The Keeper of Time

by d'elfe

At seventeen, Frances sometimes joins the infamous Mulder and Scully in their investigations. A murder leads them to Forks, where the young woman meets a certain unsettling doctor who seems to know her, albeit she has no recollection of him. This is the first part of Frances' series.

9. Chapter 9 - The wanderers

Hey, I'm sorry it has been so long. I guess you might have to read the last chapter again to put two and two together. That what I had to do to write something consistent. I hope you loved this chapter, it was fun to write. There are a few references to Frances' previous travels (Middle earth and King Arthur), but you don't need to read them to understand this.

Frances didn't know if she was dreaming still, or even alive. She felt … good. At peace, rolled up in another's soothing embrace. A warm presence that seeped into her bones and murmured sweet nothings into her ear. Like a vibration of pure love. The young woman sighed, so engrossed in the feeling of solace that she never wanted to leave. Ah, the blissful oblivion, to never wake up again. But her conscience was now trying to surface, nagging her about the important mission she must complete before a measure of peace would be granted.

The warmth vibration that had engulfed her in her sleep, like a lover's embrace, was disappearing. It left her strangely bereft, and Frances' heart ached. Alone, once more, in the cold world. Except that it wasn't as cold as expected. The crackling of fire echoed on rock walls; she was in a cave. Carlisle's cave! Damn! She had been careless!

Frances started, sitting up so suddenly that furs and covers were flung aside. Sparks flew angrily from the fire, and she barely had time to pull her cape away from the flames before it caught. Cursing aloud, the young woman knelt, her eyes strained into the darkness. Then she spotted him, over the brazen, stuck on the wall farther form where the lay.

Carlisle watched her from afar, his back so engrained in the rocks that his skin should have been imprinted by its asperities. His eyes, so clear even in the darkness, were wide open. Panic. How long had he been there? Frances frowned, trying to assess her state of fitness – poor, she felt weak – and his state of hunger.

— "What happened?" she whispered.

And even with her voice down, her words echoed upon the rock walls of his lair. Carlisle seemed so upset, stuck like a spider in its web, that she shifted. Frances repressed her instinct to approach; in such enclosed environment, her smell must be overwhelming to him. At last, Carlisle seemed to swallow – a human reflex? – before he spoke. And the dulcet tones of his voice conveyed the strain rather clearly.

— "You passed out from the cold, your lips were blue. I dragged you here."

Frances' face split with an incredulous smile, and her expression, so genuine, send warmth into the vampire's chest. Started, Carlisle realised that albeit it was impossible –vampires didn't get warm nor cold – the feeling still washed through him like a benevolent wave.

— "Unbelievable. You … you touched me? Wow"

Carlisle nodded.

— "You are incredible, Carlisle. Incredibly strong"

And the vampire realised then, how truly amazing this step was in his recovery. Yes. Perhaps there was hope after all.

Frances didn't leave the cave. She didn't sleep the first night, nor the second. She was way too aware of what might happen, and her body couldn't relax to take her to blissful oblivion. But in the end … exhaustion won. And Carlisle watched this tiny slip of a woman as she slept, barely a few feet away from him, the flickering light dancing with her fiery hair. Is that how God had answered his pleas, sending him his own little angel ?

Days passed, winter settled for a while, tons of snow piling out outside their little cave, and still Frances lingered, refusing to leave him. 'I'm here as long as they deem it necessary.', she had said. It wasn't an easy life, and she eventually accepted to get to the city to replenish supplies and buy new clothes. Spending, sometimes, a night in an inn. But most of the time, they just explored this newfound friendship. Hunting, cooking – she was human, after all - talking of other worlds, of Gods and spirits, ghosts and monsters, elves and travels through space and time.

And when, in the heart of December, the weather cleared a little, Carlisle found Frances gazing into the forest with a smile, the sun lighting her unbound hair with fire. The vampire smiled, seeing her, for once, at peace. Probably thinking about her elven prince, or the knight she had befriended in the fifth century. Who knew? Her life was such an intricate web of events; even weirder than his.

Carlisle passed his arm around her shoulder, and she smiled at him, angling her head into the hug. The vampire grinned; he was so proud to be able to touch her without going mad. After a month huddled in that cave, her scent permeated every single rock, every little piece of moss. There was no ignoring it; it had built his tolerance fairly well. Now, Carlisle had to admit that her reluctance to leave had brought upon him the greatest ordeal of all; to surrender and bring her inside. By putting her life on the line, she had managed to push his limits further back.

— "See, Carlisle. There's much beauty in this world still."

The vampire squeezed the little woman to his side, nodding thoughtfully. Yes. The world was at his feet, he could feel it now. It hummed, calling his new senses. Never had he seen the forest so lively, so welcoming. A new life awaited him. But first, he needed to know why she stuck with him like this.

— "Why are you here, Frances?" he asked, his gaze still taking in the waking forest and its volutes of white mist dancing in the sunlight.

— "You made me what I am, it's my turn to return the favour."

Carlisle's eyebrows shot up, puzzled by her answer but Frances was quick to cut his train of thoughts.

— "Someday, you will know what I mean. I can't tell you, future and all. But you know, I've seen how you care and protect. You and I are not so different after all."

The vampire internally scoffed at this.

— "Except that you live"

— "And that I'll die…"

Had he been human, Carlisle would have felt the weight settled in his chest. Yes. He was immortal now. It gave him all the time on the world, while Frances relied on magic to defy temporality. Timeless, like him… Maybe she was right, after all. They shared more than he had bargained for.

Frances shivered by his side, and he reomoved his arm from her shoulders.

The young woman addressed him a grateful smile. He was cold, this new friend of hers. Icy on the outside, and so warm on the inside. A great person, whose eluding peace, someday, would hit him square in the chest.

— "I think it is time for you to leave this place."

The vampire regarded her, his bright golden gaze more stable than she'd ever seen it. A gleam passed into his gaze, a fondness, as if he was witnessing a miracle. Herself.

— "Will you sing with me on the road?" he asked playfully.

Frances grinned.

— "Anytime, friend"

And so, they left behind Carlisle's birth town, his father and his past, his human life. Posing as man and wife, with a diseased husband – which explained his eye condition – got them to pass villages rather safely as they headed south. And it kept women away from him, for Carlisle still had trouble controlling his attractiveness. When the tension created by their presence heightened, they slept in the woods. But when they played their cards well, or villagers weren't so coy, they sometimes managed to sleep in an inn. Frances rolled into the covers and he lay beside her, motionless, watching the ceiling as she slept. A moment of peace when she could regenerate and Carlisle would delve into his mind and review the ordeals of the day.

At first overwhelmed by the presence of humans, Carlisle eventually managed to handle them when they kept their distance. He was now dressed properly, and Frances always joked how his clothes needed no tending nor washing. How convenient to be a vampire! No sweat to stain clothes and no smell to wash away.

This very evening, though, things went south without warning. Frances had left to use the privy. Upon her return, whistles and slaps came her way. Used to the rowdy patrons that found her armoured body attractive, she only dodged them, chasing hands away with an aikido move in her hurry to get back to Carlisle. What she found made her blood run cold.

The vampire sat, eyes wide open, his mouth closed in panic. From the look of pure terror upon his chiselled features, Frances knew he was trying not to breathe. For in his lap sat a tavern wench, the likes that Lancelot used to enjoy so much after a good fight. But Carlisle was no womaniser, and the risk so very different. If he lost control … the woman was as good as dead. Stupid, stupid wench! Ice coursed through her veins as she sprang into action.

Furious, Frances stomped to the table, catching Carlisle's gaze. His panic seemed to abate a notch, but he still looked like a child trying very hard not to throw up. 'Quick!', pleaded his large golden orbs. 'Please!' Frances caught the woman's collar and hoisted her up with a furious move. The wench squeaked, offended, but before she could even retaliate the Keeper of Time threw her away from the table, putting as much distance as she could between her and Carlisle. The serving woman, boobs on display, started a sentence that she never got to finish.

— 'Get off my husband, you stupid bitch!' Frances howled; her fists clenched.

Marking her territory, especially if people thought her crazy, would keep Carlisle safe. 'Husband' usually did the trick. Unfortunately, the vampire had reached his limit. He darted off at inhuman speed, passing the door with a blur. 'Crap.' Frances sighed. She was now facing angry customers and suspicious villagers, and Carlisle was at large, on his own. Could this day get any better?

As yells were thrown her way, the young woman gathered their meagre belongings and took off after the vampire. Dusk greeted her with its reds and shadows, and she only had a second before the blond blur she was looking for disappeared into the forest. Good, at least, he was still conscious enough not to use his full speed. The young woman started after him at a brisk pace, reaching the forest's edge in no time. Then, it was all a matter of bringing forth those tracking skills she had not used for years. Looking for upturned leaves and broken spider webs. In the dead of winter, at dusk! Fantastic. Frances exhaled slowly. She was only human, with a very good eyesight for her race – they said fighter pilot, in the army check - but a human nonetheless. Thank God for her months under Aragorn's care.

Frances followed's Carlisle's tracks in the forest, shivering as the light dimmed. Fortunately, it wasn't raining; the light was still good enough for her to go on. The sound of voices caused her to stop dead. Straining her senses, Frances frowned.

There were two, at least. No, three people. And no Carlisle in the voices she could hear. But the taunting, and the way they threatened told her the group faced a stranger. Frances took another step, then another, hiding behind a bark. There, she had a clear view over a clearing where a group of men – bandits, from their ragged look – had surrounded Carlisle. Under the trees, she would make out more human forms. Too many, damn ! The vampire stood still, like a marble statue, probably trying to regain his senses before he massacred them all and drank their blood. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. They were so screwed, and she had no way to let him know she was here. Why didn't Carlisle run away? He had the strength and speed to escape without none of them being the wiser. He was probably overwhelmed. In overdrive; it wasn't the first, nor the last time his vampire senses threw him off for a loop.

Frances breathed in and pursed her lips. She had no choice but to get him out of here before … before hell broke loose, and he killed someone. Murder – she knew – would be a point of no return. His empathy would kill him this time; he was still too fragile to handle it.

Carlisle was strung like a bow about to be released. Remaining still took every single ounce of his quickly ebbing restraint, and the only thing saving those people was the cold that dulled their smell. That woman, that wench! She'd offered her neck to his fangs, ready to be bitten, to be drained, the sweet fragrance of her blood penetrating his every pore. Damn! He'd nearly … nearly, very nearly done it. Had Frances not hurled her out of his lap…

He was disappointed, of course. Hearing that, in the future, he would be able to be a doctor and see blood without trying to bite people … there was hope. Yet, it was also frustrating to be so sensitive. It seemed so far away. Three hundred years away. And suddenly, reality crashed onto him. Frances, the first friend of this new life, would be gone for hundreds of years before all of this happened. Would he be strong enough to rise to the challenge? Her eyes told him yes, but Carlisle doubted himself.

And right now, he was surrounded by fifteen men, at least, signing up their death warrant. He couldn't kill them … he couldn't fail. She had told him that in the future, he had never killed a human being. His mind was screaming, 'Resist!' while his body pulled the other way. The angel and the devil, both battling for dominance, asking for blood or mercy. How stupid he had been, stumbling about in the forest in his flight, failing at smelling the danger!

So when Frances strode into the clearing, her fiery hair illuminated by the large fire, Carlisle nearly sagged with relief. Until dread settled anew. Fifteen highwaymen, against one woman? Still, she approached him without flinching, her leather armour displayed for all to see.

— "Hello there" she literally purred. "I see you have met my husband. Now if you will excuse us, we must be on our way."

Lewd comments and dirty chuckles echoed around the clearing, their intend too clear to mistake; they intended to have a little fun with her. Frances lifted an eyebrow disdainfully, her voice taking on a sharper edge. A warning.

— "If you value your lives, you will let us go."

Carlisle attuned his senses to her smell to dull the other's horrendous one, finding the familiar setting reassuring. He didn't want to fight; he might kill people if he did. But the confrontation seemed rather inevitable. Already, in the background, two men had fished out flintlocks and they seemed to know how to use them. With his superior sight, he could make out their position easily.

— 'Hey, bonny wench, ya think ya pretty boy'll protect ya'

Carlisle's eye found the man who butchered English as easily as any countryman. Teeth were missing, his skin red and chaffed raw by the coldness of winter. Life had probably not been easy on him … hence the choice to join a band of highwaymen. Another voice joined him, and Frances weighted them both up with a glance.

— 'Gonna've plenty a fun with ya, pretty lady.'

Carlisle inwardly winced; he knew what men did to single women who ventured out on their own. He had no doubt that in the course of her travels, Frances had met many a bandit. However, she remained unfazed.

— 'You won't be the first to try,' she responded drily.

Carlisle tried to calm himself and quieten the animal in him. The beast, that craved for their blood for daring saying such things. Frances unsheathed her sword slowly, reverently, showing them the full extend of the blade and its incredible design. A few men stepped back then, feeling the shift in the mood. Under the trees, the two professional bandits aimed. Had she seen them? Perhaps. But there was nothing she could do about it. And a bullet would prove fatal. Carlisle imperceptibly prowled, blocking the first shooter's line of sight. His weapon was redirected to him. Good.

Beside him, Frances addressed him a warning look. One that said, 'stay out of it'. And when she spoke, the temperature seemed to drop another notch.

— "Heed my warning. Let us go, else you die."

Some men laughed at her gall, others launching derisive comments about the wife protected her sissy husband. Frances clenched her teeth, her eyes losing focus for a moment. They had no idea, those fools, that she was protecting THEM from HIM. But he knew. The predator in him felt the surge of power that came from the Keeper of Time before her blade ignited in blinding white.

— "This is my last warning, highwaymen. Let us go, or perish."

Yells and cries echoed in the forest and a few men, more fearful than others, backed away from the clearing. The red hair and magical blade had its little effect. Carlisle heard their feet as they fled more than he saw them. Beside him, Frances' blade illuminated her sharp features, her concentration unwavering. A trickle of sweat ran down her temple, her heart's pace increasing dramatically. Ready for the fight. Her scent became stronger, the waves of her body's awareness too distracting to ignore.

— 'You need to get out of there," she murmured.

Carlisle nodded. Yes. He shouldn't stay there, else he murdered them all and drank their blood into oblivion. Still, he didn't move an inch.

— "I'm not leaving you."

Frances turned to him then, the light of her blade flickering as she shouted.

— "Damn it Carlisle, go!"

The hesitation was enough to spur the men in action.

— "GET THE WITCH!"

Yells echoed in the clearing, and Frances sprang into action, leaping backwards instantly. Two shots rang then; the first one missing her because of her quick thinking, the second bouncing over his own skin. Petrified, Carlisle watched as the remaining men attacked all at once. Axes, swords and clubs at the ready.

Enthralled, he could only watch as Frances danced with her blade, the bright sword cutting through weapons, leather, metal and human flesh alike. In a single swoop, three of her attackers fell to the ground. Hands, feet were severed, bowels tainted the ground. There was no parry, no counterattack as she thrusts her magical weapon around her, leaving no opening. Screams rose, as the smell of fresh blood invaded his nostrils. Carlisle stilled again, his muscles coiled, the beast begging to be released. And he resisted, powerless, his eyes set on the massacre that took place around the Keeper of Time. And he understood the full fury, the immense power that she wielded as she cut down her enemies mercilessly. A bright beacon of light in the descending darkness, a vengeful angel upon the wicked. Already, five bodies lay, motionless, on the ground.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Carlisle saw the gun being pointed again. Taking off in a blur, he ran to the bandit and threw his shoulder into his chest. The gun misfired, the man flew into a tree ten yards from there, stunned. His forearm had been broken by the strength of his blow and Carlisle contemplated, aghast, the red trail that covered his shirt. His white, stainless shirt now tainted with crimson blood. His nostrils flared, his neck cracking as he tried to fill his senses with the smells of the forest. To no avail. The blood was calling… pulsating in the man's body, seeping from his wound.

Carlisle shook from head to toe, struggling, no, battling against his inner beast to refrain from drinking the man dry. He was there, unconscious, ripe for the taking. A highwayman who condoned killings young women, or raping them. The world wouldn't miss him. No. Carlisle snarled, his fangs showing. But right before he could jump upon his victim, Frances' blade appeared in his line of sight, startling him. Its brightness and humming energy distracted him from his victim just long enough for her to yell.

— "Come on!"

And she grabbed his hand, fleeing from the scene at great speed. Surprised, Carlisle let the wind distract him from his need, and ran alongside her until she was panting so heavily that he feared for her life. But still, she didn't slow down, taking them away from the highwaymen and the village. They ran for a long time – for a human – until they came upon a stream, and Frances literally jumped into the freezing water with a string of curses. Carlisle followed, hoping that the cold water would dull his senses. The young woman tore his shirt from his chest, throwing it downstream and doing the same with her clothes. Then she shook her head in the ice-cold water, her moves frantic. By now, her lips were entirely blue, and she was nearly naked.

Then she climbed on the bank and wrapped herself in the woollen cloak.

— 'Can you … build a … fire?' she asked, her teeth chattering.

Carlisle nodded, shirtless. His senses were returning, his mind starting to process what had just happened. Then he understood. The stream had washed the blood away from her, and from his shirt. Now, the only scent that remained were those of the forest. Her hands were shaking so much that he ordered her to stay put; she heartily obliged. Carlisle built the biggest fire ever, fishing some clothes from her pack and warming them across it so that she could dress in dry, comfy clothes. The vampire helped her into her tunic, his eyes not even watching her bare skin, mindful not to touch her with his icy fingers.

— "Thank you" she said, colour returning to her face gradually.

Carlisle sat on the other side of the fire, taking a moment to listen to the noises of the night. The danger, it seemed, had passed. Bandits had scattered to the high winds, and there was no blood left to trigger his inner instinct. The vampire turned his golden eyes to the young woman.

— "It is I who thank you. I would have killed them, and drank them dry."

Frances shuddered under her cloak, shrinking her neck in an attempt to get warmer.

— "Yeah. They deserved it, still… I hate it when I have to kill humans. I just… they were too many, I couldn't control my slices to keep them alive"

Her haunted look unsettled him, but he had no words of wisdom to impart so he changed the subject instead.

— "You're quite handy with that blade."

— "Lots and lots of training, my dear," she responded with a quirked eyebrow. "And pretty awesome teachers. But it doesn't deflect bullets, thanks for that."

— "That was the least I could do."

Her eyebrows shot up, a dark chuckle escaping her lips. She probably wasn't used to people taking bullets and dubbing it 'the least they could do'. Overall, he was rather impressed she had dodged the first one, and heard the second. Her awareness on the battlefield was that of a seasoned warrior. And the way she danced with that blade… Well, needless to say, that she mastered the technique of her elven sword without a fault. Somehow, he wondered if she was entirely human… But the shadows that danced across her tired face, now, told him otherwise. Just flesh and bones. And a beating heart that had resumed its steady pace now.

— "So, congrats, I think" she ventured. "You didn't kill that woman. You need to master this attractiveness, though. I left you five minuets and she launched herself in your lap"

Carlisle tensed at the memory of the wench huddled against him. How could that stupid woman miss how cold his body was?

— "She didn't make it easy. Damn, I was so close… I hate it when I lose control."

— "You didn't" was Frances' stern reply.

The vampire scoffed; she was always eager to find the silver lining in a cloud. Her optimism, though, failed at reaching him.

— "But I almost caved in."

Fire danced in her chocolate eyes as she regarded him thoughtfully.

— "You fled. That's an intelligent way of avoiding confrontation. I wonder if you use pheromones."

— "Pheromones?"

Her kips quirked slightly, her expression still sad.

— "Sorry, anachronical notion. It's a chemical compound produced by one's body to trigger a reaction in its peers."

Carlisle's eyebrows shot up. Sometimes, Frances forgot that he had yet to become a doctor. His education, if rather extensive compared to highwaymen, didn't include medicine and biology. Her absent gaze told him she was nonetheless pursuing her idea.

— "Wait, shouldn't I be able to smell it? You smell nothing to me"

Her furrowed eyebrows nearly made him laugh. Her brain ran so fast, sometimes, testing theories, grasping implications that were so far away from his mind, then getting back to the point in a heartbeat. Experience or studies? Still, this 'smell' idea just didn't work, for Frances tended to forget the main point of it all.

— "I'm dead, remember?"

Her face fell.

— "Right… My bad"

And she left it at that, turning in for the night as Carlisle kept watch. Nightmare plagued her sleep, the result of killing or more ancient wounds, he didn't ask. The vampire only scooted closer, sometime setting a calming hand over her shoulder to keep her from whimpering. The strange sensation of warmth suddenly flooded him; it felt like a 'thank you'. Puzzled, Carlisle couldn't help but relish in the solace it brought him. His body vibrated, as is alive anew, and his gaze settled on the scrunched eyebrows of the Keeper of Time.

There was so much in her mind to unburden, and he wondered how he could possibly help her. If they were meant to meet again, he would need to find a solution in his three hundred years of life; a fair retribution.

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