Title: Manassas Author: Virtues & Vices (AKA Virtie) E-mail: virtuesandvices@aol.com Web Site: http://www.geocities.com/fanficcorner/ Rating: PG, for violence and language. Catergory: TRA - Action/Romance/Angst Classification: Mulder/Scully Romance, Scully/Other Romance, Alternate Universe Spoilers: 'Triangle'. Oh, and I give away who won the American Civil War. Archive: Anywhere, just keep my name on it, and let me know so I can visit. Summary: Scully spends a few days in 1862, meeting many a familiar face. Disclaimer: I do not own Mulder and Scully. Others in the fic, however, are mine, despite their resemblance to CC's characters. Also, any historical inaccuracies are my mistake, and I apologize for them beforehand. Acknowledgments: A big thank you to Heather Graham Pozzessere and her book 'The Last Cavalier', which was the inspiration for this story. The books 'Great Battles of the Civil War' by John MacDonald and 'The Illustrated History of the Civil War' by William C. Davis also helped to confirm places, names and dates, but most of my knowledge comes from Ken Burns' 'The Civil War', one of the most fascinating and beautiful movies ever filmed. ************************************************************ MANASSAS ***** "I, John Brown, am now quite certain that the crimes of this guilty land will never be purged away but with Blood." John Brown-December 1859 ***** August 19, 1999 Manassas National Battlefield Park 'It's going to be one of those days,' Agent Dana Scully thought as she sidestepped another puddle, swaying ever so slightly on her heels. Why did Mulder have to be so damn tall, she wondered. She had never felt the need to wear such high heels before she started working with him. And it was her own fault; she knew Mulder didn't think less of her because of her height. Yet, she felt like she needed the extra inch or two around him. Now she found herself scurrying across the asphalt parking lot in the pouring rain, trying to get into the building on the other side before she got completely soaked. This wasn't easy to accomplish, as the wind was blowing along with the rain, making her umbrella pretty much useless. When she finally reached the doorway, she had to fight the wind just to get it open. Then she stepped inside the Manassas National Battlefield Visitor's Center. The warmth and dry air welcomed her. Though several people milled about, waiting out the storm, it was very quiet. Scully almost felt as if she had entered a church instead of a tourist attraction. She shook her head, sending droplets of rain water scattering. Folding her umbrella, she walked further into the room, her eyes searching for Mulder. She couldn't find him anywhere in the room. Glancing at her watch, she realized she was about ten minutes early for the scheduled rendezvous. It was still odd that Mulder wasn't here; he was always early for meetings like this. With a sigh, she began to wander. She had been here before, years earlier, with her family. Playing tourist. Being only a pre-teen at the time, she hadn't had much interest in history and had been sufficiently bored by the whole affair. But her curiosity about the two great Civil War battles that had been fought here almost 150 years ago had increased since then. She found her eyes drawn to the faces of the people in the pictures that were on exhibit. Pictures of real people whose lives has been turned upside down when a war was begun in their 'backyard'. She empathized with them now, having herself experienced her own kind of 'war'. She stopped in front of a display dedicated to the medical personnel who served during the four-year-long war. She eyed the instruments used by doctors that lined a shelf. She recognized many that were still used today. But some looked downright medieval. The most prominent tool sat near the front of the display. It looked like a small hand saw, and Scully knew that that was basically what it was. It was used for amputating the limbs of fallen soldiers. Amputation had been the most common 'cure' during the war. A picture caught her eye. It showed a woman stirring something in a large cup sitting between two beds with injured men lying in them. The placard underneath the old photo identified the woman as Ann Bell, a Union nurse. If Scully had lived back then, that was probably what she would have been: a nurse. Women doctors had been extremely rare in 1860's, and those that existed were given very little, if any, respect. A clap of thunder startled her. The lights dimmed, threatening to go out, then brightened again. Everyone in the museum breathed a sigh of relief. Scully turned to look out the glass doors. The rain was still coming down in sheets. Suddenly, a man rushed from the restroom in the back of the building, his lip bleeding, holding his arm awkwardly. Scully recognized him as the contact she and Mulder had been planning to meet here. He ran through the crowd, ducking and dodging, heading for the door. Mulder, his hair mussed and his expression grim, followed close behind. Almost as if he knew right where she would be, he looked at Scully over the people's heads and yelled toward her. "Stop him!" Scully immediately rushed for the exit, planning on cutting the man off. She didn't bother to consider why the man was running; Mulder had told her to stop him and stop him she would. Questions could be asked later. Unfortunately, the crowd, which had become restless, refused to part for her as it seemed to be doing for the man. He beat her to the door and ran out into the rain. With a groan, Scully followed, once again cursing her heels. She heard Mulder leave the building behind her. The two agents chased the man across the parking lot, away from the battlefield's main monument. They followed him into a clump of trees. Once the ground grew rough, Scully knew she was doomed. She was still startled when her ankle turned under her. She stumbled. Mulder, who had been close behind her, swerved, stopped and grabbed her elbow, turning concerned eyes on her. "Go!" she shouted at him, struggling to be heard above the pounding rain. The storm was becoming increasing violent around them. "Get him!" With one last assessing look, Mulder turned and continued after the subject. Scully limped over to a tree, placed her palm on the wet bark, and lifted her ankle up and back so she could grasp it with her other hand. It throbbed, but she consoled herself by deciding that it was only twisted, not broken or sprained. She set her foot down, lifted her head, brushed wet hair from her eyes, and looked toward where Mulder had gone. He and the man were nowhere in sight. Scully turned back toward the Center and began to move slowly through the trees. Then the world exploded. She felt it coming; the telltale tingling of electricity. She threw herself on the ground, bringing her arms up to cover her head, oblivious to the mud she was lying in. The tree next to her took the brunt of the bolt, and the air around her turned white. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the light refused to be ignored. Then it was gone. Scully slowly pulled herself off the ground and looked around. The tree was smoldering, but not on fire. The rain had decreased considerably, and even the lightning and thunder seemed to have petered out. With a deep breath and a silent prayer of thanks, she stood. Carefully, she made her way toward the parking lot. When she walked out of the trees the rain stopped. She looked up and saw... Nothing. No parking lot. No Visitor's Center. No cars or people. Just a field full of grass. And not the immaculate lawn that surrounded the battlefield memorial, but a sparse, grayish-green grass that looked well trampled. Scully turned a full 360 degrees, looking carefully at her surroundings. She was sure she had gone the right way, but she recognized nothing. "Mulder?" Her voice echoed in the still, heavy air. A distant rumble of thunder made her look up at the dark cloud above her. It was moving away, leaving a chill in the air. "Mulder?!" she shouted again, glancing behind her in the trees. Nobody. She decided to head back into the trees. It would be hard on her ankle to continue walking, but she wasn't getting anything done standing here, either. She started to turn, then saw the man. He was coming from over the small hill off to her right. He stopped suddenly and stared at her. She turned to face him. He seemed to take this as an invitation and began to walk down the slight incline. As he got closer, Scully felt her brow furrow in confusion. The man was dressed as if he were a 19th Century farmer. That alone wasn't odd; many locals dressed the part for the tourists, and Civil War buffs were constantly roaming around the area in period dress. What shocked her was WHO the person was. "AD Kersh?" The black man stopped at her question. His eyes widened, then her swept off his straw hat, exposing his graying hair, and bowed his head. "Ma'am? Can I help you?' Scully was speechless. She was sure it was Kersh, but Kersh did not speak with a thick Virginian accent! She took a deep breath. "Sir? Are you okay?" Dark eyes flashed up, then looked down again. "Ma'am?" Scully brought her hand up to her head. 'I know I hurt my ankle,' she thought to herself. 'I didn't hit my head, as well. Did I?' 'Kersh' spoke again. "Ma'am? Are you lost?" She realized how hard he was trying to avoid looking at her. And not just her eyes, but her legs as well. Suddenly, her simple, sedate skirt seemed miles too short. "The storm..." "Yes. It was a bad storm." He looked up again. "Are you hurt?" Scully nodded. "My ankle," she whispered. "Come with me, Ma'am. Missus Anderson's farm is just over yonder." He nodded toward the hill behind him. "She'll fix you up right." "Mrs. Anderson?" "Yes'm." Scully sighed. "Who are you?" Before he could answer, another figure appeared on the hill. A small, dark haired woman in a long gray dress began to make her way toward them. "Alfred?" Kersh turned to face the woman. "Who is this?" Scully felt her heart stop for just a moment. She knew that voice! And sure enough, as the woman drew closer, Scully recognized her face as well. She gasped. "Mom?!" The woman's eyes widened in consternation, and they looked her up and down, eyeing Scully's appearance with concern and slight disapproval. "Miss? Are you well?" She glanced at Kersh. "Is she hurt?" "She said something about her ankle, Missus. But I think she mighta hurt her head, too." Margaret Scully (or was it her?) eyed Scully again. "Miss, Why don't you come with me to the house. We'll get you looked after properly." Her accent wasn't as strong as Kersh's, but it was Virginian through and through. Scully started shaking her head slowly. "What is going on here?" she demanded. "Am I dreaming? What am I saying? I HAVE to be dreaming! There is no way the two of you even know each other." She took a step back from her two 'nightmare' creations, but she forgot about her ankle. Both 'Alfred' and 'Mrs. Anderson' grabbed her as she started to fall. "Miss! I think you musta hurt yourself somthin' terrible. Please, come with us." Kersh's voice was kind, worried. "I don't...." Scully started. She must be going into shock, she thought; her body was trembling horribly. "I can't..." An unbelievable idea formed in her head. Breathing hard, she asked the two people in front of her, "What's the date?" "The date?" Maggie asked, giving Kersh an odd look. "It is August 19th, I believe." Scully nodded. That much she knew. She took another deep breath. "What year?" Another look passed between her two 'rescuers'. "Eighteen Sixty-two." Scully couldn't help it; she fainted. ************************************************************ "We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies...The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature." Abraham Lincoln-February 1861 ***** August 19, 1999 Manassas National Battlefield Park "This has to be one of the worst days of my life!" Mulder turned his glare on Nikky Harper, silently repeating the man's words in his head. Now was not the time to start sympathizing with the crook. Mulder was wet, cold and tired. His jaw hurt from when Nikky had punched him, and his right hand hurt from when he had thoughtlessly retaliated with a punch of his own. At least the rain was slowing down somewhat. Now, his only intent was to get this man in a secure jail cell, go home, take a hot shower, and settle in front of the TV for the night. Questioning Nikky about his involvement with the Russian Mafia could wait. He had been planning on meeting both his partner and Harper at the Visitor's Center that afternoon with the intent to get Nikky's information on a supposed shipment of 'weapons' that originated from Area 51. Instead, he had accidentally run into the man in the restroom, where the idiot had proceeded to threaten him. He wanted more perks than your average 'snitch'; he had demanded money, lots of it. His attitude had rubbed Mulder so wrong, that Mulder had decided to just arrest the man. Harper had hit him in response. Mulder had hit him back, then thrown him up against the wall. The blinking lights had distracted him, and Harper had pulled away. Following him out of the bathroom, Mulder hadn't been at all surprised to see Scully on the other side of the room, closer to the door than he was. At his yell, she had immediately raced to intercept Harper. The crowd had obviously been more afraid of the greasy looking man than the small redhead, because they parted for him and not her. Harper raced into the rain and both Mulder and Scully followed. Due to his long legs, Mulder was quite a bit faster than his partner, especially when she was in heels (though he knew he would never in a million years be able to run as well in shoes like that!). Yet, he hadn't gained on her much by the time they reached the trees. Then she had stumbled. Her gasp of pain startled him; she was usually so stoic. He swerved to avoid tripping over her, then grasped her arm as he stopped beside her. Her brilliant blue eyes had flashed at him through the wet hair that had fallen over them. "Go!" she had yelled. "Get him!" Mulder had let his eyes roam over her one last time, to make sure she wasn't hurt too badly. But she was upright and her glare insisted he go on. He knew without a doubt that if he asked how she was, she'd simply say "I'm fine." To avoid hearing those hated words, he turned and went after Harper. He hadn't been all that hard to catch. Mulder had tackled him not 200 yards from where he had left Scully. Now, with Nikky handcuffed, Mulder passed the tree he was sure Scully had been near the last time he had seen her. It was obvious something had happened to it. It was smoldering, and it was sporting a dark, jagged gash along most of its length. Struck by lightning, Mulder assumed. He hoped Scully hadn't been near it when it happened. People were milling outside the Visitor's Center when he arrived with his prisoner, and a police car sat in the fire lane in front of the building, its lights flashing. A Sheriff's deputy and a Park Ranger met him, questions in their eyes. Mulder answered as much as he could, his eyes occasionally drifting around the parking lot, looking for one person in particular. When the deputy was through and had taken Nikky into custody, Mulder entered the Center. He looked everywhere, even the women's bathroom, getting a nasty look from a matronly old lady in the process. Nothing. He finally started asking around, but nobody had seen who he was looking for. He went back into the parking lot, which was slowly emptying out. The park closed in less than an hour. Her car sat at the far end looking lonely. Mulder felt panic start to set in. He pulled out his cell phone, pressed the appropriate buttons, and stood in the chill early evening air. "We're sorry, but the cellular customer you are trying to reach is not within range of a cellular tower. Please try....." Mulder slapped the phone shut, his heart pounding erratically. 'Calm down,' he told himself. 'She can take care of herself. Stop worrying.' He decided to just wait a while longer, praying she would turn up soon. An hour later, the deputy was back with more men and the search for Special Agent Dana Scully had begun. ************************************************************ "You are green, it is true; but they are green, also; you are all green alike." A. Lincoln-July 1861 ***** August 20, 1862? Near Manassas Junction, Virginia When Scully woke, it was to an aching head, a throbbing ankle, and a wish that she could go right back to sleep. She opened her eyes, nervously looking around the room. She remembered what had been going on before shock had taken over. Her 'mother' had just told her she was in 1862. Sitting up slowly in the soft feather bed, Scully almost believed it. The room was small, with wood floors and furnishings. Furnishings that looked like brand new antiques. Lovely blue gingham curtains fluttered in the breeze coming in the window off to her left. The breeze was warm and the sun was shining; any remnants of the storm had long since blown away. It was a brand new morning. In 1862. 'Oh, come on, Dana,' Scully thought to herself. 'They were teasing you. They probably love to tease tourists.' She purposefully forgot that 'they' looked just like her mother and AD Kersh. Ignoring her aches and pains, Scully slid out of the huge bed. She was wearing a long cotton gown, buttoned up to her chin. Long sleeved and barely brushing the floor, the nightgown swallowed her up. Lifting the skirt slightly, she walked to the window, and moved aside the curtain to look out. Two men were working on a wagon in front of a barn. A couple of harnessed work horses stood hipshot, dozing in the morning sun next to the barn. Scully felt her eyes search the entire yard, but she saw no signs of civilization. No power lines, no cars, no paved roads. She looked back at the men below. Both were dressed in worn work clothes. One was the man Scully thought looked like Kersh. Alfred. The other was also a black man, but he was much bigger than Alfred. He, too, looked familiar. Scully squinted at him. No. It couldn't be. The door behind her opened and she swung around. Maggie/Mrs. Anderson walked in, carrying a tray of food. She smiled when she saw Scully. "Ah, you're awake. I was starting to get a little worried, but I guess you just needed the sleep." She set the tray down on the dresser. "I brought you something to eat, but if you like, I can find something clean for you to wear and you can come down to the kitchen to eat." Clothing would be nice. "Yes. Thank you." Mrs. Anderson went over to the wardrobe standing in the corner of the room and opened it. "I think my daughter's clothing will fit you, though she is a bit taller than you. If not, I can loan you something of mine. You and I are about the same size." She pulled out a gray dress. Simple, no frills, boring. Long sleeves, long skirt. A perfect mid-1800's farm girl dress. Draping the dress on the bed, Mrs. Anderson proceeded to the dresser, and began pulling out several white things Scully assumed were under-clothes. "Mrs. Anderson?" Scully started. "Oh, please. Call me Maddie." "Maddie. I really can't thank you enough for helping me. You know nothing about me, yet you took me in." Maddie had stopped to look at her. "I know this may sound strange, but I'm a little lost. I don't know how I got here or how to get home." "Where is home?" "D.C." Maddie looked confused for a moment. "You mean Washington?" Scully nodded. Maddie sighed. "Well, you are only about 25 miles from there, but I'm afraid it will be hard to get back. The lines around the capital are tight as can be. I suppose we could find an officer around who can escort you in, but it will be hard to prove to him you aren't a spy. Spies are everywhere, I understand." Scully stared at her. Maddie was talking about the war, she realized. And she sounded so casual about it. Of course, this close to the fighting, she was used to dealing with it every day. Scully shook her head again. How could she possibly believe this was happening? Another knock sounded on the door. "Miz Anderson? Alfred and I are going over to Bixby's to pick up that flour you wanted." The voice was frighteningly familiar. It was coming from the man she had seen outside the window. The man Mulder had simply called X. "All right, Jonah. Don't take too long." "No, Ma'am." They could hear his footsteps as he descended the stairs and left the house. Scully was struck with an idea. "Maddie, are Alfred and Jonah your slaves?" Maddie looked at her, her eyes quietly assessing. "No. Both Alfred and Jonah are free men. They worked for my husband and since his death, they work for me." She tilted her head. "You are a Union sympathizer, aren't you?" She shrugged. "Not that it matters to me. I try to keep my nose out of politics. And God knows there are enough mixed loyalties around here." Her eyes had become pools full of sadness. "How did your husband die?" Scully asked softly. "His heart gave out, five years ago, while he was working the fields." She smiled softly. "In a way, I'm glad. He would have hated this country and what it is doing to his sons." When Maddie noticed Scully's curious look, she explained. "Our oldest son, Todd, is a Lieutenant in the Navy. The Confederate Navy. Our younger son, Richard, is a Union officer." 'Brother Against Brother.' Scully had heard the phrase. She had always believed it meant countryman against countryman. Obviously, it was a literal term. She was sure Maddie wasn't the only mother of children with divided loyalties. Especially in the areas of Northern Virginia, Maryland and Kentucky. West Virginia had still been part of Virginia in 1862, though not for much longer. It would eventually secede from the rest of the state and rejoin the Union. Scully walked over to the dress and fingered the material. "Your daughter?" Maddie smiled. "Like me, Melanie refuses to choose sides. But she has, in a way, given her loyalties to the Confederacy. She works as a nurse." Her smile became sad. "I haven't seen her or Todd in months. And Rich.... I haven't seen him in over a year. I don't even know if he's alive or dead." She looked up. "I'll let you get changed. Just come downstairs when you're ready." With that, she turned and left the room. Scully turned and sat heavily on the bed. It was obvious she wasn't being teased by some history-loving locals, which left only two explanations for her current predicament. One, the lightning strike had knocked her out and she was lying in a hospital somewhere dreaming an incredibly strange, realistic dream. Or two, she was really in 1862. She knew which one she wanted to believe, but she was also afraid that what she wanted to believe and what was real weren't one and the same. ***** End Part 1/7