Title: Acranon Chapter 2 
Author/pseudonym: Drovar 
Email address: drovar@mediaone.net 
Rating: PG 
Fandom: XF 
Pairings: Spender/Pendrell 
Date: 9/11/98 
Other website/archive: The Ferret Cage 
URL: http://parkers-place.net/ferretcage/
Summary: An answer to Carl Stoneburner's Fortune Cookie challenge on X/Story. 
Things take a dark and weird twist.
Category: Slash-action (Mythos AU)
Warnings: Only if you don't like ferrets & lab-mice
Disclaimers: Spender and Pendrell sadly belong to another. Other characters 
appearing are mine. Still standard disclaimers apply. I'm not trying to steal these 
characters from their rightful owners. I further acknowledge any and all applicable 
copyrights.
Notes: Another Spender/Pendrell story. Thanks to Carol Stoneburner for the original 
inspiration, even if this is totally not what she had in mind.
- - -
Somewhere deep within his brain, somewhere beyond even the atavistic reptile mind, 
crucial synapses received their orders and closed dutifully. A bioelectric wake-up 
call went out to all the brain's quiescent cells. The trauma had passed and self-
preservation demanded the brain's attention. Soon crucial neurons began to fire, 
doubling and redoubling the message until the brain hummed with bio-chemical and 
electrical signals. In a cascading torrent of consciousness, and self-awareness, Sean 
Pendrell struggled to wakefulness. 
He hurt . . . everywhere; and it was dark.
He moved slowly, trying to uncurl from his tight fetal position; his body growled in 
painful protest. Carefully, slowly, he stretched his numb legs from underneath his 
body. His legs hurt like hell; they felt lacerated, but thankfully not broken. A careful 
check, by touch alone, revealed a sore and touchy lump the size of a kiwi fruit on this 
temple. He felt cut, scraped, and lacerated, but not broken. How could he hurt so 
much and not have at least broken a femur, ulna or clavicle or two?
Pendrell forced himself into a sitting position and held it until the lurching vertigo 
subsided. He tried to think as he waited for the dizziness to fade. 
Okay Sean, he told himself.
Put that phenomenal brain to work and figure this out. 
Where am I?
The air was cool, slightly damp, and sort of musty. No breeze, not even the hint of 
one, stirred the darkness. He could feel cool stone beneath his hands. The rock was 
hard, and smooth, but not at all flat, with a slight sheen of grit. 
Pendrell listened intently for any sound that might betray some clue to his 
whereabouts. He heard nothing, just the buzz of his own blood flowing through his 
ears, and the short fast huff of his own breath. There were no traffic noises, no 
ambient man-made sounds, not even the mostly unnoticed electrical background hum 
that pervaded human life. Wherever he was, it seemed a long way from home.
Home.
His mind quickened at the thought. Home included Jeff, and . . . and . . . what was it 
about Jeff? His mind faltered, wavering toward unconsciousness, as he felt a fresh 
wave of disorientation and vertigo overtake him. He fought down the urge to retch 
and focused on the thought anew.
Where was Jeff?
Sketchy impressions of the recent past flooded into his conscious mind almost 
quicker than he could recognize them. Chinese food, they'd been eating Chinese 
again, Jeff's favorite. They had just finished the meal; he was teasing Jeff with a 
fortune cookie, when . . .
When what, dammit? Pendrell shouted mentally at himself.
Come on Sean, figure it out, call it up, unlock the vault, what happened?
A brief mental picture of a scraggly haired man; the sound of Jeff shouting; a tumble, 
and confusion. There was a sense of pain, an indelible impression of it, and then 
slow halting movement and fear. But there was something else also, something 
deeper, and darker. He felt a chilled shiver run through his body. His last real 
memory was of the two of them tumbling over into the floor and the sound of a 
gunshot. Yes, he remembered more clearly now. There was a thudding pain as his 
head struck something, hard, and then something else.
What was it dammit? Pendrell demanded as he felt the desired memory slide around 
under his attention, not allowing him to pin it down and examine it. Then abruptly he 
remembered. 
The memory came not entirely as a conscious thing, or even an emotion, just an 
impression. He had felt, for just a moment, like he was being watched from inside 
his own mind. As he passed through the tunnel of consciousness to the brink of 
darkness he had felt another presence slide past his own. There was something inside 
his mind!
Pendrell felt his insides heave. There had been, and might still be, a parasite . . . a 
Cadre implant, inside his thoughts. A stealthy invader, so skillful that he had never 
detected it. 
Oh God. 
How long had it been lurking, manipulating his thoughts and emotions? Steering 
him, possessing him, controlling him, how long? Had his odd infatuation with 
Scully, an old joke now, having grown hoary through years of retelling, been just a 
manipulation? How much of Sean Pendrell belonged to it, and how much was really 
him? Did Sean Pendrell, the man, even exist? Or was he simply a convenient ego for 
the thing's display and camouflage?
Oh God, Oh fuck.
What did this mean for him and Jeff? Were the last wonderful years just a lie?
He felt raw, violated and sick. What if he was just a tool, a mole buried so deep he 
avoided even self-discovery? What if he belonged to the Cadre, body, mind and 
soul? 
Pendrell retched.
He felt a little better when he was done. He drew up what spit he could muster and 
tried to clear the taste from his mouth. His mouth tasted foul, but he felt somehow 
cleaner. It was as if he had, at least symbolically, thrown out the thing in his mind. 
As his heaves quieted he tried to search his mind looking for any sign of the intruder, 
any thought that he could identify as foreign, any sign, signal or portent that his 
thoughts were not his own. 
After long moments of nothing, he gave up. Whatever was lurking in his head was 
buried to deeply for him to ferret it out. He needed to find Jeff and figure out what to 
do next.
Jeff
Pendrell suddenly realized that not only did he not know where he was, but also he 
had absolutely no idea where his partner was. He dredged into his memory again. 
The thought of something else, some . . . thing, slithering behind his thoughts, 
looking and prying into private places, made him shudder. He fought down his 
revulsion and tried to concentrate. He had to calm himself, and let go of his feelings 
of anger and violation.
He remembered something after that awful realization in the restaurant alcove. There 
were some blurred images of Jeff, loud sounds, and gunfire probably, then more 
darkness. There was a jarring into a painful wakefulness, and a square of dim 
starlight far above. He remembered the sound of gurgled breathing, the reedy 
bubbling sound of air and fluid. There was the taste of blood on his lips, then again 
darkness. Later, he had no idea when; he woke briefly to the feeling of movement, 
and then nothing until now.
"Jeff?" he asked the darkness.
"Jeff, can you hear me?" 
He waited. Jeff might be nearby and simply unconscious, or injured and unable to 
call out. Pendrell struggled to stand up, resting halfway, hands on his knees, head 
down, as a new wave of vertigo passed. He straightened, stood fully upright and 
looked around. He could see nothing in the darkness, no sign of light, either natural 
or man-made. He took a half step, feeling the unseen reassurance of solid stone 
beneath his feet.
"Jay," he called, slipping unconsciously into the comfort of the familiar diminutive. 
"Jay, where are you?" 
Pendrell hesitated, and slid another half step forward. He was about to call out again 
when he felt and heard his foot brush against something that crinkled.
Cellophane, he thought. He knew this was significant somehow. He struggled for a 
moment before dredging up the memory.
The cookies. Jay read his fortune just before the Cadre assassins attacked. 
Pendrell carefully stooped down, and retrieved the bag, groaning almost silently at 
the fresh pain and nausea that it brought. The package felt strangely reassuring in the 
empty darkness. He clutched the bag to his chest feeling the crinkle of the cellophane 
and the hard cookies within. The bag had miraculously remained intact through 
whatever unremembered trauma they had gone through. He held the bag like a 
talisman, as if it's simple mundane reality were a shield against the vast, gloaming, 
otherness he was feeling. Pendrell slipped the bag into his shirt and buttoned up.
He considered his options. To stay here and wait for rescue was probably the logical 
thing to do, except that he had no idea where here was. He didn't know if anyone 
else knew where they were or even that he and Jeff were missing. Rescue might not 
come for days, days he didn't have to spare. To move on meant taking a chance on 
getting even further lost, or possibly falling into some deep underground crevice 
where even his body would never be found. Still he wouldn't find Jeff just by 
standing here, if he were moving he'd at least be doing something.
"Jeff," he called into the darkness again. He began to walk in a slow expanding 
spiral, carefully feeling his way ahead. He listened intently after each call hoping 
desperately for some small sound in answer.
"Jeff, answer me. Moan if you have to." 
He stopped as he felt an uneasy awareness come over him. He knew, somehow, that 
there was something out there in the darkness waiting and watching him. He must 
have heard something down at the subliminal level that he hadn't consciously been 
aware of. Pendrell took another step forward and nearly panicked when his foot 
brushed against something solid.
He jumped back; nearly loosing his footing in the darkness, and finally crouching 
down to avoid whatever attack might be coming. He had a sharp, sudden vision, of a 
slavering mouth, dripping with ochre and riddled with teeth. It was somewhere 
behind him. Yes, behind but slouching rapidly closer.
Spender dropped to his hands and knees and scuttled forward, feeling carefully 
ahead. His hand brushed across something damp and solid. He could smell the faint, 
but unique metallic, and sour smell of old blood. It was a body. 
"Jay?" he whispered. The thing, whatever sort of thing it was, was getting closer. 
Pendrell imagined he could hear it, moving forward, dripping and oozing, great jaws 
clacking and gnashing in anticipation.
Pendrell crawled forward. His hands came to rest on the body's face. He ran his 
hands lightly and carefully over the features. Sharp angular nose, jutting cheek 
bones, topped with tight curled hair. "Jay," he whispered again. His left hand brushed 
down Spender's cheek and felt a huge moist gash, and something solid . . . bone.
Oh, Jesus. He thought. He drew his hands back and slid them under Spender's body, 
feeling the blood pooled beneath him. So much blood. What if it's too much? 
He couldn't tell in the darkness if the wound had sealed itself, but he could feel the 
blood that dripped from Spender's clothes as he lifted the still form.
So much blood, there's just so damn much. Pendrell felt his eyes fill as he settled 
Spender into his arms and started walking. He wouldn't have thought he had any 
tears left. He had scars and pains a plenty; they all had them, on body and psyche. 
Tears had become a rare thing in a hard world.
He heard a sound not far behind, a real sound. It was a soft leathery slide of a sound. 
Pendrell hefted Spender tighter against his body and began to run. He expected to be 
set upon by whatever followed, or trip in the darkness and spill both of them to the 
ground. Failing that, Pendrell was certain an enormous fissure lay just a few steps 
ahead. He ran.
The leather scuffling followed for a few moments, stopping about where Pendrell 
knew Jeff's blood lay pooled on the hard stone. He shuddered as the nearly silent 
sounds of lapping rose up behind him. Pendrell ran on.
The grotesque feeding sounds were quickly lost in the darkness beneath the sounds 
of his shoes clopping on the hard stone, and the steady sounds of his labored breath. 
Hearing nothing following for a long while, Pendrell slowed to a walk, and shifted 
Spender's body again. Spender's face fell close to his own. He could feel the 
slickness of Spender's blood against his own cheek. Pendrell could feel his own shirt, 
rank with the thick wetness of blood, clinging to his skin. 
He walked through the darkness, unaware of time or direction until his strength 
finally began to fail. Pendrell staggered on, no longer listening. No longer trying to 
peer through the darkness or check for obstacles in his path. His world narrowed. 
There was only Spender's heaviness in his arms, and the relentless demand that he 
keep moving.
One more step Sean, cone on. One more, just one . . .
In the end he could only stagger forward, dropping to his knees, and laying Spender 
on the hard ground as gently as possible. Pendrell rolled onto his back, his lungs 
gasping for air, while his mind wavered on the edge of unconsciousness. He slept or 
perhaps only thought he did, lying there, waiting to die.
There was a sound in the darkness. Pendrell wanted to leap up and carry Jeff away 
from danger, but his battered body wouldn't respond. He could only crane his head 
backward against the hard ground and look. Lights, there were lights. Dim and far 
away, they dodged and moved like twin fireflies caught in a ritual dance. So pretty, 
Pendrell thought as he turned away. 
The lights couldn't help them now. It was much too late. Pendrell closed his eyes, 
and waited to join his partner in whatever lay beyond.
End part 2