Vampire Series Part V by DiAnn Rating: NC17 - language, adult themes Category: Slash / MSR/ Pure Trash / Discipline Warning: Mulder/Skinner/Scully Singing Vampires, Dark Alleys and Dead People If you don't like this kind of thing, or you are underage, go somewhere else . . . NOW! I don't want to hear from you and I don't want to hear from your Mama. Spoiler: None. Summary: Vince the Vampire introduces Mulder to some new friends - a bunch of real dead beats. Disclaimer: I do not, nor ever will, own Mulder, Scully, Skinner, Krycek or the X-Files. I am borrowing them without permission and am obviously not receiving money for this stuff. We all know who they really belong to, CC, Fox and lots of other people but again, not me. Vampire Series Part V Cold Blooded by DiAnn Hoover Building Office of AD Skinner Thursday, 9:00 a.m. "No." "What?" "I said . . . No. I am not signing off on this302. You are not going to Idaho to look for some . . . mutant, alien, body parts collecting serial killer. No." Mulder paced around the office in an obvious rage, "I don't understand." He stuck his lip out another fraction of an inch, "And they aren't alien." "Mulder, what is your IQ again, 200 - 205, what part of -No- do you not understand?" Mulder stopped his pacing and stared at his boss, "I need to do this, Sir." Skinner rose from his chair, placing both hands flat on his well-polished desk, then leaned toward his agent, "I don't have to tell you what will happen if you go to Idaho without my authorization, do I?" His eyes were glittering in that dangerous way that made rough and tough federal agents quake in their shoes. The smart ones anyway, the ones with good self preservation skills and a desire for career advancement. Unfortunately Mulder did not usually fall into either of these categories. "No. Sir. You don't." Mulder glared at his boss, stomped to the door and slammed it on his way out. Skinner ground his teeth. Obviously it was time to teach that boy some more and better manners . . . again. Clear Creek, Idaho Thursday, 11:00 p.m. Mulder pushed his back up even tighter against the rough brick wall behind him. He carefully looked both ways in the dark, seemingly endless alley. All he could see was garbage but he knew he was not alone, something was here. He could feel it right down to his toes. "Vince?" His whisper seemed to magnify as it reverberated in the alley, bouncing off the walls and alerting any and all to his presence. Damn! "Vince, what the hell did you do with my gun? I need it back, NOW!" No answer. "Damned useless piece of . . . " Mulder continued to curse under his breath as he moved a little farther into the darkness. He worked his way slowly around an overflowing dumpster and flattened his back against the wall once more. He saw an opening up ahead and tried desperately to peer into its inky depths. It would be a great place for an ambush. There was, however, no way to avoid it and still reach the other end of the alley. He cautiously neared the doorway but was still unprepared for the large, inhumanly powerful hands that reached out and grabbed him by his shirt. He was thrown up against the wall, his head thumped loudly as it made contact with the bricks. Shit! Another head injury. Scully would be pissed off at him again. He struggled for all he was worth but was no match for the huge, angry beast that had him trapped in its awful, chilling grasp. Mulder froze as the fearsome creature lowered its great head until the gapping maul was right beside his ear. Light reflected eerily off it's glistening skull, as its dark beady eyes glittered dangerously in the dim light. Mulder could feel the hot, heavy breath of the ghoulish beast brush ominously across his perspiring face. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" All the available breath rushed from Mulder's terrified body and he felt himself near to collapse. "Walter?" "Don't Walter me, You Little Shit. What the hell are you doing out here all by yourself and where is your damned gun?" Skinner gave him a teeth-rattling shake and then pinned him to the wall once more. "I...I think . . . I'm fairly certain . . . there's a zombie here and that damned vampire hid my gun again." "God Damn little fuc . . . Shitheaded . . . Son of a Bitch . . . I just don't know . . . Be lucky . . . not dead before . . . damned . . . " Walter certainly had a colorful vocabulary when he needed one. Mulder closed his eyes. At this moment, he might actually be more afraid of Skinner than of the zombie. He suddenly felt himself being dragged from his position against the grimy bricks, "Wait, Sir. This is important. There is a zombie here . . . or well . . . there is something here . . . I need to talk to it and . . . " "A zombie, Mulder? And if there were a zombie here, would it really want to talk to you? You are a major pain in the ass. The zombie is probably hiding from you. Of all the lame brained stunts you have pulled, this just might take the cake. You have no weapon, no back up and, as far as I can see, no brains." Mulder could hardly walk with Skinner stopping to shake him like a rag doll about every three steps. If there was a zombie here, it was probably laughing its ass off by now. Skinner pretty much threw his agent in the car then moved to the drivers side and got in himself. "You better enjoy this ride, it's the last time you'll be sitting down comfortably for a while." "Walter, I . . . " "Shut Up!" "But I . . . " "I said shut up!" "But . . . " "One more word, Agent Mulder and you will find yourself decorating the hood of this car with your pants around your ankles. Do I make myself absolutely clear? Just shut up and let me calm down a little. I do not want to deal with you until I am sure I will not do permanent damage. When I got that anonymous call telling me where you were, I could not believe it. One of my agents would not dare go on a case after I had expressly forbidden them to do so. But of course once they mentioned your name, I had no doubt that it was indeed true . . . " "But Sir, It's just that I . . . " "Shut up, Mulder! When I get you home, I am going to use my strap on you until you can't sit down for a week, hell, maybe until you can't walk for a week. I am at my wits end with you, Mulder, if I have to I will . . . " Mulder hunkered further down in his seat while Skinner railed on about his lack of any trace of common sense. How he had obviously bought that esteemed Oxford degree on the Internet. And how his parents were probably both on heavy drugs during his conception. And if not, then they no doubt took up the habit once Mulder learned to talk, as he could drive anyone to substance abuse with only a few words. Mulder glanced over at his boss. The man was going to have a stroke if he didn't calm down a little. Then he glanced outside his window. Shit! "Uh-h-h-h . . . where are we going, Sir?" "Home!" "DC, Sir? Tonight?" Skinner glared at his passenger, "No, not DC. Home, my home. I'm from this town, Mulder. My Dad still lives here. We are staying with him for a couple days." "You . . . you didn't mention . . . " "I didn't expect you or I to be here . . ." Mulder cringed at the look on his boss' face. Oh Shit! "But the motel . . . my stuff. I need to . . . " "You need to shut up. I already checked you out of your motel. I stopped there first, looking for even the smallest clue as to where you had gone. The second call of the night alerted me to that alley. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is for an Assistant Director of the FBI to have to depend on anonymous tips to locate his agents? And not just any agent, someone who . . . " Skinner was getting warmed up again, Mulder decided he had to discuss this with his boss now, before they reached their destination. "Excuse me, Sir. I m sorry to interrupt but I really don't want to stay with your father. I need to . . . " Skinner smiled evilly, "No, you probably don't want to visit my Dad. I've told him all about you and he is more than anxious to see exactly what I've gotten myself into. He doesn't have the easy-going personality that I do, Mulder." Mulder stared at the Assistant Director with his mouth open, Oh Shit! Home of Charles Skinner Clear Creek, Idaho Friday, 1:00 a.m. It was a nice two story white farm house. Neat and clean to the point of obsession. A real Rockwell sort of place. It just screamed Skinner. Mulder reluctantly started to get out of the car when Walter reached in and hauled him out the driver's side. Shit! As he was being forcefully marched up the walk, they were met by what had to be Skinner's dad. The resemblance was amazing, this was an older copy of the man who now had a death grip on Mulder's arm. The agent was glad to note that Walter would still be a very attractive man in the years to come. "Hello, Son." "Dad, it's good to see you." Skinner let go of his errant charge long enough to hug his father warmly. Charles Skinner slapped his son on the back with real affection. "Well, come on in. Let me get a look at your problem boy here. You always did bring home the most rag tailed, mangy, aggravating strays, Walter. Never could beat any sense into any of em. I see you haven't changed." Upon hearing this, Mulder started to back away but Walter grabbed his arm again and wheeled him into the house. Once they were in the light, Charles Skinner ran his eyes up and down Mulder. The agent blushed scarlet under the older man's inspection. "At least this pup's pretty. What's the other one look like?" "Little, red headed. She's pretty, too. And she doesn't give me any trouble at all." He looked pointedly at Mulder. "You sure this one is worth the misery?" He gave Mulder a glare and another shake. "Yeah, I'm sure." "Well, it's good to have you and your friend here, Son. If he means that much to you, then I'm sure he and I will get along just fine." He looked at Mulder. "You ever spent any time on a real farm, Boy?" "Oh Sweet Boy, ask him if he has some friendly sheep." Vince leered. Jeez! What a pervert. "Look, I'm not having sex with any farm animals." "SEX! Wh . . . why would we think we would have sex with . . . " "Do you know why sex is always better with a sheep, Sweet Boy?" Mulder rolled his eyes. "Because a sheep never expects you to buy dinner first." Old joke, vampire. "Wha . . . wha . . . Dinner!. . . Son, does he really think I would . . . " "Sweet Boy, I wouldn't really molest a sheep." "Sure you would Pervert, you'd probably jump anything that stood still long enough." "Wha . . . wha . . . wha . . . " Mulder looked up. Skinner's dad was doing that same sputter thing that Walter could do so well. Wow, must be genetic. "It's okay, Dad. Just calm down. I'll take care of this." Walter let go of his furious father long enough to grab Mulder and head out the back door. "Congratulations, Mulder. Woodshed within ten minutes of arrival. New record." Skinner had practically drug Mulder into a small building behind the house, Skinner, Sr. following close behind. It was full of stacked wood, sawhorses, and cutting tools. Mulder was amazed. Wow, they really did have a real woodshed. Skinner lit an old lantern while his father took down a well-oiled strap that was hanging on a nail by the door. Mulder had to stiff le a gasp. "This thing sure saw a lot of action when Walter was a teenager. I thought I would plumb wear it out before he left for the service." "Mulder doesn't need to hear about that, Dad." "Sure he does." "No, he doesn't." "Yeah, I do." "No, you don't." Skinner moved one of the sawhorses to the center of the room. "Get your pants off and get over this horse. In one day I have had to chase you half way across the country, pull your unarmed, unprotected ass out of a dark alley. . . "I told you, I was chasing a zombie." Charles Skinner's head snapped up, he looked at his son with one eyebrow up to his hairline. "What did he say?" "Don't listen, Dad. He'll make you as crazy as he is. I should know." "Then you insult my father in his own home . . . " "But I didn't . . . it was the vampire." Charles Skinner's eyebrow rose higher. "Did he say vam . . . " "No, Dad." Mulder found himself pulled up against Walter's broad chest as the big man hissed quietly in his ear, "I don't want to hear that one more time. There are no such things as vampires, Mulder. Nobody saw a damned vampire tonight. Not you. Not me. No one. Do you understand me?" "But . . . but Vi . . . Vince . . . " Skinner started shaking him again. "Vince! You are not to associate with that man again, Mulder. He is making you as delusional as he is. Or maybe it's the other way around, I'm not really sure at this point. But the two of you should not be together. Is that understood, you will not see this Vince person again or . . . or . . . or I'll ground you." Mulder looked at him incredulously, "Ground me? You've got to be kidding! What does that mean, I can't leave home so all flukemen and aliens must commit their crimes in the DC area for a week? Jeez! And, for your information, he is a vampire," the agent was now in full pout mode. "Did he say aliens, Son?" "Just ignore him, Dad." Charles Skinner scratched his head as he studied the dark haired young agent. Good thing the boy had his looks, he obviously had a few screws that could use a good turn or two. Yep, something was definitely loose in that boy's head. But he was good looking. He could understand why his son was so attached of this troublesome kid. If Charles Skinner was a betting man, he would say that Mulder's sad, hurt puppy face got him out of lots of scrapes. Especially with Walter. His son had always been a sucker for an unloved mut. But aliens and . . . what the hell was a flukeman' anyway? "Forget it Mulder, that pout will not work on me this time. Just get undressed and get over that horse." Mulder still sulked but did what he was told, "Put your hands on the floor. You can dance as much as you like but keep those hands on the floor. I wasn't going to punish you until I was less angry but you just keep pushing and pushing." "Son, maybe you better let me do this." "No Dad. He's my responsibility. I'll take care of it. Mulder, I'm giving you twelve strokes. You're going to count each one." Mulder gulped. This was torture. He shifted his weight on the rough wood and shut his eyes. He hated the fact that Skinner's dad was watching this. He had really hoped to make a good impression on the man. He heard the swish of the leather cutting the air, then a white-hot pain across his unprotected backside. He shifted his feet and bit his lip to stay silent. He did not want to embarrass himself in front of these two men. He squinched his eyes shut more tightly and mumbled, "One." "Speak up Mulder. I can't hear you." "I said One!" He braced himself to ask for the next stroke. Shit! "Two" Oh! Oh it hurt . . . It hurt! Tears sprang to his eyes and ran silently down his cheeks. Walter was hitting him so hard. Harder than ever before. He drew in a breath. The strap sizzled across his thighs. He couldn't stop the yelp that escaped his lips. "Th . . . three." Wished his voice was steadier. The next one struck on it's intended target even harder. Mulder bit down on his bottom lip until he tasted blood. He let up on the lip, Skinner would be even more angry if he got up from here with his lip bleeding. Charles Skinner watched his son as he beat the handsome young man. He was using the strap with a hard, steady swing but tears were running down his face. Each stroke was tearing away at his soul. As for the hapless agent, he was in considerable distress. This was very evident from the strain in his voice as he dutifully counted the strokes. Also, from the trembling of his body and the way he was shifting his feet. Charles was sure he was crying but there wasn't any sound. Both his backside and thighs were a flaming shade of red. Charles glanced back at Walter's tear stained face. He really wasn't sure if this was hurting Mulder or his son more. The boy's butt had to feel like it had been set on fire, but Walter's heart was breaking. That had to hurt too. Walter grunted into the next stroke to hide his own sniffle. "E . . . eig . . . eight" The word was barely above a whisper and stuffy sounding. Walter raised his arm high above his shoulder again but Charles reached out and grabbed his son's wrist. "It's all right, Son. I'll finish this for you." He took the strap and quickly delivered the next four strokes. They weren't nearly as hard but Mulder finally broke down and sobbed as quietly as possible. He remained lying limply over the sawhorse and struggling for control. As Charles hung the heavy strap back on its nail, Walter reached down and lifted a trembling Mulder up to be hugged against his chest. "Why do you make me do this? What do I have to do to get through to you? Why do you have to be so reckless all the time? Can't you give me any peace at all?" Charles felt his own eyes tear up. Both his son and this man, who was obviously so important to Walter, were sniffling on each other's shoulders. Charles didn't think he could stand to watch this much longer. "Come on Walter, let's all go in and get some rest. We'll talk about how to solve this little problem in the morning. Don't worry, nothing will happen to your boy. I'll help take care of him for you, just like I did all those other lop-eared strays you brought home." "Thanks, Dad." When Walter was sure he had waited long enough for his father to be asleep, he collected Mulder and shuffled him out to the barn. His agent needed some comfort and he didn't feel right about having sex in his old room. Old bedrooms always tended to make one feel about ten years old. Ten-year-old boys did not have sex with their overnight quests under their father's roofs. The barn, however, was a different story. Walter used one hand to throw down a horse blanket on the bed of fresh straw. With the other hand he kept a firm grip on Mulder. "Walter, you can let go of my wrist, I'm not going to run away from you." "It seems to me that every time I turn my head, you're gone. I'm not taking any chances tonight." He pulled Mulder down on the blanket and immediately covered him with his own body. "Now, what can I do to make you feel better." Mulder laughed, "Well I'd say you're off to a good start." "Just wait until you see what I have in mind for a big finish." Walter lowered his head and claimed Mulder's lips. His agent was gasping for breath before he finally forced himself to pull away. God, this kid could drive him crazy, in a hundred different ways. He trailed a string of kisses along Mulder's jaw and down his long elegant neck. He glanced up to see beautiful hazel eyes clouded with passion. Skinner smiled. Fox may make his life hell on earth on occasion but there were other times . . . An incredible hour later, Mulder lay curled up on his boss' wide chest, sleeping soundly. Walter reached down and gently plucked a piece of stray from the other man's dark hair. As usual, after being punished Mulder wanted to cuddle. Right now he was stuck to Walter like glue. He leaned down and whispered quietly to the sleeping man, "Don't worry, I still love you Fox, that's the reason I punish you. If I lost you, it would kill me too." He lightly kissed Mulder's cheek. The agent snuggled in a little closer but didn't awaken. Walter put his arms more tightly around the man and then he too fell into a sound sleep. Lying on a bed of fresh fragrant straw, covered only by an old horse blanket and his gorgeous lover; Assistant Director Walter Skinner slept more soundly than he had in years. When he woke up the next morning, Mulder was gone again. South Main Street Clear Creek, Idaho Saturday, 8:00 p.m. "I think you were wise to come with me, Sweet Boy." "Yeah right. Skinner and his dad are gonna' kill me, you know? And you haven't even taken me anywhere interesting yet. That gay S&M bar was truly disgusting, Vince." "Really? I thought it was very interesting. That last performer looked a lot like you, Sweet Boy." The vampire ignored Mulder's growling mumble. "Besides we needed somewhere to hang out until evening. I want to take the zombies by surprise. I will help you capture Don Weaver and prove that he was out there killing people and uh-h-h . . . borrowing their body parts. Mr. Skinner will see things differently then. Once you have apprehended the killer, he will have to understand why you had to leave and he'll forgive you." "Whether I am right or wrong doesn't really matter, Vince. It's my methods that usually get Skinner going." He glared at the vampire. "And where is my gun, you promised not to hide it any more . . . re-mem-ber?" The vampire had the good grace to at least look sheepish, "I'm sorry, Sweet Boy. I was afraid you would scare someone with that thing." "That's the idea, Vince. I am a federal agent, I'm supposed to scare the bad guys. Nothing makes Walter more angry than when I stalk mutants without my gun." "He needs to lighten up a little, if you ask me." "I don't remember asking you. Where are we going anyway?" Vince smiled, "To another bar." Mulder groaned. The Dead End Street Occult Book Store and Cappuccino Bar Saturday, 9:00 p.m. Mulder stared at the sign over the door in amazement. "Cappuccino, Vince?" "What did you expect Mulder? That zombies couldn't appreciate a good cup of coffee?" Mulder was further amazed when he met Damon. He had expected a zombie to be at least a little scary, maybe rotting in a few places or dragging one foot stiffly behind him. Damon was small, wiry and had on very thick glasses below a thinning head of salt and pepper hair. He looked more like someone's eccentric uncle than one of the living dead. Vince shook hands with the little man, "It is so good to see you again, Damon. I want to introduce you to someone very special. Damon Weaver, I would like you to meet Special Agent Fox Mulder with the FBI." "Oh-h-h-h-, FBI. How exciting." Damon smiled widely and held out his hand. Mulder reached out to shake the zombie's hand but pulled back quickly in shock. Not only was the man's hand ice cold and leathery, his thumb had come off in the agent's hand. "Ah-h-h-h!" Mulder took a deep breath. Not a girly scream. A little high maybe but definitely not a girly scream. He looked down at the bluish thumb resting in his palm. Vince held out his own hand. "Calm down, Sweet Boy. Just give it to me. Come on. That's right. Nothing to worry about." Mulder handed over the disconnected digit. A still smiling Damon took back his thumb from Vince, "Sorry about that, Agent Mulder. Happens all the time. I've tried every glue on the market but nothing seems to work." The zombie's eyes narrowed and his smile turned to a threatening glare. He pinned the still cringing agent with his black eyes, magnified to horrifying proportions by his thick glasses, "Do you know the four words you must never say to a zombie, Agent Mulder?" Mulder swallowed hard, "N . . . no." "Give me a hand." The little zombie practically doubled over with mirth. A wide-eyed Mulder watched as the zombie, still giggling to himself, calmly reattached his thumb using a wad of gum that he dug out of his mouth. Ew-w-w-w-w! "Do . . . do you lose . . . parts often?" "Afraid so, it's just our lot in life." The little man snickered. "Get it, our lot in ." Damon laughed merrily, once more entertained by his own wit. Mulder smiled weakly at the little zombie. So vampires were cowardly voyeurs and zombies lost body parts while making bad jokes. What was next? Were all of his boyhood fantasies going to be laid to rest thanks to his association with Vince? What was next? Would he find out that mummies were just guys with bad fashion sense and werewolves made wonderful house pets? Jeez! Mulder cleared his throat, "So Mr. Weaver, what do you know about the recent string of murders and mutilations here in Clear Creek?" Damon glanced around to make sure no one else was in the store, "It's my cousin Donald, Agent Mulder," he whispered. "I think he is using a vampire for his own ends. That's, if not against the rules, then certainly bending them. Zombies and vampires do not usually work well together." "Vampires don't work well with anyone." Mulder muttered under this breath, earning a hurt look from the vampire. The zombie must have heard him too because he nodded in what appeared to be total agreement, "But more important, I think Don is up to his old games again." "His old games?" "My cousin was executed in the state of Florida for having sex with hitch hikers and then killing them. I think he is using the vampire to do that again." "Why would he need a vampire to have sex and then kill someone, Mr. Weaver?" Damon looked at the handsome young agent as if he proved the theory that all really good looking people where a little well . . . dumb. He spoke as if trying to explain something to a slow child, "Because zombies can't have sex, Agent Mulder. The truth is . . . the . . . uh-h-h-h . . . .you know . . . well, the penis is the first to go. Whoops!" He then made a falling-off motion with his hand that had both Mulder and Vince wincing as they crossed their legs. Route Three West Sunday, 12:30 a.m. "Should we be confronting this guy in the middle of the night like this?" "I don't think zombies ever sleep, Sweet Boy." "I'm not worried about interrupting his sleep," Mulder said sarcastically, "I'm worried about not having any backup." "I'll watch your back for you, Sweet Boy. After all, we've worked together before." "Yeah, right. I know exactly what to expect from you, Vince." Zombie Lair Sunday, 2:30 a.m. Mulder was hanging from a hook in the ceiling of the filthy kitchen. He had been stripped of jacket, shirt and shoes, but at least they had left him with his jeans. All in all this could be a lot worse. Vince could be here. One of the zombies, with the surprising but perhaps appropriate name of Little Peter, was trying rather unsuccessfully to reattach a slightly rotted great toe to his grubby left foot. Ew-w-w-w-w! Don Weaver had one other zombie in attendance at the house, Erwin, Peter's older brother. Erwin was even bigger and uglier than his sibling, Little Peter. As difficult as that was to believe. Mulder and Vince had not even made it to the window to do a little surveillance. The vampire had found himself to be allergic to the flowering bushes surrounding the house. The subsequent sneezing fit had brought all three of the zombies on the run. And all of them pissed off at being awakened from a sound sleep. Zombies, it seemed, not only did sleep, they were not good morning people. Vince had, true to form, vanished instantly. Now Mulder hurt all over. He bit back a groan. He didn't want anyone to know he was awake yet. He really needed a little more physical recovery time and a break from the zombie interpretation of stand up comedy . He was reasonably certain that he had at least one broken rib, probably a concussion and the cut over his eye really needed a stitch or two. It was bleeding again. He could feel the warm blood running down the side of his face. He tilted his head slightly to keep it out of his eye. "Shit!" Little Peter pounded on the table in frustration as his toe once again landed on the floor with a squishy kind of plop. Ew-w-w-w-w! "I told you to use Elmer's Wood Glue." Erwin appeared in the door way. "Nah, this new stuff is supposed to be better. It will hold an elephant upside down with only two drops." "Hey Little Peter, do you know why elephants can't hang upside down?" "Uh-h-h-h . . . no." "Everything would fall out of their trunks. Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha." Little Peter just looked at his laughing brother and then suddenly a synapse fired somewhere in his brain and he got it. "Good one, Erwin. Yuck, Yuck, Yuck, Yuck, Yuck. That was a really good one. Lose all the stuff in their trunks, yeah." Mulder rolled his eyes. He almost wished they would just go ahead and kill him. He really couldn't stand much more of their humor. Don Weaver entered the kitchen just in time to hear this last bit of Erwin/Peter witticism. He shook his head sadly. He really needed to find some higher class walking dead to be in his gang. These guys gave zombies a bad name. He walked over to Mulder and ran a hand gently down his cheek. "You are very beautiful," Weaver sighed. "I want you to become one of us. I will kill you unless you let me make you a zombie." "Wouldn't that kill me anyway?" "That is technically true but I could make it worth your while . . . forever." Weaver wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at Mulder. One of his bushy brows fell off and lay on the front of the zombie's shirt like some kind of ugly dead bug. Ew-w-w--w-w! "I'll pass!" Mulder had learned that zombies could not be made involuntarily like vampires, the potential zombie had to ask for it. He did not want to go around losing his . . . his . . . well his important parts. And he certainly did not want to spend eternity watching this guy lose his. "Little Peter, go get our most recent guest. I'm sure Mr. Mulder would like to see him again before he . . . makes his final decision." Little Peter lumbered out of the room and returned, with no greater speed, dragging a trembling, sobbing Vince. Mulder pulled at his restraints. "Let him go. Vince, use your magic. Get out of here now." Vince held up his hands, showing Mulder his bronze cuffs. "I . . . I can't, Mulder. Bronze weakens my magic." "I'm afraid I need him, Mr. Mulder. The last vampire I had helping me met with a small . . . shall we say, accident. Never run with a sharp stick. Seems it's still good advice. Weaver walked slowly around Mulder. He stopped and ran a cold clammy hand over the agent's smoothly muscled back. "I needed a new vampire and you brought one right to my door, Fox, must be love. Such assistance should be rewarded." Weaver turned to his two dim-witted associates, "Take Mr. Mulder outside and tie him to the post in front of my window. He is very beautiful and I want to watch him suffer for a while." "There's a storm coming up, Boss." "I know. Our Mr. Mulder is going to be bait. I don't think Walter' will let his boyfriend hang out in this weather for too long, do you? I am in need of a new right ear. I think the Assistant Director's would do just dandy." Weaver had spotted Skinner in that fateful alley on the first night the AD had arrived in town to collect his wayward agent. Fox Mulder was quite gorgeous but Walter Skinner was, in the zombie's opinion, breath taking. Little Peter brought Weaver back from his fantasies, "Can I have his toe, Boss?" "What? Oh, course you can, Little Peter. Now go do what I asked." "Can I have his . . ." "No-o-o-o." Little Peter looked very disappointed. Mulder decided that maybe Little Peter was an appropriate name after all or maybe it should have been Peter-Less. Weaver shook his head and sighed, he really needed to replace those two. Hum-m-m, maybe the handsome Assistant Director would be more anxious for immortality than his pretty little playmate had been. Or . . . maybe he could change both of them. The two zombies dragged the nearly naked agent outside and tied his wrists to the top of the post. As an afterthought, they secured another strip of rope around his waist. They pulled it so tightly that the agent gasped as the breath was forced from his body and the post cut into the flesh of his back. This last rope would prevent him from sagging too much when he passed out. The fact that he would pass out soon was a forgone conclusion. They weren't sure why he was still conscious now. Erwin ran his hand seductively over Mulder's crouch. "Hey Little Peter, do you know how many FBI Agents it takes to change a light bulb?" "No, how many?" "All of them. And it would still have to turn itself in." "Yuck, Yuck, Yuck, Ha, Ha, Ha, Yuck, Yuck, Yuck, Ha, Ha, Ha." The two brothers slapped each other on the back as they guffawed. Even semiconscious Mulder rolled his eyes and groaned. Jeez! These guys needed some different material. "Shit!" "What's wrong, Erwin?" "You knocked my nose off again, Klutz! Watch where you're stepping, it was my last one. Why do you always . . . " Weaver watched as the obstinate young agent was secured to the post in front of his window. Now he could sit by his comfortable fire and watch as the disobedient boy hung helplessly in the cold rain. He heard the rumbling thunder as the storm moved closer. Mulder heard the thunder too. He was so damned cold. He felt his body shudder and gasped with pain as the rope abraded his already bruised stomach and arms. He tried to keep his feet under him. He needed to keep his weight off his sore wrists as much as possible. Where was Vince? That worthless vampire was most assuredly going to be the death of him this time. He felt the first drops of freezing rain on his shoulders and back. Soon it was raining hard, the thunder seeming to explode in his head. A thunderstorm in the middle of February, now that was typical Mulder luck for you. At least it wasn't sleet or snow. Unless there was freak lightening. He didn't think he had ever heard of lightening in the winter. He shuddered hard again, this rain was almost ice. He was still only in his jeans and the bastards had unbuttoned and unzipped them about half way. Felt him up very throughly, too. Now his only article of clothing hung precariously on his hips as the water ran down inside, making him all the more miserable. He tried to cover his ears with his arms. He couldn't stand the cold water running into his them but it was almost as bad when it began to stream down the back of his neck. He moved his head back and felt another wave of dizziness wash over him. He pulled at the ropes binding his numb hands. He saw the darkness closing in, waiting for him around the perimeter of his sight. He stopped fighting to stay awake, concussion or not, why bother. He gratefully slipped into merciful unconsciousness. What must have been hours later, he awakened himself coughing. Great, now he probably had pneumonia. He was shuddering continuously and his teeth would not stop chattering. He coughed again. It felt like it was coming from his toes. His chest ached painfully with the effort. He tried to take a deeper breath only bringing on more coughing. He let his chin fall down on his chest. Soon he was out cold once more. Walter Skinner had watched from the nearby trees as his agent was staked out in the inclement weather. He was almost blind with rage. Mulder was shirtless and barefoot. It wouldn't take much time for hypothermia to set in. And he could not get to him. Damn it, he had to get Mulder out of there. He had seethed as he saw one of the captors unzip Fox' pants. The two men had laughed uproariously as they tortured his agent. One of them had started to put his hand down inside the open jeans and Walter was sure he would give away his position by killing the man instantly if he did so. Skinner felt his father move behind him and put his hand out to stop him. The would be groper's movement was stopped by his cohort, who pointed meaningfully at the house. Obviously someone was watching from in there. Someone these two morons feared. Skinner turned back to his dad, reassuring him that Walter had control of his emotions and that they would deal with that man shortly. It had been almost two hours. Too long. He needed to get Mulder out of the weather. He had not seen any movement from his agent in some time. Skinner tried to concentrate but all he could think about was Mulder hanging naked in this freezing rain. They needed some kind of diversion. The diversion came in a most unlikely form. A group of Christmas Carollers, rounded a corner of the house and broke into song. They seemed oblivious to the half naked young man, who hung unconscious, only a few feet from their location. And not only were they either two months late or ten months early, they could not carry a tune to save their lives. They made a truly hideous racket. Skinner wasn't even sure they were all singing the same song. As the ear splitting din tore through the night, Walter thought a few of the singers, using that term very loosely, looked a little familiar. He just couldn't place where he had seen them before. He was fairly certain wherever it had been, there had no singing involved. He would have remembered this. Soon a dapper little man with both hands over his ears, came to the door, blustering and threatening the carollers. They vanished instantly as the man bellowed a curse at the damned vampires'. Skinner stood stunned by this whole scenario when a strange woman with purple eyes suddenly appeared and dropped the limp body of Fox Mulder into Walter's arms. Literally. The AD staggered backwards a few steps as the graceless vampire threw Mulder at him. "Oops! Sorry. Gotta' go." Not one to pass up an opportunity, Skinner threw Mulder over his shoulder and headed further into the woods. When Weaver finished his tirade against the singing vampires, he looked over to check on his captive. That vampire singing could have awakened the dead, let alone one merely unconscious federal agent. Mulder was gone. The zombie let out a scream of pure unadulterated rage. Mercy General Hospital Clear Creek, Idaho Sunday, 6:30 a.m. Mulder stood by his bed for a moment to wait for the dizziness to pass. He had to get back out there, Vince was in trouble . Vince could not perform the elaborate sexual fantasies that other vampires did. Vince was, relatively speaking, a very young vampire. His magic was just not strong enough yet. < And heaven help them all when he did gain the power.> He had to get Vince out of there before Weaver found out his valuable captive vampire was totally worthless. Not that he could blame Weaver if he wanted to kill Vince. Mulder had entertained a few fantasies about that himself. It took him what seemed like forever to dress. It was amazing how hard it was to just zip your jeans when your hands were bandaged and you could not look down without getting dizzy. And the shoes would just have to remain untied. When Mulder was finally ready, he stuck his head out the hospital room door. Coast was clear. No nurses, no doctors and more importantly, no Scully. She had been waiting when he arrived at the hospital. He had been glad to see her but she was definitely going to kill him when this was over. She had made that very clear and that was before this escape attempt. He hated to make her worry but he really didn't have a choice. She would never understand about Vince. Sometimes a good ditch was worth a thousand words. Holding on to the wall for support, Mulder made his way carefully down the hall. He had turned the second corner and was feeling reasonably secure in his success when he felt a large hand land on his shoulder. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Now that was familiar! Walter. Of course it was Walter. Did that man have radar or what? Mulder absolutely could not get away with anything any more. And he used to be so good at it. And to make matters worse, just as he looked up into the angry eyes of his boss, the damned dizziness hit again and he felt his knees begin to buckle. As he headed for the floor he felt himself caught in familiar strong arms and turned. Half carried, half dragged back the way he had come. Shit! "I don't know what it's going to take to get you to behave but I swear the minute you are on your feet, I am going to find it. You are a menace to yourself and to the public in general. I just don't . . . " Shit! Now Scully would find out about his ill-fated attempt at escape and all hell would break loose. Mulder felt himself growing more nauseous as they made there way down the sterile hallways. God, he hated hospitals. That smell alone was enough to make even a healthy person sick. "You're going to make me carry you again, aren't you." Mulder tried to shake his head but just sagged farther for his effort. An arm slipped under his knees and he was lifted up in a strong embrace just as his old friend, the darkness, came for him again. Skinner brought his now unconscious agent back to the room and laid him gently on the bed. He didn't bother undressing him. He wanted Scully to come in here and see him just like this. He chuckled to himself, Scully was going to kill her partner. And Walter was going to enjoy every minute of it. Skinner sat down in a corner and waited for the show. It wasn't a long wait. Scully came back with a newly acquired cup of coffee in her right hand. She stopped dead in her tracks. "Mulder! Why are you dressed? What have you been up to now?" Mulder moaned softly and fluttered his eyelashes. Skinner chuckled again. Mulder always had the worst timing. It would have been to his advantage to stay out cold for just a little longer. Mulder looked up into Scully's angry eyes. "Mulder why are you dressed? I can give these nurses a show just like Dr. Ramsey did in Ohio, you know." Mulder looked down at himself. How did he get back in bed. Oh yeah, Skinner. He looked around the room trying to locate his boss. He couldn't risk sending Scully into that viper's nest but Walter could handle those zombies. Walter could handle anyone. Once he understood what he was dealing with. "Walter, you have to . . . . I need you to go back and . . . and get the vampire away from the zombies." Skinner looked both loving and deeply concerned as he patted his arm, "Sh-h-h-h, don't talk Mulder. You must have a fever. Just rest. Things will be clearer in the morning." Mulder rolled his eyes. He was never going to be able to convince either of them. He looked back, he owed it to the vampire to try once more. They stood frozen in place. He looked around wildly, "Vince?' "No, not Vince, My Beautiful Fox." Mulder was surprised to see Antonio D'Argario, the Vampire King, step out of the shadows. "Wh . . . what are you doing here?" Mulder tried to sit up, to move back against the head of the bed. He didn't make much progress before the vampire laid a large, cold hand in the middle of his chest and pushed him down flat on his back again. "I want to help of course. Vince is such a gentle soul, I just can't let the zombies kill him. Of course in return for my assistance I will expect a small favor from you, My Beautiful Elusive Fox.." " A small fa . . . favor? Like what?" "One fantasy. Freely given with you and these lovely friends of yours. One long erotic weekend with your full cooperation and no escape attempts." Mulder swallowed hard. "And you won't try to keep me afterward?" "No, I give you my word as a vampire. One weekend and you are free to leave. Favor completed, payment in full. What do you say, one weekend for Vince's life? Do we have a deal?" What choice did he have really. He couldn't get out of here, couldn't get anyone to believe him, this was his only hope. "Okay, deal." Two hours later an ecstatic Vince showed up suddenly in Mulder's hospital room. "Oh Sweet Boy, it was so exciting. The zombies never knew what hit them. King D'Argario was magnificent. Body parts were falling everywhere. He cleaned out that den of murdering zombies and rescued me. Imagine that, the king of all of the vampires rescued me. He also says that he might grant me the power to do sexual fantasies. Isn't that wonderful, Sweet Boy? Think how much fun we are going to have now." Mulder buried his aching head in his pillow and groaned. "Oh, God." One Month Later A Ranch in Colorado Scully kissed Mulder softly, her arms twined around his neck. Small delicate hands were playing softly in his dark hair. "Oh Mulder, this is so wonderful. I can't believe you planned this weekend get away for the three of us. Who did you say this ranch belonged to?" "Uh-h-h-h . . . a friend." He smiled down into her lovely face. "I hope you and Walter have a wonderful time this weekend, Scully." "What about you Mulder," she kissed the tip of his nose. "Aren't you going to have a good time too?" "Oh don't worry about me Scully. If you have good, I'll consider the weekend a total success." He pulled Scully more tightly against him and buried his nose in her beautiful hair. Just then Walter Skinner burst into the room, his gun pointed at Mulder's head. Oh Shit! The End Five Continued 6