Smoky Mountain Folk
Chapter 1
Title: Smoky Mountain Folk, chapter 1
Author: Andrea
Rating: This chapter is T, but the story will be M eventually.
Category: X-File, MSR, Scully POV
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully aren't mine, but everyone else is.
Notes: Thanks to Dan and Karen for beta reading.
Spoilers: thru season 6.
Feedback: Please!
Washington D.C.
Tuesday April 6, 1999
8:54 am
April is a beautiful month in D.C. The cherry trees are in full bloom, adding their delicate scent to the fresh spring air. I usually only get to partake of that freshness briefly in the morning but I did try to enjoy it after work, as well. The air was different then; the cleanness having given way to the staleness of civilization. If the weather held and the weekend was nice, I'd make sure to get up early and get my fill. That thought put me in a rather pleasant mood for a Tuesday morning as I walked down the hall toward the basement office.
"Hey, Scully," Mulder smiled at me as I opened the door.
"Morning," I returned his smile.
"You seem to be in a good mood," he leaned back in his chair to look me over.
I'd never felt completely comfortable under his gaze. I'd never been able to decipher exactly what he was thinking as his eyes travelled up and down my body.
"I am," I cleared my throat as I broke free of his stare and moved toward my chair. "It's a beautiful spring day."
"Good day for a country drive, then?" he grinned and handed me a file.
My heart fell when I saw the file had already been assigned a case number. That would make it a lot harder to wiggle out of going to whichever godforsaken locale Mulder had decided would be the focus of his particular brand of investigation. I was surprised when I read further.
"We're investigating fraud now?"
"That's why the case file was opened," he clarified. "But I think perhaps the fraud allegations are unwarranted. Keep reading," he nodded at me.
It only took a minute for me to discover what had captured Mulder's interest. After taking a deep breath, I pulled off the pictures that had been attached to the file with a paper clip. I tried to remain expressionless as I flipped through them and then calmly reattached them to the folder. I knew better than to ask Mulder if he was serious. I tried to think of arguments that would dissuade him, but I knew everything I'd come up with would only dissuade me.
"So?" he asked expectantly.
"What do you want me say?" I was trying not to laugh as I handed the file back to him. "I'm gathering that you'd like to prove that those pictures are not fakes."
"Every expert I've had look at them has said they appear to be genuine," he informed me.
"How long have you been investigating this?" I narrowed my eyes at him.
"Since last week," he shrugged.
"So why am I just finding out about it now?" I crossed my arms over my chest. "Why do I only get to participate in the field part of the investigations, Mulder?"
"Uh," he looked taken aback. "It really only takes one person to do the research and you were busy with that lecture at Quantico last week," he reminded me.
"You could've mentioned it yesterday," I pointed out.
"I didn't hear back from the last of the experts I'd sent the photos to until this morning," he explained, "And you wouldn't even have considered looking into this if experts hadn't seen the pictures first."
He had me there.
"I know what you're thinking," he continued.
"I strongly doubt that," I replied sardonically.
"Okay, besides the fact that you think I'm nuts," he began, "You don't believe in the existence of -,"
"Before you go on, Mulder," I cut him off. "You do realize that this case bears a striking similarity to a case from 1917 in England."
"I know," he nodded.
"And the girls who took those pictures admitted that they had faked them," I added.
"Yes, Scully," he sighed. "I know all about the Cottingley case, but Frances Griffiths maintained until her death that one of those pictures was actually real."
"What does that prove?" I shrugged.
"If they were all faked, why not just say that? She'd already admitted that four out the five were faked," he argued.
"To prevent total humiliation?" I suggested. I regretted the sarcasm in my tone immediately.
"If she hadn't maintained that one picture was real, people probably would have forgotten all about the story a long time ago," he countered. "Her claims made the story that much more notorious."
"Then maybe that's why," I pointed out.
"We'll never know, Scully. The original plates belong to a private collector now, but I would love to get my hands on them," his sigh held a hint of melancholy.
"Mulder, those plates are so old, you have no idea what kind of damage might have been done just by improper storage, not to mention the quality of the camera that took them in the first place," I tried to appease him.
"That's why we need to investigate these," his face broke into a smile. "They were taken with a good camera, but they were developed by Amy's father, Ted Johnson. He's an amateur photographer."
"And the pictures that are being sold are reprints made by Amy's uncle?" I tried to recall.
"Not from the negatives," he shook his head. "Ted Johnson destroyed them almost immediately. He knew they would spell trouble. His brother-in-law, Chris McKinnon, got a hold of the pictures and has been selling copies he made from those pictures, not from the negatives."
"That's why it's Chris McKinnon that's being suspected of fraud," I nodded. "And if he hadn't claimed that they were genuine, no one would care."
"Well that and the money he's asking," Mulder added.
"If there are no negatives, what are we investigating exactly?" I was curious.
"I want to talk to Amy and her father, see his set up, look at the camera. I hope Amy will show us where she took the pictures," he was chewing on the inside of his cheek pensively.
"You do realize that we probably won't be able to come to a conclusion either way, Mulder," I had to point out. "And I doubt the Johnsons are going to be thrilled about the F.B.I. interrogating their 11 year old daughter."
"I know," he nodded, "But it's just Ted and Amy, Mrs. Johnson passed away several years ago"
"Oh," I nodded slowly. That fact explained why an 11 year old girl was wandering around in the woods by herself with a camera. "Where exactly were the pictures taken, anyway?" I didn't read that part of the file.
"Southwest of Asheville, North Carolina," he informed me.
"You aren't seriously planning to drive to North Carolina, are you?" I remembered his earlier comment.
"No, our flight for Asheville leaves at eleven, but we'll still have at least an hours drive after that. I booked us some nice rooms in Bryson City," he added with a smile.
Mulder thought all of the rooms he booked were nice, but he thought his couch was a nice place to sleep, too.
"You just assumed I'd agree to go?" I asked impassively.
"Don't you want to go?" he looked surprised.
"You want to go, Mulder," I clarified. "The question is why you assume that I'll agree to go."
"Because you're my partner," he replied slowly.
"So that means I'll go automatically?"
"Well," he paused. I could tell he wasn't sure how to answer that question. I waited for him to think about his answer. "You don't want to go?" he repeated in confusion.
"Mulder," I heaved a sigh. "One day, just as a special treat for me, you might consider asking me if I want to go."
"Sorry, Scully," he grimaced. "Would you like to come with me to North Carolina to look into a fraud case?"
"It doesn't count right after I said it, Mulder," I frowned at him.
"So you aren't going to come?" he scanned my face.
"Yes, I'm going to come," I rolled my eyes. "I just want to be asked for once, not told,"
"I'll ask next time, I promise," he told me sincerely. "You better go home and pack," he grinned. "I'll pick you up at 10."
"Can I at least check my e-mail first?" I sat down with a huff.
"Sure," he shrugged. "Just don't forget to pack your hiking boots. We're going deep into the heart of the Great Smoky Mountains," his grin returned with a vengeance.
"Woo hoo," I muttered as I turned my chair around.
NC 28
South of Bryson City
North Carolina
Tuesday April 6, 1999
2:38 pm
Mulder was right about the rooms he booked in Bryson City. He'd chosen the Sleep Inn and compared to what he normally picked, the rooms were upscale. They were about average for what we were allowed to expense at the Bureau. I looked out of the window to the west while Mulder drove. It was a nice day in North Carolina too. The mist that gives the Great Smoky Mountains their name had already burned off and the sun was shining brightly. Once we left the built up area around Asheville, trees began to predominate the view. I hadn't realized there were still any thickly forested areas left on this side of the Mississippi. The piny woods of northern Florida and the forests around Atlantic City were nothing compared to the vast expanses of trees here in North Carolina. The Great Smoky Mountain national park featured a temperate broadleaf and mixed forest or so it said in the pamphlet I picked up at the hotel. Why did so many X-files take place in the woods?
"Mulder, why do so many x-files happen in the woods?" I turned to ask him the question I'd been pondering.
"I think it's the chicken or the egg thing, Scully," he didn't take his eyes off the road to answer.
"What?" I turned to look at him.
"Are the woods where they choose to be or is it the only place left where they can be? Are they a natural breeding ground or the last refuge?" his eyes flicked over at me.
For the most part I didn't doubt that the cases he wanted to investigate were genuine, but I tended to believe that they all had a scientific explanation. Mulder's chicken and egg analogy only strengthened my beliefs.
"Good thing it's a national park," I thought aloud. "I doubt this refuge would still be here otherwise." I picked up the file that was sitting on the seat between us. After slipping the pictures out from under the paperclip again, I began to look at them more closely. I couldn't help thinking the images that had been captured had more to do with the sun interacting with the stream in the background, the forest canopy overhead and reflections from the camera lens then anything supernatural.
"Can I be honest with you, Mulder?" I said after taking a deep breath.
"I hope you're always honest with me, Scully. I rely on your honesty," he reached over to put his hand on my knee, violating a couple of Bureau policies, but I refrained from mentioning them.
"I am always honest in everything I say to you," I told him steadily.
"But you don't always say what you're thinking," he nodded. "I know that. I hold back, too."
"You do?" I knew I had no right to be surprised or a little offended, but I was.
"You already think I'm crazy, Scully. I'm afraid you'd have me certified if I told you everything I was thinking," he chuckled and squeezed my knee before putting his hand back on the wheel.
"I'd never have you certified, unless I had no other choice. I'd slip you some meds to see if I could stabilize you, first," I told him dryly as I closed the folder and set it down again.
"Aww, you'd violate your professional ethics for me, Scully? I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," he grinned unabashedly at me.
"We have vastly different ideas of what qualifies as nice," I shook my head and turned back toward my window.
"So?" he asked after a few seconds.
"What?" I didn't turn back toward him. Sometimes I found his repartee leading me places that I really shouldn't be going and this was one of those times. I needed to re-establish my emotional distance.
"You wanted to be honest with me," he reminded me.
"Right," I nodded. "I'm just a little surprised that you're interested in this case."
"Why? It's an unexplained phenomenon," his expression grew serious.
"C'mon, Mulder. It's a folk tale. You wouldn't investigate Leprechauns, would you?"
"Little people have always intrigued me, Scully," he grinned at me. "But I don't think that's a good example because Leprechauns are part of the host, the Sidhe. You know who the Sidhe are, don't you?"
"The Scullys aren't that long out of Ireland, Mulder, and it's pronounced Shee, not Side-uh," I corrected him smugly. "I do know a lot about Irish folklore. I just didn't know who was related to whom," I rolled my eyes.
"The part that interests me," he continued without acknowledging what I'd said, "Is that every culture has a trickster. Why do you think that is?"
"Well, I think the trickster is a good place to put blame when you don't want to take the blame yourself." It seemed logical to me.
"But every culture, Scully? From Japan to Africa, from Fiji to Brazil, even the Native North Americans had tricksters," he argued his case.
"Everybody screws up, Mulder," I laughed, but he didn't seem to appreciate my attempt at humor and we were silent for a few minutes. "So you're saying you want to investigate this to prove that tricksters really exist?"
"Not exactly," he shrugged.
"Then why exactly?" I wanted to know.
"Scully, how did people react initially when Joseph Lister suggested that infections were caused by germs, something people couldn't see?"
"He was scoffed at, but-,"
"But when enough evidence was amassed, people started listening to him, didn't they?"
"So we're out here amassing evidence?"
"Ya," he nodded.
"And what are we trying to eventually prove to whom?"
"Do I really need to say it?" There was sadness in his eyes when he turned toward me.
"Mulder, we've investigated so much," I began but quickly realized why he'd been reticent.
There were so many things that I wanted to say, but I knew none of them would help in his guilt and grief. I didn't know why it was important to him that other people believed his sister had been abducted by aliens. His sister had been abducted. That was a fact. I couldn't figure out how proving it was an alien abduction would help anything. Did he think that would absolve him of responsibility? Personally, I thought being 12 absolved him, but he had never forgiven himself. I had never forgiven his parents for abandoning him in his grief. I know that Samantha's abduction had shattered their lives, but I'd never been able to understand why they didn't focus all of their love and attention on the child that remained. Tears borne of sorrow, anger and frustration sprang to my eyes. I couldn't blink them away before they spilled onto my cheeks. My attempt to re-establish my emotional distance had obviously failed miserably.
"Shit, Scully, I'm sorry," Mulder reached for my hand when he saw me trying to brush my tears away.
"I should've dropped it," I shook my head.
"I don't think hiding things from each other will help anything," he argued. "If I've learned anything in the past 6 years, Scully, it's that you and I are unstoppable when we're honest with each other. I'm not saying you don't piss me off on a regular basis, but I need you to bring me back when I go overboard, literally and figuratively," he chuckled.
"Thanks, Mulder," I squeezed his hand. "And you piss me off, too."
"And they said it wouldn't last," he took his hand back and put it to his heart.
"The turn for Yellow Creek is coming up on your right," I let him know as I shook my head with a laugh. "Are they expecting us?"
"The Johnsons or the Sidhe?" He smiled, obviously pleased with his own joke. He did, however, pronounce Sidhe correctly. It was nice to know that he'd listened.
"The Johnsons," I rolled my eyes.
"Ya, I talked to Ted this morning. He wasn't thrilled, but he agreed to speak with us," he let me know as he turned onto County Road 1242.
"I don't blame him," I told him honestly. "I know that I'd try to shield my daughter from something like this."
"I wasn't planning to use a rubber hose, Scully," he furrowed his brow at me.
"It will still have a big impact on her young life," I countered.
"I trust you to let me know if I'm pressing her too hard, okay?"
"Okay," I smiled at him.
We fell back into a comfortable silence as we neared the house. The houses were spaced very fair apart and I was looking at the mailboxes for the Johnson's name when Mulder spoke again.
"Oh, and I think the Sidhe are probably expecting us, too, Scully," I could hear the smile on his face without seeing it. "Fairy folk are known for their psychic abilities."