this time the fingers responded. "NNNOOOO!" Mulder's shout was lost in the blaring of the machine gun. It roared for no longer than a heartbeat, then it clattered to the ground and silenced. There was a moment of total silence in the room, then a slow, soft thud as Ezekiel slid to the floor. Mulder reached him first, and drew him up into his arms, knocking the weapon aside with a quick thrust of a hand. It skittered across the floor, sliding under Scully's feet as she raced over to join Mulder. Ezekiel shivered with the pain. Blinking hard, he looked for the angel, but found only Mulder's face hovering over him, accompanied by a pair of strong hands holding him up. "Be still," Mulder whispered. "There's an ambulance outside..." Ezekiel smiled, shook his head, then coughed, blood spurting out of the corners of his mouth. He spit some of it out, then tried again to speak. "..take their ssssinssss for ooo... angelssss waaitnggggg..." "Don't try to speak," Mulder told him, but Ezekiel reached up to grab hold of Mulder's arm and pulled him closer. "Blesssssss....Buuubbbllessssemmmeeee..." Mulder grimaced, but Ezekiel insisted, his eyes pleading. "Bbuubblllessssemmmmeee...mmmulderrrr..." The words broke up into another frothing cough, blood trickling in bright streams down his chin. Mulder looked to Scully, his eyes questioning, and she simply shook her head once. Drawing in a deep breath, Mulder looked back down at Ezekiel and quietly said, "God Bless you..." Ezekiel smiled, looked up to see the angel bearing down at him. Reaching up to it, he found himself flying upwards, faster and faster, towards the light... Mulder pressed his hand downward to cover and close the glazed, still-open eyes, adding softly, "...And may God forgive you." The End -- -------------------------------------------------------------------------- jennyann@ix.netcom.com Jenni10647@AOL.com X-Phile - True Believer "Sometimes the need to mess with their heads outweighs the millstone of humiliation." Fox Mulder GO DOLPHINS! --------------------------------------------------------------------------