fe4
============================================================

ARCHIVE NOTE:  Lesdean A. Warner's email address has
changed.
(08MAY96)      Please use the new address: xangst@marina-
pt.com
============================================================

From: LisdXPhile@aol.com
Date: Wed, 20 Dec 1995 10:57:00 -0500
Subject: NF> Headaches for the Dead 1/1 *PG*


This is part one of the Journeys of the Dead series, and was
written in
response to a challenge that was posted on XAngst Anonymous.

Disclaimer as stated in XA Charter.

************
Headaches for the Dead
by Lisdean Warner

Mulder's head hurt. Badly. He wondered vaguely what he could
have drunk to
give him such an appalling headache.
   Fighting against the *battering ram* playing castle with
his skull, he
pulled his eyes open, the *discombobulation* in his skull
causing the world
to remain grey for a moment, before he saw the medical unit
looking down at
him. The younger man was almost smiling.
   "Another bizarre case of *defenistration*," the young man
said, gazing up
from his patient breifly to catch sight of the third floor
window above. The
decorative *railing* which barred its lower half had been
but a minor
impediment to Mulder's fall.
   "What happened?" Mulder asked, trying desperately to
clear his mind. The
street he lay on didn't look at all familiar, though the
*pain-making* party
in his head made it difficult for him to remember his own
name, much less why
he might have gone flying out of a third floor window in the
middle of the
night.
   The EMTs ignored him, talking quietly to themselves. The
older one hitched
up his belt, disturbing the bulk of his large stomach.
   "You know, sometimes I think just working for the
government makes them
*psychotic.* This is the fifth FBI agent to toss himself out
today."
   Something, some vague thought, floated through Mulder's
*calcifying* brain
functions. He must be dead. Funny, he hadn't thought that
dead people could
have headaches.
   "Excuse me," he asked blearily. "Am I dead?"
   "Yes, my dear," came the most ridiculous imitation of
Glenda, the good
witch of the North, he had ever heard. "Yes, you're dead."
   Mulder looked around painfully, trying to find the source
of the voice.
"Where are you?"
   "You must first accept your death, Fox Mulder," the good
witch continued.
"When you are at peace with your death, then you may see
me."
   Mulder looked around again anyway.
   "Let go of this life, Fox Mulder," she continued, like
one of those awful
tapes you hear when you call to find out why VISA cut off
your credit. "Let
go, and be free to enter the joys of Heaven."
   "Look, lady," Mulder said, *maddened* by the *over-
arching* pain still
filling his skull. "If I'm dead, why do I still have a
headache?"
   Glenda was getting a little irate. "That's not my
problem, Fox Mulder.
Just accept the fact that you're dead, and we can get on
with it." Her voice
regained its the-customer-is-always-right equanimity. "Your
love has already
accepted."
   Mulder smirked. "The Barbi twins?"
   She lost it again. "No, you idiot! Dana Scully!"
   His sarcasm slipped. "Scully's dead?"
   "Yes, Mulder," came his partner's sweet, whiskey voice.
"And if you don't
hurry up, maybe we'll just leave you for the Devil to deal
with." He could
feel her shudder. "I've seen the people he lets his little
demons munch on.
Ugh!"
   Mulder blinked. "Alright," he said quietly, scarcely
believing his own
words, "so I'm dead. Now what?"
   "Now," said the Glenda clone, stepping out of the nearby
bushes. "Now, you
make your way to Heaven."
   Mulder stood up, his head still pounding, and looked
around him. "Where's
Scully?"
   "Unlike *you*," she said, just a touch of that
yes-sir-whatever-you-say-sir in her voice. "Dana Scully knew
when it was time
to move on. She's in Heaven already." She lead him to a
gently sloping ramp,
surrounded by clouds and light. "Come with me, Fox Mulder."
   Mulder followed, 
2000
bemused. "Look, isn't this all a
little...
*Miltonesque*?"
   "You mean Dante," she refuted sweetly.
   <Guess when you die, your mind goes,> Mulder thought.
"Okay, Dante, then.
I mean, come on. Does God really need a winding staircase?"
   Glenda the bitch reappeared. "No, you fool, God doesn't
need a staircase,
or a ladder, or *you.* This is *not* for his benefit, you
know." Her voice
muted. "You're just lucky you've got friends in high
places."
   "Excuse me?"
   She rounded on him. "Look, if it were up to me, you'd be
in Hell so fast,
it'd make your head spin--not just ache. But *she* seems to
think you're
worth *something,* and God agrees. Why, I don't know. Just
shut up and walk!"
   "Listen, you *fairy-mongering* little reject from Oz!"
Mulder snapped.
"You're a public servant, aren't you? It's your job to do
what *they* say. So
don't give me any grief. I have enough of a headache
already!"
   Glenda took a step back, anger smouldering in her
colourless eyes. "Don't
think you're such hot shit, Mulder. Just because Dana Scully
got shot by that
snotty little *archer* so she's in love with you, don't
think you can just
piss off anyone you want." She sized him up crudely. "I give
you three days,
before God sends you *spelunking* into Satan's domain."
   Mulder suddenly flashed her a rogue's smile. "What do I
get if I win?"
   "What?"
   "I'll bet you," he said, as they rounded the corner
toward Heaven. "What
do I get if God lets me stay?"
   She gave him a smothering glare. "Marriage isn't
necessary in Heaven, you
know."
   He stared at her.
   "Dana Scully," she stated simply. "If you can convince
God that you
actually belong here, you can have Dana Scully for the rest
of your
eternity." She smiled wickedly. "And if you lose..."
   "Yes?"
   "If you lose, you work for my friend Apollo--as a
*ferrier.* Shoeing those
horses that carry his sun chariot." She looked supremely
confident, and
Mulder began to wish he had never made this bargain.
   "Are we agreed, Fox Mulder?" she asked, holding out an
exquisite hand.
   He took it reluctantly. "Okay, okay."

Saint Peter had obviously been interrupted during a golf
game to let them in.
He wore a funny little plaid hat--the ones with the fuzzy
ball on top--and
outrageously loud plaid pants. "Fox Mulder," he intoned
lazily.
   "Yes... sir."
   "Good," Peter said with a faint smile. "Stick with the
'sir.' I like that.
You have been invited on a trial basis to join us in
Heaven." He leaned in
close. "Let me tell you, if I had a hot little number like
Dana Scully
waiting for me, I'd be on my best behavior." He looked down
at the checklist
before him. "You must remain in Heaven, away from her, for
three months. If
you attempt to see her, or speak with her, your invitation
will be revoked."
   Mulder nodded a bit strangely. This wasn't Heaven, was
it. "May I..." he
licked his lips. "May I speak to her just once before I
enter?"
   Peter considered, nodded his head. "DANA!"
   Mulder clapped his hands over his ears. "Don't you guys
have intercoms?"
   Dana Scully stood quietly on the other side of the gate.
"Hello, Mulder,"
she said, her voice that same dark carmel it had always
been. "How are you?"
   "I still have a headache," he whined.
   "Hangover from life," she said simply. "You know, I
pulled a lot of
strings to get you here." She smiled. "You've been a bad
boy."
   "God knows."
   "Yes," she agreed, "He does." She looked at him
seriously. "Can you do
this?"
   He shrugged. "Guess it's my purgatory."
   Scully's smile could have burned the smog from LA. "Some
of us didn't need
a purgatory." She was already floating away. "See ya in
three months,
Mulder."

Mulder turned to Saint Peter, a whupped look on his face.
"Are there X-rated
videotapes here?"
   "You really want to take up horse-shoeing, don't you,
Mulder?" Glenda
whispered happily.

THE END

probably the silliest thing I've written in a long time!
Yea!

Lis


===============================================================
ARCHIVE NOTE:  Lesdean A. Warner's email address has changed.
(08MAY96)      Please use the new address: xangst@marina-pt.com
===============================================================

From: LisdXPhile@aol.com
Date: Wed, 20 Dec 1995 10:57:34 -0500
Subject: NF> Shoeing Dead Horses

Okay, part two of Journeys of the Dead, as promised. In this, I assume, as DD
does, that Mulder is Jewish.

Disclaimer as stated in XA Charter.

***********
Shoeing Dead Horses
by Lisdean Warner

Once Glenda had disappeared in a smug little puff of smoke, Saint Peter
invited Mulder on a tour of Heaven. Their first stop was a beautiful little
pub, complete with drunken Irish singers.
   "So what am I supposed to do for three months?" Mulder wanted to know
between sips of his pint of bitter.
   "Oh, you'll find something to occupy yourself," Saint Peter shrugged.
"We've got a lot to offer. The time will probably pass pretty quickly."
   "I hope so."
   "So what do you want to do first? You've got a house over on Blessing Way
[author's note: couldn't resist that one <grin>] and there's a health club
just down the street."
   "A *health club*? In Heaven?"
   "Sure. Beer and pizza can make even the dead fat. And people still like
it--that whole fitness thing."
   "What else is there to see?"
   Peter pondered that, motioning the bartender to bring another round of
beers. "Let's see... Alien is playing at the Magdalene... There's a gret
production of Macbeth going on right now." He shrugged. "I guess I'll just
give you the general tour."
   Slightly tipsy now--Heaven wouldn't be Heaven if you couldn't still get
drunk--they walked slowly down street after active little street, each block
offering something interesting.
   "You know," Saint Peter said after a time. "You're lucky to be here."
   "So everyone keeps telling me," Mulder said, wondering what he had done in
his life that Scully had to sneak him in up here."
   "We don't get many Jews, you know."
   Mulder turned on him, gently. "What has God got against the Jews?"
   "Nothing at all. Favourite people, actually," Peter replied, wondering why
that had set him off. "It's just that Jews don't believe in Heaven, so you
rarely show up here."
   Mulder sighed. Saint Peter had been raised Jewish--surely he knew more
about the faith than that. "It's not that we don't believe in Heaven, just
that we don't think much about it." He looked around bemusedly. "God knows I
never would have thought about it like this."
   "That's why you don't generally come here." Mulder looked at him blankly.
"See, Heaven is just an idea, really--I mean, it's a physical place and all,
not like you're now a figment of your own imagination... See, in Heaven, you
get to do what you want--it's your reward for a good life, so it's your
dream."
   "But this doesn't look like anything *I've* ever dreamed up."
   "Of course not, you're not really supposed to be here. This is a sort of
collective view of Heaven. We use it for the newbies, or the people, like
you, that slip in under the door."
   Mulder thought about that for a minute. "I meant to ask you about that.
How did I get in here when I should have been... elsewhere."
   Peter laughed at the last word's temerity. "Oh, don't worry, you woulnd't
have landed in Hell. No Jews there either. Actually," he mused
philosophically. "If I had my choice, I think I'd've been Buddhist."
   "Why?"
   "Well, think about it. Once you're dead, you just wait around to be born
again. No Hell, no Heaven, just a calm little rest until you've got to start
the whole life thing over again." He winked. "Of course, Nirvana is nothing
like they think."
   "Why not? I mean, you said that the afterlife was just whatever you
dreamed it was."
   "Not Nirvana," Peter stated, a gleam in his eye. "Nirvana has got to be
the biggest party life I've ever been to."

The philosophical conversation didn't last much past that--too much to see.
Finally, after what seemed hours and hours to Mulder, they reached 
1000
his house,
a pleasant little five-room bungalow, complete with one of the finest lumpy
couches he'd ever sat on.
   "Dana thought that up just for you," Peter said, a spark in his eye.
   "You know her?"
   "Everybody up here knows Dana, Mulder." His tone held something Mulder
couldn't quite place. "She makes friends fast."
   Peter stood from his seat near the TV, a pleasant smile on his face. "They
run Vincent Price films 24 hours a day on channel 3,354. That should clip off
a little of your time."
   Mulder almost smiled, still puzzled by what he had thought he heard in
Peter's voice. <Saint's can't be lecherous, can they?> "Thanks, sir. Guess
I'll just sit back and vegetate for a few months... Nothing much else to do."

It was two days before he got bored of seeing Vincent Price's face. He liked
it here. And he slept well. Ten hours a night--narry a nightmare.
   "No guilt in Heaven," the pizza boy explained.
   No money either. No bills, no boss, no worries...
   And no Scully.
   "Well, that'll change," he told himself, munching on another piece of
pizza. Peter was right. He would have to start working out pretty soon.
Either that, or get some new clothes. He wondered if you actually put on
weight *faster* in Heaven.
   He sighed, flipping channels on his television. It had only his favourite
channels on it. He mused for a sacreligious moment at how God kept everything
straight up here.
   He stopped the remote, gazing in puzzlement at the commercial that had
just begun. It was for a club. A beatnik club. He sat up in amazement as the
camera passed a group of beat chicks on its way around the room.
   No... Couldn't be...
   He sat stock still, and waited for the camera to make its way back to her.
   This is crazy. She would never...
   And there she was again, red hair softly capped by a black beret, soft
body lovingly wrapped in black.
   Scully. He started to laugh. Scully... a *beatnik!* He was still howling
as the commercial ended. He almost missed the knock at his door.
   "Hello?" he said, stifling his laughter, and wondering vaguely if they
would throw him out when they discovered he was crazy.
   "Fox Mulder," a quiet, effecient-looking woman said, "Could you come with
me, please?"
   "Why?"
   She affected a hurt look. "Mr. Mulder, please. I'm just doing as I'm told.
Just come with me, okay?"
   He shrugged and shut the door behind him.
   "You up here from Purgatory," he asked conversationally as they walked
along.
   She pursed her lips. "Of course not! What do I look like?"
   He slowed a bit, put off by her manner. "Sorry. I just thought, you
know... Public servant and all..."
   Her look would have frozen Hell. "Not all of us give up our duties so
easily, Mr. Mulder."
   They walked along in silence, while he contemplated what kind of a life
would lead one to consider being a PS Heaven.
   The building they entered resembled the World Trade Center--sans smokers
puffing their cancer sticks by the doorway. "Just where are we going?"
   "Saint Michael wishes to see you," she said curtly. He recognized that
tone.
   "Am I in trouble? How could I be in trouble? I only just got here."
   "It's not my place to say," she replied coldly.

Saint Michael wore a business suit; very conservative, tasteful. He shook
Mulder's hand with a touch of pity. "Just didn't work out, huh, Mulder?"
   "Excuse me?"
   "Well," Michael continued, "Not evrybody's cut out for Heaven, you know.
It's okay... Well, it would have been, except that--"
   "Wait a minute!" Mulder cried, thoroughly confused. Was there a law
against watching bad commercials, or something?
   That was it. The commercial. "Hey! That wasn't my fault! If you didn't
want me seeing her, she shouldn't have been in that commercial."
   "That you saw her the first time round wasn't really an infraction,"
Michael explained. "It was the second time, when you looked for her."
   "I was curious!"
   "I'm sorry, Mulder, honestly I am. Dana'll be moping around for weeks. But
a deal is a deal..." H
1000
e shook his head. "Oh, and speaking of deals..."
   Mulder's jaw dropped as Glenda walked in.
   "No!" he cried angrily. "You've got to be kidding me!"
   "A deal's a deal, Mulder," Glenda said, as sweetly as a flight attendant
with a drunken passenger. "Come on," she continued, "Shoeing can't be that
bad."

********

That's it for this one. Strangely enough, this is kind of growing on me. The
third part will be out as soon as I have time to type it in.

Sorry about the lateness on this one, Melissa. Won't happen again <grin>.



===============================================================
ARCHIVE NOTE:  Lesdean A. Warner's email address has changed.
(08MAY96)      Please use the new address: xangst@marina-pt.com
===============================================================

From: LisdXPhile@aol.com
Date: Wed, 20 Dec 1995 10:56:55 -0500
Subject: NF> Conspiracies in the Afterlife


Okay, here's part three of this Journeys of the Dead thing. I didn't write
what I expected to. It's a little confusing, but bear with it.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer as stated in XA Charter.
********
Conspiracies in the Afterlife
by Lisdean Warner

Scully was something she hadn't been since she died--furious. She stormed
into the building, waiting fiercely for the elevator to get to the top floor,
and let her anger propell her into Michael's office.
   "Michael, just what the Hell is going on here?"
   Saint Michael rose from his desk, admiring Scully's tight black turtleneck
and close-fitting black jeans. "Dana, there was a deal made... I had to--"
   "You made a deal with me, too, Michael, remember? I was never to show up
on his tv, never to be anywhere where he could see me! It was going to be
hard enough already!"
   "Look, Miss Scully--"
   She came right up to him, looking him full in the face. "Since when have I
been Miss Scully to you, Michael," she asked, carmel coating her every word.
   Michael was flustered suddenly. He hid it with anger. "Since you barged
into my office and demanded that I renig on the deal Glenda and Mulder had."
He turned from her, pacing to the window and turning back. "Why do you want
him here anyway?"
   She smiled suddenly, a soft, innocently seductive grin that few who knew
her in life would have recognised. "Michael," she purred. "You're jealous."
   He ran a hand through his hair. "Damn right, I'm jealous! He's a--"
   She walked toward him. "He's a man with whom I went through Hell for five
full years of my earthly life, Michael..." She was right in front of him now,
and he could feel his resolve shaking. "He doesn't deserve to be screwed over
again."
   The angel's voice had lost it's force. "But, Dana, if I let himback in,
*HE* will--"
   "Let me talk to Him, Michael. I'm sure, if what I think is true, that
He'll see my side of things."
   Michael had no doubt of that.

Mulder sat back, rubbing sweat from his eyes. His life had been ridiculous,
his afterlife proving to be even more so. Vulcan stood behind him, his
crippled frame bent toward the horse before him.
   "Not bad," the god rumbled, his voice little quieter than his forge. "Not
bad. You'll make a living at this yet."
   Mulder smiled coldly at the joke. "Thanks. Not exactly what I had in mind
for my eternity, though..."
   "Pity you won't be able to see that little tart of yours again," Vulcan
said lecherously. "She's a real looker, that Dana."
   Mulder stood, a vaguely irritated look on his face. "How come everyone up
here knows her? She's only been dead a week."
   Vulcan's face twisted into a smile. "We've been waiting a long time for
that one," he said softly. "Great body, and a mind to match..."
   The last few days caught up with Mulder in a violent rush. Vulcan hit the
ground before he felt the blow. Mulder hit the ground faster.

Scully had sprung back into action as soon as she left Michael's office.
Canvassing the usual suspects, she uncovered the plot. Damnit, she thought,
as she waited in the foyer of God's office, you'd think I'd be able to stop
hunt
1000
ing conspiracies after my death, wouldn't you?
   "Miss Scully," the efficient-looking woman behind the receptionist's desk
called softly. "He'll see you now."
   The office was one of the few places Scully hadn't been yet in Heaven. It
was tastefully decorated, dark wood and soft pastels. The man behind the desk
was dressed conservatively, his dignified face crinkling slightly as she
approached. "Dana!"
   She nodded in deference. "Sir," she said softly. "There's something
strange about the... situation... with Mr. Mulder."
   Hiss face fell slightly. "Yes, pity. I thought he'd calm down after a bit
and we could see about getting him back, but with that incident with
Vulcan..."
   Scully looked perplexed. "Vulcan, sir?"
   He looked up at her, a little surprised. "You didn't hear? Oh, Dana... He
punched Vulcan out. Apollo couldn't stand for it, of course. He's deciding
right now what to do with him."
   Scully stood there and seethed for a moment. <Well, at least give him the
other evidence.> "Sir," she said, handing over the files she'd collected.
"Mr. Mulder was tricked into that infraction."
   "Really," he said, flipping quickly through the file. He jerked his head
up. "She did this? Why?"
   Scully shrugged. "I just think she doesn't like him, sir," she replied
simply.
   He stood up. "Well," he said angrily. "I'm not sure it will help Mulder in
his current plight, but interfering with the cable company is a Heavenly
offense. Something will have to be done." He pressed a button on his phone.
"Sandy, get Glenda up here, right now!"
   He settled back into his seat, fixing candid eyes on Scully. "Okay, Dana.
Tell me everything."
   She stepped back. "Well, sir. Glenda got a friend of hers in the cable
company to switch the channels on Mulder's tv, so that..."

How did he get himself into these things? He was strung up in a dark little
dungeon, contemplating the Hell his afterlife had become, while he waited for
Apollo to decide how best to punish him. He didn't like the sound of it at
all. The old gods were known for their sheer brutality, and he had a feeling
he was going to see it all up close and personal.
   He jumped slightly as the door clanged open, and a ratty little maid
walked in, food tray in hand. She unshackled him and set the tray before him.
   "So what are they deciding?" he asked, prodding indecisively at his food.
   She shrugged. "Apollo wants to give you a pardon--"
   "Why?"
   She smiled at him winningly. "Appearantly Miss Scully came and plead your
case for you." Her smile grew. "She's *very* persuasive."
   He chewed on that for a minute. "Just what does Scully do up here?"
   "She works for one of... Mary's companies."
   "Doing what?"
   The maid blushed slightly. "She, um..."
   Several things smacked into each other in Mulder's mind, and the picture
they left him with made him a little sick. "Which Mary," he asked
tentatively, not really wanting to know the answer.
   The maid grinned, taking his half-eaten lunch from him and shackling him
back up. "Mary Magdalene, of course." With that, she was gone, leaving him to
contemplate his Hell.

It was a number of hours later, when Apollo entered, looking just a bit
smitten. Scully was on his arm.
   "Okay, Mulder," he said warmly, pulling the shackles off of his hands.
"You're free to go." He looked down at Scully rapturously. "She's a good
advocate to have, you know?"
   "So they keep telling me," Mulder replied coldly. If what he was thinking
was really true... He wished Scully weren't dead--cause he was going to kill
her.
   "Come on, Mulder," she said sweetly, forsaking the god for her old
partner. "Let's go."
   They walked a time in silence, approaching the gates. He turned to her
suddenly. "You're a hooker, aren't you?"
   Scully stood back, amazed. "Mulder," she asked quietly, "can we talk about
this inside?"
   "No!" he cried. "I want to talk about it *now*! How could you do this! How
could they *let* you do this?"
   She was pulling on his arm now. "Please, Mulder,"
4c7
 she pleaded. "Just come
inside, and we'll talk."
   He was furious, sickened, saddened, and embarassed for her. What kind of
Heaven was this? He let her lead him in, heard the gates close behind him
with a fatalistic clang.
   The woman beside him turned, a vixen's smile on her face, red hair turning
black, short legs growing. He suddenly understood.
   No Scully. No Heaven... This was...
   "Welcome to Hell, Mulder!"

"What do you mean he's gone?" Scully almost screamed. "Damnit, Apollo! How
could you mistake one of them for me?"
   Apollo looked heartbroken. The sweetest woman in Heaven was pissed at him.
He sighed. "Dana," he pleaded. "She looked just like you, she..."
   Scully was furious at his blush. "Damnit, Apollo--" she repeated, too
disgusted to finish. She lived in Heaven, for God's sake! She had proven in
life that she wasn't the type to...
   She stormed out without another word.

"There's nothing I can do now, Dana," Michael consoled her softly. "Once he
entered the gates, there was no going back..."

Dana Scully cried, and somewhere in Hell, the old man lit up a cigarette, and
smiled.
********
Okay, that's it. That's all! No more!

Hope you liked it.

Lis


0

