The Genesis Breed
Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story are the property of Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen Productions. This is an amateur effort, no infringement upon copyright policies was intended, and the thinking, writing, and posting of this story was for entertainment purposes only.
Reviews:
Gothic Spook: YAY! Happy to hear from you again. I was afraid this story would never be finished. I agree, John and Monica with a child that was the way it was supposed to be. I'm surprised Annabeth Gish could keep her hands off him for all of season 9!
Samantha: Thank you for being my second reviewer. I'm glad you're enjoying this. Hope you are pleased with this chapter!
Daydr3am3r: I promise to have my chapters up within days. Not like I have anything better to do, lol. Glad to know you're enjoying it!
Author's Notes: As I said, this is the events that follow an AU season 9. Because of this Brad Follmer is innocent of all crimes he was charged with in season 9 regarding Luke Doggett's death and instead, meets his end in this story. Oops! I've said too much. (Skulks back to her computer)
1: A Job, a Phone Call, and a Babysitter
Brad Follmer was not a religious man. He had lost his faith at the tender age of twelve, following his father's murder. He never looked back at the church.
Still, he found himself praying as he walked into the subway station, checking over her shoulder with a paranoid look on his face. It contorted into an expression of fear as he came down the steps, the colour drifting from his skin and making him look as white as a sheet. His palms were sweaty and shaking, trembling from the adrenaline pumping through his body. He tucked them in his pockets and hung his head low.
He was in fear at the presence that was looming behind him, the leather trench coat dancing in the cold, night breeze. The way the eyes of his pursuer were attached to him, memorizing every look of fear on his face while displaying none on their own. Red hair was the most distinct point of the woman who was keeping a close trail on him. It was sleek and straight, dancing on the rush of air that radiated from beneath the train.
The AD of the Federal Bureau of Investigation was reaching for his weapon. He took note of its presence, the metal handle under his jacket in the holster. He prayed he wouldn't have to draw and fire.
She had come after him in the building, and to shake her he had attempted the subway station. Now he was praying he had just gone to the parking garage and ran her down with his car. It would have been easier than trying to keep tabs on a woman who could be there one minute and gone the next.
But Brad could still see her, coming through the smoke that came from the tracks and billowed upward, her pale demonic face completely emotionless. He saw the glint of black metal as she drew forth her weapon, her fingers curling around the handle and bringing it out into the open.
Her accuracy could be fatal, but the people bustling around made it more difficult to aim. She took her first shot as Brad was drawing his gun. He was hurled back by the bullet moving through his shoulder blade, blood spattering on the people passing by and in puddles on the floor. She had fired two more rounds to his shoulder and waist as he took two, striking her dead in the chest. The second struck her right ear, embedding itself in her skull.
Her finger tightened on the trigger again, this time taking a large amount of his ribcage with it. Blood spewed from her lips and she coughed it out onto the ground. The people were in a panic as the woman still stood, her gun outstretched at the body before her.
Brad collapsed in a heap of his own blood. The woman staggered for a moment, the pain finally setting in, and she too collapsed.
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The phone was ringing at midnight, an hour at which most seven year olds were sleeping. But it was Meredith who shook her mother awake, holding the portable in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Monica shook her dark head of hair, gasping at the sight of her pale daughter giving her the phone.
"It's a man named Skinner." Meredith said in her sing song voice. "He said that it was urgent and that someone named Brad Follmer had just been shot and was in critical condition. He also mentioned that the woman who shot him was in critical condition as well and that he wanted you and daddy to go check it out."
The seven year old practically skipped out of the room, clutching her teddy bear and holding her mug of coffee with care. Monica just stared in surprise at the way her daughter retained information, and her ability to stay up so late. She pressed the phone to her ear.
"Reyes." She said with a yawn.
"I think John's been teaching her interrogation tactics again." Skinner said, slightly unnerved.
"Why would you say that?" She asked.
"She refused to give you the phone unless I told her who I was working for, what I was calling about, and to stop playing mind games and tell her the truth."
Monica looked over at her sleeping husband and shook her head with a small laugh.
"That sounds like something he would do."
"He should quit while he's ahead. Next thing you know she'll be learning military defense tactics."
"Don't get
me started on the way she plays chess."
Monica said, her mind drifting from the topic of Follmer to her daughter
in some attempt to block the thoughts of her ex shot in cold blood. "What's happened?"
"Follmer's been shot." He said, looking back at the paramedics who
were loading up the gurneys. "He's lost
a lot of blood and they're saying he may not make it through the night."
Monica gave an exasperated sigh. She dropped her head into her hand as Skinner continued. "Ne'er as I can tell he got a few shots into his attacker. She may not make it through the night either."
"She?" Monica asked.
"Don't ask. There was no ID on her." He said. "Look, I know this is awkward but I need you and John down here to work the scene and get some information on this mystery woman."
"Yeah, sure." She said. "Which station?"
"Right outside the building." He said. "I'll wait for you outside."
She hung up first, looking over at John sleeping.
"Meredith?" She called, summoning the small girl to her. She already knew she was awake, and the seven year old climbed the stairs, coffee in hand, bear in the other, looking curious to why she had been dragged away from late night cartoons. "Get me some coffee."
"Daddy too?" Meredith asked. Monica looked over at John, who hadn't stirred the whole time. She nodded once more.
"Yes, daddy too."
Meredith trotted back downstairs as her mother woke her father with a kiss, breaking it only to call the babysitter.
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Louis Chavelle was running through the empty hallway, reaching his destination in under five minutes. He took a moment to catch his breath, badly, and was still red in the face as he knocked on the door and opened it.
He hung his head low, bending his whole body over and breathing heavily. The chair behind the desk was facing the window, not at him, and he decided he had better just say his news and leave before he ended up in the same position as last month's secretary.
"Mi…" He began, taking another moment to catch his breath. The chair didn't move. He wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not. Still, Louis was finally able to speak.
"Mission failed." He announced.
The man in the chair lowered his hand into his folded hands, looking out at the night. Louis wasn't sure if he had heard him, and was about to repeat himself, but was interrupted.
"Bring her in." He said. "Alive."
"Yes, sir…" Louis said, leaving the room. The door shut and the man in the chair snarled, looking at his reflection in the window.
Shit…
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John answered the door with his coffee in one hand and his coat being zipped up by the other. Phoebe Nameth was wide awake for someone at two o'clock on a Saturday morning. She looked like Meredith, eyes shining and smiling giddily. Her hair had lengthened, her body straightened and becoming more of a woman's. She was 22 now, far from the fifteen year old in San Francisco, studying English Literature at Washington University.
This is getting ironic John thought when they hired her.
"Morning." She said, almost happily as she stepped inside, looking him over. He looked terrible. "You're looking good John."
"Shut up." He said, zipping up his jacket. "I don't know how you can be so awake."
"Coffee." She said. "Coffee mixed with school work and the inability to get a moment to myself thanks to my full time job with…you know." Phoebe stopped herself, knowing he had more to deal with than the memories of his dead son. "Where's Meredith?"
"Awake." Monica said, coming out of the kitchen, looking equally as worn. "As usual."
"Don't worry. I brought over Valium."
"That's not funny." Monica said sharply. "If you drug her…"
"I threaten, Mrs. Doggett, never promise." Phoebe said, taking off her shoes and stepping off the front mat. "Go and have fun. I'll behave myself."
They said goodbye, walking out the door. Phoebe shut the door behind them.
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Okay, I've had my bit of fun by adding Phoebe. Please R&R!