Jinxing Fate

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WARNING! This story is part of what is now a 6 part WIP. The first three parts are posted. 

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A demon had better things to do than save the world on a Saturday night. 

Before Gadrien could do more than lift one hand in protest, the red-haired idiot slammed the metal base of the lamp down on the amulet and obliterated it. The resulting explosion of light picked the female agent up and hurled her across the room. Gadrien groaned as the woman's broken body dropped gracelessly to the floor. A maelstrom of energy shrieked as it punched its way through the dimemsional wall, unstructured and uncontrolled. The demon resisted the urge to grab the agent and shake her. 

The magic shrieked again, striving to become. It lashed back and forth, mindlessly destructive in its search for meaning, for guidelines. Gadrien banished the urge to cower as he felt the full enormity of the power behind the breach. If the amulet had not already been keyed to the woman, he might have been able to simply drain the excess into something innocuous - like a hurricane or a tornado. Hell, if the amulet had not already been keyed to the woman, she would not have been able to destroy it in the first place. Unfortunately, Jenn had been very specific in her desires. 

The ex-djinn had wanted Dana Scully to have her three wishes. 

Gadrien cursed again as he twisted herself into the magic. Why did he have to be the demon called on to redeem this particular favor? The magic heaved, protesting his control. Seeking the wishes. Gadrien glanced at the battered body sprawled on the floor and grimaced. He had leeway - but not much. Stupid humans. 

Don't let me die. Not like this. 

That had been the thought uppermost in the woman's mind as the world exploded. Wrapped around the thought were emotional slashes of protest and regret. Very well then… 

The magic hesitated, then slammed through the demon as it bent itself to obey his command. Gadrien gasped, then let the pain bleed away. The energy bumbled about, a cosmic puppy, eager to please. On the floor, bones grated then clicked back into place. Flesh knit and spilt blood found its way back into the veins that normally housed it. 

Wish number one granted. 

Gadrien reached again for the woman's thoughts. 

Don't let Mulder die 

The demon hesitated as he mulled over that unspoken wish. There was no doubt that the wish was genuine, but it held the flavor of habit and a desire to keep the man in the next room safe from the current danger. Unfortunately, the danger lay within the unused wish, not the initial explosion. Gadrien supposed it would be a theoretically intriguing problem, to direct the energy to defend the man from the magic itself. 

The demon shuddered. 

His mind sought the sleeping man in the next room. Like every other occupant of the motel, he was oblivious to the disaster raging behind the shields and sound baffles thrown around the room. A protection spell? A charm to turn aside the next bullet? He drifted through concealed thoughts lightly, then paused as something dark threaded through the man's nightmares. Something that held protest, regret, and the cold touch of the grave. Something the woman knew nothing about. 

Gadrien almost sighed in relief. His thoughts encompassed time, pulling the glittering strands of possibility close enough to touch. One by one he examined each thread for potential and scowled as he realized just how many ways this man could get himself killed trying not to get himself killed. Finally, a nice set of variables were revealed. The demon paused thoughtfully. Potential. If they made the right choices. He wove the magic into the time stream carefully. 

Wish number two granted. 

The magic coiled about the room, random sparks smoothing into a gentle hum as it fell into the patterns ordained for it. Gadrien was not fooled. There was still the third wish, and the power behind the purring was not to be taken lightly. He reached for the third wish, desperate to find something he could use. Petty desires and minor rages swirled through the demon as he picked through a lifetime of memories, searching for the one thing that would satisfy the desires and stipulations of everyone involved. The woman. The man. And Jenn,the ex-djinn. 

Just once, Mulder. I wish you knew what it was like to be me 

Gadrien paused. It was a wish that had never been spoken, but it had ...possibilities. He turned the thought over in his mind, examining the burgeoning plan for flaws. There were some. Minor ones really. Nothing that violated the letter of his agreement with Jenn. The demon grinned maliciously.It put a hell of a dent in the spirit of the thing, however. How sad. Gadrien contemplated the coming chaos and confusion. Really, it was quite ingenious. Opportunity only. 

Would it be his fault if the hairless apes failed to take advantage of the situation? 

Wish number three granted. 

He wished he could be present to watch the entertainment unfold. Unfortunately, he had places to be and he really wanted to be elsewhere…just in case this whole thing went to hell. Jenn might no longer have unrestricted access to the multi-dimensional planes, but Gadrien was not the only being who owed her favors. 

The demon waited until the breach between dimensions sealed itself, then erased any trace of the magical events that had taken place. Shattered glass, scorched paint, even the cheap cotton covered pillows all found themselves returned to their former pre-battle state. The demon grinned again as he viewed his handiwork, then threw a mocking salute to the body on the floor as he made one small adjustment to her memory. 

"Happy Birthday, Agent Scully." 

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Her mind came screaming to life, convinced she was dying. 

Her body was in motion before her brain, and her face smashed into the floor as her feet and legs cleared the bed a few seconds later than she was expecting. She had one second of confused dimensions and then she was inhaling green carpet fibers and the fragrant smell of sweaty sneakers. She blinked. Why were Mulder's Nikes under her bed? Her knees and face had caught most of the impact. Without thinking, she dropped flat to fish the sneakers out and howled in agony as white hot pain stabbed at her from her groin. Reflex curled her into a ball and tears leaked from her eyes with the unexpected shock. Her brain sent mutually contradictory signals to her hands, simultaneously wanting to clutch and moan, the second impulse being not to touch whatever had impaled her for fear of making the pain worse. 

She looked down, expecting to see blood. 

The silence of the motel room wrapped around her. No screaming. No sirens. Just the uneasy quiet of reality after a nightmare. Except that this was the nightmare. She watched as a hand that should have belonged to her reached out and cautiously poked the alien appendage between her legs. Abused nerves informed her that the appendage was attached. In horrified disbelief, she stretched out arms that seem to go on forever. Hands waggled after slightly knobby wrists. Fingers bent obediently. Knees flexed and feet rotated on command. Toes curled. Fifteen on the Glasgow Coma Scale, Doctor. 

Too bad the CPU seems to have crashed. 

The ugly orange decor that the motel manager had diligently tried to present as retro-70's had morphed into shades of blue-grey and green. A pair of jeans tossed on a nearby chair snagged her attention and she gratefully pulled them on. Bad enough to wake up naked in a body that did not belong to you. An extra appendage waving about and banging against her thighs was disconcerting in the extreme. Especially since it still hurt. She had no plans to take the time to look for underwear, but that left her with the delicate issue of what to do with...it. Finally, she gingerly tucked it down the side of one leg and reminded herself to be careful when she sat down. 

Shit. 

No wonder guys sat with their knees spread so wide apart. 

A gun that looked an awful lot like Mulder's sat on the dresser next to the bed. She checked the clip and uneasily considered the fact that the gun was both loaded and familiar. Her partner's sneakers. Her partner's gun. A scar on her leg that looked even more familiar than the gun considering the number of times she had helped change the bandages. She dragged in a long breath and even as her mind laughed hysterically, she reached her hand to her shoulder. 

Damn. 

It was, she thought morbidly, a testament to her years on the X-Files that she walked calmly to the bathroom and reached for the light switch and the mirror instead of screaming. Or maybe that was just leftover paranoia from her week doing her psyche rotation. Screaming tended to bring big men with straight jackets and Thorazine. Hell, maybe it was her years with the X-Files after all. She stared at her reflection. He looked the same. Well, maybe his eyes were a bit bluer than normal. It was hard to tell with the sickeningly greenish undertone the walls were casting over his skin. 

You are having one hell of a nightmare, Agent Scully 

"SCULLY!" 

She heard the feminine shout three seconds before a door she had not really noticed exploded inward on its hinges. She was absently wondering if the manager had been trying to disguise the door by painting both it and the doorframe the same color as the walls when she registered angry blue eyes widening first with astonishment, then glaring at her over another extremely familiar gun. 

"Where is she you shapeshifting son-of-a-bitch?" 

Now that she knew the door was there, she could see it clearly enough, but her eyes must have skimmed over it, not recognizing the shape in the semi-darkness and the confusion. Mulder leaned forward, clearly looking to wring answers from her. Just as obviously, he had clued in to his smaller stature and was uncertain just how far he could go against someone his own size. Former size. 

Whatever. 

For absolutely no reason she could think of, other than it sounded familiar and somehow appropriate, she tilted her head and asked,"If you shoot me, will that be murder or suicide?" 

Mulder froze. His eyes narrowed as he worked out the implications of the question. She tried to think of something she could use to prove her identity, but there weren't too many things about them that the shapeshifting bastards did not already know-or might have been in a position to find out. Maybe something from one of their cases? Some private moment only the two of them would recall but which had never been included in any report or alluded to anywhere it could have been overheard. What about...no. Homicidal parasites were probably not a good example. It was also probably not a good idea to remind him about Modell or Eddie Van Blundht. 

"Mothmen, Mulder. Jeremiah was a Bullfrog. Betty's bustline?" 

It was a sad fact to consider any secret password or singular event could have been yanked out of them during one of the many times they had been unconscious during a hospital stay. Hell, she could not remember anything after dinner yesterday. A side effect of whatever had been done to them or a side effect of truth agents? She scowled at her partner. She saw the minute the logical conclusion hit him and she stepped out of his way as he edged toward the bathroom. She stepped in behind him as he stared into the mirror with increasing fascination and horror. 

He turned to face her, his voice eerily unfamiliar. 

"Are you dreaming this, am I dreaming this, or are we dreaming this together?" 

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"Magic." 

"No." 

"Black magic." 

"No." 

"It's got to be magic, Scully." 

"Why? Why does it have to be magic? It could be drugs. This could be all in our heads. We are strapped down in a warehouse somewhere and tripping." 

"At the same time?" 

"Maybe the Consortium is playing with the mushroom." 

"Then why aren't we melting and moving along to another hallucination?" 

"Maybe they improved the mix? How the hell would I know? That doesn't mean it's magic." 

"Doesn't mean it's not." 

She poured another cup of coffee from the breakfast sharing space with the casefile notes on the table. She had picked it up from the motel restaurant when both had realized that neither had wanted to venture out into public yet. Mulder unself-consciously lounged on the bed in her silk pajamas. It was, she thought, strangely like deja vu or a weird form of double vision. Mulder's pout on her lips. In her head, she could still see the last time that lower lip had protruded and the mental gymnastics were giving her a migraine. Oddly enough, seeing her own face arguing with her was the least of her problems. He might be a she, but the brain and the body language was all Mulder. 

"Look, Scully. Maybe we can't prove what this is, but does it really matter what it isn't?" 

"Run that by me again-I think your ears are clogged." 

Mulder came up from his cross-legged position on the bed and peered into her face earnestly. "We have two choices: this is real, or it isn't. If it's not real, if this is all a result of drugs or some form of virtual reality, then there is nothing we can do about it. Right?" 

Scully pursed her lips, not completely convinced she would not wake up if she just believed hard enough that she could. But she got the point. Questioning reality had not changed reality. Mulder... 

"What color is the carpet, Mulder?" 

He looked at her blankly, then eyed the carpet before meeting her eyes and smiling hesitantly. "I'm...not sure. It was supposed to be orange. Is that what orange looks like?" 

Ah hell. 

It was real. 

She sagged in defeat. Mulder had an extremely mild form of deuteranomoly, or green weakness, and there was no getting around the fact that she was seeing the carpet as green. Maybe her mind could create a scenario where she thought she was colorblind, but they could never give him knowledge of a color he had never seen.. 

Even the virtual reality scenario would require...well, she did not know what it would require. The brain had the inbred ability to interpret color, but the cones in his eyes did not have the ability to properly translate the wavelength information he was seeing. Any VR scene with a full spectrum of color would have to bypass the rods and cones and input already translated data directly into his brain.She supposed it was theoretically possible, but since artificial eyes were still very much in the prototype stage, she did not see how it was feasible. 

"Fine. Until evidence suggests otherwise, we proceed on the assumption that this is real.It's probably safer that way in any case." 

"Scully..." 

Whatever he was about to say was lost as they both jumped as a pounding fist thundered against the door. Muttering under her breath, Scully had her gun against her leg and was checking the peephole before Mulder finished coming to his feet. From the open connecting door, the sound of more knocking echoed from Mulder's room. She sighed as she recognized the face peering in at her and undid the deadbolt. 

The look of shocked surprise on the Detective's face narrowed to speculation as his eyes went first to the gun tucked half out of sight and second to her partner who was standing guard near the connecting door. The officer raised an eyebrow. 

"Serial killers don't usually knock." 

Scully grimanced, then returned Mulder's gun to the small of her back. She turned away from the door in silent invitation. 

Mulder smirked as he moved to the table and dropped into a chair. "You would be surprised, Detective. Coffee?" 

The Detective took in the remaints of a large breakfast, then glanced once at Scully before reaching for the carafe. 

"Hey O'Malley. See if Agent Scully knows where her partner...oh." Detective Richard Brown appeared in the open doorway, then paused. He smiled at Scully cheerfully."Morning." 

Irritated by the prescence of the two Detectives, but not really certain why, Scully just narrowed her eyes. Brown hesitated, eyes flickering with some expression she couldn't read. He shifted slightly, moving close enough to his partner to take the coffee O'Malley held out. Brown took a swallow and started to hand the file under his arm to Mulder who was staring at her over his own coffee with wide eyes. 

"We got the pathology report back." 

Scully moved around to read over her partner's shoulder. She glanced up in confusion as both Detectives seemed to relax slightly and was wondering just what in the hell was wrong with them when something caught her eye. She tapped Mulder on the shoulder. 

"You were right." 

Mulder handed her the file and she grabbed her laptop from under the bed as Mulder started issuing orders to the Detectives. Five minutes later, the Detectives were out the door and organizing a SWAT team and Scully was giving Mulder a crash course in walking in high heels. 

"Jesus Scully, this is...SHIT...ridiculous. These...CRAP...tell me you have...SHIT...sneakers. And for gods sake, tone down the alpha male routine or you're going to get my ass kicked. SHIT!" Mulder yelped as she let go of his arm to stare at him in confusion and he went down in a tangle of limbs. She pulled him to his feet and he glared at her through a hank of bright yellow-green hair. 

"What?" 

He yanked the offending hair behind his ears and looked up at her."What, what?" 

"What are you talking about?" 

He stared at her."What...? I'm talking about that little testosterone battle you waged not fifteen minutes ago. You won, by the way. Staking out your territory, Agent Scully?" 

She stared back, annoyed, "This is my territory." 

He smirked, "Technically, it's mine. So guess what... or who...you were claiming. Considering how you were glaring..." 

"...I was not glaring!" 

"...there's only one reason for a man to be that pissed off at being interupted in the morning." 

"I...oh shit." 

Mulder grinned. She stared at him for a long moment, battling twin urges to shake him and shoot him. Damn it. Damnitdamnitdamnit. Finally she sucked in a long breath, then headed for the door. 

"Hey, wait. Scully? Man in high heels still needing some help, here." 

Yes. 

She was definately going to shoot him. 

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