:: Tales Of The Resistance ::Part Nineteen Victor Galindez was exhausted. He hadn’t slept in nearly 72 hours, not a wink since he had watched Webb leave with the men from Fort Benning; Marita chained to his wrist, and with Frohike hiding in the back of the last jeep. He wanted it to have been him. He hadn’t wanted to face Francesca, or Renee for that matter. The only reason why he had been happy to come back was to see Susan again and she wasn’t here. Francesca had taken great joy in telling him. Oh, she had kept her face grave and her words soft, but the bitterness at what she saw as Webb’s betrayal and her father’s desertion rang through the sympathy. They sat in front of the fireplace of the house that she was sharing with Renee and Rabb. He figured he would camp out on the couch, even though Renee had suggested he sleep in their bed. "I’m staying by his side for a little while, Victor. For goodness sakes, change the sheets and camp out there. We don’t have the time to be possessive about where we rest our heads." Renee was behaving better than Francesca was and Victor was getting sick and tired of the whining. "Joe left this morning on one of Monica Reyes’ little expeditions. He just got back from one. I don’t know why he had to go again." Francesca got up and went into the kitchen. When she returned, she carried two mugs of cocoa. He hated cocoa, but he sipped at his because she had gone to the trouble to make it. He didn’t want to answer her. He was too tired. "So Victor, now you too, know what it feels like, now that you return and Susan isn’t here." As soon as she said it even Francesca, who had wallowed in her self-pity for nearly a week, knew she had gone too far. "I’m sorry, Victor," she gasped. "That was mean." "Yeah. Francesca, it was." Carefully, he put his mug down and stood. "If you’ll excuse me I’ll just go and take a walk. "Oh my God. I didn’t mean it. Really I didn’t." She stood and reached out to him. He stepped out of her reach. "Yes you did, Francesca. You blame me for leaving your father in D.C. even though it was his decision. You blame Webb for leaving you when we went to Mountain City and now you blame me for ‘letting’ Webb go to Atlanta." He grabbed his coat. "When are you going grow up, Francesca? Do I wish Susan were here? With all my heart. She’s a good woman. Dedicated and focused on what’s important. Do I wish that Clay had come back with us? No, Francesca. I wish I had gone with him. He is doing something important instead of staying here and moaning, ‘oh woe is me.’ In case you haven’t figured it out yet, Francesca Paretti, what happens to us here doesn’t mean anything if the rest of civilization dies. We have to do what we can every minute of every hour to win this damn fight. You have no idea how bad it is. You don’t want to know. Those things we saw in the Walmart." He snapped his fingers. "That’s as straight forward as it gets, Fran. "You didn’t see what we saw in Mountain City. I pray you never do." "Victor, please. I’m sorry." She wailed as he walked out the door, slamming it behind him. She sank to the floor, her back against the door and began to sob. "Don’t leave me. Everyone leaves me." She cried, but she was getting tired of crying and finally went into the kitchen. She washed the few dishes in the sink. She tried not to look outside into the falling snow. She hated the snow, hated this place. She knew, though everyone had tried to keep it from her, that the chances that her mother still lived were slim. She had been strong enough once to save her papa from being killed, strong enough to face the evil of her ex-boyfriend. But this was different. This was almost too much to bear. Why did no one understand? Joe Rossi had said he understood. But he had used her. She shook herself. No. That too, was unfair. She had used him, he had just not said no. She wanted Clay. Wanted him back. She had heard that Webb had taken a woman with him to Atlanta and wondered if he had found comfort in her. She remembered the hurt in his eyes when he opened the bedroom door and found Joe Rossi’s arm around her. Remembered the words that he spoke to her and sighed as she admitted what a bitch she had become. Victor was right. Anna Kennedy, three years younger than Francesca, had insisted on going with one of the away teams. Even using the excuse that they might need a nurse. She had been assigned to the team going to the hunting and fishing outfitter. She had come back laughing on the back of a snow mobile, clutching one of the young Marines. "We found that dealership, he had three snowmobiles in the back of the lot. When he saw us pull up, he met us with a gun. Told us to get the hell out. I told him who we were and when he heard that Mr. Toblin was safe, he handed us the keys and sent us on our way with a God Bless you." Renee, three months pregnant, had gone with another group to find fuel and some more bedding. She had come back flushed and happy. "It was a little scary. We didn’t see anything like what you did, Fran, but we had to go into a deserted farm store to find the natural gas we needed. Spooky! And we had a little trouble getting that fuel oil tank back here." One of the Marines snorted and told the real story of how they had been ambushed by mountain folk who wanted not only the truck, but also Renee. And, how Renee had got the drop on the biggest of them and knocked him out cold with tree branch drawing the attention of the other two so the Marines could take them out. Now, Renee had to face that the one man she had pinned her life and love on would be forever damaged. Changed fundamentally by the rape of the black oil. Francesca almost lost her resolve to be stronger at the thought of it. She hugged herself and sighed. She had worked so hard to help clean up the houses for the newcomers. But nobody really appreciated it. It was just something that had to be done. God, she hated to be alone. Even though she had only slept with Rossi that one night, she had hung around with him and his buddies, just for the company if nothing else. Everyone was always so busy. Even in the evening, after a full day of cleaning and scrubbing out one of the houses, Renee would come home and start to fold the clothes that had been washed in the two working washing machines down here. Briefly, the thought flitted across Francesca’s mind that they really should investigate the Rathbone house, but the thought quickly left and she suddenly craved company. And, she knew she had better put on a bright happy face or the people in the café would suddenly make excuses to leave and return to their own quarters leaving her alone yet again. :: :: ::
John Dogget wearily surveyed the scene before him. It reminded him of Desert Storm. Men, some on cots, some on air mattresses, and many in and on sleeping bags filled every corner of the huge great room. He knew he'd probably step on several of them just trying to reach the stairs. That was the only way to get to the room the lone gunmen sort of shared, not that Frohike was here, or Byers either. Byers had insisted. "Go, it’s easier than going back down the hill tonight." John asked about the huge snowplow sitting on one of the side streets in Clews Haven. "Oh, it’s the only thing keeping the road open to anything smaller than the Dodge or the Suburban, but there was something wrong with it. Thank goodness we’ve got Sergeant Tydal. His expression softened at her name. "She’s incredible. Took one look at the engine and the next thing I know, she, Andy Kelly – that’s the kid that brought the snowplow and Admiral Chegwidden and Colonel MacKenzie from D.C. – me and three Marines are on a mission. Took us two days to find one, but we raided a deserted parts store to the north of here. We just got back about two hours before you did. Lora will have it up and running in no time." "Well, aren’t you going to use the bed?" Doggett insisted. "Oh, I’ll find a bed. Go on." He had just started his obstacle course when a hand reached out and pulled him back. He turned to find Samantha Fielding smiling at him. She beckoned him with her finger. He swallowed, but followed her back through the door into the tunnel leading back to the control room. When they reached it, she didn’t pause, but led him through another door. He knew where they were heading and he stopped her. "Samantha. I can’t go up there." "Why not? Mrs. Toblin said to use one of the cots up in the living room. She and the President are sleeping in one of the cubicles because of the situation with both Chegwidden and Webb." "I really should go and grab one, too." Doggett still felt guilty for not going with Webb or sending someone besides Frohike. Samantha snorted. "Yeah, like you could. Even the so called sick bay units have got men and women sleeping in them." The living room was dark, the house empty. Doggett couldn’t explain it, but this house still made him uncomfortable. He had felt it that first day, when they had arrived with Doctor Morris, even though they hadn’t spent a lot of time here before congregating in the control room. Afterward, whenever he was at Fort Clews, he usually bunked out down in the town, helping to protect it. Of course now, with each new wave of people, soldiers and civilians alike, there was less cause for worry. Or more if you thought about it. He wondered how long it would be before they were infiltrated. They had talked about it, and while Skinner was concerned, there was little they could do until it happened. "Hey? You okay?" Her soft voice seemed to caress him. Only the light in the hood over the stove cast any light. "Go in and find a comfortable cot. I’ll make some tea. You hungry?" He didn’t want her to go to any trouble and shook his head. "No, I’m fine." The growl from his stomach made her laugh. "Go, light a fire. I don’t care what they say about thermal heated floors, the air in here is really cold. I’ll see what Mrs. Scully has left in the fridge." There were four large cots positioned throughout the room. And, she was right. It was chilly even though the floor beneath his sock-clad feet was warm. The fire was already laid and he felt some guilt that someone would have to clean it out, but he lit the fire and went to stand by the window. Lights blazed in all the houses. No one slept in any kind of pattern and people had to get used to grabbing what sleep they could while others were walking around either getting ready to help out in the village or stumbling in to sleep. Doggett surveyed the cots and found one that was a little longer, a little wider and perhaps a little more comfortable. Not by much though. He was pleased to see that someone had found a couch for the room. It had been pushed against one wall. He went to sit gingerly on his cot. "I think the President wishes they would go ahead and use this house for people, but Skinner and Daddy vetoed him. Told him once things settled down he was going to want a quiet spot. I feel kind of sorry for him." Samantha seemed to float into the room; the steam rising from the bowl lent an air of mystery about her. His heart was captured and he knew it made no sense. "Uhm…it smells good. What is it?" Her laugh seemed like gossamer. "What else, stew." She handed him the bowl and sat on the hearth. He was terribly disappointed she did not join him on the cot. "Why don’t we pull the couch over in front of the fireplace?" Carefully, he put the stew on his cot and together they repositioned the sofa. She waited until he was settled and then sat, her back against the high arm, one leg bent with her knee in the air the other curled under her. She rested her chin on her knee and considered him in the firelight. "You feel it, don’t you?" She sighed. Carefully, he chewed and found it almost impossible not to meet her gaze. "Yeah, I do. If by feeling it, you mean…" He blushed and took another bite. "I mean, every time I get near you up here, all I want to do is jump your bones." When he had stopped choking and after she had brought him a glass of water and cleaned up the mess on the hearth, he glared at her. "I can’t believe you said that." "Hey, I’m sorry I said it when you had a full mouth, but admit it. It’s true, you know. I think it’s this house." Doggett stared into the fire, but watched her out of the corner of his eye. She looked kinda of scared and a little excited. "You know, before this whole mess went down I was assigned to the X-Files at the Bureau." "What are those?" "We would investigate mysterious phenomenon. You know ghosts, vampires, blood sucking monsters, aliens." He finished with a sigh. She laughed. "Liar." "Well, about the vampires, and I think Mulder actually investigated one of those, too. But I saw enough to make me keep my mind open." He scraped the last of the stew from the bowl and got up. "I’ve got it, sit still." He gently admonished her when she started to rise to take his bowl. When he returned he didn’t sit next to her, but stood in front of the fire. She was right. He could feel the draw to her. She was pretty. Her hair cut short, her deep chocolate skin perfect. Her eyes were the most amazing shade of grey and blue that seemed to change color with her mood. He couldn’t make them out in the firelight, but the flames seemed to dance in her eyes. "You know, there is no reason why I shouldn’t be attracted to you. You’re perfect." "No I’m not. You don’t know me. I can be a real bitch sometimes. And, I don’t know you except that you’re really brave and you’re cute." "Cute!" He ran his fingers through his own close cropped hair. "Cute! You’re just saying that to get back at me for the vampire remark, right." She laughed again and stood. "Maybe, but I am attracted to you and I was attracted to you down in the village when we were away from here." She sighed and turned to go. Pausing at the kitchen door she turned and left him with one more tidbit. "Plus, if it’s the house, then why do I only feel this way about you?" She didn’t wait for him to answer but hurried back through the passageway toward the command center. Stretching out on the cot, he crossed his hands behind his head and stared up into the rafters. Nothing in the X-Files had prepared him for any of this. It couldn’t be the house because if it was, why had she left him? He felt lost at her absence but sternly told himself to get some sleep. It had to be the house. :: :: ::
Jeremiah Smith sighed. He was weak and tired. Even the gentle little push he had given Doggett and Samantha had cost him dearly. But, he knew it was necessary to build strong relationships within the community. Humans survived better when they felt a bond with one or more of their own kind. They didn’t have the ability to truly touch one another, not in the way of the Race. He had always felt sorry for them because of that flaw. Many of his kind felt this made humans inferior. He glanced over at the sleeping form of Rabb. He would have to try very hard to offset the effects of the symbiosis. Rabb would need not only Mulder’s help to cope with his feelings, but also, he would need the love and closeness of his wife, who seemed willing to forgive his outburst at the truck. Smith was tied very closely to Rabb now. The sharp death of emotion had bound them somehow. He could feel the man withdraw into himself. That was to be expected. For a brief time the human had felt the joy of being one with many. But that was not the human way; at least not yet in their evolutionary process, if ever. He carefully probed the others nearby. He could feel the natural respect that General Fielding felt for Mrs. Scully. But there was a reticence on her part. He wasn’t sure why, but he could feel a great deal of sadness in the woman. She had lost much in her life and the worry for her sons and their families had finally taken hold of her. Unfortunately, there was little he could do about that. The John Byers and Lora Tydal pairing was coming along nicely though both had been reluctant at first. Sergeant Tydal seemed to be completely engrossed in her duties at keeping the motor pool running, while Byers seemed to flit everywhere, just never where Tydal was. Well, things had worked out finally when the snowplow had broken down. There was little he could do about Doctor Morris. Even he wasn’t sure that he had the energy to wade through the pain that Frohike had inflicted. A stubborn streak of morality ran deep in the doctor and the lie had hurt her badly. Smith was afraid to interfere for fear of changing the basic characteristics of the Doctor. However, he also knew, after spending so much time near Frohike that the little man was completely obsessed with the beautiful blond. Before allowing sleep to overtake him once again, he spared a painful thought for Clayton Webb and Marita. No one knew the depth of torture that Marita had willingly and unwillingly been subjected to. Not just physical torture, though that had been as great as anything that Mulder, Scully or even Skinner had been put through. But the anguish of knowing that the torture had been ordered not only by the man that she had learned was her natural father, by the man she had always called daddy growing up, but by the man who she had fallen in love with. What little trust she had ever possessed had been forcefully ripped from her by Alex Krycek. Webb was so wound up in his own emotional wounds that he would only hurt Francesca Paretti who, without any help from Smith at all, had convinced herself she was in love with the spy. His last conscious thought was ‘it was easy to bring someone back from the dead, it was another thing entirely to convince them to do what was right for the sake of the community. :: :: ::
"Come on Fi." Bud Roberts shook her shoulder. "Wha?" Fiona Morris jerked her head off the computer keyboard and winced. "Ow." "Terrific. Look at you." Bud sighed. "You’ve got little squares imprinted on your forehead. Go and lay down will you." "I just want…" her voice trailed off as Robert’s resolved stare hardened. She didn’t need to hear the words, the face clearly said. ‘Don’t make me tell Skinner.’ Swearing softly, she tried to stand, only to fall back into her chair. Bud didn’t make the mistake of trying to help. Instead, he pretended not to notice as he looked over the log sheet of the contacts they had made over the ham radio and the Internet today. Traffic on the World Wide Web had slowed to the point that they seldom had trouble locating a satellite to uplink with. Contacts were getting fewer, though they had finally reached the Northern California cell of the resistance. He almost laughed at the weird justice. Here they were jammed into four vacation-homes, a tiny rundown town and an underground bunker. The West Coast contingent, under the command of Air Force General Mary Feeley was hold up at Hearst Castle. But he couldn’t envy them. The devastation on the West Coast was nearly complete. Fort Clew’s contact with ‘The Lair’ – somehow ‘The Castle’ seemed rather an obvious code word – was a strange woman who insisted that they call her ‘The Cat’. Hoping to change the subject, he pointed to the clipboard. "I see ‘The Lair’ checked in." This time Fiona was successful in her attempt to stand. Stretching, she tried to work 12 hours worth of kinks out of her back and ass. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen daylight, wasn’t even sure if it was 4:00 in the morning or 4:00 in the afternoon. "Yeah. Things are going for shit out there. The damn thing was fifty miles from anything anyway. San Luis dropped into the ocean during the last quake. They’ve just cleaned up the mess they sustained in that. They’ve got major league hungry people and they’re rationing. And at least our away teams come back. Cat says Feeley is going nuts wondering where her two scavenging teams got to." Fiona looked around at the cells surrounding the command center. "What’s empty?" "Empty? You crazy?" Bud pointed to the door Samantha Fielding just entered. "Why don’t you go upstairs? You can use one of the bunks." "Fine." She carefully put one foot in front of the other. "Damn, my legs are asleep." "You need help." "No." She turned away but then faced him again. "Thanks, Bud. You’ve been great. Do me a favor?" Bud grinned and pointed. "Go! If he calls in I’ll wake you, promise." Fiona nodded to Samantha and didn’t notice the worried looked the young woman gave her. She trudged down the passageway and into the kitchen of the smallest of the vacation houses. She turned off the fire under the stew, muttering about smoke alarms and what the hell would they do if the damn then went up in flames. "I was just coming in to turn that off. Sorry." Doggett muttered from the doorway. "Figured you’d be asleep," she snapped. She tried to keep her anger at bay. After all, Melvin had explained to her why he was the one that had to go with Webb. ‘They need me.’ Of course, she had heard the unspoken caveat, ‘and you don’t.’ "Oh, pretty soon. Why are you here?" Doggett eyed the blond warily, thinking about what Samantha said. But he let his feelings open and he felt about Fiona Morris the same way he felt about Dana Scully or Monica Reyes – people who were important to him, but no one he wanted to sleep with. "I was going to take a shower. But I’m not sure where there are any clothes. I don’t want to take anything of Mr. Toblin’s." Fiona snorted. "Only a few people have anything of their own and most of them have tossed it into the communal pile, Doggett. Of course, Toblin’s not wearing much of Skinner or Chegwidden’s stuff; he’d trip over the pant legs and fall flat on his face. Not really the picture the President wants to project. But check out the closet in back. Don’t dawdle though, I don’t remember the last time I showered and that’s not a good thing either." Dogget quickly showered and found clothes that would fit. Returning to the living room, he found Fiona sitting on the couch, just finishing her own bowl of stew. "All yours." He returned to the cot and stretched out again and tried to let his senses flow, testing the theory, but the only person he could summon was General Fielding’s oldest daughter. :: :: ::
Studying his face as he shaved, Walter Skinner considered the dichotomy that was his life now. The horror of what they were dealing with each day was worse than they had ever imagined. The reports held little hope for the human race on any plane much higher than subsistence. They had heard nothing from their few D.C. contacts in over thirty-six hours. The reports from the West Coast were dismal. There was rampant overcrowding here at Fort Clews and he knew that they would have to do something and soon, either find some kind of housing or expand into Allenberry, nearly ten miles away. But with all that, he had to admit he had never been happier. Dana Scully in his bed was a dream come true. Monica Reyes there with them was something he hadn’t even known he had wanted, but he couldn’t imagine life without her now. He dressed quickly. Dana had risen first this morning with a breathless "I need to see my baby." Monica had groaned, but stumbled out of the bed after her. "I’ve got to go, too. The ‘boys home’ is a real mess. I’ve got to see what can be done about it." He grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down at the table in ‘their’ living room. Dana came in with William clutched to her shoulder and sat next to him. William looked around, then reached for Walter and crawled into his arms, put his thumb in his mouth and immediately fell asleep. Dana smiled. She sometimes wished that Walter were William’s father instead of the anonymous scholar she had picked from the sperm bank's files. She swore he had Skinner’s nose, but that was wishful thinking on her part, she knew. She shook her head and studied the people around her. They had only been gone four days, but there was much to catch up on. Micah Toblin stood and introduced Scully, Doggett and Mulder. both of whom lounged against the wall. There was no longer any room around the table for everyone. In turn they nodded to the Reverend Mr. Harper and Secretary of State Williams. With the formalities over, he looked at Tiner who had just entered, shaking the snow from his shoulders. "Well Mr. Tiner?" Jason had a confused look on his face. "Sir…I…uhm…took the reading in the same place that I took it yesterday and the day before." The entire room turned to look at the abashed young man. "And?" "Well, sir. Uhm…Lieutenant Sims…uhm…what did I report yesterday?" Tiner was almost tongue-tied with embarrassment. Harriet flipped through the notes she had taken. "November 2nd 3feet 11 inches of snow." She looked up from her notes, saw the look and returned to them and flipped up another page or two. November 1st 3feet 10 inches." Jason shook his head and looked outside the window again and sighed. "Something’s wrong." Bob Fielding sighed. "Of course. What?" "I swear I measured right. I swear I did." "Tiner. Son, just report." Toblin sighed. "Three feet, ten inches, sir." He gulped out the answer. The room grew silent. No one accused him of making a mistake. Harriet quickly pulled out a blank sheet of paper and made rapid notes. She looked in a moment. "From my notes, since we’ve been measuring the snow we’ve had a steady gain of one or two inches everyday. From a beginning of three feet, one inch, eight days ago. We’ve never even stayed the same. Not that we should have with the way the snow never stops. But, I don’t understand." She voiced everyone’s concern. "Where did that inch go?" "Hey G-woman, sounds like we’ve got us an X-File." Mulder snorted playfully. Dana met Walter’s eye and smiled sheepishly. Before anyone else could say anything though, they heard a door in back burst open and heard a female voice snarl. "Captain Stovall, I said I want armed Marines over there, damn it. Shoot anybody that so much as says more than ‘excuse me, might I be allowed to use the washroom." Sarah MacKenzie huffed into the room, her hair mussed, the pocket of her fatigue jacket torn, and a bright purple bruise already starting to form under her eye. Dana and Dr. Kennedy both stood to go to her, but she waved them off and went to the table to pour a cup of coffee. "I’m fine. Reyes is fine, but she stayed to read the riot act to the little boys." She muttered, but they all heard her next remark too, "sucker punched by a damn midget!" Turning she started to go stand next to Mulder, but Dr. Kennedy held out his chair and she gratefully took it. "People, excuse my bluntness here, but we’ve got to consider Sergeant Tydal’s plan. I’ve got the entire ‘boys home’ under armed guard with a threat of shoot to wound." Skinner sighed, handed William back to Dana and stood up. "Tydal, let's go and check out Allenberry." :: Part 20 ::Exodus Most of the base’s vehicles had been disabled in some way. The men found only three trucks in the motor pool that would start, each of which would hold perhaps thirty adults and ten small children. It wasn’t enough. AJ ran his hand over his face and stood in the center of the parade ground with the Secretary of the Air Force, Wilhelm Deichmann and his wife, Rice. Mrs. Deichmann shivered from the cold. She had worn her wool coat during their escape from Washington, but it had been stripped from her when they had been pulled from the limousine after being led to the compound by soldiers who had stopped them at the roadblock. She thought for sure they were soon to die, but several Marines under the command of a Navy commander had rescued them and rushed them into the prison block. That had been four or five days ago. She could no longer remember, no longer think straight. "Jones!" Chegwidden bellowed. "Sir?" The old hand ran up. "Take as many men as you need, stay together and go find some blankets and any heavy coats you can lay your hands on. Watch your backs and you know what to do…" "Yes, sir!" Jones signaled several Marines and SEALs. None of them hesitated to follow the Army private. AJ pulled off his coat and put it around Rice’s shoulders. "Oh, you shouldn’t." She protested, but pulled the quilted jacket more tightly around her. "I really think you and the others should go back inside, ma’am." AJ nodded toward the brig. He wasn’t really surprised that she didn’t take him up on the offer. Deichmann put his arm around his wife and hugged her close. He too, shivered. From the cold, from the fear and from the dread at what was behind the doors of the mess hall across the way. Soldiers, both from Fort Clews and those rescued from the prison block, still strong enough to hold weapons stood guard. Nervously they waited. The howling had died down somewhat - but not entirely. There were still men/monsters/aliens alive behind those doors and everyone outside longed to just flee into the night. If it were even a little warmer they would have lost more men and women to plain old-fashioned terror. They heard shots and shouts off in one corner of the camp. AJ wondered if Jones and his men had met resistance from humans, aliens or both. Finally, he saw the men running back, some with arms laden, others guarding their retreat. "Sir." Jones panted as he ran up to AJ. "Report, Jones." AJ snapped. "Sir, there’s some more trucks, maybe five or six outside Commissary ‘B.’ I think they were in the middle of unloading supplies when the attack began. There are some bodies, but there’s noise coming from inside the building." He didn’t even bother to look at the men who were handing out blankets to women and children. "And beggin’ your pardon, but nobody’s goin’ near it with just a rifle and a zippo, if you know what I mean." "Antonelli!" AJ’s throat hurt from bellowing. "Coming!" He heard the shout from far away, but Antonelli didn’t dawdle. "Yes, sir?" "You remember where the arsenal is?" "I do!" Two Marines called in unison. "You got any flame throwers?" The men shrugged. "Only one way to find out, sir," one of them answered. "Let’s go." AJ followed them and wasn’t surprised to find Susan Ling at his side. Antonelli shouted to several other Rangers to form a protective phalanx. The arsenal had been looted but not cleaned out and they found the flame throwers along with ammunition and other supplies that would come in handy. Antonelli sighed, pulled out his walkie-talkie and called back to the front gate, asking for even more volunteers. They wouldn’t be able to do it with just twenty-five men – twenty-two, now – that they had brought from the base. The scene around Commissary ‘B’ was brutal. Several mutilated bodies lay around the trucks. The food was still loaded on two of the trucks, the other two looked like several men had fought to the death in the back of them. Rangers checked around, under and on top of the two empty trucks. One man finally jumped in and tried the ignition. It started on the first try. "Ling, get that truck back and get people loaded into it. Get them covered up. What the hell kind of edibles do we have?" AJ commanded. Flashlights played over the boxes. "Apples, pears, potatoes, lettuce, celery, spinach – looks like all produce, sir." One of the men called out from inside one of the trucks. Without being told, they began to unload the fruit and hoist it into Susan’s truck, forming a row down the center to allow people to sit on the boxes. In a whisper, Deichmann demanded. "What the hell kind of sound is coming out of that damn building?" AJ shook his head. "I’ve never heard anything like it. If we were watching one of those teenage ‘I saw what you did in the woods’ movies I’d be yelling to get the hell out of there, you stupid idiots." "It’s not a movie is it, Admiral?" "No, and not a bad dream either. We have to check it out, but we need these trucks and this food. Why don’t you ride back with Ling, Mr. Secretary?" "Cut the shit, AJ, I don’t think we’ll be able to field an Air Force anytime soon." "Hey, hold the truck." A head poked out from the second full truck. "I’ve found bread. Not all of it is frozen, either. And there’s a couple of cases of peanut butter." Susan pulled away with several Marines riding shotgun and they started on the next truck. They had a little more trouble starting that one, but finally it roared to life and left for the front gate, too. "What do you think, sir?" Antonelli panted as he ran up. "I think I want at least one more. See what you can do." AJ finally turned his attention to the building behind them. "Jones?" "We’re right behind you, sir." Turning, AJ saw the four men, nervously fingering the flame throwers. "You’ll forgive me, if that’s not where I want you to be, Sergeant Jones." "Uhm…sir?" Jones looked askance and pointed to his private’s stripes. "Careful mister, or I’ll make you a Lieutenant." AJ motioned the men forward. "Can an Admiral do that?" Jones asked Deichmann. "Sure he can." The Secretary of the Air Force told the newly commissioned Army sergeant. When the men were in position. AJ carefully made his way forward. He couldn’t remember a time, even deep in country, when he had been this scared. Dying was one thing. Having that damn black oil take you over was another. "Antonelli." He forced his voice to remain stern. "If that shit gets me, you shoot and don’t hesitate." "Aye-Aye, Admiral." Antonelli nervously fingered his gun. Carefully, AJ checked the windows but it was too dark inside to see and his flashlight wouldn’t penetrate the blackness. He approached the side door and the loud scratching thumping whine grew louder. ‘Please let it be some bizarre kitchen appliance gone haywire,’ he prayed as he carefully touched the doorknob. "Ready?" Jones nodded from across the doorway. Antonelli touched one of the men with the flame thrower on the shoulder. Jones hoarsely whispered, "Uhm…Captain…sir. I really don’t want to be roasted, either." AJ twisted the knob and Jones pushed the door open. "Sweet Jesus Christ." Deichmann swore. "Move, you two!" AJ and Jones fell back but they could still feel the heat of the flame throwers. The screams that filled the air were worse than anything they had heard yet. They seemed to echo off the walls of the buildings surrounding them. Every man there knew they would remember those screams the rest of their lives. The building caught fire and the flames leapt into the night sky. AJ walked over to Deichmann and touched his arm. "Wilhelm?" "I will see that thing whenever I close my eyes, AJ," he whispered. Antonelli didn’t look a whole lot better than Deichmann. "What was that thing?" AJ sighed. "Well if Skinner and Smith are correct, that may be what inherits the earth if we don’t win." "But sir." Antonelli protested. "It could barely move. It was all hunched up and its legs or arms or whatever the hell you want to call them were too long and thin for its body. It looked like it was dying to me." "Well, we sure as hell helped it along, sirs." Jones spat out. "What about the other truck?" AJ pointed to the one truck left, still full of various boxes of supplies. "Well, we can start it, but if you don’t mind, sir, we’ll pull everything off and take what we need. I don’t think we’ll be able to salvage everything anyway. I can’t imagine fresh spinach withstanding this cold. But regardless, I don’t want to take any ‘hitch hikers’." AJ left them to it and Deichmann walked back to the front gate with him, three Marines guarding them. The scene was one of controlled chaos as Susan Ling and Rice Deichmann took control of feeding the more than 250 people crowding around for peanut butter sandwiches and fruit. "AJ, we’re in deep shit here." "I know Will, but damn, we’ve got to get them out of here and headed south." He sighed. "We can’t leave the camp standing either." "I know, AJ. We’ll have to fire it." "Shit, what if…." AJ couldn’t contemplate any innocents dying, but he also couldn’t allow those ‘things’ a foothold. "You’re right. Get in the truck, Will. Go with your wife." "Not on my watch, Admiral Chegwidden." The Secretary of the Air Force snarled. "Let’s do this." They watched from the highway as the pride of the Marine Corps went up in flames. There was no cheering at the victory, no glee in their escape. Everyone watched, most with tears in their eyes as the flames lit the sky. AJ whispered just loud enough for Susan Ling, who was standing near him to hear, "I hope you can see this from where you’re at, you fucking traitor." :: :: ::
Melvin Frohike grimaced as he shifted in the front seat. The bullet had taken a chunk out of his arm. Parker himself had field dressed it and done a credible job, but Melvin had refused any pain meds beyond aspirin. "Nah. I only do recreational stuff." Parker had snorted at that, but left him alone. Now, Melvin Frohike, former grunt and tunnel rat was being chauffeured back to the hotel by a three-star general and commander of the ever-dwindling remnants of Fort Benning. He just hoped that today’s mission had been worth the additional causalities. "Was it worth it, General?" "Depends." Parker rubbed his jaw and quickly looked away from the road in front of them. "If our people can use what’s on those discs and in those binders to find a way to beat the greys, then I guess it was worth losing another 50 good men." Frohike didn’t think it sounded like Parker really believed what he was saying. "Yeah, well as soon as we get back to the hotel, I’ll see if I can download these files – if I can find a uplink. Maybe Scully or even Osborne will know what to do with the intel." "What about these two scientists we found barricaded in one of the quarantine rooms?" Parker turned down the street leading to the spacious, mostly deserted hotel. Two Humvees, their tops down, loaded with soldiers keeping careful eye for ambush, drove in front and behind the truck and its precious cargo. Frohike shuddered at the memory. They had found two scientists, uninfected by the alien virus, surround by vials and petrie dishes containing damn near every known deadly disease on the planet. Frohike prayed that the fire would kill Ebola as well as it killed the aliens. "Dr. Wahl says she’s willing to continue the research her colleagues started, but that she wasn’t personally involved in what went on in sub-basement ‘C’. Frohike turned briefly to study the two people in the back seat of the Jeep. Neither had uttered a word since they left the facility. Both sat as far away from one another as the vehicle would allow. "Hey, boss?" Webb never turned his eyes from the setting sun. "What?" "What gave you the idea?" "What idea, Frohike?" "You know. To use the fire extinguished to save Marita." He grinned. "Fucking brilliant. ‘Grey Frosties.’ Spray and shatter. Who’d a thunk?" His grin turned into a sad sigh. "Pity it only works on the real ones and not on the damn Zombies." Webb wondered briefly if he stared into the setting sun long enough if it would burn the day’s images from his brain. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," he whispered. It has been the only option besides stepping back and placing a bullet into the neck of the alien bounty hunter who had Marita around the throat, choking her to death after she had stood between the alien and one of the children. Webb had holstered his weapon prepared to try and physically pull the monster off of her, when he had spotted the heavy CO2 extinguisher in the alcove. Thinking at first to use it to hit the alien, he had a flash of inspiration and, flipping up the nozzle, he got into the thing’s face and let him have it. What happened next was startling. The alien released Marita, staggered back and morphed out of its human shape all together. Webb thought for sure he would burst out laughing. It was grey and gangling, almost a parody of the gentle aliens in Close Encounters. All thin and sickly, the face held a look of bland surprise, right before it popped, shattering into a thousand pieces of green ice at Marita’s feet. There was no coherent flow of memory. He couldn’t even remember getting out of bed. He knew they had eaten something. Something slightly rancid because he had thrown it up at the first dead body they had encountered. He remembered finding the office of the head of the research project, finding the files. He remembered Frohike screaming for more time to copy more files to discs, and finally, he remembered running like the hounds of hell were chasing them, the explosions coming seconds after they had cleared the building. She sat across from him, the handcuffs left somewhere on the lower level of the now burning building. She could run away anytime she chose. He doubted that she would though, not after everything that had happened. Somehow they were tied together by the actions they had both taken today. Tied more tightly than the cuffs had ever bound them. He tried desperately to put it in some kind of order. He forced himself to go over it in his mind. Frohike had gotten them in through a loading bay. Marita had led them to the control panel. He remembered thinking it was a trap. It was of sorts, nothing that she could have planned though. They got the readings that showed the containment labs were still intact, but they could get no readings for anything below the second sublevel. He remembered that Parker had sent teams of men to secure the contagious disease labs and that’s when the shit had hit the fan. After they had freed the two scientists, Dr. Wahl had started to explain about the new disease that had broken free of the labs below them. The doors burst open behind them and the black oil zombies nearly overran them. They lost six of the team as they ran down the hall trying to get back to the containment lab. Wahl had slid on something right in front of Webb and the next thing he knew, he was flat on his back, Marita on top of him. He had accepted that this was the way he would die, when Parker had burst in with three more soldiers and sprayed the area with gun fire followed by a careful, fiery execution of the symbiants that flowed from the bodies, looking for other hosts. He thought that was when Frohike had been wounded, but it could have been later. That hadn’t been the worst of it, not by a long shot. They approached the lower levels by staircase, inching down slowly, pausing to listen after almost each footfall. It had done them little good. They found the eerie green-lit lab full of body chambers. Six of them were full of liquid and human subjects. The women were bloated, not with natural gas that collects in the body when it dies, but the bloating caused by a living being feeding off the insides of a live host. This was no accidental infection; this was a controlled experiment. Frohike had cursed. "Mulder found Scully in one of these things when he tracked her down in Antarctica." There was little they could do for the women, but set the charges at the base of each chamber and pray they wouldn’t suffer much more than they already were. They lost more soldiers and killed more zombies. Somewhere along the way he had finally uncuffed her from him. After they had fallen together, he had realized how dangerous it was for both of them. He had really expected her to run away from him, but she never left his side. When they finally reached the lowest level, Frohike was finally able to access the rest of the security system. Frohike did a quick scan of the rooms stretching down the long hallway. He pointed to each door as they passed it. "Examine room, storage room, bathroom." Soldiers checked each door as they passed them. "Whoa, hoss." Frohike stopped in front of a pressure sealed door. "What?" Webb growled. "The computer shows this is a containment lab, but that it’s on a level four lock-down. I’m pretty sure that means there’s bad shit loose in there." "Yeah, but what?" "Doesn’t say, Webb." Frohike eyed him carefully. "But so what? Bad shit is bad shit." Webb carefully studied the sealed door. "Give me that thing." He took the hand-held computer and stared at the flashing warning. "Can you access the history on this?" He handed the computer back. "What history?" Frohike licked his lips. Marita leaned against the wall and eyed him carefully. Webb ran his fingers through his hair. "History as in when did the warning first go off? Did internal sensors activate it or did someone manually activate it? Who? What? And, when, Frohike?" The answers were contradictory at best and Frohike got even more nervous. Webb paced. "Vega!" "I’m here, Webb." The captain stood just behind him, a flame thrower in his hands. "Give me that and get back up the stairs." Webb demanded. "What the fuck are you doing and why?" Marita asked almost conversationally. Only the thin line of sweat on her upper lip betrayed her fear. Clay careful checked the settings of the flame thrower. "Once, early in my career, in Bucharest, I had to go in and find some stolen documents at the Russian Embassy there. Funny story, actually. Anyway, I spent three weeks as a janitor there." He looked up from his preparations. "Finally found them in a basement lab behind a steel door marked ‘live small pox culture.’ Now get out of here." Vega reported by walkie-talkie to Parker who was leading a larger team down another corridor, but Webb refused to discuss it. Vega finally sighed and stationed men outside the stairwell sending the rest of the team back up to relative safety. He returned with a rifle at his shoulder. Frohike spat out. "You can’t do it alone, hero, I’ve got to release the damn door. Marita just stood there, staring at them all, but not moving away. Webb hoisted the flame thrower and croaked out, "Now." The lock snicked but nothing happened. He heard her resigned sigh and saw her pale hand reach out, lever the handle and push the door open. "Oh my God." She breathed. "Son-of-a-bitch." Frohike gasped. "Julie?" Vega choked out and before Webb could stop him, the Captain pushed past him and entered the room. Eight children, the youngest perhaps two, the oldest no more than ten, huddled around a frightened young woman dressed in hospital blues. Her terror so complete she didn’t move or speak. The children were pressing into her and to each other to the point that Webb was sure they would topple over. "Julie, baby? It’s me. Martin." Not until Webb lowered the flame thrower nozzle and Frohike stepped out of sight to give the all clear to the soldiers in the stairwell did she relax and begin to focus on Vega’s soothing words. "Julie, honey, it's okay now. We’ll get you out of here. Baby, what happened?" The children looked from Julie to Vega to Webb to Marita, each trying to judge this latest outrage perpetrated upon them. One little girl stepped away from the others, walked up to Webb and tugged at his fatigue pants. "Mister?" She whispered so softly that he was forced to crouch down next to her. "Yes?" "Are you a policeman?" "Kind of. Why, honey?" "Momma said if I get lost I’m susposedta’ find a policeman. Will you find my mommy? I’m really hungry and Bobby wet his pants." "Did not!" A thin reedy voice wailed. That, of course, set the other children off and a cacophony of cries and whimpers filled the room. Frohike stuck his head back into the room to see what the hell was going on. A little boy broke free from the group and ran up waving his hand at the little girl as if he would hit her. "Did not, Tracy! You take it back, right now, or I’ll tell momma." Before he could hit her though, Marita reached down and picked him up. "Hey. No hitting. Okay? Come on." She soothed him. "She didn’t mean it." Before Tracy could insist that she did, in fact, mean it, Marita took the little boy into the hall. Webb met the young woman’s eye and there was no need for words now. He suspected that the mothers of these children were all in the room one floor above. "Come on. Let’s get them outside. He had meant to hand the children off to several of the soldiers, but just as he was trying to pry Tracy’s fingers from around his neck, he heard the gunfire and the shouts from the other end of the corridor. At the same time he heard Parker yell into the radio. "Frohike! Get your ass over here, I think we’ve struck paydirt." The next half-hour was a jumble of memories and horrors that he wanted desperately to forget. Clutching the little girl in one hand, the flame thrower in the other, he ran up the stairs behind Marita, who was lugging little Bobby. Vega had picked up two of the smallest children. Frohike had one by the hand and another under his arm, hurrying Julie who was running as fast as she could, dragging the two oldest children with her. A soldier grabbed one up in his arms and they made it to the floor above. "Move! Go!" Webb urged them up toward the next floor. "Can’t!" One of the soldiers yelled. "The damn thing is full of zombies heading down toward us." Webb fought the urge to curse. "Down the corridor to the other door." They ran; their order reversed now with Vega and Frohike in front. Frohike jerked open the door and Vega pushed Julie and her charges up into the stairwell. "Damn it, Marita. Hurry!" Webb shoved the little girl into the arms of a soldier and started to grab the boy from her when a door opened and a bounty hunter, his face a mask of stony anger, stepped out and grabbed the boy from her. Marita screeched in rage. "No, you fucking bastard," and launched herself with such force that the bounty hunter, momentarily stunned, dropped the boy and grabbed her by the neck. The fire extinguisher had done more than Webb had ever expected and they ran forward to the next crisis. Webb had pushed her upward before returning to help Parker. At least that’s how he remembered it now. He couldn’t remember ever being this spent in his entire life. They reached the hotel. Webb pulled himself from the car and waited for her to get out. She never looked at him, but ran back to the truck to help the children down. Bobby was screaming hysterically until he saw her and ran to her arms. Tracy clung to her leg but Marita managed to get them inside. Vega helped Dr. Julie Carstairs down from the truck and together they got the other six children inside where Mrs. Parker and her daughter were waiting. The general had called and informed them that they were bringing eight orphans back with them. Two hours later, they had successfully transmitted the information and reported in to Toblin. Upon hearing that the once proud contingent of Fort Benning had been reduced to less than150 men, women and children, the President ordered Parker to come north. "We’ll find somewhere to put you. At least there aren’t zombies here and, by God, I need you and your men. Just, please bring supplies with you. Bedding, whatever food and…" The transmission fell silent for a moment and then he came back. "General, Miss Reyes says that you can bring the whole damn hotel if you have the trucks to do it." "Trucks I’ve got. More than I need, but we’ll set out as soon as we can. Sooner if the wind changes. Over and out." Parker set the merely tired to work. The exhausted and wounded, he sent to bed. "That goes for you too, gentlemen." He didn’t have to tell Frohike twice. Webb just stood there for a moment looking around. It took him a moment for him to realize who he was looking for. He shook himself, hoped she had taken the opportunity to hightail it and trudged up the stairs. The electricity had gone out sometime during the day, the fire sweeping Atlanta having taken out the transformers. The door was still ajar. They had little choice when leaving but to throw the deadbolt open, since none of the card keys worked any more. His soiled clothes were stripped and the water running before the door had a chance to click shut. He fell asleep standing under the shower but that last horrible visage invaded his dreams and he jerked awake to quickly finish washing. He dried off and walked naked into the bedroom to find the clean pile of clothes that someone had left there. These weren’t fatigues, but jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and civilian underwear and socks. He let the thought that these belonged to someone who had died flicker across his brain, but the sight of her on the balcony, one leg thrown over the rail, drove all other thoughts from his head. He didn’t even bother to put anything on, but walked up behind her as quietly as he could. "After today, isn’t this the coward’s way out?" He growled. "After today, how the hell am I supposed to go on living?" She whispered to the burning skyline. "You were right. I should have done something." "Yeah, you should have. And if you jump, then everything is atoned for? He joined her at the rail, his hand resting next to hers, but he made no effort to pull her back. "Of course, what if you had jumped last night instead? You wouldn’t have been there to save that little boy." "I didn’t save him, you did. And even if I did, so what? How long will he live? Huh? Tell me that, Webb." She brought her leg back over the rail and glared at him. "For what? We really fucked it up. We handed Earth over to them, didn’t we? "I don’t know, Marita. You have a lot to answer for. You should have said something. Of course, Mulder said a lot and it didn’t do much good. I guess you’re just going to have to go on and save who you can, when you can." "Mrs. Parker wouldn’t even let me stay with them." She whispered and went back into the room. Her naked body seemed to glow in the reflected fire. "Face it, Webb. I’m the last of the whores to be ridden out of town by the righteous and God-Fearing. And, I was going. I just came upstairs to grab some clothes from one of the rooms. Only they’re all locked. I had to clean the stench off of me, but now I don’t have anything to wear." She looked back at the balcony. "It just seemed easier in the long run." He grabbed up the jeans from the pile and pulled them on. Going to the door he opened it and looked down the hall. "Sergeant." "Sir?" "Go find some women’s clothes, please. "Size 6 or 8. Just bring a suitcase if you find one." "Yes, sir." "Thanks. I’ll be out of your hair soon." She returned to stare out the window at the dying city. "Where are you going?" She shook her head. They waited in silence until a soft knock at the door announced the arrival of her clothes. There wasn’t a suitcase and the jeans were 10s, but she started to pull them on, when he stopped her with a touch. "Tomorrow. Get some sleep and you can leave tomorrow." "Okay." She made no move to further the contact but went to the bed and lay down. "You still got the cuffs? You can’t be too careful." Her attempt at brittle sarcasm fell flat. "Shut up, Marita, and go to sleep." He went to the other bed and wearily crawled into it. She lay there staring up at the ceiling, not seeing the shadows cast by the raging inferno only a few miles away dancing there. The shadows she saw stretched back over the years. How many years of betrayal? It had started in college when her beloved father or at least the man she had thought of as her father, insisted that she go into ‘Global Studies’ instead of her preferred Art History. The arranged job with the United Nations had seemed a dream job – it had turned into a nightmare - an omen of all the bad things to come. The cigarette smoke filled meetings. The dinner with Spender when he had announced he, not the husband of her mother, was her real father. The confirmation by both her mother and her mother’s husband. The years of doing what Spender demanded. All the times she had steered Fox Mulder in the wrong direction. Alex Krycek. Even though the room was still warm in the late fall, air heated even further by the huge bonfire that was Atlanta, she was suddenly very cold. She pulled the ugly floral bedspread around her and stood. She spent the rest of the night bearing witness to the devastation before her, trying to drive the thoughts of the one-armed Russian from her mind. He had been able to do what she never could, be his own man within the conspiracy. He had paid dearly for his independence, Spender was a cruel taskmaster, but still Alex thought he was playing his own hand. At first she had loved him for his rebellion, for his cocky manner, for his very brutality. Where Spender had coaxed her into doing his bidding – all his threats were always veiled and nebulous, Alex took what he wanted, when he wanted it. He took her when he wanted and did it violently. Even after she had come to free him from the prison in Tunisia, he had shown her no tenderness or gratitude. Of course, she would have left him there if Spender hadn’t made her get him out. That night in the hotel room he had thrown her against the wall and raped her ass, hissing "This is what they did to me in that hellhole, you bitch." She had been torn by his attack and welcomed it. It was her punishment and she reveled in the pain. She knew she deserved it. Spender had shown her the coming hell she would suffer if she weren’t on the ‘right’ side. He had promised her redemption when he had the consortium’s scientists infect her with the anti-virus. It had worked – after the long painful recovery from the ‘cure’. She closed her eyes at the memory of being locked in the room with the black oil. The terror as it touched her naked skin and the way it had turned and left her alone feeding instead on some poor bastard who hadn’t been given the serum. The sun rose and painted the sky a bright fiery orange as it tried to penetrate the smoke. She listened to Webb as he tossed and turned in his own nightmares. She wondered idly if Porter Webb had escaped or not. Considered the implications of what Webb had said about the bounty hunter coming for him like that. She spared little thought on who Francesca was. Everyone lost someone. She had lost everyone. Her mother had cured her own chronic depression by running her Mercedes into a bridge embankment six months ago. She wondered why Webb had saved her today. She didn’t like it one bit. She owed no one any kindness. She needed to be cold and hard like Alex. Maybe Skinner would put a bullet in her brain, too. She stalked past the bed, intent on donning the too large clothes and sneaking out. But she knew he was allowing it. Knew that he had probably told the guards to let her pass if they saw her. Hell, he probably packed a damn survival pack for her. She dropped the jeans and went to stand at the foot of his bed. The tent in the sheet brought a cruel grin. All men were the same. She knew what Alex would have expected of her and she knelt at the foot of the bed and lifted the sheet. Slowly inching forward, she kissed her way to his morning erection. She knew he was awake as soon as she drew her tongue up the length of his shaft. If there was one thing she knew, it was that she did this well. She laved the tip, playing with the slit for a moment before engulfing him until his cock hit the back of her throat. She felt his body tense and prepared herself for him to grab her hair and fuck her mouth like Alex always had. But he didn’t touch her, didn’t buck. She renewed her effects, determined to make him lose control. She drew her teeth along the length of his shaft, nipping the very tip. She fondled his scrotum; her fingers caressed his anus. His breath was coming in short gasps and she took a deep breath in preparation to swallowing him whole. He did grab her hair then, but instead of bucking into her, he pulled her forward and she found herself laying on her back staring into dark green eyes. She struggled but kept her eyes on his. She snarled. "Just do it and get if over with, Webb?" "Why, Marita? You like it rough? Is that the way Alex fucked you?" Anger flashed across her face and she almost threw him off, but he straddled her and held her arms securely against her side. "You bastard. Just do it. Go ahead and use me, then get the hell off of me." He grinned. "You’re the one who came to my bed, Marita." He moved back to her side, moving her one arm under his body. "You want this?" He bucked lightly against her? "You want it fast and hard?" "Yessss. Damn you. Do it." She tugged ineffectively. "Pity. I’m in the mood for nice and easy." He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her gently, moving his lips sensuously over her face, down her cheek to her ear. His tongue traced the curve of her neck. Soft ethereal kisses covered her skin and Marita Covarrubias, who had convinced herself that the rough brutal lovemaking of Alex Krycek was what she craved, allowed her senses to reawaken to tender lovemaking. He took his time, barely touching her, grazing his hand over her skin, tracing each scar almost reverently, burning her with his heat and desire. She arched into his touch, demanding more, but he anticipated each feint on her part and he kept her on the edge. "Please, Webb." She wept. "Please, I need." "You need to let go, Marita." He buried his lips between her breasts, placing kisses on each firm mound. "Let go for me, Marita." His fingers played in her curls; his hand parted her thighs to explore her weeping sex. With slow, gentle circles he teased her clit until she was nearly incoherent in her pleas. She bucked frantically against his fist, but he held her down and slowly invaded her very core. Spreading her labia, he probed and stretched and finally, as he felt her vaginal walls begin to pulse and contract, he pulled her onto him, letting her settle herself over his erection. "You want me, Marita?" "Damn you, yessss." She breathed as she slowly sank down on him. She began to rise and fall on him, finally accepting his slow lead. She rocked back forth and was pleased to see that he, too, was beginning to lose a little of the control he had exhibited bringing her to the brink of orgasm. "Feels so good, doesn’t it Webb. You feel so good inside me." He didn’t answer her, though he kept his eyes locked on hers. She wasn’t really used to coming with a man inside of her, never with Krycek, who sometimes brought her off after he was done, but more often than not let her do it for herself. It was like Webb was studying her, trying to see into her soul and it was too painful. She felt the tears begin to well inside of her and she started to freeze up, but he was having none of that either. Carefully, he rolled her over and took control of the situation. He knelt there between her legs thrusting and pulling almost all the way out on each back thrust. He reached down and caressed her clit, insisting that she feel the wonderful burning sensation. She fought it for a little while but he wouldn’t allow it and she finally let the feeling overtake her. She held onto him with her legs and her arms, riding out the most intense orgasm she could ever remember. Not until she was already coming down from her high did he begin to increase the rhythm of his thrusts, not until her tears started to flow in earnest did he finally shoot his seed deep within her womb. She was surprised and even more upset that he held her until the tears subsided. Fortunately, the pounding at the door freed them both from the intense bond they both felt stealing over them, a bond neither really wanted. Home :: cross-overs Index :: e-mail |