Title: Christmas Eve

Author: Flyerfly

Category: MOTW, MSR/UST

Rating: R

Spoilers: Everything pre-Sixth Extinction: Amor Fati, but not post-Millenium

Summary: M&S stumble across a couple of old. err.young friends from their first year working together on TXF.

Disclaimer: You know the drill.

917 Eden's Crossing

Elkton, Maryland November 29, 1999

2:53 A.M.

The rubber wheels of the black sedan crunched softly as the car made its way precariously up the gravel drive. Thick raindrops thumped heavily on the roof and the swirling, gyring clouds were only illuminated by the occasional flash of lightning dancing fretfully through the inky night sky.

Maneuvering the van to a stealthy halt, she paused to glance at herself in the rearview, summoning the courage to face the task at hand. Pulling the mirror towards her body, she took in her appearance. She was ordinary-looking by most standards, the kind of person that you would bypass on the street. Unnoticeable. Uninteresting. It suited her profession nicely. Her thin, weary face was worn with the years - years of strain, years of worry, years of neglect, years of running. Constantly running. Running from the bastards that were the cause of all this, the men who created her, the men who would destroy her if given the chance. A steely glint of indignation flickered in her remarkable brown eyes. Her resolve had returned. If this is what it took to subvert their damn project, then she was ready.

Placing a stray wisp of her shoulder-length raven hair behind her ear, she pulled the black hood over her head, threw the bag sitting on the passenger's seat over her shoulder, and stepped into the waterlogged night. Walking slowly up the path, the dilapidated one-story came into view with the frequent flashes of thunderous light. The peeling paint and the abundance of overgrowth gave proof that the homeowners had been obviously derelict in managing the estate. Stepping cautiously up to the front door, she slowly tried the rusty brass knob. Locked. She lowered the bag and pulled out a compact. Opening it with delicate fingers, she held the mirror up to the dust-encrusted window and gazed through. The door was reinforced with steel.

"Damn it," she sighed breathlessly, "It can never be easy."

Abandoning hope for a quick entry, she closed the compact, replaced it in her bag, and began walking around the perimeter. Upon casing the house completely, she had still not found an open window or any point of entry. She began walking a second time around, this time stopping to inspect each window carefully. After two no-gos, she finally came upon one with an old hinge that had rusted over, leaving a small crack between the window and the frame. She pulled at it, praying that it stayed silent so that she could finish her job. She worked furiously, but skillfully, for fifteen minutes and finally pried open a hole large enough through which to fit her slender body. Slipping silently through the window, she landed softly on the padded carpet and once again opened her bag. Grasping it by a gold-encrusted hilt, she pulled out a two-inch knife. It glistened white and sickly with the frequent lightening. She gripped it tightly and proceeded down the hall.

She opened the first door and peered in. There was no one there. She opened a second, and a third. Still no one. Finally, she came to the door at the end of the hall. She gripped the handle and pushed it open. Shoving the door wide, she could see them there, two lumps in the bed, as inseparable as the first day they had been brought together. She advanced slowly, deliberately, as if convincing herself that there was still time enough to turn around and never come back. It would be hard to kill them. They were a part of her, after all. Not just a part, but all of her. They were her. She stood over the bed, staring at them for what seemed an interminable period of time. They looked so much like her, a little younger, but her nonetheless. Their features still retained their childlike innocence, unworn and unwrinkled by the harshness of the world. She had once looked innocent, too, she thought to herself as she raised the knife over the sleeping girl, but that time had long passed.

"Goodbye," she said softly, placing her left hand over the right, "I'm sorry."

"So am I."

The voice came from behind her, stopping her downward motion in mid-air. She spun around and came face-to-face with her younger self, one of the two that she had thought was lying in that very bed, one that was now holding a loaded pistol.

"You shouldn't have come back," the girl told her, "This time we're not going to be able to let you go."

She turned back and looked at the lone girl in the bed. She had thrown off the covers, revealing a pillow that had been put there in place of her sister. Eve 8 smiled and looked into her eyes, engineered and unmistakable, just like her own.

"How did you know that I was coming?" she asked.

"We just knew," the girl answered, sitting up in her bed.

"We just knew," her sister echoed, pulling back the trigger.

The last thing Eve 8 remembered before the night turned black were four eyes just like her own and the distant rumbling of the thunderous storm, a silent spectator to the ghosts that had gone before and would go after.

Quantico Medical Facility

December 17, 1999

1:12 A.M.

Scully rubbed her groggy eyes as she stepped into the blinding light of the quiet building. She could hear the click-clack of her heels as she proceeded down the long corridor, advancing toward the lone, unlocked door at the end of the hall. As she progressed, she could hear the familiar sounds of the shuffling of files and the creaking of the refrigeration door as it was pulled open. As she crossed the threshold, the tall frame of her partner came into view. His appearance was much less disheveled than hers, his thick, brown hair smoothed behind his ears, and his impeccable suit fit tightly and unwrinkled over the contours of his body. He had been bending over a body that was lying heavily over the examination table, but he glanced up at her as she entered the room.

"Morning, Scully," he said, running his eyes over the length of her unkempt demeanor, "Jesus, what, did you just roll out of bed or something?"

"Yes, Mulder," she replied, smoothing her hair and jacket down, "morning. Very early morning, in fact. You know, some of us do sleep. Some of us have amazing, wonderful dreams, dreams of puppy dogs and wild daisies. I was one of those people, Mulder." She checked her watch,

"That is, I was one of those people until approximately thirty-seven minutes and forty-five seconds ago."

"Dreaming?" Mulder asked, a twinkle in his eye,

"Dreaming of who? Were you dreaming of me again, Scully?"

She shot him a look that could have frozen water.

"I said I had a dream, Mulder, not a nightmare." The sardonic smile never left his face.

"You know, Scully," he told her, "you can hide behind your coquettish verbal lashings, but I know what you're really thinking."

She folded her arms neatly across her chest and arched her eyebrow resolutely.

"Can you tell what I'm thinking right now?" The smile faded quickly from his lips.

"Yeah, yeah I think I can," he answered, "And doesn't that constitute cruel and unusual punishment in most of the contiguous forty-eight states?"

"Mulder," she sighed heavily, advancing toward the examination table, "the body, remember? What was so important that you needed to drag me out here in the middle of the night?"

"Observe," he began grandly, waving his arm over the entire length of the corpse that was covered head-to-toe in a white linen, "Jane Doe, found two days ago by a woman and her boyfriend strolling on a romantic, starry night in Elkton, Maryland."

His smile returned as Scully plucked up Jane Doe's chart from the end of the table.

"Apparently, they were looking for someplace to consummate their relationship when they came across an abandoned home that had been boarded up. They entered through the front door, which, though reinforced with steel had, luckily for them, been unlocked. As they proceeded down the hall, they came into contact with a stench that the boyfriend could only describe as 'rotting meat.' Investigating, they came upon our own Miss Doe lying facedown on the floor, a single bullet to the back of the neck, extremely precise work. There was hardly any blood even found on the scene."

"I don't understand, Mulder," Scully interjected, holding up the chart that she had been scanning with a physician's eye, "This looks like an open- and-shut case of homicide. The coroner has already identified the cause of death. If there is no need to perform an autopsy, then why did you drag me out of bed at this god-forsaken hour?"

"This is why," he said, grabbing the sheet and pulling it quickly from Jane Doe's head, "Anyone we know?"

"Oh my God," Scully said, placing a hand over her nose and mouth, as if to ward the contagious disease of death, "It's Eve." Mulder's eyes began to water as the sepulchral stench invaded his nostrils.

"Yeah, but which one?"

"Well, that's obvious isn't it?" Scully responded, replacing the chart gently at the end of the table.

"Apparently not," Mulder answered, placing a hand to his hip, "Why don't you share with the rest of the class?"

"If I remember correctly," Scully began, "approximately six years ago, we visited Eve 6, a genetic by-product of the Litchfield experiments. During our visit, she informed us that only two Eves had survived besides herself, Eve 7 and Eve 8. Eve 7, a.k.a. Dr. Sally Kindrick, was killed by Eve 9 and Eve 10, two clones with murderous tendencies generated from her experimental dappling in eugenics. Assuming Eves 6, 9, and 10 are still safely locked away at the Whiting Institute for the Criminally Insane, that only leaves the possibility of Eve 8, who was never captured."

"Yeah, Scully," Mulder replied, "but how do we know that for sure? All we have is the word of a crazy person, and, I don't know about you, but I'm not willing to take that at face value."

"Why not?" Scully asked him, "I have ever since I joined the X-Files."

Mulder rolled his eyes as Scully sent him a smile worthy of forgiveness.

"What are you looking for, Mulder, proof?" She chuckled to herself, "If there's one thing I learned from working with you, it's that proof isn't a prerequisite when your files are in the basement."

"Anyway," Scully continued, biting her lip thoughtfully as she attempted to recall a quote hidden away in the deepest recesses of her mind, "What was it that Sherlock Holmes used to say? If you eliminate the impossible, whatever's left, however improbable, must be the truth. I think that's the case here. I think you're looking to make this homicide more difficult than it really is."

"That may be so," he replied, a hint of irritation evident in his usual monotone, "but elimination of the improbable aside, that still doesn't explain the dead woman lying on this table, now does it?"

Scully sighed loudly, then conceded, "Okay, how would you like to proceed?"

"I think it's time we visited our favorite little eyeball-biting mental patient," he said, walking towards the door. He turned and faced her,

"What do you say, Scully? You up for a little crazy?"

"Why not?" she replied, heading for the elevator, "I'll request the car."

Whiting Institute for the Criminally Insane

December 18, 1999 8:18 A.M.

"We'll be right outside if you need us." Mulder and Scully thanked the balding guard with the horn-rimmed glasses for his assistance and placed their panic buzzers securely in their pockets. Then, lifting the asylum-appointed flashlights to chest level, they shone the two beacons into the windowless abyss. The two lights fell dimly upon the shell of a woman, the dark, soulless shadow that genetic circumstance had deposited there cruelly and without remorse. Eve 6 was bound in chains and was crouching in the corner. She lifted her arms and threw them over her brilliant, squinting eyes, a futile protection from the harsh light.

"Who's there?" her voice cracked as she choked out the words. Her crooked, yellow teeth were strangely illuminated in the midst of the darkness.

"What do you want?"

"Agents Mulder and Scully," Scully answered, peering into the cold, black cell, "Do you remember us? We came to visit you once before." Eve 6 placed her arms back on her knees.

"Oh, I have so many visitors," she replied, shaking her head solemnly, "So many, indeed. Well, not so much visitors as doctors - all kinds, you know, physicians, psychiatrists. It seems as though everyone likes to get in their pokes and prods."

Her eyes flashed quickly with rage, but then regained their normal appearance just as suddenly.

"It does get lonely here," she continued, "very lonely. True visitors are so rare. No, I'm sure I would have remembered if you had been here before." She glanced at Mulder, a sickly, yellow grin cascading over her mouth. "Especially you," she said, "I'm sure I would have remembered you. Why don't you come over here and unlock these chains? I promise I won't bite."

"No thanks," Mulder replied, "I like my eyes where they are."

She giggled at the prospect of ripping into the slimy, wet flesh.

"We did come to see you before, Eve," he continued, "about six years ago. We came to ask you about Eve 7, Sally Kindrick?"

"Ah, yes, Sally," Eve 6 shook her head in affirmation, "Sally knew what was wrong with us, the Eves and Adams. Sally wanted to save us."

Mulder nodded.

"That's right," he said, "Sally wanted to save you. But she died six years ago." Eve 6 glanced at the floor.

"Yes," she said slowly, shaking her head with what appeared to Mulder to be some form of restrained glee, "She did die, didn't she?" She chuckled softly as she looked longingly at his beautiful hazel eyes. "That's hard to say, isn't it? Did die, didn't she.did die didn't she.," her voice took on a sing-song quality as she laughed even harder. "Ah, well," she sighed, "and then there were four."

Mulder shook his head.

"Three," he stated, matter-of-factly.

The Cheshire-cat grin fell from the face of Eve 6.

"Three?" she repeated, "Who did they kill now?"

"Who did who kill now?" Scully asked.

Eve 6 smiled at her.

"Oh, no," she said, "I asked you first."

"Fine," Scully responded shortly, a touch of ire obvious in her tone, "Another Eve was found dead in an abandoned home two days ago. It appeared as though she had been there for quite sometime, maybe two to three weeks. We are presently operating under the assumption that it is the body of Eve 8, that is, if what you told us seven years ago was true - that yourself, Eve 7, and Eve 8 were the last remaining products of the Litchfield Project, Miss Kindrick's creations not included."

"Oh, I'm sure that what I told you was the truth. Unlike Eves 9 and 10, it was not within the genetic programming of us early Eves to lie. Sally modified that tendency when she altered the girls. Sally liked to think that we Eves were capable of free will."

Eve 6 let out a bitter laugh.

"No, I'm sure that it was Eve 8. It looks like I am the only original left. Who knows? Maybe one day, they'll put me on display at Smithsonian. 'Come, everybody, come see the genetic lab rat that saved humankind from extermination.' Of course, I'll be dead by then." her voice trailed off.

"It's nice to see that when the scientists enhanced your chromosomes, they didn't skimp on the super humor gene," Mulder said drily.

"Eve," Scully interjected, "how can we be sure that what you are saying is the truth? I mean, if you were capable of lying, then you would have been lying when you said that you weren't able to."

Eve 6 raised her left eyebrow slightly as a confused expression clouded her face, one that Mulder's face shared as well.

"What I mean to say is we need proof, Eve. How can we get it?"

Eve 6 shook her head.

"You're a little skeptical, aren't you?" she asked,

"Well, no matter. If you don't believe me, you could always check the mark."

"What mark?"

Eve 6, still sitting on her haunches, turned around, not an easy task with the weight of the chains bearing down upon her. Pulling her hands, which were bound at the wrist, behind her head, she lifted her greasy, black hair. There, shining in the light of the flashlights, were six bumps on the back of her neck.

"We all have them," she said, "It was a form of identification initiated when Eves 7 and 8 attempted an escape by fooling the guards into believing that all of us were present when one had fled on foot. We Eves are all very intelligent, you know."

Mulder nodded his head in affirmation as he recalled his near-fatal poisoning at the hands of twin nine year olds.

"Yes, Eve, we know. You are all extremely intelligent, and I'm betting you're smart enough to tell us everything you know about the death of Eve, anything you've heard around the ward, even if you think it's not important."

"I haven't heard anything," Eve 6 answered shortly, the anger returning steadily to her voice, "they would never tell us anything, just in case one of us managed to actually escape this hell hole. They thought it was much tidier that way."

Her eyes flashed quickly as she raised her cuffed hands to her forehead, drawing a free wisp of hair behind her ear. By the time she lowered them down again, her temper had cooled and a wide, toothy smile had appeared on her face.

"I guess they were right, though," Eve 6 said, chuckling to herself, "if you're here asking questions about someone that everyone knows as Jane Doe, then I guess the Litchfield Experiments have remained a secret, though I have to say, I am a little shocked. Our little girls were ever so smart. I was sure that they would have let the whole world know by now."

"What do you mean, Eve?" Scully asked, "are you talking about Eves 8 and 9? How could they manage to expose the Experiments while confined in this place?"

"I think I know," Mulder responded softly. He had turned around and was now facing the line of cell blocks on the other side of the hall, the cell blocks that had been reserved for two little girls who had each been accused of exsanguinating their daddies.

"What is it, Mulder?"

Scully turned around and glanced at the adjoining cells. The signs of the occupants were both still there, one reading "Eve 9" and the other, "Eve 10." Her eyes fell slowly from the signs to the rooms, drifting slowly over one cell and then the other. They were cold, dank, and very much empty.

"The girls," Scully began, "they're."

".they're gone, Scully," Mulder finished acidly, "Eve 8 and Eve 9 have escaped."

8:32 A.M.

"They escaped? Two little, weak, unarmed girls bypassed your burly gun-toting security? What did they do? Kick them in the shins?"

Mulder's face flushed red with ire as he threw his hands onto his hips. The guard that he was interrogating looked none the better. His hands were folded tersely across his chest and beads of perspiration flowed freely down his brow.

"I'm not sure, sir," the guard answered quickly, "I've only been here a year. Those cells have been empty since I arrived."

"Really?" Mulder asked, his eyebrow arching with a fury reminiscent of his partner's, "You expect me to believe that you've never chatted about the escape of two deranged teenaged girls over a stop at the company water cooler?"

The guard shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of defeat.

"I don't know, sir. I mean, sure, I've heard some rumors, but I don't really know what happened, for sure, you know?"

Mulder growled under his breath and began circling the room.

"Mulder," Scully said serenely, "calm down. Why don't you go get a drink of water or something?" Then, turning to the guard, she asked, "Do you know anything at all about this case, sir? When did the escape happen, for instance, and why weren't we notified?"

"Like I said before," he answered, "I'm just not sure. Anyway, I don't think we're supposed to talk about this much. You know, doctor-patient confidentiality."

Mulder stopped pacing long enough to yell, "You're not a doctor!" and then resumed his skulking about the room.

"Well," Scully said, turning from Mulder back to the red-faced man with the squinched-up face, "is there someone we can talk to who was here when they escaped, the person who was heading the ward?"

"Sure," he responded, eyeing Mulder warily, "you'll want to talk to Dr. Veckman. He's been here for years. I'm sure he can tell you everything you want to know."

The guard picked up the phone, dialed Veckman's extension, and apprised him of the situation. Then, after hanging up, he pointed the agents in the direction of the doctor's office. As Mulder and Scully advanced toward the end of the hall, they could still hear Eve 6's girlish giggling reverberating off the cinder-blocked walls.