Date: Mon, 14 Aug 1995 09:19:36 -0600 (MDT) Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Kellie Matthews-Simmons Subject: In The Dark part 4 of 9 - Revised This story copyright 1995 by the authors. Permission to distribute freely is given, provided you do not attempt to sell it. The X-Files is a trademark of Fox Television, characters not used by permission. Highlander is a trademark of Rysher Entertainment, characters not used by permission. Star Trek: The Next Generation is a trademark of Paramount, Inc., characters not used by permission. (Whew! That's a lot of disclaiming!) In the Dark was written during the summer of 1995, between Season 2 & 3 of The X-Files, and Seasons 3 & 4 of Highlander. Anything which occurs in future episodes of these programs may substantially impact the continuity of this story, unfortunately, there's not a thing we can do about it. HOWEVER, we are quite willing to produce scripts in order to maintain said continuity! ;-> As always, comments are welcome. NOTE: This is a story in two parts... or perhaps more properly it is two stories connected by a couple of common threads. After we finished it and ran it through our "beta test" audience, we had several comments on the difference in pacing between the two sections. We scratched our heads and thought about what the problem might be, until we realized that there was no problem, there was just a difference. The major drawback to writing crossovers isn't meshing universes, that's fairly simple. The hard part is blending styles. The X-Files, and Highlander, for example, is heavily plot- driven. TNG, on the other hand, was often completely character-driven, with plot taking a backseat. Neither is better or worse by definition, merely different. At any rate, we feel that we've succeeded in dealing with those differences and hope that you do as well. Kellie Matthews-Simmons // matthewk@colorado.edu Julia Kosatka // julia@bayou.uh.edu In The Dark, Part 4 c. 1995 Kellie Matthews-Simmons & Julia Kosatka Mulder wandered back into the bar. It was happy hour, and the room was full, the noise level high, and the scent of alcohol heavy in the air. There was a different man behind the bar now, a younger, heavyset guy with a receding hairline. A cocktail waitress moved among the tables, laughing with the customers and taking orders. He wondered if Dawson had gone home. That would be frustrating. He made his way over toward the bar, hoping to ask the bartender, but by the time he'd reached it someone else had too. The guy looked wild... not his appearance, which didn't differ that much from Mulder's; but there was desperation in his eyes and his face. As he reached across the counter to grab the bartender's arm, Mulder saw blood on the cuff of his shirt. His eyes narrowed and he moved closer, listening in unashamedly. "...gotta get him for me! It's urgent! Tell him it's Evan Conroy!" "Okay, man! Take it easy! I'll get him. Wait here!" The bartender signaled the waitress to come over and watch the bar, and then went through a door that led into some back room. A moment later he emerged, followed by Dawson. The bartender pointed at Conroy, and Dawson's expression went from recognition to relief to concern. He moved quickly to Conroy, his limp made more pronounced by his haste. He motioned the younger man to move around the partition at the end of the bar, and Mulder edged closer, straining to hear them over the din. As it was, he picked up only every few words. Still, it was enough to make some sort of sense out of the conversation "Evan! For God's sake.... been? ...Dane's after MacLeod's.... Watcher's too! We thought... you too!" "...fine... right... is after... got someone... came to find you! ...can't... happen again! ...woman... not even one of Them!" "A woman? Who?" Mulder heard every syllable of Joe's response to that one. "I don't know... not far from... Black woman... dreadlocks. ...no idea who... can't let it... have to help!" Joe moved around the end of the bar, reaching for the phone next to the register. Mulder turned away and pretended to girlwatch. Now that they were closer he could hear better. "I'll call Mac. Where did he take her?" "Some old warehouse near the docks down in the south part of the city, I don't know the address, I'll have to show you." "That's fine, Evan. You did the right thing." Dawson dialed a number and waited. A moment later he was speaking. "Mac? It's Dawson. Evan Conroy showed up here. Dane's got some woman, Evan says she's not an Immortal and from the description she sounds like Guinan!" There was a pause, then Dawson spoke again. "I don't know for sure. A warehouse in the old south dock area, I'm going to take him up there and see if we can find the place. Take your phone, I'll call you when we find it." Dawson hung up then, and spoke to Conroy. "Do you have transportation?" Conroy shook his head. "I took a cab here." "Okay, I'll get my car, wait for me out front." Mulder watched the younger man leave the bar and after a moment he followed, walking down the street to the car he'd borrowed from Agent Blanchard. He got in, and pretended to look at the sunset glowing to the west while he waited for Dawson to pick up Conroy. A few moments later a blue late-model sedan pulled around the corner and stopped in front of the bar. Conroy got in and the car moved off, heading north. Mulder pulled out and began to tail them, keeping a careful distance behind and trying not to be too obvious. He remembered Scully's admonition to be sure to call her and almost reached for his phone, then stopped. It would be better to wait until he had an address. Once his quarry got onto the highway, following them proved to be more difficult than he'd hoped. He experienced a severe sense of deja-vu as he noticed that everyone seemed to be driving a good ten miles an hour over the speed-limit, and had forgotten what turn indicators were for. It was like driving the DC beltway, only not as many people were putting on their brakes for no discernable reason as they did there. He did manage to stay with them though, and even made the exit. Then he ran into trouble. There was almost no traffic in the area they traversed, and feeling too conspicuous, he dropped back a bit. That got him caught at a red light. He watched in frustration as the other car made a right turn three blocks down the street. There were no cars coming from any direction so he ran the red, but by the time he made the turn the sedan was nowhere in sight. He swore, and began to cruise the street, peering down each intersection, hoping for a glimpse of it, but had no luck. Finally he pulled over and got out his map. Unfortunately, the detail on the map was just not good enough to help, so he sat there for several moments trying to think of what to do next. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that the pastrami sandwich he'd had for lunch was long gone. A neon sign half a block down the street advertised a restaurant called Canino's, and he eyed it, half-tempted to see if they did take-out; and as he thought it he realized what he should do. He got out and locked the car, then hurried into the restaurant. It was small, the tables boasted candles in chianti bottles, and the air was redolent of garlic and basil. The smell made his mouth water. The bored-looking teenager at the register brightened as he neared. "Can I help you?" "You might be able to," he said, doing his best to look sheepish. "I'm a little lost. I was supposed to meet someone to look at some property near here, but I've misplaced the address. All I remember is he said it was a warehouse not far from the docks. Any ideas?" She nodded. "Probably the old Fisher warehouse, it's been for sale forever. It's not far from here, but it's kinda confusing trying to find it. I'll draw you a map." She took a paper placemat and turned it over, and sketched a quick grid. "This is us..." she made an `x' on the map, then drew some arrows. "You go like this, see?" He studied the map and nodded. "I do, thanks! He turned the map over, studied the menu printed on the other side, and inhaled deeply. "Is the food as good as it smells?" She grinned. "Better." "Then I might see you later, thanks." It didn't take him long to find the maze of old, run-down buildings along the river, using the cashier's map. Some were in decent shape, many had `For Sale' signs on them, others just looked abandoned. The whole area looked ripe for redevelopment. In a couple of years it wouldn't surprise him to find the warehouses converted into posh apartments and lofts whose lower floors housed restaurants and art galleries. He drove slowly up and down the little side streets and parking lots, looking for the car he'd followed. He was about to give up in disgust when he noticed something blue sticking out from behind a trash dumpster. He pulled in far enough to see that it was the right car, then backed up and parked a building away. He took out his cellular and dialed Scully. She picked it up on the third ring. "Scully." "It's Mulder. I've followed our bartender and some friend of his to an old warehouse. It's down south, right on the Duwamish river, the address is... hold on..." He walked around to the front of the building and read it off to her. "From what I managed to overhear, we have a hostage situation on our hands. I'm going to check it out." "Mulder, don't you dare go in there without backup!" Even over the tinny speaker of the cellular he could hear the threat in her voice. He grinned. "Don't worry, I'm just going to snoop around outside." "You shouldn't even do that! I'll call this in and we'll have a team there in just a few minutes, so just wait, okay?" Mulder muttered something noncommittal into the phone and turned it off, putting it in his overcoat pocket. Unsnapping his holster, he drew his gun, its weight reassuring in his hand. He made his way over to the dumpster, and came out from behind it, covering the car. It was empty. He circled it, looking for any sign of where the occupants had gone, and a dark splotch on the pavement near the driver's side door caught his eye. He knelt, trying to see better. In the fading light he couldn't tell if it was water, antifreeze, oil, or something more sinister. He took a pencil out of his pocket and touched the eraser to one edge of the stain. It came away a deep, glistening, red that didn't smell of paint or petroleum. A few feet away he saw a strip of something that gleamed with a silvery sheen. His eyes narrowed. Duct tape. Several of the victims had been bound with duct tape. He stood and studied the building in front of him carefully, and saw that there were windows up high on the sides, and a fire escape depended from one. He headed for it, walking quickly but quietly. He didn't have time to wait for Scully and the cavalry; events were already in progress. **** It was damp, chilly, and dark. The light that filtered through the dirty and broken windows held the bluish tinge of twilight. The few lights that burned in the cavernous structure cast pools of yellow on the floor around them, but their light didn't reach much further. Guinan shivered, feeling cold in more than just her body. Should she do it now? It was not as easy to voluntarily give up life as she'd thought it would be, even when she was sure it was the right thing to do. She looked around the warehouse, listening hard for any sign that her captors were returning. She heard the faint sounds of the mice and birds who inhabited the building, the liquid susurration of the river outside, the faint sounds of traffic in the distance; but nothing further. The silence was both soothing and frightening. Why had they left her here? Where had they gone? She let her head drop back against the wall and sighed. The blond man had removed her gag once they'd reached the warehouse, apparently it didn't matter if she screamed here. They must know there was no one near to hear her. A change in traffic noise brought her head up again. Something was different, closer... she heard the crunch of tires on gravel, the sound of a brake being set, then the engine sounds ceased. She stiffened. Were they back? The engine hadn't had the same throaty purr as the one she'd ridden in, so it was a different car, at least. That didn't mean it wasn't them. She listened harder, straining to hear, though the source of the sounds was at the limit of her ability to resolve clearly. She heard a car door open, then another one. "You're sure it was here you saw her?" a man asked. The voice was rough-edged and familiar. A sense of profound relief flooded her as she realized it was Joe. She drew breath to call out, but was silenced by the second voice. "Yes, it was here. He took her inside." Shock replaced relief. The second man's voice was also familiar, but it wasn't Duncan's rolling baritone. It was a slightly nasal tenor... the blond. With Joe? Was Joe somehow involved in this? Had she trusted someone she shouldn't have? Impossible! Her empathy might be slight, but it was good enough to tell friend from foe! "I'll let Duncan know." Joe said, then she heard a series of small clicks and tones, and Joe was speaking again, reeling off the address before saying "Hurry." There was a moment of quiet, then he spoke again, obviously to his companion, not into the phone "He's on his way." "Good. That's two down, one to go." "What's that supposed..." Joe's question was cut off by a dull thud and a moan. Guinan tensed and tried to stand, but couldn't. Her bound feet and hands made it impossible. She strained to hear more, but it was hard to hear anything other than her own pounding heart, then the door of the warehouse opened. She watched the blond drag a limp form into the building, maneuvering him over to where she sat against the wall. As they neared, she saw that as she'd feared, the slack figure was Joe Dawson, and his shirt was stained red from a wound on the back of his head. "Here, I brought you some company," he said with a brief, humorless smile. "You two can have a nice conversation." He let go of Joe, who began to crumple slowly. She scooted quickly to one side and managed to partially break his fall, at least so his head didn't hit the concrete floor. Whatever damage the other man had done, it didn't need to be complicated by a second blow to the head. She could feel a warm wetness soaking through the fabric of her leggings where Joe's head rested against her thigh. He was still bleeding. She managed to grab the collar of his shirt in her fingers and shifted him forward until she could use her bound wrists to apply pressure against the wound behind his ear. "You might as well not bother," the blond said. "It won't matter in the long run anyway. She looked up at him, furiously. "It might not matter to you, but it does to me! This man is my friend!" The blond seemed disturbed. "I thought he was mine, but a friend wouldn't have lied to me. Not about something this important." "I don't believe you! Joe's one of the most honest men I know!" "I thought so too, but I was wrong. I suppose it's okay if you do that, since he has to live long enough for me to..." he stopped himself and sighed. "Well, he told me it would only take a few more." "A few more what?" "Deaths." "To do what?" He looked at her as if she were simpleminded. "To become one of Them, of course." "Them?" she prodded, trying to keep him talking. If she could just figure out what drove him, what his compulsion was, she could weave the right words around him to temper it and perhaps persuade him to let them go. "You know, an Im...." Guinan stopped listening. He was here. Dane. She could feel him, as if a yawning, cavernous darkness had just opened up beneath her feet. She shuddered involuntarily, every part of her being rejecting what he was. "You talk too much, Conroy. It's a fault common to the inept and insecure." The voice was cool and cultured. A man walked out of the darkness at the doorway, and for the first time Guinan saw the physical aspect of the thing that was Tanner Dane. He was not a tall man, but neat, and well-kept. He looked to be in his mid-forties, with hair as blond as Conroy's, save for a frost of silver at the temples. He wore an expensive European-cut overcoat, and looked like a someone you might see every day in a bank or law firm. At first glance he didn't look like a vicious killer, or a man who took pleasure in torture, but one look into his eyes betrayed him. They were cold and blue-white, like a dog's eyes, not a man's; and there was no soul to be seen in them. He stared down at her, his lip faintly curled. "I can't say MacLeod's taste has improved over the years if you're any example. But then, it hardly matters what I think. There's something about you, though-- you're not One, nor will you be, but there is... something interesting." Guinan felt his cold mental fingers probing, trying to find cracks in her armor and slide within. She reinforced her mental barriers with every scrap of will she possessed. Whatever this thing was, it wouldn't get into her! Of the few humans she'd met who possessed operant faculties, his were the most powerful she'd come across. He kept trying for several minutes, until she was sure she couldn't hold out against him any longer, then finally he gave up. She sagged, half-exhausted from the effort of holding him off. It was fortunate that he didn't really seem to know how to use his mental abilities, or she would not have been able to resist. He looked annoyed. "Well, whatever it is, I suppose it doesn't matter any more. Evan, I found someone outside looking around. Would you be good enough to fetch him in? I'm afraid he's not up to walking." Conroy looked frightened. "Someone snooping? Why? Who is he?" Dane shrugged. "I've no idea. He looked quite ordinary, save for these," he reached into his pockets and brought out a rather large gun, and a cellular telephone. "I thought it might be better if he were in with us rather than out there potentially causing problems. Now go get him before he comes to. And bring the tape." After Conroy had gone, Dane prodded Joe with an expensive Italian loafer, and shook his head when there was no response. "Too bad, it's so much more fun when they're awake when he does it." Fun? Guinan shuddered, then it hit her. This was her chance! She wasn't gagged, and she was alone with him! She looked up, locking her gaze with his. "Let us go!" Even in her own ears, her voice was oddly resonant and seemed to echo in the darkness. Dane's eyes glazed slightly. "Let us go," Guinan repeated, lowering the tone, lacing it with compulsion. He took a step forward, then suddenly the glazed look disappeared, and he straightened, looking around sharply, as if he'd heard something. A few seconds later, she felt a familiar, seductive brilliance. Duncan was somewhere nearby. Damn! She had meant to be gone before this! But how could she go now, and leave Joe defenseless? At least alive she could try to control Dane and Conroy. It would be wrong to simply abandon Joe to them to save herself a few moments of pain! Dane opened his coat and drew a sword from beneath it, a deadly, gleaming length of blue-gray steel. She tensed and leaned forward, hoping she could protect Joe, but Dane ignored her, and strode quickly away toward the door. Conroy appeared in it, dragging another limp body into the warehouse. He dumped the man beside her and she studied him, her eyes widening. It was the guy she'd seen outside Joe's earlier that day, the cop! If he was here, maybe his partner was too! She felt a surge of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to get out of this alive. "Conroy, let us go!" Guinan whispered, hoping he would be easier to control. From the doorway Dane looked back at her, his eyes narrowed. "Shut her up. There's something strange about her voice." "No!" she cried out, turning her head from side to side to avoid Conroy's hands. He played the game for a few moments, then tired of it and backhanded her. She tasted blood in her mouth from the blow, and stunned, she stilled to let her head stop reeling. Conroy took advantage of her stillness to plaster a strip of duct tape across her mouth. She subsided, defeated. Next to her, she saw the cop stir slightly, his eyelids fluttering. She hoped Conroy hadn't noticed. "Are you ready, Conroy?" "I am." "I hardly think so. Where's your blade?" Conroy flushed like a schoolboy caught without his homework. "In the car." "Well get it. MacLeod's near, I feel him. I'll bring him here, but he must watch you do it or the Change cannot happen." At his words an eager, avid look flashed over Conroy's face, and he almost ran for the door. What the hell did he think would happen if he kept killing people? She wished she'd paid more attention to what Conroy had been saying just before Dane had appeared. He'd said something about becoming `One.' One what? Was this some sort of bizarre initiation ritual? The cop moaned softly, and she stared at him, willing him to silence. If they thought he was unconscious they might leave him unbound. As if he'd understood, he quieted, but his eyes opened. She saw him slowly become aware of his surroundings, but he didn't stir. Only his eyes moved, tracking as much as he could see of the room from his prone position. His gaze passed Joe's unconscious form, then moved higher and met hers. His eyes widened, taking in the tape across her mouth, then dropping to her bound wrists. He started to speak, but she shook her head minutely, and looked over toward the door, warning plain in her gaze. His eyes narrowed, but he didn't speak. In her lap, Joe stirred and groaned. Couldn't these guys keep quiet? Lifting her hands from his head, she was reassured to see that the bleeding seemed to have stopped. He groaned again, and she put her fingers over his lips, pressing gently. The cop made a quiet "ssssshhh" sound. Joe opened his eyes and looked up, obviously confused and in pain. He opened his mouth, saw the tape on hers, and closed it again. Slowly he lifted his head until he could see more of the room, and she felt him tense. He let his head fall back, and winced in pain. "Hurry up!" Dane called out. Guinan looked over to see him step aside to allow Conroy back into the room, this time carrying a sword in his hand. He looked awkward with it, ill-at-ease. "Good. I'll get MacLeod. Keep them until I return." Conroy nodded and walked toward them, sword in hand. He stopped several feet away, and set it down on a steel drum, then drew his gun again. Obviously he felt more at home with the latter, as he handled it easily. "Enjoying your little party?" he asked archly, in a way that made her skin crawl. "It can't be every day you have two men at your feet." Frustration rose inside her. She wanted to stop him, but how, when her only weapon had been taken from her! Arrogantly, she had never thought it necessary to learn some of the self-defense skills other Visitors had advised her to learn. She'd always had so much confidence in her ability to keep everything under control that she had simply hadn't bothered. Now she regretted that bitterly. If she could have avoided being taken in the first place, she could have warned Joe and Duncan, and this whole thing wouldn't be happening! It was her fault! She couldn't stand to look at Conroy, or at Joe, so she closed her eyes, hoping no one would notice she was crying. **** Duncan found the address Joe had given him. It was the right place. He could feel Dane, the peculiar chill of his presence was immediately recognizable. He got out of the car and retrieved his sword, its familiar heft reassuring in his hand. He felt the heady rush of adrenaline flood him as he readied for battle. He wanted Dane so badly he could taste it. Only a few times in his life had he wanted to hurt someone this badly. Kern, Durgin, Daimler, Kalas.... He was filled with a cold, calm fury that would accept no less than Dane's ultimate death. He moved away from the car toward the building, feeling the sensation of presence strengthen. Yes, this way. Dane was here, inside. Duncan padded toward the door, feet soundless on the pavement, every sense focused. He saw the door swing open and froze in place, waiting. Dane emerged. He still looked as he had the last time, immaculately dressed, perfectly groomed, cold as ice. He studied Duncan coolly, then brought up his sword in salute. "MacLeod. It's good to see you again." "You'll forgive me if I don't echo the sentiment." "It's not entirely unexpected, no, but I am glad to see you. If you hadn't come, I would have been very disappointed, after all the trouble I've gone to." Duncan didn't pretend not to know what Dane meant. "Why, Dane? Why kill my friends? Why kill Watchers for God's sake?" "The friend of my enemy is my enemy. By taking them, I weaken you. The Watchers were just for fun, once I found out what they were. How better to bait my trap than with mortals, your biggest weakness? I've always said your boy-scout ethics would one day get you killed, and I plan to prove myself right." "You can try." Duncan said, smiling. He stood at ease, his sword down, as if completely relaxed. He thought he saw the shadow of a frown crease Dane's forehead, but it was gone so quickly he couldn't be sure. The man went on, clearly trying to get a reaction. "You know, I wouldn't have found you if you didn't make a habit of befriending mortals. I overheard one of your myriad mortal proteges mention your name and grew curious. By the time I'd finished with her, I knew all about you, where you live, what you do. Interestingly, she also knew about us." Duncan stifled the urge to go for him then, knowing that was what his opponent wanted, to provoke an attack out of anger. He somehow managed not to ask who it had been. Dane waited a moment, then lifted an eyebrow. "What, not curious? I'm surprised." Duncan shrugged. "You've killed so many it hardly matters." "Oh, she's not dead." Dane grinned mirthlessly. "Ms. Lord will probably live a long, long time. She simply may not enjoy it as she might have. She was a lovely woman." Was? Duncan remembered Rebecca's darkly beautiful face, her bravery, intensity, and grace; and tried not to imagine those things destroyed as was Dane's wont. One more reason to make sure Dane couldn't harm anyone else. He schooled his voice to nonchalance and looked around, pointedly. "Are we going to stand around all day and chat?" Dane bared his teeth. "If you're so anxious for it, by all means, let us lay on, however, brawling in parking lots really isn't my style. "Why is that?" Duncan asked with a lifted eyebrow. "No place to hide?" Dane took a swing at him, a badly placed, off-balance swing. Duncan didn't even have to step back to get out of the way. He grinned. "Is that the best you can do? I wanted to enjoy this fight." He brought his sword up and took a step forward. To his complete amazement, Dane didn't engage him, instead, he turned and ran. After a moment of surprise, Duncan took off after him. **** Dana Scully had that feeling, the one she got whenever Mulder was in trouble. She hated that feeling. Why hadn't he called her back? What was wrong? She noticed the light ahead turning yellow and pulled up to the stop-bar, tapping her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as she consulted the map spread over the seat next to her. From the looks of it, she was getting close. `Damn it, Mulder,' she thought. `Would you please call?' She'd already requested back-up, asking for the response to be silent. If there really was a hostage situation, coming in with lights and sirens would only exacerbate it. A black and white pulled up on her left, and she glanced over to see Bennett's familiar face in the passenger seat. He nodded grimly at her, pointing ahead, and as the light turned green she let the marked car pull ahead to lead the way. Much easier than a map. Bennett's car led her through a maze of turns to a run-down wharf and warehouse district. As they did, two more black and white units, a SWAT team van, and four cars with government plates fell in with them. She nodded with satisfaction; good back-up. They all converged in the parking lot of a building two doors away from the target address Mulder had given her. As she got out of the car, she realized suddenly that the maroon Taurus at the curb was the one Mulder had been driving. Quickly she went to it, and as she had expected, it was empty. Nothing about it looked suspicious or unusual, except that Mulder was nowhere in sight. She knew with a peculiar certainty that he was in that warehouse with the suspect. She just didn't know what sort of shape he was in. Bennett gestured her over to where he was standing. There were four men wearing baseball jackets emblazoned with the letters FBI. One of them held a similar jacket and a kevlar vest out to her. "Agent Scully, as the agent of record, can you tell us something about what we've got here?." She buckled the vest on over her suit, pulled on the jacket, and nodded, looking around at the assembled men. "We have a hostage situation, and the suspect involved is probably armed and highly dangerous. We have reason to believe he has already killed at least fifteen people, possibly more. He kills with an edged weapon of some type, but he may also carry a gun. The killer is probably delusional, thinking he is some sort of superbeing who can't be killed by ordinary means. Though that's clearly impossible, the human mind is a powerful thing and because of his delusion he may be very hard to bring down." She paused a moment, then took a breath and went on, saying the thing she really hadn't wanted to admit, even to herself.. "There is one other thing... my partner, Agent Mulder, contacted me from this location nearly half an hour ago. He was going in to try to find out whether the man actually has hostages, but he has not contacted me since then, so I must assume at this point that he is... unable to do so. Exercise extreme caution, and be prepared to defend yourselves." She saw almost no fear on the faces around her, just determination. She felt the same way herself, though there was a small knot below her sternum that would expand if she let herself think about it. Bennett stepped forward. "Thank you, Agent Scully. Here's the situation as we've mapped it out..." She listened intently as Bennett explained the layout of the general area and the building they were going into. She was troubled by the proximity to water, knowing that if the suspect had a boat of some sort moored nearby, he could escape them. She made a mental note to watch for that possibility. "Everyone ready?" Bennett asked quietly. He was answered with chorus of affirmatives that made Scully smile. It sounded like a high school locker-room before a big game. As the other law-enforcement personnel began to take up their positions, she followed the SWAT team toward the warehouse, to the door nearest the blue car that sat alone in the lot. They took up positions to either side of the door, and one of them looked at her, questioningly. She nodded, and stepped forward, her hand on the door handle. It turned beneath her hand, and Dana was startled to realize it was unlocked. Too easy! A trap? Cautiously she eased it open just a crack. Inside, in the dimness, she saw a single shadowy figure pacing the floor. He was facing partly away from her, but she could tell that he held a weapon. She could also see that he was not Mulder. He was too short and too stocky. Holding a finger to her lips she eased the door open a tiny bit further until she could see what he faced. A puddle of light played over the tableaux of figures on the floor. One of them was stunningly familiar, and she sucked in a silent gasp. She would recognize that long, rumpled figure anywhere. Mulder! Was he alive? Hurt? The only other member of the trio she could see well was a black woman whose mouth was covered with duct tape. Scully winced in sympathy. She knew what that felt like. The woman's eyes were open, and the periodic flicker of her gaze as she followed her captor's movements told Scully she was alive and aware. She quietly pulled the door closed and turned to the man on her left, the one who'd been pointed out at the SWAT team sharpshooter. He bent down so he could hear her whisper. "The man standing is our suspect, and he's armed, though I can't tell what with. There are three other people in there, on the floor. At least one of them is alive, though she seems to be restrained. When we go in, can you take out the suspect quickly so he can't turn on his hostages?" The man grinned ferally. "No problem, ma'am." Scully felt an utterly inappropriate desire to laugh at being called "ma'am" but restrained herself. She looked down the line of men waiting for her move, and mouthed, "On three." They nodded, and she held up one finger, then two, then three. On the third, she threw open the door and charged in, followed by the swarm of men in riot gear. "Federal agents! Throw down your weapon!" The man spun to face them, an almost comical expression of surprise on his face. He focused on Scully, and his hands came up. She realized that what he held in his hands was a gun, not a knife. She stiffened, suddenly aware that she was in danger, and then Mulder moved in a fluid, catlike lunge toward the suspect. They were down on the floor in seconds, and Scully swore in frustration. The sharpshooter couldn't get a clear shot now! A gunshot sounded, and she stiffened, half expecting one of the two men to collapse, but neither did. After a moment, the suspect managed to free himself and he got to his knees, his gun aimed at Mulder's head. Three nearly simultaneous reports shattered the air, and the man dropped his weapon as crimson bloomed on his chest and back. He touched his fingers to the spreading wetness on his chest, and looked up, his expression an odd combination of frustration and bewilderment. "But I wasn't finished yet..." he said, quietly, then his eyes rolled back and he tipped slowly sideways to lie unmoving on the floor. Mulder kicked the man's gun out of reach and scrambled to his feet, looking around at the men surrounding him. "Nice job on the reinforcements Scully." "It would have been if you hadn't decided to play the hero. We had a clear shot at him until then!" Mulder looked offended. "So did he, directly at you; and you're welcome." Scully gave him a grudging nod and knelt next to the suspect, searching for a pulse. There was none. Not that she'd really expected one. She looked up and found Mulder helping one of the other two victims sit up. She recognized the bartender by his silver-shot dark hair. His shirt and jacket were streaked with blood from a wound on the back of his head, and he looked pale and a bit woozy. "Get some paramedics in here!" Dana snapped, and saw one of the SWAT guys react and begin speaking into his walkie-talkie. She moved to Joe's side and examined him cursorily, relieved to see that the cut at least was superficial. "I bet you have a hell of a headache," she said, commiserating. "You should get that x-rayed. It could be a concussion." He nodded, wincing, his gaze fixed the black woman. "I'm okay, I'm hard-headed. But Guinan... I think that shot hit her, I felt her jerk when the gun went off." Scully shifted her attention to the woman. Mulder was carefully peeling the duct tape from her mouth, and her dusky skin seemed to have taken on an oddly ashen tone that Scully didn't like at all. "Where are you hurt?" she asked, examining her, looking for the telltale leakage of blood. "That shot hit you, didn't it?" The woman nodded, her lower lip caught in her teeth. After a moment she sucked in a breath. "It grazed my arm, that's all. I'll be okay. Get my hands and feet free, please! I've got to find Duncan and help him!" "He's in no danger now, we killed the man who was holding you hostage here." "You killed one of them, but not the really dangerous one. Come on, get me loose!" "One of them?" Scully looked blankly at Mulder. That was something they hadn't even thought of. "There are two of them?" The woman nodded frantically. "Yes! Damn it, let me go to him..." "Where did they go?" Mulder asked calmly. "There..." she nodded toward the west wall, the one that let out onto the dock area. "They're out there." her gaze shifted to Mulder, and her eyes seemed to hold his. "I know they are, I can feel them. I have to help! You've got to let me help." Scully was only half listening as she began to rip open the woman's blood-soaked sleeve to bare the wound on her arm, but Joe's intense response to that plea made her look up. "Guinan, no! You don't know what you're doing. Duncan doesn't need any help!" "Yes he does! You don't know what this guy is like!" "Yes, I do, and believe me, Duncan would not want help, especially not you and a horde of cops!. He can handle Dane." "No, he can't. Dane's evil, Joe, like nothing I've ever met before. He's as dark as Duncan is light, maybe even more so. He might..." she broke off and looked at Mulder. "Go to him. If you won't let me help, you go. Don't let him face the darkness alone." Something about her voice was incredibly compelling. Mulder looked at her, then at Scully. He held out his hand. She hesitated for a moment, then she put her gun in his hand. "Be careful this time." He nodded, and headed for the door. Scully watched him, wondering why on earth she had just handed him her gun, and why she was letting him do this. She started to call out, to tell the SWAT team to go after him, but the woman put a hand on her arm. "Please, let him go alone. It will be all right." Again Dana felt compelled to do as she'd been asked. She settled back down to examine the wound on the woman's arm. It was just a graze, but there was something odd about her blood, and look of the wound. She wished there were better light in the room, and that she had proper equipment, but she didn't. Where were the paramedics, for god's sake? For lack of anything better, she folded a piece of the woman's ripped sleeve into a pad which she held to the wound to stanch the bleeding. "How do you feel?" "Like I've been shot," Guinan said drily. "But it's not that bad now that I've gotten more accustomed to it. I'll be fine." Dana studied her, noting that her color had improved somewhat. She nodded non-commitally. "We'll let the paramedics make that determination when they get here." Guinan stiffened suddenly. "Paramedics? No... I can't. I'm fine. I don't need to be treated." Joe looked at her, annoyed. "Don't be a damned martyr, Guinan. Have it looked at. I'm going to have my head examined... something people are forever telling me I need to do," he said with a chuckle. "I want to make sure you're okay. You shouldn't have been mixed up in this to begin with." Guinan snorted. "You can say that again. But there's no need to worry, everything is fine, I assure you. Now would one of you please get this damned tape off me?" Joe dug a folding knife from his pocket, opened it, and carefully sliced through the tough silvery tape. Guinan stretched her legs, then flexed her arms, hissing slightly in pain from the wound. Suddenly she turned toward the far wall, as if she could somehow see through it. "Quiet... let me hear..." Hear what, Dana wondered, unable to hear anything but the SWAT guys. She vaguely thought she ought to be concerned about Mulder being out there with a killer, but it was just a stray thought. She returned to what she was doing. **** Mulder moved quietly and quickly around behind the building to a dock-like area. He stopped, staring at the two figures he saw. One was the guy in photograph that Bennett had shown him, Duncan MacLeod. The other was slighter, better dressed, and completely unfamiliar. It certainly wasn't Nash. It must be the man that Guinan had called "Dane." The one she had said was the `dangerous one.' They were fencing. No, he corrected himself, they were fighting. This was no genteel match with button-tipped foils, this was a lethal combat. He watched for a moment, trying to figure out if he could get a shot off without accidentally hitting the wrong duelist. How many times had this scene been played out throughout MacLeod's lifetime, and how long had that lifetime had been? Decades, centuries, millennia? The smaller man circled MacLeod, who turned with him, waiting, watching. He struck suddenly, and MacLeod brought his blade up and blocked the cut. Dane turned and struck out again with astonishing speed, and they engaged again. It was clear that MacLeod was stronger and better-trained than Dane, however Dane seemed to have the advantage of speed. As Mulder watched, MacLeod managed to bring his sword in under Dane's and parried it with a circular motion that neatly disarmed his opponent. Dane stood there for a moment, looking utterly stunned, then as MacLeod drew back the katana for the final blow, Dane slowly began to smile. His smile was both knowing, and unnerving, and MacLeod stopped, eyes narrowed. Mulder raised his gun and started to step forward, but stopped as MacLeod spoke. He wanted to hear what they had to say, and he could wait a moment to declare his presence. "What?" MacLeod growled. "It won't do you any good to kill me, you know." "What are you talking about?" "Your friends are dead anyway, you know that. Conroy took care of them, you heard those shots." MacLeod's stance shifted slightly, angling toward the warehouse, though still keeping Dane in his field of vision. Dane's words obviously disturbed him. MacLeod was clearly weighing his options, and Dane took advantage of the momentary pause to dart to the side and pick up his sword. MacLeod reacted to the threat by bringing up the tip of his blade, but he didn't attack. "Conroy? What's your Watcher got to do with this?" Dane chuckled. "Everything. It's him you know, not me. He's been killing them." "Tell me another one!" MacLeod scoffed. "But it's true, he's trying to become one of us!" MacLeod scowled. "Don't be ridiculous. That's impossible. You have to be born an immortal!" "He doesn't know that. It was remarkably easy to convince him otherwise." "You told him he could become an Immortal by killing us?" MacLeod asked incredulously. "Oh, not just us, anyone. I told him that it's how we all got to be what we are. I told him that there was a critical threshold of deaths that it takes, and he's been trying faithfully to reach that goal. It's a shame he won't get the reward he's been seeking. He's been such a good disciple. Who shall we go after next, hmmm? How about... what's his name... Richie?" "Damn it, Dane! What do you want?" MacLeod's voice was harsh with anger. "Right this moment? Oh, watching the expression on your face when you walk into that warehouse would be nice. Perhaps they're not quite dead yet... lying there bleeding, dying, as we fight." He chuckled. "What a delightful thought. Eventually, I want your head, of course. Give me your blade and perhaps I'll let Richie live... for now." MacLeod's expression fairly reeked of disgust. "You're sick, Dane, you always were, however I think you'll leave him alone if I take your head. I can handle Conroy." Dane grinned. "A child could handle Conroy, I, on the other hand, won't be so easy." He lunged toward MacLeod, who swore and barely managed to block a sweeping upward slash from below that made Mulder flinch in masculine sympathy. That had been awfully close to the family jewels. Dane seemed maniacal in his intensity, coming after him with grim determination. MacLeod blocked, and blocked, time after time, and began to maneuver himself toward the edge of the dock. Mulder wondered if he was planning a dive into the river in order to escape. Dane suddenly seemed to realize what he was doing, for he moved between MacLeod and the water. "Oh no you don't! I've waited far too long for this!" He cut low, and MacLeod blocked. Their swords rang with the clash of steel on steel, and before MacLeod could recover, Dane stepped back, disengaging, and lashed out with his blade laying open MacLeod's chest and abdomen in a diagonal slash. Mulder saw the bigger man stagger back, moving as if badly hurt. Dane grinned and drew back his own sword to strike. It was now or never. Mulder stepped out of the shadows and drew a bead on Dane, Scully's Sig-Sauer held in both hands for stability. "FBI! Drop your weapons!" Dane turned and saw him, cursed roughly and moved to complete his stroke. "I said drop your weapons!" Mulder shouted again, louder. MacLeod did as he'd been ordered, simultaneously hitting the ground and rolling to avoid Dane's weapon as it came down. Mulder's finger tightened on the trigger, and a single shot shattered the stillness. Dane jerked backward, a grimace of pain on his face as his sword fell from nerveless fingers. A bright stain appeared on his right shoulder, just below the collarbone. He stared at MacLeod for a moment, his face feral with hatred, then he turned and let himself fall. A splash came a few seconds later. MacLeod cursed soundly, and looked over the edge. Mulder moved warily to join him, and saw no sign of Dane. "Damn, we'll have to drag the river." MacLeod looked at him, and he saw recognition in his face. He must have recognized him from Joe's earlier in the day. He looked back at the dark surface of the water, and shook his head. "You won't find a body," he said flatly. Mulder let out his breath, suddenly aware he'd been holding it. "Somehow I knew you were going to say that." "Then you should have let me take him." "From where I stood, it looked more like he was about to take you." "That was deliberate." Mulder studied him a moment, seeing the truth of that in his eyes, then sighed. "This seems to be my day for getting in the way. I'm Fox Mulder, FBI." There was a surreal quality to the moment, introducing himself as if they'd met at a party, but MacLeod took the hand that was extended to him. "Duncan MacLeod." "I know." MacLeod smiled dryly. "Somehow I knew you were going to say that," he said, echoing Mulder's earlier words. Mulder acknowledged him with an amused glance. "Scully talked to you, then?" "She did. She knew a few things that surprised me. You people don't strike me as the type who'd be interested in us." Mulder laughed silently. "You'd probably be surprised at what interests us. But in this case, it was logical. We were tracking an interstate killer." "Ah, yes. That explains some of it." MacLeod stared, unseeing, at the water, and Mulder wondered what he was thinking. "I don't suppose you'd care to give me some details on him; his name, where he lives, that sort of thing?" he prompted quietly. "It wouldn't do you any good. He can change them more easily than you can imagine." "Still, it would be nice to be able to make a complete report." "Frankly, I'd prefer it stay incomplete." Mulder's eyebrows lifted. MacLeod grinned ingratiatingly. "Does your report have to mention me?" Mulder chuckled. "D'you think I could convince Scully you're a figment of her imagination?" He paused a moment, reading MacLeod's expression, and shook his head with a slight smile. "I didn't think so either. Honestly, I don't think anyone ever reads my reports anyway, but in any case, it's clear from what I saw, and what I was told by your friends, that you're a victim here, not a perpetrator. However, we seem to have a plethora of victims, and I can probably get one of them to tell me about this guy if you won't." MacLeod's head snapped up, his eyes searching. "My friends? Joe? Guinan? They're alive?" Mulder remembered what Dane had told MacLeod, and realized he must have thought them dead. He nodded. "I'm sorry, I should have told you earlier. They're fine. My partner brought the cavalry. She's good at that." "Where are they?" "Inside with Scully. She's showing off her doctoring skills at the moment. Your friend Guinan insisted I come out here and give you a hand." Duncan eyed him narrowly. "Doctoring skills? I thought you said they were fine!" "They are, mostly, just a bit banged up," Mulder gingerly touched the back of his head. "But then, so am I." His gaze fell to the bloody slash in MacLeod's shirt and he nodded toward it. "And so are you. You might want to get that taken care of." MacLeod glanced down, smiling slightly. "There's no need." Mulder's eyes narrowed as he realized there was no wound beneath the slash. He stared for a long moment, then lifted his gaze to MacLeod's. "That must be handy." "On occasion. It can also be very problematic." "Yes, I'd imagine it would. I'm sure there are a lot of people who'd like to know what makes you tick." He paused, thinking of his own experiences. "A lot of not-very-nice people." "Exactly. So you can see why I'd rather avoid any mention of it in your report." Mulder nodded. "There are... aspects of the case I don't have to report in as much detail as others." A noise from behind them brought Mulder's attention around, and when he turned back, he gestured at MacLeod's sword. "I think you'd better put that away before someone besides me sees it. I think the reinforcements are about to descend." MacLeod nodded and slipped his sword into concealment beneath his coat, buttoning it to hide the slash in his shirt. "You're not at all what I expected out of an FBI agent." Mulder gazed for a moment at the dark water below the dock, and then turned, his expression wry. "I don't think I'm quite what the FBI expected out of an FBI agent either." **** =========================================================================