Title: Stained

Author: Elizabeth Christian

Email: [email protected]

Category: Romantic/Angst

Rating: PG13

 

1.

 

I stepped into his hotel room and closed the door softly behind me, watching the rectangle of buttery sunlight shrink into the darkness.  Little light pierced the drawn draperies, and what little did was filtered to a deep crimson; a haze of blood hung in the air.

I sat down on the edge of his bed and prodded the lump of blankets I assumed was my partner.  It moaned and shifted, and from the end opposite me protruded a tussled head.  His hair was horribly scrambled as if from a bad night's sleep, and I was shocked to see how pale he had become.  "How are you feeling?" I asked in a soft voice.

"Half dead."  His voice was raspy.

I tried to smile.  "Oh good, only half."

Mulder sat up stiffly; I could hear his bones creak and pop like old hinges.  Leaning back upon a mountain of pillows, he narrowed his eyes to tiny slits and said, "Isn't it a little bright in here?"

I ran a hand through his hair to smooth it, but it stubbornly sprang back into the wrong place.  "The sun'll be down in an hour or so.  In the meantime, I brought you something to drink."

His eyes lit up like a child on Christmas, but dimmed when he saw the white Styrofoam cup in my hand; it was filled with water.  Still, he drank it down.  "Thanks, Scully."

I took the empty cup and set it down on the nightstand. "What are we going to do with you?"

"Shoot me."  He sounded almost serious.

"Yeah, a lot of good that would do."

Mulder looked at me with something like defeat in his starving eyes.  With the tinted afternoon sunlight reflected in them, they looked almost blood red.  "I'm so scared, Scully."  A slow amber tear slid down his ashen cheek.

I pulled him to me in a tight embrace, stroking his hair and rocking back and forth.  I don't remember what I whispered to him, but I hope my voice was soothing.  He clung to me, trying to ignore the hunger and thirst I had seen in his eyes.

His breath was surprisingly warm against my neck, like a summer breeze.  I felt his hot tears stick to my skin and in the second it took me to realize it was not tears, two somethings sharp pierced the skin and a warm gush began to flow down my neck, shoulder, and back.

With everything I could muster I shoved him back.  Mulder's demon face, smeared with my blood, slowly melted in the soft, familiar Mulder I thought I knew.  He touched a finger to his chin and I saw the repulsion on his face when he realized his hand was covered in my blood.  The darkness of it was striking against his skin.

"Oh, Scully, I'm so sorry!"  He curled into a fetal position on the bed and wept red tears; vampires always weep blood.

I pulled some tissues from a box by the bed and pressed them to my throbbing neck.  They soaked through quickly and I grabbed more.  He followed the stained ones as the fell to the floor.

"It's okay, you didn't get any veins or arteries.  I'll be fine."  But I could feel my hands shaking and slid away from him just a little bit.  The weight of my silver-loaded gun was a comfort on my hip.

"But I could have hurt you, Scully.  I could have...I could have killed you!"

I took him by the shoulders and looked straight into his soulful brown eyes, searching for some shred of sanity.  I seized it with a fire until he stopped wailing.  "You didn't, Mulder, you didn't."  I took a deep breath.  "You're just hungry, that's all.  Nothing we can't fix."

"No, don't..."

But I had already drawn my pocketknife.  I flipped open the blade and pressed the tip of it to my left forearm, leaving my right hand free in case I needed the gun.  I pushed the blade in, letting it draw just a little blood before slashing downward and opening myself to him.  His demon showed itself again at the scent of my pain.  It looked up at me with Mulder's eyes still pleading for me to stop, but the monster had taken over the body.  It latched onto me like a feeding leech without the painkillers.  As the sanguine fluid flowed down my arm, as it seeped into all the little cracks and crevices of my hand, and as I felt his teeth pierce my skin and his tongue inside the wound I was overcome by the desire to give him all that was in me, let him live on my life and feed until I was dry.  I wanted him to devour me.

Through the ecstasy of my pain I felt him pull away.  His human eyes in his human face could not look at me as he said, "That's enough."

"Are you sure?"  He nodded.

Shaking just a little, I rose from the bed.  Blood dripped onto the shag carpeting as I made my way to the bathroom.  I closed the door behind me, not wanting to see him lick the rug. I knew he was still hungry, that he had stopped himself before he was ready.  Would he always have that ache, that undeniable hunger in him no matter how much he fed?  Would he have to live with a need for other people’s lives to sustain his own?  I didn’t want to think about it.

In the medicine cabinet I found some peroxide and used it to clean the cuts on my neck and arm.  There was also a moldy box of tiny Band-Aids, not nearly big enough to cover the slash I had made.  It was deeper than I first thought, still oozing a little bit of blood.  I took a small towel from the pile next to the tub and tore it into strips.  It would have to do until we could find some gauze and bandages.  And holy water.  Vampirism can’t be transferred through just a bite, but it would be comforting to clean the marks with a bit of holy water.  I was amazed at how much I had learned about vampires in the last few days, when a week ago I thought they didn’t exist. I looked into the mirror and saw the dark circles under my eyes, sharp and dark like bruises against the pallor of my skin.  Perhaps I had given too much that time, but it never felt like enough.

Past my reflection, I saw the darkening of the sky.  Darkness emerged from the screaming reds and gentle purples of twilight.  The sun sank beneath the horizon and suddenly Night had come.  The room was pitch dark when I finally returned.  I guess artificial light is as painful to the nearly dead as sunlight.  I found him by sound alone and laid a hand on his shoulder. 

"Let’s go see Buffy."

 

 

2.

 

Moonlight glittered through the lofty windows of the Magic Box, casting silver shadows over our small group huddled around the giant antique table.  The orange lamps were dim enough for Mulder’s comfort, almost too low to read by, but no one seemed to mind.  We were united in our common, impossible cause: to find a cure for him.

I felt strangely at home amid the bookshelves of the Magic Box.  That musty smell of knowledge still hung as heavily here as it did in my med school library where once I had toiled for hours and lost myself among the great volumes of literature and science.  Though the writings in these books knew nothing of the science I loved, they represented the past and the future, bound together in worn leather and yellowed pages.  There was something mysteriously spiritual about it.

Still, the line had to be drawn somewhere.

"Werewolves?  Mummies?  Demons?  You guys actually believe in this stuff?"

"Dated one," answered Willow, Xander, and Buffy at once.

"Used to be one," piped Anya.

The four of them sat at the head of the table, each with a stack of books in front of them.  I could tell that the writings weren’t in English and that translating them would take hours.  I didn’t know how to express my gratitude; they knew the task was futile, but they refused to give up.  I wasn’t much help, still having trouble accepting the fact that my partner had become a vampire.  It was so unreal, like a dream from which I couldn’t wake.  But the marks on my arm, still radiating a dull ache, told me that reality had taken a twisted but very real turn.  A few nights ago, my best friend had been turned undead and I had witnessed his soul returned; he had drunk from my veins; I had felt his fangs sink into me, and still I did not want to believe.

Yet these people, this small group of outcasts, lived my nightmares every day, faced creatures even my darkest thoughts couldn’t conjure.  Xander, the crazy one, quick with the jokes but faster with a helping hand: he reminded me of a young Mulder.  I found myself trusting him completely, knowing he would take care of me and be a shoulder to lean on.  Then came Willow, the quiet, goofy brain with mockingly natural red hair.  Anya was newly human and it showed; she just didn’t seem comfortable in her own skin yet.  From the way she leaned on Xander’s arm, it was clear that he was quite comfortable inside her skin.  Giles, the nerd: if I had watched Twilight Zone instead of the learning channel as a kid, I could easily see myself in his shoes.  He was the father of the group, a leader without being overbearing.  I respected him a great deal.  And Buffy, the so-called Chosen One, savior-of-the-world Slayer.  She was just a kid, barely out of high school, and yet she had seen more strange things in a few years than I had in my lifetime.  I had seen the way she dealt with the undead, and I was glad Mulder had his soul back.  Still, if push came to shove, I trusted her to make the right decision and stop him before he hurt anyone.

I hated feeling this way toward Mulder.  I trusted him with my life, my soul, my heart.  He was my friend in every sense of the word and yet some little part of me feared him.  He could kill me in a heartbeat, suck me dry on a whim.  And the worst part was, I wanted him to.

Mulder, my precious Mulder...I looked at him and he looked so human, so innocent and scared.  But he wasn’t human anymore.  What he had almost done the night he died reminded me of that.  He was better now, thanks to the Slayer and her "scoobies." Still not quite fixed, but better.  His body was warm next to mine, alive but not quite.  I was troubled by the look in his eyes.

With a startlingly loud noise, Buffy slammed her book closed and sent a puff of dust into the air.  "This is pointless.  There’s all kinds of stuff in here about how to kill vampires, but nothing on changing ‘em back."

Willow and Xander, too, closed their volumes in disgust and defeat.  Xander said gruffly, "Lots of humans turning into vampires.  No vampires turning into humans."

Anya’s voice joined the beaten chorus.  "Well, even if we could do an exorcism and get the demon out, the body is still essentially dead.  No breath, no heartbeat.  Take out the demon and all you get is dust."

"Thank you for being so painfully blunt, Anya," I said, my voice a little more sarcastic than I meant it to be, "but we need some optimism if we’re going to make any headway."

"That’s right!" Willow looked up with enthusiasm and smiled widely.  I was really beginning to like her.  "Buck up, buckers, we gotta make with some head.  Okay, that sounded kinda gross, but we’re gonna de-vamp that guy if we have to tear through every one of these old books...twice."

"Yes, well, thank you Willow, but I don’t think that will be necessary."  Giles stepped into the small circle of lamplight, carrying a massive leather-bound text. Its cover was cracked and scratched with age, the edges of its once-gilded edges yellow and torn.  What little I could see over his shoulder showed a language too ancient for the history books, written in ink so faded that it was hardly discernable from the paper on which it was written.

"It says here that there has been at least one case in which a vampire has been returned to a state of humanity.  About 5000 BC, in Egypt, a young woman sacrificed herself on the altar of Isis in the name of her betrothed, who had been turned into a vampire against his will.  The goddess was apparently so moved that, um, yes, ‘She returned true life to his bones and banished Evil from him forever.’"

"Y’know, Giles, you really need to be smoking a pipe when you say intelligent stuff like that."  Xander, of course.

Buffy managed to stay on task.  "Okay, so the guy’s girlfriend killed herself and the guy de-vamped?  But that doesn’t really help us ‘cause Mulder doesn’t have a girlfriend to kill herself.  And besides, there aren’t any temples of Isis around here."

"True," said Giles, "but at least we have some place to start.  Start, uh, cross-referencing animal sacrifices and Egyptian and death mythology.  Keep searching, everybody...we’re bound to turn up something."  He gave me a sorry look and then went back up the ladder to the book loft.

But I was already done.  I knew what I had to do to get Mulder back: the answer lay in those timeworn pages, in the ancient symbol lovingly inscribed on there.  I had seen that symbol once before, and I would see it one final time before I spilled my blood upon it.

 

 

3.

 

The sun had just spilled over the horizon when we arrived at the hotel.  I felt it pushing against the heavy curtains like a living force, and Mulder shrank from it as if it would strike him.

"Are you sure you don't wanna stay in Spike's crypt today?  He has cable: you can watch 'Passions' together," I said as I set a brown shopping bag on top of the mini fridge.

"That show's gone entirely downhill since Sheridan got amnesia."  He paused and the silence was deafening.  The dead make no noise.  "Besides, I'd rather sleep in a bed than a coffin."

"I can see why.  Besides, they got us all this free lamb's blood from the butcher shop, so you won't have to pay him for food."  I tried to make my voice sound light, playful, like drinking animal blood was a normal thing for him.  It saddened me to realize that it was.  Mulder could never kill a human, so he was doomed to drink the run-off from butcher shops.  I would gladly open my veins to him again, but I knew he wouldn't accept; he couldn't hurt me even when he was alive.  I felt almost disappointed that I would never feel his bite again; I would miss being his chalice.

I pushed those thoughts from my mind as quickly as I could.  If everything went as planned, he wouldn't have to feed from anything.  I set about arranging the jars of blood in the mini fridge, with the oldest in front so nothing would go bad.  I wondered briefly if rancid blood tasted anything like rancid milk, but decided I didn't want to know.

I turned to find him stripped to his boxers and climbing into bed.  He didn't seem the least bit shy or ashamed being that scantily clad around me.  He looked almost comfortable.  A hot flush crept up my cheeks and I turned to go into my own room.  His voice made me stop, "Don't go."

"Mulder, I'm tired."  I didn't turn around; maybe if my voice was stern enough, he'd let me go without saying good-bye.

"I know, but I don't want to be alone."  I looked despite myself and his puppy-dog eyes seized me.

"Fine," I said and settled into a bedside chair, trying to get comfortable.

In what was quite possibly the most pathetic voice I'd ever head, he said, "No, with me?"  He patted the sheets beside him and I felt myself melt.

I went to him, but slowly, trying not to seem too eager.  I took off my shoes and slipped in beside him.  His arm slid around my stomach, touching the bare sliver of flesh between the waistline of my skirt and the bottom of my blouse; his touch was electric.  He pulled me close and spooned up against me, sending purely feminine tingles all through me.  In that moment I became aware of my true feelings toward him and it was overwhelming, like being swept beneath a tidal wave.  Hot tears burnt my eyes with the strength of that revelation.

I loved him.

"Good night, Scully," he whispered, his mouth so close I could feel his lips brush my ear.

"Good night, Mulder," I answered.  My voice was shaky. Please don't hold me like you love me.

"Sleep tight," he sighed into my hair.  He still breathed out of habit.

"Sweet dreams."  Don't you know...can you know..?

He kissed my cheek softly.  Why do you make me love you?

I waited for him to drift off to sleep before I let the tears fall.

 

4.

 

I watched him sleep.  I don't know how long I lay there listening to the absolute silence of him beside me.  He looked so still, but not the drifting stillness of sleep.  What lay next to me was, undeniably, a corpse.  I was frightened at first when he stopped breathing, and I tried to check for a pulse.  How stupid of me; of course he would have no pulse, no need for oxygen.  I touched his skin and it was still warm, alive in a way.  His eyes twitched beneath their pale lids, and I wondered what he was dreaming.  I ran my hands through his hair, soft and fine like silk, and he moaned a little in his death-like sleep.  It hurt in so many ways to feel him against me, his arms around me, and hear the quiet little sounds he made.  I wanted to feel this every night.  I leaned over and kissed him gently, a soft brush of my lips on his.  "Goodbye, Mulder.  I'm so sorry."

I slipped away a few hours after dawn.  Any other day I would be just waking up.  My body ached for sleep and for him.  It would get neither.

The sun burnt my eyes, so long hidden in the dark.  I pulled the shades closed in my hotel room and felt more at ease.  I don't know why I was changing my clothes; they would get ruined anyway.  But I slid out of my crumpled suit and into a pair of jeans.  Just three days ago they had been too tight on me.  Now they were comfortably loose.  What a great time to be losing weight, I thought.  I hung my wrinkled blouse on the only hanger I had brought and pulled on the first T-shirt I could find.  It was light blue, with a picture of a baby penguin on it.  Mulder had given it to me on the first Christmas we spent as partners.  I smiled, remembering the look on his face when he handed the box to me.  He was so afraid I wouldn't like it.  We had been so young in those days, so ignorant and unexpecting of everything to come.  We hadn't known each other more than a few months.  Now ages had passed, and still we were feeling each other out.  My heart grew heavy as I thought of him finding me in that pit of hell...

But I couldn't think of that, not now.  Still so much to get done.  I ran a brush through my thick hair and tied it back with a light blue scrunchie.  I didn't bother with make-up, just slipped on my most comfortable tennis shoes and grabbed some sunglasses.

The sun was warm on my skin and the glasses kept me from going blind as I ventured into the light.  The Magic Box was just a few blocks away and walk would do me good.  With the milky sunlight surrounding me and fresh air in my lungs, things didn't look so dark.  In those few blocks, I managed to convince myself that everything would be fine and that Mulder's pain of losing me would fade.  He would be all right, and he would be human.  My death was the only thing that would bring him freedom to come into the light again.

Anya looked surprised to see me.  "Well, little lady, what are you doing out and about so early in the morning?"

"Couldn't sleep, thought I'd do some more research," I lied straight-faced.

I wove my way through the early morning shoppers to the back bookcase.  I ran my fingers over each leather-bound spine, scanning for the right one.  Most of the letters were still foreign to me, but I knew enough now to recognize the symbols lovingly etched into the soft hide wrapped around the Egyptian myths.  I pulled it off the shelf, amazed at its weight.  It was at least three inches thick, thin papyrus all of it.  "Hey, Anya, is it okay if I take this back to the hotel with me?"

She looked as though I'd asked her to hand over her first-born.  "Giles doesn't like other people handling his books."

"I know.  I'm sure he won't mind, though.  Please?"  I didn't give her any time to answer, just left her standing there with open mouth.  On my way out, I spied a shelf of ceremonial knives and, making sure she couldn't see me, slipped one into my pocket.  It made an awkward bulge, but I could hide it easily with a well-placed hand.  They would get it back soon enough.

I studied the knife carefully when I was far enough away from the store.  The long silver blade gave way to a golden hilt, topped by an eagle with outstretched wings.  And ankh surrounded by rays of the sun was carved just beneath the handgrip.  It was perfect and deadly.

 

5.

 

I didn't know the catacombs, not really, these ancient tunnels deep inside the earth.  I recalled only dim flashes between waves of darkness.  The stones were rough to the touch, itchy like dead skin.  The ground swelled and swayed beneath me as though trying to knock me off.  Somewhere, far off, I heard the steady drip of water into a shallow pool.  The scent of loneliness and death hung heavy in the frigid air, and I shuddered. Still I ventured deeper, until the beam of the flashlight in my shaking hand was all but swallowed in the overwhelming black.  It was not the light that guided me, but rather the ghost of a fragrance: the sharp metallic scent of blood.  It was smeared on the walls like cave paintings, dripped on the floor like a trail of breadcrumbs begging to be followed.  This was a place of death and human suffering.  And still deeper I went, until the smell and the fear became almost touchable and I knew where I was.

The small yellow beam reflected off silvered walls and I was blinded by the sudden light.  Unlit torches hugged the walls, and I lit them with the matches in my pocket.

The cavern was huge, the size of a cathedral with the same domed ceiling.  Mosaics covered the floor, depicting scenes of beauty and torture and some that were a mix of the two.  Veins of silver and precious metal wove through the stone walls, making the golden torchlight cast strange shadows everywhere. In the center of the great circle lay the knot of Isis, surrounded by blood, my blood from a previous sacrifice of a darker purpose.  I gently touched the rusted chains lying beside it, and felt again their bite on my wrists.  Another set of shackles hung from the opposite wall, still stained with the blood of a struggle.  More puddles of sanguine fluid pooled throughout the room, but these two were the most fresh.

I stood in the center, my feet resting on the turquoise blue symbol, and lay the book in front of me.  On its withered pages was inscribed the same sign, with the incantation to bring forth its goddess scrawled in Giles’ tight British script.  I stared at it for a great while and wondered what would happen when I spoke the words.  I'm a Catholic, born and raised to believe in one absolute God.  The cross hanging from my neck was a testament to it.  I had never entertained the thought that these mythical beings could exist, and yet I was about to call on one, offer myself to one. Blasphemy, pure and simple.  But I had no other choice.

I knelt on the cold stone floor and a chill rose through me.  My hands shook as I pulled the dagger from my pocket and lay it to the right of the book.  The words were simple, respectful, and to the point, and I spoke them quickly before I lost what little nerve I had left.  My voice was soft and shaking.  "Goddess Isis, Lover of Osiris, Great One of the Next World, you humble Servant calls upon you for a favor.  Come forth, Goddess Isis, and bless me."

There was no great wind, no flash of light or clap of thunder, but something changed.  The air in front of me seemed to shimmer, but it didn't.  It was like the universe opened up before me, bent and shifted to allow her through.  I cannot describe it, but instantly She stood in front of me, a vision of beauty.  She wore a simple white dress that moved in some unseen wind and shimmered like the stars.  Her skin was flawless, the color of the Nile, and it radiated warmth.  Her hair, black as night, hung to her waist and moved in the same wind.  Black bangs reached toward perfectly sculpted eyebrows above almond-shaped black eyes.  Those eyes drew me into her like a tide, ready to swallow me whole.  Her voice flowed around me like a warm wave as she said, "My Child, show me your pain."  And then I was drowning in her eyes, letting them suck me down and down into her, until I was swallowed up in her comfort.

 

6.

 

One week earlier.

Silver starlight trickled through the trees.  The scent of wet grass hung in the air like a memory or a promise and the night breeze tasted of flowers.  Somewhere far off a single cricket wove its music and sought an answer.  All around me was sound-filled silence, a quiet hush that only cemeteries have.  A peace, almost, a certainty and finality.

But I didn't get to enjoy any of it because I was too busy trying not to roll my eyes until they fell out of my head.  "Mulder, what the hell are we doing out here?  It's almost two in the morning, it's getting cold, and I haven't slept in three days because you've been too busy vampire hunting!  Can't we just go back to the hotel and sleep?"  It didn't matter that he wouldn't listen to me.  He never did.  It just felt good to listen to something other than the cricket and the sleep of the dead.

"We're not hunting, Scully, we're waiting.  I have it on good authority that his young man is going to rise from his grave."  He closed his eyes and leaned back against a fresh headstone with the name "Edward Thoreaux" scratched into it.  The mound of earth beneath him was still soft, not yet settled with age, with funeral footprints still clearly visible.  Flowers still sat atop the stone.  Most of them weren't even wilted yet.  The young man now deep inside the earth had died only a few days ago, found in an alley without a drop of blood in his veins. I'd read the coroner's report and made the mistake of mentioning the bite marks on his neck.

"Mulder, do you realize how crazy that sounds?"  I began a slow pace around the gravesite.  The tombstone temporarily blocked him from view.  "Besides, even if vampires are real, shouldn't this be a job for your precious 'Slayer'?"

All was silent, so apparently he had no witty comeback.  That worried me; he always had a witty comeback.  I dropped into a crouch and drew my gun, hiding behind the great stone slab.  I waited a moment for my pulse to slow and then darted around the edge of the headstone.

The ground was bare, no Mulder in sight.  I squeezed the gun a little tighter and prayed for some semblance of calm.  I knelt by the mound of earth and saw a few skid marks as if there had been a brief struggle, and two deep lines from something being dragged.

Suddenly something large toppled me to the ground.  I rolled onto my back and tried to aim my gun, but it has knocked from my hands before I could begin to point it.  A heavy weight pressed against my chest and I gasped for breath.  Hands, I don't know how many pairs, held me against the wet ground and one crushed a cloth over my mouth.  I struggled as well as I could, but the darkness was coming so quickly, so easy to let it win.  I felt myself lifted off the ground as the sweet elixir of sleep conquered me.

 

***

 

First I became aware of the pain, a dull throbbing all over my body but concentrated right behind my eyes.  Every muscle screamed at me until I thought I would faint.  I tried to open my eyes but some dim light sent stabbing needles of agony into my brain.  The world swam beneath me for a moment and I fought the urge to throw up.  I would have collapsed to the ground were it not for the shackles supporting me.  Two heavy metal cuffs wrapped tightly around my wrists, attached by short chains to metal spikes buried deep in the ground.  I was kneeling on some sort of marble mosaic.

When I was able to look around and not pass out, I saw Mulder chained to the wall opposite me; he was still unconscious, with heavy metal restraints around his wrists.  His were attached to the stone wall above him so that his arms hung over his head as he sat.  A trickle of blood had dried on the right side of his face and began to flake off onto the floor.  I called his name but my voice was barely more than a scratchy whisper.  "Mulder!"

He groaned a little and his head rolled around on his shoulders.  I prayed for him to wake up.  At last he opened his eyes, squinting in the torch-tinted darkness as if a thousand-watt bulb was hanging in front of his eyes.  His voice was raspy as he spoke.  "Scully?"

"Yes," I told him, "I'm right here.  Mulder, can you move?"

"It hurts...my wrists...I'm chained to the wall."

"I know, me too, but can you feel your legs and everything?"

He twitched his feet, which by the expression on his face was nothing short of sheer agony.  "Yeah, I'm okay. Are you?"

"A few scrapes and bruises, but otherwise peachy," I lied.

Movement behind me caught my eye, and I turned so quickly that my head swam again.  I fought the brilliant colors exploding in my brain and focused on the thing taking shape through them.  It was a woman, tall and skinny.  Her skin was like cream, hair as dark as the night.  Dark red lips smiled under expertly applied gloss.  Her dress was a shimmering silver, some kind of ceremonial robe.  But what struck me hardest was her eyes: they were a deep crimson, like two pools of blood set into the marble of her face.  She smiled with those sinful lips and glided toward me; there was no other way to describe the way she moved, like the universe folded back, bowing and scraping to let her through.

She stood between me and Mulder, so close that I could have reached out and touched if I wanted to and wasn't chained down.  A scent of flowers followed her, but underneath it was something darker.  I tried to place the perfume and realized with a shudder that no perfume smelled like that.  It was the coppery scent of blood.

"So glad you two woke up," she said, her voice like fur rubbing inside my skin.  The sound of it made me squirm with something like displeasure, but at the same time I wanted her to speak again. "Now the ceremony can begin."  She rolled those words around on her serpent tongue as if they were fine wine.

"Ceremony?  What ceremony?" I cried, my voice much higher than it should have been.

She flowed towards Mulder and ran a hand through his hair; he away as much as he could, but the chains held him to her bidding.  "It's not a ceremony, really," she said, leaning those scarlet lips close to his face, "more like a sacrifice."  Her dark red eyes stared at me as though she would swallow me whole.  "You see, girlie, once a year a turn someone and let them feed on the Lamb of Isis."

"Lamb of Isis?" Mulder asked.  I knew he was stalling for time.

"One whom I have consecrated to the Goddess.  The blood of a first Kill is very powerful.  It gives me strength and beauty and power."  She turned her gaze back to me.  "And this year, the Lamb is you.  I'm going to feed on your man here, girlie, until he hovers in the place between death and life.  Then I will force my blood into him, give him a piece of my death to give him eternal life.  When he changes, you will be the first thing he sees, and he will be the last thing you see."

With that, she grabbed a handful of his hair and jerked his head to one side, exposing a long expanse of his neck.  Even from where I sat, I could see the vein there jumping with fear.  His eyes widened until the irises were surrounded by thick rims of white.  She drew her head back like a cobra about to strike, and then buried her fangs deep in his throat.

Blood gushed around her thick red lips, spilling in waves down his shirt.  He stared at me while she sucked and gulped and the life slowly drained from him.  He strained against the chains until I thought his wrists would shatter, and strange primitive fear sounds came from his throat, but still she did not stop.  She didn't stop until the struggle left him and he sagged in those shackles, with his head rolling on his red-stained neck like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The entire time I fought the chains that held me, pulled until the thick cuffs bruised, until I bled with the struggle and cried out in a mixture of pain and fury and helplessness.  "Mulder!"

She pulled away from him slowly, licking her lips and getting every ruby droplet she could.  Blood trickled down her chin and dripped onto the shimmer of her dress.  She extended one slim arm and drew a knife from some hidden fold.  With barely a flinch, she drove the blade into her arms and jerked until her blood flowed freely.  She held it to him like a gift, and he turned away weakly.  She grabbed his hair again, pulled his head back, and used one finger to pry apart his lips.  Blood ran down her arm and dripped into his protesting mouth, and trailed her finger down his throat to make him swallow.  Immediately, he writhed in pain, as though some great fire was burning inside of him.  He strained against his shackles until the metal creaked and groaned.  He screamed, a dark, animal sound from somewhere deep inside, and then sagged back against the wall.  He lifted heavy eyes, and what I saw in them contained no trace of the Mulder I knew.

This was a monster in his skin.

"It is done," she said through her sanguine lips.  She put one hand on his shoulder and he gazed up at her with adoring eyes.  "He is mine."  She leaned into him and whispered something soft in his ear.  His eyes turned to me with a pure animal hunger.  Still conjuring in his ear, she unlocked his cuffs, but her voice held him in place.  When the chains lay in rusted piles on the bloody floor, she said just loud enough for me to hear, "Go."

He was upon me instantly, using his weight to pin my legs.  I had never feared him before, even when he pointed a gun at my head.  Now he had no weapon but his demon face and fangs, pressed so close to me that I could smell her blood on his breath.  "Happy birthday, Scully," he snarled, and drove his teeth into my flesh.

It hurt.  It hurt so bad I thought the pain alone would knock me out.  I felt his fangs wiggle inside me, thrust deeper and deeper until I thought they would come out the other side.  His tongue caressed the edges of the wound almost delicately, lapping at my veins like a kitten with a bowl of milk.  My own blood gushed hotly down my chest and back, and scalding tears streamed down my face as I screamed wordlessly.  I could only think, my Mulder is going to kill me.

Suddenly his body spasmed on top of mine, and he jerked his teeth out of me, tearing the flesh.  He fell to one side and I saw an arrow sticking out of his left shoulder.  A voice across the room muttered, "Damn, missed."

I turned my head, lack of blood bringing back those brilliant colors before my eyes.  I caught a flashing image of the female vampire with an arrow protruding from her chest, and then she was gone in a puff of dust. Across the room, some little blonde girl with a crossbow...but the blood loss was beginning to burn and the world took on soft dark edges.  I heard myself sigh before it overtook me, "Don't kill him."

 

7.

 

I knelt before the Goddess, struggling to breathe past the scream building in my throat.  The memories, so raw and fresh...I could still feel the shackles biting my flesh and the cold hard fangs draining my life away.  I didn't even realize I was crying until the first tear splashed onto the unforgiving floor.  Then my sadness lit my cheeks on fire with liquid diamonds, scalding as they fell, filling those little lines around my mouth so I could taste their bitterness.  I sobbed until I felt my heart would shatter like a mirror, each piece reflecting back at me all those things I could have done, should have done.  If only I hadn't been so annoyed, if only I'd drawn my gun a second earlier, if only, if only.

I heaved dry sobs when no more tears would come.  I pounded the floor until my hands hurt, until they bruised and scraped against the stone and still the pain inside was worse.  I screamed his name with everything in me, poured all my pain and anguish into that one word.  Something cried out from deep inside me, howling at the injustice of it all.

Her hand upon my head stopped it all.  Her touch radiated coolness and something akin to love or understanding.  She stroked my hair with all the love of a mother and I lifted my starving eyes to her.  The Goddess knelt before me, all shimmering beauty and ethereal grace, and she embraced me while I cried.

Eternity passed before I gained some semblance of control over myself.  I pulled from her arms and she let me.  I rubbed the tears from my face and gazed up at her as she stood.  She looked down upon me, no longer a caring mother but an all-knowing Goddess.  "Despite what he did to you, what he wanted to do for you, you still wish to save him?"

The strength of my voice surprised me.  "Yes."

"Very well," she answered in her golden tongue.  "You are my Lamb, my willing sacrifice.  You have consecrated yourself to me through your tears and the cries of your heart.  Your pain is pure and so is your blood.  You are Blessed before me now.  With your blood, he shall be cleansed."

I nodded, head bowed, and picked up the dagger lying just in front of my knees.  It looked so simple lying there, its sheen dulled by the light of the Goddess.  The metal was surprisingly cool in my hand, and it seemed to weigh nothing and everything at once.  The weight of my love for him gleamed in its blade and I smiled at me tear-stained reflection.  He would be free.

 "With my blood, he is cleansed."

I pointed the knife at my stomach and it made a tiny little dent in the cloth of my blouse.  My muscles contracted away from it, afraid though my mind said not to be.  I knew what happened when someone was stabbed in the stomach, what it did to the organs.  Still, the blood loss would kill me first.  I knew this, and I shook with terror as I drove the blade in deep. Hot blood gushed around my hands, making the knife slick.  It hurt so much and I screamed in spite of myself.  I collapsed to the floor, curled around the wound as my own blood spread in a puddle all around me.

I glimpsed the sky above me through fallen stones in the ceiling.  Stars glittered in the velvet black and seemed to rush and recede, warp as though glimpsed through running water.  The pain seeped away and things grew still.  My body was something distant, a memory being pushed aside.  I hardly felt it when he wrapped his arms around me.

"God, Scully, what did you do?"  The fear in his voice brought me back a little, just enough to see his anguished face through me star-kissed vision.

"Mulder, is that you?"

He brushed a few strands of hair from my face, and I felt his fingers slick with blood.  I coughed, and something warm trickled from my lips.  "You can't leave me," he whispered, voice thick with tears.  A few fell onto my face, hot and cold at the same time.

"You're free now, Mulder...my blood, you're clean...Don't you see?  I'm the Lamb, you're lamb...it's always been this way..." My breath faded, but I could have spoken volumes and he would not have understood.

"Please, hang on," he pleaded.  A few more tears fell, and I realized that I was crying, too.

I summoned all the strength left in me and lifted my head the few inches it took to touch my lips to his.  When I fell back, a few drops of my blood clung to his soft lips.  He didn't try to lick them away.

"I love you, Mulder."

"I love you, too."  He began to sob, cradling my numb body in his arms.

"Isn't it beautiful?"

"What?"

"The light.  It's so pretty..."

 

8.

 

The lighted flickered and blinked, fizzling in and out of my vision.  It was less bright now, not the sheer brilliance of a moment ago.  It seemed less real and harsher somehow, cold like fluorescent lighting.  I realized then that I was no longer staring at the sublime gate but rather the bare bulbs of a hospital ceiling.  Thing slowly came into focus until I could make out blurry images of the little off-white tiles.

My body came to me with the sluggishness of a drugged sleep.  My muscles ached, stiff from lack of use; I tried to move my fingers, but it was as if I knew them only remotely. A tightness around my stomach let me know that I was wrapped in bandages, and the strange feeling behind my eyes told me I was on heavy painkillers.  I turned my head enough to see an IV bag hanging above me attached to the needle in my arm. I felt like there was cotton in my ears; sounds came to me dull as if from far away. I focused and they began to become clearer. The steady beep of a heart monitor, a distant dripping, quiet conversations out in the hallways. 

I turned my head the other way and saw Mulder sitting in one of those straight-backed hospital chairs that never matched anything else in the room.  His clothes looked rumpled, his hair disheveled, as if he had slept in that chair for a few nights in a row.  His head was tilted so I couldn't see his face.  I felt a surge of joy when I saw that he was sitting next to an open window, sunlight streaming through and dancing in his hair.

I tried to clear my throat but managed only a painful squeaking sound.  The second time was easier and he turned to face me at the sound.  The look on his face was pure relief.  "Scully, oh, thank God."  He moved from the chair and knelt beside me, laying his head on the blankets by my arm.  His hand on mine was warm.

"Mulder?"  It hurt to speak, and my voice sounded raspy in my head.

He stroked my hand with his thumb. "I'm here."  He smiled a watery smile.  "I thought I'd never see those eyes again," he said as he held a cup of water to my lips.  It cooled my throat and took away the sandpaper in my voice.

"Where am I?"

"Sunnydale General.  You've been here for over a week...the doctors didn't know if you would make it."

"Mulder, are you..?"  I didn't want to say the words.

"One hundred percent, fully-alive, demon-free human.  Thanks to you.  Scully, why did you have to do that?  Giles said that a lamb--"

"No, it had to be me.  I don't think I can make you understand, but I'm the only one that could have saved you."  I tried to think of some way to make him see, but words failed me and I could only stare into his eyes.  "It couldn't be a lamb, it had to be the Lamb."

"I'm just so glad you're gonna be okay."  He pressed my hand to his lips.  "I missed you."

I smiled as the door opened.  Giles, Buffy, and the gang shuffled in, looking sheepish and bearing balloons.  Willow placed a small bouquet of flowers in the vase by my bed, which I now noticed was full of blossoms in various stages of wilting.  "Get Well" cards littered the small table.

"You're awake!" Willow cried, smiling breaking out across her face.

"Apparently," I answered.  "Thanks for the flowers."

"You're welcome."  She stepped back into the comfort of the group.  I got the feeling they weren't in hospitals much, at least not as often as the morgue.  The thought made me shudder.

"We just wanted to see how you were doing," Buffy said.

"Indeed.  Um, I'm curious to know what actually happened during the ritual.  Did you have any visions or--"

"Giles, shut up."  Buffy, of course.  "Let her be able to stand before you bombard her with your little 'I'm curious to know's."

"Of course, sorry."  He looked at me from behind those little glasses and I could see him fighting the urge to ask anyway.

"As soon as I'm outta here, I'll give you a full report," I assured him.

"We should go now.  I'm bored," said Anya, blunt as usual. 

Everyone glared at her.

"It's okay, you don't have to stay."

"Fine," Xander said, "but as soon as you're up to it, I challenge you to a game of celebratory foosball."

They tied the balloons to the bedside table and left.

"We're never going to be rid of them, are we?" I asked Mulder.

He looked at me with his serious face.  "Scully, I want to ask you something."  His eyes were fragile.

"What is it, Mulder?"

"Did you really mean what you said when I found you?  Do you really...love me?"  He gazed at me with his puppy dog eyes, and it frightened me to know how completely his heart was in my hands.

I swallowed hard and stared at my fingers, not wanting to meet his eyes.  It was a moment before I answered.  "Yes."

I looked up to see his face very close to mine.  His smile melted my heart.  "You don't know how long I've waited to hear you say that."  He leaned in to kiss me, barely a chaste brush of lips and the whisper of his breath.  "I'm so in love with you."

He played with the hair near my face, twisting it around his fingers and tucking it behind my ear.  His thumb caressed my cheek, and when it came back wet I realized I was crying.  He wiped the tears from my face and cradled my cheek in his hand.

This kiss was deeper, more intimate.  His tongue flicked against my bottom lip and I let him in, letting him probe my mouth and doing the same to him.  We explored each other for a few moments and he pulled back first.  "When you're better."

He wrapped his arms around me, hopping up on the bed a little so that his body was pressed against mine.  I snuggled into him and vowed to heal as quickly as possible.  Things between us would never be perfect.  I would never understand his lust for the unknown, and he would never understand my "goddam strict rationalism and science."  There would always been little things to argue about and big things to fight about.  But I knew in my heart that we'd find a way to be together.  I had cheated death for him and he had found life through me.  He had tasted my blood and I had given it freely. Our bond was deeper than friendship, deeper than love.  He was mine and I was his, always.  I wrapped this thought around me as I drifted to sleep, snuggled into his warmth and the gentle beating of his human heart.

 

THE END

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