EMXC 1st Year fanfic- October 1, 1994 thru October 1, 1995 Archived: 10/01/95 ============================================================== Author's Note: Ingredients: Well, here we go again. No bats this time, just your typical X story ingredients: 3 cups of weirdness, a dash of the unexplained, liberal helpings of Mulder and Scully with a tablespoon of Skinner and a pinch of Mr. X (to add a little spice), covered by the military and topped with sunflower seeds. Romance?: There is no 'actual' romance, though I do explore the characters internal ponderings about each other and their relationship. C.C. can deny it all he wants, but M and S are classic opposites who fit well together, a trait most good relationships have. Since such items will never develop on the show, writing about them (what I think M and S might think at times) is sort of my own therapy. Mr. Science: A quick note, I have absolutely no science or medical background, so please don't be too harsh on the conjectures and inevitable mistakes I have made in my story; first and foremost I wanted to tell the story, though I tried to make the terminology as accurate as possible with my admittedly limited resources. I have a few more notes, (as if these ramblings weren't enough) but they come at the end of the story so you won't have to be intensely bored with them now. Comments and suggestions always welcome (e-mail jaybirddv). Obligatory Legal Fun and Games: The ever-present paragraph which is my attempt at defense should I ever be sued by The Powers That Be and which, I'm quite sure, would be absolutely no defense whatsoever if the suit brigade really wanted to nail me. In any case, here it is: The X-Files and the characters portrayed therein are the property of Fox Broadcasting and Chris Carter, as if I'd be dumb enough to claim a popular prime time show was my own idea. Whew. I don't know about *you*, but I feel a *whole* lot better now. Doppler (part 6 of 6) by James C. Davenport 06/20/95 *** As soon as they opened the door, they saw him. He was hunched over an armada of vials and containers, eerily illuminated by a small desk lamp and the humming phosphorescence of computer monitors. Mulder found it hard to make out features, though it appeared to be male. He doubted that it resembled any of the descriptions they'd already seen, but it didn't matter; Mulder knew it was him. It turned, startled, as they entered. "Federal agents! Don't move!" A sudden blackness followed the faint tinkling of the shattered lamp as it hit the tiled floor. Damn! Mulder swiveled the gun towards the Doppler's last destination, but couldn't see. The dull glow from the monitors picked up a shape moving down the far end of the rather large room. Scully searched briefly for the light switch, but couldn't locate it and wondered silently why no one designed rooms with switches by the door anymore. She then swore under her breath as her search of her coat pocket resulted in no flashlight. It was on the seat of the car. She widened her eyes to take in what little light was provided from the hallway. Mulder motioned to Scully, who picked her way to the opposite side of the room. They advanced to the rear end of the laboratory in a congruous path, each progressing down opposite walls of the room, guns outstretched before them. Two doors stood closed on either side of a large storage cooler unit, humming softly. The doppler was nowhere in sight. A faint scrape of metal caught Mulder's ears, and he threw open the door nearest him in time to catch a shadow retreating through the adjoining room. He dashed after it, gracefully threading his way through stools and tables in the near darkness. He followed the logical path and proceeded down a hallway leading from the room. He briefly registered that he didn't hear Scully behind him. She probably was trying to double up their quarry. The echoes of his footfalls rang in his ears as Mulder slowed. The hallway ended in another large door. He braced himself and burst in. Straight into Scully. He lowered the gun. "How did you . . ." She gestured to a door on the eastern wall of the large lab, "The other door led through labs which must've been parallel to the ones you came through." He looked past her and scanned the contents of the room. Despite the fact that the lights were not yet on, it was better lighted than the other labs as the entire north wall was comprised of glass. Pale light from a half moon bathed the room in achromatic tones. Scattered computer monitors winked through the gloom and a large apparatus filled table dominated the center of the chamber, the diffused light glinting off various metal and glass beakers and flasks. "No sign of it?" he queried. "No." Scully replied, looking around the room. Mulder thought he saw another door in the far wall, but Scully's head obstructed his view. It must have gone through there; Mulder was sure that it couldn't have passed him and doubled back. He moved from behind Scully to get a better view of the west side of the room. It was a door. He started towards it and paused as a chill snaked through his spine. Scully was five foot two. And he had needed to move around her in order to see the door. 'Scully' had grown six inches. He dropped and pivoted on his foot, but didn't fully avoid the blow which sent him sprawling across the table in an explosion of glass and metal. He dropped hard to the floor, aware of the salty taste of warm blood in his mouth. In amazement, he noted that his right hand still clutched his revolver. A first time for everything, he thought ruefully . . . Mulder exploded up from the floor, firing at the Doppler in a two handed grip. He managed one shot before he was forced to duck as a computer monitor came hurtling towards him through the twilight. It caught Mulder's shoulder, spinning him around with the force, before the monitor continued past him and shattered the window in an eruption of glass. Mulder pushed himself off the cabinet he was thrown against. Damn! This time the gun was thrown from his grasp. Mulder glanced up as the Doppler quickly rounded the table towards him. It's face, Scully's face, was faintly illuminated by the moonlight. Mulder grabbed the first thing his hands could locate, a small oblong metal container, and slammed it into the Doppler's face with a quick downward blow. The container connected with a sick crack and skin sloughed off the Doppler's face like layers of an onion. It turned it's head back in Mulder's direction and he had to choke down the feeling of nausea threatening to overwhelm him. The side of its face struck by Mulder was hanging in loose tatters and folds, like unfinished clay, while the rest of Scully's once delicate features were sliding into an unsettling amorphous, asexual form. Completely black eyes, all pupil, no iris, glared at Mulder with silent rage. The Doppler leaped at Mulder, arms outstretched to snap his neck. Mulder flung up his own hands in a futile attempt to intercept the Doppler and heard three successive shots explode in the twilight. The Doppler's neck and head jerked as the bullets slammed into it. Mulder was knocked down by the thing and narrowly managed to cling to a desk, glass shards biting into his hands, as the Doppler's momentum carried it past Mulder and through the open window. Mulder barely registered the dull thud below him as he labored to pull himself back into the room. *** Mulder's left leg was still dangling out the window, and he quickly pulled it back. He grimaced in pain as he tried to push himself up with his shoulder; probably dislocated, he assessed with disgust. He sat up to see Scully rushing towards him, her face porcelain in the pale moonlight and eyes wide with concern. "Mulder, are you . . .?" "Fine. Needed a breath of fresh air, so I thought I'd open a window; you don't think it's too drafty, do you?" Thought he tried to hide it with a lop sided grin, Mulder's voice was hoarse with pain and exertion. Mulder glanced out the now non-existent window and observed the broken form of the Doppler sprawled upon the roof of the first floor two stories below. It wasn't getting away this time. "We were right! I saw it Scully, it changed; it was you!" He moved past her to the door. "Mulder, where . . ." "We've got to get down there, Scully. I'm not losing this one. Your tests proved that thing was comprised, at least in part, by as yet unknown genetic material; exobiologic, Scully! Proof of an alien biochemistry, or at least parts of one, and I'm not losing it! Not again. The Ray Ban Brigade can't be far behind, and I'm not letting it out of our sight this time." St. John's Hospital, Pathological Labs March 29th, 11:37 P.M. "The epidermal skin is rubbery and resilient in composition, a much darker pink in color than normal human skin; almost mauve. Upon death, the skin has begun to harden and become quite hard, similar in consistency to tough leather." Scully paused, still not quite believing the human anomaly she had before her. It wasn't alien; she knew that. But it was very strange. And very disturbing. "Tissue sampling of the skin has revealed unusually thick regenerative and epidermal layers, suggesting that the skin itself was unusually fast replicating." Scully glanced up around the room. The police guards were still visible outside the door window. Mulder had insisted; he was convinced that someone would try to take the body and didn't want Scully alone with it. At the same time he didn't want to delay examining it for the same reason. Scully sighed; if not for their bad track record of having evidence disappear and even destroyed, she would have thought that Mulder was being his usual paranoid self. She smiled softly, at least he wasn't as paranoid as his friends in the Lone Gunman. That group saw conspiracies everywhere; they could convince themselves that the people driving *in front of* them were actually following them the long way around. Mulder hadn't made many friends with his insistence for security, unfortunately. Commandeering police officers to guard someone who's already dead wasn't exactly the way to butter up the local constablery. Which was why, Scully thought, Mulder is down at the precinct with Skinner trying to sort the whole mess out instead of being here, examining the killer, his 'Doppler', with her. Oh well, be grateful he didn't make the guards stand inside the examination room with you, she thought. Scully wasn't used to performing autopsies with an audience, and decided that she probably wouldn't much care for it. "The subject is humanoid in form, though, externally, appears to be sexless. A cursory examination of the upper chest cavity has shown the internal organs to be human in composition, though more detailed tests may confirm the same genetic and protein anomalies found in the initial blood and tissue samples." Scully walked to the table with the reports and samples on them, flipping open the pages, though she already remembered what was on each one. "These anomalies consist of the following: the presence of proteins which are similar in structure to interferons, but are as yet unidentified . . ." Scully jerked her head up, startled by the ringing of the phone. She shut off the tape recorder and removed her latex gloves on the way to the phone. "Scully." "It's me," Mulder's voice answered, "how's it going?" "No one's stormed the building, if that's what you mean." "What have you found out?" "Not much yet, I've just begun, but its *odd*, Mulder. It's definitely human . . ." "Or was," Mulder interrupted. Scully continued, ignoring him, ". . . but it's biochemistry is something I've never seen before." "Alien DNA genetic experimentation, Scully . . ." "It's *unknown*, Mulder, that doesn't necessarily mean it's extraterrestrial." "I know what I saw, Scully, no native life form can transform the way that thing did. What about the skin? Is it similar to the initial tests; has the body continued to become indistinct?" Scully paused; she knew what she saw as well; and she didn't like the conclusions to which it led her. Still, she was not about to circumvent scientific evidence to embrace what she saw; or what she thought she saw. Scully knew better than anyone that of all the senses, sight is the most easily manipulated. Still . . . "The body *is* extremely unusual. It's decomposed so rapidly that it's features, especially the facial ones, are just barely recognizable. But unlike regular decomposition, the tissues aren't getting softer as the process accelerates, they're actually getting *harder*. "Like Play-Dough when you leave it out overnight without the lid on?" Scully could almost see his smirk. She smiled herself. "That's not quite how they describe it in medical journals, but it's an accurate enough analogy." "Do you think that the variant structure of the skin could have allowed it to manipulate its appearance?" "Giver what I've seen so far, I suppose its *possible*. It could shift the tissues around to approximate a weight difference of 15 to 20 pounds and you've apparently seen how well it can change its hair and facial features. But its internal and skeletal structure appear to be quite stable and similar to any normal human's." "That would explain why it couldn't approximate your height," Mulder began. She heard voices in the background. Mulder answered one of them, though she couldn't make out what he said. "Look," Mulder directed his voice back into the phone, "I'm almost done here; I'll be down there soon." "O.K." Scully hung up the receiver and retrieved her gloves. Time to go back to work. *** Jason Trask hung up the receiver. "They've found them. St. John's" Trask's visitor leaned against the wall. He didn't appear angry or elated. He wasn't expectant; he wasn't annoyed. He simply was. He exhaled a billow of smoke into the air, pointedly ignoring Trask's 'No Smoking' sign, and crushed his half smoked cigarette on the side of the trash can. *** Kyle Boulevard; Baltimore, Maryland March 30th, 12:11 A.M. Mulder's mind was running laps. He had finally been able to leave the precinct building. The local authorities were irate at Mulder pulling rank on them and it had taken intervention from Skinner to appease them. Of course, then Mulder had the task of appeasing Skinner and explaining why he was dragged down to Baltimore in the middle of the night. Despite the usual reprimands and lectures concerning protocol and regulations, Mulder felt that Skinner knew the importance of the case, even if he wouldn't directly admit it. They had arranged to have the body removed to the FBI facilities in Washington for a more detailed examination. Skinner and a transport vehicle would be following Mulder shortly. As usual, however, Mulder couldn't wait; he wanted to know what Scully had found out. Also, he grudgingly admitted to himself, he couldn't shake the feeling that something might go wrong. Despite all the precautions, he still couldn't elude that empty hollow in his stomach. Too many times, too many lost opportunities . . . He reached for the cellular phone. It couldn't hurt to call. St. John's Hospital, Pathology Lab March 30th, 12:10 A.M. "Eyes are completely black, no evidence of any iris. The body is now hairless, all hair having fallen out from the time of death. The unusually quick dropping of the hair is presumably due to the volatile nature of the skin; the same advanced decay which accelerated the collapsing of the facial features and darkening pigmentation most likely caused the hair follicles to lose their anchor in . . ." Scully shook her head; she must be more tired than she thought. She couldn't remember her train of thought. ". . . lose their anchor in the . . . the dermis. The decay also . . ." She rested both hands on the lab table to steady herself. Her head swam. The air in the room felt thick, cloying. She looked towards the door; the guards weren't visible. She brought her head around. Was she still in the room? Images swirled in front of her, the mauve corpse of the Doppler writhing and twisting in the air, rising above her like a dark angel. Blackness. A cellar? Where was she? And the scent . . . was it oranges? Scully thought she heard a phone ringing, but couldn't be sure; her consciousness was slipping through her mind quicker than her fingers slipped off the edge of the table. She never remembered hitting the floor. *** No answer. Something was wrong. Mulder hit the accelerator and ignored the red light. *** Mulder was in a dead run by the time he reached the hallway leading to the examination lab. There had been no sign of anyone in the facility, much less the police that were supposed to still be here. Something had gone wrong. The twin doors loomed ahead of him. Still no one in sight. Damn them! Damn himself; it was his fault, he shouldn't have left her alone. He burst into the lab and saw her. Scully was lying on the floor, still as a corpse, legs splayed. Her soft face was as white as the cold tile upon which it rested. From his distance, Mulder couldn't tell if she was breathing or not. It was his fault, just as before; he was a phone call too late. He rushed to Scully's prone form, thoughts racing through his mind quicker than he could ever hope to respond to them; he couldn't bear losing her again. They were two halves of the same whole, split down the center; neither one complete without the other: the skeptic and the believer, the rational and the emotional, the scientist and the psychologist. Scully was much more than a partner to him. He'd always hoped she knew that. But he'd never told her. Never told her anything. A few minutes would have been enough; but Mulder was too afraid of the consequences, better to forgo the possibility of something more than risk losing her friendship. But how many times had he nearly lost everything? He knelt down beside her; checking her pulse. It was there, she was breathing. A wave of relief washed over him and, for the first time, Mulder noticed the faint citrus smell in the room. He gently picked Scully up in his arms and carried her out to the hallway. Gradually, the clean air filled her lungs and her eyes opened. "Scully, are you all right? What happened?" The words were slow, "I don't . . . I'm not sure. I must have passed out though I can't imagine," a pause as she surveyed the hall, "Mulder, where is everyone." "Gone." Relieved that Scully was all right, the concern in his voice gave way to frustration and anger. "The body . . ." "Gone. As was the information we took from the hotel, stolen out of the car. All of it gone!" Scully stood up. "I still had the samples . . ." Mulder and Scully retrieved masks from an adjoining examination room and re entered the lab. The empty steel table mocked Mulder and he glared at it intensely. Scully searched in vain for any sort of data, but it had all vanished, just like the Doppler's body. Mulder looked around the lab as well, but he knew it was futile. They wouldn't leave anything. Scully turned back to face Mulder, who was furiously stalking the other side of the room, "Mulder, I'm sorry . . ." She stopped; he was staring intently at something on the floor, fists clenched in anger. "What is it?" He didn't answer and dropped to one knee, eyes fixed on the floor as if, by sheer willpower, he could destroy the object of his rage. Lying crumpled on the floor, a single half smoked cigarette silently defied Mulder's will. Epilogue F.B.I. headquarters, Washington D.C. April 5th, 3;47 P.M. Mulder dropped the file into his cavernous filing cabinet and slammed the door. Scully watched silently from her makeshift desk. It should be safe there, Scully thought. With his filing system, Mulder would be the only one ever to *find* it again. She kept her ruminations to herself; she didn't think Mulder was in the mood. He lowered himself into his chair and began to look over his latest case with disinterest. Scully knew he was still frustrated at the Doppler incident. Everything related to the case had vanished; an alarming trend they were experiencing lately, and, as such, the case remained open and unexplained. Scully considered, for the hundredth time, trying to snap Mulder out of his foul mood, but wisely decided against it. She knew him well enough to know that when he was ready to talk about it, he would. And she was good at waiting. She didn't have to wait long. "Sometimes I wonder, Scully, what's the point? Do we do any good? Do we ever accomplish anything; prove anything?" Mulder threw open his arms, "What if it's still out there Scully? What if there's more of them? How would anyone ever know?" "We don't *really* know what *it* was, and, no, I don't think it's still out there. I examined it, Mulder, it's dead." "How can you be sure? Maybe its regenerative powers extended to more than just its skin." Scully stood up and leaned against her desk, trying to dig at her memory, which was fraught with deep holes ever since she had passed out in the lab; a residual effect of an unidentified gas she was exposed to which, if the tests were correct, affects the neuro-linguistic areas of the brain. She hadn't been exposed to it for very long, but the events of the recent past still sometimes escaped her. "I don't think so; I . . ." God! It was so frustrating, why couldn't she remember? Would she ever? "I can't be certain, but I don't recall that the internal organs exhibited any signs of the self replicating qualities of the epidermal tissues." Mulder didn't answer; his eyes looked far away. Scully could tell he wasn't convinced. "Maybe it could somehow reproduce itself . . ." Scully shook her head, "Mulder, even if it had time to wine and dine with the opposite sex, there were no sex organs. That I remember." "No *external* sex organs; what about internal ones? If it had the ability to manipulate and shift the shape of it's skin, perhaps it could temporarily form external ones to facilitate . . ." "Well, if he did get a date with someone, that would put him one up on you in the social calendar," she quipped as she handed him his coat jacket. "Come on, if you promise not to talk about the Play-Dough Man for the rest of the afternoon, I'll buy you lunch." Mulder put up his hands to protest, but stopped as he glanced back in her direction. Scully leaned against the side of the desk dressed in an olive green suit covering a white linen shirt which only enhanced her petite and curvaceous form, which, Mulder silently groused, he rarely ever saw from beneath her oversized coat. Her autumn hair tumbled lightly down just past her shoulders and an errant strand curled forward down her cheek. Her lips relaxed in a slight, yet determined, smile and her azure eyes dared him to refuse. Mulder smiled as he stood up and silently followed his partner out the door, pulling on his jacket en route. He may have a basement office with no windows, but the view was still fantastic. Mercy Hospital; Morgantown, West Virginia December 27th, 1:12 P.M. Celia Axton was happy for the first time since her husband had died. It still pained her to think of the bizarre circumstances surrounding his death, and it was rare for her to get much more than five hours of sleep, but today, all those things seemed far away. Today she was with her son. Celia cradled the infant, born just hours ago, next to her chest, marveling at the frail, soft form. He was absolutely beautiful. Weeks after her husband's death she had discovered her pregnancy. At first she was distraught; their first child and he would never see his father. But now, holding the baby in her arms, she couldn't imagine that she had ever felt anything but joy. Bill was no longer with her, but a part of him would live again in their child. The baby turned its head to look at a large stuffed bear on the side of the bed. Celia closed her eyes and listened to the comforting sound of his small heartbeat. The child focused on the big bear and its black button eyes. Slowly, the baby's own eyes clouded over with darkness as they mimicked the teddy bear's flat black orbs. Celia didn't notice, however. By the time her child had turned its head back to her, his eyes once again matched Celia's, a bright innocent blue. Endnote: Well, there it is, the story which started this winter (interrupted by an untimely move to a new house) finally is finished. The bulk of the story was written before End Game/Colony aired, so my hope for a 'new' X-file (a.k.a. the shape shifting creature) was sort of smashed, though my antagonist is not really too similar to the alien bounty hunter, other than the concept itself. After watching End Game/Colony I also found myself wondering where the animosity between Skinner and Mr. X originated from, they seemed as if they knew each other (or knew of each other). Thus, this story is a partial (and limited) attempt to explain where their apparent dislike of each other stems from, as well as what Mr. X's motives towards Mulder are (less than noble to be sure.) Chronologically, this story would fall somewhere between Irresistible and End Game/Colony. I must also acknowledge the fine work done by Stefan Petruco on the X-Files comics, from which I've borrowed the insidious "citrus gas." Though the art is often inconsistent (and they occasionally seem to forget that Scully's hair is red), it's improving and the storylines are always excellent. As always, comments, gripes, ballscores, etc. welcome. Also, if any are so inclined, let me know if there's any interest in another X-F/Batman crossover; I've got another story idea involving a villain from the Batman mythos (all of whom are basically X-Files waiting to happen), but would like to know if there's any interest in the more 'unusual' crossovers before I develop it further.