From lisby@earthlink.net Tue Jun 24 22:44:32 1997
Subject: Scene I updated
Mandatory Intro: You must read this!
Category: Psychological thriller
Rating: XXX or PG 30. Graphic violence. Slash--m/m, f/f. No overt MSR.
Angst, implications, innuendoes. For those of you who've read the Big Chill
Manifesto, this is heading in that direction.
Spoilers: Nothing beyond season three
Time setting: Shortly after '731.'
Summary: Scully and Skinner must rescue Mulder from a bargain he could not
refuse and cannot endure.
Warning: This story contains graphic violence and sex. If you are under
eighteen, you'd better leave. I don't want you to read it. I don't want
your parents to catch you reading it. I don't want to hear from your
parents. Go away now.
If you are of legal age but this doesn't sound like your speed, use your
delete key. If you are undecided, it's safe to read until scene 5--there is
nothing overtly graphic before it. You can decide then whether to continue.
If you read on, you'll know within about ten paragraphs what you're in for.
If you can't handle it, use the delete key.
This warning is spelled out because I do not wish to receive flames from
people telling me how traumatized they are and how I should be locked up,
whipped through the streets, burned (for real or in effigy), et cetera. In
fact, I will laugh at such bombast as it equals the level of violence in
this story.
No, I do not want this to actually happen to David Duchovny. David--if you
do look at any of these things, I really don't want you to read this
particular one, even if you do so while holding onto Blue for dear life.
Use the delete key, David. Thanks, honey.
Comments on rational things can be sent to: lisby@earthlink.net
Disclaimer: I do not own any character created by Chris Carter and 1013
Productions. I am only borrowing them for no profit whatsoever--for which I
thank you humbly, Mr. Carter. I do, however, own Tina Hill, Jim and Bill,
Neil Preftakes, Carl Handford, and any other character in this story who is
my creation.
This story was begun December 3, 1995--long before the Alice-laden 'Paper
Hearts,' the similar angst of 'Demons,' and the revelation in 'Tunguska'
that the Well-manicured Man owns a horse farm.
This story is not finished. It will be updated until completion.
Finally, 'Lessons' was written in part with a collaborator who no longer
wishes to be connected to it. However, scenes of her composition and scenes
which were a collaborative effort are marked with *s. If you wish to send
her feedback on her or our work, feel free and I will forward your message
to her.
Finally, for real: this story is dedicated to the Furies, past and present.
'Lessons'
By Lisby
"But then," thought Alice, "shall I never get any older than I am now?
That'll be a comfort, one way--never to be an old woman--but then--always
to have lessons to learn! Oh, I shouldn't like that!
"Oh, you foolish Alice," she answered herself. "How can you learn lessons
in here? Why, there's hardly room for you, and no room at all for any
lesson-books!"
--Lewis Carroll
*I*
Monday, 12/4/95, 8:10 P.M., 42-2630 Hegel Place, Alexandria, Virginia
Fox Mulder stared blankly ahead of him, drawing shallow breaths that barely
moved his chest, his eyes wide in the dim light. The violet glow of the
fish tank washed over his face, expanded pupils reflecting the tiny,
darting movements of fish scouting the dregs of old meals from fuchsia
pebbles on the aquarium's floor.
He blinked, shook himself. Finally saw the bright orange swordfish nipping
each other's fins in hungry irritation. Mulder shoved himself to his feet
and ran his fingers through unruly dark hair. Feed the fish. Didn't feed
them yesterday and no one will come until tomorrow--
Ice froze his mind and his lungs, stopping breath and racing chill fingers
up his spine. There was sweat on his forehead; he felt it tracing down his
nose and rolling down his sides but he was shivering and his guts were
cold.
He spun and grabbed his dress coat, dizzy with the sudden speed of motion,
scrabbling in the pockets for keys and turning to let rushed steps carry
him toward the door. Numb fingers grabbed at the knob and its promise of
freedom.
"I can't do this." The whispered words were lonely, barely louder than the
fish tank's pump. He couldn't take his hands off the knob. He forced a
breath into his lungs, slowly sagged until his forehead hit wood. His long,
brown wool coat slipped to the floor, puffing up a little mushroom cloud of
air. He still could barely feel his hands--wasn't sure whether the buzzing
in his ears was the fish tank or the sound of panic. Knuckles and fingers
were numb when he brought up balled fists to strike the door and push
himself away.
Long, quick strides--harsh but measured--carried him back to his bookcase,
to the fish, to a simple plastic frame. He reached with a tentative finger
to trace through thin dust. Two young, pale faces stared out with eyes dark
as his own. Disappeared. She was disappeared for twenty years. Mulder
stepped back, swallowing sour bile as he remembered where she could be. His
feet seemed a long way away as his body folded down solo to a crouch-gaze
now level with the garish, bright world of the tank. The
swords-ravenous-were sucking up pieces of tacky, dyed gravel. Spitting them
out as pin-prick black pupils snapped with frenzy and disgust.
Mulder's fingers stroked the lid of the food shaker that sat next to the
tank. Stroked but kept no strength to pick it up. Suddenly, he blew out a
hard, shaky breath and lunged back to his feet, stalked to the door, and
yanked up his coat. Turned and threw it across the room, where it sprawled
over the couch. "Damn it. Fuck this! Fuck!"
He was out the door before he knew it, jogging to the end of the hall where
he slapped the elevator's call button. Couldn't hear and couldn't breathe
and couldn't wait for the fucking lift a second more and turned to slam
through the door to the stairs, running so fast he stumbled and fell the
last steps of the second flight, only catching himself by hands that locked
around the railing.
The stairwell door banged as Mulder pushed into the lobby, threw himself
through the first door of the vestibule and then the next. The bitter chill
of a December night cut him deep as he stood there on the red brick stoop
of the apartment building. The gray mist of his breath was a cloud in front
of his face. It was the only cloud that night. He raised his head to see
the stars. The little lights glittered coldly, beautiful. So far away.
Could she see them? Did they let Sam watch the stars where she was? They
blurred, and he blinked fast. Felt cold, wet trails on his face.
Mulder turned. Lowered his eyes to watch his hand--had to deliberately
think about twisting the doorknob. His feet dragged on carpet as he walked
back to the elevator. It groaned its way down from the fourth floor--doors
squeaking loud when they opened and when they pulled shut behind him. Felt
sick on the way up and his knees shook when the door opened and he looked
down the empty hall.
His own door was ajar and Mulder made himself walk, made himself step over
the threshold and close it; leaned his head against the wood until he
realized he'd pressed his ear to it and was trying to hear sounds from four
floors below.
Deliberate steps took him to the couch, where he picked up his coat and
folded it with elaborate care, then laid it over the back of a chair. His
knees finally gave, dropping him onto the leather with a solid thump.
"God." Mulder scrubbed at his face, dug at his eyes, saw vivid flashes of
light. He dragged his hands over his features until they cupped his chin,
looked back at the fish, then down to his watch. Swallowed and lunged back
to his feet with the speed of terror, was halfway across the room when he
heard someone on his floor, in his hall.
One set of steps out there and his heart stopped. Couldn't see. Couldn't
feel. Then the rap of a fist and his heart was going to explode, he was
going to die right there. The fist was still tapping on the door--wasn't
going away. Mulder felt a noise choke his throat that might have been a
scream or might have been a sob. And it might have been a name.
He didn't want to open it but the knocking wouldn't go away.
Mulder wiped sweating palms on his trousers and reached for the knob. It
took forever to make it turn, to pull it open. He forced the emotion on his
features to drain, to face the first breath of nightmare with calm. But it
wasn't that. Not yet.
"Hi. It's me." Like on the phone--as if he wouldn't know. He blinked
quickly, feeling the blood return to his face and a slow, warm grin thaw
his mind. He wanted to reach for her, wanted to touch her and make sure she
was real. His hands wanted to feel her solid flesh and warmth and....He
crammed his hands into his trouser pockets instead.
Mulder saw a tiny smile raise a corner of Dan Scully's lips as she glanced
up and down the hall. "Do you make your informants wait out here, too?"
Had to take a tighter hold of the doorknob. "Uh...I was just getting ready
to leave."
"I won't take long." Scully rocked a little on her toes, swinging the
shopping bag she carried.
Waiting. Again. Mulder glanced up and down the hall, held his breath then
puffed it out and took a step back so she could pass. Locked his knees and
leaned back against the door and flinched when she reached under the shade
to click on the endtable lamp. Light bloomed and scoured down the nerves in
his head, made him squint and look away. Tried to keep his voice even and
steady, fought the stutter that tripped his tongue. "Sc-Scully."
He took a step, two, leaned against the breakfast table to hold himself up.
Watched her play with the handles of her bag and look around with quick,
darting glances. "Scully, it's not that I'm sorry you're here."
Her smile and hair were bright when she looked up. His answering grin felt
thin. "When does your flight leave, Mulder?"
"Ah--" He flailed for a moment, trying to think. "About an hour and a
half." She was watching him. Damn it. Mulder looked away and forced himself
into motion, mindlessly circling the apartment, checking the kitchen, the
thermostat....
He could hear her behind him, pawing the contents of the plastic bag.
"You're cutting it close."
He paused at the switch that shut the heat off. "Um-hmm." Flipped it and
turned around to face her.
A small hand offered him a thick, hardbound volume. "I went over to
Pentagon City after work and I saw this new book on crop circles. I thought
you might like to read it on the plane. It's the same cover photo that's on
the Led Zeppelin boxed set, right?"
"Zepp...Uh." Mulder tried to focus. "It looks like it, Scully." He dreaded
the eyes that came up to his face. Worked to sound happy, excited--forced
his lips into a smile again. "Thanks. I-I'll read it on the way down...and
on the beach."
Mulder ran his fingers over the slick paper cover, barely heard her through
fog. "Don't get too much sun screen and salt water on it, okay? I'd like to
look at it when you get back. I can't keep up with you without doing my
'weird stuff' homework, can I?"
His finger traced the alien pattern. Around, down, swirl--fuck! She was
suddenly in front of him, staring into his face with that familiar puzzled
expression--a line between her eyebrows and her mouth held tight. Saw her
tilt her head to search his face, winced and hated to think what she was
seeing. He was stock still, caught until she glanced away and let him free.
"You'll have to read it on the way down. You'll be busy on Key West. Too
many thong bikinis to keep your mind on wheat."
Scalpel words cloaked by innocent fluff. Mulder didn't--couldn't--find the
right response--not while trying to hear every sound in the building. Had
to get Scully out, fast. He could feel his watch ticking and she kept
watching him. Oh sonofabitch, he'd made it this far, made it weeks and days
and today--the day that was never going to be over and he never wanted it
to be over but it was falling apart and she was going to figure it out. It
took more than he knew he had to keep his tone light as he picked up his
coat. "Actually, I'm going to study alien anatomy at Gulf Breeze."
Her smile was quick, relieved, and a little of his tension bled away when
she nodded and wandered toward the brightly illuminated aquarium. "Too bad
Skinner is making you take two weeks--I know you hate being knocked from
the pedestal of Most Vacation Time Ever Carried....Mulder, did you leave me
enough food for these fish? I mean, enough of those meal worm cubes they
really like? They get touchy if they don't get their meal worms." Scully's
face stood in pale-moon profile as she peered at the agitated swords.
Reached for the fish flakes. "Last time, they ate their babies."
Mulder took her by the elbow gently but firmly and turned her toward the
door. Hoped she didn't feel his desperation through her sleeve. "There
aren't any babies; they'll have to eat each other. Let me walk you to your
car."
"Oh...all right." From the corner of his eye, he could see her glancing
around, surveying the parquet floor. Cop instincts kicked in and he almost
felt the question before she asked it. "Where's your suitcase?"
Had the lie ready as he yanked the front door open again. "It's in my trunk."
"Do you have your plane ticket?"
"In my pocket."
Felt Scully's arm tense just a little. "Could I drive you to National?"
"No." Mulder prayed he sounded smooth as he stepped into the hall, pulling
her along. "I'm flying out of Dulles. I don't want you to go out of your
way."
"But I don't mind. Really. Besides, Mulder, I need to talk to you."
"Everything's already in my car and I need to get going, Scully."
Her look balanced between confusion and pain. "It'd save you parking, and I
really wanted...I need to talk to you."
Mulder stared down at her, feeling dizzy. She needed him and he was already
so far away. His heart rattled against his rib cage and a lump rose in his
throat as he scrabbled desperately for a wise-crack tone. "Scully, you
picked a lousy time to confess unbridled passion."
One auburn eyebrow lifted and her mouth quirked. "I was going to tell you
there's mayonnaise on your tie." Fox Mulder stopped, smiled a slow, genuine
smile that ached because it felt so good. Saw her grin grow wider, too.
"C'mon. Walk me out to the car."
The chunk-click of the deadbolt resonated through his bones as he locked up
his world. Walked a few feet with her before she hesitated, working her lip
between her teeth. "It'll be lonely down in the pit without you."
"You won't have time to work, Scully. All your friends'll be dropping by.
You might even get a date." He herded her along the hallway, hand on the
warm small of her back. The elevator was miles below. He could hear it down
there, inching up from the Fourth Circle of Hell. Mulder shifted back and
forth, foot to foot. Next to him, he saw Scully standing still, hair thick
around her face, fingers tight around the handles of the shopping bag.
"This thing is so fucking slow."
"You'll make your flight." Her reassurance was soft but barren. "You've
been under a lot of stress. Just forget about the 731, Mulder. Forget
about...just....You need this vacation, Mulder. Skinner was right to bully
you into it."
"I'm okay," he huffed the falsehood. A lie. That fucking train and all
those lies. When Scully sighed her face returned to focus; saw her watch
the lighted numbers change from one to two, then pause. He ran his fingers
through his hair. Repeated the useless gesture. "Oh, fuck this," Mulder
tossed his coat over his shoulder. "Come on--we're taking the stairs."
The stairwell was cold and smelled of dead mildew from summer's wet heat.
Scully's heeled pumps hammered the concrete behind him--the shoes he knew
she wore to be just an inch or two taller--to reach his shoulders, not his
armpits. His throat tightened and he winced at the sharp echoes of her
steps and his own--could hear nothing but their self-produced racket.
It was only when they reached the first floor landing of the
acoustically-charged stairwell, the reverberations dying away, that Mulder
heard the unmistakable creak and slam of the apartment building's east
entrance door. He stopped, frozen, as heavy-shoed footfalls resounded in
the lobby. The agent felt the color wash from his features as he silently
swore and prayed together.
Saw Scully staring up at him. "Mulder? You're white as a sheet." She
reached out, fingertips hot on his forehead. "I think you have a fever."
No shit. He was on fire. He was in Perdition and it was too late to hustle
Scully off, unsuspecting--too late for anything. He dropped the coat and
grabbed the door knob. The visitors had paused at the elevator and Mulder
stood still, holding his breath. Their words were clear in the silence of
waiting.
"Damn. S'on the fourth floor. I guess we take the stairs."
Big, dark eyes danced to Scully's face. Her mouth drew into a frown, blue
gaze darting to the door and back to him, suspicion dawning. Her tone was
mercifully low. "Who are they, Mulder? What's going on?"
The knob under his hand turned and his heart stopped. It tugged. Slid silky
over his palm as the door opened a crack. Scully's hand moved to draw her
service weapon. "Mulder, if you know--"
Whatever else Scully said was lost in the crash of the door when he shoved
it open, stepped through, and slammed it in her face. It rattled with the
drumming of her hands as he set his back against it. In front of him, the
two startled men blocked his path. "Mulder!" Scully's shout was hollow and
shadowed with the stairwell's echo. He felt it in his spine when her fist
pounded again.
"Mr. Mulder?" A shorter man in front of him, dark and stocky. Careful eyes.
His heart was going to explode in his chest. He was gasping, not sure he
could find his voice. Scully had gone quiet behind him but he could feel
her. The dark man waited while his companion--a taller, skinnier
blond--watched with the cold glitter of adrenaline. Mulder forced the
words, "I-I'm him."
The blond's voice glittered, too. "You know what we're here for."
It took everything and more to nod and step away from the door. Then the
knob rattled suddenly and he whirled to grab it. Scully almost shoved it
open and the knob twisted in his sweaty palms, but he latched on harder,
leaned into it. She must have thrown all her weight against the opposite
side to win a hard-fought inch. He could see her, just a little of her
face, whenever she gained ground in the battle. Could feel the two men
waiting behind him, knew his eyes were wide with fear. Set his mouth in a
line of determination.
"Mulder!" She was braced, glaring at him, trying to see past him. "Who are
they? What's going on? Tell me!"
"You were supposed to be alone. Who the hell's that?"
"Damn it, Mulder! What are you doing?"
Both angry. Both honed.
"Scully, let go," he whispered fiercely through a small opening she'd
forged--a no man's land between his strength and hers. "Don't draw your
gun. Nothing is happening against my will. Wait 'til we're gone, then leave
and act as if you were never here. Please."
Jagged edge of her alto made him wince. "They're sure as hell not taking
you to Florida! Where are you going, Mulder?"
"Don't worry about me, Scully," he insisted, trying against all odds to
convince. "I'll see you again soon."
Heard her breathing hard. "Promise me you'll come back."
The words clotted his throat and made him close his eyes against the
glimpse of October hair and blanched, cream skin. "I promise, Scully. I
promise I'll come back. I will." He jarred against the door as her weight
was gone and it banged shut. Heard her feet taking the stairs, fast and up
and up.
When Mulder straightened, the men were still watching--their eyes jumping
nervously, hands hanging loose and ready at their sides. "All right," he
nodded. "I'm ready."
It was an impossible number of steps to the vestibule. The men brushed
against him, electrically close. The dark troll shoved open the outside
door; the blond grabbed Mulder's arm but he flinched away, snarling, "Don't
touch me! Not yet!"
He didn't pause on the concrete stoop--couldn't if he wanted to postpone
the inevitable grasp of hands for a few sweet seconds. It wasn't so dark
now with the moon up in the clear, wind whipping tree branches below it and
sending thin clouds scuttling across it's silver face. The chill ate
through his suit jacket and trousers and white cotton shirt, nibbled his
ears and fingers and nose.
Can't go through with this, can't do it, and his legs slowed a little but
the dark one's hand was on his back, like the hand he'd rested on Scully.
The loathing of a more insistent touch kept him moving toward a white
Lincoln idling at the curb, its exhaust pipe puffing misty fumes. Hard
strong arms reached around his hips, hands sought and grabbed his wrists as
he jumped, jerked in startlement. "Don't fight me, meat," the ice-slick
voice whispered. "From now on out, don't you ever fight me."
Hairs raised on his neck. Muscles tightened so thoroughly that he managed
just one shake of his head. The hands dragged his wrists behind his
back--twisting them, grinding flesh against bone--then moved up to dig into
arm muscles while he was braceleted with cool, clasping steel.
Saw the blond reappear on his right, yanking a roll of duct tape from an
army surplus coat pocket. A surge of panic snapped his wrists against the
cuffs until the metal bit skin and his shoulders burned with strain. The
blond ripped a strip from the roll and Mulder's teeth gouged his cheeks
when the tape was slapped down. Jarred neck and nerves and he was seething,
ready to make it tough for this sonofabitch. The dark man
understood--stepped in front of the vicious blond; shook his head. "No, Mr.
Mulder. You agreed to this."
He stood there, breathing fast through his nose, staring at the little man.
Winter windgust set him shivering under the stars, made him remember why
he'd said yes and refused to remember to what and the panic washed through
him and away until it was one more thing like the cold and the wind and the
tape on his mouth. The tension left his body slack with sudden relief, and
he let his chin sink to his chest, feeling the thick edges of the duct tape
push up and wrinkle under his nostrils.
Blinking, Mulder looked up and around the blank, brick faces of the
apartment buildings. A flash of motion caught his eye, movement at his
window and he knew that shape. Moonlight silvered a pale face, shadowed
eyes and lips moving, the black oblong of the phone obscuring her jaw as
fabric rustled and a band of cloth closed over his eyes.
The instant's final vision: his partner, his rented home. Mulder couldn't
keep from struggling as the blindfold pulled taut and was tied off. Hands
on his head and arms bent him down, shoved, and the sounds changed as the
space around him was cut to a tiny box. Firm upholstery and the musty smell
of a car. The frame shook with the door slam. Mulder felt the car rock,
heard the scrapes of cloth on cloth and harsh breathing. Doors banged
shut--once--twice--and the engine revved.
Scully's running steps and her shout were oddly clear. "Federal agent! Stop
or I'll fire!"
"Sonofabitch! Gun it, man!"
Rubber squealed on asphalt and the lurch of movement threw him against the
back of the seat. Hands clawed at him, grabbed his shirtfront. The collar
dug into his neck as he was hauled forward and the hands shook him like a
rag doll, rattling his head. He couldn't get enough air; breathed in fast
and hard in between the shaking and his lungs and head hurt as the man
screamed at him. "Who the hell was that? Tell me!" The back of the front
seat thudded his chest as the bastard pulled him forward.
"Take the tape off his mouth." Calm and a little to Mulder's left.
The hands tightened on his shirt, strangling him, as he felt the car move
sharply--helplessly swayed with it. The metal box righted and moved smooth
again. One hand let go and fingers pawed at his mouth, dug under a corner
of the tape. Mulder winced as the sticky gag was ripped away, burning skin
and pulling stubble off with it. The voice was still so angry. "Who was
that?"
"M-my partner." Mulder's voice shook. The hands shoved him and he lurched
back against the seat, smothering a groan as his weight fell on his cuffed
wrists. Anger rekindled. "If you wanted a kidnapping called in you couldn't
have done a better job. Pull over and let me off. I'll try to stop this
fuck-up before it gets any more out of control."
The car made a sharp left that rolled Mulder off the seat onto the
floorboard and mashed the metal cuffs into the base of his spine. He yelped
and flexed his body, trying to save his wrists. Mulder groaned, tried to
reason with them. "I'm an FBI agent and your master knows it. I didn't
expect my partner to show up but she did, and now the only thing to do is
stop this before she starts a manhunt. I'll arrange to be picked up again
later from a different location--"
"Shut up!" The angry voice was over his head again and hands jerked Mulder
up off the floor, shoving him back onto the seat. He saw sparks when the
tape was smacked back down over his mouth. "Just shut the fuck up!"
The other, calmer voice cut in. "We were told to make a pick-up, Number
Six, and we've made it. You're going to keep your appointment."
-Lisby
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"Somebody back East is wonderin' 'Why don't she write?'"
-wagon driver, 'Dances with Wolves'
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