Title: Twilight’s End
Author: diehard
Rating: R/NC-17 for language and sexuality.
Classification: WIP, MSR, Alternate Universe, Post Truth. Follow up to Day Tripping.
Spoilers: Takes place directly where Day Tripping left off.
Keywords: Seek and ye shall find.
Summary: Underground, Mulder and Scully attempt to find a way to launch an offensive.
beta by the lovely sallie
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Chapter 8
Fraying the border of night, the next day gradually works its way over the horizon. Gray dawn faintly trickles through the grimy windows of Montoya’s shack; spilling slowly across the floor, stippling the tables and chairs, the stove and sink, and finally, the bed where the two of them lie twined together. Mulder ‘s lying on his side, still facing the door, with Scully asleep, flanking him, next to the wall. Pressed against his back, her body’s a ribbon of warmth against his skin. He lets himself drift, not quite fully awake yet. Peace. What he feels is peace. Some part of him wants to freeze this moment in time, not leave this bed, not feel anything else but this stillness. But the encroaching daylight finds him, and his uncomplicated peace fades. His first waking thoughts are of their future, and of Montoya and her whereabouts. He can feel Scully’s rhythmic, steady breathing and wants to wait just a little longer, but they need to get up, they need to be ready.
Her arm’s flung over his chest, her hand fluttering against his breastbone, claiming him in both the kingdom of sleep and the daylight world. Burying her face in the crook of his neck, she whispers his name, dreaming of ordinary pleasures. But somehow in the dream, things don’t stay simple long. They end up driving, driving–driving toward wavering figures in the dark, toward a secret place, toward a light that recedes the closer they get.
Even in the midst of all of this, she can sense Mulder in real time. Feeling his body shift, she’s aware of his fingertips stroking her brow, her lips. The dream disintegrates and Scully begins to surface, her eyes fluttering open. Still drowsy, it takes a second for her to completely focus. Mulder’s looking down at her with a slight smile curving the corners of his mouth. But his eyes are dark and solemn, almost the color of storm clouds. ‘Too serious for so early in the morning’ she thinks.
“First light, Scully. Montoya should be here any time now.”
First light. She remembers and the knowledge rushes through her, a millisecond later, she’s fully alert and pushing off the flimsy covers.
“Right. I’m getting up.”
He hands her his shirt from last night, and she shimmies into it, partially buttoning up while he pulls on his sweats. Before she can scramble out of bed, he pulls her close and kisses her softly.
“Everything’s gonna be fine today,” he whispers.
“I was going to tell you the same thing,” she whispers back, holding his hand and rubbing her thumb over his wedding ring. She feels the tightness in her chest closing up like a fist, but puts on the best game face she can and eases off the bed. “C’mon, we don’t have much time.” He follows suit and lets her have the bathroom first, after he grabs some toiletries to wash up in the kitchen sink.
They both wonder if that last thing she said was a Freudian slip or prophetic wisdom.
While she’s in the makeshift bathroom, Mulder cleans up, pulls on a pair of Levi’s and a workshirt and gets a pot of coffee going on the stove. When she emerges, she quickly slips on fresh jeans and T-shirt, throws the cover hastily over the bed and retrieves all their weapons from where they were stowed the night before. Handing Mulder his Makarov and Walther, they check the clips and cowboy up. Scully slowly rolls her neck until she can hear the vertebrae pop, while he shakes his arms loosely at his side to get the blood going. That done, the guns are slipped carefully under their waistbands and into the shaft of their boots.
The light in the cabin is no longer wan and pale. It’s burnished bright, growing stronger by the minute; the sun pulls itself higher and higher into the sky and still no Montoya.
Scully starts speaking, questions looming in her eyes, but Mulder abruptly turns away, striding over to grab the hissing coffee pot before it boils over. He understands the look and is sure she’s asking herself the million dollar question. Shutting off the stove, he snatches two mugs from the cupboard, pouring them each a cup. It strikes him that that neither of them has gone to the window or looked outside yet.
“What if she doesn’t come back?” Breeching the silence, she accepts the coffee, casually offered as if they’re back in the office filling out 302’s.
“She’s on her way, Scully…”
“How can you be sure?”
“Psychic ability, you heard the man yesterday.” Nodding toward the cabin door, “C’mon, let’s take a looksee.”
He strides to the rough cut slab of pine, throws the dead bolt, and with one hand shoves open the creaking wooden barrier, cradling his cup in the other. Scully follows, hoping for the best and bracing for the worst.
The two of them claim spots on the weathered ancient porch, scanning the dirt road leading out of the little compound. It’s clear and cloudless morning, the stripped down landscape breathtaking and stark, almost glowing in the burgeoning sunlight. A few hours from now the sky will burn turquoise and heat will shimmer in the desert. Dine herders are already trailing along the mountain road, past meandering past purple lupine, along trails of white woodbine and blue-green stands of mountain birch. Everything today is as it was the day before and they day before that. At least for them.
Sipping hot, black coffee, Scully’s thinking about fall back plans, event horizons, collateral damage, risk factors. She looks over to him, puzzled by the strange calm on his face as he squints up at the sky, hand shielding his brow.
“Mulder, you and I both know she should’ve have been here by now.”
“It’s only been daylight for a little while…She’ll be here.”
He stops scanning the heavens and takes a swallow from the mug, then rolls it between the flats of his palms, studying the swirl it makes against the chipped ceramic.
There’s a confidence in in his voice, a surety she doesn’t quite grasp. What does he know that she doesn’t? Then it hits her, the source of this confidence. What she thought was just a flip remark a minute ago was really a hint. He hasn’t mentioned anything since Alamosa, since the confession about help from the Great Beyond.
“Who told you?” She’s asking in such a matter of fact way, that he has to look up at her and smile.
“Krycek. He’s all about atoning these days.”
It was a split second, while she was washing up, while he was measuring coffee into the pot. Just a whisper in his ear, his voice unmistakable, “She’s coming.” Two words and he was gone before Mulder could turn around. Scully’s let in on the latest visitation as she finishes her coffee. Cup empty, she squints up at the sky, and it takes several long minutes before she replies.
“That’s actually reassuring, although it’s hard to believe Krycek seeking forgiveness for anything…I must really be losing it.”
That gets a laugh out of him. Draining the last of his coffee, he tosses his mug and she neatly grabs it in her outstretched free hand.
“Faith, Scully…you gotta have faith.”
“I’ll work on it on my way to the kitchen sink.”
Her steps are measured as she carefully walks through the open doorway. ‘Faith’s the only thing keeping us afloat,’ she thinks. She washes the cups in the tin sink and prays that today, divine intervention takes the form of one J. Montoya. Checking their gear, she shoves back the fear that ghostly revelations won’t cut it, that bad news is already on the way. She’s halfway through a recheck of everything — briefcase, duffels, the units on the table, when Mulder’s yell makes her run back outside.
“Scully! You gotta see this!”
Running back out to the porch, there’s a rapidly approaching cloud of dust, a solid, dark mass getting closer and closer. What ‘s soon clear to them both, is that it’s a panel truck, navy, not new and not too old. A couple of minutes more, when it’s in real viewing distance, Mulder makes out some rust, not too much, just enough to look nondescript, ordinary.
Barreling toward them at racing speed, it keeps on coming until it’s in throwing distance from where they stand. Someone hits the brakes and the vehicle lurches forward to a breakneck stop, spewing gravel and dirt from underneath the wheels. Whoever’s behind the wheel cuts the engine and kicks open the door.
It’s Montoya.
She jumps out, slams the truck door and walks onto the porch without saying a word. She’s got a jagged cut over her right eye that’s starting to crust over and a black eye to match.
Tossing Mulder the keys, she grunts, “I need coffee.”
Scully shifts to doctor mode and blocks her path, trying to get a better look, thinking she may need to put in some stitches. Her raised hand gets batted away, clearly annoying the woman of the hour. “Leave it,” Montoya barks. “I’m fine.” With that, she pushes past them both and stomps into the shack, leaving the door wide open.
Mulder leans down to whisper, smirk on his face. “You know, she reminds me of someone.”
Scully’s not pissed, but she cuts him a look that lets him know he’ll have to enjoy his little joke all by himself.
“Don’t even try,” she whispers as they follow the other woman inside.
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He can tell by Scully’s solid strides across the creaking wooden floor, that she’s not about to drop this. Under any other circumstances, this would be amusing, but truth be told, Mulder’s also worried that something serious has happened to their host. They don’t need any more complications than they already have.
Montoya pours herself a cup of coffee and leans against the sink. Her eyes close as she drinks the hot brew, and it looks like she’s trying to catch her second wind.
“I think you should let me look at that,” says Scully, quietly, but firmly.
Eyes till closed, Montoya sighs heavily. “I think you need to drop it…I said I was fine and I mean it. I just need a minute to regroup and then we need to get down to business. There’s nothing that…”
“Trust me, she’s not going to leave it alone.” Mulder interrupts. ” By the way, nice shiner you got there. How ’bout letting us in on what happened?”
Montoya glances up, and the two of them are parked in front of the kitchen table like a couple of sentries at a guard post. Draining her cup, she places it into the sink and makes a decision. The resolve in their faces convinces her to take the path of least resistance. Walking over to them, she drags out a chair and plops herself down. “Let’s get this over with. We’re burning daylight.”
While Scully retrieves the medical kit from their baggage, Mulder pulls out a seat, sets it across from her and joins her. “It looks like you had a little problem last night. ”
“No big deal. Don’t get your nose out of joint over it.”
“In my case that would really be a problem,” Mulder quips.
That makes Montoya chuff out what might pass as a laugh, “Yeah, I can see that.”
Scully’s busy at the table pulling out gauze, tape and Neosporin from the kit. She doesn’t enter into the conversation, approaching Montoya like she would a wary stray. The other woman doesn’t resist as Scully gets a closer look at the cut. It’s fairly deep, but it’s too late for sutures. There will be a scar, but she’s fairly sure that’s not something Montoya will fret about.
Mulder keeps digging, “So, you were saying…”
“It was nothing. I was at the drop point…a biker bar. My contact and I just finished doing the deal and everything was on schedule. I was leaving and some asshole tried to get up close and personal. I wasn’t in the mood. End of story. That’s why I was late.”
Cleaning the cut with dry gauze before she applies the ointment and tapes it up, Scully feels Montoya twitch. “Are you OK?”
Glancing up, “I don’t like people touching me.”
“I’m sure the asshole at the bar knows that,” answers Scully, letting a trickle of warmth seep into her voice. It’s not that she feels close to this woman, or anything remotely like friendship. But she understands her. Montoya ‘s flinty because she has to be. She can’t let anyone stop her; failure is not an option.
“He got in one shot, but I took care of him.” It’s not a boast coming from Montoya, just a statement of fact.
“Just tell me he’s got his gonads left.” Mulder’s joke earns him a grin, a flash of teeth from her, brittle and brief.
“Just barely.” Looking up at Scully again. “We done here, doc?”
“Let me just ask you some questions. Any dizziness, blurred vision…”
Montoya interrupts, “No nausea, loss of consciousness. Negative for concussion…I was the medic in my unit. A medic and weapons specialist. ”
“Nice combination,” Mulder tosses in. “Was that also ‘need to know’ for us?”
“Something like that,” she responds.
She will not drop her guard, not even with them, she won’t say more than she has to. It is clear to him she’s utterly committed to her role, to the success of her mission, or she’ll die trying. But she’s too used to being a lone wolf, accountable to no one but herself. “Check my eyes,” Montoya offers to Scully, “you’ll see they’re PERL.”
Scully sighs and gives this stubborn woman a fleeting smile. She says nothing but holds out her finger and watches closely as Montoya tracks every move. Then she covers and uncovers each eye, and those black, bottomless irises confirm what was just said. Pupils even and reactive to light. No signs of cranial injury or hematoma.
“Aside from your external injuries you seem fine.”
“Great.” Getting up from the chair, she motions for Scully to sit, while she leans back against the edge of the table. “What did the two of you decide? That’s why we’re here, right?”
Instead of sitting down, Scully grabs the chair and pushes it back to where it was. Mulder rises without a word and shoves his into place. The three of them ring the table, and the two of them look at each other. Montoya stares at the units spread before her in the silent room and waits for an answer.
“Montoya. It’s time you told us some things. Exactly how much do you know about the offensive?”
“Why is that important? I know whatever I need to get the job done.”
“It’s important because I say it is,” Mulder barks, arms folded across his chest. He has to win this pissing match. They can’t afford her holding back, even though there are things she can never know.
“This is what you came here for. We’re here now, and we’re in charge. You better get with the fucking program.” Gesturing toward Scully, “We can’t afford anyone screwing up.”
Montoya doesn’t respond right away to the new chain of command. She grudgingly acquiesces, nodding to Mulder. He’s the Alpha male and Scully, by turns, Alpha female of their little pack.
“Fine…There’s two strategies. Plan A, you get injected with some kind of serum that’ll keep Them from tracking you. Since I’m a medic, I’ll give you the shots, then you get the hell out of here ASAP, carting as much ammo as we can load you up with. Once you’re out of here, you start setting up bases in as many places as you can.”
“And if a problem occurs?” Scully jumps in, following Mulder’s lead, making sure Montoya sees her asserting her authority.
“Then I guess it’s Plan B or we’re screwed.”
“Actually, there’s a fall-back.” Scully’s tone is brisk and in-charge. “If and when it’s required, you’ll have to take on additional responsibilities. It’s ‘need to know,’ however. Any problems with that?”
“None.”
“Good.”
Mulder draws Montoya back, “Finish bringing us up to speed.”
Montoya’s tense now, her jaw clenched. “I break camp tomorrow at dawn and follow you to whatever coordinates you send me. You two make a vaccine and get it distributed, set up as many cells as you can. I arrange for shipments of magnatite to be sent, handle security and logistics. Plan B, we set up an underground base here, manufacture the vaccine. You have the schematics as to where. I’m still on security and logistics. Our contacts come here and we stock ’em up. They go back to their locations and distribute…There, you know what I know. Now what the hell did you decide?”
He’s satisfied Montoya has enough information to be a good lieutenant, and enough discipline to accept directives from both of them, despite that fact that clearly she’d prefer running the show.
He kept his gaze on Scully all during the rundown. She seemed steely and unshakable on the surface, but he saw the vulnerability deep in her eyes. It must have taken all her strength to mention contingencies. Thankfully, the risk he takes today remains a secret.
One among many, belonging to them and them alone.
“Is that all, Montoya?” he asks.
“Yeah, that’s all,” Heaving an enormous sigh, the line of her jaw is still drawn tight. It’s obvious she’s trying hard to resign herself this recent shift in the power dynamic. “Just tell me what you decided.”
“It’s Plan A…We chose Plan A.”
“Finally. Then let’s get to it.”
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He whispers something to Scully, who nods in agreement. They turn and motion to Montoya, who’s been keeping a discrete distance just a few feet behind them. “We thought you might want to see the vaccine.” Mulder’s dropped the attitude from a few minutes before and his voice is gentler. He and Scully have both relaxed their postures, hoping to seem welcoming at some level.
Montoya shakes her head, and there’s a softening in her features. “It’s OK. Listen, when it’s time, I’ll get a good look. ‘Need to know’ works both ways. Besides, it’ll makes it easier for me to stay on track…”
She stops talking and it’s clear to both of them that she’s struggling to put something into words. “I know why you did what you did. I’ve been a soldier for almost twenty years, Agent Mulder…” Making sure she makes eye contact with both of them, “You don’t have to worry about me. I got your backs.”
“Changing of the guard isn’t always easy, is it?” Scully replies.
For the first time, a real smile, broad and toothy, graces Montoya’s battered face. “You military?”
“Navy brat, I’m afraid.”
“Damn, could’ve sworn you were regular Army. You got one helluva game face.”
Mulder listening to the two of them, can’t help but let a tiny grin escape and decides to join the mix. Motioning with his hands to get their attention. “It’s great the two of you are bonding, but hey, let’s not forget about me.”
Montoya volleys back, traces of that smile still lingering. “You probably got drummed out of basic. Bad attitude.”
A ripple of laughter runs between the three of them. It’s brief and as it dies down, Mulder brings them back on point.
“Bad attitude notwithstanding, we better start this party.”
They move like three people with a purpose. All the levity of a minute ago quickly evaporates. Montoya locks the door, then washes up while the two of them place an open palm face down on the second unit. The structure wavers and dissolves underneath just like before. Once again, a glowing white light shimmers momentarily then the smaller boxes are revealed. Each of them places a thumb into the grooves, and seconds later the serum and syringes are visible. By now, it almost feels routine to them. One quick injection each and they’re home free.
The only hitch is it might kill one of them.
Mulder reaches for the small of Scully’s back. His fingertips tap the spot underneath her T-shirt where the ouroboros lies coiled. Almost imperceptibly, she leans into his touch and the circuit is complete.
Both of them glimpse over at Montoya, who’s moved to Scully’s side. They’re not surprised that she doesn’t gasp, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t say a word when faced with this alien technology. Without hesitation, Scully removes a vial and syringe and hands it to Montoya.
Turning to face Mulder so that Montoya has better access, she unzips her jeans and pushes aside her panties, exposing the upper crest of her hip. Mulder’s hands rest on her shoulders and when she looks up, she loses herself in his eyes. Nothing needs to be said, he understands. She will be changed forever once again.
Montoya pulls off the cap covering the needle with her teeth and draws up the first vial of serum. Tapping the syringe to make sure there are no air bubbles, it takes a few minutes, the viscous, gray fluid will make for a tough injection. Holding it up and giving it one final plink with the tip of her finger, it’s showtime.
“You ready?”
Scully ‘s nod is her only answer.
Steadying herself, Montoya places a hand on Scully’s belly. Scully can feel the tip of the needle on her exposed flesh. In one swift movement, Montoya hits the plunger. Scully winces at the prick but doesn’t stir, keeping her gaze locked onto Mulder’s.
Suddenly, there’s a flash bleaching out everything, blinding in its intensity. There’s nothing but the white heat of a quasar–hot, hot, so very hot. Searing. Immolating. Scully tries to cry out but she can’t make a sound. Panic and fear so primal there’s no more coherent thought. Lurching forward, Scully falls into the center of the sun.
And almost as quickly as it happened, it’s over. Opening her eyes, she’s in Mulder’s arms.
“Scully, talk to me…” His voice caresses her.
Haltingly, she rights herself to find fear is etched into every line of his face in ways only she understands His eyes are the color of slate, the color of mourning.
“I’m OK.” There’s the taste of metal on her tongue, and she’s so thirsty. She blinks and takes several deep breaths, willing away the tremors she feels inside. “How long was I out?”
“Seconds, no more than couple of seconds.” Smoothing her hair back, he whispers, “You scared the hell out of me.”
That earns him a faint smile, “I forgot that’s your job.”
After crushing the used syringe and vial under the heel of her boot, Montoya brings back a tin cup of water. “Thought you might want this.” There’s concern on her face, but she won’t intrude unless she has to.
Sipping slowly, Scully savors every drop. Mulder watches her and says nothing. His panic slowly ebbs as the color returns to her cheeks. He’s convinced she’s completely back when she firmly sets the cup on the table and her stance takes on that compact strength.
Montoya’s already got the second injection ready. Motioning them over to the bed, “I think you better sit over there in case you have the same reaction.
Nodding their agreement, the two of them perch on the edge of the rickety army cot.
“I’ve thought about taking off my pants in front of two women, but my version looked a lot different.” Mulder’s sporting a cocky look on his face, telling himself the joke’s not gallows humor.
The two women glance over at each other and shake their heads.
“Actually,” Scully replies, “Your shoulder is a big enough muscle group, so you can take the injection there.”
Montoya nods, “Yeah, that should work.”
“You two are not cooperating, you realize that.” Mulder keeps the tone light.
“You should be used to that by now.” Scully still has that same tone of voice, but clasping the fingers of left hand, she presses tight against his wedding ring.
“Ready?” Montoya queries as Mulder nods and steadies himself
“Promise?” Scully makes him look at her, hopefully not for the last time.
“You’ve got my word on it.” He knows she was asking about something else.
Montoya yanks aside the collar of his T-shirt, and with the same unerring efficiency administers the injection. Mulder’s world goes bone white, everything burns like a thousand fires, and he melts, melts, melts. Lurching forward, it all starts to fade, then suddenly it’s done. Scully’s’ strong hands pull him back onto the bed, and he hears her calling his name.
“I’m…OK,” he rasps. “A little burnt on re-entry, but OK.”
“Thank God…” Without thinking, Scully cups his face in her hands and kisses him deeply, tasting life, savoring his warm and willing mouth. The world disappears again, but not in flames. It just dwindles down to the two of them.
Montoya takes her cue and busies herself with crushing the last syringe and vial, scooping up the remains and dumping them outside.
Mulder gets up to get some water, but Scully, stops him. “Sit. Rest. I’ll get you something to drink.”
“I should do that more often if it’ll get you to wait on me.”
Bringing him a mug of cold well water, she slides next to him on the bed. “Don’t push your luck.”
Montoya sticks her head in the door, checking to see if their little tableau is over. “Permission to enter my own house?” She can’t completely hide the amusement in her voice.
“Sorry.” Scully apologizes, now feeling the flush of embarrassment.
“Nothing to be sorry for. You two are married.” Montoya answers, not really caring if the rings are cover or not.
“As married as two people could ever be,” Mulder replies, as Scully brushes off imaginary lint from her T-shirt. He catches her in his peripheral vision, head bent, the corner of her mouth lifting in a private smile.
“If both of you are OK, we need to start loading up the van. The sooner you two are out of here, the better.”
Mulder unfolds his long frame, slowly rising from the bed. “You’re right.” Handing Scully the keys, “You want to get started? I need to use the little boys’ room.”
The two women start making their way outside. Montoya unbolts the door, walking into the bright day without a second thought. Scully turns to check on him before she leaves.
“Mulder?”
“I’m fine, Mom,” he quips.
Scanning his face, the whole length of him for any sign of problems, she’s satisfied when none are visible.
“Call me ‘Mom’ again, and you’ll never get laid.”
“I shouldn’t be turned on by that attitude, but I am.”
“Married, huh?”
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
Scully nods, shuts the door behind her and hurries down the gravel path to meet Montoya, who’s waiting for her in front of the storage hut.
Mulder shakes his head, his vision’s a little blurry. ‘Temporary side effect,’ he thinks. Taking measured steps as he makes his way to the bathroom, he’s hit with a wave of light-headedness that makes him stumble forward.
His worse fears are realized as he falls and the crushing darkness closes all around him.