Pulling into the parking space right across the street
from the last location, he could make out Garrett's glare 
even from inside his car. Her resentment hadn't lagged 
much since they'd started six hours ago, fed by the fact 
that he'd come up with nothing. He wasn't exactly a 
happy camper, either. The good news was that this woman 
was right, the Unit's work a textbook example. Print dusting, 
moulage castings, fiber, hair, and blood collection--laboriously 
done, virtually perfect. The bad news was he'd shot a good 
portion of the day on another dead end. He wasn't about to 
share that particular assessment with Garrett, however.

He clicked off the ignition and rolled his neck until 
he could hear the vertebrae pop. Slamming the car door
behind him, he jogged over to where she stood arms 
crossed over her chest, waiting. She was in front of the 
crack house where Dakota Roberts had dealt his last rock, 
a dilapidated graystone in the heart of Englewood, 
one of the poorest neighborhood's in Chicago.
According to the photos and write-up, Roberts had 
been killed in stages--brutally beaten with a truncheon, 
his ribs and right leg broken, larynx crushed, spleen 
ruptured. He was found face-down on the floor next
to piles of tens and twenties, shot in the back of the head 
execution-style.

"You ready, Agent?"  Garrett was curt, not even 
bothering to wait for his answer. She'd already turned 
and started waking up the stairs.

Mulder took the stairs two at a time, closing the 
distance until they were both standing in front of the
door. He was pissed now, and decided to sling some 
attitude. Pushing past her, he pulled up the yellow tape 
blocking their entry, and jimmied open the door.
Motioning her through,  "Ready as I'll ever be, Detective...
After you."  

Garrett went in, thinking she'd later fire off a complaint 
to Lazarov--report this Fibbie's unorthodox entry,
then decided against it. She had a feeling this piece 
of work was used to being called on the carpet.  
No sense in wasting my time, she told herself 
as she waited for him to follow her.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

Dust motes swirled around them as they made their
way through room after room, mattresses dotting the
filthy linoleum floor.  Geeking crack heads would
sit down, smoke up, sputter and stutter and buy more,
and be shoved out by Roberts' posse when the money 
ran out. Incongruent to the whole scene was the formerly 
barred room where Roberts and his boys counted and 
sorted the money--expensive furniture, empty bottles
of Cristal scattered all around, the black bloom on the floor, 
remnant of Roberts' exit wound.

Mulder ran the scene like he had the others. To anyone
else but Scully, all someone would see was an intense,
highly focused review of the chain of evidence. He took in 
more, so much more. He was always hyper-sensitive,
absorbing, cataloging and analyzing the environment, the 
situation, the people. Striding through each room, blinking
like the shutter of a camera as he mentally recorded every 
aspect, thinking about every possible scenario. He'd noticed 
the traffic around the house, the music coming from the boom 
box the teen next-door had been playing, the fact that they 
were in a first floor apartment, and there were no footsteps 
coming from above, even though he'd seen a name on the 
second mailbox.  

Most of the time he'd find something in those those details,
those nuances--have a breakthrough, an insight that blew
the case open. It hadn't happened in the other places, it 
wasn't going to happen here. Strange thing, his premonition 
about today hadn't gone away. 

What he was looking for was somewhere else,
hidden in the world of The Seven Powers.


X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

Mulder wasn't expecting any professional courtesy as they left 
the building and made their way to their prospective cars.

He didn't get any.   

He did get Garrett to yell the directions out her car window 
to his next two stops as she sped off---Botanica Santa Teresa, 
a likely place to find acolytes of Oya, and Jardin de Obatala, 
both located in a part of the city known as WestTown. 
She told him he was about twenty minutes away.
As he headed toward Division Street, his premonition 
grew stronger. 
 
X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

It was almost dark and the air was heavy and thick,
chilling him as he made his way along Division by foot, 
leaving the car in front of the Woods Street police station. 
A patrolman tried to wave him off, but he flashed his badge, 
got the fraternal thumbs-up as he walked the four blocks 
toward what he hoped was the beginning of enlightenment. 

Mulder stops next to a restaurant specializing in 
'comida criolla', 1947 W. Division--This is the place.  
But instead of going in, something pulls him across 
the street. He wasn't startled by this, it's happened before--
one of the most memorable times led him to ignore
a dusty crossroad and plunge headlong with Scully 
into the midst of Texas cornfields.

The urge keeps pushing him down the block until he 
finds a storefront wreathed with butter-yellow drapes. 
Statues of the The Virgin Mary in various sizes  
stand in the the window, surrounded by votives 
and bunches of roses, jasmine. The scent of the flowers
mix with orange and cinammon, the heady odor wafting 
through the open doorway. He sees dishes crowded with 
slices of pumpkin and mango, pieces of honeycomb---all 
spread on blue cloth shot with gold metalic thread.  
This is a House of Oshun, dedicated to matters of the heart. 
He knows there's no logical reason for him to be here, 
and that being here is absolutely right.

Entering quietly, he passes a couple talking to a young 
woman in a sunshine-colored robe, asking questions as 
to what herbs would best to protect them from lovers'
quarrels. The young woman reaches over to a near-by 
stalk of what looked and smelled like goldenrod. 
She dips the the dried plant  an uncovered dish 
of honey, wraps it in white tissue, and rings up the 
purchase on an old-style cash register. 

A tall, bronze-skinned man strides up to the visitor
and without a word, leads him to a seat in what appears 
to be a waiting area. He too, is dressed in yellow, and 
exudes an air of strength and control. There were five 
people ahead of Mulder, clutching talismans and small, 
folded pieces of paper. All of them, male and female wear 
coral bead necklaces, which he recognizes as elekes, 
marking them as devotees of. He guesses the young man
is a temple guard and that this is the antechamber.
The priestess must be in the rear, behind the velvet curtain
covering a small doorway. Listening to the conversation
swirling around him, he finds out her name.

The fact that the young man doesn't seem surprised to see
him is not lost on Mulder. The cult of Oshun, as well as
most of the other cults in Santeria, were known to have
many clairvoyants as members. The level of psychic ability
varied from person to person and from cult to cult. 
Either the guard, or the priestess---possibly both of them
had been waiting for him. He's grateful he knew enough
not to show his badge or ID. That would've been seen as an 
insult, an act of arrogance and disrespect. If he was going 
to get any information, he had to come as a seeker. 

He readies himself for whatever answer he's going 
to get.


X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

He rubs his eyes and when he looks up, there's
the same young man, beckoning him up and through the 
curtain. He gets up immediately, passing by the others who
are left waiting in their chairs. As he brushes past the velvet 
and enters the small dimly lit room, he can hear the guard 
speaking firmly to one of the waiting supplicants. "Iya asked 
for him. Do you questions her choices?"  

Iyalosha Adisanya, swathed in a golden robe, sits at a small 
table, smoothing the cloth that covered it. The only light 
in the room comes from candles that were perched on shelves 
and small, wooden stands. Iya herself was fiftyish, Mulder 
thought, but he wouldn't swear to it. The flickering lights 
dance across her face, revealing and obscuring. She is 
beautiful--dark eyes, smooth, brown skin barely etched by
the passing of time, high cheekbones, and a long, graceful 
neck.  Tapered fingers play with a locket that holds a photo 
of someone he recognizes as he draws close, someone
whose face he is not surprised to see.

Mulder approaches the woman, bows and holds his position 
until he feels her touch the crown of his head. 
It is taboo to touch the hands of a priest or priestess 
in greeting--their hands are consecrated for sacred tasks, 
for blessings, for the work of the gods. Bowing is the way 
a humble person approached a Keeper of the Temple. 
He raises his head to find her with eyes closed, one hand
clutching the locket.

"Iya...I'm here about Alex."

"I know. Oshun told me you were coming...that you would 
help my Alejandra."

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

She's motions to Omi, telling him to bring them 
tea made from flor de tilo. While they wait, Iyalosha tells 
him her story, her other name, Florinda Zavala.  How
she came with the Cardenas family from Cuba as their maid,
how she became Alex's nanny.  She glows with pride as
she recounts how she became Alex's nanny, how much she 
loved that baby, what a wise and kind child Alex Cardenas 
had been. What a beautiful woman she'd become.

Mulder sees the love in her eyes, mixed with fear and 
something like expectancy.

He listens thoughtfully, and wondered in Iya ever
saw the arrogance, the insincerity. Perhaps she did, 
and chose to ignore it, seeing with a mother's eye instead.

Two china cups are placed on the table, each with 
a piece of honeycomb to sweeten it and strengthen 
the drinker. 

"Please have something.  Refresh yourself, you've spent 
too much time at the gate today."

"The gate?"  He settles back in the chair directly 
across from her.

"Yes, warrior. The gate, the place where someone
leaves this world and enters the next. You seek out
the places where that entry happens through violence, 
through the evil that men do..."

"Not just men, Iyalosha."

She closes her eyes again, bites down hard on her lip.
"Tell me what's happened to mi hija, my Alex."

"You call me warrior..."

Iyalosha answers,  "Because that's what you are. 
Oshun told me in a dream you that you've fought darkness 
for a long time with a strong heart. That you bear your scars well. 
She told me there's another one who fights with you...a woman 
whose story is like yours." 

"You honor both of us."

"You bring honor to yourselves...Please...why did the 
gods send you here, what darkness touches my Alejandra?"  
Her voice trembles a little more with each word.

Mulder tells his story now, his given name, why he's here,
why he met with Alex. She blanches when Mulder says 
the words 'los muertos que no muere.'

"We never speak of it, it is the greatest taboo for us.
Only Oya can move from one world to the next.  
Those who practice it are outlaws, close to Ellegua. 
They could never be of our house...and they pay for 
their insolence, believe me."  Her hands grip the  
edge of the table.

"What do you mean?"  Mulder felt an urgency--this was
it---he needed to know more

"Whoever would dare to raise the dead must suffer a 
terrible punishment. They are consigned to death, and
forced to endure a terrible fate in the Other World. 
When they pass from this world, they are never reunited 
with their ancestors. We believe there is nothing worse--
to be severed from family. There is no honor, no peace, nothing 
but floating between this world and the next...Only someone 
desperate..."

Mulder stops her, "...someone like Alex."

She wants to end this and tell him to leave, tell him she 
knows nothing. Drinking the last of her tea, Iyalosha tries
to brace herself for what must come next. She is sworn 
to serve righteousness above all else, and so she reveals 
what happened the night Alex came to her with keening grief, 
how the woman she calls daughter begged her to do the 
very thing he asks about. Her refusal and Alex's bitter 
recriminations.  Oshun had taught her the deepest love 
sometimes forces you to deny those who mean everything 
to you.  

She is crying now, " My Alejandra didn't do this...she 
couldn't do this."

"But it's possible she could've found someone who 
would..."

Mulder feels there's someone else in the room. 
He looks over his shoulder and sees Omi standing by 
the curtain. 

Iya looks up, startled to see him.  "It's all right.  
Go help Osunrete.  Go on."  The young man moves away. 

Iya stills for a moment, then brushes away the tears
running along the length of her elegant cheekbones.  
"Yes...She met the families of many houses...
and there are ways to find the followers of Ellegua." 

"How can I find someone who'd do this?"

She looked at the man for what seemed like a long time 
before she spoke again,  "There's no one in this house 
who would do such a thing. But let me ask the people who 
might know, babalaos of other houses. You stand a better 
chance if I help you this way...I'll have something to tell
you in the morning.  The gods will reveal what you need to 
know, I feel it."  She took Mulder's hands in hers, 
"If it's true, promise me you'll stop it.  If my...daughter 
is part of it, promise me you'll help her."

Mulder's eyes burns into hers, "You have my word."

Iyalosha squeezes his hands then lets go,  "Oshun told 
me that would be enough."

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his card, circles 
his cel number and writes down the number at the hotel. 
She takes it and nods.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

He's walking through the store, almost at the door, 
when Iyalosha stops him.  "I have something for you...
to protect you...and your lover."  She opens his 
hand places two red cords in the center of his palm. 
Thin strips of leather, wound with gold threads.  
"Wear them on your left wrist, the one closest to your 
heart. This talisman will keep the two of you from 
harm."  She closes his hand around them,  "There is 
much danger surrounding both of you."

Mulder doesn't hide his curiosity very well,  "You 
mentioned a woman who fights the same enemies I do...
you never mentioned a lover."

That last sentence makes Iyalosha Adisanya smile.
"They're one and the same... You're a man with much 
to protect."

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

It is later now, and the remaining temple members help
Iya close the store, secure the temple. One by one, they 
leave, until there is only Omi. He stands next to the
entrance of the antechamber, stroking the velvet
curtain, watching Iyalosha preparing to leave. Her 
back is to him, and for a second he tries to turn away. 

As she throws a long, dark cloak over her shoulders, 
something makes her stop and start walking toward him. 
Omi is troubled, his face knotted with guilt.  Iya knows
he's done many bad things in his life, things that ended 
when he came to her to begin a new life in Oshun. 

She waits for what he has to say.

"I was the one...I told her, Iya."

She motions him closer, and he goes knowing
punishment must be meted out. Remorse pours out 
of him, but it is too late. There is only what will come next. 

"I'm  sorry...She was hurting...I thought...I thought
I was helping...Please believe me, Iya."  Tears run down his 
proud face, and he sees Iyalosha looking at him with infinite
sadness.  

"I swear I'll never tell anyone else."

"I know." 

She has to do this, if she doesn't, Oshun will do 
something far worse to him, her familiar is the vulture for
a reason.  Iyalosha will save his life, but she doubts he will 
thank her for it later. She closes the distance between them, 
places her hand over his mouth. Whispering in the language 
of the gods, she holds her hand in place, feeling his breath 
shudder into her palm. 

Omi feel his throat constrict, he tries to cry out, but there
is only silence.  

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~


The Whole Catastrophe
Chapter 7
By Diehard and Dryad


She is beyond exhausted.

She drags herself through the lobby, into the elevator and
down the hall to her room. Her body's leaden, she wonders
how she's capable of walking at all. Glancing at her watch.
she sees it's after ten. Yesterday was long, today longer.
With debriefing starting at 5:30 this the morning, it's
been about an 18 hour day. By this time last night, she
was easing toward sleep, warm with lovemaking and some
good Scotch.

Last night seems like a long, long time ago...

And once again she faced the hideous, the excruciating,
and got the job done. Someone else would be telling 
themselves they were a success today. But not Scully.
She's failed, failed miserably. Not by anyone else's 
standards, but by her own.

Today she autopsied killers of the innocent and could barely 
hold on while visions of their crimes eroded at her self-control.  
How she ended up having a physical and emotional breakdown. 

How can she tell Mulder about this, how can she not?

As a raft of maggots consumed the flesh of these murderers 
today, pedophiles, child killers, she was glad something 
ripped into them, desecrating their remains. She hates herself 
for losing objectivity, for wishing she'd killed these monsters 
herself. Those feelings do not belong the woman she is, 
or thought she was.  And it frightens her.  What if it happens 
again while they're in pursuit---some meltdown that cripples 
her in the field, halts her from getting his back? What if today 
means the compass she's held onto her whole life has 
disintegrated,that their reassignment six months ago only 
forestalled her from seeing the truth about who she's become. 

She finds her key and rather than opening the door
to her room, she stands there remembering the only 
other time she'd felt this much out of control. It was not 
the night her father died, not when she heard her diagnosis, 
not even when the truth of her own barren body was revealed. 
Even after Emily's death, all she would allow herself was the
overwhelming sorrow that scored her heart.

Through it all, she resisted falling into the pit that
claimed her today. Somehow, she kept going and kept
fighting the good fight. There was only one other time
she was as close to losing her way as she was today.

It was the night Missy was killed--it hit too close to home,
the lamb slaughtered, the lamb she couldn't protect. That
night, if she'd had the chance, she would've have shot
and shot until she emptied her SIG. But there was no one
there to empty her clip into, no revenge to be had.

The dead wait for them, day in and day out. She cannot 
allow herself to falter like she did today, her job is 
to find answers, uphold the law, serve justice.

And she will, in the light of a new day. Right now, she
plans to crawl into the shower and wash away the weakness
and beg her God for absolution, a God she prays will show
her where strength lies and remind her of her better self.

And she hopes she'll have the courage to tell her partner,
the one man who means everything to her, the truth.


~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~~X~X~

Having trudged through the connecting doors between their
rooms, he's grateful he had the presence of mind to leave
them open this morning. They're supposed to be in her room
tonight.  Lying on the bed fully dressed, with his trenchoat 
still on, he's got his arms draped across his chest. He made 
it back about an hour ago, and was completely seduced by the 
idea of getting horizontal and not moving. Eyes closed, he's 
fingering the cord around his left wrist.

He'd never say anything, but right now, he's feeling
his age--pushing forty--just back from a kind of furlough--
and in desperate need of a break to catch his second wind. 
He never needed anything like that before, but he was
younger then, and had never been spoiled by the rhythms
of a normal life. Normal. What he'd had a taste of for
six months would be filed under 'ordinary', and he's come
to find he craves it. But the major ingredient of this
normalcy is missing. He starts thinking about her, about
the matching cord Iyalosha gave him. Hauling himself up
to check the clock on the dresser, he starts worrying when
he sees how late it is. He starts fishing in his pocket
for his cel when he hears the key in the lock.

Scully comes in, drops her bag, her coat and the room key
on the dresser and heads toward him. She hopes it seems
like she's still in one piece, even though that's a lie.
The tension pulls her features tight, makes the muscles
of her back ache, but she's holding her ragged self
together. He's got that cockeyed grin and he's sitting up
in bed, rumpled and obviously delighted to see her. She
wants to throw herself into his arms, bury her face in
the crook of his neck and let rip the litany of what's
eating her soul.

She doesn't.

She walks to the edge of the bed and just stands there,
waiting, for what she's not even sure. Maybe she'll just
say hello, excuse herself, lock herself in the bathroom
and fall apart completely. And in about an hour, once she
starts gluing herself back together, she'll come out and
try to let him help her finish the job.

"Hey." He realizes something's wrong, and the grin
dissolves like ice on hot asphalt.  "Bad day, partner?"
He reaches for her, but she won't let him.

Her hands are splayed palm side against his chest,
stopping him.  "One of the worst. Listen, I need to
take a shower. Just...just let me do that, and I'll
tell you about it when I'm done."

"Scully, you look wrung out."  His hands come around
to cover hers, pressing down, warm. "C'mere...Let's see..." 
Her face is pale--without a hint of makeup, her eyes tired 
and clearly showing signs of earlier crying.

"Please, Mulder, I need some time for myself. Can't you
just let me have that?"

The sting of rejection always registers on his face,
although he knows that's not what's really happening.
He can give her space, he's done it before. He wants
to give her what she wants, what she needs.  "Sure.  
How 'bout I go on a food run. You know, something 
greasy, preferably between two sesame seed buns." 
She nods, and he starts to get up, watching her
go toward the bathroom. He grabs her key from the 
dresser and makes for the door.

Before she shuts the door behind she turns around, "We'll
talk later, I promise."

At first, he doesn't reply.

"Mulder."

He turns to her, and the depth of sadness in their eyes
surprises them both. "And I promise to hold you to it."


~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~~X~X~

He's out on State Street and he can see a McDonald's
about a half a block away. It's beautiful fall evening,
clear obsidian sky, some stars nascently visible against
city lights, not too much downtown foot traffic at this
hour, the wind slicing cool, crisp and clean.

He couldn't care less.

The only thing he's thinking about is Scully and the fact
she's alone and clearly in pain. He's not even hungry
really, but he said he'd go get food, give her some time
alone.  But it doesn't feel right.  It's still not
feeling right as he passes under the golden arches,
feeling even worse by the time the bright faced teenager
--'Jamal'--asks him if he knows what he'd like to order.

No response.

Mulder feels like he's ditched her even though she asked
him to go. He wonders if he agreed so quickly because
part of him didn't want to see her in that much pain. It's
only recently that she let him help her deal with anything
emotionally difficult in daily life. Before, she had to
be dying to let him in. Otherwise, he could only get so
close, knowing she hid the worst from him. The thought
of her, working in the basement, pale and silent as she
grieved her father, her sister, her daughter makes his
throat burn. That's how it was with them.  Never mind
that she's seen him raving, murderous, stricken--over his
father, his sister, his mother. And saved him each time,
even though once, it took a bullet to do it.

Scully never turned away.  Never.

But when it boiled down to how she felt, they used to
adhere to 'don't ask, don't tell,' seven years of it.
They used to do a lot of things that kept them longing
for each other, lonely, and apart.

"Sir," the teen tries again, "Do you know what you want?"

"How 'bout an ass-kicking, he mumbles, "and hold the 
fries."  He knows where he should be, and is afraid he's 
utterly blown it. It knots his gut and without thinking, he's 
turned around, pushed aside the two people behind him, 
and is back out on the street, walking at a fast clip back 
to the Burnham.

He's a dick, a possessive sonovabitch, he's whatever she
wants to call him, but he's going back to that hotel room
and she's going to tell him whatever it is.

Jamal seems a little put out, and moves along to the next
in line. "Welcome to McDonald's, may I take your order?"


~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~~X~X~

He has a close encounter with a doorman, brushes past
the concierge, hops the nearest elevator, and before he
knows it, he's letting himself back into the room. All he
can hear at first is the sound of the shower, but
underneath it another noise emerges. Sobbing--raw--
and the sound of her voice, 'God...help me, dear God."
He moves, crosses the room in seconds, shoves
the bathroom door open and sees her.

Scully's sitting hunched on the floor of the shower, head
drawn up to her knees. The water's pummeling her, she
sits there rocking back and forth. She did the same thing
the night Missy died, said the same things, begged the
same God for help.

Heaving cries, a wail she tries to smother, her thin
shoulders shuddering with their force --- the whole image
stuns him. She doesn't hear him when he enters, it's when
he's kneeling and touches the nape of her neck that she
startles and jerks back. It only makes him reach harder
for her, and he's getting soaked and he doesn't care. 
Neither does she.

Falling toward him, sinking into him, sobbing like
she'll never stop, hot tears, hot water raining down
on them both. He pulls her up, holding her against his
chest with one hand, shutting off the water with the
other.

"Scully...Scully, please...what is it?"

"Mulder...I...I lost it today..."  She haltingly smoothes
her hair back, trying to compose herself, but she's 
trembling, and he won't let go of her. Still shaking, she's 
able to inch back enough to see his face.  "You're soaked,
you should change. Let me get myself together, and we'll
talk.  I'm sorry...sorry if I scared you."

"No." He grabs a towel, and starts wrapping it around her.

"No?"  She's confused, unsettled. 'What do you mean?"

"It doesn't work like that."

"Like what?" She finishes tucking the towel under
her arms,she desperately hopes they won't have a fight,
but she sees he's deeply upset now, too.

He peels off his soaked trench, his suitcoat, throws
them on the hamper, and roughly rubs himself with one
of the extra towels.  "Remember when we started this?
When I still thought it was impossible that you could 
really love me, knowing how I am.  When I thought 
it'd be better if you left me. You told me no one 
leaves, that it was too late to run away.
That this was it for you...Sound familiar?"

She's sat down on the edge of the bathtub, "Yes."

"Scully...you've seen me at my worst and you're still
here."  He sits next to her on the lip of the tub, 
"This is not about having space,"  resting his hand on
her knee.  "It's about trust...it's about believing
someone wants to be there, and will be there...
no matter what."

"Mulder..." She stops her own feeble protest.

He takes his hand from her knee and cups her cheek,
turning her face so that they're eye-to-eye.

"It's about believing that someone is me."

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

It looks like his trenchcoat caught the worst of it,
although his suit's also in pretty rough shape. They're
both on a hanger, hopefully drip-drying on the shower
rod, and the suit may be salvageable after he sends it
to the cleaners. Luckily, he had couple of others
packed besides this current waterlogged mess. The tie's
a total loss and the shirt's draped over a chair in
the room.

They've moved to the bed and are perched cautiously
on the edge. He's got on navy sweatpants and grey
T-shirt, and is currently pressing his heels of his
bare feet into the carpet. Sitting with her hands
folded on her lap, she's has her cream-colored robe on,
fastened tight and secure.

There more noise to be heard in a catacomb than this
room right now. Mulder is waiting because he knows if
he pushes too hard, she'll just wall herself up. Scully's
mum because she realizes it has boiled down to trust
and belief in flesh and blood, not just God's invisible
hand, and now she's got to show exactly what kind of
real-life faith she has.

"What happened today was inexcusable..."

"Before I join you in passing judgment, how 'bout
telling me what actually happened today?"  He makes
a bold move by inching closer to her and slipping his
arm around her shoulder.

She lets him.   They both exhale.   She starts speaking.

And the whole story gets laid out, every gory, grisly
detail, how her unraveling started yesterday before 
she even touched Coluko. How she'd struggled and 
temporarily pushed it out of her mind. How it washed 
over her today, all of it---flashing on unspeakable crimes, 
losing control. How after fighting today to keep it 
together---the maggots---the floodgates opening.

Her rage, her craving for revenge so strong, 
it made her stop in the middle of an autopsy.  Ranting
and raving like a madwoman, unable to do her job, 
unable to conduct FBI business. The way the shame 
and sickness overtook her, making her run to the 
bathroom and empty her guts, tears steaming down 
her face. How she swore and shook uncontrollably in 
the morgue's icy toilet until she could hardly breathe 
and her throat tightened, hating herself for what she 
feels is a fundamental betrayal of her beliefs.

How she finished the day on grit alone.

And how she feels she's failed herself.   Failed him.

All in a voice barely above a whisper.

Then, she turns so she can see his face. She couldn't look
at him before.  "What does this mean for our work? 
How can you forgive me?  How can I forgive myself? "

"Forgive what, Scully?  What was inexcusable?  His voice
cracks, but he swallows back his own tears.  "Scully...
you haven't told me about anything other than a human
response to inhuman circumstances."

"Mulder, I'm charged with a responsibility..."

"For Crissakes, listen to yourself."  She tries to get
up, but the way he says one word, 'Please,' makes her
stop.

Makes her take a leap of faith.

She does something he wasn't expecting.  She says,
"Hold me..."

And he does, and the quiet gets punctuated again with
the sound of their breathing. He can feel her crying
again, but not like before. Barely moving, her tears
blotted by his soft cotton of his shirt.

He wants to get this right, wants to say the words that
will mean something, heal something. For as many times 
as she's healed him, physically and emotionally, and finally,
in the most complete way, he's desperate to give her
the same.  He will tell her the things he knows to be true
above all else.

"You could never be a failure, Scully.  Not to me.
You are the most dedicated, the most moral person I've
ever met...Listen to me, there's no one else I'd ever
want at my side...No one I believe in more than you."

Now he's whispering.  "You've seen and experienced and
lived though things that would've killed someone else.
And the fact that today, some of it caught up with you,
I'm sorry, Scully, I just don't see it as an indictment
of you who are.  Who you'll always be, no matter what."

"Mulder, how do I get through this?  How do I deal with
if it happens again?"  She sees how he looks at her,
another object lesson in love on a daily basis.

He eases her down and until they're lying the wrong way
on the bed.  "I think it's time you cowboy up to all that
tough talk, hypocrite."  He says this, and kisses
the palm of her hand.

"What did I say?"  For the first time since this morning
she can feel her body relax.

"How soon we forget.  Last night.  The lobby.  I believe
the phrase  'We take care of each other'  was what you said. 
For starters, maybe you can tell me when something first
happens, maybe you can let me carry my share of the weight."

"Your share?"  She bring her hand up to his face,
rests it on his cheek. Her lips begin to curve upward
and she sees him mirroring it back.

"Yes, Scully.  My share.  And why, you might ask? 
Well, it's pretty simple. Te amo.  Je t'aime.  Te quiero. 
Are you getting my drift?"


~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

They've slid around and at least now they're under
the covers and lying the right way in bed.  By the
hushed tones, a person overhearing might think it's
strictly pillow talk.  It's actually Scully's review
of her findings, with Mulder trying to connect the dots.

"Played a hunch, Scully?"

"Acted on intuitive rather than empirical data, Mulder."

He rolls onto his back, and laces his hands behind 
his head, nodding as he looks at the ceiling  "Dear Diary, 
I am beside myself hearing that Agent Scully embraced 
unorthodox methods today. The grasshopper snatches 
the pebble."

She scoots over and presses up against him, lying on
her side.  "Are you going to keep gloating, or can
I finish?"

"Please...go on."

"OK...the bottom line here is that I can pretty much say
the County coroner did his job, but there were anomalies
that never got addressed. The listed causes of death, 
I would say, are accurate---all pointing to foul play. However, 
in what seemed initially to be a fatal fight between Weinhoft 
and Coluko, I saw evidence to support a possible attack by
another party...The amount of damage to the bodies and 
the victims' impairment due to drug and alcohol use, I think
support my hypothesis.  Weinhoft was also given a crude 
hysterectomy, at a point at which Coluko had to have been 
extremely debilitated."  

Her voice trails off for a second as she collects her thoughts.   
"Then there's the presence of rum  on the skin, Mulder...I can't 
begin to tell you how it got there. The scent was so faint, it's 
not hard to see how it could've been missed. And despite  
variety of substances having been found in the stomachs, 
including narcotics, sedatives, cocaine, PCP, beer, and vodka, 
the tox samples show no evidence that rum was ingested by 
any of the deceased."

"So that would mean..."

"That it couldn't have been emitted through sweat prior
to death. Supporting further hypothesis that the skin was
somehow imbued or infused post mortem..." She hesitates
for a second.

Mulder caught it immediately.  "Too late to stop now, Scully. 
You're on a roll."

She can hardly believe what she's going to say next.
"Lastly...there's the presence of the maggots.  Flesh flies 
aren't indigenous to this area, but to tropical and semi-tropical 
locations. How they got in the bodies post-mortem, reproduced 
at an incredible rate is anomalous, to say the least. And the
fact that they stripped the bodies in less than a half hour
defies explanation."

"Do you have any idea how much hearing you say that turns
me on?"

"No, and frankly I'm too tired to even try to respond." 
She's laughing at him as she says it.

"I knew I could finally wear you out."

"Uh huh.  By the way, you don't look so energetic
yourself."

"Maybe you wore me out...Maybe I'm gettin' old.'

"Well, Gramps, what's your take on all of this?"

"Ow.  Thanks for that last one, Scully.  Despite your 
obvious lack of respect, I'll tell you what we've got. 
>From the outset, there was the ritualistic pattern of the kills---
one every three days.  We knew the murders were done by 
someone with knowledge of the crimes of the deceased...
Pretty wide field if we consider how much information about 
our bad guys were disseminated, making it easy to replicate 
the original crimes as a means of murdering the murderers.
The CPD ended up with us because forensic evidence 
doesn't show anyone else present at the deaths besides 
the deceased. " 

He stretches both arms and legs and let loose a huge yawn. 
"Your findings and the crime scene data supports the 
assumption that overall, a person or persons of tremendous 
physical strength committed all the crimes. We're in agreement
with the coroner's findings except for Coluko and Wienhoft. 
The coroner dropped the ball on our couple--their 
intoxication would have made doing that amount of damage 
to each other impossible. I agree there's no way they could 
have leveraged that kind of attack on each other---they were 
both too far gone. The whole thing screams third party." 

Another yawn, even larger than the first. 
"Jesus...I am wiped...."  He pauses to roll his neck 
before he continues.   "So, do you concur, partner?"

Slowly, she gets up to sit crosslegged next to him.
"I'd say so far we're on the same page...C'mon,
up you go,"  and starts yanking on his T-shirt.

He scrambles up into sitting position and she slides
herself behind him, snaking those small hands underneath
his T-shirt and begins rubbing his shoulders.  "Now, let's
get some blood going here...Go on, finish."

He's unbelievably tired and can only imagine how wiped 
out she is, but the fact she's touching him is irresistable.
He should stop her, but it feels so damn good.  "OK...the 
new evidence further supports the possibility that a  
supernatural force is responsible for the killings---an
entity able to exert incredible force on its victim, 
apparently leaving no traces. There's no evidence of 
forced entry, latent prints, anything to indicate that there 
was someone else with any of the deceased."  He sighs 
as she works the trigger points at the base of his neck.
 
"When I accessed some files this morning, I came across
research concerning certain outlawed Santeria practices.
These indicate the possibility of the raising of the dead
in order to exact revenge. In these instances, victims 
show post mortem traces of herbs or other substances, 
including rum. This undead entity marks its kill, 
either at the moment of death or directly thereafter. 
There's also anecdotal data indicating such victims having 
also been marked as targets of retribution by the appearance 
of insects post-mortem."  Now she's kneading up and down 
his spine with a supple touch. He can't help it, he groans with 
pleasure and hears her chuckling from behind. If she keeps 
it up, he'll be a quivering mess before he can finish.  

He decides to hurry.
 
"You noted the insects you saw didn't come from the 
environments in which the killings occurred, that
the amount of maggots present, the rapidity of consumption 
doesn't fit any known description. I'm thinking it's another 
indicator that divine punishment had been dealt.  A woman I 
interviewed today gave me reason to think there are people 
who could enact the ritual that could cause these things 
to happen...And that woman knows Alex Cardenas. And 
speaking of our favorite cultural anthropologist---C'mon Scully, 
her attitude yesterday was not one of a woman who just lost 
the love of her life. The good professor is not a just a student 
of an occult religious practice, she's a believer...Yesterday 
she said she was trying to keep Gonzales close to her.
Maybe she told us more than she meant to.  It would 
explain her refusing to allow the CPD to exhume 
the body...Scully, I bet there's nothing in that casket  
and that Gonzales is meting out justice from the afterlife."

"I don't suppose you'd consider perpetrators emulating 
those practices to cover their tracks." Her fingertips find
the last knots of tension in his shoulders and work 
them out.  She smiles as he leans into her touch. 

"Nah...not when I can go out on a limb and try to take
you with me."  He starts groaning again, this time softly,
as she rubs his temples.  "I'll give you a week
to stop that...Oh...God...that is so good."

"Uh huh...it's the special doctor training...What about
this contact...are you saying she's an accomplice?"

"No, what I'm saying is that she's had a long connection
with this woman, who just also happened to have been her 
nanny. That this woman might have unwittingly been a point 
of access for Alex to find individuals who know of this 
practice, possibly enacting a ritual for her. This woman,
Iyalosha is trying to find out who those individuals
might be. As a matter of fact, I'm hoping she calls me
with some leads."

"Are you really saying that the dead have been
raised to kill killers?"

"You aren't going to try to tell me that is impossible,
are you?  Scully, you blasted the gray matter of some
zombies last New Year's..."

"You realize we'll have to investigate your theory on our own. 
This is not going to please Lazarov, the SAC or our superiors, 
Mulder.  And I don't imagine the CPD would assign manpower 
to track down the undead..."

"But you wouldn't expect it to go any other way, would you?"

"No," she sighs, but I can dream, can't I?"

"Sleep. Perchance to dream...Sounds like a plan, Scully.
Tomorrow we figure out how to best corner the good
Professor and get the answers we want." He's deliberately
left out something, wants to see if she'll notice.

"Uh, there's one last piece of business."

"What?   Do we need to call Skinner?"  He might be half
dead, but he'll still try to goof on her.

She knows all his little games.  "Nooooo...what about
my turn?"

"Oh, I see.  You want a backrub, too?"  He feigns
exasperation, huffing and chuffing.  "Well, move it
so I can get at it, Scully."  He can't help but laugh
when she clambers off the bed like a ten year old and
motions him to the edge.

"C'mon Mulder, get over here and get busy."

As soon as she says that, he dredges up the mandatory
leer her opening requires.  "OK, Wild Thing, but
you'll have to give me a minute first."

She has to groan after that one.  "The backrub.  
I meant the backrub.  You couldn't possibly have the 
energy for anything else."

He leans toward her so that their foreheads touch, 
"And I better do it now 'cause old 'Gramps' here
is gonna pass out soon."

They both yawn, then smile at each other.

She eases herself between his legs and he moves back
enough so that she can sit. Her head lolls forward and
he can see the implant scar. Taking his thumb, he
strokes it, then bends forward, resting his lips there.

He whispers,  "Feeling better?"

Much, much better,"  she whispers back.  "Thank you
for tonight...for taking care of me."

He kisses her there, and thinks he's the luckiest man
on earth. "Thank you for letting me."

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

The backrub was brief, but he hit the right spots, 
eliciting enough sighs of pleasure to make him
think he's still got the magic touch.  Unknotted and
unkinked, they're in the bathroom, brushing their teeth.
And this is where it hits him.

They're standing at the sink.  Scully--with her
particularly thorough and energetic approach that
literally make her upper torso shake.  She's busy,
she's oblivious--it makes him smile to watch her
in the mirror.  As he's spitting and rinsing, he idly
thinks of his first year at Oxford and his colloquium
on classical Greek theater. He has no idea why he's
remembering this now, but Aeschylus' reference to
marriage comes to mind.

The whole catastrophe--for the first time he thinks
he understands.

The day she blew into the basement, insect bites and
candlelight, graveyards--more than he can count, 
clawing through mounds of dirt and deception for signs 
of Samantha, abductions and miraculous returns, blood 
stains, burials, a man face down on his living room floor 
with his face blown off, faceless aliens, cancer, chemo,
gashes, stitches, exit wounds, restraints and padded
cells, more pain and sorrow and loss than any two 
people should ever have to know.

And batting practice, Apollo key chains, years of rock
and roll and innuendo, a truly horrible serenade in a
Florida forest with a thousand stars blinking overhead,
the feel of her warm mouth on his stubble, devotion 
that leaves everything tainted and corrupt in the dust, 
her eyes watching him as he enters her body for 
the first time, the way the hollow of her throat tastes 
sweet, grocery shopping and fighting over who does 
the dishes and who drives and signs of the apocalypse.

He knows.  This is what he wants.   All of it--the sacred
and profane, the exquisite, the banal, and in the least
romantic situation possible he couldn't love her more,
minty foam at the corner of her mouth.

Ask, he tells himself, ask her now.

She's wiping traces of toothpaste away with the back of
her hand, after carefully laying both their rinsed
toothbrushes side by side. She looks over at him, and
there's an amazement, a wonder that's taken over his
tired face.  This intrigues and amuses her.

"You know, I do this every night."

"I do know...Listen, I have to ask you something."

She thinks it's about the case.  "C'mon Mulder.   Bed. 
It's late. You can ask me all about it in the morning."

"No.  It won't wait.   Just...stay there.  Don't move,
I need to get something."  The look on his face tells her
this is important and she can't bring herself to argue.

Fishing around in his damp jacket pocket, he finds it,
walks over to her, takes her left wrist and ties it on. 
"We both have one now."

Two cords, red leather wrapped in gold thread.

"I noticed you wearing it before."  Things begin to fall
into place, all of a sudden she thinks of his remark on
the plane and last night's meditation on mating and she
realizes in an instant what this is, what he's about to
ask.  Whatever she told herself about not being sure 
she even wanted to get married anymore has been ditched 
by the wayside. She may never have what other women 
have, but she wants him, every part of him, whatever life 
they can make.

Ask me, Mulder, she wishes, ask me now.

"I got them from the woman I saw today...they're a kind
of amulet. I was told they bind the wearers together,
protects them whatever may come."

"Why are you giving me this?"

"The short answer?   I want to get hitched.   To you." 
He doesn't move to kiss her, but his hands close warm
around her wrist.  "Marry me, Scully."  His voice is soft,
soft when he says it, but his eyes burn into hers, alive
with a thousand promises, and a hunger for one answer,
and one answer only.

It seems like the air's being rapidly sucked out of
the room because she has a hard time gathering enough
breath to speak. Her free hand come to rest on the side
of his face.  "My God..."

"I was hoping for something a little more definitive as
a response."  He's trying to defuse things, trying to
cushion this awkwardness with a joke, although she can
feel his jaw clench underneath her fingertips.  "I realize
that I don't have anything to offer you, anything like what
you've hoped for, what you deserve..."

"Stop right there."  She covers his mouth with her hand.  
"What I hope for Mulder, is a life with someone who's
brilliant, driven, exasperating, fallible.  A fighter. 
A man who won't quit, no matter what.  A man who will
tax me, challenge me, fight with me, fight for me, make me
laugh. A man with whom I can have passion and purpose.  
There's only one name that comes to mind.   Yours." 

She moves her hand away and rests it over his. 
Hand over hand, they look like they're getting ready to
stroll down the garden path.

Now he's the one having a hard time breathing. "But you
have to answer my question."

"You mean the one you just asked, that one?" She's giving
him the full-wattage smile. 

"Scully, let me remind you I have a history of psychiatric
hospitalization. So, yes...before I start raving out,
answer the question I just asked you."

"Well, since your mental health's in the balance...Yes. 
Definitely, yes."

With that, he dips toward her, his mouth finding hers
for a slow, soulful kiss. Their hands find their way around
each other's waist, and they stand in a hotel bathroom,
sealing the bargain. It's heartbreakingly tender, it's
wonderful, it's the stuff that memories are made of,
it's cut short by enormous yawns coming from both
of them.

"What was that thing you mentioned before?'

"Bed?"

"That's it.  I think it's time we head for the Great
Unconscious."

"Can't you just say 'let's go to bed?' "  It's slurred
when she says it, because she's yawning again.

"It's part of that whole exasperating..."  Huge yawn.
"... thing you're so fond of."  His hands on her shoulder,
turning her face forward, guiding her to bed from behind.

As they settle in, Scully's head resting on his chest,
their legs twined together, he whispers,  "You know,
in my mind I'm making love to every inch of you right now." 
His eyes close against the sensation of her kissing him
softly through the cotton of his shirt.

She tells him, "Shhhhh.   Celebrate tomorrow.  Sleep now."


~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~


It's that sliver of time between two worlds---neither night
or day, the light coming through the window dappled 
deep violet and gold. Blinking slowly, he wakes up to find 
her lying on her side, propped up on her elbow. She seems 
younger, almost as young as she was their first night 
together in an Oregon motel.  

He doesn't move, taking in the play of light on her face, 
her shoulders, her breasts, the swirl of auburn hair between
her legs. Her robe's been discarded in an ivory pool behind her. 
She pushes away the sheets, then reaches over to stroke his 
wrist, running her fingers along the thin band of leather.  

His eyes meet hers. He sees something deep as eternity.
He lets himself fall in.

Giving him a broad, relaxed smile she wants him to know she's 
happy---unguarded, utterly so.  

She pulls his hand to her lips and he sees something 
else glinting in her eyes that make his blood stir. 
Forcing himself to keep still, he lets her work her way 
around his wrist, planting one kiss after another, pausing 
to moisten her lips, then pressing sweet heat over and 
over against his smooth skin. She find his pulse, brushes 
her slightly open mouth back and forth over the spot,  
flicking her tongue in tiny circles where she feels the 
echo of his heartbeat. His whole body is humming now---a 
head rush---a rush to his groin---his erection poking 
through his clothes

He won't be still much longer, but Mulder loves it when
she makes the first move.

"Someone's trying to sleep here," he tries to growl.

"I'm so sorry."  She draws out the words as she 
leaning in to return to her busywork.

"Just what do think you're doing?"  He's slid arm over 
her, pulling her slowly on top of him.

Scully's skin is the color of parchment, warmed by 
the light, and soft as down. She's got him on his back, 
holding onto his arms, swaying very slowly, brushing
his chest almost imperceptibly. Her nipples harden, 
her voice lowers as if she's telling him a secret.

"Celebrating."

That one word answer melts whatever tantric discipline 
he was trying to practice. In an instant he's flipped 
her onto her back. Gathering both of her hands 
with his, he raises them above her head, pinning them 
down on the pillow. His mouth finds every tender spot,
kissing her--nibbling her--everywhere he can think of.
She smells of sleep, and soap, and her body opening 
to him. 

Trailing down her arms, the crown of her head, 
marking her temples, her brow, the tip of her nose. 
Devouring her full, delectable mouth, Mulder's 
tongue parts her lips, plunders her tongue. 
He knows how wet she's getting and whispers 
her name. Her little moaning sounds are music 
to his ears. 

Moving beneath him, she wrangles her hands free 
and pulls off his T-shirt.

Their arousal surges between them, a closed arc, 
charging them like particles, fueling them to find 
release. 

"You," she says, breathless, and begin to slide
his sweatpants off. 

He rears back onto his knees and finds a way to
remove the offending garment, tossing it to the floor.
He's naked, she's naked---he slowly begins to lower 
himself back onto her. That mouth of his finds her 
nipples, licks them, laves them, sweeps them with the 
flat of his tongue, nips them until she's breathing 
his name likea mantra. Then unexpectedly, an idea seizes 
him. He starts a downward slide, kissing her ribcage, 
her flat belly, coming to rest at her navel, his hands 
holding her by the hips.

And starts tickling her. Shrieks of laughter coming from 
both of them, she hurls herself up and into him. Now she's 
on the attack, ribs, underarms--all fair game.  They wrangle 
around in bed, giggling guiltily like two teenagers and loving 
every minute of it.

Then she grabs his face, holding him still until they're just
tangled up in bed, face-to-face, sweaty and breathless. 
And she tells him, "You." She's said this word her whole life, 
a million times, but in this instance, he knows what it means. 

You are my everything.  

"You," he replies, telling her the same.

She reaches down until she finds him, wrapping her hand
around the hard length of his shaft.  Dragging the pad of 
her thumb up and down, he thrusts into her curled
fingers when she traces the veins near the tip. Circling 
the sensitive, round head, she spreads the moist beading 
over the velvety skin. He draws a deep uneven breath, 
shudders it out.  She has an urge to kiss him there, 
to wrap her lips around him, so she starts to slide down.

"I need to be inside you." he says, shaking his head 
earnestly. "I want to feel you come while I'm inside you."  
Pulling her up, he kisses her again, but whisper-soft 
this time.  It undoes her a little, tears slipping down 
the side of her face before she realizes it.

He tenderly guides her so that she's below him, brings 
his body down to hers and she parts her legs for him. 
He cradles her face in the palms of his hands as she 
reaches for him and begins to slip his cock inside 
her.  "More,"  he says as his head finds her hot and slick. 
Not his most articulate moment, but it's succinctly 
descriptive of what he craves.  

Scully bites down on her lip, wincing as she tightens around
his swollen shaft, pulling on him as he plunges into her--
it's a paradox of pleasure she feels--aching and ecstatic 
as she tightens and releases. She can feel the torrent 
inside her building, she's wound tight, she's so ready.  
"I'm..." she breathes, "I'm..."  It's going to happen soon, 
she's dying to have it happen, never wants it to end. 

He is so sensitive, so utterly at the brink of flying apart,
a hair's breath from rushing headlong into the depths of 
her body. Looping his arms underneath her knees, urging
her legs around his waist, he has to keep her near him. 
He levers himself so that he can slide against her beautiful 
bud of a clit. 

Bringing a hand to her mouth, she kisses her fingertips 
and touches him right at the base of his shaft.  He groans 
at her gesture, leans in to kiss her hard. 

Then it happens. Long, slow waves of pleasure so 
intense they start laughing together---they've done something 
amazing for them. There's no bonding of soulmates here---none 
was needed---no sorrow buried in a frenzied knot of limbs.  
This was for the sheer joy of it. 

They get to have this, too.


~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x


He promises to buy her a bagel and a Starbucks as they
finish dressing. He's wearing the navy suit, and she's
dressed in steel grey, fitted slacks and jacket, with 
those high-heeled boots that add an extra three inches
and communicate a 'don't-fuck-with-me' attitude.
She checks her weapon, and strides over to her suitcase,
gets out the extra clips, tucks hers in her pocket and 
tosses him the ones for his Colt. She makes sure her 
handcuffs are secure on her belt.

The plan was to drive down to University of Chicago,
check the class schedule for the dear professor, wait
for the first break, and proceed to escort her to the 
confines of 11th and State, where they hope they
can get the skinny on how she's done what she's done.

And how to stop her. 

But they need to hear from Iyalosha, her contacts
are needed to pressure Cardenas. It's almost nine,
and there's been nothing yet.

They're both pacing the room--they're charged up
and it's time to go. Mulder cracks a joke about
getting her two bagels to fatten her up, now
that she's officially his betrothed.  "Nothin' wants 
a bone but a dog, Scully. Gotta put a little meat 
on my woman."

She's about to illustrate her understanding of the
proprietary nature of marriage, as well as indicate 
where he can stick that extra bagel, when she's stopped 
by his cel ringing.

Lucky for him, it was in the inner pocket of his jacket,
so he's actually able to take the call. His face rapidly
loses the relaxed look of earlier, his brow furrowing.
Wincing, he's able to get a few remarks in edgewise.

This is not good.

"Mulder, who was it?"  Scully' can feel her heart 
speeding up--maybe there was another murder 
last night.

"That was SAC Mitrovic." He purses his lips together
and blows out his frustration.

"Jesus, what does he want?"

"Well, Lucy, looks like we got some 'splainin'
to do."

~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x



The Whole Catastrophe
Chapter 8
By Diehard and Dryad



He and Scully had done little but exchange knowing 
glances since their arrival. 

They knew the drill.  

Mulder leaned back in his chair and stared at the clock 
overhead. Almost three hours had passed since they'd
drove over from the Burnham. Proceeding with his internal
monologue, he reviewed the morning so far. They drove 
the Taurus to the Field Office, even though it was only a 
fifteen minute walk.  Didn't want to keep the SAC waiting.  
Right.  And then they sat.  And sat.  And sat some more.   
An interminable wait followed by coma inducing boredom 
was one of the key features of an official reprimand.  

Finally, the intercom buzzed and the secretary took the brief  
call. Motioning them toward the large mahogany door, she
shook her head as they collected themselves and made their
way through the office door.


~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~


Kris almost felt sorry for the two Agents as she watched 
them cross the threshhold.  Not, however, sorry enough 
to try to run any more interference. She's gotten there 
first and was treated to hours of Mitrovic's non-stop diatribe. 
Speaking of which, what in the hell was Lazarov thinking in 
sending her here?  She was supposed to sit in and report back 
to him what happened. As far as the SAC was concerned, she 
wasn't FBI, she was just a lowly investigative detective, barely 
able to sign her name and eat a donut according to him. And 
despite the fact he didn't fucking appreciate having CPD 
involved in intra-Bureau business, he used her to vent his 
spleen concerning The X-Files, CPD burocracy, and piss poor 
state of law enforcement. Her attempt to become one with 
the walls failed miserably, but that didn't mean she couldn't 
give it one last try.   

"Just what the fuck are the two of you doing?  SAC Mitrovic 
glowered as the two of them took seats across from his desk.
"When a Sergeant Lazarov calls me at seven forty-fucking-five 
this morning to ream me a new asshole I thought to
myself, oh, who could possibly have fucked up a cop-killer 
case?"  He pulled his chair out and sat down. "Your names 
were the first that came to mind.  Funny, huh?...Wanna hear 
what he said?"  

Mulder started to say something, but Scully cleared
her throat just in time to cut him off.

Before sketching in the details, Mitrovic peppered the room 
with a truly astounding combination of obscenities before he 
brought the two agents from HDQ up to speed. It didn't
let up much as he lit into them.

Jorgensen took in their reaction. Mulder seemed untouched 
by the whole thing, as he tapped his foot on the plush 
carpeting. He had a pretty tight grip on the armrest, though. 
She also caught a flash of anger in those green eyes. Scully 
sat ramrod straight in her chair with her hands demurely 
folded on her lap. Her lips were pressed tightly together, 
and she definitely had a bead on Mitrovic, her eyes clocking 
every move as he moved in on her partner.

"For starters, Lazarov thought you'd be calling him with a
report after he set up the walkthroughs for you, shithead.
Then you come up with nothing.  Nice, asshole, nice.  
He's hears about it from his detective, and I get to hear it 
from him. He's not the only one who expects to be kept in 
the motherfucking loop, Agent Mulder.  So let's see where 
we're at...diversion of CPD resources to facillitate your 
"consult," coming up with zip..."

Settling back in the leather chair, he spoke slowly, trying 
to seem deferential.  "It was crucial to verify that CPD 
conducted the proper forensic investigation..."

"No, don't say anything yet, I'm not done. There's the stunt you
pulled with Shinoda. He was the primary suspect and the way 
I see it, you essentially helped him walk. Lazarov didn't bitch 
to me about it, he said it was a long shot. He actually thought 
you'd get the answers by applying your brilliant mind in the 
field."  Mitrovic's voice dripped with sarcasm with that last 
remark.  "I'm the one who's pissed.  You interviewed the cocksucker 
alone, without a tape recorder. Have I been in a fucking goddamn 
cave, Mulder?   Did the Bureau change standard interview technique 
without fucking telling me?"

"Sir, I felt it was necessary in order to conduct the interview.  
My call."  Mulder's face was all bland acceptance, almost blase.  
"Hector Dean Shinoda, while conceivably guilty of other crimes, 
is not connected with the death of Det. Gonzales, nor the crimes 
we're investigating.  If anything, he admired the man as a fellow 
warrior, one to be respected. There's evidence to support other 
forces at play - "

Mitrovic let him have it full force,  "Enough!  Cut the mystic 
bullshit, Mulder!  There's nothing fucking supernatural about 
the death of a cop.  Some jerkwad rolled up and shot the man 
in the head. End of the motherfucking story. Now if you want 
to argue Shinoda didn't have ample motive and opportunity, 
you go right ahead. If you want to put in your report there's 
no real circumstantial evidence linking him to the deaths of 
Gozales or any of the others...fine. I don't give a rat's ass about 
some Twilight Zone jag-off explanation of yours. If that kind of 
shit flies at HDQ, fine. I just don't want to hear of any more 
breach of protocol."  He slammed his fist on his highly polished 
desk to make sure he was getting through.

Agent Mulder shifted around in his seat, managing to look bored 
yet irritated at the same time, which Jorgensen didn't think was 
very wise, while Agent Scully was definitely more stonefaced 
than usual.  Jorgensen wondered when the SAC would rip into 
the tiny redhead.  

She didn't have to wait long.

"I won't even bother to fucking ask you why you've stayed 
with Boy Wonder. The fact that you wanted to flush whatever 
career you could've had down the crapper is your business."  
Mitrovic eyed her up and down with contempt.   "The ME 
ripped into Lazarov after your 'consult,' and then Lazarov 
ripped into me.  There are no bodies,  Agent Scully.  None.  
Just fucking skeletons, which the ME says the diener 
swears were a goddamn bug buffet. Did it even occur 
to you make me or the ME aware of such a motherfucking 
unusual occurance?"

"Sir, our usual practice is to gather all pertinent data, 
review it and report directly to A.D. Skinner...when we deem 
it necessary. My understanding was that this consult was a 
favor to the CPD, not a mandate to alter normal X-File 
procedure."  Her voice was brisk, clipped, totally professional, 
totally unfazed. 

Mitrovic grinned evilly, and leaned in toward the two of them 
on his massive forearms.  'Well then, it seem to me that given 
the highly fucking unusual manner in which the two of you 
conduct investigations, it makes more sense that CPD interface 
directly with A.D. Skinner. I'll call Walter myself...Detective..."
looking at the previously invisible member of Lazarov's team.

Kris spoke up,  "Jorgensen."

"You tell your boss that from now on..."  pointing to the
two on the other  side of his desk.  "...he can call their boss."

"Agent Mulder, Agent Scully?"

They responded in unison,  "Sir?"

"Dismissed."


~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~


Walking to the elevators, Jorgensen was the first to rupture 
the uneasy silence. She wasn't about to comment on what 
supposedly happened, she could barely wrap her mind 
around it.

"I thought Lazarov could be a prick, but Mitrovic...Jesus." 
Kris muttered.

"They don't make'em like they used to," answered Mulder 
with a wry smile.

"We've worked with Mitrovic before,"  Scully said dryly.  
"years ago in New York.  I don't recall him being quite 
so...colorful."

"You know I have to tell him what happened,"  Kris sighed, 
referring to the grilling she'd get once she got back
to 11th and State.

"Don't worry about it.  Scully and I are used to being a
hot topic of conversation."  Mulder rested a hand on
Jorgensen's shoulder.

"For what it's worth, I'm not one of the ones who has a 
problem with you."   Looking over to Scully,  "Either one 
of you."

Scully gave her her arm a squeeze. There was even
a faint smile on her face. "Thank you, Detective. 
Mulder's right though, we're not exactly the most 
popular Unit in the Bureau....By the way, how's 
Hannah?"

That surprised Jorgensen. "Good, she's good.
My OB/GYN says it's time for weekly prenatal
visits, eating for two...the usual. There's just
one problem."

"What's wrong?"

"She started calling me grandma." 

Both women started laughing, and Kris wondered 
if that was a rare occurrence in Agent Scully's life.

They were cut short by the ringing of Mulder's cel.
Looking over at her partner, she watched his eyes 
light up as he answered. It's my contact, he mouthed.  

"Iyalosha.  Let me go somewhere more private. 
Give me a minute...Yes, my partner's with me."

Kris Jorgensen turned and started for the stairwell.
She needed some time alone to clear her head of
the dust from Mitrovic's blast radius. And she wanted 
to get the edited version of her story straight before 
she met with Lazarov.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~~X~X~

It was a good thing no one was in the elevator.
Doors closed, Mulder beckoned Scully over and 
stooped low enough so she can hear the conversation. 

"Just tell me, when you saw her..."  the ache of grief 
rose in her voice like a tide,  "...was she hurt?"  She 
knew the answer, she needed this man to say it, to kill off 
any last doubt.

"Her left hand was bandaged, supposedly cut the night
Det. Gonzales was killed.  We think...it's more recent."

What they heard next is a strangled cry, low, but 
unmistakable.  Mourning.  What happens when a mother 
loses a child.

"It was my baby, mi hija...she made it happen."  Her voice 
barely steady, Iyalosha Adisanya forced herself to tell 
him about about Omi, what he help set in motion, what Alex 
has surely done.

Mulder looked at Scully, and saw shock, but not disbelief.
Instinctively, his hand reached for her left wrist. Nodding, 
Scully 's closed her free hand over his. 

"We need to end this, Iya."

The elevator opened to the garage, Mulder held the 
emergency button, while Scully waived off the potential 
riders.

The words poured out of Iyalosha, unable to stop.
Too late, she told herself, too late for anything but this. 
"It will take both of you...Alejandra will try to make him 
strong again. She will try to call him forth, and this is 
the only chance you have to stop both of them.  It will not 
end otherwise.  Nafatali will have some of his power and 
he will fight you, he comes back to revenge himself on 
those that were his enemies..."

She choked back tears, caught her breath and went on.
"Do this and you become his enemy...do you understand 
now why I offered you protection?"  Revealing the tasks 
all of them must carry out, she made sure the two of 
them understood what would happen if they failed. 

"I think Oshun was wrong about me, about what 
I could do for Alejandra."  Mulder's jaw clenched, 
Cardenas was another woman he couldn't save.

Iya's voice brimmed with pain,  "No, warrior....this is 
the only help that's left for her now."  

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~~X~X~

Anyone passing would think the man and the woman 
on the bench were there to commune with the night 
and each other--sitting close, whispering in each 
other's ears. It was eleven thirty now, and the immediate 
area was almost deserted. They'd been there for a 
good long time, having moved from their Taurus, 
which they'd parked just up the street hours before that.  

The truth be told, they'd been there ever since early this 
afternoon,  after this morning's fall-out. A well-timed phone 
call to the U of C's anthropology department revealed that 
the good professor had classes staggered throughout the day, 
with office hours tonight until ten. They decided they'd 
plant themselves here, in the unlikely case she made 
a quick run home.

This meant that once again they were able to partake of 
all the glamour that was the stakeout. Lunch had been a 
hot dog snagged from a park vendor, and thankfully, 
the public rest room was just the other side of the 
Hamilton statue.

Neither one of them forgot the world of pain they'd
witnessed earlier, it hovered over them, seeping into 
the silence as they kept watch.  

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

He glances at her in one of those still moments, 
catches her eye, and sees his own regret reflected 
there.

"My ass is falling asleep." He shifts in his seat. 

A smirk from her, "Maybe if I kick it it'll improve 
the circulation.''   

Cracking jokes---it seems out of place, but it's 
what they've always done. It's been a code 
between them, emotional currency, and right now,  
a lifesaver.
 
"Another hostile comment, Scully. You might want 
to see someone about that."  He leans just a tiny bit 
closer.  "I know a good psychologist,  someone with a 
lot of experience dealing with anti-social behavior."

She cuts him a look,  "And what kind of...treatment...
would I be receiving for this problem?"

"He's extremely innovative...I think he uses
a kind of body-centered emotive therapy."

"Which consists of...?"

"Deep, physical contact. My understanding is that it
leads to a release for the subject resulting in a 
flood of endorphins, completely eradicating any 
negative impulses."

"You don't say."

"There's just one drawback.  It requires
ongoing treatment for the rest of the person's life."

"Sounds expensive..."

"Oh, I'm  sure you could work out something.
Possibly some quid pro quo..."  He stopped as a tall, 
dark haired woman got out of a Lexus and handed 
the keys to an attendant.

"Mulder...what is it?"

"Game time."

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

11:45 pm---424 Diversey Parkway

They've been pacing in front of the back entrance since 
they saw Alex go in nearly a half hour ago. The lobby's 
a no-go, there's too much risk that the night doorman 
will announce them. Normally, they would've apprehended
her before she even made it into her building, but Iya had 
instructed them to stop Alex only after she's started, 
and the time for this work is between now and midnight.  

Mulder checks his watch and motions them to the door,
fishing in his pocket for his picks. Scully takes shotgun
and keeps an eye out for the night watchman. It takes extra 
effort, he's out of practice, and he salts the air around him
with mumbled curses until he feels the tumblers click. 

They get inside, find the service elevator, and it's all 
bristling adrenal rush as they climb to the top floor. 
They both feel the blood coursing through their veins, 
their senses primed. In situations like these, the world
shrinks down to them, the target, and whatever's in their way.
Success depends on it, to say nothing of their lives. 
The elevator stops, the doors part and they're moving 
down the hall so fast it's a blur. 

They're there now---Mulder's working the picks
and it's easier this time. She whispers the time---11:56.
Without making a sound, he pushes the door open and 
she's right behind him, the two of them moving as one 
body across the threshold. It's dark in the penthouse,
things just barely visible from the light thrown off
from the study. As they silently draw closer they can 
see a kneeling Alex, dressed in a white robe, but there's
dark brown stain on her chest.  Old  blood.   She's 
lit by flickering candles on a small table, which also holds 
a bottle of rum, the photo from their vacation, the humidor 
of cigars. There's a half smoked cigar burning in a metal
dish, and the air near her is full of its earthy, bitter smell. 
They are too late to stop her from drawing a bone-handled 
knife across her palm, what is clearly a second cut. 
She smears the blood in a fresh streak over her heart.

This is as far as she can go, this is where they have
to stop her or face the consequences. Time speeds up.

They both charge her, knock her to the floor, struggling
to force the knife out of her hand. Writhing beneath them,
Alex spits and kicks, punching at Mulder with her free hand.
He throws his whole weight on top of her to keep her down.
Scully  pins the hand with the knife to the floor, snatches 
it away and tosses it into a corner.

Cardenas is screaming every foul epithet she can think 
of as Mulder slams the other hand above her head.
Before he clamps his hand over hers, he sees the time 
on her watch---11:59.

Mulder looks over at Scully and she meets 
his questioning  gaze.

What they don't see the thickening shadow in the corner
begin to move and take the shape of Naftali Gonzales.

The candles blow out.


~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

11:45---All Saints Cemetery

Standing alone in the cold and dark, she gazes up 
at two sorrowful angels and wonders if they'll watch 
over her tonight.

Directed to this place by Oshun, Iyalosha stoops in front 
of the granite entry of the cemetery and places nine 
pennies in the dirt, takes the bottle of red wine from 
her bag and pours a libation on the ground.  "I ask 
permission, Yansa.  Oshun sends me here, but it is only 
you who can give me passage."  Out of nowhere, the wind 
begins to gust at her back, pushing forward. Gathering up 
her bag, she hurries to find the grave, robes the color of 
butter billowing behind her.  She saw the headstone last 
night in another dream, and soon she's running to find 
the place where this tragedy started.

Time is short, so when she sees the headstone and 
the words 'Naftali   Rene   Gonzales,' she begins her work 
in earnest.  Setting her bag down, she pulls out covered 
dishes of cooked eggplant, black-purple grapes in thick 
clusters, the wine, a horsehair broom, a bunch of dried rue 
and a jar of orange-blossom honey. At the bottom of her
bag is the most important thing, a photo brown with age,
Alex when she was a little girl, all smiles and innocence,
taken a lifetime ago.

Reaching into the pocket of her robe, she takes out nine
more pennies, walks around the grave whispering her 
pleas in the old tongue, placing the coins at the corners,
on the side, and on the headstone. Taking the food, 
she places the dishes at the foot of the grave.  

"Yansa, hear me. I come to end this.  He who walks 
must come back to this place, she who raised him 
must be undone." 

Lightening cracks once, twice, three times, streaking
across the headstone. Iya covers her eyes from the 
blinding light, and when she takes her hand away,  
Yansa is standing before her in all Her fierce glory.
For once, under this moonless sky, she allows
a mortal to see Her face.

Iya doesn't tremble, doesn't cry out,  but what she sees
brings tears to her eyes. Dark beauty so transcendent,
it breaks her heart to witness it. This is the face that 
brings the final moment. But she does not come to 
claim Iya.

"You will do this thing, daughter of Oshun?"

"There is no one else.  I give you my oath
it will be done."

"So be it.  Prepare yourself, I will tell you when it is time."

"Yansa!"

"Yes, daughter."

"You made a promise to her, didn't you?"  It was the last
thing Oshun revealed in her dream.

"Keep your word Iyalosha, and I will keep mine." 
 
The winds swirl and blow, and now there's thunder 
in the distance. Kneeling in the dirt and leaning forward
until she's almost prostrate, she takes the horsehair 
broom and brushes the grave dirt from right to left, 
all the way from the top to the bottom. The air grows 
heavier around her, and she sees the man and 
the woman in her mind's eye---sees her Alejandra---
sees the streaks of blood.

It has begun.

Iyalosha Adisanya does not allow herself to feel 
anything but grim determination.  She will not falter.

Pulling her self up into a kneeling position, she lays down
the broom, reaches behind her for the honey and the rue.
Carefully, she opens the jar, crumbles the herb into the
thick golden mass and places it beside her.

There is nothing to do now but wait.


~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

Midnight---424 Diversey Parkway

The dark becomes a shadow and the shadow 
becomes a man.  The only light comes from the
stars and the city at skyline.

Time slows to a standstill.

Naftali springs from the corner, his midnight coat flapping 
as he lunges himself onto Mulder. Pulling him away with a 
viscious force, they slam into one of the bookshelves.
It falls, the shelving collapses, and the two of the are fighting
and rolling over the debris. Gonzales is punching like
a jackhammer, a brutal machine, unerring as he meets
the mark.  Mulder head snaps back each time he connects, 
he pulls the dead man away from Scully and Alex, landing as 
many blows as he can. 

Alex tries to scramble back up to get the knife, but Scully
hurls herself on top of her. Smaller than the other woman,
they're half-kneeling, half-lying. Alex spits and scratches,
but Scully's able to find the pressure point at the base of  
her throat and uses it to drive Cardenas to the ground. 
They wrestle until Alex is finally on her back. Pulling out 
her cuffs she makes sure Alex is secure, and falls on her 
to hold her down.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

Midnight---All Saints' Cemetery

Iyalosha is poised at the brink, when she finally hears 
Oya's command.

"Now, daughter. Now is the time. Quickly, move quickly!

Iya takes the photo, brushes her lips against that beloved face, 
then buries it under the grave dirt. Without hesitation she pours
the honey over the the top of the mound. Rising slowly, Iya lets
loose a wail, cries out to the silent sky.

"Mi hija...my beautiful baby. Forgive me."

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

12:02---424 Diversey Parkway

She can hear the fighting behind her stop, but it's still,
too still.

"Mulder,"  she yells without moving from her captive.

"Mulder!"

"Gonzales, Scully...Gonzales is gone."

Scully begins to get up, reaching for her weapon,
but is frozen in place as a shadow oozes under 
Alex. Mulder's hit the light and is already crouching 
at her side, together they roll Cardenas over. The inky
darkness covers her like a film, enters her body, and 
Alex begins to gasp for air.

Suddenly, sheet lightening hits the penthouse,
shatters the windows, filling everywhere with blinding
white. Neither of them move until it's over. As soon
as they can see, the two of them maneuver around
Alex's prone body, trying to start CPR.

In the charred remains of what is left of her life, 
Alejandra Ruis-Cardenas closes her eyes and is gone.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

12:05---All Saints' Cemetery

Oya has left, the winds are still, all the necessary
tools have been gathered up, with the food and wine
left as offerings. Iyalosha sits on a stone bench across
from the grave and waits. She has to see for herself,
she has to know.

Then she hears what seems like two people
whispering, but so faint she can't make out 
the words. Peering into the darkness, she begins
to make them out. Alejandra and Naftali, standing
together at the foot of the grave.  Sorrow and remorse
are etched into their features, she thinks she sees
her baby crying. Iya does not approach, she cannot.
There is nothing to say, no way that this will ever 
be undone. They will never sees their ancestors, 
never sit at the table of the Seven Powers.
There will be no rest for them, no joy.  But Oya kept 
her promise, they will be together always.

It is done, and Iyalosha Adisanya rises and leaves 
this place.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

12:15---424 Diversey Parkway

"It looks like a bomb blast site." Scully steps 
gingerly through the debris. She's really talking to 
herself, Mulder just happens to be in the vicinity.
Both of them are still pretty shell-shocked as
they follow the necessary protocol. A suspect
died from respiratory failure while resisting 
arrest. Scully tells herself that's about the only
thing they'll all agree on on once the reports are 
written.

He has his back to her, finishing his calls to the 911
dispatcher and Jorgensen.

"They'll be here soon."  He's done now, and turns
to face her.  They've covered the body with a sheet
from the bed, and now they're waiting for the coroner
and the crime scene technicians.

"Mulder, look at us."

"Yeah, pretty amazing, huh?"

Essentially miraculous would be a more apt 
description. There is nothing, virtually nothing
wrong with either one of them, save for the blood 
stains they have on their clothes from struggling 
with Alex. 

"Amazing?  It's...unreal...unbelievable. We have 
no discernible injuries whatsoever, no physical 
complaints, no symptoms of trauma, all of which 
should be present after the beating we took. 
How do you explain something like this?"

He dangles his left wrist with its red band in front 
of her, trying to muster a half-hearted grin as he 
points to hers, "I got your explanation right here."

"You can't be serious...There's no basis for it, 
no viable scientific rationale..."  She was only 
partially unconvinced at this point, but she 
wanted to make him work for the rest.

"OK,"  he sighed, as exhaustion began to claim him, 
"maybe it's 'cause we put the 'B' in badass."

Listlessly rubbing her forehead, she caught his
eye as she muttered.  "Mulder, you're making 
your first explanation sound better all the time."

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~



The Whole Catastrophe
Chapter 9
By Diehard and Dryad


Calm-eyed, Kris took in the scene before her without 
saying a word.  Cardenas' formerly pristine apartment 
was wrecked. Furniture had been had been knocked 
over, magazines lay on the floor in heaps, several throw 
rugs had been shoved against the walls, all bearing some 
signs of scorch march.  Zigzag burn marks raced across  
the walls, all the windows were shattered, and though 
she stepped carefully, glass crunched underfoot. 

She grimaced at the sound.  

Cardenas herself was on her back, arms still above her 
head. Fresh blood trailed from her mouth and her left hand,
and it looked liked and there were old blood stains on her 
chest where Mulder and Scully desperately worked to revive 
her.  Both of them looked tired, the bone-deep exhaustion 
Kris had seen time and time again on the faces of firemen 
and beat cops.  A certain kind of shell shock that came only 
from living through trauma,  knowledge of certain failure 
to save a life despite doing everything you could.

"Excuse me - "

Kris moved out of the way as the evidence tech behind 
her tapped her arm.  The other tech followed the first, setting 
up the print kit and collection bags. The coroner had came 
and went, pronounced Alex dead, and the wagon had already
taken her to the morgue. Mulder stood up and watched Scully 
confer with the two men, unintentionally smearing blood across 
his forehead as he brushed the hair out of his eyes.

Christ, what a mess.  At least they wouldn't have to write up 
the reports for Lazarov.  Time to tackle what had happened. 
"Agent Mulder," she called.  "Could I speak to you for a 
moment?"

He nodded, circled the trio surrounding Cardenas. 
"Yeah, sure. Ask away..." His voice trailed off.

 She shrugged apologetically. "You two okay?"

"Cuts and scratches I think."

"What happened here?" Kris hoped she sounded calm and 
collected, like she was trying to help, instead of how she felt, 
like a sneak thief trying not to get caught. Fuck, she thought,
I better tell him now, better get it over with.

"Agent Mulder,"

"Yes, Detective."  He had a feeling where this was going
after this morning.

"Sgt. Lazarov' s instructed me to make the official report
in this matter."

"On our consult, our case."

"He was crystal clear, and uh...he's calling it his case as 
far as the CPD, the Superintendent and the mayor 
are concerned. He says you should consider yourselves
lucky the case broke open, that he won't bother calling
your boss over your 'cowboy' investigation style."

Mulder mumbled something she couldn't make out 
and ground some of the glass on the floor with his heel.  
"Right.  Fine, then."

"I'm sorry, Agent Mulder, but I've got to get your statement.
Lazarov did say you're free to write up your own report 
for the Bureau when you get back to D.C."  Kris had
to throw in her own assessment,  "Listen, it's screwed up
and we both know my boss is a tool. But this thing is
over, and I have to do..."

He managed a rueful smile, "...your duty. Then let's get
this over with, Detective."

"So, what happened?"

"I..." Mulder shook his head. "Cardenas was performing 
a ritual that involved cutting herself.  When we tried to stop 
her, she went after Scully. Someone else was here with her, 
because I was hauled off, ostensibly to have the shit beat 
out of me."

"Someone else?" she asked quietly, wanting to know who 
whatever the answer. 

He licked his lips, staring her directly in the eye. Apparently,
like he liked what he saw, because he didn't hesitate,  
"Gonzales, Detective.  Cardenas raised Gonzales from 
the dead."

"From the dead."

"Cardenas practiced a bastardized form of Santeria, an arcane
ritual that gives the undead the means to essentially become 
instrument of revenge.  All of the victims, Breen, Michaels, 
Roberts, Coluko and Weinhoft, were in turn killed by the same 
methods with which they had killed their own victims. 
Gonzales had a history with all the deceased. One in which he 
had to witness the guilty go scot free...My guess is that all Alex 
wanted was Naftali back whatever that meant. "

Kris resisted the urge to step back. "You can't be serious" 
she hissed, mindful of the evidence techs overhearing and 
running their mouths. "What you want me to believe is 
impossible...Someone read the casefiles...someone..." 

Mulder smirked and leaned closer, voice equally soft as 
her own.  "Casefiles?  The information about this case had been 
leaked to every major news source. That narrowed the field 
down to just about anyone who read a paper or watched 
the news. Your boss didn't like those numbers, that's where 
we came in.  Your version puts you back at square one. 
Is that what you really want to tell Lazarov?"

Shit, he had her there.

"Scully tells me you smelled the rum in the bodies yourself, 
saw the evidence of people doing impossible things to one 
another, to themselves. How else do you explain it?"

She couldn't.  She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. 
"I can't.  You're saying Gonzales was here, and attacked you.  
So where is he now?"

He hesitated briefly. "A Santeria priestess who knew Cardenas 
well. . .took her power away.  Once she lost power, Gonzales 
had no choice but to return to the spirit world... She was bound 
to him," he glanced at Scully, now sitting back on her heels, 
and then at the techs, starting to collect additional samples, 
comparing notes, "and couldn't stay here.  For what it's worth, 
Detective, I don't think she could've lived without him."

"And now they're together for eternity?" Kris said. "Not exactly
happily ever after, is it?"

"I can see how it would appeal to a person, especially if they 
lost someone they loved greatly."

"I guess," she murmured.  The only person she loved that much 
was Hannah, but she wasn't going to dwell on the rest of it.
 
"Well, I think the report will say something to the effect that 
as you attempted to apprehend the suspect, a struggle ensued,
inadvertently Dr. Ruis-Cardenas to experience fatal respiratory 
distress."  She called over to Joe Pettibone, one of the techs.

"Doc Nadich said it was respiratory failure, right?"

Pettibone laid aside the kit and pivoted toward her, 
"Yeah, Kris. He said to tell you the autopsy on this 
one'll be done my mid morning."

Looking to Mulder again,  "I think you two should head on 
over to the ER, just to be on the safe side." Mulder grinned, 
white teeth a shocking contrast to the dark red streak of
Cardenas' blood above his eyebrows. "I'll get Scully to check 
me out.  She's a doctor, y'know."  He said it a little louder 
than he needed to.

Scully turned to them and gave him a look that told Kris
she wasn't all that bothered.  She liked Mulder, she liked 
them both.  And clearly, the two of them really liked 
each other.  

Like wasn't quite the right word, Jorgensen amended, 
something a little more...intense. Kris shook off that 
train of thought. She needed to get the hell out of here 
and start filling out paperwork before Lazarov had another 
meltdown.


~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~~X~X~

Mulder folded his arms and sat back in the hard plastic 
chair, letting his head rest on the wall.  He yawned.   
A moment later he cracked another one. Jesus Christ, 
it had to be 5 am.  He just wanted to go back to the 
Burnham, wash off the spectres of the dead detective, 
his dead lover, crawl into bed with his own lover and
sleep for a couple of hours. Tomorrow they could fly 
back home, write their reports, and maybe have time 
enough to look for rings.

A ring.  He was honest enough with himself to realize he 
wanted to show he was claimed, and for her to be
claimed, too.

"C'mon, partner - "

Something gently nudged his knee and he moaned a half-protest.

"Let's get the hell out of Dodge before Dr. Singh finds some 
other way to poke or prod us. We've been good little patients,
had our exams, our X-rays, our CAT scans. Don't get me 
wrong, I'm grateful for the VIP-head-of-line treatment, but 
now it's time to go."

He opened one eye, taking in the dried blood on her jacket. 
She looked rumpled, exhausted, but she didn't have a scratch
on her. Just like him.

She nodded. "I'm fine.  You?"

"Yup.  Just tapped out," Mulder hauled himself to his feet, 
aware of just how much he wanted to stretch out right here
and close his eyes. "How come the undead never have to 
worry about getting their beauty sleep?  It just doesn't seem 
fair, Scully."

The few other people in the waiting room eyed Mulder, 
surreptitiously leaned to one side, clutched handbags 
and magazines, and in one case, a child, as he and Scully 
left the area.

"Well, Mulder, I guess you could chalk it up to their not 
needing food or water.  Their bodies don't need to process 
products into energy, which of course takes energy."

He looked down at her in amazement as she mumbled on.

"If you're right, Gonzales was getting his strength from 
Cardenas, through her blood scarifice. Once that was 
interrupted,  Gonzales no longer had a link to the living.
So, in the end, it's the cycle of life and death and
rebirth.  Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Ah, you, uh, aren't usually so enthusiastic about my theories."

"Don't get used to it," she said. "I'm too tired to come up 
with anything better.  Besides, it was hard enough trying to 
explain why nothing was wrong with me to Dr. Singh.  
I think he was personally affronted he couldn't find anything,"

Mulder chuckled mid-yawn, nearly walking into an empty 
gurney as they headed towards the ER walk-in exit. 
"I think Dr. Burrows was in the same frame of mind."

"So you think the talisman protected us."

"Got a better explanation? "  His breath hung frostily in the 
cold air as they stepped outside the sliding doors. "We've 
seen stranger things, Scully.   Maybe there's someone 
out there... something else besides random events emerging 
from chaos, maybe this time someone was watching out for us."

Scully smiled up at him,  "That almost sounds like faith."

"Maybe I'm ready to believe..."  Mulder's cel trilled in 
his pocket. He let it ring several times before he answered.

"Yeah."

"It's Kris Jorgensen. I just thought you and Agent Scully
should know that a member of a Santeria house just 
confessed as the perp in the Gonzales case.

"What?" He knew he was out of it, but he thought
he heard correctly.   

"He walked into 11th and State with his written statement
swearing he killed Coluko, Wienhoft, all of them as a favor
to Alex Cardenas..."

"Did you interview him? What did he say?"

"He can't speak...He was brought to the station by
a woman who said her name was Iya...she said to tell
you the circle's complete now. I don't suppose
you're going to explain what that means."

"I don't think you really want me to."

"No, I don't think I do."

On the drive back to the Burham, as daylight began 
to emerge,  Mulder told Scully about Kris' call and
Iyalosha's message. She didn't say anything for a long
time, then reached for his hand.

"I think you're right about what's been at work 
here..." she whispered.  "...and about what's kept us 
safe." 

"Are you serious, Scully?" 

"Maybe we're starting to believe the same things," 
sliding closer to him, watching the early light play
across his face. 

Bringing her hand to his lips, he kissed the knuckles,
and thought about what he said in the ER, about a force
greater than themselves, "Maybe we are."


~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~


The Whole Catastrophe
By Diehard and Dryad

Epilogue


10:30 am --- The next day---Various Locations

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

Sgt. Lazarov leans back in his armchair, feet up on his desk, 
lazily going over a glossy catalogue of new office furniture 
he was sure he'd be needing when he got the call from 
the Superintendent. Oh, he'd be getting that promotion, 
he'd be the Mayor's new Liaison for Community Affairs. 
He's busted his ass for too long, and they had to toss 
him a bone after tying up the Gonzales case. The only
thing he's waiting on to get the ball rolling is Jorgensen's 
goddamn report.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

Kris Jorgensen's hunches over an old Selectric, hunting 
and pecking what she hopes will be the approved version 
of the most bizarre case she's ever had to deal with. 
Ostrowski and Clark were arguing about who was going
to pay the tab at the Claddagh Ring, saying something
about needing to cut back on the beers anyway.
She's hasn't been to bed yet, drunk so much coffee that her 
teeth are chattering. Her phone rings and it's Hannah, all 
excited and chirping in her ear about baby names. No, she tells 
her, there will be no Brittany or Justin. Hanging up the 
phone, she wonders if there are any openings in the coroner's 
office. Somehow, the quiet seems really appealing right now.
Going back to her typing, she hopes she's spelling that 
Adisanya woman's name correctly.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

Iyalosha Adisanya waves off the gaggle of seekers,
with their requests for love spells, healings, and divinations.
She tells Osunrete to make her some hawthorn tea to
lessen her sorrow, settles in to a chair in a small 
alcove in the rear of the temple. Murmuring ancient words
she weaves a band of red and orange, a talisman for
Omi. He will need to be kept safe from the predators 
in prison. She owes him her protection now, she will 
watch over him the rest of her life. Osunrete brings the 
steaming tea, and she reminds the girl to start gathering
rose blossoms, myrhh and sweetgrass. There is a wedding
gift to be made for the FBI man and his woman.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

Walter Skinner doesn't know why, but he's feeling like odd man out
when his phone assaults him with a blaring ring. It's a call from 
SAC Mitrovic who takes great delight in letting him know that his 
agents are a traveling freak show, and that they'll soon be regaling 
him with details of their exploits. Walter takes great delight in 
telling Mitrovic what he can do with himself, hangs up on him, 
buzzes Kim and asks her for his Mylanta. She cancels 
his appointments for today, asks him if he still wants to meet with
Mulder and Scully. He shakes his head, and tells her tomorrow,
late tomorrow.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

Mulder's just finished stuffing himself, enjoying the hell out his 
breakfast in bed, and Scully's in the bathroom running the shower.
He tries to call Skinner, but Kim tells him the A.D. isn't feeling 
too well, so he won't be meeting with them until late the next day. 
He seizes on the opportunity, makes another call and pushes back 
their flight until four.

They're all packed, so they have the rest of the morning and 
good part of the afternoon...

Scully's standing under pulsating streams of hot water, working 
out the kinks in her neck, eyes closed and blissfully not thinking 
of anything.  She feels a slight draft and the looming presence of 
someone who starts soaping her back, working away the 
tightness running along her spine.

"Just can't let me take a shower alone, eh, Mulder?" 
She leans back into his slippery grip.

"I'm very ecologically concerned, Scully. Global reserves
of water desperately need conservation." He rinses off a 
shoulder and starts licking a trail to the nape of her neck.

"Unbelievable," she laughs. "Oh...right there... that's it,"
as his hand slides slick concentric circles over her breast.
She's not laughing any more.

"Say, Scully," his voice low and hypnotic, "studies recently 
show that men's sex drives do not decrease as they enter 
their forties," as he rubs the newly energized proof of his 
statement against the curve of her ass.

Reaching around to verify the necessary empirical 
evidence,  "I'll have to see that for myself."

Spinning her around and pressing her to the tile, his mouth 
descends onto hers as he provides a very pointed illustration.


~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

On a flight to Osaka---somewhere over the Pacific.

Vanessa Muraski stretches like a lazy cat in her first-class 
seat, uncrosses her long legs and rubs her calves until 
she feels his hands begin to do the work. "I wondered what 
it would take to get your attention, Hiroshi."

Teacher. Her pet endearment for Hector Shinoda. He's
a brilliant instructor and she's been an apt pupil. 
Unfortunately,his tutelage involves things like garotting, 
suffocation, a Makarov with a silencer, and bad men who've 
begged for mercy that never came.

"You've been reading a long time." She reaches for the sheaf
of papers on his lap, sees the title, 'The Code of Bushido,
and its Influence on Pathological Knight-Errant Response.'

"He wrote this?"

"Yes, my love, this was written by one who knows the Way..."

She regards him thoughtfully, "Are you planning on dealing 
with him?"

Shinoda turns to gaze out the window, white clouds
forming everything and nothing.  "No, but perhaps he may want 
to deal with me one day. A man must prepare for death always."

Settling back in his seat and closing his eyes, Shinoda hoped
he would be ready if their paths crossed again.


FIN

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

Author's notes: diehard's

This has been a labor of love, impossible to complete without
the foundation I received from dryad. 

To Dryad--I may have done more of the scribbling, but this story 
would've never happened without your bedrock.

To the wonderfully encouraging XDKSFAN, Inya, Fran Weugel,
Sherri Kelm, girlie_girl74, Little Spooky, Linda (aka/linc), 
fifee, Evie Whiting, and Beach 2329----you shored me up, got me 
through, got me going---and for that I'm so very grateful.
For the wonderful sites, Ephemeral, Gossamer, WIPOL, WIP Nest,
The Grove, Whispers of X, atxc, The Spookys, musea, Fran's Fanfic
Addiction---I can only express my deep appreciation for creating
worlds of wonderful fiction.

To Ms. Suture--fellow traveler and brilliant writer--thank you 
for the glorious words!

And to Mulder and Scully and David and Gillian---you continue 
to occupy the best part of my imagination,

Feedback to: alvaradomccain@earthlink.net