Title: Edge of Doom
Fandoms: Beauty & the Beast, TV series and X-Files
Disclaimer: I own neither Beauty and the Beast nor the X-Files. I am writing for fun, not profit. I also borrowed and referenced a few quotes from both series; only the circumstances in which I use the quotes belong to me. The Shakespeare and Star Trek excerpts are also not mine, although that should be obvious.
Spoilers: While this story takes place late in Season Two of the X-Files, I reference events from future episodes and will include an epilogue that takes place two weeks after the Series finale, "The Truth." Everything is fair game, including all B&tB seasons.
A/N: I have tried to suitably explain both worlds for those who may be more familiar with one series than the other, but fairly intimate knowledge of both worlds will be helpful in fully understanding the story. I have tried to make this a true crossover; this is not a straight case file, nor is it a B&tB episode. I have tried my best to abide by X-Files canon; this is a Classic B&tB, meaning Catherine's not dead and is still in a relationship with Vincent. I have borrowed a few elements from the much-maligned B&tB 3rd season; the idea of Catherine living in a brownstone and married to Vincent is widely accepted as a suitable Classic outcome, so I have borrowed it for my story. Any canon errors are mine alone, and I apologize for them.
Friday, February 17, 1995
8:00 pm
Catherine stepped out of the taxi, thankful to be home. She had told Vincent she would be working late, so he had taken their two children Below. The brownstone she and her family lived in while Above looked dark and forlorn; Catherine could hardly wait to change into more comfortable clothes and to join her husband and children Below.
Briefcase in hand, Catherine approached her front steps. A vague sense of unease tickled the back of her neck; while Catherine had no evidence of danger, a heightened sense of perception was one of the results of the Bond. Cautiously, she crept up the steps. The front door was slightly ajar, verifying Catherine's original uneasiness.
Judging from the feelings Vincent was sending through the Bond, he had sensed her unease and was on his way up from Below. Catherine briefly considered waiting on the front porch, but she had not earned her reputation as Joe Maxwell's best investigator by waiting around. Just because she had switched careers did not mean her personality had changed.
She slowly opened the door and eased it shut behind her, her green eyes quickly adjusting to the dark. While her eyesight was not as keen as Vincent's, Catherine could tell that, as a result of the Bond she shared with her unique husband, her night-vision was more cat-like than it had been before she had married Vincent. Catherine slowly took in the familiar yet suddenly menacing contours and shadows of her home. Her eyes rested on the digital panel that controlled her state-of-the-art security system, noting that it had been disabled.
Catherine became more wary, knowing the skill it took to disable such an expertly crafted alarm. She could sense Vincent's closeness, but knew he would not be at the Tunnels entrance in their basement for several more minutes.
Pulling her keys from her jacket pocket, Catherine stuck one key in each space between the fingers of her right hand, forming Wolverine-style brass knuckles. Isaac Stubbs had taught her that trick; he had drummed into Catherine's head that sometimes the only weapons you have are the ones close at hand. As Catherine still met with Isaac at least once a week, this lesson had never been forgotten.
Tensing her right hand in case she was attacked, Catherine began her inspection of the first floor. Some of her kitchen gadgets were missing, confirming that her house had been burglarized. A few of her valuable trinkets had been stolen from the dining room, but nothing of sentimental value was missing. As she had expected, her computer was missing from her home office; she was glad she had always been too cautious to store any personal information on it.
Catherine rounded the corner leading into the living room with a sense of relief because she could feel that Vincent was almost at the wine cellar basement entrance. Her sense of relief was short-lived as three men dressed in tight-fitting black jumped out from behind a pair of sofas. They moved quickly, their night-vision goggles giving them the ability to surround Catherine before she could escape.
They each pulled out a switchblade, the blades obviously sharp even in the dim light coming in through the shuttered windows. If she could somehow stall them until Vincent arrived….
The sound of dozens of shattering bottles rose up from the basement, startling the lead burglar into action. He rushed Catherine. She dodged his blade and raised her right hand over her head, raking her keys across the attacker's cheek. She cried out as she felt the blades of the other burglars slice her, one on her left arm and the other in her side.
A bone-rattling roar exploded in the house as a huge blur hurtled into the living room. The last thing any of the burglars saw through their night-vision goggles was an enormous, clawed hand descending on them. Vincent's attack was calm and measured; through the Bond, he and the Other were one, eliminating the loss of control that had often accompanied rescuing Catherine.
Having seen Father patch up numerous cuts and gashes, Vincent quickly established that Catherine's wounds were serious but not life-threatening. His instinct was to bundle her up in his cape and take her Below to Father, but he realized that they needed to deal with the three bodies first.
Sensing Vincent's rapid mood swings through the Bond, Catherine waited until they arrived at the same conclusion: that they had few choices.
"We could dispose of the bodies ourselves," Vincent said, breaking the silence with his rough, mellifluous voice.
"I think that would be best," Catherine agreed, shuddering at the thought of police once again asking for explanations of the strange slash marks on more victims connected to her.
"Unless you want me to call the police and make up some story about how a stray dog heard my cries for help and rescued me," Catherine said, knowing that such a story would never work. Especially not after the sight that had greeted the few cops who had been allowed inside Gabriel's high rise after Vincent had rescued Catherine and his new-born son five years ago.
Vincent sighed, knowing how much his wife hated dishonesty. While he no longer felt crushing guilt about the sacrifices Catherine made to protect him and his world, he still despised the sight and sense of his wife's inner turmoil.
"Or I could tell the police that I fended the burglars off myself," Catherine said, instantly rejecting that idea.
Vincent's head shot up and cocked.
"They're coming," he said softly, the swift spring to his feet belying his calm tone.
"Who?" Catherine asked.
"The police," Vincent said, his eyes already turning towards the basement stairway door.
"But how?" Catherine asked. "The alarm was disabled…But not the backup alarm!"
Catherine remembered approving the installation of a well-hidden backup alarm in case a burglar ever managed to disable the main system. Protecting Vincent and her family was her highest priority, and she had spared no expense.
The sirens were close enough for Catherine to hear, and she knew that the only remotely plausible explanation for what the police would find in her home was the last idea she had rejected.
"I somehow have to convince them that I did this," Catherine said, dragging Vincent towards the basement stairwell. "You have to leave now. If they catch you here…"
"But they won't believe you," Vincent said. "How will you explain the claw marks?"
Catherine walked back to the center of the room and picked up one of the switchblades.
"One of them rushed me, and I disarmed him," she explained. "I slashed him repeatedly out of panic and instinct. The others stabbed me while I was fighting the first man; once I dealt with him, I fought with the others and killed them the same way. It's the best we can do."
"Go!" Catherine whispered, hearing the sirens turn onto their street.
Vincent hugged Catherine tightly against him, releasing her when he felt her flinch in pain from her wounds. He tore himself away from her and raced down the stairs, hating to leave Catherine in such a condition and under such circumstances.
Catherine looked down at the switchblade in her hand and then at the bodies on the floor. She knew she had to make sure scientific analysis would support at least some of her claims. Her jaw squared in determination as she approached the first body. She would do what was necessary to protect her family.
Monday, February 20, 1995
8:05 am
Special Agent Dana Scully stood in the doorway of the basement office and smiled. Fox Mulder, her partner for the past two years, was leaning back in his swivel chair, his feet propped up on his desk and a manila folder in his lap. He absentmindedly twirled a pencil in his right hand as if that would help him process information faster. He tossed the folder on his desk, stretched his weary muscles, and launched the pencil towards the roof where it stuck in a cluster of several dozen of its brethren.
She walked through the door and smiled at Mulder when he looked up. "Working hard?" she asked him, glancing up at the ever-growing pencil collection embedded in the ceiling tiles.
"I was until you walked in," Mulder said, sliding his feet off his desk. "I've also been here longer than you have, as usual."
"I guess that's the price of obsession," Scully said, walking up behind Mulder so she could look over his shoulder. "Is that our new case?"
"Straight from Assistant Director Skinner," Mulder said.
Picking up on her partner's body language, Scully asked, "Is there something about this assignment that strikes you as odd or unusual?"
"Scully, we work on the X-Files. Of course this case is odd and unusual," Mulder said.
"What is so odd and unusual about this case that Skinner assigned it to us?" Scully asked, thinking it was too early for Mulder's Monday morning foolishness.
Mulder hunched over his desk and opened the folder, revealing a stack of graphic photographs.
"Slasher cases in New York City, some dating back about a decade," Mulder said in his briefing monotone. "All victims have this particular slash pattern on the abdomen or upper torso and sometimes show other signs of being attacked with great force. Most died with looks of abject terror on their faces. Some call him the Subway Slasher, while others insist that someone or something else is responsible for at least some of these deaths."
"Something else?" Scully said, raising an eyebrow. "Like what? A wild dog? An escaped lion?"
"Maybe," Mulder said mysteriously, confirming Scully's suspicions.
"You think there's something supernatural about this case, don't you?" Scully accused. "You think some sort of monster did this. No, don't tell me. He's a big, hulking figure with huge, clawed hands and a fearsome countenance. He wears a thick, billowy cape and magically appears and disappears at will, fighting the good fight for the common man one evisceration at a time."
"How did you guess about the cape?" Mulder said, giving Scully his most endearing smile.
"Mulder, why did Skinner give us this case?" Scully asked again. "Surely this isn't the strangest thing happening in New York."
"While Skinner wasn't very forthcoming about his reasons, more draws these victims together than the method of death. Many of these victims were criminals being pursued by a New York City investigator named Catherine Chandler."
"That name sounds familiar," Scully said.
"She's made the news a couple of times. Catherine Chandler was born rich and privileged. Her mother died when she was ten, but that was the only real trouble she experienced. She had a cushy job at her father's corporate law firm, was engaged to a rich and handsome man named Tom Gunther (whose testimony is enclosed), and spent most of her time out partying."
"She sounds like someone who would know a lot about the Subway Slasher," Scully said.
"About eight years ago, she was mistaken for someone else and was abducted by several men in a white van. They tortured her for information, but she didn't know the answers to their questions. The men beat her, slashed up her beautiful face, and shoved her out of the van, leaving her for dead."
"This is all very interesting, Mulder; you know how I love your stories. But what does this have to do with the case?"
"I'm getting there," Mulder said, pressing his luck with another endearing smile. "Catherine Chandler disappeared for ten days; she still refuses to tell anyone where she went and who took care of her. When she reappeared, she received the best medical care, including plastic surgery to remove her scars. She informed her father and her fiancé that she was tired of the way she'd been living and that she was going to make radical changes. She quit her job at her father's firm and joined the DA's office as a lowly investigator. She stopped socializing every night, broke up with her fiancé, and started dating multi-millionaire architect Elliot Burch. Their relationship didn't last long, perhaps because Catherine dedicated herself to becoming an excellent investigator."
"An investigator who has, what? Some sort of…protector?" Scully asked.
"Maybe. Whatever you believe, it's hard to ignore the physical evidence. As I said, many of these victims were either criminals Catherine Chandler was investigating or individuals who were somehow connected to said criminals. About five years ago, she was kidnapped because she was getting too close to cracking an international crime ring. At first, the ring's leader, Gabriel, kidnapped Catherine for information with assistance from DA John Moreno, who had become corrupt. After Gabriel discovered Catherine was pregnant, he decided he wanted her child. So he kept her in a high rise in the city, delivered the child, and intended to inject her with a lethal dose of morphine."
"Don't tell me," Scully said, crossing her arms. "The Subway Slasher showed up, claws, cape, and all."
"Something showed up and killed anything that tried to keep it from getting to Catherine, including Gabriel himself."
"Leaving behind corpses bearing that same slash pattern and no eyewitnesses?"
"You're getting good at this, Scully," Mulder said. "Yes, Catherine was rescued, although she refused to go into great detail about how. She claimed to have been so drugged that she didn't know the identity of her rescuer; she also never revealed the identity of the father of her newborn son. Citing familial obligations, Catherine resigned her job in spite of the protestations of her good friend and newly-appointed DA, Joe Maxwell. She restored an old brownstone that was among her father's holdings; started up a non-profit organization with her life-long doctor and friend, Dr. Peter Alcott; and largely disappeared from the public eye. Until this past Friday, when three burglars made the fatal mistake of breaking into Catherine Chandler's house."
"Something tells me they didn't trip and fall down the stairs."
"You're on a roll, Scully," Mulder said. "That's pretty good for Monday morning. The police responded to a silent alarm around eight o'clock Friday night. They arrived to find a shaken but alive Catherine Chandler, switchblade in hand. Her story was that she killed all three intruders herself and slashed them four times each out of panic, and the police didn't see the need to dig any deeper. The three burglars were dead, Catherine Chandler was alive, and however the burglars had died, they were clearly killed in self-defense."
"Back to my original question: why us?" Scully asked. "Even with your fascinating tale, this still isn't the strangest story in New York. If the local cops don't want to investigate this, then why do we? Of what are they going to accuse Catherine? Self-defense? Possibly having a mysterious protector who always disappears?"
"Look, Scully," Mulder said, standing up. "I don't know why we've been given this case, but I'd rather not find myself listening to wire taps again like I had to the last time the X-Files were shut down. The official reason Skinner gave me is that the Subway Slasher killed a cop and the NYPD is bothered that the case remains unsolved. Factor in the deaths being linked to one person, the strange slash pattern, and the testimony of one Steven Bass (also enclosed), and Skinner feels that he has enough justification to give us this case. Given that the alternative is to go back to monitoring conversations about the difference between a lap dance and a table dance, I think I'd rather investigate the streets of New York."
"When you put it that way, I guess we should book some flights to the Big Apple."
Grinning, Mulder whipped out two tickets from his jacket pocket.