Summary: Scully leaves the X-Files and returns. Mulder makes some serious sacrifices for Scully. Disclaimer: All these fine characters belong to Chris Carter/1013 Productions/Fox and I'm just borrowing them for fun. No copyright infringement intended. Please distribute freely just keep my name attached. Category/Rating: TA, MSR/R for violence and language. I originally dedicated this to Stef Davies, the keeper of the UK Gossamer Archives, and guess what. The revised version and Angelis 3 is dedicated to her still. ANGELIS -- AN X-FILES FANFIC DBKate, 1996 **************************** "Have you ever been to Hell?" The voice was very calm, but not soothing. "Hell is a room. That's right. Just a room. Are you surprised?" My face is itching, thought Fox Mulder. He licked some dried blood from his lips. "But what a room, man. The walls are black. The ceiling is black. You can't see yourself when you're in there; you've turned black. I was waiting for the fire. Coulda used some light. And I was waiting for the Devil, too. You know why, Mulder?" //My hands are numb.// Mulder pulled slightly against the handcuffs and hissed with pain when they bit into him. "Because I was gonna spit right in his fucking face." Alex Krycek spat on the floor. "But he never showed. Stood me up. And I didn't blame him. Because, you know, I wasn't alone in that room. I had company. The kind of company that would make the Devil run. I could barely hear It at first, but It was there. Talking to me; asking me some questions. Can I ask you some questions, Mulder? Are you listening, Mulder?" Krycek cracked the butt of his Sig Sauer across Mulder's jaw. Flashes of light and pain. Krycek's voice was starting to shimmer in and out of Mulder's mind. "It said, 'Hey. Do you remember God's voice? Come on. I know you do. Everyone gets to hear It once. You know, you're born; you die. It happens in dreams, in the shower even. You can be taking a fucking shave and hear His voice. Did you ever hear it, Mulder? Well, I heard it. Right there in that room. And it was The Man, Mulder. No doubt. Right there with me. And He said, Alex, you are in Hell, pal. You know why? Cause I'm gonna let you hear My Voice. And I only got one thing to say to you, pal..." said Krycek, his breaths becoming short and frantic. "I love you not," said Krycek staring into space, his eyes wide with insanity and fear. *Scully* Mulder tried to swallow some of the blood that was threatening to choke him. "That's what He said, Mulder. Over and over. I couldn't take it. Do you have any idea what that's like? You don't have a fucking clue. That's Hell, Mulder. Yeah, that's the room and the fire." Krycek was rocking back and forth, the gun in his hand trembling. "And they want to put me back in there, Mulder. You want to put me back in there don't you, Mulder?" Krycek kicked him in the stomach. Mulder retched hoarsely. *Please Scully* "WELL, I'M NOT GOING BACK!" Krycek was shrieking; the gun shaking dangerously. *I'm sorry, Scully. Please.* Perhaps Mulder had said the words aloud; perhaps Krycek could sense the one thought that keep repeating relentlessly in Mulder's mind. Krycek stopped screaming. His shaking stilled and he stared at Mulder for a long moment. He smiled. He was now very dangerous. Krycek knelt in front of him and brought his face close. Mulder tried to turn his head, but Krycek maneuvered around to be in front of his face. Mulder could smell sweat, booze and the faint odor of madness. He closed his eyes. "Scully?" asked Krycek, softly "She's not here, Mulder." Mulder vomited. Blood...bile slid out of his mouth and nose. "She doesn't give a rat's ass about you anymore Mulder. You made damn sure of that. You dumped her, Mulder. Don't you remember? Dumped her for our little friend in the UN. Yeah, our girl Marita. Whatta girl, huh Mulder? I wish I'd seen your face when you caught her with our boy. Too bad no cameras for that one." Krycek smiled warmly. He traced a finger down Mulder's swollen jaw. "But hey, she's living the good life now, isn't she? She's an SAC now, Mulder. Why would she come back for you? Moving up that ladder, man. And oh, hey man, I hear she doing Pendrell. Did you know that, Mulder? She's got it all. Everything you couldn't give her. She must hate you, man. You almost ruined it for her, " said Krycek, chuckling softly. "Yeah, I bet she'll be pretty happy when they find the rotting, stinking body I'm gonna toss on their front stairs tonight. What do you think?" Mulder heard screaming. "SCULLY!" Please let it stop, he thought. "SCULLY!!!!" Mulder mouth was open and he realized with shock that he was the one screaming. Please stop. *Please.* "SCULLY!!! PLEASE!!!" I'm insane now, he thought as his screams echoed through the basement. Krycek sat back in the chair, laughing. "Go ahead, Mulder. Come on...let's hear some more. She's not coming for you anymore. She's gone, Mulder." "SCULLLYYYY!!!" his voice was tearing; shredding him. He saw Samantha. His father. His mother. And the smoker. Krycek leaned in and whispered in his ear. "And she's not coming back," Krycek smiled. Fox Mulder passed out. Krycek laughed and shook his head. This was really too much fun to stop but, all good things must come to an end, as they say. He pulled the safety catch off of the gun and pushed in the clip. Besides, there are other considerations. He put the muzzle of the gun under Mulder's chin and cocked it with a click. A single shot echoed throughout the basement room. Krycek felt the burn in his side before he hit the floor. The last thing he saw was Dana Scully standing over him, a smoking gun in her hand. And Alex Krycek felt himself going back. Back to the room. The black room. The room of darkness, fire and unmerciful voices. ***************** Part Two "Dr. Langford, stat on four." Mulder heard the tinny, faraway voice seemingly in the back of his head. He listened for a moment and tried to discern the sounds around him, the hums and quiet beeps. A soft footstep. A door shutting. He didn't try to open his eyes, but lay silently, feeling a cool sheet under his fingertips. A man's laughter; a tray clattering onto a cart. "Dr. Tinhope. Pick up on two." The voice seemed closer now as his mind became clearer. Mulder tried to fight it. No, I want to sleep. I don't want to know. He tried to swallow. His throat constricted. If I just lie here maybe I'll go back, he thought desperately. A dull throb pushed against his eyes and spread to his temples. He shut his eyes tightly. I don't want to see. That damn Krycek. Can't do anything right. Can't even kill a man who's practically begging him to. He grimaced slightly and felt his lips crack. Goddamn it. He tried to swallow again. Why am I here? I don't want to be here. The throb sharpened and thrummed in his ears. I can't; I won't, he thought until he felt a wet cloth against his head. Oh, that feels good. Almost good enough to make him glad he was alive. Almost. He heard a slight splash and then felt the cool wetness against his parched lips. The coolness covered his aching eyes. Some saint had wandered in his room by accident, he thought deliriously. They must have taken a wrong turn. The cloth ran along the side of his face and down to his neck. He could feel a hand run gently through his hair. "Mulder?" said a voice next to his ear. No, not a saint. An angel, he thought his eyes still shut. Only angels had voices that sweet. A faint smell of perfume washed over him. He remembered reading about ambrosia, the heavenly scent that filled rooms when angels visited you. Just to let you know they were actually angels, not some demon in disguise. That's good, he thought, I seem to have trouble telling them apart. An image of Marita flashed behind his lids. A sharp pain in his temple made him grimace again. "It's alright, Mulder. You're safe now. It's all right." Of course I'm safe now. I have an angel in my room. Who would mess with an angel? They're tougher than they look. You have to be when your job is to keep the Devil at bay. All beauty on the outside, all steel and love underneath. And they sure smell good, thought Mulder with an inward smile. I wonder what drugs they've given me. "Can you hear me, Mulder?" I can hear you, but you're in the wrong room. You should know how many people in this world deserve you more than I do. The pain began to snake down to his jaw. Like magic the wet cloth moved there to soothe him. Sure, I need you, he thought. I need you more than I've ever needed anything in my life. But deserve you? No. Mulder felt a cup against his lips. He opened his mouth slightly and began to drink what could have been the coldest, sweetest water he'd ever tasted. He finished and breathed deeply. Thank you, angel. When I devote my life to God after I get out of here, I'll tell Him you sent me. "OK, Mulder, now try to rest. I'll be right here." Right here. Are you sure? Because I still think there are better things you could be doing than taking care of me. Mulder opened his eyes slightly. He blinked as they filled with light. Maybe I am dead, he thought. Why, this could be heaven. That's a place with angels and light. I just never expected to end up there. His eyes adjusted and he could make out tubing and bed sheets. Hmm, didn't know they had IV's in heaven. Guess I'm not dead. He turned to look around. And saw Dana Scully sitting there. He shut his eyes quickly again. He felt his heart pound in his ears. I'm hallucinating now, he thought. Damn it. That's a cruel trick for an angel to pull. Turning his hopes into mirages. I'll open my eyes again and she'll be gone. And I'll be back to wishing I was dead. Thanks, pal. Thanks for nothing. He opened his eyes and looked. And Scully was still there. Almost blinding him with the vision of her. A vision of beauty, steel... And love. ******************* Part Three "Scully, take a look at this." Scully had returned to the X-Files on the day of the worst blizzard in DC's history. Mulder had immediately thrust the Weekly World News under her freezing nose. She snorted through her scarf and smacked him out of her way with an icy mitten. Two hot chocolates and ten slides later, she was on the phone to the travel office. Yes, two tickets to Holyroo, Kansas.; that's right. "I'm glad you're back, Scully." Two weeks later Mulder had abandoned her in Red Rocks Canyon, chasing another dead end. Her jaw would hurt later from being clenched for so many hours; eyes stinging from angry tears. She thought about leaving again, the X-Files, the Bureau... Him. "Glad to be back, Mulder." They had yelled and screamed at each other in Montana. Mulder had forgotten that a trip to an isolated cabin for a weekend required more than two Playboys and a pound of sunflower seeds; Scully had loudly refreshed his memory. They had hid in a small lighthouse in Cape May from something they still weren't able to explain, but glad it hadn't caught them anyway. They saw lights in the sky over Nevada's Valley of Fire and Scully dreamed of white rooms and things she wished she could forget. Mulder bought a gallon of coffee ice cream in New York; and they ate it until they were sick. They argued again in San Diego and neither one of them could remember exactly why. But in the end, it was just the two of them. Together. As always. In Pennsylvania one night the moon was so perfect that their shadows were cast along the entire height of a small mountain that overlooked a corn field. They had waved and jumped while watching the huge shadows, two giddy giants in the second-hand light. Frogs had fallen from the sky in Minnesota; a good sign Mulder had said. "The best is yet to come, Scully." He was happy...and hopeful. Scully decided not bother him too much about the reports that were three weeks behind. Or mention the lump under her arm ********** Part Four "But you're not sick, are you Scully?" No, Scully. You're not sick; here look at this fax, Scully. Let's go, Scully. Look at what I've found. You're fine aren't you, Scully? It had started with a sore throat. She would sip tea with lemon and try to save her voice. You should take better care of yourself, Scully. Come on, Scully, it'll be a nice trip to the forest. The first week she had been merely hoarse, after the fifth she could barely speak. He had started to signal in sign language to her for a laugh -- she bent over her work pretending not to notice. Oh, you'll get better, Scully. How about meeting me in New York? I have something. Then came the dark patches on her arms and neck. He had enjoyed poking fun at the turtlenecks she had taken to wearing. Her Emma Peale look, he said. Very attractive, Scully. If you have a pair of leather pants to go with that it could be love. Come on, Scully. Wake up. Why she was she so exhausted all the time? She would fall asleep in the car, the plane; even in the middle of a meal. She wasn't herself, really, but she'll bounce back. Take a look at this, Scully. Her clothes began to hang; her face all angles and eyes. Aren't you eating, Scully? Hey, how about ribs, Scully? Chaco Chicken? Anything for a laugh now, but Scully didn't laugh anymore. Come on, Scully. We've got work to do. It was a crisp, beautiful spring day when she told him she had to leave. "Why, Scully?" Damn it. Now what? "Because I'm dying, Mulder," she had said simply. And she had to hold him that afternoon, rocking him slowly back and forth murmuring against his forehead, intelligible words of love and friendship. Fingers and kisses through his hair. A small hand caressing his face and neck, finally coming to rest in his own. He could not speak. //A company of evildoers encircle me.// He could not cry. //They stare and gloat over me.// He stared at the thin hand in his. Saw white fingers and dark blue veins. //They have pierced my hands and feet. I can count all my bones.// And he didn't cry. Not even when he left her at the hospice, the cheery death-rooms that were offered instead of a sterile hospital bed. They had flowered curtains, cushioned chairs and all the drugs you would need. The tears still didn't come as he walked out, promising to be there in the morning. Even though he knew he wasn't coming back. ************** Part Five "I'm here for a deal." The smoking man didn't turn from the television to face the voice behind him. He knew who it was. He lifted the scotch glass and drained its contents without malice. He reached into his suit jacket for another cigarette, lifted it to his lips to light and then thought better of it. He contented himself with rolling it between his fingers, feeling the slight crush of tobacco leaves underneath the thin paper. "And you will make it with me," said Fox Mulder as he took the seat across from him. Mulder wasn't running on his usual furious strength tonight. That's interesting. The smoking man graced his visitor with a glance. There was no anger in Mulder's eyes just simple resolution. The smoking man stiffened slightly; now on his guard. This was unusual. A calm Fox Mulder was probably more dangerous than the one who, screaming, had held a gun to his head those few times. Much more so. "We don't make deals," said the smoking man, deciding it might be a good time to light up. He looked around for the lighter. "I understand, but you will," said Mulder, picking up the lighter from the table in front of him and calmly lighting the smoking man's cigarette. The smoker eyed him very warily now. Mulder's expression had not changed in the slightest. "What do you want?" asked the smoker leaning back in his chair and locking his eyes onto Mulder's "I want one of them," said Mulder, his eyes showing nothing. "Them?" asked the smoking man beginning, for the first time in a long time, to fear for his safety. "One of the healers," said Mulder, exhaling slightly. The smoking man almost laughed his relief outright. He had overestimated Mulder this time. He knew Mulder wanted. And why. "What healers?" asked the smoking man, now feeling bored. Maybe Mulder will pull out his gun and make this a little more interesting. "The same ones as Jeremiah Smith. I know there are more. And you will give me one," said Mulder, upholstering his weapon. That's good, Fox. Very good. The smoking man took a deep drag and felt a slight sharpness in his chest. He impatiently ground out the cigarette and waited for Mulder to start the tirade. Hopefully this wouldn't last too long. There was business tonight. "There is no precedent for what you are asking me. There are no advantages or gain to be made. And there is no reason you could possibly devise to change these facts," said the smoking man, trying to fight the urge to look at his watch. Time. Such a wasteful invention. "There are many reasons. But to save time I will explain the one that concerns you directly. There has always been some confusion on my part as to why you've allowed me to live, so long as I seem to cause you more trouble than I'm worth. While I would like to imagine this is a mere case of warmhearted generosity on your part, I'm afraid I'm forced to come to the conclusion that in some way I'm valuable to you and your cohorts," said Mulder, pushing a clip into his gun with a snap. "This may or may not be true," said the smoker, hesitating. "But that will not change my decision regarding your attempt to save your partner's life. There will be no deal," Mulder took the safety catch off of his Smith & Wesson. The smoking man calmly lit another cigarette and looked at his watch. If history was any indication, this should be over in two more minutes. Some histrionics, some threats, and Mulder will storm out back into the night. Mulder checked his clip once more. And held the gun under his own chin. "You will give me a healer. Or whatever plans you have for me, whatever value I hold for you will no longer be a factor in your *project*," said Mulder, the cold steel against his pounding throat. The smoking man's cheek twitched slightly. Well, Mulder has finally become a player, he thought, not without a trace of bitterness. But isn't that what we've planned all along? "Don't go there, Agent Mulder...or your sister may pay the price," said the smoking man, testing. Waiting. "She's paid it already. I've seen what you've done to her," said Mulder, his voice rising only slightly. "It's over," The gun began to leave a small red mark against his throat. "Give him to me; give him to Dana Scully and I'll cooperate with the project. If not, you'll have to do without me. It's that simple," Mulder cocked the trigger with a click. The smoking man sat silently for a long moment. The mantel clock ticked softly. Outside, somewhere; a car engine started, then stalled. The smoker couldn't tell if there were tears in Mulder's eyes or simply the haze from the smoke clouding his own vision. It didn't matter anymore. Everything dies. "Very well, Mr. Mulder, you have your deal. And there is business this very evening." The smoker exhaled. "And you are welcome to join us." ******************** Part Six *I don't want to* Clouds and pain. Clouds from the morphine that the doctors had instructed the nurse to inject into her upon request. Pain from the times she tried to refuse it. Pain can be good. It lets you know that you're still alive. Oh, but this; this couldn't be pain. This had to be hell. Rolling waves of agony throughout her body; each beginning before the last one would subside, until it became her entire existence. There are things worse than death, she thought. "Just tell me when you want more, dear," said the nurse, gently adjusting Scully's IV. She sat back in her chair and began to needlepoint quietly. Damn you. Get out. Take your filthy needles; your drugs; your sweetness and get the fuck away from my deathbed. I don't want to need you. I want to get up. I want my mother. I want Melissa. Give me my sister. Damn you. *I don't want to.* Scully groaned involuntarily. The nurse glanced up at her. Scully shook her head. No, no yet. Not until I don't care whether I'm dead or alive. Her mother had been there 24 hours every day for the past week barely sleeping, finally passing out a few hours earlier. The hospital put her up in the room next door promising to wake her when the time came. Scully knew this. They had said it in front of her as though she were some sort of lab experiment, no longer a human, but a butterfly in a death jar that the living must wait upon for a short time longer. She saw them tape up the sign, *Do Not Resuscitate*. They told her brothers would be arriving in a few hours. To say goodbye. *I don't want to.* A tidal wave of pain made her inhale sharply. I am going to scream. I can't scream. Please help me God. I've always believed in you. Please help me now. Just make it stop for one moment. I promise to...I promise to... I don't know. But I'll do it. Scully heard the door open. Mulder? Is that you? I don't want you to see me like this. Please go. I don't want you to see how badly my body has betrayed me. My soul and mind are still here but no one will listen. Please, Mulder, please don't go. I know you'll hear me. I'm so glad you're here. Because I'm afraid, Mulder. *I don't want to.* The bounty hunter walked in. Scully looked up at him. She could feel two hot tears roll down her cheeks. I don't care who you are, please don't leave me alone here. Please stay a moment. Hold my hand. I don't care what you've done. Just be here. I'll forgive you anything, please. Because I'm afraid. He walked to her bedside. Scully weakly grasped his hand. "I don't want to die," she whispered. "You don't," he replied, and laid his palm upon her forehead. ************ ANGELIS II: EURYDICE RISING AN X-FILES FANFIC DBKate, 1996 ******************** Part One //Hell is a room. But whatta room.// It has Persian rugs and bright Picassos. Tables of cherry wood and Queen Anne chairs. //I was waiting for the fire. Coulda used some light.// The man pulled the cigarette from his pocket and lit it. A filthy habit, but it had it's own allure. Such a good, slow way to kill yourself. He examined his Stolinskny, traced a finger along the condensation on the glass. He now had a taste for good vodka. Drink enough of it and anyone can become a connoisseur. And he had certainly drank his share. //I was waiting for the Devil, but he never showed.// He remembered the first night in the room. The smiling well-dressed men. Talking football of all things. How about those Redskins? I think they're in for a helluva year. What do you say? They put the first drink into his shaking hands. And the next. The wonderful burn had sent the illusion of peace straight down his spine. They gave him another. Now, we have a small job for you; it's almost nothing, really. Soon he realized just how mundane evil could be. //Have you ever heard My Voice?// But working was good. It were the thoughts that came when the work was done that were trying to kill him. Thoughts about the truth, and now; the lies. The lies he was forced to spread to those who wanted to believe, who wanted to trust; and to those whose faith in him had never wavered. Thoughts of one woman who had always trusted him. Completely. Thoughts about how she would probably never speak to him again. Or, worse, if she did...what would she say? //I love you not.// There are things worse than death, he thought. Fox Mulder drained his drink and threw his glass into the fire. There was business tonight. And they were expecting him. *************** Part Two "Found him." Langly burst into the Lone Gunman headquarters and slammed the door behind him quickly. He stopped and turned back. He reopened the door a crack and peered out cautiously, squinting into the dark hall making sure no one...or nothing, lurked in the shadows. Frohike motioned him over. "So what's the deal?" Langly tossed a manila envelope on the desk and sat down with a huff. "Check this out. Looks like a Special Agent we all know and love has joined the dark side of The Force." Byers raised his eyebrows and walked over. Frohike glanced at Langly and opened the envelope. He pulled out three large color pictures and spread them out on the table. Photos of Fox Mulder and the smoking man. "Damn," Byers whistled. "Well, like the saying goes, *Trust No One*, man," continued Langly. "I mean absolutely NO one." Frohike said nothing. He passed the photos under a magnifying glass. "Ummm. Excuse me," said Langly, with more than slight annoyance. "I wasn't talking about me. I spent four hours freezing my ass off in a Rent-A-Wreck for those. You'd think they were on a god damn date." "No, these photos aren't doctored," said Byers, examining one closely. "Oh, gee, thanks, Byers. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna change our phone lines. Who knows what the FBI's newest Prince of Darkness has done around here," said Langly, going to the computer and starting to type. Frohike put the photos down carefully. And picked up the phone. ******************** Part Three "I'm hungry." Candles burn brightest at their end. Terminal patients do that sometimes too. They'll sit up ask for food and drop dead minutes later. But...I think I really could eat something, thought Dana Scully. The nurses came and fed her warily. Dying patients shouldn't be this much work. The doctor visited Oh, you feel better today. He shook his head when he left. How the body fights for every breath. //Go not softly into that dark night.// Six days and twelve full meals later the doctor ordered the MRI. The results returned and he ordered another. And one more. The next morning he sent all three results to Sloan Kettering and received a call back that afternoon. The cancer was gone. Completely. At first the doctors fought for explanations. Then they fought for credit. Obviously it wasn't as advanced as you thought, Langston. Excuse me, Bob, but you did the biopsies yourself. That damned lab. Do you think the combination of taxil and chemo did it? I ordered the taxil. I thought that was a intern's mistake, Bob. No. I definitely ordered it. The MRI was fuzzy. Hey, Bob, this draft of the journal piece has your name first. I'd like to discuss that. Some of the nurses refused to go near her room. A hushed female chorus in the halls. The restrooms. The doctors are fools; that was a dead woman. We've seen them at that stage. No one comes back from there. We know something's happened. Some of them whispered of miracles; others of the work of the Devil. But we know. Something has happened. Dana Scully sat upright in her bed, the rosary beads they had placed in her once weak and still hands now slid aimlessly through her fingers. She listened to her mother's wracking sobs as they filled the room. A symphony of hysterical gratitude. The day she left the hospice she walked out slowly on her own power. As she went down the hall out the door to the sunlight, she was watched silently by doctors, nurses; and the families of the men, women and children who were still tethered by machines and pain to fading lives. Their faces were filled with wonder, fear... And heartbroken envy. Scully returned to her apartment, her body still weak from it's terrible struggle against itself. Her mother moved in and treated her like a newborn. But that's exactly what she was, wasn't she? Reborn. And she had no idea why. And she had no idea why Mulder hadn't visited. Hadn't even called. Perhaps he couldn't deal with her illness. Many people fear the dying. Maybe he blamed himself. Whatever it was; she would forgive him. Being returned from the dead puts you in a forgiving sort of mood. She tried his cel phone, his house, without success. Weeks passed. Her messages to Skinner received vague responses. She became a little less forgiving. That damned Mulder. When the going gets tough, guess who gets going. Oh, to Hell with him. Two months later she tossed her mom out with hugs and kisses. Yes, I'm much better. Yes, I'll call every day. No, I can go shopping by myself. I can do everything by myself. It's just...where is Mulder? Maybe...no. He's just being Mulder. On some Mulder-only chase. Fine. I don't need him. But... Later that evening the phone rang. It was Frohike. "Dana. I think we have to talk." ********************** Part Four "Do you like opera, Mr. Mulder?" //Destruction's our Delight! Delight our greatest sorrow!!// The witches twirled in their dance macabre to the baroque strains, their plot had worked. Aeneas had listened to the false voice of the gods and forsaken Dido for a bleak destiny. One that was fated to destroy them both. I hate opera, thought Fox Mulder. He sat in his box chair at the opera house and stared at an envelope that had just been delivered into his hand. Out had fallen a Polaroid and a packet. The picture showed a young-red haired man...perhaps twenty-five; perhaps younger. There was an address written on the back and two sentences. "Tomorrow. Nine o'clock." //Elisa burns tonight and Carthage bleeds tomorrow!// Mulder examined the packet. A bitter almond smell assailed his nostrils. He immediately recognized it. Arsenic. Enough arsenic to kill twenty red-haired young men. Young men who would never again enjoy a sunrise, wrestle with a best friend...argue with their parents and make up again...throw an alarm clock across a room..dance drunkenly on a pavement with a girl they just met...or hear the voice of a woman they already loved. Because they were going to be dead. Murdered. And Fox Mulder was being sent to do it. Graduation time, thought Mulder numbly. He opened the packet and gingerly stuck a finger inside. He brought two tiny grains to his tongue. No taste; slight burn. Almost pure. That's good. That should bring on death within, oh, thirty seconds. Great. He pocketed the poison. That's good and quick. Yes, it should do the job quite nicely. Mulder sat back in his chair and started feeling as though he might learn to enjoy opera after all. You should become more open to things during this lifetime, he thought. Dido began her lament. //Darkness shades me; in thy arms let me rest.// He had made a deal, certainly. There was no doubt in his mind what he had to do. He had made his decision. //More I would, but Death invades me.// He thought of Scully's healthy, beautiful face and, for the first time in months, smiled. There would no turning back. //Death is now, a welcome guest.// And he would have no regrets. ********************* Part Five "I'm sorry, Dana." Frohike handed her the package that evening with a strange and delicate sadness. If she needed anything from him or the others, she knew where to find them; they would be there for her. She wasn't alone. Of course not. Why here's Mulder, she thought, slowly drifting into shock. Right here in these pictures that Frohike gave me. Mulder and the smoker. She spent the first two hours examining the photographs, tearing apart any apparent minutia that might falsify their existence. Inconsistent shadings, telltale brush marks; shadows gone wrong. Her eyes started to ache, then burn. //Don't leave me alone. I'm afraid.// She spent the next two hours slowly tearing them into tiny pieces. From top to bottom, destroying each part of the offensive scene until only a pile of colorful confetti covered the table. She mindlessly sifted the pieces through her fingers, occasionally feeling the bite of a sharp edge. Then, in one motion, she swept them off the table; they fluttered down, scattered... Lost. No, I am not alone. *They* are here. She looked around her apartment. The familiar peace of home became an ominous tangle of danger. She tried to sit on her couch; then her armchair; perhaps the kitchen. She curled on her bed and then moved to the bathroom. She could not move. She could not stay still. She turned on the TV, the radio and all the lights, then shut them off again. She fought the urge to run. To hide. *They've* been here for a very long time. By four a.m., Scully found herself cowering underneath her bedroom window wrapped in a comforter, shivering; cursing the cold blackness and stars that shone above her. She was drowning in an endless night... And the dawn refused to rescue her. //I'm so glad you're here, Mulder. Because I'm afraid.// She thought of Mulder's warm, smiling face and, for the first time in many months, wept. She rose with the sun and got dressed. She had made her decision. There was no doubt in her mind what she had to do. There would be no turning back. And she would have no regrets. ************************ Part Six "Home, sweet home." Mulder entered the house that had been given to him at the beginning of his assignment. It was an opulent affair, four floors, six baths. endless halls and Moroccan carpets. They told him that the house had been the haven of a Nazi doctor brought here by the American government to continue his work. What work? Let's just say same job, different employers, they laughed. Do you like it? We have others. Paintings of incalculable value decorated the walls, art that storm troopers once carefully and lovingly removed from churches, synagogues and estates the world over, as the screams and pleas of the occupants echoed all the way to the death camps. //We do not forget.// One evening Mulder had found a neatly stacked pile of the doctor's journals, bound in fine grain leather and gold leaf, the pages just slightly tinged with the yellow of age. And there recorded, with perfect grammar and impeccable handwriting, a litany of unspeakable crimes. Crimes that would turn the tales of murderers and madmen into children's stories. Mulder had read them. Then drank himself unconscious. That night in fevered dreams, Mulder thought he could hear these journals, the paintings; the walls themselves whispering to him. //We do not forget.// When he woke he realized that houses were haunted not by the spirits of men, but by the memory of their deeds. But this evening, Mulder threw his coat over an antique chair and fixed himself a vodka. Straight up, on the rocks, just a twist of lime. He took a small sip. No, something is missing. Let's see. He pulled the packet of arsenic from his pocket. And poured it into the glass. No regrets, he thought. He moved over to one of the more comfortable chairs. A large Victorian one with ebony arm rests and an ottoman. He rolled the drink between his palms and watched the liquid and ice twirl. He rubbed the edge of the glass against his lips and closed his eyes. He suddenly felt an unusual sensation. A gun against his forehead. Cold on fevered flesh. Mulder looked up and the glass tumbled from his hand. A poisonous stain spread slowly across the priceless rug. And Dana Scully cocked the trigger. ************ Part Seven "The roses were quite impressive this year." The white haired man lifted the tea cup gingerly to his lips and drank. He carefully set it back to it's saucer and savored it's aroma. Earl Grey. Hot and sweet, jasmine and warm intangible flavors. Perfect. He looked at the sweating man seated opposite of him. Pale and terrified, with hands wringing and such imploring looks. The white haired man sighed and made the slightest of motions to the tall man standing behind him. He lead their frightened guest outside. No, don't worry. Everything is alright. Of course, we understand. He closed the door. You can trust us. The slight burst of silenced gunfire was heard. The white haired man turned to the smoker. "But the azaleas. They were *most* disappointing." The smoker said nothing and quietly lit another cigarette. "I love gardening," the white-haired man continued. "It's science, art, creation. Why, it can give you the very power of life itself." "And death," he said, raising his tea cup. Dresden china. Bone and blue buttercups. "But you're wondering why I called you here." The smoker tapped his ashes in response. "I'm afraid that our new friend's level of commitment is waning," the white-haired man said, picking up a linen napkin and delicately wiping a drop of tea from his lip. "and I fear his loyalty to the project, is frankly, non-existent." "But his value," began the smoker, trying to fight back a cough. The white-haired man's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Being valuable is not the same as being invaluable," he said sharply. "There are others. And when they are gone, there will always be more." The white haired man sighed and picked up his tea. It had turned cold. Ice cold. "That is our way," he continued. "And it's a good way too. Besides, we've received some disturbing news this evening. Agent Scully's been observed entering the house." The smoker coughed loudly. He pulled out a handkerchief, wiped his lips. And tried to hide the bloodstains. "It will be your job to make sure that neither will exit," said the white-haired man; his eyes glittering in a strange combination of ice, fire and darkness. "Ever." ********************* Part Eight "I would tell you not to speak." The gun in Scully's hand trembled slightly; her knuckles white with restraint. Mulder could feel the slight tapping of it against his forehead; cold and hard. Like her voice. "But, then again, I never could resist hearing what you had to say," she said bitterly. Scully uncocked the gun in one violent motion. "I could never resist your explanations. No matter what they were. Because you once proved things to me. Proved things I never would have believed. Even the times you abandoned me; even when I left you..." Her voice began to waver. "I still believed," she said, her eyes all blue fire and sea. Mulder couldn't look up. But the floor; it was threatening to open. I can hear it. I know it can happen. And there are things below it. I know there are. Such things. "Did you know that the day I returned to you, to us; they called me a holy fool?" she said, the bitterness turning into misery. *Scully, please.* "But I'm just an ordinary fool. Aren't I?" Strange, these walls. They move. They talk. Mulder's hands began to shake in terror. They look so black. Mulder closed his eyes, now afraid of the voices that were threatening to take his mind. His soul. He could still feel the room. It's darkness and fire. *Please, Scully.* "And you're very good at coming up with explanations, aren't you?" said Scully coldly. "So I'm sure you'll try to explain this." Her hand made an angry, sweeping gesture through the room. How black these walls can turn, the ceiling too, he thought. I can't see them. I can't see myself. I've turned black. In this room that's all there is. Mulder's entire body was trembling, he resisted the urge to cover his ears. There are voices in here. Unmerciful ones. Scully's voice turned to steel. "But now I've made my decision. Whatever fairy tale, whatever fantastic story you'll devise..." *I'm sorry, Scully, please* Scully's voice rose in pitch and fury, filling the room with rage. "I swear to you that no matter what myth from the depths of hell you will DARE use to try to explain yourself and your actions..." She suddenly stopped, and reached out. Mulder felt her hand under his chin...forcing his face up. Forcing him to listen...to hear....to know. "I will believe you," she whispered. And the darkness, the room and the fire all fell away at once, tumbling back to their hated home in the depths. The voices became still; silenced by a power stronger then they. Mulder suddenly felt air. Warm light, and even with his eyes closed... Saw blue skies. "Because I trust you." And she knelt in front of him. Took his hands and placed them against her cheeks. He felt rain fall into his palms. Is that rain, he thought, no, rain is cold and heartless. This is warm. Warm, sweet drops sliding between his fingers. Rolling down his wrists. He opened his eyes and saw the sky again. How strange, it shouldn't be raining when the skies are so blue. How wonderful. "Because I love you." A voice so soft it could have been a caress. And such light. Even on the clearest day, the sun never shone like this. "And I will not turn back," said Scully, her forehead against Mulder's, her eyes closed. The room was finally stilled and filled with peace. Until the front door burst open. ************************* Part Nine "How do you feel, Mulder?" Mulder looked around the dank basement room. The quick footsteps of the assassins upstairs still echoed in his chest along with a pounding heart. They had reached this small, dark haven in the nick of time. And after three hours... There was silence. //Too bad it really didn't make a difference.// He thought for a moment and decided to answer honestly. "Blessed," he replied. //Because *they'll* be waiting. He knew them now.// He took her hand in his. He held it tightly for a few seconds and let it go. He could still see the scars from the IV's on the back of them; the veins bruised and torn underneath. He had started to tell her about the deal, the healer, and she had silenced him with a knowing nod. *Be still, love...I know.* He wondered if there were any deals left to make. //We don't make deals.// There is no way out of this place, this house. No, this Hell, he corrected himself. This is where it ends, forever. But I guess that's what hell is. The forever part of the deal is the punch line of the place. //They are going to kill us.// Scully got up and put out her hand. Without looking, Mulder took it and rose. He faced her and saw her warm smile. He smiled back. And in the end it was just the two of them. Together. As always. That's how they would leave this place. Together. "I guess we should be going, " started Scully, reaching to open the door. They entered the dark hall... And heard the click of a lighter. "I wouldn't go anywhere, not if I were you." ****************************** Part Ten "For that would be a mistake." //There once was a poet named Orpheus. His beloved's name was Eurydice.// Mulder didn't turn around to face the voice. He knew who it was. Instead he put his hand out in the darkness to find Scully's. He grasped one finger first and then slid his palm beneath hers. He could hear her shallow breaths; rapid and short and felt her cold, shaking fingers tightly intertwine with his own. There was another snap of the lighter, a second of shadows and the pungent smell of burning tobacco. "Even though the house has been searched, it is still surrounded and will remain so," said the smoker. //The day Eurydice died, a distraught Orpheus followed her to Hades.// "Until both of you are confirmed dead," he continued. A single bulb clicked on and illuminated the dank hall. Scully turned around and gently pulled Mulder with her. Her eyes, first mute with despair, began to take on shades of steel. "You shouldn't have come after him, Agent Scully," said the smoker. "You should have enjoyed your, shall we say, extended life." "I'm no longer afraid to die," said Scully, quietly. "I know now that the just do not suffer in the next world. It's the unjust who will pay." The smoker winced, and immediately composed himself. Scully continued. "Now, I know that I have no place in this *project* of your's..." //He pleaded with Hades to allow Eurydice to return to the land of the living.// "But Mulder does," she said calmly, trying not to rush her words. "Isn't he important to you?" "Yes, he is," said the smoker carefully. "He is very important to me." Mulder stared speechlessly at the smoker, who refused to meet his eyes. "But he is no longer important to the project. A contingency plan has already been implemented. He, along with yourself, are now extraneous. And are to be eliminated. Immediately." "So just one body won't do then?" asked Scully. "Scully..." choked Mulder. Scully turned and put her finger to Mulder's lips. Be quiet, love. Be still. Don't be afraid, there's nothing to fear. I am not afraid. //Hades, impressed and not immune to love, told Orpheus that he and Eurydice would be allowed to return to the world above.// "No," said the smoker. "It's all or nothing." He hesitated. "That's why you must leave here with extreme caution." And the smoker pulled a small set of keys from his pocket. They shone bright silver under the dim light. He tossed them to Scully. //Under the condition that Orpheus himself would lead Eurydice up through the almost endless depths of Hell...and not turn back.// "The smaller keys are to the motion detectors that are on each floor. You must disable each one before continuing up to the next or you will set off the house alarms. You'll have 30 minutes to get off the floor and onto the next before they reset," said the smoker, taking a moment to inhale deeply. "There are four floors." Scully stared at the keys in her hand. "On the top floor at the end of the left wing hall you'll find a blue door. This is the entrance to an old, unused outdoor fire escape. The grounds beneath are not under surveillance. " continued the smoker. "You will be able to escape from here at that point." "The larger key is for that room." //They must not turn around. No matter what.// "Why should we trust you?" asked Mulder, who had turned very white. The smoker looked sadly at Mulder, and took one last glance at hazel eyes that looked so very much like those of a woman who haunted him day and night. "Because you have no choice," said the smoker, grinding out his cigarette. He coughed hoarsely, and swallowed some of the blood that came up to the back of his throat. "And I needn't remind you not to turn on the lights. Remember. The house is being watched," the smoker took out a handkerchief It turned pink where he wiped his mouth. A long moment passed. The smoker's coughing became louder, his eyes harder. "Well, will you make me regret my decision?" he asked hoarsely. Mulder shook his head. He looked at Scully and was suddenly unafraid. The smoker motioned them to the staircase behind him and moved aside. Scully took Mulder's hand. And they began their descent. **************