From the Ashes

By: Jamie Greco

Classification: Story with some violence and MSR.

Rated: Strong R

Spoilers: Small references through the sixth season.

Summary: When Mulder is accused of sexual assault by a
confused young girl, it begins an odyssey which will cause
him to doubt every aspect of his life.  But as Scully works
to find out the hidden truth behind the events, Mulder
realizes that she is the one truth upon which he can always
rely.




Dear Mr. Mulder,

I hope you don't mind my looking up your e-mail address.

I wanted to thank you again for stepping in with my
customer today.  I don't know why he was so angry, but you
charged up like Lancelot and took care of me.  Thank you so
much.  Hope to see you soon. 

Amber  (the girl at the parking garage.)




Scully stood outside lock up, holding two large cups of
steaming coffee, tapping her foot impatiently.  Her brain
felt fuzzy, unfocused, and she sipped at her cup trying to
whip her exhaustion into shape.  It was some time after
three in the morning; she couldn't be sure since her watch
was useless with the two coffees occupying her hands.  

Her mind kept picking at the conversation she had had with
the warden when she had arrived.  He had been adamant that
Scully not be admitted until visitor's hours, his nasty
attitude worn on his crooked, puffy face as he spat out the
rules.  Scully pulled out the big guns, threatening vaguely
and then more specifically, until he physically took a step
back.  When she saw him approaching without Mulder, she
barely suppressed a snarl.

"Where is he?"

"He won't see you, miss." 

Scully ignored the obviously calculated use of address. 
"What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying that Agent Mulder refuses to see you.  He's
all tucked in for the night and doesn't want to get up to
see you."

"And since when are you his social secretary?"

"Look, lady-"

"No, you look.  I am a federal agent, and I can go over
your head if I have to.  I want to see Agent Mulder."

"If I let you visit your partner whenever you want, how
will I stop the other prisoners from asking for the same
privileges?"

"Are you telling me you have an FBI agent in general lock
up?"

"Is he too good for that?"

"Look, I'm not going to debate this-" 

"Because, in case there's any confusion, your FBI agent
sexually assaulted a nineteen-year-old girl."

"He allegedly assaulted."

"Fine...allegedly," he replied, his lips curling around
the word as if it had decayed in his mouth.

"I'm not discussing this any further.  If you are
unwilling to do the appropriate thing and move Agent Mulder
into a secure area, I will simply have to go over your
head."  She paused, organizing her thoughts.  Her objective
now was to see him, to know that he was surviving, to
assure him that she would secure his release. 
"Look...Warden," she began evenly.  "I don't know how I can
make this any clearer.  I am a federal agent and I am
requesting that you get the prisoner...Agent Mulder...and
bring him here to interrogation.  If you don't comply, I
will have to assume you have something to hide and will be
forced to recommend a full investigation of you and your
operation."

He looked into her face with full-blown, murderous
contempt but didn't articulate his feelings.  His silence
spoke volumes with which Scully wasn't interested in
investing her time.  "Warden, go and get Agent Mulder," she
reiterated, her heart pounding with concealed fear that her
surface bravado was crumbling.

"I'll do that," he finally replied.  "But I'd be prepared
for a less than delighted reception.  He seems to be in a
snit."  He disappeared through the heavy doors once again,
and Scully could hear the succession of security doors
slamming progressively behind him.




Scully approached interrogation with much less confidence
than she displayed with the warden.  She braced herself for
an onslaught of hostility and outrage from Mulder if in
fact he had refused to see her, she felt prepared to accept
it.  What she wasn't prepared for was the downcast,
defeated way he held his body as he sat on the other side
of the one-way mirror.  She wondered if she would be able
to hold her own if his face held the same expression, now
his handcuffed hands covered his countenance.  She took a
deep breath and opened the door.

He glanced up and resituated his head behind his hands. 
"Perhaps you haven't heard.  I'm not inviting company in
today."

"Mulder, why didn't you call me?"

"I'd offer you something to drink but-"

"Mulder-"

"I guess I'm all tied up."

"Mulder, dammit!"

"I know, I know, I swore I wouldn't use the all tied up
analogy.  It's just so easy.  But I'm not myself lately,
and I just wasn't prepared for company." 

"Are you finished?"

"Are you?" he snapped off, finally dropping his hands away
from his face, revealing the bruising around his mouth and
eyes; his anger bobbing briefly to the surface before going
under with an icy wave of feigned indifference.

Scully made no mention of his wounds.  Coolly she replied,
"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that if I'd wanted you to come and witness
this-" He attempted to sweep his arms around, but was
thwarted by the handcuffs, which jangled loudly as if to
mock him.  "-I would have sent out the invitation."

He stood up and strode away from the table, knocking
backhanded against the door.  "Guard!" 

"Mulder, why are you doing this?"

"Guard!" he called out again, more adamantly.

"Mulder!" she said, irritated at the desperation that had
risen in her voice.  "Let me help you."  She grasped his
shoulder and pushed him away from the door.  It was
surprising how easily his body was moved.  

He looked down at her for a moment, his face set in a
still, defensive posture.  She looked for the terror she
felt would be hidden in his eyes, but saw only the grim
acceptance of a man about to take a ten mile walk in the
driving rain with the only option to keep moving forward. 
Finally he turned his back to her, walking the few steps he
had available to him.  "Look, Scully, I'll be bailed out by
this afternoon.  There's no physical evidence.  I've called
my lawyer."

"Mulder," she said gently.  "Can't you let me do this for
you?  Let me talk to witnesses, to the woman, to find out
what would make her accuse you of attempted sexual assault.
 I can get enough information to convince her to drop the
case before it ends up on your record." 

He seemed to stall suddenly. Looking carefully into
Scully's eyes, he approached her.  "You..." He dropped his
eyes.  "You don't believe I did this?"

"Mulder," she said gently, placing her hand on his arm. 
He withdrew quickly but without anger.

"I mean...you don't think there's any chance I might
have...done what she said I did?"

She dropped her head, suddenly saddened to the point of
tears, but she swallowed hard.  

"Aren't you even going to ask me if I did it?" he
continued.

"No, Mulder," she answered, her voice tight and small.

"Aren't you wondering where I got these bruises if she
wasn't fighting me off?"  He asked, touching his face
tentatively, as if he wasn't sure what he'd find there.

"No, I'm not.  I'm...I'm a little surprised that you would
think I could doubt your innocence.  I'm hurt that you
would think that of me."

"That I would think that of you?" he repeated
incredulously as he began a slow pace.  "Scully, I think
there has to be a limit...doesn't there?  How many times
will you just drop everything and rescue me, just on your
personal sense of loyalty to me?"

"How many times will you doubt that I'm willing to put
myself out there for you?  How long do I have to prove
myself?"

"Is that what's this about to you?  Proving to me that I
can trust you?  I trust you, okay?  Now, go home."

"Mulder, if I were to find myself accused of something I
didn't do, I would call you, first and foremost.  It
wouldn't take any thought at all."

"But, Scully, you wouldn't be accused of this kind of
thing!  It's totally moot.  Don't you see?  Can't
you...It's me; I'm the one who digs these holes and then
has to look to you because I've burned every bridge. 
There's nothing around me but ashes, Scully!"

"And me," she offered quietly.

Mulder stopped, his mouth open, prepared to continue his
argument; but his brain seized with the fiercest love he
had ever experienced.  He dropped his head, and seemed
transfixed by his handcuffs, Scully came to him slowly, as
if he might bolt, touched his shoulder first, and when he
didn't draw back, she wrapped her arms around him, slipping
her hands under his arms and around his back.  He stood
silently and accepted her unspoken emotion, finally laying
his head on her hair and resting there.  He wished
fervently that he could remain where he was until the day
he died, and time slowed down as his breathing became
easier.

Scully patted his back and pulled away a little.  "Let's
talk about how to get you out of here," she told him, and
he nodded in return. 



"You want some coffee?" Scully asked, reaching for the
coffee she had left on the table.  Mulder's face looked
drawn. He was obviously exhausted; and with his anger
stripped from him, he looked frighteningly vulnerable.

"Yeah," he murmured as he rubbed the stubble on his face. 


"Let's get the handcuffs off too."

"They won't take them off.  It's a rule with all of us
violent criminals when we meet with the proper citizens. 
You never know what we'll do next."

"Yeah, well...I'll take my chances," Scully countered as
she fished a key from her briefcase.  "Ta-da!" she sang out
as she gestured for him to hold out his hands as she
unlocked him.

He sighed.  "Thanks, Scully."

She handed him the coffee, and he breathed it in.  "No
cake with a file?" he asked.

"Maybe next time." 

"Hey, I can't leave now, anyway.  The coolest guy in the
cellblock wants me to be his bitch."

She was not amused.  Her fear for his safety gnawed at her
as she wondered if she could find some leverage to have him
moved.  For now, she pulled out a notepad.  "Mulder, I want
to talk to everyone who saw you last night, from the time
you left me until..." She pulled papers from his file and
scanned them.  "Until 9:20."

He nodded, still wincing from the bitter coffee.

"Do you know this woman who has accused you, Mulder?"

"Yeah.  She works at the parking garage where I keep my
car sometimes.  I run into her at the deli every once in
awhile."

"Have you had any contact with her aside from that?"

He didn't answer right away.

"Mulder?"

"Scully...she's been...she's been trying to..."

"Just say it, Mulder."

"She has a crush on me.  She e-mails me, sends me things
in the mail. That kind of thing."

"And you've never given her any reason to believe-"

"She's a child, Scully.  Nineteen years old, for god's
sake!  I simply...I've tried to let her down easily.  I
know what it's like to want someone who doesn't think of
you that way.  But she's gotten bitter lately.  As if I've
dumped her...her last few e-mails-"

"Do you still have them?"

"No, I deleted them."

"I'll let the Gunmen at your computer.  If they were there
at one time, the guys will get them out.  Do you have
anything else?"

"No."

"Mulder, can you tell me what happened?"

He rubbed the bridge of his nose.  "I went out for a drink
on the way home."

"Alone?"

He nodded.  

"Where?"

He placed his hand over his eyes.  "The Copper Penny."

Scully let her surprise show vividly on her face.  "The
Copper Penny?" she echoed.

"I know.  It's not what it seems.  I just go there..."

"Mulder, it's a gay bar."

"I know.  Look, I don't feel like..." he sighed. 
"Just...you know I'm not gay."

"All right." She found herself temporarily at a loss for
words.  She tapped her pencil and gathered her thoughts. 
"Did you talk to anyone there?"

"I talked to the bartenders for awhile.  They know me."

"Okaaay," Scully replied.  "Then what happened?"

"She showed up there.  We talked.  I told her she should
leave.  That she was underage.  She said we should leave
together.  She...offered to...she offered sex.  I turned
her down.  She was insistent.  I think she was drunk...or
high, Scully.  He eyes were glassy."

"Did the bartender hear any of this?"

"I don't see how they could have missed it.  She kind of
fell on me, and I pushed her off.  I was maybe...too
rough..." He trailed off.

"What happened next?"

"I walked home.  I drank too much and I thought I'd walk
it off, come back for my car tomorrow."

"But you changed your mind."

"No," he answered, confused.

"Your car is parked out in front of your apartment.  In
fact, this woman..." She glanced down at her file. "Amber
Whitley said she drove you home in it."

"She didn't."

"How did it get there then?"

"I left it at the bar, Scully," he answered sharply, more
defensively.

"Okay...all right.  Did you see anybody on the way home?"

"Yeah.  Homeless guy named Noah."

"Okay."

"Then what?"

"I came home, fell asleep on the couch.  Next thing I
know, someone's on top of me, kissing me."

"Amber?  How did she get in?"

"I don't know."

"So...you woke up..."

"I was being kissed...pawed...I might have participated at
first."

Scully raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.  

"I was asleep, Scully.  I thought it might--" He broke
off.  "I must have been dreaming.  I kissed her back
for...I guess it was briefly before I came to realize it
was her...it was Amber."

"So there could be DNA on her?"

He shrugged. "Saliva...I guess there could be DNA."

"Then what?"

"I pushed her off of me, but she was wrapped around me and
she was tearing my shirt off.  I pushed harder, and...She
hauled off and punched me.  It dazed me...and she did it
again."  He rubbed at his eyes.  "It's getting pretty sad
when I start being knocked around by girls."

"Mulder..."

"I mean, what's next?  Kids?" 

"Mulder, you were being sexually assaulted."

He nodded slowly and looked away.  "Don't let that get
around.  Might make the guys think less of me." He forced
an uncomfortable grin.

"I'm serious, Mulder."

"I know.  It's just...you know I'm not that concerned with
my reputation as a hard guy.  But..."

"I know, Mulder.  But if we can prove that you were the
victim, it would clear you."

He sighed.  "Is it really all that important that I'm
cleared, Scully? I mean, I'm starting to get used to jail. 
I'm making friends.  I've learned how to get cigarettes."

"You don't smoke."

"Smoking isn't the primary objective of cigarettes in
prison, Scully."

"I don't like the idea of you in general lock up, Mulder. 
I think I'm going to see if we can get you into solitary."

"I could start a food fight," he offered.

"Seriously, Mulder, if it gets around that you're a
federal officer, you could be in danger."

"So what are you going to tell the warden--that you don't
want me playing with the other boys?  I don't think it'll
fly.  I'm arraigned later today; I think I can make it
until then."

She watched him uncertainly.  He seemed so far out of his
element.  >From the prison issue jeans and t-shirt he wore,
to the fact he had obviously been asleep when he was pulled
in, giving him a grizzled, rumpled look.   "Still, let me
see what I can do.  Maybe Skinner can help."

"Don't tell Skinner, Scully."

"Mulder, he told me."

"Shit..." He sat silently for a moment.  

"Is there anything else to tell me?  Can you think of
anyone else who saw you alone that night?

"I think my neighbor...Yeah, Mrs. Yates saw me in the
elevator."

"Great."

"But she hates me, thinks I've ruined the building."

"Haven't you?"

"Well, yeah, but I've always had very good reasons."

"You haven't told me what happened after she punched you."

"I finally shoved her off of me and she went flying into
my coffee table, shattered it.  So she looks pretty banged
up."

"So do you," Scully observed.

He shrugged.  "But, I'm the big, macho guy."

"Yeah, that's how I'd sum you up," Scully countered
facetiously.  "Anything else?"

"I don't think so."

"Okay," she replied.  "I'm going to talk to the bartender,
maybe people she works with, Noah, the Gunmen, your
neighbor."

"Sounds like a pretty full day."

"Yeah, and you're leaving me all the grunt work again,"
she observed wryly as she started to pack up.

"Sorry, Scully," he replied.

"You're going to have to put the cuffs back on," she told
him. 

He gazed at them where he had abandoned them earlier,
sickened by the sight of them but unwilling to show his
feelings to Scully.  Instead he snapped them on with no
flourish or comment.  Slowly he stood and tried to prepare
himself for her leaving.  It was impossible; he felt
abandoned before she even closed her briefcase.

"Are you going to be okay?"  She asked.

He didn't answer quickly, chewing on his lip, he gazed at
the door...  "I-I just really don't want to go back in
there, Scully."

"It won't be for long."

"No...No, you're right."

"If you're not out soon, I'll bake you that cake with a
file in it," she offered with a small grin she didn't feel.

"I knew I could count on you," he returned as he quickly
touched her hand and let it go again.


                      
                      

Dear Mr. Mulder,
It was so nice to see you again today.  It's been awhile. 
Do you work out of town a lot?  I hope I didn't embarrass
you when I told you I think your eyes are beautiful. What
color are they? 

Amber



Scully sat in her car and felt the weight of the night
pressing in around her.  Lowering her head to the steering
wheel, she became aware of her breathing: choppy and quick.
 She rubbed her forehead roughly with the tips of her
fingers, willing herself to concentrate on the tasks at
hand.  But her mind refused to stray from the memory of
Mulder's face.  

She knew that people thought of Mulder as reserved and
muted; his facial expressions, his level speech patterns
all contributed to the misinformed judgment that he was not
an expressive man.  Scully tried to remember when she had
thought the same, but it was like trying to picture the
barrenness of winter while surrounded by roses; the memory
was dim at best.  Her change of heart concerning her
perception of Mulder had come in spurts and dribbles, and
she hadn't realized how wrong she had been until time had
completely rearranged her previous misconception.  Now she
knew--she felt she knew--him almost completely, and her
knowledge had come as a reward for her partner's trust. 
There was no blandness of emotion when it came to Mulder as
far as Scully was concerned. She had seen the entire
cornucopia: from sorrow to joy, from mischievousness to
uncontained fury, all displayed like fireworks across the
night sky.  She had realized at some long forgotten point
that he guarded his emotions from the untrustworthy, the
unknown; it was his defense and not always a very
successful one.  Mulder's emotions betrayed him with more
frequency than any human being or belief system.  She was
amazed that the world didn't read him as the well-thumbed,
underlined book he was to her; which was why the act of
replaying the memory of his face disturbed her to the point
of breathlessness.  He had closed the cover, locked the
pages as the most private of journals: a journal he had
snatched from her.

She shook her head; she was taking his defensiveness
personally, as if she was the intended victim of his
pulling in, circling his wagons.  In fact, she knew in her
logical mind that he was deeply threatened, so threatened
that he felt alone, separate and desperate by necessity. 
But in her heart she could introduce no such logical
thought.  His stoicism felt like a slap, his somnolent
gaze, a fierce shove.  If he had not relaxed against her...
 
Scully looked back at the imposing building that held her
partner--her friend-and in her heart, far more than that. 
She shuddered hard and started the engine, flicking on the
lights and heading toward the Copper Penny, which she hoped
was a late-night establishment since everyone else on her
list would most likely be safe in their bed.  

She let herself long briefly for the sweet heavy slumber
she had indulged in when her doorbell rang over and over
again earlier tonight.  Mulder, she had thought.  Why is
Mulder here?  Her mind had clutched at the remnants of
sleep, hoping the doorbell had simply been the last shadows
of a dream; but it had continued insistently accompanied by
knocking.  She had wrapped herself against the cold and
looked through her peephole as an afterthought; she had
been so certain of Mulder's presence.

Skinner's face frightened her.  The tight, wary expression
sent a shudder of fear through her; and she wished she
could crawl back into her previous unencumbered state.  But
she had opened the door and stood back,
waiting...waiting...almost unwilling to hear.



"Sir?"

"Agent Scully, I have some news."  He looked around her
apartment as if he was trying to find something, perhaps
another way out.

"Where is he?"  Scully demanded, unable to bear the unshed
anxiety.

"What?"

"Mulder...which hospital?"  

"He's...he's not in a hospital."   Finally, he focused on
her, looking into her eyes. 

"He's not..."  She couldn't make her mouth form the words
that whispered icily, silently within her. 

"No!  No, Scully, he's not dead.  I'm sorry.  I should
have said right away--" He touched her shoulders lightly.

"Please, sir. Just...just tell me."

"He was arrested...attempted sexual assault."




 Dear Fox,
                   
 What a surprise to see you at the deli today.  You looked
so nice,
 but you always do.  Was that your girlfriend you were
with?  She   
 seemed pretty.

 Amber


Scully pulled up in front of the seemingly deserted Copper
Penny, but as she drove through the parking lot she saw two
cars parked behind the dumpsters in back.  Pulling in close
to the door, she got out and tried the latch, which was
locked.

"We're closed!" a voice called out from inside.

"FBI," she called back simply.  

After a moment, the door opened just a slice and she held
up her ID.

"Oh my god!  It's Agent Scully!"  The door was flung open.
 "Come on in!"

Scully walked in, slightly chagrined by the enthusiastic
reception.  She had expected sullen compliance at best, but
she was received with overwhelming familiarity. It made her
pull back slightly, emotionally, even physically.  Cocking
an eyebrow, she shook the offered hand of the bartender. 
"My name is Alex, that's...George!  Come over here and meet
Agent Scully!"

"Agent Scully?"  The other man repeated curiously.

"Agent Scully," Alex confirmed jovially.  "What a nice
surprise!"  He declared, bending down slightly and looking
into her eyes.

George advanced from behind the bar, his face expressing
surprised delight.  "It's so nice to meet you," he told her
sincerely, a little shyly.

"I feel as though I'm at a disadvantage here.  You...you
know me?"  She asked Alex, the more effusive of the two
men.

"Of course," Alex exclaimed, waving her to the bar but not
elaborating.  "I hope you don't mind sitting here; we're
closing up..."  Suddenly his expression changed to
wariness.   "Where's Fox?"

She looked down at her lap, suppressing the slight envy
she always felt when someone referred to her partner as
Fox, as well as her regret at imparting hard news.  "I'm
sorry to say he's been arrested."

"No," George murmured quietly.

"Is it because of that Lolita on speed?"

"Alex," George said quietly. 
 
"Yeah," Alex continued.  "Little trampsicle came in here
last night, was all over him like t-shirts on Ricky
Martin."

"Is she the one?" George asked.

"I'm not at liberty to say," Scully answered, although the
look on her face told them what they wanted to know.

"What did she accuse him of?"

"Attempted sexual assault," Scully replied.

Both men laughed mirthlessly.  "*She* accused him?"

Scully nodded.  "Can you tell me what you remember from
last night?"

"Sure," George replied, pulling a stool up beside Scully
while Alex leaned over the bar.  "You want a drink?"

"Mineral water?" Scully replied.  The men looked at each
other knowingly, grinning slightly, but Scully made no
mention of it.

"He came in around...I think it was around 5:30, wasn't
it, Alex?"

"Yeah, the crowds hadn't built up yet."

"He looked...blue I guess is what best describes it."



"Hey, guys."

"Fox!" George called out from farther up the long bar.

"Fox, baby, how you be?"  Alex asked in greeting.

"Ahh, I've been better," he answered, wincing a little as
he rolled his neck.

"Hard to believe. What can I do for you, Fox?"  Alex
asked, waggling his well-shaped eyebrows.

"I'm sure plenty.  But I still haven't been able to
overcome my unexplained attraction to the yin to my yang."

"I can't say I'm not disappointed.  But you'll let me know
when you have a sexual epiphany about me, right?"

"Deal."

"How can I set you up?" Alex asked more seriously.

"Uhhh, scotch rocks."

"Scotch rocks?  Hard day?"

"Yeah...yeah...thanks.  What's the score?" Mulder asked,
obviously changing the subject.

     

"You see, he doesn't drink much.  He comes in and has a
beer, shoots the shit, watches the game," George explained.

"Yeah, but last night...he wasn't himself.  It was like a
thundercloud followed him in."

"And then she came in behind that."

"You noticed her right away?" Scully asked.

"Agent Scully, this a gay bar.  She walked in like she
planned to pop out of a birthday cake.  Yeah, I noticed
her," Alex confirmed contemptuously. 

"Did Mulder?"

"Not right away.  He was kind of hunched over his drink."

"When did he first notice her?"

"Ohh," began George.  "I'd say when she wrapped herself
around him like a burrito."

"Around spicy beef," Alex elaborated coquettishly.

"Shut up, Alex.  He has a thing for your Agent Mulder,"
George explained confidentially, his face coloring
slightly.

Scully paused for a moment, smiled a little.  "And what
was Mulder's reaction?"

"To my thing?" Alex teased.

"No, I was more interested in his reaction to Miss
Whitley."

"He shook her off," Alex replied.

"He was more than a little pissed," George added.

"His face got all flushed and his eyes flashed and his
mouth--" Alex continued, a bit rapturously.

"Okay," Scully interrupted.  "How did she react to that?"

"She pouted.  You could tell she expected every man to
fall at her feet."

"Boy, was she in the wrong place," Alex observed.

"What happened next?" Scully asked



Mulder turned himself to face the woman who had just been
detached.  "Look, I don't know what your problem is, but I
have told you I'm not interested.  What part of that don't
you understand?"

"Your lips say no, but your eyes say--" 

"Hell, no! 

"Ohhh, Fox.  You know you don't mean that."  

"Look, I've tried to be nice.  I've tried.  But I just
can't get through to you.  I'm tired of trying.  You are
too young for me.  I am not attracted to you.  I'm tired
of...I'm just tired.  You shouldn't even be here in this
bar."

"Then maybe you should take me in, Agent Mulder."  She
slunk toward him, attempting to be provocative, sliding
herself across the stool next to him and then slithering up
against him.  

"What the hell...Alex!" he called out to the bartender who
was observing from what he hoped was a safe distance. 
"This girl is under age and--Goddamn it!  Get off of me!"  

He flung himself out of the chair, shoving her hands off
him in a quick, angry movement and pushing her back so that
toppled off of the stool, fighting for her balance.  "What
the hell do you think you're doing?" Mulder demanded from a
few paces away.

She waved her hands as if she were drying her fingernails,
her face contorted in a prelude to ugly tears.  "I just
wanted--"

"You don't get to just want!  Didn't anyone ever tell you
that?  You can't just have what you want because you goddam
want it!  Life doesn't work that way.  You can't...you
can't..." He chuffed out what was supposed to be an ironic
laugh but sounded like a half-concealed sob.  Struggling to
regain his composure by forcing an unnatural smile, he
looked over at the bartenders who watched him sadly and
smiled back just a little.  "You can't always get what you
want. Right, guys?"  

They smiled back and nodded.  "If Mick says it, it must be
true," Alex observed.

Mulder let his eyes rest on the friendly face.  It was as
if they'd forgotten the girl who stood a few feet away in a
too small dress and what looked like her mother's high
heels.  "It's got nothing to do with that," she said
between great intakes of breath.

Mulder sat back down and knocked back his drink, his mind
lost in his own dramas.

"You...you don't want to love me.  You won't love me
because you love her even though she doesn't care about
you...not even a little."

Mulder nodded slightly as if to accept what she was saying
as he dismissed her.  "Then that's why," he told her
evenly.

She began to weep more openly and turned to run, twisting
her ankle in the process.  She ripped off the offending
shoes and limped quickly through the door.

Mulder lowered his head. "I'm sorry, guys.  I didn't mean
to bring this in here."

"It's okay, Fox," Alex cajoled as he filled his glass once
more.  "We don't blame you."

He looked into Alex's eyes as if he pitied his naiveté. 
"You should," he told him as he swallowed the drink and got
up to leave.



"That's the last we saw of him--"

"Wait," Alex interrupted.  "He ducked back in to say he
was leaving his car.  That he'd pick him it up in the
morning."

"But," George added thoughtfully. "It's not there, is it?"

"No," Scully answered as she prepared to leave.  "It's
parked in front of his apartment."

"Well, that's odd," George said.

Scully considered what she had heard.  "There's something
I don't understand," she finally said, almost to herself.

"Just one thing?" Alex teased and she favored him with a
small smile.

"It's not like Mulder to...what made him so angry that he
shoved Amber?"

Alex and George exchanged a look and George nodded, giving
Alex the task.  "She-grabbed his...equipment,' Alex
explained.  "At least that's how it looked from where I
stood."

Scully breathed in deeply and nodded, "Okay," she said
quietly and then held out her hand.  "I want to thank you
for talking to me. You must be tired...ready to go home."

"So must you, Agent Scully," George observed
sympathetically.  "Can I ask you something?" he added a
little hesitantly.  

"Certainly," Scully answered.

"He talks to you.  Why was he so depressed last night?"

Her mind skittered around, her pride wanting to say she
knew.  "I-I don't know," she answered after a minute.  "He
didn't want to talk about it, and I didn't want to push. 
Maybe I should have.  I wish I'd--"

"Oh, don't even go there, Agent Scully," Alex said.  "It
would have just happened at another time, maybe another
place."

"You think she might have planned it?" Scully asked.

George and Alex glanced at each other.  "She struck up a
brawl in a gay bar with a straight man.  I'm thinking she
wanted to be noticed," George hypothesized.

Scully nodded.       

"Are we going to be able to get him out of there?  Out of
jail?" Alex asked plaintively.

"I think so.  I just think sooner would be better than
later," Scully observed as she hopped off of the stool.

"When is he being arraigned?" George asked.

"Later today."

"Tell him, if he needs money...or anything, we'll get it
for him," George offered, his youthful features set grimly.

"Yeah, " Alex added.  "We only have a few loans out on the
bar.  The more the merrier, I always say."

She smiled slightly, feeling genuine affection for these
two men, and headed for the door, her mind swimming with
what she had heard.  She paused with her hand on the
doorknob and turned back abruptly.  "All right.  I told
myself I wouldn't ask.  But I have to know.  Why does
Mulder come here to drink?"

They laughed together.  "I wondered how you were going to
walk out of here without asking that," George chuckled.

"He once told me that it was easier here.  No decisions. 
No negotiations," Alex recalled.  "Just 'No, thank you.'"

"I would think it would be...I don't know...more
complicated," Scully replied.

"We have a very regular clientele, Agent Scully.  Most
everyone knows he's straight.  The occasional newcomer
doesn't bother him.  He just declines," George said.

"Kindly," Alex added wistfully.

"But I think the real reason he comes here is because
he...he's loyal to me."

"Loyal?"

"I stuck with him after...we became close after my sister
divorced him." 

    

  




Fox,

I'm reading a book.  There was something in it that made
me think of you.  It goes like this.
"She loved his voice.  It sounded as if someone had made a
pot of butterscotch and gave him the first lick."
I hope it's ok to say that.

Amber.



Scully drove her car a few blocks from the Copper Penny
and pulled to the side of the road, unwilling to allow the
bartenders, Mulder's friends, see her sitting shell-shocked
at the wheel.

"My sister divorced him," he had said.  George's sister
had been married to Mulder, she repeated to herself, her
mind swimming with the sledge-hammered news.

Upon hearing the words, Scully had forced her face into
the most neutral expression she could manage.  To confess
that she had no idea Mulder had been married would be
tantamount to announcing that she had never known him at
all.  Something she wouldn't admit, couldn't accept.



"He was pretty busted up when she left him," George had
continued.  "Cut himself off from everyone who had been
mutual friends, let alone family.  But I was a kid who had
worshipped him.  I wasn't about to let him go without a
fight.  Plus, he was the only one in the family I had come
out to.  And he didn't hate me for it.  He accepted me,
still hugged me, took me out to play basketball." He shook
his head.  "God, when she announced she had left him, I
nearly leapt for her throat.  I hated her with everything
in me.  Fox said I shouldn't though.  That he was too hard
to live with, let alone love.  After a while, he let me
back into his life.  I felt like...he appreciated that I
wasn't easy to shake off.  That he meant enough to me that
I wouldn't let him push me away. "

"Once when he got messed up by some neighborhood assholes,
Fox picked him up at the hospital and kept him at his place
until he could get around again.  You know, feel safe,"
Alex added.  "It is such a waste for a man like that to be
straight.  Women just don't appreciate him."  

George looked at Scully meaningfully.  "I don't know about
that.  I think a certain kind of woman would appreciate
him, don't you?"

Scully ducked her head.  She was having trouble
assimilating the information that followed the announcement
that Mulder had been married.  It had bounced against her
skull and echoed throughout her body and soul, as if she
had found out he was currently married while he was
sleeping with her.  "I really have to go," she told George,
not unkindly.  "I have so much to do."

"I know you do," George replied.  He reached behind the
bar and retrieved his card.  "Fox has my number.  But I'd
like you to have it too.  If there's anything at all--" He
lowered his eyes.  "I guess I've expressed how much he
means to me.  I won't get carried away."

Scully placed a hand on his shoulder, "I'll tell him what
you said."

"It'll probably just embarrass him.  Just take care of
him, okay?"

She hoped that her nod conveyed assurance and confidence
because she found she couldn't voice those sentiments.



Now she had to motivate herself to move forward.  A
thought invaded her mind, and she pulled out the card
George had given her.  She felt somewhat relieved to read
his last name was Harris.  If it had been Fowley, she might
have been tempted to go home and pull her covers over her
head.  She didn't let herself consider the possibility that
Diana might have changed her name.

"Okay.  Okay, Dana, what's next?" she said aloud, hoping
to snap herself out of the melancholy reverie in which she
dwelled.  "Mrs. Yates or Noah?"  She looked over the city
streets that had begun to shine with a fresh pinkness that
only graced the world at dawn.  She glanced at her
watch--too early still for Mulder's neighbor.  She decided
to see if there was a shelter somewhere in his
neighborhood.



Fox,
You should get your e-mail more often.  I wish we could
write every day.  But I know you're busy.  I found
something in your car while we were keeping it at the
garage.  Can I bring it to your apartment?

Amber




Scully pulled up in front of what seemed to be an old
storefront.  A few people leaned against the windows, which
had been painted over, and shared cigarettes.  Others were
straggling through the doors of the shelter that seemed
misplaced in Mulder's neighborhood.  Scully shouldered
through the group, most of whom ignored her, although one
or two spared her a curious glance.  She found a manager
after a few guesses and misses and held up her badge.  

"Now what?" the man asked as he threw blankets into large
containers.

"Sir, I'm looking for a man named--"

"Why is it every time someone commits a crime in a twenty
mile radius, the first place you all come is here?"

"Sir, I'm not--"

"Just because these men are down on their luck, that don't
make them immoral."

"I realize that, sir.  I'm just looking for a man named
Noah.  I want to ask him a question about my partner, who I
believe he saw last night."

"And your partner is?"

"Fox Mulder."

His demeanor changed drastically.  Dropping the blankets
he carried, he approached Scully and touched her elbow. 
"What's wrong?  Is he all right?"

"He's been arrested."

"Arrested.  Oh, for god's sake!  For what?"

"He's been accused of sexual assault."

"No, he hasn't," he declared, slapping his hands across
his eyes.  "No...no...no...Tell me you're joking."

"I'm sorry to say I'm not, sir."

"Dammit.  What has Noah got to do with it?"

"Mulder says he saw him last night.  I need to confirm he
was alone."

"Hold on!" the man said urgently, running from the
building.  

Scully stood fingering her badge, still slightly
distracted.  Soon, the manager came through the door, one
hand grasping a smaller, tattered man in a slightly frayed,
but still recognizable as very expensive overcoat.  He was
bent toward the shorter man, their faces mirroring each
other's distress.

"This is---I didn't introduce myself.  I'm Gary Beckett
and this is Noah."  He held his hand out to Scully as if to
present them.  Noah held out his hand without looking
Scully in the face, as if she were royalty.  "I'm Noah," he
repeated.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Noah," Scully countered.  He
raised his eyes shyly and stepped back.  "Noah, did you
see--"

"Is Mulder okay?"

"Yes, he's fine.  I just need to know if you saw him last
night."

"I was..." He looked at Gary, who nodded.

"I was heading toward the shelter last night, and I saw
Fox walking up the street.  I was surprised to see him
because usually I see him by his apartment...or when he
stops by the shelter."

"Was he alone, Noah?"

"Oh yeah.  Totally alone."

"And you're sure he was walking?"

"Agent Scully, is it?" Gary interrupted.  "Noah is
mentally challenged, but he knows when a man is walking."

"I didn't mean to imply--"

"That's okay, Agent Scully.  I know you didn't mean any
harm.  He was definitely walking.  He said he had things to
think about, and walking helps him think," Noah offered
gently.

"Thanks, Noah," Scully replied.

"Will this help him?" Noah asked.

"Yes, I think it will," Scully replied, holding out her
hand which he took in both of his.

"He's my friend," he said simply, and Scully nodded and
watched as he retreated.  

She cocked her head and smiled a slightly puzzled smile. 
"I could swear I've seen that overcoat before and...I have
to admit, these are some of the best dressed homeless
people I've ever come across"

Gary laughed despite himself.  "It's kind of like a
retirement home for high fashion male models, isn't it?" 

Scully raised her eyebrows and nodded.  

"Your partner is a bit of a clotheshorse, isn't he?  He
comes in here every few months with a box load.  The first
time he came in here, I'll never forget it.  We talked
about it for weeks.  He came in with a box so tall, I
couldn't see his face."





"Can I help you sir?" Gary asked.

Mulder threw the box to the floor and took a deep breath,
running a hand through his close-cropped hair.  "Do you
take donations here?" he asked as if he feared he'd be
rebuffed or, worse yet, offend.

"And if we don't?"

"Well, I guess I load up and--"

"I'm kidding.  Of course we do.  What you got?"

"Just some clothes I've...ruined.  I'm trying to see if I
have a bed underneath the chaos."

Gary leaned over and opened the box.

"You don't have to open it," Mulder protested mildly.

Gary pulled out a long overcoat with an obviously patched
sleeve.  "Mr.--?"

"Mulder.  Fox Mulder."

"Gary Beckett...This is Armani," he observed, holding up a
charcoal black overcoat. 

"Is that all right?"

"Of course, it's all right."  He kept digging, pulling out
one luxurious brand name after another, all obviously
ruined and professionally sewn back together.  "Mr. Mulder,
what do you do?  Lion taming?"

"I'm an FBI agent."

"Since when do federal employees rate Armani suits?"

"Since I gave up smoking, I have extra money."

"You must have had quite a habit."

He shrugged.  "I had them all cleaned and repaired," he
pointed out.

"Don't you think you'd be better off shopping at Sears for
your work wardrobe?"

He winced at the thought.  "Polyester makes me itch," he
grinned.  

"Well, the girls must find you irresistible."

"Maybe if I *was* Armani."

"This is very generous of you, Mr...Mulder, is it?"

"You want more?"

"You have more?"

"I have a never-ending supply."



Fox,
I left something by your door.  It's just something that
made me think of you.  You weren't home though.

Amber



Scully sat in front of Mulder's building still feeling
confused and bewildered, but some of the initial shock had
worn off.  She looked up at his window, to which the
residue of the taped cross still clung.  Her stomach turned
around itself as she stepped out of her car and up to the
stoop.  Running a manicured nail over the names, she paused
at Mulder's and then moved on to Yates and pressed the
button.

"What?" barked a crackled voice.

Scully jumped a little.  It was like the woman had been
waiting for her by the buzzer.  "FBI," Scully responded.

"What?" her voice snapped back.

"FBI," she said more succinctly.

"Oh, for the love of Mike," she muttered over the sound of
the buzzer.

Scully entered the building cautiously and took the
elevator to Mrs. Yates' apartment.  The brittle, hostile
woman hovered in the doorway.  "Come on, come on, I don't
have all day," she demanded in a voice that sounded like
ten miles of gravel parkway.

Scully quickened her step slightly.

"I know you," Mrs. Yates said accusingly.  "You're his
little chickadee." 

"I beg your pardon," Scully replied.

"You know, that flaming ball of nutcase who lives
upstairs.  You're his wench."

"His wench?" Scully repeated.

"Is there an echo in here?"

"Mrs. Yates, may I come in for a moment?"

"If it's all the same to you, I'd like you to stay right
where you are."

"Okaaay," Scully drawled.  "I have a few questions for you
concerning Agent Mulder."

"I'll bet you do."

"Excuse me?"

"It's a little late for excuses, isn't it, girlie?"

"All right, I've had about enough of this."

"You've had enough?  You have?  Do you have water flooding
your bedroom from the waterbed that the looney tune
upstairs doesn't realize he has?  Do you?"

"It wasn't that he didn't know he had it.  It was just
that he didn't know where it came from."

"And that doesn't seem odd to you?" she asked squinting.

"Ma'am-"

"Do you get thrown out of your apartment because the sorry
excuse for a government employee is harboring a
plague-carrying schizo?"

"Ma'am, we can do this here, or we can go to police
headquarters."

"My plaster is cracked from him constantly being thrown to
the floor by who knows what," she continued belligerently

"All right, that's it," Scully took hold of the old
woman's arm and began to guide the woman down the hall.  

To Scully's chagrin, the old woman began to screech as she
fruitlessly attempted to retrieve her arm.  "Stop!  Stop! 
Police brutality!  I'm just a little old lady!"

"Ma'am!  I simply want to ask you a few simple questions. 
Will you please settle down?"

"About you partner?" she asked, abruptly stopping her
tirade.

"Y-yes," Scully answered, taken aback.

"Okay, what do you want to know?"

"Did you see Agent Mulder last night?"

"Yes.  Now, let me go."

Scully allowed the woman to step away from her.  "Tell me
what you saw."

The old woman looked Scully up and down.  "And then you'll
leave me be?"

Scully nodded firmly.  "I'll leave you be."

"Achh, you work for the government.  Who can believe you?"

"Mrs. Yates," Scully warned.

"Fine, fine.  Your partner, last night...let's see.  When
I first saw him, I didn't recognize him.  He was standing
next to the elevator door, all folded up," she leaned in
toward Scully.  "I think he'd been drinking."




"Mr. Mulder," she said as greeting.

He glanced up at her and dropped his head in exasperation.
 "Mrs. Yates."

"What?  Did your mother drop you on your head?  You have
to push the elevator button!"

He rubbed his eyes. "Sorry," he murmured.

She sniffed the air dramatically.  "You've been drinking."

"Not nearly enough," he countered.

"Mr. Mulder, you have enough problems.  The last thing you
need is to become a stinking drunk."

He turned to face her with a snap.  "Mrs. Yates--"

"What?" she replied eagerly, as if she was itching for a
fight and pulling herself to her full height, still not
quite reaching Mulder's shoulder.

He sighed.  "The elevator is here."

She eyed him suspiciously.  "I'm not sure I should get in
there alone with you."

"I assure you, you're perfectly safe with me."

"That's what those nuts always say in those slasher
pictures."

He walked into the elevator and slapped his floor.
"Coming?" he asked.

"I think I'll wait for the next one."

"Fine," he countered and let go of the door.




"Was he alone?"

"He's always alone.  If you don't count you."

"Is that all you know about last night?"

"Well, I heard the usual. He screamed out...something. 
Who knows what."

"He screams?"

"I told you, he's one oar short of a row boat."

"Anything else?"

"Well, it sounded like someone came in and threw him
around.  Does everybody hate that man?"

"Is that all?"

"That's all.  Can I go now?"

"Please do," Scully answered as she turned to leave.  Her
phone rang, and she pulled it out to answer it.

"Yuppie scum," the woman called out as she slammed her
door.

Scully rolled her eyes.  "Scully," she said into the
phone.

"Scully, it's Skinner.  Mulder's going to be arraigned in
a little over an hour."

"I'll be there.  Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome."

She refolded the phone.  There'd be just enough time to
see Amber Whitley. 




Fox,
I waited on your steps today.  I wanted to make sure you
were okay, since I haven't seen you in a long time.  You
never came home.  Where were you?

Amber



Scully drove through a donut chain on the way to interview
Amber Whitley.  She justified the overload of calories and
fat by telling herself she could use the smallest amount of
comfort, however dysfunctional the thinking and ruinous to
her diet.  She ordered a chocolate donut with chocolate
icing and if she could have found away to have it served in
chocolate soup she would have done so.  Something's in life
are only made better with cocoa.  

Her phone rang as her coffee was being handed out the
window and she quickly transferred the cup to the holder in
her car and answered the call.  "Scully."

"Scully, it's us," answered Frohike, technically a
singular person, but she didn't feel like arguing
semantics.  "We got the e-mails off Mulder's computer."

"Good," she answered around her donut.  "Will they help?"

"Hell yeah.  She was really kinky."

"Really kinky," Chimed in Langley from somewhere in the
background.

"How so?" Scully asked.

"Well, she starts out all cute and fuzzy and she ends up
all...well, I just don't feel comfortable describing this
type of degenerate behavior to you Agent Scully-"

"There are pictures!" Langley called out more happily than
was it was appropriate to be.

"Pictures?"

"Yeah!" Frohike replied enthusiastically.

"Give me the phone," Byers said in an indignant tone of
voice.  "Agent Scully?"

"Will you three pick someone as your representative?"
Scully asked.

"I just feel you should know, Mulder deleted everything
immediately.  There was nothing saved from her at all. 

"You can tell how quickly he deleted something?" Scully
replied skeptically.

"We can tell what mood he was in when he deleted," Frohike
boasted form somewhere in the background.

"I hate when you put me on speaker phone," Scully
murmured. 

"Agent Scully?" Byers said tentatively.

"Yes?"

"I'm going to put this in the simplest of terms...not that
I think you're not intelligent enough to understand it. 
No-"

"Byers, just spit it out."

"There's a device attached to Mulder's computer that
immediately diverts a copy of his e-mail as soon as it's
received."

"Diverts to whom?"  She shook her head in disgust.  
"Never mind, I'm sure I can guess."  The donut turned to
dust in her mouth and she tossed the remainder back into
the bag and took a large drink of her coffee.   "This
device...how does it work?"

"It acts like a splitter, you know, like for cable when
you want to send one signal to two TVs.  It's like that."

"That means...someone has been monitoring his e-mail
for...who knows how long..."

"Do you think it has anything to do with this case?"

"Who knows?  It could have been monitoring any aspect of
his life.  But someone who might want to find a way to get
at Mulder, could certainly have used Amber Whitley to get
him out of the way."

A small headache, just behind her eyes began to demand
Scully's attention and she rubbed at it, frowning.

"Also, while we were at Mulder's apartment, we took the
liberty of sweeping for bugs."

"And?"

"Three.  We found three."

Scully sighed.  "Okay guys, thanks."

"Agent Scully?"

"Yes?"

"Did you know Mulder's going to be arraigned in a little
over an hour?"

"Who told you that?"

"I don't really want to say on the open airways, if you
know what I mean."

She sighed.  "Okay, yes I know."

"We'll be there," Frohike offered, suddenly replacing
Byers.  "Just in case Mulder needs money."

"All right," she replied.  "Thanks again."  She jabbed at
the off button on her phone and sat mulling over the new
information as she gazed out at the deceptively cheerful
looking morning.  "All right," she said to herself as she
glanced in her rear view mirror and pulled into traffic. 
"Let's get this over with."  



Fox,

I'm sorry if I said something to make you mad.  Please
don't be mad.  I dreamed about you last night and you said
you were sorry about ignoring me.

Amber


 


Scully pulled up in front of the squat, gray house that
was surrounded by a chain link fence and looked more like a
garage than a home.  She checked the address and pulled her
files together, pushing them into her briefcase and swung
out of the car.  Taking a very deep breath, she headed
toward the door.  She was more than a little taken aback
when the door swung open with a crash.

"Why are you here?" a voice snapped from behind the screen
that was so dilapidated that it was impossible to see the
speaker's face.

Scully pulled her ID from her jacket and held it up as she
still advanced.  "I'm with the FBI and I have-"

"I know who you are," the voice came back derisively. 
"And I don't want to talk to you."

"Are you Amber Whitley?"

"I don't have to tell you."

Scully suddenly felt completely exhausted.  "Look, Miss
Whitley--"

"I don't want you to call me that.  I'm not like you. 
Amber is good enough for me."

"Okay...Amber.  I've talked to people whose testimony will
refute what you claim about Agent Mulder.  I think you
should talk to me and tell me your story...for the record,
because frankly, I think you are in danger of being-"

"You want to hear my story?  I'll tell you my goddam
story.  But, I don't want you in my house."

"Fine," Scully replied and stood waiting for the screen to
open.  It took what seemed like minutes, but the door
snapped open and Amber walked out, limping slightly, her
arms crossed tightly across her chest and her pale face
tightened into an adolescent pout.  She was tall, much
taller than Scully and her hair was long and slightly wavy
and obviously died a pale red, which bordered on pink.  Her
hip jutted out to one side and her entire posture suggested
she expected to be grounded for a month.

"I know you're his partner and that you won't believe
me..." her posture relaxed slightly and her face took on a
slightly pleading look, "...but you should believe me. 
He's dangerous and he might hurt you-"

"Amber-"

"Look at me," she held out her arms and Scully saw very
little to attest to the fact that she was even minimally
injured.  "My wrists," she pointed out, pushing up her
sleeves and displaying angry bruises most than likely
inflicted by Mulder as he fought her off.  "And my ankle is
sprained and I have scratches all over."

"Amber, I just want your story"

She sighed and shifted her weight, reverting to her
previous pout.  "Okay.  Fine.  What do you want to know?"

"What happened the night you allege that Agent Mulder
attacked you?"

"Allege?  That means you don't believe what I'm saying?"

"It means that people are innocent until proven guilty."

"And you believe he's innocent."

"What I believe isn't relevant."

"Relevant?"

"It doesn't matter."

She sighed again and began to twirl her hair with a
slightly smudged finger.  "Okay, well, maybe you'll believe
me when I tell you what happened."

"Maybe," Scully lied.

This seemed to buoy her.  "Okay...you probably don't know
this, but me and Fox have been seeing each other for
months.  Ever since we met at the parking garage.  He liked
me right away.  We started seeing each other.  He even gave
me keys to his house and car.  And...You know...we would
kiss and stuff-"

Scully felt the hair on her neck stand up in irritation. 
"Amber, can we just get to what happened last night."

"Well...okay...so, he was kind of pouty yesterday, you
know how he can be?  You just have to wait him out.  But,
yesterday I went to the bar to meet him, 'cause he told me
to.  But when I got there, I don't know what was wrong, but
he was really mean to me...really mean.  Those gay-boy
bartenders saw it.  He even pushed me.  I was afraid, Agent
Scully, I truly was.  But, I love him.  Okay...so, I waited
outside and when he came out, I went to him and he
apologized...called me baby and darling," she grinned
dreamily for a moment.  "And so I took him home in his car
and when I got there I was just going to drop him off...but
he begged me to come up with him.  Okay, I was still a
little scared from when he pushed me and talked mean.  But,
I went up anyway."  She paused dramatically.  "Now, I wish
I never had!"  She peered at Scully, trying to determine
her response, but Scully worked hard to remain inscrutable.
 

Amber paused, unsure.  "Should I go on?"

"Is your story done?"

"No."

"Then, go on."

"So, we got to his apartment and he asked me to sit down
next to him on his couch.  And so...so I did and he started
kissing me.  But, next thing I know he was trying to get
his hands in my clothes...rough like. He was tearing my bra
off and sticking his hands in my pants, kissing me.  He
kept telling me I wanted it, but I didn't."

"Why not?"  Scully injected.

"What?"

"Why didn't you want it?  You said you and Agent Mulder
were seeing each other, that you loved him, he loved you. 
Why didn't you want to make love to him?"

"I'm a virgin, Agent Scully."  She attempted a shy,
reluctant expression but was only successful in looking
slightly pathetic and exceedingly irritating.

"A virgin," Scully restated flatly.

"What are you trying to say?" Amber came back, full of
hostility.

"Are you finished?"

"I want to know what you're trying to say," Amber
insisted, taking a step forward.

Scully looked up at her calmly as humanly possible.  "If
you're finished," Scully began to fold up her notebook. 
She suddenly realized the pointlessness of continuing the
interview since Amber was long past simple defensiveness,
coupled with the more important fact that she was obviously
relating her fantasy life.  She began to turn away, but
Amber grabbed her arm.  "Don't you walk away from me-"
Amber growled.

Scully pulled her arm forcibly from Amber's grip and
turned to face her.  "Ms. Whitley, I am not drunk, or
asleep, don't attempt to strong arm me.  Because, you
should know I am far less concerned about hurting your
feelings than Agent Mulder was and even less concerned
about providing the bruises you might need to prove your
feeble little story."

"You bitch," Amber whispered.

"I'm a little less than concerned about your opinion of
me, given what I know about you."  She turned and began to
walk determinedly down the cracked sidewalk."

"What do you know about me?" Amber called after her, her
voice echoing off of the close spaced houses.  "You don't
know anything!  You don't know me and you don't know your
partner.  You think you do, but goddam you, you don't
know!" 

Scully took out her keys and told herself to keep moving
before she hurt Mulder's case, if she hadn't already. 
Amber advanced on her car, her face red and twisted.  "We
used to talk about you!  He said you thought he loved you,
but he thinks you're stupid and stuck up and ugly!  That's
what he said and we would laugh." 

Scully looked into Amber's face and shook her head slowly,
deliberately.  "You're a lair, Amber.  If you knew how
easily I see that, you'd have the good sense to go down and
drop the charges against my partner.  Because, if you don't
you will find yourself where Mulder is today, in prison for
filing a false report."

"You better watch yourself, Agent Scully!"  She screamed
as Scully turned the car over.  "He'll turn on you next!  
You better get far away from him!"

Scully glanced back in her rear view mirror as she left
Amber behind, standing in the street, shaking both of her
fists and stomping on her sprained ankle.   




Fox,

I'm glad I ran I into you at the deli today.  I'm so glad
you're not mad.  I knew you weren't that way.

Amber





As Scully walked up the steps to the courthouse, she
wished she could scrape the memory of Amber off of herself
like so much dog excrement, and yet she felt almost
buoyant.  The certainty that Amber's story was so easily
discernible as transparent, made her feel that Mulder would
be exiting the court house temporarily free today, but
permanently very soon.  She was eager to see him, to tell
him all she'd learned and as she came through the heavy
wooden doors, she scanned the hallways for him.  Realizing
he was probably inside the courtroom, she strode inside,
but he wasn't there either.  Taking a breath she took a
seat behind where she expected Mulder would sit.

Within a minute Skinner leaned over her.  "Agent Scully?"

She was slightly taken aback.  "Sir?" she replied,
removing her jacket and briefcase from the seat next to
her, which he slid into.

"You look exhausted," he observed.

"Thanks," she replied.

"No offense, Agent.  Have you had any luck with your
investigation?"

"Absolutely.  Even if Amber Whitley has the balls..." she
lowered her eyes.  She would never use improper language
with her superior if she hadn't been almost delirious with
exhaustion.  "I'm sorry, Sir."

"For what?"

"For...never mind.  I just wanted to say, even if she goes
forward with the charges, I don't think the prosecution
will be willing to do so.  Not with what I found today."

"Good work, Agent," Skinner replied without asking the
details.

"Sir?  May I ask why you're here?"

He shrugged slightly, "I felt I should be here...so he
knows..." he looked around, squirming.  "I brought my check
book, just in case."

"I see," Scully replied, smiling slightly.

"I wonder where he is?"

Scully looked around the courtroom and caught sight of the
Gunmen, who huddled together in the farthest corner of the
courtroom, looking as if they expected to be recognized and
be hauled off.

"I don't know," Scully said as she continued to scan.

The judge entered and the courtroom protocol began, with
Mulder's case being called first.

A small woman in a muted suit and blonde hair set in large
ringlets entered the small gates and sat at the table in
front of Scully and Skinner; she also seemed confused at
Mulder's absence.  Turning around she noticed Skinner. 
"A.D. Skinner?  Any ideas?"

"No," he answered, beginning to appear agitated. 

The judge sat silently for a moment.  "Is council for Mr.
Mulder in place?"

"Yes sir," the woman replied.

"Any ideas on his whereabouts?"

"None sir.  I was lead to believe he would be delivered
here."

A bailiff approached the bench and the judge held up a
finger and then turned back to Mulder's lawyer.  "Approach
the bench, council."

Looking back at Skinner, she did as she was told.  The
judge leaned over his desk and whispered something to the
attorney, who placed her fingers over her mouth, nodding.

As she returned to the desk, her face was knitted in
concern.

"Next!" the judge called out.

The attorney approached them; leaning over the fence, her
eyes pinned on Skinner.  "Can I speak to you privately?"
she whispered.

"This is Agent Mulder's partner," Skinner pointed out.

"Oh, Agent Scully," she guessed.  "I wish this were better
circumstances.  Let's go out in the hall."

Scully wanted to tackle her and force the news out of her,
but she gathered her things and headed out behind Skinner
and the attorney.  She met the gunmen's questioning eyes
and held up her palm, signaling them to wait.

Once they closed the courtroom doors, the attorney turned
to them and held out her hand to Scully.  "I'm Lee
Swanson." 

Scully took her hand.  "What is it?"

"Mulder is in the infirmary, unconscious.  They don't know
what happened."

Scully turned on her heel and headed to prison. 

Fox,
I'm a little upset with you.  I never heard if you liked
my pictures.  I hope you did.  Yes or no?  I took them by
myself in the mirror.  I wouldn't want anyone else to see
me naked but you.

Amber



If Scully could have simply disappeared from the
courthouse and re-materialized in the jail infirmary, no
matter what the consequence to her health or future, she
would have done just that.  But reality stood between her
and her injured partner, and the only option she had was to
cover the ground between them as quickly as possible.  As a
result, she didn't respond as Mulder's attorney called
after her. And when she came across George as he came
running up the same courtroom stairs that she descended,
she simply held up a palm to his inquiries and ran quickly
to her car.

The traffic brought frustrated tears to the surface, and
she countered that by picturing herself causing the slow,
painful death of the warden who put Mulder in harm's way. 
As she considered that though, she realized she could call
and check on Mulder's status. While stalled again, she
called information and found her way through the prison
phone system to the infirmary.   

"Infirmary."

"Hello, my name is Dana Scully and -"

"Oh... hold on a minute."

She frowned in puzzlement as she waited briefly; silently
thanking God that there was no accompanying music as she
held.

"Agent Scully?" 

"Yes."

"We thought we might hear from you.  My name is Jeanette
Andrews; I'm the head nurse here.  You're calling to check
on the status of Agent Mulder?"

"Yes...how did you know?"

"The warden called and said I should release any
information you requested."

Scully's mouth formed a tight, angry line at the mention
of his name.  

"Agent Scully?"

"Yes. What can you tell me about his condition?"

"Well, he's still unconscious.  He has a blow to the back
of his head, although I can't see why he would still be out
as a result of that."

"Why not?"

"Don't get me wrong, it's a nasty blow. But he's been here
for an hour, and he was unconscious when they found
him...he should be waking up.  We took some blood, and
we're about to send it to the lab we use."

"No, I would prefer you send it to the FBI labs."

"No problem."

"I'll pay for a courier if you need me to.  I'd like it
sent immediately."

"No, the warden said to co-operate fully with you."

"Tell me, has the warden had some kind of religious
experience?" Scully asked facetiously.

"I don't understand."

"I don't understand his total turnaround in attitude."

"Agent Scully, all I know is what I hear from upstairs;
and that was to do whatever I can do to help you out."

"Okay...I'm almost there.  Is there anything else I should
know?"

There was a long static-filled silence.  

"Hello?" Scully said loudly, thinking she had lost the
connection.

"Hello," the voice came back reticently.

"Is there something wrong?"

"Agent Mulder has a injury to his neck resulting in
swelling of the trachea," the voice came back, flat and
clinical.  

"Okay," Scully replied, confused by the change of
attitude.  "What does this mean?"

"It means his breathing passages were probably affected at
the time of the blow, also his ability to talk." 

"I understand that.  Is it bad enough that he would be
expected to be permanently affected?"

"No, he should recover when the swelling goes down, around
twenty-four to forty-eight hours."

"Is there some underlying significance to this injury that
I should understand?" she continued, sensing that something
was not being said.

"I've been instructed not to discuss the implications with
you.  The warden has asked that you meet with him as soon
as possible to discuss the situation."

"I don't understand--"

"I'm sorry, Agent Scully.  I just can't discuss it with
you.  I'm leaving a pass for you at the front desk."

The connection was broken as Scully pulled into the
parking lot.  She didn't have the time to consider what the
woman had said; her entire focus was on the fact that she
had finally arrived and would soon see Mulder.



Scully blasted through the doors and corridors that led to
the infirmary and quickly found her way to Mulder's bed. 
As a matter of habit, she took his wrist in her hand and
checked his pulse; it was steady and reassuring.  Looking
into his face, she called his name.  "Mulder...Mulder, it's
me; wake up."  She shook his shoulder lightly.  "Come on,
Mulder."  But he didn't stir or react in any way.  She
simply watched his face for a very long time, taking in the
stubble, the bruises, the disconcerting silence.  She let
her eyes fall on the heavy bruising at his neck and then
back to his face, seemingly peaceful and completely
unaware.  Her entire being ached.

Looking around, she found a chair and pulled it next to
his bed, sat down and took his hand in hers, keeping her
eyes firmly trained on his fingers resting gently against
her palm.  "Mulder," she said quietly, as if she was going
to share a secret with him.  "Mulder, I need you to wake up
now."  She felt tears form, hot and unshed in the corners
of her eyes.  She shifted her hand to his face and placed
it on his cheek. His head shifted slightly at the weight,
and she held her breath, but still there was still nothing.
 Slowly she lowered her head to his shoulder and closed her
eyes.  "Please, God.  Please, God" was all she could find
to say.



"Agent Scully?"

"Agent Scully?"

Scully shifted hard and startled awake.  "Oh my god," she
said as attempted to orient herself.  "I fell asleep."

"That's all right."

"No...no...I can't believe I did that."

"I'm sure you're exhausted.  My name is Jeanette; we spoke
on the phone."

"Yes," she answered, clearing her throat.  "Yes, I'm
sorry. How long have I been asleep?"

"Only briefly.  Just a few minutes."

Scully glanced at Mulder, whose condition was obviously
exactly the same.  She stroked his hair before removing her
hand and turning her attention back to the nurse.

"The warden called and asked if you might come up and meet
with him."

"Yes, I want...I wonder if there is a restroom I could
use?"

"Certainly." 

"And you'll call me if Agent Mulder begins to come
around?"

"Yes, immediately, and I'll send a guard with you to bring
you to his office."

"Good," Scully replied.  "I'm anxious to talk to him."



Fox,
Why haven't you written?  I hate to say it, but I'm a
little angry.  I know you better than to think you'd dump
me after all we've meant to each other.

Amber

  
  
Scully stood speechless before a man she had never met
before. 

"Agent Scully?"

She looked around the office, thinking that the warden
might still be here.

"Is there a problem?" the powerful looking man inquired.

"I-I just thought..." She cleared her throat. She still
felt groggy, and it was affecting her demeanor. She wanted
to appear confident and without reservations.  "Where is
the warden?" she asked more steadily.

"There must be some misunderstanding.  I am the warden. 
My name is John Lowe."

"Well then, I want to meet with the...is there someone who
would have been your deputy?"   

"Ma'am, I'm the only warden here."

"Are you being purposefully obtuse?" Scully demanded.

"No, ma'am!  I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I was here last night.  I met with a man who identified
himself as the warden.  He was the man who refused to put
Mulder in a holding cell, who put him in general lockup."

"Well, I'm more than a little confused.  When I heard what
happened to Agent Mulder, I tried to find out under whose
authorization he was sent to general lockup.  I have been
unable to do so.  Nobody seems to have seen him as he was
brought in.  I thought it was just a case of misinformation
between shifts.  But it seems like something very strange
went on here.  Hold on a minute," he said as he picked up
the phone and punched in a few numbers.

Scully turned her back to him and placed her hand over her
eyes, feeling completely overwhelmed.

"This is Lowe," the warden said into the phone.  "I need
last night's tapes brought up to my office."

He hung up and looked at Scully, his face twisted in
disbelief.  "Nothing like this has ever happened before.  I
run a tight ship, Agent Scully.  I can't even begin to
imagine how a prisoner, let alone an FBI agent could be
brought in here, processed--" He ran his hand over his
bristled hair.  "It's not even proper procedure to process
him.  He should have been put in a holding cell till
morning."

Scully nodded.  She felt almost certain of what had
happened.  It had been long ago when she ceased to believe
there was any fortress the Consortium couldn't breach.  "Is
that all you wanted to talk to me about?" she asked.  "I
want to get back to my partner."

The warden dropped his head and pressed his fingertips
together.  "No, there are a couple of other things, Agent
Scully.  But I'd like to call in the prison psychiatrist
first, if you don't mind."

Scully skin began to feel as though it was tightening and
being drawn from her.  "Why?" she asked tentatively.

"I just feel she could explain things a little better."

"What things?" Scully asked, her voice growing louder, her
heart beginning to pound in her ears.

"Please, I'll just call her in."  He looked almost
pleadingly into Scully's eyes, and she nodded once.

He pushed a button.  "Send her in."

The door open, and a tall, wiry woman came in.  Her hair
was black and very wavy, most of it severely held in a low
ponytail.  Her face seemed gentle, but there was a calm
assurance and strength about her that let Scully know any
attempts the inmates would make to test her would be
swatted down without question.

"You're Agent Scully," she seemed to confirm as she held
out her hand.  "My name is Donna Barkley. I'm the prison
psychiatrist."

Scully shook her hand tersely.  "What is it?" she asked.

"Do you want to sit down?" Donna inquired.

"I just want--" Scully snapped, her frustration stealing
away any patience she had left.  "Please," she continued,
adjusting her voice.  "Please just tell me what it is."

Donna nodded and sat on the couch, waiting for Scully to
join her.

"There is something about Agent Mulder's injuries
that...raised a red flag for me.  Although there are so
many inconsistencies..."  Donna looked at Scully's face. 
"I'm sorry.  You'd probably prefer I just get to it.  Okay,
here goes.  Traditionally, when an inmate has suffered a
blow to the neck, as your partner has, it signifies that
that inmate has been raped."

"Oh my god...oh..." Scully stuttered.

"I know this is hard to hear. Should I go on?"

Scully nodded.

"You see, it makes them unable to scream or call for help
as well as lowering their oxygen intake so that they are
weakened and more vulnerable."

"And you think this is what happened to Agent Mulder?"

"We can't be absolutely sure until he wakes up."

"You said there are inconsistencies?" Scully said quietly.

"Yes. Yes, that's why we're not absolutely sure.  You see,
the fact that he has been knocked out doesn't jibe.  As you
know, rape is not about sex as much as violence and power. 
Here in prison, it is almost solely about power. That's why
the neck injury is so valuable to perpetrators.  The victim
is awake and aware of what is being done, as are the other
prisoners are aware as a rule.  Power, through and through.
 But Agent Mulder disappeared during the time it happened. 

Not even our most talkative inmates are aware that he was
raped.  Plus, the fact that he was unconscious; it all
would have just defeated the purpose."

"Maybe it was simply an act of rage because of who he is,"
Scully suggested flatly, her throat tight with despair.

"That's possible," the warden responded thoughtfully. 
"But, Agent Scully, when Agent Mulder turned up missing,
the entire cell block was locked down.  No one was missing
except Agent Mulder."

"I don't understand," Scully said, getting to her feet.

"As far as I'm concerned, there are two possibilities,"
Donna began.  "Either Agent Mulder was raped, or somebody
went to a lot of trouble to make us believe he was."

"For what purpose?" the warden asked.

Donna shrugged.  "I haven't even the smallest idea.  But
the fact that he has the neck injury as well as being
unconscious...If he were being raped and he fought, I could
see him being knocked out in the process; but he has no
other injuries that would suggest he was beaten
unconscious.  So, he would have to have been knocked out
and then hit in the throat, which wouldn't make any sense,
or he would have been hit in the throat and knocked out
later, which generally doesn't fit the profile. In any
case, we'll have a better idea when he wakes up."

Scully strayed away from the others, her mind whirling in
horror and confusion.  "What if he doesn't know?"

"What?" Donna asked.

"I mean, could it be possible that he wouldn't be aware?"

"I'm assuming there'd be pain, Agent Scully."

"If he was unconscious, not fighting, wouldn't there be
less of a chance that there would be pain?"

"I suppose." She frowned, pinched her nose.  "If he were
unconscious, his sphincter muscles would be totally relaxed
and if the rapist weren't overly aggressive.  Coupled with
the fact that he's been unconscious for some time now--"
she paused, cocking her head.  "What's your point?"

"If he doesn't know he was raped--"

"I think you'd need to tell him with the help of a
professional.  I wouldn't spring it on him myself.  Set
something up and break it to him with the help of a
psychiatrist.  That would be my advice."

Scully nodded and was jarred as the phone rang.  Lowe
answered it and nodded at Scully. "He's coming around."

He hung up and the phone rang again, but Scully left
without comment.

"Agent Scully!" he called after her.  "That was Agent
Mulder's lawyer.  She talked with the judge and, given the
information he now has and the circumstances, he has agreed
to release him into your custody.  I'll get the papers
together; and as soon as you think he's ready, you can take
him home."


Fox,
This is your last chance.  Call me.

Amber



Scully came around the corner and glanced at Mulder's
face; he seemed exactly he same as when she had left him. 
She looked around for a nurse, but the infirmary seemed
deserted.  Sitting back down in the chair she had vacated,
she watched him silently, almost dreading the opening of
his eyes.  She didn't want to see the residual terror or
horrific pain his memories might bring him, but the lack of
memories would bring their own nightmares.  His head bobbed
slightly, and she 
took his hand to guide him back.  "Mulder?" she attempted,
and his eyes shifted under his eyelids.  "Mulder, I'm
here."

Slowly, he blinked his eyes open--once, twice and then
settled on her face.  His lips formed her name, but only
the smallest whisper escaped him.  His face contorted in
pain, and he trained his eyes firmly on her face and
touched his neck tentatively.  "What happened?" he
whispered hoarsely.

"You tell me," Scully replied.  "Nobody seems to know."

He frowned, chewing his lip.  "I don't remember...My-my
head hurts...it's..."

Her heart sank.  Where did this leave them?  She didn't
want to hazard even the smallest guess.  "You were knocked
out; that's why your head hurts.   We don't know about your
throat..."

"Scully, you look terrible," Mulder whispered, his brow
wrinkled in concern.

"Thanks.  You've looked better yourself."

He shrugged self-depreciatingly and tried to pull himself
up.

"Lay down, Mulder," Scully admonished.  "You've been very
sick."

"I just feel a little woozy.  I--" He coughed hard and
long, and Scully waited him out.

"You need to limit the talking," she told him.  "If that's
not impossible for you."

"I think it might be. Scully, I have to use the bathroom. 
Oh god, my head."

"I don't know if you should be up..."

He shook his head slowly. "There's no room for
discussion."

"Fine," Scully replied.  "But I have to find help."  She
peered around the corners into the hallway.  "Where the
hell is everybody?"

She looked back at Mulder, who had struggled to his feet. 
"Dammit, Mulder!" she exclaimed as she rushed to his side
and placed herself under his arm.

"What are you going to do if I fall?" Mulder chuckled.

"Get the hell out of the way."

"That's reassuring."

"Whoaa!" came a voice from the door.  "What are you doing
out of bed?"  
Scully turned to see Jeanette rushing toward them.

"We thought we'd take in the sights," Mulder whispered.

"He needs to use the bathroom," Scully replied.

"I think I can take it from here," Mulder told them at the
door.  "I'm a little shy in front of crowds."

Scully stood with the nurse, who couldn't look her in the
eye.  Finally she told Scully, "I have some papers that
were faxed a few minutes ago giving you the right to take
him out of here."

"Yeah," Scully nodded.  "I want him out of here as soon as
possible."

"Are you going to take him home, or transfer him to
another facility?"

"I doubt he'd go to another facility," Scully replied.

"I'm sorry," Jeanette said quietly.  "About what
happened..."

Scully looked at her purposefully and put her fingers over
her lips as the door opened.

"Okay," Mulder pronounced  "Were you talking about me
while I was gone?"

"Yup," Scully replied.  "We were just saying that since
you're free to leave with me you'd probably want to go
straight to another hospital."

"Hell, yeah.  Right after we stop at that Yanni concert,"
he replied as he walked unsteadily toward the bed.  Sitting
down on the edge of the bed, he looked at Scully, his face
turning wistful.  "Can you get me some clothes, Scully?  I
just want to go home."

She nodded.  "Then that's where we'll go," she told him
with a smile she didn't feel.  She felt as if she could
feel the secret she kept as if it were a living being,
ominously waiting to pounce.



Fox,
I don't know why you treat me like this.  I don't want to
hurt you.  Please, don't make me.

Amber


Scully felt as if there was a ticking time bomb just under
the floor of her car that only she knew about.  Her mind
felt numb; and her stomach rolled around itself, tumbling
and occasionally leaping. 

The words she thought she might speak tormented her
consciousness: "Mulder, I think you should know that there
is a chance...Mulder, while you were unconscious, I spoke
to the prison psychiatrist..."  Scully felt the
psychiatrist might have been right: to simply blurt it out
couldn't be the best possible course of action.  But how
could she, in all good conscience, keep the possibility
from Mulder that he might have been raped in prison?  On
the other hand, she thought the possibility to be remote,
at best.  She glanced at him: he hadn't complained of any
discomfort, let alone pain, which she felt had to be an
issue, to some degree. 

They came upon a red light; and she stopped, looking over
at him.  He held himself tightly with his arms crossed
firmly over his chest.  His head was rolled away from her,
but she could see his eyes moving.  "You're very quiet,
Mulder," she observed softly.

"You told me to shut up," he answered in a harsh whisper,
rolling his head back to look at her from the corner of his
eye.

"I told you that you have a tracheal injury and should
refrain from talking as much as possible."

"Shut up in doctor talk," he countered with a small grin.

"And besides, when have you ever shut up because I told
you to?"

"It's the only reason..." He paused and touched his
throat, wincing slightly.  "It's the only reason I ever
shut up."

"I'm honored, I guess."  A car honked behind her, and she
turned back to the road.  "So...where would you rather
stay--my place or yours?"

Mulder looked at her, taken by surprise.  "Are you coming
on to me again, Scully?"

"Mulder..."

"Because if this behavior continues, I'm just going to
have to take you up on it."

"Mulder, you've had a serious head injury.  You have to be
awakened every few hours."

"Scully, come on, you know--"

Her phone rang, and she picked it up.  "Scully."

"Hi, this is Robertson at the lab.  We have the results
you asked for, Dr. Scully."

"Go ahead."

"Well, we're a little confused by what we found."

"Confused?" she replied, looking pointedly at Mulder.

"Because we did find a foreign substance in the patient's
blood, but we have been unable to identify it."

"Does it resemble anything?"

"Well, it has some of the properties of a hallucinogenic,
similar to, say, LSD.  But it's...it's just a strange
concoction.  I'll send you the report."

"Okay, thanks," Scully replied, hanging up.  "Well,
Mulder, the plot thickens."

"What do you mean?"

"Seems like you were injected with something in prison. 
Something the lab guys couldn't identify."

He cocked his head and waited.  

"There are some things I haven't had the chance to tell
you yet.  Like the warden who processed you?"  She looked
over at him, and he nodded.  "He doesn't work there. 
Nobody ever heard of him."

"What?" he choked out.

"Also, the Gunmen found some sort of device that diverts
all your e-mail to an unknown party."

He mimed the smoking of a cigarette.

"That was my thought too.  Also they found three bugs in
your apartment."

He shrugged.

"What?" She laughed a little at his reaction.

"I let them at my apartment every so often.  They always
find something."

"Mulder, that's terrible!  You just live with the fact
that somebody keeps invading your privacy."

"What am I going to do about it?" he countered, his voice
becoming thinner and dryer sounding.  "Live with it or kill
myself over it.  Anyway, I'm pretty boring, at least until
last night."

"Mulder--" She hesitated, passing the words explaining
what she had been told through her brain again, holding her
breath while she considered.

"So...so, it looks like..." He began to cough harshly,
bent over from the waist.

"Mulder?  Do you think a drink might help?"

He nodded, and she pulled into a fast-food restaurant
drive thru.  "Iced tea?" she asked; and he nodded again,
one hand over his throat.

"And a double cheeseburger and fries," he coughed out.

"Mulder, you need to something that will build your
strength."

He shook his head, his face fixed with a disgusted
expression.  "Are you trying to finish the job?  I need
fast food...fast!"

She sighed and spoke into the nose of a large clown. 
"I'll have a large iced tea, a large diet coke, a double
cheeseburger," she looked over at him. He nodded, a happy
grin on his face.  "A large fry and a single hamburger."

"Is that all?"

"An apple pie," Mulder added.  "For the fruit."

"An apple pie," Scully repeated dryly.  "For the fruit."

"Happy?" Mulder asked.

"Delirious," Scully replied flatly.  "So, your house or
mine?"

"Are you sure?  This means one of us has to sleep on the
couch."

"Let's go to your apartment.  I have an overnight back in
the trunk, so we wouldn't have to stop at my place."

"Why do you keep a bag..." His voice gave out again.

"Because I have this crazy partner who calls me at all
hours and says things like 'Scully, I have a ticket for you
to Timbuktu.  Can you be at the airport in ten minutes?'"

"Nut," he spat out derisively.  

"You don't know the half of it," she returned as she
looked for her wallet.

"I'd pay, but I left my apartment in such a hurry that I
forgot my wallet."

"Isn't that convenient?" she teased.

"Not the first word that comes to my mind."  

She handed him the packages and slipped the drinks into
the holders.

"Scully?"

"Mulder, I thought you were going to rest your voice."

"I-I--" He cleared his throat hard.

"Mulder, shut up," she said affectionately.

"I--just one more thing..."

"What?"

"I know you've done a lot for me today.  I want to thank
you. I can't...I don't know how--" His voice broke and he
shook his head, signaling that he couldn't continue.

Scully placed her hand on his shoulder and grinned and
then wordlessly drove toward Mulder's apartment.  



Fox,
I could see you thought your partner looked very nice
today.  I saw you watching her through the window when she
left your apartment.  I hope she was OK on the way home.

Amber  



"I don't have my keys," Mulder murmured, almost silently.

"Oh," Scully answered, digging her key ring out of her
purse.  "I got it."  She turned the lock and pushed open
the door, walking inside.  "Wow," she said quietly as she
noticed the debris that had once been Mulder's coffee
table.

"Lucky I'm not sentimental," he whispered as he kicked at
the wood, although the tone in his voice hinted that the
opposite was true.  "Toothpicks and splinters," he murmured
and sighed, rubbing his face.  "I'm exhausted."

"Me too," Scully agreed.  Yet they stood still, each with
their own thoughts.  "You have messages," Scully pointed
out.

Mulder glanced at his answering machine and sighed again. 
"I'm too tired," he responded.

"What if there's something to do with the case?"

He took a few steps and pushed the message button.

"Fox, it's George.  Are you all right?  I talked to your
lawyer. She said you'd be out tonight.  Can you call?  I'm
worried, Bud."

"Mulder, Scully?  It's Skinner.  I'd like an update when
you can."

"Fox, it's your mother.  Do you think we could have dinner
soon?  Call me."

"Fox, it's me, Amber--"

Mulder looked at Scully, his expression registering his
disbelief.

"--I hope you're not mad.  I might think about dropping
the charges if you'll call me."

Mulder closed his eyes, his face going slack.  "Fucking
amazing," he mumbled.  "I'm going to take a shower."

"That's all you've got to say?" Scully demanded, following
him toward the bathroom as he unbuttoned his shirt. 

"I'd ask you to join me, but, I'm just not-" He began
coughing again.

"Mulder, that tape...it could clear you."

He changed direction, heading toward the kitchen and
opening his refrigerator. He pulled out a sport drink and
swallowed it carefully.  "Scully, I don't think it's about
her anymore.  I think there's something else; something
beyond Amber.  I just don't know what it is yet."

"Doesn't that scare you?"

He nodded, his face incredulous.  "I'm scared to death. 
But I don't know what do about it yet; and I-I think if I
sleep, I'll be able to...I can't even form words, Scully,
let alone figure this shit out."

Scully nodded.

Mulder nodded back and patted her on the shoulder as he
passed her by.  "I'm going to shower," he repeated and
headed back toward the bathroom.

Scully walked slowly into the living room and gazed at the
ruins of Mulder's coffee table.  She pushed at the bigger
chunks with her foot, trying to make a smaller pile of
wood.

"Scully," Mulder said as he reappeared, unzipping his
pants.  "Do you think you should call Skinner?"  He stepped
out of his pants.

Scully sighed and lowered her eyes.  "Mulder, why do you
do that?"

"What?" he asked, holding his pants in one hand.

"Undress in front of me.  It makes me..."

He glanced down at himself.  "I'm sorry, Scully.  I guess
I didn't think you'd notice."

"Well, how would you like it if I undressed in front of
you?"

"Like it?  I'd love it!  Scully, I'd be delirious!"

"Okay, bad example.  Just...just, stop it, okay?"

"Check," Mulder said as he went into his bedroom.  "Never
strip in front of Scully."

"Never is a very long time," Scully said under her breath.

"I heard that," Mulder replied.  "And I'm very intrigued."

Scully smiled to herself and picked up Mulder's phone to
call Skinner.



Mulder made the shower as hot as he could stand it and
stood under the driving water, silent and brooding.  He
tried to shy his mind away from what had happened to him
and why and who was responsible, but it was almost
impossible.  His mind felt numb with exhaustion, and now he
only wanted to be able to tolerate the smell of himself
before he fell into bed.  

The thought of Scully made him smile.  She didn't want him
to strip in front of her.  That was what he wanted to hear.
 He hoped she was uncomfortable because she felt even the
smallest measure of what he felt for her.  He felt himself
grow hard, and he sighed.  Frustration was not what he
wanted to feel.  He began to soap himself with the thought
of finishing the shower and ignoring his desire.  But as he
washed his hips and thighs and came around to soap his
genitalia, a horrifying vision flashed in the back of his
mind.  It was as if just a few frames of film flickered
across his consciousness.  Someone--a man's--hands on his
hips, pulling him backward; that's all it was.  But his
reaction was as vivid and startling as if he were being
violated at that very moment.  He threw himself back
against the shower wall, the soap falling to the floor and
spinning in a tight circle at his feet.  

The vision went as fast as it came, but his adrenaline
coursed through his body as if he were surrounded by
impending danger.  He squatted slightly, his hands pressed
backward against the tile. He began to take short quick
breaths; his mouth formed a tense "oh."   

"Mulder, are you all right?" Scully called from outside
the door, but he couldn't make himself respond.  Bile rose
in his throat and choked off the limited airway he still
had.  Pressing his hands against his knees, he told himself
it was residual from the drug he had been injected with;
but his inner feelings told him differently.  He told
himself to breathe deeply, assured himself that he was not
in imminent danger; but he felt as if he were hopelessly
doomed. 

"Mulder?" she called more anxiously.

"I-I'm okay, Scully," he managed to get out.  He snapped
off the shower and stepped, trembling, from the tub.  "I'm
okay," he told himself shakily.             

"Should I come in?" she asked, obviously unconvinced of
his well-being.

"No!" he cried out, suddenly shaken by the idea of his
vulnerability.

"Okay," she answered.  "I'm right out here though."

"Okay," he replied.  "Okay."





Scully lay in Mulder's bed after winning or losing
(depending on one's frame of reference) a short
disagreement on who should sleep on the couch.  Mulder had
been tense, anxious and insistent that he would be more
comfortable on the couch.  His manner made Scully feel as
if the walls were crumbling around her.  She found herself
tiptoeing around him, careful of what she said and did. 

Turning over in bed and looking out at the moonlight, she
could smell him.  She closed her eyes and breathed in
deeply, feeling the overwhelming arousal she usually,
effectively tamped down.  The thought of him brought her no
pleasure though.  His face...When he had come out of the
bathroom, it was as if he had aged ten years.  His eyes had
darted from place to place, and he had watched her as if he
were suspicious of her.  When she went into his bedroom and
closed the door, she had almost felt relief to be away from
him.

She turned over again and looked at the clock.  It had
been almost two hours; she should check him.  She hoped to
God he had been able to fall asleep.


Fox,
Why do you sleep on your couch?  Your bed looks so much
more comfortable.

Amber


Scully opened the bedroom door as silently as possible. 
The sudden pinging of rain against the window startled her
slightly, and she struggled to see through the thick
darkness of Mulder's living room.  Tugging Mulder's shirt
down around her knees, she assured herself she was
adequately covered.  She groped her way toward the couch.
"Mulder?" she whispered so as to not startle him. She
reached down and felt the soft blanket she had covered him
with before she went to bed.  Lightning suddenly lit up the
room, and she could see the couch was empty. She gasped. 
"Mulder," she called out as she ran to the kitchen, not
expecting to find him.  "Mulder!" she called out again as
she headed toward the bathroom, completely hopeless.  "Oh
my god," she whispered as if she might wake him.  "Where
would he go?" 

Opening his front door, she looked up and down the empty
hallway.  Closing the door, she tried to make her exhausted
brain engage.  Where would he go?  She asked herself again
and again. 

When the phone rang, she flinched hard, as if it had blown
up.  It rang again, and she snatched it from the receiver. 
"Scully."

"Scully?"

"Mulder, what the hell?  Where are you?"

"This is going to sound...stupid."

"I don't care how it sounds, Mulder.  Just tell me where
you are."

"I-I don't know." She could hear his voice trembling, even
at the very low volume he could manage.

"What do you mean you don't know?" she said more gently.

"Scully...I remembered something..."

Her stomach lurched and tightened.  

"Something that happened...I-I ran.  I couldn't...I didn't
know what to do..."

"Where did you run to?" she replied, consciously trying to
sound calm.

"I don't know where I am, Scully.  It's so stupid. 
I...I'm confused."

"Okay, Mulder.  Hold on, will you?  I'm going to have the
call traced, and I'll be there."

"Scully?"

"Don't hang up."

"Scully?"

"Yeah..."

"It's bad."

"I'll be there, Mulder" was all she could think to say
before having the call traced, dressing and running out the
door.


Fox,
You are beautiful naked.

Amber


Scully screeched to a halt in front of the public phone
from which Mulder had called.  He was not immediately
visible as she scanned the area for him through the
windshield wipers.  Soon she caught sight of him, standing
in a doorway, head down, arms crossed, his breath visible
in the cold.  Quickly she ran from the car.  "Mulder?" she
called out over the roar of the rain.

His head snapped up, and he looked at her not only as if
he had never seen before but also as if he was sure she had
been sent to kill him.  Then his face softened slightly. 
"I'm sorry, Scully.  I should have just started walking. 
Look, you're getting soaked."

"It's all right, Mulder.  Let's go home."

He nodded, but he didn't move toward the car.  So she
moved closer to him in order to benefit from the relative
dryness of the doorway.  Thunder pounded so loudly she
could feel it as well as see it, and she pulled in a little
closer to him.  He pulled abruptly away, and she took a
step back.

"Come back to the apartment, Mulder.  We'll talk about
whatever's bothering you."

His eyes darted past her and over her, never once landing
on her face.  He took a few steps back, until his back was
against the brick wall.  "Something happened," he said, his
eyes setting on her face once and skittering away.  He
seemed completely unaware that they were talking in the
middle of what seemed like a hurricane to Scully.

"What happened, Mulder?" she asked, holding her hand out
to him.

"No!" he said adamantly.  "No, don't touch me...just
don't--"

"Okay, Mulder, okay.  Do you want to tell me what's
wrong?"

"I didn't remember before, but now..." He looked quickly
at her, his face full of confusion and horror.  "But
something happened...in jail."

"Mulder--"

"I remember,' he said again.  "I was--" His knees seem to
go out from under him all at once, and he sank to the
rain-drenched sidewalk.

"Mulder," Scully said gently, lowering herself beside him,
her only thought to stem the flow of his horror and
despair.  "It may not be what it seems."

"What?" he said and began coughing roughly.

"What you think happened, it's possible, given what we
know, that it didn't happen."

"Scully, you don't understand.  They hit me in the throat,
and I went down..." His jaw trembled with the cold, and he
wiped at his eyes. "Scully, I couldn't breathe...I
couldn't...I tried..."

"Mulder, please listen to me--"

"But I couldn't get away.  They...god, oh god...They raped
me, Scully."  He threw his head back against the brick
wall, his eyes pinned upward.  "They raped me," he
repeated, his voice cracking.

"Mulder, I'm going to suggest that we go to the hospital
from here and have you examined."

He looked into her face, confused.  "Why?"

"Mulder, please...I know this is going to be hard
to...accept.  It's quite possible, I believe...Mulder,
listen.  I think these memories might have been implanted. 
I've been thinking about it and--"  

He looked at her as if it were the first time he was aware
she had arrived.  "What did you say?"

"I said, I've been thinking about it and with all I know
now--"

"How could you have been thinking about it, Scully?  I
just told you--"

"Mulder, the warden and the psychiatrist at the prison
talked to me about it, and...I don't know.  I think they
might have had a separate agenda.  But...they said they
thought your throat injury might have indicated a rape,
but--"

"You knew there was a possibility that I've been raped and
you didn't tell me?"  His words were spat out like bullets,
his face twisted in rage.

"I didn't know for sure and the more I thought about it,
the more I knew--"

He began to crawl to his feet, his eyes fixed on hers, his
spite unspoken but clearly felt deeply.  He held out his
arm stiffly as if he would need to fend her off, as if she
would be the next to attack him.

"Mulder," she pleaded.  "Please, let me explain."

Slowly, he shook his head.  "You knew..." he repeated, his
eyes pinned on hers before he turned quickly and ran off
into the night, looking over his shoulder once as if he
feared she might try to capture him.

Scully could only watch him dwindle, knowing she could
never overtake him.  Still she called out his name into the
darkness.   Soon the darkness was all that was left.






Scully stood watching the corner around which Mulder
disappeared for long time after he'd turned it.  She was
unaware of time or logic, which would have told her enough
is enough.  Go inside.  He's not coming back.  Some part of
her still needed to stand watch.  An especially loud clap
of thunder finally brought her around and she headed
downheartedly to her car.

She sat there for an even longer time, unsure of where to
go, wondering if it would be best to go to Mulder's in the
hope that he would eventually head there.  Finally she
headed toward home.

As she drove, she mulled over what Mulder had said to her,
huddled in a doorway, despondent and afraid.  She thought
about her decision not to tell Mulder what she suspected. 
Despite his anger and sense of betrayal, she felt she had
made the best decision under the circumstances.  She had to
wonder though, if she had told him, would he still be at
home, coping in some way with the information, rather than
running from whatever it was he thought he might escape on
a rainy, frigid night

She glanced at her car clock: 1:40 a.m.  This would be the
second night that neither one of them had had any sleep. 
It certainly couldn't be helping the situation.  Then
again, Mulder believed he had been brutally raped.  She
couldn't imagine anything would make that seem easier to
accept.

Once she had arrived at her apartment, she simply sat for
a number of minutes, her head against the steering wheel,
trying to know where to go, what to do, how to go on. 
Finally, she threw the door open and headed toward her
home, her bed.


Fox,
I think it's her.  She's breaking us up.  Can't you see
she doesn't love you like me?

Amber


She heard her phone ringing as she approached the door. 
Fumbling with her keys, her hands wet with rain, her
dripping hair obscuring her vision, she entered as the
machine began to click in.

"Scully!" she called over the message.  "I'm here."

"Agent Scully?" someone whispered.

"Yes?"

"This is George Harris.  At the bar?"

"Yes," she answered.

"Listen." He began to speak even more quietly, so that she
could barely hear him.  "Fox is here.  He came in a few
minutes ago."

"How does he seem?"

"He looks like shit and he seems...Actually, Agent Scully,
I've never seen him like this.  I gotta say, he's scaring
me."

"How?"

"He's bouncing all over the place, angry, depressed.  I
asked him if he wanted me to call you---I'll be right
there---He said...I don't really want to repeat what he
said."

"It's all right, George," Scully told him.  "He's angry
with me, I know that."

"He's beyond angry, Agent Scully.  He's in a whole other
place."

"Just...make sure he gets home.  Can you do that?"

"Yeah, I can do that.  Are you sure you don't want to come
down here?"

"No. No, I'm sure he doesn't want to see me at this
point."

"Agent Scully--"

"Look, George, I think you can call me Dana."

"I'm honored.  Dana, are you sure you don't want to come
down here?"

"No, but I'm here at home, George. If he needs me."



Fox,
I waited on your couch. I fed your fish.  You never came
home.

Amber


Scully changed out of her clothes, which still dripped
freely as she stepped out of them and rung them out over
the tub.  She shivered as she stepped into the shower and
turned up the hot water.  She tried to imagine the "other
place" George had said Mulder was in.  To be raped,
violated to the core of your being, to have the last, final
aspect of dignity, that should never belong to anyone else
stripped from you, leaving so little...She felt herself
begin to cry and made herself stop.  There wasn't the time
or energy to indulge her despair.  She needed to, had to
rest, and most certainly couldn't sort anything out in the
mental shape she was in.  As she dried off, she told
herself, somewhat like Scarlett O'Hara, that she'd think
about it tomorrow.

She turned her head toward her living room as she heard a
single chime of her doorbell.  "Thank God," she whispered
as she pulled on her robe and shook the towel from her
hair.  "I'm coming," she called out, her anxiety over
another confrontation with Mulder taking second place to
her joy that he had cared enough to return.  Out of habit,
she looked through the peephole, although her hand was
already twisting the doorknob.  What she saw made her
release the door immediately. With no further thought, she
walked to where she knew her gun had been left and pulled
it out, removing the safety.  Then, quickly, with no
preamble, she flung open the door and pointed her gun into
the face of the man who pulled the Morley casually from his
lips.  "Agent Scully," he admonished.  "Is this how you
greet all your guests?"

"You're not a guest, you son-of-a-bitch. Now turn around
and get the hell out of here before I do what I should have
done the first time you sullied my oxygen supply."

"Really, Agent Scully, you're becoming as tedious as your
partner."

She took a quick threatening step forward and was a little
gratified that he took a step back.  "It would be in your
best interest you not to even breathe the name of my
partner.  Not now.  Especially not tonight."

"Yes," he went on, seemingly oblivious to her ominous
state of mind.  "I hear Mulder had a difficult time in
prison."

"I told you to get out of my building," she demanded.

"But I'm here to help Mulder.  I have evidence which will
guarantee that he will not have to go back to that hell
hole where they treated him so very unkindly."

She wavered slightly.  She knew she had enough evidence on
her own to sway the DA; but if he could guarantee it, if he
could take that dark threat...

"You see, you're intrigued."  He pointed at this breast
pocket and asked permission to go there with a raise of his
eyebrows.  Scully nodded, secure in the fact that she would
be more than happy to shoot him if he attempted to attack
her.  "This came into my possession earlier this evening. 
On it, you'll find a record of what went on between Mulder
and that young hussy.  I must say, Agent Scully, she
doesn't hold a candle to you.  And she was entirely more
trouble than she was worth."

"So you did pay her off."

He laughed.  "I didn't need to dabble in this one, Agent
Scully.  Mulder set himself up.  Entirely too easily
manipulated, that's his downfall."  He handed her the tape.

"You're just going to give this to me?" she asked
skeptically.

"You certainly live up to your reputation.  It's there in
your hand? Are you going to try and explain it away?"  He
smiled an oily smile and dragged on his cigarette.

"What's the catch?"

"Catch?  There's no catch."

"Good, then you can leave," she intoned, lowering her gun
and going inside her apartment.

He placed his hand on the door.  "I hear your partner had
a particularly hard time in prison."

Scully turned and looked at him, contempt flowing from
every pour but she said nothing, hoping he would let more
slip than he intended.

"It's terrible.  Really.  I'm sure the memories will be
with him the rest of his life.  It's a shame.  Something
like that could completely destroy a man."

With rage and strength she didn't realize she had, she
raised the barrel of her gun and shoved the much bigger man
against the opposite wall.  "God damn you for what you did!
 You are completely vacant of any sense of humanity.  I
hope you die slowly and painfully.  I hope you never know a
moment's peace in this life or the next."

"No doubt all of your wishes will come true.  But until
that time...I know of a very gifted professional whose
skill includes the ability to completely obliterate any
given memory.  I think your Agent Mulder might sincerely
appreciate his prowess.  All I ask is that he takes the
time off from his job to fully recuperate-say, a couple of
years?"

"Are you offering to have the memories you put in place
removed for a price?"

"Agent Scully, you are very perceptive, even more so than
your partner. But I think you'll have a hell of a time
convincing your partner that the memories he can almost put
a hand out to touch are not, in fact, his.  I would tread
very lightly.  I hope you'll relay my offer to him."

"And I hope you're dead the next time I lay eyes on you."

"I'm very sorry you feel that way.  I have always been
very fond of you...and Agent Mulder."  He turned to leave.

"You know, it's kind of a shame," Scully called after him.

He turned and looked at her questioningly.

"The whole building was just fumigated.  Now my landlord
will just have to do it again."  And she slammed the door
with all of the pent-up fury she could release.    


Fox,
I cried all night, knowing what I have to do.  It's for
the best.

Amber



Scully stood with her back to the door for a long while,
breathing deeply and giving herself the time to acclimate
to her relative safety.   Finally, she slid down the door,
landing splayed like an exhausted rag doll...with a gun. 
She felt like she could sleep in this position and actually
closed her eyes, but her phone rang and she had to rise up
to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Dana?  Are you asleep?  I'm sorry, it's George."

"George?  What is it?"

"Fox wanted me to call you.  His voice is almost gone, and
he wants me to tell you...he needs to know what you know."

"George, did he tell you what happened?"

"Just...just that something happened to him in prison.  He
wants me to give him the phone so that you can tell him."

Scully frowned as the phone was transferred. She could
hear the music, which bounded joyfully and extraordinarily
loudly.  It seemed to be in complete contrast to Mulder at
this point in time.

"Mulder?" she said after a minute.

"Just tell me, Scully."

She thought for a moment.  "No, Mulder."

"No?" he whispered harshly.

"No.  I think if you want to talk to me, you at least owe
me the courtesy of talking to me to my face."

"Courtesy?" he rasped back between his teeth.  "You expect
courtesy from me?"

"I think I deserve at least that."

"All right.  All right.  Excuse me, Scully, but may I ask
you why you didn't seem to deem it necessary to tell me I
was fucked up the ass?"

She didn't answer.  Although she knew logically that his
anger was to be expected, she couldn't help but wince at
his words.  She could hear his breath coming in hard, quick
gasps against her ear and reminded herself of the pain he
felt, the betrayal he felt she had heaped on top of the
horror.

"Scully?" he whispered.

"What?"

"Are you going to tell me?"

"Yes, I'll tell you everything I know.  But we have to
talk face to face."

The dial tone hummed in her ear, and she hung up the
phone.



Scully crawled into her bed and lay her head down gently. 
She couldn't imagine that she could ever have been this
tired.  Still, her mind wouldn't shy away from the thought
of Mulder.  She felt certain that she could make him
understand why she felt his memories were implanted,
certain that he'd eventually believe her.  But would he be
able to leave his sense of betrayal behind? Could he ever
look at her without diverting his eyes?  And, if not, would
it be the effective method to tear them apart when all else
failed?   Was that the plan, after all?  She began to drift
off, remembering the time Mulder had come to her in her
dreams, telling her that he would return to her, to
continue with her, when she had thought him dead.  Was he
more dead to her now?  She willed him to return to her in
her dreams, but more importantly, in her life.


Fox,
I hope you can forgive me when you see I was right.

Amber

  

"Scully?"

She smiled in her sleep, happy to hear him, although his
voice was still raspy, even in her subconscious.

"Scully?"

"Wh-what?"

"Scully, wake up."

She tried to bring herself back to the surface, but she
couldn't open her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Scully.  I know you're tired," he added more
gently.

She squinted at the figure in her room that she couldn't
completely focus on.  "What the hell?  Mulder?"

"You mean there's other guys sneaking into your room at
night?  I think I'm jealous."

"Mulder, what are you doing here?"

"I knocked, Scully.  You didn't come.  I have to know,
Scully.  I have to know before I can rest."

She sat up and rubbed her eyes, her brain beginning to
chug forward, however sluggishly.  "I'm sorry, Mulder.  I
want to say I'm sorry before I say anything else."  He
turned his back, and she pushed herself upright against the
headboard.  "I should have told you what was suspected,
despite my feelings."

He glanced back at her.  "Scully, someday...I'll probably
be able to understand...I-I just can't...now."

She lowered her head.  She gathered her sheets around her
neck, feeling suddenly exposed.  "Mulder, I want to tell
you why I didn't--"

"It doesn't matter, Scully," he said harshly.

"It does to me."

He walked away from her and she feared he would simply
leave, but he paused, waiting.

"I-I thought about telling you, over and over.  But, the
prison psychiatrist said it would be better to tell you
with a another psychiatrist present...that it might be too
much for you to manage."

"I guess I proved her right," he murmured.

"It was wrong.  I should have just told you, I wish I
could go back in time...And I'm sorry."

He nodded.  "I know you are."

"I hope you can forgive me."

"I hope so too, Scully.  I really do."  He walked back
toward her, his anger seemingly dissipated.  He paused,
dropped his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but closed
it before he looked into her eyes again.  "I have to
forgive you, because, tonight as I was walking I realized
something...I know one thing above...I know one thing."

"What's that?"

"I can trust you.  Even if I don't understand you, I can
trust you."

"And when did you come to that conclusion?" she asked,
teasing a little, hoping.

He shrugged.  "I don't know, really.  It's just what I
know to be true."

They were quiet for a few moments.  Then Scully began. 
"First, there's the fact that...well, what you know: that
it would seem that the Consortium has become involved. 
From the e-mail thing to the bugs, to the warden to the
drug that nobody from the lab is familiar with and the fact
that it was a hallucinogenic." She paused, watching him
from behind.  He nodded but remained silent.  "The fact
that nobody was missing in order to rape you--"

"Scully, I remember them.  I could go into that prison and
point them out," he replied adamantly.

"I know that you have that memory in your mind..."

"But you believe it was implanted."

"Yes."

"But...I can still see it.  I can feel the pain."  He
turned farther from her.  "I can hear what they said; and
it rings in my head, over and over.  It sickens me.  I can
feel the agony and the terror as they held me down and--"
His voice cracked and faded away.

Scully began to climb out of her bed, but he held out a
palm.  "Mulder, I don't doubt that these memories are
horrific and real to you.  But tell me this...When you woke
up, did you feel any pain whatever?  Any?  Mulder, you
remember being violently raped; violently...there would be
bleeding, Mulder, and pain. Not to mention bruises from
being held down.  Did you feel anything like that?  Do you
have any bruises?"

He turned and looked at her, his eyes wide and uncertain. 
"No," he whispered.

She nodded, and he looked away.

"There's one more thing, Mulder; one more very important
thing.  The Smoking Man was here tonight."

He snapped around, facing her.  "Here?"

"Yes."

"Did he hurt you?"

"No, Mulder.  But he mentioned that he knew you were in
prison.  In fact, he gave me the audiotape from your
apartment the night Amber attacked you.  It will clear you,
Mulder."

He shook his head slightly.  "Am I just exhausted beyond
thinking?  I'm just not getting this."

"I didn't either, not at first.  Then he mentioned the
horrible memories you must have taken with you and offered
the services of someone who could remove those memories, if
you would just agree to take a very long sabbatical."

He turned away again and walked over to her window,
pulling the blinds apart with his fingers and looking out
at the night, which now appeared peaceful and calm.  "So he
put these memories in my mind...to ruin me."

"Yes," she whispered, grateful that he would need no
further convincing.

"Why?  Why would he go this far?  Why doesn't he just kill
me?"

"Would that be better for you?" she challenged.

"You don't know, Scully.  You don't know.  If it didn't
happen, it might as well have.  I was violated, just as if
I was held down and screwed, with the same consequences.  I
don't know how I will ever be able to live with the
sickening horror of what happened...or didn't happen. 
Maybe I'm not in physical pain; but I was raped, Scully."

She nodded, realizing, perhaps for the first time since
she became suspicious of his memories, that it was true.  

"Maybe I should go to him," he said despondently.

"Mulder, no."

"Because I don't know how to live with this.  I don't know
how to move on."

"We can go to your hypno-therapist, to your psychiatrist."

"And say what?  That I can't recover from not being
raped?"

"Mulder, if you go to him, he owns you."

"If I don't, my nightmares do."

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.  "I'm so
tired, Scully."

"I know."

He began to walk to her door, but turned again,
hesitantly, glancing at her.  "You know when you asked me
before, when I knew I trusted you?"

She nodded.   

"I lied.  I knew tonight, beyond a doubt. I don't know,
maybe it was the hundredth time I knew.  But I was walking
after I went to the bar, and I felt like...there was
nowhere to go.  Nowhere I could be safe...where I could be
certain.  And...My mind kept coming back to you.  I knew,
no matter what I felt you had done, you had done it for me,
not to me.  And I knew if I didn't come back here tonight,
I'd never feel that...security again.  So I came here, and
I was afraid you might not let me in...After what I said. 
So I came in...without knocking,"  He looked into her eyes
and away again.  "I never knocked, Scully.  I used my key,
hoping you wouldn't throw me out..." He waved his arm at
the window.  "...out there again."

Scully smiled at him, and he suddenly felt shy.  He looked
at his feet and realized he had tracked mud throughout her
apartment.  "Oh god, Scully.  I-I'm sorry." 

She followed his chagrined gaze to his feet.  "Just take
them off, Mulder."

"No, I should go..."

"Where?"

"Home, I guess."

"You said you didn't feel safe anywhere but here with me."

He shrugged.  "I didn't mean..."

She pulled back her covers, and he took in the most
tempting sight he had ever seen.  Her bed, warm from her
body, her pillows, her sheets, all no doubt smelling just
like her.  And Scully; above all, Scully.  He shook his
head as if he had had a vision that he thought would
dissipate.  

"Come on, Mulder.  Take off your shoes, take off your
sopping clothes and put them in the bathroom."

"You said no more stripping, Scully."

"I made the rule, I can make the exception."

"You don't have to do this."

"Come on, Mulder.  Let me watch over you just this once
and make sure you can sleep.  I promise I'll keep you safe,
at least until morning."

Tears filled his eyes, and he knew he'd never be more
grateful for anything in his life.  He did as she
requested, removing his shoes, his clothes, all except his
underwear and then slowly, tentatively, he crawled in
beside her but lay quietly, inches from her.  Somehow--he'd
never be able to say just exactly how, although he would
return to it in his mind, over and over--she pulled him in
and draped him over her, gently placing his head on her
breast and covering it with her hand.

He couldn't keep the long, contented moan from escaping
his lips; and as he closed his eyes, he thought he might be
able to trust tomorrow.  He might even be able to trust his
dreams.  He pulled in a little tighter and drifted away.



Scully lay awake for the longest time; longer than she
would ever have thought possible.  She waited for Mulder's
breathing to become deep and steady, the trail of his
breath, easily marked on her skin.  When she was certain he
was asleep, she passed her lips over the top of his head,
once...twice.  The rain had done an efficient job of
removing whatever styling product he used; his hair was
soft, it laid forward on his forehead like a young boy's
and it smelled a little like outside and a lot like him. 
She couldn't see his face, his head was tucked deeply
against her breast, but she could see the very tip of his
nose, past the fringe of his hair.  It made her smile for
some reason; she didn't analyze why.

When she dared, she moved her leg slightly along his; she
could feel the crisp, coarse hair of his leg as it tickled
the inside of her knee.  When that didn't wake him, she
drew the instep of her foot along the muscle of his calf,
reveling in the curve of it, as it drew up to his knee and
then she couldn't reach anymore without waking him, so she
nestled her leg between his, nudging slightly with her knee
until she could rest between their weight.

He held her tightly around her waist and back, as if he
thought she might try to escape him.  Sometimes he would
push his head deeper against her, nudging her with his nose
and chin before he would settle again.  And he'd whisper
from time to time, though it seemed to be a quiet
pronouncement rather than a frightened exclamation, so she
assumed his dreams had not returned to the darkest of
places, at least not yet.

She wiggled an arm loose and smoothed the hair at his
temple, following around and running her finger around the
top of his ear.  His shoulder rose in protection and he
mumbled thickly, "Tickles..."  

Scully stopped all exploration.  Was he awake, aware of
her small exploits? She was deeply suspicious for a while. 
"Mulder?" she whispered, to no response.  She blew in his
ear slightly and he never moved.  "Mulder, you better be
asleep."  Pulling her head to an awkward position, she
studied his face.  It was completely peaceful, no record
was written on his features of what he had endured over the
course of the last few days.

Finally, she laid back and was still for a long while.  He
shifted against her, rearranging his long legs, but not
withdrawing himself at all.  Scully moved in concert, until
a new position had been silently agreed to.

She moved her hand to rest on his bicep, remaining there
until she felt secure in his slumber.  At that point, she
began to trace the muscle there, and trailed her fingers
lower on his arm.  She, at times had become completely
obsessive about certain parts of his anatomy.  As of late,
the part of his arm revealed when he rolled up his sleeves
was the all out winner.  She had a more than passing,
ongoing observation of the muscles and bone and the fact
that his hair was golden there and not as dark as the hair
on his head.  She encircled his wrist lightly, just because
she could and then uncurled his fingers, placing her hand
inside.

He sighed and tensed against her, moving only slightly,
but she could feel his muscles form harder and knew his
dreams had taken him back to where he had never been. 
Although, she had to admit, she could have been wrong.  So
much had happened to him in his life that might instigate
nightmares.  She thought about his neighbor's complaints
that she could hear him scream in the night and it saddened
her anew.  She wrapped herself more tightly around him,
intertwining with him, like two flowers planted too closely
in the garden.  Gradually, he relaxed against her,
whispering something again that sounded like her name.  She
ventured the smallest of kisses on his forehead and drew
herself in, more tightly still and finally fell asleep.    




It was hours later that Scully awoke to find her arms and
bed, disturbingly empty.  She looked toward the bathroom;
it was dark, the door open.  Slowly she scrambled from her
bed, nowhere near completely rested and she felt certain
the same could be said about Mulder.

As she walked into her living room, she saw him, sitting
on her couch, wrapped in an afghan, staring out into the
brittle morning sunlight.  "Mulder?" she queried.

He looked up at her and smiled apologetically.  "Did I
wake you?" he asked.

"No..." she replied, pushing her hair out of her eyes with
one hand.  "Why are you up?"

"I guess you probably won't believe that I wanted to get
an early start on the day."

"Nope," she agreed, plopping down next to him on the
couch.

He unwound the cover from his shoulders and wrapped and
end around her, drawing her against him in the process. 
She nestled there for a moment.  "Why did you get up,
Mulder?"

He lowered his head.  "It came back to me in my dreams...I
was sick and then I couldn't get the images out of my
mind."  His breath smelled of mouthwash and she could still
smell the rain on his skin.

"You know, Mulder, I know this isn't the same thing, but
when I was young and I had a nightmare, my mother would
come and talk to me, until I fell asleep again."

He looked down at her, slightly surprised.  "Really?"

"Mm-hm," she replied sleepily.  "Didn't your mom do that?"

He laughed a little.  "I don't remember if she did before
Sam...was gone.  But, after, she always took sleeping
pills.  She wouldn't have heard me if my screams were
accompanied by a full orchestra."

"What about your dad?"

He didn't answer.

"Bad question?" Scully guessed.

"No, it's all right.  My dad had a very unusual way to
deal with my nightmares."

"Really?" she asked, still half asleep.

"When I would scream in my sleep...he'd pull me out of bed
and knock me around."

"Mulder!  My god, that's terrible."

"I guess I would scream her...Samantha's name.  It was too
much for him."

"That's no excuse, Mulder."

"Doesn't matter anymore."

"How long did this go on?" 

He shrugged.  "I started sleeping on the couch; it was
farther away from his room and I didn't sleep as soundly,
so I didn't dream as vividly.  Then he left.  It's funny; I
almost missed him knocking me around.  At least he knew I
was there."

"Mulder, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I was trying to help take your mind off of things.  I
didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

"You didn't bring them up, Scully.  They're always there. 
You know the night all of this started?"

"Yeah."

"I was at George's bar because it was the anniversary of
my dad's death.  I wanted to get wasted.  Ironic.  I don't
usually get drunk, because I remind myself of my dad when
I'm drunk.  But, on the anniversary of his death, I
celebrate by attempting to get shit-faced. Maybe if I
hadn't had as much to drink as I did that night...maybe all
of this wouldn't have been set in motion."

"So, now you've figured out a way for this to be your
fault?" Scully responded, sitting up slightly.

"No," he answered unconvincingly.  

"Mulder, if the shoe were on the other foot, if I had one
too many that night and had gone home to find a stalker in
my apartment, would you be sitting here trying to give me
the blame?"

"No," he admitted.

"Then I don't want to hear any more about how you're
responsible," she told him as she drew in her knees.  "It
pisses me off."

Mulder laughed slightly.  "Nobody wants that."

"Damn straight," she responded, nodding her head sturdily.

"Did you like George?" Mulder asked, after a while. 

"Yeah, I liked him a lot.  He seems to care a great deal
for you."

"Yeah, I love him like a brother."

Scully paused for a moment.  "Is that because he was your
brother?"

Mulder didn't answer at once.  He shifted his attention
back out to the morning.  "I'm sorry I never told you I was
married."

"Why didn't you?"

"I don't know.  I almost did a few times.  It's
just...painful still and it's hard for me to talk about."

"Then, don't," Scully replied.   "We can talk about it
another time."

"How about the bare bones?"

"Mulder, I mean it.  You don't have to talk about it."

"I know I don't, Scully.  Now that it's out, I just want
to get it over with, okay?"

"Okay."  

He shifted the cover up higher on his shoulder.  "She was
a pre-school teacher.  How's that for paranormal; me with a
preschool teacher?  I met her in the park where I used to
eat lunch from time to time; she was with her kids
everyday...She gave me holy hell one day because one of her
girls talked to me and I talked back.  She thought I was
some sort of predator.  I showed her my badge and she said,
'Oh yeah.  Like there's no perverts working for the
government.'" He laughed a little at the memory and then
raised the heel of his hand to his forehead.

"Did you ask her out?"

"No, she spent an entire afternoon trying to track me down
at the FBI.  All she could remember was that my name was
that of a wild animal."

"And she found you that way?" She asked, incredulously.

"Here's something you may not know, Scully.  There are
very few FBI agents whose given name is the same as a wild
animal."

"Hmmm," she murmured, thinking.

"There are a few with nicknames..."

"Okay," she agreed. "I can see how that could be true."

"I hear Agents Kelly and Cooper call each other Kitten and
Tiger-"

"Mulder-"

"But, I'm sure you can see how that wouldn't show up at
the switchboard."

"Obviously."

"Hey, Scully maybe we should have nicknames for each
other."

"How about I call you Spooky?"

"How about I call you Sugar-lips?"

"How about I call you dead meat?"

"Point taken...where was I?"

"She called you at the Bureau."

"Oh yeah...she asked me out and it just flowed, you know? 
Ever have that happen?  Like you knew the person, like
meeting was just a technicality.  It went fast.  We got
married after three months."

"What happened?"

He shook his head, any previous buoyancy, suddenly and
completely deflating.  "She'd come home at night and tell
me Jimmy bit someone or Mary lost a tooth.  I'd tell her
where Moe hid all the body parts.  I didn't realize it was
eating her alive.  She got sadder and sadder.  One day, I
came home and I went to get some pain medicine and the
medicine cabinet was cleared out.  I looked in her make-up
drawer and it was empty.  Just like that.  My stomach fell,
I just froze."

"She was gone?" 

"No, she was out on the back porch, crying, saying she
loved me, but she couldn't live my life with me."

"I'm sorry, Mulder."

"I offered to quit; to do whatever she wanted me to do.  I
just couldn't face the fact that I would have to be alone
again, without her.  But, she said no; that she couldn't be
with me.  She got the apartment, the friends, the dog and
everything in the apartment, I got George."

"She took everything?"

"I gave her everything.  I looked at it as lovely parting
gifts.  It was the least I could do."  He turned his head
from her, as far as it was possible for it to go.  "I had
pictured how our children would look, how she'd look on our
fiftieth anniversary," his voice cracked and became thick
with sorrow.  He looked sideways at her and rubbed his eyes
with the tips of his fingers.  "See, Scully?  This is why I
never told you.  I have never been able to tell anyone.  I
knew after she left that I couldn't have love in my life. 
I had to choose to let that go, or be destroyed."

"I don't know what to say," she answered, picking at a
spot on their cover.

"Ahh, there's nothing to say.  Ancient history.  I'm glad
I finally told you, Scully.  Now there's nothing you don't
know about me," he nudged her smiling a little, despite his
still lingering sadness.

She laughed a little.  "Every time I think I've read the
whole book, you write another epilogue."

"Do you want to hear about the time I threw up in the back
seat of Carl Mulgrew's father's sedan?"

"Nah, let's save a little mystery."

They lapsed into companionable silence, Scully quietly
ruminating about what he had said.  So many questions that
had dogged her about Mulder over the years, completely
cleared away and yet, there always seemed to be more.  She
also realized after a while that her purpose had been
completely thwarted.  She had meant to divert Mulder,
occupy his mind with mundane thoughts so that he could
sleep again.  She had failed miserably.  She let the cover
fall from her shoulder and got up, faced Mulder and offered
her hand.  He looked up at her as if he couldn't comprehend
the gesture.  "Come on, Mulder.  Do you want to try again?"

He looked up at her, his exhaustion playing across his
features.  "Yeah...yeah, let's go back to sleep." He took
her hand and let her foist him to his feet.  Quietly,
compliantly, he trailed behind her.

"Did I tell you your neighbor called me your wench?"
Scully told him as she walked ahead of him toward the
bedroom, keeping his hand in hers. 

"My what?" he choked out.  "How are you going to explain
her disappearance?"

"I can't remember...I think she also called me your
floozy...or your tootsie, something like that," she
continued as she tugged him down the hall.

"Don't I wish," Mulder replied, smiling slightly.

"She doesn't seem very fond of you, Mulder."

"I have this theory.  I think she's just try to deny her
deep attraction to me."

"She's doing a very fine job of it."

"Most everybody does."

"You think so?" she asked rather flirtatiously.

"As far as I can tell," he returned, oblivious. He yawned
loudly as he watched her pull the covers back.

"You know what?"  Scully said with a thoughtful gaze.

"Hmm?"

"Why don't you lay down?  I'm going to put your clothes in
the wash."

"What?" he cried incredulously.

"Because...well, it's not like I have anything you can
borrow.  When you wake up, all you have is slightly
damp...everything."

"Scully...don't leave me."

"I have a washer-dryer in my hall closet."

"Get out," he breathed, impressed.

"Mulder, you are so bizarre.  After everything you've seen
in your life, you're impressed by a miniature
washer-dryer?"

He shrugged,  "I'm a guy," he explained.

"Well, guy...lay down, I'll be there in a minute."

He dove into the bed, doing a half twist on the way down,
burying his face in the pillows.

"Mulder, if you break my bed..." she warned as she walked
down the hall.

He giggled a little, feeling strangely exhilarated. 
Gathering the pillows in both arms, he buried his head. 
"Scully?" he called out.

"Go to sleep," she replied.

"These are the softest sheets.  They smell like you."  He
flipped onto his back and gazed at the ceiling.

"I hope that's a good thing," she replied.  

"It's a good thing," he murmured, holding the pillow to
his face.  He thought about his surprising feeling of well
being.  He felt as if she had provided a short respite from
a long journey he knew he would still have to undertake. 
But, he was grateful for the oasis in time, for her
understanding and most of all for her steadfastness and
loyalty.  He knew there was no room within him for
accusation and recriminations and for this brief time, he
felt happy.

She padded back into the bedroom and stood over the bed
with her hands on her hips.  "Make room," she demanded and
he scooted over.  Soon she was beside him again and he
squirmed until he was next to her, pushed deeply against
her.  "Thank you, Scully," he whispered.

"Goodnight, Mulder."

"'Night."

Laying beside Scully, listening to her breathing, he
realized something that he knew he must never forget.  If
he could feel this way in the aftermath of what had
happened to him, if he could feel hopeful and alive
and...The word slipped into his brain for a moment, but he
latched onto it with a vengeance: loved, he felt loved.  If
he could feel this way, now, at this point in his life, he
could never let Scully out of his life.  He closed his eyes
with a sigh, feeling something had been resolved inside of
him; something he didn't really realize was in conflict.



Scully raised her head and listened, hearing nothing at
all.  Not knowing if the noise had been a part of her dream
or if the washing machine had shut off loudly, or perhaps a
neighbor had been more disruptive.  In any case, the sound
was gone.

She propped her head up on her hand and looked down at
Mulder, on whose shoulder she had somehow found herself. 
He was on his back, his left arm wrapped under her neck and
his right flung far away as if he was prepared for his
imminent sacrifice.  His head was thrown back and his
Adam's apple stuck out sharply.  Scully settled back again,
placing her hand on his concave stomach and closing her
eyes.

Once again, she heard it.  Raising her head again, she
prepared to climb over Mulder.  She threw the covers back
slightly and made her way over Mulder, looking back to see
if he had been disturbed, but he simply turned over with a
sigh, wrapping his arm around himself.

She grabbed her robe and walked quietly into her living
room.  She came to an abrupt halt as she entered.  "What in
the hell are you doing in my apartment?"

"What in the hell are you doing here?" Amber responded,
arrogantly. 


"I'm going to ask you again--What are you doing in my
apartment?" Scully said menacingly.

Amber stood up from the bent position in which Scully had
encountered her, tucking her hands in her pockets while she
watched Scully from across the room.  "Shouldn't you be at
work?" Amber replied.

"You need to leave now," Scully said flatly, walking
toward the door.

"I just came..." Amber's eyes swept the room, and she
seemed to falter.  "Okay, I waited for him all night.  I
sat on his couch and waited.  I wanted to say I'm sorry for
what happened, okay?"  She scratched at her nose with her
sleeve.  "But he never came back.  I fell asleep there; I
borrowed his shirt to sleep in.  He said I could!" she
exclaimed with no prompting save a small lift of Scully's
eyebrow.  "I fed his fish, and I--I answered his phone,
okay.  I left messages," she sniffed again.  "His mother
called and...and...some guy.  I wrote his name down."

"Amber, why would you go into Agent Mulder's apartment
without his permission?"

"I told you he said I could!  When he gave me his keys to
make copies, he said I could go in and wait there for him
whenever I wanted."  She began to wander throughout her
apartment, lifting things, fingering them as if she would
have to recreate the scene at a later date.

"Is that how you got in here, Amber?  Did you make a copy
of my keys when you copied Agent Mulder's?"         

She shrugged lightly.  "He said I could," she mumbled as
she lifted a framed picture of Melissa from its place on
her desk.

"Amber, are you sure you didn't take Agent Mulder's keys
when he parked his car at your lot?"

"What do you mean?" she answered, her eyes suddenly fixed
on Scully's face.

"I think that you took Agent Mulder's keys--"

"Agent Mulder.  Agent Mulder," she mimicked in a
high-pitched voice, her mouth turned down sharply like a
bratty child.  "You're so prissy.  He thinks you're prissy
too.  You think you're the only one who can come into his
apartment with a key?   Yeah, I've seen you, you prissy
bitch."  She picked up a small figurine Scully's mother had
given to her for Christmas and let it tumble to the floor. 
"Oops," she mocked.

"All right, that's it," Scully announced, walking quickly
toward her, fully expecting to take her by an arm and throw
her out.  But Amber smiled bitterly and pulled a gun from
her pocket.  Scully stopped, her brain set to full alert as
she began to wonder where her own gun was.

"Fox said I could use this if I needed protection when he
wasn't around," Amber drawled slowly, watching Scully
closely for her reaction.  "See?  You're not the only one
who knows how to use these.  I can do anything you can do."
 She began to scan Scully's apartment again.  Her eyes fell
on some earrings, and she looked at Scully haughtily before
she slipped them into her pocket.

"You know, Amber, you're making things worse for yourself
by doing this.  Up until now, you only had a count of
filing a false report--"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," she demanded, approaching
Scully with the gun pointed at her.  "Are you calling me a
liar?"

Scully swallowed.  "Are you calling Agent Mulder a
rapist?" she countered.

"No!" she cried out indignantly.  "Fox is kind and gentle
and smart and...and...Why would you ask me a question like
that?"

Scully glanced around as Amber rambled, her eyes falling
on her gun next to the phone where she had left it in her
exhaustion the night before.  It was about ten paces away
from her on the other side of her couch.  Amber shoved her
shoulder, having made her way across the floor to where
Scully stood.   "I asked you why you would ask me a
question like that?"

"Amber," Scully said evenly, moving slightly in the
direction of her gun.  It would have to be a slow process;
but Amber was so agitated, Scully felt certain she could
eventually make it to her gun, distract her and overcome
her if she could keep Amber from shooting her in the
process.  "When you called the police and asked them to
arrest Agent Mulder for sexual assault--"

"I didn't say that!  Okay, I just said he tried to have
sex with me and that...that I didn't want him to and that
he hurt me.  I just thought if he went to jail, you know,
just for a while, then maybe he'd think about us and
realize he was treating me bad, okay?  I thought maybe
you'd see that he's--" She clapped her mouth shut.  "But
you didn't see," she began in a hostile tone.  "You just
started nosing around, sticking your little nose places it
should never have been.  Just so he'd think you care about
him when you know you don't.  You just can't stand him
being happy, that's all.  You have to have him hanging on
you, wanting only you." Her voice was rising in pitch, and
Scully was beginning to have grave concerns about whether
this could turn out well.  Still her mind remained focused
on her gun, now only three or four paces away.  Slowly she
backed away, turning toward her weapon with Amber following
closely after her, waving the gun and taunting her.

"I just want you to tell me where he is, that's all!"  She
demanded, flipping a crystal vase full of flowers as she
advanced, sending it careening to an ear- shattering,
scattered end.  "Where are you hiding him?  Why won't you
just let me go to him so I can apologize and we can go back
to being in love?"

"Amber," Scully began as she stretched her hand behind her
to grasp the gun.  But as she could feel the barrel against
her fingers, Amber shoved her hard against the nearest
wall, taking a handful of Scully's nightshirt and pulling
it toward her.  "Where the hell is he?" she screeched.

"Amber!" Mulder's voice seemed to echo through the
apartment, and they both turned to look at him.  He stood
in his underwear on the threshold of the living room, his
hair tousled, his face still rumpled with sleep.  "Put the
gun down, Amber," he demanded.

"Oh my god," she cried out, releasing Scully but resting
the barrel of the gun on her chest. "You slept here last
night?  With her?"

"Amber," Mulder replied, keeping his voice level and calm
although his heart pounded against his rib cage.  "Can we
talk?"

"Now you want to talk to me, Fox?  How could you do this? 
How could you sleep with this whore?"  She began to cry
openly.  "I was worried about you, okay?  I thought
something might have happened to you!  I fed your fish!"

Mulder's eyes slipped to Scully's and then back to
Amber's.  "I'm sorry you were worried," he said gently,
attempting to placate her.  "I didn't know you were
worried."

She began to back away from Scully, the gun always pointed
toward Scully's face.  Wiping her running nose on her
sleeve, Amber continued to weep.  "I told you she didn't
love you!"  She picked up a large framed picture with her
free hand and threw it hard against the bookcase on the
opposite wall, causing a domino effect with the fragile
items that rested there.  "I told you I loved you, but you
came here any way and you fucked her!  I can't believe you
fucked her," she cried out and, whipping the door open,
disappeared down the hall.

Scully looked at Mulder for a moment, shocked that she
would simply run from the room; but after a moment, she
grasped her gun and ran out after her.  Mulder sprinted to
the door and looked both ways in the corridor.  "Scully!"
he called. When there was no answer, he ran in the
direction he thought she had taken.  Before he could get
too far, Scully came back around the corner, breathing
heavily.  "Mulder," she said.  "You're in your underwear."

He looked down at himself and back up, incredulously. 
"You're in your nightgown," he pointed out.

She glanced at him as she walked by and into her
apartment, "You're prettier than I am."

"Well, that's open for debate," Mulder countered,
following her.  "What happened?"

"I don't know; I lost her.  Maybe someone picked her up."

"Scully," Mulder intoned. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she retorted.

He glanced at the door as if he expected Amber to burst
through once and then back at Scully, who had collapsed
into a chair.  Following after, he squatted at her knees
and looked into her face, more shaken than he normally
would have been.  "Are you sure?" he whispered.

She looked into his eyes and smiled a little, touching his
hair in a way she wouldn't have considered a mere
twenty-four hours before.  "I'm all right, Mulder, really."

He took in a deep breath and let it out, getting to his
feet again and surveying the wreckage Amber had caused. 
"What happened here?"

"I got up and she was here, going through my things.  She
said she needed to find you...pretty much what she said to
you, only with more, 'okays?'  Mulder, she is completely
delusional." Scully let her eyes travel up and down his
body as he stood, turned and walked away from her.  The
shape of his shoulders and the muscles in his back that
traveled to his slim hips didn't escape her notice.  She
closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on what needed to
be done and then, with a quick movement, she got to her
feet and headed toward the hall.

"Where are you going?" Mulder asked after her.

"I'm going to put your clothes in the dryer."

"Sick of the sight of me already, huh?" 

"I'll let you know if that happens," she returned.  "But
for now, I think you should have some clothes on when the
police get here."

"You called the police?" Mulder asked urgently.

"No, but I'm sure one of my neighbors did. Why?"

Mulder grinned lightly.  "That's the difference between
us, Scully.  When your neighbors hear odd noises, they call
the police.  When my neighbors hear odd noises, they
mutter, 'There's that fruitcake and his wench going at it
again.'"

Scully laughed a little.  "Yeah, that's the only
difference between us, Mulder," she teased.  He didn't
reply as she watched him shake off his good humor and
return to an agitated state, chewing his thumbnail and
obviously turning something over in his mind.    

"What is it, Mulder?"

"Scully," he began tentatively.  "I know you're not going
to like this."

"Oh god," she said.  "Every time you say I'm not going to
like something, I loathe it."

"Just..." He held his hand out to her.  "Keep an open
mind."

She placed her fingertips over her eyes.  "It's getting
worse," she observed. 

"I just...I'd like to see if I can find her first."

"Mulder, have you gone completely around the bend?" she
asked incredulously. 

"Scully, she has my gun.  If we call the police and they
know she is armed, the odds go shooting through the roof
that she'll be killed."

"Mulder, if the police don't find her, odds are that it'll
be you or me who will be killed."

"I don't think she'd kill anyone."

"Mulder, for god's sake!  She tried to rape you; she
started this whole hellish chapter in your life."

"She didn't realize what she was doing."

Scully let out a growl of frustration.  "There are times I
understand the overwhelming desire people seem to have to
beat you up."

His face twisted into a chagrined expression, and he
shrugged.  "Sometimes I understand it too.  But, Scully,
I'm just asking for a day." He could see by her expression
that she wasn't buying.  "A half a day...a few hours!  I'll
go to her house, see if I can find her.  Just let me try,
Scully, before you call the police."

She looked at him skeptically.  "Mulder, you do realize
you're projecting here."

"I can understand why you'd think that."

"The Cigarette Smoking Man was right about something he
said about you."

Mulder looked at her. His feelings were hurt simply by the
thought that she could agree with anything that man would
say about him.  

"He said he didn't have to pay Amber off--that you are far
too easily manipulated.  And he was right, Mulder, all
anyone has to do is throw a young girl in your path and you
perceive her as helpless, vulnerable.  And you can't seem
to see that."

"This has nothing to do with my sister, Scully."

"Mulder, please.  This has everything to do with your
sister.  Let's say a young man came to my apartment,
roughed me up and tried to rape me.  You wouldn't be
sitting here in my living room, pleading for leniency;
you'd be enraged.  But your culprit is a young woman, so
naturally she is in need of your help and you are partly to
blame.  Can't you see the pattern?"

"Maybe you're right," he agreed, nodding agitatedly.  "But
that doesn't mean I'm wrong.  I think she could benefit
more from psychiatric care than time in prison, if she even
got time.  She could be out on the street with no help at
all.  If I find her and convince her to allow herself to be
committed, it could save her."

"Mulder, saving her won't make things right.  Not now."

"Then nothing will have changed, but I'll know I tried."

"Mulder, you can't reason with her; she is completely
insane."

"More insane than me, Scully?" he whispered.

Scully paused, unnerved by the tone in his voice.  "You're
not insane, Mulder."

"Maybe you should do more research."

"I don't have to."

He nodded dismissively.  "Anyone with any background in
psychology wouldn't agree with you.  I am profoundly
delusional, according to any textbook you'd open.  I can't
tell reality from fabrication, what is true from complete
fiction.  Point to any aspect of my life that I held true
two days ago, and I'd have to tell you now that I'm not
sure if it belongs to me or if it was placed there to
manipulate me.  Did my father knock me around when I woke
up screaming, or did they want me to think of him as a
heartless bastard?  Was I married?  The whole relationship
could have been implanted with the hope that its
destruction would obliterate me.  You agree with Cancer Man
that I am too easily manipulated; you're probably right. 
But maybe I am easily manipulated because it's all I've
known.   Although..." He smiled sadly, ironically.  "Even
that perception may not be my own.  The ultimate privacy of
one's own thoughts--they took that away when they raped me,
literally raped me, by taking away from me what I never
wanted to give."

Scully lowered her head and shook it from side to side,
speechless against his agony.

"They raped you too, Scully.  When they took you away,
when they put that thing in your neck.  Goddamn them,
Scully.  They raped us both."

Scully felt profoundly sorrowful as she watched him,
taking in his underlying terror, his uncertainty.  In a
single graceful move, he sank to the floor and sat
cross-legged near her feet, amid the rubble that Amber had
left behind.  She winced, fearful that he would be cut,
damaged more than he already had been.

"Mulder," she said gently.

He didn't respond.  His head was dipped low, and his hands
dangled loosely from his wrists as they rested on his
knees.

"Mulder," she said again. He looked up into her face, his
own face full of pain and longing, sorrow and despair. 
"When you said you trusted me yesterday, did you mean
that?"

He looked wounded.  "Of course, I meant that.  You know
that, don't you?"

She nodded.   "Yes, I think I do.  I just wanted to remind
you of that fact before I say what I'm going to say."

He nodded, his eyes still locked on her face.  She looked
so strong to him, her legs a sturdy distance apart, her
hands on her knees.  

"I can see why you wouldn't trust yourself, what you know,
who you are.  But where you are uncertain, I am not.  I
know who you are.  I've known for a long time.  Before I
knew that you were married, that you give your old clothes
to the homeless, that you threw up in the car of some
friend of yours." She paused and smiled a little.  "I knew
who and what you are."

"Scully, I--"

"No, Mulder, let me finish.  When I say I know who you
are, I mean what you're made of--your core, your soul.  You
are Fox Mulder, and you are decent and truthful; you have
more integrity and dignity than any other man I've ever
known.  And although I know it hurts to not be sure of your
life experience, your life experience contributes to who
you are; it doesn't define who you are.  I know who you
are.  You're Fox Mulder." She glanced away from him but
quickly met his gaze again.  "I know you more thoroughly
than I have ever known or wanted to know any other man.  I
know you, Mulder, because you're the man I love."

His mouth dropped slightly, and he blinked.  Scully had
never seen him so astonished, and it hurt her somewhere
deep inside that this news would shock him to the marrow. 
Slowly he got to his knees and moved himself between her
legs, laying his head on her shoulder and slipping his
hands under her arms and around her back.  She could hear
the clock in the kitchen as it ticked off the minutes of
silence as she held him, stroking the back of his head and
holding him closely against her.

"Thank God," he finally whispered against her neck.  "Oh,
thank God." 




Time was surely passing, but Mulder and Scully were
completely unaware of it for the few minutes after Scully
told Mulder that she loved him.  Mulder's mind was racing
but spinning its wheels, trying to conceive of such a
miracle, especially directly on the heels of the disastrous
days he had endured.  He could only wrap her tighter to be
sure she didn't realize her mistake and run from him. 
There was also the overwhelming fear in the back of his
mind that he had misunderstood somehow, that she loved him
like she loved chocolate and sad music or perhaps as she
might love her brother or her friends.  To misinterpret her
would have been a tragedy of epic proportions for Mulder;
he knew he couldn't bear to discover it.  For Scully to
even qualify her love for him at this point would be
tantamount to firing a deadly shot.  So he held her
quietly, waiting, as he remained still, delighted but
tentative.

Scully also was considering her words.  Not because they
weren't true or because she hadn't wanted him to know.  No,
she had practiced the words over and over again--in the
shower, in the car, before she fell asleep at night.  There
was no doubt that she loved him.  But, as she had told
Mulder, she knew him through and through.  Therefore, she
feared the timing of her words would come back to haunt
her; it was her only regret.  She knew he was likely to
mull over the timing, consider the context and eventually
conclude that she had pitied him or simply wanted to
bolster him, and he would find doubt.  So she held him
closer, tighter, and rocked him just a little, hoping to
banish the future a while longer.



Skinner stood watching for what seemed like an eternity. 
He wasn't shocked by what he saw; it was something he
mistakenly assumed had been going on, in some form, for a
long time. Scully was sitting in an armchair, apparently
never having dressed since waking; Mulder was on his knees,
held deeply in her arms.  But something about the scene
disturbed him so that he was unable to quietly turn and
leave, which he knew was the decent thing to do.  Maybe it
was their absolute stillness. They didn't murmur or even
kiss; only the smallest of rocking movement existed in
their world.  Add to that the debris that littered the
floor around them, and it became an unsettling scene for
Skinner.  It seemed like a bomb had exploded, and Mulder
and Scully simply held each other as a means of protection
against the next one.

He had to make a decision before fate made it for him, so
he cleared his throat.  They fell apart and turned toward
him with an almost violent action; Scully seemingly shy but
without shame, and Mulder...  Skinner watched him warily,
sensing his extreme defensiveness: his facial expression,
his stance after he got to his feet, his posture all spoke
to a silent warning of aggression not far below the
surface.  Skinner was familiar with Mulder in this mode; he
wondered if it was simply finding him with Scully that
provoked it.  After a moment, Mulder softened slightly, but
there were unmistakable remnants of his overblown tension.

"I'm sorry, Agent Scully," Skinner began, choosing to
focus on the more docile of the two.  "Your door was open."

She glanced behind him as if to confirm and looked back
into his eyes.  "That's all right, sir," she answered as
Mulder turned abruptly and left the room, returning almost
immediately with a white, terrycloth robe, which he handed
to her.  Mulder stood closely, almost hovering, as she
wrapped herself in it.  Once she was covered, Mulder seemed
to relax a little more.  "May I ask why you're here?"
Scully asked politely. Skinner barely perceived a small
nod, either in thanks or as some unspoken message to
Mulder. In any case, he took a step back and waited. 
Skinner noted that Mulder made no attempt to do the same
for himself as he had for Scully; he stood, hands on hips,
wearing only black stretch boxers.  Scully obviously
intercepted Skinner's observation and turned to Mulder.  "I
think your clothes are probably ready," she noted casually.

Mulder looked down into her face, seeking something.
Skinner couldn't tell what, but he had observed this
behavior before as well: a silent communication which
obviously spoke volumes between the two of them but never
hinted at its meaning to any bystander.  Whatever question
Mulder had asked had been swiftly answered. Scully nodded
briefly and looked back expectantly to Skinner while
Mulder, rather reluctantly, Skinner thought, left the room.

"I tried to call Agent Mulder last night," Skinner began. 
"A woman answered.  I became concerned by her tone.  She
seemed...agitated.  She said she'd take a message for 'Fox'
and then she asked me how to spell Skinner."

Scully nodded, obviously nonplussed.  "It was Amber
Whitley."

Mulder reappeared, pulling a loose black t-shirt over slim
fitting black jeans.  "Looks like I'm going to have to hire
a new phone service.  I never got your message."

Skinner felt a little more comfortable as Mulder's
attitude seemed to have diluted.  "What was she doing at
your apartment?"

"Feeding my fish," Mulder answered flatly as he returned
to his position directly behind Scully's shoulder.

Skinner raised an eyebrow and looked to Scully for
interpretation. "She apparently broke into Agent Mulder's
apartment. She waited there for him, but he didn't return,"
Scully answered in a professional tone. 

"I called here and left messages. When you didn't return
my call, I became concerned."

"Thank you, sir," Scully replied, offering no other
explanation.

Skinner turned his attention to Mulder.  "The reason I was
trying to reach you was that a friend of mine who works
with the D.A. contacted me last night to let me know that
the charges against you would be dropped at the beginning
of business hours this morning."  He looked pointedly at
the partners, ducking his head slightly.   "Although it
seems you two have missed business hours completely."  He
drew his hand over his mouth to hide the smallest smile
that almost didn't escape him.  

"Thank you, sir," Scully responded again, glancing back at
Mulder, who nodded grimly.

"Do we know why this decision was made?" Mulder asked, no
sign of relief invading his solemn countenance.

"Amber Whitley recanted sometime last night.  Plus they
received some kind of audio tape which they feel clears
you."

Scully nodded.  "I received the same tape."

"Why didn't you turn it over?" Skinner asked.

"I became...distracted.  I was planning to go there this
afternoon with the evidence and with what I had learned
through my investigation."

"Well, I'm not sure it's necessary any more.  But I would
check with the D.A.," Skinner advised and then turned to
Mulder.  "I'm pleased this ordeal has ended favorably," he
offered, extending his hand.

Mulder stepped forward to accept it, remaining completely
subdued.  "Thank you, sir."

Skinner released Mulder's hand and took a step back,
surveying Scully's ruins.  "What happened here?" he asked.

"Oh, that happens every time Scully uses the phrase,
'Mulder, do you expect me to believe-' in a sentence,"
Mulder explained facetiously.

"Oookaaay," he drawled, preparing to withdraw.  "So I'll
see you both in the morning?"

Mulder began to nod, but Scully seemed suddenly agitated. 
"Sir, Agent Mulder may need a few more days," she began,
but Mulder stopped her with a look.

"No, sir.  Agent Scully is...mistaken.  I'll...we'll be
there."

Skinner looked from face to face, wondering again about
their private lives, but he didn't reply.  He nodded and
turned, closing Scully's door behind him, mistakenly
assuming that Mulder was the luckiest man alive. 



Mulder stood silently, seemingly surveying the wreckage in
Scully's living room, but the look on his face told Scully
he was keeping anger just under the surface.  "Do you want
to try and save any of this?" Mulder asked.

"Mulder, I'm sorry.  I shouldn't--"

"It looks beyond salvation to me, but you're the expert on
the irreparably
 damaged."

"Mulder--"

"I'll get the garbage can," he offered tersely, heading
into the kitchen and returning with the plastic container.

"I shouldn't have said that to Skinner," Scully admitted. 
"It's just that...I'm worried about you.  I think it would
be a good idea to take some time off and--"

"And what, Scully?  Relive the memory over and over
again?"

"No."

"Because I gotta tell you, it's not my idea of how to
spend my accrued vacation time."  He began tossing pieces
of glass into the trash with little concern for his safety.

"Mulder, will you just let me finish one sentence before
continue your tirade?"

"Fine," he answered, still tossing remnants into the
trash.

"You're right.  I shouldn't have said that to Skinner, and
I apologize."

Mulder sighed, dropping his head slightly, temporarily
putting aside his anger.  "I know you're worried about me,"
he said.  "But I'm fine."

"I don't think 'fine' would describe anyone who has been
traumatized as you have been."

"I'll learn to live with it."

"How?"

"What?"

"How do you intend to live with it?"

He stood slowly. Scully noticed blood dripping from his
hand but made no mention of it.  "I'll just live with it,
Scully," he said venomously, between clenched teeth.  "I
have no other choice."

"You have the choice of reaching out for help."

"Maybe I could join a support group.  There's got to be a
huge number of us who have had rape memories implanted as a
means of eliminating the threat we pose to uncovering an
alien world domination conspiracy," he retorted
vindictively.

"Mulder, I know you're angry.  I'm sure it's normal to be
angry--"

"Normal?  How is anything about this normal, Scully?"

"There are a lot of ways it's normal.  Your pain, your
anger, your feelings of loss of control, these are normal
reactions to a trauma."

"Thank you, Dr. Scully."

She didn't answer for a moment, not trusting her words. 
Instead she turned and retrieved her first aid kit; but
before she ministered to the cut on Mulder's hand, she
stopped and ran a hand agitatedly through her hair.  "You
know, Mulder, I'm willing to absorb your anger if that's
what you need from me right now.  I'm willing to do that or
anything else you think might help you put this into
perspective, so that you can move forward eventually.  But
I think you should talk to a professional."

"I would, Scully, but I don't know where in the yellow
pages they would list pretend rape counseling."

Her lips formed a grim line as she held out her hand for
Mulder to place his injury to her care.  He did, and he
watched as she tenderly cleaned his wound, his regret
creeping slowly over him.  "I'm sorry, Scully.  I don't
know why...I'm not angry at you, you know that."

She looked into his eyes and nodded. "You said yourself
that you have been raped, even if it didn't physically
happen."

He nodded a little.  "I...I don't know, Scully."

"We could call a rape counselor."

"No.  That would take too much explanation."

"What about that psychiatrist you saw last year?  The one
who declared you fit for duty?"

"She might changer her mind if I tell her this."

"Call her, Mulder."       

He took in a deep breath.  "Okay, I'll think about it. 
But I want to go and find Amber now.  I need to try and
find her before all of this comes crashing down on her
head."

Scully shook her head.  "Fine.  We'll go to her house
and--"

"Wait...wait, Scully.  You're going?"

"Do you think I'd let you go after an unstable girl who's
shown a tendency toward violence and who has your gun, on
your own?"

"Scully, I can take care of myself, despite my recent
history."

"Sorry.  I'm going."

"Scully," Mulder took his hand from her and smiled at her
a little.  "I'm a little afraid to be alone with you."

"Why?"

He bit his lip and looked just over her head as he
considered his words.  "I'm afraid I'll take one of the
best moments of my life...what you said to me a few minutes
ago...and let it be chewed up by the beast of some of the
most horrible things that have ever happened to me.  I
think I proved here that I can't be trusted to be civil,
let alone behave in a way you deserve."    

"Mulder, it was a bad time to tell you that--"

"No!  God, no, don't apologize.  No. Scully, if I had
anything in the world to give you, I'd lay it here at your
feet.  But I am almost emotionally bankrupt right now.  But
please... be patient.  I want more than anything to tell
you everything I feel.  I just don't think I'm capable
right now."

"Then I'll wait," Scully told him as she took his hand in
hers.

"What...what if I drive you away before I can tell you?"

"Mulder, you know me better than that.  Have you ever met
anyone more stubborn than me in your entire life?"

He laughed a little.  "No."

"I'm with you.  I want to be with you.  I'm strong, and
I've lived through a lot worse than your anger."

"I wish I felt that certain."

"I'll be certain for both of us until you can be certain
for yourself. I'll save that for you."  With that, she
stood up on her toes and kissed his mouth softly, sweetly. 
"Can you wait for me until I get dressed?" she asked as she
withdrew, trotting off, assured of her answer.

Mulder watched after her.  "I can wait for you until the
day I die," he murmured.



Scully pushed the off button to her cell phone and looked
over at Mulder who drove, completely enveloped in his own
thoughts.  "Okay, we can get a locksmith late this
afternoon, so we'll have to call our landlords.  The people
at the parking garage say they haven't seen her since last
week, so that's a goose chase. What else?"  She bowed her
head and rubbed the bridge of her nose.  "Oh, Frohike said
he's got hard copies of all of Amber's e-mails in case we
need them."

She looked harder at Mulder. "Are you with me?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you hear anything I just said?"

"Her house, it's right around the corner, right?"

Scully sighed.  "Yeah.  It's right...there." She pointed
at the ramshackle building as Mulder parked in front of it.

"She lives here?" he responded incredulously.

"Yup," Scully confirmed as she swung out of the car.

"Scully, this is...it's like a tenement.  Does she live
here alone?"

"As far as I know.  There's no mention of parents or
guardians in her file.  Mulder, I want to point out to you
that she is not exactly helpless."

He pulled himself from the car, his eyes never leaving the
tiny, broken down house.  He walked through the gate
carefully, as if he feared he might further destroy her
home.  "Scully, maybe you should wait in the car," he
suggested just before he knocked.

"Why?"

"Because you...intimidate her.  If she sees you, she might
bolt."

"No way, Mulder.  I think you are completely mistaken
about this girl.  I'm not going to let you risk your life
for her."

"Scully--"

"It's not up for discussion," she said as she reached
around him and rapped sharply on the door.

There was no answer, and Mulder eventually tried the door
through the tattered screen.  "It's open," he told Scully
over his shoulder.

"So naturally we're going in," she replied dryly as he
pushed his way through the door.

Scully followed closely behind him, her hand on her gun. 
Mulder stopped abruptly, and Scully had to walk around him
to see.  It was a single room, a stove, sink and small
refrigerator at the back wall and a tiny bathroom behind a
suspended tablecloth.  There was a lawn chair and a small,
ancient TV, with a wire coat hanger attached to the top and
in the corner, a bright, state-of-the- art computer.

"How in the hell did she get that?" Mulder asked.

"Probably held up Crazy Eddie's Electronic Emporium,"
Scully surmised.  "With your gun," she added.

The computer was running, so Mulder moved the mouse and
was taken aback to see a large photo of his face used as
wallpaper.

Scully looked over his shoulder.  "Nice picture.  When did
you have it taken?"

"I have absolutely no idea," Mulder whispered under his
breath.

Scully moved some papers at her desk and found a battered
notebook.  Opening the cover, she found page after page of
snapshots taken of Mulder as he lived his life--walking to
cars, playing basketball, talking to people on the street. 
"Seems Amber stole a camera too," Scully observed as she
pushed the notebook around for Mulder to see.  "Are you
creeped out yet?"  

Mulder nodded slightly, as he sat down at the computer.

Scully walked back toward the makeshift kitchen and looked
into the sink.  Hunks of hair filled the drain with a deep
red liquid spotting the patchy stainless steel.  "Mulder, I
think there might be blood here."

He jumped to his feet and joined her at the sink. "Are you
sure it's blood?"

"Actually, no," Scully observed as she looked into the
trash.  "It's Nice and Easy Deep Auburn.

He turned around, biting his lip.  "You said she took
things from your apartment, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"She's focusing on you.  She's trying to assume your
identity."

"Well, that's scary," Scully observed.

"Scully, I think you should go somewhere safe until we
find her," Mulder asserted.

"You're not serious.  You're the one who said you didn't
think she'd hurt anyone."     

"I'm beginning to doubt that."  His cell phone rang, and
he reached in his pocket.

"I'm not going anywhere, Mulder," Scully told him as he
pushed the on button.

"Mulder."

"Agent Mulder, this is District Attorney Norm Abrahmson.
I've been trying to reach you."

"Yes?"

"I wonder if it's possible for you to come to my office
any time in the near future?  I'd like to discuss the
charges against you."

"Have they been dropped?"

"Yes, but there a few things I'd like to discuss with you
in person if possible."

"Such as?"

"Well...I've been looking through your files.  I was told
you were held overnight in prison and that you spent time
in the infirmary?"

"Yes."

"Agent Mulder, there's absolutely no record of that
happening.  It's as if it never happened."

Mulder swallowed and glanced at Scully.  "What is it?" she
whispered.

His mouth went dry and crawling fear bunched up in his
belly.

"Agent Mulder?"  The D.A. called.  "Agent Mulder?"

He was still calling as Mulder handed the phone to Scully
and walked out of the house.


***


Scully squinted at the driving rain that had developed as
she drove to the D.A.'s office.  "I have to wonder if we
shouldn't start gathering pairs of animals."

"Can we leave Tommy and Pamela Anderson Lee behind?  I
think they deserve it more than the unicorns."

"Your choice," Scully replied.

"Your choice," the voice had whispered in his ear as he
had gasped for air on the floor of his cell.  "Who do you
want first?"  His stomach crawled into a tightly knotted
ball as the memories stole into his consciousness.

"Mulder," Scully began.  "I think you should reconsider
your decision not to press charges against Amber."

He heard her on some level, but the memories of the words
spat into his ear overtook his reality.  The
words--spiteful, jarring, thorny words--repeated themselves
like a malevolent demon on his shoulder.  Once again, in
vivid agony, he felt as if he were nothing, devoid of
humanity, as if he were simply a vessel for the containment
of their hate, long after he had overflowed.

"After all, I think you have to agree that she shows signs
of serious mental illness."

Mulder lifted his hand to his throat as if to test its
injury, then ran his hands back along the sides of his
head, squeezing tightly.  He glanced at Scully, swallowing
hard, wanting her to save him but knowing he was lost.  A
thought occurred to him, below the surface of his nightmare
but bobbing up from time to time; he wondered if the only
thing that could save him was somewhere in this artificial
memory.  

"And I think your testimony would bear some weight with a
judge."

He pushed himself hard against the window as the memory
sullied everything around him, inside and out.  The pain
was sharp and unrelenting, and his horror was such that he
thought he could taste it; but it was simply bile raised in
his mouth as he allowed free access to the revulsion and
terror that overtook him.  His mind spun out the story in
sadistic detail, and he began to gasp for air.

"Mulder?" Scully had stopped the car and was peering into
his face.  "Mulder, what's wrong?"

He pushed the car door open and spilled out into the
rain-soaked grass at the side of the road.  As he bent over
from the waist, his stomach expelled what little he still
had in him.  He coughed and gagged as the deluge soaked him
through.  Scully was soon by his side, and he silently
berated himself for being the vehicle that led to Scully's
being on the receiving end of two drenchings in less than a
day.  "I'm all right, Scully; get back in the car," he
demanded.

"What's wrong?  What happened?" she asked as she wrapped
an arm around his back.

"Get back in the car!" he demanded, swaying slightly with
the drive of his words.

"I'll get back in the car when you do," Scully responded
quietly and resolutely.

He glanced at her and knew that the only way to shelter
her was to shelter himself, so he staggered back into the
car.  

When Scully climbed back inside, he couldn't look into her
face.  "Got any gum?" he asked with practiced casualness.  

"In the glove box," she directed, shaken with what had
happened along with the cold.  She turned her heater on
high.

Mulder pushed the gum in his mouth with a slight grimace. 
"Well, the interior of your car is shot," he observed,
slapping the water that puddled on the seat beside him. 
"...As well as your home.  I think my work is done."

"Mulder, what happened?"

He looked out the window at the rain, pushing his hair
back off his forehead.  "I had a...the memory was..." He
lowered his head.

"Why didn't you say something?"

"It just seemed to overwhelm me."

"Mulder, maybe this is a bad time for this, but I've been
thinking about something."

He nodded his consent for her to go on as he attempted to
gather himself emotionally.

"I think we should call Dr. Werber."

"The regression therapist," he confirmed.

"Yes.  Mulder, we've used him in the past.  I think we can
trust him." 

His forehead wrinkled as another wave of nausea hit him
and he concentrated on containing his stomach.  Raising a
hand to his mouth, he murmured from under it, "How do you
think he could help in this situation?"

"Maybe...maybe if you could bring into consciousness what
was really done to you, who was involved, how it was
done...maybe it would help you to know on some level that
the memories are false.  I don't know, Mulder; maybe it
could help you live with it."   

He turned to face her, his head still bowed forward with
the weight of what he had recalled.  He nodded slowly,
thoughtfully.  "It makes sense," he agreed.

Scully raised her eyebrows and blinked.

"What?" Mulder half laughed.

"I just thought this would lead to a much longer
argument."

"Scully," he scoffed affectionately.  "When have I ever
argued with you about any reasonable theory you have
presented?"

"I don't even know how to respond to that question,
Mulder," she answered as she turned on the ignition.

"I want to stress the word reasonable here," Mulder
continued.

"That'd be a first.  Are we still going to the D.A.?"

"Hell, yeah," Mulder replied as he turned on his cell
phone to call the therapist.  "Onward, Scully."   

 


"Whooaa," hooted Norm Abrahmson.  "You two fall out of a
boat?"

Mulder stepped into Abrahmson's office, with Scully close
behind.  "We got caught in the rain," Mulder responded. 
"Mr. Abrahmson?"

"Yeah. Hey, you two ever heard of a raincoat, an umbrella,
indoors?" He laughed raucously, unencumbered by Mulder and
Scully's lack of participation.  After a minute, he paused,
eyeing the solemn pair.  "Not feeling real jocular today
are we, folks?"

Mulder glanced at Scully.  Norm Abrahmson looked straight
out of central casting but not for the role of D.A.  He was
more what a director might have in mind for the role of
Cop: South Side of Chicago.  

"Well, come on in.  Don't sit on the couch!" he cried out
urgently.  Mulder looked back at the couch in question: an
ancient, plaid, particularly dilapidated piece of furniture
whose arms were completely discolored with grime.  He
looked back at Abrahmson, squinting incredulously.  "Sit
down," Abrahmson said grandiosely.  "Can I get you
anything--coffee, tea, a couple of towels?"

"Coffee would be good," Scully replied and Mulder nodded.

"Carlson!" he hollered, making Scully flinch slightly. 
"Couple of coffees here!  Okay, I'm guessing you're Mulder
and..." He shuffled a through a huge collection of papers. 
"...Scully.  Unless you're Noah and his wife."  He began to
laugh uproariously again as Mulder sighed.

"Mr. Abrahmson," Mulder attempted as a large, troubled man
entered and unceremoniously handed them chipped cups filled
sloppily with coffee.  Mulder quickly took a sip and winced
and tried to send Scully a signal not to make the same
mistake, but it was too late.  He sympathized with her
involuntarily shudder.  "Mr. Abrahmson," he began again. 
"You said there was some confusion about my files."

"Yeah, in that there are no files," Abrahmson said
matter-of-factly.   

"I'm sorry," Scully began.  "Exactly what files are
missing?"

"What files aren't?" he replied.  "After I checked out
your prison record, I called you.  At that time, I decided
to check your police records. Gone."

"Gone?" Mulder repeated.

"Phhht!" he answered, fluttering his hands like smoke.  "I
got the memo this morning that all charges were to be
dropped, so I started the paperwork. Trouble is, like I
just said, no paperwork, no computer file.  All I got left
is an audiotape and Amber Whitley's statement that you did
not attack her.  Mr. Mulder, are you absolutely sure you
didn't dream this whole shebang?" he chuckled slightly.

Mulder didn't answer; but Scully sat up in her chair,
suddenly obviously protective.  "No, sir, I assure you he
didn't dream the whole...shebang."

Abrahmson looked from one to another, trying to categorize
them but finding it utterly impossible.  He sat back in his
chair and wiped a palm over the side of his head, slicking
down the sparse amount of hair he still had as he watched
Scully turn to her partner and almost visibly refrain from
touching him.  Abrahmson grinned.  He felt sure he had them
now.  The woman was in love with the man who was just too
busy with his social life to give her any attention at all.
 Yeah, he thought, I'm good.  "I thought I'd try one last
thing," he began.  "Maybe we just have you in the wrong
place.  Mr. Mulder, can I get your social security number
from you?  I promise not to put you on my mailing list."

Mulder rattled off his number flatly, as if he were not
truly engaged in any part of the conversation.  Abrahmson
typed quickly and shook his head.  "Nothing recent here."

Mulder nodded.  "Okay.  You'll contact me if anything
comes up?"

"Yeah, but there's one more thing.  Our office is
considering pressing charges against Miss Whitley for
filing a false report and, by way of this here tape, sexual
assault."

Mulder pressed his lips together in a tight straight line.
 

"Would you be willing to testify in this matter?  That is,
we wouldn't have a case without your testimony."

Mulder glanced at Scully and back at Abrahmson.  "When
will you be making a decision on this?"

"I got to have a bull session with my superiors in the
morning, so I'd say by noon tomorrow."

"I'll let you know by then," Mulder said quietly as he
rose from the chair and prepared to exit.

Scully reached out her hand.  "Thank you for your help,"
she told him politely and followed after Mulder.

"Hey," he called out as they reached the threshold.  "Say
hi to Walter."

Mulder and Scully exchanged a look; and Mulder stepped
back into the office as if he was being reeled in, his face
fixed in puzzlement.  "You're Skinner's contact?"

"Hell, yeah.  Me and Walter, we go way back."

This seemed to lure them even further into the office, and
the two met Abrahmson in the center of the room.  "Do you
mind if I ask how you two met?" Mulder queried.

"Hey, neither one of us can resist the Broadway musicals."

Shocked silence ensued for the moment before Abrahmson
threw his head laughing, slapping Mulder hard on the back. 
Mulder moved his shoulder as if to test for bruising; he
looked to Scully who shrugged.

"Nah, I'm poking fun at you.  See me and Walter; we're the
only Bears fans in Washington.  Football?" he added when he
got no reaction.  "Never could figure him out.  Me, I was
born and raised in Chicago; I'm required to follow the
miserable bums; but Walter?  God only knows.  We go to the
games whenever they're in town."

Mulder raised his eyebrows and nodded as if it all made
sense to him now and then managed a partial smile and held
out his hand.  "Well, thanks for your time."

"Hey, no problem," Abrahmson replied as Mulder turned,
took Scully by the elbow and walked out the door.

"Jeesh," he said to himself.  "Walter wasn't kidding." 

He made his way back to his chair as a well-dressed man
stuck his head into the office.  "Will he testify?"

"Would you?" he countered.  The other man shrugged and
went on his way.  





Mulder and Scully emerged through the revolving doors of
the building that housed the D.A. offices.  A steady rain
still fell, and people trotted up to and away from the
building.  Scully looked back at Mulder.  "Ready?" she
asked, preparing to make a run for her car.

Mulder tilted his head lightly and frowned.  "Can we wait
it out a little?" he asked.  "I just...can we just wait a
minute?"

Scully frowned.  "Sure, Mulder."

He took her hand and led her to an out-of-the-way corner
of the sheltered entrance.  Pushing his back against the
plate glass window, he reached out and pulled Scully to
him, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and placing his
chin on her head.  Scully was taken aback--it was certainly
a not a gesture she expected in public--but she didn't pull
away. In fact, she relaxed into his arms and waited.

"Can you believe that?" Mulder whispered.

"You mean Skinner and Abrahmson being friends?"

"No, Skinner being a Bears fan." 

Scully looked into Mulder's face, which looked like he had
tasted something rancid.  "We all have our dirty little
secrets," she said with a small smirk before she settled
into Mulder's arms again.  Several people glanced at them
as they rushed into and out of the rain, but no one seemed
to afford them more than passing interest.  

"Scully," he said after a moment, his voice sounding
wounded once more.  "Scully, there's a big bogeyman under
my bed and I need you to chase it away."

"Okay," she responded curiously.

He attempted a smile.  "I need you to tell me that my
theory is nonsense, that I never look at the simplest
answer.  For the first time ever, I'm making an personal
request for you to debunk me."

"Are you coming on to me?" Scully teased in Mulder's own
words.

He tried to laugh, but his breath huffed out dry and
brittle and quickly turned to dust.  

"What is it, Mulder?" she said more seriously, although
she felt fairly certain she already knew.

"Scully, I feel like I'm standing in quicksand.  I don't
know what to believe about my life or what to know.  What
if...Scully, what if my records are missing because they
never existed?  How much of what happened...how much is
real and how much was a colossal mind fuck?  How much of my
life is..." He dropped his head.  "Scully, I feel like
crawling back to my apartment and just hiding there, if I
can realistically hide anywhere."

Scully listened to his heart slam against his ribs.  She
wanted to assuage his terror more than anything she could
remember for some time.  Briefly, she let herself long for
the elegant language of a psalmist or philosopher so that
she could drape him with peacefulness through her words. 
She yearned not only to chase away the bogeyman of the
present but all of the various gnomes and goblins of the
past. But she knew her desire far outstripped the
capabilities of mere words, and she fell back on what had
always served her in the past: honesty and her deep
compassion for her partner.

"Mulder," she began. She reached a hand up to touch his
cheek, which was chilled and bristly.  "I wish I knew what
to say. I wish I could say something wise or magical and
take all of your fear and pain away.  I understand your
fear, so it's almost impossible for me to debunk it. I can
only tell you the truth as I know it." 

She could feel his head nod against the top her hair.
"That's what I depend on you for."

"I know," she whispered, feeling only slightly burdened,
not so much by the completeness of his trust but by her
secret feelings of inadequacy in the face of all she knew
to be against them.  She held him tightly around his waist
and tilted her chin to see his face, but he kept vigil
somewhere beyond her.  "I can say this, Mulder.  I saw you
in prison.  I've met Amber Whitley.  It is my best opinion
that everything that happened, outside of your attack, was
true and factual.  I think, yes, you are not looking at the
most simple explanation."

"Which is?"

"That Amber Whitley is a very unstable person who became
infatuated with you and as a result began an unhealthy
obsession with you.  I believe that the Consortium used
this to their advantage by abducting you while you were in
prison and implanting the memories within you.  That is all
that I believe is implanted memory.  I believe that your
records were stolen, probably because there was fear that a
trail could have been found, perhaps an irrefutable link. 
We'll never know.  Maybe they're missing in order to
suffuse you with more doubt.  But I do not believe that the
absence of those records is proof that the factuality of
any other part of your life is in question."

He pulled in a deep breath and held it, finally letting it
out slowly. "It seems so simple when you say it.  But I
feel like my life has been altered in such a way that I'm
not sure any of it belongs to me." 

"I understand how you feel.  When I woke up in that
hospital, after...the bridge, I felt that if I couldn't be
sure of where I would suddenly go or what I would do that
my life was no longer my own.  My implant is a tangible
one, but it affects me emotionally much the same way as
yours.  I can live or die by it; but it can control me in a
way I find almost impossible to live with, yet I do.  I do,
Mulder, because I have to."

"How do you live with it, Scully?  That they can control
you at any time?  How do you keep going?"          

"I keep going because I am alive and my options are to
keep going or to die.  And because in the long run I
believe my life is my own and no one else's. And when I
die, it will be my decisions and my relationships and my
attitudes that will be called into question.  That's how I
go on."

"I don't have that kind of faith, Scully."

"Then you'll have to find it in yourself.  Ultimately
that's where your salvation will lie."

"You sound so sure."

"I believe in you, Mulder.  If you can lean on my belief,
lean on that."  

He didn't reply, but he nestled his face in her hair,
soaking her up, wishing that their relationship had some of
the hallmarks of the everyday. "You know, on my last
birthday, I wished for the Playboy Channel.  I wonder if
it's too late to go back and ask for the smallest amount of
simplicity in my life.  All I want is for
something...anything...to be easy."

"It's not easy, Mulder.  Especially not what we've gone
through.  I suppose it would be helpful if someone had been
there before us and could say, 'You know, when I was
abducted by the Consortium...' But there's nothing to do
but go forward, live our lives and hope."

"I feel like there's nothing around me but smoking ashes,"
Mulder observed sorrowfully.

"I beg your pardon," Scully replied with a gentle punch to
his ribs and a small smiled offered up from her position in
the crook of his shoulder.

Mulder was surprised by a small jolt of delight that came
from a place he thought had been decimated years before. 
"Oh god, forgive me," he returned in the same manner.  "I
meant to say, smoking ashes accept for the winner of the
G-Woman I Would Most Love To Be Debunked By award."

"Debunked, huh?"

"Yeah," he said huskily and his attempt at a seductive
tone wasn't lost on Scully.  

"This contest...was there voting?"

"Yes, but I think there was more than the average amount
of ballot stuffing."

They smiled against each other for a while, relieved by
the small break from the painfulness of their topic. 
Mulder was silent for a long while, but his arms still held
her against his chest and she noticed that his heart had
returned to a regular rhythm.  She smiled mockingly at
herself, doubting that those outside of the medical
profession monitored their lover's heartbeats.  And then
the word lover as it applied to Mulder lodged in her
musings, and she felt a slow warmth beat through her own
heart and spread throughout her body.  

"Scully?"

"Hmm?"

"I told Dr. Werber that I'd come after the meeting with
the D.A."

"Is that why we're discussing the mysteries of our
universe under an awning?"

"That and the hope that neither of us are infested with
bugs, of the electronic surveillance variety, of course."

"Do you think you're ready to go?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Mulder replied. 

"I think the rain's letting up.  Let's make a run for it."

She ran out ahead of him, and he watched her run swiftly
for a moment before he ran after and finally ran beside her
without passing her by. 



Later that evening


"Are you comfortable, Mr. Mulder?"

"I make a good living," he said thickly, as if he'd been
wakened from a dense dream.

Dr. Werber glanced at Scully, who sat next to Mulder on
the couch, her face tense and troubled.  She obviously
wasn't going to share a smile with him; so he quickly
extinguished his own and turned his attention back to
Mulder, who was tilted back into a reclined position, eyes
closed.  "Have you chosen a safe place?"

"A safe place," he said dreamily.  "Yes."

"Okay, I want you to keep in mind that, if at any time you
feel threatened or frightened, you can return to your safe
place.  Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"We're going to go back to the time you spent in prison."

"Which time?" Mulder asked.

The doctor glanced at Scully, but her eyes remained fixed
on her partner.  "The most recent," the doctor replied. 
"Can you see the prison?"

"Yes."

"Now I want you to move forward to the time just before
you were hit over the head.  Can you see that?"

"Yes."

"Tell me what you see."

"I'm going back to my cell after...lunch, and I'm walking
back through the...the common room and...I can't get the
taste of fish out of my mouth.  What the hell kind of fish
tastes like that?"

"Mulder, can we move forward?"

"I am moving forward.  I'm walking past cells; most of
them are empty."

"Is anyone talking to you?"

"No, he answered matter-of factly. "Shit!" he suddenly
cried out in pain and bewilderment.

"What happened?"

"Pain...from somewhere, from behind me.  Something hit
me...I'm...I can't see anything."

"Are you all right to go on?"

"I'm...yeah...I just can't see."

"Do you remember when you began to come around?"

"I can hear voices."

"You can hear voices, but you can't see anyone?"

"Yes."

"Do you recognize any of the voices?"

"Yes," he answered, his voice becoming brittle.

"Who do you recognize?"

"The...the Smoking Man," he spat out, venomously.

Dr. Werber glanced at Scully, who nodded knowingly.  "Do
you recognize anyone else?"

"No. There are two...or three other men. Dammit!"

"What is it?" 

"I can't move my hands."  His hands were held rigidly near
his side, his fingers stretching, reaching, pulling against
unseen binds.

"Are they tied?"

"Yes."

"What are the men saying?"

"One man...somebody is saying 'I-I thought we were set to
perform the procedure on a woman, his partner.'"

The doctor turned quickly to Scully, whose only reaction
seemed to be a sudden straightening of her shoulders and
the slightest change of expression; one that the doctor
couldn't define.  Turning back to Mulder he asked, "Can you
just relay the conversation to us?" 

Mulder licked his lips. "Uh, the...Cancer Man says, 'We
had planned originally to take Agent Scully, but this
situation with the young woman made it so much more
convenient to take Mulder.'"

"What else?"

"I hate him," Mulder replied passionately, his voice
cracking with emotion.

"What else do you hear?"

"I wish I would have killed him when I had my gun to his
head."

"Mulder, what else do you hear?"

"He's telling someone to inject me and...They're rolling
me...and...and...Oh, god, they've put something into my
eyes!" Mulder began to push up on his elbows as if to
spring to his feet.

"Do you need to go to the safe place?"

"I need...I need..."

"Agent Mulder, shall we return to the safe place?"

"No. No, I see now."

"What do you see?"

"Colors and...patterns and...swirling, everything is
spinning; I think I'm going to be sick...oh god."

"Are you going to be able to go on?"

"I...I can see his face looking down at me through
everything."

"Who?"

"The bastard!  The goddamn bastard!"

"The Smoking Man?  Is he saying anything?"

"He's saying...he's saying...god damn him, he's smiling,
the son-of-a bitch!  He's saying, 'I hear it's more
pleasurable if you can relax.'  Oh god!" He suddenly cried
out, his eyes wide and frantic.

"Agent Mulder," the doctor said gently.

Mulder's jaw gaped open. He clutched at his throat,
gagging and coughing.  "I can't breathe!" he chuffed out. 
"I-I can't get them off!"

"Mulder, I want you to come back to your safe place."

He threw himself forward, pulling at oxygen as if it were
pulling back.  "I can't reach them!  Oh god!"  With a quick
lunge, he ended up doubled over his knees.  Scully reached
out to him, but the doctor held out a hand.

"Agent Mulder, do you remember your safe place?"

"No!  Y-yes."

"I want you to go to the safe place now."

"I can't!  I can't get away!   They're all around me!  On
my god, they're going to...I think they're going to--"

"You can get away.  You can go to the safe place now."

"I can go?" he asked plaintively.

"Yes, come back now to the safe place now."

He moaned as he began to uncurl, slowly, raggedly, but
more calmly.  He took in deep, gulping breaths but soon
began to respond to the reality that his air supply was not
restricted.  His head fell back against the cushioned couch
and lolled toward Scully as he finally relaxed completely. 


"I'm sorry, Agent Scully.  It would have been dangerous
for you to touch him while he was reliving the attack," Dr.
Werber explained quietly.  "Was there something you needed
to know that he didn't cover?"

Scully looked grimly at Mulder's sweat-soaked face, which
now held an expression of peaceful passiveness.  Looking
back at the doctor, she replied, ""Ask him if any actual
physical contact occurred at any time."

"Did you hear your partner?"

"Yes," he said, his exhaustion apparent in the raspy
quality of his voice and his lack of expression. 
"They...they held me down and they...punched me in the
throat."

"Were you attacked in any other physical way?"

"No."

Scully's head dropped forward, and she held her hand over
her mouth.  She had thought herself thoroughly convinced
that he had not actually been raped.  But she found herself
on the brink of tears with the assurance that he had not
been physically violated.  She reached out a hand to stroke
his head but asked silent permission from the doctor before
touching Mulder.  The doctor nodded, and she pushed the
hair that stuck to his forehead back, watching over his
expression all the while and finally clasping his hand.

"Agent Mulder, are you ready to wake up?"

"Yes."

"When you wake up, you will feel relaxed and refreshed. 
You will remember everything you said. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

"Wake up,' he said simply.

Mulder slowly blinked open his eyes to see Scully's face
hovering near by; he smiled a little.

"How do you feel?" Scully asked.

"Surprisingly relaxed and refreshed," he said with a small
sardonic grin.

Scully attempted to return his smile, and they continued
to look into each other's faces.

"Do you want some time alone before you go?" Dr. Werber
asked.

Scully looked up at him.  "Please," she answered.

He stood. "I'll be in my office," he offered.  "Agent
Mulder, if there's any way I can be of assistance, please
don't hesitate to contact me.

"Thanks, doctor," Mulder answered.  "And thanks for seeing
me so quickly."

The doctor waved off Mulder's gratitude and left.

Scully scooted closer to Mulder on the couch as he
concentrated on his folded hands.  He was silent, his face
inscrutable.  Scully reached out and wrapped her hands
around his.  Slowly turning his own hands, he now studied
Scully's.  "Pretty," he observed.

"What?"

"Your hands always look so pretty, your nails and...just
really pretty."

"Thank you."

He fell silent again.  

"What are you thinking, Mulder?"

"Ahh, I'm wondering where you get your manicures."

"Somehow, I think not."

He sighed.  "That was hard. I feel...depleted."

"I know."

"And I'm so...full of hatred.  I don't think I've ever
been so full of hate.  If he were here, I could kill him
with my bare hands."  He loosened his hands from Scully's
and rose to his feet, dragging his hand over his mouth. 
"He mocked me, Scully.  He knew what he was putting into my
mind, and he mocked me."  He paced a few steps.  

Scully watched in silence as his fury bubbled over to the
surface; his face contorted with it.

"Scully," he said, suddenly completely focused on her. 
"They were going to do this to you.  What kind of
abhorrent, depraved excuse for a human being would even
contemplate doing this, let alone enjoy it?"

She got to her feet and drew closer to him.  "He was going
to do this to you," he repeated.

"It doesn't matter, Mulder."

"It does matter!  It does!  At what point does he stop? 
Exactly what would make him think, 'You know, enough is
enough.'  Scully, if he had done this to you..."

"What, Mulder?  If he had done this to me, what?"

He glanced at her and looked away again.

"Would it have more or less heinous?  Would the memory be
more or less poisonous and debilitating in me than it would
for you?"

"I don't know, Scully.  I just...I can hardly contain my
rage that he sat in his apartment, thinking of placing a
rape memory in your mind," he began to talk through his
grinding teeth; his voice gravely and filled with fury. 
"He sat there smoking, debating what aspects to portray to
you."

"Mulder, why are you doing this?  Why are you focusing on
this?  It's like your having some macho reaction to your
woman being violated...and not even violated in the long
run. You're furious because--"

"I'm outraged, Scully!   I just am!  Can't I just have a
normal masculine reaction, despite my obvious
shortcomings?" 

"Mulder, don't do this.  Don't doubt yourself."

"Don't doubt myself, Scully?" he cried incredulously. 
"All I have is doubt.  What else is left when I can't
protect myself, let alone you?  All I have is the hope that
they will focus on me, that they won't turn their attention
to you.  Because God forbid, if they choose you next, all I
can do is try to pick up the pieces once again and pray
that there are still pieces to pick up, because there's
absolutely nothing I can do to prevent it."

"I can protect myself, Mulder," Scully said quietly.

His eyes slid to her, and he regarded her with a bitterly
defeated expression.  "Well, that's good, Scully. That's
good.  Because I'd hate to think you'd depend on me."  He
turned his back to her.  

"Mulder, I didn't mean--"

He held up a hand.  "I-I need a little time, Scully.  I
just need to sort things out by myself."

"Please, Mulder--"

"I just...I'm going to go." He took a few steps away from
her and paused, not completely turning to face her but
inclining his head toward her.  "You know, Scully, when the
doctor told me to think of a safe place?  I thought of you,
anywhere with you.  I think, if our positions were
reversed...I can't see that you would think of me in that
way."  Quickly, he turned and strode down the hall, leaving
Scully alone and bereft.
  
She walked to the window and waited until she could
observe him emerge from the building below her view.  He
trotted out as if he were being pursued and was just barely
making his escape, stopping at the curb, hailing a cab and
crawling in.

She raised her hands to her eyes.  Had she said the wrong
thing, or was there anything right to say in this
situation?

"Agent Scully?"  Dr. Werber said gently.

"Oh," she sighed.  "I'm sorry.  You probably have another
appointment."

"No, I'm done for the day."

"Well then, I'll get out of your way," she replied as she
headed out the door.

"I thought you might want to talk."

She glanced at him.  "I can't see that there is anything
to say."

"I hope you'll understand what I'm going to say," he said.
 "But I heard what Mulder said to you, and I don't think
you should think yourself the cause of his self-doubt."

"I don't," she replied unconvincingly.

"It would be natural for you to think that your strength,
your independence, makes him feel like less of a man.  I
think you know somewhere inside of you that those qualities
are part of what draws him to you."

Scully dropped her head.  "I don't want him to think I
need to be able to feel confident in my ability to fend for
myself because I don't trust him to do that.  It's just who
I am, who I have always been; it's separate from what I
feel for him. Those times...those hellacious times when I
have felt as if I was out of control, that I was not able
to protect myself, the only truth I had was that Mulder
wouldn't let anything get between him and saving me." Her
voice cracked, and she found herself on the verge of tears.
 "I should have...I wish I would have said that to him,"
she observed.

"He didn't give you the opportunity to say that. 
Sometimes a person will accuse others of believing what he
can't confront about himself.  At this point in time,
Mulder has been made to feel vulnerable and without
defense."

"I-I'm just at a loss," she replied as she quickly
disposed of tears that had escaped her eyes.  "I don't know
what to say, what he needs to hear.  I don't know how to
help him through this."

"Just his knowing that you feel that way will help,
eventually."

"What about now?"

"Now, he needs to relearn what is true.  He has to adjust
his thinking about his world and learn how to integrate
what happened into his life."

"And he has to do that alone?"

"Yesn enormous red bow.  Mulder stood, a little dumbstruck
with the sight before advancing on it as if it might emit a
quiet, threatening, ticking sound.  But it was simply a
cheaply made facsimile of what he had rested his feet on
before the events of two nights ago occurred.  He circled
it, an almost unnatural feeling of hatred rising in his
throat.  Bending over it, he looked for a tag or a note
that would tell him, not who had sent it; he knew that with
full certainty.  He hoped a hidden clue as to Amber's
whereabouts so that he could find her, retrieve her and
find even the smallest amount of closure in that action.

Sighing, he finally threw himself down on the couch and
tortured his mind with what he knew about Amber and how
that might translate into a clue.  But his brain was almost
numb with exhaustion, and he found himself unable to
perform the leaps of logic that usually came so easily to
him.  He glanced at the phone and talked himself out of
calling Scully.



Scully turned over the day's events in her mind as she
drove back to her apartment.  She pictured Mulder's face:
the anguish, the uncertainty, the occasional lapse into his
pre-prison personality.  She wondered if the rest of his
life might be measured in such a way: pre-prison attack,
post-prison.  The thought pulled her into a spiral of
sadness.

She forced her mind away from cataclysmic thinking and
focused on Amber.  Picking at the remnants of what she knew
about Amber, something occurred to her.  She lifted her
phone from the seat next to her and dialed information,
finally ringing Norm Abrahmson's office.

"Yeah," he answered abruptly.

"Mr. Abrahmson?" Scully queried.

"Yeah, who're you?"

"It's Agent Scully."

"Hey, how ya doin'?"

"I'm fine.  Mr. Abrahmson, may I--"

"Hey, every time you call me Mr. Abrahmson, I look around
for my dad; and he's dead goin' on twenty years.  So
believe me when I say I'd rather you call me Norm."

"Okay, Norm.  I wonder if you checked Amber Whitley's file
at any point?"

"Actually, Agent Scully, as you probably know, the
practice of looking up the records of a sexual assault
victim is frowned upon.  It might be seen as blaming the
victim."

"Okay, but I think it has been clearly proven that Amber
Whitley--"

"Ahhh!  I get where you're coming from.  Amber Whitley
ain't nobody's victim, least of all Agent Mulder's.   Hold
on; I'll check it out."

After a minute, he came back.  "Nope, nada, sorry.  I got
no record for an Amber Whitley.  Of course, we're supposing
that's her real name."

"Yeah," Scully barely replied.

"Have you got anything with her fingerprints?"

Scully considered Amber's time in her apartment.  "I think
I can almost guarantee that I do.  She was in my apartment
this morning."

"Busy little bee, isn't she?  How's about I send over a
forensic guy and we go from there?"

Scully hesitated momentarily, thinking about her promise
to give Mulder time to find Amber.  But she reasoned that
looking up her records was not akin to going back on her
word, and she gave Abrahmson her address.  

"Okay.  I'll have somebody there within the hour," Norm
told her.

"Norm," Scully ventured, "I'd like to have the results
from Forensics as quickly as possible.  If there is any
significant information, I'd like to be able to tell my
partner this evening."

"Do you think he might be persuaded to testify if it turns
out she's been yanking his chain?"

"Possibly.  I just think it might give him some--" Scully
broke off, not wishing to share her concerns over Mulder's
state of mind.

"Peace of mind?" Norm completed for her.

"Added information with which to make his decisions,"
Scully amended, although Norm's analysis was closer to the
truth.

"Well, I think I can pull a couple of strings and get you
the info by, say...ten o'clock?"

Scully glanced at the clock on her dashboard: 8:25.  "I
would appreciate that, Norm.  I really would."

"Hey, no problem.  You take care of yourself."

Scully didn't answer; she was too preoccupied with her
thoughts of Mulder.




Mulder was expending mounds of mental energy, shying his
mind away from the dangerous ground of the prison.  In the
shower, he sang, loudly and without anything resembling
lyrics, to keep the demons away.  He was nearly successful.
 But when the terrorizing words began to whisper in his
ear, he exited the bathtub quickly and dried himself,
pulling clean clothes from his drawers and walking briskly
into his living room as if he could outrun the memories.

He looked at his phone, tempted by the deliverance Scully
might provide with the mere sound of her voice.  Picking up
the receiver, he speed dialed her; but her line was busy. 
He replaced the receiver, leveling an accusing gaze at it
momentarily before turning the television on only for the
company of human voices.

Yanking the ribbon from the table, he shoved at it with
his foot.  Amber had been there again.  He hoped it was
before the lock had been changed so that he didn't have to
concern himself with closing his eyes.  It was then that he
realized that the specter of Amber Whitley held some fear
for him.  He turned that over in his mind.  On the surface
of his emotions, he felt nothing but a slight squeamishness
that she would climb on top of him and he would mistake her
even briefly for Scully.  But somewhere deeper inside, his
mind had connected Amber with the rape and all that had
come after and she was firmly, irretrievably tied in with
that.

His eyes shifted around the room. He felt an uneasy sense
of insecurity and wondered how to unburden himself.  

The light on his computer flashed, and he wondered at it:
he didn't leave it on indefinitely.  It took a minute
before he approached it and clicked on his on-line service.
 Once connected, he watched the mailbox icon blink with
something akin to dread.  He clicked swiftly, and his mail
was listed.  Among others, there were two e-mails,
apparently from his own address.  He clicked again.
 
Fox,
I want you to know I've forgiven you.  I know we can go
back to where we were before if you can just promise me you
won't see that whore again.

Amber


Mulder rubbed his eyes harshly and hung his head before he
forced himself to open the other mailing.


Fox,
I hope you like my present.  I traded my computer for it. 
I figure we can both use this one once we're married.  I'll
call you later.

Amber


The ringing of his phone startled him; but he hurried to
answer, assuming it was Scully.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Mulder?  This is First Card Services."

He sighed.  "I sent in my payment," he snapped and
prepared to hang up.

"Sir?   Sir?"  The voice continued urgently.

"What?" he growled.

"Sir, this is not about a payment."

"Then what?"

"Sir, we've noticed some abnormal activity on your First
Card business account, and we wanted to check and make sure
you were still in possession of your card."

"What kind of activity?"

"Someone checked into the Four Seasons Hotel tonight and
has been on a very upscale shopping spree in the area."

"The Four Seasons?" Mulder repeated.

"Yes--"

He hung up the phone and grabbed his jacket and sprinted
out the door.




"Dana!  I've been waiting for you.  I didn't want to
bother you at work with my silly worries."

"What is it, Mrs. Bennett?" Scully asked her landlord
politely as she approached her open door.

"Wait...wait a minute.  I have your new key.  Come in,
Dana, I'll be right back."

Scully waited in the elderly woman's foyer, ruminating
idly about the smell that seemed to overtake a house as a
person reaches an advanced age.  She wondered if someday
she might walk into her own house and smell it, or if a
person simply became used to the smell and never knew that
their time had come.

Mrs. Bennett walked as briskly as she was capable, holding
the key out to Scully as she approached.  "Here you go,"
she told her as she patted her on the arm.  "It was nice
seeing you again."

"Mrs. Bennett, you said you had some things to tell me,"
Scully prompted.

"Oh! Oh for Pete's sake!  Yes.  Honey, you told me your
sister passed, didn't you?"

"Yes," Scully confirmed, feeling the accompanying sorrow
that always followed a mention of Melissa surge through her
once again.

"I only ask, dear, because I saw a girl here today.  I
thought it was you when I first saw her.  You know my eyes.
I had a cataract in one and I had the operation, but now I
can't see out of the other.  It's just hell to grow old,
but it beats the alternative!"  She laughed heartily.

"Ma'am?" Scully began after a moment.  "This woman..."

"Oh!  Yes!  I saw her coming down the hall, just after you
left. I said hello to her, you know, since I thought it was
you?  But she just looked at me.  When she got closer, I
could see it wasn't you; and I locked myself into my
apartment.  You never know who's prowling around these
days, do you?"

"Well, in this case, I think I do," Scully replied.  "Was
there anything else?"

"Else?"

"You said there were a couple of things."

"Oh!  Heaven's sake.  I wanted to ask about something the
locksmith said to me when he gave me the key."

"What was that?"

"He said, 'I hope you got a security deposit on that one.'
 Now, what do you suppose that meant?"

Scully's heart picked up an urgent beat as she headed
toward her apartment.



      
Mulder listened to Scully's phone ring repeatedly at her
apartment and wondered why the machine wasn't picking up. 
Frustrated, he jabbed at the off button and waited till he
had come to the next traffic light he before speed dialed
her cell phone.  When he got her message, he cursed under
his breath but waited for the beep.

"Scully.  I think I have a lead on Amber.  Call me as soon
as you get this."




Scully opened her apartment door and stood completely
still, her mouth slightly open, her stomach twisting in
tightly woven knots.  There was not a plate nor a
knick-knack nor a lamp that was not completely obliterated.
 Each and every upholstered surface was cut into, its
contents pulled from it and tossed.  She stumbled numbly
into the room; her feet shuffling through the debris that
once were her furnishings, mementos and necessities.  

"Oh god," she murmured as she headed toward the kitchen
where her refrigerator and cabinets all stood gaping and
empty.  The food flung at the wall was beginning to stink. 
She turned toward her bedroom and found her clothes pulled
out and cut into small ribbons and rags.  Her mattress was
shredded and seemingly turned inside out.   An unbroken
mirror hung lopsided with the misspelled "hore" written in
her lipstick.  

She noticed her phone lying crushed on the floor and she
went in search of another, to no avail.

"Agent Scully?" a confused voice echoed in her living
room.

She pushed fragments of her belongings aside with her foot
and rested her hand on her gun as she headed toward the
voice.

"I'm...uhh...Officer Reynolds.  Norm Abrahmson called and
asked if I could pick up some evidence to rush to
Forensics."  He eyed her apartment quizzically.  "One
person did all of this?"

"As far as I know," Scully answered.

"Well, it shouldn't be hard to find her prints."

"I have something in my bedroom you can take with you,"
she said over her shoulder as she headed back.  

The officer followed her and picked his way toward her bed
where she stood gesturing at the middle of the gutted
mattress.  There, buried to the hilt, was a large butcher
knife.

"That'll do it," The officer agreed as he put rubber
gloves over his hands.  "Are you going to call this in or
should I?"

Scully considered for a moment.  "I'll call it in," she
finally answered but didn't add that she would first inform
Mulder so he would know she was about to break her promise.
 She was going to press charges against Amber Whitley
before the charges were amended to include murder, her own
or Mulder's.



Mulder trotted into the well-appointed lobby of the Four
Season Hotel.  He patted his pockets and was annoyed with
himself for forgetting his credentials as he approached the
registration desk.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Yes.  Do you have an Amber Whitley registered here?"

"Whitley?" he asked as if Mulder had asked to see a
catalog of sex toys.

Mulder ignored his attitude.  "W-H-I-"

"I know how to spell it, sir," the man answered as he
punched his keyboard.  "No Whitley.  Next!"

"No," Mulder said firmly.  "No, I need you to look
under..."

"Sir, I have other customers."

"Just...just a minute," Mulder told him, wracking his
brain for another name.  His cell phone began to ring, and
he ignored it.

"Sir, I'm sorry; I'm going to have to ask you to step
aside."

"Mulder!  Look under Mulder."

"Sir..."

"Look under Mulder," he said low, his voice clearly
conveying his threat.

The man began to punch keys with a wounded expression. 
"Mulder...yes."

"You have a Mulder?"

"Yes.  Do you want me to ring the room?"

"No.  I want you to give me the room number."

"I can't do that, sir."

"I am an F.B.I. agent."

"Then I'll need to see your badge."

Without replying, Mulder snatched a pen from the desk and
wrote quickly.  "Call the F.B.I. and ask for this man,
Skinner.  He will vouch for me."  He reached into his back
pocket and pulled out his wallet as the man behind the desk
watched him coolly but intently.  Mulder slapped his
driver's license on the desk.  "This is me," he offered and
then, without any prelude, he reached out and turned the
monitor toward him, noting the room number.

"Sir!  You will need to leave now, or I will have to call
security."

Mulder trotted toward the elevator.  "Call the F.B.I.!" 
He said over his shoulder as the lobby came to a silent
halt in his wake.  "If they won't admit to me, call the
police.  They probably miss me by now."  He stepped into
the first open elevator.   

The clerk watched after him momentarily, stunned and
rudderless.  Finally he picked up the phone and dialed. 
"I'd like the number of the F.B.I."



Mulder stepped out of the elevator on the fourteenth floor
as his phone rang.  "Mulder," he answered.

"Mulder, it's me.  Where are you?"

"I'm...I'm on a lead.  What's going on, Scully?"

"I came home to complete destruction.  My apartment is
completely trashed."

Mulder leaned against the wall adjacent to the elevator. 
"She came back?" he whispered.

"She came back like the seven plagues of Egypt.  There's
nothing left, Mulder."

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"It's not your fault.  But I wanted you to know that I am
going to press charges.  I think it's long past time to
bring her in."

"Can't you give it another...thirty minutes?"

"Mulder, what good is half an hour going to do?"

"You never know, Scully."

"Where are you, Mulder?" Scully asked suspiciously.

"I-I'm following a lead.  I'm very close, Scully."

"Mulder, she is extremely dangerous.  Tell me where you
are.  Are you at her house?"

"No.  Have you called the police about your apartment?"

"Abrahmson sent over an officer who is going to rush
through the fingerprints on the enormous knife I found
stuck in the middle of my bed.  I should get the report any
minute."

"Will you let me know what they find out?"

"Mulder, let me reiterate the words enormous knife.  She
is lethal."

"Maybe to furniture."

"She tried to rape you, Mulder!  She punched you in the
face!"

"Maybe she just was under the impression that it's a
custom in this part of the world."

"Mulder--"

"I have to admit, Scully, punching me in the face seems to
be more than the passing fad I had originally hoped."

"Mulder, dammit, tell me where you are."

"I'm fine, Scully.  Just let me know what you find out."

Scully was infuriated by the sound of a dial tone.  "Damn
him!" she shouted as she ran a hand through her hair.

The phone in her hand rang, and she turned it on. "Mulder!
 Don't hang up!"

"Agent Scully?" Skinner replied hesitantly.

"Sir, I'm sorry."

"You just spoke with Agent Mulder?"

"Yes, sir."

"Because I just got a very odd phone call from the Four
Seasons Hotel asking me to vouch for Mulder.  Any idea why
he would be there?"

"The Four Seasons?  Yes, sir, I think I do."

"Is he all right?"

"So far," she answered.  "I'm sorry, sir; I have to go. 
I'll keep you posted."

  

  
Mulder stood with his back against the wall, arms wrapped
tightly around his chest, watching the door that Amber was
most likely behind.  She was a mere twenty steps from him,
and he felt that knowledge like a blow to the stomach.  It
wasn't that he felt she was an imminent threat to him; at
least he wouldn't have expressed that opinion aloud.  It
was something deep and muddled in the far recesses of his
mind that whispered that she was his rapist, that she had
the power to do it again.  Pulling his weight from the wall
on which he leaned, he stood, transferring his weight from
one foot to another, his eyes holding constant vigil on the
door.  He placed his hand on his hips and seemed to face
down the door before he took the steps he dreaded.  Biting
his lips together in a thin line, he knocked on the door,
swallowing his fear and hoping to vanquish it by facing it
down and taking what he hoped were the first steps in
recapturing the reins to his life. 




Mulder knocked tentatively at first and then with more
bravado.  He flinched slightly as the door flung open and
Amber, squealing her delight, flew through its threshold
and into his arms, oblivious of the fact that Mulder's arms
remained stiffly at his side.

"You're here!" she squealed, hopping up and down as she
grasped him tightly around the neck.  "Oh, I can't believe
you're here!"

Mulder gently disentangled himself.  "Amber, we need to
talk."

"I know, I know," she cried in delight.  "I want to talk! 
Let's talk!"

He watched her as she bent over from the waist in a
contortion of pure, manic delight.  "I just can't believe
you're here.  Come on!"  She demanded, grasping his hand
and pulling him into the room.

Once inside, Mulder stood thunderstruck, gaping at the
luxurious appointments.     Candles burned on every flat
surface.  A table stood heavy-laden with silver platters
and fine china and crystal and more candles.

"I was just going to call you, okay?  I was picking up the
phone; can you believe it?  But, then, like, you knocked at
the door and I'm like, who's that, okay?  And it's you!"

"Amber, wh-what is all this?"

"I'm making a night for us always to remember, Fox.  It's
the night we'll--" She lowered her eyes.  "We'll...you
know, for the first time."

Mulder turned from her, gathering his wits.  He dragged
his hand over his face.

"I know you're mad, okay?" Amber began again.  "I
shouldn't have called the police.  I shouldn't have; I know
that now.  We're together.  I should have just let you do
what you wanted to do, okay?  I was just scared.  But
now..." She touched his arm from behind and he turned
quickly, more startled than the gesture should have
warranted.  "Now I'm ready, Fox."

"Amber," Mulder began gently.  "Can we sit down on the
couch?"

"But the food is ready and--"

"Just for a minute."

"0-Okay," she said warily, glancing around the room at all
her preparations.  

He led her by the arm and sat down first, looking up at
her, chomping down on the slightest edge of fear that
seemed to suddenly overtake him.

"Oh my god!" she suddenly screeched.

"What?" Mulder asked, his teeth set on edge by her shriek.

"I forgot!  Wait here, okay?  Just wait here!"

"No... Amber!" he called after her as she disappeared into
the bathroom.

He dropped his head and sighed.  There was a growing ache
at the back of his neck, and he reached back and rubbed at
it while he tried to gather his words, to know what to say.

Standing, he began to pace, his eyes wandering over the
luxurious surroundings without really seeing.  His phone
rang, and he flipped it on quickly to avoid Amber's
reaction.  "Mulder," he said quietly.

"Mulder, it's me."

"Scully," he whispered.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he answered under his breath.  "What did you
find out?"

Scully sighed heavily.  "Mulder, I want you to take this
at face value."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I don't want you to put more meaning into this
information than there actually is in this particular
case."

"Scully, will you just tell me what you found out?"

"Mulder..."

"Tell me."

"All right," she said reluctantly, pausing again.  "Her
name is not Amber Whitley; it's Anne Marie Whitcomb.  She
is not nineteen; she is sixteen.  She disappeared from her
family's home while she was on furlough from the mental
hospital she was committed to when she attacked an
eighteen-year-old boy at a party.  He is still in physical
therapy."

Mulder didn't answer.  He stood outside the bedroom,
taking in the turned down bed on which rose petals had been
liberally scattered.

"Mulder, did you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Mulder, this doesn't mean she's some lost little girl
who's all alone in the world and in need of your help. 
Mulder, do you hear me?  This doesn't make her--"

"Samantha. I know."

"Do you, Mulder?"

"I know, Scully." 

"She's a paranoid schizophrenic with violent tendencies."

Mulder didn't reply.

"Tell me where you are," Scully said after a moment.

"I can't, Scully."

"I know you're at The Four Seasons.  Are you with her?"

"How did you...Skinner called you," he said flatly.

"Yes, are you with her?"

"I'm...I'm with her, yes."

"Mulder, can she hear you?"

"No, and I have to go before she comes out, Scully."

"Listen to me, Mulder.  I want you to leave, right now. 
Just walk out and meet me in the lobby."

"I can't, Scully," he said apologetically.

"Yes you can, Mulder."

"Look, I don't have time to argue.  I'm going to talk to
her and--"

"Her parents are on the way, Mulder.  Let them talk to
her."

"I have to go, Scully."

"Mulder, I'm going to be there in fifteen minutes. 
Please--"

"I have to go, Scully.  I'm sorry."  

Mulder hung up the phone and turned it of as the bathroom
door opened. Amber walked out, stumbling slightly, wearing
a very sheer white negligee.  He averted his eyes.  She had
gone into the bathroom a confused young woman and now, with
his newfound information, she had returned a child in his
mind--a child who was out to seduce him.  The idea
nauseated him.

"What do you, think, Fox?  I picked it out for you at the
Victoria's Secret.  It was very expensive, but I thought
for our first night..."

Mulder slipped his jacket from his shoulders and
approached her, his eyes still trained on the floor. 
Quickly he wrapped his coat around her, and it did a fair
job of covering her near nudity.

"Fox," she whined.  "I wanted to look nice for you."

"You look very nice, Amber.  But I don't think it's
appropriate--"

"What are you talking about?  We are going to make love! 
I'm going to take off my clothes and you..." She hooked the
collar of his shirt in her finger.  "You're going to take
off yours."

Mulder removed her hand from his shirt with more force
than he had anticipated.  But her trespass felt at once
threatening and perverted to him.  "Don't," he warned her. 
"Don't do that."

"I don't understand," she whimpered, holding the hand
Mulder had struck to her breast.

"I know you don't," Mulder acknowledged.  "I want to see
if I can help you understand."

"I don't think I want to talk," she said petulantly.  "I
think I want to eat."

"Amber, we need to talk," Mulder insisted.

Amber knocked his coat from her shoulders and strode
quickly to the table.  "I got all kinds of appetizers;
that's what they're called.  I thought we could order
lobster later.  I never had lobster."

"Can we talk about what happened the other night?"

She looked back at him, her chin lowered, her eyes looking
up at him.  "I told you I was sorry, okay?"

"It's not," he began in a frustrated tone but quickly
modulated it.  "It's not about being sorry.  It's about all
the ways it was wrong and how to make sure it doesn't
happen again."

"Do you know that people bake potatoes and then scoop all
the insides out and then put other stuff inside of there
and then eat it?"

"Amber, do you remember what I said to you in the bar that
night?"

"You yelled at me," she answered accusingly, pulling a
celery stick from a platter, dragging it through the
accompanying dip and sucking it before returning it to the
dip once again.  

"Yes, I did.  I yelled because you weren't listening to
me.  You weren't listening every time I told you that I
didn't feel the way you did."

"But I love you."

"I...I know that you believe that."

"It's true."

"Amber, do you remember what I said to you that night?" 
He repeated.

"I don't know.  You were so mad.  You scared me."

"I said that just because you want something...even if you
want it with all of your might...Amber?"

She had turned from him and was looking up at the sky
through the open window.

"I told you that, just because you want something or
someone, that doesn't make it yours to take."

"But what if I promise not to call the cops again?"

He walked briskly to where she stood and took her by the
shoulders, turning her to face him.  "I don't love you,
Amber," he said gently.  "I can't love you."

She tore herself from him and walked away from the tables
to where the couches and chairs were centered around a
large fireplace.  "You...you said you loved me!" she
argued, her voice rising.

"I never said I loved you, Amber."

"You did!"

Mulder shook his head sadly.  "I know you're confused.  I
know what that's like.  When I've been confused, it's
always helped me to talk to someone."

"I'm talking to you."

"I mean someone whose job it is to help you see things
more clearly."

She began to shake her head, slowly at first and then
quickly as if she were trying to shake wasps from her hair.
 "You-you're talking about a head shrinker."

"I'm talking about going home with your family and letting
them help you."

"I don't want my family!" she began to shriek as she bent
over the couch. "I want you!"

"Amber," Mulder began and then stopped cold as he watched
her lift the barrel of his gun from the couch cushions and
hold it steadily at his face.  "Amber," he whispered.  "You
don't want this to end this way."

She nodded, weeping copiously.  "I do.  I want that bitch
partner of yours, the whore who took you away from me; I
want her to find you here with your face blown off!  And I
want her to think about that for the rest of her life."

"Amber, they'll put you in prison for the rest of your
life."

She laughed hollowly.  "I'm going to be dead with you. 
We'll be dead together, you and me.  First, I'll kill you
and then I'll lay next to you and I'll kill myself and
they'll find us there and they'll know we were supposed to
be together and they'll all feel real bad and cry."

"Amber--"

"It'll be just like Romeo and Juliet."

"No, it won't be, Amber, because you would be killing me
for nothing."

"It's not for nothing!  Love isn't nothing!"

"But you don't love me, Amber."

Her mouth opened and closed silently.  "But, I do.  I love
you more than anything," she finally squeaked.

"You can't love a person you don't know; not in any
lasting way."

"I know you!" She protested.  "I know all about you!  I
know where you work, where you live, where you go to drink.
 I know what car you drive, what movies you watch."

"That's not the same as knowing a person...here."  He
placed his hand over his heart.  "You don't know me, Amber.
 You don't love who I am." 

"How can you say that?  After all I've said and done to
show you?  I just can't figure out what it would take to
show you." Her face quickly went from bewilderment to
certainty.  She stepped toward him, suddenly grinning
slightly and licking her lips.  She inclined the aim of the
gun lower on his body.  "Take off your clothes."

Mulder's world seemed to pause in its trajectory.  A
simmering rage began to rise in his throat.

"I'm going to show you that you love me.  When we're
together, you'll know."

He pressed his lips together and watched her silently, his
mind racing, his muscles tensing in a subconscious bid for
protection. 

"Take off your shirt first and then your pants.  Oh!"  She
began to giggle, pulling the gun to her mouth and covering
her smile, like a toddler behind a teddy bear.  "Take off
your shoes first or you won't be able to get your pants
off."

He shook his head, suddenly becoming lost in his private
outrage.  "When did my body become a carnival ride for
anybody with a token?" he murmured, hardly realizing
Amber's presence.

"Wh-what?" she asked, completely bewildered by his words
and his manner.

"Step right up.  Got a gun?  Yeah, take a ride.  Got a
hallucinogenic?  You got me.  Do what you want."

"I don't understand, Fox?  What are you talking about?"

He focused on her, in the moment once again as he reined
back his anger.  "I'm saying that a gun isn't enough. 
Threatening me with death won't work.  I'm not going to be
used again tonight."

She frowned and cocked her head.  "What?" she whined. 
"But I'm going to kill you if you don't."

"I-I'm hoping it doesn't come to that."  

Her mouth took on a bitter slant.  "It's because of her. 
It's because of Dana Scully," she simpered, wagging her
hips like a six-year-old.  "You love her and you don't love
me."

Mulder nodded slowly, carefully.  "I do...love her,
Amber."

"Why?" she wailed, gesturing wildly with the gun.  "I can
be everything she is!  Everything!  Look!  I cut my hair
like hers, and it's the same color...mostly.  Wait," she
said, holding up her palm, backing away, the gun still
trained on him.  She bent over a grocery bag, never taking
her eyes from Mulder's face.  "I brought her suit.  I could
wear it for you, okay?  Maybe you could pretend I'm her.  I
could put on the jacket and then slowly unbutton it, maybe
do a little dance?"

Mulder closed his eyes briefly and opened them again.  

"No?  Isn't that what she would do?"  Amber continued
eagerly.  "I-I could go down on you!" She announced
jarringly.  "Don't get me wrong.  I'm a virgin.  I never
let anybody put their...you know...down there.  I was
saving that for you, the man I love.   But I know how to do
that!  Some boy once told me I did it real good!  I bet she
wouldn't do that for you--too prissy, too classy.  But I'd
do it.  I'd do it so that you'd love me."

"Amber--" Mulder began.

"Wait!  I brought this!"  She reached into the bag and
brought out a black satin negligee with a gathered bodice. 
"I found this in her drawer.  It still had the tags on it. 
She never wore it, but I will.  I'll wear it for you and
you can close your eyes and pretend I'm her.  Okay, Fox? 
Okay?" She began to whine desperately.

Mulder sighed.  "No, it's not okay.  Nothing's okay as
long as you're holding that gun on me."

"Are you saying that you're one of those guys that like
to...you know...make the first move?  You know, macho like?
 Because I can do that for you.  I can just let you do
anything you want."

Mulder looked into her face and knew that he could take
advantage of her trust and naiveté to end this now,
although he was reluctant on some level.  He found it
almost impossible to trade on anyone's trust.  But
logically he knew he must do whatever was necessary to
finally end the dangerous situation he had deposited
himself into.

He nodded and purposefully arranged the features on his
face to resemble a look of seduction accomplished.  "That's
what I want, Amber.  I want to take the initiative."

She frowned, bewildered by the term.

"I want to be in charge," he amended.  "I'd like it if you
would just...put down the gun and give me the chance
to...do what I want."

"You-you wouldn't try to run away?"

"No," he said, quietly, evenly.

"If I give you this gun, you'll kiss me and we can--"
 
"Yes," he interrupted, not wanting to hear the words.

"I-I can put this on," she said, holding up Scully's
nightgown, suddenly bashful.

"It isn't necessary," he replied.

She lowered her head and batted her eyes, and he attempted
an appreciative smile.

Slowly she made her way to him, waggling her hips in what
she was sure was a seductive way.  She stopped about
halfway and looked suspiciously at him.  "How do I know you
aren't lying to me?"

"Don't you trust me, Amber?  Because if you don't trust
me..."

"No, no, no," she said, attempting to soothe him.  "Don't
worry, Fox, I trust you.  I do."  

She took the last few steps, and he held out his hand as
she moved nearer.  But suddenly, quickly, before he could
evade her, she hit him hard across the side of his mouth
with the back of the gun.

"God!"  He cried out, staggering back against the couch,
stunned momentarily, holding his hand over his throbbing,
bleeding mouth.  Removing his hand, he studied the blood
there and tested his teeth with his tongue  "What the hell
did you do that for?"

"I just wanted you to know that if you're lying to me,
I'll hurt you.  I'll make sure you never fuck anyone else
as long as you live."

Mulder watched her closely, wiping the blood from his
mouth with the back of his hand, watching the barrel of the
gun that was only inches from his face.

"Do you understand?"

Mulder nodded.  "I won't run.  Just give me the gun and
I'll put it away."

She studied him closely before passing the gun into his
outstretched hand.   With a quick snap, he took it and put
it in the back of his jeans.

"Are we going to make love now?" she asked quietly.

"No, Amber," Mulder told her as he took hold of her arms
and twisted them behind her.

"What?" she cried.  "You lied to me!"

"And you loosened a couple of my teeth," he countered.

"I can't believe you lied to me!  What kind of person lies
like that?"

"A person who is trying to save your life."  He began to
pull her along with him toward the door, as she screamed
and wailed.  "We're going."

"I can't go out like this!" she cried out.  "People will
see me naked!"

Mulder paused, realizing it was true.  "You can wear my
jacket," he offered.

"That won't cover me. People will see me naked, and it
will be all your fault."

Mulder sighed.  "Where are your clothes?"

"In the bathroom," she sniffled.  "Hanging on the back of
the door."

He pulled her into the room and looked it over, opening
drawers, even opening the toilet tank.  "Put your clothes
on," he instructed.

"Are you going to watch?" She asked coquettishly.

"Just put them on," he instructed as he released her arms
and stepped out of the bathroom, waiting just to the side
of the threshold.  

There was a knock at the door. "Mulder, it's me.  Open the
door."

Mulder glanced over his shoulder. "Scully--"

The bathroom door slammed shut, and he immediately threw
himself at it as he heard the lock engage and a resounding
crash emanate from inside.  "Amber!" he cried out as he
shouldered the door harshly.

"You're going to remember this!" she screamed back at him.
 "You'll always know it was your fault!"

"Amber!" Mulder cried out once more as he tossed his body
hard against the door, which splintered in his wake.  It
swung open, dangling from its hinges and all he could see
was the blood.

"God, oh god," Mulder murmured.  He told himself to focus
on what needed to be done; to do what he knew he was
capable of in order to save her.  But as the blood
spattered across his face and over the tiles, he doubted
briefly if he would be able to get past the shock of it.  

"Mulder!" Scully yelled from the hallway.

Scully's voice snapped him into action once again.  He
looked around quickly, grabbing a towel from the rack and
approaching Amber. She wove dreamily on her feet as blood
continued to spurt upward in an arch from the cut on her
arm and drip from the hand that held the broken shard of
mirror that she had used as a weapon against herself. 
"It's too late now," she told him thickly.  "I'm going to
die and it's...it's...all your fault."

He made no response. He was completely within the actions
that he was forced to take.  "Scully!  Call an-" He cried
out in pain as Amber slashed him across the ribs before
toppling onto one knee.

"Get away from me," she said weakly.  "I'll kill you."

"Amber, let me help you," Mulder pleaded, as he drew his
arm around the wound, grimacing with pain.

"Mulder!" Scully called out again, an edge of panic in her
voice.

"Call an ambulance, Scully," Mulder called.  Quickly he
darted at Amber, who managed to slice his hand before she
fell back completely. 

Warily but determinedly, Mulder approached Amber. He had
to leap back so as to avoid a slice to his groin.  "I told
you, she murmured.  "I'll make it so you can never..." Her
eyes began to close but opened once again, wild and
ferocious.  "She won't want you, will she?" she asked
before her eyes closed and her hand dropped the glass at
her side.

Mulder leaped on her, pressing hard against the flow of
blood with the once white towel, which grew bright scarlet
in what seemed like mere seconds.

"Scully!" he called over his shoulder.

"Mulder, unlock the door," she called back.

"I can't," he replied, grabbing at the other towel on the
rack.

"Then stand back, I'm going to shoot."

"Go ahead," he answered as he wiped his forehead on the
sleeve of his t-shirt.

It was only seconds before Scully stood over him, trying
to determine how much of the seemingly interminable flow of
blood was Mulder's.  "Are you hurt?" she asked scanning his
body with her eyes.

"Did you call an ambulance?"

"Yes, they had a team in the banquet hall that had
responded to a choking victim.  They're on their way up. 
Mulder, answer me.  Did she cut you?"

"Yes.  Am I doing this right?" he asked.

"Let's raise her arm," Scully suggested, stepping into the
room and slipping slightly on the bloody tile.  Taking
Amber's hand in hers, she lifted Amber's arm above her body
as she looked at Mulder from the new angle.  "Mulder, where
are you cut?"

"Uhh, I-I think she got me across my ribs and...and..."

Scully bent over to look into his eyes. He looked back,
slightly dazed.   "You need to let me look at where she cut
you."

"I'm all right, Scully.  I'm just a little...overwhelmed. 
Is she going to be okay?"  

"She should be.  Mulder, please just tell me everywhere
you're injured."

"My ribs, my hand...That's all, I think."

She shook her head. "What about your cheek?"

He looked up at her, slightly puzzled, and then
remembered.  "Oh yeah.  She backhanded me with my gun."

Scully looked down at Amber, who seemed so harmless now,
and had to fight an overwhelming urge to leave her to face
the consequences.  "Tell me what happened, Mulder," Scully
said.

"I had her, and I was going to take her in." He shook his
head slightly.

"What's wrong?" Scully asked, alarmed.

"I'm just a little lightheaded," he replied, rearranging
his body so he sat next to Amber rather than squatting as
he had before.

"Mulder, go into the other room and lay down.  I'll take
care of her."

"No.  I need to see this through.  I can do this."

Scully sighed in frustration.  "I need to see how much
you're bleeding."

He lifted his shirt with his free hand. Scully bent over
him, observing a long, straight cut just below his rib
cage. The blood was coagulating and she felt small relief
at the sight, but his side and the top of his jeans were
covered in his blood.  "You might need stitches," she told
him.

He grimaced at the thought.  "Will I get a sucker after if
I don't cry?"

Scully shook her head grimly.  "Mulder, she could have
killed you."

"It was my fault.  I had her, and she told me she had to
get dressed before we went out.  I...shouldn't have fallen
for it."

"So now it's your fault that she did her best to kill
you?"

"She's unstable.  I knew that when I came here."

Scully let out a growl of irritation.  

Mulder smiled up at her.  "If you're thinking you'd like
to kick my ass, you'll have to take a number."

Scully looked up.  "I think I hear them coming."

Mulder nodded, exhausted and relieved.  "That was fast,"
he observed.

"She was lucky. The guy the paramedics were working on
spat out a carrot just as the call came through," Scully
replied as the paramedics burst through the door in a
flurry of activity. 

"Okay, buddy, we'll take it from here," one of the
paramedics barked.

Mulder stood, pulling on the towel rack to support
himself.  

"Come on, buddy, we need room."

Mulder nodded, still working on standing steadily.

"Are you okay?" the other paramedic asked.

"Yeah," he answered, bracing himself against the wall
before he made his way to Scully, who placed herself under
his arm.  He leaned more heavily than he realized against
her as she held him at the hip and back.  His jeans were
spongy with blood, and she realized he had lost more than
she had realized at first.  She wondered if he had been cut
at the waist. After she lowered him to a chair, she pulled
his pants away from his skin.

"It'd be nice if someone would, just once, take me out to
dinner before they started undressing me," he said as he
laid his head against the back of the chair.      

"Sorry, Mulder.  Just checking."

"Am I all there?"

"Far as I can tell," she answered, lifting his shirt. 
"This is pretty bad," she said.  "You'll need
stitches--three...four at least.  Let me see your hand."

He placed his hand in hers without opening his eyes. 
"Ahh, looks like a couple here as well.  She really did a
number on you, Mulder."

"I made out pretty well, considering what her agenda was."

"What does that mean?"

He shook his head slowly from side to side.  "Doesn't
matter."

Scully left his side briefly to ascertain the progress of
the paramedics.  They were carefully lifting Amber to the
stretcher.  "You did good," one said to Scully.  "You got
to her in time.  She should be okay."

Scully nodded.  "It was my partner actually," she offered
as she backed out of their way.  

"Good job, buddy," he called out.   "She meant business. 
She'd be knocking on the pearly gates if you hadn't acted
quickly."  

Mulder raised a hand in reply but didn't seem to have the
energy to respond beyond that.

"Okay, we're outta here," the paramedics as they wheeled
Amber out.  "Does he need to be seen?" he asked as an
afterthought, gesturing toward Mulder. 

"I'm a doctor," Scully replied.  "I'll take him in."

"Okay.  Good luck to you," he replied before exiting.  

"Come on, Mulder.  We're going to the hospital."

"Can I...Is there any water?"

Scully stood and looked around the room. Walking to the
table, she grasped a crystal goblet. Glancing at the
appointments there, she frowned, bending over to blow out
the candles at the table.  Venturing carefully into the
bathroom, she poured water into the glass and brought it to
him.

He sipped it at first but then quickly gulped the rest. 
"Thanks."

"Are you ready to go?"

"I think so," he responded but made no effort to back his
words up with movement.

"Are you sure you don't want an ambulance?" Scully asked
as she bent over him, looking in first one eye and then the
other.

"I'm really okay, Scully.  Really," he emphasized after
seeing the dubious expression on her face.  "I think I'm
just tired.  Are you sure I have to go to the hospital? 
I'd just like to go to bed."

"After," she replied.  "I suppose you're up to date on
your tetanus shot?"

"I'm the poster boy for tetanus shots."  

She nodded, looking around the room.  Her eyes fell on the
discarded nightgown flung across the couch opposite Mulder.
 "What the hell," she murmured as she retrieved it.

Mulder opened his eyes with some difficulty.  "She stole
it from your apartment," he offered.  

Scully held it in her hand, her face completely
inscrutable to Mulder.

"What, Scully?" Mulder asked, sitting up slightly.

"It's just..." She shook her head.  "I can't explain it,
Mulder.  It's just so...completely invasive that she took
this in particular."

"Why?"

"I..." She glanced at him and looked away again.  "I
bought it..."

Mulder cocked his head; her slight blush had kicked his
curiosity into overdrive.  "What?"

She looked at him tentatively, and he wondered if she
could part with whatever information had distressed her in
such an uncharacteristic way.  Clearing her throat, she
turned away from him and blew out more candles.  He thought
the subject was closed but soon she began, her voice small
and uncertain.  "A long while back, I bought it,
thinking...we..."

Mulder's mind lurched with a surprising notion.  "Did you
buy it with me in mind, Scully?"

She nodded.  "It's a little embarrassing," she admitted.

"Embarrassing. Why?"

"I had completely forgotten it.  I bought it...so long
ago, I can't remember."

Mulder drew his hand over his face.  "You bought...that,
with me in mind, a long time ago?" he repeated.

"Yes," she affirmed.

He looked down, completely flabbergasted.  "I hate
myself," he mumbled. 

"What?"

"I'm going to find this piece of information very hard to
live with."

She smiled a little at the level of his despair.  "Mulder,
do you really think of me as the kind of woman who would
sit by the phone waiting for you to make the first move?"

"No," he replied.  "But I do think of myself as the kind
of man who is so dense when it comes to this kind of thing
that I would have missed any first moves you might have
made."

"Well," she began, still slightly amused.  "Yes, you can
be a little dense, Mulder."

He looked up, pained and chagrined.

"But it adds to your charm," she added quickly and, Mulder
thought, rather unconvincingly.

He rolled his eyes and began to struggle to his feet. 
Scully hurried over to him.  "Let's get you taken care of.
Mulder," she interrupted herself, "do you know your pants
are torn?"

"What?" he answered, alarmed.

"You have a tear from the zipper over."

"Oh my god," he leaned over himself, parting the material,
attempting to see inside.  "I can't see."

"Let me look, Mulder," Scully instructed.  He hesitated
slightly.  "Mulder, I've seen you naked before," she
reminded him.  Wincing with his discomfort, he tried to
look for himself once again.

"I'll look through the fabric, okay?  If I can see, we'll
leave it at that."

He sighed and settled himself carefully onto the couch. 
Scully bent over him, separating the fabric with her
fingers, as he watched anxiously.  "I just want to point
out that the time you saw me naked, packed in ice, was not
representative."

"I don't see anything," she murmured.

"Scully, that is not the kind of thing a guy likes to hear
in a situation like this."

"No, you're not cut," she answered, straightening up.  

"That'll be news to the family rabbi," he answered
casually, although it felt as if his heart had stopped and
begun again.     

"Come on," Scully said, helping him to his feet.  "You
should be at the hospital."  She placed herself under his
shoulder, steadied him, and looked into his face for
confirmation that he was capable of walking on his own
power. When he nodded, they started out.

"Scully," he said as they stepped out of the room.  "When
else have you seen me naked?"

"Well, that time in the shower," she answered reluctantly,
turning to close the door behind them.

"You looked!" he cried out in mock indignation.

"Just a little." 

"Once again, Scully, little is not a word that should be
used in this conversation."

"Okay, I peeked."

"Toward the beginning or toward the end?"

"Uhh, toward the end. Will you shut up, Mulder?"

"See, that was representative."

"If I say I'm impressed, can this conversation end?"

"Yes, I think I can agree to that."

"Okay, I was impressed."

"I'd swagger, but I'm afraid it would kill me."

They rang for the elevator and waited in silence and
walked into the elevator when it arrived.

"Were you saying you were impressed because you were or
because you want me to shut up?" Mulder asked.

"Yes," Scully replied as the doors closed.




"How's it going?" Scully asked the doctor as she walked
around the curtain.

"Just...about...done..." The doctor replied with a
flourish and then slipped off his gloves.  "You're lucky,"
he said to Mulder.  "A little deeper, and she would have
lacerated your liver."

"Thanks," Mulder replied and then turned to Scully.  "Did
you find out?"

"She's in stable condition, and her parents have just
arrived."

Mulder took a deep breath, winced, and let it out again. 
"So she's going to be all right?"

"Seems like it."

"Good," he said thoughtfully, nodding his head.  "Good."

"Ready to go home?" Scully asked.

"Uhh, he's got prescriptions for me."

At the same time, the doctor reappeared and handed the
scripts to Mulder.  "Antibiotics and pain killers.  Take
them as directed, and call me if you have any problems." 
The doctor turned to Scully. "He might be a little woozy. 
I gave him some Demerol for the pain; and he's lost blood,
as you know.  Can you stick with him?  Get him home?"

Scully nodded.  "I can stick with him," she replied. 
"Ready?" she asked Mulder.

"Past ready," he replied and grabbed his jacket and headed
out of the cubicle and toward the exit doors.

Just as they reached the revolving door, Mulder heard his
name being called. He turned, frowning as an older woman
scurried toward them, a small man following tiredly behind
her.

"Agent Mulder?" she called out again as she drew closer.
Her face was flushed, and she panted as she slowed to a
halt.  "The doctor pointed you out.  I'm Amanda Whitcomb."

Mulder shook his head uncomprehendingly.  

"Ann Marie's mother?"

He glanced at Scully.  "Amber's mother," Scully clarified.

He raised his eyebrows and looked at her silently, unsure
of what to expect. Scully stood at the ready, watching the
woman carefully.  When Mrs. Whitcomb wrapped her arms
around Mulder's waist and laid her head on his shoulder, he
grew even more confounded and Scully relaxed.  

"I don't know how to thank you," she whispered.

"Thank me?" Mulder repeated, looking at Scully for support
as she watched approvingly.

"Yes, if it weren't for you, we might never have found
her."

"Actually," Mulder interrupted, stepping back out of her
embrace.  "It was my partner, Agent Scully, who found out
who she was."

Mrs. Whitcomb shyly held her hand out to Scully.  "Then I
owe you a debt of gratitude as well."

Scully shook her hand.  "I really didn't do anything."

"I talked to the police.  They told me what she did to
you, Agent Mulder, and that you called and refused to press
charges.  Also that you saved her life when she tried
to...to..." She began to weep quietly.  

Her husband stepped forward.  "The D.A. said that he is
willing to release her into our custody at your
recommendation as long as she is committed and gets
treatment."

"We'll have her transferred from here as soon as she's
well enough to travel," Mrs. Whitcomb added.

"That's for the best," Mulder agreed.

Mrs. Whitcomb dabbed at her eyes.  "You'll never know what
we've been through, Agent Mulder.  She just disappeared one
day.  The not knowing where she was, if she was alive or
dead.  It's something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy."

Mulder nodded. Scully watched him grow pensive, knowing
full well that he was drawing his comparisons but unwilling
to reveal his pain.  "It must have been very difficult," he
said quietly.

"You probably won't believe this; but when she takes her
medication, she's right as rain, a darling girl," her
mother said.

Mulder nodded but didn't speak.  

The woman dropped her head silently, and her husband spoke
up again.  "We don't want to keep you, Agent Mulder.  We
just wanted to let you know how grateful we are."

"And that we will keep you in our prayers," Mrs. Whitcomb
added.

"Thank you," Mulder replied, genuinely touched.

"Goodbye," they both murmured as they shook hands with the
agents in turn.

Mulder watched them leave in something akin to awe as
Scully watched his face.  "Are you ready to go?" Scully
asked him after a moment.

He seemed slightly startled.  "Yeah. Yeah," he murmured
and followed after her to the car, into which he slid
carefully and silently.  

Scully glanced at him after she pulled into the street. 
He gazed out the window, giving no clue what he might be
thinking.

"When did you call the D.A., Mulder?" Scully asked.

Mulder stretched his shoulders. "While I was waiting to be
stitched up."

"Is that why you sent me to check on Amber?"

"You're so suspicious," he chided affectionately.  

"That's why I get paid the big bucks," she replied.  "The
hotel must have called the police," she surmised, mulling
over what Mrs. Whitcomb had said about speaking to them. 
She pulled into the drugstore parking lot. When she had
turned off the ignition, she turned to Mulder and he looked
back curiously.  "I'm going to get your prescription
filled," she told him.  "I'll be right back."  

He nodded, but she didn't make a move to leave.  

"Mulder?"

"Hmm?" 

"Was it worth it to you?"

"You mean going after Amber?"

"Yeah."

"I think it was, Scully.  Despite everything, I needed to
know that she was cared for.  I don't know why."

"I think I do," Scully replied.

"You think it's about Samantha?"

"Yes."

He looked out the window, nodding.  "Maybe it was.  But
whatever it was, I feel like she's off my conscience. 
That, despite all of the havoc she wreaked in my life, that
she was just a young girl who needed to get home and I sent
her there."

Scully leaned toward his and placed the palm of her hand
on his cheek.  "I'm glad you feel that way."

He nodded lightly.  "I know that you were mad."

"I was worried."

"I'm sorry for that."

"You are who you are, Mulder.  If you didn't throw
yourself at the devil's door for the sake of your
conscience, I wouldn't recognize you."

He mirrored the gesture Scully had performed, placing his
bandaged hand on her face.  "I...I can't tell you what it
means to me that you can offer me that acceptance."

"Well, don't think that gives you carte blanche to ditch
me whenever you think I won't approve of your various and
sundry quests," she chided.

"How about I keep you apprised of the various and only
leave out the sundry?" He grinned.

"Not good enough," she replied, tapping his face lightly.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Sure you will," she replied dubiously, nodding at the
storefront.  "Do you need anything here?" 

"No."

Quickly, on a sudden impulse, she leaned back and kissed
his cheek. He turned to look at her, pleased, but taken
aback.  "What was that for?"

"Do I have to have a reason?"

"Absolutely not," Mulder replied.

"Okay, then," she said as she swung out of the car.

Mulder closed his eyes and laid his head back, a small
smile on his face.  When he heard his door open, he began. 
"Did you forget--" But his smile dropped from his lips.

"Get out of the car, Agent Mulder."


Mulder looked calmly into the barrels of two guns. At
least, that was the image he hoped he was projecting. His
mind was racing, and his body pumped more adrenalin than
was produced in the average war.  "Do I know you boys?" he
asked with a small, slow grin.

"Get out of the car, Agent Mulder," the man who stood
closest to him repeated.

Mulder glanced at the storefront and couldn't decide
whether to pray for or against Scully's arrival.  He felt
very strongly disinclined to accompany these men to another
unknown, most likely less than enticing, destination.  On
the other hand, were she to arrive suddenly and draw her
gun, someone's life--most likely hers--would be lost.  
 
"I'm not going to say it again," the man repeated, a
lethal tone to his voice.  

Mulder crawled out of the car and was quickly flipped
against it for his trouble, the wound at his side informing
him that his Demerol was wearing off.  He winced and leaned
heavily against the car as someone ran their hands over his
body.

"Yech," the man pronounced.  "He's damp."

"Give me a dollar, and I'll tell you if you need to start
treatment," Mulder replied over his shoulder.

"Let's go," the man demanded, pulling Mulder back by his
shirt as he pocketed Mulder's gun.

"Hey, I just got that back," Mulder protested.  

They continued to ignore him as they opened the back door
of a large town car and pushed him inside.  He remained
sprawled across the seats for a moment as he waited for the
pain to subside from excruciating to merely intolerable.  

When he found he was to ride alone in the back seat, he
allowed his face to reflect his feelings for the first
time.  Slowly, he lifted himself into a seated position,
checking that the door was locked and that he was unable to
open it.  Looking out the back window as they drove away,
he thought he saw a flash of Scully's red hair and it took
the wind out of him.  He sat silently for a few minutes
before kicking out at the back of the driver's seat.

"Hey!  You son-of-a-bitch!" the man responded.

"If this is a surprise party, I have to politely decline. 
I just hate surprises."

"Look, motherfucker, you do that again and I'll shoot off
your nuts," the man in the passenger seat threatened.

"What the hell does everybody have against my nuts?"
Mulder asked, his voice taking on a manic edge.

"Just shut the hell up and enjoy the ride."

Mulder nodded agitatedly.  "Enjoy the ride," he murmured. 
"That's my mission statement."  

He thought about Scully.  She had come out of the store by
now and found him gone.  What had she thought at first? 
Had she looked around, thinking he might be stretching his
legs?  How long before the panic had set in?  He felt
guilty at the thought of her as she wondered what had
happened this time, and he wished he knew the answer to
that as well.

Looking out the window as the car slowed down, he was
taken aback as they pulled up to his apartment building. 
"What are you guys, militant do-gooders?  Maybe you didn't
notice, but I had a ride home from the hospital."

"Shut up, smart ass."

"Smart ass," Mulder replied sarcastically.  "That's a new
one.  Nobody's ever called me that before."

They exited their doors and soon reached in for him.  "I
can make it the rest of the way myself," he told them as
they pulled him from the car and once again turned him
around against the vehicle, handcuffing his hands behind
his back.   "I'd kiss you goodnight, but I really didn't
have that good a time," he continued as they led him up the
walk.

"Really?" the taller man replied with a sneer.  "I hear
you're pretty easy."

"And I hear you're a dickless lapdog," Mulder responded,
earning himself a quick punch to the stomach.  He tried to
bend over the pain, but they held him upright as they
entered the building.  "Goddamn you," he groaned.

"You looking for more, bitch?"

"Fuck you," Mulder spat out.

"No, fuck you seems to be the agenda."

They pulled him down the basement steps as he recovered
slightly from the blow.  The basement was completely dark,
save for a small glow from the furnace.  "We're supposed to
leave him here," they told each other, as they uncuffed one
of hands and linked him to the pipes overhead.

Mulder shuffled his feet and looked around, anticipating
his fate less than eagerly.  One of the men started up the
steps, but the other lagged behind.  Quickly he positioned
himself directly behind Mulder and leaned into his ear.
"How about I come back and do you later?" he hissed.

With a quick, ferocious movement, Mulder snapped his elbow
back and heard the satisfying crack of bone hitting bone. 
He turned to watch the man double over, his hands to his
face.

Before he could recover and strike out, Mulder kicked hard
under his chin and the man sprawled backward, out of
Mulder's reach.  He groaned and growled and cursed, but
Mulder felt completely devoid of fear.  The thought of
reprisal had not yet overcome his pumping adrenalin.  He
stood, shackled by one hand, baring his teeth.  "Come on,
asshole.  Try me again!"

Slowly the man rose to his feet, testing his facial wound
with his hand, examining his blood on his fingers.  "I'll
try you," he threatened, beginning to move toward Mulder,
his intentions written all over his face.  "You're one dead
motherfucker."

"Come on," Mulder snarled.  "I'm waiting!"

"What the hell is going on here?" a raspy voice asked from
the darkness.

Both men turned to confront the newest member of their
party.  Mulder recognized the glowing red ash before any
features were apparent.  He turned back to the now stalled
man, whose face bled freely from multiple origins.  "Are
you going to let him stop you, you pathetic lackey?" he
taunted in a guttural voice.

The injured man took a few threatening steps.  "Go," the
Cigarette Smoking Man demanded, stopping him in his tracks.
 Without further comment, he turned and prepared to leave. 
"Leave his weapon," the Cigarette Smoking Man added and
held out his hand.  "We wouldn't want Agent Mulder to sully
his reputation with his superiors."

Cowed, the other man handed Mulder's weapon over and
turned to go.

Now alone with Mulder, who watched him with murderous
contempt, The Smoking Man turned and placed the gun on the
steps before approaching and studying Mulder.  "He's not
the man in your memories," he observed.

"He'll do," Mulder spat out.  

"I suppose he will."

"What do you want from me, you son-of-a-bitch, a pound of
flesh? I gave at the office."

"More than once by my count," he answered, tossing the
butt of his current cigarette to the ground in almost the
same instant as he lit another.

"I can't tell you how honored I am that you're keeping
count."  

"I simply wanted to borrow a few moments of your time in
order to discuss a few things," he stated calmly, squinting
against the smoke of his newly lit cigarette. 

"Ever heard of AT&T?"  Mulder sneered.

"Unfortunately, you've developed a nasty habit of hanging
up on me."

"And that doesn't translate into information for you?"

He smiled.  "I suppose not," he answered, circling Mulder,
examining his face.  After a moment, he reached above their
heads and pulled a string, which turned on a dim light. 
Mulder blinked and narrowed his eyes.  "You look like
you've been in a war," the Smoking Man observed.

"You should see the other guy."

"I think I did.  Fox, did your partner tell you I called
on her?"

"She told me," Mulder answered dismissively.

"Did she relay my offer to you?"

"At what point in our sorry excuse for a relationship did
you conclude that I am stupid?"

"I have never underestimated your intelligence," the
Smoking Man protested.

"Then what would make you think I'd willingly open my
brain for your use as a personal playground?"

"Because there is no point in you carrying that memory
with you, not now."

"No point?"

"Of course not.  That was not my intent."    

"Look, I've had a hard day and I'm late for my next
beating.  You're going to have to lay this out for me."

"I'm a little surprised, Fox.  I would have thought you
would have realized my purpose by now."

"Fuck your purpose."

"I must say, you're more hostile and volatile than usual
tonight."

"I guess I'm feeling a little sensitive about the fact
that you raped me," Mulder rasped harshly, straining at his
handcuff.

"Raped you?  Have you finally lost the tenuous grasp
you've had on reality?"

"That's what you'd hoped for, you putrid piece of shit. 
You abducted me and you violated me, hoping that I would
become so incapacitated by the trauma that I would slink
away, one less obstacle."

"Do you really think that your unfortunate experience in
prison was merely a sordid exercise in manipulating your
all too eager mind?  What would be the point?  I know
you're stronger than that.  Really, I'm disappointed in
you, Fox.  You aren't usually so short sighted."

"Short sighted?"  Mulder murmured.

"Think.  I know you're up to it, despite the late hour and
the difficulty of the last few days.  Surely you can
perform a better profile as to my motives." 

Mulder watched his face as he turned over in his mind what
had happened and why.  He entered by the back door of his
nemesis' brain, mentally pushing aside the cobwebs and
poisonous serpents that hissed from shadowed corners,
deeply entrenched in reasonings that would not have
naturally occurred to him.  One arm dangled over his head;
his pain was ignored as he concentrated on the depraved
intent of the man who returned his studious gaze.  And then
he understood, and a new terror coursed through his blood.
"You took me from prison and put that in my brain so that I
would know, without a doubt, that you could take me from
anywhere and put anything in my mind.   That I have no
recourse, nowhere to go."

"Very good!  I knew it would come to you."

"You want me to quit the X-Files, or you will threaten to
take me at will and put any memory in my mind."

"Or thought, or idea."

"I don't believe that."

"What don't you believe?"

"That you would be able to input any thought you'd want,
even if it contradicted what I hold true."

"What do you hold true, Fox?" 

"What do I--?"

"What do you hold true or precious that you would not toss
to the wayside in the event that it stood in the way of
your single-minded pursuit of a truth you have yet to
find?"

"You don't know me if you believe that," Mulder replied
flatly.

"But I do know you, better than you think, more than you
know yourself, it seems.  I've watched you, Fox.  I've seen
you cast aside even your own truths to accommodate what you
choose to believe, and what you choose to believe is what I
hold out for you to believe.  I have shaped you, Fox, in
ways you have yet to realize.  And I recognize you because
we are cut from the same cloth, you and I."

Mulder let out a hollow laugh that echoed from the stone
walls.  "You're a sorry piece of shit that has sold
everything, including his own wife and child, in an effort
to preserve his own pathetic ass.  How do you see a
parallel between us?"  

"Because I was where you are today.  Only I found myself
alone because of my single-mindedness of purpose much later
in life.  You, Fox, have a tremendous head start.  Look at
you; you are almost forty years old; you are living in a
hovel, by yourself, with your only indulgences being
pornography and sunflower seeds, still sleeping on the
couch in fear of your father's next beating." 

Mulder's shifted his eyes uncomfortably from the older
man's face.  Suddenly, without warning, he felt vulnerable,
naked.

"Yes, I know he beat you.  I tried to make him stop more
than once.  You probably don't even remember the night I
pulled him off of you.  I was afraid he'd kill you; as it
was, he knocked you unconscious.  And all you did was call
out your sister's name in your sleep.  No one in his right
mind could have blamed you for that, save for Bill.  We had
to take you to the hospital, your mother and I.  I left her
there with you and went back to talk to your father."

"He picked us up."

"That's right.  You had a broken arm."

"You weren't there," Mulder insisted, still unable to lift
his eyes, an irrational wave of shame flooding over him. 

"I'm sure you wish that were true.  I was there more often
than you know.  But we've strayed from the point."

"Which is?"

"That your life has become something other than your own. 
That it is completely swallowed up by your twisted sense of
your own importance in the grand scheme of things."

"Wait a minute, my sense of self-importance?"  Mulder
cried out, completely restored from the disturbance his
father's memory had wrought.  "Holy God!  You have set
yourself up as the omnipresent center of the universe.  We
dare not even speak your name!"  

"True enough.  But I had a life once--a family, a wife--"

"The aforementioned chattel in your quest to save your own
life."

"Perhaps so, Fox.  But you...you have nothing permanent.
You have no attachments.  You don't even trade on your good
looks to get sex!"

"What are you now, Dr. Ruth?"

"I am simply saying that if you could free yourself from
the X-Files, perhaps nurture your relationship with Agent
Scully---"

"Don't even..."  Mulder held out a finger in warning. 
"...say her name."

"I know you feel for her.  But she would be another
casualty in less than a moment's time if she stood between
you and your mission."

"You're wrong."

"I'm right, Fox.  I know you.  No one holds the importance
for you that your all powerful quest does.  And that is why
you are such a threat, and it is also why you will find
yourself much like me if you get the chance to age:
treading water, no further along in your search for the
truth than you are now, your life behind you and absolutely
nothing to show for yourself."  He turned abruptly and
walked into the shadow.  "So what do you say?  I have no
need for you to lie in bed at night, picturing your own
violation.  Will you let me help clear your mind of that
sordid memory?"

"Let me go."

"Is that a no?"

"That's a hell no."

"You'd rather wonder every day if what you know and
remember is true or if I came in the night and implanted
your every motive, dream or desire?  I am your salvation,
Fox."

"Salvation?  Salvation? You sad, sorry little man, spare
me your redemption. I'd rather go to hell." 

He smiled a little.  "You will, Fox.  You will and with no
necessary assistance from me.  I'm really very sorry for
you."          

"When I want your sympathy, I'll beat it out of you."

He began to turn away.  "I'll see you in your dreams,
Agent Mulder."  

"And I'll see you on the front page of every newspaper of
every major city in this country."

"Is that your idea of a threat?" he asked without turning
around.

"Do you really think I'd just bend over and take it from
you over and over?  I will bury you with publicity that
will make Monica Lewinsky gasp."

Cancer Man turned and advanced on Mulder quickly, leaning
into his face with a palatable aggressiveness.  "Do you
suppose you can manipulate me, Agent Mulder?"

Mulder pulled forward, stretching his arm behind him,
baring his clenched teeth.    "I will not go gently.  If
you know me so damn well, you should already know that.  I
will not go gently."

The Smoking Man inhaled deeply on his cigarette, blowing
the smoke, temporarily obscuring Mulder's face.  The
burning end glowed red and elongated; the ashes fell freely
to the floor.  He glanced down slightly at them.  "Then
your life will become nothing but ashes."

"And I'll rise out of it like a fucking phoenix.  And I'll
never lay down for you."

They gazed steadily into each other's eyes, mutually
contemptuous before the older man turned on his heel
without a word, leaving Mulder alone once again.  

"Hey!" Mulder called out after a minute, rattling his
handcuff against the pipe to which he was attached.  "Hey!"
he cried louder before slumping in despair.  "Shit," he
murmured as he dragged his shackle across the pipe in order
to lean against the wall.  He knew he should yell for help,
but he wanted a few minutes to gather his thoughts and
whatever strength he could lay his hands on.  Time passed
as he turned the Smoking Man's words over and over
torturously in his mind.     

"Mulder?"  Scully's voice called out from the top of the
stairs.

"What the hell?"  He mumbled.  "Scully?"

"Thank God," he could hear her say as her footsteps grew
closer.

"How did you find me?" he asked incredulously.

"Are you all right?" 

"I'm fine.  Why do you ask?"

"Oh hell, you're handcuffed.  Hold on, I have a key in the
car."

Mulder nodded and watched her go, wondering how he could
tell her everything that was said and done, wondering if
anything his enemy had said rung true.  He dropped his head
in exhaustion and hoped against hope that it wasn't.


***

Scully gazed up in annoyance at Mulder's hand, which
dangled above his head, handcuffed to a pipe and out of her
reach.  "I'm going to need a ladder or something," she
murmured.  "And no cracks," she warned as she turned from
him.

"No cracks," Mulder agreed with a small smile.  "How did
you find me?"  He asked, watching after as she poked
around.

"Would you believe women's intuition?" she asked.

"I think it's pretty well established that I'll believe
any damn thing," Mulder replied with no humor in his voice.

Scully glanced back at him, slightly taken aback by his
tone, but she soon returned to her quest.  "Well, you'd be
wrong in this case."  Finding a small door almost obscured
in the dim light, she tugged at the handle and it creaked
open.  She felt around inside the room for a switch or a
string to pull.  Finally, waving her hand blindly, she
found the string, and the small closet flooded with light. 
It took a minute for her eyes to adjust.  "You may, in
fact, find this hard to believe," she continued.  "Oh, this
will do," she said, coming across an old chair, upturned in
the corner.  She took hold of it and turned it over,
dragging it behind her.  

"What won't I believe?"  Mulder queried, his voice
cracking with weariness.

"Mrs. Yates, your downstairs neighbor?  She called me."

"What?" he cried out incredulously.  "How did she get your
number?"

"Remember, I talked to her while you were in prison?  I
gave her my card."

"Okay, but why--"

Scully pulled the chair near him and climbed atop.  Just
then, with a movement executed with such precision that it
seemed he had waited all night to do it; Mulder wrapped his
free hand loosely around the top of her thighs and rested
his head against her waist, closing his eyes.  

Scully paused, puzzled and slightly apprehensive.  Lightly
she touched the top of his head, but his hair was matted
with Amber's blood. Gently she moved her hand over his head
to the side of his face.  "Are you all right, Mulder?" she
asked, struggling to keep her voice steady and sure.

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, most certainly
unconvincingly.

She looked down at him but only could see shadows on his
face.  Looking up, she turned her attention to his wrist,
scraped and bloodied.   "You know, Mulder," she began,
attempting to convey a sense of normalcy with her voice.
"You'd think you'd realize by now that simply pulling hard
against a handcuff will not cause it to open," she observed
as she unlocked him.

"Maybe I should have tried to remove my thumb," he
murmured, as he dropped his hand.  She could feel the
vibration of his voice through her clothes and against her
skin.  Taking hold of his face, she tilted it up and slowly
bent her knees until she could look him in the eyes.  She
saw such sorrow there as to chill her soul.  "What
happened, Mulder?" she asked.

He released her and took a step back, lowering his eyes
and observing his wrist.  "My hand fell asleep about a half
hour ago," he said as he rubbed it gingerly.  Quickly he
looked into her face and away again.  He held out his hand,
and she took it and hopped down.  "Are you going to tell me
about Mrs. Yates?" he asked, attempting a casual tone of
voice.

Scully watched him closely for a moment, studying his face
as if she would have to sketch it from memory at a later
date.  "She said she was watching out her window, and she
emphasized that she was not spying on anyone.  But she saw
you dragged from the car, handcuffed, and punched.  She
said it was none of her business, mind you, if you want to
live that kind of a life; but she thought I might want to
know, just in case you were dead and I wanted to make
arrangements."  

"The sweet milk of human kindness," he murmured as he
rubbed his hand, avoiding the deep chafing at his wrist.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?"

Mulder kicked at a small pile of cigarette butts.  "Does
that tell you anything?"

Scully nodded grimly.  "That's what I was afraid of."

"Scully, I'd really like to go upstairs now," he said as
if she might refuse to allow it.

"Come on," she said, taking hold of his hand.

"Wait," he said, walking toward the steps, scooping up his
gun where the smoking man had left it and sticking it into
the back of his pants.

"Okay, let's go," he told her and followed after her up
the steps and eventually into the elevator.  As they rode
up to his floor, he stood silently, head bowed, completely
lost within his own reverie.  Scully glanced at him,
frightened of something just beyond her awareness.  She
found herself wishing she never had to hear what had
conquered Mulder's almost impenetrable ability to get past
anything that didn't affect his small circle of loved ones.
 What had he said, the murderous bastard, to affect him to
the point of despair and beyond.  She found herself longing
to wrap her hands around the Smoking Man's wrinkled neck
and squeezing every breath of life from him.

"Scully?" Mulder said.  "We're here."  He gestured at the
open elevator door.

She smiled a little, chagrined and stepped into the hall,
still silent.

Mulder walked slowly, painfully toward his door and
wrestled the new key into the lock.  As the door swung
open, he walked a step inside and stalled.

"Mulder?" Scully inquired, looking around his shoulder.

"Can you hold the door for me, Scully?" he asked in a
strained voice.

"Sure," she responded, watching as he strode toward the
coffee table, which still bore some red ribbon.  He grabbed
it, lifting it and carrying it into the hallway where he
tossed it to the floor, turned on his heel and walked back
inside.

Scully continued to watch, slightly dumbfounded.  

"Coming?" he asked after a minute, and she followed him
back inside.  

"Feel better?"

"Not really," he replied, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Headache?" she observed.

"Everything aches."

She glanced at her watch.  "Well, I can get you your pain
meds and your antibiotic," she offered, wanting to do
something, anything, to feel as if she were useful in his
recovery.

He nodded, head bowed, eyes closed.

"I'll get you something to drink," she offered and went
into his kitchen as he lowered himself gingerly onto the
couch.

"Good luck," he said flatly.

Scully opened his refrigerator and was faced with very few
options.  "Do you want some sort of blue fluid with a
peeled label or some just barely feasible juice?"

"Juice," he replied.  "Just bring the carton."

She rolled her eyes and brought the carton, fishing his
medication from her coat pockets and handing him the doses.

He threw back the pills quickly and proceeded to drain the
carton. Having done so, he glanced furtively around for
somewhere to place it in the absence of his coffee table. 
Scully held out her hand, he gave her the carton, and she
went to the kitchen to dispose of it.

When she came back, she was uncertain as to whether he was
awake or not.  His head was flung back against the couch,
and his eyes were closed.  But he sighed once and she
approached him, sitting next to him and gathering up his
hand.  "How am I going to get this blood off of me,
Scully?" he asked, suddenly plaintive.  "I'm not supposed
to get the stitches wet, and I really don't want to wake up
covered in blood."

"Well," she said, looking him over.  "You can use a
washcloth in the sink."

"What about my hair?" he asked, pushing a hand against it.

"Why don't you wash up and then come into the kitchen, and
I'll wash it in the sink?"

He smiled a little.  "Then will you wrap me up in a warm
towel and tuck me into bed?"

Scully put her hand on his shoulder.  "If you want."

His smile faded, and he rolled his shoulders wearily. 
"Thanks, Scully."

"Don't mention it," she replied and watched him pull
himself to his feet and go through his bedroom door.

She sat silently for a moment and wondered how long it
would be until he could manage to tell her the details of
what had happened in the basement.  It chilled her that he
had not parted with the facts yet.  She wasn't even sure of
what he was feeling, and that was what frightened her the
most.  Fear?  Pain?  Sorrow?  Grief?  A mixture of all? 
She couldn't decipher the person she felt she knew better
than anyone else in the world, and that made her feel as if
her heart was beating in an irregular rhythm. 

Pushing the palms of her hands against her legs, she got
to her feet and realized her body ached as well.  It had
been a long day, a long few days. She was bone tired, and
she had nowhere to sleep tonight, nowhere to call her own.

Stooping down, she plucked some red ribbon from his carpet
and balled it up in her hand, suddenly filled with anger at
Amber, the Smoking Man, with the world and the way it
seemed to single out people for torment while leaving
others to live their lives in peace.  She walked briskly
into the kitchen and tossed the ribbon in the garbage.



Scully was scrubbing out Mulder's sink when he appeared in
clean running pants and a t-shirt and bare feet, holding
shampoo and a towel.  He cocked his head sheepishly when
she noticed him.  "You don't have to do this, Scully.  It's
kind of..." he grimaced.

"I'm a pathologist, Mulder.  Do you really think some
blood in your hair is going to gross me out?"

He shrugged.  "It grosses me out."

"That's just amazing, Mulder, after all you've seen."     


"Does anything gross you out, Scully?" he asked as he
watched her pull a chair up to the sink and pat it for him
to sit down.

"Umm, anchovies."

"Anchovies?" he laughed a little, as he sat.

"Fish on pizza," she shuddered a little.  

"What do you want me to do?" he asked.

"Just... cross your arms, lay your head down, and I'll do
the rest."

"I've been waiting to hear that all of my life."

"Mm-hm," she replied as she tested the water for
temperature, and he did as he was told.

He moaned a little when she began to run the warm water
over his head.  "Too hot?" she asked.

"No, it feels good," he answered rather thickly as if he
might drift off.  "Really, really good." 

She grinned.  "I'm glad."  She opened his shampoo and
recognized part of what she thought of as his scent. 
Pouring some into her palm, she began to massage it into
his hair, pulling carefully at some of the knots with her
fingers.  "Am I hurting you?" she asked.

He chuffed out a small, ironic laugh.  "No, Scully. 
You're not hurting me."  He ruminated on the idea that she
was the first person in what seemed like a long time that
had touched him without intending to cause him pain.  Her
fingers pushed against his scalp with a rhythmic movement,
easing, breaking up small chunks of agony, although his
chest hurt with the words that he had pulled inside of his
heart; the words that he felt had a good chance of killing
him. 

She began to rinse the shampoo, and he let out a small
groan as she turned off the water.  "Done already?" he
complained, although he was more saddened than disappointed
by the departure of her touch.  

"Yup," she replied as she reached for the towel.

"You're too damn efficient, that's your problem," he told
her as she put the towel over his head and rubbed at his
hair.  When she removed the towel, his hair stood up in
spikes all over his head and she laughed a little.

"What?" he said, frowning.

"At the risk of sounding sixteen, you're cute."

He looked at her skeptically.  "Dana Scully just used the
word cute to describe me.  I think hell is feeling a very
brisk breeze, if not some snow."

"Mock me if you will," she responded, handing him the
towel.  It felt good to talk in their usual manner.  It
seemed to keep the demons away, if only briefly.

He took the towel and using his uninjured hand, he rubbed
at his head as he followed her back into the living room.  

Scully sat on his couch and looked up at him.  "Can I stay
here tonight, Mulder?" she asked.

He looked closely at her. "You know you don't have to ask
me that, Scully.  Of course, you can stay here."  He joined
her on the couch.  "Is your apartment that bad?"

She dropped her head low.  "Not a stone on a stone," she
said sadly.  "The worst part..." She glanced at him and
shook her head.

"What?"

"I don't want you to take this on.  It's not your fault."

"I hereby swear not to take it on.  What's the worst
part?"

Still, she hesitated but felt she needed to say the words,
to test whether she could bear the reality.  "She took all
of my photo albums." Her voice was unsteady so she took a
deep breath, covering her eyes with her fingertips.  "She
took my photo albums and ripped them up, tearing out my
pictures and..." Her voice failed her.

Mulder wrapped his arms around her shoulders, tucking her
deeply inside his arms.  "I'm sorry, Scully," he said
quietly.

"You promised me, Mulder," she said sniffing a little.

"I won't take it on," he said thoughtfully and then
reverted to silence.    

"Mulder?"

"Hmm?"

"Remember when we talked about telling your nightmares to
take away their power?"

He nodded.

"Do you think it would do the same for you to tell me what
Cancer Man said?"

"I don't know," he murmured, loosening his embrace without
looking at her.

"It must have been pretty bad," she surmised.

He nodded again.

"Why did he take you, Mulder?"

He took in a deep breath and let it out in a quick rush. 
"Ostensibly to offer to wipe my mind again."

"Ostensibly?"

"He said..."  He broke off and looked toward the window,
swallowing hard.  He pulled his head from one shoulder to
another, stretching out the aching muscles.  "That the rape
memory?"

Scully nodded.

"It was an exercise, a demonstration."

"What?"

"That he would wipe it out for me since there was no
reason for me to keep it now that his purpose is clear."

"Clear to whom?"

"To me.  Scully, he wanted me to know that he was not
limited by any constraint in order to abduct me and put
whatever he wants into my mind.  If he could do it in a
prison, there is no escape for me unless I quit the
X-Files, in which case he'll allow me to have a life."

Scully stood abruptly.  "He put that heinous image into
your brain to demonstrate his ability to do so?"

"In a nutshell."

Her mouth gaped slightly.  "I wouldn't have thought I
could be still be surprised by the depths of his evil," she
murmured.  "I don't even have words to express..." She
shook her head.  "What did you say?"

"Oh the usual.  Fuck off; you know the drill.  I also
threatened to expose him."

"Did that faze him?"

"It seemed to.  He backed off a little.  I don't know. 
Maybe all he wants is for me to think he'll do it.  Maybe
that's enough."

"What are you saying, Mulder?"

He stood up and moved to the center of the floor. Dragging
his hand over his face, he began a slow, steady pace.  "I'm
saying...I don't know, Scully.  I have to at least address
the possibility that he could be right."

"What?" Scully cried out.  "Right about what?"

"Maybe I have thrown my whole life down the black hole of
the X-Files and that every step forward I take is a step on
a path he's pushed me down.  Maybe I am treading water,
waiting for him to point out what he wants me to believe
next.  Is it worth it, Scully?  My refusing to back down
from a life that hasn't gotten me anything but multiple
bullet holes and bones that will most definitely dictate a
move to Arizona in my old age?  Because from where I stand
right now, I see very little that makes me want to get up
in the morning, let alone risk another experience like the
one he made me believe I had in prison."

"Mulder, there must be more.  You knew this all on some
level before he took you tonight.  What would make you buy
into his lies and manipulations so thoroughly?"

"I'm gullible, you know that, Scully.  You've even said it
yourself.  Easily manipulated, that's the general
consensus."

"Mulder, I was talking specifically about cases which have
a connection to Samantha."

"It doesn't matter," he replied, shaking his head.  He
walked over to the window and looked at the streetlights,
feeling as if he were bleeding, even more so than when he
was physically wounded.  At that time he had been able to
ignore his blood, to function, which now he seemed unable
to do.  Now his life source seemed to flow, completely
unimpeded, with no source from which to stem the coursing. 
His knees began to tremble, and his mind felt disjointed
and separate from his surroundings, as if he was about to
take leave of his body.  Drop by drop, he felt his life
fall away--what he knew to be true, what he stood on and
for, ebbing from his reach.  He looked to Scully, who
watched him and didn't seem to realize he was fading away. 


"He said he was my savior, and I laughed at him," he
continued, his voice just above a whisper. "But I'm
beginning to think he's right. He showed me the light
tonight, Scully, and the light is that he and I are two
sides of the same tapestry, woven together in ways I
haven't even begun to understand yet."

"Mulder, you're talking pure lunacy.  By giving credence
to his lies and innuendo, you are handing yourself over to
him." 

"Maybe that's what I need to do.  I can't tell you how
bone weary I am of playing mouse to his never ending
sadistic cat."  He turned himself completely away from her
as she gazed after him in abject horror.

"So, what?  You're going to quit the X-Files to placate
him?"

He nodded quickly but said nothing.

"And then what?"

"I don't know, Scully."

"You don't know," she repeated.  "You don't know?  You're
about to toss aside everything that has kept you going all
these years and you don't know? 

"Scully, can't you just---"

"What, Mulder?  Can I just leave you alone? Can I just
feel sorry for you?"

"Scully."

"Because I am sorry, Mulder.  I'm sorry about everything. 
I'm sorry your sister was taken on your watch, that your
parents were...less than adequate.  I'm sorry for all of
the pain you've suffered.  I'm sorry for everything that
has been done to you with no regard for your humanity. I am
so very sorry.  But I'm not sorry for you, Mulder."  Her
throat grew tight with emotion and she felt her tears fill
her eyes; but she didn't pause to wipe at them, so they
brimmed and spilled over onto her cheeks.  "Because I know
you're capable of moving past this once again, of picking
up the pieces once again and making your life count for
something important and true.  If you don't do that,
Mulder, if you choose to sit here and be safe, I will still
not feel sorry for you.  I would be disappointed...and
angry because I will have been wrong about you, Mulder.  I
would have misjudged you to such a degree that I might
never be able to trust my judgment again."  

She stopped suddenly, and Mulder turned to look at her.
Her words were doing battle in his mind with those of his
enemy, and he considered them respectfully and gratefully. 
He could only just barely make out her features in the
mostly shadowed room and he focused on her from where he
stood with something very near desperation, feeling
completely depleted, as if he had been tossed on a wild sea
for days, and in many ways he had.  Yet she had stood
steadfastly beside him, refusing to see him laid to waste
at the whim of the man whose words still tossed his soul
into battered wreckage.  And he knew her truth was
omnipresent. He knew his love and trust, perhaps for the
first time in his life, was well borne within her, although
his words had never confirmed what he hoped she knew.

Her eyes clung to his face, waiting to find whether her
words had penetrated the treacherousness that still openly
clung to him, and suddenly she found her courage begin to
crumble.  Turning, she walked exhaustedly to the couch and
sank down on it.  Slowly, gracefully, she folded over
slightly and appeared to crumble. Her hands went to her
face, and her shoulders trembled slightly with her silent
weeping.  It was almost unbearable to Mulder, and it pulled
him from his own sorrows.  "Scully please," he said softly,
going to her and wrapping himself around her.  "Please
don't cry, not for me."

Quickly she snapped her head up to look at him.  "Why,
Mulder?  Why shouldn't I cry for you?"

"Because I'm not--"

"You're what?  You're not worth it?  What if I say you
are?  Will you believe it?"

"Scully."

"Is there anything I can say to combat everything you
believe about yourself, everything you allow those who will
never know you to confirm?  If you don't value yourself,
how can I insist that you do?"

"Please, Scully.  It's more than I can stand to cause you
pain."

"Don't you realize that there is nothing more painful to
me than the thought that he has beaten you and not with any
other tactic than to play upon your downsized view of your
own worth?"  With trembling hands, she touched his face
carefully, gently, mindful of his wounds.   "You have to
try, Mulder.  Tell me you won't give up."

"I don't know if I can promise you that, Scully.  I feel
like I have nothing left."

She clutched both of his hands.  "You have me, Mulder.  We
have each other, don't we?"

He hesitated.

"Mulder?"

He looked into her eyes as if he might find his answers
within their blueness.  "When I used to lay in the room
next to you when we were out of town?"  His expression
asked if she followed and she nodded.  "Sometimes I'd lay
awake all night and wish that I had the courage to crawl
into your arms and beg you to let me stay for just one
night and then another and another.  I know now, after all
that's happened, that I can't lay there alone any more.  I
need to know...if I could believe..."  

He dropped his eyes; and Scully watched him mournfully,
with the realization that he had no concept of the depth of
her love.  "I haven't got much left to lose, Scully; that's
what scares me most.  I have a little faith, next to no
reputation, probably not a sufficient amount of sanity,
maybe another pint or two of blood," he paused and smiled
wryly.  "I can lose all of that and probably keep going."  

He pulled back a little and touched her face with his
fingertips: her forehead, her cheeks, the slant of her jaw
and her eyebrow.  Tears came to his eyes as he imagined his
life after her abandonment; her withdrawal when she
realized his need was too great a burden.  "I can't lose
you, Scully," he whispered, terrified at his self-made
vulnerability.  "But if you think you'll have to leave me,
I'll understand.  I really will.  I just need to know--" He
dropped his head, unable to go on, and Scully joined him in
his silent tears.

"I know you'd understand," she now whispered as well, her
passion straining her voice.  "That's why you make me so
sad."  Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she pulled
him against her and held him tightly, her lips against his
temple.  She trembled with the magnitude of her emotion,
the enormous stakes that rested on the words she would
offer him.  Finally she spoke, her lips against his face. 
"Come into my room.  Come into my bed, into my arms.  I
swear I'll take you in."

She felt him collapse against her, grasp her, as if she
held his very existence in her arms.  Every muscle lost its
tension and every bone molded against her own.  She could
feel him cry against her, although he made no noise, as if
he feared he would be pulled from her arms and beaten if
his cries were overheard.  "It's all right now, Mulder,"
she said over and over again as she stroked his hair and
rocked him slightly.  She felt as if she comforted the boy
along with the man: the boy who had never received the
consolation from those who should have felt at least the
requirement to do so; and the man who carried that burden
on his shoulders, along with every stray blame he could
collect for himself.  Finally, it seemed to her that he had
concluded that his self-perceived loathsomeness precluded
any love that wasn't tainted.  She held him tighter,
pulling his shoulders in against her, loving the man in her
arms with such ferocity that it almost frightened her.    

After a long while from the sound of his breathing, she
realized he had fallen asleep.  She arranged herself so
that she could stay awake and watch over his sleep or at
least be assured if some unknown threat came to him, it
would have to go through her first.



Some days letter, at Mulder's psychiatrist's office:


"No lipstick."

"Oh no, I'm not agreeing to that."

"That's the only way I'm going to let you meet with the
dreamy G-man again, Marilyn."

"I told you.  It was temporary.  He came to me on a
limited basis. By the time I declared him fit for duty, I
realized I had...inappropriate feelings for him.  By that
time, it was a moot point."

"Which is why I'm telling you that you have to agree to
the no lipstick rule."

"Why?" 

"Do you have lipstick on now?"

"No."

"Did you put lipstick on for your last client?"  

"...No."

"I think you see my point."

"Okay, fine.  No lipstick."

"Did he say why he wanted to see you?"

"He said he's had an event that he is having trouble
coping with."

"No details?"

"No."

"He didn't say anything else?"

"He asked me to let his friends come into my office and
check for bugs."

"Was he paranoid when you saw him last?"

"He's not paranoid."

"Marilyn, I think your judgment has been compromised."

"You don't understand.  This man's life is such
that...he's not paranoid, nor is he delusional."

"I didn't say delusional."

"You were thinking it."

"If you're going to read people's minds, you should get a
nine hundred number and make some money at it."

"I have to go.  He's going to be here any time now."

"Seriously, Marilyn, if you feel as if you're unable to be
clinical with your this Agent...what did you say his name
was?"

"Mulder.  Fox Mulder."

"Refer him, Marilyn."

"I will.  I think he's here."

"Marilyn, this is extremely thin ice."

"I'm a professional, Jeanne."  

"No lipstick."



He's out in the outer office now; I can see his shadow
cross the small panes of glass on either side of my office
door.  He's pacing, probably not a good sign.  My heart is
beating a little too quickly--also, not a good sign.  I'll
speak to him this once and then refer him to an appropriate
professional.  

I don't think a little lip-gloss will break the no
lipstick rule.  And I'm going to refer him after today
anyway.

I hesitate at the door before I pull it open; and he turns
to look at me, a little startled. He pulls back and then
grins self-consciously.  "I guess I'm a little jumpy," he
says apologetically.

I hold out my hand.  "It's good to see you," I tell him;
but in all actuality, it's a little disturbing.  His face
is heavily bruised, giving the impression that the beating
he obviously received probably didn't stop there.  As he
walks ahead of me into my office, I notice that he walks
stiffly, guarding some part of himself from further injury.
 His eyes are dark and restless, darting from my face to
the walls and the windows with no obvious point of
sustained interest: all very contrary to the man I got to
know in our earlier sessions.  When I saw him last, he
studied each new stimulus with an almost childlike
interest, tempered with the remarkable quickness of an
exceptionally intelligent adult mind.  Now it seems he only
seeks out possible danger.

Even the way he moves is different, and I have seen him
injured before.  I remember in particular a time when he
presented a mangled arm with alarming cheerfulness,
informing me that it had been inflicted by a half
beast/half man or, to quote his partner, a beast or a
beast-like creature.  But through it all he moved with the
ease of someone who knows his limitations and strengths and
is comfortable with that knowledge.  As I watch him walk
past my office furniture, I realize he is careful now,
uncertain.  The fact that I find it devastating speaks to
my obligation to refer him.    

"Did the guys come by?" he asks as he begins to shrug off
his jacket, pauses and removes it in a studied way.

"Yeah.  They said I'm clean."

"You should be honored.  They don't say that about just
anyone."

"Well then, I'm certainly proud."  I gesture toward my
couch.  

"You haven't gone Freudian on me, have you?" he says with
a small grin.

"No," I answer in kind.  "I just thought you might like to
sit."

"Not yet," he answers cryptically.  "Not yet."

I watch him as he begins to wander around my office,
looking over trinkets and pictures before settling on my
bookcase.  His long fingers touch the bindings, pausing
from time to time.  "Well-rounded," he pronounces.  "Open
minded...sometimes a little gullible."

"Gullible?" I repeat with mock indignation.

"Join the club," he says quietly.  "There's nothing wrong
with being a little gullible," he adds, obviously
attempting an upbeat expression as he turns with a book in
his hands.  "It means you're open to possibility, to hope. 
If you close yourself off to protect yourself from looking
foolish, you also close yourself off from the possibility
of gaining wisdom."

"That's an interesting philosophy."

"It's probably bullshit.  But I had to come up with
something that explained my behavior to my superiors."

"What have you got there?" I ask him, gesturing to the
book in his hands.

He raises it a little.  "I wrote an essay that was
published in this book."

"You're kidding!" I exclaim, walking over to him and
holding out my hand.

He passes it to me with his finger stuck within it, and I
open it where he indicated.  "Permutation Propensities of
Misanthropic Psychosis," I read, looking up at him with a
little bemusement.  "You may have to interpret."

"It's the story of a boy and his dog," he says with a
self-effacing shrug.

"I see," I say as I place the book face down on my desk,
eager to read his work.

As I turn back to him, I see his exhaustion played out on
his face; it's not the first time I've seen that
expression.   But this time it's mixed with something less
ordinary, much more disturbingly dark.  "Are you going to
tell me why you're here, Mulder?"

"I guess that's mandatory."

"Nothing's mandatory here."

He presses his lips together and nods.  "Do you think I'm
delusional?" he asks with no preamble.

"No.  Not to my knowledge."

"You may now.  I have to tell you something; it's part of
a very complicated series of events.  It will make me sound
as if I am out of touch with reality.  But Agent Scully can
confirm anything that you might have trouble believing."

I nod, slightly apprehensive but curious.

"I'm hoping you'll allow yourself to be put in a position
where you might be perceived as gullible," he says,
lowering his head and looking up at me hopefully and I know
that there is nothing he would tell me that I wouldn't take
completely at his word.  But as he spins the story of
malevolent villains and young girls intent on the ruination
of his life and their own and crimes committed solely in
the sphere of the mind, I find myself torn between two
realities: either Agent Mulder is insane or there is
another world, a world to which I have been completely
oblivious up until this night.  

I don't know what to say for a moment after he winds down
to a finish, but I can see he is spent from the telling. 
"Would you like some tea?" I ask, reminding myself of my
grandmother for a moment.

He looks up, seemingly surprised to find me here.  "Yes,
thank you," he answers and then lowers his head again.

As I get the tea, I count my breaths, forcing a slower
intake and output; and I try to gain perspective.  How do
you treat a man who has been raped but hasn't?  My
inclination is to treat him as if he was physically
assaulted.  It seems to make sense.  But so much of his
story lacks a touchstone on which to build my therapeutic
approach.  In what book will I find examples of a man whose
mind is in constant danger of being overtaken, which has no
respite, no haven?  Should there be any comfort for him? 
Would that just make him more vulnerable?  Is it possible
to be more vulnerable?  And all of this is built on the
belief that the entire episode is not a psychotic fantasy.

I am over my head.  But I can't refer him.  I know that
now.  I was committed from the time I agreed to hear his
tale.  Any other psychologist would press hard to have him
committed.  And if they decided to treat him, they would
treat him as a complete schizophrenic, entirely out of
touch with reality.  But I believe him.  Maybe that makes
me as crazy as others might find him.  But I believe in his
pain and the crimes against him, and I believe that he
needs as many people as possible to tell him this.  I
believe...I've put myself into a bad position that there is
no getting out of now.



When I return to my office with two mugs of tea, he turns
smiling slightly.  "I was beginning to think you made a run
for the border."

I return his smile.  "I thought about it," I tell him as I
hand him his tea.  "I didn't know what you took--"

"So you added Thorazine?"

"Nope, just black."
 
"I appreciate the vote of confidence," he answers as he
sips at the tea, wincing slightly.

"Mulder," I begin, and he looks up at me expectantly. 
"I'm not a rape counselor per se."

"I would say that puts us on equal footing."

"I don't agree.  In my frame of thinking, you've been
sexually assaulted three times in the course of the last
few days."

"I'd like to know how you came to that conclusion."

"Amber attacked you twice, once in your apartment and once
in the hotel."

"Amber didn't realize what she was doing."

"I think you know that her intent has little consequence
on the fact that she attempted to coerce sexual contact
with violence."

"Okay, but I don't feel violated by her.  Not really."

"I think that speaks more to your worldview than the
reality of the situation."

"You think my perception is tainted by my life
experience," he replies thoughtfully.

"Yes."

"So how does that effect what we need to do here?"

"I don't know yet," I admit.  "But I think it may be
significant.  I think we should discuss it, along with the
prison rape, as we go along."     

"You want to treat me as if I've been physically raped?"
he asks, placing his thumb just inside his lips and chewing
slightly.

"To my way of thinking, you have been raped; and I think
we should proceed from that point."

He nods thoughtfully.  "I feel like accepting the rape
memory as reality is an insult to people who have actually
lived through the trauma of it."

"But you have lived through it.  What happens in the mind
can be equally as devastating as what happens to the body. 
You are completely entitled to your pain, and nobody has to
validate it."

He considers my words, and I wonder if he will debate
them.  But in the end, he simply nods, eyes closed.

"Can I ask you some questions about your motives for
coming to me?"

"Sure."

"Why did you come here?"

He doesn't answer immediately, his bandaged hand almost
completely obscuring his mouth as he considers.  "I have a
history with you.  I hoped you wouldn't immediately have me
shrink wrapped."

"Shrink wrapped?"

He crosses his arms across his body as if he were in a
straight jacket and gives me a weary look with a raised
eyebrow that asks if understand.

I smile a little and nod.  "Is that the only reason you
came to me?" 

He stills, and I realize he has been in constant motion
since his arrival.  I had forgotten that aspect of him.  I
notice as he continues to hold his hand against his mouth
and his sleeve falls away from his wrist that he has
another bruise there.  It causes a small shudder to course
through my body, and I hope he hasn't noticed.  I sneak a
look at him, and he is still lost in his thoughts.  "I
promised my partner that I would try.  I didn't think I
could fulfill that promise on my own," he finally admits.

"Anything else?"

"I told him...the man who abducted me...that I would never
just lay down for him.  It was a bluff."  

"So you've come here to appease your partner and to
challenge the man who tries to control you?"

"Yes."

"What about you?"

"Is this where you tell me I can't get well unless I want
to get well for me?"

"Yes, Mulder.  This is where I tell you that."

"I want to be able to function.  I'm not sure I have it in
me to be completely emotionally healthy.  There's too much
poisoned water under the bridge.  But I don't want to be a
grasping, drooling mass of pathetic need either."

"A grasping, drooling mass of pathetic need?  Is that how
you see yourself?"

He shakes his head and then nods.  "I've been more than a
little needy the last few days.  My partner has had to bear
the burden of it."

"And you think she sees you as pathetic?"

He sighs and closes his eyes.  "I fell asleep on her last
night, after falling to pieces...crying.  Wouldn't you say
that qualifies as pathetic?"

"I wonder if I could put a different perspective on it for
you."

He nods a little.

"If Agent Scully had been through a similar traumatic
event, would you prefer that she kept up a brave front or
would you want her to express her pain, trust you with her
devastation?"  

His expression turns even darker.  I have said something
unimaginably distressing.  "I would have wanted her to come
to me," he says, his voice low, as if he feared the
overhearing.  

"Then I think you can interpret her feelings to be similar
concerning you, don't you think?" I ask gently, unwilling
to prod the grief I seemed to have stoked.

"I think..."  He trails off, his mind turning some old
pain around.  "I don't really want to talk about this right
now."

"Okay, that's fine," I tell him as he glances at his
watch.  "We don't have a lot of time left and I'd like to
get some incidentals out of the way."

"Incidentals?"

I hesitate, thinking my words through.  "I'd need you to
be more co-operative than you were in our last sessions." 

"I was being forced to attend last time, to keep my job. 
I don't like to be forced..." He trails off, his eyes
skimming over the room again, searching.  "I don't like to
be forced to do anything."

"I completely understand."

"I think I can promise to be more open.  I can try."

"Then I think we can work together."

He dips his head once, which is his acceptance.

"Do you have any caveats?"

He shrugs, his eyes still roaming.  "I don't want to
rehash my childhood unless it's extremely relevant." 

"Why is that?"

"I've spent too much time on it already.  I'm sick of it. 
Just write in your notes that my sister was abducted when I
was twelve.  You know that, right?"

I nod.  Sometimes silence encourages communication.

"You can add that my parents blamed me, almost
exclusively, my mother withdrawing, my father..."

"Your father?"

"It feels like I've been talking about my dad throughout
this ordeal."

"Maybe you've made some kind of subconscious connection."

"Between my father and rape?"

"Or abuse."

"Did I say he abused me?"

"No."

He nods brusquely, grimly.  "He beat the hell out of me."

"I'd say that's abuse."

"It wasn't sexual."

"I understand."

He has paused and is obviously turning things over in his
mind.  Glancing at me from time to time, he silently
ruminates.  "I don't want to talk about this.  Not now. 
Just...just put it in your notes, in case you need the
information."

"Okay," I say scratching on my pad.  "So you don't want to
follow this line.  What do you want to talk about?"

He studies me as if I had asked him to do a handspring. 
"What I want to talk about bears no relation to what I have
to talk about."

I smile a little at him, and we both turn as we hear my
outer office door open and close.  He turns back to me, and
I am reminded of what I used to silently refer to as his
Scully face--a general relaxing sprinkled with barely
concealed delight.  "My partner is picking me up," he tells
me.

"Why's that?"

"She feels my pain medication may affect my ability to
drive; and she wants me to take a break from risking my
life, at least through the weekend."

"We've got just a few more minutes.  Do you want to tell
me what your reactions have been since the rape memory
surfaced?"

"Vomiting.  Lots and lots of vomiting."

"As a result of flashbacks?"

"Yeah."

"Sleep problems?"

He looks down and up again.  Something is pleasant about
this question.  I can't imagine what.  "I've had
nightmares," he offers, glancing in the direction where
Scully waits.

"And your feelings?"

He sighs.  "Straight textbook, now that I think about it. 
Probably the first time in my life I could be considered
normal."

"What do you consider straight textbook?"

"Depression.  Anxiety.  Rage," he says flatly as if he
were discussing a stranger's case.  He glances at the door
again, and I know I have completely lost his focus.  He
simply wants to go to her; and I know, at this moment, I am
only impeding him.  

"Can we meet twice a week?" I ask.   

He raises his eyebrows.  "That may be hard.  Can we go
week by week?"

"Yeah."

He reaches his hand out to me, and I hold it carefully. 
"I want to thank you for believing what I told you.  It
couldn't have been easy."

"You're welcome," I say simply, mostly because I find I
can't touch him and produce coherent conversation.  A point
I will not discuss with Jeanne.

He releases me and grabs his jacket from the chair in
which he had flung it and heads for the door, with me
closely behind him.

"How did it go?" Scully asks, taking hold of his arm
before she sees me.  "Oh, hello," she says, releasing him
and holding out her hand.  

"Hello, Agent Scully.  It's nice to see you again."

"Thank you," she answers, turning her eyes on Mulder.  As
I watch them together, I know their relationship has
changed somehow.  He watches her face with open affection,
and she smiles back at him with no reservation.  Some wall
has been toppled; some previously uncrossed border stepped
past and left behind.  I feel happy for them and something
less unselfish that I won't name.  I notice, most of all,
that his eyes have stopped their constant search and have
rested on her face.  I see very clearly that he sought out
what she provides to him. 

"Can we meet on Tuesday?" I ask.

He nods receptively.  "I'll be here."

We say our goodbyes, and they walk out.  I wonder long
after they go whether their relationship changed as a
result of his trauma or whether something independent from
that reshaped their lives.




"So are you going to refer him?"

"I can't."

"And why not?"

"I can't say.  Doctor-patient."

"Convenient.  What was he wearing?"

"Black jeans, a black lightweight v-neck sweater with a
t-shirt underneath, also black, and black lace-up boots."

"What did Joseph Greenburgh wear this morning to his
session?"

"What?"

"Mr. Greenburgh. What was he wearing?"

"Shut up."

"Refer him."

"Jeanne, he's in love with someone.  He has no interest in
me."

"And we both know that isn't the point."

"I can be professionally distant."

"Mm-hmm."

"I'm going now."

"I'm worried about you."

"Thank you.  Good night."

I hang up and call my therapist, realizing it's going to
be a long road for Mulder and me.

   
 

Five months later:


"Hey it's our favorite G-Woman!"

"Hi, George," Scully said with a smile as she rushed
through the door, a sweep of snow close behind her.  "Wow,
it looks great in here," she added as she looked around the
bar, taking in the Christmas decorations.

George grinned secretively.  "Thanks, Dana.  Want
something to drink?"

"Do you have anything warm?  I'm freezing," she told him
as she stomped her feet.

"Why don't you come back to the office?  Alex has a crock
pot with spiced cider in there."

"Sounds good," she replied, following him as he walked out
from behind the bar and through a vestibule completely
festooned with colored lights and evergreen.  "I'm supposed
to meet Mulder here," she said, touching the evergreen as
she walked through.

"Yeah, I know.  He's going to be none too happy that you
arrived early."

"Why's that?"

"Oh, I'm sure he'd rather tell you."  They walked through
the office door, and Scully was taken aback by the quiet
elegance of the office in comparison with the bar.  "So,
how've you been?" he asked as he ladled a cup of cider into
a Christmas cup and handed it to her.  

"Good," she answered.  "Thanks," she added as she took the
mug from him and sipped carefully.  

"How is it?" George asked, expectantly.

"Mm, wonderful.  My father used to make something very
similar at Christmas.  He was always tinkering with the
recipe."

"This is Alex's recipe.  I'm not even allowed to watch him
make it."

"Where is Alex?"

"He's out Christmas shopping.  How are you doing?"

"With my Christmas shopping?"  She made a slight grimace.

"Me too," George replied and fell silent for a moment. 
"Dana," he said softly.

Scully cocked her head, raising her eyebrows.  

"I'm going to ask you something; and if you're the least
bit uncomfortable about it, I want you to tell me to go
chase my tail."  He looked at her questioningly.

Scully nodded, a little apprehensive.

"Do you think Fox would mind if you gave me a little
update on his progress?"

Scully made her way to a leather wing chair and settled
herself gracefully before looking up at him.  "Have you
asked him?" she inquired gently.

"Yeah. He makes with the jokes.  And I know...I know that
this experience he had isn't something that he'll just wake
up cured from someday.  But he seems more like himself the
last month or so, and I just..." He trailed off.

Scully fingered the mug, following the gold rim with her
finger.  "What do you want to know?"

"I just...I want to know if...how is he coping?  Does he
still have the nightmares?"

"Sometimes," she answered carefully, always on Mulder's
guard.

"The flashbacks?"

"He told you about the flashbacks?"

"He had one when he was here.  It wasn't too long after it
all went down.  We had to pull him off some poor guy. 
After he recovered, he apologized; bought the guy a drink;
bought the whole bar a drink.  But he quit coming for a
long while after that."

Scully sighed.  "He has them from time to time.  But they
aren't as vivid, and he can get control over them most of
the time."

George nodded, and Scully could see the concern in his
eyes, the love.  "He's pretty good, George, really.  I
think he's going to be able to get past it, to move on."  

"Did the man... the man who did this to him... has he
contacted him again?"

"No," Scully answered, raising her eyebrows slightly and
then taking another sip.  "That doesn't mean he won't. He's
unpredictable at best."

"And at worst?"

"I don't think you really want to know."

George nodded gravely.  "You're probably right."

Scully watched George's face as he wore his love and
concern for Mulder openly, without hesitation  "You've been
a good friend to him, George.  It means a lot to him.  It
means a lot to me."  She grinned affectionately at him. He
sat back into his office chair, returning her smile with a
grateful nod and joining her with his own cup of cider. 
She felt comfortable, knowing that she wasn't required to
make conversation.  Instead she let her eyes wander as she
sipped, her eyes resting on a portrait on his bookshelves:
Mulder, his arms wrapped around a dark-haired woman, much
shorter than he, her back to the camera as she held him;
only her face recognized the camera's presence.  She
glanced over her shoulder, her head pressed against
Mulder's chest, a shimmering smile on her face.  Mulder's
expression matched the woman's; he looked as if he couldn't
even begin to conceive of a time she would not be just as
she was in the picture.

"It's my sister," George offered.

"That's what I thought," Scully answered a little
chagrined to have been caught studying the framed photo.

George retrieved the picture and handed it to her.  "I
don't know what Fox told you."

"Just what he termed the bare bones.  I don't even know
her name."

"Claire."

"Claire," she repeated, trying the name on the woman she
had imagined.  

"It's a very sore subject for him still; for my sister as
well."  He watched her as she gazed at the picture, feeling
as if he should mount some sort of defense for his sister. 
"I don't want you to think she's purposefully hurtful," he
said carefully.

"I didn't think that."

"Did he tell you why she left him?"

"Yes," she answered, handing the picture back to him.

He held it gently in his hand.  "I used to blame her, and
then I just wondered.  They seemed so right; I couldn't
imagine why destiny hadn't taken a hand and brought them
back together.  I have to say I lost some faith.  But now I
think I know why it never came to pass."

She didn't look up at him, not even to acknowledge his
pause, but the smallest of smiles played upon her lips, as
if she were about to hear the sweet ending of a beloved
story.

"I think...I think everything that has happened to him has
brought him to you.  It's like the angels felt he might not
appreciate the gift if he hadn't gone through the various
fires before he met you."

"I think he could have done without the occasional
conflagration."

"You won't get an argument from me on that point.  But,
Dana, I'd feel remiss if I never told you how grateful I am
that you were sent into his life."

"It's funny," Scully observed quietly.  "It's possible
that the man responsible for so much of our pain
orchestrated my meeting the man I would grow to treasure
with my heart and soul."  Scully caught herself,
unaccustomed as she was to laying her feelings for Mulder
out for anyone to see.  But when she looked into George's
face, she felt sure her expression of love was safe with
him.

"You know, when Fox was paired with you, he had very
little to say about it.  But it wasn't long before he
mentioned his respect for you and then, after a while, his
careful trust.  He trusted you before he loved you, Dana. 
I think that's what's made all the difference."

She thought about his words and sipped again at her cider.
 "I've needed to find him as well, George," she finally
admitted.  "It's not just about my fulfilling his need."

"I think that's the way with any relationship that has
lasting power."

"Do you think that about us?" Scully queried.

"I haven't the smallest doubt," he answered resolutely. 
"It gives me hope.  Maybe the world does turn around to be
right eventually.  Even when it seems impossible."  He
ducked his head and laughed a little.

"What?" Scully asked warmly.

"I am perhaps the most hopelessly romantic individual on
the face of the earth."

She smiled at him.  "I think you're very charming."

He placed his hand over his chest and dipped his head. 
"I'm honored." 

"Hey!" Mulder's voice called out from the bar.  "It's the
FBI!  Come out with your hands away from your body!"

George and Scully glanced at each other and rose to go and
greet him.

"Or whoever's body," he added mildly.  "Alex!  George!" 
Mulder called again as George walked through the threshold
first.  "Hey!" he called out.  "There you are!"  Scully
stepped out from behind George.  "Scully!"  He threw his
hands up in frustration.  "What the hell are you doing
here?"

"Nice to see you too, Mulder."

"I thought you were going to be here..." He looked at his
watch.  "You weren't supposed to be here for another thirty
minutes."

"What can I tell you, Mulder?  For once the meeting was
efficiently run."

"Just my luck." He shrugged a little and approached her. 
"How long have you been here?"

"Long enough for me to impart all of your deep, dark
secrets," George kidded.

"I don't have any secrets from Scully," Mulder said
matter-of-factly.  

"Merry Christmas, everyone!"  Alex called out as he came
through the door.  "Wait a minute," he said as he noticed
Scully.  "Am I late?"

"Late for what?" Scully asked, finally suspicious. 

"No, she's early," Mulder replied, ignoring her question.

"Mulder," she said, a slightly threatening tone to her
voice.  "Early for what?"

"A little winter wonderland, Scully," Mulder replied as he
nodded at George, who reached under the bar and flipped a
switch, causing the bar to become completely engulfed in
what seemed like millions of twinkling lights.  Scully
pivoted, her face tilted upward in awe of the unexpected
beauty.  "George," she said, with a smile on her face. 
"It's beautiful."

"Fox did it all," George said with a pleased expression on
his face.

Scully turned quickly and looked at Mulder, bewildered and
slightly amused.  "You did this, Mulder?"

He smiled and nodded, suddenly a little shy, but impressed
with his accomplishment.

"Why?"

"Well, I wanted to do something...a little over the top
for you, Scully."

She continued to turn in a small, slow circle as lights
twinkled and blinked all around her.  "Well. It's
definitely over the top."

"Don't you like it?" Mulder asked, suddenly anxious.

"It's beautiful," Scully answered, touching his arm
reassuringly.  "But why here?  Why now?"

"I did it here because I thought you might not appreciate
me turning your apartment into Times Square, and my
apartment just doesn't lend itself to..."

"Magical displays of romantic intention?" Alex filled in
happily.

Mulder frowned slightly at him.  "I'm not sure I would
have put it that way, but...yeah."

Scully looked up and around with new eyes, finally
settling on Mulder's hope-filled face.  "It's beautiful,"
she told him lovingly.

He grinned a little, obviously delighted.  "But...why--"
she stuttered, taken aback. 

He took her by the elbow and walked away from the others,
leading her to a booth in the back.  "I was just thinking,
Scully.  Every time we have any kind of emotional moment,
it's tied to some kind of horrific tragedy.  I thought it
might be nice to try and make a beautiful experience."

"Are we going to have an emotional moment, Mulder?" Scully
asked, a little teasing in her voice.

"I hope so," Mulder answered, taking in a deep breath.

"Now, Fox?" Alex called after him.

"Now," Mulder replied over his shoulder.

Celine Dion's voice suddenly surrounded them at all sides
as "My Heart Will Go On" filled the bar expansively. 
"Alex!" Mulder yelled angrily.

"It's romantic," Alex shouted back.

"George!" Mulder appealed loudly.

"I'll take care of it," he called back, amused.

Abruptly, the music halted.  "There are worse things than
drowning in icy water," Mulder observed as jazz-tinged
Christmas music replaced the anthem.  "Thank you," he
called out as he shrugged of his overcoat and then helped
Scully do the same.  

Scully slid into the booth. Mulder followed after her,
reaching around to the booth behind him before retrieving a
large, square present and setting it on the table. 
"Mulder," Scully complained.  "I have your present at
home."

"You can give it to me later," Mulder replied, nudging the
gift toward her.

"But it's not even Christmas.  I thought we were going to
have Christmas night together."

"We are," he answered, nudging the gift again.

"Mulder," Scully, attempted once more, a little less
adamantly.

"Scully," he echoed, giving the gift a final push.

She rolled her eyes and took hold of the box, fixing him
with an exasperated look that he didn't acknowledge as she
began to release the ribbon.

"Come on, Scully.  Tear into it."

"You do things your way, Mulder, and I'll do them mine,"
she stated as she gently ran her fingers under the tape.

"Can't you do things my way just this time?"

"It might set a precedent," she answered as she took the
paper from the box, folding it and setting it aside.

Mulder sighed dramatically as she turned the box around.

"Just...just lift the top off," Mulder told her
impatiently.

Scully did as he demanded, shaking her head.  Folding back
the tissue paper, she found an elegant photo album.  "Oh,
Mulder," she said under her breath.  "It's beautiful."

"Open it," he said agitatedly.

Scully looked into his face and raised her eyebrows
questioningly before turning back to the book.  Slowly,
gently, she opened the cover and gasped, placing her
fingertips over her lips.

"It's your pictures," Mulder explained, as if her stunned
silence indicated her lack of understanding.

She began to flip; one page after another was filled with
the pictures that Amber had destroyed.  "Mulder, how...?"

"I gathered them up and organized the pieces, and then I
brought them to a man who specializes in restoring
pictures."

"When...?  How...?"

Mulder smiled happily; her reaction was everything he had
dreamed about.  "You know the night when I fell asleep with
you on my couch?"

"You...you got up and went to my apartment?"  

"I woke up from a nightmare, and I couldn't go back to
sleep.  I kept thinking about your family pictures laying
torn to pieces because of me."

"Mulder, you know--"

"I know you didn't blame me.  I blamed me.  But it wasn't
only that.  I felt like I could never pay you back for how
you stood so steadfastly beside me, believed in my ability
to put the pieces of my life back together.  It hit me that
this might be a very fitting way of expressing my
gratitude...and my love, Scully."

Quickly, her eyes leapt to his face.  He had never said
the words since the night she had expressed her love for
him.

Mulder lowered his eyes and then met hers again.  "I
know," he whispered.  "I...I haven't said it.  It was
purposeful.  Not because I don't return your feelings; I
think you know in your heart that I do, that I have for a
very long time.  But I didn't want to say it while I was on
such shaky emotional ground. I didn't want you to ever
doubt my state of mind when I told you.  So I waited," he
said under his breath, glancing away from her again,
smiling winsomely.  "I think though, Scully, I think this
might be peak sanity for me.  If I wait for complete mental
health to be visited upon me, you'd grow old waiting."

Scully touched his face, shaking her head in disagreement.

Mulder placed his hand over hers.  "I know you don't
agree, and I want you to know I still trust your judgment
in every other area."

"Mulder, you don't have to say it, if you don't feel
ready."

"But I am ready, Scully.  Hell, I'm beyond ready.  I've
practiced what I want to tell you in the car, in the
shower, during target practice.  I'm pretty sure Agent
Williams thinks I'm picking out china for the two of us." 
He shook his head wearily.  "Only you and I would put this
much thought into the speaking of three words we both know
the truth of."  He turned in his seat and took her hands in
his, looking deeply into her eyes.  His world felt as if it
were slowing down and speeding up without rhyme or reason. 
"I love you, Scully.  I love you more than my own life," he
felt his tears and blinked them back quickly, wanting to
see her face clearly as she focused completely on his
words.  "You stretch over and below me, like heaven and
earth; securing and sheltering me, offering me your
strength like wings.  For years I have depended completely
on your faith without telling you with any conviction what
you have meant to me, what you continue to mean to me."

He pulled back a little and then gathered her up, placing
his chin on the top of her head.  Feeling her tremble
lightly, he stroked her hair.  "You are the only person I
have ever known in whom my faith was well placed, in whom
my love was well borne.  Forgive me for taking so long to
tell you, for taking the chance that I might never have
told you.  "I love you, Scully," he whispered nuzzling the
top of her head slightly.  "I'll always love you."   

He felt her grip tighten around him and her lips venture a
small kiss above his shirt collar.  "And I love you,
Mulder.  I didn't know I was capable of loving anyone as
much as I love you."  She reached up and took his face in
her hands and kissed him; once, and then once again, a
little more deeply.  "It means so much to me; all that
you've done and said today.  And this gift..." She sat up
slightly and touched a page with her fingertip.  "It is,
far and away, the most meaningful gift I have ever
received."

"Better than the key chain?"

"Even better than that.  And I was pretty sure that one
couldn't be surpassed."

"It was a challenge."

She nestled in again, buzzing with joy and long held
dreams coming to fruition.  "So now what do we do?" she
asked against his chest.

"What?" he replied with a small laugh.

"I love you, you love me; what do you want to do about
it?"

"Scully, are you asking me to come see your etchings?"

"I don't have etchings, but I have a lot of new
furniture," she offered, placing her hand on his thigh.

"I know," he countered.  "I was with you when you bought
it."

She moved her head away from where it rested so that she
could look into his face; he was a little hesitant but
deeply delighted, so she reached up and took hold of his
head along his jaw and touched his lower lip with her
thumbs.  His smile faded and his face took on a look
similar to an expression she had seen when an X-File had
captured his entire unshakable focus, but with a new
addition she had never seen before: his completely
uncloaked desire was discernable in his every feature, from
the smokiness of his eyes to the slight pout of his mouth. 
She began to stretch up to meet his lips; but he moved more
quickly and captured hers instead, pulling her deeply
within his passion. Scully felt for the first time that she
understood from firsthand experience what it was to have
one's breath taken away.  When he broke the kiss, he pulled
back as if he feared she might rebuke him, his eyes fixed
on her hands as she gathered his hands up in her lap. 
Glancing once at her face and then studying her expression,
he found passion to match his own and he kissed her once
more.  She heard him gasp slightly in the back of his
throat and she paused, pushing his hair back with her
fingers.   "Okay?"  She asked.

He smiled a little shyly, running his tongue over his lips
and tasting her there.  "I don't think okay covers it,
Scully."

"I mean...this isn't causing you to..."

"Flashback?  No.  Really no, Scully."

"Good," she said throatily.

"I'm just worrying about whether you ever found the
curtains you wanted to go with your new comforter," he said
in a tone that spoke little of decorating.         

"As a matter of fact," she said, pulling his hand up to
her mouth and kissing his knuckles one by one, "I found
just what I wanted."  She looked up at him and was
overwhelmed by the expression of love he wore.  "Do you
want to see?"

"More than anything," he replied, kissing her forehead
tenderly.

"Then, Mulder, come home with me."

He nodded.  "I think I may have been waiting my whole life
to hear you say that."



George watched in a way that he hoped was surreptitious. 
Mulder's happiness felt so well achieved and happily owned
to him that he found it difficult to tear his eyes away,
although propriety nagged at him and he did so from time to
time.  When Mulder pulled himself from the booth and
slipped his coat on and turned to help Scully in his own
uniquely courtly way, George felt his affection for him
overtake him once again.  He was like a much beloved
brother to him, one who had been away so long and now had
seemingly returned.

He laughed a little as Mulder twirled Scully, once, twice
under his arm and swept her up like a dark, gangly thirties
movie star.  He danced a few simple steps with her, almost
obscuring her from vision within the sleeves of his black
overcoat.  But when she came into view again, she completed
the movie star picture with her face transformed with
luminescent love.

Reaching for her gift, she trotted back to him and they
approached the bar at which George attempted a preoccupied
and overworked air.

"Thanks, George, for everything," Mulder said as he came
near.

"T'wernt nuthin'," George replied with a smile as Alex
looked on, towel in hand.

With a quick, unexpected motion, Mulder hoisted himself up
over the bar and kissed George's forehead in one swift,
startling motion.  "It was everything," he told him as he
lowered himself back to his feet and tucked Scully under
his arm.

"Hey!" Alex cried out.  "What about me?"

"I'll let you know if things don't work out with Scully,"
Mulder replied, laughing as Scully elbowed him sharply,
obviously in love with the idea of being spoken for.

"Don't hold your breath," Scully chided with a full smile
as she passed under Mulder's arm and into the snowy
afternoon.

George caught a glimpse of them before the door closed as
Mulder opened his coat and pulled Scully inside. He almost
saw the kiss that followed.

Alex sighed.  "I love a happy ending, don't you?"

"That, my friend, was a beginning," George replied,
feeling quite content with the world. 

<http://starmekitten.8m.com/jamie/>