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Gothic Spook:  OH THE SUSPENSE!  THE HORROR!  THE OUTRAGE!  Here's the next chapter and, yes, there's more Monica and Doggett, and no, they don't die…yet.  (evil laugh).

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            "Now I will tell you what I've done for you.

            Fifty thousand tears I've cried.

            Screaming, deceiving, and bleeding for you.

            And you still don't hear me…"

                                    ~Evanescence, Going Under from Fallen

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            Chapter 12:  Bloodbath Lovers

            The whole house was completely black.  Not even the moon could penetrate the darkness that loomed like a thick storm cloud inside the rooms of John Doggett's house.  He looked around with widened eyes, his arms over his head with hands folded on the back of his scalp.  Monica was breathing heavily as the lights faded and the guns that would have ended their lives didn't make any answering explosions.  The whole group of invaders stood stunned, looking around the room.

            "What the hell was that?"
            "Fuses probably."  Monica heard and recognized the voice.  It was Jason Sharp, the tech they had seen at the government offices earlier that day.  The leader who had been barking orders for the past while looked over at the younger man, his dark eyes flaring with anger as Jason moved towards the basement stairs.  Monica stared after him, furrowing a brow as they walked towards the door.  'Leader' pushed past Jason and opened the door.

            The action would prove to be fatal.  Two shots were fired quickly, blood splattering onto Jason.  He was spared as he stood there shocked as the red hair flashed by him and ignored him.  There was no hesitation as she moved past him and into the kitchen.

            The foyer was going insane.

            "Kill them now!"  He was dubbed second in command.  Neither of the shooters had time to follow orders.  There was the sound of glass hitting stone as a beer bottle rolled over the tiles.  It was easily seen.  A rag had been shoved into the mouth of the bottle and was ignited and alive with flame. 

            A flash of pale skin at the kitchen door and a bullet fired.  The bottle exploded in flames across the floor.

            There was nothing anyone could do.  Whispered voices did not hear the following scream of the man who found himself at her mercy.  She had walked in behind him, tossing her arm out.  The crowbar from the basement flew from her sleeve and was grabbed by her hand.  She swung her arm and hooked his neck inside it, twisting him around.

            The sharp end of the crowbar broke through the skin and blood flew across the floor in long, thick streams.  She pulled out the gun she had stolen from downstairs and shot in a circle, knocking them down to the ground.  On the fourth shot she was met with an empty barrel, facing the last of the team who had come to pick her up.  He smiled to himself and fired.  She twisted the body with the crowbar and absorbed the bullet with the body.  With her free hand she armed herself once more and fired over the shoulder.

            The fight was over and it had barely begun.  She ripped the crowbar from the man's neck, tossing the thick flesh she had torn from him aside.  Pieces of bone scattered to the floor and broken veins squirted blood like a gothic fountain and poured it down his collarbones and chest.  Her face, in turn, was covered in blood that looked black from the small cascades of moonlight.  She wiped it with the back of her hand and sleeve and let the body drop.

            John didn't know whether or not to lower his hands.  Monica wasn't sure either.  They stared at the assassin with widened eyes, testing their limits and understanding the power she had while holding the gun.  She didn't say anything, and shoved the gun in her pocket before going about scavenging for a cell phone of some kind.

            Jason Sharp wandered back into the foyer.  She pulled the gun out of her pocket with lightning speed and aimed for him, keeping it locked on his head.

            "Don't shoot."  He said, raising his hands in the air and looking frantic.  She stared at him vividly, the two locked in one another's eyes.  Doggett looked down at the ground and took his chance, reaching down slowly and pulling up one of the hand guns from the ground.

            The barrel of the gun was pressed on his temple.  John released the handgun below him.

            They were interrupted by the scream upstairs.  Meredith was clawing at the arm that pressed her head to a woman's waist, while William was nowhere to be seen.

            "Drop the gun."  Morgan ordered, pressing the gun closer to Meredith's head and keeping a tight lock on the girl's throat.  "Drop the gun or the girl dies."

            It looked like she wasn't listening, even though her eyes were locked with the dark haired woman's.  They were staring at each other as she had stared at Jason, vividly and powerfully, as if her very being depended upon it.  They never once blinked, always staring.

            "I know you heard me."  Morgan repeated, Meredith whimpering.  "Drop the gun."

            "Drop it please."  Monica begged, looking up at her daughter on the landing, and looking back at the assassin.  "Drop it please I'm begging you."

            But she didn't, and instead flipped her hand up into the air and aimed quickly.

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            There were times when she forgot the way it felt to almost kill Morgan.  It was the feeling of insignificance, as if everything she did was never going to amount to anything unless that woman lay dead.  There was a flash (most likely brought on by the poison coursing about in her veins and onset of shock) of a memory that made her do what she did.  The begging voice of the woman fell on deaf ears as they stood there at an impasse.

            The dark haired woman laughed a throaty laugh and her finger muscles tightened, watching the red haired woman aim for her head.

            "Do you really want to do that?  Come now, Darcy, you think I won't do it?"

            She pursed her lips and put her other hand on the weapon.  They still stared, and still Darcy had said nothing.

            "Let go of her now!"  John shouted.

            "I hardly think you're a position to make commands here."  She said, pulling a gun on John, aiming it with an expert marksman's efficiency. 

            Mulder fired straight from the bedroom, the bullet striking her right shoulder and sending her a little off balance.  Her own fingers pulled the trigger back and sent a bullet just past Doggett's ear.  Amidst the commotion, Meredith opened her mouth up wide and bit down hard on Morgan's arm before freeing herself and running down the stairs to her parents.

            Mulder hugged William to his leg, his hand on the back of his son's head, patting the red curls fatherly affection yet at the same time making him grow up to be in his opinion a man.  William watched the blood pool under Morgan's body, flowing from the ripped fabric on her shoulder. 

            Darcy lowered her weapon and dropped it, along with the crowbar, tossing them aside.  Jason watched on from the living room entrance where Scully emerged from, everyone silent in the pandemonium of blood and gore. 

            "Well, I'm glad to know nothing's changed."  Jason said to Darcy.  She sighed deeply and took a deep breath, feeling her throat constrict.  Her watch read for another ten hours. 

            But now she had something to live for, and Morgan was within her reach.  It would have made her smile, but she couldn't.

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            "Alright."  John said, dropping onto the couch opposite Jason.  He was handcuffed willingly and set there not long after they had gotten a few things straightened out.  Darcy was back in the basement in the same room as Morgan (although Jason had openly protested that the living arrangements were not going to work, and that only one of them would emerge alive the next time they went back downstairs).  "Start from the beginning, and you better not be bullshitting me about any part of this."

            Jason sighed deeply and hung his head for a moment.  The four agents were now his audience, watching on as he would recount everything he knew about the breed and the woman who bore it in her skull.

            "Look, I already told you I don't know anything."

            "Then why are you still standing?"  John shot back quickly.  Jason breathed heavily and shook his head to clear it.  "I know you know more than what you're telling us."

            "All I know is that she's merchandise."  He said.  "For the government.  She's a billion dollar super soldier that's been trained since birth and implanted with something codenamed GENESIS."

            Everyone was quiet for a moment.  Jason continued, swallowing hard as he thought of the consequences for this.  If Ridder found out…

            "Look, all I know is that she's in danger of dying.  The breed's been wounded and most likely released a contagion that could kill her.  So if you let me go and help her, I'll tell you everything else I know about GENESIS."

            "How do we know you know anything else?"

            "Would I still be alive if I didn't?  I used to be her handler in division.  She used to report to me."

            "What do you do now?"  Monica asked from the doorway.

            "I'm nothing but a tech.  Ridder trusts me with small jobs like plane tickets and clothing, nothing else.  I'm completely worthless really except for one thing."

            "What's that?"  John asked. 

            "I'm the only one she trusts."  He replied quickly.  John looked over at Monica.  She didn't say anything.

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            She poked at Morgan's body once more.  It seemed like the poison had leveled off for the time being, and the adrenaline from her battle in the foyer was keeping her in an almost pain-free existence.  Morgan was completely out cold, but just to make sure Darcy had struck her on the right temple with a balled fist and left her in the corner bleeding.

            Jason entered a moment later, his hands in the pockets on his jacket that he kept on.  He was getting chills from the house, even though he knew it was a fairly warm night.  She waited until the door closed before getting to her feet shakily and walking quickly to him.

            Anyone would have assumed she would have pulled a gun on him (had she been armed, of course).  But Darcy did nothing along the lines of attempted murder.  She instead embraced him in a kiss, running her fingers along the back of his head and leaping up onto him, hugging onto his sides with her legs.  He backed into the wall as gently as he could; knowing any noise would alert the agents to the possibility of his murder.

            "They might hear us."  He whispered.

            "Are you armed?"  She asked hopefully.  He shook his head.

            "They gave me enough shit to fix you up.  That's all."  Darcy slid off him and sighed deeply, her hand on his cheek.

            "What makes you think I want to be fixed up?"  She asked him.  It wasn't rhetorical.  Jason didn't even bother shooting that comeback at her.  They stared at each other longingly.

            Jason had first insisted that he and Darcy date when he had handled her.  Now it was getting harder to spend time together, her hits starting to become last minute plans that Ridder sent to Jason and Jason sent to her.  They somehow managed to keep up a healthy physical relationship though. 

            He begged her to run away with him.  Maybe this would give them the initiative to finally do so.

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            Monica was silent and watching John, half crying.  He turned around from the door to the guest room and looked at her.  She wanted to scream.  She wished she was armed so she could pull a gun on every fucker in the room.  All she could see was Meredith nearly die over and over, only every time her mind played it back to her Meredith was shot over and over again, riddled with bullets by the time Monica could have gotten to her.

            He would have let her slap him if she wanted to.  He would have let her riddle his body with bullets before being satisfied.  He just wanted her to be happy.

            Monica did neither of the previous mentioned acts of violence.  She ran to him and buried her head in his shoulder and cried.

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