Title: Shae D' el -- Heart of the Rakshasha
Author:  Drovar
Email address: drovar@ix.netcom.com 
Rating: R for some bad words and m/m sexy stuff
Pairings: Spender/Pendrell (That's right, yet another Jay & Pen 
story)
Date: 11/18/98
Website/archive: The Ferret Cage
URL: http://www.geocities.com/area51/hollow/3190/ferret.htm
Summary: Jay & Pen encounter Cadre agents in a museum. All hell 
breaks loose, weirdness, violence, and doofiness follows.
Category: Slash/Horror (A stand-alone Mythos AU story)
Warnings: Ferret & Labmouse in some general naughtiness; also 
some violence and supernatural stuff. Oh and there's a monster 
or something too.
Disclaimers: All things recognizable as TXF belong to CC, 1013 
& FOX, all else belongs to me.
Notes: This story takes place in some vague time between Armani 
and Acranon 1. The museum in the story, and the Heart of the 
Rakshasha are entirely fictive. At this point in the Storyarc 
Spender and Pendrell have been together for sometime. Mulder 
and Spender have reconciled, and now have a sometimes grudging, 
sometimes friendly, half-brother relationship. The consortium 
is gone, replaced by the even more evil cadre, Pendrell has 
some weird things going on in his head that he doesn't 
understand (See Acranon 1 & 2 for more on that). In addition, 
in this AU neither guy is dead, at least not yet. 

Special thanks to Shael for letting me borrow 'something' else.
Shae D' el  -- Heart of the Rakshasha 

By Drovar

The black sedan snaked quietly through the dark city streets, 
the soft hum of its engine and the gritty scratch of tires on 
wet asphalt were the only sounds. The occupants sat wordlessly, 
focused and intent on the task ahead. The car crawled past the 
Natural History Museum, where banners proclaimed  'Kid's 
Science Week' in garish crayon script. It turned the corner, 
and came to a stop on a side street. 

With the quickness of practice, and the accuracy of 
calculation, the black-clad occupants emerged and silently 
disappeared behind the museum. The night's stillness was broken 
by the muffled crunch of metal against metal. There was a brief 
moment of dim light and the sound of a door closing,  then the 
street returned to darkness

*	*	*

Jeffrey Spender leaned back against the museum wall, yawned 
again, and stretched for the third time in the last half-hour. 
He crossed his arms and watched Sean Pendrell make his seventh 
trip of the evening along the velvet rope barrier that 
separated him from the armored display case. Spender checked 
his watch, 9:20. The museum would be closing soon. He could 
hear the bored security guard sniffling and yawning from his 
desk just on the other side of the open archway. They were the 
only visitors in this gallery and had been for the last 45 
minutes. 

Spender stepped up to the case where Pendrell was staring at a 
large sapphire. His shoes tapped loudly against the marble 
floor as he walked across the room. The stone was the size of a 
large hen's egg, a deep smoky blue, shot through with veins of 
deeper purple. The display lights gave the gem a brilliant 
luster that seemed to shift hypnotically as he watched. He knew 
that the patterns were an illusion caused by minute, 
unconscious, shifts in his perspective. Still it was an 
arresting, unsettling sight. There was a large book to the 
right of the gem. It was bound in tanned leather, and carried 
no title. A small placard identified it as 'Translated prayers, 
curses, and magicks'. 

He glanced at Pendrell. The red-haired agent was staring 
fixedly at the gem, as if by plain stubbornness he could divine 
its secrets. Spender grinned; a lot of hard times trailed 
behind them. Years of struggle, sorrow, and sometimes terror. 
Somehow special agent Sean Pendrell retained that same goofy, 
eager, earnestness he'd had when they first met. He was still 
the same charming 'doof', if less innocent and no longer naive.

Spender glanced back at the guard, still inattentive, slouching 
half out of sight. He turned to the side blocking the guard's 
possible view and stepped closer to the oblivious agent. He 
leaned forward bringing his lips close to the Pendrell's ear, 
and slid a hand up the back of his thigh, finally stopping to 
cup and squeeze a rounded cheek. 

They were still dressed in their FBI clothes, they'd worked 
late, tracking suspected cadre movements through the D.C. area. 
Pendrell had insisted, over Spender's protests, that they come 
straight here. In retrospect Spender appreciated the tactile 
opportunity the thin clingy material presented.

"Shall I wrap it up for you sir?" Spender asked, as he 
squeezed. He grinned again as Pendrell did a 'controlled 
startle'. His eyes went wide, his face a shifting mask of 
surprise, realization, and embarrassment. He flinched, and 
flushed a deep red, but didn't jump.

"Jay, what the hell are you doing?" Pendrell demanded softly, 
glancing past Spender at the guard's station.

"Don't worry Pen," Spender said as he slid his hand over the 
rounded flesh and deep into the warm crevice beside it. "What's 
the plaque say?"

A large burnished brass plate was mounted just below the 
display case. Pendrell placed his hand on one of the rope posts 
and leaned forward to read. Spender slid his hand down, 
searching for the sensitive spot he knew was there.

"Shae D' el" Pendrell read aloud, shifting again, and squirming 
under the questing touch. Spender nodded, probed further, and 
found his target. He could feel Pendrell's muscles clenching 
and moving, through the soft fabric.

"The Heart of the Rakshasha," Pendrell continued. He leaned 
further forward to read the smaller print beneath, spreading 
his legs slightly. Spender brought a finger directly onto 
Pendrell's cloth covered entrance and pushed. Pendrell gasped, 
and cleared his throat before continuing.

"Recovered from the ruins of a Moghul palace in Northern 
British India circa 1860's." Pendrell inhaled sharply before 
continuing. "The heart was said to have mystic powers and was 
greatly feared by the native population."

"Really?" Spender asked, leaning down, his question, more 
breathed than spoken, into Pendrell's ear. He felt his own warm 
breath wash back into his face as he spoke. His hand slid up 
the cotton covered flesh, traced along the waistband, and slid 
beneath, feeling warm skin encased in soft cloth. The cool 
museum room suddenly felt drawn-in, warm, and intimate. "What 
does it say about Rakshasha?" he continued. 

Pendrell looked sideways at the guard station, back at the 
display case and then up at Spender. He looked dazed. 

"What?"

Spender repeated the question as his questing fingers again 
found the warm entrance to Pendrell's body.

Pendrell swore softly as Spender's finger pressed against the 
tight muscle. He stole another glance at the archway before 
answering.

"Noth . mmm... it doesn't say anything, why?"

"Rakshasha . . . " Spender pressed again, harder this time. He 
could feel the tight muscle giving slightly. 

". were demons, shapeshifters, spawn of Ravana."

"I see, and the heart?" Pendrell's voice slid up an octave as 
Spender's finger penetrated. He was swearing almost silently 
when Spender answered.
	
"The heart would have been recovered from the body of the slain 
Rakshasha." Spender didn't bother to look back at the 
inattentive guard, and began to twist and slide his finger in 
and out. Pendrell swore again, louder.

"Interesting isn't it?" Spender asked, his voice bland, tightly 
controlled. 

"Fascinating" Pendrell gasped, and began to move his hips, just 
slightly, in time with the finger inside him. Spender ran his 
free hand up the front Pendrell's slacks feeling his rapidly 
growing hardness. He squeezed, and for a moment considered 
retreating to one of the many dim niches in the room to finish 
things properly.

Suddenly he heard the guard's chair push back, the wooden feet 
making a slick scraping sound across the marble floor. Spender 
jerked his hands away; leaving Pendrell awkwardly balanced 
against the post for a moment. Spender helped Pendrell to his 
feet, straightened his collar, and smiled. The poor man looked, 
stunned, lost, and entirely aroused. "Time to go Pen" he said, 
and turned toward the archway. 

"You are *so* dead," he heard Pendrell whisper behind him. 
Spender grinned and strode toward the stairway humming, his 
heels clicking on the cold stone. 


*	*	*

Albert Wilson watched the two men leave and started shuffling 
papers into his desk. The night shift always seemed to run so 
damn long. He needed a beer and some dinner, and if Angie was 
in a good mood tonight he might get a little something extra. 
The echoes of steps on the large spiral staircase faded as 
Wilson finished his nightly rituals.

He was closing his desk drawer, that ritual complete, when he 
heard a soft rumble and caught the faintest whiff of something 
that made him think of summer and storms. He quickly he ran 
down his shutdown list, mentally checking off his completed 
tasks. Angie hated storms, she'd lost a father and brother to a 
twister in the Texas panhandle and never felt safe during bad 
weather. He'd held her through many a summer night, whispering 
comfort until she slept. There was another rumble, low, 
distant, violent. He had best hurry.

Finally satisfied he took one last look around as the museum 
lights began to dim.

/Fuck all, there go the lights. /

Within moments the museum was dark, lit only by small 
strategically placed safety lights. The lights gave the museum 
a mysterious, almost foreboding quality, as the dim yellowish 
glow slipped into odd crevices and cast long, unfamiliar 
shadows across the floor. 

Wilson trotted to the head of the stairs. Looking down, he felt 
a quick thrill of vertigo. In the near darkness the stairway 
seemed to spiral downwards infinitely, loop after loop, passing 
through each museum floor and then on forever. 

He looked back to his station, and stopped. A blue glow 
suffused the 'Heart of India' display room. He could see the 
flare and mix of blue light and shadow against the far wall. 
Wilson hesitated as he heard another rumble. Angie was waiting, 
no doubt curled up in bed, with the lights on staring at the 
weather channel. Still the curator would have his balls in a 
vise tomorrow if something turned up wrong. 

He could smell the storm air, could actually hear the soft hiss 
of rain outside as he trotted through the archway and into the 
display room. He had just a moment to realize how very wrong he 
was, it wasn't raining; just a moment to realize that Angie 
would sit alone all night, waiting, calling the museum, 
frantic; just a moment to make his peace with God. He had less 
than a moment to scream before his blood was splattered in a 
high arc against the back wall. The blue light pulsed and 
swayed as a monstrous shadow slid along the blood splattered 
wall and through the archway.

*	*	*

Pendrell examined his reflection in the museum's glass door, as 
the lights dimmed. He expected the guard to be along at any 
time to usher them out and lock-up. The man looking back, 
through the dim light, was familiar and yet a stranger. There 
were lines at the corners of his eyes, lines he'd only noticed 
a few months ago, they were his father's lines. Small scars for 
such hard times, he realized, times that showed in the slight 
graying at his temples, the ache in Jay's hip when it was cold 
and of course the dreams. 

He had watched Spender move with a slight limp as he walked 
across the lobby to the men's room moments ago. That limp was 
courtesy of their initial contact with the Cadre in a small New 
England ghost town. They had been caught unaware and fully paid 
the price for their naivete. If the horror they confronted 
there couldn't cause a sane man nightmares then nothing would. 

Pendrell thought he had left those dreams behind long ago. They 
had waxed and waned and finally disappeared as his relationship 
with Mulder had risen, fallen, and then ended. Not more than a 
year ago, however, they had returned in full-force. The night 
sweats, the terribly lucid moments of paralysis, they had all 
returned. Then there were the waking visions of *her*. Over the 
years, since that first frightening vision in Mulder's 
apartment, he had come to trust the old woman's voice, though 
he had no certainty that she wasn't a figment of his own 
thoughts. 

Even as he examined his own face he could see her ancient 
features overlapping his own. Her eyes, those familiar, deep, 
black pools, replaced his own points of blue. Slowly he began 
to hear a sort of mental static building in his thoughts as the 
image took shape. Long white hair fell down past his shoulders, 
as his face became the strong, wrinkled visage of his daytime 
visions. Pendrell reached out bringing his fingertips up to 
touch the glass. The ancient woman raised her hand in mirror of 
his own. He felt an electric jolt race from his fingertips to 
his toes when their hands met, the mental static swelled 
higher.

Pendrell shivered. He realized the woman was speaking, her 
expression was strident, almost frightened. He leaned forward, 
straining to hear over the roar in his thoughts. For a moment, 
as he brought his face close to the glass, he could hear her 
ancient voice. 

"Salvation is in the heart," was all he could make out, 
repeated over and over. Suddenly her image began to shift and 
dissolve, even as her gestures became larger and more urgent. 
The mental static roared to a crescendo, and then in a thought 
splitting screech it was gone, taking the old woman's image 
with it as it faded. Pendrell let his hand fall to his side, he 
had missed something; he was sure of it, something important.

The touch of fingers on the skin of his back jolted him back to 
reality. Jay was behind him, his hand beneath Pendrell's dark 
bureau-standard shirt and jacket. His face was damp, his 
tightly curled hair in slight disarray. The rest of the 
familiar elegant package was in place, the broad grin, and the 
thin classic features, though they weren't as thin as they once 
were. The years had given Jay Spender a fuller, more pleasant, 
less angular look. He had aged well. Pendrell felt a small 
trill of desire course through his body as Spender's fingers 
trailed down his spine and settled on his waistband.

 "You okay Pen?" Spender asked bringing his face close to 
Pendrell's. "You look like Skinner just turned down your 302 to 
Jamaica."  

"There's something wrong here, Jay," Pendrell said. He turned 
from the door, scanning the dimly lit lobby. "Something bad."

Spender's wide grin collapsed into a straight, thin line. 
Pendrell watched as a hard shell of seriousness fell over 
Spender's features. In a blink Jay Spender was gone replaced by 
someone harder, and deadlier. In a single motion Spender drew 
his gun from his holster and scanned the room, holding the gun 
ready. Pendrell heard the safety snap off.

"What did you see?" he asked. Pendrell hesitated. Through the 
years they had come to trust these 'hunches', right more often 
than they were wrong, and always right when they 'felt right'. 
This time he wasn't sure. Had the old woman really been here? 
Or was the vision an utter hallucination crafted by his own 
mind?

"I'm not sure," he replied "a warning maybe." He pressed his 
hand to his forehead and cursed under his breath. Reality, 
fantasy, madness, there were times he wasn't sure which was 
which. He felt anxious, faint tickles of fear skittering at the 
edge of his thoughts. 

"Cadre?" Spender asked.

Pendrell froze. Cadre, a single, simple word. Spender's voice 
was steady, calm, and full of loss and regret. Cassandra 
Spender was gone, dead and in the ground over five years now. 
Nevertheless, the loss was a wound so fresh it pulsed through 
Spender's life. The man who might or might not have been his 
father had died, along with the rest of the Consortium, not 
more than a year later. Pendrell pushed back the memories of 
that time and place; the half formed awareness of his role in 
creating those memories and focused on the gentle concerned 
face of his lover.

"I think so." Pendrell hesitated, again. He could feel 
*something* else. It wasn't clear or defined like the sharp 
edge of anxiety he felt when cadre mind-assassins were near. It 
was something else, something just as dark, but indistinct, 
blurred, like a shadow of real thought. 

"But that isn't all. There's something else going on. I know 
it, but I don't know what."

Spender studied him for a moment, as if weighing options, and 
probabilities, before making his choice. "Well, we can't stay 
here, we're too exposed. We need information and 
reinforcements. If there are Cadre are here, then it's for 
something important, we need to know what that is."

"Come on," he said as he pulled out his cellphone and began 
punching in numbers with his thumb, while moving toward the 
relative shelter of the visitor's information booth.

Pendrell swayed in place, as he watched Spender moving across 
the room. He felt an intense vertigo, as if he were trapped in 
a vortex, spinning and tossing in the heart of an ethereal 
storm. He had a momentary vision of a descending inverted 
funnel of dark, roiling clouds, falling, twisting, and covering 
the museum.

Spender's voice broke through the darkness of his thoughts. 
"Hello, hello?" His voice grew louder. "Mulder, can you hear 
me?" Pendrell glanced out the front doors into a wall of dark, 
boiling mist. "I think it's too late for that, Jay."

Spender swore and snapped his cellphone closed. "So what 
happens now?" 

Pendrell stared, unsure of how to reply. There was something 
absolutely vital happening here. It had to be more than chance 
that they were here in this place, at this crucial time. He had 
learned that despite all its apparent chaos, the universe 
simply didn't operate that way. Even the smallest things 
mattered, sometimes they mattered the most. He started to speak 
when Spender's eyes flew open wide. There was a wet, thudding 
noise behind him. Pendrell spun as Spender leaped off the 
visitor's desk.

A blue clad body, soaked in blood, lay at the base of the 
stairway. They approached cautiously, Spender, scanning the 
room, gun at ready, Pendrell looking up the stairway. It was 
the security guard from the India exhibit. He was dead, 
obviously and blatantly dead.

Pendrell kneeled down near the body, taking care to avoid the 
spreading pool of blood. Spender took up a position on a lower 
stair tread. His face was taut, strained, as he scanned up the 
stairwell, both hands on his gun.

Pendrell nearly gagged as he realized the gross nature of the 
man's injuries. Much of his left shoulder and throat were 
simply gone, splintered bone and dark twisted flesh jutted out 
from the gap. The right side of the man's rib cage was gone as 
well. However, there was something unusually regular about the 
damage there. He carefully turned the body, bringing the 
mutilated side up into plain view. He heard Spender gag when 
the body sloshed in the bloody puddle as he turned it, the 
smell was nearly overwhelming. It was a mixture of human waste, 
blood, and something gamy, like a large animal scent, that 
Pendrell couldn't begin to place.

The gash along the rib cage was serrated, and entirely too 
regular to be an accident. There was something vaguely, and 
unsettlingly familiar about it. Then in a nauseating rush of 
understanding, he knew what had happened. His own gorge rose in 
his throat.

"Jay," he said. His throat was tight, his voice thick and 
rough. "Look at this."

Spender hesitated, took another look up the staircase, and then 
knelt down. "Jesus, what happened to him?"

Pendrell ran a finger along the chest wound, taking care to 
stay just above the torn flesh. His hand moved in a long arc as 
he traced the edge. He'd seen something like this, somewhere. 
That thought nagged at him, he knew what this was. However, his 
normally quick mind felt sluggish and over-burdened, tired, and 
unwilling to focus with its usual clarity.

 "It's a bite wound." Spender said. Pendrell looked up, his 
partner had gone several shades whiter, his perennially pale 
skin, almost chalky in the dim light.

"What the hell makes a bite wound two feet across Pen?"

I don't know." Pendrell replied. "The wound is serrated, cut 
rather than ripped. A big shark *might* do this kind of 
damage."

"Sorry Quincy, wrong answer," Spender answered. "I saw the 
result of a great white attack in Hawaii. It was a bloody God-
awful mess but shark teeth are triangular. They're razor sharp 
alright, but the shape is all wrong, and these wounds are too 
big."

"Well Jungle Larry, I didn't think one of the shark exhibits 
had woken up hungry." Pendrell said with a sigh that whispered 
*duh* around the edges. "What do you think did it, and more 
importantly where is it?"

Spender shrugged with a forced grin that was more grimace than 
anything else. "Land shark? Velociraptor, maybe?"

Pendrell nearly lost his balance as he stood up abruptly. The 
room spun drastically. With a rush of vertigo and sound his 
vision collapsed to a small dark tunnel. He fully expected to 
topple over the body and land in the widening pool at his feet. 
Instead he felt strong, agile hands on him, a thin, strong arm 
at his waist and the warmth of a familiar body pressed against 
his own.

"This is no time for a swan dive Pen." He led Pendrell to the 
bottom riser of the stairway. Made certain that he wasn't going 
to swoon and turned back to guard duty. Pendrell sat down 
heavily, his face in his hands. He felt weak fatigued, mentally 
and physically.

"That thing, whatever did this, is still up there, somewhere. 
There may be cadre around." Spender paused to dial a number on 
his cellphone and then snapped it off in frustration. "And we 
still can't contact anyone outside." Pendrell nodded wearily, 
more convinced than ever that they were on to something major, 
maybe cataclysmic.

"I know where I've seen this now," Pendrell said, looking up. 
He couldn't believe what he was about to say, it was insane, 
but there simply was no other explanation that fit the 
evidence. "The Cretaceous exhibit, third floor, East Gallery. 
It's where they keep all the big showy pieces," he said. 
Spender shook his head in grim agreement, the exhibit was well 
known. "There's one display that caught my attention when I was 
here during the summer. A T-rex had taken a bite out of a 
Triceratops frill. That bite was bigger, but the look was the 
same."

Spender stared at him blankly for a moment, incredulity warring 
with astonishment in his expression. "You mean to tell me," he 
said finally, "that we are trapped in some God-awful, third-
rate indy version of Jurassic Park?" Pendrell grinned up as his 
partner. It was too bad so few people got to see this side of 
Spender. Beneath that angry, annoying shell, he could be a 
charming goof. 

Pendrell stood, more slowly this time and found his stance and 
vision steady. "Maybe, maybe not, but we aren't getting any 
closer to an answer standing here, are we?" Pendrell drew his 
gun from its holster as he spoke. The weight was unfamiliar, 
and a little unsettling. He'd made the grade for marksmanship 
at the academy, but he was really as much a danger to himself 
as to his target when he drew his weapon. Pendrell motioned up 
the stairs as he spoke and took up a position behind Spender.

They moved slowly up the stairway. The dimly lit museum offered 
no clues, no sounds echoed through the wide-open stairwell. 
Pendrell could easily imagine that the place was deserted. The 
persistent tickle at the back of his thoughts told him 
otherwise. As they reached the first wide turn in the staircase 
Pendrell felt a sudden surge of panic.

"Jay." was all Pendrell managed to hiss before the room below 
was filled with black clad cadre assassins. The dark wave 
surged across the room, fanning out as they approached. 
Pendrell realized with a moment of hope that they were partly 
hidden by the bulk of the stairway. There was just a chance 
that they might slip away unnoticed. Pendrell felt Spender's 
hand pulling on him, urging him upward. He moved up the stairs 
as quietly as possible, as Spender slipped behind him. 

Pendrell glanced back down into the lobby. A single face looked 
up at his. For an instant he locked eyes with the solitary, 
bland face. He felt an electric charge burn through his 
thoughts. For a moment he could feel the other battering as his 
mind, a powerful surge of will and hate threatened to overwhelm 
him. For a moment he swayed silently gripping the rail as a 
wave of revulsion and nausea nearly overwhelmed him. 

Pendrell felt Spender's hands steadying him again. He grabbed 
at the firm body, feeling its muscle and bone, solid, real, a 
mortal foundation, in a spinning whirl of unreality. Pendrell 
fought down the nausea, focused his thoughts, his anger, his 
loss, and pushed. There was a moment of wavering when he could 
feel the other clawing at his thoughts, screaming. Then the 
other's presence slid away with a howl of frustration.

"Move, move, move," Spender shouted behind him. The Cadre mind-
fuck was already shouting orders to the gunmen. Pendrell felt a 
moment of vertigo and stumbled forward as bullets filled the 
air around them. Spender had one hand on the rail, the other 
held his gun poked through the posts, firing rapidly. Pendrell 
could see his eyes flicking from point to point as he fired, 
trying to make his limited ammunition count.

"Jay, come on damn it, we can't stay here." Pendrell shouted.

Without a reply Spender lunged under the incoming gunfire, 
throwing himself against the risers and scuttling upwards. 
Pendrell turned and began to run up the stairs when he heard a 
wet thud and a muffled grunt of pain. He turned just in time to 
watch Spender roll over and slide down several steps, a 
sickening patch of dark fluid, tinged in red, blossoming on his 
hip.

Pendrell leaped forward, grabbing Spender under the arms, 
ignoring the continuing gunfire, and staggered backwards just 
as several cadre agents warily approached the bottom of the 
stairway. Pendrell dragged Spender up to the second floor and 
through the exhibits. The cadre wouldn't take long in coming 
after them and he had to get them to a safer spot. The 
unexpected, gunfire and corpse at the foot of the stairs had 
made the assassins wary and slow to react. They had an 
advantage; it wouldn't last forever.  

He felt Spender stir in his arms. He couldn't see much in the 
dim light, and could only pray that the bullet hadn't shattered 
his hip. 

"Lemme' go, Pen" Spender said, and started to stand.

"You're okay?" Pendrell asked, bewildered, as he helped him to 
his feet. He eyed the injured hip suspiciously. There was a 
ragged hole where the bullet had entered and a still slowly 
spreading bloodstain. "Let me take a look at that."

Spender didn't resist as Pendrell moved them behind a display 
case of archaic weapons, directly beneath one of the feeble 
lights, and carefully pulled his suit-pants down. Spender 
groaned through gritted teeth as Pendrell pulled the damaged 
slacks and boxers away from the wound.

"Sorry," Pendrell whispered as he pulled the clingy material 
away, completely revealing the area. There was a large, ugly, 
purple and yellow bruise on Spender's hip. A gash ran across 
the tightly muscled thigh, forming a livid red arc across the 
pale skin. Fortunately it seemed to have already nearly stopped 
oozing blood. However, there was no bullet wound and thankfully 
no shattered bone or major damage.

"How...?" He started to ask. Spender grinned down at his 
puzzled expression, then winced as Pendrell's investigation 
brushed a little too firmly against the bruise.

"Check my pocket."

Pendrell slipped his hand into the damaged pocket and felt 
something hard and metallic. A moment later he held up a gold 
cigarette lighter. It glinted softly in the dimness, one side 
had been ripped open deflecting the bullet.

"I'll be damned." Pendrell said as he turned the lighter over 
in his hand.

"Probably the only good thing the old smoking bastard ever did 
for me, for either of us, for that matter" Spender said, and 
began pulling up his suit-pants.

Pendrell helped him redress in silence. He slipped the lighter 
into Spender's jacket pocket without comment. There were some 
things that were simply too complex and conflicted for words to 
express. Spender's relationships with his deceased father and 
his half-brother Mulder, were high on that list.

"We need to find some medical supplies, dress that wound, and 
find out just what the hell is going on." Pendrell slid his arm 
around Spender's waist and helped him hobble further into the 
exhibit hall. His hip might not be broken, but it would be a 
while before he'd move smoothly again. In this situation that 
lack of mobility could be deadly.

"What's there to find out Pen?" Spender said as they searched 
down a long gallery filled with ancient weapons and armor. 
"There's a monster with a bite radius the size of a Buick 
somewhere above us and a Cadre mind-fuck, with a pack of hired 
goons somewhere below us. Were cut off from the outside world, 
and I took a bullet in my bad hip. Does that about sum it up?"

"Yeah," Pendrell said grinning, "another typical Friday night."

"Well I always heard you were a fun date, Pen."

Pendrell quietly smirked, pushed open a door marked 'employees 
only' and helped Spender through. The small room was an 
employee lounge indistinguishable from any of a thousand 
others. The acidic odor of coffee, left on the burner, came 
from a small card table on the opposite wall. A disreputable 
couch sat along one wall and a small closet stood partially 
open to the left. The same dim emergency light as the rest of 
the museum filled the room. He settled Spender onto the couch, 
noting the increased stiffness and the soft hiss of pain as he 
put his full weight on his thighs.

"Stay there and be quite," Pendrell said as he turned to search 
the room.

"Yes dear." Spender said from the couch, letting out a long, 
put upon sigh

Pendrell began rummaging through the small closet. With a yelp 
of triumph he pulled out a small penlight and flicked it on. 
The batteries were old, apparently and the light a bit dim, but 
it illuminated the room much better than the emergency lights. 
He swept the beam around and spotted a small First Aid kit on 
the wall between the couch and the door.

A quick pillage recovered a bottle of aspirin, gauze, bandages, 
and antiseptic. Over Spender's meager protests Pendrell quickly 
skinned his slacks and boxers off and began cleaning and 
bandaging the wound. Spender drew in a quick breath through 
narrowed teeth at the antiseptic sting. Pendrell handed him two 
aspirin and a cup of cold coffee. Spender eyed the cup 
doubtfully but took the pills and grimaced as he washed them 
down.

Pendrell finished his task and waited, with the door cracked 
open, searching the long gallery for any sign of an enemy, as 
Spender redressed. After a few moments of watching, Pendrell 
glanced back. Spender was sitting up on the couch alternately 
staring out the long, narrow window into the swirling darkness, 
and stabbing at the buttons of his cellphone. The telephone 
beeped as Spender cancelled the call. He stared out the window 
distractedly as if the mist would suddenly lift and the world 
would make sense again, and returned to dialing.

"Time to go Jay, it's not safe here, monsters above and below 
and I'm not in the mood to be the FBI filling in the middle."

Spender looked up, his distraction falling away in an instant. 
He snapped his cellphone off, and crossed the room in two 
stiff, awkward strides. Before Pendrell had a chance to do more 
than let the door fall closed Spender's lips were on his. 
Pendrell felt the familiar hands touching him in ways and in 
places that caused his blood to suddenly divert its course. 

Pendrell could taste the aspirin's chalkiness and the bitter 
acid lick of the coffee as their kiss deepened. Pendrell found 
his own hands seeking out places to touch and squeeze as their 
bodies melded in the near darkness. Just as Pendrell began to 
feel an insane need to carry the session over to the couch 
Spender broke the embrace and gave Pendrell one last lingering 
brush of lips before disentangling himself. Pendrell sagged 
against the wall, suddenly feeling eager, and seriously 
frustrated.

"What was that for?" he said in voice that was half moan, half 
plead.

"Who knows," Spender replied, pulling his gun and sliding out 
the door. "Maybe forever."

*	*	*

A monstrous shape moved through the darkness. Powerful muscle 
rippled beneath dark gray skin, cording and bunching in ways 
that revealed its enormous power and inhuman nature. The crest 
on its head, covered in dense leather-like hide, brushed the 
bottom of the archway as it stalked between galleries. There 
were others here. It knew that in the simple, primal way of its 
kind. There was fresh blood here, new flesh to be torn, new 
souls to be tasted. 

It passed beneath a second archway and stopped. Blood was 
close, not here but close. Blood and something else, something 
that rattled and buzzed in its head. A great clawed hand came 
up and swatted at the air in front of its face. The buzzing 
grew louder. A hand swept out, claws extended, raking across a 
display case scattering glass, and wood, scattering Celtic 
artifacts across the floor. The creature threw back its head 
and bellowed. The roar resounded through the museum, its rage 
and hatred filling all the nooks and hidden places. The buzzing 
stopped. The creature sniffed the cool still air as the echoes 
of its bellow finally faded. The blood was close. The creature 
began moving again, faster now, getting closer to the open 
stairwell with each step.

*	*	*


Far below the mentalist gasped and fell to the floor, his head 
in his hands, mewling softly, as the unearthly bellow echoed 
through the museum. The cadre agents still in the lobby 
exchanged uneasy glances, things were beginning to spiral very 
badly out of control.


*	*	*

Pendrell shuddered as the last of the echoes faded from the 
gallery. 

"What exactly, the hell, was that?" he whispered. 

"I don't know, but we're not hanging around here, to shake its 
hand, come on." 

Spender crept back the way they had come, moving quickly, even 
with his newly exaggerated limp, nearly silently, sliding 
through the alternating shadow and light. It was almost as if 
he were flickering in and out of existence, Pendrell realized, 
sometimes there, and solid, sometimes an ethereal creature of 
darkness. 

Pendrell pushed away the vision of Jay Spender, torn between 
light and darkness, padding along the long razor thin shadow-
line between good and evil. Those shadow times were long gone. 
Whatever darkness had lurked in Jay Spender's heart had been 
burned away years ago. There was no room in their lives for 
weakness or deceit, not anymore, for any of them.

The incident at Portsmouth had been like this. A mindless dash 
through dark and light, not knowing which way to turn; terror 
on all sides, despair ahead and death close behind. It was a 
miracle any of them had made it out of there alive. As it was, 
Jay had never walked right again, and Scully . . . well Scully 
coped, mostly. 

Had it not been for Victor's guidance they would have all died 
there in those caves of madness. Pendrell could still remember 
the little man's utter joyousness when they finally escaped 
onto the beach. One by one they had fallen into exhaustion and 
sleep, safe in the bright light of day. Sometimes Pendrell 
wondered if it wouldn't have been better if they had never 
woken up.

Pendrell heard a low hiss in the dimness. "Pen, this way, we 
have to move." Pendrell shuffled forward, eyes darting, seeing 
enemies in every shadow. He drew his gun, leaving the safety 
on. Spender crouched near a stairwell door, and waved him over. 
As he settled down next to him Pendrell felt suddenly 
pricklish, like a cold draft had slid up his back, and was 
dancing on his nerves.

"This is a fire exit stairwell, it goes all the way to the top, 
I've seen it on the maps," Spender whispered.

Pendrell nodded, still feeling distracted by the prickly 
sensation on the back of his neck. Something was wrong, 
something close, but he couldn't place it, just like at 
Portsmouth.

"The way I see it," Spender continued. "We take these stairs 
up, we smash the heart, goodbye monster, goodbye mist, we call 
for reinforcements, and *then* we deal with the brain-fuck 
downstairs.

Spender pushed the door to the stairwell open and listened. 
Pendrell felt his heart thump in his chest, just once, solid, 
as the door opened. He listened intently, himself, as Spender 
looked into the stairwells dim reaches. Nothing, no sound, no 
activity save their own. Still he couldn't escape the nagging 
certainty that things were about to go very badly wrong.

Spender scuttled through the door in a crouch, grunting almost 
silently. He stopped at the rail, looked up and down the 
stairwell, still holding the door, and then stood. Pendrell 
watched with appreciation as his lover's body regained its 
familiar sleek lines, and casual stance. The years had softened 
Jeffrey Spender's personality, sharpened his mind and spirit, 
and done nothing to lessen his keen physical edge.

Spender slowly released the door into his hands and stood on 
the first upward step leaning back and searching the upward 
stairwell. After a moment he motioned Pendrell forward. 
Pendrell felt a rapidly growing apprehension as they climbed.

As far as he could tell the floors were lifeless and dark, lit 
only by the thin yellow emergency light. After several minutes 
of slow climbing Spender stopped and motioned him forward. 
Pendrell moved up and then hesitated. Some innate sense of 
self-preservation was screaming at him. As he moved forward 
again Pendrell caught the leading edge of a long, onrushing 
shadow through the fire door's small window.

With a yell of panic, Pendrell grabbed Spender and lunged. 
There was a startled squawk from the other agent as they 
tumbled down the stairs, and an enormous clang that 
reverberated throughout the stairwell as the fire door exploded 
off its hinges.

"Oh...my...God." Spender was staring at the doorway. Pendrell 
followed his gaze. There was a large humanoid creature sprawled 
over the crumpled door, wrapped in the remains of the rail. Its 
cold gaze fixed on them, and its maw, lined with dagger sized 
teeth, snapped and opened, as it struggled to untangle itself 
from the wreckage.

The two men were up and pelting down the stairs in an instant. 
Pendrell glanced back as they ran, half-tumbling, down. The 
creature bellowed, once. There was a movement in the shadows 
above as they rounded the corner. With another ear-splitting 
bellow the creature landed on the steps just above them.

Pendrell felt a sudden whiff of air and a swoosh as the 
creature's huge claw sailed just past his ear and embedded 
itself in the cinder block. Chunks of broken cinder block and 
gravelly sand rained down on them. Pendrell felt a thin trail 
of blood trickle down his back.

"Out the door, out, out" he yelled as they reached the next 
landing. The stairwell was a death trap. They would be dead in 
seconds if they stayed. Without hesitation Spender slammed 
against the door, springing it open, and rolled through. 
Pendrell followed, dodging through the door, and kicking it 
closed as he felt, and heard, the creature's heavy pounce on 
the landing directly behind him.

Pendrell rolled to a stop on top of Spender and directly into 
the multiple gun-sights of a cadre goon squad. There was only a 
split-second to recognize the situation when the sense of 
overwhelming panic rushed over him again. He looked up into the 
lead gunman's feral grin, his eyes narrowed and cold. 

An enormous crash against the firedoor drew the gunmen's 
attention. Pendrell rolled to his left, as Spender crawled 
after him. Pendrell heard a single bullet whiz past. There was 
a second louder crash. Pendrell glanced back in time to see the 
firedoor, bent, and spinning, plow into the cadre agents. They 
crumpled, as a group, leaving two men standing to face the 
monster charging out of the stairwell. Then the screaming 
began.

There were a few panicked and ineffectual shots, as the 
creature closed. Pendrell turned as he and Spender reached the 
stairwell. The wails of the dead men had ended. Pendrell nearly 
retched and stumbled as he saw the glint of flashing teeth 
amidst torn flesh. The pale marble was washed with bright red 
blood for several yards.

Pendrell felt a sharp tug on his arm and a whispered. "There's 
nothing we can do right now Pen, we have to get away, and 
regroup. We stay we're as dead as they are."

Pendrell nodded once, his lips tight, his face grim, feeling 
half dead, and followed Spender down the stairs.

*	*	*

"Okay," Spender said as he stepped further into the dark 
storage-closet they were in, "we know it seems to be immune to 
gun fire." He flipped the small penlight on and surveyed the 
storage closet. "It's not completely stupid, strong as hell, 
and faster than it is strong." He turned back to Pendrell who 
was huddled near the door, atop a crate of liquid soap, his 
chin on his knees. Even in the dim glow the penlight provided 
Spender could see Pendrell's face was drawn and pale, his hands 
moving restlessly up and down his legs.

Spender hesitated. Pendrell had freaked pretty badly after the 
slaughter upstairs. It wasn't the first time he had seen mass 
death, Spender knew. It wouldn't have been the first time for 
any of them. However, Pendrell seemed to take it worse than the 
others. Even Mulder the morose, handled death better than 
Pendrell.

Spender moved back to stand in front of Pendrell, flipped the 
penlight off, and slipped it into a pocket. He placed his hands 
on Pendrell's shoulders and slid them gently into his still 
thick red hair. Spender loved the feel of Pendrell's soft hair 
in his hands, long thick strands, heavier than hair had any 
right to be. It felt wonderfully erotic as it slid through his 
fingers, so unlike his own dark, tight curls.

"Jay," Pendrell muttered from his chin-on-knees position, "what 
the hell are you doing?"

Spender moved in closer bringing his chest close to Pendrell's 
head. He began to gently stroke the back of Pendrell's neck and 
hum. Pendrell brushed the hand away. "I'm not in the mood."

Spender jerked away. He felt a sudden spike of anger, an abrupt 
undoing of carefully cultivated civility. His hands stopped 
hovering in the darkness, balled into angry fists at his sides. 
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. A second breath, 
so deep his chest hurt, allowed him to unclench his hands, and 
place them on Pendrell's shoulders.

"Stand up," Spender said. He moved in closer until his own feet 
bumped against the crate. 

"What?"

"You heard me, on your feet."
 
He heard Pendrell slide off the crate with a disgusted sigh. 
Spender felt his body, still sturdy, but now layered with 
muscle and scars, brush against him as he stood. Pendrell still 
smelled the same, Spender realized, the same, benign drug-store 
scent. He carried that same sweet gentle aroma of their first 
meeting in the lab so many years and trials ago. Spender felt 
an abrupt tightening in his throat, as he realized just how 
Pendrell smelled. There was a sudden rush of sad regret, so 
strong his knees threatened to buckle. Pendrell smelled of 
safety, and home.

"Now what?" Pendrell asked flatly. Spender could feel tightness 
in the shoulders beneath his hands. The man was in full fight 
or flight mode. In some cases that was fine, but in this one, 
making a choice on instinct alone would get them both killed. 
They had been extremely lucky thus far, escaping death by the 
smallest of margins. They wouldn't outfight this thing, the 
massacre of the highly trained and lethal cadre agents had made 
that clear. This creature, this monster, this thing, whatever 
God-smited hole it had crawled out of, would have to be out 
thought. There were no other choices.

Silently Spender slid one hand down Pendrell's back, stepped 
between his feet, and pulled him close.

"We will survive this," Spender said as his other hand began to 
stroke the back of Pendrell's neck again. Spender felt Pendrell 
shudder and push against his chest, trying half-heartedly to 
pull away.

"Just like Portsmouth, just like London, just like Antarctica, 
we will survive this, we'll find a way, we always do." He felt 
Pendrell shove against him, hard. He rocked back on his heels 
for just a second before pulling himself tight against 
Pendrell's solid body again..

"Just like always, Pen," Spender said. He buried is face in 
Pendrell's neck, kissing and nuzzling along his stubble covered 
jaw and whispering in his ear.

"We find a way, we win, like always, I promise that."

He felt Pendrell shudder again, his jerking fading to silent 
shivers that finally ended when Pendrell seemed to simply melt 
into his arms. Spender felt Pendrell fold in against him, their 
bodies closing, touching, conforming to each other like hands 
in comfortable, reliable gloves, soft, familiar and safe. 
Spender felt Pendrell's arms finally fall into their familiar 
place on his hips. It was a touch full of familiar feelings, 
the soft assurance that said everything was fine in Sean 
Pendrell's head.

Spender ran his hands over Pendrell's back, caressed the broad 
shoulders, and felt the tight muscles relax. He let his hands 
settle just below the belt-line and began to rock back and 
forth and hum a wordless tune. There were times when just the 
touch of Pendrell's flesh on his own could send lightning shots 
of lust straight through his body. Here and now was sadly 
neither the time nor the place for fun.

Spender continued to sway and hum, his voice low. Silently he 
began first to kiss Pendrell just below his ear. Soon he was 
kissing and humming, kissing and singing, and kissing. He 
smiled to himself when he heard Pendrell snort at his choice of 
songs and pull him close.

". do birds suddenly appear?" Spender sang his voice barely 
above a whisper. "Every time you are near?"

"Who would have thought," Pendrell said in a smiling whisper.

"Just like me..." Spender continued.

"That deep in that hard, angry, shell of a man.."

"They long to be.."

"Beats the heart of a 12 year old girl."

"Close to you...."

Their nearly silent laughter dissolved into a long lingering 
kiss.

*	*	*

The blood was closer. The need was stronger. Giant claws 
clenched and unfurled as the creature sniffed the air. Slowly 
it moved around the stairwell, it's great snout huffing and 
dragging at the air.

Kicking its way through the torn and dismembered corpses that 
littered the gallery, the creature came to the shattered 
doorway that once held the steel firedoor. It hesitated, 
sniffing the stairwell air, then slid ponderously into the 
gloom.

*	*	*

Spender searched the room, panning the small penlight over its 
contents as Pendrell adjusted his clothing. He finally settled 
on the box of liquid soap Pendrell was standing beside. He 
grinned to himself as a plan, and perhaps some hope, formed in 
his mind.

*	*	*

Sliding carefully through the ether, the cadre trained mind-
assassin, hunted. He avoided the thundering, powerful mind of 
the beast and the surprisingly strong, and somehow familiar, 
mind of the red-haired FBI Agent. He settled instead on the 
other man, quick witted, strong willed, but without serious 
defenses.

A roar of sounds, images, impressions, and emotions rushed past 
as he slid down into the core of the man's thoughts. Here 
deeper in his mind, anticipation, fear and excitement with an 
undercurrent of arousal formed an emotional tumult surrounding 
his senses. With a quick push, that caused the agent's thoughts 
to falter and recoil, the assassin slid through to the inner 
perceptual part of the mind.

Within moments he was oriented to his host's perceptions and 
was hearing and seeing all that the agent did. With little 
effort he locked onto the man's stream of consciousness. 
Suddenly the world shifted, his own body was gone, his own 
thoughts muted and distant. 

Quick probes into the agent's mind located the centers for 
motor control. He didn't have control over the man, his will 
and awareness was too strong for that. However, simple blocks, 
set in crucial pathways at just the right moment would freeze 
the man in his tracks. Then he would be free to deal with the 
other one. An expectant hunger rolled through his thoughts as 
he considered how to best torture the other man before 
destroying his mind.

Far below, in a deeply hidden niche, a figure stood in the 
darkness and began to move. The man moved stiffly, as if under 
control by a distant puppeteer. Finally he came to the bottom 
of the stairway and began to climb. The mind called, the body 
obeyed.

*	*	*

Pendrell hefted the last gallon bottle of soap, unscrewed the 
cap, and dumped the slick viscous fluid onto the marble floor.

"You're sure about this?" he asked, turning his head away from 
the strong, sweet-smelling fumes. Spender had stopped pouring 
and was pinching the bridge of his nose, and wobbling slightly.

"Jay, are you alright?" It wasn't like him to get a headache, 
they were both in pretty good health and only beginning to feel 
the minor aches and pains that came with the pile up of years. 
However, in Spender's case it was more the accumulation of 
injuries rather than age that sometimes wore him down.

Spender hesitated for a moment, rubbing his fingers across the 
back of his neck.

"Yeah, I'm fine, guess it's just the stress. Never would have 
thought something as simple as a two-ton hell-beast with teeth 
the size of steak knives and an appetite for human flesh would 
have bothered me. I guess I'm just getting old."

Pendrell grinned as the two men sloshed the last of the slick 
pink liquid onto the floor. They added water from the sink in 
the janitor's closet and mixed it into the soap. In minutes the 
entire floor from the gallery to the edge of the stairway was a 
frothy white and pink puddle. A thin strip of dry floor ran 
between the puddle and the rail. It was just wide enough for a 
man to run along, but not enough to stop what they had in mind. 
Huge curtains hung from long crossbeams, falling far down into 
the central open stairwell. They looked sturdy but nothing that 
would hold this particular monster.

"What makes you think it'll even come here?" Pendrell asked. He 
turned toward the fire door at the end of the long gallery. All 
was dark and quiet, for now. He moved to the rail, standing on 
the dry strip between the soap and the edge. It was a 
precarious spot and a long way down.
 
"Did you see the nose on that thing?" Spender asked. He moved 
to the rail and looked down. "It could track Frohike two miles 
upwind." Spender turned and winked, "but then, who couldn't? 
It'll be here."
 
As if in answer the emergency firedoor at the end of the long 
gallery slammed open. The creature burst into the gallery, 
already moving quickly, and accelerating. Pendrell licked his 
lips and reached for Spender's hand as the creature closed.

They waited unmoving but ready as the creature exited the 
gallery. Pendrell tensed and felt Spender's hand in his, 
tighten for just a moment. The creature surged into and through 
the puddle. Pendrell heard Spender yell.

"Now."

The creature, as huge as it was, was nimble on its feet. For a 
moment Pendrell thought it would remain in control. Halfway 
across the pool it planted its feet, twitched and toppled over 
backwards. The Museum floor shook as the creature landed and 
began to spin across the floor.

Pendrell dodged to the right as a wave of wet sweet soap flowed 
over him. He rolled and turned in time to see Spender stuck in 
place, frozen, his face contorted in effort and anger, his body 
making small jerking movements, as the creature bore down on 
him. At the last possible moment Spender seemed to snap out of 
his catatonia and lunged to the side. He almost made it.

Spender leaped, nearly clearing the frothy pungent lake. He 
landed with a wet splat; his feet just within the creature's 
reach. There was a brittle splintering sound as the creature 
broke through the railing and slid out into the empty air. 
Spender flailed at the dry floor just beyond his reach.

As the creature began to fall one long arm slapped at the edge 
of the floor, rending the marble with its great claws. One 
slender talon dug into Spender's leg as it flailed. Spender 
screamed and rolled as the talon pierced his leg just above the 
ankle. He twisted desperately and reached out his hands toward 
Pendrell.

Pendrell leaped, his hands brushing Spender's for an instant 
before the other man was dragged across the floor by the 
falling creature. Pendrell watched in horror as Spender's ashen 
face, contorted in pain, locked eyes with his and then was 
gone.

"Jay, oh God. Jay," Pendrell yelled as he slid through the pink 
goo, sending another wave of it cascading over the edge. He 
grabbed the broken balustrade, teetering on the precipice; 
Pendrell jammed one foot against the other side of the gap and 
looked down. Far below, almost obscured in the darkness, he 
could see the creature lying in a crumpled heap at the foot of 
the spiral stairs. There was no sign of Spender. 

Fighting down a wave of vertigo Pendrell leaned over the edge. 
There was a flash of cloth and motion just below, dark blue 
cloth, FBI issue, Spender. His head was clasped in the hands of 
the cadre mind-assassin, his eyes open wide, staring, his face 
blank unaware. Pendrell got to his feet, steadying himself 
against the broken rail, his feet on the edge of the drop-off. 
If he was right, Spender had only seconds before the mind-
fucker ripped his consciousness from his brain, rendering him a 
mindless zombie, a total blank slate. They'd seen it often 
enough; it was the total and complete death of personality. 
Taking either stairwell would take far too long. He grabbed the 
heavy curtain hanging from the ceiling and leapt out into 
space. There was a moment of blind panic as he felt free-fall 
take hold, then he was swinging back. 

Spender's body had gone completely slack, losing even its 
normal human tension. There was no way to draw his gun in this 
position so he'd have to improvise. He lifted his feet as he 
swept toward the cadre assassin, his speed building. He'd only 
get one shot at this.

He bellowed a wild inarticulate challenge as he launched 
himself over the railing. The assassin looked up; his 
expression of triumph shattering just before Pendrell's size 
11's slammed into his face. The mind-fuck cantered wildly 
backwards, finally falling into a crumpled, moaning pile. 
Pendrell was on his feet and at Spender's side before the cadre 
assassin hit the floor.

Spender's eyes were vacant, hollow. The spark once so 
brilliantly evident was gone. Spender was dead. His body still 
lived, the gash on his leg where the monster's claw had stabbed 
so cruelly, still bled copiously, staining the white marble 
floor. The soul, the spirit, all that made the man was gone.

Pendrell spun, the cadre assassin was wobbling to his knees. 
His left eye was swollen shut and a bright-red imprint of 
Pendrell's shoe ran across his right cheek. Rage, pure, clean, 
and untempered by caution, welled up inside him.  

He fell on the man with a howl. The first punch seemed to 
forestall any real resistance. The mind-fuck cried and moaned 
at first, then slipped into wretched silence beneath Pendrell's 
failing fists and feet.

Blood, there was blood on his hands. Pendrell stopped. The body 
beneath him was silent and unmoving. How long had he stood 
there wailing out his misery on the man? The assassin's face 
was a mess of pulped and beaten flesh. Pendrell recoiled, 
wiping his bloody fists on his pants as he stepped back. He 
nearly tripped when the back of his feet hit Spender's body.

Spender, Jay Spender, not dead, but no longer living. Pendrell 
knelt and cradled the limp body in his arms. There was no 
response as he ran his hand along the thin angular jaw. He felt 
new tears, fresh hot tears of sorrow, falling. He tried to 
whisper a goodbye, a prayer, anything. All he could manage was 
a muted, despairing moan. He began to stroke Spender's hair, 
feeling the soft, tight curls sliding through his hands. So he 
sat, holding his dead lover, moaning his sorrow.

He had no idea how much time had passed when he first felt the 
twinge in his thoughts. 

"Jay?"

Pendrell looked up, a shout of hope dying in his throat. The 
cadre assassin was on his feet, staring at him with one barely 
open eye. The attack hit him like a slamming fist of hate. 
Pendrell faltered, his thoughts already nearly overwhelmed with 
grief. He felt himself drowning in a flood of the cadre's 
power. He gasped as he felt a stab into his mind. With a 
shuddering cry he staggered to his feet and away from Spender's 
body.

A second bolt of sliced through his brain. Pendrell screamed in 
agony and stumbled forward. He drove himself blinding into the 
mind-assassin, forcing the slight man across the gallery and to 
the edge of the stairwell. The railing swayed beneath their 
weight. Pendrell felt a sickening, falling motion as the rail 
bent, then broke. He grabbed frantically at the remaining 
balustrades as they fell. His right hand closed around 
something solid, he grabbed, held, and lurched to a painful, 
arm wrenching halt.

Pendrell looked down and met the cadre's one good eye looking 
up. The assassin was dangling from Pendrell's legs, his hands 
digging and clawing, trying to reach and climb up his body. Far 
below the creature, apparently fully recovered, was watching 
them. It jittered from side to side as it watched, its great 
maw opening and flashing its enormous teeth.

The assassin moved and Pendrell shuddered. Another lancing bolt 
of pain speared through his mind, he groaned and felt his grip 
weaken. He had seconds before his grip failed completely.

The cadre mind-fuck moved again and Pendrell felt the grip on 
his legs loosen. He waited, hanging limp, as the cadre pulled 
himself upward again. Pendrell waited till the goon was in mid 
grab, and kicked upward.

His knee crashed in to the villain's chin, rocking his head 
back and splaying blood across Pendrell's clothes. For a moment 
the bastard was falling. Pendrell screamed in anger, 
frustration, and pain when the cadre grabbed his feet, stopping 
the fall. Pain lanced up from his hip, it felt like his leg was 
half out of its socket.

"You fucking bastard," Pendrell hissed through clenched teeth.. 
"God damn brain-fucking assassin." Pendrell kicked his right 
leg, pulling it loose from the assassin's grip. "Fucking mind-
killers." Pendrell kicked, even as the assassin tried to block 
with one flailing hand. His foot smashed into the man's face, 
the hold on his legs loosened.

"Die, damn you die." He kicked again, and again, as if each 
angry blow were a payment in kind for all the misery he and the 
world had been through. Suddenly he was lighter. He opened his, 
eyes. When had he closed them? He blinked away his tears and 
closed them again as he caught a glimpse of the creature and 
what was left of the body.

He could let go now, he realized. A couple seconds of free-fall 
and it would all be over. No more death, no more fear, no more 
mourning for lost loved-ones. So simple, so easy just to end it 
all. He felt his grip slacken as over strained muscles began to 
fail, and didn't really care.

His hand slipped. in one sad moment he felt gravity take hold, 
felt the beginning of the long fall, felt the start of the end. 
He was falling. Then he stopped. Suddenly he was dangling loose 
in space, hanging suspended. Was he already dead?

He looked up, dazed and uncertain for the source of his 
restraint. He looked directly into Spender's pale, tightly 
drawn face. He had Pendrell by the wrist, his hands clenched, 
the muscles in his forearms straining. Pendrell realized that 
he hadn't even felt the pressure on his arm till then.

"Pen, come on, snap out of it. You have to help me here." 
Spender slid forward slightly. "Sean Brian Pendrell, you fall 
from here and were both dead, 'cause I'm chasing you all the 
way down."

Pendrell felt a surge in his gut. Jay Spender was alive, alive 
and whole, and slowly loosing his grip. Pendrell grabbed with 
his free hand clamping onto Spender's arm. They struggled, 
slowly gaining inches, until Pendrell was able to grab a broken 
balustrade and pull himself to safety.

The two men collapsed together in a fatigued, wounded heap. 
Everything hurt. Pendrell managed to pull himself upright and 
look into Spender's face. He was smiling that vague half-smile 
that Pendrell was so familiar with, the one that so easily 
degenerated into a leer. If that nuance was intact, just maybe 
the rest was also.

"What's your name?" he asked.

Spender looked at him with a mixture of incredulity and 
confusion, the grin spreading into a real smile.

"What is your name?" Pendrell demanded again.

"Jeffrey Michael Spender," Same as it was yesterday why?"

"Where do you work?"

"Same place you do Mr. Sean Brian Pendrell. FBI, Washington 
D.C. office, X-files division."

"Who's your boss?" Pendrell began to feel a little more 
relaxed.

Spender sighed and pulled himself up on his elbows. "Assistant 
Director Walter Sergei Skinner, ball-breaking ex-marine. We've 
worked on the X-files for two years. We first 'did it' in your 
lab three years ago. Fox Mulder is my grumpy, slightly paranoid 
half-brother, our father died along with the rest of the 
consortium eighteen months ago. Dana Scully is the previous 
object of your misbegotten affections. Mulder and Scully 
*still* haven't done it, as far as I know. Your favorite color 
is blue, you have a passion for sappy old movies, and your 
mother 'approves' of me."

Spender began to untangle himself. "Oh, and Gore is still the 
President, last I checked, and the Yankees won the World 
Series, again. How's that?"

Pendrell grinned, slid down, and wrapped Spender up in a long 
tight embrace. He held on, barely daring to breathe, less this 
turn out to be yet another brain-addled illusion, until Spender 
began to push him away gently.

"What happened?" Pendrell asked. Spender had been 'gone' his 
personality ripped away. There was no way, he couldn't be okay, 
not just like that.

"Dunno," Spender answered. He lifted his head and stared off 
into the dimness. "First, I couldn't move. I was paralyzed, 
something in my brain just switched off." He paused. "And then 
later, it was like." He hesitated, as if choosing his words 
carefully. "It was like I was dreaming, I needed to go 
somewhere, but couldn't go, no matter how hard I tried." He 
dropped his head and continued softly. "Finally I heard your 
voice off in the distance. I followed it, got close, and felt 
this kind of 'yank'. I woke up to find you dangling by your 
fingernails."

Pendrell nodded in silence there was no time and little purpose 
to investigate this right now. He quickly tended to Spender's 
wound and helped him to his feet. The injury appeared serious, 
but the talon had sunk into muscle and thankfully hadn't 
severed any major blood vessels.

"We've got to get moving," Spender said, his voice a little 
unsteady. "Tall, dark and gruesome isn't going to wait around 
forever. I think we've got one more shot at this if were going 
to get out of here alive."

"You've got a plan?" Pendrell asked.
 
"I think we need to go back to where all this started." Spender 
said. He took a quick look for pursuit and began moving down 
the gallery toward the fire door on this level. Pendrell fell 
into place behind. They were both limping. Spender was trailing 
spots of blood from the wounds on both legs. If they didn't 
finish this soon there wouldn't be enough left to be worth 
saving.

Spender talked softly as they walked. "I think this entire 
thing started right after we saw the heart. I think that's the 
source. The two connected somehow. That wall of mist outside 
too. I imagine it's keeping the beast trapped here, at least 
for now.

Pendrell stooped, he suddenly felt like idiot. "Salvation is in 
the heart," he said, more loudly than he intended.

Spender winced as the sound of Pendrell's voice carried out 
into the gallery and beyond. "Before you send out invitations 
to that thing out there, do you mind explaining?"

Pendrell whispered apologies as he knelt close to Spender, 
keeping his voice low this time. "It's what the old woman in 
the vision told me. 'Salvation is in the heart'. He paused, 
rubbing his temples. "We could have both been killed and I had 
the answer all along."

Spender grinned, his teeth gleaming dully in the dim light. 
"Don't worry about it Pen," he said. "Just think about the 
report this is will make. Mulder's going to be pissed that we 
didn't bring the thng back in a cage."

The sound of a leathery scrape on marble shook the men into 
abrupt silence. Spender motioned Pendrell toward the door. They 
moved silently down the gallery and through the doorway. 
Pendrell glanced back through the door's small window and 
caught a glimpse of a large shape moving slowly down the 
gallery. He silently urged Spender forward and the two moved as 
quickly as possible up through the dim light.
 
*	*	*

The 'Heart of India' showroom was in a shambles. Everything 
save the heart itself and the book had been destroyed, 
overturned, or ripped apart. The heart, now glowing from some 
weird internal energy, sat in the shattered remains of its 
case, apparently no worse for recent events. They approached 
warily. The heart seemed not to react to their presence in any 
way. Spender picked up the book slowly, and brought it across 
the room, directly into the dim beam of the emergency light.

The ancient pages, thick with scrawled translations were hard 
to read in the best light and completely impossible in this 
yellow twilight. After a few frustrated moments Spender 
retrieved the feeble penlight, clicked it on, and began leafing 
through the thick book.

Pendrell stepped up to the archway and peered out into the 
gloom. He thought several times that he had seen or heard the 
sounds of movement around and behind them as they moved up the 
stairwell, stopping, listening, and hardly breathing. Starting 
at even the smallest sound in the near darkness, Pendrell 
finally began to understand claustrophobia. He'd sworn the 
walls were closing in as they moved tentatively from floor to 
floor. He'd been nearly exhausted when they finally reached the 
top. Some many stairs were a challenge at the best of times, 
injured, scared shitless, half psychotic, it was infinitely 
worse.

"I think I've got something," Spender said, pulling Pendrell 
out of his solemn reverie.

"What'd you find?"

"Most of these pages are just garbled hoodoo-voodoo crap. I 
can't make anything out of what the original translator wrote. 
But near the end are a few pages translated by someone else, 
these pages are newer. It's still hoodoo but at least it makes 
some sense."

"So how do we stop it?" Pendrell asked. He felt itchy and 
depressed, like he was going to jump right out of his own skin. 
"How do we kill it?" He hadn't felt this rattled since that 
last night in Portsmouth or during those still unclear events 
in London. "Can we kill it?"

Spender looked up for a moment at Pendrell's torrent of 
questions. "Well," he said carefully, "the heart didn't create 
the creature, I don't think." Spender turned his attention back 
the thin sheets of text. With his face down, illuminated from 
below by the relative brightness of the penlight, Pendrell 
realized suddenly how young he looked. The light wiped out the 
creases and edges of times, returning his face to the fresh 
young, eager agent Pendrell had first met in the lab all those 
years ago. He felt a surge of affection. They had been through 
so much and yet they had remained unchanged by outside events. 
Their relationship had grown and prospered during some very 
hard times. Now was not the time to get brittle and defeatist. 
If they were going to win, going to survive, they had to be 
sharp.

"It looks like the heart is a key to opening a gate," Spender 
said as he looked up.

"A gate? To where?"

"It isn't completely clear, it speaks about an 'outside' or 
'those that wait, outside'. Honestly, that's the best sense I 
can make out of it."

Pendrell's thoughts went back to a surreal night spent with Jay 
in Mulder's apartment years ago. He'd first learned about 
'those that wait outside, gnawing at the root of the world' 
that night, in a vision. He felt dread welling up inside him. 
Dealing with 'them' always seemed to result in absolute 
tragedy.

"So we smash the gem, the gate closes, bye-bye bad guy?" 
Pendrell asked hopefully.

Spender sighed, and returned his attention to the old and 
brittle pages. "It's not that easy," he said.

"Of course not."

"Destroying the heart probably just traps the creature here. In 
addition, doing so might drop the mist wall releasing it into 
the world. We can't take that chance, we deal with it here and 
now," Spender paused, looking up. The last part, 'or we die 
trying' remained unspoken.

Pendrell nodded once, his face set with grim determination. 
They couldn't let this thing out to cause mayhem in the world. 
Who knew what capabilities it might have? Once loose it might 
even reproduce somehow. It simply wasn't an option.

"Okay," Pendrell said, returning to his watch post at the 
archway, "What do we do?"

"According to this we have to invoke the name of the gatekeeper 
in the presence of the heart and the creature." He paused.

Pendrell turned back. Spender was still studying the pages 
intently, the penlight clenched in his teeth, shuffling the 
papers back and forth beneath its beam. Pendrell quickly, 
though barely, suppressed a smutty phallic comment.

"I here a 'but' in there, don't I?"

Spender looked up, the penlight still in his teeth. The beam 
swept up Pendrell's body and into his face. He winced and 
covered his eyes. After so much dim lighting, even the feeble 
penlight stung.

"Sorry, Pen," Spender said, after snapping the light off. "Yeah 
there's a big but." He snapped the light back on and directed 
it at the pages. "It says here that the gatekeeper exacts a 
price for its service." Spender shuffled the papers back into 
the book and closed it. "The translation isn't completely 
clear." Spender stood, hopping a bit on his injured leg. "It 
appears that the gatekeeper, whoever or whatever that might be, 
claims the life of the person who invokes the ritual."

"I'll do it." Pendrell said flatly. He hadn't even considered 
the other option. He'd made the choice before Spender had even 
completed the sentence. Somehow he knew what the price for this 
fiasco would be all along. This was Sean Pendrell's last and 
greatest stand."

"Are you crazy?" Spender hissed. "Did you hear what I said, you 
could die."

"And what's the alternative, you die?" He stepped across the 
room to where Spender stood bathed in the glow of the light in 
his hand. He pulled Spender close running his fingers through 
the fine hairs on the back of his head. "How is that better?"

"But you've never done this." Spender protested. Pendrell felt 
Spender's arms wrap around him, returning the embrace with 
force.

"Last time I looked Mister I didn't see summoning ancient 
other-dimensional demigods on your resume."

"You've looked at my resume?"

"Of course, I had you scoped out from head-to-toe the first 
day. That 'oh-so-serious' scowl on your picture was just too 
cute."

"Damn, you had me made the first day and I never knew, and here 
I thought *you* were the na‹ve one."

Pendrell chuckled into his ear and pulled out of the embrace 
enough to look into his eyes.. "It only makes sense doesn't it? 
I'm the visionary, the half-mad genius in touch with the 
'other' world. If anyone has an aptitude for this, it's me." 

Pendrell felt Spender sag in defeat.

"Shh. it's okay." Pendrell whispered to him as he pulled 
Spender close and tight. "If this is the end for you and me, 
the real and final true end, then I can only say that it's been 
one hell of a ride, and I'll see you on the other side."

"No," Spender said, "You don't leave me this way. We still have 
things to do and places to go. Hell If I come back without you 
Mulder'll kick my ass. again.

Pendrell chuckled and released him. "So what do we do?"

"The ritual has to be done under the open sky. Which means we 
take the gem to the roof-top and wait."

Pendrell looked out into the museum's dimness. "Well I don't 
suppose we'll have to wait for long."

*	*	*

Getting to the roof proved the easiest thing the two men had 
done all night. Pendrell had simply grabbed the gem, and 
waited. There were no lightning strikes, no mystic bolts, 
nothing. Within minutes Spender guided them up, through locked 
doors that his lockpicks dealt with quickly, and out.

The walls of mist continued to boil and froth some ten feet 
away from the building walls. There were no lights up on the 
roof at all, not even the pallid emergency lights. However, 
Pendrell could clearly see the entire rooftop. It seemed that 
the air itself here was infused with an odd, almost subliminal 
light. It was as if glittering St. Elmo's Fire, that you 
couldn't quite see directly, lighted everything on the rooftop. 

Pendrell clutched the book tightly to his side as he followed 
Spender out on to the roof. They were both moving slowly, more 
from necessity than intent. This was it, Pendrell realized; 
there was no place to go from here. On more shot as Jay had 
said. They had one chance, he hoped it was enough.

"Now what?" he asked as Spender stopped and turned back to face 
the roof's maintenance access door.

"Now, we wait."

Pendrell shivered in the cool air and opened the book. He 
pulled out the important loose pages and set the book down 
carefully. He reached for the penlight and realized that he 
could read the pages clearly, even in this dim light. He turned 
to Spender, who stood facing the door, shifting the egg sized 
gem from hand to hand, when the access door exploded outward. 
Well they hadn't waited long anyway.

The creature was even faster than they thought, Pendrell 
realized, a lot faster. It charged across the rooftop and was 
on them in a blink. Pendrell had hardly called out a warning 
when Spender was caught up in its great claws and carried away. 
Pendrell charged after them, the name on the archaic pages 
rising in his voice. The creature stopped at the first 
syllable, Spender dangled just above the slavering jaws.

Pendrell continued the chant, drawing some little strength from 
his victory, and steadying his voice. The creature wheeled 
around, it's huge eyes staring at him. Spender was still held 
aloft, just inches from death. Pendrell glanced down at the 
papers, catching the next line, not faltering, not hesitating, 
he didn't dare. He looked up, the creature was rigid, caught up 
is some force Pendrell couldn't begin to understand.

Spender had wiggled his way loose from one claw and was 
frantically kicking his feet trying to free himself from the 
other. With a small shout mixed with triumph and pain Spender 
slid free and thumped solidly to the ground. He was quickly up 
and running, jerkily, like a broken marionette. He stumbled to 
a stop beside Pendrell, nearly collapsing. Pendrell could see 
the glowing heart still clenched in his hand. He tried not to 
think about the trails of blood seeping over Spender's fingers 
and dripping from the stone.

Pendrell could feel something, some sort of tension, building 
in the air around him as he continued to chant the unfamiliar 
words. The creature remained where it stood, arms upraised, as 
if beckoning the dark boiling sky. Pendrell chanted, his voice, 
already hoarse from forced whispering, was beginning to crack 
and falter. The creature twitched.

Pendrell almost stopped in horror. He felt Spender's arm latch 
onto his shoulder and he raised his voice again, a little 
stronger, with more effort and continued the chant. He seemed 
to chant the archaic script for hours, repeating it, until he 
was able to drop the pages, close his eyes and chant without 
thought. The tension in the air had become a palpable thing by 
the time his raw-throated voice finally began to falter. 

His voice had dropped steadily as he chanted, from a shout, to 
spoken, to whispered, and then that too was gone. He opened his 
eyes when his words finally stopped. The creature moved, its 
long talons flexed. It dropped its arms and looked around in 
seeming confusion. Suddenly Pendrell knew what the manuscript 
had meant. The Shae D' el wasn't the gateway, it was the key.

"Throw it," he managed to whisper.

Spender sat frozen in utter confusion.

"Throw the stone," Pendrell croaked, making lobbing motions 
with his right arm.

Understanding suddenly lit Spender's face. He staggered to his 
feet as the monster came fully alive. He wound up and kicked 
like a badly injured big leaguer and lobbed the gem across the 
roof. Pendrell watched the glowing stone, praying silently to 
whatever Gods of whatever ethos might be listening. The stone 
began to glow brighter and brighter as it fell in a smooth arc 
toward the creature. The thing stood transfixed, in mid stride, 
as the now blazing light fell upon it.

Pendrell closed his eyes. What ever happened next, he didn't 
want to see it coming. He felt the enormous tension around them 
suddenly snap. It was nearly orgasmic. There was a blue flash 
of light that penetrated his closed eyelids. He felt Spender 
jerk at his side. He opened his eyes, letting the sparkles 
fade. Spender was laying on his back, rubbing his eyes. He sat 
up blinking, but apparently not blind. The creature was gone, 
all nine-foot of its angry teeth and claws, was gone.

Pendrell stood, gently pulling away from Spender's restraining 
hands, and walked to the center of the roof. The gem lay in the 
center of a large scorch mark, apparently unharmed but no 
longer glowing, no longer radiating that odd sinuous power. It 
was inert, a pretty hunk of cut and polished rock, nothing 
more. He picked up the stone and turned back to Spender. The 
man already looked lost and alone.

Pendrell felt a cool down draft and looked up. The walls of 
mist were curling away, opening like a giant iris beneath the 
night sky. How much time had passed? It seemed like hours to 
him, but somehow it didn't seem like the night had advanced at 
all. Had the Shae D' el warped time as well as reality? 
Anything seemed likely at this point.

A spark of light near the roof's edge caught Pendrell's 
attention. A pinpoint floating several feet above the ground 
began to grow brighter and expand. Within seconds it was a 
massive shimmering wall. Several glowing spheres ejected from 
the wall and coalesced into a single large globe. Pendrell 
could feel a power emanating from the sphere, power like the 
Shae D' el had, but infinitely greater. 

Abruptly he felt a thundering presence in his thoughts, a 
presence so overwhelming he could do nothing but fall before it 
as a blur of memories passed through his mind. He instantly 
realized what was happening. The gatekeeper was inspecting the 
merchandise, prior to shipping. He tried to turn back, to shout 
to Spender, something, anything to take away to the long years 
ahead, but strong invisible tendrils held him in place. 

He struggled vainly against the force pulling him forward. 
There was no strength left in his body and little in his 
spirit. He wondered if he would die, consumed by some 
otherworldly creature, or perhaps fall into simple idiot 
servitude to some great extra-dimensional being. He thought he 
could hear Spender yelling from far off, but all he could see 
was the light slowly approaching.

Suddenly a shimmer appeared in front of the glowing sphere. For 
a moment Pendrell was certain that it was simply an illusion 
induced by a fatigued and over-stimulated mind. He felt the 
pull on his body lessen as the shimmer resolved into a now 
familiar figure.

"You'll not have him," the old woman shouted. She raised her 
gnarled walking stick, as if warding off a blow, and stepped 
back. Pendrell felt the bonds on his thoughts, and actions slip 
a bit further.

"He is not for the likes of you." Pendrell felt the bonds fall 
away. He crumpled to the ground, his body was simply too 
fatigued to go on. He felt arms wrap around him and a familiar 
warmth press against him. Spender's hands clasped around his 
waist, as if to anchor him in place.

A deep voice answered the woman. There was great power there, 
but the voice was flat, uninflected, devoid of any emotion.

"I will not be denied by one such as you old woman," the voice 
said.

"Aye, for I am old and weak and no longer a match for an 
immortal," the old woman said, he voice soft, and assuring. 
Pendrell thought he could sense an undercurrent of deception in 
her words. She was avoiding a fight, to be sure, but it wasn't 
from fear.

"But what then Old One? Is this simple mortal cause enough to 
break that ancient tenet?" The old woman punctuated her words 
by jabbing her walking stick in the direction of the glowing 
sphere.

"Oh God, she's lecturing it," he heard Spender whisper.

"He is of this place, he is mine by right." The voice boomed, 
though less loudly.

"Is he?" the old woman suddenly demanded. "Is he, really? You 
have looke into his mind, you know who and what he is, you know 
the truth of him, all his history and what threads destiny 
spins for him. Shall you challenge the future of history as 
well Old One?"

Pendrell could feel the thing's anger. The force of its 
personality was so strong the very air seemed to vibrate in 
time with its moods. This was just about over Pendrell 
realized, and things didn't look good.

"In this structure, far below us there are others. Their 
spirits have not yet left this plane of existence. I still 
protect them, and have placed them beyond your reach, all of 
them I offer to you in exchange for the one you seek."

The sphere seemed to pulse in consideration of this idea. For a 
moment Pendrell was certain they were all dead, as tension 
again seemed to charge the night air.

"It is agreed," the voice said. Pendrell exhaled a tightly held 
breath. They would live, for now, though he shuddered at the 
thought of what their freedoms would cost.

The old women tapped her cane on the rooftop twice and swept 
her free hand down and then back up in a long arc. Another 
sphere, smaller than the first, and vastly dimmer rose through 
the roof and merged with the larger sphere. He could swear that 
as the sphere floated past he could here the wailing cries of 
the spirits of the doomed cadre agents inside.

He realized, of course, that it was no less than they 
disserved. Somehow consigning even the most wretched human 
souls to the gatekeeper's cold alien embrace, seemed horrific 
and obscene. 

After a time he felt Spender's hands on his shoulders, gently 
pushing him away.

"Pen" he said softly, "I think someone needs to talk to you."

Pendrell looked up into the face of the old woman. The sphere 
was gone and the mist had vanished like vespers in a breeze. 
The woman herself had grown pale and gossamer-like, almost 
translucent. She was smiling.

"You have done well," she said. "You have learned much, have 
been touched by one of the greater powers of the universe and 
lived, it is a rare feat."

"What do we do now, and what did you mean 'the truth of me'?"

"Do? You go on as always. You fight for what is good and truth, 
you follow where your heart beckons, and you keep those around 
you safe, as always."

"And the other thing?" Pendrell asked.

The old woman hesitated, her image growing ever more 
indistinct. "There is much I would explain but cannot for 
ancient covenants still hold sway. I will tell you this. Your 
truth is that you are one of the few that stands on the cusp 
between two worlds. It is something you must know and 
understand for the times ahead."

The old woman's image flickered and faded from view.

"Keep those around you safe boy," Pendrell heard her say from 
the empty air. "You keep them all safe." Finally even her voice 
was gone.

Pendrell lay back on the rooftop slowly every part, even the 
smallest bit, of his body seemed to hurt. Spender put one arm 
around him and pulled him close. Pendrell buried his face in 
the man's dark, tight curls and simply breathed, drawing in his 
scent and memorizing its smallest nuance.

Eventually he lay back and watched the night stars in quiet 
commiseration with the man at his side.

"What time is it?" he finally thought to ask.

Spender moved, groaning slightly from the use of now stiff and 
battered muscles. Pendrell could see the soft green glow from 
Spender's watch as he read off the time.

 "9:32, that makes it about 12 minutes since this whole thing 
started, give or take."

Both men jumped when Spender's cellphone rang. A silly comment 
about Christmas Carol died on Pendrell's lips.

"Hey Mulder," Spender said with a lot more brightness than he 
could possibly feel.

"Yeah, doing okay. Sure, sure you too. Pen says hi."

Pendrell lay back on the rooftop and listened to the 
conversation. It was the quite talk of friends. No, Pendrell 
realized, between brothers. It was an odd thought and one that 
caused a sudden rush of emotion. Brothers, lovers and friends, 
family all of them, in spirit and deed, if not in name or fact. 
A family protects its own.

He felt a nudge in his ribs and turned his attention back to 
the man on the telephone.

"The museum?" Spender asked rhetorically. "It was interesting, 
definitely interesting."

Pendrell let the rest of the conversation fade out, and looked 
back to the stars. They had come close to death, and he had 
touched something so close to infinite that he couldn't tell 
the difference. The old woman's words still muttered at him in 
his thoughts. He had the distinct feeling that tonight was just 
the beginning of a long march toward whatever destiny awaited 
them all.

[END]