Title: Paradise Lost(1/1) Author: Maraschino Feedback to: maraschino@ibm.net Classification: SH Rating: PG-13/R -- for language and sexual connotations Summary: Weird things are happening in the X-Files world. Things are not always what they appear to be. My own ode to Badfic. Dedication: To *all* authors out there. I love all your abilities to entertain, to make me laugh, to make me cry, to make me groan -- even if you didn't intend for it to be that way... :) Just consider it a little parody of what I have read on atxc over the past couple months. Author's notes: So this is what mid term exam stress and four hours of mad typing do to a person... Many thanks to Anna, who not only provided the title, but also didn't kick my butt too hard when I strayed to this level... :) Disclaimer: The characters depicted here are property of Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made. ******* The federal agent moved closer towards his intended target, gripping his gun tightly, feeling his finger pause above the trigger. His wing tips failed to make noise as they stepped stealthily across the pavement, and his hazel eyes scrutinized the dead end in front of him suspiciously -- his pupils dilated from the lack of light. A noise. The male agent turned a quick one eighty, whispering a "what the hell?" as a sudden hot wind seared across his face, as his feet lost balance and his gun clattered to the ground. A scream ripped through Fox Mulder's throat as hungry claws ripped through his flesh, tore through his eyes -- letting his limp body fall bonelessly towards an eternal oblivion called death. The pain suddenly lessened, the feeling of falling suddenly disappearing as tiny feet tingled the hairs on his arms. The white after glow of a nuclear melt down soon faded underneath his eyelids, and his ears could detect a faint scratching, as something scurried on the floor below him. Mulder's eyes lids opened on their own volition, warily taking in their new surroundings. "Rats..." Mulder whispered in horror, hastily getting up to his feet, watching the rodents helplessly fall off his chest onto the floor. The agent moved back in horror, as the floor was covered in matted fur and twisting tails. The heel of his foot stepped on something soft... something hard -- so that bones broke and blood squirted out from the side of his shoe. Something squealed, squawked, then was silenced -- a horrible sound that made his innards grind and his shoulders shudder. The federal agent turned a quick three sixty, anxious to get out -- feeling sudden onset claustrophobia set in. He hastily walked towards the door on the right, hearing bones fracture and shatter, hearing organs and vessels squish as they were crushed under his weight. Someone was moaning... crying, and Mulder turned his head towards the noise, noticing the long line of faceless people waiting before a desk. Mulder scratched his head. He had been certain that he had fallen in a sewer, but the scene that was unfolding before him was carbon copy to the many cheap motels that he and his partner had stayed at. A very busy cheap motel -- as Mulder could not discern where the line up ended. The woman at the dusky front desk was crying, tears splashing onto the black floor underneath her. Something, hidden behind the shadows of the desk, pointed a finger, and the woman hung her head dejectedly, walking towards the end of the line. Mulder's eyebrows furrowed; his hand mysteriously found itself running through his hair. He walked hesitantly to the front of the line, feeling the wrath of thousands of eyes upon him. Feral, was all Mulder could think of, when he witnessed the figure behind the bullet proof glass for the first time. He now knew why there had been rats all around him -- the figure's face had been twisted horribly. His visage was a narrow triangle, and the facial hair was unkempt -- hairs that were an inch long jutted out of the figure's nostrils. Beady eyes followed Mulder's progress to the window, and the federal agent met his gaze, refusing to falter. "What is this?" The beady eyes turned towards him with disdain, his voice sounding mechanical as it resonated through the speakers. "This is the Cry Check." Mulder shook his head, not understanding. "What?" The figure turned towards him annoyed, squaring his feral figure towards the federal agent. Mulder resisted the urge to gasp, when a hunched over posture challenged him. The right hand was limp, cruelly disfigured -- as if the bone had been broken at the elbow and twisted into the shoulder. The figure sighed resignedly, pointing to the sign above his head. "This is the Cry Check. There is no entry permitted if you are crying." Mulder's eyebrows furrowed at the nonsensicality of it. "If you're crying?" The rat rolled his eyes, as if the answer was obivous. "If you're crying, there is no entry. The woman that just left was crying. Ergo, she wasn't allowed in." Mulder nodded, despite the feeling that everyone around him was speaking in tongues. A light suddenly caught his eyes, as the smell of sulfur filled his nostrils. The familiar sound of a lighter being ignited caused his blood to burn, his hands to shake, as memories of betrayal soon filled his mind. He grabbed the rat figure by the collar, feeling the greasy fur lubricate his fingers. "What kind of game is this?" he hissed. "Where's Scully?" When there was no answer Mulder shook the figure harder, yelling. "Who are you?" The figure started trembling. "I'm... I'm just a rat boy. That's all I am!! I swear!" Mulder looked at him doubtfully. "You're a rat boy Cry Check?" He nodded back tearfully. Mulder let go of the collar, disgusted and stormed up to the Cigarette Man. Trying to pull the cigarette out of the wrinkled mouth, the federal agent's hands grabbed a handful of lip, causing an annoyed glare from the Consortium member. Mulder wiped the saliva off his hands methodically, while keeping his voice steady. "What are you doing here?" "What are you doing here, Mr. Mulder?" "You black lunged son of a bitch..." The Cigarette Smoking Man closed his eyes as if the words pained him. Mulder stared impatiently. "What?" The Cigarette Smoking Man took out another cigarette, and lighted it with ease, inhaling another drag before proceeding. "Please... Pink Lung Challenged will suffice." "What." Mulder stared at the elder member -- amazed at his audacity. "You expect me to call you politically correct terms?" The older man nodded miserably, but Mulder could not contain his anger. "After everything you've done to me -- to Scully -- I will not stoop to such low-life behavior." The Pink Lung Challenged Man smiled cruelly before turning towards Mulder. "But have you asked of yourself, Agent Mulder, what I can offer you?" Mulder shook his head. "You don't have anything of value to me." The Pink Lung Challenged Man shook his head, disagreeing. "I have something that you could only dream of doing." "And that is?" The Pink Lung Wannabe Man took another drag of his carcinogenic cigarette before uttering a word. "Shit." Mulder's eyes widened. "Fuck." Mulder's mouth dropped open. "Cock sucking. Asshole." Mulder could not say anything, the temptation too great -- the choice his. Mulder suddenly ached for his partner -- for her support, but she was nowhere. He had to make this choice himself -- but the reality of it... It was almost beyond comprehension. A hoarse whisper escaped from his lips. "I can swear?" Mulder felt words tumble out of his mouth, the possibilities seemingly endless. "You mean I can really swear? Really curse and use expletives?" The Smoking Man said nothing, content to continue puffing on his cigarette. Mulder suddenly sobered, a thought occurring. "What price do I have to pay for this luxury? What do I have to forsake to be able to swear?" Mulder hedged his bet, staring steely at the man in front of him. "For Agent Scully to swear." The Smoking Man once again smiled. "Leave. Leave and never come back. We can never exist in the same place, Fox. Never." The man's voice grew sadder. "There have been rumors... Fox. 'He is dead'. 'He is alive'. 'He's so-and-so's father'. The truth is..." Mulder watched, speechless, as a tear rolled down his face. "The truth is, Fox, that I'm a stereotypical bad guy." Mulder's mouth gaped open. His response was weak... horrified. "No..." The Smoking Man grabbed the federal agent's arm desperately. "Go, Fox. Before the same thing happens to you. Don't become a stereotype." The man's voice grew more persistant. "Leave!!" Mulder stumbled over his feet, unsure as to which direction he should run towards. He ran into something, feeling his body slide down the rat boy's fur coat. Mulder turned to him desperately, looking behind him -- feeling for sure like he had been followed. "I need to leave. I need to get out of here." The rat shook his head. "You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave." Mulder frowned, the refrain vaguely familair. "Why not?" "Because you're not in pain." Mulder stared at the feral creation dubiously. "I have to be in pain to leave?" "Yes." Mulder once again looked around, taking in the black walls, the black floors. The Smoking Man had disappeared, but the line up was still there. Mulder looked behind the desk to see a goat manning the booth. The rat smirked back, following Mulder gaze. "Yeah... the goat boy's such a sucker." Mulder shook his head, trying to clear his head. "Where am I?" "Don't you know?" the rat asked, baring two yellowed teeth. Mulder shook his head. "You know... Hotel Californina? You can check out anytime you want, but you can never leave?" Mulder's eyes remained uncomprehending. "You've heard of Hell?" Mulder's eyes clouded over in confusion. "I'm in hell?" The rat nodded. Mulder once again looked around, looking for something... hell-ish. "There's no fire." "We had to put them out. They were a fire hazard... and too many devils were getting their hair singed." Mulder nodded, emoting his sympathies. "I bet it smelled bad," he added. The rat offered a you-have-no-idea shrug before proceeding. "Anyway, if you want to leave, you need to be in pain. My superior hates it when someone leaves when they're not it pain." Mulder's eyebrows furrowed once again, thinking back to Nostradamus and Dr. Faustus... and Brad Pitt with Morgan Freeman and an uncredited Kevin Spacey. "Aren't you supposed to be in pain, to be in hell? The rat sighed, rolling his eyes with exasperation. "Not according to the ethics board. Someone complained so they threatened to close us down." The rat nodded to Mulder. "So we automatically kick out anyone who's in pain to avoid litigation... Yay, for you." "Oh...." The rat waved his hand, anxious to get onto more pressing matters. "Now... what's your pain?" Mulder shrugged his shoulders. "I can pretend I have a broken leg." "Nope." Mulder frowned "Why not?" "Because it's been done before." "Not be me." "Yes by you." At Mulder's peturbed glare the rat continued. "There are alternate realities Mr. Mulder. And alternate hells. You have to create an alternate fiction if you want out of here. In other words, you can't use an excuse that has been used already by your alternate being." "Oh..." Mulder stared at his feet, examined his arms, put a hand over his chest, in an attempt to think of a suitable malady. "What if I got a concussion?" "It's been done." "What if I got appendicitis?" "Nothing new there." "What if I got into a car accident and broke my back?" "Can't." "Um... what if I was subject to some tests so that my brain was fried?" "Nope." "Um... what if I tracked down a serial killer, and I could see into his mind, and all my colleagues all thought that I was crazy so they tried to drug me, but then I got him, but then had to go through long period of recuperation after." "Have you ever heard of a thing called originality, Mr. Mulder?" "What if someone nailed my hand to a chair?" "No can do." "Electroshock therapy?" "Oh please..." The rat started tapping a claw impatiently on the floor while waiting for the federal agent. "Probes?" Mulder offered the suggestion with a high pitched squawk. "Sorry." Mulder considered saying something, and then held it back... then heard the words tumble out of his mouth. "What if I um... burned my... um... man's gland?" The rat shook his head apologetically. Mulder waved his hand exasperatedly, exploding. "Jesus Christ!! What haven't I done?" The rat through for a second, then pointed towards Mulder's foot. "You've never broken a toe." Mulder considered the statement. "Really?" "Yup." The feral figure pulled out a form from behind his back, and handed it to Mulder. "You need to fill this out." A pen was produced and Mulder started hastily scribbling. "Wait!!" The rat stopped, staring in horror at Mulder's cursive strokes. "You're doing it all wrong." Mulder's pen paused in mid-air. "What am I supposed to do?" "First you need to fill out what kind of report this is... you know... that this is a request for relocation." Mulder scribbled the words down. "Now what?" The rat rolled his eyes. "What is your name? How long is this report going to be?" The rat watched Mulder hastily scrawl letters down onto paper. "Now, Mulder, what kind of request is this? Is this a desperate request? A sad request? A comical request? Does this request have a song in it?" Mulder wrote down the desired information, his hand becoming sore. "Now, write down if there are any key things in here that we should be aware of. Are there swear words? Is there sexual connotations? Are you relocating to a friend's house? Is this friend a platonic friend, or is there Unresolved Sexual Tension between you? Are you relocating to a lover's house, and will you be describing in graphic detail your sex life? And if there is graphic sex, is it same sex sex? If so... we need names... initials preferably... separated by a slash. And lastly, you also need to write a summary of what this is." Mulder looked at the rat incredulously, his arm muscles burning from fatigue. "You got to be joking." "My superior takes these forms really seriously, Mr. Mulder. Should a young devil run into these forms by happenstance, we want to be aware of the content of these forms." Mulder handed the form back to the rat. "Who is your superior?" The rat produced a picture from the bowels of his fur coat. "Lieutenant Okanagan," Mulder recited, staring at the picture. "Left-tenant, Mr. Mulder." Mulder looked at the rat, confused by the correction. "The Amercians lost the rights to hell once it was found out that the head devil had an unsolicited affair with one of the angels. So, the Canadians got hell by default." "Seriously?" "Yes..." The rat waved his arms around angrily. "Who else would have passed the no-pain rule?" The rat reached into his fur and pulled out a ball of hardened dough. He passed the offensive object to Mulder, motioning for the federal agent to keep it. "It's a Tim Bit," he said by way of explanation. "Holy co..." Mulder stopped himself, before smiling. "Holy *shit*." The rat rolled his eyes. "Now... as for how we're going to get you home... I'm not sure." Mulder eyed the rat suspiciously.. "What are you talking about? You don't know?" "You're apartment... Too much death..." The rat started to cry. Mulder shook his head, suddenly anxious to get home -- aware of the ludicrousy of holding a ball of dough while arguing with a rat. "X died when I wasn't even there... the DoD agent... well, he had a gun raised to my head..." Mulder's voice trailed off. The rat started sobbing harder, and Mulder stared at him uncomprehendly, watching -- in disgust -- as the rat's nose dripped green. "Holy shittin' mackeral...." The feral creature cried harder at the curse, and he wiped his nose emotionally, using the hair on hands to wipe his eyes dry. "No..." he managed between hiccups. "Your poor fish..." Mulder resisted to pull the hair out of his head in frustration, and instead stomped his foot on the ground impatiently. "How the hell is this supposed to get me home?" Mulder suddenly yelled, watching -- with some enjoyment -- as the rat jumped in surprise. Suddenly music started blarinrg thourgh invisible speakers. Sarah McLachlan's hollow voice was accompanying Celine Dion's soprano. Mulder held his hands to his ears -- the music causing his diaphragm to shake. "What is the music for?" The rat had his hands to his ears and started yelling. "Being in Possession of them usually breakes down the mysteries that I have unknowingly built. In the Shelter of my Home, I can usually come to a great insight or epiphany. You know, I'm Drawn To The Rhythm of it or something... It usually makes me smack myself upside the head, and go, 'holy cow, I didn't know I felt like that'." "And that works?" "Well, it does for your partner sometimes." Mulder and the rat stared at each other, their eyes glowing. Mulder felt a giggle erupt from somewhere, giddy at the prospect of finally going somewhere familiar. "I can go to my partner's house -- her dog died in the forest." The rat's eyes suddely misted over. "That gold ornament she wears aroud her neck is so beautiful. So simple... yet beautiful."' Mulder opened his mouth to comment but suddenly decided the fates were not worth tempting. *** Soon Mulder was at Scully's house, and a blinding pain suddenly shot up from his big toe to his leg. He let out a groan, holding his one knee up while supporting his balance by holding onto a nearby lamp. Mulder heard his partner call out to him, and her body was suddenly swaying towards his direction. "Mulder, what are you doing here?" "I..." He stumbled for the right words, while looking around him, noticing his feral companion had left. "I'm fine?" Scully proposed. Mulder shook his head, only able to point towards the floor, unable to spit out the words of what had happened to him. "I..." "You broke your toe, and now your here, and we'll use this tender moment to have mad, passionate sex." Mulder's face faltered. "Wha...??" Scully approached Mulder, running her fingers roughly through his hair, causing his head to be jolted side to side in the process. "You want to taste me, to feel my blood course through your veins, as we truly join ourselves together and become one. 2 become 1, Mulder." The female's fingers started to play with the belt of the robe, her hips swaying seductively side to side. "You'd like to feel my skin against you, you'd like to taste me for the woman that I am." Scully took Mulder's hand and laid it upon her bare breast, eliciting a groan. "You would like nothing more to rock with me as we finally pass over the threshold." Her hands pressed against his face, and she nuzzled the back of his neck. "We'd love each other unconditionally. I would feel you inside of me, our sweaty bodies would intertwine with each other in a chiasma of imperfect flesh. And in one glorious moment, our worlds will stop, one heartbeat will seem like eternity, and for one moment, everything in our lives will be perfect." Mulder swallowed, finally nodding. Scully snapped her robe shut, suddenly shivering from the chill in the room. "Sorry. Can't." Her face sobered, and she licked her lips nervously. "Mulder, there's something I haven't told you." Mulder leaned in closer. "You can trust me, Scully." "I'm bi." "What?" "But only on Wednesdays," she hastily added. "Huh?" "And a lesbian on Sundays." "Wuh-aat?" "And I do Skinner every other day." Mulder felt his jaw hit the floor. His knees suddenly buckled, and an image of Skinner and his head came unbidden into Mulder's mind. His body lurched, and weight was added to his previously forgotten broken toe. Scully moved instantly to Mulder, sensing his distress, running fingers over his face, opening his eyes, checking their response to the light. "Mulder... you're shaking." "I'm not," he mumbled. Mulder could hear Scully's feet patter across the hallway, disappear, and then hammer their way back to where he was sitting. Vials of medication and syringes were laid out in front of his feet, and Mulder could only stare as she hastily went through the pile. "What are you doing?" Scully read the label on a bottle and tore the child proof lid off with her teeth, ripping out the cotton batton. "Nembutal... Haldol... Valium... Flexiril... Aspirin... Tylonel with codeine... morphine..." Scully regarded another bottle: ritalin. She tossed the bottle over her shoulder, swearing as more pill bottles were upended, as syringe packages were ripped open. Mulder stared at the forty odd pills beckoning him, mesmorized temporily by their colors. "Er... Scully. What are you doing?" "Helping you?" Mulder pushed Scully's hands away, still dealing with the Nagasaki that she had dropped on him previous seconds ago. "Um..." Mulder shifted away from the pills, from his partner -- trying to ease his way casually towards the door. "What does your mother think about your lifestyle choice?" Scully smiled. "Of course she accepts it. That's how she *always* is. It's the way she was created, Mulder. Written in her genes. She loves everyone. I could, you know, totally be insensitive at times to your feelings, or ditch you, or be an uncaring partner, or even be partly responsible for someone's abduction and subsequent cancer, but still my mom would love me." Mulder nodded dumbly, putting a hand to his head. His brain was beginning to hurt. "Mulder, I think you should take these pills..." "No..." Scully pouted. "Don't you trust me?" Mulder nodded, unable to meet her blazing blue eyes. "Yes, but..." His partner crossed her arms across her chest, frowning at the response. "Prove it. Tell me how much you trust me. Obviously not enough to allow me to adminsister this medication to you." Mulder took a breath. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, indeed. The federal agent started slowly, using his eyes to express his words. "Scully, I trust you so much. Your trust... your friendship mean so much to me. My feelings for you are almost palpable.... but I don't think that pills..." Scully shook her head, laughing. "Mulder... are you sure you don't mean palatable?" Mulder stopped in mid sentence. "What?" "Palpable of palatable... which one do you mean?" "I don't know... whatever. What are you telling me this for?" "Dangling modifier." Mulder stepped back towards the door again, his hand groping for the door knob so that he could escape. "What?" "You used a dangling modifier, Mulder." Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The deadbolt was done up. "So what?" "Swear to me you won't do that again." Mulder rolled his eyes. "I swear, Scouts honor, that I won't do it again." Scully eyed Mulder suspiciously. "Spell it. Spell 'honour' for me." Mulder stared at her incredulously, hearing his voice shake the glassware of her house. "Oh, for God sakes, Scully!! You're acting like a fucking child!!" The gun was drawn quickly and Mulder was staring down the barrel of his partner's gun. Mulder raised his hands in surrender, biting his lip. "Okay, okay... aech, oh, en, oh, are." Scully shook her head, a tear escaping from her eyes. "You are not my partner. You can't be. Honour is spelt aech, oh, en, oh, you, are. It was an X-File the real Mulder would have known -- how the strange activity in British Columbia instigated the topple of the imperial system, only to witness the rise of an all-encompassing Canadian society." Scully undid the safety of her pistol, levelling it at Mulder's chest. "Scully," his voice came out pleading as his arms shook above his head. "I'm Mulder. You're partner." He could see his partner's fingers tensing. "What are you doing? Scully. Scully... no, don't. Scull-eeeeeeee!!" Her apartment shook, and Mulder watched the lead pellet sear into his eyes. His arm blindly went out to Scully, his partner, his severely disturbed friend, and he shouted out one last defiant, "No!!" *** Scully ran in when she found Mulder holding his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. She carefully loosened the fingers, and took his hand within hers. "Mulder... wake up. You've been hit on the head.. and you're in the hosptial with a concussion." Mulder opened his eyes slowly.... wearily. When he saw his partner, he skirted over to the other side, pulling out an IV line, unnoticed by the patient. Scully sighed. It was standard operating procedure for Mulder in the hospital. She walked over, claiming Mulder's hand again with a resigned sigh. "I'm going to have to put that IV back in Mulder." No." The command was a mere gasp, but the intensity caused Scully to retreat a few steps. "What?" "Get a nurse to do it." Sculy raised an eybrow. "Don't you want me to do it?" Mulder shook his head desperately. "Nurse." Scully hid her wounded pride, and continued to hold Mulder's hand, not failing to notice how he was trying to twist it away. A barrel chested figure entered the room, causing Scully to drop the hand, to move over to allow room for her superior. "Agent Mulder, how is that after every case you manage to end up here?" Mulder refused to speak, looking fearfully between Scully and his boss. Scully looked to her superior. "Mulder's still a little out of it; he just woke up." Skinner nodded, telling her that he would come back soon. Mulder watched as Scully's gaze stayed with her superior officer's receding figure a little too long. "Doesn't Skinner have a funny head, Mulder?" Mulder looked at her, refusing to speak. "I mean, how it's always shining and glistening in the light?" Mulder crawled into the far corner of his bed, pulling the thin covers over his body as added protection. Suddenly, the skin not covered by the paper thin gown hit the cool railing and Mulder yelped, hearing his voice echo within the fissures of his brain. After the pain passed, after his sight returned to normal, Mulder issued a sigh of relief. He turned to Scully, relieved she wasn't scurrying off to her bathroom, or her little black bag. "Oh shit, Scully... my head hurts." Scully sat there with a worried expresion on her face. Mulder stared back. "What?" Scully's hands checked his face for fever, opened his eyes for their response to light. "You never swear, Mulder." Her hands floated above his broken IV line, and she started tsk tsking. "You're not acting like yourself." She paused grimly before reaching for the call button, before Mulder decided to barricade himself in the bathroom, hearing his partner's voice call out to him, even though he slammed the door shut, and pressed his body against it. "I just want you to know Mulder that you're acting very out of character!" *** END Author's Notes: Yeah, so it's not my usual fare. Hotel California belongs to the Eagles. Home, Shelter, Possession, and Drawn to the Rhythm belong to Sarah McLachlan. 2 become 1 belongs to the Spice Girls . Tim Bits belong to Tim Hortons. And I think the Okanagan belongs to uh... British Columbia... maybe Canada.