A Red Love Bizarre or The Roswell Chest

BY : Beaverhausen13
Category: 1 through F > Friday the 13th: The Series
Dragon prints: 33
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Files. I do not own Friday the 13th: The Series. I get no cash, no ends, none of that cheddar for this, fam damily.

F13:TS and X-Files crossover story, be-otch...

Title: A Red Love Bizarre, Otherwise Known as The Roswell Chest

Author: Pepperstasia Beaverhausen

Rating: R for strong ass sexual content and plenty of cussing

Categories: Crossover, MRR, MSR, bits of humor and angst. You know, the usual. Alternating various POV's, though this is mainly Ryan and Mulder's show

Spoilers: slight mentions of "Tooms", "The Pilot", and "Chinga" for the X-Files and "The Baron's Bride", “Root of All Evil”, and "The Inheritance" for F13:TS

Timeline: Season six for X-Files, around beginning of Season two for F13:TS

Author's Notes and the Disclaimer: The characters involved in this story are not mine, they are the inventions of Chris Carter and Frank (to the) Mancuso, Jr. I'm just borrowing them to entertain you. Anyhoo, I've been writing X-Files fanfic for years, but just recently got hipped back to the Friday the 13th: The Series scene that I used to love so much I got to stay up late to watch it when I was 9. I realized that these two sets of characters have an extraordinarily similar bent, and the mind started to wander a bit. And here it goes...


4-18-1989 {Ryan}

What a life. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I hadn't quit college, hadn' t had my name basically pulled out of a hat along with Micki's to inherit this store and end up in the current situation that I am in. I have no choice. These objects that are out there are killing people, and we're both in way too deep at this point to just walk away and let the other person die. Let alone, anyone else who comes in contact with Uncle Lewis' cursed curios.

It's just...frustrating, at times, for a number of reasons. It is impossible to live normal lives and get involved in romance and the like. Anyone that any of us has gotten close to has died, and I read somewhere that if you are denied a basic human need for too long, like sex, that you can develop certain physical and mental issues. I'm worried; frankly, it's been a while. Among the other elements that drive my point home is living in close quarters with one of the sexiest women I've ever encountered and knowing that I have zero chance with her.

Sure, she isn't blood relation, but Micki is still billed as my cousin, and the exact words out of her mouth were, "Nothing would be stranger than being involved with Ryan."

I agree with this. I also can't help but be constantly turned on by her every move, and therefore, end up feeling perverted, but I don't know what else to do. Micki floats by me every day, braless and flawless.

Oh yeah, did I fail to mention that I've noticed that she rarely wears underwear and *always* goes braless? Yet, her breasts defy every law of gravity. Her body can turn even the most shapeless of outfits into every man's wet dream, and her face...enchantingly gorgeous framed by a thick, curly red mane; she's definitely got the face of an angel and a body for sin. I'm a hopeless case, I know. It's tough though when I feel like she's the only woman I will ever completely relate to.

Damn Uncle Lewis. Too bad you're already in hell or I'd try to send you there myself.


4-18-1999 {Mulder}

I can't remember exactly when I first started lusting after Scully. It must have been the underwear incident, sticking in my brain like Pavlovic response. As the years have gone by, however, I've grown to be *in love* with her, and it's just getting more difficult to carry on a professional pretense.

Scully is the most important person in my life.

It's gotten pretty bad in the later years of our partnership, the whole lust/love thing. She's blossomed into this very strong, sexy, secure woman that I catch myself just *staring* at, constantly. My want of her has metastasized in such a way that I can't even consider the possibility of being romantically involved with anyone else.

There's not even a blip on my radar, because Scully *is* the radar, at this point. No one else will ever understand me like she does. We've been through too many strange incidences that no one else could even try to comprehend. Our relationship has slipped into comfortable, casual flirtation that goes no further than me coming home from being near her all day and beating off.

I can't jeopardize what we already have, because I am hopelessly addicted to Scully and the thought of her being out of my life would kill me.

"Mulder?" Scully snaps me out of my reverie, visually tantalizing me in a tight Donna Karan amber suit with short skirt and low-cut white tank. She leans over my desk and hands me a file, "I think you should take a look at this."


4-19-1989 {Ryan}

"Ryan, I've got the mail!" Micki calls to me, still wearing her impossibly sexy ivory silk peignoir, breasts and hair bouncing slightly as she makes her way to me back upstairs.

We're closed for the day; Jack and I have been patching the floor as the result of another cursed object's aftermath has once again fucked up our storefront. We let Micki sleep in, she just woke a few minutes ago and promptly went to gather the mail for our next possible mission. She's just so unaware of her appeal, boldly stepping outside in her nightgown, not giving a second thought to the fact that she just gave every man in the neighborhood morning wood. For a while I believed she knew what she was doing to the male population, but the more I know her, the less sure of that theory I am.

Micki sidles up to next to me at the table with a fresh cup of coffee in one hand and the mail in the other, "I think I saw an answer to a mailer in there." she murmurs between sips and hands the mail to me.

"The address is from Oregon, a town called Levettston." I comment as I examine the envelope and open the contents.

Jack looks up from where he is finishing sanding the wood square we patched, "What does it say?"

"A lady there is responding about the Oval Shaped Chest. Quote: 'It creeps me out, it keeps glowing and making noises. My stupid cousin left it in my barn, went missing, and I don't even want to touch it. Come get this thing, please.' Signed, Elaine Duquet. Well, this should be an easy one."

Jack has already made it to the Manifest and promptly looks it right up, "Oval Shaped Chest, circa 1940's. It was built by an early pioneer of space exploration. I picked it up in Roswell, New Mexico in the 1970's and sold it to Lewis..."

"Who has since cursed it." Micki finishes, "She's a smart girl not to go near it. Maybe we should bring rubber gloves, just in case, Ryan." she nudges me with her elbow.

It's hard to concentrate, her breasts are still jiggling a little at this action. "Uh, yeah, rubber gloves." I murmur, forcing myself to snap out of it.

"Well, I'd better get dressed." Micki says, slamming the rest of her coffee and heading for her room.


4-19-1999 {Mulder}

Scully and I are just arriving in Portland, Oregon by plane and from here are taking a rental car to a small town called Levettston, about 15 miles outside of the city. We received a report of a possibly paranormal murder and a disappearance. The murder victim had been found apparently mauled by a creature unidentifiable by the victim's wounds on a farm where the missing person resided. Obviously, the case's elements deemed it an X-File, and we are now on our way to immediately investigate the crime scene first, then talk to the Sheriff and try to interview any eyewitnesses at this point.

I keep taking small, covert glances at her on the drive out there. Scully's wearing the black Chanel suit today, the one with the slit halfway up the thigh of her knee-length, form fitting skirt. I am gifted with snatches of thigh, toned and perfect.

"Penny for your thoughts, Mulder." Scully purrs in her constantly amazing phone sex voice.

"Just ruminating." I say, trying to keep it light, "About the case." I add.

"What's to ruminate? Ten to one, the so-called 'missing' person is the perpetrator of the murder. You know it's never that easy, though."

"I love how you contradict yourself now, Scully." I joke, not being able to stop myself from cracking a small grin.

"Comes from years of working with you, Mulder." she counters back.

"Who needs marriage when you have the FBI?"

Scully and I arrive at the address, located one mile down a dirt road off the town highway. We proceed to the location of the barn where the murder took place and find the chalk outline. Scully surveys the area and immediately discovers residue. It's a yellowish-red goo that's splatter pattern goes along the wall and floor.

"Looks like some struggle." I comment, following the splatter goo and blood mix trail amid a sea of knocked over crates and bloody straw.

"So, the property owner, Elaine Duquet, was reported missing around 48 hours after the determined time of death. There is no apparent link between her and the victim, Marc Dupree, yet his dead body is found severely mauled. Reasoning suggests that whoever did this to the victim may have also abducted Ms. Duquet." Scully recaps as she snaps on plastic gloves and begins to collect forensic samples.

Watching her do this is poetry, by the way.

"I don't know, Scully. I think my instinct is telling me there's more to it than this." I say, breaking my gaze to continue my lead. Wait--What the heck is that? "Scully, I think maybe you should come take a look at this," I call as I spy a faintly glowing, bigger looking object behind a few of the overturned crates, "The splatter trail ends back here."

"What is it?"

I move aside the crates to reveal what looks like a chest of oval and chrome. It seems to glow a silvery blue color, and when I get closer, I hear faint murmuring voices seeming to come from inside. That's when I see the symbol by the lock, front and center.

I look up, "Know anything about Demonology, Scully?"


4-19-1989 {Ryan}

Jack, Micki, and I piled into the Mercedes after lunch and began the drive to Levettston. "I have a theory about this chest." Jack begins from the backseat, rifling through clippings he gathered to do research in the car on the way, "The man who built the chest, a Mr. Frank Dahl, also studied tesseracts and possible time travel, along with working with the space program. My guess is that Lewis may have used these elements to exacerbate this particular curse. We may have to tread cautiously."

"Whatever the case, we know that it takes a victim." Micki says, twisting a bit in her seat to talk to Jack and giving me a nice view of the side of her right breast, "The question is, how?"

I can't answer at first, she *is* wearing a very low-cut white off-the-shoulder sundress that does wonders for the imagination, "The main objective is just to get there, grab it, and go. What happens after that, we wing it." I crack, trying to refocus my concentration on the road.

"Ryan, it's always a good idea to know what we're up against." Jack argues, "Preparation is key in dealing with these items."

"I agree." Micki pipes in, "Don't be foolish, we wouldn't want anything happening to that adorable little face." she jokes as she playfully pinches my cheek.

"What, I was kidding! I'll be careful, I promise." I counter, cracking a smile.

We arrive at the farm of Elaine Duquet about a few hours later. It's a nice sunny day as we make our way to the front door of the farmhouse, and we're greeted by a blonde in her late twenties before we can even knock.

"You guys from Curious Goods?" she asks as she eyes us up and down, one by one.

"Yes, hello! I'm Micki Foster and these are my partners, Ryan Dallion and Jack Marshak." She offers up a perfectly manicured hand for Elaine to shake.

"We can skip the pleasantries; I don't want any money out of you. I just want that thing gone." Elaine says, not-so-politely refusing Micki's offer of a handshake, "It's in the barn and you're welcome to it. I'm gonna go back inside and watch Wapner."

She was gone as abruptly as she appeared. Easy Breezy--usually we have to fight the owner in some way because they're already affected by the cursed item. The curse generally casts some kind of spell over them and pushes them to commit acts of murder, or worse. Elaine was handing this particular item over on a silver platter. Strange. We walk to the barn, Jack leading the way. I lag a little behind Micki so I can check out her behind, which I get silhouettes of beneath her full skirt.

Fuck you, Uncle Lewis.

Jack pushes the barn door open, and there it is. The chest is chrome and oval shaped, just like the Manifest described. Micki reaches into her white hobo bag and pulls out three pairs of rubber gloves, the kind you wash dishes with, "Preparation is key." she echoes Jack's earlier statement as she hands a set to each of us.

Jack circles the chest, examining, "It's most definitely emanating some sort of power," he notes, "Notice the faint glow, and the whispered voices. Oh, I think I've found something...a symbol. This must be how Lewis cursed it."

"What does it mean?" I ask, Micki and I crouching next to him to look.

"I'm not sure; it's demonic, but I've never run into this particular incantation before." Jack scratches his beard, perplexed.

"Should we just pick a side and get it in the car?" Micki suggests, "It doesn't seem like we should stick around, considering Elaine's warm welcome."

"Micki's right." I agree as we get on either side of the chest, "No use wasting daylight here."

As all of us touch the chest to lift it however, something goes terribly wrong. My hands feel glued to the thing and I see Micki and Jack struggling as well. Meanwhile, the chest is glowing brighter and brighter, and the last thing that I hear is a faint, menacing voice chuckling, "My time for yours." What happened next is a blur...

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