Title: Possessed Author: Ashlea Ensro Feedback: Send all flowers, frilly pink hearts, and packages of Mr. Noodles to morleyphile@yahoo.com. Rating: PG-13 Category: SRH Keywords: Mulder/Scully/Skinner/Krycek (not all at the same time) Badfic. Songfic. BAD Songfic. Spoilers: Up to the movie. Disclaimer: The names you recognize really well belong to CC, 1013, and the nice lawyers at Fox. The names you kinda recognize are actual people who belong to themselves. The names you don't recognize have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent. Summary: Ashlea does songfic. It's self-indulgent. You've been warned. Author's Notes: Manik wrote one of the sentences in this story, which set the ball rolling. If you want to blame anyone... This won't make much sense unless you've read some of my other fanfic. It also might help to read some of the stories by the fanfic authors who make appearances in this: Manik, Anna Otto, Rachel Ehrentreu, and Laura Kennicutt. No, I don't know what nepotism means! ~~~~Possessed~~~~ They had nailed the doors shut, boarded the windows, sprayed the perimeter of the J. Edgar Hoover Building with 15 cans of Die, Bug! Die! and dressed themselves in bee-proof insect nets. They had left nothing to chance. This time they were going to do it. After almost six years of frustrated, misplaced glances over ice teas, innuendos, abductions, cold nights that didn't rain sleeping bags, and the occasional bee sting - they were ready. After almost six years of unresolved sexual tension, Fox William Mulder and Dana Katherine Scully were finally, finally, going to kiss. Mulder swept aside the pile of papers on the desk they shared, then pulled his red-headed partner closer into a passionate embrace. As their lips brushed through the bug nets, he heard it. Somewhere, in the distance, a voice was singing. //Every night in my dreams I see you, I feel you That is how I know you go on.// He pulled away abruptly. "What?" Scully asked, her voice suddenly husky. "Did you-" He caught a glimpse of her cerulean blue eyes, then shrugged. "Never mind." He leaned in towards her as the voice rose again. //Far across the distance and spaces between us You have come to show you go on.// He stopped, looking around for the source. Scully scowled, impatient. He couldn't blame her. Six years of near celibacy, interrupted only by the odd mutant or psycho, could take its toll on anyone. "Sorry, I just-" "Kiss me, Mulder." //Love can touch us one time and last for a lifetime And never let go till we're gone.// "I...can't." It was a struggle. Six years of near celibacy, interrupted only by the odd vampire or English witch, had taken its toll on him. "What's wrong?" "It's just...it's..." He swallowed, unable to meet her gaze. "It's just...Scully...it's Celine Dion." "What?" "Can't you hear it? Listen!" His voice was strained, high pitched, desperate. //Near, far, wherever you are I believe that the heart does go on Once more, you opened the door And you're here in my heart, and my heart will go on and on.// She listened. "Are you suggesting that someone in the building is playing Celine Dion?" "I'm not crazy, Scully. Five years together...five years...after everything you've seen, Scully, you *have* to believe me! You're the only one I trust..." "I believe you, Mulder." She listened again, as Dion's voice hit a dreadful high that Scully had before thought physically impossible. "That's Celine Dion all right." He breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Yes," he said, "It is. That Titanic song." Scully paused a moment before she said it. "So?" Mulder's beautiful hazel eyes widened. "So? So! So don't you know what that means?" "No, Mulder. What does it mean?" He made a noise of disgust, a most horrified expression twisting his face. "It means we're in a romance-angst fanfic," he whispered, "Probably written by a love-struck 12-year-old 'shipper. It means that before we kiss, Krycek will burst through the door and shoot me, and I'll die in your arms as you reassure me that we'll be together soon." He groaned, the pain of it unimaginable. "*That's* what it means." Scully's jaw dropped to the floor - not literally, of course - she was sprawled across the desk. "Oh my God," she said, "Oh. My. God." *** He woke up to the strains of Sarah McLachlan on the radio. It took him a moment to realize where he was. He was in an apartment in Washington D.C. It wasn't North Hatley, and it wasn't the Laurentian Mountains. A good sign. The pack of Morleys on the table beside his bed was empty, save for one cigarette. That wasn't a good sign. //Your love is better than ice cream better than anything else that I've tried and your love is better than ice cream everyone here know how to fight// Cancerman thought, lighting the last Morley. Teena's love *was* better than ice cream...and he liked ice cream a lot. He was thinking of Teena again. That *really* wasn't a good sign. He shuffled to the bathroom mirror, staring as a cockroach scuttled down the wall. Scuttling cockroaches. Bad sign. Bad, bad sign. To confirm it, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He sighed deeply, the terrible truth all too clear now. He looked much too good for first thing in the morning. He was still dressed in a black suit, slightly rumpled, but very dignified. Music was piping into the bathroom from his radio - and he didn't even own a radio. Damn. He was in another goddamn fanfic. And judging by the fact that he was thinking of Teena and looking way better than a sixty-five-year-old, chain-smoking, evil government conspirator had *any* right to look, he was in one of Ashlea Ensro's fanfics. The bitch. He crumpled the cigarette into the sink. Still, he thought, it could be worse. He hadn't woken up to Tom Waits, or the Sisters of Mercy - which meant that he wasn't in a Black Wings story. And statistically speaking, he had a pretty good chance of making it to the end of the end of the story alive. Which put him in a better situation than in some other fanfics he'd woken up in. Of course - the odds were also likely that he'd end up undergoing extreme emotional angst, that he would lose the only woman he'd ever loved...*again*, and that at some point Special Agent Fox Mulder would come bursting through that door and shove a gun in his face. It wasn't going to be a good day. Sarah McLachlan was still singing. //It's a long way down it's a long way down it's a long way down to the place where we started from... do do do...// Cancerman took his gun from the bedside table, aimed it carefully at the radio, and fired. *** True to Mulder's predictions, Alex Krycek found himself unexpectedly in the reconstructed basement of the X-Files office, though he hadn't come to shoot anyone. Just like Cancerman, he knew damn well where he was. He shot the lock off the door - not that it wasn't unlocked, but just because he liked the dramatic effect. He strode into the office with the supurb confidence of someone who possessed the distinction of being the only major X-Files character who had never been killed off in one of Ashlea's fanfics. Not that he hadn't done his share of suffering - he'd been shot, beaten, forced to kill the man of his dreams - he'd even had an illegitimate child with Marita Covarrubias before Ashlea had hit the Delete key - but he'd never been killed. And he was damn proud of it. Mulder and Scully weren't all that surprised to see him. He took off his leather jacket and hung it neatly over the back of a chair. He raised his prosthetic arm in greeting. "What are you doing here, Krycek?" Mulder asked. The handsome rodent feigned innocence. "Just followed the music, that's all." He smoothed back his dark hair, wondering if he'd finally get to have sex with Mulder in this story. He'd never seen anyone look so good wearing nothing but an insect net. "You probably turned that music on," Scully accused, "I wouldn't put it past you." "Look," Mulder said, "I know what's going on here. You shoot me, Scully shoots you, everyone has a good cry, the end. Let's just get it over with, okay?" Krycek flashed him a malevolant smile, raising the gun to point directly at Mulder's head. "I'm afraid not, *Fox*," he said, "There's more going on here than you know. Much, much more." *** Assistant Director Walter Skinner was on his way down to the basement office when he caught the unmistakable sound of Morley smoke. The "Oh, shit," that escaped from his lips was not particularly eloquent, but it seemed appropriate. "Don't take alarm, Mr. Skinner." The older man's voice was calm, collected, and it gave nothing away. "I'm here as a friend." "Like hell you are." Cancerman, dressed in a black trench coat and puffing on a cigarette, caught up to Skinner as he walked down the hall. "I think you underestimate the severity of your situation, Mr. Skinner." "My situation?" Skinner glowered. "Goddamn it, just say what you mean for once." Cancerman paused, unaccustomed to speaking without cryptic insinuations. Still, this was important. "We're in an Ashlea Ensro fanfic," he blurted. Skinner stared at him. "Oh, shit," he said again. He knew what that meant. He would be all but absent, appearing only briefly to sign a 302 or give Scully the odd piece of evidence. If he had a larger role, it would be to deal with Cancerman, who would undoubtedly make him look like a fool. Unless this was an alternate universe. And then he was in *real* trouble. "If it makes you feel any better," Cancerman offered, "I heard that Manik wrote one of the lines." Skinner gave a tight, strained smile. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all... *** Mulder and Scully, dressed in insect netting, stared hopelessly down the barrel of a gun, as Krycek smiled triumphantly at them. Skinner and Cancerman, for the moment united by the adversity of their very situation, paused at the open door leading to the X-Files office. Sarah McLachlan was belting out the lyrics to "Possession" over an unseen radio. And in the middle of this abominable fanfic, The Author suddenly materialized. *** At least it was the techno-dance version of "Possession", which Ashlea kind of liked. At any rate, the five X-Files characters turned at once to face the short, red-headed, black-clad bitch, who had appeared sitting behind Mulder's desk, sipping from a mug of coffee and absentmindedly twirling a package of Vegetable Mr. Noodles (TM) in her hand. Ashlea yawned - it was 4:30 and she hadn't finished her Art History essay yet - this fanfic was only supposed to be a quick distraction. "Yes?" she asked. Five voices spoke at once. Ashlea silenced them with a pen stroke. "What's going on here?" Mulder asked, "All I know is that I was about to kiss Scully, and then Celine Dion came piping in, and-" "You were about to kiss Scully?" Skinner asked. "Do I get to kiss Mulder now?" Krycek wanted to know. "Where's Isis?" Scully demanded. Cancerman didn't speak. He grabbed Ashlea and held his gun against her head. Mulder instinctively drew his. Scully drew her gun on Mulder. Krycek wasn't pointing his gun at anyone in particular now. Skinner had left his gun in the office, and he felt somewhat out of place. "Let her go, you black-lunged-son-of-a-bitch," Mulder said. "Mulder, don't stop him!" Scully grabbed her partner's arm, quite unprofessionally. "Why?" "Well, as much as it is our job to protect the innocent...well, we've never gone quite by the book, have we? This girl is responsible for killing more people than everyone in the Consortium put together. She's killed me, and you, and Skinner - she's even killed Cancerman...and she *likes* him." Scully shuddered at the thought. "She never killed me!" Krycek said happily. "Shut up, Krycek," Mulder and Scully said simultaneously. Scully hadn't finished her rant. "She gave me the black cancer. She made me mope over Emily for 90 K! She gave me one, hot, passionate kiss with a beautiful woman, who promptly betrayed me-" "You never told me about-" Mulder broke in. "There's a sequel coming..." Ashlea said. "She's never written anything *remotely* happy, she'll *never* let us be together, and this fanfic looks like it's heading towards a brutal bloodbath..." "I didn't write the whole thing." Ashlea was getting sick of having Cancerman's gun jammed against her head - not that she wasn't smiling, but she'd have preferred the gun to be unloaded, or not to be a gun at all... "Manik wrote a line," she said, breaking out of her sick little fantasy. Mulder made pained, gutteral noises. Scully flashed a quick, conspiratoral smirk at Skinner, and muttered, "There's hope yet." "There's still the matter of the Sarah McLachlan," Cancerman said, "You had me musing to "Ice Cream"." "Not to mention Celine Dion," Mulder was trying not to look at his partner, who was rapidly inching closer to their boss. "It's downright uncharacteristic." "My reasons will be revealed," Ashlea said cryptically, "Let's all put our guns down now..." "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't blow your brains out," Cancerman snarled. "Because I'd put you in a slash story." "You wouldn't..." "With Peskow." Cancerman put the gun away. Krycek shrugged and reholstered his own weapon. Reluctantly, Scully lowered her own weapon. Mulder kept pointing his gun at Cancerman, because this *was* an Ashlea Ensro story, after all. "Now then." Though the gun threat had been removed, the diminutive author made no attempt to escape from Cancerman's restraint. "It's all very simple, really. Rachel was saying that I should write an MSR, and so I thought I'd write a mushy love story, but...well...it just got out of control." "You mean-" Mulder stared at her, stunned. "You mean, you were actually going to put Scully and I together?" "Yes." "Romantically?" "Yes." "With neither of us dying?" "Yes." "No twisted love triangles?" "Yes...no. Yes." "I don't believe you." "Well, it just got out of control...you know...these things never work out right...Look." She shrugged. "I don't think I can fix this, but maybe this is right - Alex, you take Mulder over to Anna's place and force him to join the Consortium, Scully and Skinner, you two can go help Manik finish Shocking Blue III...it's the best I can do." Both couples agreed readily. "What about me?" Cancerman asked. "We need to talk." "Is it about the gun? Because, you've done worse..." "No...it's..." Ashlea winced at the strains of McLachlan still floating around the room. "Look, can I change it to Tom Waits for a second?" "Be my guest." Cancerman tried not to show his relief. "Cigarette?" Ashlea took it, and lit up with Raul the cigarette lighter, mentally rewarding herself for magically replenishing Cancerman's Morley supply over the course of the story. "The thing is, I've had a really tough day." Ashlea sat down on the desk, blowing a puff of smoke towards Mulder's I WANT TO BELIEVE poster. "I spent an hour at the dentist's having metal things poked into my gums, my essays aren't done, my room is a mess, I lost my theatre company..." "Your what?" "You know I write plays? Well, Alice, the girl I co-founded my company with...she just went postal on me, and I guess I just got maudlin, and..." She sniffled back tears. Cancerman put a hand on her shoulder. He couldn't help feeling a little sorry for her, even though she was a rotten bitch. "Look, at least people like your plays. Me, I can't even get my novel published." "I'd publish your novel," Ashlea said. "Really?" "Yeah...it's brilliant..." A strange light came into her hazel eyes. (Yes, Ashlea had hazel eyes and red hair, but she looked nothing like Mulder or Scully. Weird.) "Look, I have an idea." He met her eyes, took a drag of his cigarette, and nodded slowly. "I'm looking forward to hearing it," he said. *** Alice was tied to the chair, eyes wide with terror as she stared at the man by the CD player. He smiled evilly as he raised the cigarette to his lips. "Are you going to kill me?" Alice asked in a small voice. Cancerman watched her in silence for a moment. "I think so, yes." "Why?" "Consider it an act of artistic license.." His fingers brushed against the PLAY button. "How...I want to know how I'm going to die. If I have to die...I want to be prepared." Another chilling grin. It seemed, somehow, so very appropriate. "Death," he pronounced, every bit the grim executioner, "By Sarah McLachlan." Above Alice's screams, the words were still quite audible. //Through this world I've stumbled so many times betrayed trying to find an honest word to find the truth enslaved oh you speak to me in riddles & you speak to me in rhymes my body aches to breathe your breath your words keep me alive// Cancerman closed his eyes. Very appropriate indeed. *** Krycek and Mulder never reached Anna's place. They were in the closet, doing something that was probably still illegal in some states. Skinner and Scully were in the AD's office, giving Manik some wonderful new inspiration for her new story. It is my opinion that 99.99% of the fanfic community does not want to know what Ashlea and Cancerman were doing. (Except for Laura Kennicutt, who was writing it down and patiently waiting for her turn...) Save to say that smoke rose from underneath the door where Alice was screaming her final death throes - "Possession" was barely audible. No one noticed the man with long, silvery blond hair, a piece of paper reading PASS slipped into the front pocket of his shirt, enter without effort through security. He was still carrying his surfboard. And he was very, very angry. *** All motion ceased abruptly. *** Strangely enough, the music was still playing. //And I would be the one to hold you down kiss you so hard I'll take your breath away and after I'd wipe away the tears just close your eyes dear// Chris Carter groaned aloud. Scully and Skinner approached, both hanging their heads like a pair of whipped puppies. Mulder and Krycek crawled out of the closet. Cancerman paused a moment to call the Black Ops to dispose of the body, then approached Carter with a look of dismay on his face. Ashlea just stood in the doorway. Busted. "All right, everybody." Carter was trying to sound perky, but it wasn't working. "You should all be ashamed of yourselves! Copywrite, people, fair use guidelines...are any of these words ringing a bell? Not to mention we've got a whole new season coming up, and you're tampering with the mythology-" "As if you haven't," Ashlea muttered, sullenly smoking a Morley. Her fun was over. "And *you*." Carter whirled to glare at the impudent little writer - whose red hair was a dye job, by the way. "Mulder is a good guy. Cancerman is a bad guy. Can't you stick to the canon, just *once*?" Ashlea blew a big cloud of smoke in his face. Carter sighed. "Whatever." He turned back to his characters. "Let's go." Mulder broke away from Krycek to take Scully's hand, making this somewhat of a 'shipper story after all. Krycek skulked off into the night to plan a suitable revenge. Carter gave Skinner a look that indicated that he was especially disappointed in the Assistant Director's most unprofessional behaviour. Cancerman cast a final, lingering glance at Ashlea, the meaning of which she vowed to write an infinite amount of sequels in order to decipher. The X-Files office imploded, leaving Ashlea sitting at her computer, staring at the essay which was just *never* going to get written. Tom Waits' "Downtown Train" played on her CD player. Life as she knew it had returned back to normal. But somewhere far away, a very different song was playing... =========================================== Apologies to everyone who made it this far...I wrote this while deathly ill, deprived of sleep for nearly a week, and living off nothing but coffee grounds and Mr. Noodles.