Green Eyed Monster

By: GenieVB
avan@home.com


Rating: G. a swear word or two
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Something rears it's ugly
head at a Bureau St. Paddy's Day Party.
Disclaimer: All the characters belong
to FOX, CC and not me! I didn't make
a Farthing off this and never will.


***********
Submission for March COX 2000 Fic' challenge.



Green Eyed Monster
-----------------


"The Green Eyed Monster", she had called it.
Or, rather, _me_.

Excuse me, I am not so shallow.

"Oh, Agent Cochochozen." She'd blubbered
as he drooled all over her hand and murmured
something about "Looking forward to renewing
their friendship and what trails they blazed..."
or some crap like that (all said in that
nauseating High Born British), and staring at
her all the while with teal eyes (figures!)
so intensely they positively glowed with delight.

Scully's old fellow classmate from her Academy
days, she explained. This one must have predated
Jack Willis, was my thought.

Most women tried to find another female to
pal up with in order to get through the worst
of the nudging, discreet leers and general
harassment most women in the FBI must endure
with stoicism, so they eventually may also wear
the coveted badge.

Later, that badge becomes a shield in more ways
than one. It was authority. It was their proof
that they were as good as the men and could give
as good as well. It was their crest of a battle
waged and won.

So why was Scully all blushing and tongue-tied
when ol' Cochochozen (what the hell kind of name
is that anyway?!), stepped up out of this boring
party with his gold-rimmed wine glass and
proceeded to made it intolerably dull?

Well, because he wasn't only Scully's old soldier
mate, he was to all appearances an old flame
too. And he was good looking, in a thin, pasty
way.

Later I tackled her on it, she she denied my
suspicions with stutters and sputtering.

"He's just an old friend. We have sort of the
same background. He'll only be here for a few
weeks."

Hmph. Another sea devil. "How did an Englishmen
get into the Bureau?"

"Although he's been back home in England for the
last few years, he's actually an American citizen.
His family came here when he was very young. He
was like having a big brother, Mulder. Someone
I needed. It wasn't easy being a woman in the FBI.
Out of a graduating class of thirty-seven, there
were only three women. Lucas*..."

- Lucas!?

"...helped me adjust."

In how many positions I wondered.

"You never mentioned him, Scully." I said in a
lame attempt to catch her at a lie. Okay, she
probably wasn't lying. He was most likely just
what she said he was. But "Lucas Cochochozen"!?
What is that? British-South-African-Cherokee?

"YOU never told me about Diana Fowley." she
reminded me.

So I felt like a dickhead. Then, just as my ears stopped
burning, she added:

 "He always kisses my hand like that, he was raised
with very old fashioned manners."

Unlike her crotch scratching, belching, sun-flower-
seed spitting, hair barely combed, ugly ties partner
she's thinking, I'm thinking, as we moved around the
deadly dull Saint Patrick's Day Bureau Ball.

Yes, the beer is green. Sorry. Not into beer that
reminds me of something Lucas might pull out of
his nose during a "dreadful bout". At least the
cheese isn't green.

"Can we go now?" I whine like a five year old.

"No." Scully meant it. "I want to hear the story
of Saint Patrick."

"They're going to tell us a _story_!? Shouldn't we
all be sitting in a circle?"

"Mulder. Shut up, they're starting."

I stayed quiet as a young male agent approached
the podium, looking like he'd rather be anywhere
else in the world. They always give this embarrassing
stuff to the greenhorns while babbling on and on
about what a privilege it is to speak before the
FBI's finest and all the Department Heads too, when
in reality, the new kids on the block got these shlock
assignments because the seasoned knew better.

In the newspapers, the FBI came across to the world as bad
asses. Maybe we were. But we also threw the dorkiest
parties. Green cake for God's sake!

'Agent Greenhorn' spoke stiltedly and a bit run-on.
He'd obviously memorized the thing verbatim:

"Saint Patrick was born in 387 A.D. in Britain as Maewyn
Succat. His father Calphurnius was a Roman official.
Saint Patrick was kidnapped at age 16 and sold into
slavery in Ireland, according to his autobiography. He
escaped by boat to Britain after six years of captivity
and traveled to St. Martin's monastery in Tours, France,
where he studied under Saint Germain of Auxerre and
became a priest. In 431 A.D. Pope Celestine I named
him Patricius and sent him on a mission to Ireland.  

  "In 432 A.D he arrived in Ireland and successfully
converted the Island from Druidism to the Christian
faith. He wrote 'The Confession' defending his life of
service and also wrote 'A Letter' to Coroticus attacking
slavery and denouncing British King Coroticus for
kidnapping and enslaving his converts."

A few more expected words about American Celebration of
it's Irish roots and Greenhorn stepped off the podium,
wiping his brow. He seemed relieved as did most of us.

"That was interesting." Scully said to me. "I didn't know
Saint Patrick's father was a Roman Official. I wonder
how far back his ancestry went and from where?"

Figures Scully would find it all fascinating, being a right
Irish girl. I didn't say anything because I didn't know
anything and didn't care either.

Of course, who should pull up in his Gucci loafers but
Lucas the Righteous, who immediately started drivelling
out everything he knew about it and more:

"What he didn't tell you is far more interesting that what
he did." Lucas said.

Scully appeared immedietly at his attentive disposal. My
mind began to wander off but my more stubborn feet didn't.

"What they didn't tell you was that he was originally a
shepherd and a slave."@

Had I heard the faintest disdain in his voice right there?

"...and though ordained a priest in 417 AD, his priestly
education was of low standard."

Yes. Disdain.
 
Scully, ever the scientist, protested with a slight smile
that most of what was known about Saint Patrick was legend
and myth anyway. Yet, she seemed slightly less charmed by
Lucas than before. It was her Irish blood and religious
fortification asserting themselves I thought.

"Oh, no, my dear. Some of the myths have been of course,
embellished, but most of them have some basis in fact.
Truth is often stranger than we imagine. Isn't that right,
Agent Mulder?"

I looked at him. It was true enough but I just shrugged.

Scully spoke:

"But isn't it also true that he was called The Apostle
of Ireland, and that he baptized people by the hundreds?
And that the legend of him having "driven the snakes
from Ireland" is actually a parable of his converting
the Druids to Christianity? Even more interesting is
the mythical stories of the Tuatha de Danaan. The
Tuatha de Danaan were supposed to be a race of fairies
or gods and they had quite a civilizing impact on the
people of Ireland. As a matter of fact, legend says
that when Assyria captured Israel, these Danites struck
out in their ships and sailed west through the Mediterranean
and north to Ireland. Just before his death, Moses
prophesied of Dan: 'Dan is a lion's whelp: he shall
leap from Bashan'..."

Scully has always kept me guessing. This time is no
different. She was impressing even me.

She continued:

 "Irish annals of history and legend tell that the new
settlers of Ireland were the 'Tuatha de Danaans,' which
means, when translated, 'Tribe of Dan.' When the name is
written as 'Tuathe De,' it means 'People of God.' And
that they left their name on many places: Dans-Laugh,
Dun-dalk, Dun-drum, Don-egal Bay, Don-egal City, Dun-gloe,
Duns-mor - meaning "more Dans'. As well, the name Dunn
in the Irish language means the same as Dan in the
Hebrew. And so when Patricius arrived, he found a
mixture of so-called "pagan" Druidian and other more
ancient Judean-Christian beliefs. It was his mission to
weed out the "snakes", the pagan element."

She seemed to have stilled his dissing of her Irish Saint
for the time being.

I knew my Scully. She had just been warming up.

"I have heard that." Was all Lucas said. "But let us not
speak of the dead." He stated, as if in dismissal of
The Good Saint Patrick and all he represented.

Lucas took Scully's arm in his and lead her away to
the buffet.

She went off with Lucas Cock-chokin' or whatever his
name was. I could hardly bear to think whether or not
Scully has ever choked on his. That's crude and unfair
to her but

Fuck!


I finally spotted her out on the balcony laughing like
she was having the time of her life.

Her teeth were showing. I watched her for few minutes,
(just her, trying to forget that it was _him_ making
her look like that). She looked fabulous. The dress
was great of course, nice soft green knee length
number and a bit clingy in all the right places,
(I'd put on the only green thing I owned, a
black tie I knew had with green stripes. Color-
blind me - they looked grey), but it was Scully's
face that made me stop and just, well, enjoy
the view. She was so..._light_.

So happy and smiling. Relaxed. Enjoying herself
like it was something new to her. I'd never seen
this before.

She was also a bit tipsy. Jeeze, she was having fun
for the first time in how long? And all I had managed
during my evening performance was to insult her friend
and act like a perfect dink.

I would apologize, I decided, and moved to disentangle
myself from the crowd, so I could step out onto the
balcony. Maybe I'd apologize to Cock-Chokin' too.

As I placed one foot in front of the other, I realised
he was watching me.

Not as a person would who was catching sight of a new
acquaintance, who then looks up, politely nods then looks
away.

No, he was staring at me like a wolf, as if there
was something alive in behind his eyes beyond two
green fluid filled orbs. Something that was not him,
but looked out upon the world with it's own vision
and will. It was desire. Need.

As he watched me, the middle finger of his right hand
slowly circled the glass of sherry he was sipping as
if it were circling the clitoris of a lover. As if,
(as he stared at me with eyes frozen and malevolent,
two icy little moons), he were touching Scully.

With all but his eyes it seemed, he surrounded her.
The rest of him, his hands and uncomfortably white
flesh, were concentrated only on her.

On my partner.

Christ, it made me stop in my tracks. It was a though
a heavy door had just been slammed down in front of me
and I couldn't make another step. Not one inch.

He stared at me as if he knew me - recognized me.

Then, it was gone.    

To clear my head and take control of the mixed
emotions I was feeling, I found the men's room and
splashed some water on my face.

I decided that maybe it was just me. My own Green Eyed
Monster - jealousy - that was making me see things
that were not there. Making me hate this man for no
reason other than he used to know Scully. Well, lots
of people used to know Scully, I reminded myself. Lots
of people I never knew, I reasoned. Besides I knew
she loved me.

Even though she's never said it.

Or kissed me.

Or made any move to kiss me.

Or even speak of us as anything but "partners" or
"friends".

Stop it! I yelled to myself.

Forcing congeniality, I returned to the balcony to
find they weren't there.

Great. Now I had to go looking -

- But maybe they'd left? Maybe together?

No. I know Scully better than that, she said so herself.

At the balcony's railing, I finally spotted them out
standing on the lawn just inside the edge of the
decorative gas lights next to the replica of the Blarney
Stone the Bureau had had erected for the occasion.
They were talking. Scully was still laughing.

And without warning (and without there being any way for
him to know I was once more up there looking down) he was
again looking at me.

This time, there is no error on my part. I was not
hallucinating or imagining it!

He was staring directly at me with wide open arrogance.
As if he now possessed something I couldn't. As if he
now held her in his power just as easily as he held her
right hand between his two. Unmistakably, he was
challenging me!

I felt again that this was not just a man, but some...
_thing_, some force at play behind his shining eyes,
something telling me that Scully was about to be taken
from me as sure as the thin layer of vulnerable snow
would melt when the sun rose.

Suddenly I was shivering and all over me drifted a cold
wind, like fingers of evil. It sounds fanciful. Fox Mulder
going off half cocked again?

No. I promise you.

I'm telling you.


It was coming from him.

*

"Langly?" If anyone could dig up some dirt on this asshole,
it was the guys. "It's me. Listen I need you to find out
everything you can about an old Academy pal of Scully's.
Some blue blood by the name of Lucas..." (I spelled the last
name)..."There's something very odd about this guy, I think
he's some kind of psycho. What? No, I haven't been drinking
and I can see just fine! Just find out everything you can
about him and call me back as soon as you know."

When I hung up, I had a feeling I ought to go and check on
Scully. They hadn't moved and this time he didn't look up.

But I hated that he was still standing so close to her
and the way his hand would reach out and touch her every
so often. Little intimate pets (deliberately implied
I'm sure), that said despite only a few moments in her
presence, he was being allowed physical intimacies which
for me, after seven long years, were still being denied.

Uh-uh. This was not the Green Eyed Monster of jealousy
rising in my bones if that's what you're thinking. This
was genuine concern for Scully's safety. But I couldn't
simply go up to them, accuse him of being abnormal
or dangerous and expect Scully to believe me.

They chatted as I waited for my call and though I
couldn't hear what was being said I could tell the
conversation had taken a slightly sour turn.

I made my way through the crowd to the elevator and down
the three flights to the manicured lawns. The gardens
were still spotted with sculpted bushes covered with
cloth, still protecting them from the last snow sprinkles
of winter.

There was nothing protecting Scully, I thought as I saw
her gather her fur wrap more tightly around her shoulders.
Her wine glass was almost empty. That would be her fourth.

The level in Lucas' glass hadn't dropped at all and he
held it in his left hand as if it were a Chalice full
of jewels. He held it like a priest would hold the
Cup of Christ.

I could hear snippets of conversation drift toward
me through the stiff branches:

Her: "I've found that faith in God has a power to support or
heal when things are at their worst. I'd hardly call that
a "good times religion."

He: "But it's a crutch, Dana. A wiggling, wobbly stick
upon which the weaker lean when they think they can no
longer support themselves. It's what many have been lead
to believe. That we need the Olde God because we are
too feeble to survive otherwise. Belief is a powerful
force."

Her: "Yes. I've learned that these last seven years.
But what you choose to do with your faith is at least as
important as the thing you choose to believe in. Or the
belief itself is as empty"... I saw her hold up her glass.
..."as this glass."

I saw him hold up his. "Or as full as this one. It all
depends on what you think of yourself."

Scully shook her head, smiled despite their difference of
opinion. "Lucas. I don't remember you being so cynical,
or so sacrilegious. You come from a very old family with
a long history of involvement in the church."

Him: "An error I decided to correct in myself. Here,"

He stepped closer to her. "Try this. It's delightful. It's
a sherry my family has produced for centuries. It's body is
so deep and full, there will remain no room for anything else."

Again, Scully shook her head. "No thanks. I think I've had
enough. I'm a bit dizzy."

Good girl.

But he was not to be so easily dissuaded: "Dana. I brought it
especially for you."

Her: "You brought it? From home?"

My phone rang.

Him: "Yes. You'll not find the recipe anywhere else in the
world"...

I answered it. It was Langly who began talking fast and furious
in my ear.

Her: "Well. One sip."


Him: "It's quite eye opening."...

Pulling my gun, I raced there in fewer steps than I thought
humanly possible. "SCULLY!"

Immedietly, Lucas stepped back, but only a foot or two
from her.

Scully seemed indignant at my rude interruption and boorish
entrance.

"Mulder? What are you doing?"

"I don't know who he is but this man is not Lucas Cochochozen."

"What are you talking about? Of course he is, don't you think
I'd know my old classmate?"

I didn't lower my gun. In fact I stepped closer to them both.
If I had to, I would shoot. "Scully, I had the Gunmen
check him out. Lucas Cochochozen _died_ four years ago."
I addressed Lucas:

"Whoever or whatever you are, it's finished."

Scully's mouth dropped open. ""Not him"? Mulder, this better
not be your idea of an early April Fool's."

"Scully. After all we've seen together, after seven years,
you know by now when I'm not kidding."

No, I was dead serious and my voice told her that.

"Then who is he?"

Again I addressed the imitation Cock-Chokin': "That's the
Sixty-Four-Thousand Pound question isn't it, "Lucas"?"
I said to Scully: "We have to contact the Bureau and the
British Embassy - find out what he did with the real Lucas."


His momentary shock at my intrusion appeared to have passed
and he was again the arrogant snot. "Actually, I am from
Ireland, originally, my dear Fox. You are a fool." Was all
he said to me and closed the gap between himself and
Scully once more. I stepped forward. Point blank range so
I wouldn't miss.

"One more step and I'll shoot you." I warned him.

He took it and I fired.

Lucas did not go down. He didn't even flinch. What he did do
was look down at his unmarred, not even wrinkled suit jacket
and chuckle. Then he turned his attention from me as if
dismissing an annoying insect and again focused on Scully.

"Dana. Drink. This will make you see whole new light. You
will forever be in glory you could never imagine. I promise
you, you will thank me always."

I shot again. And again and again, emptying my clip into him. He
didn't even flinch. "Scully! Don't drink it!" I shouted.

But I didn't need to warn her as she backed away from him.

Lucas followed. The air around us turned swift, the wind
whipping up, chilling us to the bone.

"Dana!" Lucas yelled above the gale. "Drink! In this glass
is truth like you've never learned. You'll be free of all
that need, of His".. he pointed skyward, "of his", he pointed
to me. "of anyone's need. Of _yours_! White is black, Dana,
and black is white. Don't you see?!"(# , ~*)

Lucas grabbed her, forcing the glass to her lips, trying to
pour it down her throat.

I tackled him but he was immovable, like an ice carving in the
snow, solid and frozen. I was powerless. Even beating my gun
against his head proved useless. It didn't even scratch his
skin.

Lucas had Scully by her hair, tilting her head back, the
wine would pass her lips. It was his poison somehow. His
power ready to fill her.

The glass.

Using all my weight I struck his arm away from her mouth
and in his surprise, he let go of the glass.

We all watched as it dashed against the Replica Stone,
shattering, the red liquid within turning to a fine spray
of blood red crystals.

Helping Scully up, I turned to confront Lucas, only
to see a white owl flapping it's huge wings. It turned
white, then clear, then into wind whipped flurries, scattering
in a wild curtain of frost, spreading out on the sparkling
snow then, sinking, disappeared.

Lucas, whatever he had been, was gone.
 

Scully seemed to be in shock. She was shivering and I
draped my dinner jacket around her shoulders. All the
alcohol in her blood could not be helping matters.

"Mulder. What happened here,...did it just happen?"

"I don't know what just happened here, Scully. But whoever,
_what_ever that was, it can't hurt anyone now."

Scully looked at me suddenly, as if a revelation had hit her
square between the eyes. "Mulder?"

I stepped in closer, concerned suddenly. Had he managed to
hurt her after all. "Are you sure you're okay, Scully?"

She didn't answer my question, just continued to stare at me.
I was afraid that he had indeed "tainted" her or something,
infected her with his evil.

"I remember the Legend of the Countess' soul. Demons came
in the guise of white owls and tried to take it from her. And
a demon came to the Saint and tried to trick him into drinking
poisoned wine, but Patricius turned it to ice instead, and
so it lost it's power. Your last name, "Mulder". It's Jewish,
isn't it?"

Not clear why she suddenly was making a point of it, "Yeah.
Yeah, it is."

"Like one of the ancient Tribes." she whispered so softly,
I could hardly hear her. "But, your first name, you don't
know, do you?"

"Know what?"

""Sionnach", Mulder, it's Irish. "Fox". A very old Irish
name."

Scully bent down and scooped up in her hand a small white
butterfly that had evidently landed on her sandalled foot,
tickling it. We both examined the delicate creature in
amazement. That such a creature of summer would be there,
near us in a cold eastern March night -

She cried a little and it broke me heart. "You may think I'm
crazy, Mulder."...

"Never."

..."But in one legend, after a demon fools a king into
cutting his own throat, a white butterfly leaves his lips,
proving he had a soul." She seemed sad. "Is this my soul,
Mulder? My faith? Some frail thing wavering in the cold,
fluttering in a wind that blows it every which way until
finally it dies?" (~)

"Is that what you think?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. Sometimes that's how I feel.
What happened here tonight..."

"Believe it, Scully. Call it what you will, but we both saw it.
Demon, devil, magician or Magi, this "Lucas" was here. Whatever
it means, we both saw what he did or tried to do."

Scully frowned. "It's not moving any more."

The butterfly.

"Take it home, Scully. It's not your soul. It's a butterfly."

"But it's dead."

I said:

"Put it in a glass case. Captured or free, it's still beautiful."

Touching the still wings of the creature with a finger,
"Thank you, Mulder." she whispered.

We walked slowly back to the party. I tried to lighten the
mood by making some kind of appropriate conversation.

"You know, Scully, they say if you kiss the real Blarney Stone,
it brings good luck."

"That's true. But they say if you kiss someone who's kissed
the Blarney Stone, that's better." Scully stopped walking,
turned and hugged me close.

Closer, holding on.

Looking up at me, she closed the distance, purposefully
invading my facial space. "Have YOU ever kissed the Blarney
Stone, Mulder?"

I didn't move. "No, but I've sat on it."

"And so you became a wise ass." Scully inched closer until
there was only an inch between our lips. "Oh well...that's close
enough."

And kissed me.


*
END

By
GenieVB@home.com



For Web site about Saint Patrick and St. Patrick's Day
(from which I loosely gleaned info' for this story):

Christine O'Keeffe's St Patrick's Day Page:
 
http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Parthenon/1502/stpat.html#top

@ History of Patricius:
http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Parthenon/1502/shistory/stpathis1.html#top

* Legend of Lucat Mael:
http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Parthenon/1502/slegend/stptlegpoi.html#top

~ The Countess' Soul:
http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Parthenon/1502/slegend/stptleg11.html#top

~* The Druid's Soul:
http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Parthenon/1502/slegend/stptleg8.html#top