Title: Seers (1/1)
Feedback: Of course <g>
Distribution: Wherever - just let me know. Spoilers: Everything through The Truth
Disclaimer: Characters owned by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox.
Summary: Another day, another visitation... Reyes has some unearthly visitors. Doggett is confused. Sequel to El Dia Muerto, otherwise known as the fic with the messed up title. It can be found here:
Author's Note: Many thanks to addictedtofanfic and MaybeAmanda for putting up with me and pointing out the error of my writing ways, so I at least sound halfway decent. <g>
"Hey! Nice wheels!" Doggett stepped off the curb into the gutter. "Which convenience store did you knock over to bankroll this?"
"Very funny. I've always wondered why you never went into stand-up comedy. Now I know." Monica snagged a box of CD's off the front passenger seat so Doggett could sit down.
"Yep. This thing will really blend when you're trying to follow a suspect." Doggett slid onto the passenger's seat. "Fire engine red is good for that."
Reyes glanced at him. "I still have the other car. But, it's the weekend, and I felt like driving this one."
John twisted in his seat. "Where do you keep it?"
"What, the other car?" Doggett nodded. "In the allotted parking space for my building, why?"
"Okay, then, where do you keep this one?" He asked.
"I got an extra space from the building manager," Monica smiled at him.
"Ah. I see."
"What does that mean, 'I see'?" she asked.
"Well, you seem to have one more space than is normally assigned. Right?" John pulled the seatbelt out from the door and across his lap.
Reyes looked at him from the corner of her eye, then pulled away from the curb. "So?"
"So, what makes you so special? How come you got two?"
Reyes shrugged, glanced at him and smiled. Her dark hair fell over one eye. "Because I have two cars?"
"Okay. I get it," Doggett responded. He settled back into his seat and nodded at her.
"Get what? There isn't anything to get."
Doggett snorted. "What you're really saying is, you sweet-talked the super into giving you an extra parking space. No wonder the guy glares at me whenever I come over. He thinks I'm trying to beat his time."
Monica sighed slightly. "I didn't sweet-talk him. We talked, he offered," she shrugged.
"Yeah, well, you forget. I've seen you work the crowd before. One minute, some poor guy thinks he's having a nice conversation with you, then boom! Next thing he knows, he's handing over the keys to his Porsche so you can take it for a joy ride around the block."
"That's an interesting interpretation. That guy practically insisted I take the car for a ride. The whole thing was his idea," Monica glanced at him again.
"Uh-huh," John unzipped his jacket and leaned back into the seat a bit. "Don't you feel bad? Taking a space away from someone else?"
"If I were, I would. But, as it turns out, I'm not. The manager is allowed two spaces. He gave me one of his." Monica was concentrating on the road, but the corner of her mouth rose. "He was only using one of them, anyway."
"Better and better," John mumbled.
"Something bothering you today, John?" Monica asked.
"I guess this little excursion isn't sittin' too well with me. I'm not sure why I needed to come along," he looked at her.
"Well, aside from the fact that I wanted the company, Mrs. Scully likes you, and you know her a bit better than I do," she said.
"And Mrs. Scully doesn't like you?" Doggett asked.
Monica shrugged. "I don't think she necessarily dislikes me, but I'm pretty sure she thinks you're a fine, upstanding kind of guy. And, I don't really know how she's going to react to what I, what we -- " she glanced over at the passenger seat. "-- have to tell her."
"Uh-huh. This is a 'we' project now?"
"It always was, John."
"Something else is bothering you," Monica said. The scenery was gradually changing from trendy, renovated warehouses to shops and cafes. The traffic got thicker and Reyes concentrated on creeping around a bus disgorging several passengers.
John stared out the window. "Not really. I just got to thinking about this whole thing. Mulder, Scully, Skinner. Seems hopeless sometimes."
Reyes nodded. "Understandable. I try to remember that as long as we try, there's hope. If I didn't think that, I'd stick my head in the oven at the end of the day."
"The oven? Really?" Doggett asked. "You don't seem like a head in the oven kind of person."
"Nope. Frankly, I wasn't sure you even knew how to turn one on." Monica could see him grin out of the corner of her eye.
"Just more proof that you stand up comedy career is dead in the water," she said, trying to keep a straight face.
"Guess I was just born and bred to be a cop."
Monica grinned. "I don't doubt it for a minute."
There was a sudden slow down in traffic, and a 'thump' from the rear of the car that caused Doggett to bounce in his seat. "What the hell was that?"
Monica frowned and adjusted her rear view mirror. "Oh God. Oh no. Not again."
"Not again, what?" John twisted around to peer out of the back window. "There's nothing back there."
"Yes, there is. Three wise men. Or fools. You decide."
"What are you talking about?" John scanned the street behind the car. "All I see is a FedEx truck. And it's no where near your back bumper.
"They're in the back seat." Monica was looking into the rear view mirror.
"Monica, the back seat is empty. Sure you haven't been test driving that oven of yours?"
"Nope. They're there. They're waving at you. Well, Langly is."
"I'm afraid he can't see us," said Byers.
"Yeah, I got that," Reyes replied.
"Or hear us," said Langly helpfully.
"Thanks, Ringo, I got that, too."
"So," said Frohike. "It turns out your Aunt does know Langly's mom."
"Shut up, Frohike," Langly leaned across Byers to glare at the older man.
"Ain't that a hoot?" Frohike ignored Langly. "And, it turns out, Langly's mom is pretty hot. Who would've guessed?"
"Shut up, Frohike."
"Man, you're just jealous because she likes me better than you," Frohike smirked.
Langly leaned further across Byers. "Listen, old man..."
Byers pushed him back. "Stop it, both of you. I'm sure Agent Reyes doesn't want to hear about it."
Langly was now craning his neck, peeking into the front seat. "Nice, Reyes, think we can take the top down?"
Monica blinked again. "Langly, it's the middle of November. Don't you think driving around with the top down would be a bit chilly?"
"Won't bother us," he shrugged.
"Monica, who are you talking to?" John looked in confusion at the back seat and then at his partner.
"I told you, John, the Gunmen are in the back seat."
"You said three wise men, or fools."
Reyes sighed. "Same difference." She raised her voice. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, of course, but don't you think that this is a less than optimal place for a conversation?"
"We're just here to see that you make it to Mrs. Scully's safe and sound," said Byers.
"Why? Is something going to happen?"
He shrugged. "Probably not."
Byers shrugged again. "Who can tell with these things?"
Langly was rummaging through a box of CD's and cassettes he found between the two front seats and mumbling to himself. "Oingo Boingo, Talking Heads, UB40... 'The Sounds of the Humpback'? Oh, please, kill me now."
Reyes shot him a withering look. "What is it with you and going through my stuff?"
He shrugged. "Guy needs something to do." He went back to poking through the box. "You've got some okay stuff here."
"Be still my heart," Monica muttered.
"Holy shit!" Langly yelped and bounced in his seat.
Reyes jumped in her seat. "For the love of God, Langly, warn me before you do that."
He leaned forward excitedly thrusting the tape between Doggett and Reyes. "You have a tape of 'Junta' with the pink and white man! I bet you could get some decent cash for this."
"I don't want to get 'decent cash' for it. Put it back, Langly, it's hard to drive with you hanging over the seat like a ten year old." She glanced sideways at the tape and saw John's amazed expression.
"You okay?" she asked.
Doggett nodded hesitantly. "I'm not sure, but, is there a cassette tape floatin' in your car?"
"It's Langly. Apparently, Phish excites him."
"Fish? He's hungry? I though you said he was a ghost. Do they eat?"
"No, John, Phish, the musical group." Reyes twisted slightly in her seat and batted at Langly's hand. "Put it back, or I'm going to ask Byers to make you sit in the corner."
Doggett made a strangled sound as the tape moved back to the box. "This is too weird, I'm just not cut out for stuff like this."
Reyes pulled the car over to the side of the road. "Switch with me. I can't talk to these guys and drive at the same time."
"You want me to drive this thing?" Doggett asked.
"Why? Is there a problem?"
"It's gonna make me look like a guy with a mid-life crises who's cheating on his wife or something."
"Yep, all you need to do is find a sweet young thing and you're all set." Doggett opened his mouth to say something, but Reyes speared him with a look. "No cracks," she said, narrowing her eyes. She got out of the car and stood next to his door.
John sighed and walked around to the driver's side of the car and slid into the seat. Once they were on the road again, he turned to Reyes. "So, tell me, how could Langly pick up that tape? Why didn't his fingers just go right through it?"
"Good question," Monica swivelled her body towards the backseat. "So, how come, Langly?" She asked, casting a glance into the back seat.
"Beats me," Langly responded.
Leaves colored the front of Margaret Scully's front lawn a kaleidoscope of yellow and tan. Monica inhaled deeply. "Smells like Autumn yet. What a great smell."
"Few more weeks, and we'll be gettin' snow," said Doggett. He raised his hand and tentatively knocked on the front door. "Big house. She must have had some money stashed away. I don't think Navy pensions pay out all that much."
Reyes smiled. "Maybe she won it playing blackjack."
Doggett snorted and stomped his feet. "It's a might chilly out here. Are you sure she's expecting us?" He looked hopefully at the still closed door.
"I think so, I called. She said --" Monica stopped abruptly as the door swung open.
Maggie Scully stood before them with a paintbrush in one hand. She wore what looked like a men's oxford shirt. It was paint-splattered and hung almost to her kness. "Oh, I'm sorry. Until I heard the knocking, I had forgotten that you were coming."
"That's all right, Mrs. Scully. If it's a bad time, we can come back," said Doggett, already backing away.
Maggie shook her head. "No, no, it's fine as long as you don't mind the smell of paint and a little mess," she stepped back. "Come in, please."
There was a large bureau in the front room, and a mattress and bed frame leaning against one wall.
Maggie looked around. "I think the kitchen would be best. At least we can sit there."
They followed her into the kitchen where she excused herself and came back drying her hands on the corner of the too long shirt. "Would you like some coffee, Miss Reyes, Mr. Doggett?"
Monica answered. "Monica," she smiled. "And John."
Maggie raised her eyebrows and looked at Doggett. He shrugged and said affably, "What she said. And I'd love a cup of coffee."
"You said you had something important to tell me," Maggie looked at Reyes.
"Well, yes. It isn't much, but, we've had word from Dana, in a manner of speaking. We were told to tell you that she is safe."
"Nothing more?" The hopefulness in Maggie's voice tugged at Monica's heart.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Scully, not at this time. Truth be told, we all wish we had more information," Reyes kept her voice soft.
John leaned across the table toward Margaret. "Even though the information is sketchy, we think it's reliable."
"How did you get this information?" She asked.
"Uh, it came through mutual friends," said Monica evasively. John looked the other way.
"You painting all the rooms, Mrs. Scully?" He asked. "That bureau looked pretty heavy. Hope you had some help moving it."
"My neighbor from across the street. He came over to help," Monica was surprised to see Maggie flush slightly.
"That's good," said John. "You can break your back trying to haul something like that around by yourself."
Moonlight dripped translucent beads through the half-shuttered blinds. There was the tiniest motion, and a dark shadow wisped in the murky corner near the window. A cobweb-light phantasm moved over her face, and Monica sat up abruptly in bed, bedclothes falling to her waist.
"You're getting better at this," said a voice. "I didn't say anything this time, yet, you knew I was here."
"Krycek," said Monica dryly. "Are the Gunmen always your opening act?"
Alex shrugged, leather jacket creaking. "Just coincidence, I guess."
Reyes squinted, trying to bring him into focus with her still sleep focused eyes. He seemed to be made of darkness itself, and hovered on the fringes of what little light there was in the room. She shivered. The air felt suddenly too cold.
"She's sees them, you know."
"Who sees what?"
"Margaret Scully. She's been catching glimpses of the Lone Gun Goons for weeks now."
"Why would they be hanging out there?"
Krycek's toothy smile glinted in the gloom. "Who's to say?"
"Why didn't she mention anything to us?" Reyes demanded.
"And what would you have her tell you? 'By the way, Miss Reyes, I've been seeing strange ghostly men in my house?'"
"I don't know. But she might feel compelled to share her visions with someone."
"She's had some practice keeping these things to herself. I may drop in on her myself one day."
"Does she know who they are?"
Krycek lifted one shoulder indifferently. "She's maybe guessed by now. Who knows?"
Monica closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead, frustration mounting. "So, you're here to tell me Mrs. Scully sees ghosts, too? Are we supposed to form a club or something?"
Suddenly, he was there, next to her on the bed. "No. I'm here to tell you to keep up the good work."
"Is that some kind of joke?" It was late, or rather, very early, and she wasn't in the mood for riddles.
"Far from it. They're coming. You know that, don't you?"
She swore she could feel his breath. But that was impossible. Alex Krycek was very dead. The puff of warm air she felt on bare shoulder, that raised the hair on the back of her neck, couldn't possibly be from him.
Reyes felt herself nodding slowly. "I know. The date is set."
"Good. That's good. It's imperative that you understand. That you do as I say. You shouldn't fight me," Krycek whispered darkly in her ear. "Mulder always fought me. We can't win if we fight each other."
"What do you care? You're out of it. You're dead," she said.
"Some things are bigger than life and death. Bigger than right and wrong. Some things are as big as the width and depth of the universe."
"It's the truth," he leaned in even closer and she could smell his musk. "When the time comes, when you need to act, you need to be prepared. Understand that. You have something in your possession that could be useful. You've have for some time. Just because you don't fully understand it doesn't make it worthless."
Before Monica could reply, he shimmered away, coalescing again momentarily in the middle of her bedroom.
"Remember what I told you," he said, and gave her a brilliantly malevolent smile before dissolving into nothingness.
Monica felt goose bumps rise along her arms. She shuddered, slid down into bed, and pulled the covers up, cursing under her breath. Her ancient grandmother had once told her that hanging chile peppers around her doorways would ward off evil spirits. Perhaps she should consider picking some up.
Quiet fell heavily on the room. Monica could feel it, thick and gummy, pressing against her. She puffed the covers, just to create a bit of breeze. Though she preferred the camaraderie of friends, she was no stranger to solitude, but the absolute stillness in the room felt more like desolation to her. She thought of her computer in the living room. She could power it up, check her email, find a chat room... She glanced at the phone on the night table next to the bed. All she had to do was pick it up. She could call John, he would grumble, but he wouldn't deny her the company.
She did neither. Instead, she forced herself out of bed and into the heavy silence. She walked over to the short set of bookshelves on the far side of the room and pulled out a tattered, brown envelope. She went back to the bed, and let the parchment slide out of the envelope. The symbols were strange, their origin unknown. She'd had the contents checked and rechecked by people who were supposed to know about these things. Maybe it was time to try again.
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