Subject: "Fugitive" DrWho/XFiles X-Over (1/3)

From: [email-masked] (Cliff K Chen)
Date: 6 Dec 1994 18:09:55 GMT

Hi, everyone,
        I'm reposting this from alt.drwho.creative, since the author has
no access to this newsgroup.  So comments should be sent to him at the
address in the story, not to me.
        He wants everyone to be aware that he's a writer in the UK (ergo
he's probably only seen the first half of season 1) with more experience
writing Dr. Who than with X-Files.  This is his first X-Files story.

                                        Cliff
                                        [email-masked]

------------------------------------------------------------------------
Doctor Who belongs to the BBC and X-Files belongs to someone else blah blah
blah...

                                   Fugitive
                        A Doctor Who/X-Files Crossover
                               by Richard Salter
                             [email-masked]
                                    Part 1

She ran for her life. She could hear them coming after her, the sound
of the dogs barking and yelping, hungry for the kill, eager to find
the source of the scent that aggravated their sensitive nostrils and
drove them into a frenzy of activity. She could also clearly
distinguish the sounds the men made, yelling orders and shouting
locations to each other.
   The dark did little to inhibit her flight, though she guessed that
it would work against her pursuers. They had to have found the body by
now, it would explain their eagerness to find the culprit. She hadn't
intended to kill him but he had threatened the little ones.
   The standard issue combat rifle slammed painfully into her upper
solaris quartex as she scrambled up and over the featureless wall that
was twice her height. She landed lightly on the other side, like a cat
jumping from a roof. Glancing about, she identified a small rodent,
crawling over the remains of some convenience food packaging, as well
as several billion bacteria vainly attempting to break down the non-
degradable material.
   She moved off quickly, smoothly accelerating until she had covered
the same distance as the small insect that followed her, vainly trying
to buzz around her head, in half the time. The insect eventually
caught up with her and began to circumnavigate the wide dome of her
skull.
   She creased the sides of her face in pleasure. The creatures would
have to be really good to catch her. With a slightly less pleased
expression she realised it was just a matter of time before someone
did.
   She sped off into the night.

It was not turning out to be a good day. FBI Special Agent Dana Scully
had known this from the moment she had set foot outside her front door
that morning. For a start it was pouring with rain outside, and the
puddle Dana had stepped in as she'd left home had sparked off warning
bells about this day. This was the kind of Wednesday that was
conspired against you from its inception. Somebody very high up had
picked today as one she should never have got out of bed for.
   Upon her late arrival at the office that morning - after her car
had broken down and she had had to call someone out to restart it -
she had been handed a memo to let her know her medical checkup was
due. Dana hated medical checkups. All that probing, all those intimate
questions, the humiliation of it all. She mused that she would rather
spend three solid hours talking with Harry, the man she'd met at her
favourite bar last night, and had entirely failed to fall desperately
in love with.
   Shaking memories of drawling speeches about plumbing and the state
of today's U-bends from her mind, Dana returned her attention to the
next piece of bad news that constituted a week that would go down in
history as one of the low points in her life. She glanced once again
at the paper clutched in her hand and shook her head slowly, muttering
to herself as she descended the staircase.
   As she passed an interview room she caught sight of her own
reflection in the observation window. God, what a sight. Her usually
immaculate, shoulder length, flame red hair was now bedraggled and
darkened with water. She vainly tried to brush some of the dampness
from her clothing, but it was a wasted attempt.
   Great. Not only was she going to have to present her 'partner' with
exactly the evidence he had been searching for, she was going to have
to do it looking like a drowned rat.
   She reached her destination, and knocked on the door.
   "Come!" came the reply. Setting her shoulders and running a hand
through her damp hair, she turned the handle and walked in.
   Fox Mulder was a strange man. She knew that. Working with him for
however many months it was now had taught her never to try and predict
what he would try and do next. He was known throughout the Bureau as
'Spooky' Mulder, because of his obsession with all things paranormal,
and the X-Files: a collection of inexplicable mysteries relegated to
the dusty vaults of unsolved cases. During her time assigned to
assisting him in his often bizarre investigations, Scully had seen
things that would make the most hardened sceptic think again. Scully
was a particularly tough sceptic.
   None of her experiences of this strange agent prepared her for the
sight that greeted her upon entering his office.
   Mulder was an average looking man, with dark, slightly greying
hair, and an innocent, wide-eyed expression. He was slightly taller
than her, but made less of an impact on the eye. Everything about him
was understated, and he revelled in blending into the background;
being the observer.
   He smiled at her. "Is it raining?" he asked without a trace of
sarcasm, in a voice that suggested total disinterest in the simple,
explainable physics of water falling from the sky.
   She ignored him. She hadn't quite been able to come to terms with
the fact that he was standing in the middle of the room, his feet
planted squarely on the floor with his eyes closed and his hands
outstretched to the sides. He was surrounded by a circle of lit
candles and had drawn a pentagram on the floor with a piece of
discarded chalk.
   "What are you doing?" She wished she hadn't asked the moment the
words had left her mouth.
   With a grunt, Mulder dropped his arms and opened his eyes. "I was
simply trying a new method of meditation Scully," he explained. "You
should try it sometime."
   "Aren't you supposed to be working?"
   "I am working."
   Dana couldn't quite believe she was having this conversation. She
decided to get down to business. "I have something that might interest
you."
   He raised an eyebrow, but showed no other reaction.
   She sighed. He was in one of his pensive moods. Never mind. "The
British police force have arrested someone you might be interested in.
They're holding him in London and you and I have been given clearance
to go and interview him."
   "Who, Scully? Who are you talking about?"
   "A man who calls himself, 'The Doctor'."
   Mulder's face exploded with curiosity. "The Doctor!" he exclaimed.
"They've caught him?"
   "That's what it says here."
   "Any photo, description? No," Mulder caught himself, "that probably
wouldn't help. Scully, do you know who this man is?"
   "I had an idea you might be interested, but I can't say I know much
about him."
   "A man known as the Doctor has cropped up so many times during
history I've lost count."
   "I take it there's an X-File?" Scully knew the answer to that one
even before Mulder had launched himself at a battered filing cabinet
standing in the corner. He threw it open and pulled out a file so
thick it was in danger of spilling its contents all over the floor. He
took it over to his desk, clearing away various reports, documents,
files, computer disks and photographs to make way for the tremendous
bulk that landed in their wake.
   He opened the file, breathlessly sifting through the information
stored within. "Y'see Scully, in the past intelligence agents have
made the mistake of separating all the occurrences of the Doctor's
name into different files according to the way he looks."
   Scully leaned over the file, interested despite herself. "Why? How
many of them are there?"
   "I've details and accounts on at least six different men, all
calling themselves the Doctor, and there are probably more."
   "But who are they?"
   "He, Scully. He is a man, or an alien or whatever, who keeps
cropping up at times of crisis, helping out and then disappearing
again." He pulled out a bunch of papers from the main group, these all
stamped with the acronym 'UNIT' on them. "A man called the Doctor
worked for UNIT. You've heard of them?"
   The question took her by surprise for a moment, before she
answered, "Yes, yes of course. United Nations Intelligence Taskforce."
   "Well, he worked as an unpaid scientific advisor for the British
division from 1976 to 1981, and helped out in situations that have
remained highly classified since that time. But, and this is the
important part, he is said by some people I've interviewed to have
changed into a different man in 1980."
   "Changed?"
   "One day he was a tall, elegantly dressed white haired man, the
next a flamboyant, tall man with dark, curly hair and a different
face, not to mention dress sense."
   Scully brushed back a strand of damp hair that fell in front of her
face and frowned at him. "A replacement surely?"
   "Then what happened to the white haired man? Why is there still the
police box connection?"
   "The what?"
   But Mulder was already pulling out other files. "1981," he said. "A
young, blond haired man helped recover the crew of a missing Concorde
aircraft. The crew later said they had travelled backwards in time.
1986, a white haired old man arrived at the International Space
Command Antarctic tracking station and helped avert an invasion of
Cybernetic men..."
   "Mulder, you're talking rubbish. You don't have any proof except
for garbled reports from a bunch of half insane people."
   "But there are consistencies, Scully. There are some elements which
are always constant. That's why I must talk to him. I must see if I'm
right."
   Dana breathed a heavy sigh. "I've already booked the flight."

Ace padded out into the console room, bare, wet feet slapping on the
cold, white floor. She pulled her towel more tightly around her for
warmth, and wandered over to the mushroom shaped console that sprouted
from the centre of the bright, white room with its roundelled walls.
She reached out and twisted a dial on the console and smiled
contentedly as she felt a noticeable rise in the room temperature.
   Something on the scanner screen caught her eye, and she looked up
suddenly, nearly letting the towel drop to the floor. All she could
see was the trees beyond, with no movement other than the wind
rustling the foliage.
   "If you must walk around the TARDIS half naked, at least make sure
nobody else is around," came another female voice from behind her.
   Ace gripped her towel more tightly and grinned sheepishly at
Professor Bernice Summerfield. "I'm glad you're not the Doctor," she
quipped as she padded past her companion and through into the corridor
beyond the inner door.
   "I doubt he'd even notice. Enjoy your bath?" she asked pleasantly.
   Ace nodded. "Any word from his royal highness?"
   Bernice shook her head. "Nothing. Not since he disappeared
yesterday." She raised an eyebrow. "You're not worried are you?"
   Ace shrugged. "No, not really. He can look after himself. He's just
very good at getting himself into trouble."
   "Well why don't you get dressed, and we'll go look for him."
   Ace smiled. "No hurry," she said, and headed for her room.

Dana Scully put down the umpteenth document and gazed out at the wing
of the Boeing through the tiny portal. Mulder sat next to her, eyes
closed, seemingly asleep. She had to admit he had a point. As bizarre
as it seemed, all six of these men seemed to be connected. Apart from
their collective name, obviously a codename, each Doctor had at one
time or another been associated with a Police Public Call Box that had
been described as everything from a storage cupboard to an odd curio
to a time travelling space ship. Other recurring phrases included the
mention of time travel, alleged alien invasions and predominantly
female companions. Scully's mind conjured up images of a man who
tricked young women into his police box whilst distracting everyone
else with talk of alien invasions, having his way with them and then
disappearing, only to turn up again later with a different face.
   Her musings were interrupted by a Flight attendant offering her a
drink. She asked for a coffee - she didn't fly too well on alcohol -
and returned her attention to the setting sun casting a red glow over
the tops of the clouds. She was intrigued by the idea of this Doctor,
and was most eager to meet him, if only to explain who he and the
other men were, and what they're operation was. Anything to stop
Mulder from getting insufferably smug.

"Checkmate!" Bernice exclaimed triumphantly.
   Ace snorted derisively. "Never was any good at this," she lamented.
Chess was a game of prediction, cunning and manipulation, traits more
akin to the Doctor rather than herself. She preferred games which
involved blasters, like Dalek hunting for example.
   "Another game?" Bernice asked.
   Ace shook her head. "I'm bored of waiting for him, Benny," she
admitted. "I reckon he's in trouble."
   Bernice rolled one of Ace's lost knights in her palms. "He said
he'd be a while. I'm sure he's alright."
   Ace wasn't convinced. "I'm going after him. Coming?"
   The archaeologist shook her head. "I have some reading to do. I'm
going to ask the Doctor to take me to the Farrel system sometime.
There's a wonderful dig going on there two hundred years from now and
I've always wanted to be there when they unearth the Crystalline
Tepherus..." Her voice trailed away as she became lost in her private
thoughts.
   "Suit yourself." Ace stood up and walked out.
   Upon reaching her room, Ace strapped on her wrist computer, buckled
on her belt and blaster and checked herself in the mirror. She was
glad she'd shed those extra pounds during her time in Space Fleet; she
looked damn good in jeans and T-shirt as a result. Shame she couldn't
take her body-armour: it might raise a few eyebrows. It was a risk
taking the blaster, but she refused to be without it. Looking in her
wardrobe, she eventually selected a black, bomber jacket with her name
emblazoned on the back.
   "Jesus," she whispered to herself, examining the garment for moth-
attacks. "Now there's a blast from the past." She slipped into the
jacket. It was like welcoming back an old friend. She abandoned the
holster, favouring the wide inside pockets of the jacket which served
to conceal her blaster.
   Ready for action, Ace strode from her room, picking up her backpack
as she went. She said goodbye to Bernice and left the security of the
TARDIS.

"Lucky you people got here so quickly, we've been ordered to release
him."
   Dana smiled gratefully as the guard opened the door that led down
to the cells for her. He was middle-aged, with a fair spread around
the midriff. He wore the uniform of the English police force, and Dana
found it a refreshing change that there was no gun hanging from his
belt.
   "Who by?" Mulder asked, his eyes flitting around for anything out
of the ordinary.
   "UNIT," the guard replied in his thick London accent.
   Scully raised an enquiring eyebrow. "They're still operating?"
   "Not really. The command came from a Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart."
   The name rang a bell for Scully. She'd read something about this
man and his connection with the Doctor in the X-Files. She glanced at
Mulder and could tell that the name confirmed things for him.
   "What's he doing here?" Scully asked the guard.
   "You can ask him yourself," he said, coming to a halt outside one
cell.
   Scully had been expecting someone impressive looking. She was
disappointed.
   In the centre of the cell, sitting cross-legged on a stool, was a
little man in a cream linen suit, white silk shirt and checked
trousers. His face was obscured by a battered white fedora with a
patterned hat band, making him look like some sort of cross between a
private eye and a garden gnome.
   He seemed totally unremarkable until he lifted his head to greet
them. It wasn't his lined owl-like face, nor his slightly pouting
mouth that set him apart from a crowd. Rather it was his incredible
eyes. It was difficult to specify any one colour they might be. They
were deep pools of fiery intelligence that took her breath away. There
was a quality to those eyes that would make her tell him anything he
might want to know - should he ask. There was something else too, a
tinge of sadness, regret, as if there were some heavy burden on his
shoulders.
   He smiled and his face lit up like a clown's. "Company!" he said
happily. "How nice." His accent was hard for Dana to place. Was it
Irish? Scottish? She wasn't too familiar with European accents.
   When the guard opened the cell door, the Doctor made no move to
escape. He simply continued to beam at Mulder and Scully as they
entered.
   "If you need anything just yell," the guard told them and ambled
off.
   Mulder came forward, hand outstretched. "Agent Fox Mulder," he
said, "FBI. This is Special Agent Dana Scully." She nodded. "A
pleasure to meet you at last, Doctor," he added.
   The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "You know of me?"
   "You certainly get around," Mulder told him. "I've read a great
deal about you."
   "So have I," Dana interjected. "And I can't say I believe much of
it."
   The Doctor stood up, smiling ingratiatingly at her. "I'm sure my
role in any... strange... occurrences, is purely coincidental."
   Mulder was not to be put off. "I don't believe that, Doctor. If I
may, I'd like to ask you some questions about some unexplained
mysteries?"
   "Of course," he said, turning his back to them and regarding the
far wall with sudden interest.
   Mulder reached into his jacket pocket for his notebook, and
motioned for Scully to take the weighty X-File from her brief-case.
   "My my," the Doctor congratulated them, looking at them over his
shoulder, "you have been busy. Is all that on me?"
   "There's some hard evidence, some wild speculation and some strange
reports," Mulder explained, taking the file from Scully and opening
it.
   There was a more immediate question at the forefront of Scully's
mind however. "May I ask why you've been arrested, Doctor?" she asked,
wondering what possible harm this little man could have done to
anyone.
   The Doctor's reply was straightforward as he walked over to the
side wall, and Scully couldn't detect any trace of a lie or
fabrication in his account, despite its fantastic content.
   "I was found near to the body of a man who had been killed by a
concentrated beam of energy, emitted from a multiple band phase
rifle." He paused, peering out through the bars of the cell, watching
the feet of the people as they passed by on the street above. "He was
dead of course, there aren't many who can stand one of those on a kill
setting. I had simply confirmed my suspicions before heading back when
the esteemed ranks of the Metropolitan Police Force showed up." He
turned to them and scratched his nose thoughtfully. "Well of course
they had to arrest me since I couldn't explain who I was. Only doing
their job."
   Scully rewound the monologue in her mind. "Multiple band phase
rifle?" she repeated quizzically.
   Mulder pre-empted the Doctor. "An energy weapon. Is it alien?"
   "If you mean 'not of this Earth' then yes, certainly."
   "Now wait a minute..." Scully began.
   "Then where did it come from?"
   "It's probably one of the rifles used by the Ragamon Dynasty. I
believe a scout ship landed here not so long ago, your time."
   Scully was having none of it. "Excuse me!"
   "Our time?"
   "Well time is relative, Agent Mulder."
   "I can't believe I'm hearing this."
   Mulder's eyes had glazed over. He was in his own private heaven.
"Where's Ragamon?" he asked, the questions coming automatically, his
mind probably filing away the obviously useless information and
analysing it whilst his conscious brain left his head to take a stroll
by the lapping waters of insanity.
   "In the Datrish system. Quite a way away from here, but then the
Ragamon perfected the hyperdrive several centuries ago, relatively."
   "That's it," Scully snapped. These two had been born for each
other, and she'd heard enough to convince her that she didn't want
anything more to do with either of them. She walked to the bars and
banged a fist on them. The guard arrived and opened the door for her.
"I'll leave you two to it," she said and left the cell.
   As they walked down the corridor, Scully asked the guard where the
body of the victim was stored.
   Before he could answer, Scully was deafened by an almighty
explosion from behind her. The earth-shattering blast blew great
clouds of brick dust into the corridor and filled the place with smoke
and debris.
   Scully dropped and spun, bringing her gun to bear on the Doctor's
cell. The guard had thrown himself in the opposite direction.
   "Mulder?" Scully called, coughing to rid her lungs of the debris.
   No reply.
   As the dust settled, Scully moved closer to the cell. The bars were
still intact, though the door had sprung open. A gaping hole now
existed where the top of the far wall had once stood, a rope ladder
extending down into the cell from the street level above. Mulder was
crouched in one corner with his hands clamped over his head. Of the
Doctor there was no sign.
   "How the...?" she let the question fade away as Mulder climbed
shakily to his feet.
   "What hit me?" he asked, brushing the fallen debris from his
clothes and hair.
   Scully moved over to the gaping hole in the wall and hurriedly
climbed up the ladder. On the street above her senses were assailed
with sirens and screaming people running this way and that. Of the
Doctor there was no sign.
   Mulder climbed up beside her. "He's gone," she told him simply.
   "Scully," Mulder said, the excitement in his voice undampened by
the explosion and the debris he was forced to cough from his lungs. "I
have to take a look at that body!"
   Dana let out a deep sigh. It was going to be another long day.

[End Part 1]