TITLE: Sad Lovers and Giants 13/? - Lost In A Moment
NAME: Mik
E-MAIL: ccmcdoc@hotmail.com
CATEGORY: M/Sk
RATING: NC-17. M/Sk. This story contains slash i.e. m/m sex. So, if you don't like that type of thing - STOP NOW! Forewarned is forearmed. Proceed with caution. Of course if you have four arms you can throw caution to the wind.
SUMMARY: A blizzard. A power cut. Finding their way in darkness.
ARCHIVE: Only with my permission.
FEEDBACK: Feedback? Well, yes, if you insist.
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Nnnnnnnnnope.
KEYWORDS: story slash angst Mulder Skinner NC-17
DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, and all other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use. I'd rather say that they really are mine, but I've been advised to deny everything. But when I become king...
Author's notes: Sad Lovers and Giants, the two things hardest to conceal.
If you like this, there's more at https://www.squidge.org/3wstop
If you didn't like it, come see me, anyway. Pet the dog.
Sad Lovers and Giants 13/? - Lost In A Moment
by Mik
The air was dank and old and caught me unprepared. It reminded me of our cellar, when I was a kid. It smelled of cement and clay and dust and something else, something that might have been more of a memory than an odor. I was immediately overtaken by a sense of dread I couldn't explain and for a moment I couldn't quite make myself take another step down into the shelter.
Scully, one step behind me, let her flashlight beam play over the stacks of boxes beneath us. "Mulder," she whispered, inches from my ear. "Footprints."
I let my beam follow hers. Recent smudges in the dust between the boxes marred the sense of gloomy abandonment. "Looks as if he was walking on his toes," I noted, "and carrying something. Look how some of them seem to drag."
Scully moved past me and lifted her light between the boxes, following the scuffs on the floor. "That door," she mouthed, pointing.
I nodded and looked back up the stairs to the four other agents with us. I jerked my head toward Scully, and they started to descend. I had no choice. I had to go down into it.
Evil happens everywhere, it creeps out of gutters and falls out of skies. It's the foul wind at midnight, and blood on a sunny morning. Yet we associate evil with darkness. That I understand.
Everyone's afraid of darkness, to some degree, either literally or figuratively. It's what we don't know, can't see, can only imagine or cannot comprehend that scares us. It's the possibilities, it's the sounds in the corners, the finger of ice that trips up the neck. Can anyone comprehend how dark a man's heart must be to harm a child? To harm a child irrevocably, and take pleasure in it? Unfortunately, I understand that, as well.
I was lost in that darkness only a few hours before we took this flight down to Hampton, outside Langley Air Force Base. I was fumbling amidst the debris of too many tragedies, lost and trying to find my way. Putting my hands out to find a safe passage, only to pull them back in horror, stained by what I'd touched. I was listening for some direction, but every sound is magnified in darkness; the skitter of a spider, the rustle of a rat, the hollow footstep of something evil approaching, the whimpers, pleas and screams of the innocents approached. Those screams are an ever present thrumming in my head, I'm never fully free of them. They cry out in rhythm with my heartbeat, but there are nights when they burst out, an aneurysm in my soul, and I'm left dumb and paralyzed.
For years, people have asked me how I do what I do, how I know what the UNSUB's thinking, how I know what he'll do, and I can't answer. I don't know. I just know that if I study the facts long enough, he will find me, and take me on a tour of his horrors, displaying his prowess and his trophies with pride, revealing his secrets to me, showing me where to look.
He was there, walking that dark labyrinth with me the night before, taunting me to find him, to stop him. I can't. He knows I can't. I can put a bullet in his brain, I can take the credit or pass the blame, but I will never stop him. There is a Biblical passage that likens evil to a lion, roaming to and fro, seeking souls to devour.* He had mine years ago. Now all I can do is try to catch him at his prey, take his meal from his jaws, but I will never be able to kill his appetite.
There was a lion below me in that darkness, beckoning me down into his den, but no one else could hear his roar. The silence the others heard disturbed and frightened me more than the reverberation of screams which only I could hear. There was an ominous finality in that silence. Were we too late?
He tried to take me off the case, the bastard.
I froze, midstep. Where the hell did that come from?
Scully took another step into the blackness, and stopped, realizing I hadn't followed. She turned to look up at me.
I could see my puzzled frown reflected in her eyes.
I tried to shake the anger off, and refocus. I'd never been jerked back like that in all the years I'd been working these cases. It was an almost physical shock, sharp enough to leave my limbs aching. I rubbed my shoulder and drew in an unwanted breath of the dank air. It made me shiver, put a chill at the base of my spine.
I targeted my torch toward the floor, and reached back to draw my weapon, before taking that final step into hell.
Scully played her light ahead of us, and we could see a door. Long ago there had been a sign on the door. Even in that light, we could make out where glue had given way and let cold war era instructions succumb to time, gravity and glasnost.
As we crept closer, I wondered if we lost our battle with internal demons when we no longer had external enemies to unite against. It was human nature to war, and when we took away our 'them', suddenly we began to war with 'us'.
Scully stopped so suddenly, I nearly collided with her. She pointed with her flashlight. The disturbed dust around the door indicated that the door had been used very recently. The footsteps ended there and did not retreat. Our lion and his prey were just on the other side.
He pulled himself off the case to get away from me.
I flinched that time. I felt it.
Scully felt it as well. She pressed her weapon hand against my arm. I think she meant it to be comforting, but it was not.
I shrugged her away and tried to brace myself for the horrors we would find on the other side of the door. I had prepped everyone else in a briefing that morning, I'd warned them they would be taking home nightmares, but I wasn't quite ready for them myself. Something kept interfering. Someone.
He said...he said...
I swallowed and put my hand out, signaling other agents to take the door out. People moved into place to cover the first man through. There was a soft chorus of safety locks clicking as they were released, and bullets sliding into chambers with a metallic hiss.
I strained my ears, wanting to hear some sign of life beyond the door. All I could hear was his voice. He said...
I nodded.
They moved.
They crashed against the thick steel door with enough force to breach almost any resistance, but there was no resistance to breach. The door flew back with the same violence that forced it open, crashing against the wall. Foul air rushed out at us like an escaping animal.
With our beams of light flooding the room, we all stilled in the doorway, staring, each of us struggling with something within those four walls. The room was small and lined with decaying boxes and metal filing cabinets, but it revealed an elaborate history of terror; an old mattress shoved between filing cabinets was littered with scraps of clothing, stained with blood, small lengths of frayed ropes marked a compass around it. There were tins of ancient rations stolen from the bomb shelter stockpiles, pried open, sampled and left to spoil on the floor. Feces and urine marked every corner. A surgeon's array of modified tools, crude and horrific, lay atop a stack of boxes; pliers, knives, wire cutters, batteries, electrical tape, fine gauge chain, matches, candles, thick wooden dowels, mute testimony to torture.
But there was also silence. And no body.
Scully lowered her gun and raised her free hand to her face. "We're too late," she said flatly, recoiling from the stench, while one of the other agents bolted, retching.
I shut my eyes tight, listening, trying to see the shadows left behind, hear the words. Ropes tear flesh, penetration... I opened my eyes and ran my light over the mattress again. "No. He didn't kill her. Not yet. There's not enough blood."
My triumph was short lived. "He moved her," I realized belatedly. "Why?" I went out to the other room for a gulp of relatively fresher air. "Get upstairs," I told the agent who'd left his breakfast behind a stack of boxes. "Have someone start a search of the perimeter. Every inch. I want to know how they got out." I gave him a shove. "Go." I looked at Scully. "Damn it. Why did he move?" I tucked my gun back into my holster. "He's never moved before."
"He heard us coming?" Scully suggested.
"How did he get past us, carrying her?" I shook my head and went back to the door, to risk another look inside. "No, he was gone before we got here, but why?"
Scully came to my side, her face a rictus of disgust, poorly masked by the professionalism she clung to. She kept her eyes on me. "Mulder, you can't be certain he didn't..."
"Scully, you've seen the nature of his previous attacks. This place should be soaked in blood if he had killed her. Look at this." I indicated the mattress again. "There's only...only..." oh, God. I felt my own stomach lurching. "He raped her, Scully."
He said...he said...
Her hand was on my arm again. "Mulder?"
"He said..."
Her hand tightened.
I felt my knees going.
"Somebody get in here!" I heard her shouting from a distance, even as her hands tugged at mine. "Get in here! I need help, now!"
"Scully," I said, but my voice was being drowned out. The screams were back, louder than ever. "Scully."
Two other agents rushed in.
Scully was yelling at them, pointing at me.
I pointed back. "Scully. Look."
They all turned. They all saw it. They all drew their guns and approached it.
A grate in the wall, perhaps two feet square, just inches from the floor, it was probably intended for ventilation or heating, but it was also the only other potential exit.
Pulling myself to my feet, I drew my gun as well, and approached the wall. I nudged the grating with my foot and it seemed to shift in place. I thought I heard a faint scuffling from inside the wall.
I gave the side of the grating a sharp kick and the panel clattered to the floor, revealing a dirty, narrow shaft, barely the same dimensions of the grating.
There was a squeal that I recognized as a stifled scream. "Scully. Light!" I commanded.
Scully dropped to her haunches and aimed her flashlight straight into the blackness. There was a dirty shoe and even dirtier pant cuff visible, obviously trying to scramble upward.
"Federal agents," Scully barked. "Freeze." She has a very husky, scary voice when her adrenaline's pumping.
But not scary enough. The foot was actually inching away from us. Frustrated, I got onto my knees and reached in to give that retreating ankle a twist. There was an eerie wail of protest that seemed to echo through the walls around us, and then an aborted but very real scream.
I tugged hard and called the asshole's name. "It's all over," I told him. "Come out or we're going to rip you out of that wall."
Damn if the bastard didn't try to keep climbing. I reestablished my grip and called over my shoulder, "Get me some rope and a sledgehammer, now!"
He started to struggle in my awkward grasp. "I said now!"
A length of rope was passed to me, and I put my gun down to lean in and get it looped around his leg. He was squawking and kicking as I pulled it tight, but I didn't care. In fact, I hoped it hurt. I was ready to rip his leg right off. The rope in my hands was painful, and I wanted to let go, but I couldn't. I wouldn't. I was going to drag that son of a bitch out of there inch by inch, if I had to.
"Mulder, the sledgehammer," Scully called.
I backed up, by inches, holding tight to the rope. "Last chance, asshole," I called. We waited a moment. I looked up at the guy with the sledgehammer. "Do it."
The agent took a great swing and smashed into the wall. Carrie Dolan started screaming and kicking. I saw a flash of a small, bloody foot. The agent heaved the sledgehammer again, and broke through to the shaft. Their faces were barely visible, just white streaked shadows in the swirling dust.
Scully was on her feet again, her arm extended, her gun aimed. "Let her go," she commanded. "Right now."
He must have released the girl. At first nothing happened, but then I could see her feet, flailing desperately as she squirmed down the shaft. After what seemed like hours, her battered, naked body dropped into view and she scrambled and clawed her way back to us.
Her hair was matted and filthy and her face was smeared with blood and dust. Her entire body was covered in dirt. Her mouth was just a bruised and gaping hole in her tear wet face. At the first sight of her I let go of the rope and struggled out of my jacket, rushing to cover her as she emerged from the shaft.
I scooped her up, shielding her face from everyone around us. "Shoot the bastard," I told Scully as I rushed her out of the room feeling euphoric. I saved her.
Once out of that room, I sank down on a box and held her to me. Carrie was screaming and fighting my embrace but I held her tight. I did it, I kept thinking. I saved her. I saved one.
He said...
Finally, she turned in my arms and her fingers clenched my shirt, crying hard and silent. "It's over," I promised into her tangled hair. "All over." I couldn't promise she would be okay, because she wouldn't, I knew that too well. I couldn't lie to her like that. "It's over." I rocked her against me, and let her cry.
There was a sharp pop from the other room. I don't know what he did, but I knew the sound of Scully's gun. Scully's no vigilante agent so it was certain that he'd done something desperate and foolish, but I was grateful that he had. Carrie Dolan would not be forced to testify against a dead man.
Carrie jumped at the report and renewed her screams. I kept my arms around her, stroking her hair, her shoulder, my own tears falling with hers. "Shhh...now it's over."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
I held her until the EMT crew arrived to take her to the hospital. She struggled a bit as they lifted her out of my arms. She was put on the gurney, still wrapped in my FBI jacket.
They wouldn't let me talk to Scully, so I couldn't find out what had happened after I got Carrie Dolan out of the room. I didn't even see his body, to form an opinion. He had been bagged before he was removed from the room.
But from the doorway, I could see where he fell; part of his brains were splattered against the filing cabinet and blood was still a viscous and shiny trail along the floor. The familiar smell of burnt powder cut the foulness of the room, and made it almost bearable to stand in there again.
I stepped inside and looked around, listening for the silence. I'd earned it. I wanted to hear it. I'd stopped the screaming, I'd saved the girl. I wanted my few moments of peace.
But the screams kept coming. I resisted the need to cover my ears. My hands hurt and I looked down at them. The ropes had left my palms raw and I tucked them against my sides. Ropes tear flesh...
He said...
I jerked my eyes away from the mess that had once been our UNSUB's thought processes, and let them rest on the mattress. The bloody mattress. Penetration burns.
He...
Oh, God.
It hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest.
He told me the truth. "Skinner."
End 13
*1 Peter 5:8 for those who'd like to know: Be sober, be vigilant, because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour...