Chapter 1: Prologue
Fandoms: XFiles, CSI, Once A Thief, Highlander The Series, slash fiction, Kyle XY, Whistler, Moloney, Threshold
Characters: Alex Krycek, Anson Green, Chris Bezich, Cory Raines, Dr. Jerome (Geronimo) Horne, Ethan MacKaye, Tom Foss, Victor Mansfield
Warnings: Angst, Dark Themes
Dead on the cold concrete floor of an underground garage. What's left for our dark souled hero
I'm writing this story for the up-coming Halloween holiday. Its a Stigmata fic, after a fashion. Its a raised from the dead fic, also after a fashion. I don't know how eerie or sacramental it might become, but flaming isn't gonna change the direction of the muse, so don't bother.
I am willing to take suggestions as the the direction you would like to see this go. Post em in the reviews section, if you will. Sort of a memento of the creation.
Various Lea characters have appearances so don't be surprised if you recognize one or more.
Note: I don't know who with be slashed here, but I do know that I tend to slash so until I know better, this ones going up slashy. Deal
And On The Third Day
The sound of the gun shots still echoed in their ears as Walter Skinner took Fox Mulder's arm in a firm grip and guided him away from the dead body of one Alex Krycek lying in a pool of his own blood in the underground parking garage.
For several minutes after the F.B.I men had left, the garage was strangely silent. Not a sound of passing traffic, no hollow footsteps of someone seeking out their car on the many levels. Just the still of the silence of the dead.
In that eerie silence, no one saw the shadowy men step out of the darkness of the parking garage. No one witnessed the criminally insane Anson Green scramble into the light. No one could testify to seeing Jerome Horne at his side. Not the shadowy Tom Foss or the suave nightclub owner, Chris Bezich. Not Ethan MacKaye or even the Immortal, Cory Raines.
But they were there.
"He is merely sleeping for a time, my brothers." The purported faith healer, Philip Padgett stepped into the center of the circle and knelt at the body of the first. Tears streamed from his eyes as he looked up into the eyes of Vic Mansfield. "Only for a brief time. Believe."
"Believe." Vic took a step back and waved the others forward. "Bring him. Hurry, brothers. Time isn't going to wait for mourning."
The multiple look-a-likes silently approached the body and gently lifted Alex Krycek into their arms, carrying the lost first into the concealing shadows.
~ ~ ~ ~
A glance between the men was all the communication they needed. A white cotton sheet was spread over the alter of the snake and the body was laid out on it. Swift, silent hands stripped off the clothes he'd worn in life and tossed aside the plastic arm that marred his perfection in life. He would not need it any longer.
Mansfield dipped out a bowl of water from the fountain spewing under the ornate snake of the now abandoned temple. Padgett's lips moved, silently uttering the words that blessed the tepid liquid. That done, the others began the loving process of bathing the body. Taking special care to cleanse the blood and preserve the watery remains.
When the cleaning was done, the men gently lifted the body and laid out a clean dry sheet, wrapping him in it as if he were a new born in need of the tight support. A second, slightly heavier blanket was wrapped around him as if to provide warmth to the already cold flesh.
The body wrapped and squeaky clean, the men each leaned over and brushed a chaste kiss on the chill lips. Padgett made the sign of the cross on the body's forehead before he added his own kiss. Mansfield was last, kissing the cold, dead lips before he draped the end piece of the blanket over the face so like his own.
The gaggle of identical folk formed a circle, fingers interlocked, round the cloaked body and bowed their heads. No words were needed. Each man's lips formed the words they silently spoke. The prayer complete, they exchanged one final glance among they and faded away leaving Padgett and Mansfield alone. They would stand vigil through the day before they also would disappear into the next night's shadow, leaving the body under the passive gaze of the serpent icon.
~ ~ ~ ~
And on the third day, the blankets shifted, sliding open under a tearing hand.
And the man, complete and healed, rose and walked the earth.
Note: The men who retrieved the body are all characters that Nick has portrayed
Chapter 2: Chapter 1
No one noticed as several near mirror-image gentlemen circulated through the crowded nightclub. The men had a job to do, and they were more than dedicated to seeing it done correctly for their assignment, their mission was no less than to watch over the first. The blessed, risen one They would give their lives if it kept him safe as he learned to live as a whole man once more. In their eyes Alex Krycek was a perfect man. An innocent who had no idea of how beautiful he was.
Vic Mansfield settled on the bar stool next to Philip Padgett and ordered soda water with a twist of lime, lots of chipped, not cubed, ice.
Padgett raised a brow. "Not drinking?"
Mansfield grinned, sipping his drink and taking a moment to enjoy the burn of carbonated bubbles across his tongue before saying, "Not tonight. Want to keep a clear head. Alex has a lot of enemies in this town."
"Don't you think they might be a little confused if they were to come upon him?" Padgett's grin was infectious as he added, "And the rest of us."
Mansfield's chuckle bubbled up. "Alex likes to live dangerously. Always has."
"As if the brothers could ignore that, hey?" Chris Bezich had slipped up to join them. "I asked him to keep a low profile, but," he shrugged. "Dying and coming back did nothing to sooth his stubborn streak."
Alex Krycek was on edge. Something....Someone was near. He could feel the danger crawling like ooze over his skin. The sense of being watched drove him. From the safety of the temple. From the discreet watchful attentions of his brethren. Into the smokey, liquor drenched air that hung heavy in the dimly lit club
Too dimly lit.
He swished and undulated his way to one of the brightly lit cages. His lean body was a sensuous siren, drawing eyes magnetically.
Anson Green was suddenly dancing against him. He sighed, closing his eyes as his brother's hands found the hem of his shirt and slid under.
A murmur of something elicit moved like a tide from the crowd that was gathering to watch the two.
The blood began as a trickle over Alex's brow. A jagged line like barbed wire had been thrust into vulnerable skin. Or a crown of thorn.
Alex didn't feel the pain at first. Not until his eyes slid open to see the blood swelling in the palms of his hands. The pain, when it hit, brought a dark cloud of unconsciousness with it. The brethren would often whisper among themselves that that faint could only be the hand of God, blessing his child.
"Jesus," Mansfield's voice was loud as a bullet, drowning out the exquisite scream that poured from Alex' throat. He was across the dance floor, scooping up Alex before his body impacted.
"It's the stigmata." Philip Padgett proclaimed. "Alex is most certainly the chosen one. God decrees it."
Around the brethren, the witnessing crowd dropped to their knees, imploring blessings and forgiveness. Healing and salvation.
The brethren ignored them, surrounding Mansfield and hustling the limp body out of the club and into the night.
end part 1