Title: Pathways

Fandoms: X-Files/Poltergeist:The Legacy

Pairing: Fox Mulder/Derek Rayne

Author: Jennifer Lyon

Rating: NC-17

Archive: Sure, just let me know where

Notes: this story was published in the fanzine "One in Ten"

PATHWAYS

By Jennifer Lyon

Demons lurked beyond the edge of his awareness, but there was an invisible barrier between him and them - built not of brick or steel, but rather of purpose and strength. Leaning back into the stone bench, he stretched long, jean-clad legs out across the immaculately trimmed grass. Behind him, the Pacific Ocean bubbled and frothed in the autumn wind. Looming before him, the House sat quiet, the gray stone snug in a coat of brown-tinged ivy. Massive, elaborate, it should have seemed brooding and dark in its isolated splendour, but in the rusty glow of the rising sun it held, instead, a sense of warm security. This was a place of light, and the sensitive man felt that peaceful aura seep through the chilly dawn like smoke rising from a hearthfire.

He sighed softly, basking in a rare moment of serenity. It had been far too long since he could let his own impenetrable barriers down. Too long since he had known safety, trust, ease of heart and mind. He knew that this instant of peace would be fleeting at best, but the flavour of it was too sweet to forego, too dear to ignore. A soft breeze floating in off the sea water played with the dark tendrils of his hair. Wayward strands curled around his eyes and temples, caressed the back of his neck. An angular, long-fingered hand thrust the thick bangs backward, but they fell again, as stubborn and determined as their owner, across his high brow.

Hazel eyes flickered upwards towards the top of the castle-like House, then closed slowly, flickering shut, only to fly open at the soft tread of footsteps on the path nearby. The man who strode into view was tall and distinguished, a heavy mane of gray hair waving loose around his sharp-boned face. He moved with unconscious assurance, his dark eyes held both confidence and sadness in their depths. The weight of authority and responsibility sat naturally on his broad shoulders, yet left deep crevices of travail across the skin of his face and hands. This was a man, like the one awaiting, who had faced the worst this reality had to offer and glimpsed shadows of what might lie beyond.

Their eyes met in silent understanding. From the beginning, there had been an immediate bond - a recognition of self in the other -- a recognition of shared purpose and dedication. Trust had been slower, both forced by anguished experience to grant that prize with grudging sparity. But forces, physical, spiritual, inevitable and random, had moved them into play together - a Knight and a Bishop - edging in from opposite sides of the board towards a single goal.

Sliding aside to let the elder man share the cool stone bench, the dark-haired man sat still, contemplative. His companion matched his mood, together they separately slid into memory. Images, voices, smells, thoughts filled both minds - a kaleidoscope of impressions to mark a meeting...

~~~~

Special Agent Fox Mulder had left for California unwillingly. He didn't begrudge his partner her time at home. After coming so close to death, yet again, Scully more than deserved the chance to be with her mother and brothers. But it still felt wrong to be going off on a case alone, for it brought back too-familiar sensations of pain. The last time he'd come this way, working, without her...

But his feelings had to be put aside, locked back up in the box deep within himself where he'd learned long ago to hide them. Nothing showed on the surface of his handsome, impassive face -- nothing despite the echo of silent pain in his eyes. The flight was long, delays stranding him for hours in the Denver airport, finally landing him in San Francisco at the unconscionable hour of six AM. The night spent in an airport waiting room left dark circles under his haunted eyes, and a bristly stubble across his chin. His uncharacteristically-somber tie was hanging askew, a yellow fingerprint emblazoned on the bottom. He was dirty, tired, hungry, and all he wanted was to check into his hotel, take a shower, and sleep...

~~~

The clatter of the police surrounding him, Mulder paid no attention as the sound of voices and footsteps settled down around him. Silence fell, close and waiting, and finally he lifted his head from to blearily peer out over the top of the case files. He looked up, and found himself staring into a deep pair of gray eyes. The hand outstretched towards him was as large as the man himself, though it was not fat, or even muscle-bulk that gave the sense of size - instead it was the dynamic charge of personal charisma that hit Mulder like an electric charge. His back straightened instantly, and he found himself on his feet and meeting that extended hand with his own before he even had a chance to realize he was doing it.

The grip on his hand was firm, strong but not crushing, the pressure certain and steady. Mulder had missed the introduction, but the man seemed to sense his confusion and gave his identity with calm self-assurance.

"Dr. Derek Rayne, Agent Mulder. Chairman of the Luna Foundation. I'm here to offer the assistance of my research staff. Since one of the murders took place on the museum grounds, I feel some responsibility in this case."

Rayne's voice matched his appearance. It was throaty, rich, colored by a foreign lilt. Mulder's trained ears twitched at the sound, rapidly locating the source.

Finding his hand released, Mulder nodded, then intently met Rayne's eyes.

"You're Dutch, aren't you?"

Rayne's start of surprise was barely perceptible, and turned quickly into a smile.

"Partially. My mother is Dutch, my father was American."

Mulder caught the past-tense, and sympathy leapt high within his veins. Rayne read it accurately, and tilted his chin downwards and then back up in silent appreciation. Neither said a word aloud, but Mulder felt the communication had been clear and distinct.

They stood studying each other for a moment longer; each man's senses, experience, intuition and training working simultaneously to assess the other. Mulder could feel Rayne's attention on him, even as he focused his own. For that instant there was no one else in the world but the two of them, a backwash of mutual sensitivity surrounding them in a whirlpool of awareness. And then, as abruptly as it begun, it ended. Rayne's eyes narrowed slightly, a glimmer of curiosity and interest lightening his craggy features. Mulder's jaw lifted, his mouth pursing into a pout of concentration. They both blinked, and something snapped.

~~~

Mulder was hesitant. He'd been used, manipulated to the point that he wasn't sure anymore how many of his beliefs were real and how many had been created for him. His entire life could have been built on lies, so what had once been easy - even amusing - to propose, now stuck to his tongue like dry peanut butter.

"Perhaps," he answered grudgingly. His eyes flickered away to flirt with the corners of the room, he failed to catch the sharp gleam of interest and satisfaction in Rayne's own eyes. The anthropologist was bland, utterly calm, when Mulder looked back to him. Rayne nodded, sighed, ran a hand through the thick layer of gray hair that covered his high brow.

"Perhaps," he echoed softly. "But without more information we're at a standstill." He frowned, then glanced at his watch. His voice remained carefully nonchalant as he spoke again, the offer apparently negligent. "Would you like to come back to the Foundation with me, Agent Mulder? We've got an extensive library and full internet access. My chief researcher, Dr. Alexandra Moreau, is a genius with the computer, and we've got plenty of room for you to stay, if you'd like." Only someone who knew Derek Rayne extremely well might see the flare of hope in his expression; it passed Mulder by like the softest of summer breezes. He saw only cool politeness, and placed the responsibility for his own heart-stirring leap of agreement purely on his own shoulders.

He agreed instantly, and they rose as one. But before either could begin to gather up the piles of paperwork strewn around them, life struck another blow.

Their quarry had killed again.

~~~

Derek Rayne watched the tall, limber form of the Federal Agent bend down over the grotesquely-displayed corpse. Those fine features were held, stonelike, in an expressionless mask. Those eyes, deep windows to the soul, were shuttered. Hidden. But Derek sensed, like a quiver within his own skin, the other man's anguish at the terrible sight before him. Derek felt the same emotion boil within in his gut, his stomach turning, twisting, into a painful knot. No matter how often he saw such a crime scene, it never got easier. He hated seeing the human body turned into an object, robbed of motive personality, character, soul - it was a travesty of the worst kind, especially when death had come unwelcome and too soon. There was no peace of passing to a better place here, only agony and terror. The Sensitive felt the disturbing aura of this place wash over him, sending a lance of ice scraping down his spine. He shivered and drew his long coat tighter around him.

A few feet away, Mulder was poised like a bloodhound, his eyes circuiting his surroundings, every nerve on edge. Derek could feel his intensity, it radiated from him like ripples from a stone thrown into waters. So the anthropologist stood still, waiting, letting the agent take the lead. An experienced leader, he knew well when it was time to let someone else move forward. And Derek could be patient, when it suited him to be so.

But the stench of evil in this place was too powerful to ignore. It pushed at him, buffeting him with the psychic stench of untimely death. It forced bile to rise in his throat, and images to waver before his mind's eye. His sixth sense could not avoid the forces battering at it; pictures, sounds, smells, tastes... all exploded before him in a twisted play of light and shadow. He gasped for breath, staggering, hands clutching at empty air, desperately reaching for what he could see, but not touch. He felt himself begin to fall...

And be caught.

~~~

Mulder *knew* the instant it happened. The shift in Rayne's eyes, the expression of stunned horror, the bleaching of color from beneath his tan. Eyes focused on thin air, Rayne stumbled, gasped, a wordless groan escaping his lips - and then he crumpled like a rag doll. Mulder was there to catch him, staggering beneath the other man's weight, but determined not to let him fall. Slowly, Mulder eased Rayne to the ground, drawing him into an awkward embrace.

The anthropologist struggled, twisting and turning, arms floundering. Mulder cradled him - waited for the spell to pass. It did so instantaneously, Rayne jerking awake with a sharp jolt.

"Whaaaa," he mumbled, instinctively trying to pull himself free. Mulder wouldn't let go. His deceptively thin arms squeezed tight around Rayne's chest. The elder man blinked, forcing himself back into self-awareness, then focused on Mulder. Eye to eye, close enough to taste the other's breath, Mulder let him begin to fumble for an explanation. But he was too impatient to wait; he felt his certainty rising clear within him, he refused to play games with an obvious truth.

"What did you See?"

~~~

He Saw...

Blood and torn flesh. Grinning darkness. A shimmer of metal. The howl of a wolf in the night. The moon, heavy and distorted, swollen and angry-red, raging at the horror below it. A woman's scream that choked into silence. Cold that penetrated the heart with daggers of ice.

And nothing that could bring warmth and peace except for the fierce grip of fingers entangled with his own, drawing him back from the brink of a nightmare to the sunlit, though shadowed, embrace of the day.

~~~~

Mulder was stunned by his first sight of the House. It was *huge*, formed of massive gray stones, rising high above perfectly manicured lawns and gardens. The Pacific Ocean sang in the background while the bright, shimmering lights of San Francisco flickered in the distance. Amazed, he followed the anthropologist from the car and up the stairs towards a massive, hard oak door. The symbol engraved upon the wood, an elaborately drawn snake forming the shape of an "L" around a sword, drew Mulder's attention, but he couldn't identify the symbol. Then the question was lost, as quickly as it had arisen.

For behind the door was a beautifully furnished hallway with sheer polished wood floors and rich throw rugs. A mahogany staircase wound upwards from the central lobby, with doors leading off in several directions. Rayne led him through one such door, and Mulder stopped in the doorway, a smile of pure pleasure lighting his face.

Books. And more books. And even *more* books. A staircase wound upwards to a second story walkway that was lined with yet more shelves, filled from floor to high ceiling with the rich, brightly colored spines of books. And standing in the middle of it all was one of the most beautiful women Fox Mulder had ever set eyes on. But Alexandra Moreau was a gifted scientist as well, and her professionalism and intelligence soon put Mulder at ease. She reminded him strongly of his partner, and that quickly placed the young woman high in Mulder's affections.

~~~~

Derek guided them towards a course of action, Alex and Mulder equally swift in response. Two heads had been better than one, and three moved swifter than two. Alex's expertise was in computerized information, and there she went, searching for patterns among the accumulated information. Mulder sequestered himself in a comfortable chair, files strewn around him, his agile, intuitive mind focusing in on the emotion, the psychology of the crimes. Drawing on the darkness that touches all men, he sought an understanding of the man - the monster - behind these vicious acts of violence.

The anthropologist sought his answers among the books themselves. Images still wavered against his eyelids, swam across the edges of his mind. He had seen symbols, markings, heard fragments of words, phrases...so he searched for anything that might match. Anything that would connect with his faint, but growing awareness of this no-longer-human killer.

~~~~

It was hours later when Mulder pulled himself up, stretching out sore muscles, yawning loudly in the silent room. A soft murmur stole his attention and he wandered over to stand above the quietly slumbering Derek Rayne, sprawled out on the green velvet couch. Mulder watched him sleep, impressions merging in his facile mind, forming a richly drawn portrait of a man. Oh, there was so much more Mulder didn't, couldn't know, but what he did only fed his desire to learn all he could about his new found friend.

His hand reaching out almost of its own accord, his long, elegant fingers trembled in the air above Derek's gray-haired head. Heat radiated from the sleeping man's skin; an aroma of cologne, wool, and human musk filled the air. Mulder ever so slowly dropped his hand until the palm rested softly on Derek's thick hair. One wayward curl furled outwards, a feathery whisper against Mulder's palm. His lungs seized tightly, holding air...

And the spell was broken by the sudden stirring of the slumbering man. Derek moaned aloud, twisted in his sleep. His arms and legs jerked, his face contorted roughly. Mulder dropped instantly to his knees beside the couch, now firmly taking hold of Derek's shoulder. But Derek struggled, wildly, his low groans breaking out into a cry of horror. Bolting upright, he convulsed once, then, eyes breaking open, he came awake with a rasping gasp for breath.

"Derek!" Mulder tightened his grip, drawing the older man's attention. Those sharp eyes were glazed with fear and horror, still focused far beyond his surroundings. But Mulder was insistent, using the sound of his voice and the touch of his hands to bring the man back to the present. It worked, Derek sagging back into the couch and running a shaking hand through his disarrayed hair.

Impatient, sensing urgency, Mulder leapt up to sit beside his companion.

"What did you See?" he asked again, unable to hide the edge of worry in his voice.

Derek took it seriously, his voice low and somber as he replied.

"He's chosen another victim."

"Are you sure?" Mulder demanded, his stomach sinking into a pit of nausea.

One look was all it took, Derek didn't need to speak his confirmation. Instead, he leaned forward, twisting up into a sitting position, big hands clenching into fists upon his thighs.

"A woman, blond and fair like the others." His eyes closed as he looked inward, silently replaying the fleeting images before they were lost. But these were insistent, haunting his eyesight, demanding their due. Derek swallowed hard, then forced the words out. "He's watching her, following...she doesn't know. But he knows, and plans... it's like looking at a doubly-exposed photograph, half-dead, half-alive. And he..." The big man shivered despite iron-clad control. "The evil is there, a part of him. I don't know if he's succeeded in calling the demon or if it was always part of him, but I can *feel* it!"

"Can you See him?" Mulder asked urgently.

A quick shake of the head was his only reply.

"What about the location?" Mulder was persistent.

Again the eyes closed, and this time Derek leaned back into the couch, though the tenseness of the muscles in his hands and flexed arms did not release. The words tumbled out a jumble of impressions. v "Light, dark, shadows. A city street...the wharf...no a steep hill with houses on one side. A shop, brown sign swinging in the wind. I can....can not make out the words. Then it changes. Trees and grass, at night. No...a room. A black room with red candles. A window that shows the moon. A shape moving....NO!"

Derek jerked again, and Mulder instinctively reached to comfort him. Wrapping his arm around the broad shoulders, he drew the other man closer.

"Enough, that's enough. Relax," he urged.

The psychic resisted, his entire body coiled like a startled rattlesnake.

"No...it's going to be soon. Very soon. We have to stop it!"

"We will." Mulder spoke with a wry certainty. He truly couldn't promise any such thing, but he knew that he and Derek would do everything in their power to stop this death. Painful experience had taught him that that was all you could hope for, but the same strain of anguish twisting in Derek's soul also warned him that both would deeply suffer the guilt of failing.

An ironic smile flirted with the edges of Derek's full-lipped mouth. Mulder returned it, and they settled back into the couch. Mulder's arm was still closed around Derek's shoulder, but the elder man did not protest or pull away. Accepting the offered support without comment, he rested silently. Beside him, his body equally still, Mulder joined him in quiet contemplation.

Until...

"The girl?"

What?"

"The girl," Mulder repeated. "Did you see her face?"

Derek's head whipped around, and his eyes widened.

"Yesss. I did."

"And you could recognize her if you saw her again?"

"Yes!"

The last question and answer were simultaneous, as were both men's leaps to their feet. Mulder's hand pressed down on Derek's shoulder, pushing him forward even as the anthropologist rushed away. Mulder followed, barely a half-step behind. Up the stairs, through a doorway to the left, and then Derek paused, turned...and strode straight through the wall.

~~~

Seated in front of the wall-sized video screen, computers and state-of-the-art equipment humming around him, Mulder's bland expression hid a frantically racing mind as he tried to absorb this revelation.

The Legacy.

A secret society devoted to protecting mankind from supernatural forms of evil. It was both unbelievable and totally *right* at once. The young man's heart ached with the cautiously shared revelations, his blood sang in his veins. He'd spent so much of his life struggling against ridicule, derision, hatred. So much time poured into fighting bureaucracy just to get the chance to search for a kernel of truth. Always alone, even with Scully, because her skeptical world view kept her from seeing the truths he lived for. And now - now he knew there were others who not only shared his quest for understanding all that stood beyond the barriers of physical reality, but were actively living it out.

Envy struck hard, bitter and cold, congealing in his belly as he sought to find the words. They were both waiting for a response, but he couldn't give one. Too much had happened in the past few months - too much in the past four years. The words just wouldn't come. And with customary understanding, Alex took the burden from him.

"You're totally worn-out," she said. A chocolate-skinned hand closed over his as she urged him to follow. Shooting Derek a pointed look, she led an unresponsive Mulder from the control room.

~~~~~

Squinting at the computer screen, Derek didn't hear Alex approach until she was standing behind him. She waited until he paused, and turned around to gaze up at her.

"He's already asleep." She shook her head. "He looks like he hasn't had a decent night's sleep in months." Frowning, her eyes focused hard on her Precept's face. "He's been hurt, Derek. Someone has hurt him badly and the wounds aren't new. Well, some are, but..." A natural empath, her sensitivity was screaming in response to Mulder's pain. "Be *careful* please. I know he's exactly the kind of recruit you want for the Legacy, and I like him too, but for that very reason, take things slowly. I don't think he can take much more without collapsing."

Derek nodded, grimacing. "Maybe it would be good to let Rachel talk to him when she gets back."

Alex agreed.

"That's a very good idea. He's *sensitive*, Derek. Reminds me a lot of me when you first found me."

Her mentor smiled warmly at her, sharing a memory with his most promising, and favored student.

~~~~

Staring, bleary-eyed, at the computer screen, Mulder stifled a yawn. He didn't bother looking at his watch, he knew it was late. But even with the resources of both the FBI and the Legacy at their hands, this killer had proved frustratingly elusive. Derek's sketch of the potential victim had been circulated as best they could without warning off the killer; but nothing had come through.

Footsteps behind him pulled his head around, and he looked up to see an attractive, professional-looking blond woman approach. She smiled warmly at him, offering her hand even as she spoke.

"Rachael Corrigan," she said.

He took her hand, squeezed it for a moment, then let go.

"Fox Mulder....just call me Mulder."

She grinned.

"Derek said you prefer your last name. A shame though, I rather like 'Fox.' It's unique."

He shrugged, not willing to find the words to explain why he couldn't tolerate the sound of that name. The ancient pain struck, the memory of his sister's voice crying out to him as she was taken away reverberating in his mind. He turned back to the computer, forcing the emotional shields back in place.

"I've sent a copy of Derek's sketch out to all local law enforcement as well as to VICAP and the NCIC. But this woman is unlikely to have a criminal record, so our chances of finding her...well, unless we send the sketch to the local news, we're unlikely to find her. And doing that would force him into precipitous action. Right now he's simply planning, enjoying the chase, but if we push him..."

He felt Rachael's eyes pinned to the back of his neck, but he refused to answer the unspoken question. A tense moment passed, then she responded evenly, moving to sit down beside him.

"You're right. He's already accelerating his pace, if we put him on the defensive now, he could overreact and strike out wildly. Or disappear."

Mulder shook his head, a sudden intuitive understanding striking him.

"No, he won't go away. He likes it too much. Now that he's gotten a good taste of killing, he'll want more. He'll need more. And if Derek's right about the demon, he won't have a choice."

Rachael frowned, biting at her lower lip, even as she met Mulder's troubled eyes.

She sighed.

"Derek has an unfortunate habit of being right about these things."

Mulder broke into a wide grin. She looked startled, and he explained quickly.

"You remind me of my partner and myself. She's said exactly that about me sometimes."

Rachael felt his smile pulling her own outward. She offered it with accepting warmth.

"It's not an easy thing to accept..."

"Especially since it usually means big trouble," Mulder finished for her.

She laughed wryly.

"Oh yeah...you can say that again."

"Especially when it..." Mulder began to recite, only to get stopped by Rachel tossing a pencil at him.

He ducked, chuckling...then abruptly turned serious again.

"I've never come across a demon before, but Derek seems to know what he's talking about."

Rachael openly offered her answer.

"If anyone is an expert, it's Derek. He lost his father to a demon when he was a child. Derek saw it happen."

Mulder reared back, his natural empathy hitting him like a physical blow in the gut. He knew what it was like to watch a parent die. He'd seen his own father die. That struck a chord in him, resonating with the growing strands of harmony between himself and the Legacy Precept. His thoughts turned to Derek Rayne, and he struggled with the uncomfortable need to offer comfort.

~~~

Derek rubbed at his eyes, frowning at the books spread out before him. Symbols danced against the retinas of his eyes. Closing his eyelids only brought the images into sharper relief. A monstrous face howled against his the darkness in his sight, and he opened his eyes to seek the light. The glow of the lamp was bare relief, and he studied it with unfocused eyes. Even with physical sight obscured, his psychic sense was still raging. This particular demon had grabbed hold of him, and Derek knew with the fiercest of intuition that only the final fight would free him from it.

He shivered despite the warmth of the room, and reached out for his lukewarm cup of coffee. Sipping at the liquid with a grimace of distaste, he tried to relax. The sensitivity would only be of use if he was relaxed and open. But to open up to *that* - it was difficult. The memory of previous visions tormented him. He didn't want to share space in his mind with such horror.

This was the price of his gift, and the responsibility that he had assumed with the gold signet ring that lay heavy on his right hand. He was a Legacy Precept and with that came the obligation to face the evil before him, even when it terrifyed him. As he had told his sister, someone had to fight these battles, and it was not in Derek Rayne's nature to leave the struggle to someone else, when he could take the burden upon himself.

Mentally steeling himself, he leaned back in his chair and close his eyes. Gently, his hand fell upon the piece of evidence he had been studiously ignoring for the past hour. It had sat there, like a spider in its web, quietly waiting for his attention. Now he gave it; the tips of his fingers brushing softly, yet firmly, against the unyeilding metal. The silver, embossed medallion trembled beneath his touch, sliding against the polished oak of the desk. His hand captured it, lifted it, enclosed it in a fist...

And the images struck. Derek jerked in his seat, head falling backwards to turn unseeing, Seeing, eyes upon a distant ceiling. His body tensed, then released, then tensed again.

He Saw...

~~~~

Two faces interposed; one holding a sheer vestige of humanity, the other fully satisfied in its monstrosity. They merged, separated, whirled upon each other. They snarled, and turned to focus directly upon him. They Saw him. The human face smiled, the expression twisted almost out of recognition; the monster opened its wide mouth and howled. It reared and roared, then rushed towards him.

Derek screamed.

~~~

"Derek!" Mulder raced into the office, Rachael, Nick and Alex close on his heels. They split around the desk, converging on their shivering Precept from both sides. Mulder seized his shoulders, while Alex reached out to cradle his head. His eyes were wide open, but unfocused, his mouth trembling as he gasped for breath.

"Derek!" Alex cried out, echoing Mulder, desperately trying to pull him back. Mulder tightened his grip, moving closer to slide his arms around Derek, offering the warmth of human contact.

Somehow between them, they managed to break the hold of the nightmarish vision, and Derek stuttered into recognition of his surroundings. The horror of it stayed with him, and his eyes were desperately haunted as they flickered from worried face to face.

"I...I'm all right," he said, drawing in sharp, deep breaths as he struggled to calm his racing heartbeat. Alex gave way to Rachael, and her nimble hands began a quick examination. She frowned over his pulse, then tilted her head toward Nick, who quickly turned and ran for a glass of water. Derek accepted the fluid with a grateful murmur, happy to have the extra moments to compose himself. Pushing the shock down with ironclad control, he took a deep drink of the cool, welcome fluid, then found the strength to speak.

"He...It...can sense me. I'm not sure how, but I made a connection with it. I can still feel it." His eyes took a wary circuit of the room, as though expecting it to jump out at him at any moment.

"That's enough," Rachael said firmly. "You need rest. Let us handle things for a while."

Derek shook his head.

"No." That simple syllable was uncompromising. "I think I can find him. If I can just tune in on the direction..."

"No!" This was from Mulder. His jaw was tight with unexpressed emotion. "It's too risky. If he can sense you, then you're in danger."

"We're all in danger unless we stop this demon. The longer we wait, the more power it assumes." Derek was equally uncompromising. He turned to Mulder and reached out to touch the other man's arm. "Mulder, if it was you, you wouldn't stop now, would you?"

The question - demand - was too accurate; it cut to close to the bone. Mulder knew it was true, and as much as it ached within him, he also knew that he couldn't ask Derek to stand back when his Gift might be the only way to stop another murder. Or more.

But it hurt. Oh, how did it hurt. Mulder's protective instincts were in full force. He wanted nothing more than to wrap the exhausted, troubled Precept up in a blanket and lock him in his bedroom until this was all over. Derek was too precious to risk. Not just his extraordinary talent, but the man himself. The brilliant mind, powerful soul, caring heart - he was too important to lose.

And too necessary to this fight.

Mulder's mouth pursed into a thrusting pout, deep crevices lining his forehead even as he reluctantly nodded.

"No..." This was from Alex, but one burning glance from Derek and she subsided, unhappily. Nick wrapped an arm around her shoulder, offering support, and she gratefully leaned into him.

"I don't like this," Rachael insisted.

Derek turned a soft smile on her.

"I don't either, but we don't have a choice."

Nick agreed. Still holding onto Alex, he went straight to the point.

"So what now?"

~~~~

They followed Derek like hunters behind a bloodhound. He called out tense directions, eyes shuttered, nose lifted to the wind. They followed, and he led - through the city and up into the suburbs, passing neat row after row of clean, well-manicured homes. Finally, Derek shouted out, "Stop!" and Nick slammed on the brakes, drawing them to a standstill in front of another totally innocuous house.

But Derek was certain - he pointed a long arm out through the open window.

"There. He is there. I'm certain of it." He blinked, his voice dropping. "And he's got her. She's alive, but..."

"Not for long..." Nick stated firmly, ignoring the potential double-meaning. He and Mulder both drew their guns in simultaneous, smooth motion. The ex-Navy Seal and the Federal Agent shared a quick, unspoken communication, then broke into motion. Nick was out the driver's door in an instant, and Mulder was out the side door barely a heartbeat later. Derek was quick to follow, holding his hand up to restrain both Alex and Rachael. Their complaints fell on deaf ears, and both settled back, sharing a look of female fury, but accepting their leader's order.

Nick circled around to the back of the house, while Mulder focused in on the front door. Derek stayed close to him, letting his footsteps fall in pattern with the Fed's, until they sounded more as one man than two. A shout and a gunshot echoed through the still night air, then silence fell.

"Nick..." Derek whispered, his body turning as he struggled with the need to run to his friend's rescue.

But Mulder was already in motion, and he burst forward and through the front door without a second's delay.

Derek paused long enough to catch a glimpse of Alex and Rachael as they ran around the far side of the house, against his instructions, in response to Nick's apparent need. And he couldn't find the will to call them back. Mulder was already inside, and Derek felt an irresistable pull drawing him to follow.

~~~~

Darkness fell around them like a bitter shroud. Their footsteps rose, alarmingly loud, in the chill quiet of the old house. Furniture formed lumpy shadows along the edges of the walls, sharp edges protruding dangerously into their path. Two hearts pumped in synchronous rhythm, breath rasping in tensed lungs. The quarry lay nearby, and both hunters ached with the need to seize their pray. But both knew only too well how easy it would be for the roles to change, and the hunted become the hunter.

Mulder eased up against a doorway and signaled Derek with a sharp slash of his left hand through the air. His right gripped the handgun in a fierce embrace, nerves tingling with the need to convulse, to move, to send death flying through the air upon a single pellet of lead. But he held control, tenuous, but determined, waiting...waiting...

Derek moved past him, a large shadow, swift and certain. The Precept never faltered when it came time to act, his purpose was his strength, his will a force all its own. He'd been born to fight this battle, and even the uncertainty of youth had never truly tested that destiny. Now he was at one with his calling, and it flowed with him like a waterfall of barely restrained energy.

Mulder felt himself drawn by the other man's certainty. He followed, slender and lithe, his own instinct rising hard within him. It would be soon, he knew. The evil was close, and coming closer still, rising to meet them. Soon, so soon...

~~~~

"Nooo!" Mulder screamed again through a raw and aching throat. Pain seared him at the effort, but no force on earth or beyond could have held him back. The image would linger before his eyes for the remainder of his life - the jagged ax blade poised high above Derek's exposed neck. The blade dripping with already shed blood. The hands gory. The visage of the monster superimposed over the face of a man lost to humanity. The slow, yet heartwrenchingly fast descent of that blade.

"Nooo!"

And somehow, drawing on every possible reserve of strength, ignoring nerve endings that shrieked with agony, Mulder thrust himself forward, reaching up...seizing the long, slippery wooden handle with both hands and throwing his entire weight forward.

The struggle went on for a blinding eternity. All that Mulder knew, all that he was, became buried, exposed, bound in that one, single wish - to keep that bloodthirsty blade from stealing the life of his new-found ally. He would not allow the ax to fall.

He would not release it.

He would not stop.

Even when the force propelling the blade towards him abruptly collapsed into weakness and Mulder toppled forward with the weight of his own strength. Even when he hit the floor with knee-numbing agony. Even when he felt, more than saw, the body of the enemy sprawl breathlessly beside him. Even when warm hands closed on his shoulders, offering support and comfort.

Only when a deep, richly-accented voice purred in his ear did he begin to relax his hold on the deadly weapon. That sound swelled around him, gently urging, never pushing, wooing him back to a recognition of his surroundings. The hands rocked him back against firm, leather-coated warmth and something inside him broke. The ax tumbled from nerveless fingers. His legs crumpled. His eyes swum with unshed tears. And Mulder gave himself up to Derek's embrace.

~~~~

Standing on the battlements of the castle this Legacy Team called home, Mulder stared out at the calm, seemingly endless reach of the Pacific Ocean. Dawn rose behind him, throwing rays of gold light across the reflective surface of the water. The city stirred in the distance, but here everything was quiet, soothing, disturbed only by the calls of morning birds and Mulder's own restive spirit.

He should have been at peace. He should have been satisfied. They had caught - and destroyed - the monster who had been stealing the lives of young women for the past four months. The latest victim was alive and recovering under Rachel Corrigan's watch, as was an embarrassed Nick Boyle, the bullet wound in his shoulder more a nuisance than a threat. Both Derek and Mulder had survived the battle, each protecting the other's life. They had been a startlingly effective team from beginning to end, styles and purposes matching in easy synchronicity. Too easy - it made every other partnership Mulder had had pale in comparison. Even with Scully it was a more difficult struggle...

And that thought made him cringe with guilt and anguish. He *loved* Scully. She was his counterpart, the other half of his soul. She was the earth that grounded him to this reality. She was his partner in this quest that ruled his life. Yet, her world view was so different from his that sometimes the gulf yawned between them like the mouth of a ravenous beast. He relied on her questioning of his beliefs to keep him from blinding himself, but sometimes - oh, how desperately he wanted someone to *believe* him. Someone who would saw the world as he did and could offer the comfort of understanding in the face of the derision he faced so often.

Derek Rayne offered that. Mulder knew it, though the words had never been spoken. But he could sense it, just as he could feel the presence of the man who stepped up, almost hesitantly, behind him. Mulder paused before turning, gathering his emotions up behind a well-trained shield. A shield that shatte red upon the shoals of the focused, dark gray eyes that met his own. Derek nodded at him, then moved up beside him to gaze out over the ocean.

"This is one of my favorite places," he said softly. "I like to come here at night. The stars are so bright that I feel I can reach out and touch them."

Mulder agreed silently, lifting his head to stare upward at dots of light receding before the rising dawn. Rayne fell silent again, but his entire body was tense with an internal struggle. Words were fighting free, and Mulder waiting for them, despite the knowledge that rang within him. He understood what the Precept was going to say; but he was unable to take away this burden. He had to wait, and the wait was not long.

Derek didn't turn to meet Mulder's eyes as he began to speak.

"Mulder, I know this is sudden, but I would like you to consider...I want you to stay with us." Now he turned to pin the younger man with the force of his personality. "The Legacy needs you and I think you need it. Don't answer me now, please think about it." He leaned in closer, settling a firm hand on Mulder's shoulder. "There's a place for you here, always. Remember that. You will be welcome whenever you choose to join us. I hope it will be soon." His mouth lifted into a warm smile, though the wry twist of his voice belied the hope. "But we can wait. The Legacy is always here."

"Derek, I can't." Mulder hated those words, even as they escaped his mouth. He wanted to say yes, desperately, painfully; he ached with that desire. It oozed from him, even as he spoke the reluctant, but certain denial.

The Precept shook his shaggy head.

"You can. There is always a choice, even if you cannot see it now."

"I can see it," Mulder breathed. "And I wish...but I have obligations..."

His voice trailed off.

"Your sister - and your partner," Derek dropped those words like stones into the sea. Mulder shook with the revelation, then turned angry eyes on the Precept's face. That man answered with a crooked smile.

"We always check out potential recruits; but you we investigated even before you arrived. The Bureau was going to be called in on this case, and we needed someone we could work with. Your name was on the top of the search list, and I urged the local police to request you specifically. I couldn't have known you were Legacy material, but I was sure that at least you were someone who would not rule out the more 'unusual' aspects of this case."

Mulder chuckled self-deprecatingly, dropping his chin towards his chest. Then he lifted his face upward. "That was a good assumption."

Derek shrugged.

"So I hoped." He paused, emotions chasing each other across his face. Mulder knew immediately there was more, something Derek was unsure of revealing. He instinctively let his face and body relax, offering silent acceptance. He wanted to keep this relationship, whatever it might be, that much he was certain of.

Derek's expression focused, turning serious, and Mulder responded with a rising pulse rate.

"I've Seen things. When I first shook your hand, and other times when I've been in close contact with you."

Mulder's stomach jolted, rising, then plummeting. He grasped onto the hard stone for support, and stared fiercely at Derek.

"What did you See?"

Derek's eyes closed, his voice sounded like it was far away.

"A girl, and a board game with colored pieces. Bright light behind shadows in a doorway. Children screaming." He gritted his teeth, drawing in a sharp breath even as Mulder's lungs froze. "A helicopter over the mountains, a woman in a hospital bed...." Derek weaved a hand through the gray waves of his hair, struggling to focus on the wayward images. "People swimming in tanks...blood...letters in blood... Bees. Lights in the sky moving too fast. A creature frozen in ice. I...I'm not certain of anything more. Bits and pieces, faces." He shook himself, then lifted haunted eyes to meet Mulder's. "I *know* you have unfinished business waiting for you." The sharp Dutch accent intensified, forcing Mulder to concentrate on every word. "And you won't be free until you've resolved your past, but..." He reached out to hold both of Mulder's shoulders. "There's a place for you here, always. Whenever you can, come to us." The timber of his voice dropped, deep and urgent. "Come to me."

Stunned, Mulder could only lean into the strength offered. He nodded, biting at his lower lip. That promise was easy - it was walking away that would be difficult. Even when he knew there was no other choice.

Derek read the answer and a faint glimmer of hope and relief shone in his expression.

Mulder responded to it, reaching up to mirror the other man's grip on his shoulders. Their arms crossed, each holding onto the other, sealing an unspoken promise.

~~~

A day passed in cleaning up details, and neither man spoke of the dawn conversation. Night fell again, wrapping Angel Island in a dark, starlit cloak. Nick was out with friends, Rachel had left to return to her home and child, and Alex was in the control room tuning the computers onto the trail of another case. Derek led Mulder up the stairs and down the long hallway towards their rooms. They paused in front of Mulder's door, both beginning to speak at once.

Both grinned. Derek motioned for Mulder to speak first.

"I have to leave tomorrow," he said. "The AD has another case for me in Baltimore."

Derek nodded. "I'm sorry you have to go."

"Me too." Mulder meant it.

Derek knew he did, and he struggled visibly with the need to try another round of persuasion. The Legacy was his life, and he wanted to keep this talented, brilliant young man in the service of that cause. He'd lost one already, the Priest who kept fighting against his calling to the Legacy, and it ached to lose yet another. Especially one who already meant more to Derek personally than he wanted to admit, even to himself. He *felt* the pain of the other man's chosen path, and he desperately wanted to spare him that anguish. Yet, how could he fight the ruling passion of Mulder's life? And what right did he have to try?

Mulder shared Derek's internal struggle, both men standing awkwardly in the hallway before a half-open door. The house was still around them, the very air waiting for a resolution of the emotion that built like a tidal wave between them. Neither wanted to break the moment, Derek feeling that if he tried, he'd lose Mulder permanently, and Mulder afraid of the intensity of need that drew him towards Derek. For once in his life he felt wanted and cared for, and that was so sweet as to be nearly irresistible.

And some quirk of personality twitched within the young man, pushing him towards seizing hold of what was being offered. Mulder had always relied on his instincts, and he'd never been one to obey the rules. He might pay for this later, but the need was too insistent, the desire too strong. It wasn't formalized, vocalized, even fully understood on an intellectual level - for Mulder so often operated within the sphere of pure intuition. And he did so again. Swiftly moving closer, he reached up to draw Derek closer, into an embrace that shattered the remnants of both men's defenses.

~~~

Mulder would never remember who made the first move to turn the innocent hug into something more meaningful, something more intense. Perhaps he had been the one to find Derek's lips with his own, but the other man's apparently steady temperament hid an impulsiveness and passion that easily overtook Mulder's own.

They tumbled into the room, entwined together. It was at once a struggle and a joining, strength merging with strength, desire with desire. Derek's hands swept through the silken darkness of Mulder's hair, holding him still for a kiss that seared them both. Mouths opened, tongues argued, teeth clashed. Hardened groins thrust and rubbed, long legs tangling.

The bed was a welcome softness, though neither would have cared if the surface they fell upon was soft as velvet or hard as stone. The surge of flesh against flesh was all of their world, and cloth formed only a barrier to fumbling fingers. Mulder's deft hands yanked Derek's thick wool sweater upward, and the larger man reared upward, allowing it to be drawn over his head and tossed aside. Static electricity crackled in his hair, leaving gray-streaked curls to settle wildly over his forehead, neck and ears. Gentle, yet firm hands came down to comb through the wayward strands, stroking across scalp and skin, tracing the veins that throbbed beneath the surface.

Derek groaned, then lowered his head again, seeking blindly with half-closed eyes for the heat that lay so close. His lips touched warm skin, the jutting bone of a sleek jaw, the savory hollow of Mulder's throat. The pulse beat quickened beneath his touch and the whisper of his name moistened his brow. He suckled on the expanse of skin available there, only to give way when the hands cradling his skull urged him upwards until their mouths met again.

Mulder sank into that kiss, every nerve in his body alert to the weight that settled down upon him. The feel of bone and muscle, hard-planed and solid, was different from anything he'd known before. But the illicit nature of it excited him further. The honest truth of it seared him to the bone. He gave into that kiss, promising with the lushness of his mouth and the encircling brand of his arms all the acceptance and joy he could give. He felt it answered in the demanding thrust of Derek's tongue, sweeping into the depth of his mouth. In the searching touch of the hands that traveled down his sides and up again, digging inside his shirt to caress the sheer length of his back.

Together, they fought with the remaining layers of clothing and tossed them aside, reveling in the sweetness found in the contact of bare flesh on flesh. Experience was not needed in the fury of emotion, and each body knew what it needed through the oldest of instincts. A brief, joyful tussle ended with Mulder spread across Derek's chest, his long nose buried in the other man's throat. But the lapping of his tongue against the other man's clavicle was only the beginning of a long trail downward, charting the lines and planes of his body from the broad chest with its tiny puckered nipples and feathering of coarse hair to the nearly flat abdomen and the heavy, muscled thighs.

The gray head tossed on the pillows, strong hands guiding, yet allowing, as Mulder circled his prey. Moving closer, the younger man licked at the sensitive hollow of a hip, then dove in for the kill. Derek's lush voice filled the room with a roar of satisfaction and satiated desire as that mouth drew him upward into a frothing ocean of pleasure.

Sharing this intimacy with his new friend - and lover - was excruciatingly sweet. Mulder knew what gave himself pleasure, and he used that knowledge ruthlessly in his pursuit of Derek's release. Even when powerful hands sought to rip him away from the thrusting hips, a warning imminent in the foreign words tearing from his lover's throat, Mulder refused to let go. Heavy, swollen flesh throbbed in mouth, pushing at his own throat, seeking fulfillment. And Mulder urged him over that edge, somehow knowing just which touch to apply where, when to run his tongue over the weeping hole, when to press downward and when to pull upward, until the explosion overtook them both in a burst of emotional and physical flame.

~~~

Mulder woke slowly, startled at first, then warmed, body and soul, by the press of a hot, solid body against the slender length of his own. He snuggled closer, sighing as a soft murmur in an foreign language accompanied the gentle flow of hands across his body. Deft fingers teased at his nipples, and desire swelled again, thickening the blood in his veins and tightening the muscles of his groin. Those sweet hands moved downward, the man behind him shifting to draw Mulder back up against his own chest. The rub of their bodies, back-to-front, was achingly beautiful, and the hardness that pushed against his thighs was a mirror for his own.

Those hands closed on him, and pleasure jolted through them both. Mulder arched backwards, sharing the sensations that flooded him, and the arms enclosing him convulsed, clutching him close. He arched his head back, twisting sideways, offering his mouth. It was taken in a passionate kiss, the shared heat of their breaths mingling in their lungs. Mulder seized Derek's lower lip between his teeth and tugged. Derek's laughter was swallowed into Mulder's throat. Twisting in the embrace that held him as a willing prisoner, Mulder let everything slip away except the wave of need that rose within him, undeniable and unstoppable.

He writhed in Derek's grasp, hips rocking forward and back, his own hands closing on Derek's powerful forearms with a fierce, almost painful grip. Derek encouraged him, exchanging kisses, biting at Mulder's neck and shoulders, thrusting his own hips against Mulder's in a demanding rhythm. They moved together, each powerful push of Derek's body forcing Mulder deeper into the hands that caressed and tortured him. Each shock of nerve-jangling pleasure tightening the grip of Mulder's thighs on Derek. Sweat broke loose on both men's burning skin, slicking the motions of flesh against flesh until it slid in a feverish rush towards release, which came with a convulsing, moaning cry that ripped loose from two throats in a single instant of liquid heat.

~~~~

They slept in a tangle of limbs, Mulder's face buried against Derek's side. The elder man's hand played in the ebony tangle of his lover's hair, stroking, comforting, even within slumber itself. Neither turned away, not even in the throws of disturbing dreams. Instead, they snuggled closer, clinging, even unconsciously, to each other.

~~~~

The morning rose all too soon. The ease of the night gave way to the uncertainties of the day, and Mulder headed for the shower with shoulders bent and shadowed eyes. Torn apart between conflicting loyalties, trying to balance the shadows of the past against the promise of the future, Mulder faced the coming leave-taking with anxiety and anguish.

~~~~

Derek returned to the 'shelter' of his own room with a heavy heart, a mix of guilt and pain striking with every breath he took. Had he pushed too hard? Had he taken advantage? Would Mulder ever consider returning, much less staying? And how could he face losing him now?

~~~~

It had been merely a few moments of passing time for each man to remember the events that brought them to that quiet, garden bench. And the events they shared had taken less than a week of their lives, and yet those days had changed them both perhaps forever. Nothing could diminish the fierce emotion and shared vision that drew them together, but neither could they ignore the forces that tore them apart.

"You have to go now." It was a mere statement. The answer was already evident in the tensed muscles of Mulder's neck and shoulders.

Mulder nodded stiffly, then forced a smile.

"I'll call." The promise was lightly made, but serious nonetheless.

It was Derek's turn to nod.

"You'll always have a place here," he couldn't help repeating, hoping yet again that something would change. But it didn't. The call of Mulder's past, the quest that ruled his life, was too strong for either man to deny.

"I know," was the only answer Mulder could give. Derek accepted it, despite the frustration raging silently within. But Mulder sensed it - knew it only too well - and he softened his reply with a true smile.

"And I will return - when I can."

"If you can," Derek replied somberly. And Mulder could do no more than accept the implicit warning. Both of them had chosen dangerous paths, and neither one could predict when or where that path might end in sudden violence. But the acceptance of the risk did not lessen the determination to win through, and that they also shared.

It was in that mutual stubbornness that they met again, and said good-bye. Wry smiles lightened both their expressions as they stood and walked towards the waiting car. There was little more that could be said for now. And only the future would tell if anything more could be.

But Mulder paused and reached out for Derek one last time after he had said his good-byes to the rest of the Legacy team. In a whisper for Derek's ear only, he whispered, "We will meet again."

The certainty of Mulder's parting words stayed with the Precept as he watched Mulder's car disappear through the high iron gates guarding the entrance to the estate. Turning to catch up with Alex, Nick and Rachel as they walked back into the waiting House, he felt a sudden rush of prescience confirm Mulder's prediction.

The future was never certain, their pathways through the darkness were separate, but the goal was the same. And in that pursuit of light and truth, they would indeed meet again.