Timeout From The Aliens

TIMEOUT FROM THE ALIENS (1/4)

by Gerry Hill (fox42@ix.netcom.com)

Early March in the suburbs of Washington, D.C.

2:42 PM

Special Agent Fox Mulder wasn't feeling so "Special" at the

moment. He and his FBI partner Dana Scully had been interrogating

a suspect named Daryl Wallup, when Daryl had unexpectedly taken

off like a bat out of hell.

Without more than a glance between them, Scully had gone for the

car to see if she could head the guy off, while Mulder had sighed and

then sprinted after him on foot.

The second back yard that he cut across while in hot pursuit was the

agent's undoing. With a sickening "squoosh" his left foot, encased

in expensive leather wing tips, sank into a large-sized mound of dog

poo.

Swearing horribly, he launched himself with a vengeance at the six-

foot-high wooden fence over which Daryl had just disappeared, but

managed to land badly on the other side. When landing on his left

foot, slick with doggie do, it shot out from under him, and Mulder

wound up flat on his rump, hitting so hard that his teeth hurt. He

couldn't move for a second. Groaning pitifully, he finally rolled

onto his side, wincing at the sharp pain in his back.

The screech of brakes and Scully's voice encouraged him to get to

his feet and limp in that direction, this time discreetly using a gate he

found in the fence.

"Federal agent! Raise your hands and place them on the wall!"

floated to his ears. Ahhh, such a shy, retiring little thing.

Scully glanced over at her approaching partner as she efficiently

frisked the suspect. A frown appeared on her face and she asked,

"What happened to you, Mulder?"

With a dirt-streaked suit, the fragrant substance on his shoe, and a

limp, Mulder supposed that he didn't cut a very suave figure at the

moment.

"Would you believe that I was just abducted by space aliens, joined

them in a huge battle against other, more horrible space aliens, and

then was dropped off here without losing any time?"

"In other words, you fell on your ass."

"That, too."

They spent the next two hours taking care of Wallup's arrest, lock-

up, and the forty-two pounds of paperwork that those things always

seemed to require. Mulder stoically ignored the officers' pinched

noses and "stinky" comments; he had thoroughly scraped his shoe of

all the offending substance he could see, but the memory lingered

on.

Scully insisted on accompanying her stiffly-moving partner up the

front entrance steps to his apartment building, up the elevator, and

down the hall to his apartment, hovering like a mother hen. She was

going on about placing moist heat on his back, taking ibuprofen for

the pain, yadda, yadda, yadda. Mulder was pretty much ignoring

her, and began removing and dropping articles of clothing as he

crossed the room.

First, his shoes. Then, his jacket and tie. Then his shirt. When he

unbuckled his belt and began unzipping his pants, Scully stopped

talking for a second and asked uncertainly, "Mulder, what are you

doing?"

"Shower," he muttered, as he disappeared through a doorway.

Scully shrugged and went to rummage around in his kitchen, looking

for some juice or soda pop, but found nothing she even wanted in

the same room with her, much less drink. And speaking of not

wanting something in the same room with her...she put his shoes

into a plastic bag until they could take care of the odor problem.

As she walked toward his couch, she heard a sharp cry and then a

thud coming from the general direction of the bathroom.

"Mulder?" she called.

No answer, but she heard a groan from behind the door.

"I'm coming in!" she warned, and slowly pushed the door open. It

didn't go far, but bumped against something resilient that responded

with an "Ow!"

Peeking around the edge of the door, Scully saw the profile of a

nude Mulder on his knees, facing the right-hand wall, a white

knuckled left-hand grip on the towel bar above his head, a world of

pain etched on his face, while he swore a blue streak.

"Mulder! What happened?"

Teeth clenched together, he managed, "Well, obviously I'm not

having a religious epiphany here."

"*That* I'm sure of. Not with language like that coming from your

mouth." She squeezed into the small room and crouched behind

him.

"Let me help you, Mulder."

"I don't know how we're going to do this. My back goes into

painful spasms if I move."

"Well, I'll try to support your upper body while you pull on the

towel bar and maybe we can get you upright long enough to make it

to the bed."

Looking dubious about the plan, Mulder hesitantly nodded his

agreement, and then asked, "Could you put a towel around my

waist?" He tried to sound nonchalant about the request, but she

could see he was embarrassed.

"Sure," she replied, secretly wishing he hadn't remembered that he

was naked. Like he would forget that little detail when I'm panting

down the back of his neck here.

She moved her arms around his waist, holding the two ends of the

towel in her hands, and tried tucking one end of the cloth into the

other without being able to see what she was doing. Kneeling

behind him, she was leaning against his broad, nicely muscled back,

intent on properly fastening the makeshift clothing, when he sighed

and murmured, "A little higher, Scully."

She gave a start when she realized just how low she was fastening

the towel, and quickly moved her hands higher, up around his navel.

Thankful that he couldn't see her blushing, she finished the job and

stood.

In a wistful tone of voice, Mulder said, "I really wanted a shower,

and the moist heat would be good for my back. Scully?"

She moved so he wouldn't have to twist his neck to look at her.

"Would you get warm water running in the shower and help me in?"

"I'd have to take a shower with you, then, so I could give you some

support. You could hurt yourself a lot more than you are now if you

fell down in there."

He took her seriously and said, "OK. I'll face the shower head and

hold on to the soap bar while you stand behind me to make sure I

don't fall."

She could only stare at him, at a loss for words. For ten seconds,

anyway.

"Mulder, I doubt that you could even step over the side of the tub,

much less stand there while I wash you down like I would my car."

And the image of a soapy, happy Mulder standing there while she

ran her hands, with a washcloth of course, she quickly added, all

over his body...

A smile tugged at his lips and she knew that he'd seen her reaction.

Coming up with an alternate solution, she said, "OK, how about a

compromise? I could fill the tub with really warm water and you

could lie in it and soak. That would help your back more than a

shower, anyway."

"That wouldn't be as much fun, though," he said, with a look from

under his lashes.

Damn, I wish he wouldn't do that. He thinks it's funny and does it

to tease me, and probably doesn't realize the effect it has.

"Aaaaahhhh!" Mulder's teasing came to an abrupt end when a

particularly vicious spasm hit his lower back, and he went rigid,

suffering through the pain, hoping that the muscle would eventually

be merciful and relax.

Years later, but less than a minute in Earth time, the pain eased to a

dull throb and he became aware that Scully was right there beside

him, kneeling on the cold floor, a small hand on his shoulder.

"To hell with the bath; let's try to get you off the floor and into

bed."

Oh how he had wished to hear those words or something similar for

years. But he didn't even have the energy to leer at her, much less

make an off-color remark.

Obediently he tightened his grip on the towel rack and cautiously

tried to get his right foot under him on the floor so he could push off

it and try to stand. Scully got an arm around his waist for support.

The maneuver worked, to their amazement.

Moaning intermittently, he shuffled to his bed, leaning on the slender

but surprisingly solid redhead glued to his side. Once there, he

toppled like a felled tree, emitting a quickly-terminated girly scream

as he hit the surface, then lay still, afraid to move for fear of

antagonizing the offended muscles.

After an interval of fearfully waiting for the spasms to resume,

Mulder finally noticed that Scully had disappeared.

"Uh, Scully," he ventured.

"Right here, Mulder," she called as she quickly moved through the

doorway. "I looked through my bag and found several medications

which will help you until you can see your doctor."

His eyes widened as he took in the handful of prescription bottles

and drug sample packets she was juggling. A couple of the pills

looked as big as those cherry-bombs he used to light and explode at

Fourth of July picnics. No way he was going to swallow those.

Huh uh. She could sit on his chest and try to shove them down his

throat with a broom handle, and knowing Scully she probably

would; but no way, Jose.

She dropped the medicinal load onto the bed next to him and poked

at the small pile with her forefinger.

"We've got pain-killers, muscle relaxants, and..."

"Scully, you know how I hate to take pills of any kind. Can't I just

rest and let this heal on its own?" He was ashamed to detect a

whining tone in his voice.

Her look told him, "We've been through *this* before, you hind end

of a baboon," but maybe he was reading more into it than was really

there.

Or maybe not.

"You know better than that," she sighed, exasperation evident in her

tone of voice and her stiffened body. Girding for battle, he figured.

Well, he'd make this easy for her, just this once.

"All right," he ungracefully muttered.

Astonished at not going through all the usual arguments, but not

about to look a gift horse in the mouth, Scully grabbed one of each

pill and placed them into his unwilling hand. She helped him prop

his head high enough against the pillow to get them down without

choking, then stood back with a speculative look on her face.

He finally noticed and asked fearfully, "What?!"

"You can't wear that towel to bed."

He didn't like where the conversation was going.

"And that's because...?"

"People don't wear towels to bed. It needs to come off."

He glanced down at the offending garment and smirked, "You plan

to take it off and leave me bare-assed, Scully?"

Calling on her bland "doctor's" expression, she replied, "No. I plan

to remove it, slip some sweat pants or pajama bottoms on you, get a

hot pad under your lower back, cover you up, and let you rest."

"You and what army?" he snorted, picturing this small woman

handling his much larger body...hey, that might be interesting. But

no, he'd suffered enough indignities already.

"If you'll get a pair of boxers and my sweats from the top drawer

over there, I'll put them on myself."

Shaking her head doubtfully, she did as he asked, smiling evilly at

finding a godawful puke-green-colored pair of boxers at the bottom

of the pile. The sweats were his old blue ones, laundered repeatedly

until they were nearly gray.

He gave her a look when he saw the boxers, but refrained from

making a comment. In his helpless position, he didn't dare

antagonize her needlessly. But he could still tease.

His fingers reached for the tucked-in edge of the towel, ready to pull

it aside, saying, "Maybe I should be charging admission."

She flushed and turned away, saying, "Don't flatter yourself. I'll

leave you alone for ten minutes, so call me if you need any help."

Although several mysterious thumping sounds were heard, which

were accompanied by clearly enunciated blasphemies, Scully

steadfastly remained in the living room. At last a triumphant "All

done!" floated in from the bedroom.

She smiled at him, enjoying the debonair figure he cut. His sweat

pants were slightly askew, an inch-wide band of puke-green was

jauntily peeking out at his waist, and the sweat shirt's label was

blatantly obvious under his chin instead of being where it belonged,

at the back of his neck.

Mulder grudgingly admitted that he'd had to lie on his back, stick his

legs up in the air and then try to snag his boxers with his feet as he

swung them up with his hand. At her raised eyebrow, he protested,

"Hey, it worked!"

She got the heating pad, plugged it in, then helped him roll onto his

side while positioning it under his lower back .

He sighed hugely when the heat began to sink in, and she knew that

the pills had begun working as well. His brow was smooth and his

eyes drowsy.

But when she turned to leave him, he spoke up.

"Scully, I have a big favor to ask you."

He was using his most sincere look, along with the husky voice that

meant he was going to try to get her to do something she wouldn't

normally agree to.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she steeled herself.

"What?"

That lower lip thing again. Damn.

"I left a case with Skinner for approval this morning and there hasn't

been a minute to tell you about it."

"What case?" She wasn't giving him an inch.

"Uh, well, it's sort of two cases, really. In the first, there have been

four strange incidents near Catholic University recently. I've been in

touch with the D.C. Police about them, and the details are unusual

enough to involve us. In the second case, an elderly woman died,

apparently of heart failure, in Rock Creek Cemetery last night..."

"You're linking the two cases, aren't you?"

His eyes widened as he jokingly said, "God, how do you do that?

It's downright spooky!"

"Ha, ha. Before you fill me in on the details, what sort of favor are

you asking?"

"Right for the jugular every time." He began to fidget, a sure sign

of nervousness. Then he decided to try a new tactic; telling her the

truth.

"I need for you to drive me to the cemetery tonight so I can catch

the...bad guy."

She didn't say anything for a few seconds, but her look clearly told

him that she thought her partner had finally lost his mind.

"In your condition, Mulder? The perp would have to be a hundred-

year-old guy with crutches for you to stand even a chance of

catching him. And what about the police - you said they were

working on this case?"

Before she really got into it, he interrupted.

"They're not pursuing it. And there'll be another attack tonight if

I'm not there to stop it. Look, let me explain. Four people who all

happen to be enrolled at Catholic University are telling the same

story. Each one says they're missing a few hours."

Forestalling her comment, he quickly added, "No, not an alien

abduction scenario, Scully. They each have bite marks on the sides

of their necks, and are lethargic for almost a day after the incident."

Her eyes narrowed as she said, "Please don't tell you you're talking

about vampires again. It's worse than the alien theories. And how

the hell do you connect it to the little old lady in the cemetery?"

Although feeling vaguely offended at her attitude, he supposed it

was justified to some degree.

"If you really want to hear what I've got to say..."

She nodded to continue, her eyes bright with impatience.

"I think that the vamp...uh, perp has been attacking people near his

'lair' and has realized the necessity of some diversion to guide the

authorities into another direction. Thus, the attack on the woman in

the cemetery. Witnesses have described the same 'tall, fair-haired

young man in dark clothes' at both scenes."

"What witnesses?" she asked.

"Well, in the cemetery, there was a kid who was taking a short-cut

home who saw this man near the crime scene at the time of the

death."

She sighed and said, "First of all, is there anything to show that the

woman didn't just have a heart attack and die with no help from an

outside source? Were there any bite marks like in the other cases?

It doesn't seem to be at all similar to the other MO. Other than this

kid seeing someone near the body in a dark cemetery...have you

checked this kid out, by the way?"

Mulder looked away, licked his lips, and muttered, "Yeah."

She patiently waited for the punch line.

"He's a known crack user."

"What?!"

He smiled sheepishly and nodded.

Scully turned away from the bed and he could see her shoulders

slump. When she turned back around to face him, there was a

resigned look on her face.

"You're planning on going out there tonight whether I help you or

not. Right?"

He simply held her gaze for a long moment, darkened hazel eyes

affirming her fears.

Scully stared at her partner for a very long time, but he refused to

back down. There was a stubborn tension about his jaw and his eyes

steadily held her glare.

"You do realize that I wouldn't hesitate to handcuff you to that bed

if I had to," she growled.

Unfortunately, Mulder did know that, but continued his silent battle

of wills, with no flicker of outward reaction to her threat. He also

bit back the obvious innuendo, knowing she wasn't in the mood for

his smart remarks.

Exasperated, she demanded, "Why the hell can't you just tell the

cops to be there instead? I don't see what's so important about

your presence at the scene."

This time there was a reaction to her statement; he looked guilty.

Reluctantly he admitted, "I...kind of pissed them off. They didn't

believe me about the vampire, or that there's a connection between

the two cases. As a matter of fact, Detective Palmer was fairly

explicit about where he would stick his gun if he ever saw me

again."

"Hmmmm. And that doesn't deter you in the least from poking

your nose further into the cases? Of course not. What a stupid

question."

"I'm going there tonight, Scully, with or without you." The

stubborn set to his mouth told her that this argument was a lost

cause.

That had never deterred her before, however, and she continued to

try and wear him down. Finally, without getting him to budge an

inch in his determination, she realized that he had fallen asleep in the

middle of her latest eloquent listing of "Reasons Why This Is A Bad

Idea."

"Fine," she muttered, and huffed out into the living room, leaving

him sleeping peacefully with that damned stubborn pout on his lips.

(Continued in Part 2)

(Disclaimers in Part 1)

TIMEOUT FROM THE ALIENS (2/4)

By Gerry Hill (fox42@ix.netcom.com)

Catholic University of America

The Previous Night

Raymond Foster was a vampire. Barely a year ago he had been

certain that such creatures didn't exist. Talk about rude awakenings

he mockingly thought, as he idly sat in front of his computer in a

corner of the huge, gloomy room.

A few months ago, bored to tears, he had poked around and

discovered a connection for a telephone line upstairs. Running it to

his computer here in the sub-basement hadn't been too difficult and

now he was able to use the university's account to log on and surf

the net. The computer had come from his apartment, which he had

burglarized right after the "change" before his relatives cleaned the

place out.

Bunch of vultures had hardly waited until the ink on his fake suicide

note had dried. He'd made up a story about how he'd jumped off a

bridge because he couldn't have Angela. Ha. Angela was a slut; let

Jimmy Baker find that out on his own.

This "lair" of his was located in the lowest level of the oldest

building at the university. Spanish language classes were still held

on the main floor, and Government classes on the floor above that,

with the topmost floor abandoned to dust and decay. They'd been

talking about tearing it down for ten years and nothing had been

done yet. He figured there was plenty of time before worrying about

having to move.

Becoming a vampire hadn't magically given him a higher IQ; he was

still just average in that department. On the plus side, his strength

had quadrupled, he could see in the dark, his hearing was incredibly

sharp, he could change his body into a couple of interesting

things...oh, yeah, and he could now live forever if he was careful.

He wasn't so sure about that last item, however, if it meant he had

to listen to the endless Spanish lessons several floors above his head

all day. He slept during daylight hours, but it was a sleep that left

him aware of what was happening around him. So he could now

repeat, "Hola, Sanchez. Vamanos al centro." And so on, and so on.

It was like those recordings that you played during your sleep on the

theory that you were receptive to absorbing information while in that

restful state. It wasn't the Spanish that he minded; it would be nice

to learn a second language. What bugged him, though, was the

deadly sameness of the routine lessons. They needed to teach a few

swear words in Spanish to liven things up once in awhile, or at least

teach something that would be more useful to him. "I want to drink

your blood," would have been nice to know.

Not a soul ever ventured down to the dank, musty, dusty, creepy

place deep in the earth under the run-down building. He had felt

fairly safe until he himself had recently jeopardized it all, through

laziness. Up until a month ago his main blood source had been the

various blood banks in the city. They never missed the few bags he

stole, and he made sure that he never took from the same one twice

in a row. He also treated himself now and then to the pleasure of

taking blood from "the source." He would go to one of the run-

down parts of town, find a young child or baby who slept alone in a

room, and then take enough blood to satisfy himself, yet not harm

the child. The parents would more than likely chalk it up to rat bites

and set out traps.

There didn't seem to be any other vampires around. He'd never

sensed nor seen one. The bitch who had made him a vampire had

taken off for Europe right after she'd turned him. So he finally

figured that no one would notice if he progressed to adults for

sustenance. That's where the laziness came in. He began taking

students right in his own area instead of hunting in distant parts of

the city.

The cops had been all over the campus investigating the attacks, but

hadn't checked out his building yet. They were getting closer,

though; a diversion was needed.

Around midnight he had wandered away from the university until he

had come upon the Rock Creek Cemetery. Doubtful there'd be any

live people around at that hour, he nevertheless decided to cut

through a portion of it. An appropriate setting for what he had in

mind, the place was something out of a horror movie on that

particular night. The ground fog made everything from the knees

down indistinct and muffled his footsteps against the concrete

footpaths. Gravestones ominously loomed out of the fog to his right

and left. To tell the truth, he wasn't actually too crazy about the

location. Now that he knew firsthand there were such things as

vampires...what else might be lurking in the dark?

Raymond grinned unpleasantly, dismissing his overactive

imagination, when he saw a figure up ahead, walking toward

Webster Street on their way out of the cemetery.

Several quick strides and he was grabbing the person's arm. The

woman, an elderly lady, surprised the hell out of her attacker by

turning sharply out of his grasp and taking off up the path like an

Olympic sprinter.

"Shit," he growled, and moved to catch her before she reached the

too-public street. When his hand closed around her arm once more,

she again surprised him, this time by clutching her chest, gasping,

and then sagging to the ground. Given her past antics he assumed

that she was faking it, but when he leaned in close it was obvious

that she was having a heart attack or something.

"Oh, to hell with it," he complained, and left her there, partially

concealed by the overgrown shrubbery. He'd try again the next

night. He needed to leave his mark on a living throat to divert the

police, not run around giving old ladies heart attacks. What was she

doing in a cemetery at midnight anyway?

************

Back to the Present Time

Mulder's Apartment

Mulder had slept for several hours and Scully kept checking to make

sure that the heating pad wasn't getting too hot. The pills had

apparently knocked him out, giving him a much-needed rest. She

was still somewhat resentful of his monumental stubbornness, and

muttered under her breath while tending to him.

She had discovered some tabloids lying on his coffee table. At first

she had turned her nose up at them but after eyeing a few of the

more intriguing article headings, she wound up in a chair at Mulder's

desk, thoroughly engrossed in reading an article titled "Aliens

Sucked My Pool Dry." The victim, who had been swimming in the

pool at the time, had just begun telling about the weird sound

coming from the sky, when a noise from Mulder's bedroom reached

her ears. It wasn't a subtle sound, nor was it from an alien

spaceship. As a matter of fact, it resembled the bellow of an irritated

FBI agent.

"Scully! You let me sleep too long! It's almost dark already! Shit!

Where's my weapon? I'll need a flashlight, ID, and..." his list trailed

off into a mumble as he used his arms to push himself into a sitting

position on the side of the bed.

Once sitting up, Mulder tried to look like a man at ease but Scully

could see the beads of sweat forming above his upper lip from as far

away as the opposite side of the room.

Crossing her arms and leaning back against the doorframe, she said,

"I won't take you over there if you can't get dressed and walk to the

elevator without my help."

"OK, that's fair enough," he tightly responded.

She could see his whole body tense as he prepared himself to stand

up. Pressing his hands onto the tops of his thighs and leaning

slightly forward, he was able to make it in one massive effort, give

or take a verbalized "ah!" of pain or two, quickly suppressed.

Wobbling slightly, he shuffled toward the closet and grew more

confident with every step.

"You cured me, Scully," he announced.

"I somehow doubt that," she sighed. "The pills numbed the pain,

the muscle relaxant helped the back muscles quit spasming so they

can heal, and the heat helped begin that healing and soothed the

painful parts. It's not over yet, Mulder."

That was proven when he reached for the doorknob on the closet.

He stifled a cry as the muscles protested once more. His right hand

flew to the small of his back and his spine arched in agony. Biting

his lip, he rode out the spasms, taking a deep breath of relief when

they ceased.

Scully was moving toward him, but he held his left hand up in a

gesture for her to stop.

"It's OK. I can do this," he insisted. "Just give me a minute."

She did as he wished and left him to it. Under the earlier teasing

tone, she knew that he had been uncomfortable with depending on

someone else. He was a very private and independent man, despite

his recent apparent openness to her.

Sitting on the couch in the next room and feeling useless, she could

hear painful-sounding thumps and bumps go on seemingly forever.

That man has a serious flair for cursing, she decided.

Then everything got very quiet.

Several minutes of this creepy silence unnerved her so she moved

toward his bedroom. Entering the doorway, she saw that he was

standing in front of the closet mirror, trying to knot his tie. Her eyes

met his in the mirror and he gave her a confident smile.

God, he looked great! He had managed to get completely dressed in

a dark suit with a pale green dress shirt. His tie-knotting attempt

was not going so well, however, and he finally dropped his hands to

his sides with a deep sigh of resignation.

Scully took the hint, stepped up to him, and took over the task.

"I'm impressed, but isn't this a little formal for vampire-hunting?"

"We fearless vampire hunters must always look professional."

She still wore the burgundy work suit which was beginning to look

quite wrinkled after twelve hours on her body. Next to him, she felt

seriously frumpy. Quickly finishing the knot and straightening the

tie, she stepped back and said, "All done."

Her eyes followed the line of his body downward, double checking

in case he missed anything she told herself, and finally came to rest

on the untied shoelaces.

He gave a chagrined look and shrugged. "Couldn't reach 'em.

Besides, I thought I would save the vampire the trouble."

That got a smile from Scully as she recalled the obsessive-

compulsive traits he claimed the vampires in Chaney, Texas, had of

untying knots, particularly shoelaces.

She quickly bent down on one knee and took care of the problem.

Thank goodness he had several pairs of these things, since the ones

in the plastic bag would kill more than a vampire with the fumes.

When she finished, he cleared his throat and asked her to retrieve a

duffle bag from the floor of his closet that he wanted to bring along.

She noticed that it clanked and was fairly heavy.

"Don't tell me this is what I'm thinking it is..."

Eyes full of mischief, he nodded happily.

She closed her eyes momentarily and groaned.

"Wooden stakes and mallet, holy water, crosses, garlic, the works!"

he told her, then carefully made his way to the front door. "We'd

better get going; it got dark a few minutes ago," he added over his

shoulder. He let her help him into his long overcoat since it would

be chilly outside, and then she grabbed her own.

She made him wait a few minutes longer to open the door, handing

him more pain pills and a glass of water. She knew that the earlier

dose would be wearing off soon. Finally ready, she grabbed the

duffle bag and followed him out the door and to the elevator. He

was walking very stiffly she noticed, but at least he wasn't

incapacitated at the moment.

Getting into the passenger side of Scully's car was an ordeal, he

discovered. He finally accomplished the feat by holding onto the

door and roof and allowing himself to fall down into the seat. Then

he grabbed the left knee and lifted his leg into the car, followed by

his right.

At his partner's skeptical look, he grinned. "No points for grace,

but it worked."

The next half hour was obviously pure misery for him. With a

death-grasp on the hand grip above the door, Mulder managed to

survive the torture of pot holes, cornering, and the stop-and-go of

traffic lights. Scully tried to take it easy, without much success. In

a way, she was thinking that it served him right; he deserved the

discomfort of the ride since he shouldn't be doing this to begin with.

Then a wave of guilt washed over her for feeling so uncharitable

toward her partner.

As they approached the cemetery Scully noticed that the fog was

thickening.

Great, just what we needed for this sort of a case, she thought.

They parked in a deserted lot near the cemetery which wasn't too far

from where the woman had died.

Mulder found to his surprise that, once he was out of the car, he was

able to maneuver quite well. He presumed that his back hadn't

cared much for the jackknifed position into which it had been forced

while riding in Scully's compact car.

His partner retrieved the duffle bag from behind her seat and asked,

"Now what?" with a wary expression.

"Give me one of the stakes, the mallet and...um...the vial of holy

water." He had the grace to look slightly embarrassed at this bizarre

request.

Rummaging in the bag, she soon came up with the items and handed

them over without a word.

He tucked the small vial of water away into his coat pocket and set

off into the fog, swinging the stake and mallet by his side. The pole

lighting in the area struggled to penetrate the hazy atmosphere but

was only intermittently successful as the gauzy mist billowed and

swirled. She followed him into the cemetery, wondering for the

tenth time what the hell she was doing here.

Mulder was clearly looking for a specific spot, peering through the

thick fog for landmarks. He spotted a small marker for Section E

and headed that way, then suddenly disappeared. Scully's head had

been turned for a second, and now she stared at the spot where his

tall figure had been just a moment before.

"Mulder?" she whispered, a mixture of annoyance and concern

causing her tone to rise on the last syllable of his name.

"Shhhh," came his admonition from behind some thick bushes to her

left.

She walked along the barrier and soon found the opening into which

he had slipped. Scully couldn't help but give a start when she saw

the indistinct bronze statue of a shrouded woman staring blankly into

space. Her face seemed weary, empty somehow...it gave her a chill.

"Marian Adams is supposed to haunt this area, you know," came a

voice behind her, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Mulder, don't sneak up on me like that," she blurted, although

relieved to see that it was her grinning bastard of a partner.

He tilted his head toward the vaguely disturbing statue. "It's called

'Grief' and it was commissioned by the historian Henry Adams in

memory of his wife, Marian, who died mysteriously. But they didn't

have the X Files then, so the mystery was never explained."

He wandered over to a bench near the statue and gingerly sat down,

holding himself very stiffly, and patting a space next to him.

"How's your back doing?" she asked as she sat down.

"OK, but I think we'll need to stay out in the cemetery proper. This

place is too cut off and we can't see anything from here. On the

other hand, I don't think we should split up in this kind of limited

visibility. Let's go out there, but stick together."

She readily agreed, not wanting to be alone in the cemetery for

reasons she didn't want to examine at the moment.

He gave a little grunt of pain as he got to his feet, but seemed steady

enough as they made their way back to the break in the shrubbery.

Scully walked through first and headed for the main walkway with

her partner one step behind.

Mulder heard it then; a dry flapping sound, coming from the air

around them. He reached out to grab her arm but was a second too

late. His fingertips brushed her sleeve, and then she was gone.

*************

Raymond had found it so simple to grab the woman and pull her

away from her companion. Floating in the moisture-laden air with a

four-foot wingspan of a large bat, he had spotted the two a few

minutes earlier and made a quick decision to take the woman. He

had changed back into his human form instantaneously when

touching ground next to the pair.

His victim struggled a little more effectively than most, landing a few

blows to various parts of his anatomy. He felt his interest aroused at

her strength, seeing for the first time what a lovely woman she was.

He didn't take her far, having sensed that the man had an infirmity of

some kind and was probably not much of a threat to him. Raymond

pulled the struggling woman even closer, tilting her head to the side,

and sank his sharp fangs into her neck where the pale skin pulsed

with a faint, seductive movement.

"Mmmmm," she murmured.

"Scully!!!" the man screamed.

As the blood filled his mouth, Raymond instantly tasted the taint of

cancer. Not an active, growing kind, but a lurking, furtive, inactive

disease which had once been powerful but now was content to bide

its time. And something that was even worse than the cancer...the

thin gold chain he could see at her throat held a crucifix. Although

it lay under her blouse, out of sight, he knew. The vampire shoved

the woman to the ground and turned toward her companion,

deciding to take his blood, instead. Her blood wouldn't hurt him; it

was a matter of personal preference. As far as the crucifix went, he

didn't want to take a chance with it.

Now that he had tasted blood, Raymond's thirst raged, but he could

sense that there were a couple of other people in the cemetery, still a

distance off, but coming their way. His sense of urgency heightened

and he moved swiftly toward the man.

***********

After Scully had disappeared, Mulder frantically called to her,

desperately peering out into the fog and taking unsure steps into the

direction in which they had been moving when he lost her. The

agent was finally able to make out two figures in the mist, about

thirty yards away. He tightened his grip on the stake in his right

hand and the vial of holy water in his left. The mallet's comforting

weight nestled in his coat.

Forgetting about his back for a moment, his first step was taken too

hastily. He felt a wrenching pull accompanied by a sheet of pure

agony wash through his lower back. With a cry of pain he went

down hard, furious at his body's failure when his partner's life might

very well depend on him.

>From the damp ground he winced with the stabbing muscle spasms

while seeing the indistinct figure bend its head to Scully's throat...

"Noooo!! Get away from her or so help me God I'll kill you!" He

was beside himself with fear for the one person who meant

everything to him. "Leave her alone, you son-of-a-bitch!"

Suddenly Scully was a dark crumpled figure on the ground and her

attacker had changed victims; he was right next to Mulder, fangs

gleaming, saying, "OK."

A cold hand closed around Mulder's collar and, as he was

effortlessly pulled upward, the helpless man's eyes traveled over

black trousers, black pullover, some serious fangs, and finally his

gaze was fixed by intense, midnight blue eyes. It was at that point

that his pain and fear were forgotten and he tilted his head to offer

his throat to the creature. The stake clattered to the concrete

sidewalk, followed by the clink of the vial.

Raymond smiled. It was so easy to control their minds. Usually his

strength alone was sufficient, but with other humans nearby he

wanted this feeding to be a quiet one. This man didn't strike him as

one to easily submit. Somewhat like his companion. Interesting

pair...especially since they seemed to have come equipped to hunt

for vampires.

Leaning his head closer to his prey, Raymond let the point of his

fangs break the skin, then savagely sank them into the well of blood

he tasted.

Aaaahhh, the blood was delicious. After a first taste, Raymond

savored another mouthful, delighted with his decision to change his

victim. There was something about this blood he'd never run across

before. Not a taint, but something...alien. Something exhilarating.

His prey gave a shudder and a moan but remained in the vampire's

thrall.

Never dropping his guard, always keeping a sharp awareness of his

surroundings, Raymond detected the movements of the woman, who

still should have been unaware, if not unconscious. Yet she was

now screaming something at him about being a federal agent and

releasing his captive. Yeah, right.

He was suffused with an almost sexual satisfaction from the blood

entering his body, but he wasn't so far gone that he didn't notice the

bullets smashing into his shoulder and thigh. Shit, that stung!

He stopped feeding to swivel his head toward the source of the shots

and saw that the woman was lying prone on the ground facing his

way, gun hand propped on her forearm.

She had shot him, the little bitch - actually shot him! He was getting

thoroughly fed up with these two. The bullets were no more than a

nuisance but the noise of the gunshots would attract the attention of

other humans. He could hear voices and someone was calling the

police on a cel phone.

Well, it was likely that he had accomplished his goal of drawing the

local authority's investigation away from the university and over into

the area of this cemetery. After all this commotion, they would have

to be deaf and blind to not pick up on it.

Still unsatisfied, he would have liked a little more blood, but, oh

well. At times like this he wished there were "fast food" places for

vampires. All this ran through his mind while looking speculatively

at the man dangling by the collar which was bunched in Raymond's

fist.

Ignoring the woman's increasingly hysterical demands, he came to a

decision and easily tossed his "dinner to-go" over his shoulder in a

fireman's carry. In practically the same movement he was running

swiftly down the path. He knew that the woman was following, but

it was a simple challenge to outdistance her. When he was finished

with this human, he would leave what was left of him back here in

the cemetery when the place was a little quieter.

*************

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