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The Four Corners Cycle Feedback- Cherished and answered: Spookey247@msn.com Summary - Truths lurk in a dark place. Our friends descend and delve. Summary - Truths lurk in a dark place. Our friends descend and delve. Notes and Acknowledgments at the beginning of 1/9 More notes and thank-yous at the end of 9/9. Late Afternoon Near Temple Butte, Northeastern Grand Canyon Yekaterina sits on the edge of a warm, sandy rock, looking down into the Colorado River, far, far below. She scrapes loose soil off the rock with the heels of her boots, raining debris down into the river. She lifts an old pair of black-plastic binoculars to her eyes with a murmur of excitement. She can see them in the distance, making their way up the trail on the other side of the river. Black smudges, walking. A mule, maybe, carrying supplies. Dropping the binoculars into her lap, she lifts her cap, pushes a strand of long, red hair from the pale skin of her forehead, and jams the cap back onto her head again. Her face breaks into a tremulous smile, fracturing its normal mask of melancholy. He's on his way home. If she starts now she'll get back in time to have dinner with him. Yekaterina scrambles around the rock and climbs back onto the trail. She shoulders her pack and turns toward home, heart tapping briskly. Stephen's been gone a long time, she thinks. I didn't know I was going to miss him this much. She picks her way along a deep drainage, looking for the trail marker. She's been out in the open three days, much longer than ever before. The weather has been fine, not too hot, and she's enjoyed the fresh air, the space, the freedom. If there were anything but desert beyond this canyon, she would have just kept walking. Papa's going to take a chunk of my hide for this, she thinks. I won't get up to the surface for months. He'll be watching me like a hawk. Watching me like a hawk. Yekaterina smiles. She learned that phrase from Stephen. Yekaterina wonders if her father can remember hawks. She wonders if he has any recollection of the kinds of animals and birds Stephen has showed her on the surface. She figures her father never thinks about it, that he probably doesn't care that all he ever sees are people and bats and fish and snakes. She knows the only living things he cares about are the ones he can personally engineer. ~~~~ He is sitting where he always sits, in the big armchair near the heating unit. There's a thick cardigan wrapped around his body. His gnarled fingers clutch it closed at the neck. He's always cold these days, it seems. He's becoming old and sluggish. Yekaterina can remember a time when her father was vital; a time, when she was very young, when he was handsome; a time when he played with her, took her to the lab on his shoulders, proudly showed her the fruits of the latest experiments. Those were happy times. He twists in his chair as she enters the room, face darkening. He is paler than usual and he gasps as he forces himself out of the chair, moving toward her. "Where have you been, Katya," he says, crossing the room swiftly, black eyes flashing in the gloom. "In the canyon, Papa. I needed to breathe..." "You bitch. You're trying to kill me," he snarls. He sweeps her into his arms and locks his mouth to hers. The pink tongue reaches into her mouth. His lips are hard and thin. Yekaterina wills her body to relax. She used to struggle, in the beginning. Lately she just lets him have what he wants. She's come to understand that there's more going on here than just a simple prelude to fucking. Her father reaches between her legs and moans, rigid with pain, just like always. There was a time when Yekaterina thought this was simply how men acted with women, but when she started sleeping with Stephen, five months ago, she quickly realized her father's behavior was not normal. She allows him to unfasten the clasp of her trousers and slip his fingers inside her undergarments, leaning against him as he clutches and strokes her, listening, detached, to the familiar keening sound rising in the back of his throat. He presses his mouth deeper into hers, and Yekaterina feels his thoughts filling her mind, the way they always do. His emotions unfold one by one in her consciousness, just like a story in a video show: melancholy, hatred, lust, obsession... she watches hazy memories rolling by; pictures of dead men, monsters, and violence. He worries habitually about the fate of the Project. So many burdens, so much despair. And now she sees that Stephen is dead. Yekaterina jerks away from her father, wiping her mouth and taking a step backwards. He follows her desperately. "Katya. Baby." She fastens her clothes with trembling fingers. "Papa, what happened to Stephen?" "What do you mean?" "I saw. Don't lie to me." He stops, eyes stony. "If you saw, you already know all about it, babe. Why are you asking me?" Yekaterina's feels like she's floating. Her body spirals upward. "He's dead, isn't he?" His upper lip curls slightly. "That's what they tell me." She wills herself to become nothing. Wishes for endless blackness. "How?" she whispers. "Didn't you see?" Her voice rises. "Don't be cruel. You know I don't see everything. Stop keeping things from me." Her father passes his hand slowly over his genital area, rearranging his erection. His eyes are bright with the pain he's suffering. Tears of rage spring to his eyes. "I told Birch I didn't care about the details. I guess this time you'll have to get your information the way the rest of us do." ~~~~ Yekaterina crosses swiftly through the medical bays, bloodlust raging through her body. She's headed for a ventilation shaft that is her usual escape to the lower reaches of the cave. The lower passages are her domain. No one else knows them the way she does. Most of the people who work on the Project, her father, the doctors, Birch and his people, use the upper access to come and go. You have to climb the bluff to get to it, but once you're inside the way is easy. The lower access is tricky; one wrong turn and you could be lost forever. Gary Birch is standing in the passageway, flanked by his right-hand-man, Jonah, and that idiot, Wallace. He's talking to a doctor by an open steel door. Yekaterina's afraid to stop and speak to him. She's afraid of what she might do. "Yekaterina," Birch says, brusquely, as she pushes past. She stops, looking down at the floor. Talk, you troll, she thinks. Say what you have to say and then leave me alone. "Your father told you about Stephen." She nods; eyes steady on the stone below them. "I'm sorry. I know he was a friend of yours." "Tell me how he died." Jonah speaks up. "I hate that it happened. There was a fight. We were drinking...I don't know what else to say." "Where's his body?" she mutters. Jonah's face is a mask of studied innocence. "The van broke down. We buried him by the side of the road." "I understand." Yekaterina starts walking. She wonders which part of the story is a lie this time. "Yekaterina, wait..." Birch says. She can hear his footsteps behind her. She speeds her pace; feels her soul growing blacker. One of these days, I'll kill you, she thinks. I'll eat your brain for breakfast. Midnight Tanner Delta Near the Colorado River, Northeastern Grand Canyon Dana wakes to the sound of thunder rumbling gently across the sky. Dark clouds drift like long fingers across the waning moon. Lightning flashes in the distance. She sits up on her blanket, rubbing her aching legs. They're going to have to cover a lot of miles in the morning. She wonders if she's going to be able to keep up. A small fire flickers peacefully nearby, stretching shadows up the side of the tall rock that shelters the camp. Dana looks around, shaking her head in disbelief at how serene and comfortable Ben and Matthew look, lying asleep on the hard, rocky ground. Ben is curled on his side with a flannel shirt pulled over his head, using his boots for a pillow. Matthew is propped against the rock with his pack padding his back, arms folded, chin dropping low to his chest. Kaya sleeps practically on top of him, wrapped in a blanket, her cheek resting on his thigh. Mulder is gone. So are his pack and blanket. For a moment, Dana feels a surge of panic. She forces herself to her feet despite the burning in her legs and paces along the edge of the circle of firelight. Within a minute or two her breathing calms. She can see a lantern glowing, not too far away. Broken moonlight bathes the path to the river. Thunder and lightning continue in soft, distant concert as Dana picks her way to a sandy spot near the water, where Mulder sits under a rocky ledge, studying a map he's laid out on his blanket. He starts as he hears her footsteps, reaching for his rifle and rising quickly to his knees. "Don't shoot," Dana says. "It's just me, Mulder." He relaxes. "Sorry." "Can't sleep?" She settles herself on the blanket next to him. He shakes his head, staring at the map intently. "I'm still trying to figure out this trail that goes upriver," he says. "It's hard to make out the trailhead, but it should be right around this area somewhere. I just can't figure out if we go up into the bluffs here," he points, "or here." She takes his hand. "I'm sure in the daylight it will be easy to find." Thunder sounds in the distance. He looks up at the sky. "The rains don't normally come 'til July," he observes, hoarsely. Mulder's eyes are round and dark. He falls silent, biting his lip. "Maybe that kid was lying, Mulder." "I can tell when people are lying." He closes his eyes. "He wasn't." "So he believed what he told us." She strokes the back of his hand. "But you don't, do you?" He shakes his head, running his tongue along his lower lip and sighing. "No. I'd know if Dru was dead." His voice drops low. "In some ways, that would be easier." "God, Mulder, what do you mean?" "If he were dead, I'd know where to look for him. I'd be able to see him again. Then I could tell him..." "What would you tell him?" He shakes his head. "Oh, god. I don't know. Whatever you need to tell a kid like Dru. I'm sure you've noticed that we don't get along." "Mulder, we'll find him." Dana shifts on the blanket, grimacing at the stiffness in her legs. A look of concern washes over his face. "Are you all right?" "I'm just a little sore, Mulder. I'll be fine." "You should be sleeping. Do you think you're up to this?" "Yes. This is good for me. I'm getting stronger all the time." "Here, lie down." He moves off the blanket. "I know what'll help." The coarse sand shifts under the weight of her body as Dana lies down. Mulder takes hold of one of her legs and begins to knead the muscles slowly. His hands are rough, but incredibly warm. Within moments, Dana's body begins to hum. The sky rumbles. The storm is coming closer. "Mmmmm," she murmurs, as he circles her thigh with all ten fingers and drags them slowly down the length of her leg. "You do have the healing touch, Mulder." "Shh," he says. "Rest." He pauses for a moment to turn the lantern down. "Probably shouldn't waste the fuel," he observes. "We're going to need it, where we're going." He turns again to his work. Dana sinks into the blanket and tries to lose herself in the lush feeling of his hands stroking her leg, but she cannot take her eyes from his face. Even half-hidden in darkness, the furrow in his brow stands out clearly. He removes her boots, peels back her socks, draws lazy circles with his thumbs on the sole of her right foot. Dana's relaxation deepens with each touch. She feels herself drifting, but not towards sleep... ...towards him. He opens. For an instant she sees his fear clearly, knows it as fully as she has ever known her own. She sees the shining steel of the narrow compartment, feels her heart racing with the threat of imminent suffocation. She fights the urge to gag on the fat plastic tube invading her throat, winces at the bite of the metal claws that anchor her head to the floor of the compartment. Mulder would rather face Dru's death than allow his son to experience that level of suffering. There is a sudden clap of thunder. She jerks back to full consciousness. "Mulder," she gasps. "I just...I was... with you." She's not sure if she can trust what's happening. "Shh. I know. It's okay, Scully." He does not miss a beat, switching evenly from one leg to another. "Talk to me, Mulder. Tell me about Dru." His palm cups the soft flesh of her inner thigh. "What do you want to know?" "There's something wrong between you and him...it's not just a simple teenage thing, is it?" He works silently for a few minutes. Then he pauses, trailing his fingers across her kneecap. "No, it's never been simple," he says, quietly. "He was ten when his mother died. Um, they...they were very close, and she and I...anyhow, he's always blamed me." Dana sits up, reaching for his hand. "For what?" His voice is bleak. "For not being the one who died, I think." A gust of wind pelts them with blowing sand. Dana lifts herself to her knees and wraps her arms around Mulder's neck. He pulls her closer and kisses her, deep and hard. She allows his despair to wash through her. Be empty, Dana, the old man said. Be empty, like the riverbed. "You'll feel better if you keep talking," she tells him, tenderly. "Tell me about Maia, Mulder. I need to know." ~~~~ There's no denying it now. The storm is coming their way. They lie in the blackness together, Mulder's arms wrapped around Dana's body. Dana's presses her ear against Mulder's chest and listens to his voice, throbbing low as distant thunder: "Verbena was a true believer. The Resistance was her religion. Maia was twelve when the Resistance liberated the Labs, and even as young as she was, she never missed a day while they were working on the tunnel. She went with her mother on all the raids, even the very first one. On the third raid, the day I was brought out, it was Maia who opened my cell. I don't remember that day, but anyhow, that's what Verbena told me, years later. I'm pretty sure I wasn't the only half-wit they brought home, but I know I was the only one who stayed. I think for the first couple of years I was so far in shock that all I wanted was to be put out of my misery. I would refuse to eat. I would get violent, thinking maybe they'd just shoot me. I was a real pain in the ass. I still can't understand why they put up with me. One day I woke up and I don't know how, but something like three years had gone by. Just like that. And I realized that this kid who'd been helping to take care of me for such a long time, this kid, who'd somehow become my closest friend, had turned into a woman. I don't know why that surprised me, but it did." Lightning flashes. Grains of sand fly through the air, mixing with a fine, driving rain. "It was Maia who made me live in the world again. She would come up with some excuse why I had to go to the exchange with her, then drag me all over the countryside visiting her friends. She would pick at me and call me names until I got so mad I would do something, like ride a horse or climb a rock or go to a dance with dozens of people, just to show her I wasn't an idiot. I started to get my confidence back. I learned how to talk to people again. About that time I started seeing things. Having dreams. Hearing voices. Verbena was excited. She said I was being called by spirits. I had no idea what she was talking about. I went to live in Moenkopi for a while, to learn from Verbena's uncle, who was a healer and a shaman. One day while I was in the kiva there, drumming for a ritual, I just kind of...fell over, I guess. That's what they said, anyway. I was lying on the floor, and I met this lizard. The lizard showed me how to crawl through this tiny little hole in the earth, and so I followed her, and she taught me how to fly under the ground. That doesn't make any sense when I say it out loud, but trust me, Scully, it can be done. I woke up singing a song the lizard taught me. The funny thing was, I was wrapped in a shroud and they were piling kindling underneath me. They said I had been dead for three days. Then I understood what Verbena was talking about. But if I had chosen to believe what she was telling me, that would have meant taking on a lot of responsibility, and I didn't want to have responsibilities, so I left Moenkopi and moved to Tuba City, to live with Wynn. Then, a few months later, I had a vision about you." "Me?" The wind gusts, dies. Dana feels like she's coming out of some kind of trance state. She's not sure if Mulder has been telling this story out loud or if she's been living it with him, inside his head. "Yes. Listen. I was lying in bed one night when I heard you crying. It was so clear. You were begging to be left alone." There's a catch in his voice. He swallows and continues. "The things you were saying...you used exactly the same words after Ben and Matthew brought you to Tuba...asking to be killed, not to be tortured any more." Dana tries to breathe, remembering. They cling to each other, two rivers merging. Mulder continues, speaking in a hoarse tenor. "I was...god, I was beside myself. I got out of bed and I walked out into the street, and then I walked to the exchange, and out to the road, and I couldn't stop, Scully. I couldn't stop walking. I walked all night and part of the next day. I didn't stop until I got to Moenkopi. All the way there I was crying for another vision. My teacher said he would do whatever he could to help me look for you, and I tried for weeks, but it was no good. I didn't see you or hear you again. After a while, Maia came to me and told me I had to choose...live or die, she said. By then I didn't care. I told her to choose for me. So she did." He pulls Dana closer, drawing a long, painful breath. "I'll always be grateful to her. She gave me...everything. But we couldn't...we didn't love each other like a husband and wife. We both tried, but after a few years..." His body is rigid. He fights to retain control. "Tell me about her death," Dana whispers. "When she was carrying the twins...god, Scully. There was nothing about that pregnancy that was normal, and I *knew* the babies weren't mine..." "You mean..." "It had been years since we'd slept in the same bed...probably since before she got pregnant with Kaya." "Mulder, I'm so sorry." "Even so, when she died having the twins, I felt..." Dana reaches up to run her hands over his face in the darkness. His muscles are taut with grief. "Mulder, what? You felt what?" He forces the words through clenched teeth. "If I had been a better husband," he chokes, "she wouldn't have ended up sleeping with whoever fathered them." The rain is light and steady. There is another wide burst of lightning; a roll of thunder, seconds later. Dana cups Mulder's face between her hands. "Do you really believe that?" He stifles a sob, his body drawn and trembling. "Mulder, no. It's not your fault..." She presses her lips against his. Darkness runs like a brook into her soul. His mouth searches hers, the tip of his tongue warm and salty. She sips it, gently, tasting his sorrow. He breaks away from her, shuddering, weeping without making a sound. Dana's heart aches. Some things never change. He has always mourned in silence. She rakes her fingers into his hair, pulling him close, pulling his mouth deep into her own. He responds with a muffled cry, arms tightening around her. She is his sanctuary. She knows what he needs. "I know how hard you must have tried," she tells him, pulling back just a little, her lips brushing his. She reaches for his shirt, unbuttoning it by touch alone, slipping her hands underneath the worn cotton, pressing her palms against the fine, soft hair. "No," he murmurs. "I didn't try." Fathomless kisses, stealing her breath. "I couldn't." His tongue, rushing in, then retreating. "All I could think of was you," he whispers. The clatter of the rain intensifies. The wind whips around them. Dana unfastens Mulder's jeans, helping him tug them down. She runs her hands lightly down the length of his naked torso. Her lips glide toward the base of his ear. She blows softly. He shivers. Her tongue travels downward, caressing his throat, tracing his Adam's apple and dipping into the hollow that lies just beneath. Lips follow fingertips, tasting every inch of his chest: the muscular contours, the rock-hard nipples... Tiny, soft kisses, dropping like the rain through the silky hairs that cover his belly. He moans, he whispers, yes, yes... She can sense how hard he's growing. Yes, she tells him. Yes, yes, my love. Forget about everything. There's only this now. Pausing to trace the rim of his navel, inching slowly downward... Heat. A rich, musky aroma. He whimpers like a little boy. Her fingers stroke his ankles, slipping across his calves and along the backs of his knees. Slow caresses, like a bouquet of feathers, moving in circles across the tender flesh of his thighs... He is insensible. "Scully, oh god..." She slides her fingers smoothly over his balls, runs them up the length of his straining cock. Nuzzling the soft fur at its base, her tongue slips slowly toward the head of his shaft. Animal noises. He twines his fingers in her hair. She buries him deep in her throat. "Yes," he moans, "Oh god, oh yessssss..." She caresses him tenderly, with delicious languor, careful not to bring him to a climax too soon. He writhes on the blanket. She hums with delight. His pleasure courses through her, she grows wetter by the instant... "Scully," he gasps. "Oh my god, stop, don't move..." She waits while he controls himself. "Come here, you," he mutters, pulling her body on top of his own. He captures her lower lip and sucks, seizing the hem of her dress, trying to rip it away. She lifts up, straddles his body, pulls the dress over her head. He lifts on one elbow, mouth locking on to her breast, but she pushes him back onto the blanket, leaning down to find his lips again. She reaches for his cock with a sigh. They cry out together as it slides inside her. A pulsing rhythm. The tempo increasing. They drum against each other, steady as the rain. ~~~~ Dana lies dozing in the cool desert air. Mulder's arms circle her body, heavy with slumber and more comfortable than the plushest blanket. He is her safe haven. He gives her all she needs. Even in this forsaken landscape. Her eyes float open. The storm has cleared, gone to douse some other place; she gazes out at the starry sky and listens to the Colorado as it courses nearby. She hovers. Sleep beckons. She allows herself to drift. Snap. Lamplight, rosy, glowing. She starts. She is lying on her back in a richly furnished room. Her legs are raised and spread apart, locked into stirrups jutting from an examination table. Wait, she thinks, gaze flying, wait. Maybe I shouldn't. I've changed my mind... She tries to close her legs but finds they've been restrained. A heavy-set man in a golf shirt stares intently at her loins. He holds an unfamiliar instrument between manicured fingertips. Wait, she screams, wait, I don't want this... Someone takes her hand. Her head twists toward his face. Please, she begs, I've changed my mind. Please don't let them. Let's talk first. Let's talk. His watery blue eyes stare down at her tenderly. The white beard wags as he speaks. "We'll never forget what you've done for us. Maia, brave girl, brave girl..." Snap. The river rushes. Mulder murmurs in his sleep. Dana whimpers, shuddering, pressing against his body. Trying to hide in him. End 2 of 9
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