Shelter from the Storm

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standard fanfic disclaimers apply.

a/n Thanks to Adalind for suggesting the X-Files and Harmne for the X-Files info, since I d never seen the show! I suppose this chapter is a crossover but the story as a whole is not so it's staying right here. enjoy.

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Many thanks to everyone who leaves comments/ reviews/ PMs. So cool. thx!

love

sunny

Chapter 13 - The XXXRangemanXXX File

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[Ranger]

Tank escorted the agents into my office at Rangeman. I waved them to the visitors' chairs while Tank took a seat on the leather sofa behind me.

I glanced at the notes on my computer screen. "Agent Scully, Agent Mulder." Smith, Jones...

They nodded. I looked them over. They didn't really look like the usual FBI staff agents Rangeman works with. She was red-haired and petite, big blue eyes. Prim skirt suit and too high heels. He was about my height, mediocre suit, bad tie. A little on the pretty side.

LOL, said Anthony, who was watching a live feed in the next room. Pot, kettle.

Shut the fuck up. I never wear a bad suit.

LOL, bro.

I said, "What can I do for the FBI today?"

Mulder spoke earnestly, "It has come to our attention that the military—perhaps I should say covert government operations—is using agents who have psychic talents."

"Excuse me?"

"This cannot come as a surprise, Mr. Manoso," said Scully. "The government has been involved in extrasensory studies for years."

"And."

''Mr. Manoso, your name is often mentioned in a rather...secretive or hushed manner in relation to strong ESP ability. We'd like to discuss that with you.''

?

Mulder glanced at Tank as if unsure about our privacy. Tank glared in a Buddha-like way. Mulder finally went on, ''You were covert ops, were you not?''

''I can neither confirm nor deny that information, Agent Mulder."

Mulder ignored me. "We believe..."

"He believes!" broke in the woman. Scully.

"...that humans have no extrasensory abilities, that these "gifts" are instead an alien attribute. Thus—"

"You're fucking kidding me," I said.

"You would perhaps be unaware, a grandparent might..."

I'd heard enough. "Look, you're here under false pretenses. Mitch will show you out.'' I pressed the comm unit on my desk.

"Wait!" shouted Mulder.

"At least hear us out, Mr. Manoso. I am a fully qualified medical doctor. I studied at Johns Hopkins," said Scully.

LOL. From Anthony.

"It is very simple to run tests. I also have a PhD in DNA research from Yale."

Big fucking deal.

"And you studied alien DNA? Do they even have DNA?" I asked. "Aliens, I mean."

"So you admit aliens exist?" Mulder was getting excited.

I said, "I'm a busy man, don't waste my time. Mitch will show you out."

Scully asked me, "Why did you agree to see us then? Surely you're curious?"

''Lady, I run a paramilitary offshore army and on the domestic front Rangeman enters into contracts with various government agencies including the FBI. When I slotted you into today's appointment diary I was misled about the purpose of this meeting. Please leave."

Mitch appeared in the doorway."Sir?"

Neither agent rose from his/her seat. Mulder said quickly, "I can tell what you're thinking!"

"Then you have more ESP than I do, Agent Mulder.''

He said, "You think we're nut jobs."

"Is that a technical term, sir?" asked Mitch. I waved him out and shrugged.

Mulder told me, "I am a trained psychologist and parapsychologist. I was a Rhodes Scholar! I went to Oxford."

?

Are you one of those guys who has to constantly 'one-up' everyone else? Your Oxford trumps my Harvard and Stanford, your partner's Hopkins and Yale? WTF? Does Anthony win all, since he has more degrees from even better places?

And all this money, I'm rich, I'm rich! ROTFLMAO! I win! crowed Anthony.

Please shut up...

My silence was getting to Mulder. He got a little agitated. I meant to hide my smile, but I guess it leaked through.

"I am not a crackpot!" the agent yelled.

Scully placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Fox, sweetheart, you're getting too emotional."

He jerked away. "Hell, no! I knew a guy once who was a lot worse at that than me."

Scully and I said, ''What?''

''Look, Colonel...listen, what should we call you? Mr. Manoso, Colonel? Ranger?"

"You don't need to call me anything because unless you're here to contract a rendition or a job, you're leaving now.''

"Please at least listen. There are aliens in our world, Colonel. All kinds of them, probably both good and bad. I believe the better ones marry and mingle with humans...but the bad ones, they kill instead. My sister was killed by [whispers] bad aliens. This month, on Halloween, it will be the 5th anniversary of her death.''

''Maybe it was zombies,'' I suggested sarcastically.

''She was killed by aliens! And so if indeed you have alien blood, we can only hope it is the good kind, beneficent kind...Scully can run tests, DNA and so on. Please reconsider!"

I pushed back from my desk, ready to show these, well, crackpots, to the door. My office door, left ajar by super vigilant Mitch who hovered just outside, was suddenly shoved open and my daughter Zoë stormed in.

"Daddy daddy daddy! The Yankees LOST!" Zoë is a four year old whirlwind. She was dressed in a black ruffled miniskirt over pink, red, and black striped leggings. On top she wore a tiny Derek Jeter NY Yankees jersey and her Yankees hat.

Yes, her outfit clashed. Not my problem.

She hurled the baseball cap to the floor and stood hands on hips, glaring at me. The New York Yankees just lost the first round playoffs and were out of this year's World Series. Zoë stomped her foot.

What? I wasn't pitching, it's not my fault.

I said, "I know, baby.''

''It just happened!''

We eyed each other.

Zoë went on, "We were watching in the break room with the guys! Hal said they should send Sabathia down to Columbus, so he'd learn to pitch!"

?

"And then Monster yelled at the TV, too. He told Alex Rodriguez he was a piker. A-Rod struck out and Monster yelled: You almost knocked over your alcohol with your knife." Imitating her favorite bodyguard's Russian accent, " ...What does that mean, daddy?''

Maybe it got lost in the translation, I suggest.

Zoë thinks, No.

Now Agent Scully, the woman, interrupted. She picked up Zoë's Yankee hat, offered it to Zoë. Said, "Hello. You must be Zoë.''

Zoë looked at her. My daughter has been taught to be polite to adults but like me she was getting a strange vibe here.

Who are these people? she asks.

But she took the hat, said thank you. I didn't introduce her and at that moment Britta, Zoë's nanny came in. She smiled at me, mouthed "Sorry," and told Zoë, "Zoë, it is time for your snack then you have ballet."

"Okay." Zoë gave me a hug, gave the agents a sharp look, and went happily off with Britta, presumably to ballet.

In the two seconds of confusion and hugs, I took my eyes off the FBI people. Now I refocused, just in time to see Mulder reach out and pinch up a long curly black hair off the pale grey office carpet. He straightened up, other hand thumbing open a clean white envelope.

My Glock appeared instantly in my hand, no thought needed. I racked the slide and both agents jumped a few inches, turned pale.

I said, ''You investigate or research either of my daughters you're dead. Both of you. Hand me the envelope.''

''Please...it's so important!''

Mitch was outside, so I told Tank, "Get them out of here."

One good look at Tank's thunderous expression and the agents hustled out. Mitch took over, led them away. Tank came back in, handed me the envelope with Zoe's DNA evidence. "Ranger..."

I held up a finger. "Wait." I clicked my mouse and the elevator interior came up on my monitor.

... ... ...

Mulder and Scully in the elevator:

Mulder: "What were your feelings?''

Scully: ''I do have my suspicions.''

Mulder: "He's one of them."

"No," says Scully. "He's just too..." She heaves a big sigh, fans her face with both hands. "Geez. He's so hot!"

Mulder says, "But the military, black ops!"

Scully,"Soooo hot, amaaaazingly h..."

Mulder: "ESP! Covert training! Scully, he...he is...an alie..."

"Mulder, he is just so beautiful, so—omigod, that body, the hair, the eyes, so, so..." sigh.

"He is an alien, Scully!"

... ... ...

In Ranger's office, Tank and Anthony look over Ranger shoulder at the monitor. They watch the agents on the screen as they discuss the possible alien-ness of his, Ranger's, DNA.

Ranger shakes his head. "Why do they think aliens have DNA?"

Tank hums the Twilight Zone music.

Anthony: "Wrong music." He hums the X-Files theme.

Then, ''Should we, ah, neutralize the inquiry, boss?" asks Tank.

'Naw. The guy's a crackpot."

''Whacko,'' agrees Tank.

''Loco,'' says Anthony.

''No one will believe him anyway. Let it go,'' says Ranger. He laughs. "Alien DNA. Fuck me."

the end of the story/ series tbc

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