Surprise and recognition flickered briefly over Carlson's face and then were gone almost before they had a chance to surface.
"Hello agent Mulder, " he said, calming puffing on his cigarette, "such a pleasure to see you again."
Richie, Chance and the other FBI agent, trooped into the room, Scully with her gun drawn and held at ready, and Richie with his sword in an equally threatening position.
"Joe! Are you --" Richie began, but then broke off and whirled around at the sound of a groan from behind him. "Mac!"
Richie rushed over to MacLeod's restrained figure and began slicing through the leather straps which bound him to the table.
"What the hell have you been doing here?" Mulder demanded, looking Carlson in the eye.
Carlson took a long draw on his cigarette, "That's really none of your business, agent Mulder."
"Like hell," Mulder said, his gun still cocked, "you kidnapped my partner, you've repeatedly hindered my investigations, and I *know* that you had something to do with the death of my father and Scully's sister... just because I didn't kill you the last time I had the chance doesn't mean I won't make the same choice again."
Carlson stared at Mulder with an even, almost condescending expression.
"You're not a murderer, agent Mulder. Besides, if you kill me, you kill more than you know."
"Damn you."
"Not just yet, Mulder."
Joe spoke up.
"He's been experimenting with Quickening, Mulder... that *thing*," Joe said, indicating the rod in the middle of the room, "is some kind of Quickening retainer...he's trying to create Immortals."
"Among other things," Carlson said flatly, blowing more smoke from his mouth. "I just want you to know how much you're endearing yourself to me," Mulder said to Carlson, his tone venomous. Mulder twisted his head around to look at Richie.
"Are you almost done?"
"Yea, I'm -- there," Richie said as he cut through the final strap. "You okay Mac?"
Duncan sat up on the end of the bed, blinked and rubbed his eyes for moment.
"Yea, I'm fine Rich..."
"Mulder -- someone's coming," Scully said from her position by the door.
"What are we going to do about him?" Chance asked, indicating Carlson with a nod of his head.
"Leave him," Joe said. Mulder was about to protest, but Joe cut him off, "Don't worry, Mulder... I'll make sure that the Watchers take care of him."
"Well, I'm going to make sure that he doesn't do anymore of these insane experiments," Richie said, marching over toward the rod.
"Richie -- I don't think..." Chance began, but was cut off by the ring of metal and a spray of sparks as Richie cut through a cable which entwined itself around the structure.
"... that's a good idea," Chance finished.
Blue light diffused out from the cables and metal of the structure and twisted around it like a giant whirlpool. It fought and sparked out from the sides, and grappled against the flat walls, as if it was searching for something.
A stray luminescent tendril reached out toward the small cluster of people. Carlson was caught up in its electric grip and thrown backward onto the floor. As if on cue, the other strings of light found their way to him, and began enveloping him in a glowing mass of Quickening and electricity which streamed down his extremities and coursed though his body.
"I think that now might be a good time to leave..." Chance commented as everyone bolted for the door.
Behind them, they could hear dull thud of footsteps and shouts as someone found the testing room alight with Quickening energy and the abductees missing.
The lights in the corridor suddenly flickered and died. Moments later, red backup lights flickered to life, illuminating the hall in a bloody red ambience.
Duncan's mind was still swimming, and some of the effect of the drugs were returning to his overloaded mind. Supporting himself on his young protege, he forced his Immortal body to move. He had never felt this way before... it wasn't a mental, emotional or physical weakness, it was something deeper than all three. Duncan felt like a part of his very being had been torn from his bosom and a part of him felt hollow like he's never felt before.
Outside of the building, there was a faint pink light on the eastern horizon -- it was nearing dawn. The stars had faded and the undersides of clouds were reflecting the pink light back. The air was wet with dew and the grass was slippery.
The compound was still quiet. Mulder didn't like it. Somewhere a bird chirped, it's trilling song seemed wildly out of place. The Immortals, Watcher, FBI agents, and Chance all ran along the fence line toward the gate. Duncan had recovered, his Immortal body healing quickly, but the void in his gut still remained.
They passed along under some overhanging trees, nearing the gate and the place where they had crossed over the fence earlier that morning. Mulder halted and motioned for the others to do the same. Crouching to the ground, Mulder could make out the dim conversation of the gate guards.
They couldn't climb the fence again with Joe... his artificial legs weren't up to the task.
"Any ideas on how to get out?" Mulder asked.
"I have one," Joe said, "These guys aren't Watchers... I doubt that they know about Immortals. So, Duncan or Richie attacks the guards and gets shot. Then, when he revives he takes them by surprise."
"Joe, what if they *do* know that we're immortal?" Richie asked.
"Let's hope they don't, Rich."
Richie set a determined expression on his face, "I'll go find out."
"Richie, wait --" Duncan began, but his protege had already emerged from the fence line, and jogged down the small hill toward the guard house.
They were too far away to hear anything distinctly, but as the scene unfolded before them, they saw Richie walk up to the men with his cocky street punk swagger. Mulder could hear the angry shouts of the guards, then Richie bolted for the gate. The ricochet of gunfire echoed and Richie crumbled to the ground.
Behind Mulder, Scully emitted a startled gasp.
"Don't worry about Rich," Joe said, "he can take care of himself."
"Damn kid," McDonald swore, as he reholstered his gun, "we'd better call main security."
"I wonder how he got in here," the other guard mused as they walked into their gate house to call the main building. Inside was a red telephone on the wall next to a Playboy pin up.
"He probably climbed the fence on a dare or something," McDonald said, picking up the receiver, "I keep tellin' em to get it electrified, but noooo. Someone even once fed me some bull about it messing up experiments or somethin'... yea, hey, this is the main entrance... yea, we've got an intruder down here -- some kid... no sir, I didn't know that... Yes, sir, I will.
"You're not gonna believe this, Hoyle, but the power's gone up in the main building. There's been some kind of disturbance up there. Donnely said there were some intruders and that they've killed Carlson and cut off the power."
"What?"
"Yep... just a few minutes ago."
"You don't suppose..." the thinner man began.
"Could be. We'd better go drag his body in."
They stepped out of their claustrophobic, cluttered gatehouse and out to where they had left Richie's body in the asphalt street. Except that Richie's body wasn't there anymore.
"What the --" was all McDonald was able to say, before Richie jumped out from behind the corner of the gatehouse, smashing him on the head with a rock.
Hoyle, about half the size of the robust McDonald, drew his gun, but Richie was on him before he had a chance to get it far from the holster. Richie ran into the man, knocking the wind out of him. Hoyle doubled over and Richie knocked him on the base of the neck with his fists, sending the man sprawling unconscious.
Richie gestured to the others, "Come on!"
They all scrambled down the hill, the wet grass speeding up their progress.
"They called the main guard -- we'd better hurry," Richie said.
Going as fast as they were able, they ran down the tree-shaded road to Chance's car, which was parked just around a bend in the road. The whole area appeared different in the broadening daylight. The sky was beginning to lighten into pale blue, and the chirping of birds filled the moist morning air.
They had reached the car, when a figure appeared about fifty meters away around the bend.
"Stop!" yelled Hoyle, holding his gun out in front of him, ready to shoot. The base of his skull hammered from Richie's blow, but the man hadn't been knocked unconscious.
"Damn, it... get in the car guys," Mulder said.
Chance leapt into the front seat and gunned the engine. Mulder stood outside, his gun drawn and pointed at Hoyle in a standoff.
"Come back or I swear I'll shoot!" Hoyle demanded, his young, angular features twisted in determination and some fear. In an effort to show that he was serious, Hoyle fired the gun, deliberately missing.
Everyone else had piled into Chance's car.
"Get in, Mulder," Chance hissed.
Still holding his gun ready, Mulder started to slip into the car. Hoyle fired, his sweaty hands slipping on the gun's grip. His shot went wide, and hit Mulder's left arm. Mulder staggered backwards from the impact, and hit the back of his skull on the car. Chance grabbed him, hauled him into the vehicle and slammed the ancient door.
Chance pressed the accelerator, and the car took off in a spray of gravel and loose asphalt.
Duncan, who was riding shotgun, helped get Mulder into the backseat, where he momentarily blacked out.
Chance pulled out onto the main highway, the new sunlight reflecting off the pavement slightly, and the horizon was painted in pinks and purples in a cascade of color and light.
Scully, however, didn't notice the sensational beauty of the dawn as she was more concerned with Mulder than the scenery. He was scrunched in between Joe and Scully, with Richie sitting next to Joe on the right. Scully had tore open what remained of the fabric of Mulder's trenchcoat and shirt around the wound.
"Is he okay?" Richie asked.
"Yes," Scully said, using part of her trenchcoat to staunch the blood flow from the wound, "It just grazed the surface and created a lot of bleeding. He's really lucky."
Mulder blinked slowly, his head pounding and a large welt forming on the base of his skull from the impact, "I must be in heaven... I was shot," he said slowly, "and now there's a beautiful woman -- oh, it's just you, Scully," Mulder said trying to turn a grimace of pain into a mischievous simper.
"And what makes you think you'd even go to heaven, Mulder?" Scully teased, trying to ease the tension and distract Mulder from his pain.
"It'd be my reward for putting up with you."
Scully just pressed harder on the wound.
They rode in silence for awhile, the morning sun reflecting off the buildings of the nearing cityscape in a panoramic view, and the sky ever lightening into deeper shades of blue.
EPILOGUE
Scully set Mulder down on Duncan's couch with an order to stay put.
Everyone was famished, exhausted, dirty and mentally drained. Scully fetched some medical supplies from Duncan's dojo. She was surprised that an Immortal would need a first-aid kit... but then there was the dojo downstairs and people undoubtedly got hurt during workouts.
Mulder's wound was surprisingly minor -- it had only bled a lot making it look serious. The bullet had just grazed the skin, and Scully didn't deem it necessary for a hospital visit.
"I'm telling you, Mulder, you are one lucky guy," she said as she finished taping a gauze pad over the gash.
Mulder shot a look over at Chance and winked, "Yea, I suppose maybe I am."
"Well, I don't know about anyone else, but I'm hungry," Richie said.
"I think there might be some pancake mix in there somewhere, Rich," Duncan said.
Richie got up and started into the kitchen, when a weird look from Scully stopped him.
"What?"
"Um... your shirt," she said.
"Oh... yea," Richie said, looking down at the bullet hole through the front of his black T-shirt. "Um, I guess I'd better change."
There was a quiet, tense expectancy in the room as everyone just sat and looked at each other.
"I can't believe that really happened," Scully said finally, breaking the silence and voicing everyone's thoughts.
Joe sighed heavily, "Yea..." Something was weighing heavily on him, his every motion and expression betrayed it.
"What's wrong Joe?" Duncan asked, getting up and walking into the kitchen to search for the pancake mix during Richie's absence.
"Mac, have you ever known someone for a really long time, and then they turn out to be someone totally different?" It was a rhetorical question, of course, Joe knew everyone that Duncan had met during the last four hundred years.
"Carlson?" Duncan asked.
"Yea -- he... I can't believe what he was doing, Mac. It was so completely out of character for him."
"No, Dawson, it wasn't," Mulder interrupted, "This "Carlson" has been doing stuff like this to me ever since I began work on the X-Files, and his involvement in my family goes back even further."
"And I never knew...," Joe said, "I'm starting to wish that Skinner never introduced us."
Scully and Mulder's eye's went wide.
"Who?" Scully asked.
"Walter Skinner... I met him in Vietnam just after I became a Watcher. He was one of the first friends I made in the Watchers. He works for the FBI now... you guys don't know him, do you?"
"Joe... Skinner is the assistant director of the FBI... he's the one who approved this assignment," Mulder said.
"But why would Skinner approve it, if he already knew it was Immortal activity?" Chance asked.
"Carlson has some sort of power over Skinner," Mulder said. "He's often in Skinner's office... watching in the background. Maybe he was able to force Skinner to approve the assignment somehow. The question is "why"?"
"Because Carlson wanted you to join the Watchers," Joe said.
"What?"
"He said that it would give him more control over you."
Mulder said nothing, but his eyes smoldered with unvoiced frustration and anger.
"But then what about Scully?" Chance asked.
"I think I know what he wanted her for," Mulder said evenly, her voice betraying his anger at the man.
At the others' questioning looks Mulder clarified, "Scully was abducted by aliens last year --"
"I was *not*, Mulder," she protested.
"-- and Carlson is often involved somehow in UFO-related cases. I think that whoever was responsible for that last year wants her back."
"MUL -- der," Scully groaned.
The smell of cooking pancakes drifted in from the open kitchen, fillings the loft apartment with a aromatic smell which helped to dull the bizarreness of the recent events somewhat.
"Actually, that might explain a lot," Duncan said from the kitchen.
"What? I never expected you to defend UFOs, Mac," Joe said.
"Joe -- something happened to me. Part of my Quickening was taken and drawn into that *thing*... there is no way that was human made."
"Mac," Chance said, his tone questioning, "... Richie said something about that compound being built on Holy Ground."
Duncan and Dawson froze.
"Are you sure?" Duncan asked.
"Yea... Mulder was there too."
"Damn... Dawson -- they beheaded an Immortal on Holy Ground with another Immortal present... No wonder that happened."
"Don't go jumping to conclusions, Mac... Holy Ground probably wasn't the only factor in what happened," Joe said.
"Yea, well, I don't like it, Dawson... Carlson won't stop either. He's going to come back, and he's going to be worse than Horton if we don't do something."
Just then, Richie emerged from the bathroom at the back of the apartment wearing a tight green T-shirt.
"No -- I don't think so, Mac," Richie said, "I overheard the guards talking -- Carlson's dead."
Carlson groaned. His head was hammering, and the world was still dark even though he had opened his eyes. He pulled himself into a sitting position when the lights suddenly flickered back to life.
Carlson blinked, trying to clear his head and remember what happened. Mulder -- Mulder had come. There had been an explosion... Ryan had destroyed the experiment. Carlson pulled himself to his feet, and lit a cigarette. He inhaled the noxious gas and then blew it back out from his mouth.
The room was a mess. Cords and bare wires hung from the Quickening rod in the middle of the room. The beheaded Immortal's body was still on the table next to him, and the guillotine had been knocked over by the force of the Quickening.
Carlson reached down to pick up the broken guillotine blade, and swore as he accidentally sliced his hand on the razor edge.
Carlson's expression of pain melted into one of amazement, however, as the burning pain ceased and the two sides of the wound sealed together leaving only a trace smear of blood behind on calloused, but otherwise unmarked flesh.
FINIS