From: xffscinut@aol.com (XFF SciNut) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: "Transfers" ("Blizzard" series) 1/10 Date: 24 Mar 1996 14:29:12 -0500 Okay, here we go... I am not the author, just posting on her behalf. All Comments to L.C.Brown at lcbx5me@aol.com All parts posted 3/24/96 ++++++++++ Insert clever intro here. (I can never think of anything clever to say. My characters get all my best lines) I guess, in lieu of something clever to say, I'll just tell you that this story takes place some time after Blizzard and in the same universe. There's another story or two between them that hasn't been written yet, but trust me. There is. The relationship continues to build from Blizzard. (Remember, I'm writing at least a 9 story arc, and Transfers is about #7.) This story, Transfers, also has a sequel that I'm currently working on that picks up *immediately* after the story ends. So if you want more after this, you'll have to email me (LCBX5ME@aol.com) and give me serious ego-boo so I can get my TOS together and get the thing finished. :D Insert standard disclaimer here. (I'm not clever with this either.) The characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, FOX and whoever else has a piece of this wonderful pie. I'm borrowing Mulder, Scully, Skinner, Margaret Scully and whoever else I've forgotten to mention here -- and I'm borrowing them without permission, but am promising to give them back when I'm finished. Please don't distribute this story without my permission. I'll probably give permission if you ask. Honest. And, last but not least, ROMANCE ALERT! PG-13 situations. Nothing graphic...but you'll definitely get the idea of what's going on. ;-) Enjoy, and let me know how you like it! "TRANSFERS" part 1 by L.C. Brown Scully leaned back in her chair, pushing her shoe tip under the desk drawer so she wouldn't overbalance, and squinted at the x-ray she was holding up. The fluorescent lights on the high ceiling of Fox Mulder's cluttered basement office weren't much better than the desk lamp at her elbow, but their slightly brighter light enabled her to finally see the hairline fracture that the coroner's report mentioned. Even a fracture this small would take some force, she mused, especially on a bone of this type.... "Scully!" Only the foot she had wedged under the desk drawer saved her from going over backwards and she shot an irritated look at Mulder, who had apparently materialized in the middle of the room. She certainly hadn't heard him come in. "Sorry," he apologized insincerely, working to keep a straight face. "I guess you were miles away when I came in." She straightened with what dignity she could muster and slid the x-ray back into its folder. "I was concentrating on a case." "Uh huh. Dirty pictures." "What?" "It was a pelvis you were looking at, wasn't it? There you are. Dirty pictures," he grinned. "I'm finally having an influence on you." "Okay," she signed resignedly, not in the mood to play games with him. "I'll bite, Mulder. What's in the file you've got that's got you in such a good mood? Don't tell me," she interrupted him before he could speak. "It's an X-File, right?" "You said not to tell you. But," he paused for a moment while he extracted a long, slim packet from the file and tossed it onto her desk, "don't say that I never take you anywhere but backwater motels in sleazy towns. Or is it the other way around?" Scully ignored him, but her eyebrows shot up and her eyes widened as she glanced at the packet and then picked it up to look more closely. "Bermuda? Mulder, this is a plane ticket to Bermuda!" "That's right, Scully. Sunshine, pink beaches, tropical drinks with umbrellas in them...." "What's the case?" she asked cautiously. "It must be something really disgusting if they're sending us to Bermuda to investigate it." Mulder gave her the file without answering, then took off his suit jacket and hung it over the back of the chair behind his desk before sitting down to prop his feet on the corner of his paper-strewn desk. Scully didn't have to read far before she sat up suddenly, her eyes still on the notes. "This isn't an X-File, Mulder. This is a psych case." "Involving a senator and his wife," he reminded her. She looked over at him suspiciously. "You hate working with VIP's, Mulder. What's going on?" "I'm not sure, but I think it may turn out to be an X-File after all. Keep reading, Scully," he gestured at the file. "There have been two more incidents like the one the senator's wife describes." "Mulder, the woman is clearly disturbed. She claims her husband attacked her, then says he isn't really her husband, and that he's poisoned her in some way. She also admits to trying to stab him. I don't call that an X-File." "She has no past history of mental or emotional problems, Scully. She and her husband met during his campaign and were married last year and, since then, they have given every appearance of being happily married. The senator thinks that his wife might have been poisoned, so when Skinner saw that there had been two similar cases involving tourists, he gave the case to us." "Why would anyone poison two tourists and a senator's wife?" she asked blankly. "And how do you make the jump from psych case to X-File?" Mulder just smiled at her mockingly. "I've got a feeling." She had a sneaking suspicion that he knew the case was no X-File. Exasperated, Scully shook her head as she got up and collected her briefcase and the x-ray folder. "Never mind, Mulder. Look, I've got to turn these films in and file a second opinion so I'll meet you tomorrow at BWI." "Want me to pick you up on my way?" "No, thanks. I'm off tomorrow morning anyway. Dentist appointment." He grimaced. "Better you than me. Have fun." She paused in the doorway to look back at him. He was evidently very pleased with himself over this Bermuda business. The corner of his mouth quirked as he caught her look. "Don't worry, Scully. Even if this is a straight psych case, as you said, we'll have three or four days in Bermuda to make up for any interest the case might lack." "If this turns out to be one of those cases the thought of which will whiten my hair for years to come, you'd better start working up a nice non-provable ghost X-File in one of the great houses of Europe to make up for it. Paris will be acceptable," she told him tartly, shouldering her purse before she disappeared down the hall. ***** A methodical person by necessity, Scully checked off each item she packed in her suitcase on the list she had printed up when she got home. She had long since created a standard list of types of clothing and items to take on an out-of-town assignment, complete with options, depending on the climate and the length of the assignment. The swimsuit that was neatly rolled inside a beach robe and already tucked into a corner of her suitcase wasn't on her standard list, but neither was the sunscreen in her toiletries bag. If she was lucky, there might be one afternoon to spend on the beach. Her portable computer was freshly charged and she could take it to the beach if she wanted to salve her conscience. A knock at the door distracted her from the list and, surprised, she glanced at the bedside clock. It was almost 10:30. Mulder would be at home packing, so it wouldn't be him. She came out of the bedroom quietly, taking her weapon out of its holster. "Who is it?" she asked sharply, standing slightly to one side of her front door. "Skinner," came the reply. Scully stood in stunned silence for a moment before pulling herself together and unlocking the door. She recognized the voice, but she still held onto her gun as she opened the door. Assistant Director Skinner looked larger than he usually did as he loomed in her doorway, regarding her mildly. "Very wise," he said, glancing at the gun. "Sorry to bother you this at this hour, Agent Scully." "No trouble, sir. Please, come in," she invited, automatically, suddenly conscious of her well-worn bathrobe and comfortable slippers. Her supervisor stopped at the entrance to the living room, looking around with interest, then moved slowly into the room, taking in the muted colors, the artwork, the books -- the things that said something about the person who had chosen them. The room was well-furnished, well-appointed and comfortable. It was obviously a woman's residence, but it wasn't overly feminine. He approved silently. "Won't you sit down? I can get you some coffee," Scully offered, unobtrusively holstering the weapon and putting it on the mantel. "Not for me, thanks," he said, seating himself on the couch. "I can only stay a minute. You're leaving with Mulder for Bermuda tomorrow." It was not a question. Scully perched on the edge of an easy chair, trying to keep her face expressionless, but knowing Skinner was probably reading her like a book. "I was just finishing my packing," she nodded. "Mmm." He was watching her thoughtfully. "First of all, I want you to understand that I'm not here." That didn't surprise her. "All right." "Your partner, Agent Scully," he began deliberately, leaning back against the cushions, "is a very talented man. Very talented at getting himself into trouble." "What has he done now?" Scully asked, resigned but cautious, racking her brain for some way Mulder could have put his foot into it again. "On a case he completed a couple of months ago, he didn't pull any punches in his report about how the investigation had been handled prior to the case being assigned to him. The agent that was first assigned to it is...connected. His handling of the case was reviewed, the results were buried by his connection, brought to light again by Agent Mulder, and the end result was a spotlight turned on the connection, much to his annoyance." "I see." "Mulder has been a serious thorn in this individual's side for some time now. And so, through channels, your record came up for review." Scully blinked. "Mine? Not Mulder's?" she asked, surprised. "That's right. Mulder's record doesn't bear thinking about, much less examining closely," he said dryly. "But you, personally, have an excellent record, Agent Scully, and you've done sterling work in this office for several years." Skinner stopped, giving her a direct look, making no indication that more was forthcoming, but Scully was already putting the pieces together. "This...individual can't get at Mulder directly without exposing himself to further embarrassment," she said slowly, "so he's going to punish Mulder by having me promoted. And transferred?" she hazarded. Skinner nodded. "Oakland. It's a real plum assignment, Scully. You'll be training for the assistant directorship of pathology/forensics. That will put you in line for further promotion, in a few years, in Oakland, Seattle, or even L.A. They're good offices. And this is a good promotion." She was watching him closely, trying to read him for clues, for more information. "And this is a promotion that I can't refuse?" "Not without an extremely compelling reason. And I do mean compelling," Skinner said emphatically. "Refusal of a promotion of this kind would almost certainly kill any future hope of advancement for you. And I don't think that you want to work with Mulder so badly that you'd be willing to teach first-year pathology classes at Quantico for the rest of your professional life." Scully nodded her agreement slowly. Skinner got up. "I wanted to let you know about what would be happening before you left. The paperwork will be on your desk when you get back. You'll have thirty days from that date before the transfer takes effect." "I appreciate this, sir," Scully said sincerely. "I hope it's not a problem if I let Mulder know," she added, following him to the door. "I was counting on it. Agent Mulder can be very...creative at working out seemingly insoluble problems. Between the two of you, you may be able to come up with something. If not," he shrugged, "you at least had some warning." "I'm sure we'll think of something," she smiled faintly as she opened the door for him. "I hope so," he said, glancing at her. "Oh, and one final piece of advice. Don't tell Mulder until you're airborne. He's going to be pissed, but even Mulder would hesitate to make a loud scene in front of a hundred and fifty interested tourists." "I'm way ahead of you there, sir," she assured him wryly. "I know Mulder pretty well." "You, Agent Scully, are the only person I know that can make that claim," he said, quite serious. "Goodnight." ***** Mulder was pacing, waiting for her on this side of the metal detector at the airport when she arrived, breathless, with her carry-on and briefcase. He started to make a comment about her lateness, but there was something in her expression that stopped him. She was avoiding his eyes and her mouth was tight. "Did you drop your suitcase at the curb?" he asked instead, and received a curt nod in reply. "Did everything go all right at the dentist?" he wanted to know, fishing for the reason for that look on her face. "Fine," she said briefly. "Just a cleaning. Let's go." She sent her carry-on and briefcase through the machine while he offered his Bureau weapons permit to the senior guard at this station. Scully produced her paperwork and they both waited while their weapons were examined to ensure that they matched the description on the FBI documents and that their names were listed in the most current catalog of individuals authorized to carry firearms on commercial flights. Mulder carefully refrained from talking to her all the way to the gate, trying to figure out what could have happened today to upset her. She had been fine yesterday. They were, as usual, in aisle seats across from each other and Mulder automatically put her carry-on into the overhead compartment for her and was surprised when she asked him to put her briefcase up there, too, but stowed it without comment. Scully wasn't necessarily a good air traveler and she usually liked to do some work to occupy her mind. Giving up her briefcase suggested that she already had something to occupy her. Thoughtful now, Mulder sat down in his seat and fastened his seatbelt, looking at his partner unobtrusively. Everything was in place -- hair, make-up, clothing -- but she somehow gave him the impression of someone who had dressed quickly. It was nothing obvious, nothing that would be apparent to someone who didn't know her as well as he did. But her low-heeled shoes weren't the ones she usually wore with this lightweight pants suit. And she seemed pale beneath her makeup, paler than was usual for Scully, and her eyelids looked heavy. "Too little sleep and then you overslept," he mused out loud. She ignored him. "Hot date?" he asked with mock interest. Scully gritted her teeth silently. He knew something was wrong and he was prepared to pick at her until she told him what it was, but she wasn't ready to talk. She didn't know what to say yet. "Mulder, please don't start with me. I'm not in the mood." "But I am right, aren't I? Not about the date," he added hastily as he caught the fiery look she shot at him, "but about the sleep." The volume of engine noise increased slowly but steadily, indicating that they would be leaving the gate momentarily and, knowing that conversation would be all but impossible during their departure, she leaned across the aisle and lowered her voice for Mulder's benefit in order to give him something to think about for a change. "Okay, I give up. You were right about everything," she admitted, a little too sincerely. "I had a guy over last night and subsequently got very little sleep, so I overslept this morning and everything went downhill from there." The sound of the engines ascended from a muted roar to a mild scream and the plane jerked backwards away from the gate. Through the process of taxiing to the proper runway, waiting in the queue for takeoff, and through the takeoff itself, Scully had the satisfaction of watching Mulder pondering her words with a frown, working out whether her story was true. The Fasten Seatbelts sign had just been turned off and the flight attendants were getting the beverage carts ready before Mulder turned to look at her speculatively, obviously having come to some sort of decision. Scully raised her eyebrows slightly under his scrutiny but said nothing. "I'm not buying it," he said at last. "Why not?" "You want the truth?" "That is what we're always looking for." Mulder shrugged. "Sorry, Scully, but you don't look like a man kept you from getting any sleep for all the right reasons," he said bluntly. "You look like you lost sleep -- guy or no guy -- for all the wrong reasons." The attendants moved the rear section cart down the aisle past them, and Scully wondered briefly how Mulder thought she might look after a night of illicit passion. Apparently he didn't think she would look like this. Admittedly an hour's restless sleep and a session in the dentist's chair didn't do much for a woman's looks, but.... "Scully?" his voice interrupted her thoughts. "I know something's wrong. Let me help with whatever it is." His voice was quiet and had lost its faintly mocking edge. Leaning back in her seat, she tilted her head to the left to look at him while she marshaled her thoughts and her words. The pale brown suit he was wearing lightened his hazel eyes that looked at her steadily. She sighed and gave up trying to choose the right words. There were no right words. "Assistant Director Skinner stopped by my apartment late last night." Mulder's eyes widened and he leaned toward her, turning in his seat. "What's happened?" he demanded quietly. "One of your high level admirers arranged for my record to be reviewed." "So? There's nothing adverse in your record." "Not a thing," she agreed. "The review board was very impressed, so when I get back from Bermuda, Skinner warned me that there would be thirty-day transfer papers on my desk. I'll be training for the assistant directorship of pathology/forensics in Oakland." Her partner looked at her speechlessly for a moment, before his brows snapped together and his mouth opened to voice his opinion of his high level admirers, but had to swallow his remarks and his rage as the beverage cart pushed between them and a sweet young thing asked him in a businesslike voice what he cared to drink. He knew what he would have liked to say, but settled for orange juice. By the time the cart and its satellite attendants had passed, he had finished half the juice absently as he considered what Scully had told him, and carefully put his anger away from him. It wouldn't help them right now. He glanced over at Scully. She was watching the bubbles rising to the surface of her gingerale, turning the cup in her hands slowly, a nervous habit that indicated her uneasy state of mind. He knew what would happen if she refused the transfer. The Bureau had definitely not conquered its old boy system yet, and a female agent who refused an advantageous transfer like this could not expect to go any further. A man might get a second chance, but a woman never would. On impulse, he reached across the aisle and touched her arm, smiling when she looked at him, startled. "We'll think of something," he assured her with more confidence than he actually felt. "Skinner hoped so." "Skinner knows a good team when he sees one. We may be a pain in his butt, but we have a higher closing ratio than anyone else he's got." Scully half turned in her seat to look at him. "Mulder, I was up most of the night trying to figure out a way out of this. There *is* no way out. I went over every reason I could think of for not accepting -- and Skinner said it would need to be a very compelling reason -- but I can't see getting hit by a bus or contracting HIV just to get out of going to Oakland," she said, her mouth curving in a faint smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Both solutions seems so permanent." There has to be a solution, he thought. Every problem has a solution. "Let me work on this for a while, Scully. I'll find an answer." "Good luck," she murmured, leaning back in her seat again. ***** (continued part 2) =========================================================================== From: xffscinut@aol.com (XFF SciNut) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: "Transfers" 2a/10 Date: 24 Mar 1996 14:32:28 -0500 Once again... all comments to lcbx5me@aol.com. ++++++++++ (See disclaimers part 1) "TRANSFERS" part 2a by L.C. Brown Mulder didn't move and didn't speak for almost an hour. Scully was half dozing finally when the woman on her right apologized and edged past her to make her way to the back of the plane. Mulder nudged his partner's shoulder almost immediately. "Move over for a minute," he said. "What?" "Move over one, Scully. I'm too tall to crawl over you and I don't want to shout what I have to say across the aisle." Scully nodded and obediently moved over into the momentarily vacated seat and Mulder took her place. "Okay. I've thought of a way out," he announced, keeping his voice down and keeping a wary eye on the elderly woman in the window seat on Scully's other side. Elderly women loved to overhear conversations. Scully didn't feel any desire to begin celebrating right away. She knew Mulder's ideas. "You have, huh? What?" she asked cautiously, her head turned toward Mulder so the old lady would have a harder time eavesdropping. "It's a little radical," Mulder admitted. "But it is as compelling as Skinner needs it to be, and it ties up some loose ends at the same time." "What loose ends?" "Well, like the way we worry that one of us will be transferred to the boonies because of something I've done, or that the X-Files will be closed again and we'll be rotated away from each other inside the Washington office." Scully dropped her eyes to the arm of the seat between them. "Is it really so important for us to continue working together?" she asked almost inaudibly. "Yes," came the answer back, quietly but emphatically. He paused for a moment and then continued. "Well, yes *and* no. This plan I've got should cover all the bases, whether we're working together or not." "All right. What is this plan?" Scully prompted. The elderly woman was not listening a little too obviously, so he bent his head so that his lips practically brushed Scully's ear. "I think we should get married," he whispered. Scully's bright head came up in a hurry and she glared at him, outraged. "You.... You think.... Mulder, you have finally lost your mind," she told him, her teeth clenched against what she really wanted to say. Ladies didn't use words like that. "Get out of my seat." "Hear me out, Scully...." "No." "Scully...." "Excuse me, but I think you're in my seat," Scully's seatmate said, and moved out of the way as the tall young man went back to his own seat while the pretty red-headed woman, clearly angry with her friend, took her own seat again with a mumbled apology. A short time later, the Fasten Seatbelts sign came on for their descent and the two women in Scully's row were disappointed that there was nothing further to overhear. To be sure, the man did try to speak across the aisle to the young woman, but after several attempts was told in no uncertain terms to save it for later, and he subsided, apparently taking the rebuff philosophically. ***** It was pleasantly warm outside the airport terminal, the air freshened by the balmy ocean breezes that blew almost constantly. The air was nothing like the energy- sapping heat and humidity that lay on D.C. like a blanket and Scully found her irritation with her partner slipping away. Mulder gestured with a tilt of his head toward the taxi stand and carried their suitcases over while Scully followed with her carry-on. Rental cars were almost non- existent on the island due to stringent regulation and, although the streets teemed with mopeds and bicycles, Mulder felt that Scully wouldn't be keen on that most common mode of transportation. Therefore, a taxi was their only alternative. The driver threw their bags into the trunk haphazardly, remarked on how pretty Mulder's wife was as Mulder held the back door for her, accepted the address of the hotel that Mulder gave him and, after cursing a sulky carburetor in an uninhibited but good-natured fashion, they were off. "It's really too late to begin our interviews this afternoon," Scully remarked, looking at her watch. "Yeah, by the time we get checked in at the hotel and get our stuff to our rooms, it'll be almost time for dinner. I'll contact the senator when we get there and set up an appointment to talk to his wife tomorrow morning." Except for the unintelligible comments by the driver to other drivers, moped operators and pedestrians that interacted with his cab, there was a strained silence in the car that Mulder didn't care for. Scully was clearly pissed at him, and she didn't get mad at him often enough for him to ignore it. "Why are you angry?" he wanted to know finally, not looking at her, trying to keep his tone neutral. "I don't know," she said after a pause, looking out the window. "I guess you took me by surprise. Maybe I thought you were making fun...having a joke.... I don't know, Mulder." "Are you still mad?" "It's wearing off," she admitted, smiling a little. "But I don't want to talk about it right now, if you don't mind." "Sure, whatever you want. But time is kind of limited and we're not working tonight. Want to talk about it over dinner?" "I'm not sure," she said finally after a long pause. "My treat," he coaxed, leaning over to look into her face, to make her look at him. She let out a long breath and then shrugged. "All right. We'll talk over dinner." ***** The hotel was a nice-looking mid-rise structure, not on the beach, but the upper floors had a nice view of the water. From the outside, the white stucco looked as if it had been washed with pink as the sun began to go down and, from inside her hotel room, Scully could see the waves on the bay being burnished by the dying light. She was too familiar with various anonymous hotel rooms to be impressed by one more, but the room was clean, the two double beds covered by attractive spreads in a muted tropical motif, the lamps were good, and the towels were well laundered and fluffy. Unpacking quickly with the ease of habit, she put her things away and stowed the empty suitcase in the closet before setting up her laptop computer on the small desk. The room wasn't home, but it was adequate for a few days and it was several notches above some of the places that she and Mulder had stayed. Mulder had said that he had some calls to make and would meet her downstairs for dinner at 8:30. With half an hour to kill, Scully extracted her logic puzzles book from her carry-on and tried to give herself up to the pleasure of frittering time away, justifying to herself that Mulder still had the case file so she couldn't look it over anyway. But the logic problems were hard to concentrate on with Mulder's crazy idea pushing its way into her mind, demanding attention. Their relationship was a good one, something that had been worked out between them without words or conscious direction. They depended on each other. They trusted each other. This insane idea of his would destroy all of that. She had seen too many of her college friends enter into a passionate relationship with what seemed the perfect man only to watch both people change after the marriage. A couple of years. A few years. The result was the same, and she valued what she had with Mulder too much to wantonly destroy it simply in order to avoid a transfer. She would take the transfer, she decided. At least she might be able to keep Mulder's friendship that way. ***** The hotel bar where she was to meet Mulder was crowded and Scully had to stand, looking around for a minute or two, before she spotted her partner sitting at a table talking with a good-looking blond man she recognized as Senator Allingham. Glad she had taken the time to change out of the crumpled pants suit into a sage green suit with scalloped edges to the jacket and short skirt, Scully made her way between the tables toward the two men. It didn't hurt to look her best when meeting a senator. Although she had worn the suit because she knew she looked good in it and the knowledge would give her the necessary backbone to tell Fox Mulder that she had made up her mind to accept the promotion -- and then stick to her decision -- she also knew that he liked this suit on her. Mulder saw her before she got to the table and both men stood up, Mulder taking in the suit, the white lacey shell under it and the heels in a single comprehensive glance. His smile told her that he understood perfectly her motives for wearing it tonight. "Senator Allingham, my partner, Special Agent Dana Scully. She's going to be working with me on this." "How do you do?" The senator's famous charm was tempered tonight by his worry for his wife. "I was telling Agent Mulder that I hope that you'll be able to.... Well, my wife's been in the hospital for four days and I'm anxious to get her home for treatment." "I understand. We'll do everything we can to resolve things as quickly as possible, Senator," Scully smiled noncommittally. The senator hesitated for a moment, his dark eyes on hers, before he turned back to Mulder, holding out a hand that Mulder shook automatically. "Thank you for listening, Agent Mulder. Agent Scully, enjoy your dinner, and have a pleasant evening. I'll be seeing you both tomorrow morning at the hospital for your interview with my wife." Scully stood for a minute, watching the senator make his way out of the room through the maze of tables, before she became aware that Mulder was holding a chair for her. "Thanks." She sat. "What was that all about?" "He was pumping me to find out what we already knew about the case. I think he's concerned that the media will get hold of the story and wanted to make sure we'd be discreet." "Well, we don't usually advertise our investigations," Scully pointed out. "Politicians are always concerned about that type of thing," her partner shrugged, leaning back in his chair a little to give the waiter room to put down their drinks. Scully looked at the two wineglasses. Mulder was drinking a white wine tonight, and had ordered her the zinfandel blush that she preferred. He picked his glass up and lifted his eyebrows. "What should we drink to?" She eyed him narrowly, picking up her own glass. "How about power suits?" she suggested, her gaze taking in the light gray pinstripe he wore, one of her favorites. Mulder smiled broadly and touched his glass to hers, accepting her toast, before he sipped. Scully drank, too, then tilted her head a little to one side. "Are you wearing that suit for the reason I think you are?" "To psych you out of the reason you're wearing that suit? Absolutely. I need every advantage I can get." He looked at the wine in his glass consideringly and then back at her. "You've decided to go ahead and take that transfer, haven't you." Scully leaned forward, rotating the wineglass in her hands slowly, her eyes on the precise movement. "What else can I do -- your novel suggestion aside, of course. I've made up my mind, Mulder. You're not going to change it this time," she said firmly, hoping she sounded more convinced than she felt. "So, if you're that decided, then it won't matter if I go ahead and try to convince you otherwise, will it." She shrugged. "I can't stop you." "All right. Where would you like me to start?" "How about explaining how you think this...solution of yours is going to solve more problems than it creates." "First, and most obviously, you couldn't be transferred to Oakland. They'd have to transfer us as a pair if we were married. Marriage would be a no-fault reason for not accepting that promotion and, with the EOC breathing down the Bureau's neck and what with the lawsuit over at the CIA, it would be...impolitic to shelve you from promotion in the future." "Okay, but that's a pretty drastic solution for a relatively small problem in the greater scheme of things." "It works for future transfers, too," he pointed out. "Even if they closed the X-Files again and separated us professionally, they couldn't separate us personally." Scully finished her wine, remembering too vividly those few months she and Mulder had been separated when the X-Files were closed. She remembered how miserable she had felt, how frustrated Mulder had been, meeting covertly only when necessary. Could she deal with a more permanent separation? Could he? "It just wouldn't work, Mulder," she made herself say finally. "It *would* solve certain professional problems. I'll agree that it would do that. But it would never work on a personal basis." "Why not?" The hovering waiter took advantage of her hesitation in answering to let Mulder know that their table was ready. Mulder followed her through the tables as she followed the waiter's lead. As a party near the door got up from their table, Mulder's hand on her elbow steered her around them, his other arm shielding her from the oblivious couple that threatened to back into them. Scully smiled to herself. One reason to accept Mulder's crazy suggestion was that he was the only man she had ever known who was able to treat her like a woman without making her feel that she was being treated like a little girl because he was also perfectly able to send her into a house to flush out a suspected murderer while he covered the back. It was a nice feeling to know that she was a partner and a woman at the same time to him, that he accepted it without thinking twice about it. But she wasn't looking for a reason to accept, she reminded herself. By unspoken mutual consent, conversation over dinner was limited to strictly neutral topics. They had plenty of mutual interests, but although they took their time over dinner, their places were cleared and dessert served far too soon for Scully. "I'm not going to let you weasel out of this discussion," Mulder told her matter-of-factly when the waiter was gone. "I didn't think for a minute that you would, Mulder," she said mildly, beginning on her key lime pie. "Then tell me why you don't think we should be involved personally." "I've been thinking about that. It's hard to come up with a coherent answer." She touched her napkin to her mouth and sipped at her wine. "Putting everything professional on the side for the moment and concentrating purely on the personal, I have very strong feelings about marriage that you might not share." "Like...?" "Like marriage being an extremely serious commitment to another person that should be entered into, as the service says, advisedly and soberly. I just can't marry someone and hope vaguely that it all works out." Scully looked at him over her wineglass. "After I graduated from college, before I went into med school, I was the maid of honor at a good friend's wedding. Before the service, while I was helping her dress, she was talking to me about her last minute doubts about going through with it. Just before we went upstairs to the chapel, she said, 'Well, if it doesn't work out, we can always get a divorce.' That's one of the most appalling things I've ever heard anyone say. Her marriage to a man that she said was her best friend lasted three years exactly. By the time the divorce went through, they hated each other." "I've known a lot of couples who have traveled that road too. That doesn't mean that we will," Mulder said quietly. "It doesn't mean that we won't. If I ever make those promises -- the marriage vows -- I intend to keep them and stay married until I die. I expect the man that I marry to feel the same way." Mulder finished his own pie without saying anything, obviously considering what she had said before answering. "I can accept that," he said finally. "Marriage should be that way, a permanent commitment without any loopholes to wiggle through when the times get tough. I'd like it to be that way with you," he said honestly. "A lifetime is a long time, Mulder," she warned him. "I hope so," he smiled at her. "Finish your wine and I'll order coffee. So what else besides the permanence and seriousness of marriage do you see as an obstacle? Do you think we wouldn't get along?" "Frankly, I don't know if we could. Living with someone is pretty different than working with them." Mulder frowned. "Scully, we practically live together now. We wake, shower and dress separately, but we breakfast together, work together most of the day, sometimes into the night, sometimes through the night, say goodnight and then sleep separately. We call each other on the weekends. We see each other on the weekends." "But our apartments at least give us the illusion of privacy," she protested. "Illusion is right," snorted her partner. "We have keys to each others places, the passwords to each other's personal computers, you know where my Cheerios are, and I can always figure out where you've stashed the Hershey bars this time." Scully sighed. "Well, I'll concede that point. Maybe we do live pretty closely. But we always see each other under work-related conditions." "That can be remedied; we *are* in Bermuda, and we can't work twenty-four hours a day. But that doesn't mean that personal things haven't crept into those work- related conditions before. Our interests, likes and dislikes overlap in enough areas that we share personal things about ourselves all the time, even at work or on assignment." "Name one personal thing I've shared with you on assignment," she challenged him. "And I don't mean a food preference." "Think I can't?" he lifted his eyebrows mockingly. "Go ahead, Mulder." "All right. I like your taste in underwear," he smiled slowly. "What?" "The bra and bikini panties matched -- oyster colored satin, plain, no lace," he reflected. Scully's face flamed suddenly as she remembered what her partner was referring to. "And on our first case, too," Mulder continued thoughtfully. "I'd hate to tell you what went through my mind when you came to my room and dropped your robe." "Mulder, that's not funny." "Well, not at the time," he conceded, "but it is now, Scully. Isn't it?" Her blush was fading now, and a reluctant smile curved her mouth. "Your face must have been something. I can't believe I did that. I must have been out of my mind." "Just scared." "Too scared to even put on some clothes? You could have seen those marks if I'd pulled my shirttail out of my jeans." She shook her head. "No, I was definitely out of my mind." "I'd been pouring abduction stories into you until you came down with a bad case of the willies. But it *was* a pretty priceless moment." "And then you told me about your sister." Scully was suddenly serious again. "That was very personal for you, Mulder. Why then? Why me?" "I think I told you about Samantha that night because you half-believed what I'd been telling you enough -- your mind was open enough -- that you came to my motel room and let me look at those marks on your back. That took a certain amount of trust, Scully, even if you didn't think about it at the time. A lot of men would have tried to take advantage of that situation." "But you didn't." "No, but if I were you, I wouldn't be that trusting nowadays, Scully." He was smiling, but he didn't sound exactly like he was joking. The waiter cleared their dessert plates and wineglasses and re-set the table with the coffee service. Fragrant steam rose from the spout of the silver pot of coffee that he placed near Scully's right hand before he departed noiselessly once more. She poured the coffee with a steady hand into Mulder's cup first and then hers. At least she was outwardly unruffled, Scully thought thankfully. The coffee wouldn't do anything for the accelerated beating of her heart, but the familiar ritual gave her hands something to do. "I suppose," she said carefully, "that what you just said leads us into the next topic." "Scully, we might as well get it out of the way. We both know that it was the first thing that came to mind when I suggested this." Scully didn't bother wasting her time by attempting to deny it. She took a deep breath. "Okay. Sex is a very difficult subject for people to talk about." "For us to talk about," he corrected wryly. "To paraphrase, 'We build such a mystique around a simple biological act.'" She was silent, nursing her coffee, waiting for it to cool a little before she drank it, feeling her partner's gaze on her as he sipped from his own cup. "Why didn't you continue to see Jack Willis?" he asked suddenly. "You hadn't dated in quite a while when he died. Why did you stop going out?" It didn't occur to her not to answer him, as private as the subject was for her. "When he had a case he was involved in he became totally engrossed in it. I ceased to exist, became invisible," she shrugged. "When he finished the case, he was attentive and charming and funny again. He was a great guy, but he was a one-track person -- the perfect agent, but not the perfect boyfriend." "Anyone since then?" "No, no one." Mulder looked skeptical. "Scully, you're an attractive woman. You must have had offers, opportunities." "I'm not dead, Mulder, just busy," she replied tartly. "Besides, how could I concentrate on enjoying an evening of wild passion when I keep expecting my pager to go off or my celphone to ring? Getting a call from you would cramp my style." Mulder smiled his acknowledgment. "Am I that bad?" "Oh, yes. You have an uncanny knack for knowing when I've just met a nice looking man who is showing signs of interest. I can always count on my cellular ringing as soon as he gets around to asking me out." "I hate to point this out, but if you were really interested in someone, a phone call from me couldn't derail you like that." Scully sipped her coffee slowly. "I know that." Her voice was quiet, her eyes on the swirling liquid in the cup as she tilted it gently back and forth. "I figured that out some time ago." Mulder watched her for a moment. "Don't you want to ask about my relationships?" "Honestly? No." Scully smiled faintly. "I don't think I want to know more than I know now. And what I know is that you've been messed up pretty badly by one or two important women in your life, and now you mostly sublimate everything into your work." "Mostly," he nodded. "That's as much as I want to know," she reiterated. "What you've done in the past doesn't concern me as much as what you'll do in the future." "I can promise you that you don't need to worry on that score. I've already said that I plan to take those promises seriously, including the one about fidelity. Honestly, though, if I were married to you, I can't imagine wanting anyone else. And I know that sounds like some kind of line, but it isn't, Scully. I mean it." There was something in his voice that she had never heard before, something that warmed her more than the coffee, something that kept her gaze locked on her cup, afraid to look at him. "And there's a perfectly good reason to be concerned about my past...liaisons," he continued. "But I've never used IV drugs, and I've always practiced safe sex. The world is too dangerous not to." "I agree." Mulder waited for her to say more until it was obvious that she wasn't going to. "Something else is bothering you, Scully," he said at last, pushing his empty cup away and leaning toward her slightly. "Tell me." "Do you remember the waiting room, Mulder? What we said there?" He hesitated. "I can't remember the details of the conversation any more, but I remember generally what we said -- what I felt." "We've never said it, Mulder. Do you know that?" Her partner looked faintly surprised. "Said that we care for each other -- love each other? There are some things we've always been able to say without words, Scully. That was one of them, I thought. Do you need the words?" Her head inclined briefly, the sweep of her light auburn hair hiding part of her face. "Sometimes. But admissions of love mean vulnerability, and sex involves an intimacy that can't be taken back. Like most good things, they can easily be turned into weapons. Gunshot wounds heal, but the kinds of hurts inflicted by someone you care about sometimes never heal. I think you know something about that, Mulder." He nodded silently, his face expressionless. "That's what it comes down to, Mulder. The other stuff -- the work, the living space, the living together -- we could work all that out eventually. But loving someone, really loving them with your heart and your mind and your body, that's the most dangerous thing two people can do. There are so many opportunities to inadvertently -- or deliberately -- hurt the other person, to be hurt in return, to retaliate. I've always known that I couldn't live like that, but it would kill me to see what we have degenerate into that." "Scully..." he began, but she cut him off, her eyes raised to look at him now, her voice edged with desperation. "Leave it alone, Mulder, please. What we have now is good; it doesn't need to change. There's one more alternative we haven't discussed yet, you know. I could quit the Bureau, get another job in D.C. and...." "Scully, stop it," he said sharply, then lowered his voice. "This is a serious step we're talking about here, and I don't blame you for being scared. I am, too. But you're wrong when you say that what we have doesn't need to change. It's already been changed just by our talking about it. And it needs to keep changing, to keep growing. I don't want things to stay the same between us. I love you and I want to marry you. That our being married will keep you from being transferred is just a byproduct of what I really want." His gaze held hers captive. "And we're both used to carrying weapons, Scully. Just because you hand me one doesn't mean that I ever have to use it. We have to trust each other. We had that before we had everything else, remember? "I remember," she said slowly. "Then trust me, Scully. Love me. Marry me," he urged, reaching across the table to remove the cup from her nervous fingers and capture them in a warm, strong grip. "I do trust you. And I do care for you." Her fingers curved in his grasp, tightening on his hands. "But I'm not going to give you an answer tonight. I can't." "I won't push you if you need some time," he said seriously, "but there's one more excellent reasons for you to say yes." "What's that?" "The look on Skinner's face when we present him with the solution to his insoluble problem," he grinned. Exasperated, Scully pulled her hands from his grasp and picked up her purse. "Want me to wait for you while you take care of the check?" "No, go on up. I won't tempt myself by escorting you." His remark was only half in jest and Scully prudently got up, Mulder standing politely when she did. "'Night, Scully." Just for a second, the wine she'd had before, during and after dinner suggested that her room would be a lot less lonely with another person sharing it, but the coffee urged a more cautious response. She bade him a sedate goodnight and left him watching her go, a half-mocking smile on his lips. ***** (continued 2b) =========================================================================== From: xffscinut@aol.com (XFF SciNut) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: "Transfers" 2b/10 Date: 24 Mar 1996 14:33:40 -0500 All comments to the author: lcbx5me@aol.com ++++++++++ "TRANSFERS" part 2b by L.C. Brown ***** Her eyelids were finally starting to feel heavy. The aftermath of her conversation with Mulder had kept her awake for a couple of hours, tired as she was. The book she was reading was lit only by the nightstand lamp. The rest of the room was veiled in anonymous shadows as Scully glanced at her travel alarm and then checked it to make sure it was set. It was nearly midnight, and the pages of the mystery she was reading were starting to run together. She yawned and, marking her place, put the book aside, hoping that Mulder wouldn't want to go for breakfast at the crack of dawn. She was reaching for the lamp switch when there was a quiet knock on her door, and with a sudden movement she pushed back the covers and was up, grabbing her robe. It could only be Mulder. For him to come to her room this late, something must have happened, that was all she could think as she unbolted the door. Years of training stopped her before she turned the knob, though, and she asked sharply, "Who's there?" There was a second's hesitation. "Mulder," his voice said, sounding surprised. "Expecting anyone else?" he asked when she opened the door. "No. But I wasn't expecting you either," she reminded him. "Mind if I come in?" Scully stood back and gestured him in. "What's wrong?" she asked, shutting the door after him, noting the absence of his jacket and tie, his loosened collar and rolled- up shirtsleeves. "Nothing's wrong. Not really." "What's 'not really?'" she wanted to know. He didn't answer, but went to her balcony door to look out at the darkness. After a minute, he slid the door back a few inches to let in the soft night breeze, the scent of the ocean, and the distant boom of the waves. "I went for a walk," he finally said, his tone just conversational. "I couldn't sleep so I went out and walked around for a while, thinking. I was thinking about us. Thinking about you." He turned deliberately to look at her, his eyes darkened by the shadows enfolding the room, the color washed out of his face. "I want to stay here with you tonight, Scully." She could only stand where she was, frozen, speechless, feeling her heart seem to stop for a moment and then surge to life again, beating twice as fast as before. "Do you want me to stay?" he asked, approaching her slowly. "If you don't, I'll go." His hands were sliding behind her waist now, drawing them together, his head bending, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that startled her with its intensity, but that didn't ask for anything she wasn't prepared to give. She was breathless when he finally straightened, his hands inside her open robe, one against the curve of her waist and hip and the other against the outer curve of her breast. "Do you want me to go?" he asked her quietly, looking down at her. In the back of her mind, Scully could feel that something wasn't quite right about this. Something was wrong. Maybe this was going too fast.... Her hesitation must have shown in her expression because Mulder stepped back a little, his fingertips brushing against her breast in a brief caress. "I'll go." "No," she heard herself saying immediately. "Mulder, I want you to stay." "You're sure?" "Yes," she nodded, moving back into his embrace. He gave her no opportunity to change her mind. This time his kiss was harder, more demanding, confusing and exciting her senses at the same time. His fingers eased her robe over her shoulders and she shrugged it off, anxious to be closer to him, already working at the buttons of his shirt. By the time the rest of his clothes and her nightgown followed the robe to the floor, she was trembling with anticipation, more than ready to complete what he had started. The already tumbled bedclothes were unceremoniously pushed out of the way as she pulled him down with her finally and welcomed the warm weight of his body against hers. Her head tilted back and her eyes closed in pleasure as his mouth drifted down from her ear, brushed across her throat and began slowly tracing the line of her collarbone to the point of her shoulder, but after a moment she turned her head, kissing his temple to attract his attention. "Mulder...." "Mmm?" "Where is it?" He didn't say anything for a second, then lifted his head to look at her, his eyes very dark, and his mouth twisted in a wry smile. "Across the hall in my room," he admitted ruefully. "You want me to go get it?" He started to push himself away from her, and Scully's body felt suddenly chilled by the lack of contact with his. She found herself tightening her arms around him convulsively, pulling him back to her. "No, don't get up." "Scully, we can stop if you want to," he offered, "but I'd really rather we didn't." "Me neither." "You want to take the chance?" "It doesn't matter. I just don't want you to stop." "Then I won't," he promised, reaching out a long arm to turn off the lamp and let the shadows in the room take over. ***** (continued part 3) =========================================================================== From: xffscinut@aol.com (XFF SciNut) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: "Transfers" 3/10 Date: 24 Mar 1996 14:37:09 -0500 All comments the author at lcbx5me@aol.com Formating, posting errors to me. All parts posted 3/24/96 ++++++++++ "TRANSFERS" part 3 by L.C. Brown The morning sun was already promising to make the day a warm one when Scully went downstairs to meet Mulder for breakfast and she realized that her pale blue linen suit was not going to be cool enough. She had taken a minute to stand on the balcony to look at the view and mentally cursed the fashion czar that dictated appropriate business apparel. Mulder was waiting to get on the elevator, a paper bag in his hands, when the doors opened for her in the lobby. "Oh, there you are. I was about to come up and get you," he said, heading for the lobby door, obviously expecting her to tag along. "The senator called me a little while ago and asked if we could move the interview up. His wife had a bad night or something." "In her condition, wouldn't they have sedated her after a bad night?" "I'll show you her med records on the way. They don't make it clear exactly what her condition is." "What's in the bag?" she asked curiously as they reached the waiting taxi. "Breakfast. I need my calories and you need your caffeine. Hop in." Scully took the bag from him when she had settled herself in the back seat and sniffed at the open top of the bag. Fresh coffee and bread of some sort. He gave the address to the driver and took the bag back as the car started, fishing inside for something. "Ah. This one's yours." He handed her a large, lidded Styrofoam cup. "Not politically correct, but it does have cream and no sugar. Careful, it's hot," he warned. She didn't care. If she could have poured it into herself intravenously, she would have. Two nights with almost no sleep were making her feel a little lightheaded, slightly detached from everything around her. She sincerely hoped the coffee would drive some of the mental fog away; she would need to be able to pay attention and make observations during the interview. "Scully?" She looked up, startled, to find that he was holding out a smaller bakery bag with a couple of croissants and what looked suspiciously like two jelly doughnuts. "You asleep?" he enquired. "No, just inhaling the caffeine," she replied, taking a croissant. She wasn't a big breakfast eater under the best of circumstances, but this morning she was too tired to be hungry. "The coffee's great. I may decide to live after all." "Yeah. Don't die; suffer," he said, eyeing her as he started on one of the jelly doughnuts. "Those things will kill you before you're 45, Mulder," she shook her head, balancing the croissant on a paper napkin on her knee while she extracted her sunglasses from her purse and put them on one-handed. The bright, Bermuda sun was blinding and she was beginning to feel a headache coming on after only a few minutes of exposure to it. "So who wants to live forever? Besides you're just jealous." Not this morning, she thought, nibbling half-heartedly at her pastry. "You got that med report?" she asked, taking the opportunity to hide the remainder of the pastry in the paper napkin while Mulder's attention was on not spilling his coffee as he found the report in the folder and handed it across to her, along with his notes so far on the case. He didn't say anything while she read through everything, just polished off the second doughnut and, after offering her the second croissant and being refused with an absent shake of her head, ate that, too. "No physical evidence," she frowned, "and she doesn't match any of the psych profiles I can think of." Mulder considered that. "She displays limited paranoia, and there are a few schizoid signals, but no signs of depression or mania. She's not actively belligerent; her normal waking state at the moment seems to be pretty passive. But she displays a marked fear-aggression response when confronted by her husband." "*Could* he have done something to her? It says here that she claims that he attacked her and raped on the...mmm...fifth night of their vacation here." "No evidence to support it," he shrugged, "and the senator has offered to take a lie-detector test." "That doesn't mean anything," she pointed out. "I know. I've got someone checking on his background, although God knows the media does a better job than we can hope to," Mulder said wryly, putting her empty coffee cup in the bag with his trash and taking the rest of the croissant from her and adding it to the bag without comment. "He's gotten this far in his political career without anything serious coming out about his past, so I thought I'd put that aside for now." Scully frowned down at the picture included in the file, taken only a monthly previously at a White House gala, according to the date recorded on the bottom. Julie Allingham was a lovely blond woman, a bit older than Scully, perhaps, dressed in a dress that Scully frankly coveted, not that fuscia was her color. Mrs. Allingham looked upper class, well-educated, carefully groomed and discreetly expensive. Her sandy-haired, blue-eyed husband looked like her clone. Together, they looked a little plastic, more than a little political, but they looked happy, without shadows in their eyes. Scully wondered absently how Julie Allingham looked now, automatically checking the details of the photo: the people in the background, the physical location, the light, the shadows. After a moment, she focused more attention on the photo, gathering her wandering thoughts. There was nothing wrong about it that she could see, but something was off nonetheless. Some detail.... She examined it closely until the taxi finally drew up in front of the hospital, but still couldn't put her finger on the elusive wrongness in the picture, and finally closed the file. She got out of the car with her partner, waited on the broad front steps of the building while he pitched their trash in a nearby receptacle and then accompanied him inside. "We may have to interview them separately if Mrs. Allingham's paranoia about her husband extends to men in general," Mulder was thinking out loud as they climbed the stairs to the third floor, avoiding the overcrowded elevators in the teeming lobby. "If she believes that she's been raped, it's not an uncommon reaction to extend the fear to a fear of all or most men, especially if she's unstable," Scully said reasonably. "If she has a problem talking to you, I'll take care of her interview and you can deal with the senator. No sense wasting time if we don't both need to be there." Mulder nodded his agreement and reached out to stop her before she could open the stairway door to the third floor, and for a second she thought he was going to kiss her -- and for that split second she wanted that, needed that, more than anything else. But all he did was give her a quirky half- smile as he took her sunglasses off for her and tucked them into her briefcase. "Trying out for the Secret Service?" he asked lightly. She shrugged, embarrassed at her sudden awareness of him, chagrined that she had forgotten the sunglasses. She wasn't in complete control of herself and she felt it acutely. Scully knew that she needed to pull herself together. She hoped she could. ***** >From Scully's point of view, the interview with Mrs. Allingham had not been a success. First of all, she and Mulder had been surprised to find John Allingham in his wife's private room on the psych ward. They appeared to be on fairly friendly footing, if restrained in manner, but Scully had only had a minute to observe this. Mrs. Allingham had taken Mulder in sudden violent, vocal dislike that quickly extended itself to Senator Allingham again, forcing the men to retreat, leaving Scully and a nurse with the half-hysterical woman. The nurse had calmed her and Scully had been shocked by the change in Mrs. Allingham's appearance as she grew quieter and Scully was able to observe her. The carefully coifed blond hair was lank and ragged, as if it had been hacked by a knife -- "so I won't be pretty" -- and there were angry scratches on her face and throat, self- inflicted, according to the latest medical chart -- "he really likes the pretty ones" -- and she looked as if she'd lost a lot of weight, thin and haggard-looking -- "if he gets tired of me, he'll move on to someone else." Mrs. Allingham had talked about her husband as if he were two different people, had begged the nurse every other minute to close the window curtains, and had made incoherent statements about a poison that her husband had given her, or had caused to be given to her. She also talked vaguely about an infection that spread. The most startling and puzzling moment had come at the end of the interview, Scully thought, when Mrs. Allingham had reached tremblingly for her hand and told her that the infection would spread to her, too. "I can see it in your face already," she had told her. "And don't be alone with John. He has that other man." "You mean Agent Mulder?" Scully had asked sharply. "Don't trust any of them," had come the confidential whisper in the quavering voice. "Not after dark. He could be anywhere. He could be anyone." When the nurse indicated that she should leave a minute or two later, as Mrs. Allingham succumbed to exhaustion, Scully felt unsettled and shaken without knowing why. She begged a cup of coffee from the nurses at the central psych station and drank it while she waited for Mulder to finish his interview with the senator. Despite the warmth of the coffee, she felt thoroughly chilled by what Julie Allingham had said. The woman was unstable, ill, and Scully had dealt with such people before without being affected this way. Why couldn't she handle it now? Her hand shook as she poured herself another cup of coffee. ***** Mulder didn't seem to notice that anything was wrong when he finished his interview and came to find her. His hand on her back directed her down the hall toward the ward entrance and she found herself walking just a bit faster to escape the awareness of him that his touch engendered. "Find anything?" she asked, turning slightly toward him to cover her withdrawal. "Not really," he shook his head. "The story he's telling is pretty straightforward. They came here on vacation and were having a good time. No one knew them here so they were enjoying their anonymity. Then his wife woke up one morning with this claim that he had attacked her the previous night after they'd gone to bed. When she started asserting that he had poisoned her, he began to wonder if she had taken something or eaten something at dinner that had caused this reaction, so he took her to the hospital. The doctors agreed that it could be some sort of toxin, but the tox screens didn't show anything. They fell back on a psychological condition when they couldn't find anything physical to account for her condition." "Yet the medical records did indicate that there was bruising consistent with a sexual attack." Mulder shrugged. "The senator said they had naturally been having sexual relations since their arrival in Bermuda. He didn't think the sex was rough enough to cause the bruising, but said he couldn't be sure." "Do you believe him?" "I'm not ready to believe anybody yet, Scully. What did you come up with?" "Well, it's a good thing I always tape the interview because she was pretty incoherent. I couldn't understand some of what she was saying, and it was hard to get her to stay with one line of thinking. I'm going to have to transcribe the tape this afternoon and see what I have." She winced inwardly, knowing how evasive that sounded, and she saw Mulder glance sideways at her curiously. "We have two more interviews lined up for today," he reminded her. "What times?" "Eleven and three." "Okay. Let me have the addresses and I'll meet you there. I've got some things I want to check out back at the hotel. I brought my modem so I could get online." Mulder frowned, looking at her closely. "Scully, are you okay?" "I'm fine, Mulder." "You don't look fine. You look wiped," he told her bluntly. "And you're acting a little strange." "Sorry, Mulder, but you don't have the monopoly on acting strange in this partnership. But I am beat -- maybe I'm coming down with something. I don't know. But I'm going back to the hotel and I'll meet you for the other two interviews." Scully picked up her pace without waiting for him to answer. She bypassed the door to the stairs that he was going to take and, taking the turn in the hallway, headed for the elevators, leaving her partner standing, staring after her. She knew that Mulder was going to have a lot of questions for her later, but she couldn't stay here with him any longer. She had known that changing their relationship could be a costly mistake, but she was only just beginning to realize how costly it could be. ***** Scully made it to the first interview by the skin of her teeth. Mulder didn't say anything when she came in late, but he didn't have to. It was in his eyes, if not in his face. Ms. Hess was a tall woman of 38, thin to the point of boniness, but it was the haggard kind of thinness that came from losing too much weight too fast. Her skin almost seemed to rest against her bones like fragile tissue paper. There were dark circles under her eyes and deep hollows in her cheeks. Her fingers twitched nervously, moving restlessly all the time she was talking, touching her limp, half-permed hair, brushing at her shirt, pleating her skirt nervously in the shadowy light seeping in through the curtains. She was almost at the end of her three week vacation, and claimed to have been attacked by her boyfriend on their second night in Hamilton. She couldn't remember specifics any longer, except that she'd been drugged by the man, she thought. After a violent argument, he had gone back to the States early, leaving her behind. According to the medical records from her emergency room visit, her injuries were minor but had been consistent with those of a rape victim, however, she had refused to press charges against the boyfriend, despite her initial acknowledgment of him as her attacker. She did say, though, that she had talked to her boyfriend on the phone recently, and things seemed to be all right between them. She was hoping to be able to work things out when she got home in a couple of days. Nothing again, Scully thought, heading out of the motel room at the end of the interview, tucking her recorder back into her briefcase. No direct accusation, no background, no evidence. She already knew that the tox screen done at the emergency room for evidence of drug use had shown nothing unusual. "Scully!" Mulder's voice stopped her before she could get into the cab she had hastily hailed. She turned, one hand on the open door, to look at her partner from behind the safety of her sunglasses. "Okay, do you want to tell me what's going on?" he asked quietly, coming to a halt too close for her peace of mind. She thought about it briefly. "No." Mulder frowned, watching her. "Something is wrong, isn't it." She thought about that, too. "Yes, I think so." "And you don't want to talk about it?" "Not right now. Maybe later. Maybe tonight." Mulder hesitated. "You don't look good, Scully. Will you be all right until then?" "I think so," she smiled. He took a deep breath and let it out again. "Look, I'll take the three o'clock interview, record and transcribe it. I don't think we're going to get anything much from Ms. Soames, but it has to be done for the record." "Mulder, this case.... We're not getting anywhere, are we." "Not really," he admitted. Scully shook her head. "It has to be some kind of toxin," she said firmly. "Something they were given. Something ingested or injected. I'll go back to the hotel and start trying to connect the three women. Or the three men." "Or the hotel, the motel, and the camping tent that were occupied by the victims," he agreed dryly. "I don't think we're going to come up with much." "Have you got a theory, then?" "Nothing I want to verbalize yet." Scully smiled, feeling more at ease with him than she had since dinner the night before. "Mulder, you've never been shy about verbalizing whatever bizarre theory you've thought up. You can't kid me. You don't have a clue." "I'll go shopping for one this afternoon," he shrugged with an answering wry smile. "You look beat. Go on back to the hotel, Scully. I'll see you later." ***** Scully took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes tiredly. The transcriptions of the two interviews were finished, and she had been online for what felt like days. It was nearly 7:30 now. Mulder had dropped off his transcription notes an hour ago, saying that he had to go make some calls and would meet her downstairs for dinner. There was nothing in Mulder's interview notes to cast light on either one of the other two cases. The only reason Ms. Soames was still in Bermuda was because of injuries sustained in a moped accident on her last day of vacation. Her fiance had been traveling with her, but not staying with her. Separate tents. Both of them were religious people, and sex before marriage was something that they both had convictions about. Unlike the other women, Ms. Soames did not claim to have been attacked by her fiance. She said that someone had tried to impersonate him and had raped her when she realized that he wasn't who he said he was. Although Ms. Soames did not appear to be in good health, her loss of appetite and nervous condition could be attributed to the injuries, although they fit the pattern of the other two rapes. Of the three women, she seemed to be in the best mental shape, and her nervous condition was not as apparent. The cases shared several features, Scully thought. All three women had claimed to have been attacked by a man who looked like someone who was well-known to them. All three women had suffered similar symptoms of varying degrees: nervousness, sleeplessness, loss of appetite, some degree of photosensitivity. All had similar physical injuries sustained in the attack. Scully frowned at the small laptop screen where she was compiling and comparing information and leaned forward a little. She had seen physical rape trauma before and it was usually a pretty brutal sight. These women had actually gotten off pretty lightly, considering they had been raped. There was certainly evidence of sexual trauma, but there was no real tearing of internal tissue. A lot of external bruising, certainly. But hard, consenting sex could produce the same bruising. She reached slowly for the photos taken in the emergency room, looking at them from a slightly different point of view. The women looked drained, empty. They looked as if they experienced a trauma. What they didn't look was beaten up. Scully got up and went to the phone. When her partner answered after the first ring, she didn't waste any time. "I think I've found something, Mulder. I need you to come over and get my notes." "I'll be right there." She put the phone down and looked at the small ray of light that was slipping through a small gap in the drawn curtains. The sun was starting to go down and the bay would probably be gorgeous, but it was too much of an effort to pull the curtains to look. She opened the door for Mulder when he knocked and then went back to her desk, leaving him to shut the door. "Take a look at this, Mulder," she gathered up the photos. "The medical reports for all three list what could be termed mild, external sexual trauma, and these photos don't show anything more than a few bruises, none on their faces. Now, rape is a crime of violence, not really having anything to do with sex except as a means of control and as a weapon." "That's what I was taught," he agreed, taking the photos from her to study. "So there's something wrong here, then. Not enough force used." "I think so. Also, it occurred to me that three rapes by three different men should produce three different MO's." "And the MO is the same in each of these cases," he said slowly, nodding. "Scully, I think you've got something here. If you come at it from the point of view that all these attacks were perpetrated by the same individual, you start seeing a pattern." "But the women each identified a different man. Do you think the rapist studies his victims and disguises himself as someone they brought with them? Or the resemblance to someone they know is drug-induced? Or they're hypnotized?" She trotted out every theory she could think of but knew from the look on his face that he wasn't buying them. "Or he somehow changes his shape." "Mulder...." "We've experienced shapeshifters before, Scully," he interrupted her. "You may not be able to explain them scientifically, but you know it can happen. You've seen it." "I'd taken a fall -- a blow to the head...." she began stubbornly and was stopped in mid-sentence by the look he gave her. She thought about what she'd seen in the hotel room in Hunt Valley and gave up the argument. "All right. I saw it. You think that's what this is? I thought you believed that guy was some kind of alien agent of some kind." "I think shapeshifting is a possibility, that's all. There are a couple of other possibilities, though, that I'm not going to dismiss yet." "What now, then?" "Well, first of all, I'm going to stand you up for dinner so I can work up a profile on this guy, starting from the assumption that there's one rapist and see what I can come up with. Tomorrow we can make some calls to see if there have been any similar attacks on the locals." "I can get online again tonight and check the local newspaper morgues," she offered. "No, hang it up tonight, Scully. You still look tired, so you might as well start fresh in the morning. Let me have your notes." Scully handed everything over to him wordlessly and watched him go, knowing that he was already absorbed in beginning the profile that they needed to solve this case. But a minute after the door had closed, she got up and, smiling to herself, went to answer the knock she knew was coming. Mulder had already put the notes in his room and looked faintly sheepish. "I forgot that I wanted to talk to you about what went on today," he half-apologized. "Never mind, Mulder. I'm fine and you've got a lot of work you need to do. We can talk tomorrow." "Scully, you weren't fine today," he said seriously. "Something's going on with you. And don't hand me any crap about not wanting to distract me from the case," he continued as she opened her mouth to reply. He waited for her to speak, but when she didn't he put his hands on her shoulders and shook her gently. "Talk to me, Scully. What's wrong? Are you worrying about what we talked about at dinner? About my proposal?" "That -- and other things, too," she shrugged his hands off her shoulders and stepped back as casually as she could. "What other things?" Mulder frowned. Scully sighed, exasperated. This was not a conversation she wanted to have in the doorway of her hotel room, but she wasn't prepared to let him into her room where things could get more personal fast. His touch had burned her skin through her blouse and weakened her resolve to keep him out of the room. "Mulder, after everything we talked about, after what happened, and after feeling the way I did today, I feel like my head is being messed with. And I don't like it." "You think I'm messing with your head?" he echoed blankly. "And doing a good job of it, too. Look, Mulder, I can't talk about this right now, not with the case still ongoing. I can't keep doing this while we're trying to work as well. When we finish the assignment, then we'll talk. Let's shelve the personal stuff until then." "But...." "After we finish the assignment." "Scully...." "No, Mulder," she shook her head, closing the door on him with a certain finality. ***** Scully didn't bother with dinner. The thought of food was unappealing; she was too tired to eat. She thought briefly about going back online to do the newspaper research, but the idea of looking into that computer screen for even five more minutes was even more unappealing than the thought of food. After a brief struggle with herself, she gave up trying to think of something constructive to do and just took a shower and went to bed. Right now, sleep was the only thing that held any appeal for her. ***** She didn't know how long the knocking had been going on, but it became part of her dream before it woke her up, confused and groggy. The travel alarm by the bed said 12:30 and she muttered a heartfelt curse as she dragged herself out of bed and went to the door. "Who is it?" she asked, her voice husky with sleep. "Mulder. Are you okay, Scully?" "I was asleep. What do you want?" "Open up. I want to talk to you." "It's too late and I'm too tired. You can talk to me tomorrow." "It's already tomorrow," he pointed out. "I don't want to have to shout through a door at you, Scully. Come on, open the door." "No. Go to bed, Mulder." The silence from the other side of the door went on long enough that she was beginning to think he had given up and gone back to his room when he spoke again. "Either you open the door or I will," he said, his voice very quiet. "What?!" "You heard me." Scully stared in surprise at the door for a moment, as if she could see through it to the other side where her partner stood. He must be crazy. "Scully, open the door," he said slowly and deliberately. She unlocked and opened it quickly. "Mulder, I don't want to talk to you right now. I'm tired and I want to go back to bed," she protested as he moved past her into the room. "That's a great idea," her partner agreed, starting to strip off the polo shirt he was wearing with his jeans. "Mulder...." "You wanted this all day, Scully," he told her calmly. "Did you think I couldn't tell?" "But...." "Shhh." A quick movement divested her of her nightshirt and then his kiss was sapping her of any desire to tell him to stop. ***** (continued part 4) ===========================================================================