Date:         Fri, 17 Nov 1995 11:07:48 -0600
Reply-To:     Julia Kosatka <JKosatka@UH.EDU>
Sender:       Highlander TV show stories <HLFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
From:         Julia Kosatka <JKosatka@UH.EDU>
Subject:      In the Dark, 4/21 (REPOST) ADULT

nodded happily.
       "Good coffee."
       "Thanks."
       "So... we were talking about memories."
       "Were we?"
       "Some time back.  I asked if you wanted to talk, you said you
didn't think you could.  I think you can, you just don't want to."
       He studied her for a moment, sipping his coffee.  "It's not a
pleasant tale.  I don't think most people would really want to hear it."
       "I'm not most people.  Tell me."
       He walked away and stood, staring out the window into the darkness
for several long, quiet minutes.  After awhile, he began to speak.  Guinan
listened.  Though there were odd hesitations here and there, and gaps in
the story that she would have liked filled, it quickly became clear that
she was listening to a man whose life had held more violence and sorrow
than she could possibly have imagined.  Who would have thought so young a
man might have such things in his past?  Was this what had shaped that
brilliant soul?  Was pain what brought out the promise inherent in this
species?  She shuddered at the thought.
       "Duncan, you can't blame yourself.  From what you've told me about
this man, he would have done it whether or not you had known Thalassa.
She was a convenient target, and it was in his nature.  You said yourself
he had a reputation for torture, especially of women, and your having
saved someone from him earlier was more than admirable, it was heroic."
       Duncan made a derisive sound.  "Look what it got me."
       "Would you have been able to live with yourself if you hadn't?"
       There was a long silence, then the figure at the window moved
minutely, his hand going out to flatten against the glass.
       "No,"  he whispered.  "But to take her life..."
       "Would she have wanted to live as he had left her?  Would she have
lived more than a few days, at best, after what he'd done to her?  You
freed her.  The soul holds only temporary residence in any body... she
only needed your help moving on."
       "Do we have souls?"  he asked bleakly.
       "Yes."  she stated, firmly, unequivocally.
       "I wonder..."
       "Don't.  You do."
       He turned and walked to the counter, set down his cup very
carefully, as if it were eggshell thin and he were afraid of crushing it.
"Maybe most do, but myself, I doubt."
       "Why should you be any different?"
       He smiled, but it held no humor.  "Why indeed?"
       She moved to stand behind him.  "Duncan, do you ever cry?"
       He turned, surprised.  "I..."  he stopped, and frowned.  "Almost
never."
       "Why?"
       "I don't know.  I used to, when I was..."  he stopped again.  "A
long time ago."
       "Why did you stop?"
       "Because, it doesn't help."
       "Yes it does.  It's an admission of pain, of need, of humanity."
       "But I'm not human,"  he said bleakly.  "Not any more."
       Guinan shivered, knowing he didn't mean that like her, he was not
of Earth.
       "You are human, Duncan.  No matter what you've done, no matter what
you think you've become, you're still human.  You are a child of Earth,
and your heart will always be human."
       He stared down almost blindly at his hands where they were braced
against the countertop.  "You don't know what I am."
       "I know more than you think."
       He looked up, eyes narrowing.  "What do you mean?"
       She shook her head.  "You'll think I'm crazy."
       "No.  I won't.  I've seen too much in my life.  Nothing's crazy any
more."
       She studied him a moment, then nodded acceptance.  "Fair enough.
Well, I can sense things about people, things most people can't sense.
You are... different.  Very different, but still human.  You feel pain,
you feel love, you feel anger, hope, joy and sorrow... all the things that
make humanity what it is.  I don't know what makes you different, but I do
know what makes you the same."
       She put one of her hands over one of his, and almost gasped as his
`presence' flared into her.  No wonder Joe was so fiercely protective of
him, he probably drew people to him like moths to flame.  Even without the
aid of non-human senses, this man must shine like a beacon.  He lifted her
hand with his, and put his lips against her fingers for a moment.  It sent
a shock through her, a wave of desire.  Still holding her hand, he spoke
again, his lips so close to her skin that she could feel his breath with
each word.
       "`I've seen sae mony changefu' years, on earth I am a stranger
grown; I wander in the ways o' men, alike unknowing and unknown.'"
       Oh, Great Ladies!  A man who wasn't afraid to admit to knowing
poetry!  She wanted to melt against him, but knew better.  He was so
young, so human, so tempting... so against the rules.  She pulled back.
       "As long as we're quoting maudlin Scots, perhaps a different one
from Auld Robbie might be more appropriate;  `O wad some Pow'r the giftie
gie us, to see oursel's as others see us!'"
       She sensed the change in his mood before he even smiled.
       "Ye've no' quite got the inflection there, but aye, you're right.
Most times we have only our own eyes to see through, and our own
perceptions can go awry.  Ye hae the Gift, don't ye?"  His accent was
broad now, pure Scot, as if he had burned away all the other voices he'd
acquired over the years.
       "You could call it that."
       "I've known others with it.  'Tis a singular talent."
       "A fairly useless one, most days.  But not today, I think."
       He shook his head.  "No, not today."  He stared at her suddenly,
his eyes narrowing.  "There was no lost pin, was there?"
       She shook her head slowly, smiling a little.  "No, just a lost
soul."
       He shook his head, as if in disbelief, then looked to the window,
and gestured to it.  She saw the sky beginning to lighten with dawn.
       "Thank you, Guinan, for seeing me through 'til morning."
       "It was my pleasure."
       He grinned.  "I would all women were so easily pleased.  More
coffee?"

                                     ****

       It was foggy and raining as Mulder stepped off the plane at
Sea-Tac.  He felt right at home.  As they walked out of the gate, Scully
nodded toward a tall, well-dressed Black man who held a sign with their
names on it.  Having not expected to be met, Mulder was curious, but
cautious.  Scully apparently had no qualms, since she stopped in front of
the man and waved a hand toward Mulder.
       "I'm Dana Scully, this is Fox Mulder.  You are?"
       The man took a leather case from his pocket and opened it to reveal
a badge and identification which he left open long enough for them to
study.
       "Reed Bennett, homicide.  I asked if I could come down and meet you
after they showed me that fax you sent.  You're the FBI agents working on
that recent string of decapitations, right?"
       Mulder glanced around and satisfied himself that they weren't being
listened to.
       "We are, though we'd prefer it not get bandied around.  If the
press picks up on it, we may lose our edge... if we even have one.  You
said you got the fax?"
       "Yeah, they showed it to me because a couple of the cases you were
asking about were my cases.  Unfortunately, I have to disappoint you.
Your suspect doesn't look a thing like Duncan MacLeod."
       Bennett opened the portfolio he carried and took out a photograph
which he handed to Scully.  She took it, and her eyes widened slightly.
Mulder tried not to be too obvious about looking over her shoulder, but
even after she handed it to him he couldn't see what had elicited her
reaction.  It was a grainy black and white of some long-haired guy in a
t-shirt and jeans, standing next to a younger man on a motorcycle.
Neither subject bore the slightest resemblance to the photo they had of
Russell Nash.  He clenched his teeth against the disappointment, and cast
around for an alternate explanation.
       "He could have had plastic surgery and dyed his hair."
       Scully looked at him and shook her head.  "Not unless you know a
plastic surgeon who can change someone's basic body structure.  Look at
this guy-- Nash is long and lanky, like you.  MacLeod is compact and
muscular.  You could possibly change part of that with weight training,
but not to this extent."
       "Damn!"  Mulder swore softly, shaking his head.  "I was sure we
were onto something when I saw that both suspects were antique dealers."
       Bennett looked puzzled for a moment.  "Antiques?  Oh, yeah. I'd
almost forgotten.  MacLeod got out of the antique business about two years
ago, after his lady-friend was killed in a robbery.  Now he runs a martial
arts studio."
       Mulder looked up.  "Martial arts?  So this guy knows weapons and
hand-to-hand combat techniques?"
       "Yes, to both questions.  If you'd like to see my files on him
you're welcome to, but I don't think he's your man.  Actually, to tell the
truth I was kind of relieved to see that MacLeod and Nash were obviously
not the same person.  In the course of my investigations, I've discovered
he's a nice guy."
       "Remember, sociopaths can be extremely charming,"  Mulder pointed
out, still not quite willing to let go of his only theory.
       Bennett studied him for a moment, a touch of annoyance creeping
into his expression.  "I'm well aware of that, Agent Mulder."
       Before Mulder could reply, Scully stepped into the conversation.
       "It's very generous of you to offer to share your files, Mr.
Bennett.  You'd be surprised how rarely local authorities extend such
cooperation voluntarily."
       Bennett turned his attention to her, chuckling ruefully.  "I know
the feeling.  Some sheriff's departments can be pretty territorial, too.
It makes it damned hard to get anything done.  Would you like to go down
to headquarters, or would you rather check into a hotel first?"
       "We'd like to get started, so if you don't mind taking us to your
office, that would be fine.  Perhaps later you can recommend a place for
us to stay, something suitable for a government expense account?"
       Bennett nodded sympathetically.  "You mean someplace cheap, but
without roaches or drunks?  I think we can find something that fits the
bill.  Did either of you check luggage?"
       Mulder shook his head, holding out his suit-bag and carryall, as
did Scully.  Bennett nodded.
       "I kinda figured that.  Come on, my car's this way."

                                     ****

       "I still think we should watch him."  Mulder said, mulishly.
       "Mulder, we have no logical reason to suspect this guy!"  Scully
returned. "We've gone through Bennett's files on MacLeod and found nothing
there to incriminate him.  Not only that, but he gives to charities like a
madman, his martial arts school initiated a program to help keep local
youth off the streets, he's an art patron.  He just doesn't fit the
profile!  And according to Bennett, he hasn't even been out of town for
the past month."
       "That we know of."  Mulder corrected her.  "In some ways he doesn't
fit the profile, in others, he does.  He's got money, he does a lot of
overseas travel, he knows bladed weapons and how to use them.  He wouldn't
be the first killer in history to appear to be a fine, upstanding member
of the community.  Besides, with those points of similarity, even if he's
not the killer, he still might know something that could be useful."
       Scully sighed.  "Okay, I'll give you that.  Besides... we haven't
got any other suspects."  She threaded her fingers into her hair and
massaged her scalp.  "I've got a headache, I need food, what I really need
is sleep, but I know I'm not going to get that anytime soon.  Can we call
the local Bureau office and have them put someone on him so we can at
least get food and an hour off?"
       Mulder nodded.  "That's reasonable.  I could use food too... maybe
a shower.  I always feel more awake after a shower."
       Scully closed her eyes and sighed.  "A shower sounds like heaven
right now.  I'll go find Bennett and ask him for the name of that motel,
you call the office.  See if you can get us a car and a map from the motor
pool, while you're at it.  We'll need transportation."
       "I could use a walk to stretch my legs, why don't I find Bennett
and you can call the office?"
       "Because you've antagonized him enough for one day.  Honestly,
Mulder, for once we get cooperation and you have to make the guy out to be
a moron!"
       "I did not!"
       "What about when you lectured him about sociopaths?"
       Mulder looked a bit embarrassed.  "Oh.  I, um... guess I should say
something?"
       "No, let it drop, just don't do it again, okay?"
       He nodded.  "Okay.  I guess I've got phone duty again.  Hand me
that phonebook, will you?"
       She handed it to him, and left to hunt up Bennett.
       When she returned a few minutes later Mulder was standing up, coat
in hand.
       "All set.  We can pick up the car whenever we need it.  Meanwhile,
there's a place within walking distance that I've heard is interesting.
Come on, it'll do us both good to get some fresh air."
       She hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and pulled on her own
coat.
       "I just hope it's stopped raining."
       It hadn't, but it had turned to more of a fine mist than true rain.
Scully didn't mind walking in it, in fact, the cool moisture actually felt
good on her face, and helped dispel her sleepiness.  As they walked, she
studied the area, and thought it looked rather industrial.  It didn't look
like an area where one would expect to find a restaurant, particularly a
well-known one.  That got her thinking about how Mulder would have heard
of it... and she started to have second thoughts.  Mulder was not known
for his gourmet leanings.  Why would he have heard of a restaurant in
Seattle, when he barely knew any in DC?
       Mulder stopped in front of a building whose gray concrete exterior
and frosted glass-block windows made her think of various prisons she'd
visited.  Her feeling of trepidation grew at the sight of the neon sign
which glowed on the side of the building.  She was not encouraged by the
single word, "Joe's", but gamely followed Mulder into a small, dimly
lit... bar.  There was no mistaking it for anything else.  The lack of
food on any of the occupied tables confirmed it.  She pulled up short.
       "Mulder, this is a bar.  I thought we were getting something to
eat!"
       "Ah, c'mon Scully, they're bound to have peanuts or something."
       Mulder headed for the bar where a worn-looking man in his late
forties was carrying on an animated conversation with a customer.  Scully
followed, seething quietly.  As they approached, the man broke off his
conversation and smiled at them.  Seen at closer range, he still looked
weathered, but was also quite striking.  The silvering in his dark hair
and beard made him look rather distinguished, and his eyes were bright
with humor and intelligence.
       "Can I help you folks?"
       If he'd been a woman she would have described him as `whiskey-
voiced', but somehow that seemed too feminine a description for his
pleasantly husky voice.
       "Coffee."  Mulder said, then looked back at Scully expectantly.
       The thought of another cup of coffee turned her stomach, so she
tried desperately to think of something a bar might serve that was even
remotely food-like.  It came to her.
       "I'd like a Virgin Mary, please."
       The man nodded, and picked up a cane she hadn't noticed earlier,
then made his way around to the rear of the bar and began to fill their
order.  Scully guessed he was a double amputee by the way he walked.
Turning aside so as not to seem like she was staring, she studied the room
instead.  The space was spare, almost as industrial as the building's
exterior.  The ceiling had been acoustically baffled, though, and a small
stage at the front of the room hinted that it was a live-music venue on
occasion, though at the moment the stage was unoccupied and the smoky
blues playing on the sound- system were pre-recorded.  A few tables were
occupied, but the place was only half-full.  At three in the afternoon,
that was hardly surprising.
       "Here you go."  The bartender set their drinks on the counter.
Scully's stomach growled at the sight of the celery stalk that garnished
her glass.  She felt herself color as the man grinned, reached beneath the
counter and came up with a basket of pretzels.
       "Sounds like you could use these."
       She smiled and took it.  "Thanks.  He promised me food."
       Both the bartender and the guy he'd been talking with laughed at
that.  Feeling somewhat vindicated Scully took her drink and the pretzels
and sat down at a table a few yards from the bar, leaving Mulder to settle
the bill.  When he joined her a moment later, he reached for the pretzels.
She pulled the bowl out of reach and shook her head.
       "Uh-unh.  Mine.  Get your own."
       He shrugged and sipped his coffee, practicing brooding.
       "So, spill it.  Why are we here, Mulder?"
       As he opened his mouth to answer, a young man with close-cropped,
curly red hair barrelled noisily into the room.
       "Hey, Joe!  Did Mac leave my keys with you?"  he called to the
bartender from halfway across the room.
       The man in question rolled his eyes and opened the cash drawer,
extracting a set of keys which he tossed to the newcomer.
       "Yes, he did.  Now get out of here before they close me down for
letting in minors."
       It was obvious that he was teasing the kid, because though he did
look young, he was clearly over sixteen.
       The red-head stiffened indignantly. "I am not..."  He realized,
belatedly, that he was being baited and grinned.  "Not nice, Joe!  I'll
get you for that!"  With that good-natured threat he turned and dashed
back up the stairs.
       Scully turned to Mulder, eyes narrowed.  "That was the guy in the
photograph with MacLeod!"  she hissed.
       Mulder nodded.  "This place was mentioned in Bennett's files as one
of MacLeod's hangouts.  I thought it wouldn't hurt to check it out."
       Scully took a vicious bite out of her celery stalk and chewed it
with great vigor.
       "I hope that's not me you're visualizing there,"  Mulder said,
looking like he'd rather be somewhere else.
       She smiled saccharinely.  "Whatever gave you that idea?"
       He winced.  "I ah... should have told you.  I'm sorry."
       "For God's sake, Mulder!  You should know better than to pull this
kind of crap!  We're partners!  You remember how that works, right?  You
tell me what you're planning, and I do the same!  Get your head out, will
you?"
       He nodded, avoiding her gaze.  "I don't know what it is about this
case Scully.  I feel like I'm stumbling around in the dark.  I just can't
seem to get a line on it, can't make a connection.  It's driving me crazy!
I feel like I'm missing something incredibly obvious!"  He drained his cup
and sat staring at it disconsolately.
       Scully felt some of her anger ebb.  She knew that feeling all too
well.
       "I wish we had something more to go on. It's really frustrating to
see part of the pattern, but not know where it started or where it leads."
       "Exactly,"  Mulder sighed.  "I'm going to get a refill.  Want
another one of those?"
       She shook her head and watched him walk over to the bar and extend
his cup to `Joe', who took it and turned away to fill the cup.  She saw
Mulder straighten suddenly, and his face became intent.  When `Joe' turned
back and handed Mulder the cup, they spoke for a moment, and the bartender
shook his head. Mulder shrugged, and returned to the table.
       "What was that all about?"
       "He wouldn't let me pay for the refill."
       "That's all?  It seemed like you were awfully interested in
something over there."
       "Damn, and here I thought I was so subtle.  You're absolutely
right.  Our friendly neighborhood barkeep has a tattoo on the inside of
his left wrist.  I noticed it when he took my cup.  Care to guess what it
looks like?"
       It took a lot of willpower not to turn and look at the man behind
the bar, but somehow she managed it.
       "A ring containing a kind of y-shaped bar across the lower
quarter?"  she asked quietly.
       "Bingo!  You're good at guessing games.  We should play charades
sometime."
       "Potential victim, then?"
       "Who knows?  Maybe they're all part of some secret society.  In any
case, considering the link between this place and MacLeod, it seems like
maybe I wasn't wrong about him being a suspect."
       "Or another potential victim, maybe.  Remember, pairs.  One with a
tattoo, one without."
       Mulder's head came up and he stared at her.  "That's it!  Scully,
that's it!  We need to find out if all the non-tattooed victims had the
same sort of abnormal decay patterns as the one in Reno!  If so, maybe
what we have is a group of test and control subjects!"
       Scully stared back.  "What sort of experiment would we be talking
about here?"
       "I don't know.  You said the guy in Reno showed abnormal lymph and
spleen development.  What would that affect?"
       Scully thought about it for a moment, frowning.  "Well, commonly
there would be two reasons to find lymph nodes and spleen displaying the
sort of characteristics we saw there.  First would be if the person was
fighting off a massive infection, second would be if they had cancer.
However, since neither of those things were the case, I am left positing
that in Mr. Corben, the resting state of those organs was somehow
enhanced, so that if a stress were to come along, his immune system would
be better able to deal with it."
       "Immune system enhancement?  I wonder if that's what it is?  In
this age of AIDS, it might be worth experimenting with."
       "I keep up with the literature, Mulder.  I would have read about it
if the FDA had approved any sort of experimental therapy on human beings."
       "Only if they were approved.  Maybe someone's eliminating the
evidence of unauthorized human trials."
       Scully shook her head.  "That doesn't make any sense!  If they were
doing that, they'd do it in a way that wouldn't attract attention.
Something that looked like natural causes, not a series of clear-cut
murders!"
       Mulder sighed.  "You're right.  Damn.  I really thought I had
something there."
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