Ticket to Heaven
By Anna Otto
Email: annaotto1@aol.com

http://www.geocities.com/~annaotto

Classification: SH
Rating: PG
Archive: if you wish, but let me know
Summary: Cancerman decides to be good, and Mulder tries to 
catch a brutal monster. Oh, and some rumination on how evidence 
really gets lost.
Disclaimer: We all know that I just like to play with them...and 
this, especially, is pure indulgence.


In the end, it was always meant to happen. Destiny laid down the 
fatal cards, and Cancerman took out a cigarette out of his mouth, 
contemplating the hand dealt to him. And, looking at the broken 
life and dead bodies that he left behind, he understood something 
vitally important, the truth that had been avoiding him like a 
cowardly bastard in the dark, stormy night.

He was a bad person and he was going to hell.

Of course, all that was still subject to change in case the aliens 
descended right on schedule and prolonged his life. Or, if he 
confessed his sins and became good in very short order.

Seeing as aliens weren't in sight, and one could never rely on their 
irresponsible, vile little minds, Cancerman knew he had only one 
choice. 

Very carefully and methodically, he collected all of the evidence of 
the bad deeds that he and his colleagues had committed over the 
years. This would be a sign of good faith, his ticket to heaven, and 
his salvation from the lonely old age spent among the hybrids and 
subjects of his own hellish experiments. There was only one 
person who could help him now.

* * *

Mulder was in a great mood. For him, it was easy - he had nothing 
shadowing his conscience, no dark guilty dreams threatened his 
nights, and he had a new X-File to investigate. This one revolved 
around a particularly interesting monster that lived inside the 
refrigerator and liked to eat ice cream. The problem would not be 
so terrible if the monster didn't demand the best ice cream - the 
thing dared to leave threatening messages to the housewives who 
settled for cheaper brands instead of the wonders of Starbucks, Ben 
& Jerry's, and Haagen Daz.

It had gone through several homes of Peoria, Illinois already, 
leaving behind the melted ice cream, the dilapidated refrigerators, 
and the hysterical owners of the above. The terrible chain of events 
was calling for action, and Mulder knew that Scully and he would 
be there to rescue them, no matter what - because if not them, who 
else?

When Cancerman knocked shyly on his door and entered, straining 
under the weight of the evidence that he carried inside a big carton 
box, Mulder assumed the usual stance of wounded sensibility and 
reached for his gun.

"This time, I will make sure you're dead," he hissed. "Drop the 
box."

"Agent Mulder," the Cancerman frowned, unhappy that his best 
intentions were so cruelly misinterpreted. "Don't you think that a 
dead body in your office will be difficult to explain? After all, I'm 
unarmed and you can't claim self-defense." This didn't bode well 
for the future - was he so beyond forgiveness that even the best 
man in this world couldn't find mercy in his heart?

"You have a point," Mulder admitted grudgingly. "Turn around."

Cancerman sighed as the handcuffs closed around his wrists. 
"Agent Mulder, I've come to you with a proposition."

Mulder considered. Every time he lowered the barrel of a gun and 
resisted the urge to kill the smoker, he ended up with another failed 
opportunity and more fog between his ears. Yet, as if he was 
following some badly written script, he took off the handcuffs and 
brought the chair to the gray-haired man. "I'm listening."

Cancerman sighed in relief. "I've re-evaluated my life today, 
Agent Mulder, and the conclusions have saddened me. I'm far 
from my prime, and I think we might have screwed up big time 
with aliens, so I'm not going to get any power and fame if I 
continue working on colonization. I'm bitter like vinegar, and my 
soul had shriveled up like a forgotten carrot at the bottom of a 
fridge. I'm more alone than the Big Blue at the bottom of a lake."

His listener was growing a little tired, after all, there was a reason 
why he didn't become a practicing psychologist. "What is your 
point?"

"My point is, I decided that it's time for me to admit defeat, and try 
to save my soul instead of the mankind," Cancerman replied. "This 
box contains all the evidence and details of my crimes, and those 
of others. It's what you've been looking for during the past seven 
years. It's the answer to your quest."

Mulders eyes lit up like little ornamental lamps on the holiday 
trees. Cancerman felt at once saddened and happy - that a 
culmination of his life should come to this was an ironic twist of 
fate. 

"Scully!" Mulder exclaimed, non sequitur. "Did Skinner approve 
our 302?"

His partner, who just came in the office with a stamped folder in 
her hand, smiled triumphantly. "Yes, he did!"

Cancerman watched as the two celebrated briefly and started 
calling the airline to book the tickets to Peoria, Illinois. "But..." 
he stumbled, dumbfounded. "Aren't you even going to look at this..."

Mulder gave a passing glance to the box with evidence. "In case 
you're not aware, my superior just gave me an assignment," he 
glared at his nemesis. "One which is the top priority of the day. 
Perhaps later, I will be able to attend to you."

Cancerman nodded, shamed. Of course, only something of utmost 
importance could have made Mulder less than intent on the 
answers he was searching for. "Could I go with you?" he asked 
timidly. "I could take lessons from the masters in being good and 
in doing the right thing."

Scully frowned and chewed upon the words, feeling like there was 
something fundamentally wrong with this statement. Mulder rolled 
his eyes and ordered three tickets to Peoria, Illinois.

* * *

Scully gave a handkerchief to the weeping woman wearing fuzzy 
slippers. The owner of property in beautiful Peoria was sitting on 
the couch in her living room and crying her eyes out because of the 
destruction and derision that she suffered in the hands of the ice 
cream monster.

"It's all right," the agent spoke soothingly. "Tell us what 
happened."

"It started with these weird noises in the kitchen," the woman 
sniffed. "My husband and I clung to each other, afraid to go 
downstairs and investigate. Then we started to get threatening 
messages, usually written in red on the floor or on the counters."

Mulder's countenance grew dark. "Blood?" he asked ominously.

"No," the housewife shook her head and whispered in fear, 
"tomato juice."

Mulder and Scully gasped, exchanging meaningful glances. 
Cancerman tensed, expecting a revelation any moment.

"Please continue," Scully turned her attention to the abused 
woman. "I know it's hard but we need to know all the details."

"One morning I woke up and my freezer was completely barren," 
she wailed, relieving the terrible moment. "Only empty cartons. I 
had no chocolate ice cream anymore, only empty cartons, and... 
and..."

Mulder leaned forward, laying a gentle hand on the distressed 
woman's fingers. "Don't worry. We will catch whoever did this to 
you. Justice will be served."

Cancerman found his own heart expanding with sympathy to the 
poor victim of this heinous crime. Undoubtedly, she suffered from 
some sort of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and the eaten ice 
cream was a symbol of maybe her lost ova, the empty refrigerator 
a symbol of her barren ovaries, and she was crying because she 
was afraid to recall what had really happened to her, and of course 
he felt guilty because he was certain that she was one of the 
numerous victims of the Consortium's dirty machinations.

Tears running down his cheeks, he understood now why the X-
Files agents preferred to come here instead of investigating the 
truth that lay in the box back in their dusty basement office.

* * *

Late at night, Cancerman lay in bed, satisfied with the productive 
day he had. He participated in an important investigation, he was 
learning from the best, and he was making much progress. Before 
retiring for the night, he smiled at the agents and wished them 
good dreams. Scully glanced at him nervously, as if wondering 
what he was up to. Mulder seemed lost in his own world, and 
didn't pay him much attention, but Cancerman could forgive such 
behavior - it simply meant that he was really, really trying hard to 
solve the case.

There was an insistent knock on the door, and he ran to open it, 
certain that there was a lead and they had to go and catch whoever 
was causing all the problems for the innocent citizens of Peoria. 
The only person he discovered on his threshold was a pajama-clad 
Scully, brandishing a weapon and uncombed hair. "Did you see 
Mulder?" she inquired, desperation edging her voice.

"No," Cancerman was understandably worried. "Is he not in his 
room?"

"He ditched me again," Scully stomped her foot, angry, then 
immediately contrite. "What if something happened to him? What 
if... what if he went to catch the monster without backup..."

Cancerman caught her when her knees gave out. "Don't worry, 
Agent Scully," he assured her bravely even as his own heart was 
suddenly working overtime. He couldn't lose his teacher of 
goodness. Not now while he was doing so well.

"He was trying to profile the monster," Scully whispered. "He was 
so pale... and so vulnerable... I just can't take it when he gets 
inside the heads of these bastards, these serial killers and ice cream 
eaters."

Cancerman closed his eyes, afraid. Something awful was 
happening, he had a terrible premonition of the worst things to 
come. "Let's go," he said determinedly. "We will find him."

Together, they crept through the night, with nothing to protect 
them but their guns and their aching hearts. Yet, they found 
nothing in the town under siege of the vile monster, and defeated, 
they returned to the motel. Pale light seeped from under Mulder's 
door, and Scully gasped dramatically and knocked.

When the lock turned, Mulder stumbled into the arms of his 
partner as if he was searching for support, lost and shivering. "It's 
cold," he moaned in agony. "It's so cold and... and I can't see the 
light..."

"Maybe that's because you're wearing shades?" Cancerman 
suggested and was largely ignored. 

Scully left her partner to the tender mercies of Cancerman, and 
peered inside the room. The picture of devastation was staggering, 
and she blindly picked up the empty carton of Haagen Daz Rum & 
Raisin, then Ben & Jerry's Wavy Gravy. "Oh my God!" she 
gasped. There was only one explanation for this. 

"You were attacked by the ice cream monster!"

"Oh no," Mulder laughed, dark and bitter. "It's far worse than that," 
he fell silent.

"Did you eat the ice cream, Mulder?" Scully asked him carefully.

"I was only trying to get inside his head," he wept. "It's so cold 
there, and so dark... the sweetness of the kill, the need to be one 
with the chocolaty silkiness and bumpy nuttiness..."

Cancerman's hands shook from fright. Mulder was obviously 
losing his mind, and going too deep in the head of the monster, as 
he was prone to do, but then again, some heads were never meant 
to be penetrated in such a manner, not without facing the severe 
consequences and addictions. Hastily, he tried to recall if there had 
been any government experiments with ice cream lately.

Scully was getting the ice cream out of the drawers, refrigerator, 
and Mulder's suitcases, bravely ignoring the chocolate goo sliding 
down her arms, willing to face the dangers of it if only it would 
help her partner. 

"Don't throw it away," Mulder ordered her harshly. "It's the only 
way to catch him."

"Who is he, Mulder?" Scully whispered, frightened.

Mulder sneezed and licked his lips, chewing on the fudge 
thoughtfully, but he didn't reply.

* * *

The terrible screams from the neighboring room gnawed on 
Cancerman's soul, tearing it to pieces. Fearing the worst, he 
knocked Mulder's door in. A scene of devastation greeted him, and 
for a moment he could barely distinguish Mulder in the mess of 
chocolate ice cream on his bed. Valiantly, his teacher of goodness 
was trying to hit something over the head with a pillow.

"Freeze!" Cancerman shouted and took aim. Behind him, he could 
sense Scully staring at the picture before her in horror.

Mulder dropped the pillow. From beneath the layers of ice cream, 
a furry creature with feral blue eyes peered at the officers of law. 
"Ice cream," it purred, wobbling on the unsteady legs, its paws 
deep in the carton of Ben & Jerry's. "Good ice cream," it 
confirmed thoughtfully, and rubbed its swollen belly. "More ice 
cream," it shared confidentially, and then Mulder gained back his 
perspective and hit it over the fuzzy head.

"Ice cream!" it shouted pitifully before it lost consciousness. 

Seeing that the danger had passed, Scully ran inside the room to 
comfort her partner. 

Cancerman leaned against the doorframe. "Are you saying," he 
asked slowly, "that this really was an ice cream monster then?" 

Mulder looked at him strangely. "That's what we've been trying to 
catch."

"And ice cream was not a symbol of lost innocence or missing 
ova?"

Scully blanched. "Hardly."

"And all this time, the only danger to the citizens of Peoria, 
Illinois, had been only from this fuzzy creature?"

Scully snapped the handcuffs on the monster, lest it awakened, ran 
away, and tormented the good citizens some more. If Cancerman 
was so square, then he could try to catch it by himself. 

Suddenly, the conspirator aimed the gun at the agents. Holding 
them at bay, he picked up the little monster and studied it 
speculatively. "He will make a good research subject," he said. 
"Our laboratories stood idle for quite a while."

"It was a set-up!" Mulder's eyes narrowed. "You lied to us the 
whole time, you son of a bitch."

Cancerman took out a cigarette and lit the match off the fur of the 
monster. "Whatever, Agent Mulder."

"He doesn't deserve to be tortured," Scully looked at the fuzzy 
creature with pity. "He deserves a fair trial."

Cancerman looked at the agents, thought whether they would make 
good research subjects and decided against it. After all, they really 
were too boring to play with. And there was nothing they could 
teach him that he didn't already know.

Without another word, he walked out of the hotel room, got in his 
car, and drove to the nearest Consortium laboratory.

Mulder and Scully didn't follow.

* * *

Back in the basement of the J. Edgar Hoover building, the janitor 
mopped the floors of the X-Files office. Upon finishing, he 
emptied the garbage basket, and looked around. Sometimes, they 
left a box of recycled paper to be disposed of, it was especially true 
while those other agents, Spender and Fowley, worked here. They 
were very conscientious and saved the environment by recycling 
lots of paper.

And today, he saw another box standing on top of Agent Mulder's 
desk. Well, maybe these agents were learning, too. Peering inside, 
he saw lots and lots of old documents, and was glad that the 
useless things would finally be gotten rid of.

Picking up the heavy box, he walked out of the office and locked 
the door behind him. According to the schedule, the recycling plant 
was sending a truck to pick up the new load tonight.


The End.

Thanks to Ashlea, Leigh, and Melanie - for laughing and for 
letting me write such silliness. Soon, I will actually write 
something - <gasp!> serious.