Disclaimers in Chapter One Residual Effect Chapter 9 Mulder banged on the door repeatedly. He’d spent more hours than he cared waiting in the Louisville International Airport. Only once he finally landed in Washington D.C., Mulder found that the entire city had come to a complete stand still. It took five hundred dollars cash, a promised pair of Mets tickets, and several flashes of his badge until Mulder managed to finagle a way out of the airport. After all his efforts, the wind blowing hard, Mulder found himself standing thigh high in a snow drift. "Who is it?" A voice boomed from behind the metal door. "Mulder." He shouted back annoyed. "Who?" "Quit stalling and open the goddamn door!" He heard the familiar clicks of the Lone Gunmen’s over done lock system. The door swung open, a beaming Frohike standing behind the door. "Oh, Mulder? I thought you said Moldy," The man teased as Mulder stomped into the doorway and walked by. "Hey, don’t you know there’s a blizzard going on?" Frohike followed the agent into the heart of the Lone Gunmen’s lair. Byers and Langley were both seated at computers, one furiously typing, the other reading through printouts. "Mulder, what are you doing here?" Byers peered over his papers. "Looking for Scully." "She was here yesterday." Langley answered. "Scully was here? For what?" Scully rarely called upon the guys for their assistance without the situation being either precarious or, more importantly, without Mulder’s consult. For her to come here without Mulder’s knowledge just seemed odd. "Yeah," Frohike chimed in, "She came in with her lawyer friend. You know, yea tall, brunette, legs you could climb all day and still not get to the top." "Abbie Carmichael? What’s she doing here?" "Exploring the Sapphic side of Sears." Frohike snarked. "She needed some assistance on her current case," Byers stood up from his chair, giving a sideways glance to Frohike as he did. "Some one slid a military file to her. We did a search and narrowed down the field." Mulder flipped through Amarice’s military record. "There’s not a lot to go on here. How far did you narrow it down?" "Three probable matches from a little over a thousand." Langley beamed. Mulder whistled as Langley handed him the matches. "Does Scully know about this?" "No, she said she’d call. Didn’t expect anyone to be coming over in the blizzard." "Yeah, well, desperate times call for desperate measures." Mulder added, not wanting to look silly driving around in a blizzard. "No guts, no glory." "When at first you don’t succeed, try, try again." "If at first you don't succeed, destroy all evidence that suggests you tried." "If all else fails, manipulate the data." Mulder, tired of the duel of cliches, grabbed the rest of the files and headed towards the door. "Okay guys, I’ll talk to ya later." "Hey Mulder." Frohike called out to the man. "Yeah." He stopped momentarily to make eye contact with the man. "You tell Carmichael that if she ever tires of the love that dare not speak it’s name, I’m here to bring her back to the other side." "I’ll remember that." He mumbled as he trudged back towards his car. ** Dana stood in front of her bathroom mirror drying her hair with a blow dryer. Clothed in only a robe, she still dripped water onto her rug. She noted her reflection in the mirror, her face reflecting none of the tell tale signs of an inadequate night’s sleep. She and Abbie spent a large portion of the night continuing their lovemaking, a session that ended with a slight romp in the shower. Dana could see a slight flush in her cheeks, a welcome sight compared to the white pallor her skin had taken over the past couple of years. , she mused silently to herself. Abbie sat on the edge of the bathtub, wrapped in a towel, rubbing lotion on her legs. "I hate you, you know that don’t you." Dana teased the woman. "What are you talking about?" "You." She pointed at her with the hairdryer. "You and your perfect legs, and perfect breasts. You’re like an affront to all women." "An affront huh?" Abbie peered up at Dana. "You didn’t seem too offended just a second ago. Besides, are you kidding, I’d kill to have breasts like yours." "Believe me, you wouldn’t." Dana returned her attentions to the mirror. Setting down her hairdryer, she opened her robe, exposing her chest. Taking a breast in each hand, she modeled them, more for herself than for Abbie. "The left one’s just a little bigger than the right one. I still have a scar from fifth grade." "Dana, you can barely see that scar." "Key word, barely." "I think it’s adorable." Abbie stated as she rose to her feet. She placed herself behind Dana, sliding her arms around Dana’s waist. Dana could feel Abbie’s hands as they slid up her stomach, cupping her breasts. "I think they’re adorable." "Adorable," Dana whined, "Puppies are adorable. Rainbows are adorable. Breasts are not." "That’s your definition." She stated as she planted tiny kisses on the side of Dana’s neck. "Full, supple, with that perfect tear drop shape that I love." Dana stared into the mirror watching Abbie’s hands as they softly kneaded her breasts. Fingers expertly squeezing and pinching her nipples to full effect. She could see the effect this was having on the rest of her body. The rising and falling of her chest. The sound of her breathing - ragged, forced. The pale red tint sneaking under her skin. Dana reached back with both hands, running them through Abbie’s hair. Abbie watched Dana through the mirror. Watched as the red head slowly moved under her touch. Dana’s eyes entranced at the motions of Abbie’s fingers. She watched Dana’s reaction as Abbie slid her hand down. Her fingers sliding gracefully over the smooth muscles of Dana’s stomach, forcing Dana’s robe to fall open past her thighs. Dana, acknowledging Abbie’s motions, leaned back into the taller woman resting herself slightly on Abbie’s thigh. Abbie’s fingers teased playfully in Dana’s curls. Combing and parting Dana’s hairs. She could see Dana biting her bottom lip, waiting patiently for the release Abbie offered her. Abbie pulled Dana into her, spreading her legs wider with the leg she planted between Dana’s legs. Dana leaned into her, placing a foot on the wall. The heat in the bathroom seemed to increase tenfold, a new sheen of steam fogging up the mirror making their recent shower all for naught as a new layer of sweat began to coat Dana’s body. And Abbie hadn’t even touched her *there* yet. Maybe that’s why she’d been so quick to seduce the attorney last night. Abbie’s uncanny ability to know what Dana wanted and when. A reminder Dana moaned seductively as she felt Abbie’s hand dip lower between her legs, parting her, finding the center of her desire. Abbie nipped on an earlobe as Dana moaned louder. She’d taken her fill of Dana and found her need insatiable. Abbie never tired of Dana. Never tired the moment she met her, and regretted every second since the day she walked away. Now, after all these years, Abbie seemingly picked up where she left off. Making up for lost time, ignoring the fact that it had been Dana to rekindle the flame between them. Then again, in Abbie’s eyes, her flame had never died. Merely burned as a small aching ember, waiting until the moment her source of fuel returned. "Abbie." Dana moaned as her body continued to tense. Abbie countered by quickening her pace, rocking her body rhythmically with Dana’s. "Dana." She nibbled intensely on Dana’s neck. "Scully." "Oh Abbie." Dana could feel herself getting closer. "Scully!" "Dana?" Dana’s eyes snapped open as realization washed over her. "Shit." She stammered, fastening her robe. As she exited the bathroom, Dana thought she saw Abbie roll her eyes deciding to ignore the gesture. Mulder continued pounding on the door, yelling Dana’s name louder with each rap of his fist. "Hang on Mulder." Dana fumbled with the locks, cursing her partner under her breath as she opened the door. "Where the Hell have you been?" Mulder asked as he walked through the door, ignoring his partner’s obvious state of undress. "I’ve left about fifty messages on your machine." Dana eyed the machine realizing that she’d turned the ringer off. "I’ve been busy." "Yeah, I figured that much. What the Hell’s going on?" he finally noticed the leggy brunette walking out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her torso. He recognized her immediately. "Mulder," Dana pointed to the woman walking into the living room, "Abbie Carmichael." "I’ve heard a lot about you." Abbie quipped as she crossed her arms across her chest. "Same goes for you." Mulder thought he heard Dana gasp slightly as he extended his hand towards the attorney. A half smile crossed the woman’s face as she took Mulder’s hand into her own, returning the gesture. "Mulder, what are you doing here?" Dana closed the door behind her. "I was just over at the Lone Gunmen." Mulder turned to Dana lifting the file in his hand. "Are you going to tell me what this is all about?" Mulder gave a sideways glance as Abbie groaned aloud. It never occurred to him to ask the women if they wanted to change first. He’d had a bad feeling the moment Scully received Abbie’s phone call, a feeling that resonated within him for the past two days. Something that stayed with him as he stood in Dana’s living room. He’d sensed something between the two women. Even if the current feeling emanating between the two women was, Fox Mulder was unwelcome. ** Marshall Fields hated waiting. Hated the down time that filled the empty space between assignments. He was a man of action, a doer. Not someone meant to wait endlessly behind the steering wheel of a car. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, his eyes scanning the horizon. To the average passerby, although there would be none, his superior had seen to that, Marshall appeared average. Dirty blonde hair, cut into a short brush cut revealed the genetic curse currently taking over his hairline. Deep hazel eyes peered over the steering wheel, scanning the horizon, seeing everything, seeing nothing. In some circles, Marshall might be considered handsome. The type of circles *she* hung around in. With hair as dark as night and eyes like soft mink. He believed their words then, words like love, compassion and hope. Believed enough to buy her a ring and promise her forever. That is until a bullet pierced her skull and shattered everything. That was twenty years ago. Twenty years when words like love and compassion were replaced with duty, honor and sacrifice. "Fuck man, where is he?" Whiskey moaned next to him. Ten years his junior, the man sat impatiently in his seat, twirling a knife. It was a standard issue Army knife found at any military surplus store, smooth on one side, serrated on the other. Whiskey subconsciously twirled and flipped the knife as delicately as a lover. Unable to differentiate between sex and violence, as evidenced by the engraving on the handle. Kiss on one side, Kill on the other. Truth of the matter was, Marshall hated Whiskey. Hated his stupid name, his cocky demeanor, his shitty attitude. He represented everything that Marshall hated about the "New Military". How they continued to lower themselves by recruiting disenfranchised thugs who saw the military not as an opportunity to grow, but an opportunity to kill. Characteristics that made Whiskey so perfect for their line of work. "He’ll be here." Marshall grimaced. "Yeah man, what fuckin’ ever." On cue, a car approached them from behind. Black tinted windows, black exterior, both knew their company had arrived. Both exited the car, Whiskey slowly sheathed his knife, displaying his bravado for an audience of one ­ himself. The car parked along side theirs. A man exited the driver’s seat. Dressed as nonchalantly as any government worker could; black suit, tie and sunglasses (at night even). The man motioned for Marshall and Whiskey to enter the car. "He’s waiting." He stated unemotionally. "Bout fuckin’ time." Whiskey growled as he entered the front passenger seat. Marshall barely rolled his eyes as he circled the front and entered from the driver’s side. He could barely contain his disgust as the smell of cigarette smoke assaulted his nostrils. All this time in the service, he’d been surrounded by hundreds of smokers. But none ever disgusted him the way that this did. Maybe it wasn’t the actual smoke. Maybe it was the smoker. He sat comfortably in the backseat, the only acknowledgement of his presence, the small cherry of his lit cigarette. Not that Marshall needed a visual cue to know the man was there. He always knew. Knew the scent of power, strength, and maybe if he would possibly admit it to himself, corruption. "She’s still alive." He stated in the way that was half question, half indignation. "Hey, it’s not our fault.." "Shut up, Whiskey." Marshall hissed. The boy had a tendency to deliberately push his buttons. But when push came to shove, Whiskey knew Marshall was the top dog in this pen. "Don’t worry, we’ll get her." "That’s not the problem. Things have become complicated. Abbie Carmichael has found help." Marshall felt the smoke getting into his clothes as the man blew out the last sentence. "And I can’t afford to have Dana Scully get involved in this case. If she gets involved, then Mulder will get involved. No one must never find out who she is." "What do you want us to do?" "I want you to kill her." "We already tried that." Whiskey braved a response. "I want those two as far from this case as possible." He ignored the boy. "They’ve complicated enough of my plans." He paused on the last statement. Marshall couldn’t tell if it was for effect, or if the man hadn’t finished his speech. "Don’t worry," Marshall tried to reassure the man, "We can get to her. Dead or alive, we’ll get her." "There’s been a slight change of plans. Until Mulder and Scully are out of the picture, I don’t want either of you to make a move on her." "So what do you want us to do?" "I want you to kill her." "Wait," Whiskey interjected, "I thought you just said to stay away. Now you want us to kill her, again." "Your impatience will be your downfall," The man sighed. He passed a small folder to Marshall. Marshall opened the folder, cocking an eyebrow at the photo. "The proverbial two birds with one stone. Now go." ** Marshall sat in the driver’s seat thumbing through the file he’d just received. Whiskey sat in his seat bouncing around like a kid in a candy store. "All right, some real action. I’ve never taken out a Fed before. Have you?" "It’s not the Fed we’re going after." Marshall handed the folder over to Whiskey as he gunned the engine. "It’s her." "Hot damn!" Whiskey pulled his knife out, teasing the edge of the picture with the blade tip. Within 24 hours he was going to get to kill ­ again. It wasn’t the fact that Whiskey was a killer that bothered Marshall so much, truth be told, so was Marshall, it was the fact that Whiskey *enjoyed* killing that bothered him. How he’d get juiced at the possibility of taking another’s life. Marshall felt something twisting deep down in his stomach. Something that other people might call guilt or conscience. If he were a drinking man, or boy, like Whiskey, he’d wash it away with a pint. If he were a religious man, he might pray. Instead, he did as he always did he ignored it, pushed down deeper than the bottomless pits of his soul. He didn’t know why this last assignment ‘troubled’ him. Then again, maybe it was because the woman, the one with the raven hair, and eyes as soft as mink reminded him of those words from so long ago, love, compassion and hope. And in 24 hours, Marshall Fields would kill those words ­ again. End Chapter Nine