DISCLAIMER: All of the characters excepting Dr. Elizabeth
Sykes and Detective Lauren Alvarez belong first and foremost
to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, and the beloved
Fox Network. Concepts centering around the mytharc, including
Purity Control and the search for Samantha belong to the
aforementioned, and I adamantly do not take credit for them.
TITLE: An Eye For An Eye
AUTHOR: Flyerfly
RATING: R for suggestive and X-rated dialogue.
CATEGORY: MSR/UST
SPOILERS: CLOSURE SUMMARY: When a woman from Mulder's past
asks for help on a case in Philadelphia, Mulder and Scully
are thrown head-first into the investigation of a strange
set of ritualistic murders. But they get more than they
bargain for when a few twists and turns force them to look
carefully at how their actions affected their past cases
and what the consequences of those choices mean for the future.
NOTE: This fic is meant to come before "all things" which I,
incidentally, do not believe to be the sight of M&S's first
sexual encounter. Therefore, I intend not only to portray
this encounter, which I believe has not been depicted in
any episode, but will also pave the way for the convoluted
"Super Soldier" mythology that springs up in S8-S9. On to the story.
Quantico Medical Facility
March 25, 2000
11:28 A.M.
The sunlight streamed lazily through the window pane, filtered
slightly by the pristine Venetian blinds, and coming to rest
upon a lengthy table situated in the middle of the room.
Glancing up through her medical goggles, Dana Scully turned her
attention from the specimen lying on the table to the eight
students busily taking notes at arm's length in front of her.
The light danced playfully about her face, illuminating her fiery,
red hair and the dissecting tools she bore in her hands.
"The deceased is a Caucasian male," she began, "twenty-five
years of age and in perfect physical condition...," she
paused as her green, surgical gloves clasped a small blanket
covering the man's torso, "...that is, except for one minor
detail." Scully pulled the blanket from the corpse, revealing
a rather erect penis, still frozen in position from the
setting in of rigor mortis. A miniscule smile formed at the
corners of her mouth as the eyes of her students dilated in awe.
"He was found dead at his apartment on Saturday, having taken
an overdose of medicine to treat his erectile dysfunction.
Further investigation revealed that he died of a brain
hemorrhage, specifically regulated to the hypothalamus...,"
she smirked at her students,
"...the pleasure center of the brain."
"O.D.'d on Viagra," laughed one of her students, "what a way to
go!" As the rest of the students chuckled, her response was
curtailed by a knocking on the door leading to the hall of the
facility. Scully smiled as her eyes took in the shape of her
partner, Fox Mulder, waving excitedly to her through the glass.
He smiled back, his deep, mysterious eyes twinkling at the sight
of her. His visit was unexpected, but a happy one. She needed a
break from the monotony; the mundane nature of the hospital was
a far cry from the excitement of field work. She was beginning
to regret having accepted Agent Lowell's request to have her
administer to his classes while he was away visiting his family
for the duration of his month-long Easter vacation.
Placing the instruments back upon a tray beside the slab, Scully
murmured an "Excuse me" to her students as she grabbed for the
doorknob.
"And I thought I had trouble getting up in the morning," Mulder
smirked as he motioned with his thumb towards the deceased.
A sigh escaped Scully's lips as she shook her head disapprovingly.
"Mulder, what are you doing here?" she asked him, silently hoping
that he had come to drag her away for some quest for the paranormal.
She drew her goggles atop the base of her head.
"I don't know," he said, lifting a finger to his cheek, "what am
I doing here?" He mumbled something unintelligible to himself as
Scully grew increasingly impatient.
"Mulder, my students are waiting..." He cut her complaint short,
and put his hands up in a gesture of defeat in order to hasten
the conversation.
"Okay, okay. You don't have to twist my...," looking through
the window and smiling to himself, "...arm. I just received
a phone call from an old friend of mine, Lauren Alvarez.
She's a detective at the Philadelphia Police Department. She's
working on a case right now that I think should be of some
interest. If you can tear yourself away from Prince
Charming over there then meet me at the airport at 5:30 tonight."
"But, Mulder," she whined as he turned his back to her, "my
students?" He waved her off with a flip of his hand and called
back without turning around, "5:30."
Philadelphia Police Department
2:48 P.M.
Lauren Alvarez, an exotic looking woman with flowing, black hair
sat at her desk, pen in hand, writing a memo to herself. For
months now this case had been eating away at her, resonating
somewhere deep inside. She hated this guy with every core of her
being, this sick murderer who seemed to enjoy dispensing pain,
inflicting the worst imaginable horrors on his victims. She
couldn't wait for him to kill again. She had to find him, to take
him out before he hurt another.
"Lauren?" Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone
calling her name. She looked up from her work. There he was,
slightly older, somewhat changed, but still very much the
dashing man she had known.
"Fox," she greeted him warmly, "how are you? It's been so long."
Scully's eyes searched Mulder's at the sound of his first name.
"An old friend, huh?" she muttered under her breath, "she looks
pretty spry to me." Mulder shrugged his shoulders as Detective
Alvarez approached.
"Hello, Lauren," he said as he placed his hands around her
extended palm, caressing it as though it was a familiar position,
"You look well." Scully feigned a cough as she struggled to divert
attention to her presence. Mulder released Alvarez and motioned to
Scully, "Lauren, this is my partner, Scully."
"Special Agent Scully," she clarified, and extended her own hand,
shaking that of Alvarez.
"Well," Alvarez said, using a tone quite obviously less amiable
than with the one she greeted Mulder, "I'm glad you're both here.
I have something very interesting that I would like to show you."
"I'll bet," Scully scowled as Alvarez led the two to an inner
office.
"Would you like something to drink?" she asked the partners,
raising a coffee pot as an offering.
"No thank you," Scully answered a little too politely, "Perhaps
you could just show us what is so pressing, the reason why we
flew out from D.C. on a moment's notice?"
Alvarez lowered the coffee pot and turned off the lights,
reaching for a projector button.
"These are the bodies of three women, all in their mid-twenties,
all quite beautiful, taken over the course of four months."
She flipped slowly from one crime scene to the next. "In each
case, the victim was beaten and stabbed forty times. A single
eye and tooth was removed from each of the victims. The weapon
has not been found at any of the crime scenes."
"What are you thinking?" Mulder asked, "Religious radical?"
"That was my initial inclination," admitted Alvarez, "but
listen to this. The medical examiner stated that the cause of
death was diminished oxygen to the brain through asphyxiation
but there are no signs of strangulation on the bodies. I
honestly don't know what to think. I really want to nail this
guy but I feel as though I've exhausted every possible lead.
That's why I called you in on this, Fox."
Scully shuffled uncomfortably at the sound of his name. She
felt as though she were intruding upon some secret meeting
to which she was not privy. Mulder turned his glance from
the longing gaze of Alvarez to the frustrated gaze of Scully.
"I guess you should get going to the morgue," he said to her
as he walked toward the door, "I need a full report on all
of the victims."
"And where are you going?" she asked him.
"To get something to eat," he answered shortly, "All this talk
of cutting into things has made me hungry."
Philadelphia City Morgue
9:12 P.M.
The footsteps of Fox Mulder echoed sadly throughout the poorly-lit
hallway, his lengthy, tan coat trailing flawlessly behind. In one
hand, he carried a brown paper bag. The other was tucked neatly
away in his pocket. He pushed wide the double doors at the end of
the hall, revealing Scully bent over one of the victims. She
looked up, weariness blanketing her eyes. He smiled in spite of
himself. He loved seeing her like this, so together, so methodical,
so in-control. He raised the bag and waved it slightly from
side-to-side, "I brought Chinese."
"Thank goodness," she answered, removing the latex gloves from her
hands and throwing them in the waste container, "I'm starving." It
never ceased to amaze him. She could stand there, hour after hour,
cutting away at the remnants of a human being, and still retain her
appetite. "What'd you find out?" he asked, placing the bag on the
countertop, "Anything interesting?"
The incandescent lights flickered on and off, humming with the dull
sound of dying bulbs. Scully approached a lab stool and sat, the
corners of her white lab coat conforming to her body beneath her
weight. She placed her hands at the sides of her hips, arched her
back, and rubbed gently. She had been on her feet for nearly five
hours. "Well," she began, eyes closed, "there was only one recent
victim, killed three days ago. The others have already been buried."
Mulder moved in silently behind her and placed his hands on
her shoulders.
"Let me," he said. Normally she wouldn't allow it, but his strong
hands felt so good to the touch that she simply couldn't help
herself. She continued, "I examined every inch of her and
everything seems much in line with what Detective Alvarez has
already told us. The clean incisions suggest a very sharp knife,
perhaps used for skinning animals or ceremonial purposes." She
felt her eyes roll back into her head as his hands traveled to
the small of her back. The warmth enveloped her. "I did,
however, notice a few strange details."
Her brief stint of pleasure was abruptly halted as Mulder
removed his hands from her body.
"What did you find?" he asked.
Scully opened her eyes. His face was a mixture of curiosity and
determination. She sighed inwardly. "The tox screen showed that the
victim contained high amounts of alcohol in her bloodstream. In
addition, there is a fracture present in both the left and right
radius of the victim, as though she was attempting to fight off her
attacker while being bound. However, there is no sign of
any binding material on either of her wrists or forearms. Or
her entire body, for that matter. No rope burns, no wire cuts...
not even a trace of tape."
Mulder shifted his weight from one foot to the other,
"Anything else?" Scully opened the bag and removed a fork,
twisting it playfully about her fingers.
"Yes," she replied, "one more thing. The epiglottis was swollen
significantly, about two times the normal size for a woman her age."
"What are your thoughts?" he asked her as she opened her sweet and
sour chicken.
"It's quite probable that the swollen epiglottis caused the
asphyxiation," she stuck one on her fork, dipped it in the sauce,
and popped it in her mouth, "As to how the epiglottis came to be
swollen...I simply don't have enough information to go on at
this point. More extensive tests will have to be run." She
pulled the fork slowly from her mouth, her tongue caressing
the sweet, sweet sauce.
He watched her as she ate, smiling with longing in his heart.
He spoke softly, "Don't forget to save room for dessert."
She threw him a questioning look, her eyes alight with the
possibilities hidden in that one, simple phrase. He flashed
her a smile and pulled something from his left pocket that had
previously been obscured from view. "Fortune cookie," he said
playfully, beaming ear-to-ear, "Don't you want to know what the
future holds?" He tossed her the single-serving dessert,
hermetically sealed in a plastic package. She caught it in her
palms and opened the wrapper with her thumb and pointer finger.
She cracked the cookie, pulling the thin, white paper from one
of the halves. She lifted it to her eyes and read aloud,
smiling at the irony, "You will find great pleasure..."
"...in bed," Mulder finished.
"What?" she questioned. "It doesn't say that Mulder." She turned
the paper around for his viewing benefit, as if she needed proof
to fully convince him, "See?"
"I know, Scully," he answered, "Didn't you ever play that game with
your friends?" He looked at her inquisitively, "Whenever you get
Chinese, you're supposed to read your fortune and then add 'in bed'
to the end of the fortune. You know, for fun? You do know what
fun is, don't you, Scully?" She scowled at his sarcasm as she
asked, "And what does your fortune say, Agent Mulder, or are
you too afraid to fight the future?"
He grinned. Maybe he was rubbing off on her after all. He pulled a
second cookie from his right pocket and held it up for her see,
"Let's find out." He opened the cookie, read it, and let out a
mock gasp of fear. "What does it say, Mulder?" Scully asked.
"Nothing important really," he answered, "Confucius says that you
are the sexiest Special Agent ever assigned to the X-Files." He
crumpled up the fortune and threw it discontentedly in a
wastebasket.
"Call me as soon as you're finished," he yelled to her, making an
exceptionally hasty departure. As soon as his back was out of view,
she picked the fortune from the wastebasket. Straightening it, she
read aloud, "The answers to the questions that you seek are written
in the stars."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mulder angrily pushed aside the door leading out into the
parking lot. The force of his blow knocked the frame against the
wall, sending a loud "thud" cascading throughout the starlit sky.
He paced forward and back, eyes to the pavement, with one hand at
his hip and the other at his forehead. "Get ahold of yourself,
Fox," he thought aloud, "It's only a stupid cookie, a simple,
generic saying that has absolutely no relevance whatsoever. Hell,
I could have just as easily gotten one that said 'Blue is your
favorite color' or 'Cleanliness is next to godliness'." He glanced
up. An elderly couple was watching him intently. The old woman
whispered something in her husband's ear. "What are you looking at,
Grandma?" he yelled to her, nodding his head for emphasis, "You've
never seen a guy talking to himself?" Placing her hand on her chest,
she permitted a barely audible, "Well, I never" to pass her lips as
she and her husband hurriedly advanced into the darkness. The street
lamps twinkled in the night, surpassed only by the amazing light
of the distant stars. He looked up. "The answers to the questions
that you seek are written in the stars." A sigh escaped his lips.
He remembered the freedom that he had felt after he had found the
truth, the sheer relief at finally putting closure to the greatest
search of all - the search for his sister. "Samantha," he called to
her, "I know you're up there, watching me." He felt that if he
looked hard enough, he could even see her beautiful eyes, two
beacons of crystalline light staring down to Earth, watching him,
guarding him. "I'm so sorry Samantha," he cried suddenly and without
reserve, "I'm so sorry for losing you! If only I could have found
you sooner, if only I could have stopped them from performing those
horrible tests! Then you'd be here with me, right now, instead of
up there!" He pointed accusingly at the night sky. He felt the
absence - Deep Throat was gone, so was his father, his mother...
Samantha. And what of Scully's sacrifices? She had given up
a sister, her eggs, a chance for a normal life. And all for
what? How many more had to die? How many more would have to
suffer so that he could find the truth? This last thought was
unbearable. He suddenly felt as if all the sadness of the
world rested on his shoulders, as if the very night was
swallowing him whole. He fell to his knees and wept like a
child, his tears falling damp against the cold, dark ground.
Liberty Bell Inn
March 26, 2000
6:17 A.M.
Fox Mulder awoke from an uncontrollably restless sleep to the sound
of pounding on the door. Mulder stirred groggily as his partner's
voice came from behind the thick, wooden frame, "Mulder? Are you
in there? It's me."
"Uhhh," his head circled from side to side as he squirmed in the
uncomfortable blue chair that had served as his bed for the night.
Maybe he was still dreaming.
"Mulder, it's me. Open the door."
Maybe not. Mulder was still attempting to make sense of his
surroundings as he heard the door behind him open and close.
"Mulder, it's me." The pounding moved from the door to his head.
It was as if he were drowning and her words were muted by the water.
He tried to open his eyes but the intense light emanating through
the window pane shone with a painful ferocity. He quickly shaded
them with his hands.
"Scully, what time is it?" he asked her.
"Nearly 6:20, Mulder," she answered, "I was worried about you.
I tried to call you last night after I finished the autopsy but
your phone was off the..." Her words were cut short as she glanced
at the fuzzy, blackened television screen, "Mulder, what were you
watching last night?" He hurriedly grabbed for the remote control
that lay underneath a half-empty bag of David's Sunflower Seeds
on the table next to his makeshift bed.
"Sorry," he answered, hastily turning off the set, "I was following
up on some leads."
Scully glanced at him hard, her gaze shooting straight through
him. He looked like shit. The dark bags hung deep underneath his
reddened eyes and his scruffy hair was completely unkempt. He was
dressed in his suit from the previous day, sans jacket, tie, and
shoes. The collar and cuffs of his shirt were unbuttoned and
hung limp.
"Mulder," she asked, "are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Scully," he blandly responded. He walked over to
the dresser where a third of a bottle of Whiskey sat opened. He
reached for some ice that he had gathered in a bucket the previous
night, but all that remained was water. Instead, he obtained a
clean glass and poured the Whiskey straight from the bottle. He
turned around and looked at her, "Thirsty?" She folded her arms
and shook her head "no." He raised his glass, "Here's to you,
Scully." He smiled and threw back his glass, taking a long
draught of the liquor. "You know that's not going to help," she
told him, point-blank.
"Yeah," he answered, "but it sure beats the hell out of talking."
"Listen, Mulder," she started, "why don't you put the drink down.
I have some information regarding the case."
"So do I," he answered, gesturing to the numerous files strewn
about the bed and floor. "I brought them from Washington," he
explained, "When Lauren first told me the facts regarding the case,
I was reminded of some similar unexplained murders that were
brought to my attention earlier this year."
"What did you find out, Mulder?" she inquired, her head
cocked to one side and her lips drawn into a slight, tight frown.
"You first," he countered. His smile was an obvious facade, but
Scully was not willing to test his stubborn nature.
"Well," she began, slipping easily into the role of orator of
scientific knowledge, "it appears that the asphyxiation was, in
fact, due to the intense swelling of the epiglottis. The swelling
initiated a cascade of biological events in which contact between
the brain and the lungs was severed. Oxygen was unable to bypass
the esophagus. The brain was deprived of oxygen for an extensive
length of time, literally destroying the brain cells one by one."
Mulder's sweet smile had rapidly disappeared, replaced with a
stoic look of intellectual interest. "So what you're telling me,"
he said to her, "is that what killed this girl was a giant case
of choking."
"In layman's terms, yes," she answered. She glanced once more at his
ruffled appearance. Her view traveled slowly from his soiled socks,
up his wrinkled pants and shirt, coming to rest on his face. Her
gaze met his. Even after a steady night of drowning his sorrows, his
face was still beautiful, filled with the handsome rigor of a
passionate man leading a passionate quest. Feeling the uncomfortable
tension in her veins, Scully turned her attention to the notes
folded neatly in her hands. "It is analogous to the sensation
you get when food 'goes down the wrong pipe,' only on an extreme
level. By all accounts, the victims died within ten seconds of
the initial swelling."
"And what of the alcohol found in the victim's bloodstream?" he
questioned, "Should we be staking out the bars for all the men
out there who make an attempt to pick up a pretty woman?"
"No," Scully answered, "the alcohol is not composed of ethyl
groups, compounds that form the molecular basis for the products
of fermentation, which comprise drinking alcohol. The alcohol
appears to be the product of some sort of chemical reaction,
perhaps caused as a side-product of whatever it was that
caused the epiglottal swelling. I don't think I need to tell
you, Mulder, that this is indicative of premeditated murder."
"It's more than that, Scully," he said suddenly, dusting the
sunflower seeds from the chair and onto the floor, "It's
much more than that."
She squinched her face in disgust of the sty-like conditions
and looked at Mulder inquisitively, "Then what is it? What
have you found?"
Mulder picked up a stack of files from the floor and sat back
down on the chair. He threw a couple in Scully's general
direction. "Do you see anything that these girls have in
common?" he questioned, raising the glass to his lips.
Scully quickly leafed through the three files in her hands.
"Other than the obvious, that we have three very beautiful,
very dead women, no." She closed the files and threw them
haphazardly on the floor. She felt that he was leading her
to the threshold, but that he, himself, had already
journeyed inside. It seemed he always knew the answers but
contented himself by playing these games. She peered into
his eyes, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"The names, Scully," he said bluntly, "look at the names."
Mulder pointed to the three files she had thrown on the
floor, "Those were the most recent victims, Christina
Andrews, Rene Bartholomew, and Erica James."
"What do you mean, the most recent?" she asked, "Were
there others?" He handed her the other stack of files on
his lap, "Six others, to beprecise." Scully flipped through
the stack, reading the last names of the victims aloud,
"Judas, Johnson, Matthews, Phillips, Jameson, and Simone."
She glanced up at him quickly. He could see that she
understood and he nodded his head accordingly.
"The Apostles," he stated matter-of-factly, "or derivations
of their names. And look at the dates they were killed. The
women are killed in threes, three deaths occurring over the
span of four months, each dying of asphyxiation under
similar circumstances."
"And how many months have passed since the first murder?"
she inquired.
"Eight," he answered.
Scully appeared despondent, "So that means that we have
precisely four months to find a religious radical who
intends to kill three women with the last names of Judas,
Peter, and Thomas, or some derivation thereof?"
"That's right," he answered, "shouldn't be too hard should
it? Just your everyday Apocalypse." He smirked at her and
chuckled allowed.
"What is it?" she asked brusquely, half fearing the answer.
"I was just thinking that we finally stumbled on a case that
you are more prepared for than I. Faith, God, religion...I
was just wondering what it's like to play the skeptic."
Philadelphia Police Department
7:46 A.M.
Lauren Alvarez was seated at her desk. One hand lightly
pressed against her cheek, supporting the weight of her
elegant face. The other hand, fingers intertwined with a
half-chewed pencil, nervously drummed against the well-
polished wood. Her long, coal-colored hair fell in
graceful tendrils below her shoulders. She uneasily stared
out the window of her fourth-story office. The city looked
so beautiful from this height, so peaceful. From up here
she was oblivious, immune to the danger and destruction
that daily traversed the streets below. The sunlight shone
with an overwhelming warmth. She longed for the days of her
youth, for the little bit of land from whence all of her
memories sprang forth. There were no street lights there,
no roads, no buildings - only green pastures that went on
forever and lakes as blue as the summer sky.
Her pleasant stream-of-consciousness was dolefully interrupted
by the sound of three short knocks upon her door. "Come in,"
she called, still rhythmically strumming her fingers upon
the surface of the desk. The door opened, exposing the frame
of Fox Mulder. She greeted him with a smile.
"How are you, Fox?" she asked him. She crossed one of her long,
slender legs over the other, drawing attention to the slim-
fitting, blue skirt that graced her hips and accentuated her
eyes. She thought she noticed his gaze depart from hers, if
only for a brief second. She enjoyed this thought immensely.
Her smile broadened as she recalled another distant memory:
the excitement of the city, the smell of the rain as it soaked
her clothes, his gentle, but firm touch...
"Please sit down." She gestured to a comfortable-looking
leather chair that graced the opposite side of her desk.
Mulder gratefully returned her smile and advanced towards
the chair, fully revealing for the first time his fiery,
red-headed partner. Alvarez's smile began to fade as she
glimpsed the immaculate Dana Scully enter. Stony and tight-
lipped, she seated herself in the seat next to Mulder's. It
appeared that this visit would not be for pleasure. Alvarez
decided to get right down to business.
"So, what have you found, Fox?" She listened to his harangue
with little interruption from his partner. Lauren stared at her,
hard, concentrating. What was the link between this skeptical,
rational scientist and Mulder, the epitome of all unconventional
thought? She squinted her eyes. Maybe there was something
there more than partnership, more than friendship, perhaps?
Scully certainly loved Fox. She could tell that right off the
bat. Evaluating the lies of untold numbers of criminals had
given her the ability to read the body language of the agent.
The longing looks were certainly infrequent, but the eyes, the
piercing, crystal, blue eyes completely gave it away. But what
of him? Her attention focused on Fox as he continued his tale.
His mouth was moving but she couldn't hear the words that were
escaping his lips. Did he feel the same way about her? Even
knowing him as well as she did, it was still difficult to be
certain. He had become well adept at hiding his emotions. She
shook the thoughts from her head and focused on what Fox was
saying - something about the Apostles and a serial killer?
She wasn't sure if she had heard correctly. "What was that,
again?" she asked, interrupting his informational lecture.
"Scully believes that the killer has been administering some
sort of unknown toxin to these women. Nine have been found so
far that have been killed in the same sort of conditions, all
with last names that are derivatives of Apostalic names. We
believe that in the next four months he will attempt to kill
three more women."
"And after that?" she interrupted again. She was not comfortable
unless she was conducting the interrogation. She noticed that
Agent Scully sent Fox a strange look, maybe one of precaution?
She wasn't sure.
"We don't know," he answered quietly, "maybe he'll rise again."
His voice trailed away as the drumming of her fingers on the
desk cascaded across the room.
8:17 A.M.
"Scully," Fox Mulder called to his partner who was now, by this
time, a good ten feet in front of him, "Scully, hold up, where's
the fire?" Following the meeting with Lauren, Scully had dashed
from the elevator, chin up, eyes forward, and arms waving back
and forth at her sides, synchronized with the motion of her gait.
He thought she looked as though she was commissioned for some
secret mission and carried the importance well on her dainty,
but strong, shoulders. She continued on. Mulder had to jog in
order to catch up with her. He grabbed her right arm and spun
her around, forcing her to face him.
"Scully, what's going on? Is something wrong?"
Scully looked up at him. He took in the sight of her, chin
quivering, eyes dilated. His eyebrows furrowed with concern.
"Mulder," she said abruptly, "who is that woman?"
Mulder was taken aback. "You know who she is, Scully," he
answered, "Detective Lauren Alvarez of the Philadelphia Police
Department." Scully scoffed in reply, turned, and began her
steamy descent down the marble stairwell outside of the
department building.
"Scully," Mulder called to her again, "Scully!" He didn't
have to catch up with her this time. She suddenly turned on her
heels and faced him. Venom stained her lips as she released, in
one instant, all of the pent-up emotions that she had held at
bay since their departure from Washington.
"Mulder," she repeated, "who is that woman?"
"She's just a friend, Scully, a friend from my past. A woman
who I trust with my life."
"I don't trust her," she told him blandly, "I don't trust
her at all. Were you or were you not present at that farce
of a meeting? She doesn't give a damn about this case Mulder,
or who will get hurt if she continues to neglect her office."
The furrows of concern deepened into furrows of anger. The
rage built up inside of him so rapidly that even he was caught
off guard. "How can you say that, Scully? You don't know her
at all. Do you know how much she wants to find this murderer?
Probably more than you and I combined. For you and me this is
a simple side job, but for her this is life. At the end of the
day you can go home to your religion and I can go home to the
X-Files, but she has nothing else."
"Maybe that's the problem, Mulder," she countered, "Did you ever
stop to think that maybe she wants something else in her life?"
She looked at him accusingly.
"Like what, Scully?"
She paused, calming herself. Was he really that unaware of
feminine affection? She sighed deeply and replied softly with
force, "Like you, Mulder."
He contemplated this possibility. It was certainly feasible.
He remembered that night after the rain. Her tight, white shirt
was soaked, her long, black hair curled slightly from the presence
of the moisture. He remembered leaning in, feeling her tongue on
his lips, she tasted so good. He remembered that she invited him in.
He had held her between his arms. She felt as good as she looked.
"Mulder?" Scully's voice pervaded his thoughts, "Mulder, why are
you smiling?" He quickly gathered his composure, "Scully, whatever
our past may have included, I am positive that it will not get in
the way of this case." He forcefully grabbed her arms at the elbows,
rubbing her soft skin between his fingers. His demeanor visibly
changed. He was sorry, indeed, for the unfortunate outburst.
"Scully," he seemingly cooed now, "you know where my heart lies,"
she searched his eyes for an answer, "with the X-Files. I will never
let anything come between that."
Scully appeared crestfallen for a split second, but recovered
quickly. She smiled at him, "That's all the assurance I need,
Mulder."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Four stories above, an unseen figure viewed the proceedings,
watching the two partners engage in some form of disagreement.
The curtains closed as the figure departed from the window,
leaving the office in complete darkness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He watched as the tall man and his red-headed companion departed
from the Philadelphia Police Department. He could tell that she
was very upset about something. Their disagreement appeared as
though it could be heard overtop of the already deafening din
of the city street. What a strange contrast she put forth -
such an angry look for an angelic face. But he could tell that
she was just deceiving the public. The cross about her neck was
no match for the sinful passion in her heart, as reminiscent of
Lucifer as her fiery hair. He was a sinner, too. He reveled
in sins of the flesh, coveting one woman after the next, but
her especially. He could see that. The agent had no moral
compass. He repeatedly put her life on the line, even though
his feelings of desire for her were great. Yes, they would
be forgotten on the Day of Judgment, sinners trampled beneath
the hooves of the Four Horsemen. They would be made to suffer
for their sins, he was sure of that. They would be the chosen
ones that would bring about the Kingdom of Heaven on Earth.
They would be made to suffer.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mulder watched as Scully departed. Her arms were still at her sides
and her navy-colored suit accentuated the curves in her lovely
hourglass-shaped figure. She looked good from behind, Mulder
decided, damn good. He loved the way she looked, the way she
walked. He especially loved the way she challenged him, contested
him, forced him to look at his theories from another point of
view, even if her science could not account for everything that
they had both seen. He had thought of her, daydreamed about her.
She pervaded his thoughts in the morning and his dreams at night.
He wanted so desperately to act impulsively, to transgress the
barriers that they both had set between their achingly platonic
relationship. But he was waiting for something. He didn't know
what it was but he needed to wait, of that he was certain. But
if he were to express his feelings, would she reciprocate? He
thought that she felt the same way he did. They had had warm
moments; the infrequent touches, the long kiss at New Year's,
all moments that had made him temporarily forget the horrors
that they had been through. But even through those horrors,
she was there. He had cried on her shoulder, and she on his.
He had saved her life, and she, his. They had shared the loss
of family and the loss of her ability to bear children. Now he
wanted to celebrate a new loss, a loss of his propensity to be
alone. He couldn't bear going home to that apartment by himself,
waking up in the morning and not having her beside him. He had
to do something, just what he was uncertain.
His musings were interrupted by the sound of the ringing of his cell
phone. He followed her figure until she disappeared into the
distance, reached into his chest pocket, and produced his cell
phone. He flipped it open, "Mulder."
A familiar voice spoke softly from the other end of line.
"Sure," he responded, "I'll meet you there." He closed the phone and
replaced it in his pocket. He gazed one final time into the distance
where Scully had withdrawn and then walked towards the garage w
here he had left his rental car.
Liberty Bell Inn
10:22 A.M.
"Please connect me to Assistant Director Skinner." Scully glanced
around the room that had served as her home for the evening as she
waited for the secretary to patch her call through. It reminded her
vaguely of somewhere she had been before, but she couldn't quite
put her finger on it. The off-white blanket that covered the double
bed, the comely lamp that illuminated the small television set, it
all looked so familiar.
"Skinner," Scully heard the A.D.'s voice state brusquely.
"Hello, sir," Sully responded. It was good to hear his voice. It was
so odd, their relationship. When she was first assigned to the
X-Files, she would never have imagined that Skinner would have
become what she considered to be a friend. He had assisted her
and Mulder countless times, at personal risk to his own position.
She felt a kindred devotion to him. He was like a father to her,
and their relationship followed suit, sometimes adversarial,
but more often caring.
"It's Scully. I wanted to bring you up to speed on the case. Mulder
and I have connected the three murders in Philadelphia to six other
murders. In each case, the women died of asphyxiation under similar
circumstances. All of the women had last names that are derivatives
of Apostalic names."
"Do you have any theories on this point?" he interrupted.
"Yes," Scully continued. She was well used to his interjections.
"Agent Mulder believes that a religious radical is attempting to
murder twelve women with Apostalic names, recreating martyrdom,
perhaps in an attempt to become closer to Christianity."
"Yes," he said, "but what do you believe?"
"Honestly sir," she answered, "I'm not sure that I know. I believe
that Agent Mulder's hypothesis is certainly plausible. On a more
personal note, I have difficulty reconciling anyone who believes
he is justified in connecting murder with a Christian
rationalization."
There was a significant pause at the other end of the line. "Agent
Scully," Skinner said, "I need to ask you a question." He sounded
tense. Scully was worried.
"Go right ahead, sir," she responded.
"What are you two doing there?" he asked, "I know that Mulder is an
adept profiler but I really don't see any connection here to the
X-Files." Scully bit her lower-lip. What are we doing here? She had
asked herself the same question ever since their arrival in
Philadelphia. She remembered their meeting with Detective Alvarez.
She had flagrantly attempted to draw attention to herself the entire
time. Scully knew the meeting wasn't about the case, but was about
Mulder. She had seen the disappointment in Alvarez's eyes when she
noticed that Scully would be present during the discussion.
"Agent Scully?" Skinner invaded her thoughts.
"Yes, sir," she answered, "Could you repeat the question?"
Sykes and Detective Lauren Alvarez belong first and foremost
to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, and the beloved
Fox Network. Concepts centering around the mytharc, including
Purity Control and the search for Samantha belong to the
aforementioned, and I adamantly do not take credit for them.
TITLE: An Eye For An Eye
AUTHOR: Flyerfly
RATING: R for suggestive and X-rated dialogue.
CATEGORY: MSR/UST
SPOILERS: CLOSURE SUMMARY: When a woman from Mulder's past
asks for help on a case in Philadelphia, Mulder and Scully
are thrown head-first into the investigation of a strange
set of ritualistic murders. But they get more than they
bargain for when a few twists and turns force them to look
carefully at how their actions affected their past cases
and what the consequences of those choices mean for the future.
NOTE: This fic is meant to come before "all things" which I,
incidentally, do not believe to be the sight of M&S's first
sexual encounter. Therefore, I intend not only to portray
this encounter, which I believe has not been depicted in
any episode, but will also pave the way for the convoluted
"Super Soldier" mythology that springs up in S8-S9. On to the story.
Quantico Medical Facility
March 25, 2000
11:28 A.M.
The sunlight streamed lazily through the window pane, filtered
slightly by the pristine Venetian blinds, and coming to rest
upon a lengthy table situated in the middle of the room.
Glancing up through her medical goggles, Dana Scully turned her
attention from the specimen lying on the table to the eight
students busily taking notes at arm's length in front of her.
The light danced playfully about her face, illuminating her fiery,
red hair and the dissecting tools she bore in her hands.
"The deceased is a Caucasian male," she began, "twenty-five
years of age and in perfect physical condition...," she
paused as her green, surgical gloves clasped a small blanket
covering the man's torso, "...that is, except for one minor
detail." Scully pulled the blanket from the corpse, revealing
a rather erect penis, still frozen in position from the
setting in of rigor mortis. A miniscule smile formed at the
corners of her mouth as the eyes of her students dilated in awe.
"He was found dead at his apartment on Saturday, having taken
an overdose of medicine to treat his erectile dysfunction.
Further investigation revealed that he died of a brain
hemorrhage, specifically regulated to the hypothalamus...,"
she smirked at her students,
"...the pleasure center of the brain."
"O.D.'d on Viagra," laughed one of her students, "what a way to
go!" As the rest of the students chuckled, her response was
curtailed by a knocking on the door leading to the hall of the
facility. Scully smiled as her eyes took in the shape of her
partner, Fox Mulder, waving excitedly to her through the glass.
He smiled back, his deep, mysterious eyes twinkling at the sight
of her. His visit was unexpected, but a happy one. She needed a
break from the monotony; the mundane nature of the hospital was
a far cry from the excitement of field work. She was beginning
to regret having accepted Agent Lowell's request to have her
administer to his classes while he was away visiting his family
for the duration of his month-long Easter vacation.
Placing the instruments back upon a tray beside the slab, Scully
murmured an "Excuse me" to her students as she grabbed for the
doorknob.
"And I thought I had trouble getting up in the morning," Mulder
smirked as he motioned with his thumb towards the deceased.
A sigh escaped Scully's lips as she shook her head disapprovingly.
"Mulder, what are you doing here?" she asked him, silently hoping
that he had come to drag her away for some quest for the paranormal.
She drew her goggles atop the base of her head.
"I don't know," he said, lifting a finger to his cheek, "what am
I doing here?" He mumbled something unintelligible to himself as
Scully grew increasingly impatient.
"Mulder, my students are waiting..." He cut her complaint short,
and put his hands up in a gesture of defeat in order to hasten
the conversation.
"Okay, okay. You don't have to twist my...," looking through
the window and smiling to himself, "...arm. I just received
a phone call from an old friend of mine, Lauren Alvarez.
She's a detective at the Philadelphia Police Department. She's
working on a case right now that I think should be of some
interest. If you can tear yourself away from Prince
Charming over there then meet me at the airport at 5:30 tonight."
"But, Mulder," she whined as he turned his back to her, "my
students?" He waved her off with a flip of his hand and called
back without turning around, "5:30."
Philadelphia Police Department
2:48 P.M.
Lauren Alvarez, an exotic looking woman with flowing, black hair
sat at her desk, pen in hand, writing a memo to herself. For
months now this case had been eating away at her, resonating
somewhere deep inside. She hated this guy with every core of her
being, this sick murderer who seemed to enjoy dispensing pain,
inflicting the worst imaginable horrors on his victims. She
couldn't wait for him to kill again. She had to find him, to take
him out before he hurt another.
"Lauren?" Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone
calling her name. She looked up from her work. There he was,
slightly older, somewhat changed, but still very much the
dashing man she had known.
"Fox," she greeted him warmly, "how are you? It's been so long."
Scully's eyes searched Mulder's at the sound of his first name.
"An old friend, huh?" she muttered under her breath, "she looks
pretty spry to me." Mulder shrugged his shoulders as Detective
Alvarez approached.
"Hello, Lauren," he said as he placed his hands around her
extended palm, caressing it as though it was a familiar position,
"You look well." Scully feigned a cough as she struggled to divert
attention to her presence. Mulder released Alvarez and motioned to
Scully, "Lauren, this is my partner, Scully."
"Special Agent Scully," she clarified, and extended her own hand,
shaking that of Alvarez.
"Well," Alvarez said, using a tone quite obviously less amiable
than with the one she greeted Mulder, "I'm glad you're both here.
I have something very interesting that I would like to show you."
"I'll bet," Scully scowled as Alvarez led the two to an inner
office.
"Would you like something to drink?" she asked the partners,
raising a coffee pot as an offering.
"No thank you," Scully answered a little too politely, "Perhaps
you could just show us what is so pressing, the reason why we
flew out from D.C. on a moment's notice?"
Alvarez lowered the coffee pot and turned off the lights,
reaching for a projector button.
"These are the bodies of three women, all in their mid-twenties,
all quite beautiful, taken over the course of four months."
She flipped slowly from one crime scene to the next. "In each
case, the victim was beaten and stabbed forty times. A single
eye and tooth was removed from each of the victims. The weapon
has not been found at any of the crime scenes."
"What are you thinking?" Mulder asked, "Religious radical?"
"That was my initial inclination," admitted Alvarez, "but
listen to this. The medical examiner stated that the cause of
death was diminished oxygen to the brain through asphyxiation
but there are no signs of strangulation on the bodies. I
honestly don't know what to think. I really want to nail this
guy but I feel as though I've exhausted every possible lead.
That's why I called you in on this, Fox."
Scully shuffled uncomfortably at the sound of his name. She
felt as though she were intruding upon some secret meeting
to which she was not privy. Mulder turned his glance from
the longing gaze of Alvarez to the frustrated gaze of Scully.
"I guess you should get going to the morgue," he said to her
as he walked toward the door, "I need a full report on all
of the victims."
"And where are you going?" she asked him.
"To get something to eat," he answered shortly, "All this talk
of cutting into things has made me hungry."
Philadelphia City Morgue
9:12 P.M.
The footsteps of Fox Mulder echoed sadly throughout the poorly-lit
hallway, his lengthy, tan coat trailing flawlessly behind. In one
hand, he carried a brown paper bag. The other was tucked neatly
away in his pocket. He pushed wide the double doors at the end of
the hall, revealing Scully bent over one of the victims. She
looked up, weariness blanketing her eyes. He smiled in spite of
himself. He loved seeing her like this, so together, so methodical,
so in-control. He raised the bag and waved it slightly from
side-to-side, "I brought Chinese."
"Thank goodness," she answered, removing the latex gloves from her
hands and throwing them in the waste container, "I'm starving." It
never ceased to amaze him. She could stand there, hour after hour,
cutting away at the remnants of a human being, and still retain her
appetite. "What'd you find out?" he asked, placing the bag on the
countertop, "Anything interesting?"
The incandescent lights flickered on and off, humming with the dull
sound of dying bulbs. Scully approached a lab stool and sat, the
corners of her white lab coat conforming to her body beneath her
weight. She placed her hands at the sides of her hips, arched her
back, and rubbed gently. She had been on her feet for nearly five
hours. "Well," she began, eyes closed, "there was only one recent
victim, killed three days ago. The others have already been buried."
Mulder moved in silently behind her and placed his hands on
her shoulders.
"Let me," he said. Normally she wouldn't allow it, but his strong
hands felt so good to the touch that she simply couldn't help
herself. She continued, "I examined every inch of her and
everything seems much in line with what Detective Alvarez has
already told us. The clean incisions suggest a very sharp knife,
perhaps used for skinning animals or ceremonial purposes." She
felt her eyes roll back into her head as his hands traveled to
the small of her back. The warmth enveloped her. "I did,
however, notice a few strange details."
Her brief stint of pleasure was abruptly halted as Mulder
removed his hands from her body.
"What did you find?" he asked.
Scully opened her eyes. His face was a mixture of curiosity and
determination. She sighed inwardly. "The tox screen showed that the
victim contained high amounts of alcohol in her bloodstream. In
addition, there is a fracture present in both the left and right
radius of the victim, as though she was attempting to fight off her
attacker while being bound. However, there is no sign of
any binding material on either of her wrists or forearms. Or
her entire body, for that matter. No rope burns, no wire cuts...
not even a trace of tape."
Mulder shifted his weight from one foot to the other,
"Anything else?" Scully opened the bag and removed a fork,
twisting it playfully about her fingers.
"Yes," she replied, "one more thing. The epiglottis was swollen
significantly, about two times the normal size for a woman her age."
"What are your thoughts?" he asked her as she opened her sweet and
sour chicken.
"It's quite probable that the swollen epiglottis caused the
asphyxiation," she stuck one on her fork, dipped it in the sauce,
and popped it in her mouth, "As to how the epiglottis came to be
swollen...I simply don't have enough information to go on at
this point. More extensive tests will have to be run." She
pulled the fork slowly from her mouth, her tongue caressing
the sweet, sweet sauce.
He watched her as she ate, smiling with longing in his heart.
He spoke softly, "Don't forget to save room for dessert."
She threw him a questioning look, her eyes alight with the
possibilities hidden in that one, simple phrase. He flashed
her a smile and pulled something from his left pocket that had
previously been obscured from view. "Fortune cookie," he said
playfully, beaming ear-to-ear, "Don't you want to know what the
future holds?" He tossed her the single-serving dessert,
hermetically sealed in a plastic package. She caught it in her
palms and opened the wrapper with her thumb and pointer finger.
She cracked the cookie, pulling the thin, white paper from one
of the halves. She lifted it to her eyes and read aloud,
smiling at the irony, "You will find great pleasure..."
"...in bed," Mulder finished.
"What?" she questioned. "It doesn't say that Mulder." She turned
the paper around for his viewing benefit, as if she needed proof
to fully convince him, "See?"
"I know, Scully," he answered, "Didn't you ever play that game with
your friends?" He looked at her inquisitively, "Whenever you get
Chinese, you're supposed to read your fortune and then add 'in bed'
to the end of the fortune. You know, for fun? You do know what
fun is, don't you, Scully?" She scowled at his sarcasm as she
asked, "And what does your fortune say, Agent Mulder, or are
you too afraid to fight the future?"
He grinned. Maybe he was rubbing off on her after all. He pulled a
second cookie from his right pocket and held it up for her see,
"Let's find out." He opened the cookie, read it, and let out a
mock gasp of fear. "What does it say, Mulder?" Scully asked.
"Nothing important really," he answered, "Confucius says that you
are the sexiest Special Agent ever assigned to the X-Files." He
crumpled up the fortune and threw it discontentedly in a
wastebasket.
"Call me as soon as you're finished," he yelled to her, making an
exceptionally hasty departure. As soon as his back was out of view,
she picked the fortune from the wastebasket. Straightening it, she
read aloud, "The answers to the questions that you seek are written
in the stars."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mulder angrily pushed aside the door leading out into the
parking lot. The force of his blow knocked the frame against the
wall, sending a loud "thud" cascading throughout the starlit sky.
He paced forward and back, eyes to the pavement, with one hand at
his hip and the other at his forehead. "Get ahold of yourself,
Fox," he thought aloud, "It's only a stupid cookie, a simple,
generic saying that has absolutely no relevance whatsoever. Hell,
I could have just as easily gotten one that said 'Blue is your
favorite color' or 'Cleanliness is next to godliness'." He glanced
up. An elderly couple was watching him intently. The old woman
whispered something in her husband's ear. "What are you looking at,
Grandma?" he yelled to her, nodding his head for emphasis, "You've
never seen a guy talking to himself?" Placing her hand on her chest,
she permitted a barely audible, "Well, I never" to pass her lips as
she and her husband hurriedly advanced into the darkness. The street
lamps twinkled in the night, surpassed only by the amazing light
of the distant stars. He looked up. "The answers to the questions
that you seek are written in the stars." A sigh escaped his lips.
He remembered the freedom that he had felt after he had found the
truth, the sheer relief at finally putting closure to the greatest
search of all - the search for his sister. "Samantha," he called to
her, "I know you're up there, watching me." He felt that if he
looked hard enough, he could even see her beautiful eyes, two
beacons of crystalline light staring down to Earth, watching him,
guarding him. "I'm so sorry Samantha," he cried suddenly and without
reserve, "I'm so sorry for losing you! If only I could have found
you sooner, if only I could have stopped them from performing those
horrible tests! Then you'd be here with me, right now, instead of
up there!" He pointed accusingly at the night sky. He felt the
absence - Deep Throat was gone, so was his father, his mother...
Samantha. And what of Scully's sacrifices? She had given up
a sister, her eggs, a chance for a normal life. And all for
what? How many more had to die? How many more would have to
suffer so that he could find the truth? This last thought was
unbearable. He suddenly felt as if all the sadness of the
world rested on his shoulders, as if the very night was
swallowing him whole. He fell to his knees and wept like a
child, his tears falling damp against the cold, dark ground.
Liberty Bell Inn
March 26, 2000
6:17 A.M.
Fox Mulder awoke from an uncontrollably restless sleep to the sound
of pounding on the door. Mulder stirred groggily as his partner's
voice came from behind the thick, wooden frame, "Mulder? Are you
in there? It's me."
"Uhhh," his head circled from side to side as he squirmed in the
uncomfortable blue chair that had served as his bed for the night.
Maybe he was still dreaming.
"Mulder, it's me. Open the door."
Maybe not. Mulder was still attempting to make sense of his
surroundings as he heard the door behind him open and close.
"Mulder, it's me." The pounding moved from the door to his head.
It was as if he were drowning and her words were muted by the water.
He tried to open his eyes but the intense light emanating through
the window pane shone with a painful ferocity. He quickly shaded
them with his hands.
"Scully, what time is it?" he asked her.
"Nearly 6:20, Mulder," she answered, "I was worried about you.
I tried to call you last night after I finished the autopsy but
your phone was off the..." Her words were cut short as she glanced
at the fuzzy, blackened television screen, "Mulder, what were you
watching last night?" He hurriedly grabbed for the remote control
that lay underneath a half-empty bag of David's Sunflower Seeds
on the table next to his makeshift bed.
"Sorry," he answered, hastily turning off the set, "I was following
up on some leads."
Scully glanced at him hard, her gaze shooting straight through
him. He looked like shit. The dark bags hung deep underneath his
reddened eyes and his scruffy hair was completely unkempt. He was
dressed in his suit from the previous day, sans jacket, tie, and
shoes. The collar and cuffs of his shirt were unbuttoned and
hung limp.
"Mulder," she asked, "are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Scully," he blandly responded. He walked over to
the dresser where a third of a bottle of Whiskey sat opened. He
reached for some ice that he had gathered in a bucket the previous
night, but all that remained was water. Instead, he obtained a
clean glass and poured the Whiskey straight from the bottle. He
turned around and looked at her, "Thirsty?" She folded her arms
and shook her head "no." He raised his glass, "Here's to you,
Scully." He smiled and threw back his glass, taking a long
draught of the liquor. "You know that's not going to help," she
told him, point-blank.
"Yeah," he answered, "but it sure beats the hell out of talking."
"Listen, Mulder," she started, "why don't you put the drink down.
I have some information regarding the case."
"So do I," he answered, gesturing to the numerous files strewn
about the bed and floor. "I brought them from Washington," he
explained, "When Lauren first told me the facts regarding the case,
I was reminded of some similar unexplained murders that were
brought to my attention earlier this year."
"What did you find out, Mulder?" she inquired, her head
cocked to one side and her lips drawn into a slight, tight frown.
"You first," he countered. His smile was an obvious facade, but
Scully was not willing to test his stubborn nature.
"Well," she began, slipping easily into the role of orator of
scientific knowledge, "it appears that the asphyxiation was, in
fact, due to the intense swelling of the epiglottis. The swelling
initiated a cascade of biological events in which contact between
the brain and the lungs was severed. Oxygen was unable to bypass
the esophagus. The brain was deprived of oxygen for an extensive
length of time, literally destroying the brain cells one by one."
Mulder's sweet smile had rapidly disappeared, replaced with a
stoic look of intellectual interest. "So what you're telling me,"
he said to her, "is that what killed this girl was a giant case
of choking."
"In layman's terms, yes," she answered. She glanced once more at his
ruffled appearance. Her view traveled slowly from his soiled socks,
up his wrinkled pants and shirt, coming to rest on his face. Her
gaze met his. Even after a steady night of drowning his sorrows, his
face was still beautiful, filled with the handsome rigor of a
passionate man leading a passionate quest. Feeling the uncomfortable
tension in her veins, Scully turned her attention to the notes
folded neatly in her hands. "It is analogous to the sensation
you get when food 'goes down the wrong pipe,' only on an extreme
level. By all accounts, the victims died within ten seconds of
the initial swelling."
"And what of the alcohol found in the victim's bloodstream?" he
questioned, "Should we be staking out the bars for all the men
out there who make an attempt to pick up a pretty woman?"
"No," Scully answered, "the alcohol is not composed of ethyl
groups, compounds that form the molecular basis for the products
of fermentation, which comprise drinking alcohol. The alcohol
appears to be the product of some sort of chemical reaction,
perhaps caused as a side-product of whatever it was that
caused the epiglottal swelling. I don't think I need to tell
you, Mulder, that this is indicative of premeditated murder."
"It's more than that, Scully," he said suddenly, dusting the
sunflower seeds from the chair and onto the floor, "It's
much more than that."
She squinched her face in disgust of the sty-like conditions
and looked at Mulder inquisitively, "Then what is it? What
have you found?"
Mulder picked up a stack of files from the floor and sat back
down on the chair. He threw a couple in Scully's general
direction. "Do you see anything that these girls have in
common?" he questioned, raising the glass to his lips.
Scully quickly leafed through the three files in her hands.
"Other than the obvious, that we have three very beautiful,
very dead women, no." She closed the files and threw them
haphazardly on the floor. She felt that he was leading her
to the threshold, but that he, himself, had already
journeyed inside. It seemed he always knew the answers but
contented himself by playing these games. She peered into
his eyes, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"The names, Scully," he said bluntly, "look at the names."
Mulder pointed to the three files she had thrown on the
floor, "Those were the most recent victims, Christina
Andrews, Rene Bartholomew, and Erica James."
"What do you mean, the most recent?" she asked, "Were
there others?" He handed her the other stack of files on
his lap, "Six others, to beprecise." Scully flipped through
the stack, reading the last names of the victims aloud,
"Judas, Johnson, Matthews, Phillips, Jameson, and Simone."
She glanced up at him quickly. He could see that she
understood and he nodded his head accordingly.
"The Apostles," he stated matter-of-factly, "or derivations
of their names. And look at the dates they were killed. The
women are killed in threes, three deaths occurring over the
span of four months, each dying of asphyxiation under
similar circumstances."
"And how many months have passed since the first murder?"
she inquired.
"Eight," he answered.
Scully appeared despondent, "So that means that we have
precisely four months to find a religious radical who
intends to kill three women with the last names of Judas,
Peter, and Thomas, or some derivation thereof?"
"That's right," he answered, "shouldn't be too hard should
it? Just your everyday Apocalypse." He smirked at her and
chuckled allowed.
"What is it?" she asked brusquely, half fearing the answer.
"I was just thinking that we finally stumbled on a case that
you are more prepared for than I. Faith, God, religion...I
was just wondering what it's like to play the skeptic."
Philadelphia Police Department
7:46 A.M.
Lauren Alvarez was seated at her desk. One hand lightly
pressed against her cheek, supporting the weight of her
elegant face. The other hand, fingers intertwined with a
half-chewed pencil, nervously drummed against the well-
polished wood. Her long, coal-colored hair fell in
graceful tendrils below her shoulders. She uneasily stared
out the window of her fourth-story office. The city looked
so beautiful from this height, so peaceful. From up here
she was oblivious, immune to the danger and destruction
that daily traversed the streets below. The sunlight shone
with an overwhelming warmth. She longed for the days of her
youth, for the little bit of land from whence all of her
memories sprang forth. There were no street lights there,
no roads, no buildings - only green pastures that went on
forever and lakes as blue as the summer sky.
Her pleasant stream-of-consciousness was dolefully interrupted
by the sound of three short knocks upon her door. "Come in,"
she called, still rhythmically strumming her fingers upon
the surface of the desk. The door opened, exposing the frame
of Fox Mulder. She greeted him with a smile.
"How are you, Fox?" she asked him. She crossed one of her long,
slender legs over the other, drawing attention to the slim-
fitting, blue skirt that graced her hips and accentuated her
eyes. She thought she noticed his gaze depart from hers, if
only for a brief second. She enjoyed this thought immensely.
Her smile broadened as she recalled another distant memory:
the excitement of the city, the smell of the rain as it soaked
her clothes, his gentle, but firm touch...
"Please sit down." She gestured to a comfortable-looking
leather chair that graced the opposite side of her desk.
Mulder gratefully returned her smile and advanced towards
the chair, fully revealing for the first time his fiery,
red-headed partner. Alvarez's smile began to fade as she
glimpsed the immaculate Dana Scully enter. Stony and tight-
lipped, she seated herself in the seat next to Mulder's. It
appeared that this visit would not be for pleasure. Alvarez
decided to get right down to business.
"So, what have you found, Fox?" She listened to his harangue
with little interruption from his partner. Lauren stared at her,
hard, concentrating. What was the link between this skeptical,
rational scientist and Mulder, the epitome of all unconventional
thought? She squinted her eyes. Maybe there was something
there more than partnership, more than friendship, perhaps?
Scully certainly loved Fox. She could tell that right off the
bat. Evaluating the lies of untold numbers of criminals had
given her the ability to read the body language of the agent.
The longing looks were certainly infrequent, but the eyes, the
piercing, crystal, blue eyes completely gave it away. But what
of him? Her attention focused on Fox as he continued his tale.
His mouth was moving but she couldn't hear the words that were
escaping his lips. Did he feel the same way about her? Even
knowing him as well as she did, it was still difficult to be
certain. He had become well adept at hiding his emotions. She
shook the thoughts from her head and focused on what Fox was
saying - something about the Apostles and a serial killer?
She wasn't sure if she had heard correctly. "What was that,
again?" she asked, interrupting his informational lecture.
"Scully believes that the killer has been administering some
sort of unknown toxin to these women. Nine have been found so
far that have been killed in the same sort of conditions, all
with last names that are derivatives of Apostalic names. We
believe that in the next four months he will attempt to kill
three more women."
"And after that?" she interrupted again. She was not comfortable
unless she was conducting the interrogation. She noticed that
Agent Scully sent Fox a strange look, maybe one of precaution?
She wasn't sure.
"We don't know," he answered quietly, "maybe he'll rise again."
His voice trailed away as the drumming of her fingers on the
desk cascaded across the room.
8:17 A.M.
"Scully," Fox Mulder called to his partner who was now, by this
time, a good ten feet in front of him, "Scully, hold up, where's
the fire?" Following the meeting with Lauren, Scully had dashed
from the elevator, chin up, eyes forward, and arms waving back
and forth at her sides, synchronized with the motion of her gait.
He thought she looked as though she was commissioned for some
secret mission and carried the importance well on her dainty,
but strong, shoulders. She continued on. Mulder had to jog in
order to catch up with her. He grabbed her right arm and spun
her around, forcing her to face him.
"Scully, what's going on? Is something wrong?"
Scully looked up at him. He took in the sight of her, chin
quivering, eyes dilated. His eyebrows furrowed with concern.
"Mulder," she said abruptly, "who is that woman?"
Mulder was taken aback. "You know who she is, Scully," he
answered, "Detective Lauren Alvarez of the Philadelphia Police
Department." Scully scoffed in reply, turned, and began her
steamy descent down the marble stairwell outside of the
department building.
"Scully," Mulder called to her again, "Scully!" He didn't
have to catch up with her this time. She suddenly turned on her
heels and faced him. Venom stained her lips as she released, in
one instant, all of the pent-up emotions that she had held at
bay since their departure from Washington.
"Mulder," she repeated, "who is that woman?"
"She's just a friend, Scully, a friend from my past. A woman
who I trust with my life."
"I don't trust her," she told him blandly, "I don't trust
her at all. Were you or were you not present at that farce
of a meeting? She doesn't give a damn about this case Mulder,
or who will get hurt if she continues to neglect her office."
The furrows of concern deepened into furrows of anger. The
rage built up inside of him so rapidly that even he was caught
off guard. "How can you say that, Scully? You don't know her
at all. Do you know how much she wants to find this murderer?
Probably more than you and I combined. For you and me this is
a simple side job, but for her this is life. At the end of the
day you can go home to your religion and I can go home to the
X-Files, but she has nothing else."
"Maybe that's the problem, Mulder," she countered, "Did you ever
stop to think that maybe she wants something else in her life?"
She looked at him accusingly.
"Like what, Scully?"
She paused, calming herself. Was he really that unaware of
feminine affection? She sighed deeply and replied softly with
force, "Like you, Mulder."
He contemplated this possibility. It was certainly feasible.
He remembered that night after the rain. Her tight, white shirt
was soaked, her long, black hair curled slightly from the presence
of the moisture. He remembered leaning in, feeling her tongue on
his lips, she tasted so good. He remembered that she invited him in.
He had held her between his arms. She felt as good as she looked.
"Mulder?" Scully's voice pervaded his thoughts, "Mulder, why are
you smiling?" He quickly gathered his composure, "Scully, whatever
our past may have included, I am positive that it will not get in
the way of this case." He forcefully grabbed her arms at the elbows,
rubbing her soft skin between his fingers. His demeanor visibly
changed. He was sorry, indeed, for the unfortunate outburst.
"Scully," he seemingly cooed now, "you know where my heart lies,"
she searched his eyes for an answer, "with the X-Files. I will never
let anything come between that."
Scully appeared crestfallen for a split second, but recovered
quickly. She smiled at him, "That's all the assurance I need,
Mulder."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Four stories above, an unseen figure viewed the proceedings,
watching the two partners engage in some form of disagreement.
The curtains closed as the figure departed from the window,
leaving the office in complete darkness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He watched as the tall man and his red-headed companion departed
from the Philadelphia Police Department. He could tell that she
was very upset about something. Their disagreement appeared as
though it could be heard overtop of the already deafening din
of the city street. What a strange contrast she put forth -
such an angry look for an angelic face. But he could tell that
she was just deceiving the public. The cross about her neck was
no match for the sinful passion in her heart, as reminiscent of
Lucifer as her fiery hair. He was a sinner, too. He reveled
in sins of the flesh, coveting one woman after the next, but
her especially. He could see that. The agent had no moral
compass. He repeatedly put her life on the line, even though
his feelings of desire for her were great. Yes, they would
be forgotten on the Day of Judgment, sinners trampled beneath
the hooves of the Four Horsemen. They would be made to suffer
for their sins, he was sure of that. They would be the chosen
ones that would bring about the Kingdom of Heaven on Earth.
They would be made to suffer.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mulder watched as Scully departed. Her arms were still at her sides
and her navy-colored suit accentuated the curves in her lovely
hourglass-shaped figure. She looked good from behind, Mulder
decided, damn good. He loved the way she looked, the way she
walked. He especially loved the way she challenged him, contested
him, forced him to look at his theories from another point of
view, even if her science could not account for everything that
they had both seen. He had thought of her, daydreamed about her.
She pervaded his thoughts in the morning and his dreams at night.
He wanted so desperately to act impulsively, to transgress the
barriers that they both had set between their achingly platonic
relationship. But he was waiting for something. He didn't know
what it was but he needed to wait, of that he was certain. But
if he were to express his feelings, would she reciprocate? He
thought that she felt the same way he did. They had had warm
moments; the infrequent touches, the long kiss at New Year's,
all moments that had made him temporarily forget the horrors
that they had been through. But even through those horrors,
she was there. He had cried on her shoulder, and she on his.
He had saved her life, and she, his. They had shared the loss
of family and the loss of her ability to bear children. Now he
wanted to celebrate a new loss, a loss of his propensity to be
alone. He couldn't bear going home to that apartment by himself,
waking up in the morning and not having her beside him. He had
to do something, just what he was uncertain.
His musings were interrupted by the sound of the ringing of his cell
phone. He followed her figure until she disappeared into the
distance, reached into his chest pocket, and produced his cell
phone. He flipped it open, "Mulder."
A familiar voice spoke softly from the other end of line.
"Sure," he responded, "I'll meet you there." He closed the phone and
replaced it in his pocket. He gazed one final time into the distance
where Scully had withdrawn and then walked towards the garage w
here he had left his rental car.
Liberty Bell Inn
10:22 A.M.
"Please connect me to Assistant Director Skinner." Scully glanced
around the room that had served as her home for the evening as she
waited for the secretary to patch her call through. It reminded her
vaguely of somewhere she had been before, but she couldn't quite
put her finger on it. The off-white blanket that covered the double
bed, the comely lamp that illuminated the small television set, it
all looked so familiar.
"Skinner," Scully heard the A.D.'s voice state brusquely.
"Hello, sir," Sully responded. It was good to hear his voice. It was
so odd, their relationship. When she was first assigned to the
X-Files, she would never have imagined that Skinner would have
become what she considered to be a friend. He had assisted her
and Mulder countless times, at personal risk to his own position.
She felt a kindred devotion to him. He was like a father to her,
and their relationship followed suit, sometimes adversarial,
but more often caring.
"It's Scully. I wanted to bring you up to speed on the case. Mulder
and I have connected the three murders in Philadelphia to six other
murders. In each case, the women died of asphyxiation under similar
circumstances. All of the women had last names that are derivatives
of Apostalic names."
"Do you have any theories on this point?" he interrupted.
"Yes," Scully continued. She was well used to his interjections.
"Agent Mulder believes that a religious radical is attempting to
murder twelve women with Apostalic names, recreating martyrdom,
perhaps in an attempt to become closer to Christianity."
"Yes," he said, "but what do you believe?"
"Honestly sir," she answered, "I'm not sure that I know. I believe
that Agent Mulder's hypothesis is certainly plausible. On a more
personal note, I have difficulty reconciling anyone who believes
he is justified in connecting murder with a Christian
rationalization."
There was a significant pause at the other end of the line. "Agent
Scully," Skinner said, "I need to ask you a question." He sounded
tense. Scully was worried.
"Go right ahead, sir," she responded.
"What are you two doing there?" he asked, "I know that Mulder is an
adept profiler but I really don't see any connection here to the
X-Files." Scully bit her lower-lip. What are we doing here? She had
asked herself the same question ever since their arrival in
Philadelphia. She remembered their meeting with Detective Alvarez.
She had flagrantly attempted to draw attention to herself the entire
time. Scully knew the meeting wasn't about the case, but was about
Mulder. She had seen the disappointment in Alvarez's eyes when she
noticed that Scully would be present during the discussion.
"Agent Scully?" Skinner invaded her thoughts.
"Yes, sir," she answered, "Could you repeat the question?"