From: ThePimpernel <ThePimpernel@waitrose.com>
Date: Sat, 20 Mar 2004 11:14:46 -0000
Subject: NEW: Splinters of Rainbow III (1/3)
Source: atxc

Title: Splinters of Rainbow III
Date: December 2003
Author: The Pimpernel
Rating: PG-13 but I don't want to offend anyone so let's say
R for sexual situations, and bad words.
Summary: An irreverent look at biological imperative and
genetic predisposition -- possibly. Just read and enjoy

Classification: SRA
Keywords: AU -- a 'what if' parallel time line that mangles
the two, angst, MSR sort of.
Spoilers:  YES, but I haven't yet evolved past season 7. Play
spot the reference.
Feedback: Warms the cockles of my heart and other bits of
my anatomy. - thepimpernel@waitrose.com
Archive: I'd be stunned but go ahead. It's written to be read.
Disclaimer: Just five more minutes Dad, then I promise I'll
put them away.
Fanfic is a self-indulgence of the non-fattening type for
neither body nor bank account. In other words any reference
to characters created by Chris Carter real or imaginary is
purely deliberate but they're not mine.
I'm English, forgive me my spelling.

Genuflexions to Elsie, a wonderful beta who prods, pats and
moulds my grammar and punctuation into something
comprehensible. That just leaves the plot holes as a
distraction.

Third part of the story. I'm not sure this one makes much
sense without having read the first two. More to come, so
check your WIP tolerance before continuing.


*************************************************
Part 1 of 3

'What the fuck did she think she'd been doing?' Mulder
muttered to himself as he walked down the hospital hallway.
Not that it was really any of his business but still... He shook
his head as if to get rid of unwelcome thoughts. Pausing
outside a doorway, he looked through the window and saw
Dana. She was sat in bed, scrapes and bruises making a stark
contrast to her pale skin. She looked... vulnerable. He tried to
compose himself; it wouldn't do to get personal about this.
He ran through his options again before sighing,
straightening his shoulders and pushing open the door.

"Morning, Doctor Scully," he said, throwing the bag he had
been carrying onto the chair, but retaining the folder under
his arm. "How are you feeling?"

Dana startled as the door opened, having been gazing out of
the window and not seeing anyone lurking outside the door.
Her head snapped around to look at him. Her heart skipped a
beat, whether from the surprise of hearing his voice or just
from someone suddenly entering the room was hard to
determine. He was certainly one of the last people she
expected or maybe hoped to see. That and his addressing her
as 'Dr. Scully' did not bode well. She was very aware of how
this might appear to him. She flushed, uncomfortable on
several levels. She looked at his face but it was impassive.
She supposed she ought to be grateful for that much.

 "I'm fine, thank you, Agent Mulder."

She was bruised, beaten, grazed and shaken but nothing
broken according to the medical report. It was the first time
he had seen her since 'Kate' had walked out of his apartment
several weeks ago. They'd spoken on the phone. At first,
he'd decided he should leave well alone before he got hurt.
He wasn't nursing a bruised heart  -- he liked her and he was
curious. She could be charming... but she was frustrating and
fascinating all at the same time. Like when she left, what she
said had managed to stroke and bruise his ego in the same
sentence.

Half of him wanted to shake some sense into her, make her
face up to her demons. The other half knew it was her own
decision to lead her life how she wanted, that if she didn't
want him in her life he should take the hint, respect her
wishes. Except, her parting comment had indicated that she
didn't want him out of her life entirely. She just didn't want
him... what? Intimately? No, that was something they seemed
to get right -- well, the sex any way. Intellectually? Well,
their opinions might have been at opposite ends of the
spectrum but they'd sparred equally -- enjoyed the verbal
challenge. In fact, she'd initiated several of the exchanges of
views. No, if anything that was the bit she wanted to keep --
the friendship. Emotionally? Did she really think that all he
wanted was random acts of sexual relief, physical comfort?
No, but that was all she could offer him and she knew it
wasn't enough, which was true; he would have been looking,
hoping, expecting to grow their relationship.

Of course, he didn't know the whole story, but he felt she had
it in her for more, to move on. She was a strong woman, a
survivor, but she obviously thought she had to go it alone. To
persuade her that life could be different would require
considerable effort and delicate handling on his part, and he
wasn't sure he had that much philanthropy in him. He
couldn't be objective enough to be a friend, it would be just
too tempting, too intriguing, engrossing. He might not be in
love but he was captivated and he wouldn't be able to leave it
alone. He knew himself; with that much emotional effort
he'd become invested, entangled, and if at the end she turned
around and said 'thanks for believing in me, I'll be moving
on now', he'd be devastated.  So, in the end, Mulder did
nothing.

His resolve lasted all of three days, right up to the point
where he came across a medical curiosity for which he
needed an opinion. He rang her number without thinking. He
was most surprised when he heard her speaking, although her
astonishment probably trumped his amazement when he
spoke. Both of them politely refrained from commenting on
the matter. He asked his question, she answered. He asked
her how she was. She said 'fine' and returned the question.
He said 'fine, thanks for the information' and rang off. All
very civilized. If he'd needed to justify it to himself later,
he'd have said he reserved the right to use her as a walking,
talking medical encyclopaedia. If he had any other feelings,
they were unconsciously thought.

She hadn't minded; in fact, she had been touched. There'd
been half a dozen such conversations since. The atmosphere
had lightened between them, but they'd not met. He was
trying for acceptance, she was feeling less guilty. Not that
she'd anything to feel guilty about. She felt she'd always
been honest in her dealings with him.

So, here they were now facing each other across a hospital
bed, after she'd been assaulted, practically murdered by a
man she'd been drinking with and had then gone back to his
apartment with him. She knew how it would look. The local
PD had but thinly disguised their own thoughts on the matter.
Well, she had been wearing the man's shirt when she
answered the door to them. She sighed to herself. How could
a simple thing like going out for a drink turn out so
complicated? Another thing she didn't understand was what
Mulder was doing in Philadelphia and how he knew she was
here. Was he here as friend or foe?

"Is there anyone you would like to be contacted?" he asked.

"No, thank you," was her terse reply. She'd have liked to say
more, but she didn't know where she stood. In these
situations she tended to default to saying as little as possible,
rather than babbling.

To Mulder, she was just being her usual informative self. He
sighed. "No family or friends?"

She shook her head, glancing down at the bed sheets.

He stared at her for a minute, then opened one of the folders
in his hand and took something out. He tossed a clear, plastic
bag onto the bed. "Are you sure?"

She reached out for the bag and saw that it contained a
photograph, creased and now slightly singed around the
edges. It showed a happy family picture, parents and four
children; two boys, two girls. Dana's hands trembled as she
fingered the edges. This photograph led a charmed life, she
thought as she carefully tried to smooth out the creases
through the plastic, swallowing back the emotion as she
focused on the faces of each member of her family smiling at
her. It was the only one she had and despite the bittersweet
memories it raised, she'd kept it with her. It had been in her
purse when she'd been attacked. There was a moment of
sadness, which was quickly hidden. Long ago and far away
were the carefree days of her childhood. Lost in her thoughts
she was brought back to the present by his soft 'Dr. Scully?'
and realized she hadn't answered his question.

 "Yes, quite sure."

Mulder wondered if he was treading on a minefield. Perhaps
they'd all died in some freak accident. He'd been hoping for
some sign of openness. He should have known better.

 "But this photograph does belong to you?"

"Yes. Where did you find it?" She risked looking up at him.

"The local PD found it in the basement when they did the
search." He held out his hand to take the photograph back.

"I can't keep it?"

"Sorry, it's evidence for the moment. You can apply to have
it returned when the case is closed."

Reluctantly, she handed it over, its significance almost
tempting her to stress it be kept safe, to explain its
importance. However, common sense dictated that doing so
would not have any influence on the outcome, so she kept her
silence.

There was an awkward pause.

"So, you were in the area and thought you'd come visiting?"
she asked eventually.

"Something like that."

"How did you know I was here?"

"I'm in town investigating an apparently unrelated series of
murders. The latest one being in the apartment block in
which you were found. The circumstances relating to the
assault on you suggest a connection to the previous victims.
The attack on you was being bandied around the police
station. You appear to have been a very lucky woman."

"Oh." She swallowed. She could guess why her name was
being 'bandied' around.

"I'd like you to tell me what happened."

"I've already given a statement to the police, Agent Mulder."

"I know. I need to hear it from you. Especially any little
details you may have thought irrelevant."

"Oh, I see. What, I didn't give them enough graphic detail to
get them off? You think I lied, deliberately kept something
back? Why don't you just ask me what it is you want to
know?"

There was an uncomfortable few minutes of silence, mainly
while Mulder got his temper under control. In the end, he
sighed. He knew perfectly well, where this was coming from.
The cops had not been reticent about giving him their opinion
on what had happened. The big difference between what was
in their report and hers revolved around sex -- completely
missing from her account. No doubt the cops had disguised
their thoughts from Dana only slightly less than they'd
disguised them from him. It wasn't the first time that Dana
had become defensive around this subject, nor that she tried
to keep this side of her private. If he was going off her
superficial track record, he'd have to agree with the cops.
However, if he took the more rounded Dana Scully he knew,
keeping something pertinent back to hide her own
discomfiture wasn't her -- but the possibility that she might
omit something embarrassing that she didn't think relevant
was probable. Unfortunately, he'd have to convince her that
at the moment, everything was relevant.

"Dana...," he placed the folder on the end of the bed and
pulled up a chair, "I'm approaching this with an open mind.
There's a serial killer out there and I need as much
information as possible to catch him, preferably uncluttered
with other people's biases and prejudices, although informed
opinions are acceptable. In the process of gathering this
information, I may tread on a few delicate sensibilities and
puncture a few egos. As far as I'm concerned, they're
expendable against saving someone's life."

She nodded her acceptance, suddenly feeling small. "But I
thought Ed was in custody?"

"The man who did this to you?"

She nodded.

This was not going to be pretty. "Yes. Actually, he's in
intensive care and hasn't regained consciousness. Which
leaves you in the limelight. You realize that your background
is going to be thoroughly investigated?"

"Why? I'm the victim here!" Indignation and perhaps a bit of
trepidation coloured her voice.

In fact, it was going to get nasty. "That's partly the reason, to
see if there's any pattern between the victims. That and it has
been known for thieves to fall out."

"Thieves! How dare you?" Fully-fledge indignation,
escalating to wrath.

This was going to catch her flat-footed but it had to be done.
"Not necessarily my thoughts, as I said. I am keeping an open
mind, but all avenues have to be investigated. For instance,
are we going to find anything in your background that shows
you've been a victim before?"

"What?" she said, stunned.

"Maybe you like putting yourself at risk, frequenting
unsavoury parts of town, deliberately courting danger?"

"You think I've got a death wish?" She didn't like where this
was going. She remembered Frankie's warning about him
developing a shark's fin. This was certainly a side of him she
hadn't seen. Actually, that wasn't quite true. She'd seen this
level of intensity before, just not directed at her in the same
manner.

"No. But maybe you get a thrill from the situation. Perhaps
you have a kink in your psyche. You think I haven't noticed
the scars on your wrists?" And the shark went in for the kill.

She went from red, hot anger to cold, white fear. She put her
hands under the covers, realised the futility of that, and
crossed her arms defensively. Tears sprang to her eyes.
Normally, she kept her arms covered; long sleeved shirts and
sweaters, latex gloves, had sex in the dark. But here sitting in
a hospital bed in a hospital gown, she was exposed and with
no opportunity to escape. Delicate sensibilities indeed. The
silence stretched as Dana tried hard not to let her mind
wander down paths she never wanted to visit again.

Mulder saw her anguish. He tried not to feel guilty; they had
a murderer to catch after all. But Dana was right about one
thing -- he couldn't compartmentalize. He couldn't totally
separate the case Dana from the friend Dana. He'd have to be
careful he didn't make this personal.

"Dana?" He waited a moment for her to respond. "Dana. I'm
sorry it seems intrusive..."

"It's okay. I understand...  really, there's a murderer out
there. You have a job to do. People's lives to save. Anything
might be relevant -- however tenuous. I understand... really I
do. What I don't understand is how any of 'your' victims
overcome the shellshock to tell you anything useful."

He grimaced. "I extract what I need, then the 'victim'
receives years of therapy."

"Don't you get training in sympathetic questioning and
victim counselling?"

"I adapted them to my own requirements."

"Or am I getting special treatment because I'm an accomplice
and not a victim?"

"No. Dana... for what its worth, I don't believe you are an
accomplice. I've got delicate parts of my anatomy riding on
that conviction." His SAC's 'it's your balls on the line' gave
that statement a more literal ring of truth than it might
ordinarily be thought to carry.  "I'm just trying to impress
upon you that I need a full account here, that any
awkwardness you might feel can't be allowed to get in the
way of the facts."

"And my right to privacy?"

"In the case of murder, I generally appeal to people's sense
of what's right. It's just you and me at the moment, Dana.
I'm not asking for your life history here, I just want to try to
find out why Ed Jerse attacked you, if there's any link
between you and the other victims, or between him and the
other murderers. The faster we can identify some association,
the less opportunity there is for the team to drag up past
histories. However, if it's talking to me that bothers you,
someone else from the team can ask the questions."

"It's not what you think."

Which 'it'? he thought. The picking the stranger up in a bar
it, the scars on her wrist it, life, the universe and everything
it? Assuming that this response meant she was prepared to
talk to him, he continued.

"Things never are. Look, why don't I see if I can spring you
from this joint, so we can at least have a decent cup of coffee
while we discuss this."

Her spirits actually lifted a bit. She'd been resigned to staying
in the hospital. But if she had someone to leave with, that
would be different. They might let her go. Mulder needn't
know she was supposed to be 'monitored'. At the moment,
she felt trapped, pinned like a bug on a slide. She'd feel
better armoured if she was dressed, curled up on a chair with
a cup of coffee in her hands -- to hide behind.

Mulder returned shortly and she looked at him hopefully.

"Do you want the good news or the bad news?

"There's some good news?"

"Mm hmm, your discharge papers will be coming shortly."

She grinned briefly in relief until she remembered she didn't
have any clothes.

"Don't get too excited though, the downside is you get me as
nurse maid." He moved to pick up the bag he'd dropped on
the chair when he first came in.

"Do you have any nursing qualifications?"

"I know the importance of administering drugs, such as
caffeine at regular intervals. Does that qualify?"

"I think that's suitable for my requirements."

They shared a small smile between them.

"I thought you'd be keen to get out of here," he said.

"I am."

"So, why aren't you getting up?"

"I don't have anything to change into -- my clothes were
taken as evidence."

"What's wrong with what you've got on?"

"It's not suitable outdoor wear."

"Oh, I don't know. I'm sure it's charming. The colour suits
you. I bet it looks even better from the back." He waggled his
eyebrows suggestively. She scowled at him.

"Good thing I'm such a thoughtful gentleman," he said
handing her the bag.

She peered inside. "My clothes!"

"Fresh from your hotel room."

"Did you paw through my underwear?"

"Pawing? Certainly not. I did, of course, make an informed
selection having reviewed all the choices." He grinned at her
as she fought between indignation, embarrassment and
gratitude. "Go and get changed, then we'll be ready to go
when the paperwork gets here."

She refrained from commenting on his actions or his teasing,
bracing herself instead for his ogling her backside as she
walked steadily to the bathroom. She had a chance to think as
she changed, to catch up with herself. Not that she hadn't
been thinking hard for the last few weeks. It would be easy to
be angry with him, at him. He was invading, prodding and
poking at sensitive areas and her instinct was to defend. But
if she was honest with herself about him, Mulder seemed to
have her best interests at heart. So, had he her best interests at
heart now or was this his way of getting back at her? Maybe
a bit of both. He was only human after all. However, she
found that she didn't like the thought that he might be
thinking ill of her. If only she hadn't gone for that drink.
Who would have thought that what she thought would be a
simple step forward for her, just go out for a drink and a chat,
would turn out to be so problematical?

Once back at her hotel room, coffee in hand, she watched in
trepidation as Mulder made himself comfortable. She was
tempted to tell him to go, that she was under no obligation to
tell him anything, but she knew that wouldn't wash. It wasn't
as if she could threaten to get the manager to phone the cops.
She had to stop thinking he was deliberately trying to invade
her privacy. If there was a murderer loose out there, she
needed to help him catch the killer. That's what she needed
to concentrate on. It just seemed to be skimming so close to
her past, it was making her skittish.

Mulder spoke, "So, where did you meet Ed Jerse?"

Reprieve over. "I don't think there's anything I left out of my
statement, Mulder. I went into this tattoo parlour and he was
discussing his tattoo with the proprietor. He seemed
dissatisfied. I started looking around at the pictures of the
tattoos, trying not to overhear, when the proprietor asked me
for my opinion of Ed's tattoo. It looked good to me, the
colours were very intense. Someone called the proprietor into
the back and Ed started talking to me. He asked me out for a
drink. I refused -- I had a flight out that evening -- but he
gave me his card anyway in case I was ever in the area again.
When my flight was cancelled due to the weather, I rang him
up and we arranged to go to dinner. I didn't particularly want
to eat in my hotel room alone and I didn't want to eat in the
hotel restaurant. There was someone I was trying to avoid."

She paused for a moment's introspection. "They say you tend
to trust people you don't know over people you do, because
that person has never lied to you. I think I might have jumped
out of the frying pan into the fire."

Mulder filed that away for later. At the moment, it didn't
appear directly relevant to the case.

"So, you went out to dinner?"

"No," she paused. "I went to pick him up from his apartment.
It was nothing remarkable -- typical bachelor pad. He wasn't
quite ready. I was just sort of browsing around while I
waited, when I saw a photograph on his desk. Typical family
snap, Dad with two kids, except that it had the father's face
burned out. Ed smoked. It looked like the sort of thing that
could have been done with a cigarette. Anyway, I told him
we'd go to the crummy bar he'd mentioned earlier, it seemed
more appropriate for drowning the sorrows."

She paused as she took another sip of coffee. Mulder made a
note of that comment, too. He noticed that she hadn't
switched off work mode while she was socializing either.
He'd told her that about himself when he was observing the
low-lifes in the bar the first time he met her, and here she was
doing it herself. Well, normally it would be bodies in her
case, but corpses or photographs you saw a burn mark and
tried to identify it.

"We had a few drinks, aired a few of our grievances. Then I
noticed his arm was bleeding, the one with the tattoo. I
offered to look at it. He resisted. I persisted. He told me if I
was so fascinated with his tattoo I should get one of my own.
It seemed like a really good idea at the time."

To mark the moment, she thought, another step forward in
her life.

Mulder wanted to ask why, but now wasn't the time.

"The tattooist said you get the tattoo you deserve," she
continued.

"What did you get?"

"An ourobus."

"A symbol of renewing life."

"Yes, or a serpent eating its own tail."

That sounded fatalistic. "May I see?"

She seemed unnerved by that. "Do you think it relevant?"

He smiled. "Probably not, just my vulgar curiosity. Why? Is
it somewhere risque?"

"No. Not really." But still she hesitated.

He regarded her steadily. He wasn't sure why he persisted; it
could be justified on the grounds that sometimes the smallest
things were significant and often overlooked. Then again --
perhaps he was testing her.

Eventually, she rose hesitantly, putting down her now empty
coffee cup, and felt bereft of a shield. She slowly walked
over to him, looking at his face for reassurance. She stepped
in front of him and paused again. Taking a calming breath,
she jerkily loosened her tee shirt from her jeans. Turning
slowly, she put her back to him and lifted her shirt. Mulder
leaned forward to get a better look. He lifted his hand as if to
touch. It hovered a few inches from her skin but didn't make
contact.

"It's good work. You're right, the colours are very intense.
Did it hurt? Does it hurt?"

"It stung when he did the outline but the filling in was... it
felt nice. It's still a bit sensitive. I can't see it but I have this
strange sensation."

'Nice' -- guess he better not go there for now. "Thank you,"
he said, sitting back.

She pulled her tee shirt down and tried not to scamper back
to her seat. She glanced longingly at her empty coffee cup.

"I'll order some more in a moment. Go on with your story."

"Story? You think I'm making this up?"

He sighed. Back to the bristles -- he shouldn't have exposed
her like that. "It was just a figure of speech."

Of course it was. She closed her eyes to centre herself, put
her thoughts back in order.

"When we came out of the tattoo parlour it was snowing
heavily. It wasn't safe to drive, especially after the drinks.
We went back to his place. I stayed the night. When I awoke
in the morning he'd gone to get something for breakfast. The
two cops knocked asking about the neighbour but I couldn't
tell them anything. Except something they said...  it made me
think. I explained to them that I was a pathologist and asked
them for more details. They gave me the information --
reluctantly. Ed had a computer. I logged on and looked up the
substance that had been found in the blood."

She paused as the memory came back, that heart stopping
moment when she realised she might be suffering from the
poisoning too. "The tattooist had talked about the
composition of his dyes coming from rye grass. Something
he'd brought from the old country. Ergot poisoning -- one of
the symptoms is auditory hallucinations. When Ed came
back... I thought I'd convinced him to go to the hospital with
me. I went to get my things and when I came back he
attacked me. I tried to run, I got knocked out. I came to in the
basement and realised he was going to put me in the
incinerator. I tried to fight back -- I told him to fight it, to get
control. Something must have happened because the next
thing I knew he was putting his own arm in the incinerator. I
don't really remember anything clearly about what happened
in the basement -- sorry. I must have passed out again. I told
the police about the ergot poisoning. Did they check it out?"

He nodded, "Blood samples from you and Jerse have been
sent for analysis." He walked over to the phone and ordered
coffee and sandwiches from room service, then walked to the
window, obviously lost in thought. Dana kept her silence.

"Why were you in the tattoo parlour in that part of the city?
It's across town from here."

"I was trying to look up an old family friend. I must have
taken a wrong turn and then found myself completely lost. I
don't know Philadelphia very well. I stopped to ask for
directions. As I got out of the car, I saw someone from the
conference. I didn't want him to see me and I just dodged
into the first shop."

"Was this the same guy you were trying to avoid in the
hotel?"

"Yes."

"Why were you trying to avoid him?"

"He's... I don't know how to describe him. He's perfectly
presentable -- well-dressed, well-spoken, courteous,
charming but somehow he... makes me uncomfortable. He's
too smooth, too oily -- like he oozes charm rather than is
charming."

"A slimeball... asshole?"

"I guess so, but that's not what he seems at face value. I've
seen him before, when I was doing my residency. He didn't
remember me -- it's not as if we ever spoke. But... I
remembered him as doing neuroscience -- more into
biological psychology and brain damage, but here he was at a
pathology conference. I know people switch specialties but
he hasn't.  It just didn't gel."

"What was he doing in that part of town?"

"How should I know?" she answered sharply.

"No. I mean what was he doing when you saw him?" he
amended.

"Oh, he came out of a doorway. He turned to talk to
someone, I didn't see who," she answered slightly
sheepishly.

"Which doorway?"

"I don't know... it was a door between two shops. That's all I
can remember. Sorry."

"That's all right. Can you remember which shops?"

"They were on the opposite side of the road to the tattoo
parlour, a few doors down. One was a grocery store, I think. I
can't remember about the other." She paused.

"Is there something else?" he pressed.

"It's nothing really but... well, I thought it was him who
called to the tattooist, from the back room. But I decided I
must have been mistaken -- just being paranoid you know."

"What's this guy's name?"

"Dr. Leadbetter."

Mulder took out his mobile phone and speed-dialled a
number. "Rudiger? Could you do a background check on a
Dr. Leadbetter, and could you find out about an address?"

There was more to the conversation that Dana didn't catch.
She went to answer a knock on the door, assuming it was
room service. As she accepted the coffee and sandwiches she
noticed a man loitering in the corridor trying not to look
suspicious.

"Mulder, there's a man lurking in the hallway," Dana said as
Mulder finished his conversation.

"Local PD," he answered without thinking.

"Am I under some sort of arrest?" she asked in a
frighteningly calm voice. She found the fact that he'd known
and not said anything disturbing.

"No." He wondered how he was going to explain this without
her getting upset. He'd been trying to shield her from this
while trying to balance the professionalism he needed to do
his job.

"Surveillance?"

"There's always the possibility, that someone will try to
finish what Jerse started. They just want to make sure they've
covered all their options."

Righteous indignation was rapidly rising to anger. "That's
not what they think though, is it? They think I had something
to do with the killing? That's why he's out there, to make
sure a suspect doesn't escape."

"They can't reconcile your behaviour with that of an
upstanding pathologist."

"Is that what you think? Is that why you are here?"

"No, if you recall I'm here as nursemaid and to track a serial
killer. But, Dana, you've got to admit it looks odd. What
were you thinking?" He couldn't keep it in anymore. He'd
been trying to keep this professional, but he just couldn't
understand how she could put herself in this position.

"What was I thinking? I agreed to go out to dinner with a
man. It must happen hundreds of times a night the world
over. It seemed innocuous enough to me."

"That's not what I'm talking about, not even going to the bar
and having too much to drink. But going to an unlicensed
tattoo parlour? What if the needles had been infected? Then
to go back to Jerse's apartment?"

"You'd rather I'd driven in heavy snow whilst under the
influence?"

"You shouldn't have been under the influence, if you had to
drive. It looks like you deliberately put yourself in a position
where you'd have to go back to his apartment."

"Oh, and if I'd been out for a drink with you, and we'd gotten
deeply involved in a conversation, to the point where we
were enjoying ourselves and didn't quite notice how much
we had to drink, and when we left the bar the weather was so
foul it wasn't safe to drive? This would be me putting myself
in this awkward situation?"

"Dana, it's not what I think... it's..."

"You think I was out as Kate, don't you? You think I went
out looking for sex?"

"I... err..." He floundered for a moment because that thought
had certainly crossed his mind but he'd dismissed it -- there
was just a small, nagging doubt.

"What's the matter, Mulder? Feeling possessive? Territorial?
Jealous?"

Now he was stung. He'd been giving her the benefit of the
doubt, had taken flak for it. "You wish!"

"I do not. Quite the opposite. If you remember, I had no
intention of seeing you again. It's you that hasn't been able to
keep your distance."

"Well, pardon me for caring. I thought I saw something in
you that was worth caring about, but my mistake."

"I don't want you to care about me."

"Well, tough -- because I do. You can't stop me from feeling
what I do, and you certainly need someone caring about you
because you don't seem to care about yourself. But don't
worry too much about it, the feeling is rapidly passing."

"Good, then perhaps you'll stop interfering in my life."

"Interfering..." and in one of Mulder's sudden leaps of logic
he understood why she was being so angry. Funny how his
mind could be working on a problem subconsciously while
his entire conscious thought processes seemed to be occupied
elsewhere. Stranger still how these thoughts just popped into
his mind in the middle of something that was completely
absorbing. He could understand it, if these things happened in
the middle of a budget meeting or something equally boring,
but now -- maybe his subconscious was working overtime
and put in an override before he said something that would
put their friendship beyond repair. She wasn't so much angry
as frightened, and not necessarily at the most obvious thing.
No, she wasn't angry about the surveillance -- annoyed,
indignant, a touch anxious but if she was being honest, that
would soon be sorted out, and she was smart enough to have
worked that out. No, she'd worked out that he cared and she
was frightened. This was what she'd tried to avoid when she
said 'it' couldn't happen again. So, snapping at the 'situation'
was just a handy outlet -- even a misdirection.

He deflated, "It's alright, Dana. You don't have to care
back."

"Care back? What are you talking about?"

"Actually, you do care, that's why you won't let us... use...
comfort each other. You're frightened you'll care too much."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"It's okay to start feeling again, it's okay to move forward.
That's what you were trying to do, wasn't it? A step? It
didn't go quite as you planned, did it?"

She was unsure how to respond. He was way too close to the
truth, which in one way she had been trying to tell him, but in
another, was too scary to think about.

"Don't worry about it now. We'll talk about it later. For the
moment, just ignore the cops. They'll go away when I give
them a more credible target. We need to concentrate on the
present. To that end, I suggest you eat and drink and I'll..."

There was another knock at the door. "I'll answer the door."

Dana stared at the food, mind in turmoil. How on earth had
he come to that conclusion, he wasn't close, was he? She just
didn't want to get involved with anybody else. Trusting again
was out of the question. It wasn't that she was spiteful or
malicious. She did care about people in a general way; she
just didn't want to be the cause of someone else being hurt
because of the way she felt. That's why she was keeping
Mulder at arms length, that's why she warned him, so he
wouldn't get the wrong impression, wouldn't start off down a
path oblivious to the fact that he was on his own -- not so that
she could avoid emotional attachments. Well, she was
avoiding emotional attachments but not for the reason
Mulder was implying. And he'd said they'd talk about it
later. She didn't want to talk about it later. It was none of his
concern and she did not want to revisit past memories. She'd
wasted time once regretting the past; she'd pulled herself out
of that funk, reviewed her options, planned out her recovery
process, put the damage limitation options in place and taken
the steps to get on with her life. She was doing just fine,
thank you. The last thing she needed was outside
interference.

"The cops are off your back."

"What?" she said, having been lost in her own thoughts.

"The lurker's gone."

"Gone? Why? What did you do?"

"Unfortunately, I can't claim the credit. He's gone because
they are now more inclined to believe your story, so the
resource is being deployed elsewhere."

"And the continued threats to my well-being?"

"Being pursued by different means."

"And why is my 'story' more credible?"

"Because your actions have been verified and because some
of the results of the... forensic tests came back."

"The tox screens confirm the ergot poisoning?"

"Yes -- and no, both you and Jerse had traces but insufficient
to be hallucinogenic."

"So... that's it?"

"There's more."

"More?"

"Yes, they did... umm... perhaps it would be better if you
read it, you probably understand these things better than me
anyway."

She opened the folder. The first page was the ergot readings,
the second was the results of the rape kit. Good thing the
chair was immediately behind her because her legs suddenly
didn't support her. She hadn't given it a thought, but she'd
been assaulted and found unconscious, of course they would
have done a rape kit. Her hands trembled as she turned the
page. No bruising, no semen, no signs of irritation -- in fact
no signs of sexual activity for several weeks. Did they have
to put that in there? She didn't know whether to be pleased or
embarrassed. Whatever the case, the sense of relief overcame
any other emotions. She took a deep breath before risking a
look at Mulder. He was feigning interest in the coffee and
sandwiches.

She was spared from finding something to say as Mulder's
mobile rang. Stuffing a sandwich between his teeth, he
fumbled in his pocket for the phone. The conversation was
short and sweet, but enough for Mulder to look pleased and
excited and to end with "I'll be right there."

"Sorry, Dana, I have to go." He was halfway through the
door before a residual thought caught up to him. He turned.
"You'll be alright on your own? Does someone need to be
here? Would you like someone to be here?"

"I'll be fine."

"I was supposed to watch you for another couple of hours..."

"I'm fine, Mulder, really. Go do something useful."

"Do you need... no, of course you don't. You have my
mobile number?"

She nodded.

"You'll ring me if there's a problem -- if you need
anything?"

"Yes."

"I mean it. Anything at all."

"I think I will be able to manage ordering my own coffee.
Go."

"I mean it. If you don't, I'll be seeking you out with
'teaching you a lesson' in mind."

She said nothing, just crossed her arms and glared at him.

"I'll be going now."

As the door closed behind him, Dana collapsed onto the bed
with a great whoosh of breath. Reprieved. She felt a great
need to shout, curse, swear -- something to relieve the build-
up of tension from the day. It had been somewhat of a swings
and roundabouts sort of time, with the swings getting higher
and higher. FUUUUUCK A DUCK! Fuckaduckfuckaduck.
There, she felt much better now.

*************************************************
End of Part 1



*************************************************

Part 2 of 3

 "Mulder, please tell me you are not treating her as one of your pet
projects," said Rudiger.

"What do you mean?"

"You think I didn't notice? And I know how you get. Your curiosity
makes you delve further than you should do, your empathy makes you
want to help -- and you do. But then, you lose interest -- once all
the exciting investigation is done and your curiosity is satisfied,
you move on to something else. The next oddity. You shouldn't do that
here. She's too vulnerable. You'd get her to trust you, maybe even
depend on you, and then you'll get distracted and walk away."

"My curiosity is never satisfied and she's not a pet project."

Rudiger sighed. "If you say so, Mulder." He continued to stare at
Mulder for a few more minutes but Mulder just clammed up. Past
experience told Rudiger that there was no point pushing it at this
point. He'd just have to hope he' d said enough. It wasn't that he
didn't believe Mulder when he had said she wasn't a pet project or
that he had anything specific to indicate that she was. The fact that
Mulder had stuck his neck out when the weight of opinion was against
her wasn't an indicator of specific personal interest. He'd done that
before. He was frequently right, as he'd been in this case. It was
just that -- well, his behaviour was off. Nothing he could put his
finger on -- just different. Rudiger sighed to himself -- as if that
didn't describe Mulder ninety per cent of the time. Still, something
kept nagging at him.

As luck would have it, Rudiger managed to assuage his conscience the
following day when he found Dana alone in the airport lounge. He had a
quick internal debate with himself -- he didn't want to put Mulder in
a bad light, because he wasn't. He was just... complicated. However,
he felt he had to say something. It was just how to say the minimum
without being too cryptic.

"Hi, how're you doing, Dr. Scully?"

She was surprised to see him, but greeted him amiably enough, although
feeling a touch wary. "I'm fine, thank you, Agent Rudiger."

"Dave."

"Dave." She smiled. "Then I'm Dana."

"Dana, look I probably haven't got a lot of time before Mulder pops
up..."

"Mulder?" she asked in surprise and decidedly unsure on how she felt
on Mulder 'popping' up. She hadn't expected to see him, was unprepared
to see him. She thought she'd have weeks before she'd have to face him
again -- if ever.

"For once, I think Mulder will be prompt with his paperwork and
sign-offs in his attempts to catch this plane."

"Is the case over then? Did you arrest someone?"

"The evidence is stacking up against a suspect who is currently being
traced. That's all I can say at this point."

"Aren't you involved in the search?"

"Not this time. Don't keep distracting me, where was I? Mulder.
Mulder's very good at what he does, sometimes he's too good, gets
carried away. His enthusiasm can sometimes blind him to his effect on
others. He commits himself to things without regard to the
consequences. This isn't always a bad thing. His blatant disregard for
procedure when he deems it appropriate, has undoubtedly saved lives.
It's also got him into some precarious situations, which by some
miracle, he's always managed to survive, if not entirely unscathed."

"He's a regular hero," she said, not entirely sure where Dave was
going with this. It didn't seem like a 'passing the time' sort of
start to a conversation.

"Yes, he rides in, slays the dragon, and then moves on to the next
monster."

"Leaving someone else to clear up the mess."

"Exactly," Rudiger replied hoping she was getting the message.

"Why do you feel the need to tell me this?"

Yes, good question, why did he? "Dana, I may be reading this all wrong
but his actions around you are... different."

"Different?" she asked, puzzled.

""Yes... I don't know...  I might be imagining things. Some people
might jump to the conclusion that he had a conflict of interest, that
he was protecting you.  His support for you despite the evidence
against you..."

"Is he in trouble for that?" Was this what this conversation was
about? That somehow she had distracted Mulder from doing his job
properly?

"No, nothing like that -- it's not unprecedented. He's favoured the
underdog before against strong opposition. His propensity for being
right is almost boringly commonplace and gives him leeway with the
higher echelons."

"But you think he had a conflict of interest?"

"Maybe not what you might think. Since his wife walked out he's
been... skittish about relationships -- understandably so.  But
because of that -- I think, he seems to direct his interest slightly
differently. And because of the way he approaches things..."

"You think he's regarding me as a quest?" Jesus, just what she didn't
need! She could imagine Mulder 'questing'. He'd be very... determined.

"He could be," Rudiger said, somewhat evasively.

"Dave, you don't strike me as the sort of person who would initiate
this conversation because you were imagining things."

And didn't that just hit the nail on the head. Perceptive woman.
"Strange as this may seem, we wouldn't be having this conversation if
I was sure about what he was doing. We might be having a different
conversation, but not this one. It's not my habit to disclose a
colleague's actions, especially where it may pertain to his private
life."

"I wouldn't want to encourage you to do so."

"But something about Mulder's behaviour on this case was odd and I
feel obliged to say something."

"But without actually revealing anything, leaving you with a dilemma?"

He nodded.

"Are you warning me or warning me off?" she prompted.

"Both. Neither. I'm not even advising caution because I'm sure you are
cautious, if not overly so. And with Mulder, it's not a case of
thinking laterally -- more parallel universe."

"And you've taken a leaf out of his book for this conversation," she
said trying not to sound exasperated, but still at a loss as to what
he was getting at.

Rudiger groaned inwardly. Well, he'd started this conversation. He was
obviously going to have to say something more specific. "Sorry. It's
just.... he didn't read the background information on you. A man who
voraciously absorbs all information about a case, relevant, possibly
relevant, merely associated and in some cases apparently, totally
irrelevant -- tramples egos in his efforts to find a perpetrator, in
defiance of all niceties such as privacy -- didn't read the background
check I gave him on you. He glanced at it, stared at it, toyed with
it, fiddled with it. I think he even opened it at one point. But he
didn't read it. In the frenzy, nobody else noticed, but I've worked
with him a long time. That behaviour was unusual."

Dana didn't know what to say. Fortunately, Rudiger continued.

"The thing is, why was it unusual? Did he already know what I'd found?
Or did he not want to know what I found? I've been pondering this from
yesterday."

"Did you draw any conclusions from your pondering?"

"As you may have gathered, I'm still pondering. You don't want to
offer a theory?"

She shook her head, ignoring the little thought at the back of her
mind about how Mulder had once said he'd hoped she'd volunteer the
information -- and that was just her phone number. "I don't think I
know him well enough to make any suggestions."

"Well, putting my considerable years of investigative skills to the
problem, I came to the conclusion that he didn't want to read it.  
So, this raises another question. Why would a conquering hero, who's
profiled some horrible monsters, not want to read about you?"

"I have no idea," she said guardedly. She didn't want to think about
that. She didn't want Rudiger to detect that she might have something
to think about.

"I could just shrug and put it down to one of Mulder's oddities. No
big stretch -- but sometimes these little things just niggle at the
back of your mind. Wild guesses, like 'he didn't want to find out like
that' cross your mind."

Dana just looked uncomfortable.

"Maybe I'm rambling as a sop to my conscience. Dana, you could do
worse than tell him."

"Tell him what?" She wasn't ready for that. She didn't think she'd
ever be ready for that.

"Please -- I don't know what happened to you, but there's obviously
something."

"It's nobody's business but mine."

"True, but you run the risk of him turning you into a crusade --
probably not a desirable outcome -- for either of you."

"Because he'd ride off to the next great adventure when he's slayed my
monsters for me?"

"He's got monsters of his own."

"What monsters?"

Ahh, maybe now she'd realize it wasn't all just her. "That's not my
story to tell."

"That's right, just whet my appetite," she said in mock disappointment
but somewhat relieved he wasn't going to say anything.

"Ironic, isn't it? Oh, look. Right on schedule," he said as he saw
Mulder walking briskly up the concourse. "Mulder can be a difficult
man to get on with, but he's a good man to have at your back --
trustworthy, loyal, discreet, arrogant, tactless sonofabitch, but I
count him as a friend. I wouldn't want to see either of you get into
any complicated misunderstandings. Gird your loins and prepare to do
battle if you like, but as you can't defeat the hero, it's best to
have him on your side. Just don't stab him in the back by accident and
avoid his side swipe."

She wanted to tell him he was mistaken, that there was nothing to tell
but there was something about Rudiger that wouldn't allow her to brush
it off, to act blas. She didn't doubt that he had thought hard about
having this conversation, probably more so than about what he was
actually going to say. She couldn't say that he was favouring one side
or the other. Rudiger had given her something to think about. She knew
Mulder for a good man and he'd certainly been discreet with her faux
pas in the past. But Rudiger had no idea what he was asking. He broke
her reverie.

"What's the betting he got the seat next to you on the flight?"

"That seat was already taken."

She was right, but Mulder managed to exchange seats before the flight
took off.

"Did you abuse your credentials?" she asked as Mulder sat down next to
her.

"Certainly not. I appealed to her sense of romance."

"What?"

"I told her I was pining for the opportunity to talk to you without
the interruption of work, telephones or meetings..."

"Pining?"

"I can do a really good puppy dog expression," he said, demonstrating.

She could see how that might appeal to some women. She laughed. "Don't
you have any shame?"

"All's fair in the pursuit of intelligent conversation during a boring
flight."

"And I don't get any say in the matter? It would serve you right if I
refused to speak to you for the entire flight -- or maybe I should
just chatter inanely about the details of my latest autopsy..."

"I guess I didn't think you'd mind, but if it bothers you that much
I'll swap seats again."

"Don't you feel any awkwardness at all?"

Actually, he didn't. He hadn't even considered it; he'd been wrapped
up in paperwork this morning. And in between times he'd been thinking
about something Rudiger had said the day before. Well, not what he'd
said exactly, more of a lateral thought. So, why was she uncomfortable
with this meeting? Assuming that's what she was implying. Of course,
if he considered their other personas, this might count as their first
meeting since a certain person made a unilateral decision about their
future. So, she could be feeling awkward about that. However, as she
had spoken of keeping work and personal issues separate -- it couldn't
be that, especially as they'd spoken since and put that behind them.
His 'interrogation' of her? She wouldn't hold that against him, would
she? No.... No, that was work and she said she understood. Oh, the
'caring' bit maybe? Or just wangling the seat exchange?

"'Fraid not. I must be doing my insensitive male act. I just find our
meetings so... delightful it doesn't occur to me to look beyond that.
Besides, I really wanted to talk to you about something."

Oh shit, what did he want to talk about? He had that gleam in his eyes
again and here she was a captive audience. Did he just say delightful?
He was kidding, right? How did this man manage to intrigue and scare
her all at the same time? Maybe he just wanted to talk about work.
Yeah, and pigs might fly... now that would be a distraction.

"Delightful? Are you a masochist? Only, I'd have put money on the fact
that you have found several of our conversations far from delightful."

"Are we talking about me, Mulder, or me, Marty?"

There he went, straight in with the big feet. She sighed. She supposed
she'd probably brought that on herself.

"Is that what you want to talk about -- Kate and Marty?" She looked at
the people around her. For the most part they were occupied with
something, but she'd rather not have one of those conversations here.

"No... well, maybe indirectly. But as you brought the topic up, don't
you think it unfair to make that sort of decision for me? I'm sure
you'd be... miffed if the circumstances were reversed."

"Are you saying my assessment of the situation was incorrect? That in
fact, you can compartmentalize? That your feelings didn't interfere in
Philadelphia?"

He sighed. "They might have done at some level. The fact that I knew
'you' impacted on the way I viewed some of the evidence. But, as my
gut reactions were on the money, I don't see this as a bad thing."

"You stuck your neck out, didn't follow procedure."

"Actually, I said it was delicate parts of my anatomy and I did follow
the evidence. It's not my fault if it didn't lead where others
expected it to go. If you are trying to prove to me that I don't
compartmentalize, I admit it. But you see, I don't find it a problem.
It's only people who do, who don 't understand how I function like
that."

"So, you think I was presumptuous?"

"Is there any reason you didn't ask?"

"Mulder, I don't think we should continue... in that way."

"I agree."

"Oh." She wasn't quite sure whether to be relieved that he agreed or
disappointed that he didn't try to dissuade her.

"I wouldn't have agreed at the time but, in hindsight...  I've been
thinking..."

"Oh brother."

"I know, a dangerous pastime, one fraught with peril. Only, I think
maybe I' ve been rushing things -- for me, that is. Things have
happened in my life that make me... insecure, for lack of a better
word."

"Insecure?" she said with more than a touch of incredulity.

"You think of me as the bold, dashing cavalier?"

"You come across as a confident person, certainly. With just a hint of
vulnerability."

"There was a time in my life, when I thought I had it all.  It
disappeared in a blink of an eye, taking with it a lot of the ideals
and principles I had based my life on. Things I'd taken for granted...
expected -- suddenly the solid, secure building blocks I thought I'd
based the rest of my life on turned to dust. Time helps to heal wounds
and puts things into perspective. I put my life back together and
re-evaluated.  I realized that what I sought wasn't unobtainable, and
that I wanted that... sense of well-being, contentment back again. I
wanted it back so much that I've rushed towards that goal, forgetting
why I lost it in the first place, which is because I had mistaken
certain feelings as good foundations for a relationship." He paused
for a moment. "Dana, you once told me the characteristics that you
would look for in a man. Kind, generous, good sense of humour,
unselfish... I think were the words you used. What else do you regard
as necessary traits for a good relationship?"

That caught her off-guard. With one breath he seemed to be agreeing
with her about not having a relationship and with the next asking her
what she was looking for. Added to that, she wasn't sure if she was
impressed with his good memory or terrified. He'd told her before the
traits he would look for but, she didn't think she could reel them off
like that. "Err... well, trust, honesty..." She started to put her
thoughts together, pulled into the conversation despite any misgivings
she might have. He always seemed to be able to do this. "Intelligent,
loyal, dependable... faithful," she added quietly.

Mulder noted the muted faithful, but now wasn't the time to pursue
that point. He just nodded. "For me, I also need someone I can talk
to, who talks to me but also listens, or who you can sit quietly with
without feeling uncomfortable. Someone compassionate without being
mushy. Passionate -- of the mind, not the body, although that's good,
too. Someone who makes you feel good about yourself. Someone who might
have faults but you accept them, because that person is a friend. And
friendship is the cornerstone of every good relationship, because when
the lust has gone that's what you are left with."

"You know humans aren't wired for long-term relationships. Pairings
last about eighteen months to three years, long enough to raise a
child through infancy, then it's more biologically effective to move
on to another partner, to mix the gene pool. Humans aren't designed to
be monogamous."

Ah, a deflection, he thought. Still, an interesting point of view.
"And yet, there are many successful long-term pairings out there," he
countered.

"They are the exception rather than the rule."

He was tempted to follow this subject but there was something he
needed to say before he got too sidetracked. "Your list of traits
would indicate that you favour the long-term monogamous relationship.
And this is an interesting topic of conversation I'd like to continue
at some point, but it's distracting me from what I wanted to say -- or
was that your plan? No matter, I'm not going to make you
uncomfortable, at least that's not my intention. What I'm trying to
say is, that I think I've forgotten how to be friends, how to make
friends."

"I don't think that's true."

"I'm very good at upsetting people, that's not a good trait to have
when trying to win friends and influence people."

"But the people that know you, the people that matter, think of you as
a friend, " she reassured him.

"Despite the fact that I'm a pain in the ass."

"Well, you said that a true friend would accept your faults."

"True. Perhaps, I haven't got enough friends?"

"Quality is better than quantity, Mulder."

"Also true, in more ways than one. Perhaps, I haven't got the type of
friend I'm looking for."

"What type are you looking for?"

"Female."

"Deeply rooted behavioural differences make it difficult for members
of the opposite sex to be friends. You only have to look at how a
couple fights when they are out shopping. They are driven by different
primeval instincts: men hunt, women gather. A man treats it like a
stalk and chase pursuit, concentrating on the kill and then loses
interest. A woman sees it as a leisure pursuit, wandering through the
shops until something catches her eye. You need things in common to be
friends and men and women even have their genes stacked against them."

He laughed. "I don't doubt you're right there, too. Nobody actually
said it would be easy. But I don't believe it's not possible and I
don't believe that you think so either. You must know some couples
where it's worked. Your parents, for example?"

She smiled, a little wanly. "Maybe. You have been a friend to me,
Mulder. I'm not blind to that. But you are asking for more than I can
give."

He knew she needed a friend, he needed to remember how to reconnect
with people. He wasn't after the complete package here, he was just
aiming for friendship. He'd reviewed his insights from a few weeks ago
when he'd concluded that he didn't have enough emotional stamina, and
realized that was because he was taking a giant leap. They both needed
to take small steps. He was hoping that she would realize that and
would at least allow them to take the first step together. They could
'use' each other for that, surely.

"Dana, risking the dangerous pastime again, I think that you are
rushing ahead like I've been doing. What I'm talking about is the
friendship where you can arrange to go out for a drink after work to
whinge about management. Somebody to go to a movie with and not worry
about getting butter from the popcorn all down your shirt because they
already know you're a slob. Somebody to go to concerts, plays and all
those places it's just nice to have someone there for. Someone to
cheer me on at a basketball match. You know, friend things for when
you want something other than to vegetate in your own space but don't
want someone intruding on your space when you don't feel like it. Is
that really such a big step?"

No, it wasn't. Was that not exactly what she'd been trying to do with
Ed Jerse? She just hadn't put it into that sort of context. All very
well to talk of 'friends' as if it were somehow different to a
'relationship' -- it wasn't. All social interaction was a complicated
business, that was supposedly one of the reasons for humans having
large brains. That aside, she already decided it was time for her to
move forward. She wasn't quite sure why she wasn't seizing this
opportunity with both hands, maybe because of their unconventional
beginning?

"Would this put us on first name terms, Mulder?"

He smiled. "I'll tell you my name but it needs to be on a Friday night
with a six pack, somewhere we won't be overheard."

As she raised her eyebrow in a surprised question, he continued, "It's
not the name that's the problem. It's the follow-up question."

"Intrigue amongst intrigue."

"It's not a big deal really, I know I seem to be making it one, but
it's not. I'm surprised you haven't found out."

"Perhaps, I wanted the information to be volunteered."

"Oh, nice turnabout," he said appreciatively. "We're a pair, aren't
we? Shall we do twenty questions or maybe forty? There's a lot I don't
know about you."

"Nor I about you."

"At least I told you I was divorced... and that I went to Oxford. I
don't even know which university you went to."

She started to protest but then managed to stop her automatic
response. There was some justice in what he said. She was just so
careful about telling anybody anything, that it was easier to tell
everybody nothing. Move on, that's what she needed to do. Mulder
wanted to be friends, but was apparently capable of moving on to the
next interesting thing when he'd exhausted all hidden secrets. But he
was loyal and discreet, she had proof of that. It didn't seem that
either of them were in danger of losing their hearts at this
particular juncture. She'd have to trust him on that. Maybe he was
someone she could take the next step with. He seemed to understand the
need, without having the reasons. He'd stretch her boundaries, which
she knew she needed to do, but it was so difficult to do on her own.
She had a s udden mental image of Mulder in a suit of armour, sword in
hand, hacking away at rampant, thorny undergrowth. Dave was right,
better to have him by her side and avoid the slashing action. Social
intercourse -- she wished her brain were bigger.

Mulder watched her profile quietly as he saw the thoughts whirl around
her head. He saw as she came to a decision, bracing herself for what
she was about to say. He had no idea which way she was going to jump.

"Sorry, I think I have reflex actions to being asked personal
questions, even when they appear innocuous -- at first."

"Reflex? What, like seeing a snake?"

"A snake?"

"Yes, that deep ingrained primitive response to a threat. You know
that people, who've never seen a snake or even know that they can be
dangerous, have a fear of snakes. It seems to be hardwired into the
brain -- a survival mechanism."

"I think this is learned behaviour that's become so automatic I don't
think about it. More like learning to drive." She took a deep breath.
"I'm not divorced and I went to Berkeley."

Okay, he could work with this for now. "Berkeley? You little rebel."

"It caused some stir at home I must say."

"Ahh, talking of home, I have something for you." He fumbled in his
pocket and pulled something out. He handed her a clear plastic wallet
containing her family photograph.

She took it with a trembling hand. "I thought I had to wait..."

"I must have forgotten to hand it back in."

"Mulder!"

"Tell me about the photograph -- please."

The photograph? That in itself was easy enough, it was all the
associations around it that were the problem. One step at a time,
Dana, he only expects one step at a time. She stared at the photograph
as she spoke. "Mom, Ahab, and us four kids. Big bad brother Bill,
Melissa, me and Charlie." She pointed as she spoke, starting off
slowly, her voice low but clear. "I can't remember where it was taken,
just one of the dozens taken one school holiday when my father was
home on leave. We're a naval family -- he was a captain."

"Was? Is he retired now?"

"He was. He died -- a heart attack a few years ago." She hesitated
before going further, but now that she'd started, it seemed she needed
to get it all off her chest. "We'd had a huge argument a couple of
weeks before and not made up. I went to the funeral but my brother
wouldn't let me through the church door -- he blamed me -- everything
from I shouldn't have upset Dad to I should have been home. I bit my
tongue -- he was upset after all -- he shouldn't have been taking it
out on me but I was prepared to ignore it, given the circumstances...
But then my mother came up and... she sided with my brother. I left.
There didn't seem anything else I could do."

"I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding, that once everyone's
emotional distress had eased they'd see things in a different light.
You can kiss and make up."

"Yes, you might think that," she paused, again wondering how much more
she wanted to tell. The trouble was, it was so long since she'd taken
any steps forward, that now, the ground seemed to skitter under her
feet; one step straight out onto a scree slope. "A few weeks later, I
was in hospital. The first thing I saw when I came 'round was my
brother. Any agreeable thoughts I might have had about this were
quickly dissipated when, without so much as asking how I was, he
bombarded me with a stream of vitriol on how I'd brought this on
myself, how I'd come by my just desserts. He left in a cloud of
righteousness before I could get a word out and I've never seen him
since. I haven't spoken to any of my family since that time. My mother
never came and I was in the hospital for a few weeks. As for the
photograph, the landlord threw all my things out while I was in the
hospital. If it hadn't been for a neighbour seeing the broken frame
beside the dumpster, this would have gone too." She paused for breath,
tears in her eyes but before Mulder could get a word out, she spoke
again, "I don't know why I keep it. It's sentimentality. I don't have
room for that in my life."  That was babble, a distraction -- moving
the conversation on, hoping that Mulder wouldn't ask too many
questions.

He stopped her with a touch of his finger to her arm, knowing that
she'd said more than she meant to, but it had all been bottled up
inside. He was nearly sorry he had asked now. What had he thought
about a minefield? But he couldn't be completely sorry, although he
could probably have picked a better location. She wouldn't like losing
control in such a public place. It behoved him to help her retain her
control. "Perhaps not, but everyone has room to remember good things
from the past. And this was a happy moment, wasn't it?"

"Yes. But... I guess it seems bittersweet now."

"No, it's not the memory that's bittersweet, you're just viewing it
through a filter of sour memories."

"Is that some sort of psychologist's slant?"

"No, just pure Mulder misdirection."

 "Misdirection?"

"I had a younger sister, Samantha, who disappeared without a trace,
when she was eight. I was twelve and babysitting, our parents having
just popped to the neighbours for an hour. I thought it was my fault.
How does a child just disappear out of the house like that? The family
broke apart and never recovered. My parents divorced. I left home as
soon as I could and as far away as possible."

"Oxford?"

"Oxford. When I came back to the States, I joined the FBI with the
intention of looking for her in my spare time. With the arrogance of
youth, I thought I could succeed after all those years, where others
had failed."

"You didn't find anything?"

"On the contrary, I found a great deal. My father worked for the State
Department. He was not without influence. There was a very thorough
investigation into her disappearance. Except that she hadn't
disappeared. Apparently, her biological father snatched her. There
followed a lengthy custody battle, which only stopped when she died in
an accident a few years later."

"And your parents didn't tell you."

"No, apparently, they were so locked up in recriminations and law
suits that nobody thought to tell me anything. I confronted my father
about it when I found out. He was drunk and defensive, I was angry. He
blamed my mother, I got angrier. Then he said, for all he knew he
wasn't my biological father either, so it wasn't his responsibility. I
walked out. I never spoke to him again. He was shot and killed a few
months later when someone broke into his house, although the autopsy
showed that he had advanced liver cirrhosis and didn't have long to
live anyway."

"I'm sorry."

"One of the reasons I'm telling you this now, is that I regret that
those were our last words. Whatever else, he'd been a father to me.
There were good times in there -- when we went camping, when he taught
me to play baseball, a whole host of things. There are a lot of things
I could have done, should have done but it's too late now. I'm sure
you regret that the last words you spoke to your father were angry
ones. Don't have the same regrets with the rest of your family."

"It's for them to make the first move."

"Do they know where you are?"

"They can find me if they want to, I haven't kept my location secret."

"It's a big task, if they don't know where to start looking." At her
mulish look he added, "I don't want to argue with you on this point,
just think about it."

They were both lost in their own thoughts for a few minutes until the
captain announced that they were starting their descent and would be
arriving in fifteen minutes. After the flurry of activity of stowing
and buckling, he noticed that she had the armrest in a death grip. He
needed a distraction tactic.

"Did you know that a pig's penis is corkscrew-shaped?"

Well, that certainly surprised her out of her landing fright. Except
they'd had this sort of 'game' before -- the 'I know more amazing
trivia than you' exchange -- and if he thought he could embarrass her
with that sort of comment, he could think again. "Few birds have
penises except a few lucky ducks and ostriches. The prize example
being the Argentine lake duck with a corkscrew-shaped penis up to half
a metre long, the same length as its body."

Good, she was playing; trust her competitive instincts to not let him
win. "Wow, that's one lucky duck. Did you know that the female spotted
hyena has a penis, which she displays at various intervals during the
day? Without it she's a social outcast."

"An extension of the clitoris I presume?"

He nodded.

"Did you know that a flea's penis is two-thirds the length of it's
body and has to negotiate a vagina with two U-turns?"

"Two-thirds? Not quite up to the duck, how does it carry that?"

"Curled up inside its body."

"Is there room for anything else? Did you know that earwig penises
often snap off during sex? But for one lucky family, the males carry a
fully functional spare."

"Are you sure you didn't make that up?"

He shook his head.

"Did you know that the blue whale has a ten to eleven foot penis with
a foot diameter?"

"Eleven feet -- almost twice my height -- more than twice your
height."

"And that dolphins have a prehensile penis up to fourteen inches
long?" She managed to keep her face straight but couldn't keep the
sparkle from her eyes. "Feeling inadequate yet?"

"So long as you don't start quoting strange and wonderful autopsy
statistics on tumescence, I'll survive."

The sudden reverse thrust of the engines alerted Dana to the fact
they'd landed and she hadn't noticed. Had that been his intention? She
looked at him and he smiled at her. Of course it was. She returned the
smile.

As the plane came to a halt and everyone scrambled for their
belongings, the lady from the row in front turned and caught Dana's
eye.

"Eleven feet?" she mouthed.

Dana nodded.

"Wow, that's the best landing I've ever had," the woman replied,
grinning.

Dana smiled but felt a moment's consternation that she'd been
overheard. However, thinking back on it they'd both been speaking
quietly until the descent, when their voices had returned to a more
normal level. So what if people had overheard that conversation -- it
was educational.

As they waited at the carousel for their luggage, Mulder asked her if
she needed a lift home. She demurred, saying that she lived on the
opposite side of town to him and didn't want to impose. Mulder was
ready to protest when she interrupted, asking him if he was free for a
drink on Friday. Friday? He could be free Friday -- even if he had to
play nice with the audit department -- he'd be free Friday.

"Good," she'd replied with a smile, "bring a six pack because I really
want to know your first name." With that she grabbed her bag off the
carousel, told him her address and disappeared into the throng heading
for the exit.

Rudiger found him a few minutes later, still with a shit-eating grin
on his face.

*************************************************

End part 2 of 3

Part 3 of 3

Frankie glanced at her watch. Time to go home -- not that
she had an exciting evening planned, or a weekend for that
matter. Friday night -- perhaps she'd treat herself to Chinese.
Mind made up, she was about to close down her computer
when Rudiger walked into her office. She groaned, loudly.

"Seven o'clock on a Friday night -- only you two would
show up at this time of night. We're closed."

"Evening, Frankie. Me two? I know I've put on a bit of
weight recently -- it's all the takeout -- and I know I'm large
in general, but two of me? Are you seeing double? You got
a bottle stashed in your drawers?" Rudiger said with a
cheeky grin.

Frankie did a quick mental adjustment, there were two
things to consider here. One, Rudiger without Mulder was a
hitherto unknown event, and two, she remembered that his
wife had died a few months back. She was, therefore, going
to give him some leeway on the latter comment. "Dave... I
was sorry to hear about your wife. How are you holding
up?"

"Not too bad, thanks. Guilty though it makes me feel, in
some ways it was a relief... especially for her. She told me,
'Don't weep for me, Dave, I'll be glad to go.' Now, I just
have problems knowing what to do with myself. Which
seems an awful thing to say. She'd be pissed at me for not
making the most of life, but I didn't just lose my wife, I lost
my best friend... Sorry, didn't mean to go off like that."

"Hey, it's okay. Sometimes the adjustment is worse than the
loss. Everyone needs time to settle back into a new rut -- but
working on a Friday night?"

"Actually, I'm not working. This is more a personal visit."

"Personal?" she asked, completely at a loss.

"How well do you know Dr. Scully?"

That caught Frankie off guard, not that she was ageist or
anything, but he seemed a bit old... It wasn't as if he was the
rich, older man looking for a trophy wife. "Personally, not
very much. She never speaks about a partner or family, so if
it's a date you're after, I can't help you."

"Oh, no! Nothing like that," he rushed to assure her. He
sighed. "The trouble with having time on your hands is it
gives you too much time to think."

"Perhaps you should practice your culinary skills rather than
having takeout. Get yourself a hobby."

He smiled ruefully. "I did all the cooking for years, not that
Lisa used to eat very much. I just can't seem to be bothered
at the moment. It's too much effort for one."

"I know what you mean," Frankie agreed. "I'm a lousy cook
to start with, so there's not much motivation there. Any time
you want to keep your hand in, feel free to invite me to
dinner. You wouldn't want those skills going to waste, you
never know when they might come in useful."

"I'll bear that in mind. In the meantime, Dr. Scully."

"What about her?" she asked suspiciously. Any 'generosity'
she was feeling in his direction was rapidly dissipating.

"What do you know about her?" He was trying not to put
Frankie's back up, but he was treading on delicate ground
here.

"She's smart, conscientious, reliable, methodical,
meticulous, and her handwriting is legible. She's a valuable
member of the team," she said noncommittally. "Why do
you want to know?"

"I'm not sure. Well, I am sure, it's just..."

"Vulgar curiosity?" she said harshly.

"I wouldn't put it like that..."

"How would you put it then? If you think I'm going to
reveal personal information about employees, you can think
again," she said stonily.

This was not going well. "I was thinking more in terms of
an exchange of information. I'm fairly sure that Mulder and
Dr. Scully are on a date tonight and I was... It's just that..."

"It's probably none of our business."

"I know. I'm a Jewish grandmother, I worry. I have time to
worry."

"You want to gossip?"

"No. Not really. I was just..." Frankie skewered him with a
glare. "Alright, call it gossiping," he conceded.

Frankie's face broke into a smile. "Well, why didn't you say
so in the first place? I'll get my coat. We need somewhere
more gossip-friendly." With that she switched off her
computer without bothering to closedown and moved
towards her coat with a sprightly step.

****************************************

Mulder knocked on Dana's door, casually attired, six-pack
in hand. Uncharacteristically, he was on time.
Characteristically, he was buoyantly eager but trying to
appear at ease. He didn't want to overwhelm her.

Dana heard the knock at her door. She was a little anxious,
wondering if she'd done the right thing. It was one of the
reasons she'd said Friday and not Saturday, apart from the
fact he'd said Friday to reveal his first name, which she
didn't think was definitive -- she had less time to think about
it, no time to brood when she was at work, no time to
change her mind. She composed herself; this was the right
thing to do. This wasn't a date -- there was no expectation.
The only commitment was to be friends -- well, to recollect
what friends did. She opened the door.

There was a stilted exchange of greetings. An awkward few
minutes of platonic questions: 'how are you?', 'nice weather
we're having', 'would you like a drink?', 'how was work?',
which left them sitting in her living room, him on the couch,
her on an easy chair opposite.

He glanced around the room. "I guess the next conventional
gambit on the list would be 'nice place you've got here'."

She smiled, "Yes, it would. I take it you're going to break
from tradition and not say that?"

The room was pleasant enough, there were even
houseplants, but otherwise it was almost completely devoid
of personal items.

"I was expecting more books."

She debated what to answer or even if to answer, before
deciding she should go with the truth. She'd already told
him she'd lost everything at one point in her life. "I haven't
been able to afford to replace them. I miss them, though
why I should have an attachment to inanimate objects is a
mystery."

"Because they are like old friends..." He paused to think for
a moment. "Moby Dick," he exclaimed, "that's one of your
favourites, isn't it? You called your father Ahab."

"I'm impressed. Yes, my father used to read to me when he
was home on leave. That was one of our favourites. He used
to call me Starbuck."

"Do you miss your family?"

And wasn't that an incisive question. But friends knew
about family, asked about them, didn't they? "It's a mixed
feeling. I hate Bill, I feel betrayed by my mother, Charlie...
Charlie just wants an easy life, he wouldn't want to get
involved. Melissa... Melissa was always the wayward child,
she went her own way when she left school. I haven't seen
her in a long time. She wasn't around when Dad died. We
didn't always see eye to eye, but I've missed her. I don't
suppose you could misuse your influence to search for her?"

"Dana! You shock me -- as if I would! Have you got
anything to go on, such as a social security number or
something?"

"No, it doesn't matter. It was just a thought. How often do
you see your mother?"

"Just major holidays -- we weren't particularly close before
I hit the self-destruct button. After the blow up with my
father, I went on to confront her about it. She was none too
pleased," he said, remembering the stinging slap of her
response.  "But when the dust settled... she's still my
mother, I make the occasional effort. I should probably do
more but you know how it is."

She nodded in agreement. There were always excuses for
avoiding potentially uncomfortable experiences -- work,
laundry, chores, shopping, daily activities. For a man who
dealt with unpleasant things for a living, dealing with a
family spat should have been a walk in the park, but then
sometimes it was just too much to make more compromises.
When free time was available it needed to be spent
recharging the batteries: space, peace, quiet, time for
reflection, just time to relax -- vegetate, or pound up and
down a basketball court. Anything, so long as it wasn't
confrontational or an attempt to avoid being confrontational.
She wondered what he was doing here. Oh, that reminded
her, she still didn't know his first name.

She watched him finish his first bottle of beer. "Are you
feeling mellow enough to tell me your first name yet?"

"I don't suppose you'll let me deflect?"

"No, I don't think so."

He sighed. "It's Fox -- Fox William Mulder at your service,
Dr. Dana Katherine Scully. Can I get you another beer?" he
said, standing up and walking towards the kitchen.

"No, thanks. That should be my line -- are you trying to buy
time?" He did say it was the follow-up question that was the
problem. Fox. Yes, well let's avoid the obvious response.
That aside, she could imagine he was teased as a child,
maybe a bit of Mickey taking as he got older, but it really
wasn't that bad.

"Just fortifying myself with a bit more Dutch courage."

"Would you rather I didn't ask further?"

"Ask away -- I'm ready."

"What's wrong with Fox?"

"Nothing really. It's just that my wife -- my ex-wife -- had
this way of saying it that had a mysterious effect on... parts
of my anatomy. I think she led me around by my dick.
Sometimes when people say it, it... Whatever, it's not a
particularly pleasant recollection and I have no intention of
finding myself in that position again. Please don't take that
personally."

She tried to keep her face straight, she really did. "So..."

"I'm not telling you anymore, so don't ask." He glanced at
her, noting her twitching lips. "It's not funny."

"I'm sorry, I'm sure it's not. And I wasn't going to ask for
details. I was just going to ask what you were going to do if
you started reacting the same way to someone calling you
Muuullldeer." She deliberately drew it out, dropping her
voice. "Maybe you should just stick to the one trigger
name."

"Oh God. Don't say that." He stopped and thought for a
moment. "No, that'll never happen. Being reamed out by
my boss is always going to override any other
connotations."

They both indulged in a smile.

"Why do they call you Spooky?"

"What?"

"Frankie introduced you as Spooky Mulder, you said it was
a nickname. Why Spooky?"

"Oh, I don't think so. I just confessed to one
embarrassment. Now it's your turn."

"Come on. Are you trying to tell me it's worse than
Foooox?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Am I going to regret telling
you that?"

"No. Your secret is safe with me." She smiled wickedly.

"Spooky is a term of both derision or endorsement,
depending on whether I'm the flavour of the month or not.
You should ask Rudiger if you get the chance. He can
embellish it with a few examples. Now, what makes you say
that a relationship can only last eighteen months?"

She let him change the subject. It was only fair. He'd
mentioned his interest in that statement when she'd said it,
but he hadn't had the opportunity at the time to return to it.
She wasn't surprised that he hadn't forgotten about it; he
obviously believed in long-term relationships. As far as she
was concerned you might as well believe in fairies.

"It's down to pure chemistry. You mix the chemicals
together, add energy, get a spectacular result, then the
reaction completes and the spectacle fizzles out."

"And you're left with a new, more stable compound."

Ever determined, she thought. "Or it's all gone up in smoke
and all that's left is a pile of ash."

"How cynical of you. Come on, I know you. You must have
more than that. Why eighteen months?"

There he went after the gory details, as usual. She wasn't
averse to supplying the facts. She just hoped this would stay
clinical otherwise it might get nasty.

"Eighteen months to three years -- maybe five if you want to
be overly optimistic. It's long enough to raise a child
through infancy. We discussed before that reproductively
speaking, from a human male's point of view it is more
genetically viable to procreate with as many females as
possible. However, with some investment of his time in
caring for his offspring, he can considerably increase the
odds of his progeny surviving. The woman has considerably
more investment in the reproductive process, and it's to her
advantage to have assistance to bring up the child. The
whole process is geared towards this, the sexual attraction
being maintained by fundamental brain chemistry for this
amount of time. In addition, in primitive cultures, breast-
feeding is sustained until the child is three or four. Lactation
tends to suppress ovulation due to the high levels of the
milk hormone, prolactin. But as the child is weaned, and the
urge to procreate reasserts itself, it's biologically more
sound to seek out a different genetic partner for the next
child."

"Brain chemistry? Not something I'd normally associate
with sexual attraction. I thought testosterone was more a
driving force. Did you know that high levels of testosterone
in women is what makes them more confident, gives them
more presence, a firm hand shake? The downside is that
they smile less often."

She debated internally whether to take the bait but decided
to stick with her theme. "Certainly testosterone and
oestrogen induce the lust factor, the indiscriminate scramble
for physical gratification. However, it's the brain chemicals,
or neurotransmitters, that initiate and maintain the attraction
and infatuation. Different neurotransmitters playing
different roles at each stage of the mating game."

"The chemistry of love just took on a whole new meaning.
What happened to the lightening bolt out of the blue or a
magical Cupid's arrow?"

She smiled, shaking her head. "Not involved unless they're
tipped in PEA."

"PEA being?"

"Phenylethylamine, one of the neurotransmitters. I suppose,
if you wanted to look for the 'magic of love', this chemical
might be considered as the visual component of love at first
sight. It's one of five amines in the central nervous system,
along with adrenaline, noradrenalin, serotonin and
dopamine. PEA is a mood elevator and triggers the interest,
the fascination. Dopamine, noradrenalin and serotonin have
individual affects but combine together to keep the focus on
one individual. Actually, PEA is frequently referred to as
the love drug and during intense experiences, it is produced
in large quantities in the brain, with effects similar to
amphetamines, making you feel high, full of energy. It
mediates feelings of attraction, excitement, giddiness,
apprehension and euphoria. Although very high levels are
thought to trigger paranoia."

He ignored the paranoia jibe to concentrate on the bigger
question. "Do you mean what I think you mean by 'intense
experiences'?"

She didn't pretend to misunderstand him -- this was a
clinical conversation after all. "Yes, PEA levels peak during
orgasm, although exercise, parachuting, bungee-jumping,
the new exciting, passionate period of a relationship, all lead
to increased levels. It's one of the brain's reward
mechanisms. People who have just done a parachute jump
experience exhilaration for some time afterwards."

"I thought they were after the adrenalin rush. That feeling of
anticipation, eagerness..."

"I didn't realize you were an adrenalin junkie, Mulder.
Adrenalin is involved in the acute stress response and does
encourage risky behaviour. It's even present in above
average quantities in workaholics who like working to
deadlines. It does have a role in the 'love' response. The
rising noradrenalin levels set off tingles and butterflies in
the stomach and stimulate adrenalin production that gets
your blood racing, causes sweaty palms and a racing heart.
Basically, primes you for action."

So, workaholics... was that another jibe or an unhappy
reflection or just added information? He filed it for later.
"Okay, I'll accept that I'm all revved up ready to go, cruising
the boulevard or strutting my stuff. I'm surrounded by scores
of potential mates and the PEA kicks in. However, I don't
behave like a fox in a hen house trying to get all the birds at
once. It's usual to just pick one."

"Actually, focusing on one individual conserves mating
energy. For this it's the dopamine that helps you focus,
increases the sex drive. It's the great motivator that makes
you act, walk across the room and start a more serious
approach. It's associated with the feelings of pleasure and
euphoria, gives you the giddy elation. It adds to the physical
effects of a racing heart, pupils dilating, and a light sweat."

He could see she was warming to the conversation now,
sitting less rigidly on the chair, gesticulating between sips of
beer. Her face was less guarded, allowing her enthusiasm to
shine through. He planned on her maintaining that attitude,
because it made him feel good too -- even if she wasn't
going to agree with him.

"I've heard about dopamine, another of the brain's reward
mechanisms nicknamed the 'pleasure chemical'. It can be
stimulated artificially by alcohol and drugs and contributes
towards cravings and addiction. It's thought to be involved
in thrill-seeking."

He tensed, suddenly remembered that he had 'suggested' that
she was a 'thrill-seeker' while in Philadelphia. However, she
didn't seem fazed by the memory, if she remembered it.

She nodded. "Its affects are wide ranging, affecting
judgement in otherwise sensible people. There's even
evidence it's involved in compulsive gambling."

"Really?"

"It's used to improve muscle control and balance in patients
with Parkinson's disease, but if the dose gets too high, there
have been instances of some patients developing a
compulsive gambling habit."

"Hmm, that's interesting. Next we know casinos will be
slipping that into their free drinks. But not everyone reacts
the same way?"

She had allowed herself to relax with the impersonal
discussion, but she wondered how much of this he already
knew, whether he was testing her in some way. Maybe he
was just trying for an easy, uncontroversial conversation --
well, uncontroversial in the personal sense. This type of
debate certainly wasn't unprecedented. If it followed a
predictable pattern, after the exchange of information they'd
get to the argument. She had to admit she was looking
forward to it. Despite the fact she was aware that, if the
topic slipped from the clinical, it could get very personal.
She put that thought aside for the moment.

"Well, no. It affects people in different ways. It's possible
that some individuals have a genetic predisposition to
addiction, so everyone reacts differently to different stimuli.
Riding a roller-coaster for example, some people get a
charge out of it and never want to get off, others never want
to go on one again."

"That's true. Unfortunately, roller-coasters make me sick
which tends to quash any thrill I might get from the ride.
How about you, Dana?"

Her heart had missed a beat before when he had said 'thrill-
seeker', but she'd tried to assume it wasn't a covert question
and had kept her composure. Was he subtly gathering
information about her? Looking for the kink in her psyche?

"Being shaken and tossed about has never held much
appeal."

He noticed she hadn't really answered his question. He
wondered why she would prevaricate. He had a sneaking
suspicion that she'd like the danger, even if it was mostly
illusionary in the case of a roller-coaster. Maybe it wasn't
exciting enough. Maybe her days of courting danger were
over. He let it pass -- for now.

"So, we've had lust, drive and attraction. What else...
infatuation?" he continued.

She breathed a sigh of relief at dodging the issue. Not that
she had much to hide, it was just too close. "That's where
serotonin comes in."

"I thought serotonin was responsible for depression?" he
said, trying to cast his mind back to his student days.
Chemistry had never been his forte, but he was supposed to
remember the basics. Still, neuroscience had moved on in
leaps and bounds in the last few years and, as he didn't
practice, he'd let that side drift.

"Both. Serotonin levels get lowered as the levels of the other
neurotransmitters rise, which is widely associated with
depression, but low levels intensify sex drive and
infatuation, while high levels decrease it.  It's interesting to
note that antidepressants elevate serotonin, so decrease sex
drive."

"That's confusing. I don't remember being depressed when I
was having sex regularly. In fact, it was more as you said
earlier, elation."

Was that more information than she wanted to know? This
was skirting into the personal. She needed to keep the
discussion on track. She fell back on her usual tactic of
regurgitating facts.

"In actual fact, at normal levels serotonin makes you feel
good, relaxed and even sleepy, and it increases when you
feel good about yourself. A pleasant dinner conversation
with your significant other will increase serotonin levels.
Loving someone and being loved are among the best ways
to feel good about yourself."

Had that sounded wistful? She continued, "However,
serotonin levels can vary rapidly affecting an individual's
mood, which everyone knows can fluctuate drastically in the
process of falling in love. It's also linked to impulsive or
risky behaviour, confusion and obsessive thoughts. The
behaviour of people in the early stages of a romantic
relationship and obsession are similar. In fact, the hormonal
level abnormalities are biochemically similar to those found
in patients suffering from obsessive-compulsive disorder. "

He had to admire her tactic. Ignore, deflect and divert. He
couldn't disregard the obsessive jibe, that was asking too
much.

"I hope you're not implying that my interest in the
paranormal is a sublimation for the lack of romantic interest
in my life?"

"Did I say you were obsessed?" she asked, a twinkle in her
eye.

"You're thinking it though." He glared back, an answering
gleam in his eye.

"Well, is your ability to concentrate on other things
compromised? Do you experience feelings of euphoria
when you're chasing down an 'event'?" she teased.

He decided that chasing this particular line of enquiry was
not in his best interests. "So, if romantic love is similar to
obsessive-compulsive disorder, this explains why couples
can't stop thinking about each other, spending up to eighty
five percent of their waking moments fantasizing about their
loved one."

"That and compulsive acts are also common."

"Are they? Is that the part where they can't keep their hands
off each other? That sounds like a great sexual harassment
defence. The hormones made me do it, your honour. I just
couldn't help myself. Not guilty by temporary hormonal
surge."

She hid a smile. "I don't think you'd get away with it."

"Why not? Women can claim PMS for being bi... tetchy. I
don't see why men can't claim touching due to raging
hormones. They've both got the same level of control."

"Are you going to put it to the test? I'll come and visit you
in prison."

He looked at her, a grin lurking on his face. Then he got up
and moved towards her. He stopped within inches of her
legs and started to lean over. She felt all the affects of a
surge of adrenalin.

His head came very close then he said, "would you like
another beer?" as he reached for her empty bottle at the side
of her chair.

She nodded dumbly. He turned to get the beers and she
thought, 'bastard' as he walked away and her heart rate
returned to normal. She had to smile though and tried not to
think what she would have done if he hadn't been teasing.
She'd have slapped him, right?

As he walked back he returned to the main theme. "So,
falling in love combined with 'exercise' and orgasm gives
you a triple whammy?"

She nodded. "It's an escalating rapture. Basically, romantic
attraction is a kind of drug that alters how you think, how
you feel, encouraging you to take risks you wouldn't
otherwise take, do things you wouldn't normally do."

Like leap into bed with a complete stranger, he thought.
And then he decided he was being petty. That was her
resolution to a problem she had; with the resources at her
disposal she probably hadn't had a lot of options. And hadn't
he practically done the same thing? He just thought his
motives were... purer. But she'd been as honest about her
requirements as him. It looked like the fact that they didn't
match and had done it anyway could be blamed on
chemistry. That was a great get-out clause -- primitive
instincts overriding rational thought. If everyone operated
like that, they'd still be hitting each other with clubs. Not
necessarily all bad, at least it was simple. Still, brain
chemistry was fascinatingly seductive. Just imagine the
chemicals combining, resulting in steam coming out of your
ears. But he wasn't ready to let it go at that yet.

"A veritable cocktail of hormones resulting in dreamy, risk-
ridden, smitten behaviour, that keep you rewarded with
pleasure and make you do and say things you wouldn't
normally do. Are you saying this is what triggers the stages
in the relationship where self-disclosure, the up-all-night
storytelling and interdependence, when lovers can be
continually together, contentedly doing nothing, occur?"

Was continuing the conversation admitting to understanding
the argument on a personal level? This discussion was about
to become a tightrope walk between clinical and personal.

"Contentedly doing nothing provided the self-disclosure
meets with the correct response... But yes, the euphoric high
this... cocktail creates helps obscure the failings and
shortcomings of the potential mate. It's what pushes many
through those first stages of courtship. It's been
demonstrated that really besotted lovers often idealize their
partner, magnifying their virtues and explaining away their
flaws. Couples exalt their relationship, think they have
something special, that it's closer than anyone else's
relationship."

"Why do I sense a cynical 'but' coming? Surely it's this
idealization that helps build long-term relationships?
Otherwise, if you can't ignore someone's flaws then you'll
just not try and end the relationship. We mentioned before
that friends ignore faults in a friend's character. It's essential
to socialization. Idealization must give you a chance of
developing a long-term relationship."

"But if it goes too far the pathology is akin to the primitive
psychological defence mechanism known as 'splitting'.
People in love exhibit similar cognitive-emotional
impairments common in many mental health conditions."

"Don't go Freudian on me, Dana. Other primitive defences
always accompany splitting: denial, projection, introjection,
idealization and devaluation. These defences compromise
judgement and may weaken other important ego functions.
Splitting causes an individual to experience life in extreme
fashion. When things are going well, all memories that
might dampen the moment are kept well out of sight.
However, when a negative situation arises, there is no
access to positive resources that might inspire hope or
provide soothing. To make the situation even worse, one
bad experience triggers memories of other similar, 'bad'
experiences. It's an extreme reaction, like patients suffering
from the Narcissistic Personality Disorder who idealize
romantic or intimate partners, and are prone to 'splitting'.
They then swing completely the other way when things start
to go wrong."

"How's that? I thought narcissists were in love with
themselves."

"Well, that would still work for our example but narcissism
can be much greater that that -- think Napoleon, Hitler or
Manson. To the narcissist, things and people are either
entirely evil or entirely good. Their personality is
precariously balanced; they cannot tolerate even a hint of
criticism and disagreement. Most narcissists are paranoid
and often regard themselves as 'victims of persecution'.
With their love of attention, they often become leaders,
fostering and encouraging a personality cult with all the
hallmarks of an institutional religion: priesthood, rites,
rituals, temples, worship, catechism, mythology. The leader
is this religion's ascetic saint. He monastically denies
himself earthly pleasures, or so he claims, in order to be able
to dedicate himself fully to his calling."

"Are you quoting?"

He nodded. "Am I so transparent? Book 3, chapter 3,
section 7."

Actually, she was impressed. "I suppose we should be
grateful they don't feel the urge to populate the world in
their image. Would that create too much competition?"

"Sometimes they do. They want to be adored. What better
devotees but a bevy of innocents."

There was a pause as Dana evaluated this new information
and combined it with the scraps of information she already
knew.

"I guess the reactions of the followers must also be similar
to the 'love' response. Hero worship, adoration, unusual
behaviour patterns. People unable to perceive that they are
being deceived by their own primitive response
mechanisms. I suppose when the idol is exposed for what he
is, the reaction amongst the followers would be similar to a
relationship breaking up."

"Not all narcissists are all facade, some are very talented.
However, if the relationship is severed, the disillusionment
and disenchantment are agonizing to the faithful. The
process of reconstruction, to overcome the trauma of having
been deceived, exploited and manipulated is protracted. It is
difficult to trust again, to have faith, to love, to be led, to
collaborate. Feelings of shame and guilt engulf the erstwhile
followers of the narcissist. The legacy is a massive post-
traumatic stress disorder."

Dana looked extremely introspective. Part way through his
recital he had noticed a change in her as if she'd had a
sudden revelation. His curiosity was rampant but his
empathy was telling him now was not the time to intrude.
Had she been in some sort of cult? Exploited as a child? She
called her father Ahab, he was a captain, and she'd
obviously adored him. No, she didn't seem the type to be led
-- not for long anyway. But then again, he should know
better than to typecast people.

"Dana? Are you okay? Dana?"

"Oh, sorry. I guess I faded away there. What did you say?"

"I was just asking if you were okay."

"I'm fine."

He gave her an intense stare. Her eyes dropped.

"I'm fine. Please, Mulder."

Okay, now wasn't the time. Yet another thing to file away
for later. There was a lot of underplay in this dialogue. For
both of them. Perhaps it was as well they kept to the
scientific discussion. They'd both have a lot to think about
when they were on their own.

"Alright, before we side-tracked, I thought idealization was
a positive life-enhancing mechanism and you declared love
to be a cognitive-emotional impairment. That all romantic
love is doomed to failure, but I think you're holding back on
me. I mean this serotonin is a positive influence, right? It
makes you feel good, content. You see things through rose-
tinted or serotonin-tinted lenses; you think your partner is
the most wonderful person in the world. As you've said,
people react differently to different stimuli, not everybody is
a thrill-a-minute sort of person. So, this mood change to
contentment must be a good thing. It must give you a
chance at a long-term relationship."

Relieved to be let off the hook and feeling a certain
fondness for him, she eased back on the doom and gloom
aspects. It was obvious he craved the idealized version of a
relationship -- stability, contentment, constancy, loyalty,
fidelity, faithfulness, commitment, and devotion. She sighed
at the fairy tale version that conjured up; such naivety to
think this was possible. Considering he was divorced, the
quote 'triumph of hope over experience' certainly applied to
him. How did he manage such optimism?

"Certainly, it gives you a chance. After the initial euphoric
chemical flux, other hormones create attachment. Bonding
occurs, and as I said, this is enough so you can tolerate an
individual long enough to produce and raise a child." There
were limits as to how much she could ease up.

"Love isn't blind, it's chemically induced. Talk about being
controlled by your hormones. Okay. Even if sex is the
'booby trap' that gets couples to bond and procreate, I still
don't understand why this peters out. Why, when there's this
cocktail of 'feel good' chemicals giving you unadulterated
pleasure, then making you feel content, affectionate,
happy... Why would you give this up? I don't see how the
biological urge for a genetically different partner would be
the overriding factor."

"Are you saying you've never felt a relationship just drift
off?" She didn't wait for a reply. It was a rhetorical question.
"As I said, the heady emotions associated with being in love
are linked with physiological effects -- the racing pulses,
sweaty palms and heavy breathing. Clinical signs of an
overdose. Love is a drug, highly addictive, and like all
addictions there is a law of diminishing returns."

"You mean mixing your hormones results in hangovers and
the morning after effect. The painkillers stop working and
you start saying never again."

"I'm afraid so, Mulder. The positive effects wear off after a
certain period of time, the nerve cells become tolerant to the
unusually high levels of hormones and you come back down
to earth."

Such pragmatism. For someone who exhibited such... staid
behaviour in general, he had to conclude that her 'Kate'
persona was learned behaviour, a defence mechanism
possibly. She was such a... scientist -- treating 'love' as an
experiment, her observations concluding that there were too
many confounding variables, that it couldn't be done
consistently, that the results weren't reproducible. Therefore,
it was statistically unlikely that love lasted. He, on the other
hand, would just keep changing the variables until he got the
result he wanted and damn the reproducibility.

"Alright, Dana, the initial thrill wears off, but it's taken long
enough that other feelings and desires develop to
consolidate the relationship. You said the hormones focused
you towards one individual. Surely this predisposes you
towards monogamy, then you add the bonding affect. This
sounds more like a stabilizing rather than dissociative
effect."

Such a deep-rooted desire for stability. Dana had such a
desire, it just didn't involve anyone else. Once she would
have agreed. Not that she thought it would be easy. She
realized relationships had to be worked at. As an articulate,
intelligent person, she had believed that differences could be
worked out -- assuming a basic compatibility, of course --
recalling Mulder's disorganized apartment. The problem
was you were dependent on someone else being equally
committed and feeling the same way. An extremely rare
commodity and non-existent, in her experience. But here
was Mulder with his eager enthusiasm, questing for the
'perfect' relationship. She almost felt guilty about
continually bursting his bubble, but then again, he needed a
dose of reality.

"But it's not designed to be sustained. It's a very expensive
emotion. You don't eat, sleep or concentrate. You don't pay
attention to family and friends. It's part of the basic survival
mechanism that the brain chemicals decline. There's no
instinctual force for life-long monogamy, in fact it's more
natural for us to be sexually polygamous."

"Is it? Are you sure that's just not an excuse, a projection?"
He saw her look of outrage and, doing a quick review of
what he'd said, decided a rapid amendment was required.
"Present company excepted -- I was speaking in general
terms."

But she'd already recovered herself, and couldn't understand
why she would bridle at such a comment anyway.

"No, it's valid for present company. We're as subject to
basic chemistry and biology as anyone else. Everyone's
different but the empirical data and general consensus is that
Homo sapiens are not hard-wired for monogamy. However
unpalatable the truth, falling in love is, in some ways,
indistinguishable from a severe pathology. Behaviour
changes are reminiscent of psychosis, and biochemically
speaking, passionate love closely imitates substance abuse."

"And most people can't kick the habit on their own. The
ongoing sexual attraction, friendship and interdependence
must play a part. I don't believe that all relationships are
doomed to failure. This bonding you mentioned must be
sustainable. Attachments would be formed and infatuation
would give way to a more stable, although admittedly less
exuberant relationship. It must be returning you to a
balanced state, homeostasis. That can't be an expensive
emotion. You're just glossing over the next stage. What's
involved there?"

She found herself wanting to agree with him but the facts
just didn't support his belief. She was unsure how to answer
but he'd asked for more details -- facts. She could cope with
facts.

"The bonding is facilitated by two hormones, oxytocin and
vasopressin, endorphins, brain opiates to calm the mind. As
the neurotransmitter levels return to normal, these usually
increase. They play a part in social interactions, including
bonding and sex, reducing anxiety and producing positive
feelings.  Oxytocin increases the sensitivity to touch and
encourages grooming and cuddling in both sexes. It
skyrockets in the mother during delivery and breastfeeding.
It's also known as the 'cuddling chemical' because it
increases in the couple when they spend time together, hold
hands or snuggle up close to someone -- and when they
sexually climax."

"Oh, the 'cuddling chemical' -- shame they don't bottle these
things. You never know... they might be more successful
than date-rape drugs. Although going around asking for the
'cuddle pill' might get you a few funny looks."

"Probably cause yourself more stress than it would
alleviate."

"Guess I'll stick with cuddling a bottle of beer."

"Actually, consuming too much alcohol, as well as 'touch
deprivation', are sure ways to deplete your supply."

"I think I need to set up a 'touch buddy' system. Meet after
work and cuddle your stress away. Maybe a bit of massage.
Do you think my macho image would suffer?"

"Can you see yourself becoming a dreamy-eyed group
hugger?"

"Eww, that's so... girly. That image alone is enough to cause
stress."

"The aim is to induce peace and tranquillity, Mulder. Not
generate sexual arousal."

"Massage can be calming and soothing."

"Not with what you envisioned."

"If you've got any massage oils, I'll prove my point." He
kept his face inscrutable.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Must be fate, Mulder, I'm
fresh out."

"You don't want to do a bit of bonding, have your oxytocin
levels raised?"

"Not particularly."

"You mean you're passing up the chance to tie me to your
apron strings? Just think of the advantages of being able to
wrap me around your little finger." He was only half jesting.

"In reality, you'd be the one with the unfair advantage. The
oxytocin effect is more powerful in women, probably
because it works in concert with oestrogen and is subdued
by testosterone. Research shows that men who regularly
stimulate their mates' oxytocin levels are treated by those
women with greater affection."

A gleam came into his eye and he opened his mouth to
speak.

"Don't even think about it," she countered.

So, that's one of the reasons she avoided a 'closer'
relationship. She didn't want to get herself caught in a trap
of her own hormones.

"So, there we are, snuggled up, contentedly watching the
game on a Sunday afternoon and yet, this is the make or
break time in a relationship?"

"I suppose, at this point, the survival of a relationship
depends on feelings other than sexual desire, but those
psychological bonds are extremely fragile. Easily displaced
by the more basic responses."

Oh, now they were getting to some really sensitive stuff. He
could hear the eggshells cracking.

"You mean people, especially men because they bond less,
are predisposed to seek out another high?"

Yes, she did think that about men, but she didn't want to be
drawn into the 'all men are pigs' argument. Logically, she
knew that it wasn't always the man's fault. They just
happened to be above average in this area. Mulder appeared
to be one of the exceptions -- although she only had his
word for it, not even his side of the story, so the jury was
still out.

"Certainly love feels good and you do get those who seek
out that first buzz over and over."

"Romance junkies," he concurred.

"It's partly what drives affairs and even relationship fights,
with the opportunities to kiss and make up. When that fails,
there are other ways to get your pleasure reward, as I've
said. You could throw yourself from on high or, as every
girl knows, you can find solace in a bar of chocolate which
has high levels of PEA."

"You mean giving a girl chocolates on St. Valentine's Day
is a shrewd move, and improves a man's chances of getting
lucky?"

 "That could be a two-edged sword. Some women prefer
chocolate to sex -- it's more reliable."

Warning, warning, Fox Mulder! Swampy, male ego-
swallowing conversation ahead, please use diversion.
Sometimes, even Mulder's brain had a subconscious
survival mechanism. Tempted though he might have been to
defend his male honour, and some Neanderthal tendency
was prompting him to prove her wrong, he was not going to
venture into that monster-inhabited territory right now. He
wasn't dressed for it. Careful preparation was required. He
needed a shield of deflect sarcasm and a sword of slay
misconceptions at the very least.

He wasn't ready to give up on the discussion though.

"I won't accept that relationships are doomed to failure on a
chemical whim. I know that relationships go through a
conflict stage -- tension, doubts about the future prompting
arguments and soul searching. However, those who idealize
the most early on are still closest later. It helps carry couples
through the inevitable rough spots. So, I don't think you
should just reduce love to its biochemical and electrical
components. Love is not synonymous to our bodily
processes. It's the way we experience them that's important.
Love is how we interpret those flows and ebbs of hormones
using our own thought processes. Love is art not science."

"It's certainly not rational. You can't ignore the science,
Mulder. Despite the fact that some die-hard romantics might
be appalled at the idea that love can be explained in terms of
biochemistry, it's inescapable that romantic and maternal
love, both highly rewarding experiences linked to the
perpetuation of the species, are closely linked to biological
functions."

And she certainly wasn't going to budge from her science
rules position. Mulder adjusted his opinion slightly, trying
for some common ground. Of course, if someone had asked
him why, he'd have been clueless, before passing it off as
common civility or friendly banter.

"An underlying chemical explanation doesn't make the
feeling of love any less real or intense. I think it's a mystery
how a complex system of chemical reactions can lead to the
feelings and behaviours we associate with any type of
emotion, including love. But you cannot deny that when you
feel loved, nurtured, cared for, supported, and intimate, you
are much more likely to be happier and healthier. You have
a much lower risk of getting sick and, if you do, a much
greater chance of surviving."

She thought for a moment before agreeing, "That's true."

"Therefore, there must be a biological imperative to
perpetuate that final phase of love, one that makes you aim
for the diamond wedding anniversary."

"It's not the main driving force, Mulder. Even for those who
have a strong romantic drive, it says nothing about how
wisely they'll use it -- or on whom. People make wrong
choices all the time."

Still the undercurrent to the conversation flowed about
them.

 "And the withdrawal of romantic love has serious mental
health repercussions, break-ups often leading to depression
and anxiety... Okay, got that. It's a vicious circle."

He paused, thinking about her tattoo and her comment about
a serpent eating its own tail. Had she been in a series of
broken relationships? Her attitude certainly gave the
impression that she was now at the point of thinking 'never
again'. He poked in the personal direction again -- slightly
camouflaged. He knew he shouldn't, that he'd probably
prodded enough for one evening, but he couldn't resist.

"But is the emotional fallout any easier for being viewed as
a biologically based, drug-like state? Does it at least provide
balm for a broken heart?"

"Perhaps the understanding helps with the rationalization --
that and chocolate."

"Dana... I think you are overly pessimistic."

She just thought she was realistic. "The divorce statistics
would indicate not."

"Ouch. I don't like to consider myself a statistic."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make it personal. I was just --"

"It's okay, Dana." He paused, looking thoughtful for a
moment. "You know there are three patterns to courtship.
The fast and passionate, the slow and rocky, and the in-
between. During the fast-track, the couple are
interdependent in weeks, married in months. The slow
group take on average two years to reach commitment,
spending up to six painstaking months on each stage. But --
but, but, but -- at the thirteen year mark the tortoises win the
day -- the more boring and deliberate the courtship, the
better the prospects for a long marriage. Because for the fast
starters it feels more intense early on but then the drop-off is
bigger and can lead to a very changed view of the other's
character."

She huffed a "tell me about it".

"My wife and I had a courtship that was fast and furious.
The thing was, we were on different tracks. I obviously
idealized more than her."

She hadn't meant for that comment to be taken literally. "I
didn't mean..."

He was staring at her intently. Would she admit it now?
She'd spoken about not having enough to give, not wanting
to be involved. But she'd never actually said whether it was
a parade of wrong choices or just one mega one. He was
going for the biggy, but that didn't preclude a couple of iffy
ones leading up to it, or after -- but that was less likely.

She realized what he was silently asking. Time stood still.
There was a buzzing as they both experienced blood rushing
through their ears. Panic, anticipation. She couldn't say
anything. Then finally, a brief nod, an acknowledgement.

He continued to look at her expectantly.

Eventually, she managed, "There was someone... It ended
badly."

A breakthrough. "You were burned?" he prodded.

She swallowed, her lips thinned. "I'm not ready to go there.
Maybe someday, I'll have to... I'll tell someone, but in the
meantime, I don't find it constructive to dwell on it, to keep
the... incident on a constant loop. I prefer to move on. To
concentrate on what life is, not what might have been."

Not an unreasonable attitude, viewed like that.

"So, do you have some ultimate dream to move forward
to?" He said it lightly, intending to move the conversation
away from a sensitive subject. He knew he'd pushed her far
enough this time, and really, at this point, he could only
claim a friendly interest. To pursue the subject would not be
friendly, and was unjustifiable even to his curiosity -- it
wasn't an interrogation, after all. Unfortunately, he seemed
to have hit another sore spot.

She hesitated, torn between telling the truth and giving an
offhand return. Unfortunately, the very act of hesitating
excluded the latter. "I had dreams, Mulder. The usual girlish
medley, of career, husband, children, dog, house with a
white picket fence, and the rainbow over the whole, but they
were shattered. Now, I have more realistic goals."

"But you're working towards rebuilding your dreams,
right?"

"Rebuilding my dreams? I don't think so. Rebuilding my
life, certainly -- but not dreams. You can't rebuild
something that was ephemeral in the first place. You can't
reconstruct a rainbow."

"Maybe not on your own, Dana. A rainbow requires an
external influence..."

"Exactly, and I have no intention on being reliant on an
'external' influence again."

"Ouch."

"Mulder," she sighed. "I'm sure your heart is in the right
place, but are you telling me your dreams are the same as
before you were married? I mean it's not as if you've leapt
straight back into relationship bliss."

"True, but I didn't give up on my dreams, just amended
them slightly."

"Removed the white picket fence?"

"That didn't feature in the first place."

That was hardly surprising. He was always so... fidgety, so
alive and curious. His desire for a permanent, stable
relationship was almost an anathema. But he was probably
anchored to people rather than places.

"So what did? Fast cars, boats and women?"

"Something like that. But it turned out they were
temperamental, prone to breaking down and attracting a lot
of attention, resulting in them being stolen."

That had come out of the blue. She had expected a frivolous,
flippant answer, which on the surface, that remark could
have been viewed as. She could ignore it. A defining
moment teetered on the edge of a watershed of fate, then
slipped.

"Is that what happened?"

Well, he'd started it, now it was his turn again. He'd pushed
her to reveal part of her past by revealing part of his. For
whatever reason, she'd knocked a wall down to tell him. If
he wanted to make further progress he would have to reveal
some more of the truth about himself. He wasn't sure why
he was doing this. They were just being friends. They
weren't lovers ready for self-disclosure, but somehow it felt
right. Perhaps they were a self-help group? Maybe he had
reached the point in his life where he was ready to talk
about 'it'? Or it was the beer lowering his inhibitions. Hell,
for all he knew, his brain chemistry was misfiring.

"I never saw it coming. I thought we were happy. I was
working long hours but I thought she supported me, thought
that the work I was doing was important. It appeared she
was happy I was out of the house because she could give
more time to her own projects -- like cultivating her next
husband."

"I'm sorry..."

He waved it off. "I was warned about her but I thought she
just hadn't found the right man. How naive is that? She
married me for God's sake, I thought that made a difference.
I thought it was for life. Right up to the day she walked
away."

"You still love her?"

Such a bold question... or maybe just an automatic,
empathetic response.

"To be honest, I don't know. Maybe it's because I didn't get
closure -- well, apart from the divorce -- that was a fairly
distinct ending... or I'm just in love with what we had, what
it felt like -- the closeness, the touching, the laughter, the
contentment, the desire, the tantrums, the manipulation, the
lust... and I've nothing to replace it with, apart from work, so
I remember it more idyllically.  I should hate her for what
she did. Phoebe was always one for the dramatic entrance.
In this particular case in was a dramatic exit from my life
coupled with a dramatic entrance into his. Staged to
perfection, I have to say."

"What happened?" Drawn into the conversation, she had to
ask, even though the uncharitable thought that she might
then feel obliged to reciprocate flashed through her head.
That was the trouble with watersheds, once you started
down the slope there was no stopping until you hit rock
bottom.

"He was the big shot defence lawyer on a high profile case,
in which I was giving evidence -- for the prosecution, of
course. We'd tracked the suspect for months, weeks
preparing the case... lots of effort, long hours at the office
etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. He won on a technicality. I was
pissed, in that helpless, angry, depressed way. Then I saw
Phoebe on the steps of the courthouse. I thought she was
coming to commiserate. She walked straight passed me and
congratulated him -- embraced him -- in full view of the
media. I didn't take in what she said, apart from 'everyone
loves a winner'." He took a deep breath. "So, that was me --
the loser."

"I don't have to tell you that you're not a loser, do I?"

"Dana, at the risk of sounding pathetically miserable, just
what have I won recently, mid-term, ever?"

"You make a difference, Mulder. You save people's lives.
You... you helped me. Illogical as it seems, your ability to
see things... laterally is an amazing accomplishment."

Ahh, Dr. Scully can't ignore her need to heal. To make
people feel better. "My own little cheerleader."

She felt self-conscious and looked away.

"Hey, that's what friends are for. Just let me know if you
need your ego pepped."

"Thanks, Mulder. But I don't need flattery."

"Who says it would be flattery? It's just sometimes, when
life gets on top of you, people need to be reminded about
what they have got to offer."

She smiled an acknowledgement, and then yawned. She
looked contrite. It had been a long week, and although
overall the evening could be rated as pleasant, there had
been some intense exchanges, some very strong
undercurrents. They were both left feeling drained, with
many things to think about. Mulder took it as his signal to
go.

"And on that positive note I think I should depart, before I
out stay my welcome, or push my luck and say something
stupid."

She toyed with the idea of asking him to stay -- in
remembrance of the Philadelphia experience -- just to see if
he could see the irony. But that was best left in the past.

***************************************

As he left her building, he couldn't help but think about
what they had been discussing and his relationship with his
ex-wife. It had lasted three years... ish. He'd loved her,
hook, line and sinker. He thought she'd loved him the same
way. Maybe she had at first, but then the brain chemicals
had worn off. He didn't like to think that she'd never loved
him, otherwise he'd have to consider the possibility that
she'd just used him as a stepping stone. He didn't want to
correlate his father threatening to disinherit him after the
blow out and Phoebe's desertion as being related. It was far
easier to accept that her hormones had made her lose
interest, a perfectly natural phenomena, than thinking she'd
married him for his money -- or rather his 'prospects' of
family money. And if it was perfectly natural, it wasn't
making excuses for her -- was it? And maybe he was still
obsessing! He cast about him for something to distract
himself from thinking about it at all.

 It had been raining while they chatted. Mulder saw
coloured patches in the puddles when the light from the
streetlights was reflected back. Somewhere, at the back of
his mind, he knew the colour was probably due to oily
residues, but he didn't let that concern him as he walked in
search of a taxi. With his vivid imagination, he preferred to
view them as splinters of rainbow, hundreds of them spread
across the road and sidewalk. Theorizing ways of pooling
them all together made for an excellent diversion.

**********************************************

Dana tidied after Mulder left. She didn't feel panicked that
she had told him. In some ways it was a relief. Although
she'd hardly told him anything, it felt like she'd revealed a
huge chunk of herself.  Not that he probably hadn't guessed
that she'd had her naivety crushed. He hadn't enquired too
closely; he'd been sympathetic. Not that that should come as
a surprise to her.

She didn't want to relive her relationship with Daniel, but
she needed to acknowledge it had happened and move on.
At first she thought to ignore it. Not pretend it hadn't
happened, just leave it behind. That, considering it was
dictating most of her personal decisions, had proved
impractical. Much better to acknowledge it as an
educational experience in her life, and learn from it.

Three years it had lasted, and that only because she would
not see or acknowledge what was really going on, so fixated
on her idol, who could do no wrong. She was never going to
get into that state again. It was true that the human mind and
body worked better when it received regular physical
contact of the comfort variety -- as opposed to the fisty cuffs
outside the bar on a Saturday night. But it wasn't necessary
for survival. The body was amazingly resilient; it could
manage with half its organs and several limbs missing. The
mind needed stimulation but it didn't need touch -- even
from partners, friends and family. That wasn't why she'd
utilized 'Kate' -- not at all.

Funny, as she washed her teeth while getting ready for bed,
she noticed little slivers of rainbow emanating from the
stream of water from the tap. How did that happen? The
light wasn't right. She'd never seen that phenomena before.

***********************************************

End part 3 of 3