From: partous@total.net (Madeleine Partous)
Date: Mon, 27 May 1996 13:09:09 -0500
Subject: NEW: Shadow Puppets (1/10)

SHADOW PUPPETS (1/10)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net

It's a long one, folks, filled, hopefully, with all the X-Files
goodies we know and love: actual plot, character stuff, UST,
yada yada yada. Maybe it'll get graphic later on -- I'll warn
ya.

WARNING: Many many spoilers ahead, particularly third-
season. The case itself involves the reappearance of Krycheck
and an exploration of what the silo was really all about (the
Piper Maru two-parter). SOME PROFANITY AHEAD.

Please let me know what you think about this one -- it's the most
serious, complete story I've tried so far.

Thanks to Shalimar for her invaluable advice: Glad I found
you!

DISCLAIMER: Main characters property of Chris Carter
and/or Fox. Used without permission, but lovingly, with no
Machiavellian intent. So sorry. This story circulated for
entertainment purposes only. Long live Free Speech.




"You're so consumed by your personal vengeance against life,
whether it be its inherent cruelties or its mysteries, that
everything takes on a warped significance to fit your
megalomaniacal cosmology."

- -- Quagmire




FBI HEADQUARTERS
FOX MULDER'S OFFICE
MONDAY, 9:22 AM

The office was lit in shadows.

It made Fox Mulder feel secure. He liked it when reality was
delineated in blacks and greys, when faces could only be half
seen, as though the thoughts men hid in shadows were made
flesh that way, every man's heart hidden, the darkness
revealing more than the harshness of the light, which
sterilized everything it touched. Everyone seemed to glitter
brightly under overhead lighting, and Mulder had seen enough
to know this illumination was a lie.

Everyone lived in shadows, of their own making, or crafted by
circumstance -- it didn't really matter. Mulder himself died a
little in sunlight. Mulder trusted almost no one. 

He trusted Dana Scully. He trusted her as much as he
trusted anyone, despite the fact that she was enslaved to the
false gods of science, nice gods, really, and it was a shame
they were just constructs of human insecurity, of muddled
minds in search of meaning.

Science. It was a cliche, of course, but there was no getting
away from the fact that science was the 20th century's
desperate substitute for religion. And, when all was said and
done, Fox Mulder was more of a mystic than a Puritan.
But he respected Scully's integrity, her ability to state
categorically that she had no answers when none of the pat
ones applied. He also respected the fact that many of her
answers were, in fact, right on the money -- and that even
when he hated to admit it, science seemed to answer many of
the questions he raised.

These days he also trusted Walter Skinner, to a point, which
was more than he'd ever dreamed possible. Except that he
knew Skinner's days were counted. The A.D. was too highly
placed to benefit from the luxury of paranoia; if he didn't give
in, he would be removed -- one way or the other. And Mulder
knew Skinner well enough to know that the A.D. would never
cave in to the invisible powers who lived in the shadows.
Because of this tragic flaw, this hubris of his, he would be
destroyed. All that still needed to be determined was when.

In the meantime, Mulder had to move. He didn't want to use
Skinner, hated to do it, but he knew there wasn't much time.

"The investigator said something about how Skinner kept
signing off on your asinine assignment requests," Scully had
told Mulder when the A.D. was finally cleared of all charges in
the prostitute death. "They're after him -- make no mistake."

But Mulder already knew.

He also knew that Scully had stood by him steadfastly, had
stood by both of them, even though it meant she was burying
herself to save them, that she'd added another nail to the
coffin of her career in the eyes of the men who'd paired her
with Mulder to expose him in the first place. But the men had
lost. They'd lost her and unwittingly given him a powerful
ally. Now she was as lost as he was, and in as much danger.
And this was something he couldn't bring himself to dwell on
for very long. But she'd made her own decisions, and Mulder
had no illusions about his or anyone else's ability to influence
the Enigmatic Dr. Scully when she'd made up her mind.

What Scully didn't know was that Skinner had told him all
about her defense of them both during that hearing, yet
another hearing that Mulder had been "unable" to attend. She
was ruthless, his Scully, his avatar; he pitied anyone who
tried to hammer her into a place of their own choosing. Scully,
in her own way, was devoted only to the truth, just as he was.
It made her redoubtable. It made her dangerous. It forged a
link between them, one that no one could understand, affect,
or compromise.

What was still unclear was exactly when the sense of paranoia
they'd both cultivated, he deliberately, she inadvertently,
had changed into an unmistakable, ominous reality. They were
no longer simply paranoid, or, as the old joke went, the fact
that they were didn't mean someone wasn't out to get them.

Now, as Mulder poured over blurry photos of the silo where
they'd gone to find proof during the oil creature case, as he
affectionately called it, he realized that requesting this
assignment would only put them in greater jeopardy. He
smiled grimly. As if they weren't already in great jeopardy...

A faint knock heralded Scully's arrival.

Funny how she still knocked after all these years, even though
she spent only marginally less time in the basement than
Mulder did. It was another thing he loved about her, the
respect she had for his space. He invaded hers constantly, on
the other hand, both physically and emotionally, because he
needed to, because he'd shrivel up without it.

It was a mystery; she had to be as alone as he was, and yet
she remained defiantly aloof, thoroughly private. She was
stronger than he was, that was certain, but he occasionally
wondered what the cost of this strength might be in the long
run.

"Hi." A sparkle of teeth before her head lowered again. "I got
your call. What's up?"

"This," he said, gazing at the top of her head, willing her to
look up. She did. He gestured at the mess on his desk.

"You want me to clean up, is that it?" she asked innocently.

Mulder grinned, and waved at a file balanced precariously on
an ancient volume about medieval possession.

"No, that."

She leaned over his desk and gasped, turning to stare at him,
her face in shadows.

"The silo."

"Yep."

"Mulder, it's too dangerous."

He gave her one of those defiant stares he knew made her
crazy, and looked away, shrugging. He'd recognized the
expression on her face. It was the same look she'd had when
that stupid dog she'd inherited from Bruckman's neighbour
had vanished without a trace, chomped by an alligator, or a
sea serpent, depending on who you asked. The childlike
sadness, combined with an utter lack of sentimentality. It had
taken his breath away, still did, whenever he thought about
it.

He looked back up at her -- her gaze hadn't shifted.

"I know there's something there." He waited, hands on hips,
rocking, looking away.

"What, Mulder?" She looked tired, suddenly, and leaned a hip
against his desk.

"I dunno. But it's something they don't want us to know
about."

"They, Mulder? Who are they?" She shook her head. "The
truth at any cost, Mulder. Even if it's their truth, one that
has nothing to do with anything that matters?"

 She sounded exasperated as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"I say so what, Mulder? So what if they're hiding a whole
squadron of UFOs and alien fighter pilots in there. Who
cares?"

Mulder's eyes widened. "I care."

"Why?" He had to strain to hear her.

"Because I need to know."

"Even if they kill you for it? Even if they kill *me?*"

There -- she'd finally said it. He wondered what had taken her
so long.

"I won't let them touch you."

He knew how hollow it sounded. She was in danger; they both
were. And he knew that the only way she could save herself
was to leave the X-Files behind, leave *him.* It was pure
selfishness on his part, but he couldn't let her go, not
altogether, anyway, even for her own sake. Except that this
time, he was determined to protect her. Despite herself.

Scully shook her head and chuckled lightly. Of course she saw
through it. She always did.

"How are you going to stop them? You can't even save
yourself."

"I don't care about myself."

"That's the problem, isn't it. Isn't it, Mulder?"

He said nothing. This wasn't where he wanted to go at all. 

But she was relentless. "Has it occurred to you that maybe
your death would matter more to me than my own?"

His breath caught and he felt the humiliating sting of tears
behind his eyes. He swallowed.

"No."

"My death would matter more to you than your own, wouldn't
it?"

He nodded, once, suddenly shy, still fighting inexplicable
tears.

"But I'm not allowed to feel the same way? Why, Mulder?
Because you're a martyr? Because you're not worthy of
anyone's love?"

She sounded furious, but he wouldn't look at her. He wasn't
prepared or equipped to deal with this. Not now. Maybe not
ever.

"Don't psychoanalyze me, Scully." The words came out more
harshly than he'd intended, and he regretted them instantly.
"Please. It doesn't help." 

She just looked at him, her face smothered in shadows.

"Anyway," he said as lightly as he could, "It doesn't matter
what you say, not anymore. I think you need to know just as
much as I do."

Scully stared at him, searching his face. She sighed, and
lowered her head. "Maybe."

Mulder smiled. He couldn't help it.

She looked up once before turning back to the file. "You think
you're alone, Mulder. That doesn't mean you are."



THE PAPER CHASE BAR
WASHINGTON, DC
MONDAY, 4:16 PM

"You want to do *what?*"

Mulder gazed at the A.D.'s stony face as they sat in the noisy
lounge; he shrugged and smiled in what he hoped was his most
disarming manner. "I just think there's something there, and I
want to make sure it isn't anti-American."

"Like hell." Skinner steepled his fingers and glared at Mulder.
"You must think I'm an idiot."

"No, sir." Mulder shook his head earnestly. "Never that."

"You have got to know that piece of property is out of
bounds."

"To a government agent, sir?"

"To everyone I have any control over." Skinner sighed and
looked down at the assignment request. "Mulder, you must
realize that both our asses are on the line these days."

"I heard someone cry out in that silo."

"So what?"

"You and Scully should talk more. You have the same point of
view."

Skinner gazed at Mulder for a moment. "Maybe we're right." 

"Maybe." Mulder shrugged. "But I have nothing to lose."

"Are you sure?"

Mulder said nothing. Of course he had something to lose. Everything he had 
left. 

"That's why I'd like to do this alone. Unofficially."

"I see. And you want to leave me with an armful of ballistic
Scully, is that what you're telling me?"

The mental image made Mulder smile ruefully.

"Anyway," Skinner continued, "if you want to do it
unofficially, why let me know? It's very unlike your usual
methods."

"Because I want you to know where I've gone if I don't come
back." Mulder took a breath. "I owe you that much."

They sat in silence. Skinner finally looked up, close-lipped,
his eyes like two bits of obsidian behind the deceptively merry
twinkle of his glasses.

"You're going to fuck it all up, Mulder. Aren't you." It wasn't
a question.

"I want the truth, sir."

"Whose truth, Agent Mulder?" Uncanny, how he echoed
Scully. A spasm of doubt raked through Mulder's mind. Could
it be that he was the only one who saw this thing as bigger
than all of them?

"I'm no fool, sir."

Skinner sighed. "No. You may be many infuriating things, but
`fool' isn't top of the list."

"Then let me go."

Silence reigned again, until Mulder felt himself fidget under
the table. Finally, the A.D. looked up.

"Do what you have to do," he said tersely. "But do it in your
own time. If you can't find a suitably inane x-file to mask it,
pay for it yourself. But if you can find a way to work a double
shift..." he trailed off.

"Yeah?"

"I'll look the other way."

That was all. When Mulder looked again, the A.D. had
disappeared into the shadows.


CONTINUED IN PART 2


===========================================================================

From: partous@total.net (Madeleine Partous)
Date: Mon, 27 May 1996 13:12:07 -0500
Subject: NEW: Shadow Puppets (2/10)

SHADOW PUPPETS (2/10)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net

"Will work for feedback"


***DISCLAIMER/SUMMARY IN PART 1***


FOX MULDER'S APARTMENT
MONDAY, 11:21 PM


"You're going *where?*"

Scully's voice on the other end of the line sounded tinny, thin, shrill. Mulder
winced.

"I told you. I'm going back to the silo."

"Without me?" There was no mistaking the anger.

"At least I'm telling you first."

"So I should be grateful, is that it? Grateful that you're running off with a
warning this time? That way, when your
body shows up at the morgue, at least I'll know where you've been."

He could hear the frustration in her voice, the
unmistakable huskiness of restrained tears, and he knew she was seconds away
from hanging up on him.

For good, this time.

"Scully," he hissed, "listen to me. Please!"

There was silence, but at least no click. She was still there, and he could hear
her breathe.

"That's why I'm calling. I *need* you. But I don't want you there at the
beginning. If we're both there, they can kill two birds with one stone. Sorry
about the cliche," he finished lamely.

"Go on."

"So I want to keep in touch with you. So you can come when the time's right. I
need you this time, Scully."

He waited. "But I'll need you to move fast."

She said nothing.

Mulder took a deep breath. "When I call you, you may have to save my life."

Nothing.

"Scully?"

"And I'm to understand you'll actually call?"

"Yes."

"Shouldn't I be in the vicinity?" Her tone was sarcastic.

Mulder gaped. He'd forgotten all about the fact that it would take her hours to
reach him if she stayed in DC. Unbelievable. He'd hoped to ward her off
somehow. Protect her. Keep her from harm.

Right.

But as she spoke he knew he couldn't run off again, that it hurt her too much,
that by doing so, he was driving her away. He'd kept her at arm's length, for her
sake, he thought, and only realized when it was almost too late that this was the
only way he could really lose her, that no abduction could achieve what he could
achieve by shutting her out. Now he had to live with the consequences of what he
knew, even though all his instincts screamed against it.

He ran his fingers through his hair and bit the bullet.

"You're right. I wasn't thinking."

She actually chuckled. "You're a big jerk, Mulder; you know that?"

He smiled into the receiver. "Yes. Yes, I do."

"So when are we leaving?"

Mulder sighed, but he felt lighter already. "Tomorrow
morning. I've trumped up an X-file some ways away from the site, so we'll have to
drive awhile. Skinner may figure it out, but I don't think he'll stop us."

"What time?"

"Eight. I'll pick you up."

"Okay." She was about to hang up, and something in him
panicked.

"Scully?"

"Yeah?"

"I still want to go in there alone. At first."

Silence.

"I still want you to come and rescue me, you know? Like a
knight in shining armour."

Silence.

"I'll do my best, Mulder."

He breathed.

"Scully?"

It was her turn to sigh. "What?"

"I--I..."

"I know, Mulder." His heart was pounding as he found himself listening to the
dial tone.


CONTINUED IN PART 3


===========================================================================

From: partous@total.net (Madeleine Partous)
Date: Mon, 27 May 1996 13:17:55 -0500
Subject: NEW: Shadow Puppets (3/10)

SHADOW PUPPETS (3/10)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net

"Will work for feedback"


*** DISCLAIMER IN PART 1 ***


Mulder swore under his breath and kicked the front tire of the
Taurus. Why did the Bureau insist on using them as rentals
anyway? He hated fucking Tauruses. They were middle-class
cars for fucking middle-class has-beens with fat bellies and
too many kids. And the automatic transmission made him want
to fuck...

Scully chortled; he turned a baleful eye on her as she leaned
out of the passenger's seat, grinning at him.

"You should see your face."

He choked down the expletive on the tip of his tongue --
Mulder never could swear in front of Scully -- and stared at
her for a moment before turning back to the offending tire, his
shirt sweat-soaked and clinging to his back in a particularly
irritating way that made him want to scream and rip it off
before kicking it around in the dust for awhile.

"You're not exactly helping, your highness," he said. "Afraid
to dirty your dainty little hands? What happened to women's
liberation, anyway?"

"I never bought it," Scully said serenely.

"Right," he muttered, and crouched down, poking at the tire
with a finger.

"It's flat, Mulder."

"I *know* that! Since when do radials get flats? They're
supposed to blow out and send you careening into the ditch to
face a bloody, mangled death."

"Sounds like you wish it had."

"At least I wouldn't have to deal with this." He stood, wiped
his hands on his shirt and kicked the tire again, for good
measure.

Scully laughed outright and opened the door, joining Mulder
on the road as the torrid sun beat down mercilessly, causing
the pavement to swim in the heat.

"You have no idea how to change that thing, do you?"

He glared at her. "Do you?"

"Nope. But I told you -- I'm a lady."

Mulder leaned close, casting a shadow over her, but Scully
didn't budge an inch. He absolutely wanted to wipe that smug
smile off her face.

"Really?" he murmured sweetly, his mouth suddenly inches
from hers. "Well, I hate to break it to you when we're miles
away from civilization, but I'm no gentleman."

It worked. Her eyes widened and she backed away skittishly.

Mulder chuckled.

"If it's not too much to ask, Milady, do you think you might
consider sullying your pristine fingers and picking up your
cellular? Perhaps a quick call to the rental company, before we
die of thirst out here?"

Scully tossed her head and reached into the car for her purse.
 
"Sure. Fine. Whatever. The Great Fox Mulder, Conspiracy
Buster and all-around hero for the paranoid '90s, flattened by
a flat. I can see the field report now. 'We wanted to expose
that nefarious plot, sir, we really did, but the rental company
just took *forever* to get to us, and what could we do? They
got away with all that alien technology. But we almost had them
this time, sir, we really did...'" She snorted.

"You think you're pretty funny, don't you?"

"Believe me, Mulder; anyone working with you for any length
of time had better develop a sense of humour."




The car rental company had apparently mastered the art of
passive resistance. Scully had finally managed to make the
whinny voice at the other end promise that help would arrive
within the hour, but only after she'd used some rather unlady-
like language involving her firearm and how she'd hitchhike
back to the rental office, find the guy she was on the phone
with and personally insert it in a very private place. Then
she'd book him and put him away for life.

Mulder laughed out loud.

They sat together in the car, the air conditioning going full
blast in a futile attempt to counter the heat of the midwestern
day. The contrast made them sweat more, and Scully sighed,
fidgeting against the seat as her blouse stuck to it, and she
swiped at her neck for the umpteenth time.

Mulder tried to ignore her, even though it cost him everything
he had not to stare at her chest as the thin shell she wore
became increasingly translucent with perspiration. He fitfully
tried all the AM stations he could find, but eventually gave up
as one born-again preacher after another filled the airwaves
with messages of easy but obviously expensive salvation.

He sighed, and leaned back against the seat, fixing his eyes
resolutely on the swimming asphalt in front of the car.

"What time is it?"

Scully squirmed. "About three minutes past the last time you
asked."

"I can't believe we're just sitting here."

"Aren't you even *hot*, Mulder," she moaned, throwing him a
withering glance.

"Yes, I'm hot, Scully." He glanced at her and hastily averted
his eyes before they dropped below her neck. "Believe me.
And *please* stop wiggling around -- it's just making me
hotter."

Scully froze as she tried to interpret his remark. Mulder
screwed up his eyes and stared up at the blistering sky as
innocently as he could. She shot a few suspicious looks at him,
cleared her throat nervously and sat perfectly still.

Finally, she turned to him.

"You don't really expect to find anything in that silo, do you?"

Mulder shrugged. "I dunno. Probably not."

"I mean, they're bound to have cleared the place by now."

"Probably."

"These guys are pros, Mulder. They're not sitting around
waiting for you to show up at the door."

"It's pretty unlikely," he agreed.

"So why are we going?"

"You mean why am *I* going." He was suddenly serious.

Scully said nothing.

"You agreed."

"I only kind of agreed."

"Scully..."

"Okay, okay. The point is, why would anyone go there?"

Mulder tapped on the steering wheel.

"Because I think he expects me to go back."

"What? Who expects you to go back?"

"I think that black-lunged asshole thinks I'm stupid enough to
do it."

Scully gaped at him. "So you're going to prove him right?"

"That's right."

"Oh, come on, Mulder, for Christ's sake. He knows enough to
know you'd see through it."

Mulder shrugged again. "Maybe. And maybe he knows I'll go
anyway. Think about it: the first thing you said when I told
you about the silo was that it was too dangerous. Why,
Scully?"

She said nothing.

"Because you know that just showing up there is asking for
trouble."

He waited.

"And Skinner freaked out on me too. Why? Why would he react
like that if there was nothing there?"

"I don't know."

"You *do* know. The site is off limits. I'm not supposed to go
there; no one is. I'm breaking the rules yet again. Kill me, or
ruin my career and throw me out of the Bureau; at this point,
that tar-ridden bastard probably doesn't even care which. He's 
waiting for me, Scully. I feel it. He's waiting right now."

Scully exhaled sharply.

"You're saying," she said, exasperated, "that Cancerman's
sitting in there just waiting for you to show up so he can get
rid of you? That's ridiculous, Mulder!"

Mulder shook his head.

"Not him. One of his... creatures."

"Who?"

Mulder carefully wrapped his hands around the steering wheel
until his knuckles turned white.

"Krychek."

"Krychek?"

Her eyes were wide, disbelieving. For once, she was
speechless.

"They've done something to him, Scully. I don't know what.
But I don't think he's human anymore."

She looked away, chewing her lip.

"He killed my father, Scully. And I want to know why. I
*have* to know how involved my father was in all of this."

Mulder drew a deep breath. "I have to know whether my father
had anything to do with Samantha's disappearance. Because if
he did..."

"What, Mulder?"

He looked at her, even though he knew his eyes would frighten
her. Then he leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes
as he felt a bead of sweat travel erratically down the side of
his face.

"If he did, I don't know what I'll do."


CONTINUED IN PART 4


===========================================================================

From: partous@total.net (Madeleine Partous)
Date: Tue, 28 May 1996 15:59:26 -0500
Subject: NEW: Shadows (4/10)

SHADOW PUPPETS (4/10)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net


NOTE: Well, somewhere along the way I seem to have dropped
the titles describing time and place. So sorry -- but as it
happens, I can't remember where most of this stuff happens
anyway. Oh, well...

Thanks for writing, and please keep the comments coming,
including criticisms -- it's hard to do this stuff in a vacuum...

MP

*** WARNING: Profanity ahead


*** Disclaimer in Part 1 ***


Mulder had remained silent until the tow truck arrived, an old
Ford that shimmered like a mirage as it approached from
behind. He watched its slow progress in the rearview mirror,
its diseased muffler belching so loudly they could hear it
through the closed windows over the hum of the air
conditioning, and he wondered whether it would make it in this
heat.

"Looks like he'll need a tow himself any minute," he said
amiably.

Scully started. Evidently, she'd been immersed in a reverie of
her own. He'd felt her looking at him periodically; from the
corner of his eye, he could see the concern etched plainly on
her face. But it was another one of her great attributes that
she knew when to keep her thoughts to herself. Mostly.

He'd shut up because he didn't want to talk about the silo
anymore. He also didn't want to give Scully the opportunity to
resume her analysis of his deep dark secrets. It wasn't her
fault, but he knew all that crap already, he really did. It was
a little humiliating that she knew it too, but then again, it
made subterfuge difficult, which was actually a relief.

The problem was that he was tired, and he was frightened; he
knew that he was heading towards the big face-off, the one
where good and evil would be sharply defined. He felt like
Luke Skywalker as he confronted his demons in the forest, and
in his case too, it looked like the mother of all demons would
turn out to be his father.

But he didn't feel like discussing archetypes with Scully, nor
did he particularly want to deal with the hilarity he'd cause if
he told her his life was about to mirror "The Empire Strikes
Back." Anyway, Scully was more inclined to think that Freud,
not Jung, was behind everything he did. 

But the real problem was that he was tired, and he was
frightened, and that always made him lonely, and that usually
made him want Scully, want to wrap himself around her, want
to disappear inside her, where he'd be safe. He ached with the
need of it, and it immobilized him.

He could feel her next to him, smell her sweet sweat and her
perfume; he could feel the tension in the air, and he knew she
could feel it too, but she probably attributed it to his anxiety,
and to her own, and to the fact that communication often broke
down between them, particularly when words were not enough.
At times like these he knew the only way to deal with it would
be to pull her to him and risk the repercussions.

But he couldn't do it.

He just couldn't face the rejection. He wasn't sure what he had
with Scully, but whatever it was, he couldn't afford to lose it.

Anyway, Mulder had got used to wanting Scully. He'd learned to
live with it and he didn't let it interfere with anything. Mostly.

The tow truck fizzled to a steaming stop in front of them. He
sat and watched as Scully slipped out of the car, exchanging
silent movie dialogue with the young guy who stepped out and
leaned against the door of his truck defensively, looking
warily at her as though he'd been warned about this woman
and her gun.

Mulder smiled.

Scully was five foot two, but this lean towering hayseed
cowered in front of her like a virgin about to be sacrificed to
ruthless gods.

It was hard not to feel sorry for him.

Meanwhile, the silent movie scenario was a welcome distraction
from his lust, and he couldn't help trying to fill in the blanks
as he watched their lips move.

Scully: "Quickly! The tire is flat!"

Tow Truck Man: "Horrors! You will die!"

Scully: "No!"

Tow Truck Man: "I will save you!"

Scully: "Thank God! We are so thirsty!"

That was when Mulder realized he was really, really thirsty.




In the office of the spectacularly sleazy motel he'd booked them
into for the night -- stunning even by his own demanding
standards, Mulder thought, as he gazed with awe-struck
admiration at the moth-eaten moose head and plastic
Yellowstone Park plates on the wall -- he gulped down the can
of freezing iced tea Scully had handed him and stood there,
gasping.

"Really, Mulder." Scully glared at him and gestured vaguely
at the cork walls.

"Hey, we're talking Americana at its finest here, Scully. Don't
you have any appreciation for history?"

"History takes a hundred years. This is just old. I say forty
years, tops."

"Forty years ago, Elvis was a vital young thing." He grinned
at her. "You can't dismiss that kind of stuff, Scully. And
besides," he added, leering at her, "we've got connecting
rooms."

"Oh, joy." She focused her gaze on the clerk, who hurriedly
bowed his head and kept writing.

"I'm still thirsty, Scully." He tried a pout on the off-chance it
might work.

"Here's a quarter -- call someone who cares."

"At least, get us some ice."

He ducked.




That night Mulder fought off his agitation by watching local
farm reports on television and wondering what Scully was
doing in her room. He heard her shower, heard her walk
around, then he heard nothing. She slept like an angel, like a
baby. It was something he'd never understood. Apparently,
she worked off her angst during the day. Maybe he could take
lessons or something.

They'd had a quick supper at the only restaurant in town, the
kind of place that took pride in the vintage of its grease. He'd
had a couple of beers, which she'd teased him about.

"It's the alcohol in your blood, Mulder. That's why you can't
sleep."

"Two beers?"

"You're a bad drinker -- that much is obvious."

"Unlike you, Milady," he sneered. "I'm sure you scintillate
after a couple of whisky sodas."

"I'm Irish, Mulder," she said. "When you're Irish, you don't
take up drinking unless you mean it."

"I'm Jewish, Scully. We don't drink unless the goyim abduct
our children."

It wasn't funny. She looked at him.

"What was it like, Mulder, growing up Jewish in a place like
the Vineyard?

"You didn't talk about it."

"Your parents?"

"They didn't talk about it."

"You?"

He shrugged. "I still don't talk about it."

"Did the other kids tease you?"

"Yeah -- but mainly about my nose."

Scully put down the french fry she'd been holding. "Well, I
think you have a great nose."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"Does your mother?"

"Mulder!"

He chuckled.

Scully shook her head. "I'll have you know my mother really
likes you."

"She's a devout Catholic."

"So? She's evolved, Mulder. A person's religion doesn't mean
she wouldn't..." she suddenly stopped talking.

He looked at her as she studied her plate furiously. "Wouldn't
what, Scully?"

"You know. She doesn't care about that kind of thing."

"You mean she'd welcome someone who wasn't Catholic into her
family?"

Scully raised her head and stared at him evenly. "Something
like that."

He'd said nothing and ordered another beer.




The local sheriff, Tad McCain, looked as perplexed by
Mulder's rambling explanations about cattle mutilations as
Scully did. It was fairly obvious from the looks McCain gave
her that he questioned Mulder's sanity, but to her credit she
just nodded knowingly, as though everything her partner said
actually made some kind of sense. Finally the sheriff waved
them away tiredly with a warrant giving them permission to
investigate whatever they wanted to investigate, as long as
they stayed the hell away from him -- or at least that was the
subtext.

Mulder was triumphant.

"See, Scully? All you have to do is babble until they glaze
over; then you can do whatever you want."

"You know, you should run for Congress, Mulder; you'd fit
right in."




Mulder dragged Scully around to a few ranches in the area,
where he regaled crusty, wind-burnt and visibly alarmed
farmers with tales of UFO sightings, mutilations and
abductions gleaned from his vast repertory. He also made all of
these events sound as though they'd happened to their very
own neighbours just a few days ago.

"Um, Mulder?" Scully finally said as they drove along yet
another bumpy rural route.

"Yeah?"

"Don't you think it's a little... well, unethical, to spread all
those rumours?"

"They're not rumours, Scully. I'm sure these things happen
all the time."

She sighed.

"Anyway, Scully, we just have to make it look like we're
working on a real case before we -- before I head out to the
silo."

Scully let that one go. "But all they have to do is talk to each
other and they'll know you made the whole thing up."

"These guys don't talk, Scully. They just stand there,
squinting grimly into the sun." He smiled at her. "Besides, by
the time I'm finished with them, they'll be telling everyone that
they saw it with their own eyes."



The last ranch they stopped at was the closest inhabited land
to the silo, about an hour and a half away. Denton Alistair,
according to the mail box, anyway, was the living proof that
cloning was, in fact, a perfectly common reproductive
technique -- he looked exactly like the last four ranchers
they'd seen. Scully refused to leave the car.

The rancher had ambled up to the fence, gazed at Mulder's
badge for a full minute, and looked up with what, if it could
have been described as an actual facial expression, would have
been withering disdain.

"You call that a name?"

"Well..."

"Just another federal faggot. Hey, Mabel! Come look at this!
It's another fairy from Washington!"

"Uh, sir, if you don't mind..." he could hear Scully guffawing
in the car and he turned to give her a don't-get-me-started
look.

"Mabel! His name is Fox! Ain't that the best?"

"Sir, you..."

"Hurry down here, Mabel. Maybe he'll do your hair!"

Enough was enough already.

"May I remind you that you're speaking to a government
agent, sir." His tone was suddenly no-nonsense, verging on
dangerous.

It got Alistair's attention.

"Discrimination based on sexual preference is illegal in this
state, did you know that, sir? That includes verbal abuse
intended to humiliate or discredit the victim."

The rancher gaped at him.

"What?"

"Just answer a few questions, sir."

It turned out that Alistair's comments weren't particularly
personal. He thought all government employees were
"faggots," and apparently included the military in his
assessment.

"They been crawling around all over the place for two years
now," he said, pointing towards the horizon. Towards the
silos. "You couldn't fart around here without knocking over a
G-man."

Mulder hastily tried to ignore the image, but it was too late.
He winced.

"And the fuckin' army, they're the worst. Comin' in here like
they own the place, hangin' around town gettin' drunk and
actin' like goddam rednecks."

Trying to picture what would constitute a redneck in Alistair's
eyes quite took Mulder's breath away.

"Are they still here?"

"Nah. They took off 'bout four months ago, and I say good
riddance to 'em too."

"Did they take a lot of stuff with them?"

"Christ, yeah. It took 'em two days to drive all that shit outta
here. Went right past my ranch, right there. Big
motherfuckin' flatbeds, all covered up with tarps."

"You ever go there?"

Alistair eyed Mulder as if trying to weigh whether yes or no
was the riskier answer.

"Nope. Ya wouldn't catch me dead around that fuckin' bunch
of fag -- uh, guys."

"I mean, since they left."

"Why would I?" He sounded defiant.

"Because I'm just wondering whether you saw anything move
out there."

"Waddya mean, anything?"

"Like a person."

"What is this, some kinda manhunt? Did some psycho get loose?
We gotta right to know -- we pay taxes."

Mulder shook his head, which was beginning to pound dully.

"No, no. Just someone who may have lost his memory."

"Oh. Well, why are you askin' me all this crap anyway? I mean,
they're your fuckin' people, aren't they? Don't you guys talk
to each other?"

"Thank you for your time, sir."

Mulder climbed in the car and leaned back against the
headrest. Scully smiled at him beatifically.

"Find out everything you need?"

"Gimme some aspirin, Scully."




CONTINUED IN PART 5


===========================================================================

From: partous@total.net (Madeleine Partous)
Date: Thu, 30 May 1996 09:25:55 -0500
Subject: Shadow Puppets (5/10)

SHADOW PUPPETS (5/10)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net


"Will work for feedback"



**** WARNING: Rated "R". Disturbing imagery ahead. ****



DISCLAIMER IN PART 1




They'd turned the air conditioning back on. The blasted
landscape, moon-dead in the fiery afternoon sun, sped
monotonously by as they bumped along the increasingly rough
road, leaving Denton Alistair and his invisible wife in the
dust. They were headed west. Towards the silos.

Mulder felt sweat pool in his armpits and wondered vaguely
how anything could possibly stay alive out there in
midsummer. No wonder everyone seemed so grumpy around
here.

Meanwhile, his headache kept getting worse, and Scully wasn't
helping.

"Laugh all you want, Milady," he grumbled, "but you'll be
sorry when I die of an aspirin overdose."

"Your kidneys would fail first, and you'd go blind; although
considering your porn habit, I'm surprised you haven't
already."

"Ha ha."

"I told you not to drink so much booze."

"Three beers, Scully," he muttered weakly.

"So where are we going now?"

"I want to... I think we should check out the silo from a
distance."

"You okay, Mulder? You look pale."

"I'm fine, Scully."

Mulder's head really hurt. He almost never got headaches --
maybe it was the pay-off for everything else that was wrong
with his life.

A sudden lance of excruciating pain tore through his head,
and he moaned, hitting the brake. The car screeched to a stop
in the middle of the road.

"Mulder?" Her voice was high, alarmed. He could barely see
through the red haze of pain.

He rested his head on the steering wheel.

"God, Scully." His voice was strained.

Mulder felt her hands on him just as the first wave of nausea
roiled through his stomach and caught him by the throat. He
pushed her away.

"Jesus..." He scrabbled at the door and only just managed to
get it open and lean out before agonized retching wracked his
body. The spasms ripped through his head -- Christ, he
couldn't believe anything could hurt so much -- and he
vomited until there was nothing left. He gasped, his head
throbbing.

Slowly, it dawned on him that Scully's arms were
around him, one delicate hand supporting his forehead, the
other holding his chest. Despite the agony in his skull, he felt
a shudder of embarrassment run through him.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Don't be shy, Mulder" she murmured next to his ear, sending
a shiver down to his groin. "I'm a doctor, remember?"

He almost laughed. Here he was, leaning over a pool of his own
vomit, shaking with pain and almost blind, and she still
managed to turn him on.

She pulled at him gently and he went with her, leaning back
against the seat.

"Your head really hurts, huh?" Her voice was soft.

He nodded.

"Can you open your eyes?"

Mulder tried, but the light stabbed through them and he
turned his head away. He could hear the rustle of her clothes
and then felt a gentle weight on his nose. His sunglasses.

He felt suddenly weepy, like a sick kid, and leaned his face
into her cool, smooth palm. She was so gentle. No one else in
his life had ever managed to disarm him so utterly, render him
so vulnerable so effortlessly. He surrendered to it with an
almost sexual sense of release.

"What's wrong with me, Scully?"

"How many aspirins did you take, anyway?"

"Three."

"Hmm."

Mulder felt her body draw back and he tried to follow it. She
caught him and straightened him against the seat.

"Have you ever had migraines before, Mulder?"

He shook his head, then cried out as slivers of pain sliced
through it.

"Don't move your head."

Right.

"It's unusual to develop them at your age, but it's not unheard
of. Food poisoning is another possibility. Or sunstroke. But
you weren't out in the sun for any length of time, and you're
not hot..." she trailed off.

He couldn't think at all. Through the blood-red haze that
settled around him, he felt her body move over him, heard the
driver's side door shut with a muted click.

Her body pressed against his as she squeezed under the steering wheel. He
leaned into her as he heard the engine burst into life, and
then he abandoned himself to darkness.




When Mulder opened his eyes, the car was rolling to a stop in
front of a dilapidated building with a peeling, sunburnt sign
over the door. He could just make out the words "emergency
clinic" in faded red letters.

He sat up gingerly. Scully had driven all the way here,
wherever that was, jammed up against the driver's door with
his entire weight against her.

He turned his head slowly to look at her.

Scully was staring at him, her face drawn with worry.

"Hi." Mulder smiled faintly.

"How're you feeling?"

"Better." It was true. He felt drained, exhausted, but his
headache was gone, replaced by a kind of giddy light-
headedness.

"Really?"

She scrutinized his face, drinking it in, relief and anxiety
playing across her features.

"Really and truly."

Mulder removed his sunglasses with a shaky hand.

"See?"

He didn't even flinch when the sun hit his eyes.

Scully didn't look convinced. Her eyes welled up suddenly,
and she looked away.

She took a deep breath.

"I thought you'd had a brain aneurism or something. You
passed right out, Mulder."

"I know."

Before he could stop himself, his fingers brushed
her face. Aneurisms were sudden and deadly. He didn't know
how long she'd been driving, but he was sure it hadn't been a
picnic.

"The headache's completely gone, Scully. In fact, I feel kind
of... well, happy."

She studied him, expressionless, her control firmly in place
once again.

"Migraine euphoria. It's often reported by sufferers after an
episode." 

"So it *was* a migraine?"

She shrugged. "Like I said, late-onset migraines can happen,
but they're pretty rare. And I've never heard of anyone losing
consciousness. We need to get you checked out." 

"But I feel fine."

She just gave him a look. It was the kind he knew better than
to argue with.

Mulder sighed.

"Okay, okay. Lead on, Milady."




Janice Andersen, the emergency physician on duty, found
nothing wrong with him. At Scully's insistence, she ran
whatever tests she could, but Mulder's brain, such as it was --
Scully's words -- seemed in perfect working order.

"You'll have to go to the city if you want more exhaustive
testing," Andersen said, rubbing her eyes. Mulder felt for
her -- it wasn't easy to satisfy Scully. "We just don't have the
equipment here."

"What do you think it could be?" Scully still seemed restless.

"Well, I think you're probably right. Late-onset migraine. And
you said you've been tired, Mr. Mulder?" Her eyes ran over
him appreciatively.

She was flirting with him, just a little.

He nodded, and couldn't help wondering how such an
attractive, obviously sophisticated woman dealt with life out
here in Hicksville.

"He's always tired," Scully snapped, causing both of them
to look at her. "Why would this suddenly happen right
here, right now?"

Mailer shrugged. "Who knows? Cumulative fatigue can lead to
sudden system breakdowns. Then there's the heat, whatever
anxiety this case of yours is causing... it could be any number
of things."

Scully shook her head. Andersen threw a glance at Mulder.

"Look," Andersen said. "We know it's not an aneurism, or a
stroke, or anything related to the heart. When something like
this happens, we all want to believe it's for a reason..."

"Don't patronize me, Dr. Andersen." 

Mulder's eyes widened as he watched Scully actually bristle.

"I may be more familiar with corpses, but I'm still a doctor, and believe me, 
I know all about how people deal with denial. That's not what I'm talking
about here..."

"Right," Mulder interrupted. "Well, I'm only the patient, but I
think what I really need is to go lie down for awhile."

His eyes moved from one to the other. 

"Okay? Would that be all right?"

Scully smiled thinly.

"Sure, Mulder." She looked at Andersen and shrugged. 

"Sorry about that. I'm a little edgy. Guess the whole thing just
rattled me more than I like to admit."

Andersen grinned. "Don't worry about it. Most of the nurses
here won't even talk to me these days. Must be the heat."

The heat.

Right.




They'd said little in the car, although Mulder kept shooting
little side glances at Scully from the passenger seat. Her lips
were tight, and she stared straight ahead.

Back at the motel -- they were the only guests, and more than
anything, the fact that they'd want to book another night
seemed to startle the front desk clerk -- Scully followed
Mulder into his room.

"I'm fine, Scully. Really. I'm not like you: when I say it, it's
true."

She didn't even smile.

He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her.

"I just need to lie down."

"So lie down. Who's stopping you?"

Mulder felt an inexplicable rush of anger.

"What the hell's wrong with you, anyway? I'm the one who
almost..."

That did it.

Scully whirled around to face him, her face livid.

"Almost what, Mulder? Almost died? Again? Is that it?"

Anger rose in him, licking hotly at his cheeks.

"What do you want from me, Scully? You want me to apologize
for the migraine? For throwing up? For passing out? Fine! I'm
sorry! Is that enough?"

In one smooth infuriated motion, she picked up the empty ice
bucket and threw it at the wall.

Mulder gasped as he felt fury, his and hers, wash over
him.

"Nothing you do is ever enough!"

She looked around the room desperately, her eyes finally
landing on his travel alarm clock next to the bed.

She grabbed it and wrenched it from the wall, flinging it
against the door.

"All you do is put yourself at risk! Why are we here, Mulder?
Why are *you* here? On government time, government money?
So you can exorcise your devils? How often do you think I can
stand to see you put yourself through this? You don't care
about anything else, do you? DO YOU!"

Mulder stood.

"Is that what you think?"

He wanted to hit her, desperately, and fought it down with
everything he had.

It terrified him.

He just wanted to hit something.

And she was there.

"You bastard! You selfish, *fucking* bastard!"

She'd never used that word in front of him.

"What do you want from me, Scully?"

"I want you to admit once and for all that what you want more
than anything in the world..." 

Her face crumpled.

"...is to die."

His nerves sang.

This, he thought.

This is the cold, metallic taste of absolute madness.

"But you're too much of a chickenshit to kill yourself, aren't
you, Mulder? You want someone, or something, to do it for
you."

Something inside him shattered.

He stood there, reeling, as the shards of it spiralled through
him.

He wanted to hurt her.

He wanted, at all costs, to stop her from hurting him.

He had to stop the hurt.

Please, sweet Jesus, Yahweh, Dad, Samantha, if anyone was
listening, please -- make it stop.

Baruch atah adonai...

Please.

Barouch atah adonai...

Make it stop.

Barouch atah...

Please.




He finally realized the room was filled with silence.

Scully stood in the middle of the room, breathing heavily, her
fiery hair dishevelled, hanging over her face.

"Get the hell out of here, Scully."

She didn't move.

"I never asked you to put yourself on the line for me. Never."

She breathed.

Mulder closed his eyes as a wave of exhaustion swept over him.

"Go. Go home." His voice was low.

She didn't make a sound.

"This is my battle, Scully. Not yours."

Nothing.

"I can't save you, Scully. It's like you said: I can't even save
myself."

He heard her breathe. And he realized dazedly it was the only
sound he still cared about.

"Fuck you, Mulder. I'm not leaving."

He swayed on his feet.

"Please go."

"No."

"Go, Scully. Before it's too late."

"I'm not leaving, Mulder."

"Scully..."

"It's already too late, Mulder."

So that was it.

He couldn't fight it anymore. He had nothing left. Nothing.

His arms reached out blindly.

And she was there.




From its home in the darkness, it stirred.

One arm reached out lazily, seizing a living thing, a rodent it
had found earlier and kept alive, fresh, fresh. The creature
squealed as the thin neck snapped. It raised the warm carcass
to its lips.

"Mulder," it breathed.

It was waiting.

It had been patient.

But the time for waiting was over.




CONTINUED IN PART 6


===========================================================================

From: partous@total.net (Madeleine Partous)
Date: Fri, 31 May 1996 09:19:36 -0500
Subject: NEW: Shadow Puppets (6/10)

SHADOW PUPPETS (6/10)
by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net

"Will work for feedback"

DISCLAIMER IN PART 1


*** WARNING: Rated "R": M/S sexual references: If you hate
that kind of stuff, head for the hills ***




For a long time he clung to her, his body shaking against
hers, his face buried in her hair. For a long time there was
nothing but the sound of his pulse pounding through his head
as his mind hazily registered that her arms were wrapped
around his waist, her breasts soft against his solar plexus so
that her heart seemed to beat in his belly, like stage fright.

He was painfully erect and Scully knew it; he could feel her
stomach pressed firmly against his cock. He'd been hard since
she'd thrown the ice bucket against the wall, despite himself,
despite the fact that he knew he was aroused by her rage, by
his own violent impulses.

Scully knew this too.

And still she forgave him.

She always forgave him.

The tears broke at last, and he cried as he had cried only once
before, one night when he was 12, a night just like this one
when it was already too late, great wracking sobs that shook
him as he rubbed his face in her hair.

For a long time, all he could hear was the sound of his own
hoarse voice sobbing the same words over and over again.

"I'm sorry."

For Samantha.

"I'm sorry."

For his father.

"I'm sorry."

For his mother.

"I'm sorry."

For Melissa.

"I'm sorry."

For Scully. Especially for what he'd done to Scully.

For that damn dog, even, because she'd loved it.

For the mess he'd made of both their lives.

He was so tired.

At long last he realized that he'd stopped crying and was
drifting in and out of sleep, swaying against her.

From far away he felt her guide him to the bed, half
supporting his body with her own. His arms tightened around
her and he heard the sheets rustle as she laid down beside
him, felt her move his head gently onto her chest, felt her
fingers in his hair. He buried his nose in her shoulder.

Mulder slept.




When he awoke it was the middle of the night. Something was
missing, and he realized it was Scully.

He sat up with a strangled cry. There was a whisper of bed
sheets and a soft murmur in the dark.

"I'm here, Mulder."

"Where?" he whispered. His heart was pounding.

"Right here." He felt the brush of her hand on his arm. "Lie
down."

Relief flooded his body, and a strange elation.

"I'm wearing all my clothes, Scully."

Her heard her chuckle sleepily.

"So am I, I'm afraid."

"And now the ice bucket's broken."

"Shut up and lie down, Mulder."

Mulder knew better than to disobey a direct order. He sighed
and reached for her.

"No."

It was too dark for a puppy-dog look.

"Why?"

"Because I say so."

"I thought I was the one with a headache, Scully."

"Say good night, Mulder."

"Good night, Mulder."

She snorted, and he laughed delightedly, the sound strange to
his ears, like the laughter of a child, the child he should have
been, once...

He'd never felt this free.

"Scully?"

"What?"

"Did you set the alarm?"

Both of them dissolved in a fit of giggles.

"Just go to sleep, Mulder."

And, incredibly, he did.




When Mulder awoke, the sun was throwing slats of golden light
against the floor and he was alone.

He groaned. He missed her.

At some point she'd removed his jacket and his tie, but still his
pants were bound around his legs and his shirt smelled like
stale sweat.

He had a mother of a hard-on, too, but he was starting to get
used to it.

He caressed himself through the fabric of his pants, and
arched his hips, moaning. He stretched.

Then he curled up into a ball and stared at the motel room
door, where the detritus of his digital alarm clock lay, slain by
Dana Scully, Fearless Timekeeper Killer.

Speaking of which, he had no idea what time it was.

Mulder made a puppet of his right hand and stuck it up to his
nose.

"So," he said conversationally, "are you ready to take care of
our little problem?"

"Sure," he continued in a falsetto, flapping his thumb and
fingers together. "You need it bad, huh?"

"You got that right, my friend."

"That's why I'm your right-hand man, buddy."

"I'll get her one of these days, you know."

"Yeah, well, even if I had lungs instead of a shitload of
fingers, I wouldn't be holding my breath." 

He grinned, rolled out of bed, and headed for the bathroom.




CONTINUED IN PART 7


===========================================================================

From: partous@total.net (Madeleine Partous)
Date: Mon, 3 Jun 1996 08:12:51 -0500
Subject: NEW: Shadow Puppets (7/10)

SHADOW PUPPETS (7/10)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net

"Will Work for Feedback"

DISCLAIMER IN PART 1

*** WARNING: Rated "R": Sexual and homoerotic
references ahead.  ***



His inevitable orgasm was devastating, almost painful, intense
like a teenager's; it left him shattered, gasping, sated.

The funny thing was he'd hardly touched himself; no
convoluted erotic scenario had been required to release him.
All he'd done was realize that Scully had been lying next to
him all night.

"Mulder, my man," he muttered as the warm spray of the
shower ran over his body, "she's making a boy out of you."

Which was fine. 

For now.

But something had changed between them last night,
something the cool Dr. Scully could do nothing about.

She knew.

And he knew that at least at some level, she approved.

Even though it was against regulations, even though they
were partners and friends, she had to grasp somewhere that
there was something more than just a little strange about the
fact that neither of them seemed to need anyone else. That
neither of them seemed to spend any time with anyone else.
That her jealousy, his own, too, if he'd ever let her see it,
was illogical in light of their so-called "professional"
relationship.

When all was said and done, it boiled down to this: she'd felt
his erection and she hadn't run away.

So.

When the time was right, he'd make sure she'd get a chance to
confirm what a big boy he really was.

Assuming, of course, that he survived the confrontation he
could feel hurtling towards him.

But what she'd given him last night was one damn good reason
to try.




Mulder put on his jacket and picked up the cell phone.

"Scully."

"It's me."

"You're up."

He choked down a giggle.

"Yeah. What time is it?"

"What's wrong with your watch?"

His watch. Where the hell was his watch?

"I can't find it."

"It's 10:30."

"Sheesh." Mulder parted the blinds and squinted out at the
deserted parking lot; it was already swimming in the heat.
"You shoulda woke me."

"I figured you needed the sleep."

Her voice wasn't cold, exactly. Just businesslike.

He smiled.

"Whatcha been doin'?"

"Looking over the files, mainly. Alex Krychek has a pretty
interesting history. A real Bureau golden boy, isn't he?"

"Yeah. Did you eat?"

"No." He heard her sigh. "Mulder, I'd kill for a cappuccino
right now."

He chuckled.

"Well, I'll certainly grant your capacity to kill for next to
nothing."

The phone fairly radiated humorous disapproval.

"Tell you what, Scully. I'll buy you a bottomless cup of rotgut
coffee if you'll meet me at the car in 10 minutes."

She sighed again. "Whatever."

"And... Scully?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Silence.

"Scully?"

He distinctly heard a low, throaty laugh. "It was good for me
too, Mulder."

He gaped at the phone as the dial tone buzzed.




Twenty minutes later, Mulder was shovelling down a
cholesterol-laden plate of ham and eggs while Scully sipped
bad coffee and resolutely chewed a ponderous blend of
packaged granola, probably the only concession made by locals
to the America-wide health kick.

"Fresh orange juice in the Midwest, Scully?" he said between
forkfuls as she grimaced through a glass of concentrate. "What
were you thinking?"

She stared pointedly at his plate. "Never mind what that's
doing to your arteries. It's hardly kosher, Mulder."

"What can I say? I'm lapsed."

"You can say that again."

"You know, Scully, that's the kind of meaningless statement
that makes me wonder why you hang with anyone as fabulously
incisive and witty as me."

"Well," she said sweetly, "it must be because the sheer amount
of bullshit you shovel makes me feel breathtakingly clean in
comparison."

He batted his eyelashes at her.

They sat in companionable silence for awhile; apparently, she
was as unwilling as he was to broach the topic of the silo.

"You know," she said finally, "I thought the way you handled
that Alistair guy yesterday was pretty impressive."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, most straight men I know would've gone on about how
they weren't homosexual. You didn't even flinch. In fact, you
let him believe you might actually be gay."

"I don't particularly care what Denton Alistair thinks about my
sexual orientation."

"I know." She smiled at him. "And you're right not to. It's
just that most men don't think that way."

"Are you saying you think I'm gay, Scully?"

"Just because a guy's gay doesn't mean he's not a man,
Mulder."

"You haven't answered my question."

She looked at him. Her eyes were unreadable.

"I think it's fairly obvious you're not gay, Mulder." She
paused with a ghost of a smile. "At least to me."

"Good." He bit into a piece of toast. "Because you'd make one
hell of a pathetic fag hag."




In the end, Mulder was forced to bring up the subject himself
as they waited for the check.

"So now that you know all about Krychek, what do you think?"

She shook her head. "His record is flawless. Everything about
it says he's a model agent."

"Yeah."

"It's hard to believe from what I've read that he'd be involved
in anything this sleazy."

His eyes widened. "I *saw* him, Scully. He as much as
admitted his role in all this when we were in Hong Kong." 

"I know, Mulder. I believe you. But that means they're
covering for him big time."

"Shocking."

Scully gazed at him sympathetically. "You feel betrayed by
him, don't you?"

"No." He met her eyes. "In the end, I never trusted him."

"Why not?"

Mulder shrugged. "He never gave me any reason to."

"He was your partner."

"No. Never that. He was someone I worked with, that's all."

The check arrived and Mulder flashed one of his patented
bedroom smiles at the waitress as he ran his eyes down her
impressive physique. She tossed her head and arched her
back before sauntering away. He turned back to Scully, just
in time to catch a scathing look, and smiled apologetically.

"Besides," he added quickly, "I think he's a faggot."

"*What?*"

"Sorry," Mulder grinned. "I used the word for your benefit.
But actually, I think it's true, that he's gay, that is. And I
think maybe he kind of had the hots for me."

"You really think you're irresistible, don't you?"

"No, not especially. But a guy can tell these things, Scully. I
think he thought I was fighting my true nature or something."

"Really?" She seemed completely fascinated.

"Yeah. Looks like you came back in the nick of time."

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Hey, a guy gets lonely, Scully. And it's not like he wasn't
attractive..."

He took a look at her expression and burst out laughing.

"You know how it is. A couple of drinks, and before you know
it..."

"Really, Mulder. You're not helping your cause as a bastion of
heterosexuality.'

"It's always flattering to be wanted, Scully. You should know
that." He gave her an innocent smile.

She said nothing, but there was a glitter of something in her
eye he'd never seen before.

"Anyway," he added, "he was out of the picture before it
became a problem."

Scully took a deep breath.

"So why do you think he's waiting in the silo?"

Mulder picked up his napkin and began folding it into an
intricate pattern.

"I could've sworn I heard his voice when we were in there."

"Are you sure?"

"No. I just heard a cry. But it sounded like him. And don't
forget, Scully: when I last saw him, he was playing house with
the oil creature."

"You don't have any proof of that."

"Except for the fact that I was with him for hours and he was
acting weird as hell -- even for him. I mean, all traces of the
perfect little Agent Krychek had vanished, Scully. He was like
a robot."

"But you never saw how the other hosts acted when they were
under the influence of the creature, Mulder."

It was true. He shrugged. "All I know is he wasn't the same
guy I used to know. And anyway, why was my car driven off
the road? Who were those two men I saw coming towards the
car? And why did Krychek disappear without a trace while I
was unconscious? "

Scully tapped a spoon against her cup.

"That's not even the point," she said tersely. "What I want to
know is why you were left there -- alive. If Krychek was
hosting the oil creature, why didn't it kill you like it did all
the others?"

Mulder stared at the napkin. He'd thought about that one too,
long and hard. And he wasn't sure what to do with the only
answer he could come up with.

"Maybe Krychek really did have the hots for me, Scully."

She stopped tapping and looked at him.

"So you're saying he spared your life because he's attracted to
you?"

"I dunno. I just can't come up with any other explanation."

"And you think they caught him and stuck him in that silo?"

He said nothing.

"Why, Mulder?"

"Maybe Cancerman just couldn't bring himself to kill a valuable
operative. Maybe he didn't know how."

"So they stuck him in that silo for no apparent reason and then
just left him there?"

"If he's hosting the creature, they may not have known what
to do with him. I mean, it survived under gallons of water for
decades. It can't be easy to kill."

"How could Krychek have survived in that place all this time,
Mulder?"

"I told you, Scully. I don't think he's human anymore."

They stared at each other across the table.

Finally, Scully sighed. "So what are we gonna do?"

"I want to go and see if he's there. I have to find out what he
knows."

"You realize I'm going with you."

His eyes closed for a moment.

"I'd rather you didn't."

"That's too bad," she said pleasantly. "You're not leaving me
behind. Not this time. Not ever again."

Mulder smiled.

"Okay, Milady. But you have to do what I say once we're
there."

She glared at him.

"Either we agree, Scully, or we're heading back to Washington
right now. And believe me: I'll find a way to sneak off on my
own later."

Her eyes were like two chips of blue ice.

"Don't make me pull rank on you, Scully..." All the light
banter had left his tone.

She laughed harshly. "Yeah, right. At the rate you're going,
Mulder, you'll be taking orders from *me* before you know it."

All he could do was to look at her. He knew she could read his
eyes, and he knew what she saw there.

Fear.

Pain.

Worry.

And something that looked like love.

The anger drained from her face.

"Okay, Mulder," she said grimly. "We'll play it by your rules.
This time."

He nodded. He wasn't sure he liked the sound of that, but it
would do for now. 

"Let's go."




It moved.

He was coming.

It could feel him.

But he was bringing that other with him. It could feel the steel
of her mind, her iron resolve, the humidity of her, of her love
for him.

It had told him to come alone. It had even sent pain to warn
him.

Now he would have to be punished.

To punish him, it would hurt her.

And then it would destroy him.

That was what it had been ordered to do.

But the cigarette man had promised it could have him first...

It would have him first.

It moaned in the darkness.




CONTINUED IN PART 8


===========================================================================

From: partous@total.net (Madeleine Partous)
Date: Tue, 4 Jun 1996 09:46:50 -0500
Subject: NEW: Shadow Puppets (8/10)

SHADOW PUPPETS (8/10)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net


Thanks to everyone who's suffering through this thing with
me. I appreciate all the feedback, guys -- I really do. If you
feel like it, keep it coming, pro and con. Keeps me greased.


DISCLAIMER IN PART 1


WARNING: Rated "R"


As they bumped along the road, past the ranchers' houses --
they'd become something of an event around the place, two
close-lipped overly dressed FBI agents, one of whom got ill for
no reason, both of whom were clearly engaged in orchestrating
yet another coverup that was bound to be featured on
"Sightings" early next season -- Mulder couldn't help
wondering what the hell they were doing out here, really.

Even the man at the cash register in the greasy spoon had
given him a knowing look as he rang up their breakfast.
Mulder had bitten down the urge to ask him what he knew that
Mulder himself didn't know, because quite honestly, he felt
like he was taking Scully into the First Circle of Hell.

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

He was very frightened.

He wished, more than anything, that Scully wasn't sitting next
to him.

He knew that was part of the problem.

She was his partner. She had every right to be there.

But he'd used the fact that an intimate relationship between
them would give their enemies greater power over them to skirt
the issue of how much he wanted an intimate relationship with
her.

And somewhere along the way, he'd missed the fact that they'd
crossed that particular line a long time ago.

He worried about her as much as if they were actually a
couple.

He wanted to protect her. Keep her from danger.

Which was precisely the reason partners weren't allowed to
"fraternize."

Because when that line was crossed, there was no way either
partner could stay objective. Both would inevitably spend all
their time trying to save each other. At the expense of the
case itself, even.

Except that Mulder wondered how any human being could avoid
falling into that trap.

It had nothing to do with sex.

Hell, he'd panic about the safety of a pungent, balding middle-
aged male partner if he was a nice enough guy.

And how could you help caring for a person you trusted with
your life over and over again?

It was unavoidable.

It was the system's fatal flaw.

Mulder pursed his lips.

The fact was that the Bureau had insured their loyalty by
taking everything else from them except each other.

They were as good as married.

And the FBI had performed the ceremony.

Under the circumstances, he mused as they rattled by Denton
Alistair's spread, why shouldn't they consummate the damn
thing if they felt like it?

He just hoped they'd get the chance.




"Mulder."

He glanced over at her. They were about 20 minutes away from
the silo site.

Her freckles stood out in sharp relief on her skin. Funny;
they weren't usually that obvious. Then he realized they
jumped out at him because she was deathly pale.

He pumped the brake. "What's wrong, Scully?"

He saw her throat move as she swallowed.

"I don't feel well."

The car stopped. He hit the seat belt clip and turned to her.

She was pressed up against the door. Her eyes were wide,
terrified. A sheen of fine perspiration had broken across her
forehead.

"Mulder..."

He reached out and squeezed her shoulders, drawing her
towards him. She tensed, resisting him; her hands flew out
and pushed against his chest.

"No..." Her voice was shrill. "Don't..."

He let her go. She drew up against the door and buried her
face in her hands.

"What is it, Scully? Please? Tell me." He stopped trying to hide
the panic in his voice.

"There's... There's someone in my head." Her voice was
muffled.

"Who?"

"A man," she whispered, looking up at him. She was shaking;
her eyes were filmed with fear, but there was outrage there
too, good clean anger. "He hates me, Mulder. God. So much
hatred..." 

She moaned and shoved her fists against her eyes as she began
to rock against the seat.

"Scully..."

"God. Oh, God." He could hear her strain to maintain control.

"Don't give in to it, Scully."

She rocked.

"Fight it," he hissed. "Fight back. Don't let him win."

Her breath sobbed in her throat; she moaned and cried out as
she swayed back and forth, her head lolling back, her face
streaked with tears.

She looked like a woman riding a man at the height of her
passion.

She looked like a woman utterly given over to the agony of
labour. 

She looked like a woman ripped apart by the loss of a child.

Mulder was transfixed by the sight of her struggle.

He felt a blind, primitive rush of desire as he stared at her.
He wanted to take her, rape her, claim her, save her. He
wanted to wrench her away from whatever was doing this to
her.

And part of him, the coherent part, knew that some of this was
his own impulse, his own need, his own lust, his desire to
protect her at any cost.

But that same part of him recognized that the violence he felt
did not belong to him.

It was a violence that tainted all that was noble in him.

It belonged to another.

"Krychek," he whispered.




At long last she was still. When she raised her head, he saw
that she had won.

This time.

"You okay?" He'd sat and let her duke it out, but it had taken
every ounce of control he had.

Her voice was raw. "It was him."

"I know."

"He's there, Mulder."

"I know."

"You felt him too, didn't you? That migraine." She took a deep
breath, but he was stunned by how normal she looked.

"There's something about this equation he doesn't like,
Scully."

"You mean you and me."

He nodded.

Scully leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes.
Strands of her hair, made a deep brown by her sweat, stuck
damply to her forehead. He fought the urge to smooth them
away.

"He wants you there alone, Mulder."

He nodded again.

"Well," he said calmly, "it looks like he's in for a big
disappointment."

Her eyes snapped open and she turned her head to gaze at
him.

It was hard to acknowledge.

But he needed her. He couldn't do it by himself.

When had he forgotten that Modell had already shown him that?

He couldn't protect her. It wasn't even his place to try. She'd
fought Krychek off just fine, better than he could've himself,
probably.

If anything, he needed her to save his sorry ass.

"I think maybe the combination of the two of us is our greatest
strength."

"He hates me, Mulder. It's you he wants."

"Hey. Love me, love my partner, Scully."

She smiled, fully. It was such a rare and infectious sight that
he couldn't stop himself from smiling back.

"Not literally, I hope."

"Who knows?" Why in God's name did he suddenly feel so
carefree when they were poised at the brink of disaster? "The
night's young, and so are we."

He grinned.

"You're a lunatic, Mulder. You know that?"

He shrugged.

"Takes one to know one, Scully."

The car roared to life as he turned the key.




CONTINUED IN PART 9 


===========================================================================

From: partous@total.net (Madeleine Partous)
Date: Thu, 6 Jun 1996 20:39:27 -0500
Subject: NEW: Shadow Puppets (9a/10) *NC-17*

SHADOW PUPPETS (9/10) *** NC-17 ***

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net

"Will Work for Feedback"

DISCLAIMER IN PART 1

**********************************************************
NC-17 WARNING: This chapter is rated NC-17. Contains
sexually explicit material, profanity and disturbing imagery
which may be shocking and/or offensive to some. Please read
only if you are over 18 years of age and have understood and
accepted this warning.
**********************************************************


The silos wavered against the washed-out blue of the sky as
the car crested a slow rise.

It was a forlorn, ominous sight, despite the brightness of the
day.

"They look just the same," Mulder said. He had the beginnings
of a headache, but this time he was pretty sure it was just
tension. If Krychek was waiting for them, he was being quiet
about it.

For now.

"Yeah. Except the trucks are gone."

She was right. The site looked stripped of all life, although it
was hard to explain how, and Scully's almost imperceptible
shudder told him she shared the impression. Mulder half
expected to see tumbleweed roll by, brambles snagging on the
dust-smothered skulls of long-horn steer. He sighed. Too
much bad late-night TV.

He glanced at Scully.

"How're you feelin'?"

"I'm fine, Mulder."

Those words again. He studied her surreptitiously.

She actually did look fine. In fact, Mulder suspected she
looked better than he did.

Of course, she almost always looked better than he did.

"Mulder, why d'you stop the car?"

"Me?"

She looked at him.

"Aren't we going down there?"

Mulder smiled sheepishly and gave her his best between-the-
sheets pout. He needed a couple of minutes to get his courage
up.

"What's the rush, Scully? Let's just sit in the car and neck for
a while."

She knew exactly why he'd stopped the car.

"Are you saying we've run out of gas?" Her face was
incredulous but her Irish eyes were smiling. 

"Are you nuts? The air conditioner wouldn't work if we'd run
out of gas. Believe me, even if you agreed to take all your
clothes off, it still wouldn't be worth it."

"Thanks a lot, Mulder."

"It would almost be worth it, you understand."

"Well, now it's too cold in here for me to take all my clothes
off."

He stared at her. She smiled mischievously.

"You know, Scully, I could blast the heat for a minute or
two..."

She sighed. Then she met his eyes seriously. For a long
moment, their gazes locked. Mulder didn't quite know what
expression he was wearing, but whatever it was, she seemed
to understand it. She reached out and touched his hand
briefly.

"Drive the car, Mulder. We don't want to keep Krychek waiting
- -- he doesn't seem in the best of moods."

Mulder laughed. He could feel her tension and his own, their
mutual apprehension, but what he also felt, maybe for the first
time, is that they were completely together on this one. It had
happened before, a couple of times, hints of a robust
solidarity when it mattered most, but this time he could feel
the intensity of the link between them as if it were a physical
thing.

Why was it he couldn't stop thinking it was the only thing that
might save their lives? 

"Use the force, Mulder," he muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing."

The car lurched towards the second silo on the right.




They stood on either side of the rusted, peeling door, guns up
and ready, as they had once before, all those months ago.
Mulder could feel his heart pounding through his arms, his
legs. Scully's eyes were cold, intent, already at home in those
dark empty hallways.

He swallowed.

He wished he wasn't this frightened; he rarely was.

But he'd understood from the moment he'd reopened this case
that there was something here he might not be prepared to deal
with.

Something terribly personal.

He didn't know how he knew, but he knew.

Mulder wasn't scared of Krychek. He wasn't even scared of
dying.

Scully was right. In a way, he'd always wanted to die.
Although now he wasn't so sure.

Still, it didn't scare him.

The truth was, he was scared of the truth.

He was terrified that he just might find it, and that it would
turn out to be unbearable.

"Now."




There was no point in breaking down the door; Krychek,
whatever he'd become, already knew they were there.

Scully left it ajar; he understood her impulse. A single ray of
sunlight carved a slice to the ground.

Mulder snapped on his sodium flashlight and saw the brilliant
beam from Scully's intersect his own. It was an eerie light, too
bright by far, and it made everything around it seem darker
still. But it exposed whatever it hit, and at this point they
couldn't afford to let anything skitter away into the shadows.

"Should we split up?"

Scully's whisper seemed deafening in the silence. Little eddies
of dust, raised by the searing air they'd let in, twisted and
glowed white in the light of their beams.

The dust was the only thing that moved.

"No," he breathed. "Not this time."




Their eyes adjusted slowly in the uniform black, and the
flashlights didn't help. Mulder was tempted to turn them off,
but he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

They walked softly, on the balls of their feet, both of them, in
silent agreement. For the first time in all the similar situations
they'd faced over the years, Mulder had to fight off an almost
overwhelming urge to reach for Scully's hand.

Great, he thought. Just like a prime-time movie of the week.

They'd entered the complex of tunnels under the silo. Their
beams searched the walls, the ceilings, bouncing off corners
and revealing just in time where corridors branched off in new
directions.

Mulder really didn't want to come up suddenly on any corner.

A sound.

He drew up with a sharp intake of breath, and Scully bumped
into his back.

Mulder turned his light to his face quickly and pressed a
finger against his lips.

It came again.

An impossibly moist sound in all this brittle dryness.

Mulder shot a glance at Scully and saw her eyes gleam wide in
the glow of her light.

It sounded exactly like a wet towel being slapped against a
wall.

Then he heard a damp gurgle, as though air was being forced
through an encrusted pipe, and then, incredibly, the
grotesque parody of a voice, a voice that might have been
human once, a long time ago.

It was trying to sing.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are..."

Something in Mulder's mind reeled.

"And meet the young fella..."

A long rattling breath was suddenly drowned out by what had
to be a cough, except it sounded exactly like the sound a piece
of decaying meat might make if you dropped it to the floor.

"Who fell from a star..."

Another wet cough, followed by what, if interpreted by a
raving madman, might have been described as laughter.

Mulder heard a moan. He turned wild eyes on Scully to comfort
her before he realized it had come from him.

He spun forward again.

"Krychek." It came out as a harsh whisper.

The wet towel sound was getting closer.

Mulder cleared his throat; it felt smothered in dust.

"Krychek? That you?" His voice sounded shockingly normal.

"Hey." A wet hiss. "Hey, Mulder. Old buddy."

Another rattling breath and a breathless giggle.

"Hey. Nice of you to drop by."

Mulder found himself backing up. Scully moved to his side and
followed him. He could hear her laboured breathing next to his
shoulder.

"But really." The sound was almost at the corner, just beyond
Mulder's line of sight.

"Really, Mulder."

A smell like raw sewage and rot assailed his nostrils, and he
choked, slapping a hand to his nose and mouth. Mulder felt his
bladder constrict. Please don't let me piss myself, dear God,
please. Anything but that right now. He heard Scully gag as
her hand clutched at his jacket. Her hands reached out and for
a moment he didn't know why.

She was aiming her gun. Badly.

"You shouldna brought the bitch."

And then what was left of Krychek turned the corner.



CONTINUED IN PART 9b

===========================================================================

From: partous@total.net (Madeleine Partous)
Date: Thu, 6 Jun 1996 20:47:51 -0500
Subject: NEW: Shadow Puppets (9b/10) *NC-17*

SHADOW PUPPETS (9b/10) *** NC-17 ***

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net

"Will Work for Feedback"

DISCLAIMER IN PART 1

**********************************************************
NC-17 WARNING: This chapter is rated NC-17. Contains
sexually explicit material, profanity and disturbing imagery
which may be shocking and/or offensive to some. Please read
only if you are over 18 years of age and have understood and
accepted this warning.
**********************************************************



Mulder's eyes were tearing with the smell, but as
overwhelming as it was, it paled in comparison to what he saw
on the floor in front of him.

"Don't shoot, Scully," he whispered harshly.

"What?" Her voice was shrill, shocked.

"Not yet."

"Always the gentleman, huh, Mulder?" A ruin of a head,
blistered, running with open sores that glistened dully in the
light he'd turned on it, lifted itself unsteadily from the floor
where the rest of the shapeless mockery of a human form lay.
Unimaginably, a ruin of a mouth seemed to be emitting words.
One huge milky white eye bulged down over a swollen cheek;
the other was yellow but still an unmistakable pupil glittered.
Sausage-like hands oozed a kind of clear pus as they pushed
against the floor for leverage.

Mulder almost whimpered. There was an actual goddam trail of
fucking slime behind the thing.

Only matted black hair and that one eye revealed that this
wreck before them was, in fact, Alex Krychek.

And that one eye made it clear there was nothing remotely sane
left in there at all.

Then the yawning mouth opened hugely, strands of saliva or
pus or something which didn't bear close examination running
between cracked lips and teeth.

It laughed again, wetly.

Scully moaned, dropped her gun and fell to her knees,
clutching her head.

"Mulder..."

He reached for her, crouching. "Leave her alone, Krychek."

"Shouldna brought her, man. Toldya."

She screamed suddenly and he tried to grab her gun as it fell,
but his flashlight knocked it off into the shadows.

He reached for his own.

"Do it and she dies."

Scully cried out and threw her head back. Trickles of blood
were seeping from her nose, the corners of her eyes.

"Stop it, Krychek." His voice was high as he clutched her; he
knew he sounded frenzied, helpless, but he didn't give a shit
what the fucking thing thought of him.

"Hey. Anything for an old friend." A low wheeze sent another
mindnumbing miasmic wave of sewage smell towards them.

"Just don't use the gun, okay?"

Mulder nodded, his eyes pleading.

Scully moaned and leaned against him, breathing harshly.

"Awwwwwww." That smell. "So touching." It actually managed
to drawl.

"So you see, old man," it continued. "That's how they left me.
Bummer, huh?"

"Who did this to you, Krychek?" Anything to buy some time.

His arm had snaked around Scully's shoulder and he tugged at
her. It was impossible to stay down near the floor at this
thing's level. He'd go out of his mind if they did.

She rose with him, shakily.

He didn't know how badly she was hurt, but the fact that she
could stand sent a rush of relief through him. He'd pay later
for the guilt.

"Oh, you know. Aliens, FBI -- the usual suspects. That thing
in Hong Kong... pretty nasty number. It went away, finally,
but you might say it left me a little worse for wear."

It chuckled thickly.

"And you know those G-men, Mulder. Boy, talk about fleeting
loyalties. And after everything I did for them, too."

It grinned again, laying its head back on the ground with its
good eye up. Mulder closed his eyes.

"What's the matter, Mulder? Did all this time underground ruin
my good looks? Come on, you can tell me. I'm man enough to
take it."

Mulder shuddered and turned to Scully, murmuring nonsense
words to her, touching her face, and leaned her against the
wall.

"Try to stand there, Scully," he whispered. "I'll get us out of
here."

He could feel her strength. She was still with him.

"It's too bad, because I think you kinda used to like me a
little." Its breath rattled.

"I know I liked *you*." His suety voice was trying vainly for seduction.

Mulder leaned a hand against the wall.

"Hear that, princess?" Scully raised her head. "In the old
days, before my little accident, your boyfriend and me coulda
been a pretty hot item."

He shook his head. "It's not true."

"No, no, no. Because you're not like that, are you?"

"No."

"Well, under the circumstances, I can sympathize. If it's her
you want..." Krychek's breathing became more laboured.

"Then by all means, have her."

Mulder gasped as a red-hot river of lust ran through his body.
It stabbed through him and pooled at his centre. His erection
was so sudden, so unequivocal, that he groaned and bent
double, clutching himself.

"See? You want it, Mulder."

"You..." he spat the words out through his teeth. "You're
doing this to me."

"Hey, what are friends for?"

It raised it head again, a strand of something clinging to the
floor.

"Now take her. Although I can't say much for your taste."

"No..."

"I said, take her."

Searing white-hot pain cut through his head.

He couldn't think. He couldn't think at all.

Anything. Anything to make it stop.

The flashlights lay askew on the floor, sending crazy beams
against the wall. Mulder, still doubled over, grabbed one and
pointed it at Scully. It caught her as she stood. Her hair hung
over her face.

He looked up at her through a lock of his own hair and heard
her gasp when she saw the look in his eyes.

"Please..." he hissed. "Scully. Help me..."

He rose up and leaned against her.

He could feel her gasp against his chest as his lips caressed
her hair. He pressed his hips against her, rotating them
slowly.

He couldn't think. He just knew he had to have her.

"Mulder, don't."

"Mulder, don't. Mulder, don't." Krychek cackled.

His hands roamed over her body, clutching her breasts, her
groin. He pressed his lips against her throat, darting his
tongue against her flesh, bone white in the spotlight. Then he
moved his face up over hers, licking her eyebrows, her
hairline, her cheeks. His breath sang in his throat.

She pushed at his chest and turned her face away, towards the
creature that had once been Krychek. Mulder's tongue was hot in
her ear, lapping, his hips moving against her as he groaned.

Then she stood stock still and looked at the thing on the floor.

"No."

Mulder moaned, still thrusting against her, but something in
her tone slashed through the madness.

"I won't let you do this to him. Or to me."

The shape on the floor moved wetly, propping itself up on its
hands once again to fix her with its good eye.

"Try stopping me, babe."

"You can make him do this, but I won't allow you to turn it into
rape."

Mulder nuzzled against her ear, his hand rubbing her breast.
She arched against him as she stood calmly, her eyes bright.

"He can have me."

Her smile was triumphant.

"Because *I* say so."

The wreck on the floor seemed to wobble for a moment.

Scully turned back to Mulder's and wound her fingers in his
hair. She was still smiling. He stared at her, whimpering. She
reached up and found his mouth with her own.

His tongue plunged through her lips, his teeth clashing
against hers. He gasped in her mouth as he felt her unbuckle
his belt. He heard the sound of a zipper -- his, he realized
dazedly, and another, hers. Her jeans and panties dropped to
the floor and she kicked them off almost lazily.

"No." It was Krychek. Suddenly, its voice sounded completely
ineffectual, as though it came from a great distance.

She held Mulder's cock in his hands and he cried out, clutching her
to him. Her hands guided his larger ones to her buttocks, and
he raised her off the floor in one motion.

"No! Stop!" The rattle grew louder and there was an agitated
sound like a mop flipflopping against the floor. Mulder barely
noticed.

He was inside her. Her eyes closed and he shuddered as he
felt her give herself to him, body and mind. She was wet. He
pushed against her desperately, his lips curled against her
throat. It seemed impossible, demented in this setting, but
they were one, absolutely one, defiantly one, and nothing
could come between them.

Nothing could tear them apart.

"Stop it or I'll kill you! I'll kill her! Do you hear me, Mulder?"

He felt her rise and he followed. Their life force seemed to
merge, the sheer power of it drowning out Krychek's presence
in his brain, until he knew he was alone, alone with Scully, at
last.

She cried out sharply as she came, and he gasped in her ear,
pumping wildly as all his fear, his madness, his self-hatred,
drained out of him.

After a moment, he raised his head shakily and looked into her
eyes. They were as filled with wonder as he knew his had to
be. He kissed her once, softly, chastely, and lowered her to
the ground.

Mulder bent and raised his pants, buckling his belt. He turned
to the thing on the floor. It had crawled closer.

He wasn't scared of it at all.

His mind was closed to it now. Both their minds were.

It was just a wreck of a human being, pathetic, lonely, hurt.
It had meant well once, in its own way; it had loved, and it had
been betrayed.

Mulder could get behind that.

"You're right. I feel much more relaxed now." He heard Scully
chuckle as she pulled her jeans up.

Mulder smiled. What  a woman.

The look on the creature's face was baleful as Mulder crouched
in front of it.

"Now you're gonna tell me why you killed my father."

"But Mulder," it said ingratiatingly, almost conversationally.

It knew it had lost, somehow, but it didn't know how, and it
wasn't sure what.

"Don't you know?"

It smiled with its gash of a mouth.

"You're father's not dead."




Scully touched his shoulder; he turned to her as she sniffed
the air.

It was hard to believe that anything could cut through this
thing's odour, but above it all, Mulder caught an
unmistakable, familiar whiff.

Sweet Jesus.

It was the smell of a burning cigarette.




CONTINUED IN PART 10


===========================================================================

From: Madeleine Partous <partous@total.net>
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: Shadow Puppets (10a/10)
Date: Tue, 11 Jun 1996 09:50:04 -0700


SHADOW PUPPETS (10a/10)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net


DISCLAIMER IN PART 1

*** Some profanity ahead. ****





Mulder froze.

He felt Scully tense beside him and heard the Krychek thing
slither backwards. It gurgled miserably.

Oh, God. Mulder flinched. How much had the bastard seen?

A hot flush stole up his neck and claimed his face, and he
thanked God for the darkness. Scully rubbed her eyes; he
could sense her embarrassment, her fear, the quickening of
her pulse. In fact, he realized that he could feel everything
she was feeling, as though she'd remained an extension of him.
It was positively uncanny. 

Right now, he was grateful for it.

A low chuckle came from the shadows.

And then the unmistakable sound of clapping.

Mulder grit his teeth as Scully expelled a sharp breath.

The man they called Cancerman emerged from obscurity into
the pool of light cast by Scully's flashlight.

He was still clapping, a cigarette held tightly between thin
smiling lips, tendrils of smoke coiling up towards the ceiling.

"Very nice performance, Agent Mulder. Agent Scully."

He nodded in her direction.

"Actually, I think you deserve all the accolades, Doctor.
He..." the older man gestured at Mulder "...was just doing
what he was told."

He smiled and grasped his cigarette in a thumb and forefinger.

"You, on the other hand, acted above and beyond the call of
duty. Very impressive."

Scully fixed him with a stare, but Mulder could feel her body
press against his.

"You know," she said coolly, "I think that's the most I've ever
heard you say in one sitting."

The man smiled again. "Ah, but that's because you've never
been privy to the conversations between Agent Mulder and
myself. I've talked a lot to *you*, haven't I, son?"

"Don't call me that," Mulder said thinly. He tensed forward
just as Scully's hand landed on the small of his back, clutching
his jacket gently. He swayed back and clenched his fists.

There was the wet sound of Krychek slurping against the
floor, and a gasping, pleading sound. Amazing how easy it was
to ignore the poor pathetic son of a bitch now. Mulder threw a
quick glance over his shoulder and hurriedly turned forward
again.

Looking at it didn't get any easier.

He jabbed his head towards the wreck behind him.

"So that's how you reward the people who help you?"

The man shrugged.

"He received many, shall we say, perks for the chances he
took. He knew what the risks were."

Scully snorted. "I'm sure he wasn't anticipating this kind of
send-off in his worst nightmares."

The thing moved wetly behind them. Mulder cringed at the
sound.

"We all have to pay, Agent Scully."

He slowly raised his cigarette to his lips.

"We're all just puppets here. You. Krychek. Even me. Puppets
in the shadows. We're just playing the parts we've been
assigned. Even this bond between the two of you, this thing
you have..."

He gestured vaguely towards the wall. Mulder blushed hotly
and threw a glance at Scully. Her eyes never wavered from the
sallow face in front of her.

"... is all part of the program. All of it was planned before
you even met."

Scully breathed in. "That's not possible."

"Oh, it's more than possible, Agent Scully. It's the truth."

"Who's pulling the strings?" Mulder's voice was tight.

The man shook his head, dropping his cigarette to the floor
and grinding it out with a heel.

"I think you already suspect the answer to that, my boy." He
looked up, his eyes suddenly cold and glittering in the half
light. "You were chosen before you were born. So was your
sister."

Mulder lunged forward suddenly, his hand fumbling at his hip
for his gun.

"You bastard. What are you implying, you fucking son of a
bitch?"

"Temper, temper." There was no trace of fear in him. "She
was taken for a reason. You were left for a reason. That's
all."

Scully leaned against him. He was shaking, but he could feel
the blaze of her will through his skin.

"You see? You've been given something in return. Something
you may not even deserve. But it's the only thing that can
save you. The only thing that can save either of you."

The man drew another cigarette out of a crumpled pack and
tucked it leisurely into his mouth. He smiled at Scully.
Unimaginably, his smile was warm, even tender.

Mulder's mind screamed.

It was Scully's turn to tremble against him. She moaned softly
and turned her face against his shoulder. For a moment only.
Then she was facing the smoking man again, her spine
straight.

A match flared in the shadows.

"So what you're saying," she said curtly, "is that despite
regulations, no one's going to come between Agent Mulder and
me?"

He laughed, expelling a cloud of smoke. "Come between you?
My dear, this is what we've been waiting for! It's too funny,
really. I mean, what does it take?"

His eyes actually twinkled. Mulder's shoulders knotted. He
wanted to shoot the bastard so badly it actually hurt.

"Who are you," he hissed, moving forward a step. "What's
your name?

The man looked at him calmly. "What would you do with my
name if you had it, Fox?"

Mulder blanched. "Don't."

"Would you use it to access files about me? You'd find nothing.
The name means nothing to you. It means something to a
handful of people, that's all. When all's said and done, Fox..."

Mulder felt his stomach coil.

"...it's not what I'm called that matters. It's what I do."

There was a sudden flurry of movement. Three shots rang out
in quick succession, so swiftly that Mulder only had time to
throw Scully against the wall and cover her body completely
with his own. He wrapped his arms around her, rocking
against her, waiting for the hot lead to rip through his back,
his head. There was a moment of orgiastic surrender as he
smothered her against him; she was safe, oh God, she was
safe, no bullet could reach her through his flesh. She fought
him, tearing at his shirt, hissing in his ear.

"Let me go. Mulder! What's happening?"

He pressed against, her, waiting.




Slowly it dawned on Mulder that he was still alive. He drew
back and took in Scully's withering look before an appalling
sound registered in his ear.

It was the death rattle of something.

Something behind him.

It was Krychek.

It lay in a pool of blood, its shapeless frame quivering, flailing
against the floor.

Mulder had absolutely forgotten about it. About him.

He turned to the cigarette-smoking man, his eyes wide.

The gun had already vanished.

The man's face was expressionless, except for the damn
cigarette he still had stuck in his maw.

"He'd done his job, Agent Mulder. I put him out of his
misery." His eyes settled on Scully for a moment before
travelling back to Mulder's face. There was something
indescribable in his expression.

Sorrow.

Loss.

A plea.

"I only hope, when the time comes, that someone will do the
same for me."

He lowered his head for a moment and crushed out his
cigarette.

Mulder was on him in a flash, his hands around his neck. He
threw him against the wall as he had in the hospital what
seemed like years ago.

The man just looked at him, his head rolling against the wall.

"Mulder! Stop." Scully was against him, grasping his arms. He
shrugged her off.

"Tell me, you bastard," he spat. "Who are the puppet
masters?"

The other man's voice came out in a gasp, but once again there
was no fear in him. None at all.

"You've already seen them."

"*Who* are they?" His hands tightened around the older man's
throat so that he choked, spittle bubbling to his lips. "What
power do they have?"

Vaguely, as though from a great distance, he felt Scully's fists
against his back.

"They have *all* the power."

Mulder shook him.

"It's colonization, Mulder. They're masterminding the whole
damn thing."

Mulder let him go. He clenched at his throat, coughing.

"And what about you? What's your place in all this?"

"I'm just a puppet," the man gasped, but his eyes were clear,
collected.

Mulder stared at him, his face inches away.

"My father?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Are you my father?" Mulder lay one hand against the other
man's throat.

"None of it matters now. Now there's only you and Agent
Scully. And Samantha."

Mulder's fingers tightened.

"And that's only if you can find her in time."

"What about Skinner," he whispered through his teeth.

The man laughed shakily. "Skinner? His only role was to keep
you alive."

"Who tried to stop him? You?"

"The line is blurred, Mulder. Some mornings I'm not even sure
whose side I'm on." His eyes were lit with laughter.

Mulder's lips came dangerously close to his. It seemed to get
his attention.

"Where's Samantha?" Mulder could smell the stale smoke, the
rotten odour of him. But no fear. Still -- no fear.

"She knows it all." Mulder felt his rancid whisper against this
lips. "She's been altered. But she knows everything."

"Altered how?" His breath was silken.

"Find her, Fox. I don't know..." the man's ashen jowls shook
for a fleeting second. "I don't know where she is. I only know
she's alive. I saw her."

"I should kill you..."

He felt Scully's arms wrap themselves around his elbow, felt
her tugging at him, felt her head against his shoulder.

He drew back, but their eyes remained locked.

"Are you an enemy?" His words echoed in the vast, empty
space.

The man stayed against the wall. His hand reached down into
his pocket and Mulder felt Scully's hand snake under his
jacket, followed instantaneously by the sound of a safety being
drawn back.

She was pointing his gun right at the other man's face.

He smiled. His hand withdrew, holding a pack of cigarettes.

"Yes."

Scully's hands were absolutely steady. "Are you a friend?"

Mulder looked at her.

The expression on the man's face was soft.

"Yes."

She kept the gun pointed at his head.

He smiled faintly.

"Leave now. Before they find that." He pointed at what was
left of Krychek.

Mulder's eyes had never left her. She met them and raised the
gun.

"Let's go, Mulder." She bent, picked up a flashlight, and
headed down the corridor the way they'd come.

The man had lit another cigarette. His eyes were unreadable.

Mulder turned on his heel and followed his partner out of the
silo.




CONTINUED IN PART 10b



===========================================================================

From: Madeleine Partous <partous@total.net>
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: Shadow Puppets (10b/10) *** NC-17 ***
Date: Tue, 11 Jun 1996 09:50:45 -0700


SHADOW PUPPETS (10b/10)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net


Well, folks, this is the last instalment. Unfortunately for all of
us, I'm afraid a sequel's coming.

Thanks to everyone who kept in touch -- it really helped. Feel
free to tell me what you think of the damn thing now that it's
over at last. Closure. You know.


DISCLAIMER IN PART 1

**********************************************************
WARNING: This chapter is rated NC-17 for M/S sex within an
actual viable -- I hope -- plotline.
**********************************************************


Mulder wordlessly handed the keys to Scully.

Dear God, how did she manage to stay so strong? He felt
deconstructed, as though he'd been taken apart piece by
piece.

Right now he couldn't think. He couldn't afford to.

As long as Scully acted sane, he knew he'd be all right. She'd
help him find a centre in the midst of all this madness.

Wouldn't she?

After a while, she reached over and drew the seatbelt over his
chest, buckling it. He felt her hands brushing lightly,
efficiently, over him.

He leaned his face against the window as she started the car.

The now-familiar landscape rolled by, parched and sun-
gnawed, but he barely saw it. The passenger side window
reflected Scully's tense profile and Mulder's own inner
landscape, a place he wouldn't want to sell any tickets to right
now.

Puppets in the shadows.

Shadow puppets.

Why wasn't it a big surprise?

Manipulated. All of them. All the way. And for what?

Colonization.

He'd asked the question of X, before he'd realized X was
working for *them.*

X had been using him all along.

X had been trying to recruit him.

Mulder was valuable to them in some way, but he didn't know
how.

He shuddered. Cancerman. Cancerman was their friend?

It seemed impossible. It went against his instincts, against
everything his gut said was the truth.

But he couldn't help remembering how X had been instrumental
in trying to keep him away from Scully during that TV
brainwashing case.

When Scully had turned against him.

When Scully had thought that Mulder was the enemy.

When Scully had tried to kill him.

And X, that son of a bitch, had sent a minion to distract him
from her.

"You've been given something in return," Cancerman had
said. "Something you may not even deserve. But it's the only
thing that can save you."

The only thing that could save him and Scully.

And he'd already had a taste of it.

X had wanted to stop this thing at all costs. He'd tried to rip
them apart.

Because that was the only way he could win.

The only way *they* could win.

The puppet masters.




Mulder came back from a great distance and glanced at Scully.
She stared at the road in front of her, her face blank.

Guilt washed over him, and regret. He still felt the bond
between them; it was stronger than ever. But what had he
done?

"Where are we going?"

She said nothing.

"Scully?"

She stared at the road.

Mulder felt tears against his eyelids again. Jesus Christ, why
did he always feel like crying these days? He took a deep
breath.

"I never wanted it to happen like this."

Still she said nothing.

"You know how I feel, Scully."

His eyes were fixed on her elegant, chiselled profile. The same
woman who'd writhed in his arms less than an hour ago. The
same woman who'd climaxed with him in front of a creature, in
front of...

Mulder closed his eyes.

He'd wanted to undress her slowly. To see all of her spread
before him. To kiss her. To test the resilience of her breasts.
To taste her. To see her open for him like a flower in the
desert.

He'd wanted to feel her gentle hands on him as they quickened
in passion. Her face buried against his naked chest. Her
moisture against his thigh.

In her own time. 

He'd wanted it to take the time it took.

And now he had only this. This undeniable bond, ripped from
the hands of horror, from the face of death. This thing
between the two of them.

"I know, Mulder."

He started, and looked at her.

She smiled at him, her eyes brimming as they had when they'd
faced Modell, a thousand years ago.

She turned back to the road.

"We're going back to the motel."




She'd left him at the door to his room.

She wouldn't look at him.

"Take a shower. I'll be waiting for you."

He wandered through the tacky little space, dropping sweaty
clothes as he went, his mind in a daze.

As he stood in the shower, he felt the water pressure drop and
yelped as the stream ran suddenly cold.

Scully was in the shower in the other room, right next to him.

He sucked in his breath and leaned his dripping head against
the tiles.

They were all that separated him from her.

He moaned against the cold white tiles, his breath leaving a
faint mist as he exhaled.

Right next to her body as she showered.

He'd come twice that day, once alone, once with her, but
despite the chilly water, he felt himself hardening once again.

His lips caressed the tiles.

"Scully," he whispered.

"Scully. I'm here."




He didn't own a bathrobe, so he tested the door between their
rooms stark naked, still dripping, and erect.

He was shy.

But he owed her this moment of vulnerability.

The door was unlocked, of course. He pushed it open.

She was sitting on the bed, nude. The shower had left a sheen
of moisture on her skin.

She was unbelievably beautiful. Her hair was damp, curling in
reds and browns around her face. She wore no makeup. Her
hands were folded modestly in her lap, revealing only a faint
shadow of tawny pubic hair. Her breasts...

Mulder bit his lip.

Her breasts were full, firm, nipples rigid and pointed out
towards him.

He knew she could see that his eyes were caught by them, and
they trembled against her chest a little, causing his cock to
leap. He saw one hand raise for a moment, as if to cover
herself, and then it dropped back to her lap.

He looked up into the astonishing blue of her eyes.

They were electric.

He stood in front of her, letting her eyes roam over his body,
his face, his neck, chest, arms, legs, the hungry rise of his
cock against his belly.

His mouth opened to say something, and she shook her head.

"No."

He closed it.

"Don't talk, Mulder. Not now. There's nothing to say."

Her arms reached for him so that all of her was exposed before
him.

"We'll talk tomorrow."

He took a few steps and knelt before her. One hand smoothed
the hair from her face as he trailed fingers down her cheek.

His lips brushed against hers and she gasped sharply. He
smiled at her.

"Take me," he breathed against her mouth.

Her legs parted, and he fell between them.




Mulder awoke as the full midwestern moon spilled down over
the bed through the venetian blinds.

His arms were wrapped around Scully, and he watched,
enthraled, as the slices of moonlight slid over her body.

She stirred and molded herself against him. He adjusted his
arms, his legs, so that she could nestle closer.

They had been left alone, as Cancerman had promised they
would be, in so many words.

Tomorrow, they would be back in DC.

They were part of somebody's agenda. This thing that we
have, he thought, as he rubbed his lips against her hair, was
part of someone's plan.

But whose? And why?

At one time, Mulder believed that he would have known.

Now he had no idea.

Certainly he'd never thought that anybody would tolerate their
coming together.

But it was true he had an inkling about who was pulling the
strings. He'd even met one of them.

At least one.

But what were they? What did they want?

Colonization.

Somehow, Scully and him, together, were key. That much he
knew. Along with one other.

Samantha.

His arms tightened around Scully; she moved and murmured
against him.

Samantha was out there, somewhere.

He would find her.

They would find her.

His eyes closed.




END


COMING SOON: "The Puppet Masters"