From starbright1@juno.com Tue Dec 24 16:54:23 1996 The Twelve Days of X-Mas (0\12): Armory of Hate by Starbright Rating: a pretty mild PG Classifications: X, MSR Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance Summary: It's Christmas eve and our two favorite agents are on a case, but one of them's not so happy about it.... here's the legal junk just so i don't get sued for christmas. these characters aren't mine (were that they were and i'd be filthy rich by now) they belong to chris carter, the fox network and all those other rich television types. oh well. theoretically this series should work in theory, however, my father's computer has decided to be a bitch and eat about, ohh, i don't know, 8 pages of my document, sooo i'll be spending the next couple days frantically trying to piece together the missing middle of this little saga--augh! stress! :-< communism should've worked in theory too.... hmmmmm ;) now, on with the show.... =================================================================== Beyond Words by Robert Frost That row of icicles along the gutter Feels like my armory of hate; And you, you...you, you utter... You wait. X-Files Division 9:00 am December 24, 1996 Dana Scully stood in the twilight corridor for three whole minutes before she could bring herself to touch the knob. Usually she loved her job, the work was challenging and it'd become a familiar pleasure to argue with Mulder, but sometimes, the alienation and suspicion really got to her, especially this time of year. It'd been four years. Four years since she'd last celebrated Christmas. Not just the exchange of impersonal cards with friends she hadn't seen in years, but a real, honest to god, sit down dinner, Christmas caroling, Wonderful Life watching holiday. This year, she promised herself, would be different, she opened the door. "Damn," she muttered, her good intentions flying out the window and downwards to pave that infamous road. Mulder was perched carefully on a stack of file boxes, glasses pushed hastily to the top of his head. He looked like some sort of nesting bird. He was intently studying a slide of a young girl's face. Her eyes were closed and she appeared to be sweetly sleeping. ~Knowing Mulder,~ Scully thought, sighing inwardly. "What's up?" she asked casually. He looked up, an expression of mild surprise toying with his features. He quickly righted himself. "Hey, Scully," he said. "You look surprised to see me, Mulder," she said evenly. "I thought you'd be home, y'know, Christmas eve and all." "Not till tonight, Mulder," she reminded him. "But from the look of this," she indicated the slide, "we're not going anywhere anytime soon." Mulder smiled slightly. "Who is this girl? What's going on?" "Her name was Miriam Carver...." "Was?" "Amazing, isn't it?" "Is she dead?" "For all intents and purposes, she is. Last night she was perfectly fine. Her parents put her to bed and this morning she was like this." "So what's your take on all this, Mulder?" "These marks," click, hiss, "were found on the side of Miriam's neck. Look familiar, Dr. Scully?" "They were on the back during the Oregon case, Mulder," Scully reminded him gently. Mulder chose to ignore her comment. "Furthermore, a CAT scan revealed something a little...off about her." "Off how?" Mulder shrugged. "Someone must know!" "The medical report calls it 'an anomaly of unknown origin.' Suggestive, don't you think?" "It's a capital mistake to theorize without sufficient evidence, Agent Mulder," she told him primly. * * * * Fox Mulder was pissed off. Usually he liked his job, it allowed him to pursue his--admittedly odd--interests and it'd become a delicious challenge to argue with Scully, but sometimes, she was so damn stubborn. When they were on a case, their simpatico was amazing (even spooky he had to admit.) They could communicate with a look or a touch. Of course, he knew that their relationship was the subject of heavy intra-office gossip, but of course, none of it was true. He shuddered a little at the thought. Truth be told, he didn't find Dana Scully at all attractive, certainly she was a true friend, he trusted her implicitly, but she was too rigid in her opinions, too stubborn. He found it incredibly un-feminine. The women he most admired had strength and intelligence, but also a vulnerability that brought out his protective instincts. Scully did not have that vulnerability with that prefabricated answer, "I'm fine, Mulder." Next year, he promised himself, he'd have an honest to god, club hopping, lovemaking, Friday night love life. Scully'd been the woman in his life for far too long. * * * * Silver Spring, MD 11:08 am They took 16th Street out of the district, that was a mistake. The street was always busy, but at 11:00, the early lunch crowd was fleeing the early vacation sightseers and traffic moved at a crawl. Once they crossed over into Montgomery County, traffic moved back to normal speed. Scully read the police and medical reports while Mulder located the Carver's house. Ron and Nancy Carver lived on a quiet little street in Woodside Park, halfway between Silver Spring and Takoma Park. They were an intelligent-looking middle-aged couple. Scully was mildly surprised by how well they seemed to be holding up under the strain. "I didn't even think it was an FBI issue," said Nancy, pushing a wisp of silver shot blond hair back from her cheek. "The Montgomery County Police are already busy with the holiday crimes, we're taking over this case for them," Scully said quickly beforeMulder could even think the word 'reticulans.' Mulder didn't say anything. Anger burned at the edges of his mind. ~How dare she gloss over my theories like that!~ Scully was still talking. "What can you tell us about last night?" "Not much, I'm afraid," said Ron. "We put Miriam to bed ataround 8 o'clock. We stayed downstairs until a little after midnight, putting the toys under the tree and all, then we went upstairs. When we got up this morning, Miriam was...well, I'm sure you've read the medical reports." "Yes," said Scully gently, "I'm so sorry." "Thank you for your time," said Mulder, rising to leave. Scully rose also. Was it just her imagination or did Mulder's fingers seem to dig more deeply into her back than usual? She shook the thought away. "We have to talk," he breathed into her ear. "I'll show them out, dear," said Nancy. Silently, she led them to the door. "Miss Scully," she turned to Scully, "there's something I think you should know, but I'm not certain, that is, I...." "What is it, Mrs. Carver?" "I went into Miriam's room to check on her and I swear I heard something moving around." "What time was it, Mrs. Carver?" inquired Mulder, his ears visibly perking up. "A little after midnight, I think," she said, confusion evident on her face. "Thank you, Mrs. Carver, we'll be in touch." Mulder strode briskly out the door. Nancy touched Scully's sleeve. "Miss Scully, I think you should know that what ever is lying in that hospital bed is not my daughter." "I know it's hard, Mrs. Carver, many relatives of comatose patients are...." "No, I mean it," she whispered urgently, "I mean, I know my daughter and that thing is not her!" * * * * "So what'd Mrs. Carver want?" asked Mulder. "She told me that the girl in the hospital isn't her daughter." "So who is she?" Scully shrugged. "I think it's just the stress talking. So what did you want to talk about?" "I don't appreciate it when you gloss over the truth like that," Mulder said, frowning a little. "What was I supposed to tell them? That we're two renegade agents and we believe that their daughter is the victim of alien tests? I couldn't do that. I don't know what the truth is, Mulder. What you accept so blindly...I can't do that. Maybe there is no truth and then what?" "What are you talking about?" he was truly bewildered. "Then our lives are a meaningless sham and the cancer man has won and we're just two renegade agents with stupid nicknames!" She looked up at his face, lines of strain beginning to etch themselves around her mouth. A strange gaze passed between them, it twanged oddly in her mind. For an instant, she knew what he was thinking. "Mulder," she sighed, "the truth is your religion, but me? I already have a religion." She fingered the delicate chain around her neck. "Scully, I don't know what you're talking about. You seem upset about something...." "Mulder, I'm about to spend Christmas eve with three of the most paranoid men in the western hemisphere, don't expect me to be happy about it." * * * * Offices of the Lone Gunmen 6:00 PM "I don't know what to tell you, Mulder," said Langley, shaking his head vigorously like a wet dog. "I checked with MUFON, SETI and all sorts of other initials even you've never heard of. The nearest UFO sighting was in the outskirts of Manhattan, and even that's in question. Could just be some kid with 'Independence Day' fever." He gave a derisive snort. "It was the quietest night in years, sorry Mulder." At this point, Frohicke entered the small room laden down with red and white 'thank you' bags. "I thought we sent you for French takeout," Langley said, sniffing deeply. "We had Chinese last night." "La Colleen was closed," he said, pulling a face, "besides, you can't expect me to go all the way down to North Cap at this time of night." Frohicke gave a small shudder. "Too near the capitol for my comfort." "You're crazy, Frohicke," said Mulder, shaking his head and reaching for the bags. He pulled out a container and a plastic fork. "Say, Mulder," said Frohicke casually around a mouthful of pork, broccoli and rice. "Yeah?" "What's up with the lovely Agent Scully?" "What do you mean?" "I mean, she's been outside talking to Buyers ever since I left and when I said 'Hi' to her, I could have sworn she snarled a little." "I don't know," said Mulder honestly. "She's been in a strange mood ever since she came in this morning. It's almost as bad as Comity." Frohicke gave a sympathetic shudder. Langley shook his head again. "Don't you get it?" "Get what?" "What day is it Mulder, if you even know?" "Christmas eve." "Exactly. And Christmas is tomorrow. And what will you be doing?" "Working." "Precisely. And what did you do last year and the year before and the year before?" "Worked," said Mulder dully, painful comprehension dawning on his face. "No wonder she's pissed off, but what can I do?" "Give yourselves, or at least her, the day off. Put off the truth for a day." Langley gasped and clapped a hand over his mouth. "I can't believe I just said that." "You're losin' it, man," said Frohicke gruffly, clapping Langley sharply on the back. "You may have something there, Langley," said Mulder. "I'll have to give it some thought." He dipped his fork into the cardboard container and leaned back. "I heard the strangest thing about Gulf War Syndrome the other day...." * * * * Scully heard a muffled shout of laughter coming from behind the closed door. Suddenly, standing with Byers in the dark hallway, she felt very alone. The shadows ran together and trembled like wet ink. "Maybe I'd better go get Mulder," she told Buyers distractedly, fumbling for the doorknob and twisting it. The door sprang open and she tumbled into the room. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to give you better news," said Byers in a low voice. "No problem," she said, patting his arm. "It helps to know that you're trying anyway. Mulder?" she asked, smoothing her skirt. "Are you ready to go?" "Yeah," said Mulder rising and giving Langley an odd little look. She walked out the door without stopping to analyze it. "Hey, Scully!" he called, trotting after her, his footsteps echoing weirdly along the hall. "What is it, Mulder? I'm really tired and I think I want to go home," her voice sounded tight and stressed. "I just wanted to tell you not to bother with coming in tomorrow." "But, Mulder, what about the case?" "It can wait for a day. It is Christmas and it's only once a year." "Mulder, I...." "You'd better go before I change my mind," he joked weakly, smiling a little. Scully reached up and touched his cheek briefly. "Thank you," she said, her eyes a brilliant blue. "You're welcome," he said, just as softly, resting his hand briefly on top of hers. She turned and walked away, her heels clicking into the distance. He suddenly felt a great sympathy for the Beast, standing alone in his fortress while Beauty went back to her family. He shook his head to clear it. He didn't even like her. * * * * Silver Spring, MD 12:16 am Lindsey Friedman curled the blanket a little closer under her chin, tucking her feet up under her, she focused her eyes once more on the flickering screen. "Lindsey?" asked a quiet voice that seemed to seep out of the shadows. She jumped. "Justin! You scared me!" "I'm sorry, Lindsey. I'm thirsty. Can you get me a glass of water?" "Of course, Justin," she said, mixing his blond curls around on his head. "Just wait here and I'll bring it to you." She crept into the kitchen, lights were off all over the house. Reaching around the wall, she hit the light switch and walked into the kitchen. She filled up the glass, turned off the light and started back toward the TV room. There was a noise behind her, like summer leaves against a windowpane or very soft footfalls. She whirled around. Nothing. ~It's just my imagination,~ she told herself sternly. "Justin?" she whispered loudly. The little boy had fallen asleep on the couch. She shook him. Nothing. "JUSTIN?" she asked loudly. Still no response. "Oh my god," she shook him violently. "Justin! Wake up!!" The little boy continued to sleep, a placid smile on his face. The light from the television illuminated him and turned him into a frozen, blue statue. "Justin!!" Lindsey sobbed, begging him to wake up. END PART 0. TO BE CONTINUED.... >From starbright1@juno.com Fri Dec 27 02:09:32 1996 The Twelve Days of X-Mas (1/12): Answer the Question by Starbright Rating: still a pretty mild PG, some swearing though Classifications: X, MSR Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance Summary: A new face enters the picture. Scully is introduced to Trent Resnor.... i must try to remain calm and collected. i must not beat my father's *@#!^& computer to a bloody pulp. yes, it did eat *all* of my story so i had to start from scratch and probe my memory for most of this story. result: i'm now, uh, two days behind in actual time. oh well. a merry x-mas to y'all in my belated little universe. :-D oh, did i mention that this is really my first attempt at x-files fanfic? i guess not. it is though (although i am a pretty experianced sliders fanfic writer). let me know what you think. my address (don't think i mentioned that either) is starbright1@juno.com yes, i live for feedback and yes, that's pretty darn pathetic. ;) =================================================================== Now What is Love? by Sir Walter Raleigh Yet what is love, I prithee, say? It is work on a holiday, It is December matched with May, And that is love, as I hear say. 921 Philadelphia Ave. 11:04 am December 25, 1996 She had carried the tree up three flights all by herself, managed to stand it up, despite an impossibly crooked trunk and she had just finished hanging a bushy wreath on her front door when the phone rang. "On holiday, Mulder," she told him crisply. "I know, Scully," he said miserably, "and I'm sorry, I really am, but do you know Mercy Herman?" "She's the President's main speechwriter and one of his good friends, why?" "Her son, Justin, is a victim of the same...condition as Miriam Carver. And well, the President put a little heat on the FBI to solve this one ASAP, and Skinner put more than a little heat on me, so...." "You're going to break your promise to me," Scully finished sourly. "It wasn't exactly a promise..." "Nevermind, Mulder," she told him curtly. "I'll be there, just tell me where there is." "Umm, hold on." She heard muffled voices and a distinctly feminine giggle on the other end. "410 Lamberton Drive." Scully thought a moment. "That's up near Northwest Branch, right?" "Right." "I'll be there in about 45 minutes. Don't go anywhere." "Who? Me? Never." Scully smiled. "I'll believe that when I see it, Mulder." Click. ~Why am I doing this? Just because Skinner put a little pressure on Mulder, does that mean I have to bail him out?~ Of course the answer was yes. Scully'd been bailing Mulder out of tight spots for far too long to stop now. She'd run out in far worse weather than a gray, cold, December morning, but it didn't stop her teeth from chattering while she waited for her car's heater to kick in. ~Why am I doing this?~ she asked herself for the zillionth time. Was it out of a sense of duty, out of pity for the predicament Mercy Herman's good connections had placed him in or because she...loved him? No, she firmly rejected the third possibility. Love didn't have anything to do with Mulder. He was a friend, maybe her best friend, although he infuriated her. Sometimes he could be so narrow-minded. He was so obsessed with finding a paranormal explanation for everything that he sometimes rejected an obvious answer to a problem just because it fell within the realm of the possible. Actually, now that she thought about it, he could be just as stubborn and set in his ways as she. Flip sides of the same coin. But still, that woman's laugh on the other end of the phone line continued to nag at her mind. * * * * 410 Lamberton Dr. 12:00 pm Scully knocked hesitantly on the door of an impressive brownstone. Not ostentatious, but quietly and tastefully rich, with a wrought iron fence running around a well-tended garden which, no doubt, would be both beautiful and fragrant in springtime. A woman who Scully judged to be about 55, but as beautifully kept as the garden, answered the door. "Hello?" she inquired in a voice that was both well modulated and pleasing to the ear. "May I help you?" Scully took out her badge. "My name is Dana Scully, I'm with the FBI. I believe my partner is already here." "Oh yes, come in Miss Scully. Your partner is up in Justin's bedroom. Somehow, I got the impression that the woman who's up there with him is his partner. It's silly of me, I know." "Yes it is," Scully agreed coldly. * * * * Corporal Imogen Armour noticed a change in Agent Mulder. He was on his hands and knees, peering under Justin's bed, but he seemed to perk up and extend psychic feelers in all directions. Moments later a petite redhead entered the room. "Hi Scully," he said without turning around. Scully wasn't at all surprised by this greeting. She turned to the woman who shared the room with Mulder. The woman extended her hand. "Corporal Imogen Armour, Montgomery County Police," she said in a delightfully rich alto. ~It suits her,~ Scully thought bitterly. This woman was gorgeous. Scully'd once been to the Egyptian Museum in Cairo and seen the famous bust of Nefertiti, arguably one of the most beautiful women in history or at least right up there with Helen of Troy. This woman could have sat in as a double for the queen. Her eyes were wide and a little slanted, her nose was straight, full lips and a delicate head atop a slender neck completed the picture. Beside her, Scully felt small and grubby. "Special Agent Dana Scully," she said quickly, aware that she had been silent a moment too long. "Pleased to meet you, Corporal Armour." Imogen grasped Agent Scully's hand firmly and caught a spark of distaste and ~What was it?~ dislike. Embarrassed, she pushed uneasily at her hair. Scully caught a glimpse of slightly pointed ears. It gave Imogen an impish quality. ~Mulder should be attracted to this one. If only I...~ she shook the thought away. "Nice of you to make it, Scully," Mulder said, crawling backwards out from under the bed. He stood and dusted himself off. "Imogen and I were just about to visit Lindsey Friedman." "Who's Lindsey Friedman? What's going on, Mulder?" she asked, with increasing agitation. "Lindsey Friedman babysat for Justin last night. His mother was attending a dinner at the White House. When Justin went comatose, it scared Lindsey half to death. We were just going to interview her." "So why don't we get going. Where are we going?" "1010 Dale Drive. Imogen, why don't you ride with me?" "Corporal Armour, why don't you ride with me?" asked Scully at the same instant. "Actually, Agent Scully, I think I'd better go with Mulder," she said, curling her hand around his arm. "We wouldn't want him to get lost, now would we?" "We certainly wouldn't," Scully said tightly, her teeth clenched. * * * * 1010 Dale Dr. 12:50 pm Lindsey Friedman's house was like many others on her block, not that that was a bad thing. It was brick and stone circa 1932. Imogen touched the wall and got an impression of terrible sadness and grief. Death. The architect who had designed all these houses had died of a heart attack when this one was completed. A dog barked from somewhere deep in the bowels of the house, breaking Imogen's concentration. She opened her eyes to find Agent Scully staring at her strangely. ~Clumsy, stupid!~ she chastised herself. Mulder knocked on the door. A few moments later, a tired looking woman with skin the color of espresso opened the door. "Hello?" she inquired. "Special Agent Fox Mulder, FBI. This is Corporal Imogen Armour, Montgomery County Police. And Special Agent Dana Scully. We were wondering if we could have a few words with your daughter." "Sure, she's upstairs. Come in." The first thing Scully noticed when she walked in the house was the incredible noise coming from somewhere above her head. Curiously, she made her way up a flight of steps and pushed open the door, one hand dropped to hover lightly over her gun. The scream resolved into words. "Head like a hole, black as your soul, I'd rather die than give you control." For a moment after she opened the door, Scully struggled to process the room. The curtains were white, the ceiling was white, the bedspread was white, every square centimeter of wall space was occupied by rock posters advertising bands like Marilyn Manson, Green Jelly and White Zombie. Every square millimeter of floor space was covered with discarded clothes. A girl sat crosslegged in the middle of the chaos. She looked up. "Who the hell are you?" The music died. "My name is Special Agent Dana Scully," she said, her voice sounding like a shout in the deafening silence that followed the cessation of the music. "I'm here to talk about what happened last night." "I don't feel like talking about it." "Fine," said Scully, "but if you don't help me, Justin may never recover." "What are you talking about? It's a medical condition, what happened to Justin, the doctors will find a way to cure him." "I don't know. The doctors can't figure out what's wrong with him. If I can't find the person responsible for this, he may never wake up." "You think some sicko did that to him?" "Do you?" "I...I don't know, I hadn't thought about it but I wondered..." "Yes?" asked Scully a bit overeagerly. "Someone's pressed," Lindsey snorted. "Anyways, I was coming back from the kitchen right? And I heard this noise like someone trying real hard to sneak around." "Are you sure?" "Well," Lindsey scrunched up her face, "no. Y'see, I was watching like, Poltergeist 16 or something and I was kinda nervous and all the lights were off, so I could've imagined it." "Oh, well at least I'll have something to report to Mulder," Scully said, half to herself. "Who's Mulder?" "Special Agent Fox Mulder. My partner. He really should be up here with me." "But he's not," said Lindsey slowly, her head to one side, silently asking for an explanation that Scully wasn't eager to give. She searched for a different topic. "Say, Lindsey?" "Yeah?" she inquired a delighted expression on her face. Scully's not-so-artful-dodging had amused her to no end. "What was that you were listening to when I came in?" "Nine Inch Nails. I listen to it to release stress. You wanna give me the satanic messages lecture?" "No. Does it really work?" Scully asked with uncontrollable curiosity. "Only if you turn your stereo up as loud as it'll go and then it depends. If you're mad at the world in general I'd have to say no. If you're mad about working on Christmas, which sucks by the way, probably. You wanna copy?" "Why not?" said Scully. Lindsey reached over and fiddled with a few buttons on her stereo. "It's high speed dubbing or something, you should have the tape in a couple minutes." Mulder and Imogen entered the room. "What were you two doing?" inquired Scully, raising one eyebrow. "We were just learning the finer points of industrial rock from Mrs. Friedman," explained Mulder, grinning lopsidedly. "I've already questioned her," Scully said softly. "Maybe you missed something, Scully. I have a few questions I'd like to ask her," said Mulder equally as softly. "Hey!" exclaimed Lindsey. "Remember me? The witness? God I hate it when adults talk like teenagers aren't even in the room. Look, this room is real small as you may or may not have noticed. I think one of you should leave. Now." Mulder and Imogen looked pointedly at Scully. "I'll go," she sighed. "I'll wait for you in the car, Mulder," she said. "Well, I was going to get a ride home with Imogen..." "We have to talk," Scully said simply. "Now," said Mulder, once Scully had left, "did you experience anything...odd, last night?" "Odd how?" asked Lindsey. "Any time loss?" asked Imogen eagerly. "What?" Lindsey turned to Mulder. "She's kidding, right?" "No, time loss is associated with encounters with EBEs or...." "Extraterrestrial Biological Entities," finished Imogen. Mulder smiled at her. "Oh not even!" exclaimed Lindsey. "You two are such a trip! Of course I didn't experience any time loss. Woooohooo!" She made a face. "I think you'd better go." The stereo clicked next to her. She popped a tape out. "Take this to Dana. Tell her to use it ASAP." "Dana?" Mulder mouthed to Imogen who shrugged. "Well, why not?" Lindsey asked an astonished Mulder. "She does have a first name, Fox," she added pointedly. * * * * "What's wrong?" asked Scully when Mulder dropped into the passenger seat practically radiating anger. "I'm so sick of being laughed at, by my peers, my superiors, by you and now by some snot-nosed teenager. That reminds me, here." He handed her the tape Lindsey had given him. Wordlessly, she placed it in her coat pocket. Scully started the car. "What are you talking about, Mulder?" "Lindsey Friedman," he practically spat the name from his mouth. "When Imogen and I tried to ask her about EBEs and time loss, she laughed in our faces." "Wait a minute. Imogen? She believes in everything you do?" "I don't know about everything," Mulder said, a foolish smile creeping up his face. "I know it's silly to say this Scully...." Scully stared at the road ahead, keeping her face perfectly controlled, "You? Silly? Never?" "I think I'm in love with her," he said softly, his voice cutting through the end of her words like a knife. "You don't know her, Mulder," she said evenly. "I know and that's the crazy part." "I don't trust her, Mulder," she said in the same controlled voice. "Jealous Scully?" he teased her. Something inside her snapped. She could almost hear it go. Try as she might, she could not stop the seven harsh words that flowed from her lips. "I'm your partner, Mulder, not your lover." Scully's words grated in his head, snapping the last threads of a fantasy that Mulder had maintained since the early days of their partnership. He had always imagined that Scully was in love with him. Even though he could never love her as more than a friend. Sometimes, when it seemed like it was him against all the rest of the world of non-believers, the thought that she loved him would give him the strength to stand against the world, even if it meant he would just be knocked down again. When the illusion ended, cut away by her biting words, Mulder's fall was short but painful. Clenching his hands in his lap, Mulder forced a retort through his numbed senses. "You are jealous, Scully. Imogen has everything that you'll never have. Beauty, gentleness, grace and emotions." His words hit her hard, like all those summers when she never could get the flip off the diving board quite right and she kept hitting her back on the water. They stung with a pain that she knew wouldn't go away for a long time. Freezing up, she jerked the wheel sharply to the left, pulling the car into the gravelly shoulder. "Get out," she said in a voice that was low and deadly. "Get out of this car this instant." Mulder obeyed, not knowing what else to do. He had a horrible, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He opened his mouth, not quite knowing what would come out. Scully didn't wait to see what he was going to say. She slammed the door and sped away in a spit of gravel and a hiss of tires. END PART 1. TO BE CONTINUED.... >From starbright1@juno.com Fri Dec 27 02:09:32 1996 The Twelve Days of X-Mas (2\12): Babble by Starbright Rating: PG Classifications: X, MSR Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance Summary: Mulder seeks solace with Imogen who continues to draw him away from the case.... maybe i should mention that this series is dedicated to anne perry (whose books about william monk and hester latterly i would totally recommend to any fan of ust. talk about sublimated emotions!!!) and also my dear friend and occasional fanfic buddy, steve fitch, who i hope received my last letter because his christmas card to me was quite disturbing. and let's not forget my dear friend, jedd narsavage, who has agreed to dump his girlfriend for one night to take me to the inaugural ball, the rest of the year, we'll have to work on, jedd. :-* =================================================================== Useless Words by Carl Sandburg So long as we speak the same language and never understand each other, So long as the spirals of our words snarl and interlock And clutch each other with the irreckonable gutturals, Well... 921 Philadelphia Ave. 11:04 am December 26, 1996 She came in dead. Walking amazingly well for a corpse, she threw her keys against the far wall for good measure, extracted the McDonald's bag from her teeth, pulled out her half-hot Egg McMuffin and sank onto the couch. With what felt like her last vestiges of strength, she extracted Lindsey's tape from her pocket and placed it in her stereo, flipping the volume up to 'max.' She had to admit, Trent Resnor may not have been one of the three tenors, but he did wonders for the stress level. She felt herself relaxing. Across the room, the fluffy but oh-so- bare white pine seemed to mock her efforts at relaxation. She resolutely ignored it and instead took a bite of her sandwich, which was a wretched but solid food. "Damn Mulder!" she screamed for good measure, nothing could be heard over the pulsing of the music. She'd spent all night at the hospital trying to bypass good natured (well, maybe not so good natured) secret service agents who were blocking all access to Mercy Herman's only child. By the time she could locate a doctor (most of whom had been called away--a busload of tourists had decided it would be a good idea to take a side trip through southeast) it was 7 am. She examined Justin but found no signs that he'd been out of his bed like Billy-what's-his-face. "DAMN MULDER!!!" she screamed again. Not only did Justin show no signs of alien abduction, but he had already been diagnosed. She cursed Mulder again, but silently, for his unflagging belief in the unknown, even when the answer was right in front of his face. "He's a psychologist for cristsakes, he should have seen this before." Her reverie was interrupted by a banging on the door. She touched her gun out of pure instinct. The door sprung open under repeated pounding. Mulder stood in the doorway, his hair standing up in agitated tufts. Scully jabbed the stop button on her stereo and the music died. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" asked Scully, her face a contorted mask of fury. "Saving you," said Mulder. "Look, I came here to apologize..." "Funny way you have of showing you're sorry." "How was I supposed to know you listened to that crap? For all I knew, some serial killer was chopping you up to the beat of his favorite Nine Inch Nails song." Scully raised an eyebrow. "It's been known to happen. Where were you all night? I kept getting your machine and there was no answer on your phone." Scully felt a rush of warmth. He had been concerned for her. Remembering his hateful words, she quickly squashed the feeling. "I ran out without my phone yesterday and I was at the hospital all night. It was conversion syndrome." "What?" "Hysteria. As a psychologist, you should have thought of that first thing." Mulder shook his head. "It doesn't fit. Conversion involves the victim witnessing or hearing something that their unconscious couldn't bear. What could these kids have seen at 12:30 in the morning?" "I don't know, but they certainly weren't abducted by aliens!" "I'm sorry, Scully, I just can't believe conversion's responsible for the condition of these two children." "Dammit Mulder! It was on Justin's medical report, I saw it!" "You were tired, maybe...." "Get out," she said quietly. "Scully, I...." "I said GET OUT!!" His eyes flashed once. "Fine." He walked out, slamming the door behind him. * * * * "You should sleep on it at least," advised Margaret Scully carefully, aware of the delicate state of the woman on the other end of the line. "I know how much you and Fox depend on each other." "Mulder," Scully began pointedly, "seems to get on fine on his own. Between him and Corporal Armour, I'm beginning to feel like a fifth wheel. I'm not going to do anything hasty, don't worry. I want to finish this case we're working on. I want to have some sense of closure before I decide what I want to do." "What are you working on, honey? Or can't you tell me?" "It's not top secret or anything. In two days, two children have gone comatose unexpectedly. One of the children had odd marks on her neck." "Is there anything to relate the two?" "No, not really...." Scully trailed off meaningfully. "But?" prompted her mother. "But, they show some of the symptoms of conversion syndrome." "Conversion syndrome?" "It's what the girls behind the Salem witch trials had. When someone witnesses something traumatic, their mind will often rebel and induce blindness, deafness or paralysis without apparent cause. It's a mental condition, not a medical one." "Why didn't Fox catch it?" Scully sighed. "Mulder is too busy coming up with theories about little green--excuse me, little gray men to consider a solution within the domain of modern medicine." "I take it you don't buy into his alien theories?" Scully made a face. "No. I can buy genetic mutants, psychics and maybe even the occasional werewolf, but everything I've seen, everything that anyone has told me points to another explanation for so-called alien abduction. He's wrong this time, mom, I know he is." "I have another thought that you might want to consider," Margaret Scully said softly. Scully's call waiting clicked loudly. "'Scuse me a sec, mom." She talked for a few moments with the person on the other line before returning to her mother. "What was that you said?" "I said I may be able to tell you what's going on, it all depends on how much you're willing to believe." * * * * 567 Sligo Creek Pkwy. 5:30 pm "What's wrong?" asked Imogen, rubbing lightly on Mulder's shoulders. "Just a little stress," he smiled back at her. Actually, it was more like guilt, but he'd never admit that to Imogen. Every time he began to relax and close his eyes, he saw Scully's face, her bright hair and eyes seemed to reproach him for spending time with Imogen instead of trying to patch things up with her. He never even considered trying to apologize until that morning when he woke up in a cold sweat from a nightmare where she transferred out of the X-Files Division and he never saw her again because she didn't want anything to do with him. It struck him as odd because they'd never had to apologize before. They just kind of mutually, mentally agreed not to talk about their argument anymore. Now, whether that was the best way to end arguments, he didn't know, but it seemed to work, until now. Imogen gave a little exasperated cry. "You're tensing up again!" "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "You don't need this and I'm getting hand cramps," she rested her hand briefly on his. "You're thinking about Agent Scully, aren't you?" "Yes," he admitted, "we had a pretty bad fight." "Maybe I can get you to stop thinking about the dour Miss Scully and get you to start paying a little more attention to me." "Maybe," he murmured, kissing both cheeks and then her neck. "Maybe," she said, squirming out of his embrace, "you'd like me to read you a little something, hmmm?" "Maybe," he said noncommittally. "Good," she said, looking infinitely pleased with herself. She bounded off the couch and returned with a thick white volume. "Shel Silverstein?" asked Mulder curiously. "Isn't that children's poetry?" "Only if you think it is," said Imogen mysteriously. She cleared her throat. "Forgotten Language: Once I spoke the language of the flowers, Once I understood each word the caterpillar said, Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings, And shared a conversation with the housefly in my bed. Once I heard and answered all the questions of the crickets, And joined the crying of each falling dying flake of snow, Once I spoke the language of the flowers.... How did it go? How did it go?" Imogen's words were magic to Mulder. They carried him away to a peaceful place, filled with warmth and simple solutions. A place where there was no Scully to complicate his life with her problems, where there was only Imogen in the bright, pure sunlight. His cell phone trilled sharply, inserting painful reality into his dream world. "Mulder." He listened for a few moments, anger seeping back into his frame. When he was done, he violently pushed the 'End' button. "Who was that?" asked Imogen gently. "That was my boss. Assistant Director Skinner, wondering why I never showed up at the latest crime scene three and a half hours ago." * * * * 921 Philadelphia Ave. 5:55 pm "What the hell were you thinking?" hissed Mulder when Scully answered the door. "What do you mean, Mulder?" asked Scully evenly. "You know damn well what I mean. Now Skinner's got my ass in a sling because you decided not to call me and inform me about the latest victim!" "I figured you'd be busy with Corporal Armour. I was respecting your privacy," she added pointedly. Mulder was aware that his behavior that morning had been less than exemplary, but he wasn't going to give Scully the satisfaction of an apology. Not now, maybe not ever. "Whatever," said Mulder, rudely turning his back on her so she couldn't slam the door in his face. "Come on," said Imogen, placing a hand on his arm, "let's go home. I have the most wonderful surprise for you." Obediently, Mulder followed her out of the building. END PART 2. TO BE CONTINUED.... --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- any and all comments, constructive criticism, flames (set on medium well please) etc. welcome at starbright1@juno.com >From starbright1@juno.com Fri Dec 27 22:20:43 1996 The Twelve Days of X-Mas (3/12): The End of the World by Starbright Rating: a pretty mild PG Classifications: X, MSR Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance Summary: Scully gets a kiss from Mulder and the shock of her life from Imogen. The plot thickens.... for anyone who's wondering, this will eventually turn into a sort of MSR, but i'm trying something a bit different (i hope) a la anne perry. anyway, let me know how it's going at starbright1@juno.com :) =================================================================== Fire and Ice by Robert Frost Some say the world will end in fire Some say in ice >From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire But if it had to perish twice I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice. X-Files Division 9:05 am December 27, 1996 Fox Mulder rubbed his weary eyes. Five am. He'd been there, sitting in the dark basement since five am and still he was no closer to a solution to his dilemma. He had crossed some invisible line with Scully the other day and he'd be damned if he knew how to get back on the right side of it. Everything he did was wrong and seemed to make his problem worse. And now, to have her go off and ditch him...well, that was just downright weird. He'd come to expect such selfish behavior from himself, and truth be told, he only ditched Scully because he knew he could get away with it and she'd always find him and be there for him. He felt a rush of warmth when he thought of what a devoted friend she'd been. She was, quite honestly, the best partner anyone could ask for. She was always there to cover his butt and she knew when to make an observation and when to shut up. Sure they argued--a lot. But underneath the disagreement and, sometimes, animosity was something that seemed old, older than either of them. The bond between them was strong and not in their power to break. Or so he thought. Lately, it seemed that the connection between them was growing dimmer. He was losing her and he didn't know what he could do to stop it, he didn't know if he could stop it. Frankly, he was terrified. His friendship with Scully was the most precious thing in his entire, miserable existence. To lose her now.... His musings were interrupted by a skritching of keys against the door. His hand dropped to his gun. The door swung open, he pulled out the gun and aimed it. "Mulder, it's me, don't shoot," Scully's face bore a look of genuine concern. "Hey, Scully," Mulder said carefully, squinting in the weak light that flowed in from the hallway. He sat down weakly in a nearby chair. "What's going on, Mulder? Why are the lights off?" "I think better in the dark," he grinned. "Hmmm," she murmured noncommittally, reaching over and flipping on the overhead light. He blinked. Once. Twice. Struggling to make his eyes focus. She noted the dark circles that graced the delicate skin under his eyes. "How long have you been here, Mulder?" she asked gently. "Since around five, I think," he admitted slowly. "You should go home. Get some sleep." She placed a hand on his shoulder. He looked at it in surprise. Then he did an extraordinary thing, he grasped her hand and brought it to his lips and kissed it with a touch so soft, she might have imagined it. A strange look passed between them. "I will," he said softly before rising and walking out the door. * * * * Scully was puzzled, pleased and a little disturbed by Mulder's kiss. He was never overly demonstrative, especially with her, sure he touched her back or her arm now and again, but she'd always attributed them to his old fashioned sense of chivalry. This was different, if only for the effect it had on her. For one moment, all the disagreement and argument was pushed aside and they had faced each other without any outside concerns. She felt like something deeply personal had passed between them in that instant, but it was so fleeting that she had no idea what it was. Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket, interrupting her thoughts. "Scully." "Agent Scully?" It was Imogen. "Yes, Corporal Armour?" "Where's Fox?" Scully cringed. "I tried to call him first, but I think he turned off his phone." "Probably," agreed Scully. "He was up all night. I sent him home." "Oh," said Imogen suddenly. "Well, that's probably my fault." She giggled a little. Scully's stomach sank. All her good feeling about Mulder was slowly displaced by an all- consuming fury. ~That's why he was so nice to me! He was feeling guilty about sleeping with Imogen!~ "What did you want, Corporal Armour?" "There's been another, um, victim. Can you meet me at 507 Granville Drive in 15 minutes?" "I'm all the way downtown. It'll take me at least 30 minutes to get to Silver Spring. Wait exactly where you are. I'll be there." * * * * 507 Granville Dr. 10:15 am Scully could feel Imogen spitting cold fire even before she opened the car door. Gathering all the courage she could, Scully pushed open the door. "I'm sorry, Corporal Armour. There was construction on Military. I would've called but I left my phone in the office." "Fine, fine," said Imogen, Scully could almost see fine lines of strain racing across her perfect face. "I already interrogated the Thomases. They really didn't have anything useful to say." "I'll be the judge of that," said Scully shortly. "Good thing you're not FBI," Scully muttered. "Oh, but I will be." "What did you say?" asked Scully slowly. "Didn't Fox tell you? I've applied to Quantico and my application has been accepted. I'm going to be an agent! I've also applied for special consideration for placement in the X- Files Division." "How...wonderful," Scully stammered. "I know," Imogen beamed. "But I still want to talk with the Thomases myself," Scully said briskly. "What was the name of the victim?" "Patrick. Look, I'm going home. If you want to reach me, you know where I'll be." "Thank you." Scully brushed past Imogen and hurried up the stairs. Her knock was answered by a delightful looking little girl. Wide green eyes looked up from under a mass of curly brown ringlets. "Hello, my name is Dana Scully," Scully said softly. "Hello," said the little girl amiably. "My name is Lizzie." "Can I come in, Lizzie?" "Yesh," her speech slurring gently in a way that Scully found delightful. "Do you wanna talk to my mom and dad?" "Yes, eventually, but I'd like to talk to you first. I'm sorry about what happened to your brother. Do you know what happened to Patrick?" "He's shleeping now." "Yes he is. Were you here when he went to sleep?" "Yesh," said Lizzie carefully. "Did you see anything weird in the house last night?" Lizzie paused for so long, Scully was afraid that she'd have to repeat the question. "Noooo." "Now Lizzie, it's not good to lie," said Scully. "I promised not to tell. Not anyone." "Who made you promise, Lizzie? I won't tell." "Cross your heart and hope to die stick a needle in your eye?" "Cross my heart and hope to die stick a needle in my eye." Lizzie leaned in very close to Scully. "Elfs," she whispered loudly in Scully's ear. "What did these elves tell you?" "They said they'd come and take all my presents and I'd never get any more ever! Then they took Patrick an' in the morning he was shleeping an' he wouldn't wake up." "What did the elves look like?" Lizzie laughed, collapsing onto the floor. "Like elfs, silly!" she shrieked. "Lizzie?" inquired a deep voice. "Who's up here with you?" A powerfully built man, who Scully took for Lizzie's father, emerged from the basement. "This is Dana, daddy," Lizzie said, sitting up. "I like her better than that other lady." "Of course honey," said her father fondly. "Now you go to your room and I'll come in in a bit and read you a story." Lizzie bounded away. "Special Agent Dana Scully, FBI," Scully said, flashing her badge. "I'm working with Corporal Armour on this case. I'm very sorry about your son." "Just how sorry can you be, Agent Scully?" Mr. Thomas asked with a hard edge in his voice. "How can you know how it feels to look at your child and see nothing, an empty shell where there once was a person? That's exactly what I see when I look at Patrick." "I can't say that I know exactly what it feels like, but I believe I have a pretty good idea," Scully said quietly, taking a deep breath. She was about to share a very secret part of herself with a virtual stranger. "When my father died, four years ago, my mother was hospitalized for clinical depression. She seemed to retreat so far into herself that none of what she'd been was left on the surface." "I...I'm sorry," said Mr. Thomas. "It's not your fault." "I know, but I had no right to snap at you. It's just that I have the most awful feeling that my son will never look at me with love in his eyes again. It's the most terrifying thing I've ever faced." He lowered his head. A petite brunette came up the basement steps. "Dan!" she exclaimed, rushing to him and putting her arms around him. Scully felt like an intruder. Silently, she opened the front door and exited the house. * * * * 57 Monroe St. 9:35 am Fox Mulder was more shaken by the kiss than he was fully willing to admit, even to himself. Such an admission would be dangerous, better to stifle those feelings, if they existed, before they got out of hand. But his mind kept wandering back to that brief moment in the basement office when he had kissed her hand. It was enthralling, enticing and eerie all at once. In one instant it was as if he had been allowed a look at her soul. Now he'd have to go through the rest of the partnership with his eyes averted. How could he look her in the eye when the knowledge of what he'd seen was hovering so near the surface? He had been allowed to step back and see their relationship for all that it was. It was not quite love, but certainly not mere friendship, although it encompassed the two quite nicely. Whatever was between them was too profound, too pure to ever be given a name, to be given limits. Once more, he had an odd feeling that whatever was between them was older than them and bigger than them. He snorted. He really hated it when it felt like the universe was using him as its puppet. There was a sharp knocking on the door. "Mulder! Open up!" * * * * 11800 Georgia Ave. 2:24 pm She really would have preferred McKeldin at UMCP, but holiday breaks being what they were, the University of Maryland, at College Park and elsewhere, was essentially closed to the public until the end of winter breaks. So she found herself at Wheaton Regional Library with only a vague idea of what she was looking for. The magazines didn't go back far enough, all the books on her subject had been checked out or stolen months ago and newspaper accounts were sketchy at best. In four hours, she had managed to gather four, precious articles. Sighing, she settled in to read them, making a concerted effort to ignore the flowery journalistic style of the early 20th century. "Ma'am?" A heavy hand landed on her shoulder and she jumped. "Sorry ma'am," stammered diminutive, teenage volunteer, "but the library closes in six minutes. Holiday schedule an' all...." "You want me to leave?" she inquired, attempting to finish the sentence he'd left unfinished. He opened his mouth. "No, no, it's okay. I'd better go anyway." She gathered up her few possessions: purse, coat, pen and xeroxes and left the building, pulling off her coat as she did. Two days after Christmas and it was already in the 60s, so much for last year's blizzard. Somehow, she navigated the Viers Mill Road/Rockville Pike/Hungerford Drive nightmare that welcomed travelers to Rockville and found Mulder's apartment building. Riding up in the wood paneled elevator, she marveled at how he could afford a place in Rockville while she struggled to make the rent in Takoma Park. ~Probably the same way he affords those Armanis,~ she thought, a wry smile creeping across her face. The elevator chimed musically and the doors slid open. She could hear the music all the way down the hall. Ella Fitzgerald. The chords wrapped themselves around her legs and seemed to draw her closer to a place that she was no longer sure she wanted to go. Eventually, she reached Mulder's apartment and knocked loudly on the door before a more primitive part of her brain, which was screaming 'Run!', could take over. Imogen answered the door in a short tee-shirt and low cut jeans. Her feet were bare and she looked very much at home. "Agent Scully!" she exclaimed in delight. "Were you here to see Fox?" "Umm, no," she scrambled for a plausible excuse, this woman had Mulder completely awestruck and herself completely cowed. "This must be the wrong apartment, I was looking for someone else." "Okay. Well, bye, I guess. See you on Monday." Imogen shut the door firmly. Scully tried to walk away purposefully, but really it was more of a slow run. * * * * "Was there someone at the door, Imogen?" asked Mulder, toweling at still-wet hair. "It was no one," said Imogen. "Really? I could've sworn...." "No one important," she amended hastily. "Just some woman with the wrong apartment number." END PART 3. TO BE CONTINUED.... >From starbright1@juno.com Sat Dec 28 14:28:54 1996 The Twelve Days of X-Mas (4\12): The End of My Life by Starbright Rating: a pretty mild PG Classification: X, MSR Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance Summary: Scully makes the BIG DECISION.... thanx so much to everyone who's given me encouragement to keep going with this (ack, that was a trifle gushing--too much x-mas candy!! ;) if anyone else would like to add their two cents, even if it is to tell me how stupid this story is, drop me a line at starbright1@juno.com ps: i think i forgot to mention that most of these places do exist. i''m a washington native myself and yes, it was about 60 degrees on x-mas this year.... =================================================================== My Life Closed Twice by Emily Dickinson My life closed twice before its close, It yet remains to see If immortality unveil A third even to me, So huge, so hopeless to conceive, As these that twice befell. Parting is all we know of heaven, And all we need of hell. >From the personal journal of Dana Katherine Scully: December 28, 1996 I don't think I've ever slept as late on a weekend as I did today. Usually the weight of everything I have to do presses down on me and I'm awake by 8:30 at the latest. I thought I was still dreaming when I looked over and the clock told me that it was 11:00 in precise, red digits. It's strange, laundry wakes me up at 8 o'clock and won't let me go back to sleep, but resigning from the X-Files? That let me sleep until eleven. There might be some symbolism there, but I don't think I want to know what it is. It took me two hours just to start the stupid thing. I couldn't very well tell Mulder the real reason I was requesting transfer. That would pretty well defeat the purpose. I had to be formal and brief. To use an unfortunate cliche, a chapter in my life was ending and the cut had to be as clean as possible for both mine and Mulder's sakes. He is my superior, after all, the senior agent of our partnership, and as much as he ignores it and I try to deny it, he's my boss. When I was finished, I faxed it to Mulder and started on my transfer forms to fax to Skinner. He already knew about my situation. I must say that he was incredibly understanding and very willing to go along with what I asked. He asked me why I hadn't requested transfer earlier, because he knew that he would have. I couldn't answer him. Any answer would have felt like a betrayal of Mulder. The transfer forms were left over from the Comity case. Somehow I'm glad that I didn't request transfer after that case. If I had, I think I would've felt cheap and used. The universe played Mulder and I like well-strung violins on that case. I hate it when it feels like I'm the universe's puppet. After that I tried to do a little housework, I ran across the xeroxes from yesterday and almost threw them away. I didn't. I don't know why, but I had the strangest feeling that they were important. I also got the impression that they had something to do with Imogen, but that was wishful thinking. I don't know what she could have to do with anything. Except Mulder's emotions and my serenity, of course. The one thing I regret is not being able to finish this case with Mulder. I picked up the phone to call him and cancel the transfer, but then my mother called and.... END PART 4. TO BE CONTINUED.... >From starbright1@juno.com Sat Dec 28 14:28:54 1996 The Twelve Days of X-Mas (5\12): Solitary by Starbright Rating: PG Classifications: X, MSR Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance Summary: Mulder justifies his past jerkiness and walks a dust mop.... okay, i know everyone'll be incredibly sorry to hear this, but i'm going on vacation for a few days starting on the 29th (hence this part, which is a day early, thank you, thank you....) gotta go see the fam in new york. and since neither my grandmother nor my two aunts have a computer with a modem, this story's gonna have to go on hold until january 2nd. i will faithfully try to post the parts from the 30th-1st on the 2nd but i make no solemn promises. :) =================================================================== Acquainted With the Night by Robert Frost I have been acquainted with the night I have walked out in rain--and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane. I have passed by the watchman on his beat. And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet When far away an interrupted cry Came over houses from another street, But not to call me back or say good-by; And further still at an unearthly height One luminary clock against the sky Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. I have been acquainted with the night. >From the personal journal of Fox William Mulder: December 29, 1996 The single white sheet was waiting for me when I got in this morning. It was probably closer to lunchtime than breakfast, but I had the most awful craving for scrambled eggs, with maybe a little cheese and tabasco sauce. When I read Scully's resignation letter I wasn't hungry anymore. Have you ever had your worst nightmare come true? Of course not, you're only a book, a collection of binding and blank pages but the question was rhetorical anyway. At first my worst nightmare had already happened. Every single night I watched my sister hover in midair, like some magician's trick gone haywire, then float out the window into the blinding light that covered our entire house. Well, I guess my subconscious got bored, because ever since last year, I've been plagued by another nightmare. In it, Scully leaves the X-Files and tells me that she doesn't want anything to do with me. EVER. I know she thinks I've been acting like a jerk basically this entire case. I guess it must seem that way because, if I was her, I'd think I was acting like a jerk too. But in my own defense I think I'd have to say that I'm trying to be sensitive, I really am. Everything that I touch turns out badly and I don't know how to stop it. I'd also have to point out that, in spite of everything she says, Scully is probably just jealous of Imogen. Oh, probably not for the reasons I accused her of before. But she's been pretty much the only woman in my life for a long, long time and now she's not. It makes me more than a little angry when I think of Scully's attitude toward Imogen Mostly, it's flattering. I could count on one hand the times that Scully's been jealous. Phoebe, Bambi, Detective White. Period. So this is my worst nightmare? Scully leaving. She'll still work in the same building. I can see her whenever I want. She didn't mention anything about me not seeing her again. It'll be just like the time when they closed the X-Files. Oh god. Who am I trying to kid? Only myself. When they closed the X-Files, that was the worst time of my life. Not seeing Scully every day. Not hearing her say "I'm fine Mulder." Not having her to argue with. She really has the finest mind. Every kooky theory I throw at her, she returns with a scientific explanation. I'll be fine so long as I can see her. I got desperate this afternoon. I drove by her place hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Then I parked the car, got out and walked by her building, hoping that by chance, she was looking out her window and she'd see me. When I was almost past the building I heard a female voice call, "Mulder!" I turned around but it was only Mrs. Johnson wanting me to walk her wretched shi-tzu. I was half-tempted to steal the dog and use it to dust my furniture. That's all Pooky is, really, a glorified dust mop. Skinner called around 1 o'clock to tell me that Scully's transfer had been accepted. Then Imogen called and said there'd been another victim. I told her to go to the crime scene by herself and report back to me. She sounded a little angry, but I didn't care. I had just lost Scully. There are some things more important than Imogen. I'm not even sure I love her anymore. There'd been another victim on Saturday too and I just realized, I never got Scully a Christmas present. END PART 5. TO BE CONTINUED.... >From starbright1@juno.com Fri Jan 03 21:46:51 1997 The Twelve Days of X-Mas (6\12): Against the World by Starbright Rating: PG Classifications: X, MSR Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance Summary: Scully leaves the basement. Mulder meets two Freudian terms.... yay! i'm back (just in case anyone missed me). unfortunately, i was only able to write two parts on vacation (i went to see all 4 hours of kenneth branaugh's hamlet and it wiped me out for about 4 days) but i'm posting them now. result: i have given up any semblance of realtime chronology that this series might have possesed. :D let me know what you think anyway (starbright1@juno.com) comments are always welcome. and wish me luck at my swim meet tomorrow. we're all gonna spraypaint our hair and scream and jump around. :D class of '98 4-ever!!! oh and btw, if there are any other hip, young marylanders out there, sorry i've never been to the 9:30 club but i've heard it's awesome. ;) kudos to my bud morgan, and yes, he really does have a band named dirty black. :) =================================================================== I Took My Power in My Hand by Emily Dickinson I took my Power in my Hand-- And went against the World-- 'Twas not so much as David--had-- But I--was twice as bold-- I aimed my Pebble--but Myself Was all the one that fell-- Was it Goliath--was too large-- Or was myself--too small? X-Files Division 11:00 am December 30, 1996 Scully came in with a small box. Clearing off her desk wasn't difficult at all, just a few trinkets, pens, pencils, computer disks, a couple pictures. None of it really meant anything to her, it was the symbolism of the act that brought her to the basement office, maybe for the last time in a long, long while. Skinner had transferred her to the Poolesville VCS Satellite, far away from Mulder and his crazy theories and his subjective investigative style....~Especially this investigation. Doesn't he see...~ The door opened. Mulder stood there, backlit by the flickering florescent light from the hallway. His expression was unreadable. "Poolesville, Scully?" he asked, an accusation. "It's still Maryland, Mulder," she defended herself lamely. "I thought you'd be questioning the latest victim's family." "You don't want anything to do with me, do you?" he asked in a low voice, brushing aside her inquiry. "You don't have anything to do with this, Mulder." "Wrong," he said roughly. "I have everything to do with this, Scully. You're giving up on us. Just admit it." "There is no us anymore, Mulder, at least not lately." "It's about Imogen then," he said, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Or maybe what happened on Friday." "Mulder," she said tiredly, "it's not about Imogen and what happened on Friday was the result of guilt and too little sleep." A short bark of bitter laughter escaped his lips. "Guilt? Is that what you really think?" "I don't know what else to think, Mulder," she said quietly. "And anyway, in a few months, you'll have Imogen as your partner." Imogen was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment. Mulder opened his mouth, unsure of what would come out. They'd end up fighting again and if they did, he'd end up laughing at the sheer stupidity of it. Laughing because this was probably the last time they'd ever see each other and they were going down like they'd started, with a dispute, only this one wasn't about EBEs, it was about nothing. And then she'd touch his arm, to make sure he wasn't hysterical and he'd grab her. From there, one of two things could happen. They'd either end up in each other's arms or they'd part angry and cold. It was too important. He remained silent, then thought better of it. "I don't have a picture of you, Scully," he said softly. "What?" "A picture. Of you. I want one." "Why?" "Well, I'm never gonna see you again, right?" She was silent. He continued, "So I want something to remember you by." "Oh," she said softly, shuffling through her box. She selected a photo of herself and her mother, shortly after her mother had been discharged from the hospital. "Here." She offered it to him, frame and all. "Thank you," he said, taking it, his fingers lightly brushing the frame. "I don't have anything to give you...I feel like I should...." "Don't worry about it," she assured him. "Of course I'll worry about it. Here." He reached over and took down the photo he'd bought during the case at Ellen's Air Force Base. She looked down at the fuzzy triangle that the woman in the diner had tried to pass off as a UFO. "I still think you overpaid for this thing," she said, smiling slightly. "No way, Scully," he smiled back. "A picture for a picture. Fair's fair." "Fair's fair, Mulder," she repeated, turning to walk out of the office. "Scully," he said, she turned around, "it's more than a professional loss." She smiled. "Say, Mulder?" "Yes?" "What do you think of La Belle Dame Sans Merci?" "What?" "Keats has always been one of my favorites." She smiled again, mysteriously this time, and walked out the door. * * * * At around noon, Imogen called to report a lot of nothing from the victim's family. Mulder paced back and forth restlessly. The phone trilled. "Mulder." "Agent Mulder this is Ms. Getty, from Assistant Director Skinner's office." "Yes?" "He just wanted me to call and remind you that you're due up in his office in half an hour to report your findings so far in the Herman case." "Thank you," he said distractedly. ~Shit.~ He hadn't seriously thought about the case in days. Between trying to patch things up with Scully during the day and spending time with Imogen at night he had done next to nothing in nearly four days. Hell, he didn't even have the police reports from the last three victims. A quick call to Imogen solved that problem. He crouched on the floor and spread the police reports in front of him. All seven of them. The most obvious pattern he could find was girl, boy, girl, boy. He looked at the addresses. All of them had lived near some park or another. Other than that, the victims were of varying races, creeds and social classes, unalike in any way. ~Shit. Skinner is not gonna be happy.~ * * * * Office of the Assistant Director 1:00 pm "Agent Mulder, I cannot honestly say that I'm pleased with your work on this case. Your lack of results is very disturbing," said Skinner briskly. "Yes sir, but if I may..." "No, you may not. Furthermore, if you don't wrap this case up soon, I will be forced to pull you off it and reassign it to VCS. Do you have any theories at all?" Skinner's voice sounded more than a little desperate. "We, that is, I believe it to be the work of Extraterrestrial Biological Entities..." "Aliens, Agent Mulder?" "Yes sir, I...let me explain." "No," Skinner said furiously. "Let me explain. I will not go to the President of the United States and tell him that his top speech writer's son was abducted by aliens!" "Are you asking me to lie to you, sir?" "No, Agent Mulder. I'm asking you to tell me the truth, just as soon as you find it. This isn't some backwoods case you can louse up and then bury in the X-Files. This woman is important. She is in the public spotlight. Now you go back and find out what happened to her son, what happened to those six other children, or you may be out of more than a case. You may be out of a job." "Yes sir," he said humbly. "Now get out of my office and I don't want to hear from you until you have results, and proof to back them up." "Yes sir." Mulder turned and walked out of the office, his head low. * * * * Janice Getty looked up at Mulder with an expression of mild surprise on her face. He'd become somewhat of an office legend, in fact, it was rumored that Walter Skinner had had a full head of hair before Mulder started his work on the X-Files. How could the man who had asked the AD if he should bend over and grab his ankles be the same man who walked out of Skinner's office with an utterly defeated, hangdog look pasted across his face? It didn't make any sense. Janice blew a little on the topcoat over her french manicure and pondered the situation. Rumor around the office was that he'd just lost that outspoken little partner of his and of course, everyone knew about what she and he'd been doing for the past four years. What could have made her leave him? Janice had heard something from Talia down in the VCS that Mulder'd become involved with a new woman. Emma or Gena or something like that. She had caught a glimpse of a woman walking with Mulder one day. He was coming in from his lunch break as she was going out for hers. If that'd been Emma, Agent Scully had good reason to be jealous. She looked like a Greek goddess or a goddess at least. She could imagine wars being fought over this woman. Well, it looked like one had, and Agent Scully had been the loser. Still, she'd never seen Mulder look so lost and alone before, so utterly defeated. She scrabbled for something appropriate to say. "Agent Mulder?" He turned to her, sadness aching in his eyes. "I'm sorry about your partner." He nodded slightly and left the office. * * * * 57 Monroe Street 6:04 pm After he'd gotten back to his office, Imogen had shown up with plans to take him over to her house for lunch. Lunch turned into dinner at his house and here he was. He lay on the couch as she moved around in the kitchen, preparing something that smelled suspiciously like some vegetarian casserole or another. There was hardly strength enough left in his frame to keep his eyes open, let alone chew. He'd gone up against Skinner that afternoon and lost. Miserably. The experience was too new, his emotions were too raw. Vulnerable where he should have been strong, he didn't have a chance against the AD. Now his case, his job were on the line and all he could think about was moving to Poolesville. But Scully was gone, he'd have to learn to accept that fact. He'd have to re-learn how to fight his own battles, on his own, with no one to back him up. He'd never realized how much he depended on Scully to support him and his theories, to keep him focused on the case, until she was gone, out of reach even though she was only a seven digit code away. Imogen came out from the kitchen, her hair clasped loosely onto the back of her head. "Dinner's ready." She noted the exhaustion in Mulder's face. "Tough day?" He nodded slightly. "Well, I know what'll make you feel better." She placed a cool, slender, long- fingered hand on his forehead. "Let's go to the 9:30 club." "What's at the 9:30 club tonight?" he asked, his problems blowing out of his mind like dry leaves in a stiff wind. "The Lemonheads with Dirty Black playing warm-up," she smiled at him. Suddenly, he wasn't a bit tired. "I can't wait." "So get changed and let's get outta here." He walked towards the bedroom, then half-turned to face her an odd expression on his face. "Say Imogen?" "Yes?" "What do you think of La Belle Dame Sans Merci?" She shivered a bit. "I never liked Keats." * * * * The 9:30 Club 11:45 pm Mulder felt like he'd been sitting there for hours only because he had. The Lemonheads and even Dirty Black--which turned out to be a ska band comprised of a motley collection of teenagers--had left hours ago. His eyes scanned the smoke-filled room for Imogen's dark head. "Hey," the voice came from behind him. Imogen. He turned. She offered him one of the two glasses she held. The glass was sweating slightly in the close heat of the club. He looked questioningly at the two people who stood behind Imogen. They were roughly the same age, which he judged to be about 25, but there the resemblance ended. The woman had reddish-brown hair with startling eyes that were nearly the same shade as her hair. The man had deep, black eyes that seemed to shift in their deepness and black hair, as shiny as a raven's wing. "Let me introduce two of my very good friends. This is Thanatos," she nodded toward the woman, "and Libido," she indicated the man. "You're serious?" asked Mulder incredulously. "Perfectly serious, I'm afraid," said Thanatos. "You see, we're fraternal twins and our father was a rather overzealous psychiatrist, and so...." "Viola," interrupted Libido. "You get Thanatos and Libido, Freud's death and life instincts," he paused a moment before adding mysteriously, "personified." "Of course Libido's just kidding," Imogen said hastily. "Of course." Mulder glanced at his watch. Imogen looked at her own watch. "My goodness! Look at the time!" "I'd better get you home, Cinderella," said Mulder wearily. "Y'know, it's funny you should mention that 'cause I turn into a pumpkin at midnight." He laughed, linking arms with her and leading her out of the club. END PART 6. TO BE CONTINUED.... >From starbright1@juno.com Fri Jan 03 21:46:51 1997 The Twelve Days of X-Mas (7/12): La Belle Dame Sans Merci by Starbright Rating: PG Classification: X, MSR Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance Summary: A mistaked is corrected and a woman's wrath is invoked.... comments? questions? flames (medium rare por favor, it could damage my young, 16-year-old psyche or something) ;) starbright1@juno.com =================================================================== La Belle Dame Sans Merci by John Keats I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful--a faery's child Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild. She took me to her elfin grot, And there she wept and sighed full sore And there I shut her wild, wild eyes With kisses four. And there she lulled me asleep And there I dreamed--Ah! Woe betide! The latest dream I ever dreamed On the cold hill side. I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all, They cried--"La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!" 57 Monroe Street 5:07 am December 31, 1996 He awoke in a cold sweat. A new nightmare had intruded on his sleeping mind. This new contribution was not at all in the manner of normal dreams. As far as he knew, he'd never met most of the people who had populated it. As near as he could tell, they were all some kind of dead royalty. There were thousands of them and they milled around him, muttering and whispering messages, but their voices overlapped and surged around him. He could no more understand what they were talking about than understand what the pool water said to the deck when he took his weekly swim. But then something happened, the mob had parted with anxious swiftness. A petite and undeniably feminine figure had walked through the parted multitude. "Scully?" he had asked. She said nothing, but touched three fingers to his mouth to quiet him. They were frigid. He shivered at the memory. He took Scully's cold hand and kissed it, not on the back, near her fingers, but in the center of her palm. He had looked up then, to gauge her reaction, but it wasn't Dana Scully's calm, blue eyes that stared back at him. These eyes were deep, forest green. They were not unlike the forest itself. Flecks of gold swam in their depths, like sunlight on a pine needle strewn floor. "What's going on? Where's Scully?" "She was never here, Mulder," said Imogen calmly, grabbing both of his shoulders in a twisting, grasping hold. "You're hurting me." "Am I?" Imogen and the whispering crowd faded away, leaving Mulder alone in the large, empty room. "Wait!" A figure appeared before him, awful in its deformity. "Who are you?" Mulder asked, more curious than afraid. "Not...important," he managed, wheezing at every breath. "I only have a few moments before she discovers I'm gone." "Who?" The man stamped his foot in frustration. "Your lover. Your lady. La Belle Dame Sans Merci!" The man disappeared but his voice remained. "She hasn't captured a soul in 200 years...take care to keep it that way...." It was then that Mulder woke up. He dressed in a blind panic. He didn't have the first clue of what to do. He didn't even know in the old Hapsburg--and the man had been a Hapsburg, he recognized the infamous chin, a result of heavy inbreeding--was right. But somewhere, in the back of his mind, Mulder knew that the man had spoken truthfully. Little things about Imogen stood out in his mind: he'd never seen her past midnight, she seemed to travel from place to place faster than anyone else and how the hell could she afford a house in Sligo Creek Park on a corporal's salary? The more he thought about it, the more he was terrified, he didn't like the idea of giving up his immortal soul to anyone but...well, to Imogen. He didn't want to join the company of wraiths that dogged her every move. He had to talk to someone--Scully, she knew. The realization hit hard. She had offered him the clue about the poem. ~But why didn't she just tell me?~ he thought, annoyance creeping into his mind. ~Because,~ he answered himself, ~I've been acting like such an ass lately that I probably would've just accused her of jealousy again.~ * * * * X-Files Division 9:00 am Mulder had gotten all the way to the basement of the FBI building before he realized that she was no longer there. The knowledge chilled him like a cold wind. He could feel the emptiness in the office as soon as he touched the door. Shivering, he turned away. He would find her but there was someone else he had to talk to first. * * * * 567 Sligo Creek Parkway 10:45 am "Fox," Imogen's face lit up when she saw him. "To what do I owe this visit?" she inquired, opening the door a little wider to allow him inside. He ignored the gesture, staying on the stoop. "I can't stay long, I have to visit a friend," he explained. "And what I have to say won't take very long either." He looked at Imogen's sweet face with mild distaste. He wondered what he ever saw in her. She was beautiful certainly, and entertaining and she flattered him wonderfully, but she hardly seemed to have any opinions of her own. Imogen had been sweet at first, but now she was just cloying. An image of Scully came, unbidden, to his mind. She was never cloying. The memory of her frank, sometimes brutal, honesty and her total willingness to fight for him were like a refreshing drink of clean water after all of Imogen's stifling sweetness. "What did you want to tell me, Fox?" she inquired. He took a last look at her perfect face, searching for some outward sign of the disease that lurked beneath her facade, he found nothing. "You're very beautiful, Imogen, and I've enjoyed our time together, but I think it's time for me to get back to reality." She gasped once but said nothing, her face contorting into a horrible mask of fury. He gave the door a gentle push and it closed in her face before she could say anything. He had to find Scully. Maybe there was still time to make things right. * * * * 19600 Wooton Avenue 12:59 pm She had not adjusted well to the change in offices. Strange as it was, she actually missed the cramped darkness of their basement quarters. She missed him. Of course she could never say that to his face and in his current state, he probably wouldn't listen. ~How could he be so blind? She's playing him along. He didn't even investigate the last four victims. He sent her to do it! I should just give up on you, Mulder, let that cold-hearted faery have your immortal soul....~ But Scully knew she could never do that. Despite his failings, despite the dark spots in his soul, he was her friend, her best friend, and lately, her only friend. ~Besides, you don't just turn your back on someone you...love?~ Before she had time to process this alarming thought, there came a sharp rap on the office door. ~My office,~ she mused. "Come in!" she added out loud. "Dr. Scully?" It was Agent Butler. He held a special place in her heart only because he was one of the few people in the entire building who didn't wink knowingly and murmur about the breakup of Mr. and Mrs. Spooky whenever she passed. "Come in, Agent Butler," she answered him. He entered the room hesitantly, hovering just inside, near the door. He was a surprisingly tall man for all his shyness. Her head didn't even reach his shoulder, it was embarrassing. But he wasn't slim, with the sleek breaststroker's build of...well, of someone else. She felt a sharp tug of guilt. What she had done to Mulder was cowardly. She should have stayed with him to fight this thing, this evil thing that threatened him. But she hadn't. The cold fact was she was scared, even more scared than she'd been during the Pfaster case. Imogen's power wasn't something she could end with a bullet. It would outlive any of her own poor efforts. No, only Mulder could break the spell that Imogen had cast--whether figuratively or literally she had no way of knowing. "I have the articles you requested," said Agent Butler nervously, placing them on a nearby chair. "And there's someone here to see you." She noted the figure standing behind him with mild interest. It was obscured by Agent Butler's tall frame and large bulk. Something twanged in her mind with eerie familiarity. No one came to see her...unless.... "Hello, Mulder," she said in a voice that betrayed none of her inner exuberance. "Admit it, Scully, you recognized my distinctive cologne." He smiled crookedly, stepping around Agent Butler, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. She felt herself smiling back. Agent Butler beat a hasty retreat. "I missed you," said Mulder softly. "I was only gone for a day, Mulder!" "Longest day of my life," he said simply. "I thought you hated me." "I could never hate you, Mulder. The thing with Imogen...that was something you had to do on your own. You can understand that, can't you?" "Of course," he assured her, catching at her nervous hands. "All I want is to have you back in DC where you belong, back covering my butt where you belong." She smiled slightly but this was getting a little too personal. "So, what did you tell her?" A quick subject change would be best. He dropped her hands. "Who?" "Imogen! She may be important to this thing!" "I don't see how." "Mulder," she said, mock-sternly, "you don't really believe malignant faeries follow you around for fun." "I think you're underestimating my animal magnetism, Scully." "Not likely. Now, are you going to help me move outta here or what?" "Isn't Skinner going to be more than a little mad at you for this?" he asked as she rummaged behind her desk. "No," she said, handing him the same box she'd packed on Monday. It was still full. "But your office...." "My office?" she asked innocently. "Your name's on the door, isn't it?" "No." With a small effort, Scully slid her name tag out of the metal brackets that held it. There was another tag underneath. It said "Special Agent Roy Butler." Mulder looked astonished, if only for an instant. "You...you weren't really...." "No," said Scully quietly, "but it was important that you thought I did. Are you angry?" "I'm just glad to have my partner back." He smiled a little foolishly at her. "How'd you manage to con Skinner into that one?" "Long story." "Good, I like stories. You can tell it to me on the way back to DC." END PART 7. TO BE CONTINUED.... The Twelve Days of X-Mas (8/12): A Little Off... by Starbright (starbright1@juno.com) Rating: a mild PG Classifications: X, MSR Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance Summary: The plot is revealed, but is it too late for our heros??? here we go again!! oh god i'm so behind i can't even see where this storyline should be!! yaugh!!!! pardon me. a good primal scream now and again is good for the soul, that's what *i* always say. ;D oh, and btw, if anyone reads this. i'm doing a story on the x-files for my school paper (not what you're thinking. we were best paper in the state for a large school in '96 and we fully expect to win this year :S) but i want to interview a few fanfic authors, so if anyone's still reading this and is interested, drop me a line when you send your gushing praise for this story..... ;D =================================================================== Mirror by John Updike When you look kool uoy nehW into a mirror rorrim a otni it is not ton si ti yourself you see ees uoy flesruoy but a kind dnik a tub of apish error rorre hsipa fo posed in fearful lufraef ni desop symmetry yrtemmys 921 Philadelphia Avenue 9:21 am January 1, 1997 Mulder woke up with a distinct pain in his back and a head full of fuzz. Struggling into a sitting position he banged his nose into a hard object. It hurt. A lot. "Son of a...." He gave the offending coffee table a critical stare. "Mulder?" inquired a dry but wonderfully familiar voice. "Scully?" he asked, still confused. "What are you doing here?" "I live here, Mulder," she said, a trace of amusement flickering through her voice. "What am I doing here?" he inquired, his curiosity growing. "You fell asleep. I couldn't wake you. You sleep like the dead, Mulder." "So you just left me on the floor?" he asked with annoyance, rubbing ruefully at his back. "You must've fallen off, Mulder," she said shortly. "I had nothing to do with it." She was silent for a moment before thinking better of her outburst. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Let's not fight, Scully," he said, scrambling to his feet. "Do you have any coffee? We have a lot to talk about." * * * * ~If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it's yours. Who said that? Very trite, very unlike me and not even very appropriate...~ "Mulder?" Scully's voice cut in on his thoughts. "Did you hear what I said?" "No, I'm sorry Scully. My mind was just..." "Lost in space?" she asked, one eyebrow sliding skyward with smooth precision. "Exactly," said Mulder, smiling slightly. She sighed a small, inaudible sigh. "I *said*, that was Skinner on the phone. He says he wants this case wrapped up by Friday. There's been another victim." "Who?" "A little girl. Adriana Rodriguez." "So, you wanna go ask the Rodriguezes some questions?" "Actually, I have another idea," she said nervously. ~My Scully, nervous!~ he marveled, oddly charmed by the thought. "Do tell." "You haven't investigated a victim for," she did a quick calculation, "four days." "Five counting today," he said bluntly. He looked from her restless face to her nervous hands. "And you want to split up so we can interview them all." "Right," Scully said, visibly relieved that she didn't have to suggest it. She didn't want him to think she was abandoning him again. "You're not abandoning me, Scully. It's a good idea." "When did you get psychic, Mulder?" "I've always been psychic. What? You mean you haven't noticed?" he asked, feigning shock. "Well I guess I'm in trouble then," she said smoothly. "I'll meet you back here after five." She walked out the door before he had time to fully process what she'd said. * * * * Five. Six. Seven. Seven thirty. Eight. Eight thirty. Nine. ~Where the hell is she?~ Mulder paced around the apartment, trying not to think about the sickos and weirdos that wandered even the safest Maryland streets after sunset. She hadn't taken her cellphone. That much he'd discovered when he'd tried to call her and heard the sharp trill coming from her hall closet. The weather was incredibly mild so she'd only taken a light jacket. He cursed the temperate zone and continued to pace. * * * * I-495 11:45 pm ~Calm,~ she reminded herself. ~Everyone's stuck in the same traffic jam.~ She could see her exit just ahead. The bright green sign mocked her best efforts at relaxation. Inch by inch, the traffic snarl detangled itself. The accident was just ahead and to the left. As a general rule, she tried not to rubberneck, but just this once.... A shiny, black Volvo was crushed lovingly up against a white Escort. Two boys and a girl stood on the shoulder, one boy a dark haired, gorilla with a broken cigarette stuck behind his ear the other an artificial blond, his hands jammed deep in his pocket. He was being pawed at by a little imp who she could only imagine was his girlfriend. The girl was shrieking something that she couldn't quite catch and the gorilla was yelling too, he looked like he was having trouble standing. ~Just three drunk teenagers.~ She whisked by the accident in a matter of moments, concentrating on the exit ramp ahead. On the beltway, someone's car backfired. When she reached the bottom of the exit ramp, she was surprised to see a lone figure standing, half-obscured in the puddle of illumination under a streetlight. Without really knowing why, she stopped the car and rolled down the passanger side window. "Do you need a lift?" "Yeah." The figure stepped out of the shadows and opened the car door. It was a young woman. "If you could drop me off at the Metro it'd really help me out." "No problem. I live near the station." She didn't really, but suddenly she had an overwhelming desire to help this woman whoever she was. "Thanks," said the woman, sliding into the passanger seat. She had the most unusual face. Her hair and eyes were both the same shade of light reddish brown. "What's your name? Mine's Dana. Dana Scully." She extended her hand, feeling more than a little foolish. The woman took Scully's hand in a firm, cool grasp. "My name's Talia. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." Scully looked at Talia in confusion. "Do I know you?" "No." * * * * 921 Philadelphia Avenue 11:45 pm Mulder was dozing on the couch when the gentle scraping of keys in the lock brought him painfully back from the brink of unconsciousness. "Scully?" he croaked into the furry darkness. The door opened and a shard of light burst into his sanctuary of blackness. Scully stood outlined in the light from the hallway. There was something off about her, he could sense that right away. ~Who's that with her?~ Another female form stood behind Scully. "I'm back, Mulder," she said in a flat voice that seemed to echo and reverberate oddly in his head. "I was worried sick, Scully. Who's that with you? Turn on some lights, will you?" he said, making an effort to keep his voice steady. "I like the dark, Fox," insisted Scully monotonously. He was now in a full state of alert. "No you don't," he insisted, trying to make his tone as light as possible. His fingers searched for a gun that was not there. "She likes the dark, Fox," said Scully's companion in a savage imitation of Scully's level alto. "Thanatos," said Mulder disgustedly. "What do you want?" Thanatos shrugged casually, pushing Scully into the room. "I'm Thanatos, Fox. Use your imagination." The door slammed shut. "So you've come to do your mistress's dirty work!" he yelled hoarsely. Scully continued to stand in the doorway like a giant puppet, held aloft by magical strings. "No, I've come to do my own dirty work," Thanatos's voice drifted back to him. "You don't really believe that pitiful, little Imogen could control *me*?" She laughed sharply, humorlessly. "It's a pretty, little deathtrap if I do say so myself," she was almost casual. It chilled him to the heart. "Think of me, won't you, when the oxygen in this room turns stale and you're choking and gasping for any breath of fresh air. It should all be over by 12:30 or so. Oh, and don't bother with the phones or the windows." Mulder opened his mouth. "There's no one who could hear you now. If I were you, I'd save my breath." He snapped his mouth shut. "I'll be seeing you two later," she said with undisguised glee. Mulder pulled at the front door. The knob came off in his hand. He kicked it savagely and beat on it with his fists. Nothing. It was sealed. He could've sworn he heard faint, piping laughter from somewhere further down the hallway. * * * * When Mulder was sure Thanatos was gone, he rushed to Scully's side. She was stirring from whatever had gripped her. He could almost see the bonds of the spell snapping and falling away as she moved. "Mulder?" she looked at him with shock-widened eyes. "How did I get here? There was an accident on the Beltway. Three teenagers. Two boys. Arguing. His girlfriend was telling him something. I got off. A car backfired. Oh god." She massaged her temples furiously. "That wasn't a car backfiring. He had something in his pocket. I should have been able to tell the difference. That girl. I think I knew her." "That was no girl, Scully. It was Thanatos." She looked more confused than ever. "Let's go sit down. We've got a few hours before...we've got a few hours. Maybe you should tell me everything you know." * * * * "There's not a whole lot I'm sure of," she warned him. "Most of it is speculation." "It's never stopped me." "It certainly hasn't." "Hey, are you gonna insult me or enlighten me?" "I was getting to that," Scully said, settling back against the base of the couch. She wrapped her arms around bent knees. Mulder sat across from her, very close in the semi-darkness. His eyes glimmered with an emotion that she was neither prepared or willing to deal with. She cleared her throat. "It was my mother who suggested this so I guess you have her to thank. She was always interested in faery tales. She knew them all. When I was young, she used to read me stories about the Tuatha de Dannan. The children of Lir and all that. Of course I was always more interested in articles from Science and National Geographic. I didn't really pay much attention to her or I'm sure I'd have picked up on this earlier. I never really believed that conversion was responsible for the condition of those children," she admitted, touching his knee briefly. "I was looking too hard for a rational explanation for what was happening." "Just being contrary, Scully?" She caught a gleam of teeth in the dusky dimness. "Po-tay-to, po-tat-to, Mulder. What do you know about changelings?" "I know that one was a bone of contention between Oberon and Titania in 'A Midsummer Night's Dream.' I dunno, Scully. Genetic mutants, sure. Aliens, why not? But I never went for the fru-fru Wiccan stuff." "Faeries don't have anything to do with Wiccans, Mulder. They've appeared in many forms in many different cultures: Pixies, Trolls, Gnomes, Leprechauns, Brownies, Elves, Sprites, Nymphs, Dryads, Silkies..." "I can't believe you're sitting here lecturing me on the finer points of faery lore. It's kinda creepy, Scully." "Spooky, Mulder? Based on the things that've happened to us during this case, I can't honestly pretend that there's a scientific explanation for this anymore. Of course this doesn't mean that I'll go UFO-watching with you." "Darn." "When I was at the library a few days ago I ran into a case that bears a striking similarity to the one we're working on. In 1921, when Dale Drive was being cleared of trees to build houses, there was an outbreak of what the papers called 'an unexplained illness' that struck down many of the children in the neighborhood. The 'illness' stopped when the architect that built the houses died of a heart-attack." "So what triggered this current outbreak of...faery malevolence?" Mulder was not quite successful at keeping the tremor of laughter out of his voice. She resolutely ignored him. "A stretch of land known as the Kay Tract has recently been bulldozed to provide the site for a new high school. The community protested because all of the trees that once stood there were cleared. A group called Citizens for Global Responsibility staged a protest at the site. I was able to get a hold of the pictures taken at that demonstration. Guess who was there." "I don't have to. Based on what you're telling me, how could Imogen resist?" "I don't think she could. Not in this case." "Habitat depletion, Scully?" Mulder asked roughly, laughter once again on the edge of his voice. "Why not?" "It just seems so...weird. I suppose you have proof." "In a manner of speaking, yes." "I'll take that as a no." "Everything fits," she said, clenching her teeth to keep them from chattering. The temperature in the apartment had dropped about 20 degrees while she had been talking. "Cold?" "A little," she admitted. "I'll get you a blanket." He rose, returning several moments later, an odd expression on his face. "I guess you'll have to use this one." He offered her the blanket that had lain around his shoulders. " All the other rooms seem to have disappeared." "But then you'll be cold," she protested, positioning herself across his lap so he could drape it around both of them. "You were saying?" he asked after he was sure she was positioned comfortably. "The people I talked to reported hearing sounds. Mrs. Carver *saw* something and Lizzie..." "Who's Lizzie?" "The sister of one of the victims. She was the most adorable little girl. You should've met her, Mulder, you would've loved her. She said she saw elves. Then there's the timing." "What about it?" "According to my mother, two kinds of magick can be performed at night. Good and evil..." "Duh." "I wasn't finished. Presumably, all of these children were...exchanged sometime between midnight and 12:30. The half hour after midnight is the time for evil magick." "You say it like it's a curse." "I say it because it's true. It's now. It's midnight, Mulder." End of 8 of 12 The Twelve Days of X-Mas (9/12): Birth by Starbright (starbright1@juno.com) Rating: mild, mild PG Classification: X, MSR Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance Summary: Birth, truth and death.... hey, hey, hey! dost mine eyes decieve me or do i have only 3 parts of this story left?? wow. this one's a shortie though and i'm still behind but que serra serra and all that. i'm still looking for a few fanfic authors that i could ask a few questions. c'mon guys!! =================================================================== Flower: 1 Million BC by Mark Allan "Come up!" Cried the Voice With a breathy tone. And I pushed and strained And lifted my ignorant innocent Eyes upon the crusty earth and Frowned even in my unknowingness That man was still Sleeping. 921 Philadelphia Avenue 12:00 am January 2, 1997 Midnight. Scully's words echoed in his mind like an irretrievable malediction. Unconsciously, he tightened his arms around her, hoping to protect her from the fate that he knew they'd both share soon enough. "So, what now?" he asked, his eyes searching her face, as if hoping to find the solution to their problem written in the curves and soft freckles. "We wait," she said, matter-of-factly, moving closer. She took refuge in his arms as protection. The steady rasp of his lungs struggling with thin air was somehow a comfort even though every breath he took brought them that much closer to the end. Seeking more security, she slid her head downwards so it rested in the hollow where his shoulder met his neck. He balanced his chin on the top of her head, absently rubbing at her arms. The apartment was absolutely silent and the air was definitely getting thin. Scully shuddered even under the wool blanket and his breath was now coming in short gasps. His eyes closed briefly then snapped open. ~NO!!!~ he shouted in his mind, echoing it with a weak verbal protest, "No. Scully, don't go to sleep. We can't go to sleep..." She backed away, if only a few inches so she could look up at him. He averted his eyes, afraid of what he'd see in her expression. Fear, sadness, blame or, worst of all, hate. His stomach turned when he thought of how much of this was his fault. He'd been warned for crissake! The Calasari. They had known. Evil knew him. It clung to him like a contagion, infecting all those close to him. Father. Mother. Partner. It made no difference. His eyes darted, looking for something to focus on, something other than her. "Mulder. Look at me." Somehow, he met her gaze, he always did in the end. And, wonder of wonders, he saw peace. "We're going to die, Mulder," she told him, her breath warming his face. "We are." There was no pain, no accusation, only fact in his response. She looked at him in the half-darkness, the strong set of his jaw, his hazel eyes, even the nose, which she had thought was a trifle too big when they'd first met. How could she have ever thought that? He was beautiful. The edges of her sight were blurring and darkening. Once again he felt it. It was the same as that morning in the office a million years ago when he'd kissed her hand. There was no argument between them. He could see her soul shimmering in her body. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he leaned forward and kissed her mouth. It was tender and reverent, almost religious, as if this final act with the last of his strength was a holy thing. He wanted to preserve this moment. The one, perfect, beautiful thing he'd ever done in his entire, miserable existence. She never thought not to answer him. He was giving so much of himself in the kiss. She answered him, acknowledging all the things she could never say, how much she'd hoped, longed, yearned for this embrace, with the tenderness of her lips and arms. They lay together, spent physically by the small effort and emotionally by the large one. Neither had strength to rise, but instead clung to each other while the last of the air ran out and the presence of Thanatos was cold in their minds like a trickle of ice water. Sleep came first to their exhausted limbs, then death. END PART 9. TO BE CONTINUED.... The Twelve Days of X-Mas (10/12): The Door Swings Both Ways by Starbright (starbright1@juno.com) Rating: a mild PG Classifications: X, MSR Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance Summary: Death is often confusing.... whattya know? this series is winding down. good thing too, 'cause i just got another idea that should just be a bunch of controlled weirdness. *this* is kinda controlled weirdness, but *i* like it, however there are quite a few literary characters who pop up in this part. hmmm, i guess the stages of hell belong to dante, winston and '1984' belong to george orwell, st. peter? he must belong to someone as do limbo and the pearly gates. joan osborn belongs to herself as do crash test dummies and if someone wants to take credit for muzak, be my guest and screwtape (of 'the screwtape letters') belongs to c.s. lewis. i guess that's it :D ================================================================== Traveler's Curse after Misdirection by Robert Graves May they stumble, stage by stage On an endless pilgrimage, Dawn and dusk, mile after mile. Limbo 6:30 am January 4, 1997 She felt like she was being ripped slowly in half by someone with little or no experience with the process. A hot wind plucked at her hair and sighed around her body. ~Do I even have a body anymore?~ She could see Mulder dimly off to one side, but opening her eyes for too long was painful. Images swirled through her mind, but, contrary to what she'd always heard, it wasn't her life that flashed in front of her closed lids, it appeared to be Mulder's. She smiled at the cooing baby he'd been. His parents had loved him then. When Samantha was born, she could taste his jealousy, his rage, but underneath she caught a hint of pride and love at having such a beautiful little sister. The vision dimmed and she saw him, years later, a gawky, gangly, pimple-plagued teenager. He was quiet, studious even. His quietness was taken for snobbery and he had a hard time keeping friends. She watched as he graduated high school, college. He'd smoked a little in college, but he'd never really liked it. His personality demanded a certain measure of control, cigarettes could control him, they were out. She saw Phoebe, kissing Mulder in a tiny room near a rain soaked window. Somehow she knew, rather than saw that he had lost his virginity that afternoon in the gray apartment. She'd always thought it'd been earlier, but seeing the kind of teenager he'd been, she wasn't all that surprised. Then she saw the first day she'd walked into his office. The vision dimmed and blacked out. With a sucking noise, Scully was yanked to a cold, cold room. Ice chips solidified on her lashes and her breath froze on her lips. Forcing her eyes open, she looked around. Mulder was nowhere to be seen. * * * * The Pearly Gates 7:30 pm "Somehow, I'd always pictured them bigger," muttered Mulder, looking around for Scully. She'd been right beside him moments before but now she was gone. "Scully??" he called, his voice fading off almost as soon as it dropped from his lips. A figure approached. "Hello?" the voice reverberated around his head. "Who are you?" The man came closer. Close enough that Mulder could see him smack his head at the question. "Who else works here?" Mulder searched his memory for the vague images from sunday schools of long ago. "Saint Peter." Saint Peter bowed slightly. "Call me Pete." "Okay," said Mulder slowly, "Pete." "Follow me," said Pete, shuffling off toward the gates. Mulder silently followed. As he approached the not-as-impressive-as-one-might-think structure, he became increasingly aware of a faint piping music. The shapeless chords resolved themselves into words as he got closer. "Joan Osborn?" he asked, recognition sending a jolt through his body. "You listen to Joan Osborn in heaven?" "*And* Crash Test Dummies. What'd you expect? Muzak?" Pete asked, an infinitely amused expression on his face. "That's for the Other Place. Now," he said, settling himself behind a desk and taking out a pen, "all I need is to verify you with the records and you'll be all set to enjoy the rest of eternity." "Wait. I don't wanna die yet...." "No choice." "But it's not fair. I need to find my partner. Thanatos...." "None of this matters," Pete told him gently. "State your name, if you please." "Fox William Mulder," he said glumly. Pete's amiable expression vanished like DC snow. "What? You're not supposed to be here. Oh dear. Unless...you're sure that's your name? Limbo can be disorienting. You're sure your name isn't Dana Katherine Scully?" "Do I look like a Dana?" asked Mulder, raising one eyebrow. "No," said Pete glumly. "So if you're here...that means she must be in the Other Place. Oh dear. We haven't had a mix-up in *ages*, not since that Mozart person, but what do you do with someone like that? A great musician but a womanizer and a drunkard." "What are you going to do?" "I'll have to let you in for a time. I need to have a talk with Screwtape. Oh dear. He's the most unpleasant member of the lowerarchy but he has experience with transfers like this. You shouldn't have to wait more than a few millennia." "Millennia??" "Time passes differently here. Enjoy it while you can. The Other Place isn't nearly so nice. But," he added hastily, seeing Mulder's apprehensive expression, "you should be relegated to an outer circle which isn't so bad, considering." "Outer circle? That's Dante, isn't it?" "Of course. Dante was Screwtape's patient and Screwtape is very good at what he does. How else could a mortal get such an accurate picture of Heaven and the Other Place? Dante is floating around somewhere in the inner circles." "How comforting," said Mulder dryly. * * * * The gates swung open with just the slightest suggestion of rusty hinges. "Definitely weird," said Mulder, pinching himself just in case. "Oh I'm afraid this is very real," said a voice. Mulder turned. The voice belonged to a melancholy-looking man standing near his right elbow. "Who are you?" "I've forgotten my name. We don't go by names here anyhow. I bet you've already forgotten yours." Mulder searched his memory only to find that the man was right. No, wait. What was that? He had a vague recollection of a much-loved female voice. She was exasperated. She was yelling. "Mulder," he said, triumphantly. The man looked surprised. "Hey, that's pretty good. When I got here, I didn't want to remember. Maybe you can...." his voice trailed into nothingness. "Maybe I can what?" "Get out?" "What?" "It's been done. Not often, but it *has* been done." "Can you help me?" "I don't know. Maybe if you help me remember my name, I can help you." "And my partner." "Your partner?" "She's in he...uh, the Other Place. But it's a mistake!" Mulder added hastily. "I'm supposed to be there. The circle for atheists and all that." "Oh." The man nodded. "I'll see what I can do. *If*..." "Your name...of course. When did you die?" "I think it was...I'm *sure* it was in 1984." "Were you important?" "Not very. But I was tortured!" "Tortured? Then it couldn't have been in the United States." "No. That wasn't the name. There was a war. I was a traitor... A man came and tortured me..." The man's eyes got vague. He stared at Mulder but did not see him, he was lost in his own past. "No! Not room 108! Not the rats! Get them away! Two plus two is *four* dammit!" Mulder got an inkling of an idea. "You remember the proles?" he asked, touching the man lightly on the arm. "Of course, until become conscious, they cannot revolt..." "And until they revolt, they cannot become conscious," finished Mulder. "How did you know that? I wrote it in my diary!" "You're delusional," Mulder told him calmly. "Your life never happened that way. It was a book by George Orwell." "No! No! You're wrong! I am *WINSTON*!" There was a commotion on the other side of the gates. Mulder saw Pete, Libido and a pallid Scully accompanied by a slick-looking man Mulder assumed was Screwtape. Pete and Screwtape seemed to be arguing with Libido. "Looks like you're outta here," whispered Winston. "Take this," he added, pressing a heavy object into Mulder's hand. "Put it to good use. I certainly can't use it anymore." "Thanks," Mulder said softly, but Winston was gone. With a defeated look on his face, Pete opened the gate. END PART 10. TO BE CONTINUED.... The Twelve Days of X-Mas (11/12): Denial is Safer by Starbright (starbright1@juno.com) Rating: PG Classification: X, MSR Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance Summary: Back from the dead, Scully goes to church.... i think that parts 11 and 12 should be devoted to alanna, who very sweetly and kindly told me to get off my duff and finish this puppy. ;D thanx. ================================================================== On a Certain Lady at Court by Alexander Pope I know the thing that's most uncommon-- Envy be silent, and attend!-- I know a reasonable woman Handsome and witty, yet a friend. Not warped by passion, awed by rumor, Not grave through pride, or gay through folly, An equal mixture of good humor, And sensible soft melancholy. 921 Philadelphia Avenue 10:30 am January 5, 1997 What day was it? His numbed mind groped uselessly for the answer. This was nothing like time loss. This was worse. Even in the depths of summer vacations past, he'd somehow had an inherent sense of what day it was. Mondays felt different from Fridays and Wednesdays felt the worst. "Judging by the way I'm feeling, It *must* be a Wednesday," he said out loud, his vocal chords protesting. "Sunday, Mulder, Sunday," said Scully in a voice that sounded as bad as he felt. Silence. He could almost hear her gathering her thoughts together. Some of the fog that had muddied his mind evaporated. "We're back, Scully!" he exclaimed. "So we are, Mulder," she said, managing very neatly (she thought) in keeping the tremor out of her voice. "Are you okay, Scully?" "I'm fine, Mulder," she said. He mouthed the words with her. "I really am. Just a little shaken, that's all." "So, what do we do now?" "I think I'd like to go to church," she said softly. "Church? We've got to call Skinner! We were supposed to have this case finished almost three days ago!" "I know. But, being dead has made me want to reexamine my life. I *have* to go, Mulder." He opened his mouth, ideas of Duty, Job and Commitment spilling from his mind, not to mention the thought of A Pissed Off Boss. He thought better of it. ~I seem to be doing this a lot lately.~ "Okay, I'll see if I can round up Imogen. I'll even write the report on this one," he offered. "Let *me* write it up. You're liable to say something..." she struggled for a word that wouldn't offend him. "Spooky?" he asked. "I was thinking more along the lines of insupportable." He nodded once. "So, how do you suggest I go about catching Imogen?" "I don't have the faintest idea," she admitted. "I could cut off her hair." "That's for mermaids, Mulder." "Stab her footprint?" "Witches." "Get her to say her name backwards?" "What?!" Scully gave him a look of pure disbelief. "Make something up, Mulder. I'll see you later." "If that's a dismissal, I don't know what is," he said, turning to go. Apparently, Scully didn't want to talk about The Kiss. And it *did* deserve capital letters. It was all he could think of. * * * * 1245 Georgia Avenue 12:30 pm From his pulpit, the minister was preaching something from Genesis. She was hardly in a state to appreciate what he was saying. Now that she was back, she almost wished she was still dead. Almost. The living had it tough. Besides the normal, day-to-day troubles of facing down Skinner and trying to make the rent, she now had to deal with Mulder. In his normal manifestation he was hard enough to take, but if he got the wrong idea because of The Kiss (and it *did* deserve capital letters) he'd be even harder to handle. Not like she'd never *considered* the idea. Getting involved with Mulder had crossed her mind on a couple of occasions, and each time, she'd dismissed the thought. Her friendship with Mulder was difficult enough without drawing sex into it. Scully was basically a private person, getting involved with Mulder would mean that she'd see him practically 24/7. ~And what do you talk about with a person like that? Oh, hi honey. How was your day?!~ Still, she couldn't deny that there was attraction and desire between them, especially in that oxygen-deprived room. But they'd been dying for crissakes! People don't usually come back from a situation like that! And yet, her lips burned at the memory. * * * * 567 Sligo Creek Parkway 12:45 pm Imogen's house was gone. There was nothing to suggest a structure had once stood anywhere in the heavily wooded area. Mulder's search produced only a scrap of paper. It was a note. Agent Mulder-- So sorry about Imogen. She was acting completely without authority. Accept our apologies and our congratulations for cheating Thanatos. Libido seems to have taken quite a shine to you. Take care to keep in his good graces. Good luck to both you and Agent Scully. You have a promising future. Oberon He took out an evidence bag and a pair of tweezers. At the first touch of the metal, the note dissolved like the delicate wings of the butterflies Sam used to collect. Clenching his teeth, Mulder fought the urge not to swear. * * * * 921 Philadelphia Avenue 1:45 pm "You two are very lucky that all those children recovered," said Skinner sternly. The two agents breathed a sigh of relief. "However, that doesn't excuse the fact that you missed our meeting on Friday. Where on earth were you two?" "Well," Scully began, shifting the phone a little on her shoulder and ignoring Mulder's emphatic head shaking. "We were following up a possible lead," interrupted Mulder. "And we were in such a position as we were not able to call or get back." The phone line buzzed while the AD considered Mulder's excuse. "I'll let you off easy this time," said Skinner. "But, you two still have a significant amount of back paperwork to file and I expect *all* of it to be filed by Monday afternoon." Mulder groaned. "Yes sir." Skinner hung up. "Exactly how much paperwork is there, Mulder?" asked Scully, in a low, dangerous voice. "Well," he did a quick calculation, "I did *most* of it up to the second Tooms case." "I hope you don't think I'm doing all of it." "Would *I* do that to you?" he asked innocently. "Yes. 50/50 or no deal." "That was my plan from the start." "I wonder." * * * * Though they started out with the best of intentions (and you know where those go), both agents were asleep by one. Mulder, his face smooshed against the lightning boy file, snored a little and returned to the same comforting nightmare (if a nightmare can ever be called comforting.) For her part, Scully made it to her bed. She was still in full denial about The Kiss, but not-so-strangely-as-one-might-think, Mulder was in her dreams. END PART 11. TO BE CONTINUED.... The Twelve Days of X-Mas (12/12): Epiphany by Starbright (starbright1@juno.com) Rating: PG Classifications: X, MSR Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance Summary: Mulder gets a gift from the great beyond. Scully plays a tiny practical joke. actually, this part is a response to stasia's challange (i figured *someone* should try it) i think i was pretty successful, but it was *hard*! :D ================================================================== The Phoenix and the Turtle by William Shakespeare Here the anthem doth commence, Love and Constancy is dead, The Phoenix and the Turtle fled, In mutual flame from hence. So they loved as love in twain, Had the essence but in one, Two distincts, division none, Number three in love was slain. Hearts remote, yet not asunder; Distance and not space was seen, Twixt this Turtle and his Queen; But in them it were a wonder. So between them Love did shine, That the Turtle saw his right, Flaming in the Phoenix sight; Either was the others mine. 57 Monroe Street 7:30 am January 6, 1997 He woke up with a crick in his neck and a pain in his hip. "I'm getting too old for this," he muttered to no one in particular, rubbing at his side. His hand encountered a curiously heavy object. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled it out. It was Winston's gift. He smiled. * * * * The X-Files Division 10:30 am The first sight that greeted her, two shot enhanced sight was Mulder's hunched back at the office door. He didn't appear to hear her. ~Just once,~ she reasoned. Creeping closer, she positioned her mouth as close to his ear as she dared, which wasn't very close. "MORNING MULDER," she said loudly. He jumped, hitting his head against the door. "Ow," he reprimanded her. "That was low, Scully." "Mulder, I'm running on about four hours of sleep and two shots of espresso. I deserve a little amusement. What were you doing, anyway?" she inquired, trying to draw his attention away from her lame explanation by changing the subject. "Nothing much," he said, opening the door and slipping into the office. She was about to follow him when she saw it. The door said 'Fox Mulder' as usual, but underneath was another nameplate, *her* nameplate. Smiling, she touched the knob and opened the door without regrets. THE END... OR IS IT? (I always wanted to say that) i could see how this story could continue...not with the same storyline of course, but continuing the relationship into another case. whattaya think? ================================================================== "He bit me with my own teeth!" --Grandpa Simpson (I rolled on the floor for about 5 minutes after that) "Yes, it's like a lava lamp."