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Angels in Dark Suits by Hansome Alvin

Title: Angels in Dark Suits (1/3)
Author: Hansome Alvin ()
Rating: NC-17 for graphic sex, language and violence
Genre: Slash/Suspense/Thriller
Series: Twin Peaks/X-Files/Millennium crossover
Spoilers: Twin Peaks--whole show/X-Files--none/Millennium--through second season
Summary: Private detective Audrey Horne, her old friend Donna Hayward, Special Agent Dana Scully and another mysterious woman probe a bizarre kidnapping case which leads them to dangerous situations, shady characters and personal revelations about themselves.
Archive: Sure, but ask for my permission first (contact: ).
Disclaimers: Characters from "Twin Peaks" are property of the Lynch/Frost company. Characters from "The X-Files" and "Millennium" are property of Ten-Thirteen Productions. I imply no ownership of these characters, nor do I profit from their use in this context. All original characters are copyright 1999 by Hansome Alvin. This story depicts graphic, consensual sexual situations between woman. If you are under eighteen, are offended by this material, or if this sort of thing is illegal where you live, do not read this story. Also, there are some elements that will be considered by some to be a bit extreme (nothing *really* offensive). Just a fair warning.

Angels in Dark Suits
by Hansome Alvin ()

(For Bat Morda, someone who I've never met, but whose work showed me what slash fiction *can* be. Thanks, Bat.)

Part One


August and hot.

Sometimes, Phoenix can be hell and that day was most assuredly an example. The eighth month of the year is a time when the city is actually humid. Contrary to what most believe, Phoenix is, in fact, a dry heat most of the time. But August is Monsoon season in the Valley of the Sun and citizens who are unlucky enough to be caught outside walking on one of these days are likely to be blinded by rivers of sweat pouring down their foreheads.

The cop was not thinking about this.

Well, not directly, at least. He was thinking about how unpleasant blood smelled in the August heat. Sometimes, it was so humid that he swore he could see the pinkish-red fumes of the blood wafting off the bodies.

This was how he knew that there was a body in the apartment. The call wasn't bogus, it was a keeper. He had been dispatched to the Ponderosa Apartments because someone had reported an unfamiliar, suspicious figure, carrying a black trash bag, wandering the complex.

The cop wasn't expecting this. When he arrived, a small group of people were situated at the entrance of the complex. They were pointing to the center building, where the majority of the apartments were located.

"He's in there!" one of the onlookers shouted.

"Where?" the cop asked.

"Apartment 237. I saw him go in. He just unlocked the door, like he lived there," the onlooker, a young woman, said.

"How do you know he doesn't live there?"

"That's where Mr. Granson lives. Nice man. I haven't seen him in a while. He's doing...he hasnt made a sound in there."

"Mr. Granson?"

"No. No, the man. The man with the black bag."

"Okay, okay. Stay here, I'll handle this."

The cop started off.

"It's building two!" the young woman called after him.

It was when he entered the building that he noticed the smell. He knew the suspicious character was real and now he was sure what was in his bag. What he didn't know was what was going on. He had never really been in a situation quite like this.

If the black bag did indeed hold a dead body, as the cop suspected, why was the guy dropping it in an apartment? Killers dropped bodies in rivers and alleys, not in apartments.

The cop followed the stairs up to the second floor, gun drawn. He felt that rush; that flow of adrenaline that always accompanied moments like these. Pulse pounding, heart racing, he rounded a corner into the long hallway where 237 was located. He marched forward, his 9mm thrust in front of him.

He could see the door to 237 was open. He could also see a mark on the door. It was a dark streak, near the bottom of the white door. What was it?

He knew, of course, what that streak was, but he pushed it down deep inside himself. He didnt want to think on it.

In less than a second, he was at the door and could no longer deny what that streak was: blood. It wasn't a large amount, just a tiny streak. As if the killer's bag was leaking slightly and it brushed against the door when he entered.

The cop paused at the door, listening.

Someone was talking inside the apartment.

The cop strained, trying to make out the words.

"...beginning and the end..." was all he could understand.

He burst into the apartment, yelling, "Freeze!"

As he was taught, the pistol never left his field of vision. Wherever his eyes went, the pistol went. Turns out he didn't need it.

There was a shape in the middle of the room. A shape that was the sum of all his childhood fears and nightmares. The cop couldn't breath, he only stood still, the gun aimed at the monstrosity in the middle of the room.

That was when the curtain of the window moved, filling the room with light. The shape in the middle of the room was a body slumped in a chair. The cop relaxed just the tiniest bit. He made a quick search of the room with his eyes.

The window, behind the dead man, was wide open. That was why the curtain was blowing free. The killer must have escaped out of it. He must have known that the cop was at the door.

The cop ran to the window and looked out. He was just in time to see a figure disappear into an alley behind the apartment complex.

"Shit," he muttered.

The cop returned to the body. He jumped a little when he saw it in full light. It was a middle-aged man. His hands were gone and where his eyes had been there were now only black, encrusted holes.

The cop left the apartment to call for backup. He knew full well that he could use his portable radio inside the apartment. He just wanted to get the hell out of there.

Audrey Horne sometimes sat in her office all day without one visitor. Okay, the Horne Detective Agency had only been open for business for a half a year or so, but Audrey couldn't help but feel that she was being punished for something. That she was paying for old debts and bad behavior long forgotten. Bad behavior from Twin Peaks. Debts from the police force.

But most modern private detective work was done on the phone, anyway, so Audrey figured that sitting in an office all day was part of the job. She wanted excitement. She wanted to feel that rush that spying gave her. She felt that rush years ago, in her home town of Twin Peaks, where the bizarre was always just around the corner and there was usually a juicy mystery that gave her an excuse to pry into other people's lives. But Twin Peaks was far away and, besides, it got a little too dangerous.

Audrey was thinking about all these things when Donna Hayward walked into her office.

The knock brought Audrey about halfway up from her thoughts.

"Come in," she said without looking up.

Donna opened the door and walked inside.

"Audrey?" she asked.

The private detective looked up. Most clients called her Ms. Horne, so the first name got her attention. Also, the voice was familiar.

"Donna?" she asked.

Donna nodded, smiling and Audrey stood up, came around the desk and embraced her old friend.

"God, you look great," Donna said, sizing up the private detective.

"Oh, come off it. Look at you, all grown up."

Donna disregarded the statement with a swipe of her hand.

"How are you?" Audrey asked.

"I've been better."

Audrey was concerned.

"Has anything happened?" she asked.

"Yes." There was a pause as her friend gathered up the courage to go on. "My sister has disappeared."

Audrey realized that her friend was not here to catch up on old times. At least, that was not the primary reason she was here.

"The police are clueless," Donna said a few minutes later. "As are most of them, I've noticed."

"Well, I knew one who wasn't," Audrey said.

"He wasn't a police officer, Audrey."

"Well, he was for a while. Unofficially, at least."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Mental hospital, wasn't it?"

"Last I heard. I stopped trying to find Dale a long time ago. But, we're getting off the subject. What happened?"

"Well, Gersten going to Arizona State. I hadn't heard from her in a while, but last time I spoke to her, she was doing great. Her roommate reported her missing two weeks ago."

"Now, refresh my memory. Which one was Gersten?"

"Luminous red hair, usually wore pink outfits...musical genius. The piano was her favorite. She was studying music at the University." Donna took a deep breath. "There were signs of a struggle, but no evidence that was of any help. They've pretty much given up now--the police, I mean--until more evidence presents itself."

A tear trickled down Donna's cheek, etching a path.

"Hey, it'll be all right." Audrey took her old friend into her arms again. "I'll do everything I can."

"I just...feel so helpless," Donna got out between tears.

"Shhhh. Shh, shh, shh, Donna. Let's go get a bite to eat and talk about it."

Donna nodded.

Twenty minutes later they were sitting at a good Mexican food place on the corner of Greenway and 35th.

"Well," Donna said, "my family moved to Anaheim about four years ago, but I've been living in Boulder for five years."

"Boulder. I hear it's nice," Audrey said.

"It is. Gersten started going to school here three years ago. She loved it here."

"I do, too."

"I should have known that Audrey Horne would end up some place hot."

Audrey started laughing and soon, Donna joined her.

"I missed you, Donna," Audrey said after both women had calmed down.

Donna hesitated before answering. Audrey thought that her friend seemed a little apprehensive about something.

"I missed you, too," Donna finally said. And she looked deep into Audrey's eyes, seeming to search for something.

"Will you excuse me for a minute?" Donna asked.


Donna stood up, her leg bumping into the table. Audrey's glass of water tipped over, soaking her suit.

"Ohh, I'm sorry," Donna said, helping her friend to her feet.

"No, it's all right, it's all right," Audrey said.

"I guess I'm coming with you to the restroom."

The two women went into the restroom. Audrey was chuckling under her breath. Donna lightly hit her friend on the arm.

Audrey sat on the counter in the restroom, drying her suit with handfuls of paper towels. Donna was talking to her from inside one of the stalls.

"Mom and...Dad...came up the first week it happened. They called me and I thought it was nothing. Gersten runs off sometimes, not telling anybody. She says it's to clear her head."

"Do all the Hayward's have to take time off to 'clear their heads'?"

"Don't get smart with me, honey."

"I take it back," Audrey said, grinning.

"Anyway, a week and a half goes by...and no Gersten. That's not like her. She's usually only gone a day or two. So, by this time, Mom and Dad have rented a room here and I'm getting worried, so I fly down. I talk to the police, they don't have a clue to save their own asses, so I remember that I heard someone say that you had a business down here." Donna flushed and came out of the stall. "You're up to date."

Donna began washing her hands.

"Do you need help?" Donna indicated the large wet spot on Audrey's clothes.

"Oh, no. I'm okay. But..."

"But what?"

"I feel like there's something you're not telling me."

"Like what?"

"Gersten didn't have any angry boyfriends?"


"Any enemies?"

"No." Donna seemed to be stalling, beating around the bush.

"There was nothing to single her out? Nothing? No motive?" Audrey asked.



"Well, no motive, but..."

"But?" Audrey was getting frustrated. Donna wouldn't spit it out.

"There is something to single her out," the elder Hayward daughter said.

"What is it?"

Donna finished washing her hands.

"Come on, Donna, you have to be straight with me," Audrey prodded.

"She sees angels."


"Well, at least she says she sees angels."

"She has visions?" Audrey wasn't expecting this at all. She didn't know exactly what she had expected, just not this.

"Yeah," Donna was saying.

"How long?" Audrey asked.

"Uhhhh. Ever since she went through puberty, I guess. About twelve years old."

"That does single her out."

"Do you know anyone who's an expert on matters like these?"

Audrey paused. She didn't want to let her friend down, but she wanted to be straight with her, too.

"I don't think there's anyone who's an expert on things like this," she finally said.

Special Agent Dana Scully sat in her partner's office, behind his desk, playing solitaire. Mulder was an hour late. This did not really surprise her, but she was annoyed by it anyway. She calmly turned the cards, trying not to think of all the time wasted as she waited for her partner. This was her specialty. She could remain calm. She figured that most other people would ask for reassignment, but she liked Mulder. He was intense, passionate and focused. Yes, she liked Mulder. She just didn't *like* like Mulder. On a professional level, that intensity was good, even a benefit to some cases, but she wouldnt want to get intimate with the man. He might just kill her with that

intensity. As a matter of fact, she hadnt been with any man for quite a while. That was odd. She put down another card.

Mulder burst into the office, he was excited. He was onto a case, she could tell, but he wanted to play with her a little before telling her about it. She could tell that, too.

"Solitaire, game of the lonely hearted," he said.

"Where've you been, Mulder?" Scully asked.

Special Agent Fox Mulder seemed not to hear her question. He was looking at the cards spread out on the table. His eyes brightened and he picked up one of them.

"You know, most people think it's the ace of spades, but it's actually the queen of spades that represents death," he said, presenting the card for Scully's inspection.

"Very enlightening, Mulder. Now are you going to tell me what you're so excited about?"

"A man's been murdered in Phoenix. Had his eyes cut out and his hands cut." Mulder extended his own hands, as if adding a period to his sentence.

"That's horrible, Mulder, but it's not odd, exactly."

"He saw angels."

"Some poor Phoenix man finds God right before he dies and we're going to investigate it?"

"And people say you have no sense of humor," Mulder wagged his finger at her. "But, no. The man was Raymond Granson. He was a fairly well-known religious seer, of sorts."

"A seer. A prophet, you mean."

"No, not exactly. He didn't have anything 'enlightening' to tell the people of the world. He just saw angels. Daily, actually."

"Did you check his background? Maybe he also thought he was Napoleon."

"There's that sense of humor again. You gotta watch that," Mulder was trying, but he wasn't going to get a smile out of her. At least, not yet. "Ran a full check on him, he's clean," Mulder continued.

"Sounds interesting, Mulder."

Mulder raised his eyebrows and nodded at her.

"Now?!" Scully said, realization hitting her in the face.

"Our plane leaves in an hour."

"Mulder, I have a lot of paperwork to do. When are we ever going to have a week when we just sit around and do paperwork?"

Mulder picked up one of the cards off the desk.

"It just ain't in the cards, Scully," he said.

Scully sighed, standing up.

"That's the spirit. Now, let's go bask in that harsh, yellow Phoenix sun."

The two agents walked out of the office together.

"Who said I didn't have a sense of humor?" Scully asked, closing the door behind her and smiling at last.

A woman waited in her car outside of the Ponderosa apartments. She was waiting for the police to clear out. The body was found in the morning, so that meant that the cops would probably be gone by nightfall.

The car was a rental, a late-model four-door, with roomy back seats. The woman didn't know how long she could last in a hotel before being discovered, so she needed a vehicle that could double as a bed if needed.

She checked the rear-view mirror, found nothing in the back seat and returned her attention to the apartment complex.

Yes, the police would be gone by nightfall.

When the two agents arrived at Sky Harbor, it was already after dark. They got to the police station as fast as they could. Mulder asked if they could see the apartment.

"Well, all our men cleared out of there," Bergman, the detective in charge of the case, said. Bergman was a big man, he must have weighed at least two hundred pounds. He wore a slightly graying beard and mustache and looked like a nice enough fellow.

"Already?" Mulder asked.

"Yeah, we got all we could. Running the prints now, but I don't expect to find the perp's."

"Have you moved the body?"

"Yes, sir. That has been done."

"Do you mind if we look at the crime scene all the same?"

"No, I suppose that'd be all right. Here's the key. We've made a few copies. Don't disturb anything."

"No, of course not. We won't stay long before heading over to the morgue to check the body."

"All right, bring that back," Bergman said, indicating the key.

They were at the apartments in ten minutes.

"Mulder," Scully said as they walked towards the apartment, "why are you taking an interest in this case, if I might ask? You don't have any religious convictions."

"Actually," Mulder said, not looking at his partner, "I was thinking of you."


"Yeah, Scully, I know your beliefs, and I thought you'd be interested in this case."

"Mulder, the guy was probably crazy. If not crazy, then it was a hoax to get attention."

"Scully, after all you've seen, all you've experienced, you still doubt every case. There's something wrong with that picture."

Scully stopped. For a moment, Mulder didn't notice. He kept walking for a few feet, saw that Scully wasn't beside him, stopped and looked back at her.

"Mulder," Scully said, "I have to be a skeptic. I have to doubt. If I didn't, there'd be no one to reign you in, no one to keep you in line so that your true discoveries, our discoveries, sound plausible, reasonable. Without me, you'd be one of those street-people, Mulder. One of those disturbed people walking down the street shouting about the end of the world."

Mulder didn't respond. He only looked at Scully, an unreadable expression on his face. Well, unreadable to anyone but Scully. She knew what that look meant. Mulder was hurt. She approached him, ready to apologize, but he was already walking.

"Mulder, I--"

"Scully," he cut her off. "The apartment door should be closed, shouldn't it?"

"Yes, why?"

"Look at this."

The door to apartment 237 was slightly ajar. Scully looked at Mulder and drew her pistol. Mulder did the same. Each of them stood on opposite sides of the door for perhaps two seconds, before they burst in, Mulder first.

"Federal agents!" Mulder yelled.

Scully brought up a flashlight and swept the room. She found a tall figure standing in one corner.

"Federal agents, we're armed!" she said.

"I can see that," the figure said. "I'm a friend."

The figure was a tall, strong-looking woman. She had her hands up. In her right, she held a badge. She was a detective.

The two agents approached her, guns still raised.

"Detective Shepherd. Renee Shepherd," the woman said.

"Phoenix PD," Mulder said, looking at the badge.

"The detective in charge told us that all of you had cleared out. Why are you here?" Scully inquired.

"I have insomnia," Shepherd said.

"Clever," Mulder remarked, putting his pistol away.

"Plus, something bothered me about the crime scene. Something wasn't right about it. I couldn't get it out of my head, so I came back."

"In the dark, with no one else?" Scully said.

Shepherd brought a flashlight of her own up and turned it on.

"I like to work alone if I can," she said. "Also, I didn't want to wake the neighbors." She eyed the two agents, accusing them with her eyes.

"Of course," Scully said, finally putting her pistol away. "We apologize. Renee Shepherd, you say?"

"Yes, Agent..."

"Scully. Dana Scully." Scully offered her hand and Shepherd took it in her own. Scully marveled at the woman's hand. It was strong and firm.

"I'm Fox Mulder," Mulder offered his hand. Shepherd held Scully's hand in her own for a second longer before taking Mulder's.

"So, what's the FBI's involvement in this local murder case?" Shepherd asked.

"Well--" Scully began.

"We're interested in the history of the victim," Mulder interrupted.

"History?" Shepherd raised her eyebrows.

"My partner has come across the information that the victim, Raymond Granson, saw angels," Scully said.

"Saw angels?" Shepherd still had her eyebrows raised.

"The victim purportedly had visions of angels," Mulder said.

"Interesting," Shepherd said.

"You didn't know?" Mulder inquired.

"Well, I had heard rumors, but I didn't think they'd lead anywhere," Shepherd said.

"But, you're a detective on this case. You should cover all the angles. You should--"

"Mulder," Scully broke in.

"I understand," Shepherd said. "Why don't we look the apartment over?"

"Let's," Scully said.

She looked the detective over. She was about Scullys own age, with lengthy, light brown hair. She looked quite strong; like she could handle herself in a fight. She was most assuredly someone worthy of note.

What am I thinking? Scully thought. I'm thinking about this woman like I would a man. What does that mean?

She pushed the thought out of her head and got down to the business at hand.

"What are you doing these days?" Audrey asked her old friend.

"I'm a writer," Donna said.

They were sitting on facing couches in Audrey's apartment after dinner. Audrey had phoned in and canceled the rest of her appointments for the day. Their jackets were draped over one of the couches. They each held a glass of wine. They were very relaxed.

"Really? A writer?" Audrey asked.

"Yes, what's so odd about that?" Donna said.

"Nothing, it's just..."

"Just?" Donna broke in.

"I wouldn't expect it."

"Oh, you wouldn't?"


"Well, there are things you don't know about me, Audrey."

"Obviously. Write anything I would know?"


"Well, what do you write?"

"Fluff. Trash. Nothing you would know."

"Fluff and trash are right up my alley. You should know that."

"I write under the name Pat Floures."

Audrey didn't say anything.

"Audrey? What? Do you know my work?" Donna asked.

She did. Pat Floures wrote erotic mysteries. Stories where beautiful, inquisitive woman got involved in labyrinthine mysteries. Audrey was a fan of those kind of stories. What surprised her was not Donna writing such things. Anyone who spent time in Twin Peaks would be a sure candidate to write works like those. No, it was the content. Pat Floures wrote stories in which the heroines were always falling in love with other heroines. Floures was a lesbian writer.

"You're joking, aren't you?" Audrey asked, smiling.

"No," Donna said, also smiling.

"You have to be joking."

"I'm not. I'm Pat Floures."

"Erotic Lesbian Mysteries?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Donna Hayward can not be a writer of Erotic Lesbian Mysteries."

"Why not?"

"Well, you were always so innocent."



"Innocent? Audrey, no one's innocent. You should know that. Besides, what does that have to do with me writing lesbian fiction?"

"Well, first of all, how would you know what it's like to be a lesbian?"

"I think there's an obvious answer to that, Audrey."

There was another pause in the conversation as Audrey took in her friend's meaning.

"Audrey? Does that make you uncomfortable?" Donna asked.

"No, I..."

"It's no big deal. I'm still the same person."

"I know. I'm not like that. I won't judge you for who you are."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the two friends.

"How do you know what it's like to be a lesbian?" Donna asked after a moment.

"I just read them because I..." Audrey stumbled over her words.

"It's okay, Audrey. It's okay."

Audrey smiled.

"I like them," she said.


"Your books. I like them."


"Midnight at the Morgue. That was a good one."

"Oh, God, you read that one?"

"Hey, it was good."

"It was trash."

"I like trash. In fact, I was moved."


"Yeah. When Amy dies in the car crash and Lucy holds her in her arms crying, I couldn't help myself. I wept."

"Oh, now you're just fucking with me."

"No, I'm serious."

"Well, then I thank you again."

Audrey got up to refill their wine.

"Where are you staying?" she called from the kitchen.

"Glen Palms."

"That's pretty far."

"I checked in before I knew where your office was."

"Silly you," Audrey said, returning and handing Donna her glass of wine. Donna grinned and took a drink.

"You could stay here," Audrey said.

"Oh, no, I couldn't put you out like that."

"It's no problem."

Donna looked around.

"Where would I sleep?"

"You could sleep here on the couch," Audrey said and took a long drink from her glass. "Or you could take my bed."

"I wouldn't want to make you sleep on the couch, you're--"

"That's not what I meant," Audrey broke in, looking into Donna's eyes.

Audrey took a deep breath and continued.

"I remember the way that you used to look at me back home," she said. "Okay, maybe I'm remembering differently now because of what I know about you, but I don't think so. Remember when we first began to be friends? When we were at the R&R and I told you that I liked Agent Cooper?"

Donna nodded.

"And then I got up and danced," Audrey went on. "I liked the music, remember? And while I was dancing, I could feel your eyes on me. Somewhere down deep, I knew that you didn't really love James. And maybe, I never really loved Jack Wheeler. Maybe I was hiding from something."

Audrey got off her couch and sat down next to Donna.

"Maybe," Audrey continued, "I was shrugging off the fact that I was looking at you in class from the corner of my eye. Maybe the problem wasn't just that you were a woman, but you were friends with Laura Palmer. Laura, who used to take my father's love away from me. He loved her and not me. He loved her more than his own daughter."

A tear fell from Audrey's right eye. Donna looked away from her friend, not wanting to look at her. Audrey gently took hold of Donna's chin and turned her head back so that she could look into her eyes.

"Well, Twin Peaks is far away. And a long time ago," Audrey said.

She brought her head forward and kissed Donna. Donna didn't move for a moment, she seemed to be a little afraid, but then she started to return the kiss.

Audrey was in a trance. Suddenly, she knew what she wanted, what she had always wanted. It was why she had read lesbian fiction without any apparent purpose or reason. It was why she never had a long or meaningful relationship with a man.

They broke the kiss.

"You know, you don't have to do this, Audrey," Donna said.

"I know. I want this. In fact, I think I need this," Audrey said.

She unbuttoned her shirt and exposed her breasts, covered by a simple white bra, to Donna. Donna took her friend's breasts in her hands, caressing them, kneading them.

Audrey's head went back, her eyes closing. Donna undid the front clasp of Audrey's bra, freeing her friend's ample breasts. Her pink nipples were already erect, little candies in the center of French vanilla ice cream. Donna suckled them. It was amazing, she had wanted this ever since high school. Audrey Horne, one of the most beautiful women in Twin Peaks. Now she was her's.

Audrey took Donna by the back of her head. Donna got the message. She shrank down her lover's body, licking her belly button and the burn scar that covered the right side of her friend's stomach. She unzipped Audrey's pants, pulling them off slowly. Audrey wore red panties, the one thing about her current wardrobe that was a reminder of her youth. Donna cupped Audrey's crotch, surprised to find her friend already damp.

Audrey yelped slightly when Donna touched her. She had never in her life been touched by another woman in that very intimate of places. Donna looked into her friend's eyes, silently asking permission to continue. Audrey frantically nodded her head. Donna stripped off her lover's panties, taking a moment to savor their scent before flinging them to the floor. Then she dipped into that pink place between her friend's legs. Audrey moaned loud and long, her eyes shut tightly again. She began to circle her nipples with her fingertips, increasing the sensations that coursed through her body.

Donna was deep into her, her tongue a sexual organ more experienced and talented then any that Audrey had encountered. Donna ate for a few seconds longer before raising her head. Audrey didn't want the pleasure to stop; she moaned unfavorably.

"Shhhhh," Donna put her finger to Audrey's lips as she began to undress. Audrey sucked on the finger as she did so. Donna, naked, laid on top of her friend, grinding her leg into Audrey's crotch and sliding her crotch along Audreys leg as she kissed her.

Audrey could taste herself on Donna's lips and her tongue. It was an odd sensation, not unpleasant. She wrapped her legs around Donna's hips, wanting to get as much friction as she could. They were both wet, so there lovemaking was quite audible in the small living room.

Audrey held Donna's thin form in her arms and legs, screaming out as her orgasm rocked her. They stayed like that for a few moments before Donna unwrapped herself from Audrey's embrace.

"Now it's my turn," Donna said.

She straddled Audrey's head.

"Okay, just do what comes naturally," she whispered, her breath coming in halting exhales.

Donna lowered herself and Audrey explored with her tongue, licking her friend's inner thighs and her outer lips before penetrating. Donna eyes shut and she began babbling as her orgasm built. "Fuckin...voluptuous...gorgeous...seductress...dancing...bitch! Mmmmmmm. Mmm. Mmm. Love you. Love you."

Then she started screaming, climax seizing her body. She convulsed, rocking on Audrey's face, smearing her juices all the way to her friend's hair. She slowly slid off Audrey's face, settling to lay on top of her lover. They kissed again, becoming one.

"We should head into the bedroom," Audrey said after they stopped kissing.

"That is a beautiful idea," Donna said.

The two agents and the detective didn't find anything useful in the apartment. They searched for nearly two hours before giving up. They gathered outside the door.

"I'm just gonna' give this to you," Mulder said, handing Shepherd the key. "Bergman told us to bring it back in after we were finished with it."

Shepherd reluctantly took it.

"No problem," she said.

She quickly shook Mulder's hand, then offered it to Scully. Scully took it, again marveling at how strong it was. She wanted to hold it longer, so she didn't let go. Now, it may just have been her imagination, but she could have sworn that Shepherd caressed her hand lightly with her thumb before letting go.

"Here," Shepherd said. "Take this."

She handed Scully a card with a phone number on it.

"I'm usually not in the office. That's my cell phone number. If you need to get a hold of me."

Scully looked at her, taking in her whole body.

"Thanks," she said.

They parted, going in opposite directions to their cars.

Renee Shepherd, who was not a detective, threw the key into the parking lot of the Ponderosa Apartments before getting into her car.

She threw her police-issue lock pick in, sat down and reflected for a moment about the involvement of the FBI. What did it mean? They knew about the people who saw angels. Did they suspect that she wasn't who she said she was? What evidence would they have?

I just might turn myself in if it means seeing that Agent Scully again, she thought. What? What was that all about? Don't get personally involved. What's wrong with you?

She started the car, preparing to leave. She looked into the rear-view mirror and was transfixed as the back seat of the car was filled with a blinding white light. At it's center was a figure.

Scully came out of the morgue and approached Mulder.

"Find anything?" Mulder asked.

"Yes," Scully said. "The autopsy reveals that Mr. Granson was suffering from Neural Transvosa. It's a small benign tumor in the forebrain. I did some checking up, and although most subjects suffer no measurable disabilities from the condition, some report strong hallucinations."

"So Granson was suffering from hallucinations. He thought he saw angels." Mulder paused, nodding his head. "Well, Scully, you've proven that this isn't an X-file. I guess our work is over."

"What? Mulder, someone killed this man because they thought he saw angels."

"True, but that's still not an X-file. The police can handle it."

"I don't believe you. We can help them here, Mulder."

"Look, if you want to stick with the case, be my guest. I only took it for you, anyway."

"You're leaving?"

"I'm sure I can find a juicy UFO or conspiracy case."


"It's okay, Scully. Stay here. You have a handle on the case." He paused, then added, "And you seem to be getting along well with detective Shepherd."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Look, I'm going. See you when you get back."

And he started off.

Scully watched him go. She didn't want him to go, but, at the same time, she did. He didn't even say 'Good luck' or 'I hope things go well', she thought as he rounded the corner and was gone.

It was dark.

Darkness was the cage that held Gersten. She had no restraints binding her, but she had felt the padded walls of the room and found only one door, locked. There was food and water. A few loafs of bread and a bucket of the water. There was a hole in the ground for waste. That was all. She was starting to go mad.

Where is my angel? Gersten thought. Where has he gone?

Suddenly, the locked door was opened. Light rushed in and nearly blinded the girl. She shielded her eyes and looked into the doorway. A figure was standing there. It looked almost like her visions: an angel standing in a blinding circle of light.

But this wasn't her angel.

"Your angel has left you," the figure said, as if reading her mind. It was a man's voice. This was certainly the man who kidnapped her.

"He's not going to return," the man said. "You're not meant to see. You're not worthy."

The man closed the door, shutting out all the light once more and Gersten ran to the door and began pounding and pounding as she started to scream.

She didn't stop until her throat was bleeding.

To Be Continued

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