*******************************
Title: "Visions" part 1
Author: Riva
Category: S, maybe X, light MSR
Summery: A young girl who *sees* too much enters the lives of Mulder and
Scully.
E-mail: rogueangel10@juno.com
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: We've all heard this enough times, so instead of my usually
long and witty disclaimer, I'll keep this one short:
Don't own 'em. Never have. Never will. No money. Don't sue.
HOWEVER, Troi Anne Carter DOES belong to me, and you are welcome to use
her,in fact, I would be honored if you do. BUT PLEASE, consult me FIRST!!
Archive: Yes. Just tell me first, and keep my name attached.
Dedication:
This story is dedicated to two of my best friends, and possibly the only
people who can yell at me loud enough to actually make me get something
done.
Alien Girl and Aimee, this is for you.
PS. to Alien Girl: Well, here it is. Done at last! Now just don't have a
heart attack!!
Author's Notes:
This is definitely a post movie story, and post-season six story, even
though we don't know what all's going to happen in season six. So barring
all
COMPLETELY life-altering events in season six, this story comes after it.
IMPORTANT! If you are looking for the prequel to Alien Girl and I's
"Accumulation" Series, you've come to the right place!!! Enjoy!!
AND NOW [deep breath exhaled] THAT'S ALL OVER AND DONE WITH......
RIVA STAR PRODUCTIONS presents:
-----------------------------------------------------
---------- T H E X - F I L E S -----------
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Visions" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
-----------------------------------------------------
2:00 AM
MacGregor Home for Girls
Washington DC.
In room 25 of the MacGregor Home for Girls, a 15 year old girl shivered
convulsively in her sleep. But it was not from the cool night's breeze
that came through the window.
Nor was it from lack of covering. There was a large, warm, "charity"
quilt pulled up to her chest. Her roommates with identical blankets all
slept soundly.
The girl shivered again and tossed fitfully back and forth as if
struggling, a few strands of her short, dark hair falling across her pale
face. She mumbled something as if trying to talk, but drowning on her own
words.
Had the other girls been awake, they would have made no attempt to wake
her, no attempt to soothe her troubled tossing. They simply would've
muttered a few rude words, ["What a freak"], or perhaps,["Not again"].
They were used to the girl and her nocturnal activities. Her fitful sleep
didn't surprise them. In fact, it happened often enough that they were
annoyed by it.
It was just another night in room 25. Troublemaker Carla had snuck out
as usual. The new girl, Gaby, had cried herself to sleep.
And Troi Anne Carter was dreaming again.
8:00 AM
Morning had come to the MacGregor Home for Girls.
Rays of sunlight shafted through the cool morning air, slanting across the girl who just
hours before had been tossing from the dream that plagued her. The warm
rays lit the highlights in the girl's otherwise dark hair, and
illuminated beads of sweat dotted across her delicate-looking face.
Her breath came slow and rhythmic, a far cry from the shallow panting
she had gasped the night before.
"Troi!"
The girl blinked twice, slowly waking and sat up on her elbows. "Yeah?"
Her voice was sleepy and slurred.
A tall, firm-looking woman marched up to the bed. "Get up," The woman
told her. "It's 8:00 already, young lady."
Troi swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Oh. I-I'm sorry...." She
trailed off, thin hands coming up to press against her forehead and rub
her temples.
"Troi Anne," The woman looked at her with concern."Is something wrong?"
"I had another dream, Ms. Malone," The young teen's voice sounded hollow
and very alone. "They're getting worse."
"Oh, Troi." Ms. Malone masked a look of irritation and quickly replaced
it with one of benevolent concern. "You know those dreams mean nothing.
We've discussed this before. They are only inventions of your
sub-conscious.
Nothing more. You don't have to worry about them," Ms. Malone attempted a
cheerful laugh, "and they certainly won't come true!"
The young girl looked up at the social worker with hooded, angry eyes.
That's what Ms. Malone always said. But Troi knew better. She knew what
she saw, what her dreams told her. And she knew what always happened
afterward.
"Now go help the other girls in the kitchen, 'K?" Ms. Malone stood up
and ruffled the girl's hair, attempting to be affectionate, but the touch
was still oddly impersonal. "And no more of this dream business."
Troi obediently dressed and left the room to walk down and take her
place beside the other girls in the kitchen who had KP this week.
Troi walked in and picked up a dish rag, hefting a large platter and
began to dry. Julia, a ten year old with curly black hair waltzed past
Troi with a stack of smaller plates, humming the words to some sappy "top
ten" pop song about how the singer's dreams would all come true.
Troi squeezed her eyes shut and bit a trembling lip. She always hated
songs like that. She didn't see what was so great about dreams coming
true. Nearly all of Troi's dreams came true. And they were never anything
to sing about.
Troi pressed her eyes shut tighter in a vain effort to banish the
horrific images that danced before her mind's eye.
///The young storekeeper [she had just met him a few days ago hadn't
she?] just closing up for the night. Gang members waiting. Watching.
Coming... NO! Beating him. The storekeeper falling to the ground, his
blood pooling around him in a ever-spreading circle.\\\
A lone tear dropped from her shut eyes. James, -that was the storekeeper
name, she remembered now- would never know what was coming. Would never
know because she couldn't tell him. They never let her tell anyone.
But then the vision of the man's little girl came back to her. That sad
little face at her daddy's funeral. Not understanding. Uncomprehending.
To lose a parent so young.... It was a pain Troi knew all about.
Troi suddenly slapped down the platter in determination, a fierce look
lighting her brown-blue eyes.
They may not let her warn the man, but they couldn't stop her from trying.
6:00 AM, the next day
Dana Scully's apartment
Washington, DC
"Scully...Scully..." Mulder's voice called echoingly.
Dana Scully opened her eyes slowly, not wanting to awaken. Mulder stood
near the bed, leaning over her.
"Mulder...go awa-" she started sleepily. Then suddenly she jolted awake.
"Mulder, what the heck are you doing here!!" she yelled, sitting up
quickly and clutching for her alarm clock.
"I let myself in." He answered innocently, handing her the clock as if
this was all a commonplace occurrence.
"You did WHA- Why??" She demanded angrily, snatching the alarm from him.
He didn't answer, but instead picked up the plate on her bedstead,
littered with the remains of three chocolate chip cookies. "You know,
eating chocolate before bed will make you cranky."
Scully simply sat there and glared, her mussed red hair falling forward
to hang in her face.
Mulder grinned devilishly and reached over to tuck the wayward strands
behind her ear, running his fingers down the line of her chin.
Scully's stomach clenched, and she turned away before he could see the
effect his touch had on her. She swung her legs over the side of the bed,
and reached down to tug on house slippers and draped her housecoat around
her.
Mulder had been doing things like that lately. And it unnerved
Scully to no end. It was just little things, a touch, a comment, all
seemingly innocent, and Scully didn't think he even knew what they did to
her. And she wasn't about to tell him either. Not now. She could think of
a thousand reasons not to. But in reality it all boiled down to one fact. She was
afraid.
So she took a deep breath and ignored her racing pulse and wandering
mind.
"So honestly Mulder," she said, standing up and turning to face him.
"What are you doing here?"
"Honestly?"
"Honestly."
"Something interesting happened at a little
convenience store yesterday, something I think we should look into."
"And you had to wake me up at 6:00 in the morning to tell me that?"
"Well, I'm not sure how long the police will hold the girl."
"What girl?" Scully asked, a confused look on her face.
"Get dressed, Scully." Mulder's lip twitched in a half-smile as he
looked her up and down, and then headed for the door. "I'll explain on
the way."
6:50 AM
Questioning Room 5
Washington DC Police Department
Troi Anne Carter paced the DC Police Department questioning room
nervously. The pit of her stomach hurt with anxiety and near-panic.
\Why am I here?\ she thought for the umpteenth time. \I haven't done
anything wrong.\ But they hadn't believed her. No one ever believed her
about anything. Despair filled her emotions and she felt like crying. But
she pulled in a deep breath and pushed the tears back, stopping to grip
the back of a chair with her thin, long fingered hands.
She knew it had been a bad idea. Common sense had told her not to do it.
Common sense had told her it was stupid to play hooky from school to try
and stop a robbery and murder at a convenience store.
\And if I'd 'have listened to by common sense instead of my blasted
conscious, I wouldn't be here.\
But every time she began to think that way, images from her dream came
back to haunt her, and that little girl's face told her she would do it
all over again in a heartbeat. The tiny girl would have lost her daddy,
but thanks to Troi, would now only be visiting him in the hospital for
awhile.
When the police had arrived on the scene, they immediately arrested -or
"put into protective custody"- everyone on the scene, questioning
everyone, and then one by one releasing them.
All but Troi.
They were suspicious of her, she knew. They wanted to know exactly how
she knew the convenience store was the target of a robbery. But when they
asked her that, Troi had immediately clammed up. She's wasn't about to
tell a bunch of cops that she had known because of a dream.
They had continued to question her, even after she had turned into an
unanswering block of ice, until another cop had come in with a call for
the questioner. Then they had left, telling her to wait where she was.
\Not that I have much choice.\ she thought
Angry tears threatened to spill over once again. Troi bit her lip and
choked it back.
Just then, the blank door ahead of her gave a soft click and opened
silently. The guard entered the room -Troi glowered at him. The guard
held the door open for a tall, dark haired man, followed closely by a
woman with sunset red hair and a tired expression.
"Troi, I want you to meet someone." The guard said. Troi scowled. She
hated it how they used her first name with that condescending air. Like
they were trying to be her friend. Her lip curled downward. She had
already decided not cooperate with these people, whoever they were. They were
probably some stupid crime psychology people who wanted to pick apart her
brain and twist it around to be whatever they wanted it to be.
Troi sat down icily in her chair, and swiveled it to face the wall,
carefully putting on her mask of stone.
Behind her, Troi heard the guard sighed with exasperation. "She's all
yours." He muttered. He crossed through the door, and it snapped shut.
"You don't like that he calls you by your first name, do you?" The man's
voice said from behind her.
Troi's eyes widened, momentarily breaking the mask. How had he known
that?
"That's okay," The man's voice continued. "I prefer my last name myself.
You want me call you Ms. Carter, or just Carter?"
Though it went against every resolve she had made since arriving at the
Police Station, Troi was drawn to turn around. She looked over the man,
studying him closely. His hair was short and the same black-brown she had
observed earlier. He was slightly lanky, with long-fingered hands that
rested on his hips and peculiar lips that curved into the tiniest of
half-smiles. His hazel eyes seemed to draw her into his confidence.
Although her mind warned her not to, Troi instinctively felt she could
trust this man.
"You can call me Troi." the words surprized her, as though they had come
from someone else.
The half-smile flared into a full smile as he bent to shake her hand.
"And you can call me Mulder. Everyone does." The man turned to look at
his partner, and Troi followed his gaze, this time scrutinizing the woman.
She was tiny, even a bit shorter than Troi herself, and had bright blue
eyes that contrasted with her shoulder length red hair. There was a aura
of intelligence and slight mystery around her.
She met her partners eyes, and a brief flash of something like a private
joke passed between them before the woman also turned to Troi.
"And I'm Agent Scully, but you can call me Dana."
"Lucky you." Agent Mulder stage-whispered conspiratorially to her.
"Mulder." The woman gave him a look, and he grinned but then fell
silent.
Troi watched them with wondering eyes. Who were these people? They were
certainly not what she had expected them to be.
"Troi," Agent Scully broke the silence. "I realize you are probably
tired of answering questions, but we just need to ask you a few. And it
would help us -and you- if you would answer them."
When Scully saw Troi's face tightened, she hastened to add, "But you
don't have to. You have that right."
"But," Agent Mulder jumped in, picking up where his partner had left off
with such effortless grace, Troi wondered how just much practice they
had. "It would sure go a long way to clearing your association with all
this if you would cooperate with us."
Troi looked down at her hands, then up at the Agents, then down at her
hands again. "I-I- What do you want to know?" Her throat was threatening
to constrict.
"How did you know that convenience store would be robbed, Troi?" Mulder
asked, his voice intense but soft. "I know you weren't in that gang."
"How do you know?" Troi demanded with a flash of annoyance that was not
directed at Agent Mulder. "I've been telling them that for the past 2
hours, but they won't believe me!"
"But you didn't tell them how you knew," Mulder rested his hands on the
table. "You can trust us Troi," he indicated himself and his partner. "We
want to help you."
"I- It's- I don't know how I knew." Troi finished lamely. Silence
pervaded, smothering her into adding under her breath, "No one believes
it." She wanted to tell these people. She was desperate to trust someone. But
they would never take her seriously.
"I'll believe you Troi."
Tears sprang to her eyes unbidden. Agent Mulder had no idea how hearing
those four little words meant to her.
"I..I have dreams.." Troi's voice was soft, little more than a whisper.
"In my dream I saw...I saw..." Her voice choked on the tears.
Agent Mulder listened raptly. "Was this your first dream Troi?" He
asked.
"No. No, they always come. They haunt me. They- they-" Her voice broke,
and her chin dipped to her chest, shoulders shaking.
She was trying to be strong, she really was. But the tears flowed in a
ever increasing torrent of emotion.
"Troi, when you dream does it-"
"Mulder, stop." Agent Scully ordered, moving kneel beside Troi's chair
and gather the thin girl in her arms. "Just stop. Look at her. She doesn't need
your interrogation right now."
"Your right Scully." Mulder sounded ashamed. "I'm sorry."
"No- it's alright." Troi lifted her head from the female FBI agent's
shoulder and began wiping the glistening tears from her face. "I'm just
tired. I don't mind Agent Mulder's questions. I want to tell you."
"Ms. Cart- Troi," Scully looked at the girl with concern. "You've had a
rough day. You're under a lot of stress. I think right now what you need
is a quiet place to lay down and a good cup of hot chocolate from the shop
around the corner." She looked at Mulder pointedly. He took the hint and
headed for the door.
"Come on," Scully raised Troi to her feet, following Mulder. "We'll-"
The door suddenly swung open before the threesome could get there. The
burly guard from before walked in, followed by a 30-something police
officer. "Agents Mulder, Scully, I'm Officer Cobb. I've been authorized
to take the girl back to the Shelter. You don't have to question her
anymore, she's no longer under charges."
"I um-" Scully started. But the officer simply pushed past her and
placed a hand on Troi's arm. "Come on young lady. Ms. Malone is worried
sick about you."
Troi gazed back toward Scully with a lost look on her face as Officer
Cobb guided her out of the room.
Scully stared after her a moment, then sighed and turned back to Mulder.
"Oh, well." Her voice sounded regretful.
"You tried Scully, and I know she appreciated that. You could see it in
her eyes. I bet that was the most kindness that kid will get this week."
Mulder looked down at his partner affectionately as he held the door open
for her as they walked outside.
"The sad part is you're right Mulder. Well, can't argue with protocol.
She's not our jurisdiction anymore." Scully glanced at Troi's retreating
form as the girl ducked into Officer Cobb's swat car.
"I wish her luck though," Scully said. "She's seems like a very special
young lady."
"How so?" Mulder inquired, as they got into his car.
"Well, she strikes me as smart, strong and brave, with a lot of
compassion, or she wouldn't have tried to save that clerk."
"Hmm." Mulder mused. "She sounds a lot like you Scully." He grinned.
"Just about perfect."
Scully looked pointedly out the window to hide her unexpected blush.
"Just drive Mulder."
Troi turned awkwardly in the backseat of the squad car and watched the
FBI couple pull out of the parking lot and drive off in the opposite
direction.
She sighed bitterly and turned back around. She stared at the steel
cross-hatched barrier between her and Officer Cobb in the front seat. She
felt like a criminal or something.
Why hadn't the cop let her sit in the front? Well, that didn't take a
rocket scientist to figure out. It was
because she was an orphan. It always was. People didn't like to get close
to orphans, physically or emotionally. Especially those labeled "troubled
teens" like herself. They were considered "problems". Nothing but social
problems to be handed over to someone else. Over and over and over....
Troi had been through more than her share of foster homes before coming
to McGregor. None of them had come close to working. Either the family
had hated Troi or Troi had hated the family. Usually both.
The only time she had gotten close was with Danny and Cory Melbourne.
They were a young couple in their late twenties, just starting out and
full of life. Troi had been 12 at the time, and had fallen head over
heels for the Melbourne's and their carefree lifestyle.
Troi had thought it would be perfect. They loved her..... didn't they?
They would adopt her, and she could be a "normal" kid. She had imagined
spending forever with them, writing "Troi Melbourne" on all of her books,
her school papers...
Troi's heart still contracted painfully when she thought about it.
Everything had seemed to be going fine. Troi hadn't even had a dream
since living with the Melbourne's. They had bought her a locket for
Christmas. It was perfect, perfect.
Until the day she had decided to ask for permission to call them mom and
dad. She was so sure that they would adopt her....but her hopes had been
crushed when Cory Melbourne had announced that they were moving, and Troi
was going back to the Home.
It had hurt so bad. Troi had thrown the locket out the window while
going over the bridge on the painful drive back to the Home, and swore
that she would never, not ever call anyone "mom" or "dad". Those were the
names reserved only for her real parents, the names she whispered
in the dark at night, hoping they could hear. Her real parents, James and
Lydia Carter, the only people who had never betrayed her.
Troi closed her eyes, willing the image of her parents faces to rise to
her mind. But all she saw were faint shapes, muted colors. She bit her
lip.
That was all that remained of them now. Faded memories in the mind of
their only daughter, the one they left behind.
A sharp bump violently jolted Troi out of her reverie as the squad car
hit a pot hole.
"Sorry 'bout that." Officer Cobb called back to her, the only words her
had spoken to her since they got in the car. He lapsed into silence
again.
Then, "We're almost there."
Troi looked out the window to see the cold stone of the MacGregor home
for girls loom up in front of her down the road.
She was not looking forward to returning. /Ms. Malone is worried sick
about you./ Officer Cobb had said.
/Hah./ Troi thought. /Not likely./
Later that night
MacGregor Home for Girls
Troi had been expecting a heated lecture from Ms. Malone, and hadn't
been disappointed. The social worker had been frustrated and terribly
embarrassed by the whole situation.
As soon as Officer Cobb left, Troi was summarily escorted to
Ms. Malone's office, and given a royal chewing out, the likes of which she
would be hard-pressed to top. Ms. Malone had started out cold and icy,
but when Troi refused to offer a explanation or apology of any kind, Ms. Malone
quickly lost her temper and struck her -a swift, stinging blow to the face.
Only that brought a response from the stoic Troi, her eyes filling up
with unshed tears as she turned and ran from the room, not stopping until
she reached the Home's large dusty attic,- her place of sanctuary.
There she had curled up in to a tiny, thin, miserable ball on a
antiquated sofa in the corner, and choked back tortured, lonely sobs
until sleep overtook her.
And that night, she dreamed....
//////"He almost found it?"
Men in dark suits.
"Yes. But we were fortunate. Our man in the FBI prevented it. Our tracks
have been covered. It is not a problem anymore."
"Agent Mulder is always a problem."
Gray hair. Stern, cold faces.
"If Agent Mulder is such a difficulty, why not eliminate him?"
Leather furniture, dark room, smoke clinging to the air.
"We've been over this too many times. It's because of Agent Scully."
"And why not eliminate her as well?"
"We cannot. Not now. She is Their property. We can not interfere."
One man. The leader?
"I wish you would drop the subject. We have more important things to
speak of."
His associate. Lungs as black as tar. A heart blacker.
"Such as?"
Smoke curling upward from his lips.
"The Project is nearing completion. The Date is coming."
A head of steel gray hair. Eyes cold, devoid of emotion.
"Only 6 months."
A chilled wind blew outside.
"That is little time. Too little."
"We need to create more of the vaccine."
"We cannot. It is useless. We must give up on the vaccine. It can not
save us. It is no longer a option. Only cooperation will protect us now."
"So you should concentrate on cooperation. Not the Mulder problem. They
don't concern themselves with him. Neither should you. Thwarting him has
become your obsession."
"He's a danger to the Project still. He's determined."
"There are things more dangerous than the Mulder Problem."
Piercing eyes. Silence and smoke.
"You've moved the evidence again I assume."
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Michigan."
"Good."
"What about Black?"
"What about him?"
"Leakage is possible."
"Not from Black."
"How do you know?"
"Trust me." A hiss accompanied by smoke.
"Trust me......" ////////////
Troi woke with a start.
The dream had left her cold. Normally, her dreams left her grieving, sad
and shaking. But this was not one of her *normal* dreams.
\As if any of *my* dreams could be classified as *normal*/ Troi thought
bitterly.
But this one was different.
She shivered.
//The Date.....Must give up on the vaccine. It can no longer save
us....The Mulder Problem....The Mulder Problem.....Mulder......//
Agent Mulder.
Troi's eyebrows shot up. No, It couldn't be.
Could it?
Even as she considered it, she knew the truth of it. She felt it deep in
her gut.
She had to see the FBI Agents again. She had to go to them. Had to tell
them. If her darkest suspicions about the eerie shadow men were true....
The psychic impression she had obtained of those men told her they were
evil. Dangerous and embroiled in conspiracy. Conspiracy that could spell
out terrible words in her mind's eye. Disaster. Grief. Apocalypse.
Death.
Troi had never been big on conspiracies. She had met a girl once in a
half-way temporary foster home who was convinced that she was the product
of secret experiments by sinister government agency, that she had
"sisters" as
she called them, and that "The Men" would be coming back for her someday.
Troi had thought she was nuts. But now.....
No. No, no no no no....
It couldn't be.
It just couldn't.
Troi shook herself, stood up, stretched and headed for the door.
Then she stopped abruptly, the memory of Ms. Malone's scathing rebuke,
the feel of fire on her face as the woman's hand slapped her.
Troi's feet were planted to the floor. She didn't want to go back down.
Troi told herself it was pride. She wouldn't go back down because she
didn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing her bend even
slightly.
But deep down Troi knew it was not *really* pride.
It was fear.
A deep primal fear. A fear no one knew she had.
A memory surfaced slowly, crawling it's way from that place she had tied
so hard to bury it.
She had been young. It was her second foster home. The father had been
short tempered. Angry.
And physical about it.
Not to his own children. Oh, no. But Troi was not one of his own
children.
And he made sure she knew it.
Troi's gut clenched and turned to ice. She quashed the memories back
down with an almost visible effort. Her eyes flicked over the attic
quickly, coming to rest unexpectedly on a small window in the far wall.
A sudden thought jumped into Troi's head.
/Run away. Leave. You don't have to stay here. Take control of your own
destiny. Stop letting it spiral out of your grip./
/You can do it./
/Run./
Troi caught her breath. The danger of the thought frightened her.
It was not that she was afraid of getting caught. She knew that there
was a tall oak tree just outside that window, one that leaned over the
tall wire fence that surrounded the Home. Carla had done it. Did it
regularly. Snuck out to be with her boyfriend. Troi knew it was possible.
Knew that she could get away with it.
And that was what scared her.
But at the same time, it gave her a immense sense of peace. She would be
in control. She would not longer have to have the dreadful feeling of
helplessness she lived with every day.
She would be in control.
Control.
It was something Troi had never had, and her heart beat faster at the
thought of it, as if it were a forbidden pleasure. She had never been in
control of anything in her life.
Not when she dreamed. Not when the Melbourne's had rejected her. Not
when *he* had beaten her. Not when Ms.
Malone had slapped her.
Never.
/That changes now./ Troi thought as she walked steadily towards the
window and yanked it open. The night was still dark and cold outside. She
leaned out the window as the chilled breeze toyed with her dark hair.
/That all changes now./
5 hours later...
Troi shivered. Dawn was coming.
The morning sun was just slanting through the spaces between the high
abandoned buildings that populated this area of the city, making the
world around her eerie in the half light. The street was still empty and
littered with pieces of trash that blew in the cold air.
Troi pulled the light jacket she wore over her white tank top tighter
around her thin frame.
She had been walking for hours now, and wasn't sure where she was
anymore.
It scared her a little, but the ease with which she had gotten away from
the Shelter had gone to her head. Troi felt that no matter what happened,
no one and nothing couldn't ever touch her again.
She had the power. She was the one who called the shots. No one else.
For the first time in what seemed like years, a smile stole across the
face of Troi Anne Carter. She shut her eyes and threw her head back,
feeling a laugh bubble up from somewhere in the depths of her soul.
She was free.
But her joy was short lived. Troi heard a noise coming from the alleyway
just ahead of her. Voices. Rough voices, looking for trouble.
Troi instinctively flattened her self against the dirty wall of a nearby
building. A gang. It had to be. No one else roamed the streets in this
part
of town.
She sucked in a shaky breath and eased her way to a door that led to the
inside of the building, praying she would reach it before the gang
members made it around the corner.
Her hand grasped a rusty metal handle, and she yanked down hard, the
door popping free as she spun herself inside, shutting the door again as
quickly and as quietly as she could.
Troi leaned against the wall, holding her breath as she heard the heavy
footsteps and voices pass by the door. They hadn't noticed her.
Troi breathed a sigh if relief and turned to look at her surroundings.
The building was definitely abandoned, dusty and cluttered with old
boards and boxes. She realized she must be in the basement.
Groping her way around in the dark, only able to see by the dim light
that slanted through the boarded up windows, Troi made her way to a
stairwell, and began to climb.
Troi had a strange sense of deja-vu about this place.
She reached the top of the stairwell and forced open the door at the
top.
Troi found herself in a long hallway, with a dark brown carpet and a
series of doors leading to rooms or more hallways. Her strange feeling
intensified.
/I've been here before./ Troi thought. /I know I have./
She walked down the hallway as if in a trance, and then stopped suddenly
when a low voice reached her ears. She immediately tensed, straining to
locate where the noise was coming from.
Turning to a nearby door, Troi pressed her ear against it, as the voices
became louder and more clear. Someone inside was speaking. Troi bit her
lip and held her breath as the words started to become clear.
"Our man in the FBI prevented it. Our tracks have been covered. It's no
longer a problem."
"Agent Mulder is always a problem."
Troi smothered a gasp. Her dream! She listened raptly, pressing closer
to the door as the conversation unfolded, identical to the one she had
heard in her dream.
"Leakage is possible."
"From where?"
"Black."
"Not from Black."
"How do you know?"
"Trust me."
A thump came from inside the room as a mug was sat down on a table. "I
thought we were to trust no one."
"No, no," A new voice came from inside the room, a younger voice, and
heavily laced with sarcasm. "You've got it backward. Good ol' Smokey here
says you can trust everyone."
"Krycek." The voice had a warning tone to it, but not without a sardonic
lift. "Must I remind you, you still walk dangerous ground in our council.
Mind your manners."
The younger voice, evidently named Krycek, made a rude noise and crossed
the room, footfalls coming toward the door.
Troi panicked. She knew in her gut that to be found this way would mean
death. She didn't know why, she just knew.
She tried to turn silently, but in her haste she tripped and fell,
landing on her knees hard.
THUMP.
"What-" Movement from inside and the door flew open. Troi leapt to her
feet and began running, not daring to turn even when she reached the door
to the stairwell, feeling the thudding of a man pursuing her.
Throwing open the door, she clattered down the stairs and out the door,
rushing through the basement and out into the street, the man still
running after her.
"Stop!" The voice behind her was harsh.
Hell no. Troi thought, skidding into an alley and running blindly until
she nearly ran into the chain lick fence that blacked her path.
Her eyes desperately darted around. No way out. Left with no choice,
her hands grasped the fence and she began to climb.
Just as she reached the top and swung her leg over the side, Troi looked
back, and saw her hunter skid around the corner and head toward her.
Troi looked into his hard face and dark cold eyes. Eyes of a experienced
killer.
Fear jolted though her, and as she tried to swing her legs over the
fence, she lost her precarious balance, loosing a cry as she fell to the
ground with heavily.
Sharp pain bit into Troi and overwhelmed her, tearing at her insides.
She lay there stunned, unable to move, eyes heavy and nearly shut. She
heard the clattering of the chain link fence through ringing ears and a
thud as her pursuer dropped to the
ground beside her.
Through silted, blurred eyes, Troi saw the man lean over her. His
young,handsome face was distorted by the hard, icy look of a trained
killer.
He lowered his gun until it was level with her head. Troi held her
shallow breathing as best as she could, despite the pain. /Please let him
think I'm dead./ The man narrowed his eyes at her. /Oh God, please./
Troi begged.
Then, from the street outside the alley, came the sudden sound of a
siren.
The man's head jerked up, and looked around. He turned back to Troi, and
kicked her brutaliy, the toe of his boot striking her face, and then her
rib cage. Troi choked back a groan, knowing her life depended on it,
even as her mind began to go fuzzy with pain.
Dimly, she head the man's footsteps beating a hasty retreat, and then he
disappeared, as if he had never been.
The siren grew louder, this time accompanied by the frantic footsteps of
a running gang member. The siren stopped just outside the alleyway, and
she heard the voices of two police men arresting the gang member, who was
loudly protesting.
"Hey man! What you think you're doin'? I ain't done nothin'!"
"Yeah, save it for the cops, son. Wait. We are the cops! So why don't
you just save it."
"Listen, ya got the wrong guy!"
"Yeah sure."
Troi heard the sound of the police door being shut as they put the
convict in the back.
Troi knew she had to get to them before they left. She needed help.
Troi slowly raised herself to her hands, pain shooting from her
injuries, her head swimming, as blood poured from her nose and mouth.
"Help." The word was a mear whisper. "Help. Wait. Please." Her voice
grew louder, cracking into a tiny gurgling cry. "Wait!" She pulled up the
last
vestiges of her strength ,and crawled toward the voices of the cops.
Her movement were slow and sluggish, as she felt herself losing
consciousness. Suddenly, she could go no further, her arms giving way
beneath her as she dropped to the ground, giving up hope and letting the
darkness overtake her.
Officer Trent sighed as he moved around his squad car, reaching down to
open the drivers-side door.
/Another dent made in the drug-dealer population./ He thought wearily.
/5:00am is way to early to be doing this./
Suddenly, a noise from the ally caught his attention. Drawing his gun, he
made his way toward the ally entrance.
His partner, Kane, glanced at him. Not moving, but nodding to show he
was ready to cover him if need be.
Trent eased around the corner of the ally, eyes scanning for the source
of the noise.
What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks.
"Oh my Go-"
"Kane! Get over here!"
9:50 am
The next day
FBI Headquarters
Mulder and Scully's office
Mulder sat at his perpetually cluttered desk, seriously contemplating
the frosted doughnut he held in his hand.
"Say, Scully." He drawled lazily to his partner who was pouring a cup of
coffee across theroom. "Didja know that they don't really use the left
over dough from the doughnut holes to make doughnut holes?"
"What?!?" Scully nearly spilled her coffee over the side of the cup as
she looked at her partner in amazement at the sheer confusing stupidity
of his remark.
"You know. I mean the round little pastry things they call "doughnut
holes"? They don't really use the dough left over from the doughnut to
make them."
Scully clanked the coffee pot back into the maker. That man never ceases
to amaze me. "And just where did you find that vital piece of
information?"
"I used to work at the Dunkin' Doughnuts during the summer when I was a
kid. I just never thought about it 'till now." Mulder looked back up at
Scully. "Ya know, if word got out, I bet the doughnut purists would be up
in arms."
"Well, don't tell Frohike then. We wouldn't want any trouble." Scully
said smoothly, turning from him to cross over to her desk.
Mulder grinned widely, watching her.
The phone rang just as Scully sat down. She reached over and scooped it
up without even breaking her flow. "Scully."
"Agent Scully?" The voice of their one-time boss, Assistant Director
Skinner, surprised her. Scully sat up straight, as her eyes widened. She
covered the receiver with a hand and mouthed \It's Skinner,\ in Mulder's
direction before responding. "Uh, yes sir?"
"Scully, I'm down at D.C. Police Department 7. I was returning something
to a friend here when I stumbled across a unusual situation."
Scully's eyebrows raised a little, and she glanced over at Mulder.
"Sir?"
"There was a attempted murder yesterday morning in the slums."
Pause.
"The victim would like to speak with you."
Title: "Visions" part 1
Author: Riva
Category: S, maybe X, light MSR
Summery: A young girl who *sees* too much enters the lives of Mulder and
Scully.
E-mail: rogueangel10@juno.com
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: We've all heard this enough times, so instead of my usually
long and witty disclaimer, I'll keep this one short:
Don't own 'em. Never have. Never will. No money. Don't sue.
HOWEVER, Troi Anne Carter DOES belong to me, and you are welcome to use
her,in fact, I would be honored if you do. BUT PLEASE, consult me FIRST!!
Archive: Yes. Just tell me first, and keep my name attached.
Dedication:
This story is dedicated to two of my best friends, and possibly the only
people who can yell at me loud enough to actually make me get something
done.
Alien Girl and Aimee, this is for you.
PS. to Alien Girl: Well, here it is. Done at last! Now just don't have a
heart attack!!
Author's Notes:
This is definitely a post movie story, and post-season six story, even
though we don't know what all's going to happen in season six. So barring
all
COMPLETELY life-altering events in season six, this story comes after it.
IMPORTANT! If you are looking for the prequel to Alien Girl and I's
"Accumulation" Series, you've come to the right place!!! Enjoy!!
AND NOW [deep breath exhaled] THAT'S ALL OVER AND DONE WITH......
RIVA STAR PRODUCTIONS presents:
-----------------------------------------------------
---------- T H E X - F I L E S -----------
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Visions" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
-----------------------------------------------------
2:00 AM
MacGregor Home for Girls
Washington DC.
In room 25 of the MacGregor Home for Girls, a 15 year old girl shivered
convulsively in her sleep. But it was not from the cool night's breeze
that came through the window.
Nor was it from lack of covering. There was a large, warm, "charity"
quilt pulled up to her chest. Her roommates with identical blankets all
slept soundly.
The girl shivered again and tossed fitfully back and forth as if
struggling, a few strands of her short, dark hair falling across her pale
face. She mumbled something as if trying to talk, but drowning on her own
words.
Had the other girls been awake, they would have made no attempt to wake
her, no attempt to soothe her troubled tossing. They simply would've
muttered a few rude words, ["What a freak"], or perhaps,["Not again"].
They were used to the girl and her nocturnal activities. Her fitful sleep
didn't surprise them. In fact, it happened often enough that they were
annoyed by it.
It was just another night in room 25. Troublemaker Carla had snuck out
as usual. The new girl, Gaby, had cried herself to sleep.
And Troi Anne Carter was dreaming again.
8:00 AM
Morning had come to the MacGregor Home for Girls.
Rays of sunlight shafted through the cool morning air, slanting across the girl who just
hours before had been tossing from the dream that plagued her. The warm
rays lit the highlights in the girl's otherwise dark hair, and
illuminated beads of sweat dotted across her delicate-looking face.
Her breath came slow and rhythmic, a far cry from the shallow panting
she had gasped the night before.
"Troi!"
The girl blinked twice, slowly waking and sat up on her elbows. "Yeah?"
Her voice was sleepy and slurred.
A tall, firm-looking woman marched up to the bed. "Get up," The woman
told her. "It's 8:00 already, young lady."
Troi swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Oh. I-I'm sorry...." She
trailed off, thin hands coming up to press against her forehead and rub
her temples.
"Troi Anne," The woman looked at her with concern."Is something wrong?"
"I had another dream, Ms. Malone," The young teen's voice sounded hollow
and very alone. "They're getting worse."
"Oh, Troi." Ms. Malone masked a look of irritation and quickly replaced
it with one of benevolent concern. "You know those dreams mean nothing.
We've discussed this before. They are only inventions of your
sub-conscious.
Nothing more. You don't have to worry about them," Ms. Malone attempted a
cheerful laugh, "and they certainly won't come true!"
The young girl looked up at the social worker with hooded, angry eyes.
That's what Ms. Malone always said. But Troi knew better. She knew what
she saw, what her dreams told her. And she knew what always happened
afterward.
"Now go help the other girls in the kitchen, 'K?" Ms. Malone stood up
and ruffled the girl's hair, attempting to be affectionate, but the touch
was still oddly impersonal. "And no more of this dream business."
Troi obediently dressed and left the room to walk down and take her
place beside the other girls in the kitchen who had KP this week.
Troi walked in and picked up a dish rag, hefting a large platter and
began to dry. Julia, a ten year old with curly black hair waltzed past
Troi with a stack of smaller plates, humming the words to some sappy "top
ten" pop song about how the singer's dreams would all come true.
Troi squeezed her eyes shut and bit a trembling lip. She always hated
songs like that. She didn't see what was so great about dreams coming
true. Nearly all of Troi's dreams came true. And they were never anything
to sing about.
Troi pressed her eyes shut tighter in a vain effort to banish the
horrific images that danced before her mind's eye.
///The young storekeeper [she had just met him a few days ago hadn't
she?] just closing up for the night. Gang members waiting. Watching.
Coming... NO! Beating him. The storekeeper falling to the ground, his
blood pooling around him in a ever-spreading circle.\\\
A lone tear dropped from her shut eyes. James, -that was the storekeeper
name, she remembered now- would never know what was coming. Would never
know because she couldn't tell him. They never let her tell anyone.
But then the vision of the man's little girl came back to her. That sad
little face at her daddy's funeral. Not understanding. Uncomprehending.
To lose a parent so young.... It was a pain Troi knew all about.
Troi suddenly slapped down the platter in determination, a fierce look
lighting her brown-blue eyes.
They may not let her warn the man, but they couldn't stop her from trying.
6:00 AM, the next day
Dana Scully's apartment
Washington, DC
"Scully...Scully..." Mulder's voice called echoingly.
Dana Scully opened her eyes slowly, not wanting to awaken. Mulder stood
near the bed, leaning over her.
"Mulder...go awa-" she started sleepily. Then suddenly she jolted awake.
"Mulder, what the heck are you doing here!!" she yelled, sitting up
quickly and clutching for her alarm clock.
"I let myself in." He answered innocently, handing her the clock as if
this was all a commonplace occurrence.
"You did WHA- Why??" She demanded angrily, snatching the alarm from him.
He didn't answer, but instead picked up the plate on her bedstead,
littered with the remains of three chocolate chip cookies. "You know,
eating chocolate before bed will make you cranky."
Scully simply sat there and glared, her mussed red hair falling forward
to hang in her face.
Mulder grinned devilishly and reached over to tuck the wayward strands
behind her ear, running his fingers down the line of her chin.
Scully's stomach clenched, and she turned away before he could see the
effect his touch had on her. She swung her legs over the side of the bed,
and reached down to tug on house slippers and draped her housecoat around
her.
Mulder had been doing things like that lately. And it unnerved
Scully to no end. It was just little things, a touch, a comment, all
seemingly innocent, and Scully didn't think he even knew what they did to
her. And she wasn't about to tell him either. Not now. She could think of
a thousand reasons not to. But in reality it all boiled down to one fact. She was
afraid.
So she took a deep breath and ignored her racing pulse and wandering
mind.
"So honestly Mulder," she said, standing up and turning to face him.
"What are you doing here?"
"Honestly?"
"Honestly."
"Something interesting happened at a little
convenience store yesterday, something I think we should look into."
"And you had to wake me up at 6:00 in the morning to tell me that?"
"Well, I'm not sure how long the police will hold the girl."
"What girl?" Scully asked, a confused look on her face.
"Get dressed, Scully." Mulder's lip twitched in a half-smile as he
looked her up and down, and then headed for the door. "I'll explain on
the way."
6:50 AM
Questioning Room 5
Washington DC Police Department
Troi Anne Carter paced the DC Police Department questioning room
nervously. The pit of her stomach hurt with anxiety and near-panic.
\Why am I here?\ she thought for the umpteenth time. \I haven't done
anything wrong.\ But they hadn't believed her. No one ever believed her
about anything. Despair filled her emotions and she felt like crying. But
she pulled in a deep breath and pushed the tears back, stopping to grip
the back of a chair with her thin, long fingered hands.
She knew it had been a bad idea. Common sense had told her not to do it.
Common sense had told her it was stupid to play hooky from school to try
and stop a robbery and murder at a convenience store.
\And if I'd 'have listened to by common sense instead of my blasted
conscious, I wouldn't be here.\
But every time she began to think that way, images from her dream came
back to haunt her, and that little girl's face told her she would do it
all over again in a heartbeat. The tiny girl would have lost her daddy,
but thanks to Troi, would now only be visiting him in the hospital for
awhile.
When the police had arrived on the scene, they immediately arrested -or
"put into protective custody"- everyone on the scene, questioning
everyone, and then one by one releasing them.
All but Troi.
They were suspicious of her, she knew. They wanted to know exactly how
she knew the convenience store was the target of a robbery. But when they
asked her that, Troi had immediately clammed up. She's wasn't about to
tell a bunch of cops that she had known because of a dream.
They had continued to question her, even after she had turned into an
unanswering block of ice, until another cop had come in with a call for
the questioner. Then they had left, telling her to wait where she was.
\Not that I have much choice.\ she thought
Angry tears threatened to spill over once again. Troi bit her lip and
choked it back.
Just then, the blank door ahead of her gave a soft click and opened
silently. The guard entered the room -Troi glowered at him. The guard
held the door open for a tall, dark haired man, followed closely by a
woman with sunset red hair and a tired expression.
"Troi, I want you to meet someone." The guard said. Troi scowled. She
hated it how they used her first name with that condescending air. Like
they were trying to be her friend. Her lip curled downward. She had
already decided not cooperate with these people, whoever they were. They were
probably some stupid crime psychology people who wanted to pick apart her
brain and twist it around to be whatever they wanted it to be.
Troi sat down icily in her chair, and swiveled it to face the wall,
carefully putting on her mask of stone.
Behind her, Troi heard the guard sighed with exasperation. "She's all
yours." He muttered. He crossed through the door, and it snapped shut.
"You don't like that he calls you by your first name, do you?" The man's
voice said from behind her.
Troi's eyes widened, momentarily breaking the mask. How had he known
that?
"That's okay," The man's voice continued. "I prefer my last name myself.
You want me call you Ms. Carter, or just Carter?"
Though it went against every resolve she had made since arriving at the
Police Station, Troi was drawn to turn around. She looked over the man,
studying him closely. His hair was short and the same black-brown she had
observed earlier. He was slightly lanky, with long-fingered hands that
rested on his hips and peculiar lips that curved into the tiniest of
half-smiles. His hazel eyes seemed to draw her into his confidence.
Although her mind warned her not to, Troi instinctively felt she could
trust this man.
"You can call me Troi." the words surprized her, as though they had come
from someone else.
The half-smile flared into a full smile as he bent to shake her hand.
"And you can call me Mulder. Everyone does." The man turned to look at
his partner, and Troi followed his gaze, this time scrutinizing the woman.
She was tiny, even a bit shorter than Troi herself, and had bright blue
eyes that contrasted with her shoulder length red hair. There was a aura
of intelligence and slight mystery around her.
She met her partners eyes, and a brief flash of something like a private
joke passed between them before the woman also turned to Troi.
"And I'm Agent Scully, but you can call me Dana."
"Lucky you." Agent Mulder stage-whispered conspiratorially to her.
"Mulder." The woman gave him a look, and he grinned but then fell
silent.
Troi watched them with wondering eyes. Who were these people? They were
certainly not what she had expected them to be.
"Troi," Agent Scully broke the silence. "I realize you are probably
tired of answering questions, but we just need to ask you a few. And it
would help us -and you- if you would answer them."
When Scully saw Troi's face tightened, she hastened to add, "But you
don't have to. You have that right."
"But," Agent Mulder jumped in, picking up where his partner had left off
with such effortless grace, Troi wondered how just much practice they
had. "It would sure go a long way to clearing your association with all
this if you would cooperate with us."
Troi looked down at her hands, then up at the Agents, then down at her
hands again. "I-I- What do you want to know?" Her throat was threatening
to constrict.
"How did you know that convenience store would be robbed, Troi?" Mulder
asked, his voice intense but soft. "I know you weren't in that gang."
"How do you know?" Troi demanded with a flash of annoyance that was not
directed at Agent Mulder. "I've been telling them that for the past 2
hours, but they won't believe me!"
"But you didn't tell them how you knew," Mulder rested his hands on the
table. "You can trust us Troi," he indicated himself and his partner. "We
want to help you."
"I- It's- I don't know how I knew." Troi finished lamely. Silence
pervaded, smothering her into adding under her breath, "No one believes
it." She wanted to tell these people. She was desperate to trust someone. But
they would never take her seriously.
"I'll believe you Troi."
Tears sprang to her eyes unbidden. Agent Mulder had no idea how hearing
those four little words meant to her.
"I..I have dreams.." Troi's voice was soft, little more than a whisper.
"In my dream I saw...I saw..." Her voice choked on the tears.
Agent Mulder listened raptly. "Was this your first dream Troi?" He
asked.
"No. No, they always come. They haunt me. They- they-" Her voice broke,
and her chin dipped to her chest, shoulders shaking.
She was trying to be strong, she really was. But the tears flowed in a
ever increasing torrent of emotion.
"Troi, when you dream does it-"
"Mulder, stop." Agent Scully ordered, moving kneel beside Troi's chair
and gather the thin girl in her arms. "Just stop. Look at her. She doesn't need
your interrogation right now."
"Your right Scully." Mulder sounded ashamed. "I'm sorry."
"No- it's alright." Troi lifted her head from the female FBI agent's
shoulder and began wiping the glistening tears from her face. "I'm just
tired. I don't mind Agent Mulder's questions. I want to tell you."
"Ms. Cart- Troi," Scully looked at the girl with concern. "You've had a
rough day. You're under a lot of stress. I think right now what you need
is a quiet place to lay down and a good cup of hot chocolate from the shop
around the corner." She looked at Mulder pointedly. He took the hint and
headed for the door.
"Come on," Scully raised Troi to her feet, following Mulder. "We'll-"
The door suddenly swung open before the threesome could get there. The
burly guard from before walked in, followed by a 30-something police
officer. "Agents Mulder, Scully, I'm Officer Cobb. I've been authorized
to take the girl back to the Shelter. You don't have to question her
anymore, she's no longer under charges."
"I um-" Scully started. But the officer simply pushed past her and
placed a hand on Troi's arm. "Come on young lady. Ms. Malone is worried
sick about you."
Troi gazed back toward Scully with a lost look on her face as Officer
Cobb guided her out of the room.
Scully stared after her a moment, then sighed and turned back to Mulder.
"Oh, well." Her voice sounded regretful.
"You tried Scully, and I know she appreciated that. You could see it in
her eyes. I bet that was the most kindness that kid will get this week."
Mulder looked down at his partner affectionately as he held the door open
for her as they walked outside.
"The sad part is you're right Mulder. Well, can't argue with protocol.
She's not our jurisdiction anymore." Scully glanced at Troi's retreating
form as the girl ducked into Officer Cobb's swat car.
"I wish her luck though," Scully said. "She's seems like a very special
young lady."
"How so?" Mulder inquired, as they got into his car.
"Well, she strikes me as smart, strong and brave, with a lot of
compassion, or she wouldn't have tried to save that clerk."
"Hmm." Mulder mused. "She sounds a lot like you Scully." He grinned.
"Just about perfect."
Scully looked pointedly out the window to hide her unexpected blush.
"Just drive Mulder."
Troi turned awkwardly in the backseat of the squad car and watched the
FBI couple pull out of the parking lot and drive off in the opposite
direction.
She sighed bitterly and turned back around. She stared at the steel
cross-hatched barrier between her and Officer Cobb in the front seat. She
felt like a criminal or something.
Why hadn't the cop let her sit in the front? Well, that didn't take a
rocket scientist to figure out. It was
because she was an orphan. It always was. People didn't like to get close
to orphans, physically or emotionally. Especially those labeled "troubled
teens" like herself. They were considered "problems". Nothing but social
problems to be handed over to someone else. Over and over and over....
Troi had been through more than her share of foster homes before coming
to McGregor. None of them had come close to working. Either the family
had hated Troi or Troi had hated the family. Usually both.
The only time she had gotten close was with Danny and Cory Melbourne.
They were a young couple in their late twenties, just starting out and
full of life. Troi had been 12 at the time, and had fallen head over
heels for the Melbourne's and their carefree lifestyle.
Troi had thought it would be perfect. They loved her..... didn't they?
They would adopt her, and she could be a "normal" kid. She had imagined
spending forever with them, writing "Troi Melbourne" on all of her books,
her school papers...
Troi's heart still contracted painfully when she thought about it.
Everything had seemed to be going fine. Troi hadn't even had a dream
since living with the Melbourne's. They had bought her a locket for
Christmas. It was perfect, perfect.
Until the day she had decided to ask for permission to call them mom and
dad. She was so sure that they would adopt her....but her hopes had been
crushed when Cory Melbourne had announced that they were moving, and Troi
was going back to the Home.
It had hurt so bad. Troi had thrown the locket out the window while
going over the bridge on the painful drive back to the Home, and swore
that she would never, not ever call anyone "mom" or "dad". Those were the
names reserved only for her real parents, the names she whispered
in the dark at night, hoping they could hear. Her real parents, James and
Lydia Carter, the only people who had never betrayed her.
Troi closed her eyes, willing the image of her parents faces to rise to
her mind. But all she saw were faint shapes, muted colors. She bit her
lip.
That was all that remained of them now. Faded memories in the mind of
their only daughter, the one they left behind.
A sharp bump violently jolted Troi out of her reverie as the squad car
hit a pot hole.
"Sorry 'bout that." Officer Cobb called back to her, the only words her
had spoken to her since they got in the car. He lapsed into silence
again.
Then, "We're almost there."
Troi looked out the window to see the cold stone of the MacGregor home
for girls loom up in front of her down the road.
She was not looking forward to returning. /Ms. Malone is worried sick
about you./ Officer Cobb had said.
/Hah./ Troi thought. /Not likely./
Later that night
MacGregor Home for Girls
Troi had been expecting a heated lecture from Ms. Malone, and hadn't
been disappointed. The social worker had been frustrated and terribly
embarrassed by the whole situation.
As soon as Officer Cobb left, Troi was summarily escorted to
Ms. Malone's office, and given a royal chewing out, the likes of which she
would be hard-pressed to top. Ms. Malone had started out cold and icy,
but when Troi refused to offer a explanation or apology of any kind, Ms. Malone
quickly lost her temper and struck her -a swift, stinging blow to the face.
Only that brought a response from the stoic Troi, her eyes filling up
with unshed tears as she turned and ran from the room, not stopping until
she reached the Home's large dusty attic,- her place of sanctuary.
There she had curled up in to a tiny, thin, miserable ball on a
antiquated sofa in the corner, and choked back tortured, lonely sobs
until sleep overtook her.
And that night, she dreamed....
//////"He almost found it?"
Men in dark suits.
"Yes. But we were fortunate. Our man in the FBI prevented it. Our tracks
have been covered. It is not a problem anymore."
"Agent Mulder is always a problem."
Gray hair. Stern, cold faces.
"If Agent Mulder is such a difficulty, why not eliminate him?"
Leather furniture, dark room, smoke clinging to the air.
"We've been over this too many times. It's because of Agent Scully."
"And why not eliminate her as well?"
"We cannot. Not now. She is Their property. We can not interfere."
One man. The leader?
"I wish you would drop the subject. We have more important things to
speak of."
His associate. Lungs as black as tar. A heart blacker.
"Such as?"
Smoke curling upward from his lips.
"The Project is nearing completion. The Date is coming."
A head of steel gray hair. Eyes cold, devoid of emotion.
"Only 6 months."
A chilled wind blew outside.
"That is little time. Too little."
"We need to create more of the vaccine."
"We cannot. It is useless. We must give up on the vaccine. It can not
save us. It is no longer a option. Only cooperation will protect us now."
"So you should concentrate on cooperation. Not the Mulder problem. They
don't concern themselves with him. Neither should you. Thwarting him has
become your obsession."
"He's a danger to the Project still. He's determined."
"There are things more dangerous than the Mulder Problem."
Piercing eyes. Silence and smoke.
"You've moved the evidence again I assume."
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Michigan."
"Good."
"What about Black?"
"What about him?"
"Leakage is possible."
"Not from Black."
"How do you know?"
"Trust me." A hiss accompanied by smoke.
"Trust me......" ////////////
Troi woke with a start.
The dream had left her cold. Normally, her dreams left her grieving, sad
and shaking. But this was not one of her *normal* dreams.
\As if any of *my* dreams could be classified as *normal*/ Troi thought
bitterly.
But this one was different.
She shivered.
//The Date.....Must give up on the vaccine. It can no longer save
us....The Mulder Problem....The Mulder Problem.....Mulder......//
Agent Mulder.
Troi's eyebrows shot up. No, It couldn't be.
Could it?
Even as she considered it, she knew the truth of it. She felt it deep in
her gut.
She had to see the FBI Agents again. She had to go to them. Had to tell
them. If her darkest suspicions about the eerie shadow men were true....
The psychic impression she had obtained of those men told her they were
evil. Dangerous and embroiled in conspiracy. Conspiracy that could spell
out terrible words in her mind's eye. Disaster. Grief. Apocalypse.
Death.
Troi had never been big on conspiracies. She had met a girl once in a
half-way temporary foster home who was convinced that she was the product
of secret experiments by sinister government agency, that she had
"sisters" as
she called them, and that "The Men" would be coming back for her someday.
Troi had thought she was nuts. But now.....
No. No, no no no no....
It couldn't be.
It just couldn't.
Troi shook herself, stood up, stretched and headed for the door.
Then she stopped abruptly, the memory of Ms. Malone's scathing rebuke,
the feel of fire on her face as the woman's hand slapped her.
Troi's feet were planted to the floor. She didn't want to go back down.
Troi told herself it was pride. She wouldn't go back down because she
didn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing her bend even
slightly.
But deep down Troi knew it was not *really* pride.
It was fear.
A deep primal fear. A fear no one knew she had.
A memory surfaced slowly, crawling it's way from that place she had tied
so hard to bury it.
She had been young. It was her second foster home. The father had been
short tempered. Angry.
And physical about it.
Not to his own children. Oh, no. But Troi was not one of his own
children.
And he made sure she knew it.
Troi's gut clenched and turned to ice. She quashed the memories back
down with an almost visible effort. Her eyes flicked over the attic
quickly, coming to rest unexpectedly on a small window in the far wall.
A sudden thought jumped into Troi's head.
/Run away. Leave. You don't have to stay here. Take control of your own
destiny. Stop letting it spiral out of your grip./
/You can do it./
/Run./
Troi caught her breath. The danger of the thought frightened her.
It was not that she was afraid of getting caught. She knew that there
was a tall oak tree just outside that window, one that leaned over the
tall wire fence that surrounded the Home. Carla had done it. Did it
regularly. Snuck out to be with her boyfriend. Troi knew it was possible.
Knew that she could get away with it.
And that was what scared her.
But at the same time, it gave her a immense sense of peace. She would be
in control. She would not longer have to have the dreadful feeling of
helplessness she lived with every day.
She would be in control.
Control.
It was something Troi had never had, and her heart beat faster at the
thought of it, as if it were a forbidden pleasure. She had never been in
control of anything in her life.
Not when she dreamed. Not when the Melbourne's had rejected her. Not
when *he* had beaten her. Not when Ms.
Malone had slapped her.
Never.
/That changes now./ Troi thought as she walked steadily towards the
window and yanked it open. The night was still dark and cold outside. She
leaned out the window as the chilled breeze toyed with her dark hair.
/That all changes now./
5 hours later...
Troi shivered. Dawn was coming.
The morning sun was just slanting through the spaces between the high
abandoned buildings that populated this area of the city, making the
world around her eerie in the half light. The street was still empty and
littered with pieces of trash that blew in the cold air.
Troi pulled the light jacket she wore over her white tank top tighter
around her thin frame.
She had been walking for hours now, and wasn't sure where she was
anymore.
It scared her a little, but the ease with which she had gotten away from
the Shelter had gone to her head. Troi felt that no matter what happened,
no one and nothing couldn't ever touch her again.
She had the power. She was the one who called the shots. No one else.
For the first time in what seemed like years, a smile stole across the
face of Troi Anne Carter. She shut her eyes and threw her head back,
feeling a laugh bubble up from somewhere in the depths of her soul.
She was free.
But her joy was short lived. Troi heard a noise coming from the alleyway
just ahead of her. Voices. Rough voices, looking for trouble.
Troi instinctively flattened her self against the dirty wall of a nearby
building. A gang. It had to be. No one else roamed the streets in this
part
of town.
She sucked in a shaky breath and eased her way to a door that led to the
inside of the building, praying she would reach it before the gang
members made it around the corner.
Her hand grasped a rusty metal handle, and she yanked down hard, the
door popping free as she spun herself inside, shutting the door again as
quickly and as quietly as she could.
Troi leaned against the wall, holding her breath as she heard the heavy
footsteps and voices pass by the door. They hadn't noticed her.
Troi breathed a sigh if relief and turned to look at her surroundings.
The building was definitely abandoned, dusty and cluttered with old
boards and boxes. She realized she must be in the basement.
Groping her way around in the dark, only able to see by the dim light
that slanted through the boarded up windows, Troi made her way to a
stairwell, and began to climb.
Troi had a strange sense of deja-vu about this place.
She reached the top of the stairwell and forced open the door at the
top.
Troi found herself in a long hallway, with a dark brown carpet and a
series of doors leading to rooms or more hallways. Her strange feeling
intensified.
/I've been here before./ Troi thought. /I know I have./
She walked down the hallway as if in a trance, and then stopped suddenly
when a low voice reached her ears. She immediately tensed, straining to
locate where the noise was coming from.
Turning to a nearby door, Troi pressed her ear against it, as the voices
became louder and more clear. Someone inside was speaking. Troi bit her
lip and held her breath as the words started to become clear.
"Our man in the FBI prevented it. Our tracks have been covered. It's no
longer a problem."
"Agent Mulder is always a problem."
Troi smothered a gasp. Her dream! She listened raptly, pressing closer
to the door as the conversation unfolded, identical to the one she had
heard in her dream.
"Leakage is possible."
"From where?"
"Black."
"Not from Black."
"How do you know?"
"Trust me."
A thump came from inside the room as a mug was sat down on a table. "I
thought we were to trust no one."
"No, no," A new voice came from inside the room, a younger voice, and
heavily laced with sarcasm. "You've got it backward. Good ol' Smokey here
says you can trust everyone."
"Krycek." The voice had a warning tone to it, but not without a sardonic
lift. "Must I remind you, you still walk dangerous ground in our council.
Mind your manners."
The younger voice, evidently named Krycek, made a rude noise and crossed
the room, footfalls coming toward the door.
Troi panicked. She knew in her gut that to be found this way would mean
death. She didn't know why, she just knew.
She tried to turn silently, but in her haste she tripped and fell,
landing on her knees hard.
THUMP.
"What-" Movement from inside and the door flew open. Troi leapt to her
feet and began running, not daring to turn even when she reached the door
to the stairwell, feeling the thudding of a man pursuing her.
Throwing open the door, she clattered down the stairs and out the door,
rushing through the basement and out into the street, the man still
running after her.
"Stop!" The voice behind her was harsh.
Hell no. Troi thought, skidding into an alley and running blindly until
she nearly ran into the chain lick fence that blacked her path.
Her eyes desperately darted around. No way out. Left with no choice,
her hands grasped the fence and she began to climb.
Just as she reached the top and swung her leg over the side, Troi looked
back, and saw her hunter skid around the corner and head toward her.
Troi looked into his hard face and dark cold eyes. Eyes of a experienced
killer.
Fear jolted though her, and as she tried to swing her legs over the
fence, she lost her precarious balance, loosing a cry as she fell to the
ground with heavily.
Sharp pain bit into Troi and overwhelmed her, tearing at her insides.
She lay there stunned, unable to move, eyes heavy and nearly shut. She
heard the clattering of the chain link fence through ringing ears and a
thud as her pursuer dropped to the
ground beside her.
Through silted, blurred eyes, Troi saw the man lean over her. His
young,handsome face was distorted by the hard, icy look of a trained
killer.
He lowered his gun until it was level with her head. Troi held her
shallow breathing as best as she could, despite the pain. /Please let him
think I'm dead./ The man narrowed his eyes at her. /Oh God, please./
Troi begged.
Then, from the street outside the alley, came the sudden sound of a
siren.
The man's head jerked up, and looked around. He turned back to Troi, and
kicked her brutaliy, the toe of his boot striking her face, and then her
rib cage. Troi choked back a groan, knowing her life depended on it,
even as her mind began to go fuzzy with pain.
Dimly, she head the man's footsteps beating a hasty retreat, and then he
disappeared, as if he had never been.
The siren grew louder, this time accompanied by the frantic footsteps of
a running gang member. The siren stopped just outside the alleyway, and
she heard the voices of two police men arresting the gang member, who was
loudly protesting.
"Hey man! What you think you're doin'? I ain't done nothin'!"
"Yeah, save it for the cops, son. Wait. We are the cops! So why don't
you just save it."
"Listen, ya got the wrong guy!"
"Yeah sure."
Troi heard the sound of the police door being shut as they put the
convict in the back.
Troi knew she had to get to them before they left. She needed help.
Troi slowly raised herself to her hands, pain shooting from her
injuries, her head swimming, as blood poured from her nose and mouth.
"Help." The word was a mear whisper. "Help. Wait. Please." Her voice
grew louder, cracking into a tiny gurgling cry. "Wait!" She pulled up the
last
vestiges of her strength ,and crawled toward the voices of the cops.
Her movement were slow and sluggish, as she felt herself losing
consciousness. Suddenly, she could go no further, her arms giving way
beneath her as she dropped to the ground, giving up hope and letting the
darkness overtake her.
Officer Trent sighed as he moved around his squad car, reaching down to
open the drivers-side door.
/Another dent made in the drug-dealer population./ He thought wearily.
/5:00am is way to early to be doing this./
Suddenly, a noise from the ally caught his attention. Drawing his gun, he
made his way toward the ally entrance.
His partner, Kane, glanced at him. Not moving, but nodding to show he
was ready to cover him if need be.
Trent eased around the corner of the ally, eyes scanning for the source
of the noise.
What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks.
"Oh my Go-"
"Kane! Get over here!"
9:50 am
The next day
FBI Headquarters
Mulder and Scully's office
Mulder sat at his perpetually cluttered desk, seriously contemplating
the frosted doughnut he held in his hand.
"Say, Scully." He drawled lazily to his partner who was pouring a cup of
coffee across theroom. "Didja know that they don't really use the left
over dough from the doughnut holes to make doughnut holes?"
"What?!?" Scully nearly spilled her coffee over the side of the cup as
she looked at her partner in amazement at the sheer confusing stupidity
of his remark.
"You know. I mean the round little pastry things they call "doughnut
holes"? They don't really use the dough left over from the doughnut to
make them."
Scully clanked the coffee pot back into the maker. That man never ceases
to amaze me. "And just where did you find that vital piece of
information?"
"I used to work at the Dunkin' Doughnuts during the summer when I was a
kid. I just never thought about it 'till now." Mulder looked back up at
Scully. "Ya know, if word got out, I bet the doughnut purists would be up
in arms."
"Well, don't tell Frohike then. We wouldn't want any trouble." Scully
said smoothly, turning from him to cross over to her desk.
Mulder grinned widely, watching her.
The phone rang just as Scully sat down. She reached over and scooped it
up without even breaking her flow. "Scully."
"Agent Scully?" The voice of their one-time boss, Assistant Director
Skinner, surprised her. Scully sat up straight, as her eyes widened. She
covered the receiver with a hand and mouthed \It's Skinner,\ in Mulder's
direction before responding. "Uh, yes sir?"
"Scully, I'm down at D.C. Police Department 7. I was returning something
to a friend here when I stumbled across a unusual situation."
Scully's eyebrows raised a little, and she glanced over at Mulder.
"Sir?"
"There was a attempted murder yesterday morning in the slums."
Pause.
"The victim would like to speak with you."