El Quinto Sol -2
OneMillionAndNine

He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Taking a break from interviewing every person in the bar except for the three most obvious.

He couldn't believe Scully was telling her this. He couldn't believe what Scully was revealing about the two of them. He couldn't believe Scully found herself sexually distracted by him.

Him.

He couldn't believe that while he was pathetically crying and rubbing himself against her like someone's dog, she was fighting off the desire to 'take advantage' of him.

He didn't know Scully had those sorts of feelings for anyone, let alone him. He'd never even considered it possible that she could get, well, horny. Scully? No, she might pine for romance, but she could never ache for a good, hard fuck.

Sure, she hadn't been laid that he knew of since the night she got her tattoo, but he couldn't think too hard about that; that way lay madness.

He could, with a little stretching, imagine Scully wanting a transcendent erotic experience but not a "good, hard fuck." His head was pounding and he felt a combination of shock, lust, and dismay, like there was a whole turkey lodged in his throat, preventing him from swallowing.

But Scully said it: "Much as I really could use a good, hard fuck, I just. . .I don't think I need anymore complications in my life. And Mulder is nothing if not complicated."

True to form, he slid out of the booth where he was recuperating and slipped about half-way through the bar, then made a point of coming back to Scully as loudly and conspicuously as possible.

Yup, the very picture of a cool F.B.I. man, alright.

He gave them his best smile. "Any room for a member of an inferior race at this booth?"

Scully looked annoyed and totally puzzled. "Mulder, you're Dutch."

Mulder blinked, realizing suddenly that Scully had no idea he was Jewish. Nearly seven years and she didn't have a clue.

He wanted to say something, but he has no idea what. "Want me to sing Hava Nagila?"

"Mulder, you're not Jewish."

Why he wondered, would she say that?

"Sure I am." He would have been relieved to be swallowed up by the earth rather than continue the that particular conversation, but it didn't seem to be an option. "Wanna see my circumcision?"

"Hospital circumcision has been routine since the late 40's. Besides," she gave a disinterested half- shrug, "I've seen it."

His mouth was open. He looked like a fish. He couldn't decide if Scully was joking or if she'd lost her mind. Sccccccuuuullllllllllleeeeeeeeeeeeee!" He couldn't help that it came out as one of his horrible whines.

"I had you there."

"No, you didn't"

"I did, Mulder."

"Bullshit."

"I had you."

"Dream on."

"Delude yourself all you want; I had you going good."

"You had nothing."

"Mulder, you were horrified. You kept opening your mouth and no sound was coming out. I had you."

:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:

Fox Mulder decided about two hours before that, if it were at all possible, he would very much like to go into shock. Unfortunately, since shock didn't seem to be forthcoming, he was now bent on trying to will himself to vomit.

He was in hell. The Sangre De Cristo mountains were clearly the fifth ring of Hell. Dante missed the one where you rode through skinny, unrailed mountain roads jammed into a pick-up driven by a no-nonsense valkyrie wannabe, sandwiched between a woman who, as a girl, had had giggly sleepovers with your long-slot sister and a girl you had finger-fucked twenty three years earlier, who also happened to be the suspect's sister. Never mind the one who rode in your lap.

Dante had never been deposited hours later in an isolated farm house, liable to be put on the spot by one or all of there women at any moment, either.

Lucky Dante.

Since the plane touched down, it seemed like every woman he saw was gorgeous and inviting and intimidating enough to frighten Vlad the Impaler into impotence, with Scully starring as queen of them all. How could she have been anything less?

Even in this farm house with the others she took her natural place of authority. Sure, they all made him want to change his name and move to Paraguay, but she was Scully.

It became obvious he was not going to puke. Maybe he could open up his wrists with the spring he found poking up between the couch cushions?

Somewhere in the back of his head, Mel Brooks started singing a song about the Spanish Inquisition and Scully came in with her best Joe Friday.

"Look, the FBI wants to get to the bottom of this but we can't unless you come clean, tell us everything."

Frigga, a.k.a. Ruth White-Goldstein, spoke up. "I meant to tell you everything; the bar, however, was not the place, and it was vital that we all be present." She gestured to the group.

Mulder's face was still buried in his hands. "The FBI doesn't give two shits about this case, Snow. Scully, the FBI says there is no case. We're here on my dime." He was very unconvincingly trying to feign tiredness. "I'm sorry I - lied. I'll understand if you want to go back home."

"Fox, before either one of you make a decision, you should know some things." It was Emily, the first kiss, talking. Scully couldn't decide whether or not she looked any closer to forty than Mulder. She did have three prominent locks of white hair, but her face was almost completely unlined. And she was beautiful, with elegant bone structure apparent under fairy princess skin, and . . .

That was it; she looked like a fairy. She had nothing in common with his usual type except for her long, dark hair. Tiny, delicate - smaller, even, than Scully herself. Emily was way out of Mulder's league by virtue of sheer perfection and she was suddenly, inexplicably, lifting her hair and turning to bare her neck. As if on cue, the rest followed suit almost like synchronized swimmers. Scully held her breath without conscious effort, realizing they all had matching scars. Matching implant scars.

"Are you a MUFON group?" Scully pushed the words out.

Frigga answered. "Not exactly. I did first hear about Dana's work on the X-files from Penny Northern, though."

Mulder leaned impossibly forward. "So the Seider stuff is all a front?"

A smile spread itself across Frigga's face. "Not at all."

"We think maybe at least part of the reason for the abductions is tied up with a certain human potential. Trying to exploit it or destroy it or shape it in some way. Now, thanks to the Seider, we just fly under the radar."

"Most of us were already studying the Seider," came Emily's high voice.

"The Seider itself is just our method. There are others that work; Tantra, the Tao, the Yoruba people have a strict discipline that works very well. . . "

Scully leaned in close. "Works to do what? To what end?"

"We think it works by activating the dormant portions of the DNA, thereby engaging little-used portions of the human brain," Frigga explained, crossing her arms behind her head.

It struck Scully then how similar many of Frigga's mannerisms were to Mulder's. Scully wondered if she herself shared physical gestures and nervous ticks with the children she had known on myriad military bases?

"Or maybe," Frigga continued, "it's the other way around; maybe it achieves its aim by causing the brain to produce certain hormones. It could be a chi thing. It's a chicken/egg thing at this point."

"The purpose of this being?" Scully stared intently as she asked the question.

Emily spoke up. "Most importantly, we are able to stop ourselves from being re-abducted. The homing abilities of the chip can be disabled with enough practice."

"And we can perform miracles, too," said the skinny blonde, milk leaking from her breasts and through her overalls.

"Miracles?" Scully scowled, nonplussed. "Such as?"

"Kirsten is a romantic," Emily grinned.

"And a literalist." Mulder was smiling. He was beaming, in fact, all embarrassment lost to fascination.

Scully found herself growing increasingly irritated. She arched a brow. "Meaning?"

"It's common belief that when the Kundalini Shakti uncoils from the base of the spine and rises to join with Shiva at the crown of the head, the individual has achieved enlightenment and is able to perform miracles." He scanned the group. "So, what can you do?"

Kirsten answered. "Pretty much all the same shit as Viggo: invisibility, vox anima, telepathy, remote viewing, telekinesis, physical healing, the appearance of shape-shifting. You know."

Mulder frowned. "So why don't you stop Viggo? Is he too strong?"

"My brother is a fucking kamikaze, is what he is," Emily spit out bitterly.

"And another thing; we'd have to leave Frigga out of it." Shannon tilted her head to one sided and sighed.

"Why?" Scully asked.

"Is it because you and Viggo are holding opposite ends of the same stick?" Mulder blurted.

"Viggo and I *are* opposite ends of the same stick, Fox."

Silence settled over the troubled group. Finally, Scully cleared her throat.

"Why are they doing this?"

"It took us a while to catch on." Frigga looked uncomfortable but continued. "But look around. Those sons of bitches have killing all our male members because they want to take us and use us to bring about their Aryan Utopia. It would be funny if it wasn't actually working."

"So what are you going to do?" Mulder wondered.

Frigga's reply was sardonic. "We contacted a branch of the FBI with expertise both in matters of the occult and in extraterrestrial experiences."

"Shit." Mulder balled his fists. "So now we should. . .?"

"Well, I say we throw some runes." It was Emily and it somehow sounded both right and completely crazy to Scully's ears.

What Frigga produced were not the standard New Age shop rune stones, but something else entirely. Thin, unvarnished slices from the slim branch of a pale fruit tree, worn and discolored from human hands, carved with thin, decisive lines. The grooves were dark, stained with what he knew must be menstrual blood - he'd read the articles; he knew the 'correct' method of production as set down by Frigga herself.

"Pick three, Fox."

He'd had his hands in much worse places but still, it gave him pause. Gave him pause while everyone waited, staring.

"Oh, yeah, sure." One-two-three, without thinking. He turned them over and everyone stared. They didn't seem happy.

"Three more, Fox," Emily piped up.

He was slightly more thoughtful the second time, carefully pulling each piece from another part of the mass of tiles. Turning them over quickly, he desperately wished that he had taken the time to learn to read runes. Hell, he could have done it on the plane.

"When were you going to tell us?"

"Does your partner know about this?"

"How long?"

"Huh?" he floundered.

"Is it Tantra?" Frigga's voice was louder than the rest.

Mulder responded with a series of rapid blinks only to meet Frigga's slow, clear, questioning gaze.

"How long have you been studying Tantric yoga?"

"Six, umm, six years, off and on. But alone. By myself, I mean." He waited for the chorus of smirks as he added, "from books," but they never appeared.

"You realize, Fox, that this changes everything, right?" Emily asked.

"How far have you gotten?" Shannon inquired.

"What is your Kundalini experience?" Frigga wondered.

"Ummmmm," he shook his head like a wet dog. "It's incomplete. It tends to stick at the vishuddi chakra and I can't seem to get past that."

"The throat chakra?" Emily smiled, as if she should have guessed as much.

Kirsten closed her eyes and agreed. "Let me see. You live chiefly through your words, but have a seeming inability to express the things most important to you, right? Your voice's got that strained quality that you usually hear in somebody living with almost continuously repressed emotions." She made a tsking sound. "You poor man."

Great, they were all looking sorry for him. Fox Mulder, pitied by women everywhere. Only he could make a hobby of masturbation then manage not to get it right.

"You know we can fix that. We should fix that tonight. The rest can wait.

He hadn't been introduced to this one. She had a heavy southern accent and wavy grey hair, an angular face completely free of make up and glasses perched on top of her head. "My name is Eve, Agent Mulder, Eve Brooks. Somebody oughtta finish doin' the introductions, I 'spose. You know you are not meeting us at our absolute best, so I hope you'll over look any lapse in manners. I believe you already know Emily, and Shannon, and our fearless leader Frigga. This is my daughter Kirsten," she gestured.

He nodded, feeling like the toy Chihuahua in the back window of a beat-up Lincoln.

He followed the head bobbing with a strangling noise in the back of his throat. "I'd like the chance to confer with my partner, if I could."

"About what?" A twangy voice attached to a heavy-set blonde emerged from the kitchen.

"Shit, Vivian! I forgot you were in there!" Eve craned her neck.

"Well, thank you, Eve, for making me feel so freaking special. As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," Vivian smirked, heading directly towards Mulder, "what do you have to say to Dana that you'd rather we didn't hear?"

Eve half-snorted half-laughed, her shoulders pitching forward.

"Why me? Do you need a male participant to complete the ritual?"

A tittering laugh rippled through the group before transforming into a full fledged guffaw. Eve and Frigga were wiping their eyes. Emily turned her face away. Shannon hid her lips behind the fingers of her right hand.

Frigga was still chuckling. "Historically, male participation in the Seider was extremely rare and if we did need them, we still have a few functional males left."

Eve winced. "To tell the truth we're a little concerned you might prove to be something of a weak link."

"Sorry, Fox." Emily looked down at the coffee table. Vivian leaned over the back of the couch. "I hate to have to break this to you, but you aren't exactly necessary."

"Fine. So you don't need me. Why are you ignoring Agent Scully?"

"We just assumed Dana would take her sister's place, at least for the next few days."

"What?" Scully's voice was strained.

"What is this about Scully's sister?" If these were Melissa Scully's old friends then it could go a long way toward explaining his partner's strange behavior.

"Miss was one of our founding members Agent Mulder. She's the one who came up with our name." Vivian wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

"Name?" Mulder blinked. What would that be? SeiderChick Incorporated? SexMagik Unlimited?

"Women's Enterprises of Taos. W.E.T. You thought this was all we do? We're a collective, sweetheart. We've got a boutique, an espresso bar, a private elementary school, not to mention counseling services..."

"Vivian," Eve broke in archly, "this is not time for the chamber of commerce spiel. Save it for the newspaper. Fox, yes, Melissa Scully was a member of our group. Unfortunately, she felt compelled to go back East before we perfected the Seider and recognized its connection to the implants. But that is neither here nor there. It's got nothing to do with whether or not you'll let us help you or not."

"Sound like this is right up your alley, Mulder. We can always interview witnesses in the morning." Scully turned to face Frigga. "You won't hurt him, will you?"

Frigga met Scully's gaze. "He may be hurt, but he won't be injured."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Shannon spoke up. "Can I examine him first?"

Mulder's panic dropped from his mouth to his stomach as Scully nodded and Shannon crossed the room toward him. He had no idea what he should have expected but it definitely wasn't a long, moist feminine hand moving mechanically from his groin to his forehead, pausing briefly at a point between his navel and sternum, then again in the middle of his chest, and finally, at his throat.

He could handle this; he'd had holes drilled in his head, right? He had had his fingers broken by Nazis and more ass beatings than anyone else he knew. He could handle a few housewives armed only with their kundalinis and no intent to harm him.

He released his breath slowly counted down ... 10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1

"The block is in his vishuddi chakra, alright." Shannon backed away slowly. "It'll hurt when we work on it. It'll hurt a lot, but when it's over, you'll be better off."

Scully searched their faces. "Define 'better off.'"

"With some work, he can do what we do: he can help you turn off the chip's homing capabilities; he can become more integrated, a whole person. He'll talk less. What do you say, Dana?"

The fact that the question was directed at her took her by surprise. She had explained their relationship - or lack thereof - ad nauseam.

True, Mulder had never been shy about making decisions for her, whether medical, personal, or professional, but it occurred to her that the converse was not true. For a moment, before reason slapped her upside the head, she realized that turn- about was very fair play, indeed.

A small part of her warmed, but she did her best to respond appropriately.

"I say it isn't my choice to make. You need to ask Mulder."

"Well?" Eve pulled her mouth into a tight purse. "The question is, Agent Mulder, will you let us work on you?"

He closed his eyes and smiled with just one corner of his mouth. "Bring it on."

Scully couldn't help sighing audibly. At least there were no hallucinogens or invasive procedures involved.

:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:

She never imagined it would be anything like this when she boarded the plane for Albuquerque: Fox Mulder, naked and nervous, stretched out on a rug, firelight glowing hot off his winter tan. In different circumstances, she could imagine being very aroused by this. He was even wearing the much- vaunted Panic Face. She always imagined sex would be accompanied by the Panic Face.

At least the first time. At least.

She couldn't seem to stop herself from stealing glances at the untanned triangle sectioning his unbearably toned ass.

Had the years of frustration done this to her? Apparently so. Apparently she was so warped that resenting his affect on her was like breathing. She had no idea how to stop it, short of death.

She tried to convince herself that she should be able to look at him without falling prey to that tugging throb between her legs. It was pointless; she could barely even keep her hormones down to a simmer when she was in close proximity to a clothed Mulder, lately. In a situation like this, it was hopeless. She was simply out gunned.

That would have made him laugh. If only she could have told him. If only things were different.

Suddenly, she was shocked by the familiar feeling of sinking giving way to soaring. The only reason things were that way was because they had manufactured their own particular hell. If she wanted him, there was nothing in particular stopping her. She honestly couldn't tell herself that it would be worse than living on this fence, even if, in the end, it blew them apart.

She was overwhelmed by the realization that she just plain didn't want to live this way anymore. And she didn't mean the X-files; she meant Fox Fucking Mulder, her own personal Tantalus in Armani. He might get off on wallowing in a sea of sexual tension, but she certainly didn't want to. And, she realized, she didn't have to.

The time had come for him to either put up or shut Up, toe ither have sex with her, or step out of the way while she got on with the task of finding someone else to give her what she wanted, which was some semblance of a whole life.

And all it had taken was the sight of his naked ass to bring about her epiphany. She was almost as pathetic as he was.

No. No no nonononononono! He didn't want her; she didn't want him.

She refused to be left twisting in the wind this way. The flesh might be detestably weak, but the will was strong. How was she ever supposed to find out? She would have been better off asking the Magic 8-ball Mulder had taken to keeping on his desk.

"Dana honey, why don't you take your place up here at his head?" Eve gestured, sliding her glasses off her head and into her pocket.

"This will be painful for him. If you let him, he will certainly project it on to you. You cannot let him. Your job is to keep him from disassociating from the pain," Frigga told her pointedly.

With the entrance of the first males since they arrived came a brief flurry of snow and activity.

"You rang?"

Mulder had no idea what he was expecting, but the guys at the door weren't it. The speaker was of average height but slightly built, and had an accent that would be more at home in Blessing, Tennessee. And he was wearing overalls.

Oh shit.

"Junior," Emily said as Shannon slid her arm around his waist, "This is Missy's sister Dana and her partner, Fox Mulder. Fox and I grew up together in Chilmark and you and Fox share an alma mater."

Mulder studied him as he spoke: wide brown eyes, furiously pointed nose, soft adolescent cheeks, waist length chestnut hair. There was also something feral about him that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Great, just what we need. We may be fucked, but we'll have excellent footnotes. Or maybe we can analyze our Aryan buddies into a stupor, then sneak into the compound."

He was cut off by a glare from several of the women.

"Nice to meet you. I'd offer to shake your hand but I make it a rule not extend anything to nekkid federal agents."

Shannon growled low in her throat, "Junior. . ."

He frowned briefly, duly chastised and plastered an insincere smile on his lips. "Thank you for coming, Agent Mulder."

"Bit premature, don't you think?" Mulder tried banter, but all he met was dead air.

The other man was still hanging back against the wall. Taller and lankier than Mulder, with incongruously elfin features.

"Are we going to do this or what?" His voice was low and pissed-off, but he seemed untroubled, as if a nude man on the living room floor was no more shocking or unusual than morning traffic or any number of small irritations.

And there it started. They closed in around him in a tight circle and a low note sounded, then two notes higher up. A chord. It was vaguely reminiscent of a Buddhist chant.

"Well, Dick," Mulder droned, "I give it a seventy two - you just can't dance to it."

He couldn't help it. Suddenly he was terrified of being turned on and just as terrified of being hurt.

Then the men began drumming. The elf with the hyperactive thyroid was beating a drum that looked suspiciously like the one Ricky used to play on 'I Love Lucy.'

Then the hands closed in on him and he lost all conscious thought.

He spent the next hour screaming in pain.

He had always told himself that his father had knocked him around a few times, but now, reliving it, he knew it had been far more often than he ever wanted to admit to himself. And he knew from the beginning what the piece de resistance would be. Still, when it came, he was not prepared.

It was hell. As if every bit of suppressed rage was bearing down on him like a train. Even though he thought he had run that particular experience as far into the ground as it could go, the night he lost Sam came down on him, more complete and exact than ever before . The lingering household smell of cigarettes and Lysol; the gritty feeling of lying face-first on the carpet; the pain of the scream stopped inexplicably in his throat. And somehow, it was followed by his father's death.

Bill's familiar liquor breath, the crazy hum of thoughts derailed before hitting their destination {All-I-want-to-do-is-understand-all-I-want-to-know- is-what-happened-why-I-have-to-lose-everything-good- I-ever-had}.

And then Bill was dead. Everything left hanging. Nothing resolved. Nothing answered. A severed limb screaming a resounding "NO!!!!", cut off forever. If anyone other than Scully had shot him, it would have simply been a coup de grace, but no such luck.

The sear of unreasoning rage was followed instantly and inexplicably by what he had always referred to internally as 'the Ed Jersey incident.' In a split second, he looked up into Scully's face and hated her. He loved her and what did she do but shoot him and fuck some stranger?

Fuck her.

A strange surge of colors pressed before his eyes. The first impression was one of unaccustomed speed, and he had the distinct feeling of rising up and out in all directions at once. Jeezuz Fucking Christ! He looked down and realized he was having an out of body experience.

"Come back, Fox." It was Emily and she sounded slightly put out.

"Dana, touch his face. It's not working. Vivian?"

"Agent Mulder, stop it. Now Dana, I need you to put your lips to his forehead right where the third eye goes. Okay. Good. Listen closely." Her voice was sharp beneath its twang but measured, almost military. "You need to focus on the idea of his consciousness, of pulling it up to you. You don't need to literally suck, but it's a sensation like that. You need to pull him to you. Let your conscious mind make contact with his conscious mind."

He was shocked as he watched Scully comply, and felt the bizarre sensation of being pulled back into himself, drunk like a glass of water and spit back in his body. Did she really just do that?

Suddenly aware of every nerve ending in his body, it felt like someone was trying to rip his throat out, but no one was making skin contact at that point. He would have sworn his larynx had just broken loose and he turned his head to let the blood he expected come pouring out of his mouth. Instead a sound not unlike a roar escaped and Scully was hurled backwards.

"I warned you, Dana." Frigga frowned. Then she whispered, "I hate when that happens."

:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:

Later, fed some porridge seasoned with honey and almonds, bathed, and set down like a child in a big fluffy bed, all Mulder really wanted was a TV, until he heard someone speaking in the living room. It sounded like Scully.

"I hope you can understand, Frigga, if I remain skeptical."

"Even after what you did?"

"What did I do?"

That was Scully, alright.

Then he found himself listening to someone singing and playing the guitar in the room beside him. It managed to be both compelling and jarring.

Don't believe him if he says that he loves you Cause Lovers are talkers or liars He'll sleep beside you and steal your wallet And be long long gone"

He had to strain his ears to catch the words again.

Take a train to your weaknesses Let those weaknesses shine

He moved himself off the bed to hear more clearly

What did I pay to get to sleep beside you? I waited on angels unawares all of my hating, spent and stolen Long long gone

It was strange and it didn't make much sense, but there he was. At that moment, all his hating did feel spent and stolen, long long gone.

If his body didn't feel exactly as if it had been constructed of wet crumpled paper, he would have gone and explained it all clearly to Scully and topped it all off with a declaration.

Maybe.

Though, honestly, a declaration of what he couldn't say. It was all just too fucking complicated. He loved her. Over the years, their world had shrunk down to just the two of them, and they had had just about every emotional experience two humans could have with each other: love, hate, resentment, betrayal, disgust, jealousy, disappointment, surprise, cruelty, tenderness, rage. Every bit of it had drawn them closer. It was more than desire, more than friendship - somehow, she had become his other self. She would shake her head, but it was true. They were married. Losing her would be not unlike losing himself, or some deep form of amnesia.

All that was left was all that was left. To say it. To do it. To stop pretending it wasn't true. It would make sense to ignore it if it was something terrible, but it didn't seem terrible to him.

Were they so truly emotionally screwed as to be afraid of the best thing in their barren little lives? It was certainly starting to look that way.

He should have told her about the eggs. He should have told her a long time ago. He wished he could give her what she wanted. Chances were he would die and leave her with nothing. Nothing but money.

Wouldn't it be nice to spend the next year or so in wedded bliss?

There were leads. Things he could try. Or would it be better to give up and make the best of the time left? If he told her, she could help him find a solution, or kill herself trying. If he didn't, he could be with her finally, completely, totally - give her something in the time left, even if it wasn't the thing she wanted most. Take something for himself, too.

Not too hard a decision when he looked at it that way. Spend his remaining days with a grim and determined Scully bent on saving his questionable life, or make a genuine stab at being happy?

:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:

End 02/03