Rating: NC-17
Classification: Case file/MSR, WIP, Humor, Alternate Universe…people are actually happy here…well, some of them
Spoilers: Everything through the first third of Season 7, the story taking place in the universe set forth in Absolute Beginners I, Absolute Beginners II–Better With Practice, and Absolute Beginners III–Comes The Morning—available on Ephemeral, Whispers of X, Fran’s Fanfic Addiction, and The Grove. (It’ll help to read ’em, honest!)
Keywords: Be careful what you wish for. Character death…not who you think. Necromancy. Santeria. Marriage Proposal.
Summary: This story takes place late in the year 2000. In the early Spring of the same year, Mulder and Scully finally got off the dime (after a false start, angst, guilt and a nightmare or two) and did the dirty deed. After a weekend of ‘solidifying their relationship’, they are pulled off the X-Files, but managed to find at least one way to console each other. Fast forward about six months–and you’ll be right we begin, dear reader.
Disclaimers: You know, they’re not ours. They’re Chris Carter’s. Just using them for the fun, no money involved.
Archive: Yes, anywhere. Just keep it intact.
Feedback: Yes, please. You can contact me: alvaradomccain@earthlink.net
Chapter Four – Penthouse Suite
They could see the north end of Lincoln Park as they rode in the glass-walled elevator, dotted with the red orange stands of trees saluting the peak of Midwest autumn. Directly across from them, Lake Michigan shimmered burnished gold as the edges of the sun’s fading western light dappled its waves. Looking down, Alexander Hamilton’s bronze countenance pointed the way toward the running path, with its after-work joggers, and the black, wrought-iron entrance to the zoo was just visible at the far end.
Cardenas was waiting for them in her 26th floor penthouse.
It was Scully who spoke first, “Well, I’d say you won that pissing match.” There was a slight smirk caressing her lovely face.
He was rocking back and forth on his heels, feeling flush with victory. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
Neither one of them looked at each other, but they could see their wavering images in the glass.
“You know damn well what I mean. I realize that our thick-necked friend at the desk was being a tad too gung-ho in his zealousness to protect the tenants.”
“Extremely rude, I thought.”
“OK. But when he asked you what our business was, I believe your response, ‘F. B. I. Business. Business that doesn’t concern you’, plus brandishing your badge close enough to his face to give him whiplash…That was very… Alpha male of you.”
“Well, I suppose I could’ve been silent and just let you shoot him. You do seem to be able to fire on a man in order to make a point.”
“And I can do it again, don’t forget.”
“So you admit I’m not the only one with aggressive tendencies, eh, Scully?” He turned and leaned in toward her.
She tilted her head in his general direction, “You know, Mulder, other couples seem to be able to flirt with each other without mentioning gunplay. One of us seems to always bring it up.”
“That’s what makes us special, Scully. By the way, is that what we’re doing here, flirting? I thought you were reproaching me for unseemly conduct. We’re still on the clock, partner…”
As the elevator slowed and stopped, the doors opened just in time to save him from her retort.
The first things they saw were a small hallway with mauve colored walls, a gilt framed oil of what Mulder recognized as Old Habana in its heyday, and an enormous ginko in a planter. Walking toward them with her outstretched right hand was tall, elegant figure of Dr. Alejandra Ruiz- Cardenas. Her other hand was kept behind her back. She was what used to be his type, tall, with a curvy figure beneath white jeans and a loose white sweater. She wore no jewelry, save an expensive wristwatch— nothing gilded her heavy-on-the-cream cafe-au-lait skin.
“Agent Mulder? Elliot told me you were on your way up. I’m Alex.” She’d given him the full wattage of her perfect smile. Even, white, beautiful teeth. It would’ve been lovely except Mulder couldn’t help but notice that her smile never reached her eyes.
Looking at his companion with something less than delight, she drawled, “And this must be your… assistant?”
“I’m Special Agent Mulder,” he dryly replied as they shook hands, “and this is my partner, Special Agent Scully.” He made sure there was just a hint of extra emphasis on the word ‘partner.’
“Ah, I see…” Turning to the other woman, Cardenas made a show of seeming apologetic. “Please forgive me, Agent.” Again, the outstretched hand.
“We appreciate you making time to see us.” Scully replied, her smile now just as dazzling. Interestingly, her smile never made it to her eyes either. The handshake was phenomenally lukewarm.
Alex eased her hand away and looked at the two of them, “Where are my manners? Please come into my home, we can talk there.” She turned on her heels and walked back into the open door just a small distance away. As she did, both agents noticed her left hand was wrapped in a bandage.
Mulder and Scully’s eyes were set on scan as they followed Gonzales’ former girlfriend into the huge suite, as she led down a long foyer. Almost simultaneously, they noticed an oil painting of St. Peter next to the door, which Mulder would guess was 17th century Spanish. Otherwise devoid of decor, the only other items were a small marble-topped table that held a faience vase of Bird of Paradise. By contrast, the painting was glaringly out of place with its ornate, colonial-style gold leaf frame.
The foyer opened up into the living room and the rest of the penthouse. It too, was starkly furnished, very Bauhaus, white rugs, black leather and shades of gray as accents, chrome tables and lamps. One whole side was wall to ceiling glass, with a spectacular view of the lake. An oil portrait of Our Lady of Mercy, in an elaborate wrought iron frame hung in counterpoint to all the simplicity on the far wall. The bedroom, kitchen, and study all clearly visible, coming off the main room like the spokes of a wheel. The living room was by far the largest room, but the others were by no means small.
Alex turned to her guests, “Please feel free to look around. Let me make you both un cafecito. I’ll just be a moment.”
Scully replied, “Really it’s not necessary.”
“Oh, but it is, Agent Scully.” Alex pulled her jet black hair to one side, draping it over her shoulder. “I’d never live with myself if I didn’t offer you something.” With that, she moved into the kitchen. In a few seconds they could hear the hiss of an espresso machine. Cardenas’ back was to them as she busied herself at a workstation.
The rest of the suite was furnished in the same spartan elegance. Black lacquer furniture in the bedroom, chrome in the study. Luxurious and simple at the same time, but there was something cold about it. Virtually no personal effects to be seen, save photos in the living room of Alex and what both agents assumed were her parents, and one of Cardenas and Gonzales apparently on vacation, which rested on a nightstand near the bed. Judging from the first photo, the attire of two older adults and the sumptuous surroundings would indicate that Alex came from a wealthy family. How Alejandra Ruiz-Cardenas was able to afford an apartment overlooking Lake Michigan on a professor’s salary was beginning to make sense to both of them.
They continued their self-conducted tour as the hissing of the espresso machine grew louder, accompanied by the sporadic clatter of dishes coming from the kitchen.
“Rich girl.” Mulder said over his shoulder.
“Very rich girl from the looks of things.” Scully opined.
“Very rich girl with old money form Cuba, who would seem to be a little bit of a control freak.” Mulder drew close enough to whisper in Scully’s ear.
“You think?”
Even the study was ordered to the extreme, even though it held a huge amount of artifacts. They were all neatly labeled and placed on stands or display tables. Mulder noticed though no strictly religious or ceremonial artifacts, only those that held functional value or were objects of personal adornment. There was also a small, rough looking chest with a padlock and with an oblong cedar wood box resting on top. It didn’t go with the rest of the room. Scully winced a little as they looked over the perfectly organized work area, files, computer station. Mulder caught her pained expression.
“What?”
“Was I that bad, Mulder?”
“I think that’s one of those questions like ‘Does this make me look fat?’ ”
“Thanks.” Her lips quirked in a grin.
“Don’t mention it.” He brought the tips of his fingers to the small of her back for just a second, and what about to say something else, when an oil painting of St. Teresa in a bronze die-cast frame stopped them both in their tracks. Mulder moved away to more closely inspect the piece. Touching his elbow, Scully caught his eye and his solemn nod told her he’d made some connection.
Now the kitchen noise had been replaced with music. It was clearly Latin, melodic and slowly rhythmic.
Ruiz-Cardenas emerged from the far side of modern kitchen, and strode leisurely back toward the living room, passing gray granite worktops, a professional grade stove, and a huge stainless steel Sub-Zero refrigerator. She reminded herself she’d have to start interviewing someone to do the cooking soon, the last girl was a nightmare.
Mulder strolled to the window, ostensibly to check out the twilight skyline and the boats on the water, but really he wanted to watch Ruiz-Cardenas’ reflection unobserved. From what Jorgensen had initially told them Nat Gonzales was a good man, intelligent, a hard worker, but not someone who moved it the same circles as his girlfriend. Personally, he figured that anyone who gained the respect of someone like Hector Dean Shinoda had to fall on the extra side of ordinary. He had some idea why this woman would be attracted to a man so far outside her universe.
The two women were at the breakfast bar, which was situated just outside the main work area of the kitchen, bracketing the main layout of the living room. Scully was on a stool on one side, and Alex on the other, laying out an espresso pot, demitasses, cream, sugar.
Scully said, “Professor Cardenas…”
“Alex, please.” Her tone just barely avoided being patronizing. It was the way one might invite a long-term employee to use your first name.
“Alex, I’m really sorry we have to ask you all these questions again.”
“Don’t concern yourself. I know it’s necessary in order to arrest Naftali’s murderer.”
Her expression was one of detachment, an odd one for the still grieving lover, Mulder noted, as he turned and walked toward them, taking a seat next to Scully.
Ruiz-Cardenas gave a close-lipped smile, pulling a leather covered stool around with her unbandaged hand and easing herself down. “Allow me a small boast,” she requested as she poured, “Cafe cubano. The only way to drink coffee.”
He didn’t respond.
“Thank you, for all this effort…especially when you’ve been injured.” Scully said. Now she was the one with the slight tone in her voice. It was the voice of Dr.Scully, and Mulder always enjoyed watching her zero in. “What happened to your hand?”
Ruiz-Cardenas turned away from them and reached down into the bar. Jet black hair now spilled down her back, evenly cut right beneath her shoulder blades. She pulled out some demitasse spoons and set the on the counter. “Yes…well it’s somewhat embarrassing…when I heard what had happened. I lost it…threw a glass against the wall…and cut myself trying to clean it up.” Mulder watched her intently, her expression didn’t match what she was saying. She didn’t seem all that embarrassed to be telling two strangers a story of an supposed emotional outburst. As a matter of fact, she seemed calm, too calm, she could’ve been reviewing her syllabus with some graduate students.
“So, that was about two weeks ago?”
“Yes, ridiculous thing to do, wasn’t it?
“Grief can make someone do things they wouldn’t do ordinarily.” It was Mulder’s voice now.
“Yes. Yes it can.” A momentary shift, in which both Mulder and Scully could see something a little wild in Alex’s eyes, something that quickly was banished and replaced with smooth calm and a practiced diffidence. She poured them all coffee, very deliberate in what she did, with great economy of movement. Mulder guessed that being a cultural anthropologist would make a person hyperaware of what they were doing at all times. The point was to observe, not be observed. In a way, psychology was the same thing, only on the micro-linear scale. And it was his turn to observe Cardenas, observe and draw the right conclusions.
“But you need me to tell you about that night, don’t you?” Alex was clearly giving the signal that the line of questioning about her hand was over. “I was already waiting at the restaurant. I was early. The guest lecturer for one of my classes cancelled due to illness, so I popped home and told Naftali I’d meet him there. Our table is right next to the front window. We like to watch people as we eat,” she smiled briefly. “I had a glass of white wine. . .spied him stepping off the curb, walking towards me with that big grin that always means he’s had a good day. A car slowed to let him cross, and I see the window rolling down, which I thought was odd, because although it’s not winter yet, it was a cold day. There was a flash of light from the car window, but not from the window itself. I think it was light from the restaurant glinting off of the gun. Anyway, the next thing I see is a bright flash, then he’s on the pavement.”
Scully hadn’t touched her espresso. Ruiz-Cardenas went into her solicitous host routine, “Our cafecitos are an acquired taste. Perhaps you’d prefer some tea, Agent Scully…I know how the Irish love their ‘tay.’
Mulder finished his and fought a grin as he imagined the look on Scully’s face. No eyebrow, not even a twitch of the lip, just a straight-on, dead glare that said ‘And the horse you rode in on, too’. Ruiz-Cardenas would learn.
“You didn’t recognize the car or the driver?” asked Scully, icily ignoring that cultural swipe.
“No. All my attention was on Naftali. I could have cared less what the driver looked like. But I’ve already told the police all of this, is it really necessary to go back over it again and again and again?”
“Well, Professor Cardenas, should this go to trial, you’ll certainly be expected to do so again, yes.” Her words hung in the air.
Ah, there it was. Scully’s bright head turned towards him in their traditional ‘jump in any time, Mulder’ interview stance. Ruiz-Cardenas looked at him too, her face losing its let’s-be-pleasant-about-this expression for a moment. It returned when he went on, “You have a lovely home, Professor. I’m surprised to see there aren’t any objects of veneration displayed in your collection.”
“I beg your pardon, Agent Mulder? ”
“I found it fascinating that you only seem to have objects of everyday use or adornment on public view ,” he replied.
“You must respect other cultures in order to be respected, Agent Mulder. What about you, Agent Scully, would you mind if your family bible was torn up and sold as an nothing more than an item of curiosity? Surely your devout Irish clan would be beside themselves.’
Scully said nothing, but started sipping delicately at her espresso.
Mulder jumped on the opportunity. “Point taken, but tell me, Alex, why would you display evidence of your devotion to Ellegua, Obatala, and Oya? That’s the significance of those wonderful oils you have, if I’m not mistaken.”
The bullet hit the target. Cardenas’ cool dissolved and both agents were treated to a look of shock and anger. She was however, able to rally quickly. “Agent Mulder, I didn’t realize you were familiar with the Seven Powers. But I’m hardly a devotee. What would make you say that?”
“The placement of the pictures. Only a devotee would make sure each image representing a god would be placed in its sacred delegation in the home.”
“You flatter me. I’m afraid my attention to detail is my interest in maintaining cultural sensitivity and a certain historical accuracy. The paintings were from an estate in Cuba, pre-revolution. The owners were important Santeristas, unusual in that they were of the educated class.” A pause, and then a full display of those beautiful teeth again, “It’s a gesture of scholarly respect, Agents, nothing more. She glanced at the Chanel watch on her left wrist, “Speaking of scholarly things, I have office hours tonight, and I’m afraid I’ll have to be on my way soon. Please forgive me for cutting our discussion short. But feel free to come again, should you think I could be of any further help.”
“Well, actually, there was just one more thing, Alex.” Mulder wanted to cast one more line. “I noticed what seemed to be a locked chest and a cigar humidor in your study…those are yours?”
Ruiz-Cardenas looked at him long and hard before answering. “No, they’re just a way to keep Naftali near. You can’t blame me for doing that, can you?”