"Okay, Mulder, you woke me up at five-thirty in the morning... what is it *this* time?" asked Scully, as she pulled off her glasses and rubbed her sinuses. She should have learned better than to ask that question by now, as Mulder was more than willing to tell her anyway.
"Scully, you are *not* going to believe this," Mulder began, as he plopped a thick manilla folder down on her desk.
"That's a safe bet," Scully commented, looking down at the case files which her partner had unceremoniously dumped on her desk.
"Scully, this time I have *proof*," Fox Mulder began, the barely contained excitement in his voice sounding like a young boy on Christmas Eve.
"Proof of *what*, Mulder?" Scully asked, beginning to grow exasperated.
"I don't know," the handsome brown haired man said simply, "but it is concrete proof of *something*."
Sighing, Agent Dana Scully opened the manila folder and started rifling through the files, as Mulder began a narration.
"I first found out about it back in '85 when the Lone Gunman did a special report on a New York incident. There had been a string of murders -- decapitations to be exact. That in of itself wasn't too strange, just some serial killer, right? Wrong, Scully. The murders were reportedly succeeded by a violent pyrotechnics display.
"They even had a witness to one of the murders, but the man's testimony was later declared unreliable. The only suspect in the case was Russel Nash, but he was cleared of charges and later disappeared. The investigation was closed shortly thereafter when the rash of killings stopped. The police just chalked the whole thing up to some weird serial killer, and forgot about it.
Scully looked up from the files, "Okay, Mulder... so what *your* theory on what happened?" "I'm getting there Scully, hang in there. Now, these decapitations aren't isolated to New York, they've been reported all over the world, and mention of them in various newspapers goes back several *hundred* years."
"Really...decapitations, Mulder? Are you *sure* that you didn't spend a few too many years in Violent Crimes?"
Ignoring her remark, Agent Mulder continued undaunted.
"Anyway, Scully, a recent string of these murders has been taking place in Seacouver, a city just outside Seattle. A suspect in several of the cases was one Duncan MacLeod, but the charges were always dropped due to lack of evidence. Until now."
Mulder handed her a large, blown up photograph which clearly showed a figure kneeling in an alley next to a decapitated body. The odd thing about the photograph, though, was that large, blue lightening bolts seemed to be streaming out of the decapitated body and striking the kneeling figure, which was kneeling on the ground hunched in agony.
Scully's eye's widened, "Mulder, how did you get this?"
"A friend gave it to me," Mulder answered cryptically.
"Mr. X?"
Mulder nodded, "I've booked us on the next flight out."
"What about Skinner?" Scully wasn't going to argue, the disturbing scene of the picture had her thoughts churning.
"I've already cleared it with him..."
Scully nodded, for once not even caring how Mulder had managed to cajole Skinner into giving them the case.
"We leave this afternoon," Mulder said simply.
"There's only *one* room left?!" Scully demanded, looking the desk clerk straight in the eye.
"Um, yes. I'm, uh, really sorry, but there's a Syndi-Con going on right now -- and...well, uh..." the seedy looking man trailed off, purposefully avoiding the Agent's glare.
"Looks like you get to bunk with me tonight, Scully," Mulder said, a wry grin playing mischievously over his features.
"Oh, joy," Dana muttered, picking up her emergency suitcase. She never knew when Mulder would wisk her off on another wild goose chase without even seeing fit to notify her in advance so she always kept a packed suitcase handy.
The thin clerk took a key out of the drawer and handed it to Mulder.
"Hey, look, Scully, we have room 13," Mulder said, dangling the key just within the shorter agent's line of sight.
Ignoring him, Scully forged on down the well-lit pastel colored hallway. Upon reaching room 13, she unceremoniously snatched the key from her partner's hand and pushed open the heavy door.
Mulder trailed in after her, faking a dejected puppy look, "C'mon Scully, I'm not that bad," he said as Scully flopped her suitcase down on the floral-patterned bedspread.
Dana Scully looked up, planning to lay down the ground rules for Mulder -- after all she had been on stake-outs with him before -- and instead she found herself struggling to suppress a bubble of laughter. Mulder had put on a "lost puppy" expression again, but the corners of his eyes were crinkled in silent laughter.
Sighing, and allowing a small grin to play across her face, Scully looked over at her partner, "Mulder..." after a pause she continued, "So, what's next? Talk to the police?"
"Nope," Mulder said, heading for the door, "First, I want to go have a word with Mr. MacLeod, however I do have a present for you..."
"And what's that?"
"I've arranged for you do the autopsy."
As the pair headed out the door of the room, a wicked grin spread across Mulder's face, "Gee, Scully," he began innocently, "I wonder what the guys in Finance will say when they find out we shared a room."
Richie suddenly felt a tremendous compulsion to hurl a heavy object at the screen of the computer. For a moment, he looked around the room to see where he had left his sword -- it might do the trick. No matter how hard he tried, the expenses for the dojo simply didn't want to cooperate. At this rate, Duncan *might* break even in another hundred years. Of course, by then the dojo probably wouldn't exist anymore.
The tingly buzz suddenly filled Richie's mind, and he looked out through the glass window which separated the office from the rest of the busy dojo. Richie's stomach knotted up, a reflex reaction. Richie didn't know if it was instinctual, or just him, but every time he sensed another Immortal all his body's senses coiled up, ready to spring on command at the attack of another Immortal. They wouldn't be needed, however, as at the far end of the room, Richie recognized the form of Chance Harper. Chance threaded his way around the sweaty patrons of the dojo and into the office at the far end of the room.
"Hey, Chance," Richie said, rolling his chair slightly away from the computer terminal, the casters grinding on the floor, "what brings you by?"
Chance strode into the office, glancing momentarily at the weapons MacLeod had displayed on the walls. Had he collected all those weapons himself, over his four hundred years of life, or were they just part of the atmosphere of the dojo? Pulling himself back to reality Chance took a seat on the edge of the desk and looked over at the young red headed Immortal.
"Actually, I came by to see Mac," Chance said. He had picked up Richie and Joe's habit of referring to Duncan as "Mac" recently.
"He's not here right now... I think he went out to get some groceries," Richie said. "He should be back in a few minutes."
A rap on the office door suddenly startled the two men out of the their discussion. "Come in," Richie called, seeing a tall, intent looking man and a shorter, auburn haired woman though the large glass pane.
"I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder and this is Special Agent Dana Scully, we're with the FBI," the tall man began, stepping into the small office, "and we're looking for Duncan MacLeod. Would you happen to know where he is?"
"Um," Richie began, standing up from the computer chair, "Mr. MacLeod is out at the moment, but he should return shortly, may I ask what this is all about?"
"Nothing serious," the auburn haired lady said, trying to make up for her partner's brusque attitude. Richie couldn't help noticing that she was quite pretty, with a sharp, no-nonsense edge to her. "We'd just like to ask him a few questions."
"I see," Richie said, eyeing the two agents, "well, I'll be sure to tell him that you stopped by." This was not good. Richie had never trusted any law enforcement people in his entire life, let alone federal agents.
"That's okay," Scully replied, "we can wait, Mr. --?"
"Ryan. Richard Ryan... and it really would be better if you were to come back at a later time."
"In that case, we'll stop by later today," her partner, Mulder, said. Then, handing them a card, he added, "Or, if you could have him contact us at this number..."
"Certianly," said Richie cautiously. He didn't like this FBI agent's intense prying attitude. This could be dangerous.
Mulder and Scully gave Richie a perfunctory nod and headed for the door.
"Thank you for your time," Scully said on the way out the door.
Richie cast a worried look at Chance, who was still perched on the edge of the desk.
"I wonder what that's all about."
Chance's expression hardened, "Did that Logan guy ever return my pictures?"
"Sort of, " Richie said, plopping back down in his chair, "Joe found them yesterday -- he said that Logan didn't return your coat... Joe just found it sitting on one of the barstools, pictures and all. He said he can't find Logan's trenchcoat since then, either. Joe's taking care of seeing that the pictures go where they need to in the Watchers... Chance are you listening to me?" Chance had faded out after Richie had confirmed that Logan didn't have the pictures anymore. Chance frowned, and his brow furrowed in thought, "That agent said his name was Mulder..."
"Yea. So?"
"My brother said that the only FBI agent he could trust was called Mulder."
Richie's expression grew confused, "Your brother? What does he have to do with anything?"
"It was probably just a lucky coincidence that his name was -- what are you grinning about?" Richie said, looking up and catching Chance's expression.
"You have no idea what you just said," Chance said, suppressing a grin.
Richie looked at him blankly, "I don't follow you..."
"Why do you think people call me Chance?"
"I --" Richie broke off mid-thought. A thrum filled Richie and Chance's minds, thickening the air with its presence. Seconds later, Duncan appeared at the front of the dojo, his arms laden with two brown paper bags of groceries.
Richie walked out to greet his mentor, and Chance trailed along not too far behind.
"Hey, Mac --" Richie began, but broke off when he saw older Immortal's distracted expression.
"Mac, what's wrong?" Richie asked, pulling up the rusted grate for Duncan as the trio entered the elevator. Duncan avoided Richie and Chance's gazes, his face clouded over in thought.
"Christina," Duncan said simply.
The three emerged into Duncan's space loft. Duncan and Richie entered the kitchen and proceeded to unpack the paper bags of groceries. After several minutes of silence broken only by the rustling of paper, Richie said, "Let me guess -- she's after your head."
Up until now, Chance had been staying unobtrusively in the background, but he had to ask the question, "Why would this Christina want to kill you?" he said from his perch on a stool next to the island counter.
Duncan sighed, "Partly because Kerrigan, the Immortal you photographed me killing, was her lover... but mostly because he's young and thinks that it would be a great victory in the Game to take an older Immortal's head... killing the man that killed your lover is a perfect excuse -- not that she needs one.
"I ran into her in the parking lot of the grocery store. We probably would have had it out then and there if not for all the mortals... she's set a meeting place for tonight."
"Are you going to meet her?" Richie asked.
"Yes," Duncan said, with a tinge of emotion, "but you know that I don't want to, Rich." "But she'll kill you if you don't Mac," Richie protested from where he was stashing food in the almost bare refrigerator. Duncan had a morality problem with killing female Immortals... it was kind of chivalrous thing. "She'd come after you, and she wouldn't stop. You know that...." Richie's voice grew quiet. "She's not Kristin, Mac. This isn't about chivalry, love or vengeance... she's playing the Game, and that means that you have to play it too."
Chance watched the two Immortals in silence for a few moments. He had only known them for a few days, but it seemed longer. There was still something almost surreal about the whole affair. Here were two men -- one of whom was over four hundred years old -- putting away groceries and talking about a beheading.
Duncan's voice was tight and controlled as he spoke, "I know, Rich."
Chance was getting slightly uncomfortable... this was something personal between the Immortals, and he felt out of place despite the common bond of Quickening. Desperate for a reason to leave without seeming rude, Chance glanced down at his watch and realized how late it was getting. He had promised Angie that he'd watch the cafe for awhile when she went to listen to her son's band play.
"I'll um, see you guys tomorrow," Chance said, hopping off the stool and heading for the freight elevator.
"Bye Chance," Duncan said with a tight smile. "See ya later."