Date: Sat, 01 Jun 1996 14:19:50 -0400 From: Kim Sefcik Subject: "Who Watches the Watchers?" Part 06/11 BEGIN PART 6 Disclaimers see Part 1 Comments to Kim Sefcik, (shannara@twave.net) "Who were you talking to?" Richie asked from his seat. "My partner, Dana Scully." "She's not coming *here* is she?" Joe asked. "Of course. Look, she did an autopsy -- she already suspects that something strange is going on." Richie opened his mouth for a rebuttal, but Chance cut him off, not wanting to start a verbal war between the two. "Why don't we all sit down and have some coffee or something?" Chance said, shooting Richie a "leave it bee" look while moving from his perch next to the elevator to join the rest of the group. Now that the worst was over, and they knew that they could trust Mulder -- at least for the time being -- everyone relaxed considerably. Duncan, wanting an excuse to talk with Richie, waved him into the kitchen, planning to make coffee. As Duncan fumbled with the coffee maker, futilely trying to get it to cooperate with him, Mulder and Joe were engaged in an animated conversation in the living room, Joe describing the Watchers in general terms. He was hesitant to go into to much detail, mainly because of Richie and Duncan's presence... Immortals weren't supposed to know about the Watchers, Joe explained. And even though MacLeod and Richie knew about the Watchers, Joe did have *some* rules to maintain. Chance listened for a few moments, but he had heard all this yesterday, so instead he wandered into the kitchen with Duncan and Richie. "What do you think of him, Mac?" Richie asked. "I think we can trust him to keep his word." "Are you absolutely sure, Mac? I mean he *is* an FBI agent." MacLeod allowed a small smile to play across his lips, "I consider myself a reasonably good judge of character, Rich." "If you say so," Richie said. He trusted his mentor, but something about this whole situation seemed, well, rather odd. Maybe he was just being overly paranoid, but something about being watched -- watched by someone dangerous, that is -- and then having an FBI man show up on your doorstep didn't strike Richie as pure coincidence. "What about the guy who was watching me, Mac?" "I don't know Richie. The only thing I can think of is a Hunter, but I thought that they had disbanded when Horton was killed." "Oh, that's a great comfort Mac, I feel *so* much better now." Chance spoke up from where he had been lounging against the counter, his back to the living room, "What are "Hunters"?" "Watchers who decided that Immortals were abominations. They tried to kill every Immortal they found," Duncan said gravely, "After their leader, Horton, was killed no one's heard from them." "Stranger things have happened," Chance said, speaking from experience. "Maybe it was one of *his* people," Richie said, nodding in Mulder's direction. "Somehow I don't think so Richie... he strikes me as the type who doesn't trust others easily. I don't think he'd have someone else assigned to watch you like that." Mulder voice drifted in from the living room, where he and Joe were still talking animatedly. "You don't actually watch everything do you?" Mulder's mind had drifted into the gutter briefly, and he was having flashbacks to his pornography collection. "Only the stuff we can't get arrested for," Joe said, a smile playing on his lips. That was the same excuse he had used for Amanda when she had been told about Watchers. "Why?" "Immortals are a race of people just like the American Indians, Japanese, or any other group you can think of. They've participated in mortal history and they and culture preserved, just like any of those other groups." "Even when that culture is self-genocidal?" Duncan decided to interrupt, "Mulder, we may be genocidal, as you put it, but in return look at all the life we are allowed to experience..." The pounding of the rain had slowly increased in intensely until it was a steady drone on the roof, casting a confining, hypnotic effect to MacLeod's sparsely furnished apartment. Mulder gazed at the rustic, raven haired Scotsman before him. "Exactly how old did you say you were?" "Four hundred and four." Mulder felt a lump catch in this throat. *Four hundred and four*, intellectually he could imagine such a time span, but emotionally he couldn't grasp what it would be like to live that long. The slow passage of time ravaging and destroying everything you held dear, and yourself remaining unaffected. Mulder felt a sudden sympathy for the Scotsman. His thoughts must have registered on his face, because Richie spoke up, "I know, it's a hard idea to get used to... I'm Immortal and *I* still haven't adjusted." "You too?" Mulder began, "How --" "19 -- 21 really," Richie said, and allowed a small grin to play at his face at Mulder's expression, "I haven't been Immortal for very long." "Oh... But there's still one thing I don't understand." "And what's that?" Joe asked. "I understand what you three are doing here," Mulder said, indicating Joe, Richie and Duncan, "but how exactly did *he* get involved?" asked Mulder, looking over at Chance, who was still leaning up against the counter watching the proceedings. Chance grinned broadly, "I have yet to figure that out." "Oh, you're just lucky I guess?" said Mulder. "Actually, that's exactly right." At the four confused looks he got Chance continued, "I've got strange luck." "Well, yea, sure we all do sometimes --" Richie began. "No, Rich, I mean I really have *strange luck*. At least... people say I'm "lucky." It all started thirty years ago when I was the sole survivor of a plane crash," Chance started to go into a monologue, but abruptly decided against it. "Okay, let me put it this way, an average day for me consists of saving suicide jumpers, smashing Elvis-lookalike potatoes into blenders, delivering babies in restaurants, suddenly having millions of dollars in my bank account, and winning the scratch-off tickets whenever I need a few bucks." Silence. "Well, it wouldn't be any weirder than anything else that's happened in my life lately," Mulder said, breaking the stillness, "just wait until Scully gets here, it'll send her though the roof! In a matter of hours I've caught up with Immortals, a conspiracy --oh, sorry, Joe, an *Organization* -- that has eluded all detection by the CIA and FBI, and one very lucky guy. Speaking of Scully, I wonder why she hasn't gotten here yet." "It's pretty nasty out there, maybe she's stuck somewhere," Richie said, not concerned in the least. The last thing he wanted was another federal agent around. "Maybe, but normally she would have called me if she was caught somewhere." As if on cue, Duncan's kitchen phone rang. It was a sharp, piercing sound against the thrum of rain. Duncan pulled the kitchen phone off its hook on the wall, "Hello," there was a pause, "Joe -- it's Mike," he said holding the phone out to the Watcher. Joe thunked into the kitchen and took the proffered phone, "Yea, what's up Mike?" After a pause, Joe said, "He did?. . . Are you *sure*, Mike?. . . No, I don't doubt you, it's just that that's rather irregular. Okay, Mike tell him we'll meet him there . . . Yes, I'll give you a call when I get back in. Oh, and Mike -- can you do the books tonight? I have a feeling that I won't get a chance tonight." "You're not going to believe this, Mac, but Carlson said he wanted to talk to you about yesterday," Joe said, hanging up the phone. "Me? Why?" Joe shrugged as he walked back into the living room. "He doesn't want you to bring your sword, either." "Something about this doesn't feel right, Joe," Duncan said. "We won't find out unless we meet with him... there aren't any other Immortals in town besides you and Richie right now. Carlson and I are old friends, Mac. I trust him." Duncan didn't look satisfied, but realized that he had no reason not to go. "Alright, let's go. Richie, I want the three of you to stay here until we get back, okay?" "Yea. Sure," Richie said, as the pair stepped into the elevator and slammed the grate with a final thud. CHAPTER 9 Duncan's T-Bird pulled up into the deserted parking lot of a strip mall. The rain had subsided, and a fresh, new dampness hung in the air. The clouds had parted in several places and the stars glimmered in between the looming gray cloud masses. A lone black sedan sat at the far end of the parking lot, adjacent to a K-mart. As Duncan's T-Bird slid up next to it, the passenger door opened and a man Duncan recognized as Carlson stepped out. "Hey, Joe," he said, as the two stepped out of the T-Bird. "Glad you could make it," Carlson attempted to sound friendly, but there was an underlying tone of malice buried under his amiable facade. The undertones weren't lost on Joe or Duncan. "What do you want, Carlson?" Joe asked, pulling his trenchcoat tighter around him. Normally he would trust his fellow Watcher... but something didn't feel right. Maybe it was just him, but Joe had a bad feeling creeping up the back of his spine. "What do I want?" Carlson repeated without emotion, as he slowly drew a gun from inside his coat, "You know, I've been wondering that for awhile, myself, Joe, but I think I've finally figured it out." Before either the Watcher or Immortal could make a motion, Carlson leveled the gun on Duncan and fired a round into the Immortal's chest. Duncan slumped forward onto the wet pavement and died, the blood from his wounds welling up though the heavy cloth of his shirt and staining it a muted red color. "Mac!" yelled Joe. "You bastard! What do you think you're doing?" Joe's eyes reflected the look of utter betrayal that loomed in his soul. "I suggest you cooperate," Calson said, waving the gun at Dawson, "unless you suspect that you might be immortal, too. Get in the car, Dawson." Joe, impeded as he was with his cane and his mortality, was forced to comply. Joe tripped as he was getting into the sedan, and knocked the base of his cane on the door. The white rubber stopper, which had a Watcher symbol on the base of it, was knocked off into a muddy puddle. Joe climbed into the back seat of the sedan, and Duncan's body was unceremoniously dumped into the car with him by a young man. Carlson climbed into the front seat, and gunned the engine. Looking out the window to the young man, he said, "Get Ryan... and get rid of that car." Nodding, the sharp looking kid climbed into Duncan's convertible. The cars sped off into the clearing night, leaving the wet parking lot behind them. ---------------------------- Richie glanced at the clock for what seemed like the hundredth time. Chance, acutely aware of Richie's tension, sat down by the young Immortal. "He's only been gone fifteen minutes, Rich, Mac can take care of himself -- he's been doing it for four hundred years, after all." "I know, Chance, but I have this weird feeling -- like, I dunno, like something bad's going to happen . . . I keep telling myself it's nothing, but I can't shake it." "Guys, MacLeod's immortal," Mulder said, flipping is cell phone shut. "Right now I'm more concerned about Scully. She's not answering her cell phone. I''m going over to the police station to find out when she left." "I want to come," Richie said, jumping off the couch. Richie didn't trust Mulder one iota, and he wasn't about to leave the agent in any position to disclose the secret of Immortals. Maybe after he got to know Mulder better, his opinion might change, but right now Richie wasn't taking any chances. "I don't know Richie, MacLeod you to stay put." "No, he told *us* to stay put -- something you're not doing anyway. What's the worst that could happen anyway? We're just going to a police station, you have a gun, and I'm Immortal. Seems fool proof to me." Mulder sighed, "Okay, Richie... You coming Chance?" "Yea, I might as well. Somehow I always end up coming anyway," Chance said as the three headed out the door. ------------------------ Scully's eyes opened slowly and a blast of white light assaulted them. Groaning, she sat up slowly on the hard bed and rubbed her sinuses. She sat still for several moments, lest the sickening throb return to her head. "Careful," came a voice next to her, "that looks like one hell of a headache." Scully whipped around to see who had spoken, and her field of vision promptly clouded over in a wash of black spots. She shut her eyes for a moment, and then slowly focused on who had spoken. Sitting off to the side, on another spartan hospital bed, was an older man, Scully judged him to be in his late forties or early fifties, with graying hair and a pepper flecked beard. "I'm agent Dana Scully," she said, but it came out in more of a weak tremble. "Joe Dawson," the man said, "Am I correct in assuming that you're agent Mulder's partner?" "Yes. How you know Mulder?" Dawson's lips twisted in a rueful grin, "It's a long story." Scully nodded, and took stock of her surroundings. They were in a relatively bare room. With two beds, and a wooden simple table and chair in one corner it seemed more like a hospital room than anything else. The walls were a dull white and a large metal door adjacent marred the otherwise unbroken blankness close to where Dawson was sitting. A strong white light blared down from the ceiling, making the room seem starker than it was. It felt too familiar to... her mind abruptly rebelled at the thought, and instinctively shied away. She had only reacted that way before while trying to remember things from her "missing time," and that reaction now unnerved Scully. She was about to ask Dawson more about how he knew Mulder when the cell door banged open and two men came in, and pushed a tall, rustic man whom Scully recognized as Duncan MacLeod, into the cell. MacLeod's long ebony tresses had obviously seen better hair days, and there was a mixture of blood and grime on MacLeod's face. Nonetheless he was enough to make Scully catch her breath and stare before she remembered who this man was, and what he was suspectedness of doing. After Duncan had been shoved in, the men quickly exited and slammed the metal door behind them. Duncan hauled himself to his feet. A loud gasp escaped Scully when she saw Duncan's chest. His shirt had several bullet holes ripped in the blue fabric and there were auburn blood stains on the edges. Where there should be gaping wounds in MacLeod's impressive chest, however, there was only unmarked, smooth flesh. "You're Duncan MacLeod," Scully gasped, staring at his bullet riddled shirt. Trying to ignore the fact that Scully's attention was focused on his healed torso, Duncan responded with his usual charm. "It seems you have me at a disadvantage, Ms --?" Duncan said, trying to divert Scully's attention for the moment, but knowing full well that he would have to explain Immortals a third time, regardless of how much he impressed, or distracted, Scully. "Scully, -- Agent Dana Scully." "Fox Mulder's partner?" "How is that everyone knows Mulder? What *exactly* has he been *doing*?" "It's a long story," Duncan said. "Oh, you're a big help -- that's the same thing *he* told me," Scully said, gesturing to Joe. "Carlson didn't hurt you did he, Joe?" "Naw," Dawson said, pulling himself to his feet. "I'm too old and tough." Duncan grinned at that. Scully supposed that it must have been some sort of inside joke between the two of them, because she saw nothing humorous about it. "I know that this is going to sound incredibly blunt, but would someone mind explaining MacLeod's shirt?" Scully asked, her curiosity finally getting the better of her. Duncan and Dawson exchanged looks. "I think that the important thing right now is to figure out a way out of here," Duncan said. "You're avoiding the issue," Scully pressed, "I want to know how the hell you can have bullet holes in your shirt, and not a mark on your skin -- and don't tell me that it was that way when you put it on, because there's still blood smeared on your skin." Duncan sighed. "Do you want to do the honors or should I?" Duncan asked Joe. -------------------------------- "So what did you find out?" Richie asked Mulder as the FBI agent climbed back into Chance's car and slammed the door. "Nothing much. The officer I talked to said Scully left right after calling me. Her car's not in the parking lot," Mulder said, twisting around to look at Richie in the backseat. "So what do we do now?" Chance asked from his seat next to Mulder. "Do you think that your Watcher friends could help?" Mulder asked as Chance started the car and pulled out onto the slick, dark night street. "I don't think so," Richie replied. "I'd like to try them anyway. If I were a Watcher, and there were people investigating Immortals, I'd keep a close eye on them." He certainly adjusted quickly. Richie had never met anyone else who was able to get into other people heads as fast and as well as Mulder did. /Too bad he wasn't here during the episode with Garrick... Mulder would have gotten a kick out of that,/ Richie thought. "They might," Richie shrugged, "But Mike doesn't like to discuss Watcher business in detail over the phone. We'll have to drive up to Joe's... Take a left up here on Oak street, Chance." The trio drove on in silence, the water on the road spraying from the tires and catching in the light on the lonely road Mulder frowned. This was not looking good. He was confident that Scully could care of herself, but like a father teaching his daughter to drive, it was the *other* people that worried him. So far this case seemed like a routine X-File, if you could call X-Files routine, but there was no telling what could happen. It had taken Mulder quite a while to get over Scully's return from her "alien" abduction and for him to stop acting overprotective. In fact, he still wasn't totally over it. The Caprice slowly found it's way out of the inner section of the city. "Turn right up here," Richie said from the back. Chance approached the intersection. "Can't," he said looking up at an orange "detour" sign. "The hell--??" Richie said, a puzzled expression crossing his face. "Well, guess we'll have to follow them and take the scenic route." Chance turned onto the Detour route, and sped down a steep hill. At the bottom he found yet another detour sign. Shrugging, the turned and followed in the direction it indicated. After clattering over four sets of railroad tracks, the car stopped at an intersection with a third Detour sign, only this one looked as though it had been bent in the wrong direction. Not wishing to second guess the sign, just in case it was correct, Chance turned another corner onto a long street which was briefly lit at scattered intervals with dim street lights. The silence in the car began to loom like an approaching thunderstorm as Chance drove for another ten minutes without encountering another Detour sign. "I think we're lost," Richie announced. Mulder took a long sidelong glance at Chance. "Hey, don't look at me that way, Mulder. It's not like I can't help it. I've learned that there's usually there's a reason for it, and I just kind a follow the flow of events and do whatever I have to." "Well, I never was one to follow the flow. Pull into that K-Mart over there. I can remember the way back, but let's see if we can figure out a way to Joe's without all the Detour signs," Mulder said. END PART 6 =========================================================================== Date: Sat, 01 Jun 1996 14:20:06 -0400 From: Kim Sefcik Subject: "Who Watches the Watchers?" Part 07/11 BEGIN PART 7 Disclaimers see Part 1 Comments to Kim Sefcik, (shannara@twave.net) CHAPTER 10 "Okay -- let me get this straight," Scully began, the doubt dripping from her voice, "You are immortal," she pointed to MacLeod, "only not really *immortal* per se, you're just a really long-lived person who can die by beheading... and *you* Watch *him* cut off other Immortal's heads. "Immortals kill each other because in the end there can be only one and when one of Immortal kills another there's a light show called a "Quickening" -- which sounds like the title of a movie that Mulder would watch -- and Immortals come from a planet called Ziest." "Um... everything but the Ziest bit," Duncan said, wondering what kind of dementia could be responsible for the thought that Immortals came from a planet called Ziest. The only thing he could think of that would be even weirder than that would be that Immortals are really time travelers from the distant past. Scully snorted, "I'd have an easier time believing in aliens than immortals." Then she realized what she'd just said. "I've been spending too much time with Mulder -- I think I need a vacation," Scully added to no one in particular. "I think," Joe began, "that right now we *really* need to find a way out of here before Carlson comes back." "Carlson -- is he a Watcher?" Scully asked. "He *was*, when we get out of here I'm going to have him court-martialed and thrown out of the Organization." "*When* we get out? Being optimistic for a change, Dawson? Is that good for someone who runs a blues bar?" "Funny MacLeod, funny," Joe said. "C'mon Mac, four hundred years of experience must have had you confined in worse places than this." "Yea, Turkish prisons are hell," MacLeod circled around the perimeter of the cell, inspecting the walls and door. "Sorry, Joe, but it looks like the only way out would be to jump the guards. This place is sealed up tight." "Wonderful," Joe snorted. ------------------------------ "No, we want to turn *right* when we get to the intersection," Richie insisted, jabbing a finger at the unfolded map on the hood of the car. "Look, Richie, *I'm* the one with the photographic memory -- *I* say that we turn left," Mulder countered. "Mulder, I've lived here all my life -- I was literally raised on the streets, I think that I'd know my way around by now." Chance sighed and meandered away from his parked car and the voices of the other's arguing. The parking lot was deserted except for them, and fading, dim lights cast yellow circles on the broken pavement. Chance walked over toward the deserted K-mart building, scuffling his shoes on the pavement and shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his trenchcoat. Lying on the ground was a soggy old copy of The Examiner. Chance's photograph of the lightening strike was emblazoned on the front page. Grinning slightly and remembering the hair raising events surrounding that photograph, Chance knelt down and picked up the old paper. Underneath the wet paper, There was a stubby cylindrical piece of white plastic with a hole in one end laying in a pool of rain water. Dropping the paper, Chance picked up the object and turned it over in his hand. There was a Watcher trefoil on the bottom. "Hey, guys," he said, straightening up and walking back toward the arguing Immortal and FBI agent. "Does anyone know what this is?" "It looks like a piece of rubber," Richie said, his irritation with Mulder carrying over to his reply. Mulder, however, displayed more interest. "It looks like the tip of a cane," he said, taking it from Chance and turning it over in the palm of his hand. Richie's eyes widened, "Let me see that." Richie snatched the rubber piece from Mulder and held it in the light from a dim lamp. "This is from Joe's cane," he croaked. "Oh, c'mon Richie," said Mulder, "You have no way of knowing that." "I *know* it is, there's a Watcher symbol on the bottom..." Richie said with such passion that Mulder decided not to say anything. "Carlson has them... I *know* it." "Look, guys," Chance said from over by the car, "Let's just see if we can't get to Joe's. Maybe we can find out more from there." Richie clasped the rubber stopper tighter and nodded slowly. The trio climbed back into Chance's scrap heap car and slammed the doors. ------------------------------- Dana Scully was sitting in a corner of the cell, contemplating what she'd heard. Duncan and Joe were sitting across the cell from her talking about whatever Immortals and Watchers trapped in a cell together talk about. Immortals -- well, it's not like it was the strangest thing she'd ever encountered. At the very least it explained the murders, regardless of whether or not MacLeod really was Immortal. If he believed that he was, he might be deluded enough to actually go out and decapitate people. That thought sickened Scully. MacLeod certainly didn't *look* like the kind of man who'd kill someone, but looks could be deceiving. On the positive side, MacLeod didn't think that Scully was one of his "Immortals", and it seemed as though he only killed other Immortals. So, for the moment, Scully was safe. She hoped. But then, it wasn't like she hadn't been in more dangerous and bizarre situations before. Actually, compared to silicon-based life forms and alien bountyhunters, the idea of immortality and Immortals seemed downright ordinary. In fact, something nagged at Scully, almost like she'd heard of Immortals before -- in a movie somewhere. She pulled herself out of that train of thought; it was slightly ridiculous. A movie about Immortals -- next she'd be thinking that there was a TV series about the X-Files. "We could, you know," Joe's voice interrupted Scully's train of thought. "Could what?" Scully asked. "Jump the guards," At Scully's skeptical look he added, "No, I mean it. MacLeod's Immortal and --" "I don't think so, Joe." Duncan interrupted, "These guys are professionals, and they probably know what I am. I doubt that we could get away with that." "Yeh, damn, you're probably right, Mac. Well, it was an idea anyway." "I hate it in here as much as you do, Joe. We'll figure a way out." "Doesn't anyone want to know *why* we've been thrown in here together?" Scully asked, pulling herself to her feet. Joe shrugged, "See how we react to each other?" "I think you're been watching too many reruns of "Star Trek", Joe," MacLeod commented. Joe cast Duncan a mock withering look, "Seriously, though, Mac. If these guys are a breakoff group of the Hunters, and from all appearances it seems that they are, shouldn't you be a bit more concerned about your head?" "If all they wanted to do was kill me, they would have done it while I was still dead from the gunshot wound." "Maybe so. But if I were you, Mac, I'd be just as worried about them *not* beheading you... they might have something worse planned." Scully felt odd caught in between the exchange. Certainly both of these people seemed to believe that MacLeod was Immortal. Maybe it was some sort of mass delusion. But then of course, there were the bullet holes in MacLeod's shirt -- Scully's thought was cut sort. As Dawson finished speaking, the cell door clattered open and several armed and tattooed guards trooped into the cell. One of them grabbed Scully and pointed a gun to her head. "I think it'd be best for you to cooperate, MacLeod," the man said. Not wishing to see Scully injured, Duncan acquiesced and he and Joe were lead from the cell. CHAPTER 11 The silence in the car stifled the three men. Richie was fingering the rubber cane stopper, horrible thoughts of what had happened to Joe and Duncan percolating though his youthful mind. Chance and Mulder sat quietly in the front seat, doing nothing to break the silence. Finally it became too much for Chance to bear, "Stop worrying Richie. It'll be okay." Richie said nothing and just stared out the window at the moving cityscape. Duncan was Immortal, Richie didn't worry to much about him. After all, the Scotsman hadn't lasted 400 odd years to be killed off now. But a dreadful knot was twisting up in Richie's stomach about Joe. When he had first met the middle aged Watcher, Richie had distrusted him even more than he had distrusted Mulder. Over the course of the last few years, however, Richie had developed a deep bond with the older man. He could talk about anything he wanted with the Watcher, Immortals or otherwise, and Joe offered a sympathetic ear. Sometimes it was even easier to talk to Joe about Immortals than Duncan, after all, Joe was closer to Richie's age than Mac. The sudden possibility of loosing his best mortal friend hammered on Richie like a ton of bricks. He knew that he was probably over reacting, but he had never really thought of loosing Joe before, and now that there was the possibility that it might happen the emotion was assailing him for all it was worth. "Richie, are you okay?" Mulder asked. Richie realized that he couldn't let the agent see him like this. The macho, street punk part of him wouldn't allow it. "Yea, I'm fine." "So, what do you think this "Carlson" person did with them?" Mulder asked, trying to get the kid to talk instead of just brooding silently. "I dunno..." Richie trailed off, and looked outside. A sudden urge to talk came over him suddenly, for no particular reason..."Joe told me something about Carlson a few days ago after I had an, um, unpleasant "encounter" with the guy. Joe said that he and Carlson used to be friends, but they'd had some kind of falling out..." Richie paused, his words choking in his throat. "Anyway, Joe said that he was actually getting kinda scared of the guy -- in a purely professional way, that is. Apparently Carlson's been distancing himself from the Watchers lately, and his behavior's, well, just weird. He's been working for the government, and is really absorbed in his work. Joe says he's been getting worse lately... and the guy's like some kind of impenetrable wall with his own agenda who uses whatever he can to get what he wants." "Sounds like some people I know," Mulder said. ---------------------------- The armed men trooped down the barren hallway, Duncan and Joe walking before them. The heels of the four pairs of boots beat almost in unison on the polished floor, which reflected the glare of the lights back up at them. The men acted like a well-trained military unit. As Joe thunked down the hall he allowed his mind to wander, hopefully away from his situation. However, his thoughts kept returning to the military like attitude of their captors. They didn't act like any Watchers he had ever encountered, not even the Hunters. Watchers were trained to be independent and to think on their feet -- following Immortals and staying hidden required such an individual and loosely organized set up. These men functioned too much like a well oiled machine. Joe was beginning to have his doubts. He pretended to stumble, his cane slipping on the floor. The nearest man reached out to steady him, albeit rather roughly, and Dawson managed a quick glimpse at the man's wrist. There was no tattoo. There wasn't even a distortion of skin to indicate that a tattoo had been there and then removed. If it was anyone else, Joe would have concluded that they were simply new recruits, or were in a sensitive position and couldn't have the risk of being tattooed. But their manners indicated otherwise. The only conclusion was that these men weren't Watchers... they probably weren't even Hunters. And they might not know about Immortals. There were just hired help. Joe stored that bit of information away in the back of his mind; it might come in handy. At the end of the hallway, there was a metal double door, and a smaller wooden door in the adjacent side of the corridor. Duncan was lead through the large double door at the end of the hallway, while Joe was escorted through the smaller door. Inside Dawson found himself in a fairly large and comfortable room, except for the fact that it was shrouded in cigarette smoke. Bookcases lined the walls, and a comfortably worn leather couch graced one side of the room. At the far end sat a large wooden desk, with a computer perched atop it, and a large picture window and door behind it. Sitting behind the desk was a person Dawson knew all too well. "Carlson." "Yes, hello to you, too, Dawson. Please, have a seat." He was being nice... Joe had learned that people were often nice to you when they wanted something. Nevertheless, he gained nothing by standing like a fool. So, pulling up a brown upholstered chair, Joe sat down and propped his cane up next to him. The two men sat quietly for a few minutes, a question hanging in the air. "Are you going to explain why I'm here, Carlson, or are we just going to sit here and look at each other?" The slightly wrinkled, but powerful looking man behind the desk allowed himself a small smile as he slowly and deliberately opened a pack of cigarettes and flicked a lighter. Taking the slim cigarette between his thumb and forefinger he inhaled deeply and breathed out a ring of smoke before answering. "It's nothing personal, Joe. Let me assure you of that." "Oh, thank you. I feel so much better now," Joe snapped, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Now, there's no need to get snippish, Dawson. I just want you to know that I like you, both as a Watcher and a friend." "Carlson, you just kidnapped me, MacLeod and an FBI agent. You're holding us God knows where, for God only knows how long. I hope you don't take it too personally if I say that right now you're not very high on my Christmas list," Joe said in a uncharacteristic but controlled show of anger. Normally Dawson was rather laid back, but for once he was letting his temper surface. Carlson chuckled, and took another drag on his cancer stick. "Whatever happened to the studious librarian at the old bookstore, Joe? You know, you've changed a great deal since you met that Immortal MacLeod, Dawson... and I've watched it happen. "I remember the time when you defended the Watcher principals to the letter. You did a hell of a job defending that paper..."The Ramifications of Noninterference in Reference to and Directly Regarding Immortals, the Prize, Gathering, and Other Q-Wave Theories." Joe set his jaw, and looked Carlson in the eye, "I'm not the only one who's changed, Carlson. At least I didn't allow "other elements" to distract me from my responsibilities at the Watchers." Carlson took another breath of the cigarette between his thumb and finger, his face remaining and mask-like and emotionless as ever, "Joe... is that what you think? Well, hopefully your little visit to my "facilities" will help to prove otherwise. And may I remind you that I'm not the one who's broken the code of Watcher ethics on numerous occasions as of late?" Joe decided that he'd had enough of the other man's subtle taunting. "Look, all this small talk is wonderful, Carlson, but I want to know what the hell is going on." "There's one thing that hasn't changed, Dawson," Carlson said with a small grin, breathing in from his cigarette momentarily and then blowing smoke out from his mouth. "Okay Dawson... *you* are here for a very simple reason." There was a pause. "Which is?" "I want you to recruit Mulder into the Watchers." ------------------------------------- END PART 7 =========================================================================== Date: Sat, 01 Jun 1996 14:19:58 -0400 From: Kim Sefcik Subject: "Who Watches the Watchers?" Part 08/11 BEGIN PART 8 Disclaimers see Part 1 Comments to Kim Sefcik, (shannara@twave.net) ------------------------------------- "So you have no idea why you're so lucky, Chance?" Mulder asked. After breaking the initial silence, the trio had been talking almost nonstop. Richie discovered that once Mulder's curiosity was sparked there was no stopping it. "Not really," Chance said, his eyes still on the road, "all I know is that my father was lucky, just the way I am, and so's my brother, Eric... well, wait, maybe I should start at the beginning. You remember how I said that I was in a plane crash thirty years ago? Well, one of the firemen at the crash found me and adopted me. He was the one who gave me my name, "Chance". "Anyway, a lot of stuff has been coming to light lately, and I discovered that I have brother, Eric who wasn't on the plane went it crashed. I also found out that my real name is Alex... but I kinda like Chance better," Chance said with a small grin. He took a deep breath before continuing, "Anyway, a few weeks ago I met my real father... I had always thought that he was dead. Apparently he was involved in some kind of government conspiracy or something and some people that thought they could exploit his luck." "Story of my life," Mulder said. "How so?" "The majority of my work on the X-Files involves a government conspiracy of some kind --" "You know," Richie said, cutting off Mulder from his place in the back seat, "maybe your extra Quickening has something to do with your luck." Chance's brow furrowed, "Maybe. I never thought of that, Rich..." "I don't follow," Mulder said, "You -- you aren't Immortal, too, are you Chance?" Chance laughed, "No, no I'm not. But I do have more Quickening than a normal "mortal". Enough to let me sense the Immortals, but not enough to actually make me Immortal and all that stuff." "Richie, I think you've read _The Celestine Prophcey_ once to often," Mulder said. "Huh?" Mulder grinned, "Nevermind. You, um, you don't think that Joe is interested in any new recruits for his "Watchers", do you?" Mulder asked Richie, only half-joking. "If you don't mind tattoos," Richie said sharply. He was gradually beginning to like Mulder, but that didn't mean that he had to trust him. And, in Richie's opinion, Mulder as a Watcher was not a good idea. Their conversation was cut short as Chance finally pulled into the parking lot of Joe's. The neon pink sign on the side of the building that sported the name "Joe's" in script was still lit, casting what would be a glossy pink glaze over the hood of the car, is not of it's many pits and rust spots. "Um, Mulder... I think you should stay in the car." "Forget it, Richie, I'm going in with you." "Mike probably knows who you are -- and it might make him more hesitant to tell us where Carlson is." Mulder decided that it wasn't worth arguing about, so Richie and Chance got out of the car and walked toward the blues club, the gravel crunching underfoot. Richie pulled open the door and walked into the warehouse turned bar. The place was closed, but the lights were on, illuminating the entire club. Chairs had been placed feet up on the tables for the night and the floor had just been swept. "Hey, Mike!" Richie called. The balding Watcher sat behind the bar, hunched over what appeared to be an accounting book, a scowl across his face. Apparently Mike didn't like doing the books anymore than Joe did. Mike looked up, annoyed at being interrupted. As soon as he saw Richie, however, his expression changed to one of welcome. "Hey, Rich, Chance. What brings you here this time of the night? It must be close to three in the morning," Mike said, setting down his pencil, hopping off the barstool and moving to greet the two guys. "Richie what's wrong?" he asked, noting the Immortal's expression as he got closer. "It's a long story, Mike. Where did Carlson tell you that Joe and Duncan were supposed to meet him?" "I dunno... some K-Mart down across the railroad tracks, um, Second Street I think. Look, Rich -- what's this all about?" "Damn," Richie swore softly to himself, "Joe hasn't called back or anything, has he Mike?" "Not since I talked to him at MacLeod's place... Richie, what's going on?" "Mike, I think that Joe and Duncan have been kidnapped. I'll fill you in later, but right now I need your help." Mike's eye's widened in concern for his mentor's safety, "Just tell me what you need, Rich." "We think that Carlson's responsible," Richie said, Mike looked like he was about to protest, but Richie cut him off and kept talking. "We need to know where we can find him." Mike hesitated for a moment, his eyes glittering with indecision. On one hand, he could get seriously reprimanded for giving an Immortal information like that. On the other hand, it was Joe, his friend and supervisor, who's life that was on the line. "Okay, Richie," he said. The three waited anxiously as Mike went to the back room and brought out a leather bound book bearing the Watcher trefoil on the cover. Mike set the address book down on the bar and hurriedly flipped through it. "Here... Carlson works for the government and he has some kind of installation just north of here," Mike said, handing Richie a paper with an address scribbled on it. "Thanks, Mike." Richie said as he turned to go. "Richie," Mike said, reaching out for Richie's arm. "Good luck." Richie took a quick glance over at Chance, "Don't worry, Mike, I think we have enough." ---------------------------- Dawson took a long look at Carlson. "Why?" "You've encountered the agent, Joe. He has an uncanny ability to discover things which he has no business knowing. I'd prefer to have him somewhere that I can keep tabs on him, so that he won't interfere with my "other" work anymore. Recruiting him into the Watchers would satisfy his thirst for the paranormal and give me the control I need over him." Joe regarded Carlson silently for a moment, "You brought us all the way up here to ask me *that*?" Carlson smiled again, and it sent shivers up Joe's spine. Carlson had changed drastically since their early days together in the Watchers. He had been so involved with the Watchers and upholding their principals until he became part of that government agency he worked for... "No, Joe. Not just that." "What else then? And what about MacLeod and the agent?" "Agent Scully is none of your business, Joe," Carlson said, his tone momentarily taking an icy turn. "MacLeod, however, is another matter..." Joe sat and looked intently at Carlson, waiting for him to continue. "MacLeod will not be harmed, Joe. Let me assure you of that. I know how fond you are of him. However, I will be using him in a series of... experiments, if you will." "Experiments Carlson?" Joe said in a dangerously quiet tone, "What *kind* of experiments?" "Quickenings, Dawson," Carlson puffed on his cigarette again, his face was still a mask, but his voice lightened momentarily with the dreamlike quality of a visionary before returning to its normal deep barrenness. "Quickening is what makes Immortals what they are, it's what makes them *immortal*, Joe... and it's present in every living thing. So why are They the only ones who have enough of it to actually make them Immortal?" "Watchers and Immortals have been wondering that for centuries, Carlson, and no one's any closer to an answer." Carlson continued as if Joe's hadn't spoken. "People regard Quickening as such a stable force, Joe... but it's not as static as they'd like to imagine. What if -- during an Immortal's Quickening transfer, you could capture enough of that energy and then bind it to another person -- another mortal? Think about it, Joe. Think about it." Carlson's voice had hardly raised above it's normal dead panned expression, but his words weighted heavily on the room. The smoke around Joe seemed to thicken with the ramifications of what Carlson was saying. "You've done it, haven't you?" Joe asked quietly, a tingle creeping up his spine. Carlson took another slow puff on his cigarette, causing the end to glow a bright orange in contrast to the swirling gray smoke. "Somewhat. In past experiments, we've successfully transferred Quickening to several mortals, and the extra threshold for Quickening seems to be hereditary. In fact, it's had some... intriguing... side effects, but not the results we're looking for." "Which are?" Dawson asked, knowing the answer before Carlson spoke. "Immortality, Dawson. Immortality." CHAPTER 13 Richie scuffled down the steps leading out of Joe's bar, the restless night air ruffling his hair slightly. Chance lagged behind in the doorway; somehow a corner of his jacket had gotten caught on some part of the door frame and Chance couldn't get it loose. "You know, Rich," Chance mused, while tugging at the stubborn fabric, "most of what we have so far is circumstantial... we don't know for *sure* that Carlson took them." Richie turned around to look at Chance, who was partially hidden from view, "Yeah, Chance I know... but --" Richie was cut off by the sudden spasm of pain and a faint whooshing sound. A stinging sensation burst forth from his chest and he involuntarily grasped toward the wound. His hands met something wet and sticky and he looked down to see them covered in blood which was discolored by the pink neon from Joe's lights. Chance, wide eyed, ripped his coat loose from the door and bounded down the steps to help Richie, who had begun crumbling to the ground. "Get *him*, Chance," Richie gasped, "I'm... fine." Richie slumped onto the ground with a shuddering breath. Looking up, Chance saw a figure holding a gun with a silencer extension on the nozzle. The man had been making his way toward Ryan until he spied Chance. Apparently he hadn't seen Chance, who had been shielded by the darkness and his position in the doorway. Chance flew after the man, who had turned tail and was running for all he was worth away from the bar, and toward car parked a short distance away. They managed to run a short distance from the bar before the other man slipped on some loose gravel and went sprawling. Chance seized the opportunity and threw himself toward the gunman. Instincually, he grabbed the hand which still clutched the gun. In a fit of adrenaline fueled fury, Chance managed to wrench the gun from the smaller man's grip, but in their struggle the object was thrown to the side. Chance seized the closest object instead, the guy's trenchcoat. The young man had partially managed to pull himself up and Chance was clutching for all he was worth to the collar of the other man's coat. The smaller, slighter man, however, managed to wriggle his way out of it and escape into the car and off into the night with the roar of an engine and a spray of loose gravel. Chance was left standing there, his own trenchcoat flapping slightly in the breeze, holding the other guy's coat in his hand. The pink lights from Joe's created a faint aura behind him. Mulder, who had jumped out of the car just moments before, walked up behind him. "Damn," Chance swore softly. "I lost him Mulder." "It's okay, Chance," Mulder said simply, his face set in an indiscernible mask as he walked over and picked up the fallen handgun and tucked it away inside his own coat. Mulder was silently belittling himself for not reacting quicker. At least Chance had actually *done* something. For some odd reason though, when Richie was shot, Mulder had been partially hunched over in the car tying his shoe, and he hadn't seen anything until it was almost over. The two walked back to the still figure of Richie Ryan who was lying, dead, on the ground outside Joe's. Briefly, Mulder had some doubts about what Duncan had told him, "Chance... what if --" "Don't worry, Mulder," Chance said with a faint grin, "he'll be fine. Just help me get him into the car." Together they hefted Richie into the backseat of Chance's car. Thankfully, the surface of the wound had started to heal, so Chance's car wouldn't be blood stained. Silently the other two climbed into the front seat of the car and pulled out onto the street. After driving a short while in silence, Mulder spoke, "Did you check out the pockets of that coat, Chance?" "Nope," Chance said, nodding towards the coat lying on the back seat next to Richie, "have fun." As Mulder reached into the back seat for the black trenchcoat, Richie coughed and stirred slightly. The young man groaned and his eyes fluttered open. "Hey Richie," Mulder said, his expression a mix of apprehension and astonishment. Despite everything he had seen, Mulder was still slightly blown away by the whole affair. Richie had been dead. Now he was alive. Actually seeing this "Immortality" in action was... well... rather unnerving, and yet it was wonderfully intriguing. "You okay? I hope that your impression of Swiss cheese isn't a regular occurrence." Richie threw Mulder a look, and ignored his last comment. "Other than the fact that I feel like I got hit by a Mack truck while being hung over on several bottles of tequila, I'm just peachy..." "Yea, it's nice to see you, too, Rich," Mulder said, pulling the huge coat into the front seat with him as he spoke. "Sorry, guys, but getting shot isn't exactly my idea of a good time. Would someone mind filling me on what the hell happened back there?" "We don't know anymore than you do Rich," Chance began. "I'm just glad that you're immortal, otherwise --" "Son of a bitch!" Mulder interrupted, looking at a card he had fished out of the pockets of the jacket. "What?" Chance and Richie said, more or less simultaneously. Mulder's voice was low and hoarse with emotion as he spoke the name of the man he hated than anyone else in the world -- the man who had killed his father. "Krycek." ---------------------- Joe sat quietly regarding the smoking man. He was certain that Carlson was capable of pursuing his intentions. With his ruthlessness, experience and the government's and Watcher's resources at his command, he could accomplish almost anything he set his mind to. And Carlson had his mind set on immortality. That was such a common theme throughout history. So many people wanted to be immortal, to never suffer the pains of age and the fear of death. That fascination with immortality was what had finally persuaded Dawson to join the Watchers after he lost his legs in Vietnam. Joe had always considered immortality a myth, an ancient idea thought up by some ancient scholar... and yet when Joe had lost his mobility, he had gained knowledge of an ancient esoteric secret and through that knowledge, regained a certain amount of his freedom. He felt needed at the Watchers, and it was something that he wanted to pursue. Those two feelings, being needed and the feeling of being unique through his experiences in the Watchers, were the driving force behind helping him cope with the loss of his legs. He had a goal to pursue and knowledge that many other "normal" people didn't even dream about. But, aside from a passing fancy or daydream, Dawson never wished himself Immortal. Granted, he wouldn't grow old, or suffer the fear of death from anything other than beheading. But there was so much he would have to give up -- children, a secure life, friends whose life didn't seem to last more than the blink of an eye. And after meeting MacLeod, that belief was only strengthened. Duncan was an amazingly complex man, and Joe was proud to be his Watcher. But knowing the things he did about Duncan, Joe knew that he would never have survived or been happy as an Immortal. Sometimes Joe wondered how the Immortals, Duncan and Richie in particular, were able to cope -- thrown into a barbaric Game with no say in the matter, to battle to the end for a mythical Prize. And Carlson wanted immortality. Joe could think of only one question... "Why?" "Must you ask?" "Yes. Carlson, why? Why would you want to live forever? Why would you want to get involved in Their Game?" Carlson came the closest to laughing out loud that Dawson had ever seen... the corners of his mouth turned upward and his eyes shimmered momentarily with silent amusement. Then they dead panned once more, hiding whatever emotion had briefly flickered to life. "Dawson... The "Game" as they put it, is no more than a cruel joke created by some early Immortal seeking to find a purpose to his eternal existence." "But the Quickening --" Joe protested. "Is simply the natural exchange of energy which occurs at any death, Joe. Even when mortals die, there is a discharge of life energy. Immortals are simply bound to their Quickening more tightly than other organisms, and when one dies in close proximity to another, a "Quickening" occurs because the energy exchanged is so much greater, and therefore more uncontrolled and violent. It's not anything "magical," and it has nothing whatsoever to do with a "Game" in which there can be only one winner." "Yea, well, have fun trying to convince other Immortals that the Game doesn't exist." "Oh, I'm planning on it Joe..." END PART 8 =========================================================================== Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative From: Kim Sefcik Subject: "Who Watches the Watches?" Part 09/11 Date: Thu, 16 May 1996 20:55:25 -0400 BEGIN PART 9 Disclaimers see Part 1 Comments to Kim Sefcik, (shannara@twave.net) ------------------------------ "Who's Krycek?" Richie asked, leaning forward until he was practically sitting in the front seat with the other two. "He... he used to work for some "friends" of mine. If he's involved, then I have a pretty good idea of what happened to Scully." "I take it that if you ever met up with these "friends" of yours, it wouldn't be a pleasant encounter," Chance said. "Yea. They're not a nice bunch. What really bothers me, is just *how much* they are involved with your friends' disappearance." "Mulder... I don't think I like what you're inferring," Chance said slowly. "I'm not inferring anything, Chance. I'm just being cautious... I've dealt with these guys before." Richie stayed quiet during the exchange. He wasn't sure he followed what the FBI agent was driving at, but these two obviously had more experience with government conspiracies than he did, and Richie was quickly learning to keep his mouth shut about things he didn't have much experience in. It kept him from making a fool of himself. There was silence in the car for a long time. No one felt much like talking after the recent incidents and instead elected to drive quietly with their own thoughts. Plus, Mulder's attitude had somewhat damped any efforts to renew their former conversation. Occasional flashes from white headlights bolted by as they passed other cars. Richie leaned his head back against the seat and relaxed as the car's vibrations began to lull him off to sleep. It was very late -- or early, depending on how you looked at it, and Richie hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a couple of days. Shutting his eyes to the receding city line, Richie tries to temporarily shut the events of the last few days out of his mind as well. "Richie?" came Mulder's unexpected voice, jerking the young Immortal from the hazy recesses of the onset of sleep. "Yea?" Richie said, not opening his eyes. "What's it like?" Mulder sounded tired, too, yet there was an inner fire that still managed to glimmer though. Apparently he was trying to take his mind off the plight of his missing partner, Watcher conspiracies, and kidnappings. After all, there's only so much that a person can assimilate in one night. "What's what like?" Richie said, still not opening his eyes and slowly being recaptured by the gentle sway of the car. "Being Immortal," Mulder said. The question had an innocent quality to it, in the simple way it was stated, yet in the dark stillness of the night it hung heavily in the air. Richie opened his eyes and straightened up somewhat in the seat. Under normal circumstances he wouldn't have answered, but their earlier conversation and recent shared adventures were making him slowly open up to the FBI agent. He took a long breath before answering. "I dunno, it's kind of hard to exactly pin it down like that, Mulder. I mean, when I died the first time, I kept waiting for a time when I would *feel* different somehow, but it never happened. I was, and still am, plain old Richie Ryan." There was a brief pause. "You talk about that so casually," Mulder said. "About what?" "Dying." Richie was silent for a moment, "Yea, I suppose that I do... but it's not like it's a big issue in my life anymore. Well, no I shouldn't say that -- it is a big issue, but not in same way it used to be. But you know, I never really thought about it before -- I *know* that I'm immortal, and I've even been killed a few times, but emotionally I'm still in the same boat you are. I haven't lived for four hundred years like Mac." Richie smiled faintly in the dark. Another car whizzed by, illuminating his face briefly and then disappearing. There was silence in the car again. "Chance, what about you?" Richie said. "Mulder gets to ask me questions, but I'm not the only paranormal one here." "Richie, I'd hardly consider my luck paranormal. It's just... well, it's just *luck* there's nothing weird about that." "Isn't there?" Mulder asked. "Though I have to admit... I have seen weirder." "Have you seen stuff weirder than Immortals?" Richie asked, leaning forward and teasing Mulder. "Oh, yea," Mulder said with mock seriousness. "Wouldn't you consider an ancient race of bugs which cocoons human beings and drains their body fluids to survive or a mutant that can elongate it's body and has to ingest human livers before hibernation stranger than Immortals?" Now it was Richie's turn to be skeptical, "You've *got* to be kidding." "Nope. Just a day at the office for Scully and me." Now it was Chance's turn to smile, "Are you *sure* that I'm the only one with strange luck, Mulder?" --------------------------------------- Carlson sat puffing on his cigarette a moment longer. Joe was as stubborn as he always had been, that much was certain. Apparently if he wanted Mulder in the Watchers, he'd have to take more drastic steps to convince Joe of the importance of what was going on here. Besides, once Dawson was involved, there was no way back out. "Joe," Carlson said, reaching forward and smashing the butt of his cigarette in a glass ash tray on his desk, "come with me." Carlson stood up from his desk and opened the door in the back of his office. Joe sat still, quietly regarding the other man. Then, making up his mind, Dawson hauled himself stiffly out of the chair and, after picking up his cane, thumped over to the door. As insane as this whole business was, Dawson had to admit that he was drawn to it, as a moth was drawn to light. It reminded him of the time someone had videotaped an Immortal's duel. While it was something that never should have happened, it did happen, and the resulting tape was something that the Watchers would have loved to obtain. Dawson saw this as something similar. Carlson should never have been allowed to do something like this, but now that it had happened, Joe decided that he might as well take advantage of learning as much as he could. Of course, Duncan had ended up destroying that videotape. Joe walked into a white hospital room. The walls were lined with diagnostic equipment, and two beds graced the center of the room. One bed had a metal object constructed on one end that had a frightening resemblance to a guillotine. In the middle of the room, however, was a tall metallic, pyramidal structure which was thick at the base and tapered off toward the top, which was about a foot short of the ceiling. It vaguely resembled a lightening rod, except for a few important differences... it wasn't solid, instead it was more of a framework, like the Effiel Tower. Also, twisting up the sides, and entwined among the beams were naked cables. Joe's eyes wandered over the shiny metallic surface of the tables and the "rod" in the middle of the room. "Carlson... what is that?" Carlson took another cigarette out of his inside breast pocket and slowly lit it. Taking the slim white stick from his mouth which was hazed in a cloud of smoke, he said, "What does it look like, Joe?" --------------------------------------- "Okay, according to Mike's directions, we need to turn *here*," Richie said, looking at the scrap of paper Mike had given him. Chance started to pull into the narrow paved road that turned off the right side of the main highway. Trees stretched in all directions and the stars glittered like jewels in the ink black sky around them. Richie suddenly felt very isolated. What was he doing out here with an almost total stranger and someone else he had only met days before? He was helping his other friends, Richie reminded himself. It wasn't anything that Mac hadn't done for him before. "Wait, stop for a minute Chance. Are you *sure*?" Mulder asked, swiveling around to look at Richie. "Yea, I'm sure that I'm sure." Another car wizzed by on the otherwise quiet road, momentarily filling the car with the bright light from its headlights. Chance started down the road, the gravel and dirt crunching under the tires. Occasional flashes of moonlight filtered down though the overhanging tree branches, making patches of light and darkness on the surface of the road. "Stop the car," Mulder said. Chance obeyed, and the engine abruptly died. The three piled out of the car and Mulder led them off into the woods adjacent to the road. Trying not to make any more noise than they could help, the Immortal and two mortals swiftly approached the complex. Then, somewhere in the dark woods surrounding them, an owl hooted. It was a lonely, ominous sound, and it sent shivers up and down Richie's spine. He didn't like the woods. At least, not at night. Growing up a city kid, Richie was accustomed to the constant motion and life of the inner neighborhoods... the glow of neon lights and the sound of cars or a distant train. The woods were just too damn quiet... and when there was a sound, it broke the silence with the shock of a sword though an Immortal's neck. /Wonderful metaphor, Ryan,/ Richie thought to himself, /fits right in with the lifestyle./ Abruptly, rising up in front of them, there was a six foot chain link fence with three lines of barbed wire lining the top. Off to the left, they could see the faint gleam of lights, presumably from the guard at the main gate. Through the fence they could see the road which ran though the middle of the military complex. Several small outbuildings -- trailers, really, branched off to the sides. Presumably they were living quarters. There were a few other nondescript buildings lines up in military precision, and the road ultimately ended near a large, sprawling building similar to a hospital. "So what do we do now?" Chance asked. "We break in," Richie said, walking over to the fence. Richie quickly tapped the fence with the back of his hand -- nothing happened. It wasn't electrified, so he hooked his fingers into the wire mesh and stared in at the buildings. "Um, Richie? Reality check," Chance said. "There are three of us, and probably about a million of them." "Geez, Chance, you seem like the last person to quote odds..." Richie said, turning back to look at the other two. "I'm not quoting odds, I'm advising discretion, Rich." "Hm, too bad the pizza delivery thing won't work this time," Mulder mused to himself. "What?" Richie asked. "Nevermind. Let's decide what we have going for us... Richie you're Immortal, that means you get to go in first --" "Oh, gee... thanks, Mulder," Richie said with more than a trace of sarcasm. "-- I have a gun... you don't carry any kind of weapon, do you, Chance?" "Not unless you count my cell phone." "Okay, you can use this," Mulder said, handing him Krycek's dropped gun. "I have something we might be able to use," Richie said. "Such as?" Mulder asked. "This," Richie reached inside his leather jacket and pulled out his rapier in a single swift movement. "Where'd that come from?" Chance asked, "I didn't see any --" Richie cut him off with a secretive grin, "Trade secret." Mulder rolled his eyes at Richie's flamboyant methods, but he had to admit that it was an impressive sword, and it would undoubtedly come in handy. "So, are we going to do this or not?" Richie said, wanting to get out of the still night. "As soon as someone decides how we're supposed to get in," Chance said. Mulder got a smug look on his face, "Don't worry, I have that covered..." "Well, then, what are we waiting for?" Richie asked. Richie shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the barbed wire on the fence. With the practiced ease of someone who'd broken into more houses and climbed out more windows than he could count, Richie clamored up the fence and over the barbed wire where his jacket was. He jumped to the ground with a dull thud and shook his jacket free from the fence. "You guys coming?" he asked innocently from the other side of the fence. Richie turned and started following the fence line down toward the compound. Mulder removed his trenchcoat and, with a bit more difficulty than Richie, managed to throw it up over the barbed wire. He and Chance then climbed up over the fence and dropped to the ground on the other side. Mulder pulled his trenchcoat down with a faint ripping sound. "Damn," he swore, "If I keep requesting compensation for clothes damaged in investigations like this Financing is going to have my head...." Chance gave Mulder a weird look -- he was at a loss to figure out how Mulder's partner put up with his bizarre sense of humor and dry wit. Mulder and Chance caught up with Richie, who had already traversed half the distance to the compound. They remained in the shadows of the trees which were overhanging the portion of the fence bordering the woods. Overhead the clouds parted, and the white, misty moonlight lit the world around them with an eerie white light. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled heavily again. The rumbling sound traveled swiftly toward them. A breeze rippled thought the tops of the trees, and the air was still restless and thick with tension from the storm. Richie had stopped along the fence line, his naked sword at his side, and was looking at something on a tree just outside the chain link. "Richie," Chance said in a loud whisper, "why'd you stop?" "Chance... what do you see on that tree over there?" Richie asked, indicating the trunk of a tree which was illuminated by the white moonlight. "Some symbols, or something... why? What's wrong Rich?" "Damn, I thought so. Chance... this is Holy Ground." END PART 9 =========================================================================== Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative From: Kim Sefcik Subject: "Who Watches the Watches?" Part 10/11 Date: Thu, 16 May 1996 21:00:10 -0400 BEGIN PART 10 Disclaimers see Part 1 Comments to Kim Sefcik, (shannara@twave.net) CHAPTER 14 "So?" Mulder asked. "So... Immortals aren't allowed to kill on Holy Ground. It's one of our "Rules." As far as anyone knows, no one ever has and no one ever will." "Well, let's just hope that no one has to fight," Mulder said, "let's keep going." The trio crept slowly toward the main building, staying in the black shadows of the tree line. The wind had crept up again, and the tops of the forest whispered and rustled, instilling the area with a restless, pensive feel. The grass underfoot was still damp and slippery from the rain earlier, and it clung to Richie's sneakers. He kept the tip of his sword free from the fecund earth and tried to get his mind off the fact that this was Holy Ground. He didn't know why it bothered him so much -- the chances of him fighting another Immortal here were slim. For some reason, though it nagged him in the back of his mind and wouldn't stop. There had to be a reason that a Watcher would built an installation like this on Holy Ground. They had approached the last building, and Richie's thoughts were forced to stop pestering him. It was larger than it had seemed from a distance and it's brick walls were unbroken by windows or doors. At the front of the building there was a solitary door. Richie, Mulder and Chance approached it, trying to stay in the shadows as much as possible. Despite the fact that the base seemed quiet and settled, there was no reason to take unnecessary risks. "This place looks like it was designed to last through a nuclear blast," Mulder muttered to himself as they clustered around the door. "Okay, Mulder, you said you had a way in," Richie said. "Do your magic." Mulder pulled a small plastic card, with a magnetic strip on one side from his pocket. He scanned it through a metal box just above the doorknob, and a green light briefly flashed on the box. Mulder pushed the heavy door open and the three slipped into the white corridor. "What is that?" Chance whispered. "Krycek's access card," Mulder said with a mischievous grin. "I found it in his jacket." The hallway they had entered was a coarse white, and the walls of the corridor were bare. The three rapidly made their way down the halls, the barrenness of the place impressing a sense of urgency on them. The hallway was lined with heavy metal doors on each side. Just above each of the dark gray knobs there was a card key lock. Once, briefly, they heard the echo of several footsteps in the distance. As the sound grew closer, Richie broke out into sweat. They didn't sound rushed, but they were moving at a steady pace towards them. The three exchanged worried glances; in the empty hallway there was no where for them to hide, and if they tried to overwhelm the approaching people they risked exposure. It was a miracle that they had made it this far without being detected... or maybe just dumb luck. Chance snatched the card from Mulder's hand and silently whipped it through a lock on one of the doors. As the indicator turned green, he pushed open the ponderous door and the three piled inside. Mulder let the door close almost until it clicked shut, but kept his hold on to the door handle, so as not to lock them in. Turning to face the other two, Mulder was about to say something when he saw the other occupant of the room. "Scully!" --------------------------------- "I don't want to venture a guess, Carlson," Joe said, slowing walking up next to the structure. Awed and frightened at the same time. "We've never bothered to name it," Carlson replied noncommittally. "It's much easier to deny its existence that way." Joe's eyes widened slightly in horror as he looked around the room at the assortment of computers and diagnostic equipment. Sitting in several corners there were two men and a woman, dressed in white, working quietly at a computer terminal. "How long has this been going on?" he said, wanting to know, and yet apprehensive of an actual answer and what it might entail. Another haze of smoke bellowed from Carlson's mouth, "Longer than you want to believe, Dawson... the original project actually started in the 1940s -- of course I joined much later." Joe felt the rage and indignation boil to the surface of his skin like a fever. Experiments -- like what they did to common rats -- and it has been going on for over fifty years! How many Immortals had suffered or even died for their curiosity? Joe held no illusions about the Watcher's infallibility -- Horton had taught him otherwise -- but this... this was simply barbaric. "So this is what you want MacLeod for? I don't believe you, Carlson... I can't believe I used to be your *friend*." Joe said quietly, his voice twisted with emotion and conviction. "We all make mistakes," Carlson said, "but our friendship, or lack thereof, is irrelevant, Dawson. I told you that MacLeod will not be harmed, and I promise you that... so long as you cooperate. However, if you refuse to aid me in my business with agent Mulder... well, let's just say that you know what I'm capable of." Dawson said nothing. Carlson nodded to one of the assistants in the room, who silently rose and exited the room. "However, as a memory refresher, I have arranged for you to view the first in a series of experiments involving MacLeod." ------------------------------ "Mulder!" Scully exclaimed, jumping from the hard hospital bed in surprise and relief and running over to the other agent. "Wonderful fragrance you're wearing, Scully -- what is that? Eau du Chloroform?" Scully rolled her eyes. Same old Mulder. "Yea -- I've been thinking of buying you a bottle Mulder, it might help your dating success." Suddenly, Scully became aware of the other two men in the room with her. One was a good looking guy in a long brown trenchcoat, and the other was a redheaded kid in his late teens who was carrying a... sword? /Uh, oh.../ Scully thought, /Either there are more delusional people out there, or that means only one thing.../ Mulder cleared his throat, "Um, Scully, I think you remember Richie and Chance?" "Yea... um, Richie, right?" Scully asked, looking at the one with the sword. "I know this is going to sound incredibly presumptuous of me -- but, are you Immortal?" Richie's eyes widened, "Um, yea. How did you --?" "MacLeod and Dawson were in here with me earlier." Richie's eyes brightened considerably, "Mac?... do you know what they did with him?" --------------------------- MacLeod groaned. The first thing he saw was the lights. Bright blinding lights blasting down from the ceiling, from the sides, from everywhere. Surrounding him were people -- only they didn't look right. Everything was blurry and distorted, the people's heads were huge and misshapen. The people were white, whiter than the walls that surrounded him, and they looked down at him with large eyes. In the background he could hear clicks and beeps. Everything seemed larger and louder... MacLeod felt a sense of panic rise up from his gut and into his throat. Duncan had been afraid before, but not like this. For some reason, in the back of his mind, the Highlander knew that they couldn't kill him, but nonetheless a primitive panicked sense wracked his being. A buzzing, thrumming sensation suddenly pounded though his disjointed thoughts. Duncan's sense of urgency about *something* increased. That sensation meant *something* he was sure... but what, he couldn't recall. Desperate to escape, MacLeod began thrashing in the handholds and bound him to the metallic surface. Joe had watched quietly as Duncan was brought into the room and strapped to a table. The Highlander's eyes had a glazed, indistinct look to them, as if MacLeod didn't know where he was or what was going on. Joe still watched quietly, having no other choice, as another Immortal, one Joe recognized as Crannok, was brought into the room and strapped to the other table. Dawson's heart wrenched as he saw his friend strapped to the table like an animal. Sweat stained the armpits and chest of MacLeod's T-shirt as he whipped and struggled to free himself. Duncan pulled at his bindings with brute physical strength, his muscles rippling with Celtic fury. His hair plastered itself to his face and neck with sticky human perspiration. For a moment during his struggles, Duncan looked up and straight into Dawson's eyes. His eyes were glazed with fury and drugs, but Dawson's gut twisted at his inability to help. To Joe, it was accusatory and his own guilt was reflected back to him. Dawson looked sidelong at the man responsible for the whole operation while Carlson simply watched. -------------------------------- Scully's expression fell slightly, "No, I'm sorry. I don't know." Richie smiled grimly, "That's okay... back to plan A I suppose." "We had a plan A?" Chance asked. Just then, Mulder motioned them over closer to the door. "C'mon guys," he said, poking his head out the door slightly, "let's get going." -------------------------------- Joe watched the scene unfolding before him with a certain amount of detachment, as if he was watching a movie. Due to the emotional turmoil of Watching, he had often put his mind into that state, especially when Watching Immortals fight. He had often had to regard the while Game as just that -- a movie or a game. As Joe watched, Carlson sent the three workers away. The guillotine over Crannok's head was dropped by a command outside the room, and with a muffled thunk, the Immortal's life was ended. Joe knew perfectly well what followed. After a brief pause which seemed to last for an eternity, a translucent blue mist rose from the dead Immortal's body and drifted over to MacLeod. As it passed the "Quickening rod" separating the two Immortals, however, it twisted and convulsed... if Joe didn't know any better, he would have said that it was wracked with indecision. Then, something Joe had never seen before, and doubted he'd ever see again occurred. With a scream of agony from Duncan, a shimmer of Quickening ripped itself from Duncan and drifted over toward Crannok's Quickening. The double Quickenings together infused themselves into the Rod in the middle of the room. Then, the lightening occurred. White bolts of stray electricity burst from Crannok's body and wrapped themselves around anything they touched. Some struck Duncan, who was now fully alert. The horrendous jolt of having his Quickening ripped from his soul had dulled any effects of the drugs and returned him to sanity. Twisting tendrils of light streamed from the decapitated body, flicking toward the ceiling, the walls, and the tables, and then twisting back to the rod. As swiftly as it has begun, the Quickening was over. The air hung still and heavy, and was broken only by the labored rasp of Duncan's exhausted breathing. His jaw set, Dawson turned toward Carlson. "What the hell just happened?" --------------------------------- The Immortal, two FBI agents, and the very lucky guy all made their way swiftly down the hall, their footsteps clicking in an irregular pattern. Suddenly, Richie and Chance halted so quickly that Scully almost ran into them. A dull thrumming buzz filled their minds and souls, and around them the air seemed to thicken. There was something else, though, another sensation back in the far reaches of their minds that they couldn't quite identify. Mulder noted their distracted looks, "Duncan?" "I hope so," Richie said. "Where?" "How the hell am I supposed to know?" Richie said, suddenly upset at Mulder's presumption for no real reason. "I just thought th--" "Guys," Chance interrupted, "why don't we try there?" Chance indicated some large double metal double doors at the end of the hall. Jogging swiftly down to the end of the door, Mulder pulled open one of the doors and they ran though. Chance pulled Richie aside momentarily. "Did you feel that... other thing?" Richie's expression was grim, "Yea." "What was it?" Chance asked, his eyes searching Richie's face for an answer. "I really have no idea, Chance." "Hm, this looks promising," Mulder said, "if you two would care to join us." Mulder was standing next to a door. There was a indicator toward the top which read: NO ADMITTIANCE EXCEPT TO AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL. Then underneath it read: DO NOT ENTER / TESTING IN PROGRESS. "Hmm, too bad I'm not authorized... but with today's red tape that could take forever," Mulder said. "Mulder -- you don't mean to go in there do you?" Mulder flashed her a look that said, "you-should-know-me-better-than -that-by-now." "Mulder, it's insane..." "I know." Chance looked over at agent Scully and silently pressed Krycek's gun into her hand. "Here, Mulder let me go first," Richie said, his sword held ready in front of him, "I'm the Immortal." "So I'm told." Richie took Krycek's access card from Mulder, and whipped it through the scanner. "I've always wanted to do this," Richie said as he deftly kicked the door, which flew open. Mulder's eyes narrowed as his gaze fell on the deeply lined, stoic face of the cigarette smoking man in the middle of the room. "You..." END PART 10 =========================================================================== Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative From: Kim Sefcik Subject: "Who Watches the Watchers?" Part 11/11 Date: Fri, 17 May 1996 16:16:24 -0400 BEGIN PART 11 Disclaimers see Part 1 Comments to Kim Sefcik, (shannara@twave.net) CHAPTER 15 Surprise and recognition flickered briefly over Carlson's face and then were gone almost before they had a chance to surface. "Hello agent Mulder, " he said, calming puffing on his cigarette, "such a pleasure to see you again." Richie, Chance and the other FBI agent, trooped into the room, Scully with her gun drawn and held at ready, and Richie with his sword in an equally threatening position. "Joe! Are you --" Richie began, but then broke off and whirled around at the sound of a groan from behind him. "Mac!" Richie rushed over to MacLeod's restrained figure and began slicing through the leather straps which bound him to the table. "What the hell have you been doing here?" Mulder demanded, looking Carlson in the eye. Carlson took a long draw on his cigarette, "That's really none of your business, agent Mulder." "Like hell," Mulder said, his gun still cocked, "you kidnapped my partner, you've repeatedly hindered my investigations, and I *know* that you had something to do with the death of my father and Scully's sister... just because I didn't kill you the last time I had the chance doesn't mean I won't make the same choice again." Carlson stared at Mulder with an even, almost condescending expression. "You're not a murderer, agent Mulder. Besides, if you kill me, you kill more than you know." "Damn you." "Not just yet, Mulder." Joe spoke up. "He's been experimenting with Quickening, Mulder... that *thing*," Joe said, indicating the rod in the middle of the room, "is some kind of Quickening retainer...he's trying to create Immortals." "Among other things," Carlson said flatly, blowing more smoke from his mouth. "I just want you to know how much you're endearing yourself to me," Mulder said to Carlson, his tone venomous. Mulder twisted his head around to look at Richie. "Are you almost done?" "Yea, I'm -- there," Richie said as he cut through the final strap. "You okay Mac?" Duncan sat up on the end of the bed, blinked and rubbed his eyes for moment. "Yea, I'm fine Rich..." "Mulder -- someone's coming," Scully said from her position by the door. "What are we going to do about him?" Chance asked, indicating Carlson with a nod of his head. "Leave him," Joe said. Mulder was about to protest, but Joe cut him off, "Don't worry, Mulder... I'll make sure that the Watchers take care of him." "Well, I'm going to make sure that he doesn't do anymore of these insane experiments," Richie said, marching over toward the rod. "Richie -- I don't think..." Chance began, but was cut off by the ring of metal and a spray of sparks as Richie cut through a cable which entwined itself around the structure. "... that's a good idea," Chance finished. Blue light diffused out from the cables and metal of the structure and twisted around it like a giant whirlpool. It fought and sparked out from the sides, and grappled against the flat walls, as if it was searching for something. A stray luminescent tendril reached out toward the small cluster of people. Carlson was caught up in its electric grip and thrown backward onto the floor. As if on cue, the other strings of light found their way to him, and began enveloping him in a glowing mass of Quickening and electricity which streamed down his extremities and coursed though his body. "I think that now might be a good time to leave..." Chance commented as everyone bolted for the door. Behind them, they could hear dull thud of footsteps and shouts as someone found the testing room alight with Quickening energy and the abductees missing. The lights in the corridor suddenly flickered and died. Moments later, red backup lights flickered to life, illuminating the hall in a bloody red ambience. Duncan's mind was still swimming, and some of the effect of the drugs were returning to his overloaded mind. Supporting himself on his young protege, he forced his Immortal body to move. He had never felt this way before... it wasn't a mental, emotional or physical weakness, it was something deeper than all three. Duncan felt like a part of his very being had been torn from his bosom and a part of him felt hollow like he's never felt before. Outside of the building, there was a faint pink light on the eastern horizon -- it was nearing dawn. The stars had faded and the undersides of clouds were reflecting the pink light back. The air was wet with dew and the grass was slippery. The compound was still quiet. Mulder didn't like it. Somewhere a bird chirped, it's trilling song seemed wildly out of place. The Immortals, Watcher, FBI agents, and Chance all ran along the fence line toward the gate. Duncan had recovered, his Immortal body healing quickly, but the void in his gut still remained. They passed along under some overhanging trees, nearing the gate and the place where they had crossed over the fence earlier that morning. Mulder halted and motioned for the others to do the same. Crouching to the ground, Mulder could make out the dim conversation of the gate guards. They couldn't climb the fence again with Joe... his artificial legs weren't up to the task. "Any ideas on how to get out?" Mulder asked. "I have one," Joe said, "These guys aren't Watchers... I doubt that they know about Immortals. So, Duncan or Richie attacks the guards and gets shot. Then, when he revives he takes them by surprise." "Joe, what if they *do* know that we're immortal?" Richie asked. "Let's hope they don't, Rich." Richie set a determined expression on his face, "I'll go find out." "Richie, wait --" Duncan began, but his protege had already emerged from the fence line, and jogged down the small hill toward the guard house. They were too far away to hear anything distinctly, but as the scene unfolded before them, they saw Richie walk up to the men with his cocky street punk swagger. Mulder could hear the angry shouts of the guards, then Richie bolted for the gate. The ricochet of gunfire echoed and Richie crumbled to the ground. Behind Mulder, Scully emitted a startled gasp. "Don't worry about Rich," Joe said, "he can take care of himself." ---------------------------- "Damn kid," McDonald swore, as he reholstered his gun, "we'd better call main security." "I wonder how he got in here," the other guard mused as they walked into their gate house to call the main building. Inside was a red telephone on the wall next to a Playboy pin up. "He probably climbed the fence on a dare or something," McDonald said, picking up the receiver, "I keep tellin' em to get it electrified, but noooo. Someone even once fed me some bull about it messing up experiments or somethin'... yea, hey, this is the main entrance... yea, we've got an intruder down here -- some kid... no sir, I didn't know that... Yes, sir, I will. "You're not gonna believe this, Hoyle, but the power's gone up in the main building. There's been some kind of disturbance up there. Donnely said there were some intruders and that they've killed Carlson and cut off the power." "What?" "Yep... just a few minutes ago." "You don't suppose..." the thinner man began. "Could be. We'd better go drag his body in." They stepped out of their claustrophobic, cluttered gatehouse and out to where they had left Richie's body in the asphalt street. Except that Richie's body wasn't there anymore. "What the --" was all McDonald was able to say, before Richie jumped out from behind the corner of the gatehouse, smashing him on the head with a rock. Hoyle, about half the size of the robust McDonald, drew his gun, but Richie was on him before he had a chance to get it far from the holster. Richie ran into the man, knocking the wind out of him. Hoyle doubled over and Richie knocked him on the base of the neck with his fists, sending the man sprawling unconscious. Richie gestured to the others, "Come on!" They all scrambled down the hill, the wet grass speeding up their progress. "They called the main guard -- we'd better hurry," Richie said. Going as fast as they were able, they ran down the tree-shaded road to Chance's car, which was parked just around a bend in the road. The whole area appeared different in the broadening daylight. The sky was beginning to lighten into pale blue, and the chirping of birds filled the moist morning air. They had reached the car, when a figure appeared about fifty meters away around the bend. "Stop!" yelled Hoyle, holding his gun out in front of him, ready to shoot. The base of his skull hammered from Richie's blow, but the man hadn't been knocked unconscious. "Damn, it... get in the car guys," Mulder said. Chance leapt into the front seat and gunned the engine. Mulder stood outside, his gun drawn and pointed at Hoyle in a standoff. "Come back or I swear I'll shoot!" Hoyle demanded, his young, angular features twisted in determination and some fear. In an effort to show that he was serious, Hoyle fired the gun, deliberately missing. Everyone else had piled into Chance's car. "Get in, Mulder," Chance hissed. Still holding his gun ready, Mulder started to slip into the car. Hoyle fired, his sweaty hands slipping on the gun's grip. His shot went wide, and hit Mulder's left arm. Mulder staggered backwards from the impact, and hit the back of his skull on the car. Chance grabbed him, hauled him into the vehicle and slammed the ancient door. Chance pressed the accelerator, and the car took off in a spray of gravel and loose asphalt. Duncan, who was riding shotgun, helped get Mulder into the backseat, where he momentarily blacked out. Chance pulled out onto the main highway, the new sunlight reflecting off the pavement slightly, and the horizon was painted in pinks and purples in a cascade of color and light. Scully, however, didn't notice the sensational beauty of the dawn as she was more concerned with Mulder than the scenery. He was scrunched in between Joe and Scully, with Richie sitting next to Joe on the right. Scully had tore open what remained of the fabric of Mulder's trenchcoat and shirt around the wound. "Is he okay?" Richie asked. "Yes," Scully said, using part of her trenchcoat to staunch the blood flow from the wound, "It just grazed the surface and created a lot of bleeding. He's really lucky." Mulder blinked slowly, his head pounding and a large welt forming on the base of his skull from the impact, "I must be in heaven... I was shot," he said slowly, "and now there's a beautiful woman -- oh, it's just you, Scully," Mulder said trying to turn a grimace of pain into a mischievous simper. "And what makes you think you'd even go to heaven, Mulder?" Scully teased, trying to ease the tension and distract Mulder from his pain. "It'd be my reward for putting up with you." Scully just pressed harder on the wound. They rode in silence for awhile, the morning sun reflecting off the buildings of the nearing cityscape in a panoramic view, and the sky ever lightening into deeper shades of blue. EPILOGUE Scully set Mulder down on Duncan's couch with an order to stay put. Everyone was famished, exhausted, dirty and mentally drained. Scully fetched some medical supplies from Duncan's dojo. She was surprised that an Immortal would need a first-aid kit... but then there was the dojo downstairs and people undoubtedly got hurt during workouts. Mulder's wound was surprisingly minor -- it had only bled a lot making it look serious. The bullet had just grazed the skin, and Scully didn't deem it necessary for a hospital visit. "I'm telling you, Mulder, you are one lucky guy," she said as she finished taping a gauze pad over the gash. Mulder shot a look over at Chance and winked, "Yea, I suppose maybe I am." "Well, I don't know about anyone else, but I'm hungry," Richie said. "I think there might be some pancake mix in there somewhere, Rich," Duncan said. Richie got up and started into the kitchen, when a weird look from Scully stopped him. "What?" "Um... your shirt," she said. "Oh... yea," Richie said, looking down at the bullet hole through the front of his black T-shirt. "Um, I guess I'd better change." There was a quiet, tense expectancy in the room as everyone just sat and looked at each other. "I can't believe that really happened," Scully said finally, breaking the silence and voicing everyone's thoughts. Joe sighed heavily, "Yea..." Something was weighing heavily on him, his every motion and expression betrayed it. "What's wrong Joe?" Duncan asked, getting up and walking into the kitchen to search for the pancake mix during Richie's absence. "Mac, have you ever known someone for a really long time, and then they turn out to be someone totally different?" It was a rhetorical question, of course, Joe knew everyone that Duncan had met during the last four hundred years. "Carlson?" Duncan asked. "Yea -- he... I can't believe what he was doing, Mac. It was so completely out of character for him." "No, Dawson, it wasn't," Mulder interrupted, "This "Carlson" has been doing stuff like this to me ever since I began work on the X-Files, and his involvement in my family goes back even further." "And I never knew...," Joe said, "I'm starting to wish that Skinner never introduced us." Scully and Mulder's eye's went wide. "Who?" Scully asked. "Walter Skinner... I met him in Vietnam just after I became a Watcher. He was one of the first friends I made in the Watchers. He works for the FBI now... you guys don't know him, do you?" "Joe... Skinner is the assistant director of the FBI... he's the one who approved this assignment," Mulder said. "But why would Skinner approve it, if he already knew it was Immortal activity?" Chance asked. "Carlson has some sort of power over Skinner," Mulder said. "He's often in Skinner's office... watching in the background. Maybe he was able to force Skinner to approve the assignment somehow. The question is "why"?" "Because Carlson wanted you to join the Watchers," Joe said. "What?" "He said that it would give him more control over you." Mulder said nothing, but his eyes smoldered with unvoiced frustration and anger. "But then what about Scully?" Chance asked. "I think I know what he wanted her for," Mulder said evenly, her voice betraying his anger at the man. At the others' questioning looks Mulder clarified, "Scully was abducted by aliens last year --" "I was *not*, Mulder," she protested. "-- and Carlson is often involved somehow in UFO-related cases. I think that whoever was responsible for that last year wants her back." "MUL -- der," Scully groaned. The smell of cooking pancakes drifted in from the open kitchen, fillings the loft apartment with a aromatic smell which helped to dull the bizarreness of the recent events somewhat. "Actually, that might explain a lot," Duncan said from the kitchen. "What? I never expected you to defend UFOs, Mac," Joe said. "Joe -- something happened to me. Part of my Quickening was taken and drawn into that *thing*... there is no way that was human made." "Mac," Chance said, his tone questioning, "... Richie said something about that compound being built on Holy Ground." Duncan and Dawson froze. "Are you sure?" Duncan asked. "Yea... Mulder was there too." "Damn... Dawson -- they beheaded an Immortal on Holy Ground with another Immortal present... No wonder that happened." "Don't go jumping to conclusions, Mac... Holy Ground probably wasn't the only factor in what happened," Joe said. "Yea, well, I don't like it, Dawson... Carlson won't stop either. He's going to come back, and he's going to be worse than Horton if we don't do something." Just then, Richie emerged from the bathroom at the back of the apartment wearing a tight green T-shirt. "No -- I don't think so, Mac," Richie said, "I overheard the guards talking -- Carlson's dead." ---------------------------- Carlson groaned. His head was hammering, and the world was still dark even though he had opened his eyes. He pulled himself into a sitting position when the lights suddenly flickered back to life. Carlson blinked, trying to clear his head and remember what happened. Mulder -- Mulder had come. There had been an explosion... Ryan had destroyed the experiment. Carlson pulled himself to his feet, and lit a cigarette. He inhaled the noxious gas and then blew it back out from his mouth. The room was a mess. Cords and bare wires hung from the Quickening rod in the middle of the room. The beheaded Immortal's body was still on the table next to him, and the guillotine had been knocked over by the force of the Quickening. Carlson reached down to pick up the broken guillotine blade, and swore as he accidentally sliced his hand on the razor edge. Carlson's expression of pain melted into one of amazement, however, as the burning pain ceased and the two sides of the wound sealed together leaving only a trace smear of blood behind on calloused, but otherwise unmarked flesh. FINIS ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ADDITIONAL AUTHOR'S NOTES: Okay, now before anyone flames me for the ending, or whatever, let me explain why this is so ambiguous and anticlimactic... Reason #1) I've been watching too much "X-Files" (they always have this kind of ending). (Especially the cliffhangers...) Reason #2) There is no reason number two... there can be only one! :-) Reason #3) Okay, so I lied, there is another reason. :-) I'm thinking of writing a sequel to this (somebody, *please* shoot me *right now*). I'd like to leave things a bit unraveled and some loose threads hanging to give me a strong foothold for a sequel. However, I have no idea when I'm going to get to it, (if I ever do), and I'd like to write some other stuff (maybe straight "Strange Luck" fanfic) first. ---------------------------- Next: for everyone who didn't get Mulder's line "Hm, too bad the pizza delivery thing won't work this time." That's a blatant reference to Michele Martin's excellent mega-crossover-fanfic "The Witness" in which Mulder and Scully pretend to be pizza delivery kids in order to get into one of Cancerman's headquarters. (Don't ask... just go read it. :-) You can find it on pretty much any fanfic archive for Highlander, Forever Knight, or the X-Files, and possibly on ones for Quantum Leap, and, if there are any, web pages for Starman. --------------------------- Finally, for anyone wondering how "The Celestine Prophecy" comes in to play, I'll explain that. "The Celestine Prophecy" is a fiction novel about a search for Insights into life. (Again, you have to read it to really follow this). The First Insight says that a "collective life force" (kinda like my interpretations on the Quickening) is responsible for all the seemingly meaningless coincidences in our life. (Like Chance's luck). I actually came up with the Quickening-causes-strange-luck idea *before* I read the novel, however... but I couldn't resist mentioning it, anyway. :-) -------------------------- Well, that's it, I suppose! If you haven't commented yet, you can find me at shannara@twave.net, and I'd *love* to heard what you thought of "Who Watches the Watchers?" or if you have any questions about any of the shows, etcetera, feel free to email me! (I love getting email!) BTW, did you figure out who Carlson, Logan and Kerrigan's Watcher *really* are??? :-) END PART 11 __ Kim Sefcik, (shannara@twave.net) ~ Richie Reservist ~ Chancer ~ Another Bleepin' X-Phile ~ Co-CBC of Sandra McDonald's Fanfic ~ Highlander List Liger ~ Creator/Maintainer of the Strange Luck FAQ "I am Richie Ryan of the Clan... wait, can we try that again?" "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, / Than are dreamt of in your philosophy." -- Hamlet, "Hamlet" - William Shakespeare