SANCTUARY BY: Cheryl Cohen (Alias: The Stinker) and Annie Reed (Alias: FancyKatz) ;) Forward ************************************ Annie and I started this story several months ago. In fact we started bouncing around ideas for a sequel right after we finished "Devil's Advocate. Okay, we didn't expect it to take this long or be this long but somehow the characters seemed to take on a life of their own and each insisted that they have their moment in the sun. Hence, what follows is ninety pages of love, sadness, joy, sex, misunderstandings, violence, insanity, aggravation, frustration, humor, death...and life. Life is a short display Of God's proud handiwork Given us only for a moment In order To envy immortality...J. Gary Please be warned, this tale contains, graphic violence, adult language, and adult situations. Although there is sex involved in several scenes, it is not what I would consider graphic nor is it out of context with the story. I like to leave a little bit to the imagination. DISCLAIMERS ETC. ******************************** This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright infringements are intended. ************************************ Chapter One The Escape Lucy's hands were shaking... either with nervousness or excitement, she couldn't tell which. It took her three tries before she was able to punch in the access code in the correct sequence. Thank god she got it right on the third try... otherwise the system would have locked her out and she would have had to wait another half hour before she could try again, and a half hour later would be too late. She glanced over her shoulder as the light above the door changed from red to green and the lock disengaged. No one was looking. But then again, she really didn't expect anyone to be there. She was the only nurse on shift in this end of the building this late at night. Just her and the guard, and Henry always went to the can at the same time every night. He was probably in the middle of the sports section right about now. Lucy slipped through the open door and into the darkened hallway beyond. The "guests" of the state were all supposed to be sleeping... some with the help of little pills she had given them earlier in the evening. But this night she knew three of her patients were awake... awake and waiting for her. She stopped in front of Jordan's cell, her hands fumbling with the key. Strange... in a place as high tech as this one, the individual cells were still locked with old fashioned keys. Keys which could be duplicated with very little effort, as Lucy had found out. Guess they figured no one would ever be able to get past the computerized security system at the ward entrances. And no one probably could, at least not without a little inside help. Lucy finally managed to get both locks open and had just turned the latch when the door was snatched out of her hand. "Hey babe," Jordan whispered to her, one strong arm snaking around her waist. "I knew you'd make it." Jordan's blue eyes blazed down at her, a smile on his handsome face. Lucy felt his gaze burning into her soul and as he kissed her, she felt her heart skip a beat and her knees threatened to buckle under her. Never in her life had someone affected her the way Jordan Chambers did. "You got the other keys?" he asked, pulling her along down the hallway while his eyes, ever active, searched the darkened passage for any hidden dangers. "Yeah, right here," she said, handing him the keys. "Jordan, are you sure about this?" Breaking Jordan out was one thing, but he'd insisted on bringing Keith and Mitchell along too. Keith was a harmless boy as far as Lucy was concerned, but she was afraid of Mitchell. "I told you," Jordan whispered harshly, "all of us go... all three of us. You got that?" he asked, jerking her hand, his eyes burning into her. She nodded her understanding . They went down the hall quickly and quietly, and within a few moments Keith Reese and Mitchell Tyler had joined them. Lucy tried to suppress a shiver as she led the trio back to the ward's access door and the guard station beyond. All excitement was gone now, only the nervousness was left...nervousness, and a sense of approaching doom. The access code once again opened the door to the guard station. Beyond the guard station was the door to the outside world. Henry had not yet returned from his nightly appointment with the john and Lucy permitted herself a small sigh of relief. She checked the monitors in the guard station and was relieved to see that the closed circuit system that monitored activity in Jordan's ward was still inoperative. She didn't intend to ever come back here but she also didn't want video evidence of her part in helping three criminally insane convicts escape. "Hey, Lucy, you seen the comics?" Lucy's heart sank as she recognized Henry's voice coming down the short hall from the restrooms. She saw Mitchell flatten himself against the wall as Jordan pulled her down with him on the floor of the guard station. Keith crouched on the floor next to them. Unless Henry looked up at the security mirror mounted in the hallway where the wall met the ceiling, he wouldn't be able to see Mitchell hiding around the corner until it was too late. Lucy's training almost made her cry out a warning to Henry but Jordan clamped a hand over her mouth and no sound escaped. Henry was too intent on finding his paper to look up into the mirror. As he passed the corner, Mitchell turned and drove his knee into Henry's groin. Air escaped Henry's lungs with a soft "oompf" and as he started to double over, Mitchell drove the heel of his hand up into the bridge of Henry's nose. Splinters of bone from the impact rammed into Henry's brain and he was dead before he hit the floor. Mitchell grabbed the gun from Henry's belt, his gaze lingering hungrily on the dead man's form, his eyes shining with a n almost inhuman fury. But the still rational part of Mitchell's mind knew that now was not the time, so he left the dead man alone and rejoined the others. Together the foursome moved out through the front door. Lucy and Jordan sat in the front seat of her car, Mitchell and Keith in the back. Lucy fought back the tears which threatened to overflow when she thought about Henry. It was all so unnecessary... they could have immobilized him. Mitchell didn't need to kill him. As they neared the guard shack, Keith and Mitchell scrunched down out of sight in the back seat, and Jordan moved to the floorboard in the front seat. Lucy felt his hand stroke her legs. "Just like we planned babe," he said. "Take it nice and easy." His hand moved upward, stroking her intimately and Lucy suddenly found it hard to concentrate on her driving. "We're almost home free." As the lights signaled their arrival at the gate, he withdrew his hand and huddled in the dark shadows of the car. "Lucy, what's up?" the tower guard asked from the shelter of his bullet-proof shack. His voice sounded tinny over the speaker. Lucy knew that video cameras mounted on the outside of the shack wouldn't be able to penetrate the gloom in the car. "Don't feel so hot, so I'm taking an early out," she said, speaking into the microphone she knew was next to the speaker. "Madelaine told me to go on home. She said she'd come over and check the ward for me later." This was not lie... Lucy had told the head nurse she was going home sick. Might as well keep the lies to a minimum, she'd figured. She just hope no one had discovered Henry yet. "Hope you're feeling better soon," the guard said as the front gate began to open. Lucy drove through... her heart in her throat, waiting all the while for the guard to order her to stop, to pull gun on her. But nothing happened and Lucy drove through the gate and into the night beyond. After about 15 minutes, Jordan told her to pull over so he could drive. Lucy found a quiet side street... easy in this neighborhood... and pulled off the road. The area was rural, with homes scattered sparsely about. It seems no one wanted to live near the state loony bin. Jordan and Lucy got out of the car. Mitchell got out after them. "Gotta take a leak," Mitchell said, moving off into the night. Jordan nodded at him. Grabbing Lucy's hand, Jordan moved her out of range of the car headlights. He pulled her roughly to him and kissed her deeply, his hands moving over her body. Lucy felt her body melt into him, her doubts and fears disappearing. How could something that felt this good be bad? "Do you love me, Lucy?" Jordan whispered to her. "Yes... oh yes," she murmured as his lips moved across her neck and throat. "Do you believe in me, Lucy?" he asked, his voice harsh with emotion. "Yes," she replied breathlessly, her hands in his hair. "Then you shall find salvation," Jordan promised. Lucy never felt the blow that broke her neck, just as she had never heard Mitchell come up behind her. Jordan laid her down softly in the meadow where wildflowers had bloomed only a few short weeks ago, before the first cold snap of the season had killed them, as surely as the cold in Jordan Chamber's heart had killed Lucy. "Sorry, Lucy," Jordan whispered down at her, his handsome face reflecting no remorse, "sometimes believing is not enough." Keith watched all this from the car. He had seen Mitchell creep up silently behind Lucy, and he knew what was coming. But he didn't understand why... Lucy had always been good to him, had never looked on him with disgust like the other nurses, had never mistreated him like some of the ward attendants, had never hurt him like the doctors who were intent on "rehabilitating" him. He would ask Jordan...Jordan would know. Jordan knew everything. He jumped from the car and as he approached Jordan's figure, standing god-like over Lucy's still and lifeless body, his own body took on the submissive posture that it always did whenever he was in Jordan Chambers' presence. Meekly, he looked to his 'savior' and asked a question. "J...J...Jordan," he stuttered softly, "Sh....sh...she helped us. Wh...wh...why did she have to d....die?" Jordan steeled his cold, emotionless eyes at his faithful follower. "She was a harlot, Keith... they all are, and you need to know that," he replied in a judgmental tone. "Pleasures of the flesh are their only concern." Jordan turned his back on Lucy's prone body, causally draping an arm around Keith's shoulder and leading the boy away. "Through my carnal knowledge of Lucy, I have taken her evil unto myself and purified her soul," Jordan explained. "She has paid the price of her sins with her life, but her spirit, now free from blame, may enter paradise." Keith raised his boyish face heavenward and smiled a smile of self-righteous confirmation. "L...l..l...like Jenny?" he asked. "Yes, like Jenny," Jordan confirmed. "What you did took courage, Keith. It takes courage to offer the path to heaven to another soul. Someday everyone will come to understand that, just like I do." He was exonerated. Keith felt the doubt instilled in him by his therapy lift from his soul. It had been 'right' to sacrifice Jenny before she could defile herself with him. His girlfriend had gone to her creator with a pure heart and an innocent soul...of this he had made certain. He'd prepared her for her journey to Eden by carefully removing all evidence of her sexuality so she would never again be tempted to sin. Jordan was the only one who'd ever understood him. His parents hadn't understood. They called him the devil's spawn and had shunned him. The authorities could not even comprehend his reasoning. But Jordan...Jordan could. Jordan gave credence to Keith's doctrine of violence and a blessing to his depraved insanity...and with good reason. For Keith had found his god in Jordan and his only purpose in life was to follow whatever mandate Jordan Chambers deemed appropriate. What Keith didn't understand, and would not have believed even if someone tried to explain it to him, was that Jordan Chambers needed Keith as much as Keith Reese needed Jordan. It's hard to be a god when you have no one to worship you. "Get your fucking ass back in the car you stupid little faggot," Mitchell sneered with loathing, "and quit looking at Jordan like he's some kind of goddamn Messiah." Mitchell faced Jordan with hungry slitted eyes. "This girl was no challenge," he complained, "and neither was the guard." Mitchell fingered the gun that was tucked into his waistband as he shuffled across the now barren meadow to the car. The gun was just for backup...Mitchell was quite capable of killing people with his bare hands, and in ways that were much more personally satisfying than the simple ways he had dispatched the guard and Lucy. After a few steps, Mitchell realized that Jordan hadn't moved. Fucking amateurs. "Are you coming, Chambers, or are ya gonna wait for the cops to show up?" Mitchell growled. Jordan fell in step beside Mitchell and began to preach the gospel according to Jordan Chambers. Mitchell stopped suddenly. He turned on Jordan with an angry glare, and trembled with pent up fury. "Save your pseudo-religious bullshit for that feeble minded asshole in the car," he swore. "I know for a fact that there *is* no god. I'm living proof of that," he spat, eyes shining with hatred. His rock hard body tensed with the training he'd received as a good Company man... back when he had been paid to kill, long before killing was a necessity for his own survival. He looked into the night, feeling the beating of the small hearts of the night animals in his blood as surely as if he'd heard it with his ears. He saw an owl swoop after a field mouse, heard the mouse's small, shrill death cry, and felt his own blood race. "I feel the urge, Chambers, I need to kill again...soon," Mitchell warned. "I can taste their blood, feel their fear...the high. I need my 'fix', my 'drug'...my *joy*. Get it for me, Jordan...or I'll *take* what I need," he threatened. "You *dare* to threaten me?" Jordan growled, eyeing Mitchell with an equally evil glint. "You may be 'well trained', but you better remember that I'm certifiably 'mad.' I believe the exact term used to profile me was 'brilliantly psychotic' with tendencies toward megalomania. It was further recommended to the authorities that rehabilitation would be an unwarranted waste of the taxpayers money and they should lock me up and throw away the key. Jordan grabbed Mitchell's shirt and pulled the larger man in close. "So don't fuck with me," he whispered menacingly. "You never know what'll make me snap." He released Mitchell and stalked off toward the car. Mitchell stood still for a moment, clenching and unclenching his hands at his sides. Soon he wouldn't need these two assholes. Mitchell contented himself with mentally planning their demise. The thought made him smile, a smile that didn't quite make it up to his eyes. As they neared the car, Keith nervously ran his hand through his unkempt hair. "Jordan...Jordan...!" he yelled excitedly. "We gotta find a place to stay. It says on the radio that there's gonna be a blizzard tonight." "Wait here," Jordan ordered as he turned and walked purposefully back to Lucy's body. Once there, he removed her starched white shirt, draped it across one arm, and returned to the car. Jordan tossed the shirt to Keith in the back seat of the car. "Put it on," he commanded. Keith stared back in confusion. "Why?" he asked uncertainly. Wearing girl's clothes...uh uh. Oh no, he couldn't do that. Keith's head started jerking back and forth, a small sound building at the back of his throat. What would people think...that he was some kind of freak, some kind of sissy boy No, no, no, no, no..... "Just do it," Jordan replied impatiently. Keith continued to shake his head back and forth...'no.' Jordan's arm shot out and he grabbed Keith by the chin, forcing Keith to look at him. "People will be a lot more willing to 'help' a young innocent looking kid in a nice white shirt than a couple of hard lookers like us in prison grays," he explained with a handsomely convincing smile. Keith looked up into Jordan's blue eyes...Jordan was saying that he needed him, was relying on him to help the group. Nobody had ever relied on him before. Keith calmed down and returned Jordan's smile as he stripped out of his hospital-issue shirt and put on Lucy's clean white one. Jordan had been driving for about an hour and a half before he was forced to coast the car to a stop along the shoulder of the rural country road. He banged his hands violently on the steering wheel and cursed. "Stupid bitch could've at least filled the damn gas tank," he mumbled heatedly. Reaching over the gearshift, Jordan unceremoniously nudged Mitchell awake. He'd dozed off about a half hour after they'd left Lucy's body. "Hey, wake up Tyler, we have a problem," he complained loudly. "What?" Mitchell asked with irritation clearly reflected in his voice. Sleep was the only peace he could ever expect to know in this life, and he got precious little of it. Just another minor "side effect" of his special training. Now, with his mind fully alert, the burning desire to kill coursed once more through his veins with renewed passion. He hated what he was but he *was* only what the Company had made him. There was nothing to do except satisfy his needs and fulfill his destiny. Mitchell's look was not lost on Jordan. He caught he starving demented glare that shimmered hauntingly in Mitchell's hard uncaring eyes, the hunger that was reflected in his face. The 'look' even made Jordan shiver involuntarily. Mitchell Tyler was dangerous. Jordan knew that Mitchell didn't give a rat's ass about him or Keith, and would just as soon kill both of them if he didn't think he needed them to survive. He bore allegiance to no one and snuffed out life indiscriminately, driven by demons not of his own design. Jordan knew that sooner or later he'd have to help Mitchell's soul find its place in eternity, but right now he needed Mitchell's special talents. "We're out of gas," Jordan ventured tentatively, reluctant to press his position as 'leader'. "Then I suggest we find a place to hide out before the sun comes up, the cops discover we're gone, and the weather changes." Mitchell opened the door and slid gracefully from his seat into the pre-dawn darkness like a panther preparing for the hunt. Jerking the rear door open, Mitchell took out his irritability on Keith by kicking the soles of Keith's shoes as he lay snoring in the back seat. "Get your ass up, Boy Scout," Mitchell goaded with icy calm, "time to take a hike." Keith reluctantly scrambled from the car. He grimaced as he stumbled on one of the pebbles that were scattered over the unevenly paved road. With Mitchell leading the way, three dark silhouettes of evil quickly blended into the shrouded shadows that ominously lined the lonely back road. ****** continued in part 1b ********************************************************************** From xangst@frii.com Fri Oct 18 04:42:51 1996 Sanctuary part one continued... Melissa Scully drove slowly up the dimly lit driveway to her mother's house, nearly rear ending her sister's car when she slammed on the brakes and slid six feet on the ice and snow that covered her mother's driveway. The clock on the dashboard glowed 4 AM and Melissa felt like she'd been driving for years. Strange, Melissa hadn't expected her sister to be spending the weekend. The last thing she'd heard before leaving for Key West was that Dana and her mom would be staying in Miami with Fox. In their phone conversation just the other day, her mom had told her that they'd wanted to keep him in the hospital for at least another week so Dana's presence here was definitely puzzling. God, she was exhausted. Her various flights had been canceled and rescheduled three times due to weather and she'd begun to think she wouldn't make it home at all but would be camping out in some airport terminal. Now that Melissa was finally home, she wasn't sure she had enough energy to even get out of the car. An unexpected yawn caught her off guard and her hands unconsciously rubbed at the sleep that had hardened in the corners of her eyes. Raggedly she climbed the porch steps and entered the darkened house. Damn the luggage, Melissa thought tiredly, it can wait in the car until morning. The sun began to peak out timidly above the dark horizon, revealing the cool clear blue of a cloudless sky. But there was a hint of red in that sunrise, a precursor of the storm the weather service had forecasted for later today. Jacob Priestly smiled with satisfaction as he baited his hook and dropped the line into the hole he'd cut in the ice. He may listen to the weather service, but he lived by the Farmer's Almanac, and it had predicted a hard and early winter. Usually he couldn't indulge in ice fishing until later in the season, but this year he'd been able to enjoy his singular passion earlier than he normally would. Jacob's family had lived in this part of the country for generations. Besides being a strong believer in the Farmer's Almanac, he also put strong stock in all the sayings his mother had taught him as a boy. Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning...red sky at night, sailor's delight. There'd be clouds in the sky before this day was over...he'd bet his life on that. Jacob had hiked to this very spot every year for the past 40 years of his life and was exceedingly proud of the fact that at age 60, he could still make the trip. The early morning air was clear and pristine and Jacob inhaled its invigorating coolness deeply, reflecting on how wonderful his life had been. He glowed with anticipation as his line grew taught and bounced several times beneath the cold water... the fish were biting well this morning. Even though she thought he was crazy for getting up before dawn just so he could sit out on the ice, he'd have he'd have plenty of fish for his other half to cook tonight. Jacob's mouth watered in anticipation...his Sarah was a great cook. As the trio rounded the bend of the frozen lake, Mitchell Tyler stopped suddenly and sniffed the air. Jordan put up his hand, halting Keith's forward strides, and motioned him to remain still. He'd learned to recognize Tyler's transformations from witnessing his brief episodes at the hospital/prison. Without the medication the staff gave Mitchell to keep him under control, Jordan realized that even *they* had cause to fear him. Tyler's eye's narrowed with animal-like concentration as his breathing quickened. His muscles tensed with the anticipation of the hunt. He sensed the presence of his prey, heard its breathing, smelled the salty sweat of its fragile flesh. The savage blood that had run in the veins of his ancestors for a millennia now boiled in his own and all color fled his vision. The prey was helpless, unaware of the beast that stalked him. Jacob looked up from unhooking his fifth catch of the morning and spied a young man approaching him from a small clump of trees nearby. It hadn't occurred to him that there would be anyone else on the lake at such an early hour so the boy's presence had initially startled him. Keith smiled disarmingly and Jacob relaxed and smiled in response. He wasn't really a kid, Jacob thought on second glance. Maybe about 22 or 23. And he must be freezing out here without a coat...He was wearing just a white shirt and some dirty gray pants. "Sir," Keith spoke softly, "my car b...b...broke down. C...c...could you p... p...lease direct me to the nearest house in these parts where I might be able to use the phone and call a tow truck?" Jacob spoke in an easy neighborly tone, "That'd be the Scully place about a quarter mile down the road on the left...you can't miss it." "Thank you very much," Keith replied politely. Jacob flinched in surprise when he felt the cold, hard, steely press against his right temple. An angry, inhuman voice growled behind his head. "Strip, old man, "it ordered. In a few moments, the old fisherman stood in his underwear on the ice. He was shivering with either cold, or fear, or more than likely, both. Mitchell's eyes glowed an unearthly red in the diffused pre dawn light. Instead of feeling relief that he was no longer looking at the business end of the gun, Jacob was suddenly sure that he would not be alive to see the coming storm and would never taste his wife's cooking again. The serene morning silence was abruptly shattered as Mitchell threw back his head and screamed a frustrated howl of anguished primitive fury. He propelled himself at his terrified victim with the force of a hunger-crazed wolf. Jordan and Keith were compelled to watch with a kind of dreadful fascination, like motorists passing a fatal car crash. As they looked on, Mitchell, without the benefit of instrument or weapon, ripped the still beating heart from the old man's chest, tore at his jugular, then gripped his frail neck between clenched, bloodied teeth and shook the limp form with murderous frenzy before dropping what was left to the ground. Holding the dripping heart, Mitchell raised his arms to the sky and screamed again. "This is for you, you sons of bitches," he yelled. "Someday this will be you! I swear by all that's unholy...some day this will be you." Mitchell dropped the heart next to the old man's body. Panting heavily, he licked his hands, shivering with the sensuous pleasure the taste of the old man's blood brought him. A woman would have been better...then he'd have been able to satisfy all his needs...but this would hold him for now. As his system began to calm down, his vision returned to normal... at least what passed as normal for Mitchell. He dipped his hands into the frigid water beneath the hole in the ice, and then cleansed the remaining results of his madness from his body. Finally he donned the old man's worn pants and red flannel shirt that Jordan held out to him. Keith exhaled the breath he'd been holding. And people called *me* sick, he thought. At least they wouldn't have to deal with Mitchell's unnatural compulsion for at least another day or so. Rummaging through the old man's tackle box, he picked out a long, narrow 10 inch filet knife and sheath and stuck the blade end into the top of his boot. Well, you never know when a good knife would come in handy. He'd seen the way Mitchell had looked at he old man, had seen all of his physical responses to killing. Keith had tried to avert his eyes while Mitchell changed clothes, but he'd still seen. Keith had no intention of being a victim, of *any* kind, of Mitchell Tyler. He hadn't been able to defend himself in the hospital, but he'd find a way to defend himself here...oh yes, he would. "Wh...wh...what do we do now, J...J...Jordan," he asked his mentor with a demented kind of innocence. A diabolical grin slowly spread across Jordan Chamber's almost serene face as he looked toward the deserted road. "We're gonna make a house call, my son...." Brightly colored, flowered curtains caught the morning sun, splattering the off-white walls of the room with diffused shades of reds, yellows, blues, and greens. A kaleidoscope of colors filled the cheery little bedroom and gently caressed the peacefully sleeping figure snuggled deep within the patchwork quilt on the old fashioned feather bed. Dana stood in the doorway for several minutes just watching him. It always amazed her how childlike and innocent he looked in his sleep, so much so that she often had to resist the urge to place a teddy bear in his arms. She chuckled quietly to herself at the image that particular thought conjured up in her mind. A hand gently squeezed her shoulder in understanding and Dana turned her head to look into her mother's smiling eyes They shone with deep affection as Margaret also took in the sight of the handsome young man who had come to mean so much to her daughter...and to her. "The doctor said that he's going to be just fine," Mrs. Scully reassured her daughter once again. "If he 'wasn't', I'm certain that they wouldn't have let Fox leave the hospital, let alone fly home with us." Dana glanced back at the fine-featured face and silky dark hair that was buried into the fluffy pillow on the bed. She also noticed with interest that one bare shoulder peeked out seductively from beneath the covers. Snapping her attention back to her mother, Dana voiced her concerns. "That's the *point,* mom...according to Dr. Grayson, he should still be in the hospital. They only let him out a week early because I'm a doctor, we promised to watch him, and they couldn't make him behave." "Well give the doctor credit," Margaret whispered, "he obviously recognized the fact that we have more 'pull' with Fox, than he or the hospital staff. You of all people, should know that a patient is likely to recover more quickly when he is surrounded by 'family' and friends." A wide grin spread across Dana's face when her mom's voice paused with emphasis over the word 'family.' "Okay mom," she replied quietly resigned while backing out into the hall and closing the bedroom door. "I'll try my best to stop hovering over him. It's just that.... that...well," she shot her mother a look of pure exasperation, "Fox Mulder is a walking 'trouble magnet.' Sometimes his desire for truth overrides his common sense and his insatiable curiosity and willingness to believe in just about anything, interferes with his natural instinct for self preservation. Margaret Scully laughed out loud. "What you're trying to tell me in your own unique round about way is that Fox tends to jump in head first without testing the water and gets hurt much too often because of his impulsiveness. Scully's eyes crinkled ruefully. "How is it you can take anything I say and reduce it to one sentence?" Margaret smiled thoughtfully. "I guess it comes from years of living with William Scully Sr.. You're a lot like your father, you know," she told her daughter as they moved off down the hall. "Oh, and if I were you," Margaret added, "I think I'd continue to hover....discretely, of course." "Mom..." Dana complained. "Oh, don't 'mom' me, Dana Katherine," Margaret chided. "Outwardly, Fox may complain, but deep down inside....he craves the attention. In my humble opinion, Fox Mulder is long overdue for some good old fashion TLC and don't let him convince you otherwise. Somewhere along the way, someone has convinced that dear boy that he's not 'worthy' of happiness. I'm not pointing any fingers because it wouldn't change anything, mind you," she added hastily. " But let's just say I believe it's 'our' mission to turn him around," she informed Dana with a conspiring grin as they headed back down the stairs to the kitchen. Cooking breakfast for her husband and children had always been one of Margaret's favorite chores of the day. However, since the children had grown up and moved away, and her husband's death the year before, it was a 'chore' that she no longer got to perform very often. She was enjoying herself immensely. The house was full and everything just felt right. Dana was home again......with Fox. If Dana could only have seen the look on her face when Margaret had suggested they both come home with her. It had been matched only by the look on poor Fox's face. Margaret chuckled to herself at the memory. The cat was out of the bag, so to speak, on Dana's relationship with Fox. "Mom, how did you know?" Dana had asked. "Oh, I just had a feeling," Margaret had replied with one of her most inscrutable smiles. What? Did her daughter think she was blind? It was fairly obvious to her and probably to anyone else who'd take the time to really look. They stared at one another and touched more often than any two people she'd seen in a long time. Lord, she thought with amusement as she mixed the pancake batter, if Dana's father knew they were sharing the same room, let alone the same bed, he'd have rolled over in his grave. He was always one to stand on propriety--at least where 'his little girl' was concerned. Margaret, on the other hand, 'knowing' her daughter...and finally...Fox, realized that any type of 'propriety' had been violated long ago and to keep up 'appearances' would be a foolish, hypocritical waste of time...and space. And right now space was at a premium in the Scully household. Bill Jr. had arrived Friday afternoon with the kids while his wife was out of town and Melissa had shown up early this morning. Well, most of her family was here anyway, and that made her heart light as she scrambled eggs and flipped pancakes. Standing at the stove next to her mother, Dana grinned impishly as she turned the sausage. She knew she'd be getting yet another lecture from Melissa about the 'horrors' of eating meat. I don't know what she's got to complain about anyway, Dana thought. Melissa had been allowed the luxury of sleeping in given her late arrival time, and Mom had made sure there was fresh-squeezed orange juice to go with breakfast, just the way Melissa like it. Dana turned around in time to see her older sister appear in the doorway, her nose wrinkling with disgust. "Must you insist on cooking animal flesh this early in the morning?" she complained loudly. Well speak of the devil, Dana thought wickedly. She purposely exaggerated the act of inhaling the sizzling sausage's aroma. "Oh....and to think, I made these just for you, Dana teased. "I guess Mulder and I will have to eat them all by ourselves," she added solely for her sister's benefit. Dana knew Mulder's insides were still too screwed up to handle anything as heavy as sausage yet, but it was a sneaky way of letting her sister known that he was here. "Mulder?" Melissa asked in surprise. "You mean Fox is here? She turned and looked at her Mother with disbelief. Margaret, for her part, intended to stay out of this conversation. Sometimes her daughters could be so competitive. "Mother, why didn't you say something?" Melissa complained. "Look at me. I look like a bag lady," she fretted. "Relax sis," Dana snickered while taking in the sight of Melissa's well worn, terry cloth robe, fuzzy slippers, and bedraggled hair. "If Mulder was one to take much stock in appearances, we'd all be in trouble right now." "Who's in trouble?" Bill Jr. echoed in his loud booming voice. He strolled into the kitchen fully dressed in his IZOD tennis shirt and Dockers pants, followed by two squealing, yet equally well dressed children. Bill leaned his large, muscular frame up against the kitchen counter while the kids immediately zipped through the doorway and into the living room to watch cartoons. "You are," Margaret scolded, "If you don't keep the noise down. Fox is still sleeping." Bill pouted and snitched a piece of egg with his fingers as Dana carried the pan full of scrambled eggs by him on her way to the table. So his sister had finally brought a guy home with her. Okay, so he was her partner. The other guy he'd met about three, maybe four years ago, had been her instructor. Bill hadn't really liked him too much--the guy had no sense of humor and was a little 'old' as far as he was concerned. But Dana had liked the old stick in the mud, so he had tried to be cordial. Bill had a feeling this guy was different. If his mom liked him, and he had no doubts that she did, he must be an ok guy. The idea that his mom must approve of this fellow surprised the hell out of Bill. She had never liked any of Dana's men 'friends,' yet she spoke of this one like he was family. He hated to admit it, but that fact kinda made him a little jealous and before he quite realized what he was doing, he let his jealousy slip out in the form of a slightly biting retort. "Hey, the guy was asleep yesterday afternoon when I got here. What's he got? A side job testing mattresses???" Bill could see that his remark really irritated Dana. The reasonable adult in him that advised that he should stop while he was ahead gave way to the persistent inner child and with typical brotherly skill, he went in for the kill. "But I bet he wasn't 'sleeping' *all* night---was he 'Dani-doo'? No endurance huh?" That last jibe was just too much. Dana spun around suddenly, reached up and dumped the scrambled eggs over her brother's head. "I'm going to go see if Mulder's awake yet, mom," she spat out tersely. He needs to eat." Turning sharply on her heel, Scully marched out of the kitchen, ignoring her brother's stupefied look, and angrily climbed the stairs. "Moron," Melissa muttered as she side-stepped her egg covered brother to get to the table. "How many times has mom told you not to wear your food," she said, poking him in his side. "Mom.....!" he whined. Margaret shook her head slowly. No matter how grown up her kids were, some things never changed. "Bill, clean up this mess and scramble some more eggs," she said with a patient tone known to mothers everywhere. "Perhaps one day you'll check out your information 'before' you insert your foot in your mouth. For once, Fox is doing what he's supposed to be doing...sleeping, and taking it easy. On your sister's last case, he was caught in an explosion and was critically injured. In fact, the poor man nearly died. He was just released from the hospital yesterday morning so kindly take it easy on them both," she admonished. Margaret wiped her hands on the kitchen towel and hung it neatly back in place over the oven handle. "You two finish setting things up here," she instructed. "I'm going upstairs. Dana may need some help getting him down here if he's awake." Bill appeared suitably remorseful and gently grasped his mother's elbow as she walked by him. "I only meant to tease her," he said guiltily. "I'll go up and see if she needs some help." He shook the last remnants of egg out of his hair over the kitchen sink, then turned slowly and shuffled out of the kitchen. "Maybe brother Bill isn't such a 'weenie' after all," snickered Melissa in between bites of pancake. Margaret closed her eyes, rubbed her temples, and plopped down heavily onto the kitchen chair. She'd obviously forgotten that having her children home was just as much of a chore as it was a joy. "If it doesn't bother your sensibilities too much, could you get some more eggs out, Melissa?" she asked with a deep sigh as she contemplated scrambling up another batch. At this rate they were going to run out of food before the morning was over. ******** End part one From xangst@frii.com Sat Oct 19 06:29:50 1996 SANCTUARY BY: Cheryl Cohen (Alias-The Stinker) and Annie Reed (Alias-FancyKatz) Forward ************************************ Annie and I started this story several months ago. In fact we started bouncing around ideas for a sequel right after we finished "Devil's Advocate. Okay, we didn't expect it to take this long or be this long but somehow the characters seemed to take on a life of their own and each insisted that they have their moment in the sun. Hence, what follows is ninety pages of love, sadness, joy, sex, misunderstandings, violence, insanity, aggravation, frustration, humor, death...and life. Please be warned, this tale contains, graphic violence, adult language, and adult situations. Although there is sex involved in several scenes, it is not what I would consider graphic nor is it out of context with the story. I like to leave a little bit to the imagination. DISCLAIMERS ETC. ******************************** This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright infringements are intended. ************************************ Chapter Two Okay, What did I do now? Dana crossed the bedroom floor softly and carefully sat on the edge of the bed. Mulder was still sound asleep. She couldn't believe that he'd slept so long or so peacefully. He needed the rest and she almost decided to leave him alone. No, she had to wake him. He had to eat sometime. "Mulder..." she whispered, mischief playing about her eyes. He swatted absently at the tickle that her soft breath invoked in his ear, moaned softly, and pulled the covers up under his chin. Dana eased herself down, brushed her lips lightly over his eyelids, and once more whispered into his ear, "Fox, wake up now." Mulder's lids fluttered in protest, opened slowly, then his eyes focused on her. A radiant smile lit his face like the luminescent beams of the morning sun shining through the bedroom window. "I was having this 'wonderful' dream," he told her softly in delighted awe. "I've always been afraid of dreaming because I'd always thought of dreams and nightmares as being--well, the same, at least they were for me. But this was a real dream, Dana," he murmured excitedly. "It's been so long," he continued, "I...I just never thought that I'd ever just dream again." "Well, Sherlock, what was this dream about?" she inquired. Dana smiled broadly, getting caught up in his euphoria. The tips of Mulder's ears tinged slightly pink and he lowered his eyes shyly. "It was about you," he hedged with seeming embarrassment. "It was ... uh, kind of 'erotic' in nature," he replied, grinning in spite of himself. Unable to hold back any longer, he finally blurted out, "I dreamed we were making love, then the whole room was filled with little girls, lots of them, and all the sudden they all turned into you!" This statement was followed by a low rumble of laughter that originated somewhere deep within his chest and spilled out over his lips like a cascading waterfall. "Now, I must admit to some confusion here, " he chuckled softly, "but you have to agree it's a definite step up from a nightmare." Mulder's laughter was contagious and she found herself sharing in his mirth. He had a beautiful laugh and she was elated to find out just how much she enjoyed the sound. "Okay, Scully, you're into dream analysis." he snickered, reverting back to the way he addressed her when she was working. "So, "What do you make of this one?" he asked, raising one questioning eyebrow. "Ummmm. So ze good heir Mulder vould like an interpretation of ez dream?" she asked, arching her own eyebrow to accompany her imitation of Dr. Freud. Mulder laughed at her. "Offhand, I would say that just possibly, Fox Mulder might have a secret desire for his own personal harem." She chortled in response to his shocked expression and tousled his already unruly hair. Thankfully, the hair that had been burned in the explosion was growing out thicker than it had even been before. Smiling, she bent over and gently kissed his lips. "That's sick, Dana," he complained in a mock serious tone. "One of *you* is more than enough to keep me occupied. A whole room full of you would put me back in the hospital." A bemused expression settled on his face. Reaching up behind her neck, he pulled her closer and brushed his lips along the curve of her neck. His breath was warm against her skin as he murmured softly, "Ah...but what a way to go." Dana pulled back slightly and watched the unbridled sparkle of joy kindle in his deep hazel eyes. There it was again, that difference in him, that fundamental shift in his personality that allowed him to experience and feel all the good things that life had to offer. Something inside Fox Mulder had changed over these last few months since she'd awakened from her coma. Dana had felt it even more when he'd first opened his own eyes at the hospital just a few weeks ago. It was vague and she couldn't exactly put her finger on it. The difference was....subtle in the beginning, then progressively more open. He reminded her of a child along the ocean's shore... tentative at first, running away from the waves, then cautiously sticking his toe into the water before wading in, and finally diving beneath the surface and splashing with delight at his new discovery. She knew that he had faced his own mortality before but never had there been anyone else in his life to consider besides himself. Now he had her. Perhaps the fact that he'd nearly lost everything had shocked him into facing his own emotions...his own feelings about her, his life and how he had been living it, or 'surviving' it. In any case, most of his gloominess and guilt had lifted and it was a happier more relaxed Fox Mulder that faced her now. Whatever it was, she'd decided that she liked it. She liked it very much. "Dana?" he asked with concern. She realized that she'd been staring at him for several seconds. Startled back to the here and now, Dana remembered the reason for waking him up in the first place. "The only place you're going right now," she said with conviction, "is down stairs to eat breakfast." She slipped her arm behind his back to help him sit up. "Ahem...." grunted Bill from the doorway. Surprised by her brother's voice, Dana jumped. The sheet dropped down around Mulder's waist, revealing one large, freshly pink scar along his lower ribcage and several others of various sizes scattered haphazardly across his chest and shoulders. His arms and hands had healed quickly but were still a slightly lighter skintone than the rest of him. Bill caught himself staring and immediately averted his eyes. Mom was right, he thought, this man looked like he'd been through seven kinds of hell. But in the short time he'd observed them, he'd also seen how this guy had been looking at his sister. The man obviously loved her, plain and simple. Bill made a decision and quickly went over to the bed to help. He steadied Mulder with one hand while Dana got Mulder's clothes. Mulder looked up at Bill, and with his help, Fox swiveled slowly until his legs were over the edge of the bed and his feet touched the floor. "I swear I'm not usually this much trouble," Mulder said with a grin as he stiffly pulled on his jeans. "Thanks." Dana helped him slip on his shirt and carefully buttoned it for him, trying to avoid touching the scarred half-healed areas that were still a little painful to the touch. Standing unsteadily, Mulder walked slowly toward the door and down the hall to the stairs. He stood at the landing for several seconds, looking down the stairway like it was a gauntlet. Well, hell, he thought....in his condition, it was a gauntlet. But he'd make it somehow. Just as he was about to take that tentative first step, he felt a strong arm slide around his waist and firmly grasp his belt. "If you can...put your arm around my shoulder, I won't let you fall," Bill's booming, friendly voice promised. "Our family takes care of its own. Just thought you should know what you're getting into." Bill laughed heartily at Mulder's reaction to being called family by Dana's protective older brother and Bill suddenly had to resist an overwhelming urge to smack Mulder on the back. Something about this guy was just, well, likable. "You're gonna need all the help you can get with this bunch, Fox. Especially, the women," he muttered, "they're particularly ornery." He looked at Dana and winked. "Mulder, not Fox," Dana corrected her brother. "I think mom's the only one who can get away with calling him Fox." "I stand corrected," Bill replied. "Once again." Dana stared in disbelief while big brother Bill supported Mulder as they made their way down the stairs. Bill had always been overprotective of his sisters, more so now that their father was no longer around to do the job. And from their conversation in the kitchen earlier, she'd expected him to give Mulder the third degree like he did to every other man she had ever brought home for them to meet. She hadn't counted on them getting along, at least not right away. This was a first...and she wasn't exactly sure how to take it. The phrase echoed in her mind and once again she yielded to its wisdom as she followed her brother and Mulder slowly down the stairs to the living room. Dana paused briefly at the landing with her hand on the banister to steady herself, hanging her head down momentarily as she tried in vain to fight off the heavy feeling of fatigue that had been her constant companion these days. This is positively ridiculous, she thought angrily. She'd had plenty of sleep so there was absolutely no reason for her to be this tired, and she'd be damned if she would turn into some kind of fragile flower at this point in her life. Oh...give yourself a break, Dana Scully, she argued with herself. You've been through a lot in these past few months. Hell, you've been through more shit than most people have to face in a lifetime and your body's obviously still trying to heal itself. So your system's a little screwed up, so what? It's a wonder that anything works at all at this point, she laughed silently to herself. Dana was drawn out of her thoughts by the sound of Mulder's voice calling her name. "Dana? Dana, are you alright?" he asked, anxiously noticing her momentary lapse at the landing. Bill's eyes followed Mulder's concerned gaze and both men eyed her expectantly. "I'm fine," she reassured them. But it was easy to see that they didn't buy it. She raised one eyebrow in contention. "I just moved too quickly and got a little dizzy, so sue me," she replied crankily, bounding energetically down the remaining stairs. Bill accepted her answer without question, but Mulder wasn't entirely satisfied with her explanation. He didn't get a chance to press the matter, however, because Dana's mom chose that moment to appear at the foot of the stairs, effectively ending any chance Mulder had to pursue the subject. Dana breathed a sigh of relief as Margaret diverted Mulder's attention away from Dana by redirecting it to herself. "Would you three get in here, please," Mrs. Scully growled good-naturedly as she herded them all into the kitchen. "Breakfast is ready and everything is getting cold." Margaret smiled at the chorus of "yes, ma'am's" that responded to her instructions. Sometimes the simplest things made you appreciate just how good life could be. Mitchell Tyler finished doling out the old fisherman's supplies to everyone. Keith breathed a sigh of relief when he realized that Mitchell hadn't noticed the missing knife. He zipped up the parka the old man had been wearing. The hood was fur lined and Keith pulled it up around his head. He had been shivering, whether from the cold or from nerves he couldn't tell. But the parka was soft and warm, and he tried to lose himself inside it. "Here, take it," Mitchell growled at him, handing him a cup of coffee from the fisherman's thermos. Keith accepted the steaming mug, trying not to look at the dried blood under Mitchell's fingernails. He normally didn't drink coffee -- he didn't like the taste -- but he wasn't about to tell Mitchell that. "How long do you think it'll take us to get to the Scully house?" Jordan asked Mitchell. Mitchell narrowed his eyes against the sunshine gleaming off the snow. "Walking in this stuff," he said considering the ice and drifted snow. "Probably about half hour, tops. Unless Junior over there slows us up." "He'll keep up just fine," Jordan insisted. "Besides, he's our point man. Who could resist an innocent face like that?" Jordan grinned over at his follower before turning his attention back to more immediate matters. Like the persistent growling in his stomach. "You find anything to eat in there?" Jordan asked, motioning to the remains of the tackle box. "Just a couple of biscuits. You planning on making them multiply to feed us, Chambers?" Mitchell jeered. "I hear bread goes real well with fish." Jordan's face darkened with anger. He knew Mitchell was making fun of him. "Just remember who it was who managed to get you out of that hellhole, Tyler," he spat in the larger man's face. "If it wasn't for me, you'd be spending the rest of your miserable life rotting away inside an 8 by 8 room pumped full of drugs . So show a little respect, if you don't mind." Jordan made a point of turning his back on Mitchell and reaching into the tackle box to retrieve the biscuits. He divided them among the three of them. It wasn't much, but it would have to do for now. Jordan was confident that they would eat much better soon. He knew it, and he was never wrong. Margaret directed Mulder to a place at the table that contained a plate piled high with what appeared to be double portions of everything. He looked down at it with surprise then back up at her. " Mrs. Scully, I've never been much of a breakfast person," he commented in a humble, yet apologetic tone. Uh oh, Dana mused, covering her smile with her hand. Bad move, Mulder. Margaret gave Mulder the once over with her penetrating stare. "Not a breakfast person, huh?" she echoed. "Yes, well maybe that's it then...." she said cryptically. Mulder raised one eyebrow questioningly in slight confusion as to what in hell she was referring to. But no one at the table would meet his eyes, and Mulder got the distinct impression that he'd said something wrong. Maybe Mulder was in the dark, but Margaret Scully had no problems seeing exactly what was necessary. It was obvious to her as the nose on her face that this man had been alone much too long. No one had ever cared enough to insist that Fox Mulder do anything for his own good, with the possible exception of her daughter. Well that was going to change right here and now, she decided with determination... whether he liked it or not. Margaret steeled her eyes at the young man standing shakily before her. She knew that she could get away with what she was about to do for the same reason her daughter got away with it---Fox cared. She had her doubts that just anyone could make him do anything that he really didn't want to do. In fact, previous experience had taught her that he could be bullheaded, stubborn, and downright mulish if not handled correctly. The mere fact that she knew that he cared deeply for them gave her the edge and Margaret Scully used that type of knowledge with practiced expertise for years on the Captain. She also had no doubts that Mulder would realize exactly what she was doing. The Captain had always known, but he let her get away with it just the same. And after all, Mulder was a very intelligent man and a psychologist to boot. But she knew that he would comply anyway just because of who and what she was to him. "Young man," she finally replied evenly, Dr. Grayson informed me before we left the hospital that you hadn't been eating. Is this a continuation of that behavior?" Mulder opened his mouth in surprise at the demanding tone in her voice. What exactly had he done to upset her? Past experience with his own mother certainly yielded no clues. After Sam's disappearance she almost stopped cooking altogether and could not have cared less if anyone actually ate or not. His head still felt like it was stuffed with fluffy white clouds and his brain simply refused to put two and two together. The only thing he could think of was that he was 34 years old, for chrissakes, and he was being dressed down by Mrs. Scully like he was a ten year old boy. His reply, though stubborn, was polite. "No ma'am it is not. It's just that I refused to eat hospital food that looked like someone else had eaten it first." This last remark caught Bill in the middle of drinking his juice, which he ended up spraying all over his plate, Melissa choked loudly on a piece of pancake, and Dana coughed noisily into her hand. Margaret ignored her childrens' reactions and pressed on undeterred. " Oh, so I take it that my breakfast doesn't meet with your approval either?" she countered with a hurt expression. Oh shit, Mulder thought desperately. The last thing he *ever* wanted to do was hurt Mrs. Scully's feelings. While he could live with the fact that the entire Bureau thought that he was a kook and a weirdo, what Mrs. Scully thought of him was important to Mulder. He didn't stop to analyze why it was so important. It just was. Dana stifled a laugh as she read the near panic look on his face. She'd seen this look before. In fact, she'd been the cause of it on most occasions. She waited for what she knew would follow. Yep, there it was...the uncomfortable shuffling of those big feet and then the bowed head. Now for the unsure, mumbled reply. God, he was adorable when he was in this 'oh shit, what do I do now' mode. "Uh, no. Breakfast looks great," Mulder stammered with uncertainty. "It's just that I'm not very hungry." "Well, then, sit down and eat what you can," Margaret insisted. Jesus, why was it that this one tiny woman could make him feel like he was a kid again? Mulder looked to Dana for support but found only a wry smile...the same smile that seemed to adorn everyones' face at the table. Was this some kind of conspiracy that no one bothered to tell him about? They'd ganged up on him and he didn't have a chance. He was outnumbered and outmaneuvered so Fox conceded defeat gracefully. "Yes ma'am," he finally replied with due respect and meekly took his seat at the table. Dana almost felt guilty over not backing Mulder up but in this instance, she was in total agreement with her mother. Both women had anguished over Fox's obvious weight loss during his hospital stay. In their opinion his long, lean, frame had become way too thin and much too pale, so as Mulder had guessed, they had secretly conspired to remedy the situation post haste. Watching Mulder pick dutifully at his food, suddenly began to really tick Scully off. If he'd spend as much time worrying over his own welfare as he did worrying over hers, he wouldn't get himself into such predicaments in the first place. Dammit, sometimes she felt like giving him a good swift kick in the butt. While pondering that thought, she began to help herself to her mom's home cooking in a big way. Everything smelled so good and she was really hungry. Before she'd realized it, she'd piled her plate high with just about everything that her mom had made. Mulder brought his fork to his mouth and froze in midair, staring in wonder at his normally conservative breakfast-eating partner as she woofed down everything that wasn't nailed down, and in record time. He covertly glanced around the table and was relieved to find that he wasn't the only one who noticed the aberration in Dana Scully's eating habits. ******** continued in part 2b From xangst@frii.com Sat Oct 19 06:30:26 1996 Sanctuary part two continued... Dana was too absorbed in her own thoughts to realize that everyone else had stopped eating and was staring at her. How in the hell do you keep a man like Mulder out of trouble, she wondered with trepidation. This was getting way out of hand. It seemed that every time she turned around she ended up in some hospital waiting room or emergency ward, waiting to find out if *he* was gonna be okay. Well, she could always cuff him to the bed again. A wistful smile appeared on her face at the memory but that pleasant thought was suddenly interrupted by a feeling that she was being watched. Looking around the table she saw that the feeling was well founded. Her entire family, including Mulder was staring at her with what she interpreted as acute bewilderment. Breaking the frozen moment, Mulder took his napkin from his lap, blotted the milk from Dana's upper lip and placed it gently on the table. Then with a familiar lopsided grin, he cautiously pushed his plate over to her with one finger as though she might suddenly mistake the appendage for a sausage and gnaw it off to the knuckle. Mulder's eyes sparkled with a dubious glint..."Here Scully," he teased lightly, "take mine---I can't eat any more anyway," he finished with a soft chuckle. The room erupted with titters, giggles, and snickers. Dana's face deepened to an intense reddish hue when she realized that she had single-handedly eaten nearly everything that her mom had placed on the table. "I guess I was hungry," she offered as her only explanation. "No kidding," Bill piped up with a laugh as he pushed back his chair and got up to leave. Two, young, lightly freckled faces cackled relentlessly from the opposite side of the table. As if their father's action was a preprogrammed signal, Matthew and Meredith Scully scrambled from their chairs, grabbed their coats and elbowed each other as they tried to simultaneously squeeze through the kitchen door to the porch outside. It had turned out to be a very cold but clear and beautiful day and after an hour of watching cartoons before breakfast, the Scully children were ready to cut loose. They were met at the back door by Kelly, a jet black cocker spaniel their grandma had rescued from the pound, and the kids' giggles were joined by playful barks and growls. Melissa, also following her brother's example, rose from the table, casually walked by Dana's chair and nonchalantly dropped her uneaten toast on the plate that Mulder had so carefully pushed in front of her sister. Glancing mischievously over one shoulder, she snickered softly, "I'd normally give that to the dog, but you know what they say...waste not, want not." Melissa ducked quickly out of the room before Dana could reply. Dana lowered her eyes toward the table and felt her face grow hot with embarrassment. She endured the lump that had formed in her throat but was unable to deny the tears that gathered unbidden in her eyes. Mulder watched in stunned disbelief as tears rolled silently down Dana's cheek. He had expected a witty slam, perhaps a biting comeback, or even a punch in the arm...*anything* but what he was seeing. Dana saw the shocked look on Mulder's face and it was just too much for her. She slid her chair back violently, bolted from the table and nearly ran from the room. Mulder caught Dana's chair as it threatened to tip over and hit the floor. Three alarm fire bells started going off in his head. This was *not* typical Dana Scully behavior...hell, this was not even what he'd come to know as *atypical* Dana Scully behavior and he couldn't help feeling that he was responsible for it in some way. He tried desperately to think of what he might of said or done to elicit that kind of response but nothing stood out as a possibility. He turned to Margaret, total and absolute worried confusion etched in his features. She shrugged her shoulders in response...she was at as much of a loss as he was. Mulder fumbled unsuccessfully for a moment before he was able to get out of the chair to follow her daughter out of the room. Margaret Scully was alone in her kitchen once more. A slight smiled formed on her lips as she began clearing the table. An old Scottish lullaby came to mind and she hummed it to herself. Poor Fox...she could see in his eyes that he was really worried about her daughter. Whatever the problem was, she was certain they would work it out. With these two it would not be smooth sailing ahead, as the Captain had been fond of saying, but stormy seas followed by calm water. And after the storm there were always the most glorious sunsets. Margaret smiled at the memory of her own glorious sunsets with Dana's father. Theirs had not always been a smooth relationship either, but the ride had been worth it. She was glad that Dana had picked someone that her dear old mom actually liked. Well, adored is more like it, she admitted to herself. And he was tall. Perhaps this time....she pondered as she filled the dishwasher and turned the knob. Mulder nearly collided with Bill as he chased after Dana. Bill had been headed for the front door when he'd been cut off in the hall by Mulder. "Hey Mulder, where's the fire?" Bill asked as he donned his coat on the run. "I was going ask you the same question," Fox replied, conspicuously searching the room with his eyes. Damn... it was empty. Where the hell did she go? "Did you see Dana run through here?" he asked solemnly. "To answer your first question, I'm going to the store. The weather service says that we're gonna be in for a one hell of a blizzard by late this evening, so I'm going to town to pick up some supplies just in case we get snowed in. Besides, mom said thanks to me we're out of eggs." Mulder raised his eyebrows at that, but Bill waived him off. "Don't ask. It's a long story. To answer your second question, Dani doo blew through here like a tornado a couple seconds ago. "She grabbed her coat, and stomped outside." Bill favored Mulder with a typically 'Scully' smirk. "What happened? You two have your first argument?" he snickered in a teasing tone. "Hardly the first," Mulder admitted with a somewhat pained expression, "and more than likely, not the last," he grumbled under his breath. Making his way onto the front porch, Fox spotted Dana trudging through the snow to a singular tree standing steadfast and solitary against the elements. Even through her thick winter coat he could make out the stiff set of her shoulders and he knew she was angry about something. He slipped on the coat he'd snatched from the hall closet on the way out and began to fight through the snow in an attempt to follow her. Something was wrong. Damned if he knew what, but there was something wrong here and he was probably the cause of it all. He'd probably done or said something without even knowing it, but whatever it was, he had to make it right. This couldn't wait. He would never let it wait again. That tiny woman trudging angrily through the snow was the most important thing in his life and he had vowed when he woke up in the hospital that he wouldn't ever let a day go by again in which he didn't let her know it. That didn't mean they couldn't disagree or even get royally pissed at one another for various, usually mundane reasons, it just meant that he would never, ever leave her hurt or angry. Sort of the Fox Mulder variation on the old "never go to sleep angry" rule. So Mulder stumbled on through the snow, awkwardly trying to reach a destination that seemed a lot farther away than when he'd first set out. God, it was cold. The sun glaring off the snow stung his eyes and the thin, icy air burned in his lungs, making just breathing difficult. He was beginning to think that he'd overestimated his capabilities here and had overdone it just a tad. Yep, he'd definitely screwed up. His heart pounded in his chest as a thin film of perspiration appeared on his forehead. He felt sick, suddenly dizzy, and frustrated as hell at his own body for betraying him. Bill Scully stood by the open car door and watched in amazement as Mulder relentlessly pursued an obviously distraught Dana. Bill cupped his hands and yelled, "Hey Fox...What are you? Nuts? Mom said you're supposed to be resting...I don't know....I don't think mom will classify a trek through the snow as 'taking it easy'. I'm warning you....you better get your butt back here before she sees you." Bill sighed heavily and mumbled under his breath, "well at least this time somebody else's ass is gonna be in the sling instead of mine." Dana turned around at the sound of her brother's voice just in time to see Mulder collapse into the stark white snow. What in the hell does he think he's doing, she thought with a tinge of irritation and a lot of concern. I t suddenly occurred to her that he may have misinterpreted the anger she directed inwardly toward herself as anger directed outwardly toward him. By this time he'd no doubt convinced himself that he was the cause of this stupid hormonal flux and was racking his brain trying to figure out exactly what he'd done to make her unhappy. It always amazed her how easily he accepted blame for just about everything under the sun. She had a good idea that his family had a lot to do with that attitude. But since he seldom even mentioned his parents or what his life had been like with them, she might never know for sure. Grunting with effort, Dana sloshed back toward the prone figure in the snow. Bill started walking toward her from the opposite direction but Dana managed to get to Mulder first. Kneeling, by his side she gently turned him over. He smiled with uncertainty as he looked up at her, and spit out a mouthful of snow. "Hi?" he managed to blurt out, followed by a distinctively apprehensive grin. "Just what in the hell do you think you're doing out here??!!?" Scully fumed. "Uh...." He began to move his arms and legs up and down in the snow as Dana looked on dumbfounded. "Snow Angels," he replied seriously, trying to keep his face from betraying the hilarious absurdity of the action. "I've always wanted to make snow angels," he repeated quickly running over the words before they betrayed the laugh that was stuck in the back of his throat. This was totally too much...if she could just see the look on her face, he thought as he lost total control and burst out laughing. Dana, realizing she'd been had got up and playfully kicked him with the toe of her boot. "Come on...get up...You know you shouldn't be out here," she lectured him. Mulder's face darkened slightly as he contemplated as to whether or not he actually *could* get up. "Dana, I....I really don't know if I can...Guess I got a little tired and the tree looked a whole lot closer....and...." "And you really did collapse in the snow," she added slightly pissed that he'd try and deceive her even though she knew it was because he didn't want her to worry. "Not exactly. I just moved too quickly and got a little dizzy, so sue me." He threw the words she'd uttered on the stairs earlier back at her as his embarrassed smile changed to a look of concern. Damn that memory of his, Dana thought ruefully. She hated it when he did that to her. It was a little disconcerting to know that everything she did, every way she looked, every word she uttered would be flawlessly filed away in that brain of his for future use. It just wasn't fair play. "Dana," Mulder paused, shifting in the snow. He tried to get up but only managed to raise himself a few inches from the ground before falling back into the snow, exhausted from the attempt. Mulder groaned angrily and slapped his arms into fluffy, wet whiteness by his sides in frustration. He absolutely *hated* feeling helpless. Dana waited patiently while Mulder dealt with his brief bout of frustration, then she helped him sit up. "Dana," he began again softly, "what's wrong? Have I done something to upset you? I mean, I was just teasing you at the table. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings." He paused briefly and assumed a guilty posture. "I guess it was a stupid thing to do in front of your family." He stared at the ground then fixed his gaze on her with those soft, pleading, penetrating hazel eyes. She could never hide from them. Sometimes she felt that he could see into her mind, her heart and her very soul with those eyes. They were magical. He could see everything there was to see about her and still love her, regardless of what he found. What she felt from him was unconditional, no strings attached. It just *was.* Dana reached out and stroked his cheek tenderly. "You haven't done anything except piss me off by rushing out here when you should be in the house, on the couch or in bed where it's warm. Mulder's eyes were still on her face, still searching for a reason behind her behavior. How in the hell could she explain something to him that she didn't even understand herself? What could she tell him...that she'd had a hormonally emotional blowout, the mother of all PMS bouts rolled into one? She wasn't even certain that was a plausible explanation. While she didn't feel like herself, she didn't exactly feel sick either, just different. She would never, however, admit that to 'mister I gotta worry about everything.' Geez, he'd have her in the hospital so fast it'd make her head spin. No doubt he would insist that they test her for everything from rickets to cat scratch fever, especially after nearly losing her before. No, she would not admit to anything, not just yet. He wouldn't let it go, though, and as Bill arrived to help him up, he murmured to her in a strained whisper, "we'll talk about this when we get inside." Not if I can help it, she thought stubbornly, as they slowly made their way back to the driveway. As they neared the car, Mulder gently shook himself free of the supporting hands that had helped him through the snow. The driveway had been shoveled free of snow, and his ego would only allow him to accept just so much help before it rebelled. "Thanks, I'm okay. I can make it now," he said as he tried to convince them with a smile of apology. "You let me be the judge of that, Fox Mulder," Dana snapped reprovingly while leading him up the front steps. She watched his unsteady gait, ready to grab him if he should fall. When they'd reached the top step, he swayed slightly. She automatically reached out to steady him and pointed forcefully to the porch swing. "Sit," she ordered in a tone that negated any argument from him. He complied reluctantly, opening his mouth to protest but he took note of her posture and expression and quickly closed it, judging that she was entering a particularly bitchy mood. "Stay," she added as an afterthought when he shifted his weight on the swing. Oh, enough is enough, Mulder thought belligerently. "You want me to 'roll over' and 'beg' too??" he quipped with just a hint of sarcasm. Bill snorted with amusement. This was great. These two would provide him with hours of entertainment for years to come. Finally he'd met a guy his baby sister couldn't verbally pulverize or bully. He snickered again until he found himself on the wrong end of a Dana Scully 'dagger' stare and figured he'd better make himself scarce. "Gotta go to town, now," Bill blurted out quickly as he opened the car door. "Hey Fox, can I get you anything ?" he called out over his shoulder as he got into the car and shut the door. "Huh?" Fox muttered distractedly. "Oh yeah, a bag of sunflower seeds would be nice." He stole a side glance in Dana's direction and then looked back at Bill and swallowed hard. "You sure you don't need some company?" he asked hopefully. "No way, Mulder. Stay and face the music, pal," Bill chuckled as he rolled up the car window and pulled away from the house. He turned on the windshield wipers to brush away the snowflakes that had just begun to fall from the sky. Although still widely scattered , the flakes were large and fluffy, filled with the promise of the approaching storm. Bill had a sudden feeling that he should hurry. Watching his only means of escape slowly backing down the driveway, Mulder had no choice but to deal with the problem that had brought him out here in the first place. He turned his gaze toward Dana and cleared his throat. "Okay. So if *I* didn't do anything to upset you, what's wrong?" he asked tentatively. Her silence was not reassuring, so he tried again. "Talk to me, Dana. I'm still you're best friend. Trust me just like I trust you. Let me help," he pleaded. Dana looked up suddenly, a wicked grin playing at the corners of her mouth. "You know," she teased, turning toward him, "I might ask you to roll over, but you'd never have to 'beg,'" She raised one speculating eyebrow while she slipped her hand searchingly up the inside of his thigh, hoping that he'd be distracted enough not to notice that she'd completely disregarded his last question by slyly replying to his previous retort. "Don't change the subject..." What he intended to be a stern reply transformed into an involuntary gasp as her slender fingers stroked him intimately. This was not fair play...foreplay maybe, but definitely not fair play. It had been too long since they'd been together in that way, and his body was quick to respond to her touch. Strike that thought, Mulder, he told himself. You're in no condition for anything as strenuous as what you're contemplating. But his body wasn't listening to his brain, and oh, lord, it felt so good. He was beginning not to care if she was being fair or not, which is what she intended, no doubt. He forgot what he wanted to ask her about as he slid one hand inside her coat and under her blouse to gently message her soft, full, very full(?) breasts. She looked up at him with those bright, loving eyes and he lost all pretense of reason. Finally, with all control melting away like a burning candle, he covered her mouth with his own in a gentle, yet fervent, passionate kiss. His tongue softly stroked her lips, then drove deeply within her mouth and held her captive. Only one thought echoed through his mind, and he finally broke away from the kiss so that he could give voice to his thoughts. "Dana....god, Dana....I love you," he whispered breathlessly into her hair. "I know I don't say it enough...but never doubt it, Dana...never." "I know you do," she soothed, " Do I have to tell *you* how I feel? I would rather see it in your eyes and feel it in your touch than have it whispered a million times in my ear. She planted a kiss on his neck beneath his ear, then nipped gently on his earlobe. "Words are a dime a dozen...Show me, Fox," she purred, "and I'll show you," she moaned softly in a low throaty growl as the physical response of his desire for her pressed hard and urgent against her slender, delicate hand. A violent slamming of the front screen door made them both jump. They quickly attempted to retract hands and straighten clothes that had caught at unnatural angles . "Can't you guys go upstairs and grope in private?" Melissa smirked. "There are children playing outside ya know," she teased ruthlessly, lowering her gaze to include Mulder's obvious state of arousal. Boy, it sure was fun getting even with her little sister for all those times Dana had interrupted Melissa and her dates on the living room couch, not to mention this same front porch swing. Dana didn't have to look to know that Mulder's face was now probably a variant color of beet red and more than likely a mirror of her own face. "Come on Mulder, let's go inside, she commented with a sisterly glare at Melissa. "It's kind of cold out here." "That's funny," Mulder panted, holding open one side of his coat for effect. "I thought it was rather 'hot.'" He sighed as he very slowly got up with Dana and headed for the door. ******** end part two From xangst@frii.com Sun Oct 20 07:20:30 1996 SANCTUARY BY: CHERYL COHEN (ALIAS-THE STINKER) AND ANNIE REED (ALIAS-FANCYKATZ) Forward ************************************ Annie and I started this story several months ago. In fact we started bouncing around ideas for a sequel right after we finished "Devil's Advocate. Okay, we didn't expect it to take this long or be this long but somehow the characters seemed to take on a life of their own and each insisted that they have their moment in the sun. Hence, what follows is ninety pages of love, sadness, joy, sex, misunderstandings, violence, insanity, aggravation, frustration, humor, death...and life. Please be warned, this tale contains, graphic violence, adult language, and adult situations. Although there is sex involved in several scenes, it is not what I would consider graphic nor is it out of context with the story. I like to leave a little bit to the imagination. DISCLAIMERS ETC. ******************************** This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright infringements are intended. ************************************ CHAPTER THREE A wolf in sheep's clothing Dana followed Mulder into the house, with Melissa close behind. None of them were aware of the three pairs of eyes that had watched them from a small wooded patch nearby. Hidden in a small clump of snow-covered evergreens, they had seen a young man try to follow a small red-haired woman to the old knarled tree at the far end of the property. They had watched him falter and fall into the snow. Three calculating minds observed that he had to be assisted back to the house. Three predators smiled as another man left in a car soon after and they realized there was one less obstacle between them and their goal. They saw the two small children playing in the backyard with their yapping dog, and watched as a second woman appeared on the front porch to interrupt some very heavy necking between the frail young man and the small red-head. Good, Jordan thought, this was perfect. The only guy they'd seen was obviously injured or ill. That left two women, two kids, a dog, and whoever else might be in the house and they'd soon have that piece of missing information as well. Getting that information was Keith's assignment, and Jordan had the utmost faith in Keith's ability to complete his task. Keith could play the innocent boy next door perfectly. After all, he'd been doing it all his life, and if it hadn't been for that one little slut who'd tripped him up, no one would ever have been the wiser. Mitchell moved up beside Jordan, impatiently shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Jordan recognized the telltale signs of Mitchell's growing bloodlust with some surprise, but he managed to mask his surprise from the other men. He hadn't expected Mitchell to feel this special need again quite so soon after killing the old fisherman, which meant that the drugs the state doctors had given Mitchell to control him were wearing off sooner than Jordan expected. He had hoped Mitchell would be able to hold it together longer than this, but maybe he'd have to alter his plans just a little. No problem, of course. Except that he'd given Mitchell the only gun they had. Even with the righteousness of God on his side, Jordan had no illusions about being able to take Mitchell out without a gun. "Chambers," Mitchell growled at him, This isn't gonna take much longer, is it? It's getting fucking cold out here and I ain't gonna freeze my ass off while those people in there are all warm and cozy," he snarled. "Take it easy, Tyler," Jordan hissed. "You of all people should know that we can't go barging into the place without knowing what we're up against." Jordan turned his gaze back toward the house, watching Keith make his way through the snow to the door. On a last minute inspiration, Jordan had tugged down Keith's hood and plopped the old fishing hat on his head. Watching him now, Jordan thought Keith looked like one of the local yokels. "Better watch it, boy," Jordan went on, feeling suddenly sure of himself as he felt righteousness and strength flow through his veins. "Get your head outta your ass and think for a change. Besides, you fuck this up for us and I'll kill ya," Jordan added with a chilling smile. Mitchell seethed with contempt at being called a 'boy' by this smiling maggot-filled turd. It was only with a monumental effort that he managed to control his ever-present violent impulses because he realized that, at least this time, Chambers was right. Years of ingrained training in surveillance and reconnaissance, these precautions had once been second nature to him...how could he have forgotten his training? He was becoming a slave to his enhanced primitive, primordial desires. He realized that he was relying more and more on his violent animal instincts rather than on his intellect or reason. Soon there would be very little left of the man that had once been Mitchell Tyler, the finest black ops man the company had ever had. Mitchell knew that meant there was precious little time left for him to finish his one last mission. >From his hiding place, Keith had spied on the man and woman on the porch swing. His form had been completely hidden from view by the thick branches of one of the groups of fir trees that were scattered throughout the property, so Keith hadn't worried about being caught watching. Peeking through the snow-covered branches, Keith stared with rapt fascination as the young woman practice her vile art of seduction. The man was obviously distracted and unprepared for the woman's sexually aggressive behavior. He appeared to succumb too easily to her sensual overtures of erotica, and caught off guard, he had returned her passion with equal fervor. Jordan was right, Keith thought with conviction. No matter what their outward appearance, they *are* all harlots. He watched the woman stroke her victim underneath his clothes, and discovered with dismay that even he was not unaffected by what he was watching. Shamefaced at his own vulnerability, Keith had torn his gaze away from the scene. His body now under his own control again, Keith moved stealthfully through the trees toward the backyard. Jordan had pulled down the hood of his parka and jammed the old man's fishing hat on his head. Keith hoped he fit in because he felt foolish, but Jordan had said he looked perfect. He cautiously maneuvered his way to the edge of the tree line which bordered what would have been a back lawn during warmer weather. Now it was a barren 40 foot stretch of snow broken only by small footprints and the tracks of the children's dog. Keith knew as soon as he hit the open stretch he would stick out like a sore thumb, and he took a deep shuddering breath as he prepared himself for his performance. Zipping up the parka that he'd scavenged from the old fisherman's belongings, he remembered the rush he felt when he'd deceived the old man. But that had been only one old man and all he'd had to do that time was distract him. Keith's confidence began to waver when he thought about all the people who could be in that house, all the things that could happen to him once he was inside. His pulse began pounding in his ears as his imagination took over, his breath coming in shallow pants, and for one brief instant Keith considered just running away. Running away from the house, from the demented monster that was Mitchell Tyler, even from Jordan Chambers. Running so far and so fast that no one could find him, no one could hurt him, and no one would ever tempt him again. Then an amazing thing happened to Keith Reese. He discovered that fear , this intense, even his own fear, excited him beyond anything he had ever experienced before. He clutched the trunk of the tree in front of him as his body spasmed in release. Instead of feeling the shame he usually felt when his body betrayed him this badly, he felt exhilaration. This must be what Jordan feels when he takes the sins of harlots into himself, Keith thought, and maybe what Mitchell feels when he kills. Finally, he understood. Keith straightened his shoulders with renewed determination as he left his cover in the shadows behind him. The wetness on his skin, the only outward sign of his recent revelation, was freezing in the cold air, but Keith ignored it. He knew that the long parka covered whatever might have soaked through his clothes, so no one in the house would see. Instead, he concentrated on the task at hand. Do this right, Keith repeated to himself over and over again as he walked across the snow.. Be convincing and don't screw up. Jordan believes in you, you can do this. He's depending on you to come through, which means he trusts you, Keith reminded himself proudly. Keith sauntered as easily as he could through the snow-covered yard to the back of the house. He managed to climb the porch steps and reach the kitchen door before the two noisy children and the frisbee-chasing mutt could notice him. Dana gently shoved Mulder through the open front door into the foyer as Melissa backpedaled in front of them. Once in the foyer, Dana immediately began removing Mulder's wet coat. "Melissa," Dana intoned with authority while peering over her right shoulder, "go upstairs and bring down another set of Mulder's clothes and a blanket. He's cold, especially his hands," she said, giving Mulder an impish grin. Raising an eyebrow at this last remark, he leaned heavily against the wall as Dana knelt down to untie his equally wet shoes. "This is embarrassing," he groaned. "I can't dress myself. I can't walk down the stairs, much less 'up' the stairs. I can't even untie my own goddamn shoes," he sighed with frustration. I'm being treated like a freaking kid for crying out loud." Dana rolled her eyes up at him. "No, you haven't been treated like a child. I have never treated you like a child," she replied defiantly, while trying in vain to maintain a solemn face. "Oh no?" he asked and opened his mouth to complain a little more, but he never got the chance as Dana interrupted him with a stern glance. "No," she stated flatly. "However, after this last unbelievably idiotic escapade," she grinned wryly, " I just can't help myself. I have to say it. Mulder...you're grounded." She snickered at him as she claimed possession of his only pair of shoes. "Oh great," he mumbled with a look of long suffering patience. "Oh, and Mulder?" Dana waited until she was sure she had his undivided attention. "Melissa was right," she said with conviction. "About what?" he inquired with puzzlement as he scratched his bare foot on fabric of his still wet jeans. "About 'groping in public.' You know, you really should try and control yourself," she teased "What?" Mulder squeaked incredulously. "Me? You started it," he said indignantly. "I never did," she lied blatantly as she stood up beside him. Mulder looked down at her looking back up at him. As their glances locked in a silent tug of war, Mulder's inner voice filled his head. Mulder made a mental note to xerox copies of his degree from Oxford and wallpaper his bathroom with them. "You know..." Mulder began evenly, "this all started when I tried to find out why you were so unhappy earlier. I didn't forget. I may get *distracted* but I always remember where I left off. Actually, I'm kind of hurt to think that you really didn't want my body and that whole groping session as Melissa called it was just a delaying tactic." He exaggerated a hurt pout, gazing at Dana with puppy dog eyes and an overdone protrusion of his bottom lip. "Boy, if that was an example of a delaying tactic' looks like I'm going to have to take lessons in battle strategy from my baby sister," Melissa quipped sardonically as she descended from the stairs with a handful of clothes. "You might try some lessons in tact while you're at it," Mulder added with a forced smile. "This is family-- who needs tact? Tact I can get at work," Melissa countered with a wink as she handed him his clothes. "Oh, by the way," she grinned devilishly, holding up his pair of black silk boxers and stretching the waistband with both hands, "nice, but I sort of pegged you as a 'briefs' kind of guy," she teased with ruthless affection. Mulder narrowed his eyes at her, reached over and snatched his underwear from her hands. "First impressions can be deceiving," he warned, desperately trying to keep a straight face. "I found briefs to be a little too confining," he added as one corner of his mouth curled up into a covert smile. He stole a glance at Dana, who sported a shit eating grin and nodded in agreement. Moving slowly, he turned and crossed the living room, limping slightly. "Where are you going?" Dana asked as she followed behind him. Mulder stopped in front of the downstairs bathroom door tucked away beneath the stairs. "I've got to use the bathroom and change clothes, and I'd like a little privacy. That is, unless you want me to change in the living room. Your 'tactless' sister might not mind, but your mom may not appreciate the show," he mumbled tiredly. "You'd be surprised what mom would appreciate," Dana said with laughing eyes. "Dana, nothing surprises me anymore," he said as he opened the door and stepped inside. "Do you need some help?" Dana asked. She knew that the walk outside and even the short trek across the living room had exhausted him. In spite of his comments to the contrary, Dana knew he was still weak, in some pain, and fighting with bouts of dizziness. All she needed was for him to fall down and hit his head on something. "I don't think so. This is one thing that I've been able to do since I was two," he stated proudly. Another thought crossed his mind, and he made a half-hearted attempt to leer at her. "Unless, of course, you'd like to hold it for me," He suggested. She smiled thoughtfully. "Maybe later, Sherlock," she replied. "Let me know when you're ready to get dressed, okay? Be a good boy and don't kill yourself in there by trying to put your pants on when you know you don't have the strength or flexibility to do it. I don't want to have to send you to your room." "I'm trembling with fear," he whispered with mock terror as he shut her out. "As well you should," she yelled threateningly through the closed door. Mulder slumped up against the bathroom door, closed his eyes, and blew out a puff of air from between pursed lips. Alone at last. For a 34 year old bachelor who'd never had a family life to speak of, all this family all at once was a little overwhelming. They were gonna drive him nuts with their concern. Now the shoe's on the other foot, huh, Mulder, he thought, ironically. You wondered why Dana got so annoyed when you hung on her every move during her recovery. Well, now ya know, nit wit. You were driving her stark raving mad with your overprotective Boy Scout mode. She's getting back at you for all the times you treated her like a porcelain doll and you deserve everything you're gonna get. Well, at least taking care of business was easy. The male of the species may be endowed with this symmetrically unaesthetic appendage, but hell, he thought with some amusement, there were occasions when it sure came in handy...like when you hurt everywhere and you're as stiff as a three day old piece of road kill. At least he didn't have to sit every time. Another very unprofessional thought crossed his mind and he grinned broadly-- in some instances the ridiculous looking body part was a downright enjoyable necessity. He gave himself a mental shake. Get your mind out of the gutter, Mulder. Thinking those kind of thoughts about Dana will only cause you pain if you attempt to play them out right now. "Yeah, but it'd be worth it," he mumble out loud with a devilish snicker. Turning to look into the mirror, Mulder winced at his reflection. "Christ, what the hell does she see in you anyway. Ya look like shit, Mulder," he mumbled to himself. At least his hair was growing back. Thank goodness baldness didn't run in his family--just high foreheads, if his dad was any indication. He hadn't liked his reflection at all in the hospital, and had momentarily suffered from an illogical fear that for some reason his hair wasn't ever going to grow back. But that mysterious green goo that Dr. Jay had covered him with seemed to accelerate hair growth, as well, and his hair was now a respectable length. He turned away from his reflection and started to pull his wet jeans off. Looks like you're gonna have to sit this time anyway, pal, he decided as his balance gave way when he tried to stand on one leg to get the other leg out of his jeans. Slowly he lowered himself to a sitting position on the toilet and slowly wriggled out of the wet denim. Why did his legs have to be so damn long anyway? He concluded that bending over at this point was not conducive to his continued good health as a wave of dizziness made his head swim. "Shit," he uttered softly as he pulled the last of the wet fabric off his legs, trying to ignore his churning stomach. The dizziness he felt bending over was having a definitely unpleasant effect on the remains of his breakfast. "I am going to do this by myself," he murmured with quiet determination. "I am a fully capable adult male. I have stared mutants in the eye, fought invisible demons, and won over one stubborn, willful redheaded spitfire." He pulled the dry jeans on with concentrated effort. He then removed the wet shirt and replaced it with an oversized t-shirt. "Piece of cake," he muttered with satisfaction and a slight gasp of exhaustion. Dana knocked on the door. "Are you all right in there," she asked worriedly. He'd been in the bathroom an awfully long time. Melissa came up behind Dana at the sound of concern in her sister's voice. "Are you sure you're ok??" Melissa repeated. Mulder sighed. An image from a movie filled his mind--a little girl sitting in front of a snow-filled television screen -- and the words 'they're *baaack* echoed through his head. So much for solitude. "I'm fine, just fine," he replied in a strained voice. "Now if somebody could just levitate me from here to the couch, everything would be just peachy." This was just another little tidbit of proof that he indeed, was not Irish. What luck?? Here he was--two beautiful women pounding at his bathroom door-- and all he could do was sit there and gasp for air. Dana knew it. He'd tired himself out trying to do too much, too soon. "I *told* you that you needed help," she said. "But would you listen? Oh, no...not you, Mulder." Two impatient Scully sisters stood on either side of the door, hands on hips in mirrored determined poses. "Stubborn, pigheaded..." Dana muttered in exasperation. "Ornery, don't forget ornery," Melissa added helpfully while tapping one foot on the aged wooden floor. The sisters exchanged one look that said it all -- men. "Go away," Mulder chided in a slightly annoyed tone, although at that moment he didn't know who he was more annoyed at--the women outside the door or himself for his inability to tackle even simple things like changing clothes without getting unbearably tired. " Besides, I've already handled everything in here myself," he grumbled smugly. "I bet you have," Dana teased, giving the door another rap with the knuckle of one finger. "Alright, alright," Mulder groaned, "I'll be out in a minute, Okay??" Fox slumped back against the cool porcelain tank. Geez, all he needed was just a few minutes to rest and get it together. He laid his head back and twisted his neck around to try and relieve the knotted muscles that had formed there, then he grabbed the side of the sink and pulled himself up to an unsteady standing position. Maybe Dana was right, he conceded. He really didn't feel so well. His breaths came in short gasps and room was just a little out of kilter. The only place Fox Mulder wanted to go right at this moment was straight to a bed, a couch, or anywhere else that he could just lie down. Margaret finished cleaning up the kitchen and finally got her chance to plop down in an empty chair at the table to read the Saturday newspaper. Normally she would have asked one of the girls to help her, but she knew they had their hands full elsewhere. She'd heard the commotion ensuing in her living room and intuitively knew it probably had something to do with their reluctant 'patient.' She'd let the girls handle him for now. She instinctively knew that Dana could make him behave and with Melissa's unflappable will, the poor soul didn't stand a chance. She chuckled silently to herself. Poor, poor, Fox...surrounded by Scully women and no place to run. She wondered where they'd cornered him this time. She knew Mulder could be frustrating and aggravating because he'd never learned to depend on anyone completely. More than likely the thought of being helpless really frightened him. Most men were used to being able to handle anything that came along, especially men who'd been alone as long as Fox had been. Situations beyond his control had forced him to be 'helpless' more times than any human being should have to endure. Helpless -- just like he had been when Dana had disappeared. She had seen the fear on his handsome face when her daughter had been taken and felt his anguish and frustration at his inability to act. Dana had also told her of his situation concerning his sister's disappearance. That one event, something that occurred when Fox had been just a child, was the beginning of the circle of guilt, shame and helplessness that haunted him. It was fanned into flame, no doubt by two selfish and unfeeling parents, she thought angrily. He was wounded and the scar, although not visible to the naked eye, was something he had carried with him throughout his life. Emotional scars like that may never heal, she pondered with dismay. But she had seen something in Fox. She had seen with her intuition, or whatever you'd want to call it, a capacity in him for such tenderness and caring that it made her want to cry. She had also seen the depth of his love for her daughter and that in itself caused her to love him even more. Margaret was suddenly jolted from her reverie by a persistent knocking at the kitchen door. Strange, no one around here ever knocked and if they did, it was usually the front door. She got up, folded the paper on the table and crossed the room to the door. Cautiously she opened the heavy inside kitchen door to reveal a man of about 22 or 23 years standing on the other side of the screen door.. She smiled warmly, noticing his shy stance and silly fishing hat. "Can I help you?" Margaret asked curiously. Keith nervously scrunched the floppy hat from his head and held it respectfully against his chest. "Yes ma'am," he replied politely. "I w...was fishing at the lake earlier this morning -- b..bby the way, they're rr...really biting, in case you're interested." he offered enthusiastically. "Anyway, on the w...wway home, I hit a patch of black ice, m...mmy car went off the r..rroad about a quarter mile back, and now it's st....stuck in a snow bank. I was j....jjust wondering if maybe someone here might be able to h...hhelp me pull it out?" Margaret considered his dilemma for a few moments. Something was tickling the back of her brain, but she couldn't quite place her finger on it. She decided to ignore it for now. No reason to make this nice young man wait for her while she tried to sort out her thoughts. "Well, dear, my son has gone to town and I'm not sure when he'll be back," she replied. "Maybe my daughters, if they both put their minds to it might be able to help you pull it out, but I wouldn't count on it. And poor Fox can't help you. He just got out of the hospital yesterday so I wouldn't even want him to attempt it. Perhaps you should call a towing service," Margaret suggested. "Ma'am, that s....sounds like a good idea. Would it be okay if I c...came in to use your phone?" Keith asked. Margaret nodded and opened the screen door to let Keith into the kitchen. Keith absently placed the hat on the stool next to the counter as he reached for the phone. Margaret opened a drawer and pulled out a local phone book. Taking the book from her hand, Keith smiled gratefully, then looked up a number and began to 'dial.' Margaret turned momentarily to pour a cup of coffee and Keith took the opportunity to slide his thumb over the small button by the keypad, cutting the connection. "Would you like some coffee," Margaret asked. This young fellow looked absolutely frigid with cold and she'd always had a soft spot for strays. Keith nodded his head, 'yes' and accepted the steamy mug that she offered him. Coffee, twice in one day. Doesn't anyone drink hot chocolate anymore, he wondered. Then Keith began his imaginary conversation with a nonexistent tow truck operator. He hung up the phone with a shrug. "They s..said they'd be out as soon as they c...could," he told her. "Would you like to wait here?" Margaret asked. "No...no, that's okay," Keith replied, momentarily rattled. He hadn't expected her to be so nice. "They r...really shouldn't be too long, and besides, that c...car's my baby and I hate to leave it alone out there. It w...was a gift from my folks for graduation," he added with a burst of inspiration. He thanked the dark-haired woman profusely for the coffee and her kindness as he went out the kitchen door and trudged back into the snow. He even took a moment to smile and wave to the kids. He was surprised when the kids actually waved back. Jordan would be so proud of him, Keith thought. He'd gotten the information they needed and the woman suspected nothing. He congratulated himself for leaving the hat. That was something he'd thought of all by himself, and it would give him an excuse to get back into the house when the time came. Keith experienced a momentary pang when he thought about how nice she'd been to him and what Mitchell would probably do to her. But then again, his own mother had been nice to everyone else except her family. Looks could be so deceiving. Margaret watched the young man's retreating figure from her kitchen window, saw him wave to her grandkids and watched the youngsters wave back. He'd been so nice and polite, not like a lot of young people in the world today. Margaret hoped that his luck would change soon for the better. "I'm warning you for the last time," Dana threatened. "Come out of there right now, Fox Mulder, or I'm coming in after you." As far as she was concerned, he'd been in that bathroom way too long and he was beginning to seriously try her patience. Mulder leaned weakly against the door and grasped the knob. He almost wished that she *would* come in and get him. He was just too tired to worry about it any more. Melissa pointed at the door knob. It began to turn and the door slowly opened as Mulder sagged heavily against the door frame. "I did it," he smiled softly with satisfaction. "Did what?" Margaret asked, entering the hallway to investigate all the noise that seemed to originate there. "Nearly killed himself cavorting in the snow and being generally uncooperative, that's what," Melissa retorted. Mulder in turn, launched a particularly pained expression in her direction. "Don't you have a crystal ball to polish or a palm to read somewhere," he countered in a hushed voice. When you don't have a viable defense, might as well go on the attack. "Oh, I don't know, let me see," Melissa barked back at him while she snatch his hand away from the door and turned his palm up to study it. Uh, oh... this wasn't working out like he'd planned. "Says here that a petite red-headed woman is going to make your life a living hell, a motherly dark-haired woman will call you Fox every chance she gets, and the red head's sister is going to stuff you full of herbal tea if you don't behave right now and do what's good for you," Melissa rattled off in a rapid-fired burst. "Come on," Scully ordered. "Let's get you off your feet before you fall down." The three women alternately supported and herded Mulder in the direction of the TV and gently lowered him into the recliner. Mulder settled back into the cushioned softness, slumping slightly with relief. Dana let go of his arm, crossed the living room and disappeared into the kitchen while Margaret unfolded a blanket across his hips and Melissa dropped the remote into his lap. Melissa and her mother followed Dana into the kitchen. "Who were you talking to, mom?" Melissa asked. "I thought I heard voices out here a couple of minutes ago." Margaret raised an eyebrow at her oldest daughter and a playful glint filled her eyes. "Oh, really? You actually managed to hear something in between badgering poor Fox?" Margaret poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and sat back down at the table. Well, Margaret thought, so much for reading the paper in peace. "Ok, yes, you did hear voices," Margaret admitted. "A very nice young man came to the back door because his car slid off the road. He was looking for help in getting it out of a snow bank, but all I could do was let him use the phone to call a tow truck." A frown creased Dana's forehead as she listened to the conversation at the table. Sometimes she wished her mom wasn't quite so friendly and helpful. Opening the door to a stranger was a dangerous thing these days, even in a rural area like her mom's neighborhood. Lord knows you can't tell the crazies from the rest of the world by looks alone. Mulder was proof of that, she thought with a guilty snicker as she finished filling his glass at the sink and turned the faucet off. On her way back to the living room with his medication, she spied a strange looking hat on top of one of the kitchen stools. "Does this belong to that man?" Dana asked, pointing at the hat. "Oh, good grief," Margaret said. "He must have forgotten it. Do you think we ought to try and return it to him?" Melissa peered at the ugly fisherman's hat. "I think we just ought to throw the thing out, mother," she replied. She grabbed the hat off the stool and headed for the garbage. "Don't you dare, Melissa Scully," Margaret scolded. "That doesn't belong to you, and you never know, he might come back to get it." As Margaret reached to take the hat from her daughter, Melissa drew in a quick breath and dropped the hat on the floor as if it had suddenly become too hot to hold. "Melissa, what's wrong?" Margaret asked in alarm. "I don't know," Melissa replied. "I got the strangest feeling when I touched that hat. You know the feeling, mom... like a goose walked over my grave." "You probably just poked yourself with one of the lures on the hat," Dana scoffed. Good thing Mulder wasn't hearing this, she thought. He loved to tease her about her 'psychic' sister, and if he'd been in on this little scene, she'd never have heard the end of it. Dana made a show of bending over, picking up the hat, and replacing it on the stool on her way out of the kitchen. ****** end part three From xangst@frii.com Mon Oct 21 01:44:24 1996 SANCTUARY BY: CHERYL COHEN (ALIAS-THE STINKER) AND ANNIE REED (ALIAS-FANCYKATZ) Forward ************************************ Annie and I started this story several months ago. In fact we started bouncing around ideas for a sequel right after we finished "Devil's Advocate. Okay, we didn't expect it to take this long or be this long but somehow the characters seemed to take on a life of their own and each insisted that they have their moment in the sun. Hence, what follows is ninety pages of love, sadness, joy, sex, misunderstandings, violence, insanity, aggravation, frustration, humor, death...and life. Please be warned, this tale contains, graphic violence, adult language, and adult situations. Although there is sex involved in several scenes, it is not what I would consider graphic nor is it out of context with the story. I like to leave a little bit to the imagination. DISCLAIMERS ETC. ******************************** This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright infringements are intended. ************************************ CHAPTER FOUR Suspicions Mulder had just gotten somewhat comfortable in the recliner when Dana reappeared a few minutes later with a glass of water in one hand and a colorful collection of capsules and tablets in the other. "Take your medicine, Mulder," she instructed forcefully. Mulder took the glass and the pills, then swallowed his medication dutifully without comment. Antagonizing all three Scully women at once would be decidedly unwise, he thought. He knew Dana always managed to get even with him, and he felt a realistic fear of reprisal at the thought of crossing either of the other two Scully women. The funny thing was, even as he was chafing from the lack of privacy, and although it was difficult for him to admit, there was a small part of Fox Mulder that languidly reveled in the attention that these three lovely women were willing to lavish upon him. He was amazed, perhaps even a little embarrassed when he realized how much he wanted that attention, needed it. Dana took the glass from his hand and affectionately stroked his hair away from his face. Mulder tilted his head back to look into her smiling face. My God, his mind reeled with a sense of wonder, she was so radiantly beautiful. And wonder of wonders, she loved *him.* How did he get so damn lucky? The words of a song found their way into his memory. '...How did I ever win your love? What did I do, what did I say? To turn your angel eyes my way...' Sometimes it was hard to believe that this was for real, that this was actually happening to him. That thought panicked him. Maybe this wasn't real, maybe this was all just some wonderful dream. He would wake up alone and afraid, and she would be gone. "Mulder? Fox..." she called out to him softly. At first she'd thought that he'd zoned out on her but the sound of her voice brought him back from where ever he'd been. The desperate longing she saw reflected in his eyes reached deeply into her soul as she bent to gently caress his lips with her own. "Please be good," she pleaded. "I really *need* you to get better *soon,* she cajoled with a voice full of promise. Mulder nodded dreamily at first, his thoughts still swimming through his mind. Then the sudden realization of what she had actually said to him suddenly sank in and he snapped back to the here and now.. She wanted him. She must miss their physical intimacy as much as he did. It had been over a month now since he'd last held her in his arms and thoroughly expressed his love both emotionally and physically. The memory of that night still burned hot in his blood. Oh, this was pure hell, he screamed silently. He was well enough to feel the longing and the desire, but still incapacitated enough not to be able to act on it in any kind of way he felt would be adequate. He was not one to do anything half way, especially not that. Mulder made a firm resolution to himself to try and be a little more cooperative and a lot more careful. A sly smile formed at the corners of his mouth and a dangerous sparkle brightened his eyes. "I'll try," he finally said to her, "I really will," he reiterated, attempting to convince Dana of his sincerity. Margaret knelt down beside him and placed her hand on his knee. Looking away from Dana, he saw Melissa standing by the couch. Funny, he hadn't even heard them come back into the living room. He wondered how much of his brief conversation with Dana they'd heard, but it soon became abundantly clear that Margaret, at least, had heard enough. "Fox...," Margaret began in a tone that he'd grown to recognize as the 'eye before the storm,' "there is no *try* about it, dear. You *will* remain right where you are, except of course to use the bathroom. You get up from that chair for any other reason and I will personally take you to the hospital and admit you myself. Is that understood?" Fox Mulder, the man, resisted being told what to do. But Fox Mulder, the boy, recognized a mother's loving yet firm tone when he heard it and instinctively responded to it. "Yes ma'am," Fox replied with lowered eyes. He'd been properly and righteously chewed out. He knew he deserved it and he knew he'd worried them with his carelessness. Margaret stood up and turned to leave. But before she walked away, Mulder reached up and clasped her hand. "Mom?" he said tentatively. Margaret looked down at him with inquiring eyes. "Thanks," he mumbled shyly. She responded by lightly ruffling his hair and patting him gently on the head. Margaret glanced toward her daughter and smiled. "He's all yours, Dana honey, and I don't think he'll be giving you any more trouble. Will you?" she asked Fox with a voice as stern as the look on her face. Mulder grinned sheepishly and nodded his head 'no.' "Good," Margaret stated with satisfaction. "Dana, I'm going to try and finish reading my newspaper before everything is yesterday's news," Margaret remarked tersely as she headed back to the kitchen. "Melissa, do you want the funnies?" she offered as a broad hint for her older daughter to accompany her. "Yeah mom, I'm right behind you. I could use a good laugh." Melissa brushed her fingertips along Dana's arm, then followed her mother to the kitchen. After her mother and sister had left the room, Scully seated herself on the couch beside the recliner, quietly hoping that Mulder had forgotten or at least dismissed her behavior earlier this morning. Fat chance, she thought ruefully as she turned and caught him studying her unobtrusively. Mulder quickly averted his gaze and narrowed his concentration to the half empty bag of sunflower seeds that he'd left on the end table the day before. He crunched noisily, spitting the hulls into an empty ashtray, then awkwardly fumbled with the TV remote. The silence between theme was deafening as Mulder channel surfed for several minutes before finally deciding on an episode of MST3000. Damn him, she thought guiltily. Mulder always seemed to instinctively know when something was bothering her. Sometimes it could be a real pain in the ass having this man so connected to her. There were times that she could swear he knew what she was feeling even before she did and this was apparently one of those times. The doleful expression of his eyes relayed the message loud and clear. It might as well have been written on a post-it note and stuck to his forehead. He was slightly hurt and perhaps even a little disappointed that she hadn't yet confided in him. Well, she didn't have anything concrete to confide, now, did she? Oh, get real, Dana argued with herself. You're a doctor. What would *you* tell a patient who came to you with your symptoms? Mentally she listed them all, and for the first time she allowed herself to consider another very plausible explanation. Oh God, you don't suppose...!?! She panicked and drew in a quick breath that turned into a clearly audible gasp. Mulder turned his head suddenly at the sound, forgetting for a moment that moving that quickly wasn't a very good idea. He immediately regretted it as the sudden movement made his eyes hurt and his head swim. He managed to focus a concerned stare in Dana's direction. "You Okay?" he asked. Dana's expression had transformed itself from a look of pure panic to a mischievous self-satisfied smirk. "I'm fine...just fine, Mulder." She chuckled softly and looked at him in wonder for several seconds. "What?" he asked in total confusion, puzzled at yet another unexpected change in her attitude. Mulder couldn't tell anymore from one minute to the next whether he would get a passionate kiss or a slap in the face. Dana's ocean of conflicting mood swings was starting to make him seasick. "Oh, it's nothing," Dana assured him with a lazy, knowing smile. "Nothing? Nothing!!??" he sputtered incredulously. "In one morning you've alternately cried over breakfast, bitten my head off, then tried to seduce me. You nearly passed out on the stairs, you look completely exhausted, and you still tell me that 'it's nothing'? Didn't you think I'd notice?" His eyes widened in disbelief, and his normally cool composure was really beginning to slip. Cool off, Mulder, he told himself. Getting into an argument isn't going to help. With furrowed brows, he squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger in a vain attempt to alleviate the pressure that was building up behind his eyes. Finally, he seemed to come to terms with his frustration. He took several deep breaths, his features visibly relaxing. Mulder reached over and tenderly grasped Dana's hand. "Look Dana," Mulder sighed with a forced effort at calm, "I'm sorry if I've said or done something and I'm sorry even if I haven't. Seeing you so unhappy this morning really hurt," he admitted, lowering his eyes. "I didn't mean to press you for answers that you weren't willing to give me, but I was worried about you--still am," he mumbled softly. So much for acting under the assumption that what Mulder didn't know, wouldn't hurt him. She should have known better. Smiling, Dana broke free of his grasp, clasped his face in both hands and stared directly into those liquid hazel pools. "Listen to me and listen good," she growled in the sternest, most businesslike voice she could muster. "For the last time, you are not directly responsible for any emotional or physical aberration that I may have displayed lately. Although I'll admit that I haven't been quite up to par, it's also true that I've been through a lot. I'm obviously suffering from some kind of hormonal imbalance or something. And if it'll make you feel any better, I promise I'll go to the doctor on Monday and get checked out. Okay?? Those beautiful, expressive eyes inches from her face still questioned her, still worried about her. "Look, Mulder...if I was sure of what's going on, please believe me, you'd be the first to know." A small pang of conscience stabbed at her. Well, it was the truth, she rationalized. She *wasn't* sure. Dana smiled at him reassuringly and trailed her fingertips lightly along the strong, well-defined jaw line as she reluctantly removed her hands from his face. This time his eyes revealed that he'd bought it... perhaps not all of it, but enough to appease most of his concerns and some of his curiosity. Mulder's countenance brightened as a crafty smile slowly replaced his previously intense expression. He grabbed the remote and pushed the mute button, effectively silencing Servo's obnoxious remarks at the chincey grade D Sci Fi movie that filled the screen. He looked at Dana with unadulterated boyish enthusiasm and grinned. "I've always wanted to do this," he quipped as he launched into a truly inspired commentary of hilariously bizarre remarks and dialogue that could only come from Mulder's own warped brand of humor. Dana loved many things about Fox Mulder, but the ability to make her laugh was probably one of his most endearing qualities. This time he outdid himself. Dana found herself roaring with uninhibited laughter. With sides aching, she gasped for air and brushed away the tears that rolled down her cheeks with the back of her hand. He was in positively rare form today, she told herself, while trying to regain some form of control. Mulder rejoiced in her laughter and permitted himself a silent smile of satisfaction. This was the way it should be for her--always. He would gladly play the fool if it kept joy in her heart and laughter upon her lips. He vaguely heard her gulps fade into giggles, then reduce themselves into tiny hiccups before he drifted away. He was so tired. A shadow of a smile still played about the soft lines of Dana's mouth as she watched the remote slide from Mulder's limp hand and clatter hollowly onto the floor. Dana fervently wished that he could always be as content and happy as he was right now. Certainly she could think of no one else who could be more deserving. Dana Watched him sleep for a few minutes, then got up from the couch, bent over and tucked the blanket in securely around Mulder's waist. She picked up the remote from the floor, intending to put it back on the table, when her eyes inadvertently lingered on the over laden ashtray filled with a disgusting pile of sunflower seed hulls. She breathed in the musty smell and suddenly felt her stomach lurch as the sight and smell became too much for her. Rushing into the bathroom, Dana made it just in time to empty the half-digested remains of her breakfast into the toilet. She immediately regretted having eaten quite so much this morning. If she'd have stuck to her normal bagel and juice, she would have been done with this disgusting business a lot sooner. "God," she groaned softly, while splashing her face with the ice cold water from the bathroom sink. She leaned one arm on the sink, holding herself up. The face staring back from the mirror was white as sheet. She brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. Somehow she had the feeling this wasn't going to be the last time she would find herself in this position. "Mulder, " she mumbled hoarsely, "I'm either going to kill you, or kiss you...I just haven't decided which." Dana dried her face on a towel and headed back toward the kitchen. She stopped briefly on her way through the living room to plant a gentle kiss on Mulder's forehead and was rewarded with a gentle snore. She left the television set on for background noise, a little touch of his own home to help him sleep. Keith had followed his own tracks from the Scullys back door to the tree line, then had sloshed through the snow as he circled the house to the clump of trees edging the country road and the Scully's driveway. This was where he was supposed to meet Jordan, but no one was here. Scanning the trees, he jerked his head nervously from side to side. "J...Jordan, J...Jordan, wh...wh...where are y...you?" he called out in a loud whisper. "I g...got it, J...Jordan," he announced proudly. "Everything you wanted me to get." Still no response. "C...come on, J...Jordan, i...it's me," Keith sputtered, panic creeping into his voice when no immediate answer was forthcoming. No...no, they couldn't have left him. Jordan wouldn't leave him. A loud crack echoed through the stillness as Jordan Chambers appeared from behind a nearby fir, his foot snapping one of the large dead branches that littered the ground. The sound was only partially deadened by the snow that had drifted in underneath the tree that had shed the branch, and in the general silence of the day, it was as loud as a gunshot and more than loud enough to scare Keith out of his wits.. He spun around clumsily in the snow that had piled up in between the trees and nearly fell to his knees before grabbing a tree limb to steady himself. "Wh..where's Mitchell?" Keith asked when he noticed that Jordan was alone. For a second he had been brave enough to look Jordan in the eyes, then remembered his place and lowered his gaze in submission. "He went on ahead," Jordan replied. "He was getting...impatient, so I sent him to keep an eye on the brats playing in the back yard until you got back here. Come on, my son," Jordan said grabbing Keith's elbow. "We have to find Mitchell before he takes it upon himself to act alone, and you know as well as I do what that could mean. You can tell me what you learned on the way." With Jordan leading the way, they headed back through the trees toward the Scullys' back yard, the unsuspecting children...and Mitchell. Matt and Meredith Scully squealed with delight as they tossed the bright red frisbee high into the air and watched it sail across the yard. Kelly chased after it, a black smudge against all the bright white snow. Huge snowflakes fell from the sky, the leading edge of the impending storm, and Matt and Meredith intended to make good on every moment their grandmother would allow them to be outside in the snow before the storm, and grandma, chased them inside. Kelly was not a big dog, and in some areas the snow was so deep that she had to jump from one spot to the next in order to chase the frisbee. But that didn't dampen her enthusiasm one iota. Barking to let the world know that this frisbee was *hers*, Kelly jumped up and Snagged the saucer-shaped object between her gleaming, white teeth. Then the shiny, black bundle of fur bounded back toward the laughing children, her tail wagging happily like a rotating helicopter blade. Rolling playfully in the snow, the children giggled joyfully as they fought for possession of the crimson disk. Kelly wasn't about to give up easily, because after all she'd worked hard for this thing, and she growled deep in her throat locked in mock battle with the kids. Matt finally rescued the frisbee from Kelly's mouth and she backed up in the snow, waiting for him to throw it again. This time Matt threw it hard toward the trees that bordered the backyard. "Get it girl!! Get it," Matt's voice, urged as the blur of fur sped by him. Matt bounced up and down in the snow and teased Meredith by swiping her blue and gold sweater cap from her head. He stuck his tongue out menacingly at his sister, then tilted his head back to try and catch snowflakes on his tongue. Kelly suddenly came up short of her mark and stopped at the line of trees. Something was wrong here, the smell of the trees wasn't right. She lowered her head and sniffed, her tail sticking out straight behind her, no longer wagging in a friendly rhythm. The scent she picked up was evil, pure evil, and she sensed that it meant harm. Kelly's ears flattened against her lowered head as canine lips curled up away from canine teeth in a low threatening snarl. Unlike the mock growl she had used with the children, this sound signified that she meant business. Muscles twitched in tension beneath her sleek black fur, then sprang into motion as Kelly leaped into the shadows to defend her home.. Mitchell felt, rather than saw the dog's attack. As Kelly jumped at him, he reached out swiftly with one hand, seized her by the throat, then ruthlessly slung the animal into a tree. Kelly's body connected with the unyielding wood with a heavy thud. The family pet yelped once in surprise and then dropped to the cold earth in a lifeless heap, her neck broken. Mitchell's veins coursed with adrenaline. The thrill of the kill was now fresh in his blood. He glared out of the darkness created by the trees, his eyes filled with an insatiable hunger and his gaze fell on the two small children who wandered in confusion near his hiding place. He shuddered with anticipation. Just a little closer, he thought with cunning malevolence, .just a little closer. The man he had once been, the man who would have been sickened at the mere thought of what Mitchell was contemplating, was nearly gone now. Only the hunger remained, the over-riding need that burned in his veins. His eyes glittered with an undefinable evil and his hear pounded in his chest with an unnatural rhythm. "Kelly, Kelly," Matt called out impatiently. "Here Kelly, you dumb dog," he yelled with irritation while stepping closer to the shadows. He could have sworn she'd gone into the trees over here somewhere, but then again, he'd been looking up at the sky trying to catch snowflakes. Grandma'd be real upset with him if Kelly got lost. Meredith held back several feet. "Grandma said not to leave the yard," she worried. "You're gonna get in trouble." "Only if you tell her, squirt. You're just chicken," he taunted her, folding his hands under his armpits and flapping his elbows.. "Bawk! bawk! bawk! Look at the big chicken." "Am not, and don't call me squirt," his sister fumed as she closed the distance between them. She gave her brother a healthy shove which backed him farther into the trees. She started to cringe back from her brother's expected response when two large hands appeared from out of nowhere, snatching both children off their feet and into the gloom. With one smooth motion, Mitchell tossed the boy to the ground, hard, next to what remained of the dog while he lifted the girl into the air before him. His eyes filled with a maniacal intensity that betrayed the struggling beast within. ******* continued in part 4b From xangst@frii.com Mon Oct 21 01:45:01 1996 Sanctuary part four continues... Meredith opened her mouth and tried to scream but no sound escaped. Matt was lying in a stunned heap on the ground and couldn't help her. For some reason she couldn't get her voice to make any sounds, so she did the only thing she could remember being taught to do. Twisting in Mitchell's hands, the little red-haired piece of fire sunk her teeth into Mitchell's right hand while she kicked out with her legs. Her left foot struck home, driving one small waffle-stomper snow boot effectively into his crotch. After all she was a Scully and Aunt Dana had always told her to never give up without a fight. Surprised by the attack, Mitchell dropped the girl to the ground. Her kick would have driven any normal man to his knees, but Mitchell was no longer a normal man. Screaming with pain and rage, he raised one giant fist, and prepared to pulverize the little troll into dust. "Mitchell, no!!" Jordan Chamber's stepped in between Mitchell and the children, his voice full of authority, demanding to be heard. "Not yet," Jordan seethed, "I may need them later." Jordan summoned every ounce of righteousness within him to look into the beast's eyes, trying to reach the man inside. "Think, Mitchell...think!! They're just children. They can be taught the true way. My congregation can begin here with these two. I can take them to Sanctuary with me on my holy mission to Canada." Mitchell slowly lowered his hand with difficulty. The pain in his body was subsiding and so was his rage. He'd just as soon kill the piece of shit that stood in front of him, spouting all his phony religious hyperbole, as the two children on the ground. But not yet. He still needed Chambers, at least for a little while. He backed off from the children. "I don't give a flyin' fuck about your truth, Chambers, or your Sanctuary, or your sacred missions," he spat out with contempt. "I only have one mission left in my miserable life and that's to find the goddamn son of a bitch who made me what I am today. And when I find that sorry sack of shit, I'm gonna pull his brains out through his asshole," he sneered sarcastically. "And I don't care if I have to go through every operative in D.C. until I find that Marly smoking bastard. And I also don't care if I have to go through you," Mitchell warned. He shook his head and stepped away from the group, attempting to compose what was left of his sanity. Keith stepped over an oozing mound of fur that looked like it might have once been a dog. Apparently Mitchell hadn't been content just to kill the animal. Keith shivered, remembering the old fisherman. At Jordan's direction he bound Meredith with her scarf and pulled her to her feet. Her eyes were wide with fright and Keith felt a now familiar excitement rush through his body. Meredith was frantic. One man she might have been able to handle, but not three. Although she didn't understand everything the men had been yelling about, she understood enough just by their actions to know that she and Matt were in very big trouble. Now they'd tied her up and she couldn't run away like she'd been taught. Just as she decided to try her voice again and scream for help, Keith shoved a gag into her mouth. Matt stirred softly. His expression turned to terror as he beheld the bloody carcass of what was once his best friend, lying just inches away from his face, her loving soft brown eyes strangely flat and vacant. Matt couldn't scream, he couldn't cry, and he couldn't yell. In fact, he couldn't do anything except peer blankly into those vacant brown eyes and tremble in silence. He offered no resistance when Keith pulled him to his feet, bound his hands behind his back and shoved a gag in his mouth. Jordan grabbed each child roughly by the upper arm and drug them through the snow, skirting the the open yard as he angled toward the back porch. Mitchell followed suit along the other side of the property, while Keith walked boldly through the yard and up to the back door. Keith took a quick glance through the window and spied all three women seated at the kitchen table apparently engaging in a heated discussion of some kind. Good, he though thankfully, all the woman were in one place, but what about the guy? He was nowhere in sight. Well, the dark-haired woman had said that the guy had been in the hospital so he was probably in one of the bedrooms. In any case, Keith dismissed him as a threat. Taking his time while he waited for Mitchell and Jordan to move into place, Keith finally knocked on the door and waited patiently while the older woman got up from the table. She opened the door and smiled at the young man she'd spoken to earlier. "Excuse me ma'am," he began timidly, "Did I leave my hat her earlier? It's really starting to snow out here and I think I'm gonna need it." "I thought you might come back for that," Margaret replied, stepping back into the kitchen to get the hat. She turned around to give an 'I told you so' look to Melissa and Keith saw his opportunity. Keith snatched the kitchen door from Margaret's hands, slamming it into the wall. With lightening quick skill, he charged into the kitchen, pulling the knife from his boot with one hand and grabbing Margaret Scully with the other. Margaret felt the cold, razor-sharp steel press precariously against her throat and froze in fear. Any movement, however slight could very well end her life and she wasn't ready to leave this world quite yet. Everything happened so quickly and unexpectedly that Dana and Melissa hadn't had time to react before Mitchell rushed through the door with his pistol leveled at Scully's chest. Dana froze. She recognized the unsteady glare in the big man's cold, angry eyes. He was insane. Melissa panicked and stood up suddenly. "The children!!" she cried out in despair. "Where are the children?" Mitchell's aim wavered slightly with Melissa's outburst, then he widened his field of fire to include her. Dana watched the man's upper lip curl into a snarl and her blood ran cold. "Sit down!" she hissed at her sister. For once Melissa offered no argument and plopped back down in her chair as her knees buckled under her. For several seconds the group in the kitchen seemed frozen like a still life painting. No one moved, and the only sound was heavy breathing. They were waiting for something, Dana realized. Moments later, Jordan Chambers nonchalantly strolled through the door, roughly pushing the children in ahead of him. He shoved them to the floor violently and smiled, but it was a false smile, reminiscent of the painted evil grin on a ghoulish Halloween mask. It was almost like he staged this, Dana thought, like it was some kind of grand entrance. "No!!" Margaret managed to scream when she saw the children thrown to the floor like they were inanimate dolls someone had tired of playing with. She'd temporarily forgotten about the knife held tightly against her throat. These were her grandchildren. How dare these animals hurt the children. Keith pushed the knife just a little tighter to her throat to remind her who was boss here. Margaret drew in a quick breath in pain as the knife nicked her skin, drawing the tiniest amount of blood. Keith smiled a self-satisfied smile as her fear began rushing through his body, and he tightened his other arm around her as well, backing her tightly in against him. Margaret tried not to let her disgust show as she felt his reactions through her clothes. Jordan's eyes darted about the room and took in the situation before his gaze rested on the tiny redhead, still seated at the table. The others reacted as he thought they would but the small one... she was different. This woman was dangerous. She hadn't made a move against them, but Jordan sensed her penetrating eyes weighing the possibilities of her predicament as she calmly calculated her options. Unlike the others, she'd shown no fear of them, and she hadn't lost her cool when he'd brought the children in. There had to be something, some way to control her, and he knew he'd find it. But if he couldn't, he'd just give her to Mitchell. The thought made him smile. Jordan silently concluded that this woman was dangerous. She showed no fear and didn't lose her cool. Mulder was jolted awake by a loud cracking noise. At first he attributed the sound to children slamming what sounded like the back door. He closed his eyes and began to doze off again when something tickled his intuition, insisting that all was not right with the world. Mulder knew that he had no basis in fact for this persistent supposition, but over the years he'd learned to except and trust his instincts...and right now, his instincts were sending him alarm messages of major proportions. The hair stood up on the back of his neck and his stomach knotted with anxiety as he heard another thudding noise, immediately followed by a muffled scream and then several unfamiliar male voices. Mulder fought momentarily to clear his mind of the remnants of his sleep induced fog. Willing himself awake, he reached over and grabbed the phone by the couch. The line was dead... not a good sign. He put down the phone and scanned the room, desperately seeking anything that he could use as a weapon. Nothing. Well, Mrs. Scully, he thought with dismay, Good Housekeeping would award you their seal of approval for maintaining a childproof home. Shit!! As quickly and quietly as he could, Mulder tossed the blanket aside and brought the recliner into a sitting position, wincing at the slight creak it made when he moved the handle forward to lower the footrest.. His first inclination was to rush into the kitchen. Someone was hurting the people he loved and he wanted to be there with them to keep them safe. Luckily he resisted the urge as the reality of his condition hit home. He couldn't *rush* in anywhere, let alone confront several men of unknown size, not to mention that he had no idea whether they were armed and if so, with what. Hell, he'd already expended most of his energy just getting out of the damn chair. There had to be something he could do. Scully's gun was upstairs in the night stand drawer. He'd seen her put it there yesterday. So what, Mulder?? It might as well be deep sixing it with Captain Nemo for all the good it's gonna do you. There was no way in hell that he'd ever be able to get up the stairs before being discovered. Options?? Options... What options, he asked himself angrily. Fuck, he didn't have too many goddamn *options.* Mulder gathered himself up and with monumental effort. He managed to stumble across the living room to the only available choice open to him. The fucking bathroom. He cracked the bathroom door open just enough to slide inside, noticing in alarm that the blasted thing creaked. Funny, he didn't remember it making that noise before. Shit, he'd forgotten Mulder's Law, number 127A: Things only creak when you're trying to sneak. He suddenly considered himself lucky that he hadn't had to contend with Mulder's Law number 127B: When attempting to move stealthfully, all shoes develop stereophonic squeaking like a gym locker full of mice. Inching the door closed, he leaned up against the wall and made a conscious effort to slow his breathing. But he found it difficult to concentrate due to an unexpected bout of nausea that suddenly held his stomach in an iron grip. "Not now," he whispered out loud. "Please...not now." Unfortunately, his body refused to obey. Bending over with a spasmodic jerk, Mulder noiselessly tossed his proverbial cookies into the toilet, then grabbed a hand towel off the rack to muffle his gagging coughs as he cleared the rest of the mess from his throat. He rolled his eyes heavenward. "Gee, thanks a bunch, I really needed that," he sighed. Mulder's eyes darted around the small bathroom. Come on Margaret, he pleaded silently, there's gotta be something here I can use. Why did she have to be so damn tidy and conscientious? He reach up and opened the medicine cabinet over the sink. "Oh wonderful, another 'squeaker,'" he grumbled quietly. Searching through the cabinet shelves, he encountered the usual assortment of over the counter drugs, and beauty supplies. All in all, things weren't looking too promising. He picked up a Bic razor and eyed it with disgust. Doesn't anyone use double edged anymore. Double edged razors could really do some damage, but this thing? What the hell could he do with this...abrade them to death? "Hello..." he mumbled with excitement, "what have we here?" Mulder removed a prescription bottle from the back of the cabinet and read the label. A broad grin covered his face. "Tranquilizers...yes!!!" Sure, the bottle was almost two years old but they'd probably still work. At least these held some promise, he thought as he emptied the bottle into his jeans pocket. Mulder slowly lowered himself to the floor and went through the cabinet under the sink. Nothing here, damn it...Wait, wait. Oh great. All he could come up with here was a spray can of Scrubbing Bubbles and a squirt bottle of Ty-D-Bol. Oh, I'm just so lucky, he grumbled sardonically to himself. Herein lies everything you'd ever need for the effective eradication of unsightly scum and shit. How apropos. Well hell, he could always get the Scrubbing Bubbles to arrest them and the T-D-Bol man to read them their rights. Brilliant Mulder, just brilliant. Suddenly he'd found himself wishing that he'd watched MacGyver more often. He could use some advice right now on how to convert everyday household cleaning supplies into exotic lethal weapons. The physics and chemistry part he could handle. It was the mechanical aspects that always seemed to trip him up. Crouched down by the cabinet, holding the aerosol can of bathroom cleaner in one hand, Mulder's mind wandered briefly to another time when he'd needed skills he didn't possess. How in the hell did he ever manage to earn his Eagle Scout? He was mechanically inept and couldn't follow a fucking map if his life depended on it. It wasn't like his dad was a big help either. They'd left him in a clearing with a compass and a map and told him to find his way out. He knew all the steps. He knew the map. Hell, that blasted thing was permanently imprinted on his brain, yet he couldn't for the life of him, figure out what to do with the information. And to top it all off, the stupid compass always went haywire whenever he'd tried to use it. Finally, he'd wadded up the map in frustration and shoved it into his backpack along with the compass. Following an inner guide that he didn't quite understand but had grown to trust, he just started walking. Mulder had arrived at the campsite ahead of schedule much to the surprise of his troop and the Scoutmaster. He then remembered, with just a little guilt, that he'd never told anyone that he hadn't used the map. He'd made it somehow, just like he'd make it this time, he vowed with determination. Mulder looked at what he had to work with. Well, nobody said it was gonna be easy. Why couldn't he at least get stuck behind a door that opened out? The bathroom was only a little bit bigger than your average closet. Figuring in the space that the door took up when it opened, that didn't leave him much room to maneuver. He tried not to worry about Dana, but he couldn't help it. He was worried about them all. Anything that he could do to divert attention away from the women and children would theoretically improve their chances of surviving at the very least. If he could just keep them alive until Bill got back, they might have a fighting chance. Bill? Christ, he'd have to find a way to warn him. Pulling himself up slowly from the floor, Mulder spotted a tube of chapstick on the sink next to the toothpaste. He picked it up, studied it briefly and stuffed it into his back pocket, remembering Dana's explanation for the writing on the mirror in their cabin when they were on board the cruise ship. It could work. All he had to do was get close to an outside window. This was an older home and he'd noticed that the original windows had not been replaced with more energy efficient double-paned storm windows. In fact, moisture on the inside of his bedroom window had frozen last night, creating an interesting crystallized image on the pane this morning. If he could manage to get close to an outside window for just a few seconds, he could write his message and hope to hell that the temperature outside dropped enough to freeze the moisture around the pattern on the window. Oh come on, Mulder, talk about your longshots, he complained irritably as he lowered the toilet seat lid and sat down, trying as best he could to conserve his energy. Cradling his face in his hands, he prayed that just once, even just for a little while, he could experience a normal, everyday typically mundane family life without the usual, or rather *unusual,* interference of various and sundry mutants, aliens, clones, serial killers, and nut cases. Maybe when this was over he could move the family to Australia or Bora Bora, somewhere way off the beaten path. He sighed deeply, commanding his annoying inner voice to be silent for once. He knew he'd eventually be discovered in here and he needed to be prepared. Mulder closed his eyes, concentrated on the sounds, and waited. Jordan nodded at Keith who withdrew his knife from Margaret's throat and threw her to the floor. She landed next to the children, who had scooted beneath the table, trembling in fear. Glancing over her shoulder in defiance, she freed her grandchildren from their bonds and pulled them close, encircling them protectively with her arms. Meredith cried softly against her grandma's shoulder, tears flowing in tiny rivulets over her freckled cheeks as her tiny arms wound tightly around her grandma's neck. Tears, Margaret could deal with. What she couldn't cope with was the vacant, unresponsive stare that claimed the light in Matt's eyes. Meredith pointed to Mitchell. "He killed Kelly," she choked out between hiccuping sobs muffled into Margaret's shaking body. My god, Margaret reeled in disbelief. She held her daughters' shocked looks of revulsion, imagining with horror what the boy must have witnessed. Mitchell caught Keith by the shoulder. "Where's the man staying with them? You said there was a guy here too. So where is he?" Mitchell hissed. Can't these fucking amateurs get anything right. Keith shrugged his shoulders and started to explain but Mitchell ignored him, effectively silencing him with a glance. "Just don't give me any more bullshit about the man being injured and not being a threat. If he's *alive*, he's a threat." Dana desperately tried to control her reactions to that last remark. The way the man emphasized the word 'alive' made her skin crawl. Mitchell scanned the faces of the women in the room, intently interrogating them with his eyes. They glared back at him, and he felt a firm resolve of silence clamp down around each one like a suit of armor. They would tell him nothing. "So he has a fucking fan club, huh? Is the man worth dying for?" he uttered in a low growl that grew like the distant thunder in an approaching storm. He was only answered by their angry stares. "Very well, if that's the way you want it..." Mitchell's voice was calm and even. He handed the gun to Jordan. "I don't need a weapon for this." Jordan let the gun hung at his side as he watched Mitchell go to work. Looking back at the women, Mitchell found that his eyes were drawn to Dana. Although she hadn't moved since they'd burst into the house, and her face was still blanched pale with the shock of the sudden violence that had invaded their home, Mitchell knew that she wasn't afraid of him. This one was different. Well, if she wasn't afraid of him now, she soon would be. Mitchell covered the small space between himself and Dana in just a few steps. His intense gaze bore into her in an attempt at intimidation. "I always enjoy the hunt," he told her with a menacing evil edging into his voice. "Sometimes, it's better than sex," he sneered reaching over to fondle her breast. The fire leaped from Scully's eyes as she raised her arm and with a quick movement, violently knocked away his hand. "But only sometimes," he added with an obscene smile. Grabbing Dana's arm, he pulled her from her chair and drug her to the doorway. "Let's go find your boyfriend, shall we? Keith says your a real slut for this guy." Mitchell turned toward Keith who nodded emphatically. "I'm just dying to know why." Mitchell glanced over his shoulder as he pulled Dana into the living room. "Keep and eye on em', Jordan and if they give you any trouble...kill em'" ***** end part four From xangst@frii.com Tue Oct 22 04:26:45 1996 SANCTUARY BY: CHERYL COHEN (ALIAS-THE STINKER) AND ANNIE REED (ALIAS-FANCYKATZ) Forward ************************************ Annie and I started this story several months ago. In fact we started bouncing around ideas for a sequel right after we finished "Devil's Advocate. Okay, we didn't expect it to take this long or be this long but somehow the characters seemed to take on a life of their own and each insisted that they have their moment in the sun. Hence, what follows is ninety pages of love, sadness, joy, sex, misunderstandings, violence, insanity, aggravation, frustration, humor, death...and life. Please be warned, this tale contains, graphic violence, adult language, and adult situations. Although there is sex involved in several scenes, it is not what I would consider graphic nor is it out of context with the story. I like to leave a little bit to the imagination. DISCLAIMERS ETC. ******************************** This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright infringements are intended. ************************************ CHAPTER FIVE Old Enemies Dana held her breath as Mitchell pushed her ahead of him into the room. Mulder was tougher than he looked. He couldn't have been soft and survived all the hell he'd been through but this man was about two inches taller and had Mulder outweighed by at least fifty pounds. He was also incredibly strong. Her arm felt like it was in a vise and she was beginning to lose the feeling in her fingers. She didn't have to look to know she was going to have one hell of a bruise on her arm where Mitchell held her. She only hoped he would let go before the lack of circulation did serious damage to her hand. But the thing that had Dana worried most of all was Mitchell's animalistic viciousness. That was something that was totally foreign to Mulder's psyche. Mulder just wasn't a killer by nature. Circumstances may have forced him to kill before in self defense or in the defense of another, but he'd only done so when no other options had been available. He'd even resisted the overwhelming urge to kill even when the act, in her opinion, would have been morally justified. She'd heard from Skinner that her normally gentle partner had nearly crushed Duane Barry's throat with his bare hands, but even then he'd resisted, pulled himself back from the brink. Dana's stomach churned. On a good day, Mulder may have been able to hold his own with this ogre but in his present condition, *she* could probably beat him up. They pressed further into the room and Dana released a sigh of relief when she spotted the empty recliner and the blanket lying on the floor in an untidy heap. Mitchell grasped the blanket with one hand and held it to his nose, deeply inhaling the scent. "He's close by," Mitchell leered at her with a diabolical grin, "I can smell him. I sense his fear...for you?" He looked surprised that his intended victim appeared more concerned about the woman that he held captive than his own grave predicament. "Good, a challenge. This one will fight." Dana felt a chill run up her spine as, unbelievably, Mitchell licked his lips like a starving coyote in anticipation of the kill. "What *are* you?" Dana cried in horror. Mitchell laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "Haven't you heard, my dear?" he asked with a facetious snarl, "I'm the new breed of human, the perfect secret weapon because I'm a self-contained killing machine. Unfortunately, the good doctors went a little too far, so this failed government experiment that you see standing before you was too valuable to destroy but much too dangerous to let live. I have become what crawls in the deepest recesses of your worst nightmare...but I'm very, very real." Dana shivered and hoped Mulder could hear what the man had said. Mitchell raised his head and sniffed the air, then walked quietly toward the bathroom door. Mulder's muscles tensed as he stood by the door, his breaths little more than whispers of air. The voices were close. Dana's was soft and roughly laced with fear. The other voice was deep, strained with rage and spoke of being a failed government experiment . Oh god, what part of hell had invaded their lives now? Mulder felt the evil approaching. It was as palpitant as the racing heartbeat that pounded in his chest. Looking down at the Scrubbing Bubbles in his hand, he suddenly felt grossly inadequate and comically absurd. Maybe he should use the Ty-D-Bol instead. Decisions, decisions, he thought stupidly while remembering every clichÇ' every written: 'when the going gets tough...,' 'the best defense is a good offense,' 'You can't roller-skate in a buffalo herd...'. Hey, wait a minute, where'd that one come from? Probably from the same place as 'you can't bump off a psychotic serial killer with a can of Scrubbing Bubbles'. I know, I know, he told himself, you work with what you've got. He rolled his eyes upward once more in supplication to whoever might be watching. It's just that sometimes, he thought, I wish you'd be a little more generous with the available materials. I mean a grenade launcher or flame thrower would really come in handy right now, you know? The door knob began to turn slowly in Fox's hand. He silently held his breath as the heavy wooden door inched its way inward. Thank god this is an old house and not one of those new fabricated jobs with cheap hollow-core doors, Mulder thought gratefully. The door was now a quarter of the way open. Mulder made his move. Tightening his hand suddenly on the knob in his hand, he pulled the door the rest of the way inward with sudden force and just as quickly reversed the action by throwing his entire weight against the solid wood, outward and into the face of whoever was on the other side. Mulder heard a heavy thud and a muffled curse as a heavy weight bounced off the opposite wall of the hallway. He gathered up what strength he had and propelled himself through the doorway in Kamikaze fashion, ending up atop his intended target in an awkward sprawl. Mulder caught sight of Dana rushing toward him in an effort to help. He sprayed the stinging foam into his adversary's eyes and punched the big man soundly in the jaw with every ounce of strength he had left. "No," Mulder demanded in a loud whisper. Upstairs...the gun. Get the cellphone and call for help." He hoped the battery was still charged. When they were together, the cellphones seldom got used since the only calls they usually made were to each other. Dana hesitated briefly. Mulder seemed to have the situation under control so she nodded in understanding and fled toward the stairs. She'd almost reached the top step when a cold, sadistic voice froze her in her tracks. "Going somewhere, little one?" Jordan asked her ominously. Scully's shoulders sagged as she turned slowly to face her tormentor. She grimaced involuntarily as she saw that Jordan held the gun barrel so tightly against her mom's temple that the surrounding skin had turned white from the pressure. Behind him, stood Keith firmly grasping Melissa by the shoulder as she protectively enfolded the children within her trembling arms. Keith thought she felt soft and willing under his touch and the scent of her perfume was intoxicating. He would have to cleanse this one's soul for sure. No doubt Jordan would want the feisty red head for himself. Jordan motioned to Dana with a nod of his head and she began to slowly descend the stairs. From the corner of her eye, she saw Mulder struggling slowly and quietly to get to his feet. He was still far enough back in the shadow of the darkened hallway that Jordan had not yet noticed the two figures that had been prone on the floor. She tried her best not to look in Mulder's direction. He needed a little time to get back into some kind of cover so Dana attempted to keep Jordan's attention focused on her. "Please don't hurt my mom," she pleaded convincingly, willing Jordan to keep looking at her as she walked down several more steps in his direction. She was nearly at the bottom of the stairs when he reached out suddenly and pulled her off the staircase and onto the floor in front of him. Dana sprawled on the floor, the breath going out of her with a soft "whoosh" as Jordan placed his foot on the small of her back, insuring that she wouldn't be able to move. "Mitchell!! Mitchell, where the hell are you?" Jordan yelled. He lowered his gun from Margaret's head and rolled Dana away from him with his foot. "Get up Bitch," he ordered. Dana sat up slowly, trying to catch her breath, then used her arms to push herself up off the floor. Her body felt bruised from the impact with the hardwood floor and a small trickle of blood ran from her lip where it had been caught between her teeth and the unforgiving floor. And as if that weren't enough, her stomach was threatening to dump whatever was left in it all over her shoes. Not now, she told herself. Backing away from the stairs, Jordan noticed movement in the hallway and Dana saw his finger tense on the trigger. "Mitchell, is that you?" Jordan glared at Dana through slitted diamond eyes. "Turn on the goddamn hall light, now," he commanded as he waved the pistol at her and motioned to the switch. The light came on, revealing Mulder standing by Mitchell's still prone body. Dana gasped as a large calloused hand shot out like a bolt of lightening, grasped Mulder's left ankle and sent him crashing down hard onto the wooden floor with such force that she could hear the air rush suddenly from his lungs at the impact. A blood curdling howl escaped Mitchell's lips as he rose with inhuman speed and drove his knee into Mulder's right kidney. The rage was primordial and primitive as the demon within him picked up this frail human flesh and threw it against the wall. Dana and Margaret screamed his name simultaneously, "Fox," came from Margaret's lips..."Mulder," was Dana's benediction. The demon seethed as it held its victim against the wall by the neck. Yes, this is what it was meant to do, what it was designed to do -- to kill without the need for weapons or tools outside of its own body --and it knew how to do it very, very well. It sizzled with the mindless wrath that coursed through its veins. But something was trying to break through, to reach the mind of the man trapped within the hellish fiend. Gradually, as recognition blurred through its tortured brain, the devil calmed, confusion replacing the anger on its face. Mulder... Fox Mulder. It knew that name. *He* knew that name. Reason attempted to reassert itself. He could not kill this man. Why not? the demon demanded like a spoiled child denied a favorite toy. He relaxed the pressure on the man's throat as the human part of him sought its way through the confused signals assaulting his overtaxed brain. The man whose life he'd held suspended in his hand, drew in a deep, shuddering breath and his face lost its bluish tinge. Finally he remembered and released his grip totally. The man slumped to the floor, wheezing for breath. This was FBI Agent Fox Mulder, the one who had caused Mitchell's present enemies more distress than all their other 'assignments' combined. They had wanted him dead more often than he could count, but they were not allowed to dispose of him. He was important to the others, therefore, he was protected from the more direct means of disposal that they normally used. But his enemies were clever. They had tried to use Mulder's own carelessness against him. They had tried to trick him, bribe him, and push him over the edge. But somehow, this one man always managed to survive in spite of all their underhanded meddling. Although he'd never met Fox Mulder, Mitchell Tyler had always respected and admired this non conforming trouble maker. Mitchell looked down at the bloody mess his demon had made. He could not bring himself to kill the one person who'd caused that Marly smoking mother fucker such unrelenting grief, not even to satisfy the beast that lived within him. Mitchell bent over Mulder's still body, gently lifted and carried him to the couch. Carefully he placed the unconscious form on the cushions. Dana let out a sob. Seeing the look on Mitchell's face, Jordan relented and allowed her to go to him. "I'm a doctor," she pleaded with Mitchell, who was still standing over Mulder's still body, "please..." Mitchell nodded with what she interpreted as a sorrowfully repentant expression and backed away from the couch. Slowly and carefully she removed Mulder's shirt. Her examination revealed that some of his previous wounds had reopened from the onslaught he'd just endured at Mitchell's hand. His kidney was badly bruised and a small amount of blood filled his mouth, but if she could keep these animals away from him, he'd survive. Now fully in control of himself again, Mitchell looked down at the young man and shuddered. He knew shrapnel scars when he saw them. Had the Black ops bastards finally tried to kill Mulder? From the number and placement of the scars on Mulder's body, it looked like they'd nearly succeeded. And he'd almost helped them finish the job. Mitchell Tyler found himself trying to deal with emotions that he hadn't felt in a very long time....guilt and regret. Jordan stared in disbelief at Mitchell's sudden change in demeanor. He'd never seen Mitchell stop in the middle of a transformation before without the aid of medication and the gentleness with which he'd handled his intended victim puzzled Jordan even more. "What the hell is going on here, Mitchell?" Jordan rumbled. The temporary softness in Mitchell's eyes hardened to coal as he turned away from Mulder and returned Jordan's icy glare. "You have your mission, Chambers and I have mine. I know of this man," he stated in a low controlled voice, pointing back to the man lying unconscious on the couch behind him. "He can get me into where I need to go to complete *my* mission." "Fox Mulder," Jordan repeated out loud. "The name sounds familiar. I know it...I've seen it or heard it somewhere." Not being able to remember irritated Jordan to no end like an itch he couldn't scratch. But then again he'd never been too good with names, especially the names of the souls he'd dispatched to an early rendezvous with the lord. "I'm not surprised," Mitchell sneered, "he's FBI. I'd never met him personally before, but the name is, shall we say, well known to the 'special' government groups." Margaret and Melissa glanced worriedly at Dana as she continued to examine Mulder's wounds. Tears stained their faces and silently slid down their cheeks, dripping slowly to the small braided rug at the foot of the stairs. They shook uncontrollably, yet dared not move to help her. During her examination of Mulder, one part of Dana's mind had been following the conversation between the two intruders who referred to each other as Mitchell and Chambers. This did not sound good at all. Both seemed to have their own agenda, and neither one seemed above using her family, and most especially Mulder, to further their own cause. Of the two men, Mitchell appeared to be more dangerous, especially if his claims of having been a 'company man' were true. He was definitely schizophrenic. She had identified two separate personalities within him, and so far only one looked like it could be reasoned with, and then only to a point. And to top it off, Mitchell knew Mulder, knew that he was FBI. For whatever reason, Mitchell thought that Mulder could help him with his 'mission', whatever the hell that was. For the time being, Dana decided that her own involvement with the FBI should be kept a secret, because if Mitchell knew that he had another healthy FBI agent to use, he might decide he didn't need to worry about keeping Mulder alive. Finished with her exam, Dana arose and warily approached Mitchell. "I need my bag," she informed him anxiously. "I need to close up these wounds, and quickly, or he's going to go into shock." Jordan had had enough. He was the 'leader' here. Why was this bitch asking Mitchell for permission? He pushed his way forcefully between them. "What bag?" he demanded in a tone that dared anyone to question his authority. Dana turned to Jordan. There was a power-hungry glint in his eyes, and if it hadn't been for the gun in his hand, he would have reminded her of a school yard bully demanding a smaller kid's lunch money. As long as he held the gun, he would be just as dangerous as Mitchell, she realized. "I told you. I'm a doctor," she explained as patiently as her frayed nerves would allow. "Mulder needs medical attention, and I need my bag, please," she pleaded. Dana loathed the idea of begging to this slime mold but she'd gladly get down on her hands and knees and kiss his freaking toes if it got her that damn bag. She'd checked Mulder out the best she could without the aid of her medical instruments and although he looked like he'd be all right, one thing nagged at the back of her mind. She hadn't been able to find a source for the blood in his mouth and she needed her stethoscope to check for internal injuries, not to mention the sutures needed to close his reopened wounds, and the painkillers she knew he'd need when he came to. "Why should I give a rat's ass about a man who should be dead?" Jordan laughed mockingly at her and deliberately baited Mitchell. He had the power here and it was about time everyone understood that. "Hey, Mitchell. Why didn't ya kill him? Don't tell me your getting a conscious this late in the game," Jordan added sarcastically. "He's only alive because he's no good to me dead," Mitchell replied half-truthfully. "Now, get her the goddamn bag," he roared. Dana saw a glimpse of his other side in that command and an involuntary shiver ran up her spine. Apparently Dana was not the only one who noticed. Jordan looked down at the stubborn little redhead, some of the pompousness gone from his eyes. "Where is it" he grudgingly asked. "Upstairs under the bed." Dana made a tentative move toward the stairs to get her bag, but was stopped short when she felt a vise-like grip clamp down on her shoulder. "No. You didn't ask for permission to go, so you stay here." Jordan taunted her. In control, yes he was, and he'd show everyone just how much. Jordan looked over his shoulder at Keith, who still held Melissa tightly with one hand. He smiled thinly at his dutiful disciple, and Dana saw madness in his eyes.. "You go, Keith, and take the woman with you... take your time," he commanded. Keith returned Jordan's smile and trembled in anticipation. Jordan thought he was ready, Keith reasoned with sudden joy. His time had come. Would ushering this tainted soul into the light of salvation be as satisfying as what he'd experienced earlier as the result of his fear? The mystery of the unknown beckoned as he pushed Melissa up the stairs ahead of him. Dana and her mother exchanged worried, frightened glances as Melissa and Keith disappeared from sight. Neither woman wanted to consider the connotations of Jordan's vague instructions to Keith. Margaret clutched her grandchildren to her, their faces buried in her dress. So much violence, she thought. Children should not be exposed to this, and as frightened as she was for her family, she was also very, very angry. More than her mother, Dana knew what men like these were capable of. She and Mulder had seen photographs and been to crime scenes that displayed their handiwork. She had conducted autopsies of the victims of such psychopaths, and she was suddenly struck with the thought that she might never see her sister alive again. Trying to drive such negative visions from her mind, she was temporarily distracted by a soft, painful moan from the couch. ******* continues in part 5b From xangst@frii.com Tue Oct 22 04:27:22 1996 Sanctuary part five continues... Mulder's arm slipped from its position by his side to dangled loosely over the edge of the couch, his long, elegant, bloodied fingers lightly brushing the smoothly polished wooden floor. Dana cautiously moved to his side as Margaret moved the children as far away from the blood and pain as she was allowed. They sat huddled together against a wall at the far end of the room. Is Uncle Fox gonna die, Grammy?" Meredith cried softly. "No honey. Uncle Fox is gonna be just fine. We're all going to be just fine," Margaret reassured the child with a conviction in her voice that she wasn't sure she felt. Another garbled moan escaped Mulder's lips, followed by a convulsive cough that left a fresh stain of crimson on the floral pattern beneath his mouth. Dana grasped his shoulders in alarm to lessen his movement, then placed a cushion under his head and shoulders to help him breathe. Mulder inhaled sharply and his eyes flew open suddenly in pain when she moved him. "Mulder," Dana whispered softly, "can you hear me? You're going to be okay. Mulder?" Mulder felt like he'd been broken in half. He heard Dana's voice on the edge of his consciousness like a beacon calling him home. He wanted to follow the voice but the closer he got to it the more the pain licked at the corners of his mind like a raging fire...he hated fire, but he loved Dana. As awareness flooded through like a rampaging river through an earthen damn, pain exploded in his mind and body like a million pinpricks of light. He moaned again and his face screwed up in pain. Slowly he opened his eyes to gaze at the light that had guided him home. Her smiled warmed him. Her gentle touch eased his pain. He suspected from the look in her eyes that he must be in trouble again. "Dana? What happened?" His speech slurred lazily like a wino coming off of a four day drunk. The room was spinning around him, and he closed his eyes in an attempt to steady his reeling senses. Dana considered him with a rueful expression. "Well," she sighed loudly, "let's just say that you're attempt at becoming a lethal weapon was not entirely successful. It seems that the only person you're lethal to, is you." Mulder opened one eye in a modified squint, hoping that if he looked at the world only part-way, it would at least keep still. He found that his attempt was only partially successful. "Oh...you mean...the usual scenario repeated itself again," he mumbled dejectedly. She smiled tenderly and tried to get his mind off his pain by gently teasing him. "You know, this must be some kind of record for you, Mulder." Now what the hell did she mean by that? Even though the room had finally stopped spinning, he admitted his mind was still a little foggy and more than a little sluggish. He knew he should have been able to pick up on what she was getting at but he had to reluctantly admit that he was at a loss. "Record?" he finally asked hoarsely. "You haven't even been out of the hospital for more than a day before you managed to get yourself beaten up again," she chuckled as she brushed her lips against his forehead, then dropped them by his ear. Hoping he was alert enough to understand, she whispered lightly. "There are three men. I believe at least two of them are insane and the one behind me has a gun. Another took Melissa upstairs and the third, I don't know. I think he is, or was, government. We're in trouble. She pulled back to reveal Jordan Chambers standing behind her. Mulder's eyes froze in agonized recognition. He knew this animal. He'd helped capture it and put it away many years ago when he'd worked in the Violent Crimes Section. They'd told him Jordan Chambers was as good as dead. He'd told them good as dead just wasn't good enough. They'd said that in time, he'd forget this monster, he'd told them that for him, forgetting was not an option. Jordan Chambers had never seen Fox Mulder but Fox Mulder most certainly had seen Jordan Chambers. He'd been in his head, seen his carnage, lived the nightmare that Jordan Chambers had created. Finally, on a cold winter's day in late January, based on the information he'd provided to his superiors through the profile that he'd created, the evil was captured and locked away from the rest of humanity in a state hospital for the criminally insane. His recommendations had put this vile creature where he'd belonged and he'd been more than happy to sign his name to the commitment papers. Now this nightmare disguised as a man had obviously escaped to spread his malevolence to the people Mulder cared about most. He'd been right. Good as dead had not been good enough. "Mulder?" Are you okay?" A look of recognition and rage blew across his face, as violent as the tempest storming outside their shelter and it frightened her. He knew this insane man who had invaded their home.. If Mulder knew him, there was also a good chance Jordan knew Mulder too. However, she reminded herself, Mulder's memory was photographic...Jordan's was not. Mulder narrowed his eyes and glared defiantly at Jordan. "What do you want from us? The car keys are in the hall closet. Why don't you just take them and go?" Jordan's eyes gleamed with an unholy light, reflecting the self-confident smile on his face. "Oh I intend to Mr. Mulder, I intend to. But I'm afraid I can't just leave you here. You see, I need the children to begin my ministry." Mulder's eyes flared at that statement and Dana noticed the slight twitch in his jaw and the tightening of his muscles beneath her hand. "As for the rest of you, your destinies are preordained." Jordan paused, then added, "Mitchell needs you for his own reasons," he told Mulder. "Keith needs to usher a soul into eternity, a doctor could come in handy on our journey, and right now I'm hungry. I certainly hope your mother can cook." Dana tried to ignore the dread that settled in her heart at Jordan's pronouncement of Melissa's fate. She was already out of sight and right now there was nothing she could do about it except trust Melissa to be able to take care of herself, at least for the time being. Worrying about Melissa would do nothing but distract her, and distractions could lead to a mistake that would put the rest of her family in jeopardy. "Who's Mitchell?" Mulder asked Jordan with a gasp. The pain was really starting to get out of hand. Jordan laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "He's the ugly mutant who nearly ushered *you* into eternity." Mitchell Tyler moved within Mulder's view. The way the big man studied him, a strange mixture of curiosity and hunger, made Mulder extremely uncomfortable. There was intelligence here, Mulder thought, maybe buried deep inside his psychosis, but this was still a thinking, reasoning man. He remembered Mitchell's unrelenting attack on him, the unnatural speed with which he moved, the ferocity in his eyes, his impossible strength and agility, and Mulder knew instinctively that whatever insanity plagued Mitchell's soul was instilled within him from an outside source. Not drugs -- the change had been too quick, almost like a light switch being turned on and then off. It had to be something else, something infinitely more sinister. He had an uncanny feeling that Mitchell was a victim. He was someone who had given in, possibly after a long and desperate struggle, to the only path that was provided to him. Mulder also knew that in spite of what his instincts told him, he would have to find a way to destroy Mitchell Tyler. Keith followed Melissa into a small bedroom at the far end of the hall. Her soft flowing skirt clung seductively to her shapely body. What Keith at first thought was perfume, now had a more earthy scent like the fresh smell of grass after a spring rain. He shivered with anticipation. Roughly Keith grabbed her arm and turned her around to face him. She had to be at least nine or ten years older than he was, yet he found this woman extremely attractive. Jenny, he thought with amazement, paled in comparison to the mature beautiful woman standing before him. With a look of revulsion, Melissa turned abruptly, jerking her arm violently from Keith's grasp as she stumbled slightly on her way to the bed. As Melissa bent over to slide the black leather bag from beneath the bed, Keith's eyes envisioned her body beneath the soft fabric. A soft fanatical whisper fell upon her ears, getting closer and closer. "I can make you pure," Keith murmured over her shoulder. "I can take your evil into myself and prepare your soul for paradise... give it sanctuary. Jordan has shown me the true way. I know how to save you," Keith's voice lilted hypnotically. Melissa was nearly lulled into false calm by the soft melodic quality of Keith's velvety voice when she was rudely brought back to reality. As she stood with the bag in her hand, Keith reached out and possessively grabbed the soft, firm, fold of her bottom through the gauze-like material of her skirt. Before Melissa could react, Keith brutally shoved her face first against the wall. Desire exploded along every nerve in Keith's body. He could feel the fear emanating from this woman at his unexpected actions. More...he needed more. He forced his hand down the front of Melissa's skirt and an unhealthy ecstasy filled his entire being. So this was his reward. This was what Jordan wanted him to experience. Melissa screamed, but the sound merely caused Keith to smash her face into the wall, which just seemed to excite him even more. Keith's intentions exploded unbidden into Melissa's mind as he ripped at her blouse. Unsatisfied with her position, Keith jerked her away from the wall and slammed her hard to the floor. The black bag flew from her hand, its contents scattering in disarray into a wide arc that bounced off the wall trim in all directions. No, no, oh no, her dazed brain cried, and she barely perceived a heavy weight pressed down upon her chest. With one large hand, Keith pinned both of Melissa's wrist to the floor above her head while he pulled at her undergarments and unzipped his pants with the other. Hard and throbbing, he pressed himself between her thighs and trembled with anticipation. This is what Jordan felt when the evil left the harlot's body!!! He *was* a true disciple. Jordan would be proud. Melissa's initial shock and terror soon transformed into an uncontrollable rage when she fully realized what was happening to her. She bit down her fear, concentrating instead on her anger. Quivering like a beaten puppy was not going to help her survive. With a bizarre kind of detachment, Melissa gazed into her attacker's innocent looking boyish face and was struck by the inconsistency of his appearance with the savagery of his actions. Like a junkie who needs bigger and bigger doses to get a rush, Keith wanted more. The woman no longer looked afraid of him. She should be afraid of him. He needed her to be afraid. With his free hand he ripped open her blouse and grabbed the tender flesh inside, squeezing and twisting savagely. Melissa cried out in pain, but still he saw no fear in her eyes. His groin was throbbing, urging him to complete the task, but she was still not afraid of him. Then he remembered the knife. She would be afraid of the knife. Keith reached down to grab the serrated blade from his boot. Twisting his body so that he could reach, he overbalanced himself and Melissa saw her chance. Pushing with her legs, she toppled Keith off of her and he let go of her wrists to break his fall. Seizing the only opportunity she thought she'd get, Melissa balled up the fist of her right hand and sent it crashing into Keith's now unprotected crotch. Dana Scully school of self defense, she thought to herself idly. A scream of agony escaped Keith's lips as he rolled onto the floor in a protective fetal position. Melissa scrambled frantically to the night stand where she knew her sister kept her gun. She snatched open the drawer and retrieved the weapon. Oh God, Melissa panicked. She knew absolutely nothing about guns. That was Dana's department. Now that she finally had a weapon, she hadn't the faintest idea of how to use it so she slipped it into her skirt pocket and ran out of the room. Dana's head snapped up in alarm at the sound of her sister's screams. Her mother, leaving the children by the far wall, got up and ran toward the stairs. Unfortunately for Margaret, Mitchell Tyler was directly in her path. Mitchell grabbed the tiny woman, held her flailing and hissing form in one arm as he ripped the phone cord from the wall. He bound Margaret's wrists and ankles with it and deposited her none to gently on the other end of the couch. "Jesus Christ, I can't watch them all, Jordan," Mitchell complained loudly. Dana jumped to her feet to protest but found herself warming the cushion next to her mom as a result of her efforts. Mulder painfully pushed himself into an upright position in spite of Dana's orders to him to remain where he was. Subsequent pleading glances from her that silently asked for his obedience, went unheeded. "What do you want?" Mulder asked again, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. Another scream drifted downstairs and all heads turned toward the sound. Mitchell shot a look at Jordan, unsure if the sound was male or female. "I'd better go check it out," Mitchell grumbled belligerently as he climbed the stairs. Mulder saw the unshed tears brimming in Margaret's terrified eyes. He watched Dana as the same look replaced the control that she'd fought so hard to maintain. He could not bear to watch their pain, to just sit here and listen to the screams from the upstairs bedroom, unable to do a damn thing about it. Dana's mom and sister..God, the children, even Bill..they were like family to him. Hell, they *were* his family. The only family that he had. Dana caught the not quite sane glare in Fox's eyes. Her breath caught as she contemplated what he was thinking and feeling. She knew this man better than any other human being on this earth, including her own family and his control was slipping--badly. He was loyal, gentle and loving with a nearly uncompromising sense of ethics but he was also the most empathetic person she'd ever known. It was ironic that the same quality that enabled him to get inside the heads of serial killers, also threatened to push him over the emotional edge now. Please Mulder, don't do anything stupid she prayed, silently watching the fire of righteous rage build behind dark eyes grown cold with anger. Another scream pierced Mulder's soul and he lost what little that remained of his control. "You fucking son of a bitch!!!" Mulder yelled hoarsely with unthinking, blinding fury. "They should have fried your ass when they had the chance. Life in prison, for you, is an insult to humanity and an abomination of justice. I told them that," Mulder panted as he ran out of breath. "They promised to do as I asked," he gasped. "And what pray tell was that?" Jordan snarled, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Mulder met the madman's eyes with open, honest hatred. "That they should lock you up and throw away the goddamn key," Mulder spat out, his voice dripping with venom. "I remember that phrase," Jordan growled, "and now I remember the name that went with it--'Fox Mulder,'" Jordan's voice shook with rage. "You!!! You sent me to that hell hole!! YOU!!!" Jordan roared and pulled the gun into his hand, closing his fingers around it in a fist as he raised it above Mulder's head. The blow came quickly, striking Fox squarely along the side of his head just above his left ear, opening his flesh with a sickening smack. "No!!" Dana cried, lunging over Mulder just in time to prevent the second blow from connecting with his face, absorbing it with her own body. Fire shot through her shoulder blade, up through her neck and down her left arm to her fingertips. Jordan pulled at Dana angrily, trying to remove the only obstacle that stood between his rage and its cause, but her right hand clung to Mulder protectively with fierce determination. Frustrated beyond all reason, Jordan hit her again.