With special thanks to Leary, for his help with the fight scene...

If you want to comment, send email to <luba@lubakmetyk.net>.

Part 11

Of course, just because they now had a reliable -- at least according to Pete and Kitty -- report of the Uncreated's likely current whereabouts didn't mean there weren't any procedural issues left.

Constantine and his hitherto silent companion emphatically denied any desire to join the upcoming confrontation -- "I don't do bleeding aliens, mate. I figure I've done my bit filling you in. We'll be just as happy to let you lot take it from here."

Wisdom was more than willing to accept that proposal. Chas might be pretty good with a tyre iron but John was a complete disaster in anything resembling a physical fight, and this wasn't going to be a typical London street brawl, anyway. It would make two fewer problems for him and Pryde to babysit.

"Ok, so why are we all still sitting here? Let's go, before it can get away!" Mulder, naturally, was ready to jump up immediately and rush off to capture and question the alien -- *especially* if it meant getting Scully away from Constantine -- except that John and Chas hadn't shared the exact location with the others yet, and had made it perfectly clear they had no intention of answering the American's increasingly heated emands without Wisdom's ok.

"Shut it, you space cadet--"

Kitty interrupted her acerbic swain. "We have to call Dai and let him know, first. He'll need to surround and evacuate the area."

"We do need to notify the proper authorities." Scully had agreed with Pete and Kitty that the Yard should be called in, but that was the extent of their brief accord. She'd proposed they wait until daylight, but then had to concede that the risk of the Uncreated moving its hideout to another location -- or of the militantly atheistic aliens getting into another ultimately fatal debate with some unsuspecting true believer -- was too great for delay.

"An' you lot can stay with Thomas an' 'is soddin' peelers, nice an' safe an' out of our bleedin' way."

"I *don't* think so," the redhead beat her partner in protesting. "Even if you *are* right and this is a dangerous alien creature," which she was by no means convinced of, "all that means is that your unarmed police should handle the evacuation while special troops get called in -- and *we* are much more qualified to accompany them than any 'amateurs' could be." Scully packed all the traditional official disdain of interfering bystanders into that last phrase.

"Bollocks," the black-haired Londoner snorted succinctly. "Besides the fact soddin' Thomas 's already agreed it's Pryde's an' my show, last thing we want is a bunch o' peelers *or* paras near enough t' get bit an' crazy-sick like Cully got -- *especially* not with guns an' such handy."

"What makes you so sure *you* won't have the same problem?"

"Pete and I have already had shots," Kitty interjected pacifically. "We don't have to worry about being bitten."

"Antidotes?" Scully sounded doubtful.

"Not exactly. Moira explained it as basically getting our systems 'pre-sensitized' to the alien microlife which acts as a human allergen, so we don't run the risk of toxic shock syndrome if bitten -- or maybe even scratched, Moira couldn't be sure exactly how it was transmitted, except it didn't seem to be by air--"

"Who's this Moira?" Mulder interrupted.

"Moira McTaggert, the mad witchdoctor o' Muir," Wisdom grunted sourly.

Mulder's "Dr. Moira McTaggert? I've heard of her" mingled with his partner's "You mean Dr. McTaggert? I've followed her research for years -- she's brilliant!"

"Yeah, she's a brilliant pain in th' bleedin'--"

Pete's continuing grumble was cut short by his girlfriend jabbing him in the ribs -- hard. "Yes, Moira *is* brilliant, and that's why I'm sure anything she says will work will do exactly as advertised. She gave us a few extra doses in case of emergency, but we need to go back to the hotel to get them."

"Nah." As the others looked at him in surprise, Pete pulled a small case out of one of his trenchcoat pockets. "Got 'em right here. Didn't know when we might need 'em," he smirked, preening at his own cleverness.

Kitty had called Dai Thomas, pulling Constantine along so he could give the Chief Superintendent the exact location, while Wisdom had gone to settle up their tab -- after ordering John's silent, burly companion to keep Mulder in his seat when the American agent had tried to follow Pete's girlfriend, to listen in. Then they'd all piled into Chas' black London cab, with Kitty sitting in her lover's lap up front, and the tidy redhead squeezed between Mulder and Constantine in the back.

After about a fifteen-minute drive in light late-evening traffic, the cab stopped on a dark street to let them off a short distance from the abandoned building where the blond Londoner said he'd spoken to the alien, and then -- as promised -- took off again without notice as soon as the two couples had gotten out.

"Good," Mulder announced with considerable satisfaction he didn't bother hiding. "Two less amateurs to worry about."

"Mulder!" His partner frowned, both at his less-than-politic comment and at the way the tall American was swaying back and forth on his feet slowly. Even though he wasn't obviously slurring his words, or staggering or lurching around (or, at least, not very noticeably), she was starting to worry about how much effect all those pints had had on him -- as an experienced federal agent, he was usually more careful about not alienating local authorities who so often saw the FBI as unwelcome interlopers. But, then again, it wasn't as if these particular locals were obviously official, and -- in one case -- weren't strangers to him.

"Look, Mulder, get it through yer thick-as-a-brick skull that *yer* the bloody amateurs here. So why don't you play good little tourists -- somewhere else? Do some sightseein', or wise up an' go grab yerselves a bit o' shaggin' while Pryde an' me take care o' business? Hell, yer both pissed enough t' indulge in some creative rule-breakin'..."

"Pete!" Kitty blushed furiously -- as did Wisdom's temporarily speechless target.

Scully ignored the younger girl's efforts to apologize as coolly as she'd ignored her companion's rudeness. "So, what do we know about this place?"

The thin, dark Londoner cleared his throat gustily, then sighed and gave in as his girlfriend reached out to take and squeeze his hand. He pulled free after a long, silent minute, first giving her a quick hug, then releasing her to pull out and light a cigarette. "This area's mostly old warehouses an' small factories an' workshops -- I mean *old*, like last century. Most anybody left cleared out mebbe ten years ago, when the Japs came 'round snappin' up every square foot in friggin' sight, plannin' on buildin' themselves their own version o' Docklands. Then their market an' economy tanked, an' their development money dried up, an' most o' their projects went on indefinite hold. They been tryin' t' find some sucker with more cash than brains t' unload on, but nobody with any business sense 's willin' t' pay wot they've been askin'."

He led them along the dark, silent street as he went on in a low tone far less likely to carry than a hissing whisper, "There where we're goin' -- it's an ol' warehouse... shippin' an' receivin' on the ground floor, accountin' and other offices above, maintenance an' general junk below..."

"Are we sure this whole area is abandoned?" Mulder asked, an odd -- strained -- note in his voice.

"The Yard *is* on the way, to make a sweep and make sure," Kitty said reassuringly.

Pete looked at his long-ago acquantaince's tense expression, and suddenly started snickering. "No, that ain't wot he's on about, Pryde -- he just needs to find a private-like spot to go water the daisies..."

The male FBI agent blushed again, nodded jerkily, and went off with a decidedly sheepish look, careful not to meet his partner's icy blue eyes. Wisdom tried so hard to keep his laughter in so as not to make any loud noises that he started to choke. Kitty held her doubled-over lover up with one slim strong arm around his waist while helpfully pounding on his back with the other. "Pete, behave! You've been known to have the same little emergency, I've seen you!"

"Yeah, right, love -- but never in the middle of a mission," he grinned unrepentantly, then added piously, "Now me, I always plan ahead -- I went while I were settlin' up the tab."

The thin, dark figure had just ducked his girlfriend's half-hearted swat at him, still chuckling, when the older man came back out from the alley, looking relieved as well as embarrassed. They'd just started off down the street in a straggling parade again when Scully hissed in a loud whisper, "Mulder!" As everybody stopped dead and her partner looked over at her enquiringly, she went on, "Did you ever get your gun back? I don't remember seeing you pick it up at the hotel desk." She gestured with her own, which she'd pulled out and checked during his impromptu pit stop.

"Got it right here," he nodded cheerfully, patting his suit jacket near the armpit. "You didn't see me pick it up because it was delivered to my room the next morning, carried in on a silver platter, all nice and cleaned and oiled. And it was already fully loaded when it was returned, I checked -- and the safety was on, so there."

"I'm not sure how useful guns will be, Agent Mulder, Agent Scully." Kitty interrupted almost apologetically. "Those Uncreated I saw looked like they had a very hard exoskeleton."

"A heavy enough bullet hitting a vital spot will kill anything." The female agent spoke with unbounded confidence in her ability.

"Hell!" Wisdom exclaimed. "I should have thought o' that before! Not bloody likely their vitals would be in the places we'd expect. We should 'ave asked Stamford durin' th' autopsy. He could have briefed us on their inner workin's -- I'd bet almost anythin' Scicluna had him take at least one apart."

John had told them the squatters who'd called him in routinely used an old coal delivery chute to enter and leave, but Wisdom had no intention of bothering with such an awkward route. He waved his girlfriend forward, knowing she didn't need any further instructions, while he paused to stub out his cigarette -- and carefully positioned his own body to block the American agents' view as she phased the rusted old locks and bolts on the front door and opened it as if it had been left unlocked.

As the bickering foursome moved slowly through the entryway and the areas beyond, pausing frequently to check whether the creaking of the old door had drawn any notice, Pete waved his arm at the stairs nearby. "You two check th' upstairs." Kitty eyed him suspiciously, wondering what her always-devious lover was up to now, and he sent her the ghost of a wink. "We'll check 'ere, an' below." Which was where Constantine had told him he'd met and talked to their quarry, while Scully and Mulder had both been off to visit the restrooms. "An' keep yer eyes peeled."

Scully shook her head at the unneeded warning. "This guy's almost as bad as you, Mulder."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Ah."

"SHH!"

"..."

Distracted, they didn't hear the noise of movement going on below them until it was too late.

With lightning speed, the Uncreated broke through the floorboards. It grabbed the nearest target -- which happened to be Kitty -- by the legs, and yanked her down into the basement below. Standing nearby, Scully began falling into the hole as well, but Wisdom managed to reach out and grab her arm and break her fall just in time.

"Scully, are you ok?" Mulder asked excitedly, as he rushed over and helped the smaller man to pull his partner back up. "Did you *see* that thing?!"

"No, I was too busy falling to notice," Scully said dryly, after she'd caught her breath. "What was it?"

"Bugger all that! Kitty, you okay down there, love?" Pete called, trying to see through the cloud of dust that had been stirred up by the attack, surprised she hadn't simply phased out of her assailant's grasp. "I'm comin' down there--"

"NO! You stay up there and keep the Feds out of danger. I'll take care of the overgrown cockroaches," Kitty yelled, still invisible behind the cloud of many years of dust and debris stirred up.

"She's *got* to be kidding!"

"You can't possibly mean to listen to her!"

"Look, Pryde knows what she's doin' better 'n any of us!"

Down below, Kitty's eyes darted around her surroundings. She'd begun phasing instinctively as soon as the creature had grabbed her, then resolidified almost immediately as she decided in a split-second to let it pull her down and away from the two visitors they seemed stuck with. Once down in the dim-lit basement, she'd phased again, slipping out of her captor's grasp, and it had scuttled off almost immediately, obviously panicked by the unusual defense -- or remembering their last encounter?

Kitty solidified again, to ground herself in an attempt to regain her bearings, ready to phase again if necessary. Glancing around the dingy, grimy, cluttered chamber that had apparently been used for years of miscellaneous storage, she spotted oversized cobweb-festooned bottles of who-knows-what standing next to prised-open packing crates spilling mildewed straw onto the dust-covered brick flooring. There was a small fire over in one corner that provided some light and heat, and she inched towards it cautiously. Rather than rush off headlong in an undetermined direction chasing their quarry, Kitty was betting herself the Uncreated hadn't gone far, and would come back and try for her again if she made herself an inviting target. In the meantime, she grabbed up a old, rusty prybar laying atop a nearby box, hefting it and swinging it appraisingly. It was shorter and heavier than a proper fighting staff, but light enough to still be quite maneuverable, and she figured she'd probably need its extra mass and reach against her foe.

She strained to hear any faint sounds that might give her a hint where the Uncreated had gone. However, that proved difficult given the heated discussion clearly audible from the ground floor--

"We can try those stairs over there--"

"It's really not that big a drop. If we lowered ourselves carefully and then let go we'd only have to fall a few feet or so--"

"Stop yappin' an' get out o' me bloody way--"

The slender brunette spun around gracefully at what sounded like a faint hiss. There was nothing visible behind her. Kitty started getting nervous, and fought down her apprehension with the ease of long practice. _Calm down, girl. Get a grip, this isn't some cheesy horror flick. I've gotta think..._

Unfortunately, she didn't really get much of a chance to, since the Uncreated chose that moment to attack. Since she'd instinctively phased as soon as she caught the flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye, though, it passed harmlessly through her.

This did not go completely unnoticed by her audience.

"That thing, it went right *through* her!" Mulder yelped from where he perched precariously at the edge of the hole, peering downward.

"Don't be ridiculous, Mulder. You couldn't really see anything through the dust. She just dodged," Scully countered, still trying to clear the grit from her own eyes as she quickly explored the ground floor for another way down while Wisdom kept a lookout for more assailants.

_Damn. Gotta watch the phasing, as much as I can,_ Kitty thought, kicking herself for being so careless. She and Pete hadn't even needed to consult about it, she knew they'd both prefer to keep their companions unaware of their own peculiar 'talents' if possible -- although not at the cost of life or limb, of course.

Instinctively, she fell back into her strongest defensive stance. _Keep the ears open, Pryde, trust your instincts, and don't be afraid. You can take this thing. You've been trained by Wolverine -- you've fought the N'garai, and the Brood and Badoon and Phalanx -- and more... and you've faced the Uncreated before, too -- three at one time -- and gotten away. But this time you don't want to get away, you want to stop *it* from getting away. Stop thinking. Act._ Kitty ducked suddenly, easily avoiding the claw that swung at her from the shadows.

"We gotta figure out a way to catch that thing!"

As Kitty dodged again and then danced in to land a blow, there was a sudden crash behind her, and another enormous cloud of dust and debris, this one accompanied by a truly vile stink.

"Mulder!"

"Wot the bloody HELL--?!"

Coughing mingled with sputtered cursing suggested that the FBI agent had followed her down the hole, whether deliberately or accidentally, and that the grace of his landing had been somewhat impaired by all the drinks he'd had earlier.

"Oh shit!" Kitty muttered, momentarily distracted. The creature took full advantage of this, delivering a painful snap kick to her gut, sending her flying through the air.

She landed with a loud groan, a trickle of blood appearing at the corner of her mouth. She tried to stand quickly, but let out a yelp as her hand grabbed at her side. With any luck, she had only bruised a few ribs, not broken them. Kitty grimaced wryly -- it was supposed to be Wisdom who always got himself banged up on missions; she was literally untouchable.

A flicker of light caught her eye -- Mulder's precipitous entry had sent debris tumbling and flying, breaking a number of the large bottles she'd noted earlier. The strong, acrid odor now filling the thick dusty air suggested they had held some sort of chemicals, and the tiny licks of flame running along the spilt contents from the fire in the corner toward several of the nearest broken-down wooden packing crates, some rolled-up carpet fragments and other piled-up detritus strongly indicated whatever the bottles had held was quite flammeable.

The Uncreated approached her slowly, reclaiming her attention. "We remember you. You said you worship a god -- 'Juda'?" it said in a raspy voice as it crept closer, completely ignoring the flames growing about it. Kitty was surprised by that -- not only had the creature apparently recognized her, even though she'd been wearing her colors in Dream Nails while she was now dressed in mufti, but it obviously recalled that she'd told them then that she belonged to a religion named Judaism. "Therefore you are inferior life, to be removed."

A couple of shots rang out from where a still slightly stunned FBI agent had rolled to half-lay, half-crouch behind a pile of crates after his rough landing. The bullets flew wildly, one actually ricocheting off the alien's hard carapace and almost hitting Wisdom as he dropped neatly through the hole after lowering Scully down, except he reflexively melted it with a tiny hotknife just before it reached him.

"FUCK, MULDER!!"

"What?!"

The Uncreated ignored the disturbance as it kept creeping up on Kitty. It didn't ignore that bullet that pierced its right eye, though, jerking back from its intended victim with an unearthly scream.

Scully continued shooting, getting a few good hits in on the body too, but it quickly slipped away into the shadows again. "Don't you even *try* telling me that she had him where she wanted him," Scully said, her voice hard. She glared at Pete, who bit back the impulsive urge to snap back that Kitty had been safely phased -- as long as she wasn't distracted by idiot drunks' antics -- and simply nodded to the female agent in silent thanks.

As the flames kept spreading, that particular alcoholically-impaired FBI agent staggered up to them, now *very* notieably weaving and slurring his words.

"Mulder, are you all right?" His partner grabbed him, and tried to steady him long enough to get a good look into his eyes.

"...think so..."

"Did you hit your head when you fell?"

"...don' think so..."

Wisdom left him to her, ignoring his two charges while he edged forward, staring around carefully, then suddenly yelled, "Pryde, watch out!" as the alien relaunched its attack on his girlfriend. The thin, dark Londoner whirled back toward Scully fiercely. "Get the hell out o' here, we don't have time fer this shit! Up those stairs, over there!"

She stared back at the scowling Englishman for a long moment, then something -- maybe the fact that they had actually found a... 'creature' following his lead, exactly where his friend had indicated, or the way that Pete was so obviously committed to following Kitty's instructions, despite his badly-hidden desire to go help her (unlike her own partner, who never took *her* requests or opinions all that seriously) -- made Dana nod at him calmly, then turn back to her wavering patient.

"You'll thank me for this later, Mulder."

"Thank you for what?"

"This." Scully brought her gun up in a flash, pistol-whipping her partner into semi-unconsciousness. "I've got Mulder! You help Kitty!" she called out to Pete, then grabbed Mulder's tottering form and slung one arm around her neck. As quickly as they could, the two of them fled the scene, leaving the other pair to finish the job on their own.

Back inside, Pete lifted his tie and covered his mouth with the end, trying to see through the growing, acrid smoke with blue eyes now tinged with red. Faintly, he could see the two antagonists going at it again, if at a greatly reduced pace, thanks to their respective injuries. "Oh, fer Christ's sake, Kitty, the gits are gone! Phase an' finish the motherless cockroach now!"

Kitty merely coughed in response, before adding, "...trying, Pete. Not that easy... to concentrate." She could with some effort phase the air around her to match her state and let her keep breathing while she stayed intangible, but she couldn't afford the intense concentration it would have taken her to phase the air without the smoke and chemicals in it -- and she had to keep solidifying to hit the creature, anyway.

"Bloody hell," grumbled the former spy, continuing his cautious advance, eyes glowing completely crimson as hot knives stretched from his fingers while he waited for a clear shot -- he couldn't risk one with Kitty unpredictably wavering in and out of solidity as the two figures danced jerkily around each other. And they couldn't just leave now, and trust the fire to finish it off -- the creature had apparently survived the explosion and fire at Dream Nails somehow, and the subsequent arsons suggested it might have little or no trouble surviving this fire too.

The Uncreated looked right at him as he approached. "Do you believe in a god?"

"Lika a bleedin' broken record," Wisdom muttered, then yelled back, "None o' yer fuckin' business, mate. But that's me own personal goddess yer messin' with there, an' I want 'er back, in one nice perfect piece!" Then an idea dawned on him. Knowing the thing understood English but hoping that it hadn't been exposed to *too* many other human languages, he shouted in passable Russian, "<<Set me up a shot, then be ready!>>"

"Roger that!" Kitty said, her style taking on a more defensive tone as she dodged and parried with her makeshift bo staff, attacking only when she could do so quickly and easily, meanwhile slowly moving the fight toward the sound of her partner's voice. Eventually, one of the creature's blows struck true, and Kitty was sent to the floor, landing roughly on her back. She brought her staff up just in time, planting it skillfully at the thing's throat as it leapt on her, keeping the thing at arm's length.

"NOW! PHASE!"

"Gotcha!" she called back, grinning like the cat who'd caught the canary. The Uncreated looked up again with its one good eye just as the largest hotknife Wisdom could generate flew across the space between them -- and neatly decapitated the alien attacking his lady.

Then it was Pete's turn to stand frozen in slack-jawed amazement as the headless body refused to fall, staggering about and still waving its clawed arms around aggressively.

Kitty had slid back from the blindly flailing form and gotten up, grasping the aged crowbar again. She lunged forward suddenly, driving the phased length of iron into the insectoid's chest where she promptly released it, then turned away and ran towards her companion.

He in turn sighed regretfully, then pulled out his ace in the hole. His scotch flask had gotten him through many a tight spot before, but now it found one more use as he opened it and tossed the contents at the walking-dead creature, followed by the flask itself. A few hotknives ignited the liqour and, a second later, the decapitated bug burst into flames, joining the growing conflagration.

Meanwhile, Kitty had reached him, and grabbed his hand and simply phased them into the ground, where she began 'swimming' them outwards, away from the heat.

They erupted out of the ground only a short minute later. There was *no* air underground, Kitty's sore chest felt as if it was on fire just like the warehouse they'd left behind, and even Pete's cigarette-inured lungs were laboring after the stinging smoke filling the old building.

The two of them surfaced in the midst of a crowd of constables and firemen, and sprawled on the ground, coughing and wheezing, for seeming forever. But it was really only another minute or even less before the bystanders realized who they had to be, and several shouts rang out -- "Chief Superintendent! Dr. McTaggert! Over here!"

Even through the surrounding bedlam, Wisdom heard Kitty gasp -- a small, choked cry of pain -- and tried to get up, to get to her. To his mute surprise, he felt a strong arm helping him and heard Dai Thomas' voice, surprisingly gentle. "Easy, lad, slow and easy. The lass' fine, we just didn't know about her ribs when we tried to help her up -- but McTaggert's going to look at her, she'll fix her right enough. Here..." The familiar feel of a pocket flask pressed into his hand, and he took a long, welcome swallow, letting the liquor burn its familiar way down his throat, while the portly Welshman asked quietly, "The Uncreated?"

The younger man took another quick chug, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand -- which just smeared more dirt and grime into the stubble shadowing his face -- and replied, just as softly, "Only saw one, mate, but we took out *that* fucker, fer sure... Pryde saw three o' the buggers at Dream Nails, an' we still don't know how many got out, so be sure yer lot checks the site, maybe the others were caught in the fire, too... but I doubt it, they've walked away from too many fires so far to be taken out by one..." Pete realized he was starting to ramble as the adrenalin rush faded, and pulled himself together. "Where's Kitty?!"

"Pete--?" Before he'd managed to get a fix on that lovely, familiar voice, the man he'd resented for so many years had already pulled him up to his feet and was guiding him over to sit down again next to Kitty, who held one hand outstretched toward her lover while the other clutched at her ribs as Moira clucked over them disapprovingly.

"Wot the bloody hell 're *you* doin' 'ere?" He squared off at the acerbic Scotswoman half-heartedly -- but only after he'd grabbed that slender -- and grubby -- hand and gripped it like a lifeline. "Ah, the hell with it... look, Pryde hurt somethin' down there, when that idiot Yank pisshead mucked in 'er fight..."

"Dinna fash yuirself, ye daft Dublachan," the world-renown doctor and genetic researcher muttered absently, as she ran experienced hands over the brunette's trim torso. "An' make yuirself useful -- keep that other fool beastie away fuir a wee bit, whilst A wrap this..."

Shooing Lockheed away was easier said than done -- Kitty's longtime pet was as tenacious as the other two in their odd little trio. Trying to wave his frequently jealous rival off, Wisdom glared at Moira, then sighed. "Hell, maybe it's a good thing yer here -- 'sides takin' care o' Pryde, I mean. After all, if there's still an Uncreated left alive in there, or if the searchers get a hold of a body or two, somebody could come down with that wotever-it-was that knocked off Cully..."

"Here, ye daft wee beastie," Dai Thomas held out an arm for the alien, purple dragon to settle on, then chuckled sourly, "Give the rest of us *some* credit, lad. Jardine and I have kept in touch, and I asked the good doctor to come down just as soon as your own lass called me with this location. The little red-headed girl is still off checking all the evacuees have been treated, but everybody here got their shots already."

"Probably all nice painless Star-Trek shots, not huge hippo hypos," Pete grumbled, sotto voce, then, raising his voice slightly, "So, who else is 'ere, 'sides Rahney an' this Scots sadist?"

"Braddock an' the elf came too, but I made them stay back -- didn't know what the situation was inside, whether they'd make things better or worse."

"Good. We already had ourselves more bleedin' 'help' than we wanted or needed," the former Black Air agent added sourly. "Last thing we needed was the Charge o' th' Spandex Brigade, mebbe risk losin' one o' the Feds... So, speakin' o' the devil, where *are* the Yank peelers?"

"Sitting over there, by one of them ambulances... They're fine -- some smoke inhalation, and a couple o' knocks on the noggin for him..."

"That won't hurt 'im any... might even be an improvement."

Pete and Dai grinned at each other briefly, united in sudden local brotherhood against the uninvited, official interlopers from overseas. Then the senior Yard man sighed theatrically. "Reckon you fit right in, lad." He waved a hand around him, at the chaos of firefighters and other emergency workers struggling to bring the stubborn blaze under control. "You lot 've always been killers on real estate."

On Chief Superintendent Thomas' instructions, the emergency medical crew standing by had made a big production of treating the two FBI agents as VIPs -- 'very important patients' -- as they would have anyway, being professionals themselves... and having no other patients to treat as long as none of the firemen got injured. That meant each of the Americans had a crowd of people fussing over them, making sure they kept their oxygen masks on, shining bright penlights into their eyes, and generally poking and prodding them and asking rote questions like "How do you feel?"

It had only taken a few moments for them both to get reclassified as 'very irritating patients.' The medics knew they had a problem as soon as Scully had announced she was a doctor -- doctors always made the worst patients. She didn't want to be treated, she kept insisting she was fine. And she wanted to be the one treating Mulder -- who didn't want to be treated either, and kept insisting he was fine. Since the renown Doctor Moira McTaggert had taken one look into his slightly unfocused hazel eyes and pronounced him "pissed as a newt" but otherwise ok, the medics were quite willing to take him at his word. But they had their instructions, to keep the two agents out of Dai Thomas' -- and the reporters' -- way, and distract them from the details of the goings-on around them. And they'd worked out several elegant techniques guaranteed to do just that. While keeping the Americans ever so politely restrained, the orderlies started a just-barely-audible-to-the-patients word game, to come up with the best replacement adjective in very *important* patients (with the stated prize being to have your drinks paid for by the others at shift's end). 'Irritating' came up early, of course, as did 'idiotic' and 'impossible' and 'imbecilic' and 'irrational.' Some big laugh-getters included 'insufferable,' 'irksome,' 'intransigent' and 'infuriating.' One male nurse won some scattered applause by coming up with pairs -- 'inane' and 'insane,' and 'impudent' and 'imprudent,' and one passing fireman got some snickers -- and indignant glares from their subjects -- by suggesting 'inebriated.'

The barely-audible nature of their conversation was quite deliberate, intended to tease and intrigue the targets, and it certainly succeeded in fixing Scully's and Mulder's attention in safe channels. But it was one motherly-looking grey-haired volunteer aide coming up with 'ill-natured, ill-mannered, impolite and incorrigible' that finally got to Dana right where it hurt. "Let's let them do their jobs, Mulder," she muttered, subsiding with ill grace and taking another deep drag on the wonderfully fresh air in her oxygen mask. "Just sit back, relax, and take long deep breaths..."

Only to herself, she was willing to admit she needed it. They'd been stuck inside, in increasingly thick smoke, for a while. The stairs Wisdom had pointed them at had been locked at the ground floor -- nothing a small hot knife or some convenient phasing couldn't have handled, but it had taken Dana a while to batter the lock loose with the butt of her gun. (Mulder had tried to smash through, but she'd stopped him trying again after he'd almost tumbled back down the stairs bouncing off the door.)

"What happened to Kitty and Pete?!" her partner exclaimed suddenly, struggling to get up.

"They're fine, Mulder, relax. Look, over there?" The redhead kept one hand up to keep her facemask properly positioned, but lifted the other from rubbing futilely at tearing eyes to wave off to the side, where the slender brunette was sitting some distance off. They could see that Kitty had her teeshirt pulled up while a short, auburn-haired woman wearing glasses and a white coat wrapped tape around the younger girl's slender torso -- the same woman who'd examined Mulder so perfunctorily earlier. Wisdom was there too, sitting by his lady, helping to keep her arms up and out of the way... He held one of her hands up, pressed to his lips, while his other arm flailed at something... 'something' purple hovering in a cloud of smoke just over Kitty's head?

Dana rubbed at her sore, tear-blurred eyes again, and took another look. No, she must have been fooled by an optical illusion -- the senior Yard man standing next to the local couple was holding something purple over his arm... probably a sweater. She must have seen him shaking it out, probably offering it to Kitty.

"The alien!" Mulder interrupted her musing. "We have to find it! If it's still loose, and attacks one of those firemen, and they have that weird reaction... We have to warn them!" He tried to get to his feet, only to be pushed back down firmly. "But if it's still alive, they have to catch it! And if it's dead, they have to recover the body! Scully, it's *proof*--"

"Relax, Agent," the enormous constable holding him in place said. "Dr. McTaggert and her people have everything under control. We've all been briefed, and treated."

"Indeed," a new voice, velvety-smooth with a faint Germanic accent, joined in. Scully looked up, and blinked, and stared -- at the short, slender man standing in front of her, wearing a turtleneck sweater over casual slacks... and who had plush blue fur and bright golden eyes and gleaming white fangs... and was that a tail waving behind him?!

Feeling her eyes on him, he turned and bowed to her gracefully, an Errol-Flynn-like flourish, lifting her hand to his lips as he did so. "Guten Abend, schon Fraulein. Please, do not concern yourself -- Herr Wisdom and Katzchen have assured us the Uncreated is defunct... and Herr Wisdom is *most* experienced in such matters. And our Frau Doktor McTaggert has assured us her injection is effective, and she is equally experienced in her own sphere. And Chief Superintendent Thomas has already made arrangements for recovery and removal of the remains..."

Scully turned in the direction of his gesture, and saw what looked like a blond Arnold Schwartzenegger in grey sweats hefting massive rubble and heaving it aside as if it weighed about as much as a feather. She heard an odd 'bamf!' sound then, and turned back to ask a question -- only to see no one there. Scrubbing at her still-tearing eyes with one hand, waving her other hand to dispell a stinking sulphur cloud that had suddenly blown by -- what *had* that warehouse contained? -- the female agent decided that she'd have to rethink just how drunk *she* really was. Seeing flying purple sweaters out of the corner of her eye was one thing, but talking to a debonair, German Cookie Monster?

Mulder was also rubbing at bloodshot eyes, until a nurse pushed his grimy hands away gently but firmly, and began sponging his face with cool water. "You didn't have to hit me, Scully. I'm having enough trouble focusing after all those drinks, without that for icing on the cake..."

She thought about asking him if he'd seen what she thought she'd just seen, then sighed. She didn't even want to start another round. "Yes I did, so stop pouting. You'll get your big, bad alien sooner or later." Dana shook her head at herself -- she couldn't believe she had actually said something like that even quasi-seriously. "There are still our cases back in the States, remember?"

Additional note: Before anyone complains, yes, I know 'Dublachan' is Irish and not Scottish. But I'm assuming Moira is well-educated, and willing to stretch the extra distance for a really appropriate insult.