Agent Dana Scully pulled on the rubbery white glove with a resounding SNAP! She wriggled her fingers in the fuzzy power coated insides of the gloves which supposedly made the gloves easier to wear. Scully almost snorted with laughter at the thought.
Turning to the body on the stainless steel table in front of her, Scully steeled herself and removed the sheet. She knew how the victim, Drew Kerrigan, had died, but intellectually knowing a body was decapitated and actually seeing it were two different things.
Pulling her tray of scalpels and autopsy equipment closer to her, Scully glanced up at the microphone dangling over the top of the lifeless body.
"Subject is a Caucasian male, approximately 30 years of age. Weight at approximate time of death 180 pounds, and height is 6 foot 2 inches.
"Cause of death is severing of the spinal cord by a sharp object, resulting in decapitation."
Saying those words sickened the agent. She had performed autopsies on stranger things than a decapitated body, but for some reason this was really getting to her. The subject that laid cold and white on the table before her, had been killed by decapitation -- why? What could anyone have possibly done to deserve such a fate?
Reaching for a scalpel, Scully made her first incision across the chest cavity, determined to find her answers.
Duncan pulled his trenchcoat tighter around him. The night air had grown restless and overcast, threatening a drenching pour later in the evening... hopefully after the meeting with Christina -- Duncan didn't enjoy fighting in the rain, and a Quickening in a puddle filled alley was *not* fun. The familiar bulk of his katana bumped up against his leg as he lowered himself into the drivers seat of the black T-Bird and roared off into the night.
As Duncan disappeared down the black road, a car parked just outside the dojo roared to life. Inside, Agent Fox Mulder tossed aside the remnants of a sandwich and stepped on the accelerator. Turning a corner, he almost smashed into a patchwork junk heap of a car that was rounding the bend.
Swerving to miss the oncoming car, Chance pulled his chop-job car to a break-neck stop outside the dojo. He bounded up the steps, only to find the place locked and dark. Chance turned around and scuffled down the metal steps, making his way back out to his car.
He had just gotten off from covering for Angie. Richie had called the Cafe, but somehow Chance had managed to miss the call while trying to break up a food fight. The chef had taken a message and Richie had said that Duncan was going to wait and see if the agents showed up again before worrying about anything... an attitude which was perfectly understandable considering what else Duncan had on his mind right now.
In front of Chance, Joe approached the beat-up car and pulled his trenchcoat tighter around him.
"Chance!" he called to the man shuffling down the steps up to the dojo.
"Joe?" came Chance's voice, his face covered by the shadow of the brick dojo building. "Joe, is that you?"
"Yea," the older man said, thumping up to Chance, "Duncan left a few minutes ago."
"So I figured. Joe did you know that some FBI guys are out for Duncan?"
A shocked expression flickered across the Watcher's face, "FBI? Why?"
"I'm not sure, but I have a suspicion that one of them got his hands on my pictures. He said he was staking out Mac's apartment tonight."
"That's impossible," the pepper haired Watcher protested, "I have all the pictures, there's no way he could have gotten any copies."
"What about that Logan guy? He had my coat for awhile, couldn't he have used the negatives to make copies?"
"Logan's a *Watcher*, Chance, why would he expose Immortals to the FBI?" But Joe didn't sound convinced. Tere had been plenty of corrupt Watchers before, and it could have happened again.
"Do you know where Mac's meeting Christina tonight?"
"Of course, I'm his Watcher, it's my *job* to know," Joe said, not mentioning the fact that Duncan had been the one who told him about his meeting with Christina. Ever since becoming friends with Duncan, Joe had become a bit more lax in his duties..
"Then let's go see if we can meet up with Duncan before Mulder does," Chance said, clicking open a car door.
Joe pulled open a door and slid into the dark vehicle next to Chance, "Oh, here, I thought you might want this back," Joe added, handing Chance a worn brown trenchcoat.
Scully rinsed her hands on the gleaming sink which, like everything else in the room, reeked of sterility. The autopsy had been, in many ways, one of strangest she'd ever performed. Not so much because of what she had found. but more because of what she *hadn't* found. A rap at the door caused Scully to start for a moment.
"Come in," she said, shaking the water off her hands and reaching for a towel.
A slim black woman in an officer's blue uniform poked her head in the door.
"Agent Scully, I have the files you were asking about."
"Thank you, just put them on the counter."
The officer set a substantial stack of file folders on the gleaming counter before quietly departing. Dana Scully picked up the first file and looked inside. Papercliped to the file was a photograph of a rustic looking man, with medium length black hair which had been pulled back in a sweeping ponytail. Scully did a double take -- but the incredibly handsome man in the photo was, unmistakably, the one in the bizarre photograph that Mulder had.
Scully went to look at another one of the folders -- the man had enough police records to write an biography with -- when a second picture slipped out of the folder and drifted to the floor. Scully knelt down and picked it up -- the face looked surprisingly familiar somehow.
Scully stared at the photograph for a moment longer before the realization hit her. It was the man from MacLeod's officer and the restaurant later that day! This guy was connected with MacLeod somehow!
Opening the door, Scully hurried out into the hall and found the black lady who had given her the files pouring herself some coffee.
"Could you find out who this is?" Scully asked.
"That's Chance Harper -- he's been involved in almost as many investigations as MacLeod. Everyone in the district is taking bets on who's going to actually be arrested and charged with something permanent first."
"We're never going to beat Mulder there are this pace, Chance," Joe complained.
"I know, Joe, but this car can only go so fast."
Joe snorted but made no other reply. He was concerned -- hell he was terrified -- that this Mulder guy would get to Mac first. There was a chance that Joe could explain everything to him later, but Joe didn't want to take that chance. Keeping the Immortals secret was too big a deal to be treated flippantly when the FBI was involved.
Joe looked out the window at the rapidly gathering clouds. The sky was totally black, the stars and moon temporality snuffed out of existence by the impending rainstorm.
"Hey, isn't that..." Chance began, looking out the window to the side of the road.
"Mulder?" Joe asked, his heart leaping -- the FBI agent had gotten a flat tire! He was stuck on the side of the deserted road, the air thick around him with the gathering storm
Chance nodded.
Joe broke out into a relieved grin, "Now that's what I call a lucky break."
Chance stifled a snort of laughter, and decided to turn his attention back on the road.
Mulder kicked the tire of his rental car and muttered some words he never would have said in front of Scully. A gust of wind ruffled aside his trenchcoat and he muttered another stream of curse words. Looking up, he watched as a beat-up car sped down the dark road and into the night which stretched forlornly around him.
Mulder wasn't going to give up this easily, though. He had a general idea of where MacLeod was going, and this was a once in a lifetime chance to have solid proof of the paranormal. Mulder tightened his trenchcoat around himself and began a long run down the lonely streets.
Joe and Chance pulled up just down the street from a deserted lot which was nestled in between several condemned buildings. The car rolled to a stop, its tire crunching on some scattered gravel, and Chance and Joe stepped out into the increasingly windy night.
They jogged the short distance to the lot and hugged the side of the buildings to avoid being seen. Chance's adrenaline was pumping, his was heartbeat thudding in his ears.
The gust of wind and approaching power of the brewing storm sent shivers of anticipation down Chance's spine as he Watched the two figures approach each other in the dark field, swinging deadly swords out from their trenchcoats as they did so.
Without warning, the obvious female of the two figures, Christina, lunged at Duncan, her blade slicing the air. Duncan's katana flew to meet her sword, and the two weapons met with a CLANG which echoed and ricocheted off the buildings.
Duncan pushed his katana against Christina's rapier, forcing the younger Immortal to give ground. Duncan parried up and lunged for Christina's unprotected shoulder. Christina managed to cut him off at the last possible moment, and shoved against Duncan, knocking him back a few steps.
The two combatants circled each other like lions waiting to spring, their tension mirrored by the rapidly approaching storm. Chance spared a glance over at Joe, who was engrossed in the ongoing battle. The older man's pepper gray beard glinted in the occasional glimpses of moonlight which found their way through the clouds. The restless wind rustled Joe's trenchcoat as he quietly waited and Watched.
Chance's attention was jerked back to the fight by the flurried clanging of blades. The two were now fighting all out, lunging and parrying until their moves became an intricate dance of liquid motion.
Duncan was pressing his advantage on the young Chirstina, locking her blade, Duncan swung the Immortal's blade off to the side and disarmed his opponent. Chirstina looked right into Duncan's eyes, a sliver of moonlight falling across her face seconds before MacLeod brought his sword down for the final stroke.
Mulder's attention was jerked to the southern horizon as there was a sudden explosion of blue lightening. Taking off like a bat out of hell, Mulder sprinted for the source. Ahead of him, lightening continued to rip at the air, smashing everything it touched, arcing and twisting in a convoluted dance of pyrotechnics.
Mulder ran into the deserted lot just in time to see the last vestiges of the Quickening fade away into the eerie stillness of the night. In the field before him, the figure of Duncan MacLeod kneeled on the ground before a headless body, his head bowed in exhaustion.
Mulder whipped his gun out of the holster which was concealed on the inside of his jacket. Holding the weapon in front of him, Mulder approached the slowing rising figure of MacLeod.
"Agent Fox Mulder, FBI! Drop the sword MacLeod, I have a few questions for you!"