Twllight's End Chapter 2

by diehard

Title: Twilight's End
Author: diehard
Rating: MSR/WIP R/NC-17 for language and sexuality.

Classification: WIP, MSR, Alternate Universe, Post 'Truth.' Follow up to 'Day Tripping.'

Spoilers: Takes place directly where
'Day Tripping' left off.

Keywords: Seek and ye shall find.

Summary: Underground, Mulder and Scully attempt to find a way to launch an


beta by the lovely sallie

website courtesy of the unbelievably
talented Circe Invidiosa.


Chapter 2

The woman motions for Scully to join them. Mulder's turned around and he's scanning his partner's face, locking eyes with her. Walking walks toward them; she's cautious, deliberate, her pistol held down at her side. Soon, all three of them are standing on the porch, and the other woman gestures for both of them to stand to the left, whiles he reaches into the side pocket of her cargo pants to pull out a set of keys.

She's about five-six, late thirties, with black, close cropped hair, that hugs her head like a skullcap, olive skin, obsidian eyes. Black pants tucked into calf-high, lace up boots--standard Army issue, and a olive green tank. Rattling the key in the lock, she pushes open the door with her boot, and with a sweeping gesture, motions them inside.

"I'm Montoya." Purposefully striding over to the rickety wooden table, the heels of her boots thud on the wooden floor. She yanks a chair out for each of them, and walks over to the sink and leans back, waiting. Lean and wound tight as a coil, her body tenses--her dark eyes keenly watch them, and there's a grim set to her full lips. She might have been a beautiful woman once, but that time's past. It's obvious the only thing she's been for a long, long time is a soldier.

Slowly walking over to a chair, Mulder settles in while Scully stoically follows, taking her time and making sure she never breaks eye contact with their host. Her grip on her pistol's as tight as ever. Once seated, she feels her whole body tense as the woman approaches. 'I can get off a shot,' she thinks, and she starts raising her weapon.

"It's all right, Delia." His voice's reassuring her, and she holds herself back while the stranger checks her, stopping when she runs across the implant scar.

"Find what you were looking for?" he asks.

"Maybe....Now I want to hear the whole story." Rubbing the nape of her own neck, Montoya's gaze never leaves Scully.

"You know what happened..." Mulder stops trying to engage their host, her attention is elsewhere. He catches Scully's eye, "It's OK....Tell her."

"I was abducted. My ova was stolen. I received an implant which gave me cancer." Scully's terse, carefully ennunciating each syllable. Her eyes are dull as she speaks, unreadable.

"And you," Montoya nods at him, "What about you?"

"No implants....I did get the full slice and dice, though. You see, a year or so before I was abducted, an artifact triggered an ability to hear people's thoughts, know when things were going to happen. Syndicate members tried to do some brain salad surgery on me, so I've got my souvenir." Shoving his hair back with his hand, he bows his head to show her the crescent ridge of scar tissue. "Seems it also bumped me into a different category." A faint smirk crossed his face. "They tried to make me a hatchery for a new and improved centurion. Didn't make the grade, though."

Swallowing hard, trying to intuit Mulder's game plan, the reason for revealing so much, Scully struggles to calm her racing mind, still her pounding heart. A second later, she sees that his gamble's paying off.

A look of recognition, then Montoya does something shocking---walking toward them, unholstering her pistol and placing it in her open palm. She steps back slightly, feeling the weight of the firearm. Her face unexepectedly softens, and in a wavering whisper she asks, "Who are you....who are you really?"

There's a long moment in which Scully focuses on the dust mites swirling in a shaft of sunlight that struggled its way through one of the small, dirty windows in this gray, threadbare room. It trails along the edge of the battered table, marking off boundaries, uneasy neutral corners. Mulder's sitting across from her. She can feel his eyes searching to make contact, and she slowly shifts so that her eyes capture his.

Whatever's next, they're ready.

Montoya speaks again, but she's more composed. She's still holding the gun as if she trying to make a decision. Her dark eyes scan the same swirl of sunlight and dust. "I've been based out of here about a year...aiding fugitive hackers, people in the child rescue underground, burned-out 60's radicals. I've been waiting for two people in particular..."

Mulder cuts in now, bringing Montoya's focus back to him and breathes in and out and wills himself to appear almost placid. "Looks like we have something to talk about. But we need more from you..."

His voice is calm, so calm, it's his negotiator's voice--he has to get the answer he needs before he can drop cover. "You wouldn't trust me or her if we just roll over." Instinctively, leans forward enough so that his hand skims the edge of his boot. If this goes wrong, he'll fire on Montoya before she can reach her gun and shoot.

Mulder hopes he right about where this is going, "Delia and I..." He's cut off before he can finish. From the corner of his eye, he can see Scully's fingers tighten around the trigger.

"Dont." Montoya's voice is still soft. "Whatever the two are calling yourselves, it's not your real names. No one comes here using their real name...." Now she stares down at the tips of her boots. "Maybe if I say this we can get to it....If I'm wrong," she hesitates and looks over at Scully's hand, "you better be ready to kill me."

Scully does not flinch, her blue eyes crystal clear as she meets Montoya's gaze. "Count on it."

Montoya shifts back to Mulder, his smooth, undecipherable face. "You said we're fighting the same enemy...You mean the aliens, the invasion, don't you? If you are who I think you are, you'll know who sent me back...who healed me...he was one of Them..."

It takes all his training to keep his voice even toned, his response unhurried. Before he says a word, he glances at Scully. He sees the tension in her face pulling her features tight, but she gives him a look of acknowledgment, of acceptance, nodding almost imperceptably.

"Jeremiah Smith. His name was Jeremiah Smith."

Montoya's arms fall to her sides, pistol held now in a loose grip. Taking a long, deep breath, she exhales. "Yes...he took care of me onboard a spacecraft, helped me escape... I was sent back to help two other abductees--two FBI agents--a man and a woman, if they made it this far....He told me what he knew about their abductions, their names...but not what they looked like. He said appearances were deceiving."

Mulder gets up, walks over and places a hand on Montoya's shoulder.

"I'm Mulder." Gesturing with his free hand to the far side of the table. "And this, is Dana Scully."


Montoya reholsters her weapon and takes in a long, deep breath. Her arms fall loosely to her sides. "Jeremiah Smith was a prisoner in our holding pen, where we were kept before They experimented on us or killed us....He would heal the ones They weren't through with yet. I guess the fact that I fought Them every every time they came for me meant something."

Smiling ruefully, she went on. "Smith said he was one of the last of a group of alien resistors, but he'd been captured and imprisoned with us....He couldn't stand to watch the suffering, and They used him. Used him to treat the guinea pigs they still wanted... and destroy what was left when people died during the tests. The last time I had the tests it practically killed me. He saved me, and we came up with a plan to fight the aliens and the soldiers. I was hidden in the 'refuse,' dumped in the Arizona desert and found my way to the underground.

"You contacted the Gunmen." Pushing back his chair, Mulder stretches out his long legs and takes a deep, cleansing breath.

"It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be...not after I made myself known in MUFON circles."

"You know they're dead, don't you?" Wincing slightly as he speaks, his jaw's tight with regret.

"I assumed that when my messages to them got bounced back. You knew them?"

It's Scully who answers, her voice barely rising above a whisper. "They were friends..."

Mulder finishes, "...the best kind of friends."

Their host says nothing, but nods and stares down at the tips of her boots.

"And you've waited all this time for us?" Impassively scanning the woman's face, his gray-green eyes flicker. He's cautiously moving ahead, but every instinct he has tells him to trust her.

Montoya's lips curved into what Mulder guesses is a familiar smirk. "Well, I managed to keep busy. Aside from the aiding and abetting fugitives, I gradually stockpiled weapons...weapons that we can use against the soldiers. Pistols, rifles, hollow point bullets, grenades, explosive devices with a difference..."

Scully cut in, " altered ammunition to carry magnitite..."

"Seems like you've been doing some field research of your own."

"We've discovered what its effect are. Are you suggesting you were sent back in order to launch an attack against the aliens?"

"It's a little more complicated that that. It's about the two of you..."Montoya glances at Mulder, then back at Scully....The Resistance can't succeed without you."

Hear that, Scully?" Mulder quips drily. Our leadership abilities are finally appreciated."

"It's much greater than that...We need what's in you... both of you."


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