From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 5 Feb 2007 13:38:31 -0000
Subject: NEW:  Shred of Doubt 5 of 9 by Jo-Ann Lassiter and Vickie Moseley
Source: direct

Reply To: Jolassi555@cs.com, and@diviy.pair.com, vmoseley@gmail.com


Shred of Doubt (5/9)
Jo-Ann Lassiter and 
Vickie Moseley

A fifteen-dollar cab ride later (made thirty-five 
because of the bribe), Mulder cautioned the cabbie 
to drop back so they wouldn't be noticed. He 
watched as Kocin's Cutlass pulled into an old 
abandoned industrial area. "I'll get out here," 
Mulder rasped.

"By yourself?" the cabbie inquired as he took 
Mulder's cash. "You ain't gonna call for backup?"

Mulder did a double-take and frowned. "You've 
been watching too much NYPD Blue," he assured 
the man. The cabbie shrugged, waited patiently as 
Mulder got out of the cab and then drove away.

Running was out of the question. Mulder just 
prayed he'd find the Cutlass parked near to the main 
road because the industrial park seemed to stretch 
far into the horizon. He almost hooted with joy 
when he saw the car sitting, deserted, about a half a 
block away in front of an old warehouse. It was still 
going to take him a while to get there.

I should call Scully, his mind kept repeating as he 
walked cautiously to a door set into the building. 
But Scully was out capturing Darren Dodds with 
that asshole San Diego detective. Mulder wasn't at 
all surprised that just when they finally found each 
other, someone would try and rip them apart. That 
was par for the course. What did take him back was 
the fact that it was Scully being played for. Not that 
Scully wasn't beautiful, desirable, hell, he admitted 
to himself, she was way out of HIS league. But she 
just didn't fall for guys on cases. Well, except when 
she had a brain tumor . . . but he refused to go there! 

What had happened the first time she met Kresge? 
By the time Mulder had flown out, everything was 
about Emily. He couldn't remember her mentioning 
Kresge's name once until the man had been placed 
in ICU for exposure to the green blood. She 
certainly had never mentioned him after they got 
back home. 

He thought back to that time -- the time surrounding 
her discovery of Emily. It hadn't been a lot of 
laughs -- that was certain. She had just learned she 
was in remission not that long before, and he had 
been over the moon. He thought they might finally 
start taking some steps forward. As much as he 
hated to think about it, the time she was in the 
hospital, that last time, they had been so close! But 
as always with them it was one step forward, two 
steps back and before he knew it, they were hip 
deep in cases and their relationship had slipped back 
to the usual walls and defenses. But had she ever 
got a dreamy look in her eyes, thinking about San 
Diego? 

In a few moments, he was at the door. Since the 
warehouse windows were all along the top of the 
two-story building, he couldn't see in. That did give 
a bit of an advantage, however. It meant that Kocin 
hadn't seen him come up to the door, either. 

Mulder reached to his hip and unsnapped his 
holster. When he pulled the gun out he felt the old 
familiar rush. It had been a while. Technically, they 
could have made him recertify before allowing him 
to carry his weapon, but he'd only been out a little 
over three weeks. Compared to his alien-affected-
hyper-brain incident of the fall, the tobacco beetles 
had been kind -- relatively speaking.

He drew in a deep breath to steady himself and then 
had to fight the tickle in his throat and the twinge in 
his chest. Damn, when was he going to feel 'right' 
again? Counting silently, he gripped his weapon in 
his right hand and sought out the door handle with 
his left.

To his surprise, the doorknob turned and he slid the 
door open. Harsh sunlight cut through the dust 
motes floating in the stale air of the warehouse. 
Mulder frowned and looked cautiously left and then 
right. On the ground, he could see patterns of 
footsteps, all the same size. Kocin obviously used 
the place often, but never quite got around to 
tidying up.

The room was as big as it was vacant. There were a 
couple of crates of various sizes scattered along the 
floor, but no indication of any activity. Mulder 
frowned, but sought out the footprints on the dust-
covered floor. They led to the far side of the room, 
where a long wall held two sets of double doors. 
Just from what he'd seen from the outside, the wall 
divided the building in half. Looking around again 
to ensure he still hadn't been discovered, he walked 
as quietly as he could toward one set of the double 
doors.

He could feel sweat trickling down his back. Even 
though the Southern California temperatures were 
just barely breaking 70 for early May, it was hot 
and stuffy in the closed up warehouse. The grip on 
his weapon tightened to compensate for the sweat 
on his palm.

He held his breath this time when he took hold of 
the door knob. He twisted his wrist. Nothing 
happened. The door was locked. He tried the other 
half of the double set. It was locked as well. He 
hurried over to the other set of doors, ignoring the 
clacking of his dress shoes on the cement floor. 
Both locked.

Confusion marred his features as he looked around. 
Then he spotted the footprints again. They were at 
the first set of doors. He cursed himself for not 
bringing his lock pick. Unfortunately, that one-time 
Christmas present from the Gunmen was secure in 
the top drawer of his desk back in Arlington. 
Blowing out a quick breath he considered his 
options. Going back to the hotel was not on the list. 

He heard a scraping beyond the door and started. It 
was then he noticed something at the far corner 
where the wall met the exterior wall of the building. 
It was a set of stairs, leading to a catwalk. It 
appeared that the catwalk breached the wall and 
ended on the other side. Mulder moved quickly over 
to the stairs and took them two at a time.

It had been a while since he moved so fast up any 
kind of grade. His puffing was loud in his ears as he 
went through the opening into the other room.

From above, it looked like a magician's workshop. 
A giant box stood in the middle of the room painted 
black with brightly colored pictures of the planets 
adorning the sides. He saw a table covered with a 
shawl, a top hat resting upside down on it. But what 
drew his immediate attention was a long box, about 
the size of a small coffin, with a head sticking out 
one end and a pair of shoed feet sticking out the 
other. Kocin was standing with his back to Mulder, 
sawing with a large hand-saw, right through the 
middle of the box. It might have looked like a 
vaudeville act, were it not for the puddle of blood 
on the floor beneath the saw cut.

"Freeze, FBI!" Mulder croaked as loud as he could 
over the sound of metal teeth hitting wood.

Kocin continued his grisly endeavor.

Mulder hurried down the steps, coming within a 
few feet of the man and repeated his demand. 
"Freeze! Mr. Kocin, you're under arrest!"

Kocin stopped and turned. He looked directly at 
Mulder, his eyes flashing in recognition. As Mulder 
stepped forward, reaching for his cuffs with his left 
hand while his gun was still trained on the subject, 
Kocin brought his hand up to mere inches from 
Mulder's face.

The brilliant white light that blossomed from 
Kocin's fingertips was followed by a dull thud, 
soundwaves chasing lightwaves across the inches of 
distance. Suddenly, Mulder's eyes began to burn 
furiously. He dropped his gun, bringing both hands 
up to his eyes. He blinked, but it got worse; the 
burning only grew in intensity. The agent dropped 
to his knees, clawing at his eyes. Frantically, he felt 
in his pocket for his cell phone, using only touch to 
find the right buttons. In agony, he waited until the 
line was connected.

"Scully," came the terse reply. "Mulder, I'm so 
pissed right now -- "

"Scully," he rasped, pain and lack of breath stealing 
his words. "Scully . . . help me."

"Mulder! Mulder, what's wrong?"

"Follow . . . Kocin. He's . . . the killer. God, Scully, 
my eyes! He did something to my eyes!"

"Mulder, oh, god, hold on! Can you tell me where 
you are?"

"Warehouse district, Lot 93. Scully, I can't see!"

"Stay on the line with me, Mulder!" He overheard 
her talking, no, screaming for someone to call 
emergency services and rattled off the address.

"There's a body, Scully. I don't know if she's dead -- 
there's blood -- "

"Shhh, Mulder, calm down, I can hear your 
wheezing over the phone. Just relax. Is Kocin still 
there?"

"He . . . took off," Mulder gasped, curling into a 
ball. Whatever was in his eyes was burning holes in 
his skull. He let out an agonized howl.

"Mulder, shit, did you say he threw something in 
your eyes?"

"Yeah -- bright white flash," he croaked. "Oh, God, 
it hurts!"

"White, really bright? Shit, it was probably 
magnesium. Mulder, the ambulance says they'll be 
there in ten minutes. Don't rub your eyes! Keep 
your hands away from your eyes! Magnesium is an 
alkaline -- that's very dangerous and can cause 
permanent damage. Do you hear me, Mulder -- 
don't rub your eyes! Please!"

"I'll try, Scully," he whispered. "Please, hurry."

**

5:51 p.m.

When Kresge told her where they were headed, she 
found that she'd driven right past the access road on 
her way to meet the detective at the station.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me it was on my way? 
We could have met there and saved fifteen 
minutes!"

Kresge didn't look the least repentant. He looked, in 
fact, rather smug. "But, Dana . . . then we couldn't 
drive there together."

She couldn't believe what she'd just heard. "What?" 
she asked, incredulous.

"You know . . . you, me, in the car, talking about . . 
." He finally seemed to get an inkling that this 
wasn't something about which she was pleased. " . . 
. the case," he finished lamely. He looked totally 
befuddled. "Dana, is something wrong?"

She took a deep breath to calm herself. Maybe he 
simply hadn't considered that she could get her own 
self to the scene, that *all* her cases were in 
unfamiliar territory, and that she had been known, 
on occasion, to find an address all by herself 
without a big, strong manly man to drive her there. 
It was at times like these that she appreciated just 
how much Mulder left her to her own devices. Even 
though at times she resented him for it, he never 
doubted her competence, and he never treated her 
like 'the little woman.' Detective John Kresge could 
take a lesson.

Still, maybe it was his way of showing 
consideration for a colleague (he wouldn't show the 
same 'consideration' to her partner, a small voice 
niggled at her). Uneasily pushing that thought aside, 
Scully focused on the man awaiting her response. 
"No," she said, unable to prevent an accompanying 
sigh. "I just wish you'd told me where we were 
going before I came all the way back here."

"Oh. Sorry."

Since he truly did appear remorseful, Scully decided 
to overlook the incident. "Let's forget it, John. Shall 
we get over to the farm?"

A spark of excitement lit up the detective's eyes. 
"You bet. Let's go catch us a serial killer," he said, 
grinning.

Scully gave him a tight smile. Dodds was a killer, 
all right, but not the serial killer. Mulder was right, 
she knew. No matter that the evidence was pointing 
more and more toward his theory -- if Mulder said 
Dodds wasn't their killer, he wasn't. Of that she had 
no doubt. Convincing Kresge, on the other hand, 
was going to prove to be a challenge, if only for the 
fact that the detective would not want to be proven 
wrong, and especially by Mulder.

During the drive, Scully was still ticked off enough 
with Kresge to thwart all his attempts at smalltalk 
with short, terse replies. It took a few minutes, but 
the detective eventually gave up and fell silent.

Only when they were approaching the road that led 
to the farm -- which she'd passed twenty minutes 
ago -- did he let her in on what would be going 
down. "I'll take the front door with two deputies. 
The sheriff and the other two deputies will go 
around back. One of the deputies has been watching 
the house from cover for about an hour. No one's 
come in or gone out, and no one's in the barn. So we 
should have all exits covered."

Scully stared at him. "What about me?"

He smiled down at her. "You'll be my back-up. If 
anything goes wrong, you call in the troops on my 
radio." He pointed to the squawk box mounted 
under the dash.

Once again, she found herself dumbfounded. 
"You're kidding. Right?"

Kresge blinked. "Huh?"

Scully felt a flash of anger. "You're relegating me to 
backup?"

"Well . . ." For a second, the detective looked 
unsure of himself, but it quickly passed. " . . .Yeah."

"Detective Kresge, I am a fully-trained federal 
agent. I am quite probably better able than the local 
sheriff's department to go up against Dodds."

Kresge laughed -- actually laughed -- before he tried 
to cover it with a cough. "Uh . . . I'm, uh, sure that 
would, uh, normally be the case, uh, Dana, but, 
Dodds isn't a boy scout. He's bound to come out 
shooting."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you implying 
that I'm not capable of doing my job?"

"No, no. Not at all. But you could get hurt."

"So could you," she snapped. "So could any of us. 
That's our job."

"Right, right," Kresge said in what she was sure was 
supposed to be a placating voice. All it did was irk 
her. "But I can handle it alone. Well, with the 
sheriff's department."

"Just why did you ask me to be here, then, John, if it 
wasn't to participate in Dodds's capture?"

"But you are!" Kresge protested.

"As backup. Sitting safe in a car while you do all 
the work."

Kresge beamed. "While I catch our serial killer!"

About to rip his head off and feed it to him through 
his overly-large asshole, Scully was denied the 
pleasure when they pulled up to the ring of sheriff's 
department cars, and John jumped out. Later, she 
promised herself. This discussion was not over. Not 
by a long shot.

Getting out of the car and joining the men, Scully 
listened to Kresge detailing how he wanted to 
proceed. With something akin to shock, she 
watched as he reached into the back seat and pulled 
out a Kevlar vest -- one Kevlar vest -- and donned 
it. It was then that she noticed that the entire group 
was wearing vests. Scully felt heat on her face, 
unable to distinguish whether it was more from 
anger or embarrassment.

When Kresge described her role in the plan of 
attack, the sheriff had the good grace to look 
surprised that the fed on the case had not been 
included in the approach to the house. Throwing her 
a look of apology, he opened the trunk of his 
sheriff's department car and wordlessly handed her 
a vest. Scully accepted it with a nod of thanks.

Despite John's wishes, Scully did not wait in the 
car. As the men stealthily advanced on the rambling 
farmhouse, she watched from the cover of the 
woods.

Ten minutes later, Kresge came back empty-
handed. Dodds, and apparently anyone else who'd 
lived there, was long gone.

Upon seeing her, Kresge scowled. "I thought we 
agreed that you were going to wait in the car?"

"*You* agreed that I would wait in the car. I 
couldn't provide backup from the car."

"What if he'd been there? What if he'd put up a 
fight?"

"Then I'd be in a position to back you up -- from 
here."

"Dammit, Dana, you deliberately -- "

"Listen, John, I don't have -- " She cut off as her 
phone rang. Seeing that it was Mulder, she turned 
her back on Kresge and pressed the button to speak. 
"Scully." She needed to vent, and Mulder could 
only appreciate how mad she was at the detective. 
"Mulder, I'm so pissed right now -- "

"Scully . . ." The tone of his voice made her hair 
stand up on end. "Scully . . . help me."

Oh, Christ, while she'd been playing cops and 
robbers with the local boys . . . "Mulder! Mulder, 
what's wrong?"

"Follow . . . Kocin. He's . . . the killer." Her ire that 
he'd gone out on his own evaporated at his next 
words. "God, Scully, my eyes! He did something to 
my eyes!"

Scully felt all the breath leave her. He was hurt. 
Mulder found the *real* killer, and because she 
wasn't there to provide *real* backup, he'd been 
hurt. "Mulder, oh, god, hold on! Can you tell me 
where you are?"

"Warehouse district, Lot 93," he rattled off without 
hesitation in his raspy voice. His next words were 
choked. "Scully, I can't see!"

Oh my god, oh my god, she thought. "Stay on the 
line with me, Mulder." Turning back around 
seeking out Kresge, she found him nowhere in 
sight. "Sheriff Ramirez," she called to the man 
already on his radio, "I need you to call the 
paramedics. My partner's been injured by a 
suspect."

"Already standing by, Agent Scully. Just tell me 
where."

She thanked God that at least someone didn't have 
his head up his ass. She repeated the address Mulder 
gave her and told him there was something wrong 
with her partner's eyes.

"There's a body, Scully," Mulder said in her ear. "I 
don't know if she's dead -- there's blood --" She 
could hear him starting to hyperventilate, a pain-
filled grating of a sound.

"Shhh, Mulder, calm down. I can hear your 
wheezing over the phone. Just relax." Suddenly, she 
felt herself go cold. "Is Kocin still there?"

"He . . . took off." 

Her relief was short-lived as an anguished wail 
came over the line. Oh, God, he had to be in terrible 
pain to let her hear that. What could be hurting his 
eyes so much that -- "Mulder, shit, did you say he 
threw something in your eyes?"

"Yeah -- bright white flash. Oh, God, it hurts!" His 
voice was almost gone, yet he managed to convey 
his torment perfectly clearly; the thought of him 
alone and suffering brought tears to her eyes. 

She forced herself to find out as much information 
as she could from him now in case he wasn't in any 
condition later to help. "White, really bright? Shit, it 
was probably magnesium." 

"Agent Scully!" The sheriff's hail -- just barely -- 
pulled her attention away from Mulder. "An 
ambulance will be there in ten minutes or less. 
Lucky the building he's in is close to the hospital."

"Mulder, the ambulance says they'll be there in ten 
minutes. Don't rub your eyes! Keep your hands 
away from your eyes! Magnesium is an alkaline -- 
that's very dangerous and can cause permanent 
damage. Do you hear me, Mulder -- don't rub your 
eyes! Please!"

"I'll try, Scully," he whispered. "Please hurry."

She turned beseeching eyes upon the sheriff. 
"Where's -- "

"Come on. I'll take you."

Not really caring that she was blowing off Kresge, 
Scully followed the sheriff. "Mulder, you're very 
close to a hospital. I'll meet you there. Okay?"

She heard him sniff, then, "Okay."

"I'm coming, Mulder. You just hold on for me, 
okay? I'm coming."

"I am," he said, his voice choked.

Not giving a damn that she had an audience, she 
said what she felt, and what she needed to say. "I 
love you, Mulder."

She continued to talk to and comfort him until the 
ambulance arrived, and the paramedics took the 
phone away from him, and took him away from her.

**

Warehouse District
Lot 93
5:52 p.m.

". . . Scully," he rasped weakly. He felt the phone in 
his hands, but he couldn't hold it up to his ear. The 
urge to rub his eyes, tear them out, actually, was so 
great he had to keep both hands away from his face. 
He could hear her voice at a distance, but he 
couldn't make out what she was saying. Had he 
heard her right? 'I love you' . . . ?

He moaned in pain and willed himself to calm 
down. The pain was causing him to panic, which 
was causing his chest to tighten and all breath was 
leaving his body. Somewhere in his fall he'd lost the 
inhaler, not that he could fumble it to his mouth 
without seeing what he was doing. 

Sirens approached and soon he heard doors 
slamming and footsteps on the concrete.

"In here," he gasped, as loud as he could. "I'm in 
here." 

As luck would have it, the EMTs managed to find 
him in a very short time. 

"OK, sir, we're here to help you," said a light 
soprano voice. Mulder could almost picture it 
coming from a winsome blonde.

"The woman . . . in the . . . box," Mulder choked 
out, waving his hand in a direction he hoped 
indicted the body he'd seen earlier.

"Andy, check on her," came the voice again. 
"What's your name, sir? Can you tell me your 
name?"

"Mulder. Agent Fox Mulder. FBI," he said through 
gritted teeth as he was jostled and placed first on a 
backboard and then a gurney. 

"OK, Agent Mulder, my name is Nancy and I'm 
going to take a look at your eyes. Tell me if I hurt 
you, I'm going to try to be gentle." 

He felt her hands on his cheeks but when she 
brushed her fingertips across his eyelids, he almost 
shot off the floor in agony. "Stop! Please, stop," he 
begged.

"We need to flush these," Nancy said to someone 
else. "Agent Mulder, do you know what the 
substance was?"

"Bright white light . . . um . . . partner said 
magnesium," he panted, trying to get more air into 
this struggling lungs.

"His respiratory reading isn't too hot, Nan. We 
better start him on some O2," came a deep voice, 
one Mulder would place with a line backer or a 
heavyweight wrestler.

"Go for it, James, and get me that pack of Ringers. 
We'll flush with that. Call base, tell them we need 
ophthalmology on arrival."

Mulder suffered in silence, only listening to his own 
heartbeat as the two medical technicians worked on 
him. There was a stick on the back of his left hand -
- he knew the all too familiar IV was being inserted. 
He felt Nan's hands on his face again.

"Agent Mulder, I need to flush your eyes with a 
saline solution. It's probably going to hurt, but it 
will stop the burn, I promise." 

He nodded weakly. Now that James had the oxygen 
mask in place, he was breathing easier, but pain and 
fear kept his heart pounding in his ears. 

"OW!" he yelped when he felt the liquid trickle 
down the side of his face. It felt soothing to his 
cheeks, but it felt like it was burning his eyes right 
out of their sockets. "Please," he begged. "Please 
stop!"

"Just a little more and then we have to do the other 
side," Nan said apologetically. "James, what's his 
b/p?"

"150 over 110," James said tersely. 

"Call in and tell them he's in a lot of pain. Maybe 
they'll let us give him something for the ride."

Nan tried to keep him occupied by supplying her 
with his list of medications. Scully had compiled a 
list on the computer, including dosages, and had 
him carry a copy in his wallet. After another quick 
call to the hospital, Nan touched his shoulder.

"Good news, they're going to let us give you a shot 
for the ride. Now, I want you to just relax, we'll get 
you to the hospital in a jiffy. Is there anyone you 
need us to call once we get you there?"

" . . . my partner . . . she's meeting me . . . at 
hospital," he said in a hoarse whisper. He could feel 
something cold running through the IV James had 
started and welcomed the feeling. Soon the pain 
would leave him alone.

"OK, well, we're going to get you out of here. Just 
hang on. If you start to feel sick or anything just call 
out, OK?"

"OK," he said weakly. He could feel the medication 
starting to work. Since he still couldn't see anything, 
his hearing was affected. Sounds came to him from 
a great distance. As the pain eased, and the oxygen 
aided his breathing, he drifted off into a doze.

**

Warehouse District
Lot 93
6:38 p.m.

As he neared the address relayed to him by Sheriff 
Ramirez's deputy, John couldn't believe how 
irritated he still felt about Dana's running off to her 
partner's side -- and leaving a potential crime scene, 
to boot. What the hell was wrong with her? 

The sheriff's taking off with her didn't exactly leave 
an agreeable taste in his mouth, either. Now here 
John was, finishing up what that ass, Mulder, had 
started. Humph. Ramirez never did say what 
happened to the guy and why Dana had to rush off, 
only that he'd been injured at the scene, and that 
he'd mentioned something about a body.

One lone policeman waved at him as he pulled up to 
the broken-down building in the sprawling 
complex. Odd, he thought sarcastically, you'd think 
there'd be more than one emergency vehicle at the 
scene of a murder. Could it be that J. Edgar was 
wrong?

As John parked, the two sheriff's department cars 
that had accompanied him screeched to a halt 
behind him. "What've we got, Jimmy?" he asked, 
getting out and walking toward the tall African-
American sergeant. 

The veteran officer looked perplexed. "There's no 
body here, John. Just a storefront dummy." He 
looked up at the detective. "Some nut stuck it in a 
coffin and cut it in half. Coffin and all."

"No body, you say? Now there's a shocker." Paying 
no heed to the deputies standing around exchanging 
looks of indecision, John swept by the whole pack 
and into the dark warehouse. He approached the 
officer standing beside the body.

Great. Jenelle Withers. Where the hell was Jimmy's 
regular partner? He shuddered. Whatever was he 
thinking when he'd gone out with Jenelle last year? 
Though he'd considered their break-up amicable, 
she sure as hell didn't share those feelings.

"So. Kresge." She looked him up and down, 
malicious amusement dancing in her eyes. "You 
call in the D.B.?"

John scowled. "No," he said, curtly. "That would be 
the F.B.I."

"Uh, huh," she said, that smug tone to her voice that 
he despised. "Well, it's all yours." She gestured to 
the oblong box -- and its occupant -- behind her. 
"I'll consider myself relieved at the scene." She 
started to walk away, then called over her shoulder. 
"Watch out you don't step in that blood."

Looking down at his feet, John leaped away form 
the coffin when he spotted the red stain beneath 
him. Jenelle's malevolent chuckle reached his 
burning ears as he realized that the 'blood' was 
nothing more than some old paint stains. "Damn it," 
he muttered. He kicked the table upon which the 
box sat. "Stupid fed."

He was shocked to find that he'd applied that to 
both Mulder *and* Dana. After all, she was the one 
who deserted him and sent him on this snipe hunt. 
She was the one who went running off because her 
partner had a hangnail. Or something.

And who took the abuse? Who would become the 
butt of all the department jokes for the next decade? 
Not Mulder. Ohhh, no. In a week, tops, that joker'd 
be on his way east, the case and all its ramifications 
-- such as John's humiliation -- out of his mind.

Damn it. John really did not like that guy.

"Excuse me. Detective?" Deputy Ralph Greenburg, 
whom John hadn't even heard enter the building, 
was regarding him with trepidation. Three deputies 
stood around him in various states of anxiety.

"Yeah, Ralph. What can I do for you?" John was 
careful not to take his ire out on the young deputy.

"We're going to check out the rest of the building, 
then head on back. That okay with you?"

John grimaced as the deputy pointed out something 
he should have initiated himself. "Yeah, Ralph. 
Thanks. I'll . . . secure this area."

Sighing, John put in a call for a forensics team. 
Even though the body turned out to be a sham, a 
crime had been committed in this warehouse. A law 
officer had been attacked, and John had a duty to 
garner as much evidence as he could.

"Detective!"

"Yeah?" John answered the hail from Greenburg.

"There's some powdery stuff on the floor here. 
Looks like someone stepped in it and ran off that 
way." He pointed to the rear of the building.

"Okay," John said, walking over to take a look. 
"Can you guys hang out here until Forensics shows 
up? I need to be somewhere else."

"Sure," the deputy said agreeably. "We'll set up a 
perimeter so the evidence isn't disturbed." The 
young man sounded so excited by the prospect that 
John would have smiled if he wasn't so aggravated.

"Yeah. Great. Go ahead." As he started to move off, 
he felt a pang of guilt for his abrupt treatment of 
Greenburg. "Good work," he said, forcing a smile.

Throwing a quick look to his co-workers, 
Greenburg beamed. "Thanks, Detective."

"Sure," John told him before heading out. "At least 
someone's getting something good out of this," he 
grumbled under his breath.

Relieved to find no trace of his former lover, but 
losing any semblance of good humor his encounter 
with the deputy may have brought about, John 
hopped in his car and headed over to the hospital so 
he could give Mulder a piece of his mind.

**

University of San Diego Medical Center
6:45 pm

Dana Scully paced and fumed. Upon arrival, she 
discovered that her partner hadn't arrived, but the 
admissions department was already looking for her. 
She thanked her lucky stars that she'd insisted 
Mulder get two insurance cards each year at 
'benefits choice period' -- one for his wallet and one 
for hers. Even then it took the better part of half an 
hour to ensure the medical center that the Federal 
Employees Group Health insurance would pay in 
full, since the injury was work related, even though 
the medical center was an 'out of network' provider. 
She might have found it all humorous if she hadn't 
gone through the same drill in Raleigh just two 
weeks before.

When she managed to untangle herself from the 
yards of red tape, she'd been informed that her 
partner had arrived. However, due to the critical 
nature of his injury, the doctors had instructed that 
all family members remain in the waiting area 
during initial treatment. She flashed her badge, her 
District of Columbia medical card and was about to 
pull her gun, but to no avail. She was still pacing 
when the doctor came out to speak with her.

"Are you with Agent Mulder?" a bright eyed 
woman no older than 35 asked.

"Yes, I'm Dana Scully. Doctor Dana Scully," she 
emphasized her title. "I'm Agent Mulder's partner."

"Doctor Scully," the woman replied, also 
emphasizing the title. "I'm Julia Pearson, head 
resident in ophthalmology. If you'll follow me, I'd 
like to speak to you about your partner's condition."

Dr. Pearson led Scully back through the double 
doors of the Emergency Department and into a hall 
of small offices. She entered one and took a seat, 
gesturing to Scully to sit down. She picked up a 
chart from a small table and handed it to Scully. "I 
don't usually let family read the charts, but since 
you're a doctor . . ." 

"My specialty is pathology," Scully said guiltily. 
"But I do keep my certification up in emergency 
medicine -- it comes in handy in the field."

"I can imagine," Pearson said amiably. "Well, as 
you can see, Agent Mulder sustained injury to both 
eyes -- chemical burns which we were able to 
determine were caused by magnesium powder. 
Since Agent Mulder was alert enough to tell the 
EMTs that it was probably magnesium, they were 
able to flush his eyes at the scene, which saved his 
sight, more than likely."

Scully swallowed hard and nodded. "Then he will 
recover his sight?"

Pearson smiled. "We have every reason to believe 
that will be the case. Of course, we're treating for 
infection and complications can arise -- "

"I understand, thank you," Scully said, breathing 
easier. "Are you admitting him?"

"Yes. It's necessary in a case such as this. Alkaline 
substances are highly corrosive to the ocular tissue 
and organs and we need to ensure that all traces of 
the chemical are gone. We'll be administering 
Homatropine in a 5 percent solution for the next 
twenty-four hours to flush the eyes and Tobramycin 
to stop any possible infection. Plus, your partner 
will still need medication for pain. We'll keep 
patches on until we feel the eyes are healing 
properly -- those will have to stay on even after he's 
released, at least for a few days. Now, I noticed that 
he's on a bronchodilator. Is his asthma chronic?"

"He's recovering from a severe infestation in his 
bronchial tissues. I'll have the records from his most 
recent hospital stay faxed to you," Scully promised.

"Most recent?" Pearson asked quizzically.

Scully smiled serenely. "Two weeks past. Yes."

The young doctor raised her eyebrows but didn't 
comment. "Well, I'm sure you'd like to see your 
partner and he's been asking to see you. When I left 
I promised him that you'd be allowed to see him 
once he was settled into his room." 

**

Room 563
half an hour later

Mulder rolled his head from side to side. He could 
feel the crisp cotton pillowcase, and the smell of 
bleach and plastic overwhelmed his delicate 
stomach. He tried opening his eyes, but was met 
with some resistance. Confused, he brought his 
hand up to his face, only to have it caught in mid air 
in a firm grip.

"No, Mulder. Leave the patches alone."

"Scully," he rasped. His throat wasn't on fire, but 
that didn't make his voice any stronger. After a brief 
self-evaluation, he decided nothing really hurt, but 
he felt foggy -- unsure of himself. Maybe he was 
dreaming this?

"I'm right here, Mulder." She sounded tired and 
worried and just a little exasperated. Par for the 
course. So it was possible that it was all a dream.

"Here, have some of this." A straw suddenly 
touched his bottom lip and he sucked on it greedily. 
Water. Not ice chips. Well, if it wasn't a dream at 
least he wasn't in horrible shape. Slowly, the events 
of the warehouse filtered back to him. His eyes!

"Scully, my eyes?" His chest grew tight, waiting for 
her answer. She laid a hand on his shoulder and he 
flinched.

"Sorry, should have warned you," she said calmly. 
"Mulder, your eyes will be fine. You were very 
lucky -- the paramedics got to you quickly and were 
able to rinse most of the chemical out of your eyes 
before it could cause permanent damage. The doctor 
left orders for your eyes to be treated with a solution 
for the next day and they're giving you antibiotics 
and pain meds. You can go home tomorrow 
afternoon, if everything looks good."

That calmed his nerves considerably, but left the 
way open for other concerns. "How about the body 
in the warehouse? I saw Kocin -- he was killing 
her!"

"Mulder, calm down," Scully ordered. "I came 
directly here, but John, er, Detective Kresge sent a 
team over to the warehouse. I'm sure we'll hear 
from them soon."

"I'm sure _you'll_ hear from him," Mulder 
grumbled just under his breath.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing. So how long do I look like a really bad 
pirate?" he deflected.

He could almost hear the grin in her voice. "The 
patches have to stay on for a few days, minimum, 
possibly a week. Your eyes weren't permanently 
damaged, but they did sustain some injury from the 
burn. We have to keep them covered to protect them 
from infection and simply because they'll be 
sensitive to light for awhile. After a few days, 
sunglasses will suffice. And rest. Much more rest 
than you've been getting," she said, her tone 
growing serious.

"So when can I read, Scully? I need to be able to 
read to work on my profile."

"Mulder, the only reason you aren't on a plane 
headed back to DC this minute is because you 
couldn't negotiate the airport back home by 
yourself," she growled. "As for this case, you are 
officially off it -- per direct order of Assistant 
Director Skinner, who is threatening to suspend you 
without pay if you try to ignore said order."

"Guess you've been busy," he sneered.

"Oh, I've been very busy," she shot back. "See, 
while I was at a stakeout of a possible murder 
suspect I got a call that my partner, who was 
supposedly safely at the hotel, had been attacked 
and was possibly blinded by another possible 
murder suspect. After filling out enough paperwork 
to have you admitted to the United Nations as a 
fledgling third world country, I had to report to our 
superior what the hell you've been doing and how 
you managed to end up, yet again, in the hospital -- 
for the second time in less than thirty days, he 
reminded me. Yes, I've had a stellar day, Mulder!"

Oops! Open mouth, insert nearest appendage. It was 
time to regroup and start over. "Scully, I'm sorry," 
he croaked out. He grabbed wildly at thin air until 
she finally took his hand. Quickly, he brought her 
hand to his lips and placed a kiss on her knuckles. "I 
really am sorry," he repeated. 

"Mulder -- " He could hear the utter frustration in 
her voice. There was something else there -- defeat? 
Maybe resignation? God, he hoped not! He listened 
hard and heard a soft snuffling sound. Oh shit. She 
was crying! He'd really done it this time.

"Scully," he tried again, tugging her hand and 
reaching out, finally finding her shoulders. He 
pulled her gently down to embrace her as best he 
could. "I know, I know. I really am sorry," he said 
once again, hoping this time it would appease her.

She let him hold her for a few moments and he 
relished the feel of her against his shoulder, became 
almost light-headed as he inhaled her perfume. 
Then, suddenly, she was pushing herself up and out 
of his arms. 

"Mulder, I just . . . I just don't know how much 
more of this I can take," she said, her voice cracking 
with emotion. "Every time I see you in another 
hospital bed -- "

It wasn't just the words, they were bad enough, but 
her tone of voice sent a chuck of dread straight to 
his stomach. What was she saying? She couldn't 
take this anymore? Couldn't take what? Him?

"Scully, please -- " he begged.

"You need to get some rest. The nurse will be 
coming soon for another eye treatment and you 
should try to get some sleep till then."

"Will you be here?" he asked. He was afraid, yes. 
Afraid of the treatment, a little. But more than that, 
he was afraid he was losing her. 

He felt her hand cup his cheek. "Of course. I'll be 
right here. I'm not going anywhere. Go to sleep, 
Mulder. I'm here."

Her words sounded reassuring, so why wasn't he 
reassured? Was it her tone? Or was it that he 
couldn't look in her eyes and know that what she 
was saying was what she meant -- that she wasn't 
giving up on him? He wanted to ask her more 
questions, try and catch the clues in her voice, but 
the pain meds were dragging him back into the 
darkness. It was a puzzle he didn't have all the 
pieces to and it would have to wait for a while.

**

University of San Diego Medical Center
7:33 p.m.
Room 563

"Dana!" John's hail caused her head to snap up from 
where it had been leaning on her hand. Upon seeing 
him, she rose quickly and headed toward where he 
was standing in the doorway. As she got closer, he 
noticed the trails of wet streaks she was hastily 
trying to remove. What the hell . . .? 

She led him to a lounge area a couple of doors 
down from Mulder's room and took a seat on the 
couch; John sat beside her. He couldn't help but 
stare at traces of mascara she hadn't completely 
wiped away from her eyes. What the heck was 
going on?

John had checked with the nurses' station before 
heading to the dickhead's room; they reported that 
Agent Mulder was resting comfortably and was out 
of danger. So why was Dana crying?

Sudden fury surged through John. That son of a 
bitch! It wasn't enough he had to screw with the 
case and get himself tossed in the hospital. Now 
he'd gone and said or done something to poor Dana. 

Huh. Poor Dana, he reflected. Poor Dana who'd run 
off at the first sign that her precious partner was in a 
jam. Still, he admitted grudgingly. He couldn't fault 
her for her loyalty, misplaced though it was. He 
supposed it was one of the things that attracted him 
to her.

"Hey," he said, immediately softening. "What's 
wrong?"

She shook her head. "Nothing, John," she said, 
trying to force a smile.

"Come on," he said gently. "You're not sitting here . 
. . like this . . . for nothing." He'd caught himself at 
the last second; even if she was a woman, prone to 
crying, he was man enough not to rub her face in it. 

"Really, John, I'm fine. It's nothing. Okay?"

Her denial only made him more suspicious. "Is it 
him?"

"Him?" Her pretension that she didn't know what he 
was talking about incensed John. She *was* hiding 
something. About that bastard Mulder.

"Him!" John indicated Mulder's room with his chin. 
"Your partner! The guy who called in a false police 
report on a nonexistent body! The one you're 
protecting for God knows what reason!"

"There was no body?" Dana asked, completely 
brushing aside the real subject -- what that son of a 
bitch had done to make her cry. 

Fine. She didn't want to deal with it yet . . . he could 
play the avoidance game. For the moment. "No, 
there was no goddamned body! There was a dummy 
in a box and some red paint. Your stupid partner 
caught some schmuck hacking away at a sawdust 
dummy, and got himself hurt because he was 
harassing a guy engaging in some kind of weird 
fetish. What the hell happened to him anyway that 
you had to leave the scene of a crime? And leave 
without letting me know where the hell you were 
going?"

The look of astonishment on her face was oh, so 
satisfying to his wounded pride. Yeah, that's right, 
Dana, he berated her silently. You went too far and 
made me lose my temper. Ain't payback a bitch?

"Crime scene?" she finally said, her tone somewhat 
subdued. Well! At least she realized the error of her 
ways, he thought with a smirk; maybe he'd let her 
off easy since she was being so cooperative. "You 
call that run-down excuse for a farm a crime 
scene?" Whoa. What was this? What happened to 
meek, submissive Dana? "Dodds was a no-show! 
How does that qualify as a crime scene? And I don't 
answer to you, Detective, so I can leave whenever 
the hell I want!" When she stood up, he actually 
moved back a step, until he caught himself and 
stood his ground. "As for Mulder, he is my partner. 
He was hurt, and he needed my help. You, on the 
other hand, made it abundantly clear that you did 
not."

What the hell was she nattering on about? For 
Christ's sake, he let her in on the Dodds capture, 
didn't he? It wasn't his fault their bird had already 
flown the coop. "What do you mean by that?"

"Putting me on backup! I had every right to be in on 
his capture, yet you did everything you could to 
push me to the background."

He was flabbergasted. Is that what she thought? 
"No, Dana," he said in his most soothing voice, 
guiding her back down onto the couch and reseating 
himself next to her. "I was only trying to keep you 
out of harm's way. You -- "

"I'm a federal officer," she said, and he swore he 
could hear her hissing. It was NOT a sound that 
normally attracted him to a woman, but in her case 
he was strangely fascinated. "I am a duly sworn 
agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and I 
will NOT be protected by you or anyone else."

John was appalled. "Your partner doesn't protect 
you?" My God, she needed John more than he'd 
thought!

"No, goddammit, he lets me do my job!"

"God, Dana, I'm sorry."

That single sentiment seemed to take the wind out 
of her sails. "Well -- "

"I knew there was something about that guy that 
rubbed me the wrong way."

Dana looked totally confused -- God! What a cute 
expression on her!

John nodded, warming to a subject (Mulder) that 
didn't normally warm him. "What kind of man puts 
his own safety above that of his partner? You. A 
woman."

John could see anger creeping onto Dana's face yet 
again. Finally, she was seeing the light. It's about 
goddammned good time!

"And just what does that mean?" she said, a 
dangerous trill to her voice that gave him the chills. 
In a good way.

John shrugged. "It's perfectly obvious, only you're 
too blinded by loyalty to see it."

"See what?"

"Your partner's not doing all he can to shield you 
from harm. Your partner's not doing *anything* to 
keep you safe. He's endangering your life by putting 
you in the line of fire, and he's going off on his own 
and harassing honest citizens, then getting himself 
hurt and putting you through hell because of his 
carelessness. You don't need that, Dana. You don't 
need to be worrying that your partner might be off 
doing something stupid that might get you hurt -- or 
killed."

"My partner," Scully said in a low, sexy voice that 
would have given him a hard-on were it not for the 
subject matter, "doesn't feel the need to protect me 
in that way. To him, I'm as capable as he is in the 
performance of our job. I'm his equal -- in every 
way that counts."

Huh. Who was she trying to convince: herself or 
him? A man doesn't belittle a woman he considers 
his equal. All those derisive comments and snide 
looks weren't the actions of a man who considered 
his partner 'capable.' Rather, they spoke of a man 
who had little respect for women in general, and for 
Dana in particular. "How can you say that?" Kresge 
finally replied. "How can you say that after the way 
he treats you?"

Dana crossed her arms over her chest in the classic 
defense mode. "And just how does he treat me?"

Ah, now here was a topic on which John could 
expound! "Well, he's always making some 
inappropriate comment, and the way he talks to 
you! I don't know how you put up with all those 
snide remarks and that disrespectful tone of voice 
he uses with you."

"Anything else?" He was surprised, and a little 
irritated, by the amusement with which she asked 
her question.

"Yeah. How about the way he's 'helping' with this 
case? He's not giving us any cooperation with 
Dodds, and he's going off and conducting his own 
investigation."

"That's not affecting me, John; that's affecting you."

"It's -- " John stopped abruptly and stared at her. 
She wasn't reacting at all like she should. She didn't 
seem in the least disturbed by the facts as he'd 
presented them to her. She'd been with that guy so 
long that she honestly didn't see what he'd done to 
her. John had to swallow the lump in his throat 
before he could continue. "Dana . . ." Taking her 
hand in his, he squeezed it lightly, encouragingly. 
"You're not thinking clearly."

"You got that right," she muttered.

Happy that she'd been able to admit that much, John 
continued to present this case. "You don't notice 
how badly he treats you, how little respect he gives 
you, because you haven't had anyone to compare 
him to. He's your first partner -- your only partner." 
John shook his head. "He's not a very good role 
model."

Dana nodded solemnly. "No, he certainly isn't. He 
never has been." When she gazed up at him, he 
noted that she looked almost proud of that fact.

Certain that he was reading her wrong, he pushed 
on. "I'm glad you can see that," he said sincerely. 
"You deserve better. You deserve someone who'll 
respect you, who'll treat you the way a woman 
ought to be treated, who'll never forget you're a 
woman -- not one single moment."

"John . . ." Her hands in his began to fidget until she 
pulled them loose. He felt a little sad to have caused 
the expression of discomfort she wore now.

"Dana -- " About to ask her to cut her losses with 
the jerk, she stopped him by pressing her fingers to 
his lips.

"Don't," she said. "I'm not leaving him." She turned 
around and looked in the direction of her partner's 
room. "I can't." 

John understood. Her partner was hurt, and like any 
good partner, she was standing by him. Once again, 
he admired her dedication to a man who was not 
worthy of it. "Okay," he said quietly. John could 
wait. John could wait until she was ready.

Beside him, Dana lapsed into her own thoughts. 
John just sat beside her, determined to be there for 
her even if she thought she didn't want him to be.

**end of part 5**

Shred of Doubt (6/9)
Jo-Ann Lassiter and 
Vickie Moseley

University of San Diego Medical Center
7:47 p.m.
Hospital Lounge

She loved Mulder. She did. But, God, he made it so 
difficult sometimes. Huh. Lots of times. This latest 
stunt, much too soon after the scare with the 
tobacco beetles, had brought her that much closer to 
calling it all off with him. Making a clean break 
before he broke her heart. Not the usual way -- oh, 
no, not her Mulder. He'd do it by getting himself 
killed, making her a widow without benefit of being 
married.

If she left him now, she had a good chance of 
retaining what little sanity she had left. When the 
inevitable happened, it wouldn't hurt as much if he 
was no longer a part of her life, if she didn't care 
about him anymore.

Oh, who was she kidding? If she never saw him 
again, news of his death would leave her just as 
devastated as if she'd just spent the night making 
love to him. What she told Kresge was the truth: she 
couldn't leave Mulder. But not for the reason 
Kresge assumed. Kresge believed Mulder thought 
only of himself and never of her. What would the 
detective think if she told him that the exact 
opposite was true?

A cough startled her, and she looked toward the 
source. God, was he still here? She'd never met a 
man less able to take a hint. Did she have to spell it 
out for him?

"John . . ."

Immediately straightening up, he regarded her 
eagerly. "Yes, Dana?"

"Shouldn't you be getting back to the station?"

He checked his watch, then shook his head. "As of 
forty-seven minutes ago, I'm officially off-duty." 
His smile made her cringe. "I can stay for as long as 
you need me."

She sighed. "I appreciate that . . ." His smile grew 
wider, and she wanted more than anything for him 
to leave on his own. But she knew that that wasn't 
likely to happen. " . . . but I'd really like to be 
alone."

He deflated like Mulder's manhood at the mention 
of Bill's name. "Oh. All right." A hopeful look came 
into his eyes. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"I -- " She stopped herself from answering in the 
negative just because it was what she wanted. 
"Maybe." She ran a hand through her hair, too tired 
to worry about what she was doing to her 
appearance. "I have to see what time Mulder is 
released and get him settled in at my brother's. I 
don't know when I'll be able to get free."

The detective gazed at her critically. "You need to 
rest," he scolded.

She nodded. "I will."

He stood up and held out his hand to her. "Come on. 
I'll drive you to your hotel."

Ignoring his hand, she stared up at him. "I'm not 
going back to the hotel."

He blinked. "Are you going to stay at your 
brother's?"

She considered lying to him, but couldn't be 
bothered. "I'm staying here."

His eyes flitted around the inside of the lounge. 
"Here?"

She tilted her head in the direction of the corridor. 
"With Mulder."

Kresge looked at like she'd lost her marbles. 
"You're gonna spend the night on a chair in his 
room?"

"That's right."

"After what we just talked about." It was not a 
question.

In no mood to set him straight, she said, "Even after 
that."

Scowling, he shook his head. "I'm afraid I just don't 
understand you, Dana."

She chuckled. That was the first thing he said that 
made any sense. Taking his still-outstretched hand, 
she rose to her feet. Giving him a gentle shove to 
the door, she waited until he was gone before she 
made her way into Mulder's room.

Watching the rise and fall of her partner's chest, she 
marveled that she could be so angry and so in love 
with him at the same time. Mulder had his faults -- 
plenty of them, to be sure -- but where it mattered 
most, he'd never let her down. To Mulder, she 
wasn't merely a woman -- she was a person. 
Something Detective Kresge didn't seem to be able 
to grasp.

"You may make my hair turn gray before its time, 
Mulder," she told him softly, "but you're never 
patronizing, you're never boring, and you 
understand me." She grinned. "Well . . . 
sometimes." She leaned down and dropped a light 
kiss on his lips.

"You ought to thank Detective Kresge for 
reminding me just why it is I love you in spite of all 
the stupid things you do." She settled into the chair 
beside his bed. "I'm still gonna kick your ass when 
you're better, though."

**

University of San Diego Medical Center
Room 563
9:45 pm

Mulder had been drifting in and out of sleep, but 
had no idea for how long. It was frustrating beyond 
belief -- and just a little frightening -- to be without 
sight. He was used to pain, he was even used to the 
foggy way drugs made him feel, but not being able 
to see was not only driving him up the wall, it was 
scaring the hell out of him.

What if he never got his sight back?

Oh, sure, Scully had reassured him repeatedly that 
his blindness was only temporary. And he fully 
understood, as much as his groggy mind could 
fathom, that the patches on his eyes were a 
precaution more than anything else. But there was 
always the chance that something could go wrong, 
that he might fall victim to some complication listed 
in small print in some medical textbook and then 
the absolute worst would happen -- he would never 
see Scully again.

He would hear her voice, smell her perfume, 
maybe, oh God, please, maybe taste her lips and run 
his hands over her body again and again -- but he 
would never look into her eyes and know in the 
depth of his soul that she really did love him.

He wondered if crying would hurt his eyes. He 
tried, unsuccessfully, to stop the tears, but 
apparently his eyes weren't listening to his 
commands.

Then he heard the door snick open and was grateful 
for the gauze pads that were soaking up the better 
part of his tears. A quick run of his arm under his 
nose and he was back to normal -- at least he hoped 
he looked that way.

"Scully," he rasped. He was more than tired of his 
voice, which seemed to be out more than in lately. 
Was there any part of him not in open rebellion? 
Best not to consider that too closely.

"Mulder, we need to talk," Scully said and he felt 
the bed rail lower and the mattress dip where she sat 
next to his leg.

Oh God, this was it. She was going to tell him 
they'd just discovered something they hadn't noticed 
before and he was going to be permanently blind. 
Or maybe she was just finally going to let him have 
it for 'running off on her' again and going after 
Kocin. To make matters worse, once again she had 
to save his ass. Yeah, it was time for the big 
goodbye -- 'I'm going to stay in San Diego with 
Kresge but I'll always remember you fondly' speech 
. . .

" . . . Tara and Bill's. I know you and Bill aren't the 
best of friends -- "

He swallowed and shook his head. He'd zoned out 
thinking the impossible and had missed what she 
was saying. "Scully, sorry, I'm a little slow on the 
uptake right now. What are you saying?"

She chuckled a little, but it wasn't her happy 
chuckle. It was her 'what am I going to do with you 
-- and can I get away with using my handcuffs' 
chuckle. "No doubt because you don't like what I'm 
saying," she replied. "Mulder, the doctor is 
concerned about you traveling back home, not just 
because you'd be stumbling around without your 
eyes at the airport but because of the cabin pressure 
and how that might affect you. He thinks you need 
to stay here, at least until the bandages come off. I 
can't take you home myself because I can't leave the 
case with the suspect still at large, so that puts us in 
a bind. Now, I've talked it over with Mom and she 
suggested that you stay at Bill and Tara's."

His immediate thought was 'no friggin' way!' He 
must have shown it on his face -- at least the 
exposed parts, because he felt her hand on his chest. 

"Mulder, I want you to listen and I want you to 
listen good: I know you think you can just spring 
out of this hospital bed like Superman and use your 
Spidey Senses to get you around -- "

"You're mixing Super Heroes, Scully," he 
interjected hoarsely.

"And I really don't care," she shot back. "Now, the 
alternatives are to find you a rehabilitation facility 
here in California -- "

"A nursing home?" he croaked in disgust.

"Or attempt a medical evac to DC -- which the 
Bureau insurance would surely balk at -- "

"Insurance, hell! I'd balk at that, Scully," he 
retorted.

"So that leaves us with only one option -- for you to 
graciously accept Mom's and Tara's hospitality and 
stay at their home until we can both go back to DC 
when this case is finished. Since you're on medical 
leave -- complete, total, no-wiggle-room-allowed, 
medical leave now, you can just consider it a 
vacation." She was using that voice -- that 'Sister 
Mary Dana' voice that he really hated.

"What does Bill say about all this?" Mulder asked 
quietly, hoping she didn't see how pissed he was. 
Yes, it was the only decision possible but that didn't 
make him like it.

"Mom and Tara have to handle Bill. All I have to 
worry about is you," she said with just a touch of 
defiance in her voice that made him wonder just 
what happened when they were discussing the new 
living arrangements.

"Will you be there, too?" he asked and was shocked 
at the whine in his own voice. Damned tobacco 
beetles -- they made him sound like a four-year old.

"Of course," she said, her voice taking on that 
tender sound that he loved so much when it was 
directed his way. To prove her point, she untucked a 
strand of his hair from the bandage that encircled 
his head and stroked his temple for a minute. "Look, 
try to sleep now. The nurses won't be in to bother 
you as much now that you're getting the eye meds 
only twice a day. Use this time to rest because 
you're going to a house with a very active toddler in 
residence."

He was asleep in minutes.

**

Enroute to Tara and Bill Scully's Residence
May 4, 2000
3:30 pm

Once he'd fallen asleep, he'd slept straight through 
the night, waking only when the nurse dropped his 
breakfast tray on his side table. Scully was there, as 
he'd come to rely on, to help him fumble his way 
through his watery oatmeal, rubbery cold toast and 
lukewarm coffee. Since television was less amusing 
without vision, he slept the rest of the morning, ate 
his lunch and then grumbled through the afternoon 
until his release. But finally, they were on their way.

Scully had been mostly quiet during the afternoon. 
Part of that was undoubtedly because Mulder had 
been rather brusque with the nurse who had come in 
to change his bandages. Scully usually got after him 
when he was 'mean' to medical personnel and it 
surprised him when she hadn't said a word. But 
after a few minutes he realized what was happening 
-- the silent treatment. Since he couldn't see her 
seething at him from across the room that meant he 
was completely cut off from any form of 
communication. He'd suffered in silence until the 
nurse came back with a wheelchair. He hated that 
Scully was angry, but he was too grumpy to make 
amends.

He felt the car slow down, make a right and slowly 
pull into a driveway. When it stopped, he heard 
Scully sigh before she turned off the ignition.

"I'm sorry," he said in a near whisper.

"Excuse me?" She sounded confused. Maybe she 
hadn't heard him.

"I said I'm sorry I was mean to that nurse. I know 
she was just doing what the doctor told her to do, 
but she caught my ear and -- "

"Mulder, I'm not mad at you," Scully said in clipped 
tones. "Well, I'm not real happy with you," she 
amended. "I wish you had called me about Kocin 
and the warehouse, but you didn't and I shouldn't be 
surprised."

"You never told me -- did they ID the body?" he 
asked, feeling that another 'I'm sorry' probably 
wouldn't get him in any better favor with her at that 
moment.

"There wasn't a body, Mulder. It was a mannequin, 
a store dummy." He could hear the disappointment -
- at him -- in her voice as plain as day.

"But the blood," he objected.

"Paint. Copious amounts of red paint. Dried. The 
last I heard this morning the sheriff was thinking 
about a type match, if only because it looked like 
the place had once been used as a chop shop -- 
stolen cars, repainted. But it was not, and apparently 
never had been, a murder scene." 

"So why did Kocin toss magnesium in my face?" 
Mulder mused.

"Well, we are trying to contact Mr. Kocin. Although 
not as high on their priority list right now, he did 
attack a federal officer -- you did identify yourself, 
didn't you, Mulder?"

Oh crap. It was that Sister Mary Dana voice. 
Trouble was, he had to think back and much of his 
memory was in a chemical blur. He did identify 
himself as a federal agent, didn't he?

"Mulder, I asked you a question -- "

"Scully, I swear, I . . . I thought . . . I'm pretty sure . 
. ."

"Oh shit," she sighed. "Well, if you didn't, that lets 
Mr. Kocin off the hook."

He wanted to say something, anything, that would 
make it better, but he was stumped. There wasn't a 
body? He was positive -- but then the lighting had 
been horrible through the grimy windows and 
Kocin was standing in front of the box and the body 
. . . Oh, hell. 

But Kocin was the killer! Mulder was positive about 
that. Just as he'd been suspicious of Darryl Weaver 
and look where that got him.

"Are you coming in or not?" He hadn't even heard 
or felt the door open right next to him. Scully took 
his elbow and helped him to his feet. "About ten 
feet to the stairs, two steps up and then the door," 
she told him as they walked slowly up to the house.

"You're sure they're OK with this," Mulder 
repeated.

"Mom and Tara are definitely OK with this," Scully 
said, as if that was sufficient an answer.

It wasn't, at least as far as Mulder was concerned. 
"And your brother?"

"There's always the Officer's Quarters on base," she 
said casually, ringing the doorbell.

**

Bill and Tara's House
4:00

Tara was in the kitchen trying to get Bill to see 
reason when Maggie heard the doorbell. Drawing a 
deep breath, she plastered a smile on her face and 
hurried to answer the door before it woke Matty, 
still down for his nap.

The sight of her daughter always brought a smile to 
her lips, but the image of Fox Mulder, his face 
wrapped in gauze and looking like a strong breeze 
would topple him caused her concern. "Dana, oh 
my God, Fox!" she exclaimed, reaching up to touch 
his cheek with motherly distress.

"Hi Mom, is the den set up?" Dana asked and 
Maggie had to shake herself to answer.

"Yes, yes. Tara pulled the sofa out into a sleeper; 
we thought Fox might need to lie down. And I made 
Bill move all the furniture out of the way to the 
door that leads to the half bathroom."

Fox muttered something that sounded like 'bet he 
loved that', but Maggie wisely chose to ignore the 
comment. She was used to having two bickering 
boys in the house, but back in those days, she could 
always get after both of them with a good long 
handled wooden spoon!

"Does he need to take any medication now?" 
Maggie asked.

"I'm right here, Mrs. Scully," Fox rasped with 
impatience.

"Oh, dear, and his voice isn't any better, is it?"

"No, Mom, it's not. But at least his lungs checked 
out. If he'd stop using his voice, maybe it would 
have a chance to rest up."

"Is that a hint, Scully?" Fox shot back and Maggie 
had to suppress a grin. At least he seemed to be 
feeling better than he looked.

" . . . goddamned hospital where he belongs! Or the 
looney bin!"

Maggie sighed and cast a quick glance over to Fox. 
He'd heard every word, probably more than she'd 
just heard. Wasn't it said that if you lost one sense, 
the other senses became enhanced to make up the 
loss? It was going to be a long few days.

"The den is right through there, Dana; you know the 
way. I'll go see if we have some juice or something. 
Fox, I know you must be thirsty." She didn't give 
him a chance to object -- she needed some reason to 
bust into the kitchen and turn her oldest son over 
her knee. 

Bill had his hands on his hips and was the perfect 
mirror image of his father on a rant. Tara was beet 
red in the face and looked as if one more word 
would invoke a murderous rage. Time for some 
mother-intervention.

"Tara, Fox and Dana are here. I had Dana take Fox 
to the den -- " She watched in horror as Tara started 
laughing. It began as a giggle but quickly turned 
into a full belly laugh. 

"Mom -- we put Fox in the den," Tara chortled.

"Oh Geez, now you've lost it," Bill said, rolling his 
eyes. 

"Bill, I want you to lower your voice," Maggie 
directed. "Tara, honey, uh, maybe you better see 
about some extra blankets -- didn't you say there 
were in the pantry?"

"Sure, Mom," Tara said, still giggling. "Fox in the 
den -- why didn't I realize that before," she muttered 
as she left.

"Now Bill -- " Maggie intoned, as soon as Tara was 
out of range.

"Mom, I know what you're gonna say. We have a 
duty as good Christians to take care of the sick. I 
know that. But you're asking me to aide and abet the 
enemy and that goes against everything -- "

"Fox is NOT the enemy, William and you had 
better figure that out!" Maggie interrupted, raising 
her voice. Immediately regretting her loss of 
control, she forced herself to calm down. "Fox is 
Dana's partner, but I think there is more going on 
now."

"Oh Christ, she's fucking him!" Bill howled.

"William Scully Jr, this may be your house, but I 
am STILL your mother and you will not use such 
language around me!"

"Sorry, Mom, but good grief, you aren't going to tell 
me they're shacking up, are you? I thought Dana 
was smarter than that!"

"Dana can shack up with whomever she wishes!" 
Maggie shot back, just as she noticed her daughter 
standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a 
shocked expression on her face.

"I just came to get that juice, it seemed to be taking 
a long time," Dana said evenly.

Maggie dropped her head in embarrassment. "Sure, 
sweetheart. I'm sorry. Bill was just showing me 
where the, uh, can opener -- "

By this time, Bill had opened the refrigerator and 
pulled out a small bottle of apple juice. "Here. For 
your boyfriend."

Maggie could see Dana pulling herself up to her full 
height and squaring her shoulders for an extended 
round of fisticuffs. "Bill, I've had just about enough 
-- "

A tinkling bell sounded. Maggie put her hand on 
Dana's arm. "That must be Fox. He must need you. 
I put that bell next to the sofa because I didn't think 
his voice could travel very far."

Dana looked over at her mother and then glared 
briefly at her brother. "I know, I saw it and 
instructed him where it was." As she turned to 
leave, she shot one more dagger-filled glance at her 
brother. "This isn't over, not by a long shot."

The bell sounded again and Dana hurried toward the 
den. Bill stormed out the back door. Maggie 
slumped down in a kitchen chair and sighed. "End 
of round one."

**

Bill and Tara's House
4:09 p.m.

Mulder shook the bell a second time, almost 
frantically. Even though two rooms away, he 
couldn't help but overhear the argument taking 
place in the kitchen. About him. Oh, yeah, great 
idea, Scully, he thought. A stress-free environment, 
the doctor had said. Yup, Bill's house sure fit the 
bill.

He snorted at the double-Bill he'd just used, then 
snorted again at yet another one. He thought it was 
too bad that Bill's name wasn't Dick -- he could 
think of a lot more appropriate uses for *that* 
name.

The slamming of a door brought him back to his 
current predicament: he would be left alone in Bill's 
house without Scully to protect him. Would she, 
though? he wondered. He couldn't help but reflect 
on what she'd said to him in the hospital. *"Mulder, 
I just . . . I just don't know how much more of this I 
can take."*

Was this it? Had she reached her limit? Was making 
him stay at Bill's the first step in her master plan to 
drive him out of her life? It was, he had to admit, a 
damned good start. Never did he feel so unwanted, 
so . . . unloved . . . as when he was at Bill's. No 
amount of love, not even Scully's, could counteract 
the overwhelming hostility that emanated from 
Scully's eldest sibling.

When the voices in the kitchen rose several octaves, 
and her brother began in on Mulder's and Scully's 
personal relationship, Mulder couldn't take it any 
longer. The last thing he wanted, besides being an 
unwelcome guest, was for Maggie and Bill to 
engage in battle over his and Scully's love life. 
Christ! If the first five minutes was this bad, how 
was he going to endure days of living in Bill's 
house?

"What is it, Mulder? What do you need?" Scully's 
exasperated voice startled him, and he gasped, 
practically leaping up off the bed.

Heart pounding, he tried to ward off the coughing 
spell by patting down his pockets in a frenetic 
search for his inhaler. 

"Oh, I'm sorry. Here." In one swift move, she 
injected a shot of the inhaler into his mouth. "You'll 
be okay in a minute." Though she'd tried for 
soothing, it came across more as frustrated than 
sympathetic. Swell. She wasn't already pissed off 
enough at him for getting himself blinded; now he 
wasn't even able to take care of administering his 
own meds. No wonder she was annoyed.

Holding his breath as long as he could, he tried not 
to cough when he let it all back out. Although his 
eyes were tearing -- as though the patches weren't 
already nasty enough -- and his throat was burning, 
he refused to show any more weakness. He didn't 
want to just hand her over to Kresge without at least 
trying to put up a fight.

After what, an hour, a few minutes -- he had no idea 
-- the horrid sensation eased up enough for him to 
take awareness of his surroundings. Expecting 
Scully's comforting hand to be rubbing his back, he 
was relieved -- and upset -- to feel no sense of her 
presence. Triumphant that he'd come across as 
perfectly fine even though he wasn't, he was a little 
saddened that she didn't see through his ruse.

What was he supposed to do now? He was too 
terrified to get up from where she'd sat him down 
on the sofa bed. Who knew what traps Bill had set 
for him, now that he was, basically, easy prey.

A loud 'whump!' behind him scared him out of his 
wits. Again. Where the hell had his super-hearing 
(Superman has super-hearing, not spidey sense, he 
silently told Scully) gone?

"That's my stuff," he heard Scully say. "I'll be right 
back with yours."

Mulder's ears perked up. Her stuff? In here? With 
him? Hm. Maybe having her family aware that they 
were 'shacking up' wouldn't be as bad as he'd 
thought. He felt along the bed until he encountered 
something solid. Using both hands, he pulled it 
closer and clutched it to his chest, feeling the 
contours of the suitcase. Yup, it was hers all right. 

"You don't have to hold my suitcase hostage, 
Mulder. It's not going anywhere, and neither am I." 
Even though surprised by her sudden appearance 
(damn rugs) for the umpteenth time, her words only 
warmed him.

"You're staying in here?" Just to be clear about this.

"Yup."

"With me?" Just to be *crystal* clear.

He heard her chuckle. "Yup."

Although thrilled, he was a tad apprehensive. "What 
about . . . well, everyone? But especially Bill." Just 
asking the question felt like he'd shot himself in the 
foot, but he wanted it on record that it wasn't his 
idea. At least not one he'd realistically ever 
expected to come to fruition.

"You let me worry about everyone. And Bill."

He frowned. That was all well and good while she 
was there, but what about when she went back to 
work? He wasn't sure that the crap he'd have to put 
with from her brother was worth the price of 
sleeping next to his partner.

A mental whap bonked his brain. Was he nuts? He 
knew he must be when he *still* questioned the 
intelligence of sleeping with a man's sister in that 
man's own house.

Then there was her mother. Devout Catholic. 
Offended by swearing, drinking and pre-marital sex. 
His caretaker in Scully's absence. He probably 
wouldn't endear himself to her by sleeping with her 
daughter right under her nose, so to speak.

"Uh, Scully . . . don't take this the wrong way, but . . 
. I don't think you should sleep here."

There was such a dearth of sound that he began to 
question whether she was still in the room. 
"Scully?"

"When did you come to that decision?" she asked in 
a voice that was so cold it made him shiver.

"It's one I really would rather *not* have made," he 
answered truthfully. "Scully . . ." God, he wished he 
could see her! "Your brother dislikes me enough as 
it is. Your sleeping with me -- in blatant disregard 
to his wishes, I'll wager -- will only add fuel to the 
fire. And . . ." He ducked his head, embarrassed by 
what he was about to say next. "And I don't want to 
'shack up' with you in front of your mother."

Not knowing what to expect, he was disheartened to 
hear her defeated sigh instead of a chuckle. Damn. 
She wasn't taking it as well as he'd hoped.

"Fine, Mulder." She pulled her suitcase out of his 
grasp. "Bill assigned a room to me upstairs. I guess 
I'll make use of it."

"You don't have to leave right now," he nearly 
begged.

"I want to unpack. I'll see you later."

"Scully . . ." His hail fell on deaf ears as her 
footsteps faded away. He took in a breath and let it 
out slowly. Great. He'd alienated the only friend he 
had.

"Well, you have more brains than I gave you credit 
for." Bill's tone, although as acerbic as ever, held a 
hint of approval.

Having heard the creak that warned him someone 
had entered the room, Mulder merely nodded. 
"Every so often I make a decision that's both right 
and wrong," he said in his hoarse voice.

"Believe me, Mr. Mulder. It was the right one." 
After a beat, Bill said, "It was the only one."

"Yeah," Mulder said, sighing. He wondered if 
Scully would ever see it that way. He wondered if 
she could forgive him for pushing her away when 
she'd only wanted to be close to him. He wondered 
if he'd pushed her away for good.

**

Dinner was a quiet affair, polite only because Tara 
and Maggie made a point of keeping the 
conversation going. Matty made a complete mess of 
his chicken casserole, some of it managing to fall on 
Mulder's arm. But then, Mulder managed to get 
some of his food on his lap while trying to figure 
out how to eat with his eyes closed. He discovered, 
much to his dismay, that it WAS possible to miss 
your mouth, even one as big as his.

Scully hadn't said two words to him since she'd left 
the family room in a huff. But, on the bright side, 
Bill had seen fit not to say anything to Mulder, 
either -- the proverbial silver lining in an otherwise 
very dark cloud. He'd hoped he and Scully could 
talk after dinner, but she had claimed exhaustion, 
pointing out that while _he_ had slept the last 
couple of days away, _she_ had been wide awake 
and conferring with his doctors. Without so much as 
a squeeze of his shoulder, she left for the bedroom 
upstairs. 

Which meant he was going to have to get to the 
family room himself, or so he thought. He started to 
get up and felt a hand at his elbow. 

"I've got you, Fox. Let me help you get settled." It 
was Maggie, and he was so happy to hear her voice 
he almost cried.

They made their way to the den and she helped him 
find the bathroom. "Dana tells me you can't shower 
yet, but would you like me to help you wash up?" 
she asked.

He was instantly mortified. "Um, no, I'm fine. They, 
uh, the nurse, uh . . . "

"Ah, yes. The ever popular 'sponge bath'," Maggie 
said with a chuckle. "Well, then how about if I get 
out your pajamas. That is, if you wear pajamas to 
bed," she added too hastily for his comfort.

"Yes, I have pajamas. Well, pajama bottoms. 
They're yellow. I usually just wear a tee shirt with 
them," he hastened to explain. God, to think that she 
thought that he slept in the -- NO, he was absolutely 
not going to go there!

He felt soft cotton being pushed in his hands. "I'll 
just wait out here. Unless you think you'll need 
help. I could call Bill -- "

"NO!" he said, a little too forcefully. "Sorry, um, 
no, I'll be fine. Thanks." He felt his way to the 
bathroom, closing the door behind him. It took him 
a minute or two of fumbling, but wasn't that much 
different from his college days when he had to dress 
in Phoebe's bedroom closet to avoid her maid. In 
minutes, he opened the door. He heard Maggie's 
crystal clear laughter and the sounds of someone 
else's voice in the background. 

"Fox, here, I've made up the bed, come get settled 
in. Are you tired?" she asked, helping him into bed.

"Not really," he answered truthfully. "What are you 
watching?"

"Oh, I just love this comic on Comedy Central. Her 
name is Kathleen Madigan. I can change the 
channel if you like, see if there's a game or 
something."

"No, this is fine. You, uh, you want to stay and 
watch this?" he asked. Damn, could he sound any 
more needy? "I mean, if you want to, or if you don't 
have something else -- "

"I'd love to stay and listen with you," she said, and 
he heard rustling and the squeak of a reclining chair 
leaning back. They listened together for several 
minutes, Mulder finding himself drawn into the 
humor of the comic. He was surprised when his 
own laughter joined Maggie's. The time passed 
quickly and before long, he let out a jaw-cracking 
yawn.

"Dana put your prescriptions in the kitchen. I'll get 
them and a glass of water. Would you like anything 
else, some milk or some juice?" Maggie asked.

"No, water is fine." He had to admit not talking at 
dinner had helped his throat. He almost sounded 
normal.

"Here's the water," Maggie said when she returned. 
"Hold out your hand and I'll give you your pills." 
He felt the pills drop into the palm of his hand. He 
tossed them in his mouth and sipped the water, 
washing them down. Maggie took the glass from his 
hands.

"I know it sounds a little childish, but this really 
works. I put one of Matty's sippy cup lids on the 
glass of water and I'm putting it on the table here 
next to the bed. If you get thirsty in the night, you 
can get a drink without being worried you might 
spill all over yourself."

"That's good thinking, Mrs. Scully. You sound like 
you've done this before." 

When he didn't hear her immediate response, he 
was afraid he'd said something to offend her. 

"Well, actually, my Grandmother lost her sight as a 
young girl. I spent a lot of time on my grandparents' 
farm in the summers. She taught me many things, 
including how to make pie crust."

"She cooked?" Mulder asked, then realized how 
condescending that sounded.

"Oh, yes. She was a fabulous cook. But her pies -- 
Grandma's pies were prizewinners! She made a 
raisin pie that won ribbons at the county fair. I have 
the recipe; I'll make it for you sometime. Of course, 
it won't be as good as Grandma's."

"I'm sure it will be delicious," Mulder said with a 
smile.

He almost flinched when he felt her hand on his 
cheek. "Are you all right, Fox? You seemed a little 
quiet at dinner."

How could he answer that? How could he tell 
Maggie that he pissed off her daughter by NOT 
sleeping with her under her brother's roof, when 
Maggie was just upstairs? "I'm fine. It's the 
blindness. Just takes some getting used to," he lied, 
but maybe it wasn't much of a lie.

"Well, from what Dana tells me, you shouldn't get 
too used to it. It won't be long before the bandages 
will be off and things will be back to normal."

"I hope so," he let slip out, realizing he meant more 
than just seeing again.

"It will. I promise. Now, you get some sleep. I'm up 
pretty early in the morning, so I'll try to keep the 
noise down when I'm in the kitchen. But if you need 
anything -- "

He fumbled for and finally picked up the little bell, 
ringing it. 

"Good," she said. He was settling down into the 
pillow when he felt a kiss on his cheek. "Good 
night, Fox. Sweet dreams."

"Good night," he whispered, because he was trying 
to hold back his tears.

**

Bill's and Tara's House
May 5, 2000
8:03 a.m.

Mulder's dream of he and Scully making love in his 
bed escalated to nightmare proportions when he 
discovered that, not only weren't they not alone, but 
Bill Scully and Detective John Kresge were doing a 
play-by-play. As soon as that realization hit him, he 
awakened with a gasp. At least he thought he was 
awake -- until Bill's and Kresge's voices continued 
talking.

Momentarily panicked when he could hear but not 
see, it took the absorption of their words to bring 
him up to speed as to his whereabouts, his situation 
-- and the status of his and Scully's relationship. 

"A detective, huh? Are you working on a case with 
my sister?" Ah, there was the wary tone Bill had 
used upon his first meeting with Mulder. Nice to 
know it hadn't been reserved specifically for him.

"I sure am, Captain Scully." Mulder almost 
groaned. Bill was sure to be impressed that Kresge 
knew his rank and had addressed him by it. 

"Why don't you come in, Detective?" Yup. 
Impressed. And pleased.

"Thanks, Captain. It is a little moist out here." 
Mulder heard the chuckle in Kresge's voice, then 
the sound of the door closing. He marveled at how 
clearly he could hear everything, even though there 
was at least one door and a good-sized living room 
between him and the conversationalists. He 
wondered whether it was because of the early hour 
and a quiet house, or if that adage about one sense 
compensating for another was in play. Whichever it 
was, he prayed for noise or a return of his eyesight 
so his hearing would diminish. He didn't think he 
could take much more of listening to the male 
bonding taking place in the hallway.

"Damn," he heard Bill say. "It wasn't supposed to 
rain today. Was it?"

Kresge's muffled yawn reached Mulder's ears. 
"Sorry. Uh, I didn't hear the weather for today. I 
was up most of the night."

"Is that why you need Dana? Something happen 
with the case?" Bill never sounded that eager when 
it was something he and Scully were working on, 
Mulder thought sourly. Only when *what* Bill was 
saying, not *how* he was saying it caught Mulder's 
attention did he realize how much Scully's silent 
treatment was affecting him. They were discussing 
the case, and he hadn't even realized it.

"Yeah. I probably should have called her when they 
found the . . ." Kresge hesitated. "Well, I probably 
should have called her last night, but when I saw 
her at the hospital the other night she looked so 
tired, and I know she's been taking care of her 
partner -- "

"Yeah." Bill sounded like he'd just stepped in 
something disgusting, a tone Mulder believed Bill 
reserved solely for him. "It's probably better that 
you didn't call. She needed sleep." 

"That's exactly what I thought!" Kresge seemed 
excited that someone finally agreed with him. "She 
works so hard, and it's important for a woman to get 
her beauty sleep." Oh, brother, Mulder thought.

"Really? Well, it's good to meet someone in law 
enforcement who actually notices that my sister is a 
woman. And who is concerned for her health."

Mulder could picture Kresge's head bobbing up and 
down. "Well, sure, why wouldn't I be? I don't 
expect her to work every minute, even if she thinks 
she has to."

"That's what I keep telling her," Bill agreed. "I 
mean, it'd be different if she was using her medical 
degree the way it's supposed to be used instead of 
wasting it at the F.B.I. And what the hell kind of 
woman becomes a medical examiner? I always 
thought she should be a pediatrician -- now 
*there's* a good field for a woman. After being 
around kids all day, maybe she'd want to have some 
of her own instead of chasing all over the country 
like some gypsy."

"Well, I have to admit that I kind of wondered about 
that, too. She's so . . . petite. I'm always afraid she's 
going to get hurt, and I do my best to keep her out 
of harm's way, but she still tries to play with the big 
boys." Mulder had been taking a sip of water and 
nearly sprayed it all over his blankets. He couldn't 
believe Kresge had just said that! "Maybe I can talk 
some sense into her, though. Put in a good word or 
two about that kid doctor thing."

Bill snorted. "You'd have more luck talking to a tree 
stump. The only one she listens to is that partner of 
hers."

There was a long silence, then Kresge said in a low 
voice so Mulder had to strain to hear, "How well do 
you know him?"

"Me?" Bill sounded taken aback that the detective 
had asked such a question. "I don't know him at all. 
Which suits me just fine." Me, too, jerkface, Mulder 
rebutted silently.

"Oh." Kresge's voice sounded like he wanted to say 
more.

"What?" Bill pressed. "Do you know something 
about my sister and that nut?" Mulder stiffened at 
that. Though no stranger to name-calling, hearing it 
often didn't lessen the hurt any.

"Well . . . not really. No." Kresge sounded 
uncomfortable, and Mulder thanked him for that, at 
least.

"What then?"

"I noticed it, too. That she does whatever he wants 
her to." Mulder almost choked on the spit in his 
mouth. What planet was Kresge on? Scully did 
whatever *Scully* wanted to do. "I just don't 
understand why. He makes remarks that bother her 
all the time; when she tells him something he 
doesn't like, he either ignores her or makes some 
flip remark. And God help her if she asks him how 
he's feeling! He just about bites her head off. Or 
pretends she doesn't exist. I just don't get why she 
sticks with the guy."

Bill snorted. "You and me, both, pal. Hey, you want 
a cup of coffee while I get my sister?"

"That'd be great. Thanks. I've been drinking jet fuel 
all night. A real cup of coffee'd be heaven."

"Go on into the kitchen. Coffee's all made. Cups are 
in the cupboard near the fridge. I'll get Dana."

Mulder lay frozen in bed. Was what Kresge said 
true? Was he really that awful to Scully? He knew 
he was kind of rude to her about the health thing, 
but he also thought that she understood that he was 
aggravated with himself, not her. But did she? Why 
*did* she stay with him?

Voices coming from the kitchen broke into his 
thoughts. Kresge. And Scully's mother. In direct 
contrast to Bill, Maggie was speaking softly, and 
Kresge had toned it down as well. Mulder yearned 
to hear what they were talking about, wanted to 
know if Maggie and Kresge were hitting it off as 
well as Bill and Kresge had. He dearly hoped not. 
At the moment, Maggie was his only ally. He didn't 
think he could take it if she and Kresge became fast 
friends.

About half a minute later, Bill came clomping down 
the stairs and into the kitchen. Maggie shushed him, 
but he didn't pay her any mind. It was one of the 
few times Mulder was glad Bill was such a 
loudmouth. "She's coming. She's not happy, but 
she's coming."

Kresge sounded repentant. "I guess it is a little early 
. . ."

"Nah," Bill said. "She went to bed early. She's 
probably just grumpy because her boyfr --"

"Bill!" Maggie's cry was not hushed. "You mind 
your own business."

Mulder felt the heat on his face, both from what Bill 
had been about to say and for Maggie's having to 
defend him. Or, more likely, defend her daughter. 
Whatever. Mulder didn't care so long as Kresge 
never got to hear it.

There were several minutes of silence before he 
heard Scully's tread on the stairs, then quiet, then 
her heels on the kitchen tiles. "Hi, Mom . . . 
Detective." She greeted Kresge coolly and formally, 
to Mulder's relief. "Mulder?" He paid closer 
attention at the mention of his name.

"Asleep," he heard Maggie say.

"Good. Tell him . . . I'll call when I can get free."

"Dana, don't you think -- "

"I've gotta go, Mom. Take care of Mulder for me, 
okay?"

Her words would have made him feel all warm and 
fuzzy, were it not for the utterly emotionless way 
she delivered them. For all the caring they reflected, 
he could have been her pet turtle.

He told himself it was because Kresge was there, 
and she didn't want to give anything away to him. 
But as her "Ready, John?" reached his ears, and she 
left without even looking in on him, Mulder felt it.

Scully was distancing herself from him. What he'd 
feared the entire time he'd known Scully had finally 
begun.

She was leaving him.

**end of part 6**

Shred of Doubt (7/9)
Jo-Ann Lassiter and
Vickie Moseley

8: 17 a.m.
Detective Kresge's car

"My brother said something happened last night? 
Something that you *didn't* call me about?"

Scully had waited until they were in Kresge's car 
before she asked the question, and she regretted 
every second she'd delayed. The detective had 
interpreted her polite-only-because-my-mother-is-
present smile as I'm-thrilled-to-see-you, and had 
behaved as though they were a couple instead of 
merely colleagues.

Although initially surprised by Bill's apparent 
approval of Detective Kresge as a work (and God 
only knew what else) partner, the more she thought 
about it, the more it made sense. They were two 
peas in a pod. Both were chauvinistic males who 
believed a woman required the protection of a man 
in order to survive. Both kept things from her that 
they thought might upset her because she was of 
'the weaker sex.'

Then Bill had informed her that something had 
happened last night with the case, but that Kresge 
had allowed her to sleep because she'd looked tired. 
The nerve of him to make that decision for her! And 
her brother had concurred. Naturally.

A good night's sleep had done nothing to improve 
her disposition. In fact, Kresge's insult had only 
succeeded in increasing her foul mood. Still 
smarting from Mulder's rejection of her, waking up 
to this latest affront was the icing on the cake. She'd 
hoped a cup of coffee and some of her mother's 
pancakes would put her in a more understanding 
frame of mind, but Kresge's presence had pre-
empted that plan.

She did feel a little apprehensive about not checking 
on Mulder before she left, but with Detective 
Goody Two-Shoes breathing down her neck, she'd 
had to forego that indulgence. Besides, she needed 
to find out just what had happened last night that 
brought the detective to her doorstep. Didn't the 
man know how to use a phone? And now she had to 
ride with him instead of taking the rental gathering 
dust in her brother's driveway.

She glared at Kresge, making only a meager attempt 
at hiding the resentment she felt. "Well?" she 
ground out when he wasn't immediately 
forthcoming with the answer to her question.

A few storm clouds passed over Detective Ray of 
Sunshine's face. "We found another body last 
night."

She stared at him in disbelief. "You should have 
called me," she said, so angry she wanted to beat 
some sense into him, if that was even possible. She 
sighed, resigned to the fact that that action wouldn't 
be feasible. Kresge would lose control of the car, 
and then she'd be injured, too. Still, it was a nice 
thought. And probably the only thing keeping her 
from following through on it.

God! She couldn't wait until Mulder was back in 
fighting form. Even at the very beginning of their 
partnership, he never once excluded her because of 
her gender. Because he was a sneaky, underhanded 
bastard, yes, but there was never any hint of 
discrimination. Mulder was an equal opportunity 
jackass: he offended everyone.

Again she was stuck with a twinge of uneasiness at 
having left without so much as a glance at her 
partner. It wasn't so much his physical health she 
worried about -- she had no qualms about the level 
of care he would receive from her mother. It was 
more his state of mind that bothered her.

The man had been through a traumatic event -- the 
loss of his eyesight, however temporary, was a 
drastic blow for her very private and self-sufficient 
partner. Though she'd browbeaten him into staying 
at Bill's as the only feasible alternative to a nursing 
facility, she knew she'd basically delivered him into 
the lions' den and then abandoned him because he 
didn't want to anger the head lion.

She knew that Bill's bark was worse than his bite, 
but Mulder didn't. While she'd had years to inure 
herself to Bill's bullying nature, Mulder had 
experienced it only a couple of times, and always 
under adverse conditions. He'd yet to see her 
brother as anything but loud, rude, and insulting. 
Bill had a softer side -- Tara and Matty were proof 
of that -- that she'd seen many times. 

For some reason, though, Bill despised Mulder. 
Before he'd even met Mulder, Bill had felt nothing 
but contempt for him. She had to admit that 
Mulder's quest for alien life and his tendency to 
follow any lead, without regard for his or her safety, 
hadn't done anything to endear him to her brother.

Yet it had been years since he'd gone off half-
cocked and, if anything, his actions had saved her 
more than they'd endangered her. Bill, though, 
couldn't see past his earlier impression of her 
partner, and he resented the hell out of her having 
forced Mulder into his and his family's lives -- and 
their house.

God, what had she done? She'd brought Mulder into 
a hostile environment, sick and helpless, then left 
him there to fend for himself. He'd tried to do the 
right thing, and she'd punished him for it. What 
must he be thinking?

She was afraid she knew. By now, he'd convinced 
himself that she'd all but washed her hands of him, 
brought about in no small way by her behavior at 
the dinner table. When he'd given up trying to eat 
rather than make a spectacle of himself any more 
than he already had, she never once offered to help 
him. Even her brother had thrown one or two looks 
her way.

Mulder had spent the remainder of the meal with his 
head bowed, for all intents and purposes hiding 
from a situation into which she'd thrust him. To top 
it off, once she'd finished her dinner, she'd left him 
to find his own way alone and in the dark, in a 
strange house.

Screw Kresge. Screw the body. She needed to see 
Mulder. Now.

"Detective Kresge." "Dana." Both spoke at the same 
time. She looked up at him.

"We're here," he said.

"Here? Where?" All she saw was a parking lot.

"The morgue. They're holding the body for you."

She sighed. Duty called. Her personal life would 
have to be put on hold yet again. She worried, 
though, that what would be a slight delay for her 
might seem an eternity to Mulder.

***

Maggie had been sitting in the dining room, 
drinking her coffee and reading the morning paper 
when the detective arrived. She'd heard Bill answer 
the door and knew she'd taught him enough 
manners that he would invite the man in. She just 
hoped they would keep their voices down. Bill's 
new house was definitely a step or two up from base 
housing, but Maggie had noticed that the walls were 
paper-thin and the only thing standing between the 
kitchen and the den was one thin wall.

After she'd read through the front section and the 
weather, she got up to freshen her cup. As she 
approached the kitchen door, she heard them, Bill 
and that detective -- Woolworth? No, that wasn't it. 
It was a department store. Ward? No, Kresge! That 
was it. She'd met him the year Matty was born when 
Dana found Emily. Maggie shook her head. Kresge. 
Maybe she should start taking that gingko 
supplement her neighbor was always raving about.

But snatches of the men's conversation, which was 
hardly lowered, started coming out to her in the 
dining room. Bill was spouting his usual rant about 
Dana wasting her time at the FBI. If he brought up 
the pediatrician thing again -- sure enough, he did. 
At least he'd learned after the last dust up at 
Thanksgiving to not mention that one around Dana. 
Maggie still wasn't sure the broken wine bottle was 
entirely accidental that day, and apparently, neither 
did Bill. 

But Maggie found herself far more interested in 
what the young detective was saying. 'Afraid she'll 
get hurt', 'keep her out of harm's way' -- '_play_ 
with the big boys'? Oh brother, if Dana heard him 
talk that way -- they might never find the body! 
Maggie chuckled to herself for a moment. 

Bill was coming out of the kitchen door, headed for 
the stairs. "Bill, could you two please keep your 
voices down," Maggie admonished. "Fox is still 
sleeping."

"Oh, Mom, he's in the den! For cripes sake, I'm not 
going to tiptoe around my own house just because 
lover boy -- "

"William Scully Jr, what have I told you?" Maggie 
growled, using a voice she hadn't used on her 
children in at least a decade. She didn't think she 
would have to use it when they were out of the 
teenage years.

"Look, go make nice to Detective Kresge, Mom. 
He's our guest, too and the guy's been at work all 
night. I gotta go wake Dana."

Maggie sighed and pushed the swinging door open 
into the kitchen. Detective Kresge was a nice 
enough man, but he was a little chauvinistic for 
Maggie's taste. He was sipping coffee and staring 
out the window. Maggie cleared her throat. "Good 
morning," she whispered.

"Oh, good morning, Mrs. Scully," Kresge said. 
Maggie noticed that he'd lowered his tone. "I'm 
sorry, I should have thought -- is the baby 
sleeping?"

Maggie's eyebrow shot up. "Probably," she said 
with a nod. "At least I hope so," she added. 

Bill came back down. "She's coming. She's not 
happy but she's coming," he bellowed, in contrast to 
the tone she'd taken. 

"I guess it is a little early," Detective Kresge said 
contritely.

"Nah," Bill replied, loudly again. "She went to bed 
early. She's probably just grumpy because her boyfr 
-- "

Maggie almost dropped her cup of coffee. "Bill! 
You mind your own business!" 

Bill gave a shrug, and Maggie wanted nothing more 
than to reach into the kitchen drawer and find a long 
handled wooden spoon, police detective witness or 
not. But everyone heard Dana's footsteps as she 
came stomping down the stairs, collected the 
detective and left the kitchen. Maggie caught Bill's 
sleeve and pulled him down a little to her height. 
"We will talk about this more, later, young man," 
she seethed.

"Yeah, Mom, but right now I have to go shower and 
shave so I can run off and defend the country," Bill 
shot back, a little too haughty for Maggie's tastes.

Maggie sighed heavily and poured the now cooled 
cup of coffee into the sink, rinsing the cup. Well, if 
Fox hadn't been awake already, she was sure he was 
after that last donnybrook. She toasted some bread, 
quickly fried up an egg -- hadn't Dana told her once 
that he liked his eggs runny, something Maggie 
could never understand. She thought about tossing 
in a few pieces of microwave sausage, but decided 
against it. She substituted the sausage for some of 
the cantaloupe that she and Tara had purchased at 
the outdoor market. When she had the food ready 
and on the table, she went to the den.

He wasn't asleep, she could tell by his breathing. He 
was stewing. At least that's how she always thought 
of the moody, worried posturing that her own Bill 
had fallen prey to so many times in their marriage. 
She wondered if she could ever reveal to Dana how 
much alike they really were -- Bill Scully Sr. and 
Fox Mulder. Carrying the world on their shoulders 
was not just a job; they had both raised it to the 
level of art form. There were so many parts to her 
father than Dana never knew. Part of the reason she 
had such good memories was that only Maggie had 
ever been allowed to see the tortured man she'd 
married. But the man before her had a breakfast 
growing cold on the kitchen table.

"Fox, Fox, are you awake, dear? Breakfast is 
ready."

She heard him sniff, and wanted nothing more than 
to leave and give him a little more privacy. But he 
needed to eat before he could take his medicine. 

"I'm not really that hungry, Mrs. Scully," he said 
after a moment of thought. "I'm really tired."

"I know dear, but come eat a little something. I 
made eggs and toast. And I know you want coffee," 
she teased. She'd seen for herself how Fox was as 
much a coffeehound as her daughter. "It's fresh. 
And it's regular -- not decaf. I won't tell Dana. It can 
be our secret."

He chuckled at that. "You know how to get to a 
guy, Mrs. Scully." He slowly pulled himself to a 
sitting position and Maggie was beside him in an 
instant. 

"Here, let me help you to the table. I don't want you 
to fall."

"I really hate this," he admitted, and Maggie could 
see his male ego was being battered and bruised. He 
must have heard Bill and that detective. But he 
couldn't have taken it to heart -- could he? Surely he 
knew how much that sort of talk would infuriate her 
daughter.

"I made the eggs sunnyside, I hope that's all right."

"That's perfect," Fox said, settling down in his seat.  

"OK, let's do it the way Grandma taught me," 
Maggie said, putting the fork in Fox's right hand. 
"The plate is a clock face. At twelve o'clock is your 
toast, I buttered it but you taste it to see if it's 
enough. At six o'clock are your eggs and over at 
about nine o'clock are some chunks of cantaloupe 
that is just wonderful. You do like cantaloupe, don't 
you, Fox?"

"Well, I don't usually eat it for breakfast, but yeah, 
it's OK," he said hesitantly. 

"Oh, and your coffee is at two o'clock, just above 
your knife," Maggie concluded the tour. "I 
remember you like your coffee black, correct? Let 
me know if you need some help with anything."

"Pepper?" Fox asked timidly.

"Do you want me to put it on for you?" Maggie 
asked.

"I guess you'll have to. I like just a little. Enough to 
see that it's there but not covering the eggs 
completely."

Maggie shook the condiment as directed. "Give 
those a try and let me know if it's enough," she 
advised.

He used his toast to help guide some of the eggs 
onto his fork, scooping them quickly into his mouth. 
He smiled at her. "Perfect. Thanks." Without any 
assistance, he managed to clean his plate. "That 
cantaloupe was good," he assured her. "I guess 
being in California does have some advantages. The 
stuff we have at the stores in DC just tastes flat."

"I know what you mean. I'll let you in on a little 
secret. I love seeing my grandson, but the real 
reason I love coming to San Diego is the fresh 
produce," she said conspiratorially to him as she 
picked up his finished plate. "Would you like water 
for your pills?"

"Yes, please," he responded.

"Your voice is sounding better today, Fox," Maggie 
commented as she filled a glass with tap water and 
counted out his medication. "We were so worried 
about you when you came home from North 
Carolina."

"I know, um, I'm sorry about that," he said quietly.

"Sorry? What on earth do you have to be sorry 
about? You didn't 'invite' the beetles into your 
lungs, did you?"

"Well, no, not exactly. But I'm sorry you were 
worried about me. You have enough to worry about 
without adding me to the burden."

"Fox, worry is sometimes the only thing a mother 
can do," she said casually. "Well, and pray. And I 
find myself pretty good at handling both." 

Fox silently accepted his pills and washed them 
back. "I'd really like to go back to bed now, if that's 
OK," he asked.

Maggie sighed. "Of course, dear." She helped him 
back to the den and settled him on the sleeper sofa. 
"The bell is right here. Maybe when you wake up 
the rain will have stopped and we can sit out in the 
backyard for a bit."

"Mrs. Scully, you don't have to entertain me. I'll be 
fine," Fox assured her.

"Oh, Fox, I'm not entertaining you," she said with a 
smile. "I just thought you'd like to get some sun, 
that's all."

"I'll see how I feel when I wake up," he said 
thoughtfully.

As Maggie watched him turn over and pull up the 
covers to nearly bury himself in them, she shook her 
head. Something was wrong between her daughter 
and her partner, and Maggie was at a loss as to how 
to fix it. 

**

San Diego Police Department
12:47 p.m.

The autopsy had yielded nothing they hadn't learned 
before -- except that the victim's hand bore the 
Palace's stamp, dark and clear. She had been there 
that night.

Once Scully saw the marking, she had lit into 
Kresge but good. Apparently, he hadn't made the 
connection that their victim, 22-year-old Andrea 
Warren, had been at the club just hours before her 
death.

"Dodds," the detective breathed, excitedly, not even 
acknowledging that he'd screwed up. "He's hiding in 
the club."

Scully scowled. "And, what, she took him to her 
apartment so he could kill her there?"

"Why not?" he said, grinning inanely.

"Detective, you said yourself that Dodds was no 
looker. Do you seriously believe this woman . . ." 
She threw a photo of the very pretty raven-haired 
woman down on his desk so he could see it. " . . . 
would take a person of Dodds's looks, not to 
mention his less than personable character, back to 
her apartment?"

"Well . . ." He studied the picture, then shrugged. 
"But he's the killer. It has to be him."

She shook her head. "He's a killer, all right, but not 
her killer."

"What do you -- " Kresge's look of puzzlement 
changed to a scowl. "You're not talking about that 
guy -- "

"Kocin," Scully supplied.

"Right. That guy your partner followed. The one 
who threw that stuff in his face?"

"Yes, I am," Scully said calmly. "Mulder thinks he's 
the serial killer, and I can find no reason to disagree 
with him."

"How about the fact that he doesn't know what the 
hell he's talking about? How about the fact that I've 
been in Homicide for over six years while he . . . he 
investigates aliens, for God's sake! How about the 
fact that he wasn't even supposed to be on this 
case?" Kresge ranted.

"That may be," Scully said, starting to get hot under 
the collar, "but it doesn't discount the fact that he's 
probably right. And while you may have been in 
Homicide for six years, your focus wasn't the serial 
killer. Mulder's was. He was an FBI profiler for 
three years, and he was very good at what he did."

"Be that as it may, that doesn't mean he's right in 
this instance."

"I believe it does."

"Well, I disagree. Dodds is our man."

Scully was growing weary of beating this particular 
dead horse. "Fine. You go after Dodds, I'll 
concentrate on Kocin."

The detective looked devastated. "What about my 
leads on Dodds?"

"Do you have any?"

He frowned. "Not at the moment. But I have feelers 
out. I'm sure something will turn up soon."

"If it does, and you want my assistance . . ." She 
gave him a hard look. "My assistance, John. Not my 
standing around watching you. If you want my 
assistance and I'm free, I'll accompany you."

He seemed about to say something, then pursed his 
lips in distaste. "Fine."

Not really expecting him to reciprocate should she 
come up with some solid evidence on Kocin, she 
had nonetheless half-heartedly hoped he would. 
She'd need back-up, but she wasn't sure she could 
count on Kresge. When it came right down to it, the 
only one she wanted to back her up was Mulder. 
But unless they were still out here in a couple of 
weeks, that wasn't likely to happen.

All of a sudden, she was missing her partner so 
much that she turned on her heel and started for the 
door.

"Where are you going?" Kresge called after her.

"To work on Mulder's profile," she threw over her 
shoulder as she continued on her way.

"Wait!" She heard Kresge trying to catch up to her.

As much as it pained her, good manners took over 
and she stopped. Letting her annoyance show, she 
glared at him. "Yes?" she asked with as much 
patience as she could muster.

"Um, what about lunch?"

"What about it?"

The smile she had admired upon first meeting him 
only irritated her as he gave it to her now. "I 
thought we could go to that Italian restaurant you 
liked."

She shook her head. "Thanks, but no. My mother 
made lunch for me. I promised I'd be there." She 
made a show of looking at her watch. "I'm already 
fifteen minutes late." It wasn't an outright lie; she 
had a standing invitation to join her mom for lunch 
whenever she could. It was only in the timing that 
she'd been a tad creative.

"Oh." He looked disappointed, like he wanted an 
invitation to join her. Huh. Fat chance of that. After 
all, this was as much about escaping from Kresge as 
it was a craving to see her partner. More, as the 
hang-dog expression on the detective's face 
deepened. If he was trying for irresistible, he'd 
missed the mark by more than a mile. It made her 
want to flee all the more.

"Well . . ." Another pointed glance at her wrist. 
"Gotta go."

Not caring that she wasn't her usual considerate-to-
the-point-of-pain self, she resumed her trek out of 
the squad room.

Remembering only as she exited onto a rain-swept 
street that her rental was sitting at Bill's, she kept 
walking just the same. Any second now, it would 
dawn on the detective that she was on foot, and he 
would come charging to her rescue -- something she 
would not allow to happen.

She quick-stepped two blocks before she felt safe 
enough to duck into a restaurant doorway and pull 
out her cell phone. Since for some reason the area 
surrounding the SDPD seemed to be a cab-free 
zone, she called her mother for a ride.

Her mom sounded relieved and worried to hear 
from her, and even more relieved to find that she 
wanted to come home. Scully didn't ask, though, too 
anxious for her mom to get on the road as soon as 
possible. Maggie didn't talk and drive, and it 
sounded as though Mulder needed her even more 
than she needed him.

She could wait -- albeit not patiently -- until her 
mother could tell her in person just what was going 
on with her partner.

**

Scully was dripping wet when her mother arrived 
just minutes later. What was the stupid song from 
the 70s? It never rains in Southern California -- but 
it pours? Well, it was pouring around her ears right 
at that moment. 

Maggie pulled up to the curb and Scully hopped in 
the car.

"Dana, you're soaking wet! Why didn't you wait 
inside the door, I would have honked," Maggie 
chided.
 
"Sorry, Mom. I know I'm getting Bill's seat wet -- "

"It's not that," Maggie clucked. "I don't want you 
getting sick. Having Fox down is enough for the 
moment."

"How is he?" Scully asked, anxious to know why 
her mother had seemed so cryptic on the phone. 
"Are his eyes bothering him? Is his breathing OK? 
Mom, what's going on?"

Maggie licked her lips. "That's what I want to 
know," she said, taking her eyes off the road long 
enough to pin her daughter with a glare. "Dana, you 
brought that poor man to Bill's house and I 
understand you had work to do today but last night -
- "

Scully let her head thud against the passenger side 
window. "I know, Mom," she sighed. "I'm . . . I just 
. . ."

"Do you love him or not, Dana?" Maggie asked, 
cutting to the chase.

"Mom, you know I can't -- "

"I know no such thing, Dana Katherine. And for the 
record, I am your mother, not the Federal Bureau of 
Investigation! I have more than just a passing 
interest in your life."

Scully bit her lip. "I know, Mom. I do know," she 
agreed. "And for the record, yes, I think I do love 
him. Are you happy now?"

"Think? You _think_ you love him?" Maggie 
mimicked with a raised eyebrow. "Well, that 
certainly clears the air," she huffed. "No wonder the 
poor man looks like he's been cast off on a desert 
island."

"Mom! This really isn't -- "

"You can tell me it's none of my business, that's 
fine, Dana Katherine. But when you desert the man, 
who happens to be blind, and run off to sulk for the 
night, you _make_ it my business!"

"I'm sorry about that," Scully said contritely. 

"I'm not the person you need to apologize to, and 
you know it."

"I know. But I am sorry for the way I acted," she 
added.

"Well, you still have time to make amends. Oh, Bill 
called a little while ago -- he's coming home in a 
few minutes to pack. A training mission came up 
and he jumped at the chance to get out of port -- 
imagine that," she said with a bitter shake of her 
head. "But at least he won't be tormenting Fox any 
more during your stay."

That made Scully perk up and take notice. "Bill was 
tormenting Mulder? When?" she demanded.

"This morning. Bill was getting coffee when that 
detective, um, what's his name, showed up."

"Kresge," Scully said, her eyes narrowed and her 
lips in a thin line. "What did Bill do?"

"He didn't _do_ anything, really. He was just very 
loud. He brought Detective Kresge -- why do I want 
to call him Woolworth?" Maggie muttered. 
"Anyway, he brought Detective Kresge into the 
kitchen and they were going on and on. I could hear 
almost every word they said where I was sitting in 
the dining room."

"And the den is right next to the kitchen," Scully 
said with a heavy sigh.

"Anyway, when all of you left, I went in to fix Fox 
his breakfast. I'm sure he'd heard them, Dana. And 
then you didn't even go in and tell him good bye," 
Maggie accused.

"I was . . . I was angry. I was mad Kresge had come 
to pick me up when we have a rental car that I could 
have driven myself and then -- with Bill . . . oh, 
Mom, you know how I always mess these things 
up!" she exclaimed. "I messed it up with Jack and 
with Ethan and -- " She clamped her mouth shut. 
Her mother still didn't know about Daniel and 
wasn't going to find out if Scully had any say in the 
matter. She calmed down a second, taking a deep 
breath. "I don't want to mess this up. It's too 
important to me," she said in a near whisper.

"Then talk to him, Dana. You two share so much! 
You just need to talk this out -- "

"But Mom, that's just it, we _don't_ talk. Not about 
what's important. Oh, the fate of the world, the 
latest government plot to deceive or even injure 
innocent civilians -- we're all over that! But our 
lives . . . no. We -- "

"You talk with your eyes," Maggie said, as if it had 
just occurred to her.

Scully nodded. "Yes. And now -- "

"You can't see what he's thinking," her mother 
concluded her thought.

"Exactly. I don't know how he's reacting to what I 
have to say. And that scares me. It's never been like 
that. Oh, sure, sometimes we talk on the phone and 
I can't see his face, but not for that long. Never for 
this long -- not when we're both conscious."

Maggie took her right hand off the steering wheel 
and placed it atop her daughter's. "Give talking a 
try. You never know, this might be just what you 
two needed."

They were silent the rest of the ride. Scully let her 
eyes wander over the business district turning to 
apartments and then houses with yards. Soon they 
were in Bill's subdivision.

"Dana, don't drag your feet on this one. If he is that 
important to you, let him know," Maggie said as she 
exited the car. 

Scully sighed and licked her lips. She knew her 
mother's advice was sound. It wasn't the theory -- it 
was the practice. How was she supposed to broach 
the subject? 'Mulder, let's change those bandages 
and now might be a good time to tell you that 
seeing you in the office is the only reason I can 
think of to get me out of bed in the morning. There, 
all better, gotta run off to work again. See you 
tonight.' Oh, that would go over real well, she 
mused bitterly.

**end of part 7**

Shred of Doubt (8/9)
Jo-Ann Lassiter and
Vickie Moseley

Bill was at the door, carrying his seabag. "Well, 
Dana, I must say you know how to visit," he said 
with a frown.

"Good sailin', Bill," Scully replied. 

Bill's frown morphed into a near smile. "You, too, 
Sis." As he was climbing into his SUV he called 
back to her. " Maybe next time you can come for a 
visit -- by yourself."

"Don't hold your breath," Dana muttered as she 
headed into the house. 

Tara was in the kitchen, watching Matty shovel 
macaroni and cheese into his mouth with moderate 
success. She looked up and smiled at Scully. "Hey, 
Dana! Would you like mac and cheese or something 
a little more 'adult fare' for lunch."

"Whatever you're having sounds fine to me, Tara. Is 
Mulder in the den?"

"He was asleep a little earlier, but I thought I heard 
the toilet flush as I was fixing Matty's lunch. He's 
probably starved. I'm fixing the grown up people 
chicken salad on croissants, if that's OK?"

"If you can make Mulder's on white bread, he'd 
appreciate it." 

She made her way into the den to find Mulder 
struggling with a pair of jeans. He had one leg 
pulled out the wrong way and it was making the 
task near impossible.

"Mulder, hi," she said. "Here, can I help?"

"Sure, why not," he said, flopping back on the 
mattress of the sofa bed. "I mean, I can't see anyone 
so I guess it shouldn't embarrass me that everyone, 
including your sister-in-law now knows if I have 
my boxers on backwards."

Scully licked her lips. He was in a mood; that was 
obvious. "Your voice is sounding a little better," she 
commented as she pulled the jeans off the one leg, 
fixed the leg that was inside out and got both legs in 
the right holes. "There, you can take it from there, I 
think," she told him with a squeeze of his shoulder. 
"And for the record, you have on your grey boxers 
with the navy blue elastic with the fly in the front."

"Hardy har har," he said flatly. "So, home for lunch, 
or just to mock me?"

"Home for lunch and to pick your brain," she said, 
sitting next him as he pulled on a tee shirt. "But 
first, let's change those bandages."

"Oh, yes, let's," he said with a tired sigh. 

She got the 'implements of torture' as he referred to 
them and set about cutting off the old gauze. "No 
peeking, remember," she told him. He dutifully kept 
his eyes closed and she took a moment to inspect 
his eyelids. "The swelling has gone down and they 
definitely aren't as red. I think they're coming along 
nicely, Mulder." She picked up the bottle of topical 
antibiotic and opened it, then touched his chin. "Tilt 
for me." His head went back and she put two drops 
in the corner of each eye. "Stay tilted till those go 
in," she advised.

"I can't understand why I have to keep my eyes 
closed," he groused. 

"Infection, Mulder. And strain. You already have 
prescription eyewear, if you strain the optic nerve, 
you could cause more damage. Just do what your 
doctor tells you."

He caught her hand and pulled her down on his lap. 
"You're my doctor," he said, nuzzling her neck. It 
felt so good to have him hold her, her own hands 
found themselves tangled in his hair. "My sense of 
smell is compensating for the lack of sight, Scully. 
You smell -- "

"Lunch is ready," Tara called from the doorway and 
Scully shot off Mulder's lap as if lit from behind. 

"We'll be right there," Scully replied, tugging on his 
hand.

"Um, Scully. The bandages?" he asked as he 
refused to budge from his seat.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. Give me a minute here." Deftly 
she placed the gauze pads on his eyelids and 
wrapped more gauze around his head, securing the 
pads in place. "There. Did I catch your hair?"

"No. Feels fine," he replied with a sigh. "Let's go 
have lunch."

Tara and Maggie chatted merrily during lunch. 
Scully smiled and watched Mulder. He ate, he 
drank, but he seemed more withdrawn than she'd 
seen him in a long time. Her mother had been right -
- he looked like a castaway, waiting for a ship to 
pass by and save him. 'I'm supposed to be that ship', 
she admonished herself.

But it just wouldn't make sense to get into a 
discussion of their intimate lives with so many 
people around -- especially people watching their 
every move. As Mulder finished his sandwich and 
iced tea, she pulled on his hand.

"It's stopped raining, and the sun's out. Let's go out 
back and get some fresh air," she suggested.

He gave her a half shrug and allowed her to lead 
him out the back door onto the screen-enclosed 
patio. There was a chaise lounge and several lawn 
chairs set back against the wall, well out of the rain, 
and so were dry. Scully helped him into the chaise 
and adjusted it so he wasn't lying back so far. Then 
she sat on the end of it by his feet and took his 
hands.

"So, you wanted to pick my brain?" he asked.

She licked her lips. It was a safer topic and one she 
really wanted to pursue. "Yeah, I did."

"Did the latest victim show any signs of 
escalation?" he asked.

"No, it was identical to the last victims. Same bad 
flowers."

"Did you check for magnesium?" he asked, rubbing 
his forehead just above the bandages.

She stared at him a moment. "You think -- "

"I think we might find trace amounts on the clothes. 
I doubt it will be in the wounds. He tossed a handful 
in my face, Scully. I think it's part of the 'act' he's 
putting on. I think he's . . . just practicing," he said 
with a sour look.

She swallowed hard. "If I do find magnesium, it 
won't tie him directly to your attack, but it would 
give us circumstantial evidence to move the 
investigation in Kocin's direction," she mused 
aloud.

Mulder snorted. "Scully, Kocin showing up at the 
San Diego station house with a signed and notarized 
confession wouldn't change the course of this 
investigation. Kresge is convinced Dodds is the 
guy. He won't allow anything else to change that, no 
matter how wrong he is." Mulder closed his mouth 
suddenly and Scully noticed.

"Mulder," she said, taking his hand. "You know I'm 
not at all attracted to total assholes who treat me 
like a china doll, don't you?"

He blanched and drew back his hand, but she 
grabbed it and held tight. "OK, that probably wasn't 
the best way to say that," she chuckled. "What I'm 
trying to say is -- I . . . love -- "

"Dana, there's a phone call for you," Tara said 
brightly as she stood in the doorway.

This time, Mulder successfully pulled his hand 
away and scratched behind his ear. "Better get that. 
It's probably Detective Know-It-All, having solved 
the case while we were wasting away the 
afternoon," he said with his usual sarcasm.

"I'll deal with Kresge. You just think about where 
Kocin might have gone into hiding," Scully said as 
she rose to answer the phone.

"I don't want you going after this guy alone," 
Mulder said loudly.

"I won't," she tossed over her shoulder. "I've made 
friends in the Sheriff's Department," she muttered.

**

Mulder waited a full ten seconds after Scully's 
departure to assure himself that he was alone. Only 
then did he allow himself to replay their 
conversation. If he reacted badly -- and he knew 
there was a good chance he might -- he wanted no 
witnesses to his falling apart.

Since Scully was talking to him again, it appeared 
that the ice age had passed. Mulder wasn't certain, 
though, that he didn't prefer it to the conflicting 
emotions her words had raised in him. He knew he 
could be an asshole, and Scully had had no qualms 
telling him on those occasions. And though he 
forced himself not to treat her like fine china, he 
didn't always succeed.

Yet he got the distinct impression that he wasn't the 
one to whom she was referring. Which meant 
nothing until he knew for sure. Did she find the 
detective attractive? Maybe physically, but Mulder 
liked to think that he knew Scully better than that. 
While she might find Kresge's looks agreeable, she 
should see right through to the boorish nature of the 
man. But did she? It sure didn't look like it (back 
when he could see, he thought bitterly) to Mulder.

And what about that near confession of love? Who 
does she love? He believed it was him, hoped it was 
him, but he didn't want to presume such a sentiment 
in case it turned out he was wrong.

God, this was so hard! Scully never was very good 
at expressing her feelings through words. But words 
were all he could get from her now, and the ones 
she was using were scaring him to death. If he could 
have looked into her eyes, it wouldn't have mattered 
that she hadn't been able to complete her thought. If 
it were him she loved, he would have been able to 
see it.

He couldn't see it, though, and the uncertainty was 
killing him. The possibility that Kresge was the man 
of her dreams, that it had been the detective for 
whom she had been about to profess her love, made 
his insides churn.

He didn't want to think about it, but all he could do 
was think about it. If she didn't love him, if she left 
him, Mulder honestly didn't know what he would 
do, if he could survive. He only knew he wouldn't 
want to.

He congratulated himself for his ability to toss out 
the wisecracks while what he really wanted to do 
was beg her to tell him that she loved him. Being a 
wiseass was very necessary. If it turned out that she 
*was* talking about Kresge (God forbid), his casual 
acceptance of that horrible fact might keep her at 
his side, at least as his F.B.I. partner.

If she transferred to San Diego to be nearer to the 
detective, Mulder could transfer as well. After all, 
they'd been partners for seven years, and no one 
could back her up like he could because he knew 
her so well. Even Kresge shouldn't have any 
objections to that. If he did, he wasn't worthy of 
Scully's love.

Oh, fuck it, who was he kidding? If Scully 
transferred to San Diego, he wouldn't follow. He 
wouldn't be able to bear watching her be happy with 
another man.

"Well, you were right." Scully's voice breaking into 
his maudlin thoughts caused him to start. "That was 
Detective Kresge."

"What . . ." Mulder had to clear the roughness from 
his throat. "What did he want?"

"He thinks he's located Dodds in an apartment 
building just outside of town." He heard her sigh. 
"He's on his way to get me."

Was she happy about this development? She didn't 
sound it. "Something wrong?"

Scully drew in a breath, but didn't say anything for a 
few seconds. "No. Not really. John's just . . ."

Mulder couldn't stop the sour taste hearing the 
detective's first name from Scully's lips brought to 
his mouth. "Just what?" he forced himself to ask 
softly.

She barked out a laugh, something Mulder couldn't 
recall ever having heard come from her. "He just 
kind of . . . makes me crazy sometimes!" she said in 
what sounded to him like a flustered voice. What he 
couldn't figure out, what he needed to see her to 
figure out, was if it was a good flustered or a bad 
flustered. 

"Oh," was the safest thing he could think of to say.

"Well, if we're going out to the scene, I need to 
change. If the setting's anything like the last time . . 
." She stopped, and it was frustrating not to be able 
to see what she was thinking. 

"What . . . what happened the last time?" He 
couldn't help it; he needed to know if she was 
looking forward to this, with Kresge.

"What?" She seemed surprised by the question. 
"Oh, nothing. My attire wasn't entirely appropriate 
for the setting." Her sigh was definitely on the 
perturbed side. "I need to dress the part this time."

What the hell did that mean? Was she going to a 
crime scene or a ball? "Scully . . ." He waited, but 
she didn't respond. "Scully?" He let out a breath, 
exasperated. She'd left him. Just left him without so 
much as a "see you later." 

God damn it, he needed to see her. Before she left 
he needed to know whom it was that she loved, and 
if Scully wouldn't tell him, he'd just have to see for 
himself. He reached for the bandages and then 
stopped himself.  
 
Granted, he was about to do something stupid by 
removing the bandages, but he wasn't idiotic 
enough to push his luck by taking them off in bright 
sunlight.  
 
Pushing to his feet, Mulder stood up - and felt 
totally adrift. He had no idea what Tara's patio 
looked like. Desperation, however, forced him into 
action. Using his hands and feet, he carefully made 
his way toward where he believed the door to be.  
 
"Mulder, stop!"  
 
The alarm in Scully's voice froze him to the spot. 
When he felt her take his arm, he felt a little of his 
tension ease.  
 
"You were headed to the stairs." She moved him a 
quarter turn to the left. "The door's over here." She 
guided him into the house, the cool air chilling his 
sweat-soaked skin. "I shouldn't have left you like 
that -- sorry."  
 
"It's okay," he said, as she seated him on his sofa 
bed.  
 
"Look, I've got to go. If you need anything, call 
Mom." She pressed something into his hand. 
"Here's the bell."  
 
"Scully, wait!" He tried to grab her hand but she 
was out of his reach.  
 
"Can't, Mulder. Kresge's only a block away. I'll call 
you."  
 
"Scully. . ." Hating how pathetic he sounded, 
Mulder reached up and unraveled the bandages 
Scully had laboriously wrapped around his head. He 
pulled off the gauze pads and opened his eyes, 
gasping when the light hit them. Quickly shading 
his eyes, he was elated that he could see the shapes 
and shadows of the room.  
 
But he had no time to allow for his eyes to adjust to 
the light. Scully was leaving now, and he had to see 
for himself whether she was pleased or not to see 
Detective John Kresge.  
 
He jumped to his feet, surprised to find that his 
balance was off. Yet he didn't let that or his fuzzy 
vision stop him as he fumbled his way toward the 
front door. Just before he reached the door, 
movement out the window caught his eye. Kresge 
was already there -- at least he assumed it was 
Kresge (who else would it be?); mostly, what he 
saw was a man-shaped blur -- and was coming 
around the car. He watched Scully run down the 
path and practically -- hell, there was no 'practically' 
about it! -- throw herself into the detective's arms.  
 
Mulder was stunned. It appeared that she *was* 
pleased to see the detective. No matter how much 
he told himself that he'd prepared for this 
eventuality, he still couldn't believe it. And he 
couldn't watch any longer, as the two smaller blurs 
became one larger one. 
 
He stood there, his back to the window, until he 
heard the car drive away. Slowly, he made his way 
back to the den, too shell-shocked to think of doing 
anything else. As he neared the room, his vision 
started graying, and the room began to waver even 
more out of focus than it already was. He found the 
bed by walking into it and falling face down onto it. 
He noted, without caring too much, that he was 
losing his vision, that removing his bandages too 
soon had strained, possibly damaged, his eyes. 
 
His last thought before consciousness fled was that 
it didn't matter. He wouldn't really need his eyes if 
he didn't have Scully to look at any more.  
 
**

"Are you certain you're all right?" Kresge asked for 
the third time as he helped her over to the passenger 
side door.

"Yes, I'm fine," Scully assured him through gritted 
teeth. "I'll have to speak to my sister-in-law about 
that crack in the sidewalk. If anyone else were to 
trip and fall, they could be asking for a lawsuit," she 
huffed. Her ankle throbbed a bit, but she knew she 
could walk it off. If the Detective let her out of the 
car during the raid, of course.

"You know, John, there is a perfectly good rental 
car sitting in the driveway here. You could have just 
called me and I would have met you at the scene," 
she said with a plastered-on smile.

"Oh, that's silly," Kresge dismissed her. "It's not that 
far out of my way and this way you don't have to 
worry about finding the place."

Scully drew in a deep breath and tried not to 
explode. She wasn't happy about Kresge calling 
from his cell phone when he was just a block away 
from Bill's house, thus ensuring that she would 
accompany him instead of driving herself. She 
further wasn't happy that the Detective was being 
very cryptic about where they were going, telling 
her only it was a definite lead on Dodds 
whereabouts. And most of all, she wasn't happy that 
in her haste to get out to the damned car, she'd 
tripped on a chunk of sidewalk outside Bill's house 
and almost broken her neck, not to mention the heel 
of her shoe. Even halfway to his ship, her older 
brother had managed to put a damper on her day. It 
took the good detective to turn that damper into a 
full-blown thunderstorm.

"You keep saying we're following up a lead," she 
said, trying to find a subject that didn't make her 
want to scream. "How did you come about this 
lead?"

"Anonymous tip," Kresge said. "But we had a squad 
car drive past the place and a car registered to 
Dodds' last girlfriend was parked in the parking lot 
next to the building. She reported it stolen about 
five days ago."

Scully chewed on that for a while. She was more 
and more convinced that Dodds was not the killer. 
Mulder's premise about the magnesium made her 
want to go back to the station and check the 
evidence locker for the victims' clothing, in the 
hopes of finding some of the substance embedded in 
the fabric and thus giving more credence to the 
theory that Kocin was the killer. But instead she 
was out chasing red herrings.

"Did you have a nice lunch?" Kresge was asking. 
He'd probably been talking for the last several 
minutes but she'd found that it was fairly easy to 
ignore him. She really needed to start paying 
attention.

"Um, yes. And I got a chance to change Mulder's 
bandages. His eyes are doing better," she said, 
looking out the passenger side window.

"So, um, he'll be able to travel back home soon, 
then, huh?" Kresge asked casually.

Scully shrugged. "As soon as the case is over, we'll 
both be going home," she replied.

"What I mean is, well, he probably wants to get 
home as soon as possible. I mean, surely he has 
family back east who can take care of him while 
he's on medical leave. His parents, a sister or a 
brother -- a companion . . . "

"His parents are both deceased as is his only sibling, 
a sister. There isn't a companion, whatever that 
means. So no, there really isn't anyone back there. 
He's fine where he is and my mother has helped us 
out before. When I'm ready to go, we'll go back." 
She turned to look at Kresge. He was licking his 
lips and appeared to be mulling over her comments. 
"Detective, you know that we are only out here for 
this case and this case alone," she said firmly.

"Oh, sure, yeah," he quickly replied. "I mean, as 
soon as we bring Dodds in and the DA draws up the 
charges, well, then there is the paperwork, but that 
shouldn't take long. You'll be back for the trial, of 
course." He shot her a look. "I'm assuming you 
want to be out for the trial."

She shook her head. "_If_ we find Dodds and _if_ 
we do, in fact, have enough evidence tying him to 
the murders that the DA can charge him -- yes, we 
will probably come back out for the trial."

"We?" Kresge asked. "I mean, you're the only 
person who really needs to be here to testify. You 
performed all the autopsies. Agent Mulder really 
didn't add anything to the investigation."

She started to object when Kresge turned the corner 
and pulled up to the curb. Scully noticed there were 
squad cars and she assumed more unmarked cars up 
and down the street. It had all the atmosphere of a 
law enforcement convention. But what caught her 
eye immediately was the Medical Examiner's 
wagon pulled into the parking lot. "You didn't say 
there'd been another murder," she accused.

"There wasn't," he insisted and hurried around to 
open the door for her but she was already standing 
on the curb. 

As they walked toward the building, a uniformed 
officer hurried up to them. "Detective Kresge -- 
you're not gonna believe this! The killer struck 
again!"

"Another woman? He must have been killing them 
here and moving the bodies -- "

"No. Not a woman. This was a guy. Funny thing is, 
the stiff matches the description you gave us of the 
killer."

"What?" Kresge blurted out and headed for the door 
of the building at a dead run. 

Scully rolled her eyes and calmly followed behind 
him. At least in Kresge's haste he'd forgotten to 
leave her in the car.

**

Detective Kresge chewed on his lip as he walked 
through the front door of the rundown apartment 
building. He wondered why Dodds had changed his 
M.O. and gone after a man this time. And the guy 
fit Dodds' description, too. Is that why Dodds had 
killed him? Because he reminded Dodds of himself? 
Kresge knew that serial killers sometimes harbored 
a self-loathing because of the atrocities they 
committed. Could Dodds be far enough gone that 
he'd killed someone that he thought was himself?

Wow, what a freaky -- yet, brilliant -- hypothesis. 
For all Dana's talk of her partner's talent for 
catching serial killers, John'd bet Mulder had never 
come up with anything as inspired. He couldn't stop 
himself from giving her a self-satisfied glance. 

Not quite ready to let Dana in on the secret, he 
merely shook his head at the question in her eyes. 
Oh, he'd let her in on it eventually. Just not yet. He 
needed to savor the victory alone for a few minutes.

As they approached the third floor landing, Dana 
asked, "Do you think it's Dodds?"

He sighed to himself. So much for savoring. "Well, 
I'll tell you, Dana . . ." He lifted the crime scene 
tape for her, then slipped under himself. "I think -- "

"Sure looks like Dodds," she said. There was an 
officer blocking his view, but not hers. John quickly 
stepped around the man to take a look at the victim.

No! It couldn't be! He'd had it all worked out, how 
astounded she would be, how he'd throw Mulder's 
ideas back in her face, how Dana would leave the 
F.B.I. and join John as his partner -- both 
professionally and personally.

And it was worse than he'd thought. For it wasn't 
just that Dodds was dead: Dodds was dead by the 
hand of their serial killer. The killer had gone to 
extra lengths with Dodds, as if he was throwing it 
back in Kresge's face for thinking that Dodds was 
the killer instead of who it really was.

For a fleeting moment, Kresge's jealousy flared, and 
he wondered if Mulder had done this just to prove 
Kresge wrong. The detective quickly shook off that 
thought; for all of the man's many faults, John knew 
he wasn't a killer. Besides, Mulder was in no 
condition to take on someone of Dodds's height and 
weight.

"Looks like Dodds really pissed off someone." 
Dana's observation brought his thoughts back to 
where they should be: on the case.

John nodded absently, letting his gaze take in the 
full effect of the killer's fury. Dodds wasn't simply 
sliced and stuffed -- he was sliced, stuffed and 
fricasseed. 

"Magnesium," Dana announced, as though that 
should mean something to him. 

"What -- " he started to ask, then he remembered. 
"That stuff that was thrown into your partner's 
eyes?"

She nodded. "After he . . . arranged the body, he 
spread it all over Dodds, then ignited it."

John looked around the decidedly unburnt room. 
"Why didn't the whole place go up?"

"Magnesium burns very hot, very bright, for a very 
short period of time. It's actually more of a flash 
than a fire."

"So that's why he's not more burned than he is?" 
Upon closer inspection, John decided that Dodds 
was more singed than fricasseed, with most of the 
damage to the outside of his clothing and almost 
none to the skin beneath.

"Exactly. Apparently Kocin wanted us to know this 
was Dodds and not some anonymous male he'd 
picked at random. He wants us to know he's the 
killer, and Dodds isn't." She glanced at the body. 
"Wasn't."

"Who says that this Kocin is the killer?" John would 
be damned if he'd give an inch on her partner's 
choice of killer. "We have no evidence connecting 
him to the murders."

His triumph was short-lived, as Dana scowled at 
him. "One," she ticked off on her finger, "he worked 
at the club. Two, he's a magician, and magicians use 
those cheesy-looking roses . . ." She beckoned to 
Dodds's body. " . . .which have been artfully 
'planted' in various areas of Dodds's anatomy. 
Three, magicians use magnesium in their act, and 
four, we know for a fact that Kocin is in possession 
of magnesium."

Was she for real? "What kind of evidence is that?"

"Enough to get a warrant to pick him up for 
questioning."

John shook his head, angry at what she was doing. 
"Oh, no. You're just out to get this guy because he 
got back at your partner for harassing him."

At her look of astonishment, John decided to 
forgive her. She obviously wasn't even aware that 
that's what she had done. What a great partner she'd 
make! If she was that loyal to a loser like Mulder, 
imagine how fiercely she'd protect someone of 
John's caliber!

Just as he was about to absolve her for her lapse in 
judgment, she whirled on her heel and strode over 
to the group of uniforms standing in the doorway. 
"Can one of you give me a ride to my car? It's only 
about ten minutes from here."

What the hell was wrong now? John walked up 
behind her and grabbed her elbow. "That won't be 
necessary, boys," he told the men who he could see 
had had no intention of ferrying around his woman. 
"She's with me."

Dana yanked her arm out of his grip. "*She* is not 
with you, Detective. *She* can find her own 
damned way back to her car," she said with a glance 
at the unhelpful men. As she stalked away, John 
gave the officers an 'I'm so whipped' grin and 
trotted after her.

"Dana! Hey, come on, Dana. I'll give you a ride."

She spun around to face him, eyes blazing and hair 
wild, and he couldn't believe how turned on that 
made him. "You know," she said, "I'd never quite 
grasped the concept of why police officers were 
called 'pigs.' After the last two minutes, I 
understand perfectly." 

Shocked speechless, he watched as her anger 
dissolved into resignation, and she sighed. "He was 
right. I didn't believe him, but Mulder was right 
about you. He said no amount of evidence would 
get you to change your mind about Kocin." John 
was confused when her gaze turned to pity -- for 
him. "Mulder may be blind, but he sees a hell of a 
lot better than you."

When she walked away, John didn't follow.

**

Maggie heard the sniffle as she walked past the den. 
Oh no. Not on her watch. Fox Mulder had just 
recovered from a life threatening illness. Maggie 
understood full well what a cold or respiratory 
infection would do to him at this point. She barged 
in, expecting to rush him off to the nearest hospital . 
. .

Only to stop when she saw the hunched shoulders 
shaking with grief and loss. Fox had his back to her 
and was crying. 

One thing Maggie had learned after all the years her 
daughter had been partnered with this man was his 
strong sense of dignity. She knew she hadn't been 
detected, so silently she withdrew and made more 
noise on her next entrance. She watched as the 
young man hastily wiped at his face.

"Fox! Where are your bandages?" she demanded, 
her earlier reluctance to intrude now completely 
vanished in the face of his folly.

"I took them off," he admitted, but his eyes were 
closed, his face defiant. "I . . . they itched."

"I'm sure that's just the skin on your face healing. 
You had a nasty burn around your eyes. Here, let 
me look."

Mulder sat down on the edge of the sofa bed and 
turned his face upward. Maggie's heart ached when 
she saw the dampness on his cheeks, but she went 
about her inspection, tilting his face toward the light 
coming from the window behind the sofa. "Well, 
they do look much better. Did you try to see 
anything?"

"More than I should have," he said sadly. She 
looked at him again and this time he opened his 
eyes. The whites were still red and irritated, but 
those eyes were filled with a pain not entirely 
physical.

"Fox, what are you talking about?" Maggie asked 
softly. "Is something wrong?"

"It's . . . I . . . I saw . . . something," he said and 
blinked his eyes closed again. "I . . . it's her business 
and if he makes her happy, then I'm happy for her. I 
just didn't expect it to be . . . so soon." From 
beneath the closed lids another stray tear trickled 
down his cheek and he wiped at it angrily.

"Fox, no, you'll hurt yourself," Maggie admonished. 
She pulled out a tissue from a nearby box and 
dabbed at his cheeks gently. "Not so rough," she 
whispered. When she was done, she sat down 
beside him on the bed. "Now, tell me what you're 
talking about. Who makes who happy?"

He was already shaking his head, denying 
everything. "It's not important. Dana's happiness is 
all that matters."

"Dana's happiness -- " Maggie started to ask, but 
stopped when she realized Fox had seen something 
she hadn't. "Fox, I want you to tell me exactly what 
happened. What did you see?"

He sighed and shook his head as Maggie put her 
hand over his. "I saw her . . . she kissed him," he 
said in a voice just above a whisper.

"Who? Dana? She kissed -- "

"Kresge," Fox supplied and sighed again. "I saw her 
kiss him. Right out there on the sidewalk."

Maggie frowned and shook her head in denial. 
"Fox, believe me, I don't know what you saw but 
you didn't see my daughter kissing Detective 
Kresge! That would never happen, not in a million 
years!" The very idea made her fight the urge to 
giggle. Dana, kissing that . . . chauvinist pig, to use 
a term from Maggie's younger days. "Are you 
certain that's what you saw?"

Fox nodded his head emphatically. "She was in a 
hurry and he came around the car and then next 
thing I knew, she was in his arms -- kissing him. 
Right out on the sidewalk."

"Impossible," Maggie intoned. "Simply impossible. 
It had to be something else."

Fox snorted and stood up. He paced in front of 
Maggie for a moment. "Mrs. Scully, I don't know if 
Dana has mentioned anything about . . . us. Her and 
I. But, well, our relationship seemed to be . . . 
changing."

"'Bout damned time," Maggie murmured quietly. 
Fox obviously didn't hear her comment, for he was 
still pacing and talking.

"But now, well, I guess what I thought was a 
change was actually a different kind of change. One 
that I will have to accept -- "

"Fox, wait just a minute. And for the record, no, 
Dana hasn't mentioned anything about the two of 
you. She doesn't have to. I've watched you both 
dance around each other for six years and quite 
frankly, I'm getting a little too old to sit on the 
sidelines much longer. I've always given my 
children room to grow, to make their own mistakes, 
but I'm growing just a little tired of waiting for one 
or the other of you to make a move! It's just . . . " 
She looked up and saw the very distinct expression 
of horror on the face of the man before her and 
knew she'd stepped over some pretty deep lines in 
the sand. "Fox, what would it take to make you 
understand -- "

"Mrs. Scully, I know she cares for me. I get that. 
She wouldn't still be my partner if she didn't care 
for me. But on a personal level -- "

"Personal level? Fox, are you totally oblivious?" 
Maggie blurted out and immediately regretted it by 
the shocked look she received. She sat there a 
moment, formulating her argument. "OK, here. I 
have something I want you to see." Leaving Fox to 
continue his circuit in the carpet, she hurried out to 
the living room and snatched up Dana's camera. She 
returned to find him pretty much where she left him.

"Fox, sit down. Now, we probably shouldn't be 
taxing your eyes, but there is something I want you 
to see. Something that I think will serve to convince 
you that my daughter did not kiss that -- that man 
on the sidewalk today." She powered up the camera 
and started playing back the pictures a frame at a 
time. "Dana left me her camera so I could take a 
few pictures of Matty," she explained. "I wanted to 
make sure all the pictures were clear -- sometimes 
my hands shake when I use these new digital 
cameras. Anyway, I found this." She handed the 
camera to Fox.

He sat down on the edge of the sofa bed and 
squinted at the small frame. Maggie hovered over 
his shoulder. "That is you, isn't it? Asleep there?"

He squinted again and a touch of red colored his 
cheeks. "Um, ah, I -- my room was a smoking room 
and I . . . uh . . . "

"Fox, you are two grown adults -- a little too grown, 
if you ask me. What you do on your own time is 
your business. But I ask you, why would my 
daughter take a picture of a man asleep in his bed if 
she thought of him as only a co-worker?"

Fox opened his mouth, but no words came out. He 
squinted back at the picture.

"If you ask me, she took that picture for herself. I 
have a few of Bill around in albums that I don't get 
out for the kids. Pictures of when he was home on 
leave, asleep on the couch or asleep on the patio. 
Pictures I would look at during the months he was 
at sea," she said, taking the camera back and 
powering it down. "So you see, I don't think you 
have anything to be worried about. She loves you, 
Fox. I know my daughter. She keeps everything so 
very close to her chest, but I can see it in her eyes 
every times she looks at you."

"I haven't . . . the last few days, I've missed seeing 
her eyes," Fox said softly.

Maggie reached down and squeezed his hand. "I 
know you have, dear. And she's missed seeing your 
eyes, too. But love is there, even when you can't see 
the proof. It's right there, in front of you all the 
time. You just have to know where to look."

Mulder's head jerked up suddenly. "Kocin's 
dressing room," he shouted.

"What?" Maggie asked, afraid he didn't understand 
what she was saying.

"There were crates in Kocin's dressing room. It was 
right in front of us," he said, standing. "Where's the 
phone? I know where Kocin is! I have to call Dana 
right now!"

**

Scully gave her brother's address to the cab driver 
and settled into her seat, glad to be rid of Kresge. 
God! She couldn't believe that at one point she'd 
found him 'charming' and had even compared 
Mulder to him.

She was ashamed to admit that until she'd tired of 
Kresge's 'chivalry' she'd found Mulder sadly lacking 
in the common courtesies department. Of course, 
her fascination with the detective lasted about a day 
and a half, or as long as it took her to discover that 
he saw her as a woman first and a colleague second 
-- if that.

Mulder might be overprotective at times, but she 
knew he did it because he loved her, not because of 
her gender. God, she'd be glad to get back and see 
him, especially after the way she'd literally dumped 
him onto his bed and rushed away.

As if to remind her that she hadn't been particularly 
solicitous of her partner since they'd arrived at 
Bill's, her ankle started to pulsate in time with her 
heart. Leaning forward to massage away the pain, 
her phone suddenly rang; when she saw who it was, 
the ache miraculously vanished. "Hi, Mulder."

"Scully! I just remembered something."

She had to smile. Mulder didn't even bother asking 
about Dodds. Her partner knew the bartender wasn't 
their suspect and had probably dismissed any 
memory of the man from his mind. "What?"

"After his run-in with me, Kocin would probably 
think his apartment was under surveillance . . ." 
Scully read between the lines of what Mulder was 
saying: Kocin's residence *should* have been 
staked out, but wasn't due to Kresge's obstinacy. " . . 
. so he'd have to hole up somewhere else."

"All right. What's the address?"

"Well . . . I don't really know."

Scully pulled the phone away from her ear and 
stared at it a second before putting it back. "What 
do you mean 'you don't know'? How am I supposed 
to find it if you don't know where it is?"

"I know where it is -- I just don't know the address."

She sighed. "All right. Where is it?"

"On our way to Bill's that first time, we passed by 
some old abandoned greenhouses set back from the 
highway -- "

Scully looked out the window. "With a beat-up sign 
that said 'Rose Capital of the World' pointing to 
them?"

There was a pause before Mulder said, "You 
remember it, too?"

Scully chuckled. "No. I passed it about ten seconds 
ago."

"Then you're right there!" Mulder said in an excited 
voice. "Scully, you need to go back!"

She was about five minutes away from Bill's house 
and seeing Mulder, and she didn't want to go 
traipsing through some dilapidated buildings. 
"Mulder, what makes you think he's there? We 
didn't find any indication -- "

"I can *feel* it, Scully. I don't know how, but I just 
know that's where he's hiding out."

She pressed the mute button while she instructed the 
cabbie to turn around and go back to the 
greenhouses. After he'd acknowledged her, Scully 
took Mulder off mute. "Okay, I'm headed back."

"Just the two of you? Scully, I really think you 
should call for backup. This guy's no amateur -- at 
magic or at killing."

Scully looked down in guilt. There was no way she 
was calling Detective Archie Bunker -- he'd made 
his position on Kocin very clear and had effectively 
put the kibosh on her receiving any backup for 
anything having to do with the magician. Which left 
Sheriff Ramirez.

"I'll call for backup as soon as I hang up, okay?"

"Okay." He sounded like a great weight had been 
lifted off him, and she felt like two cents for the 
way she was deceiving him. "Call me after. And 
Scully? Be careful. This guy didn't get away with 
murder for this long without having a few smarts."

"I will." Just then, the cab's squawk box sparked to 
life. "I gotta go now, Mulder," she said hastily, then 
cut him off in mid-"Scully." God, she didn't know 
how he'd done it in those early days -- lied through 
his teeth to her. She only knew that her dishonesty 
made her feel like the lowest form of life, and she 
never wanted to feel like that again.

The cab pulled off the highway and onto an 
unpaved side road. Scully had the driver stop at a 
bend in the road, about a hundred yards from the 
buildings. He gave her a dubious look. "You sure 
you want to get out here?"

Scully was sure she didn't. The late afternoon sun 
barely reflected on the cracked and broken windows 
of the dirt and grime-encrusted buildings. The 
surrounding area was overgrown with weeds and 
bushes, interspersed with saplings from the large 
oak trees that dotted the countryside. Just a quarter 
mile from the highway, there was no sound, no hint 
of the traffic such a short distance away.

Giving the driver a baleful look, she nodded. "I'm 
sure." She paid the fare and tip, then opened the 
door.

"You want me to wait?" he asked.

Did she ever. But this was no place for an innocent. 
"No, thanks," she told him. "Someone will be 
coming to pick me up." She hoped.

He shrugged. "Suit yourself." Not half a second 
after she'd closed the door; he made a u-turn and 
sped off.

Scully watched his taillights with regret. What the 
hell was she doing here alone? She was beginning 
to believe that she, not Mulder, was the one with the 
death wish. Shaking off that thought, she found the 
sheriff's card in her pocket and dialed his number.

"I'm out at a scene on the other side of town from 
your location," he told her after she'd explained the 
situation. "But I'll see if I can get a car dispatched to 
your location. Can you hold for a minute?"

"Sure. No problem. I appreciate this, Sheriff 
Ramirez."

"It's no trouble, Agent Scully. Hold, please." After 
about 30 seconds, he was back on with her. "I'm 
sending Deputy Colter out there. He's the closest 
car, but he's still a good 20 minutes away."

She looked at the foreboding buildings. Creepy 
didn't even begin to describe them. "Okay. Thanks, 
Sheriff. If you can spare any other cars, I'd 
appreciate it."

"Agent Scully, if you don't mind my asking . . . why 
are you calling the sheriff's department in on this? 
Isn't this an FBI investigation?"

"We're assisting the local P.D. And the investigator 
on the case is of the opinion that this suspect is not 
worth his or his department's time and trouble. And 
with my partner unable to assist me . . ."

"Right. I understand. We'll get out there as soon as 
we can."

"Thanks, Sheriff. I appreciate it."

Anxious though she was to catch Kocin so she and 
Mulder could go home, she was not foolish enough 
to go after him by herself. She'd just perched on a 
rock to wait for her backup when a woman's scream 
from the direction of the greenhouses pierced the 
silence.

Scully didn't even give it a thought before racing 
toward the buildings.

**end of part 8**


Shred of Doubt (9/9)
Jo-Ann Lassiter and 
Vickie Moseley

"Feeling better, Fox?" Maggie asked from the 
doorway. 

Mulder nodded, rubbing his forehead. "Yeah, I got 
hold of her. She said she thinks I'm right, that she'll 
head over to the greenhouse. I just don't know why 
it just clicked in my mind, seeing that old 
greenhouse, the fake roses, it all just suddenly 
became clear. The guy was tossing the clue right in 
my face and I never saw it." He sat down tiredly on 
the edge of the sofa bed. 

"Maybe we should put the bandages back on, just 
until Dana has a chance to look at your eyes," 
Maggie suggested with a worried frown. 

"Actually, she already did look at them, when she 
was here. She said they were healing. And to be 
honest, now that the dressings are off, I'm seeing a 
little better," he lied. He hated the bandages; there 
was no way he was going to be trussed up again if 
he could avoid it. 

"Well, why don't you take a nap? You look 
exhausted," Maggie suggested. "Tara and I have to 
run out to the mall to do a little shopping; we're 
taking Matty with us so the house will be quiet. Use 
this time to rest, Fox. You know you're going to be 
needing it soon enough." 

He nodded; it was good advice. Lying down, he 
could hear Maggie and Tara gathering their purses 
and taking Matty out to the car. When the engine of 
Tara's SUV roared to life and pulled out of the 
driveway, he felt relieved and sleepy in the now 
silent house. He turned on his side and curled up on 
the bed, trying to imagine that Scully was there with 
him, spooning with him, just sleeping. How much 
he wanted just to hold her, especially now that he'd 
seen those pictures. 

Maggie was right -- that wasn't the kind of picture 
you'd take of someone you were 'kissing goodbye'. 
It was a bedroom picture -- as close to erotic as he 
was likely to find Scully outwardly displaying. 
When in private, he knew better -- much better. 

He was drifting off, thinking of her. He could see 
her trying to convince Kresge that they needed to go 
to the new location. Of course, being the ass he was, 
Kresge would argue. Scully would argue back, but 
she would know time was of the essence. 

Time. Scully would know that they had to get to 
Kocin quickly. What if she couldn't get Kresge to 
see the truth? What if the asshole denied her back 
up? She'd made friends with the Sheriff, she'd told 
him, but would she bother with that? 

What if she went to the greenhouse alone? 

Mulder jerked up from the bed and compelled his 
eyes to focus. There was a film covering them and it 
took several blinks to make them clear enough for 
him to see. He pulled on his boots and searched for 
the bag that held the clothes he was wearing when 
he was taken to the hospital. His keys were in the 
bottom of the bag, along with the spare key to the 
rental car. 

A quick glance out the family room window was all 
he needed to convince himself to grab his 
sunglasses out of the bag as well. His gun -- he 
knew Scully would have secured it somewhere. He 
ran up the stairs to the spare room where she was 
staying. He found her suitcase in the bedroom closet 
and in a locked compartment found his service 
weapon. He also found his wallet and badge. 
Strapping on the holster and tucking the wallets in 
his back pockets, he hurried down to the rental car 
waiting for him in the driveway. 

He was halfway down the street when he 
remembered that Scully had her cell phone. He 
speed dialed her number at a stop light. It rang four 
times and then rolled over to her voice mail. 

"Scully -- I'm coming to the greenhouse. Don't do 
anything until I get there. I mean it, Scully. Don't do 
anything until I get there. I'm only 10 minutes 
away." Traffic started and he moved forward, the 
phone still plastered between his ear and shoulder. 
"He's dangerous, Scully. Don't do anything stupid. I 
love you. Bye." 

He tossed the phone down on the seat and turned his 
attention to the road. He had to blink a lot to get the 
film from his eyes, but at least he could see 
reasonably well. 

It had clouded up and the sky was a threatening 
shade of deep blues and grays by the time he pulled 
up to the old greenhouses. He searched the area and 
found no squad cars, no unmarked vehicles, 
nothing. Dread formed in his stomach. He pulled his 
cell phone out of his pocket and tried Scully's 
number again. This time it went directly to voice 
mail, indicating that it had either run out of charge -
- or she'd turned it off. 

Something told him it was the latter. She'd gone off 
and done exactly what he usually did -- walked 
headlong into trouble. He cursed silently and shook 
his head. Of all the things to rub off on her, it had to 
be 'the ditch'. When he got hold of her -- he'd kiss 
her senseless just out of sheer relief. But after that, 
he'd let her have it. 

The complex was huge, made up of some 30 
individual greenhouses arranged in rows of four and 
running back over at least several acres of land. The 
whole place reminded him just a little too much of 
the New Spartans' compound. He could still smell 
the earthy perfume as he was marched to his would-
be execution. Mulder shuddered and tried to wipe 
the image from his mind. Not today. There would 
be no more death today, not if he could help it. 

As he stepped forward the sky opened up, 
drenching him to the bone by the time he made it 
between the first two buildings. Most of the glass 
roofs had broken panels and he could hear the rain 
pattering on the cement floors of the derelict 
structures. 

He heard a loud crash several rows ahead. He 
crouched low and ran as fast as he could. It was the 
most he'd moved in several days and by the time he 
reached the source of the sound, he was winded. 
Rain was streaming into his eyes, forcing him to 
wipe at them blindly with his free hand, keeping his 
gun arm extended in front of him. He heard another 
crash to his left and took off again. 

He was sure anyone passing by could hear his heart 
pounding in his chest and his ragged breathing. 
Damn it all, he'd been feeling better while he'd been 
at Bill and Tara's. Emotionally, he'd been a wreck, 
but physically, he'd almost convinced himself that 
he was doing better. Except for that whole pesky 
blindness thing, his little 'Scully' voice reminded 
him snidely. As if to prove that point, the wind blew 
something in his left eye and he doubled over from 
the pain. He tried to keep his fist from scrubbing at 
the abused orb. Rapid blinking did little to relieve 
the anguish. Finally, he was able to see, but his left 
eye was blurry at best. 

His eyesight wasn't the only thing working against 
him. The glass walls of the greenhouses were 
covered with years of dirt and grime, making them 
almost opaque. In one building to his right he could 
see movement, soft shadows in the dim light 
provided by the dark clouds. A struggle was taking 
place. 

"Federal Agent, freeze!" he shouted as he 
shouldered his way into the poorly lit building. He 
could just make out Scully trying to break free from 
Kocin. She looked up at his voice, her eyes wide. 

"Mulder, look out -- the place is rigged!" she cried 
out, but it was too late. Something large and heavy 
dropped from one of the cross beams above his 
head and he dropped to his knees, stunned. 

"I'll take that, if you don't mind," Kocin purred as 
he snatched Mulder's gun from his nerveless 
fingers. "Get up," the killer ordered the dazed agent. 

Mulder blinked slowly and complied with much 
effort. In a moment, he was standing next to Scully. 
"Your gun?" he asked. 

"He's got it." She turned her head so she could show 
her partner the matching bruise she wore. "There 
are booby traps all over this place," she said with a 
bitter scowl. 

"Not booby traps, Agent Scully. Prestidigitation. 
Everything here in this structure is meant to make 
the audience shiver -- maybe even scare one or two 
to death," Kocin giggled manically. He moved 
behind Mulder and tied his hands behind his back, 
doing the same to Scully. "Now, if you both would 
be so kind," he instructed with the pointing of the 
gun. "I have a little magic trick I've just been dying 
to try." 

Mulder hung back a step, putting himself closer to 
Kocin. He stumbled, on purpose, as if he'd slipped 
on the wet cement floor, and went down on one 
knee. Kocin bent down to grab him and Mulder's 
elbow shot out, knocking Kocin off balance. The 
agent took that opportunity to grab for Scully's gun 
that he saw sticking out of the murderer's 
waistband. 

The struggle was fierce but short-lived. The killer 
knocked the weapon out of Mulder's reach and 
brought the butt of the gun in his hand down on the 
agent's head. Mulder saw stars for a moment and 
then felt the muzzle of Scully's gun shoved hard 
against his temple. 

"I think the audience is getting a little rowdy. I 
wouldn't want to have to call the ushers, Agent 
Mulder," Kocin growled through his teeth. "Get up. 
Any more stunts like that and the first bullet goes 
through that pretty red hair over there." 

Mulder nodded mutely and allowed Kocin to drag 
him to his feet. The would-be magician pushed him 
toward his partner. 

"Did you call for backup?" Mulder whispered 
hoarsely in her ear. 

"Twenty minutes ago," she whispered back. 

Mulder glared at her. He'd been on the property for 
well over 20 minutes and there were no sirens, no 
squad cars -- no back up. 

She blinked. "Give or take." 

He rolled his eyes. And then he saw where they 
were headed. 

All the planting tables had been shoved to the walls 
to make room for the object that was the center of 
attention. It was a glass box. He was positive he'd 
seen David Blaine in just such a box on some magic 
special. Six feet high, two feet wide, three feet deep 
-- and water-tight. There was a stepladder next to it. 

"Ladies first -- Agent Scully, if you please," Kocin 
said congenially. Scully hesitated until Kocin 
placed the muzzle of the gun at base of Mulder's 
skull. "Don't even think about it," he warned with a 
slimy grin. 

Without taking her eyes off her partner, Scully 
moved up the ladder and then jumped down into the 
box, as well as she could with her hands bound. 
Mulder soon followed suit, trying hard not to land 
on her feet as he jumped down into the box. "Cozy," 
he whispered in her ear and she shot him a glare, 
but her eyes twinkled at his gesture. 

"This is a really amazing trick, I want you to fully 
understand how it works. I put the lid on, like so -- 
oh, duck a bit there Agent Mulder, I wouldn't want 
to catch your hair in the lid -- that's right," Kocin 
chattered as he locked them in the box. "Now, here 
comes the fun part." The killer scampered off the 
ladder and ran over to a corner of the greenhouse. 
With great ceremony he turned on a faucet. Mulder 
felt something cold at his feet. They both looked 
down only to find the box filling with water. 

"Now, I know it's not the 'sawing the lady in half' 
trick that I've been perfecting, but I think it's 
spontaneous enough to be a show stopper," Kocin 
prattled. "But you see, I really must be going now. 
So sorry I can't stick around for your big finale." 
With a flippant salute, he exited the structure. 

"I think I saw this movie, Scully. James Bond 
managed to turn the box into a yacht and they sailed 
for Bermuda," Mulder quipped as he struggled with 
the ropes tying his hands. 

"Mulder, turn around. Maybe I can get you loose," 
Scully ordered. They both tried, but the box was too 
tight. Their shoulders prevented them from 
changing positions too much. 

"Stop, Scully, stop. Besides, the water's rising," 
Mulder pointed out. 

She looked up and met his eyes. "Mulder, I -- " 

"Shhh," he chided. "Scully, I want you to know -- " 

"I love you!" she blurted out, surprising him. "I love 
you," she repeated, softer, and he was amazed by 
what he read in her eyes. God, how he'd missed 
seeing her eyes. 

He smiled at her. "I must say you have impeccable 
timing, Agent Scully." He rested his forehead 
against hers, never allowing his gaze to leave her 
eyes. "I love you, too. I can't remember when I 
didn't love you." 

"Oh, Mulder. I'm so sorry. I kept you at arm's 
length, and I can't even tell you why. I've loved you 
for so long, and when we finally got together it was 
wonderful! But then you got sick and I got scared 
and we came here and -- " 

"Scully, shut up. I'm trying to kiss you," he told her 
firmly and pressed his lips against hers, silencing 
her instantly. He was afraid she might pull back, but 
she surprised him and pressed closer, opening her 
lips and deepening the kiss. 

They were still kissing when the water reached their 
chins. 

**

Mulder jerked up from their kiss, and Scully 
panicked as water quickly took his place. "Mu -- " 
was as far as she got as liquid filled her mouth, and 
she spluttered the rest of his name.

Standing on tiptoes gave her a temporary reprieve, 
but she knew it was only a matter of time. The only 
good thing was that she wouldn't have to watch 
Mulder die. At this thought, she locked eyes with 
him. By the look in his eyes, she knew he'd had the 
same thought.

"Scully, no!" Without warning, he ducked his head 
into the water, catching her under the chin. Using 
the water's buoyancy, he pushed her body upward, 
and her face out of the water. He then pinned her to 
the wall with his body so that their heads were level 
with each other at the very top of the box. "I'm 
sorry," he coughed out, "but I can't. I can't watch 
you die."

"Mulder . . ." What could she say? She laid her head 
on his shoulder and kissed his neck. "I know. 
Neither can I." 

She didn't know how he found the strength to keep 
them both upright. Thanks to his little foray 
underwater, he was coughing almost continuously 
now, and his breathing -- when he could catch a 
breath -- was noisy and sounded painful. The water 
was hitting her ear on his shoulder, so she 
reluctantly removed it. Mulder's head was turned so 
he wouldn't cough on her, but she needed to see 
him, wanted to be looking at him as she drew her 
last breath.

"Look at me."

He shook his head frantically. "Can't," he grated 
out. 

"Mulder, we're going to be dead in about three 
minutes. I want to spend that time looking into your 
eyes."

He barked out what sounded suspiciously like a 
laugh. "My . . . eyes . . . are closed. Won't . . . see 
much."

"Then I want to see your face. Not the back of your 
head -- your face. Come on, look at me."

He turned toward her, watering eyes incredulous. 
"Nice . . . vision of me . . . to take . . . to your . . . 
grave . . . Scully."

"I'll take what I can get," she said, kissing his 
forehead, then pressing her cheek to his. 

After a few more seconds, his coughing spell 
passed, and she waited while he worked at getting 
his breathing calmed. She wondered how much 
damage he'd done to his eyes and lungs by rushing 
to get to her, even as she realized that at this point it 
didn't really matter. "Thank you," she whispered.

He didn't say anything for a couple of seconds, then, 
"For what?"

"Coming after me."

"I'll always come after you, Scully. You know that."

She did. And despite their circumstance, she smiled. 
"I count on it. I count on you."

"And I, you. You always come after me, too, 
Scully." An expression of realization came over his 
face, and a smile curled his lips. "I guess that should 
have told me." 

"Told you what?"

He was silent for a moment. "That you love me. 
That you aren't interested in Kresge."

"God, no!" she said with all the emphasis she felt 
about that statement. "Whatever made you think 
that?"

"He. . . well, he's interested in you, and you kind of 
seemed to, well. . . like it," he said, lamely, feeling 
stupid now that he knew the truth.

"I guess I did at first, but I was never interested in 
him that way."

"Why not?"

Poor Mulder. Always in need of reassurance. 
"Beyond the obvious?"

She could see that he was at a loss. Like any other 
male, he needed to have it spelled out for him. She 
smiled gently, her eyes conveying that she 
understood his confusion. "'The obvious' is that I 
love you. 'Beyond the obvious' is that he's irritating, 
condescending, and a sexist!"

Mulder grinned. "Come on, Scully. Don't hold back. 
Tell me how you really feel."

How she really felt was like her heart was about to 
explode. Or was that her lungs, since the water was 
now up to her nose? Mulder tried to push her 
higher, but there was no higher. His forlorn gaze 
bored into hers. 'I love you,' she told him with her 
eyes, and she read the same in his. 

She kept her eyes on his until he faded away.

**

Detective Kresge's car
En route to Rose Capital of the World

Detective John Kresge was pissed. Totally and 
royally pissed off. Not ten minutes after she had 
walked out on him, John had received a courtesy 
call from San Diego county dispatch informing him 
that they were sending a car in response to a back-
up request from Dana. 

What the hell was up with her? He'd tried to be 
everything her partner wasn't -- charming, attentive, 
thoughtful and protective -- but she didn't seem to 
appreciate it. She'd called him a pig, for Chrissakes!

And now she was out at the old Rose Capital 
greenhouses for God knew what reason. The 
dispatcher didn't have any details, only the name of 
the officer requesting back-up and the location. 
Since county's records indicated that Dana was a 
federal officer working with SDPD and him in 
particular, the call was piped through to his cell 
phone. Was she crazy, going there alone?

He repressed a shudder as the first building came 
into view. Even at the best of times, the old deserted 
buildings were spooky -- and twilight was definitely 
not the best of times.

How on earth did she get out here? he wondered. 
There wasn't a car in sight. He felt a little guilty that 
he'd insisted on driving her and then letting her 
leave without caring how she was going to get 
herself back to her brother's.

Parking beside the first building, he got out, closing 
the door carefully and quietly. If she was waiting 
for back-up, then where was she? He didn't need 
spidey sense to know something was wrong.

"Dana!" he called in a hushed voice. "Dana! Where 
are you?" He wasn't really expecting her to reply, 
but he thought it wouldn't hurt to try. "Dana!"

Swallowing hard, he entered the building closest to 
the road. It was eerily silent, and a cold chill ran up 
his spine. In that second, he gained a little respect 
for what Dana and her partner investigated on a 
regular basis. Danm. They had to be crazy to 
subject themselves to this all the time.

He'd just come out of the second building when he 
saw a man emerge a few buildings down. The man 
saw him at the same time and made a run for 
another building. Kresge didn't know who the guy 
was, but the blood stains on the guy's shirt made the 
detective fear for Dana's life. "Hey!" Kresge called. 
"Police officer. Stop right there!"

The guy was fast, Kresge'd give him that. He was 
out of sight before the detective had drawn his 
weapon. "Damn," he swore. He'd have to let the guy 
go so he could search the building the guy had 
exited.

"Detective Kresge!"

He whirled around towards the voice that had called 
his name. Doug Colter, his mind automatically 
supplied. Deputy Doug Colter. "Doug! The perp 
went into that building!" Kresge yelled, pointing to 
the greenhouse into which the man had disappeared. 
The detective scanned the area behind the deputy. 
"You come alone?"

Colter trotted up to him, nodding. "Yeah. But Jim 
Greenville should be right behind me."

Kresge nodded in approval. "Good. Wait till he gets 
here before you go after this guy. He may have 
already killed an officer," he reported with dread. 
"I'm gonna go check it out."

Colter's eyes widened, but he said nothing. Good 
man, Kresge thought, running to his destination as 
fast as he could while still keeping an eye out for 
their suspect. He breathed a sigh of relief when he 
reached the building and moved around to the 
doorway out of the line of fire.

Clearing a spot on the dirty glass, he peered in. 
When he caught sight of the two federal agents 
drowning in a glass box filled with water, he didn't 
hesitate. In the back of his mind, he knew he might 
be walking into a trap if their perp had an 
accomplice, but he dismissed it as something he'd 
deal with if he had to.

In the meantime, though, he had to save Dana.

Seeing Dana being held up by her partner, John 
aimed his weapon at the area below her feet and 
fired. But the glass was thick, and all his bullet did 
was create a very small leak. Taking aim again, 
John kept firing until finally he'd created a hole so 
large the force of the water pushed at it until it 
shattered.

Dana and her partner collapsed to the ground and 
lay still. Kresge didn't even have to think about 
which one to help first. He knelt beside Dana, 
putting his mouth to her ear. Breathing, but barely. 

He pinched her nose closed, then placed his mouth 
over hers, filling her lungs with air. After a few 
breaths, she coughed and spit up a small amount of 
water. "Dana, you okay?"

After a moment of disorientation, she met his eyes 
and nodded.

Happy that she was all right, John quickly moved 
over to her partner, who was laying face down a 
few feet away. The male agent wasn't breathing, 
and as much as John disliked the man, he wouldn't 
let him die if he could help it. 

"Mulder. . ." Dana choked out. "Is he alive?"

John shook his head. "He's not breathing." John 
flipped the agent until he was lying flat on his back, 
turning Mulder's face to one side. Kneeling astride 
the agent, John positioned his hands on Mulder's 
abdomen and thrust upward. Water spewed from the 
agent's mouth. John kept up the action until the 
agent's airway was clear of water, and the man 
began coughing. By that time, Dana was beside her 
partner, encouraging him to keep breathing.

John moved away and took out his cell phone, 
punching in 911. Giving their location, he requested 
immediate backup and an ambulance, then turned 
his attention to Dana. She had her partner's head on 
her lap, and was gazing upon him with unabashed 
love in her eyes. Painfully aware of how 
disrespectfully her partner treated her, John felt 
embarrassed for her, to be displaying such an 
emotion to someone who didn't give a fig about her.

Right then and there, John vowed never to mention 
the incident to her, ever. It'd be awkward enough 
once Mulder was back to his normal behavior; Dana 
didn't need to know that John was witness to her 
momentary lapse, that she'd allowed the hero 
worship she felt -- for whatever reason -- for this 
man to show.

The thing was, though, when John took a look at the 
object of her affection, at the man John was so used 
to seeing with a scowl on his face or a biting remark 
on his lips. . . The thing was that he was giving her 
the look right back.

John didn't understand what she saw in him, and he 
didn't understand how Mulder had kept it so well 
hidden, but he did understand that he'd never had a 
chance in hell.

**

Scully peeked out of the ER cubicle, looking both 
ways. She'd been pushed in the room upon her 
arrival at the hospital, promptly told to disrobe and 
don a thin gown and left there without any word on 
her partner. Mulder had been given oxygen at the 
scene and he'd appeared coherent but he'd been 
placed in a different ambulance and no amount of 
questions about his condition had produced any 
information. She'd been there over two hours and 
she was determined to find out what was going on.

She spied her clothes in a bag under the gurney. It 
was just a few seconds to pull them on, slide her 
feet into her shoes and run her fingers through her 
hair. She glanced in the mirror. Her clothes were 
damp from their time in the glass box, and she 
sniffed at them, noting that they didn't smell too bad 
-- it had been clean water at least. She was more 
concerned about Mulder than about her current 
appearance, so she tiptoed out of the room.

She hadn't gone two feet from her examination 
room when a hand landed on her shoulder. Scully 
spun around so fast she made herself dizzy and two 
hands gripped her upper arms.

"Whoa there, Scully FBI," John Kresge said with a 
grin. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I'm trying to find where they took Mulder. I've 
been waiting in that damned room forever and no 
one will tell me how he is -- "

"Slow down, I just came from seeing him. He's in 
room 7, right over there." Kresge pointed to the 
opposite corner of the large emergency department. 
Scully took off in that direction, but Kresge's hand 
on her arm brought her up short. 

"John, if you value your life, let go of me," she 
hissed.

He put his hands up in surrender. "I just thought you 
might be interested in hearing what happened to 
Kocin and the last victim," he said with one 
eyebrow cocked. "Agent Mulder, if it will put your 
mind at ease, was taking a breathing treatment when 
I just saw him and he couldn't talk to you if he 
wanted to."

She looked longingly over to the room where 
Mulder was housed and then gave Kresge her 
undivided attention. "You can tell me on the way 
over to Mulder's room," she told him as she started 
walking. Kresge had to double-time a couple of 
steps to catch up with her.

"Right after you left in the ambulance, one of the 
Sheriff's deputies found Kocin. He was hiding in 
one of the greenhouses. We have him in custody -- 
solitary -- at the county jail awaiting arraignment 
tomorrow morning on 7 counts of murder -- "

"And two counts of attempted murder _and_ 
assaulting two Federal Agents, I hope you managed 
to include," she interjected. "But what about the 
woman? I heard a scream when I got to the 
greenhouses. That's why I went in to find Kocin."

Kresge pulled out his notebook and flipped to a 
page. "Carol Jo Vecchio, hairdresser, does make up 
for some of the acts at the Palace." He smiled at 
Scully. "She's alive. She was cut up, but apparently 
before he could finish the job he caught sight of you 
coming and left her for later. Knocked her out. She 
lost quite a bit of blood and has a concussion but the 
docs say she'll be able to testify against him."

"So can Mulder and I," Scully reminded him. 
"Mulder can go through his profile for the 
prosecution."

Kresge rolled his eyes but smiled sweetly. "Of 
course, it's all in the DA's hands at the moment, but 
suffice it to say, we are throwing the book at him. 
However, you'll have to come back to San Diego to 
testify."

"John," she said, placing her hand on his chest. 
"We'll come back to testify, but I want you to 
understand something."

"You won't be coming back to see me," Kresge 
said, attempting a boyish grin that didn't reach his 
eyes. "I saw . . . well, it doesn't matter what I saw. 
But I did see the two of you. I guess that means you 
and I -- " He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe, under 
different circumstances?"

"Not for the last seven years, no, John. I'm sorry. 
I'm really sorry if I led you to believe -- "

"Oh, no, Dana, stop! Any presumptions were mine 
and mine alone. I just thought of you when this case 
came up and the last time you were here . . . and 
well, you're just about perfect in my eyes. I have to 
be honest, I can't see what you see in him, but I 
wish you the best."

Scully tried hard not to blush, but impulsively she 
reached up on tiptoes and kissed Kresge on the 
cheek, right next to his mouth. "Thank you, John. 
And for what it's worth, I think I might be the only 
person on the planet to see the real Fox Mulder. I'm 
just sorry that he hides himself so completely. He's 
pretty perfect, too."

Kresge shrugged again. "Well, I'd better get back to 
the station. I just wanted to make sure they were 
treating you right. Oh, and if you're up to it, we'll 
need a statement sometime soon. Just give me a 
call, I'll come by."

"Thanks, John, but I'll probably just come down and 
do it. It would be easier on everyone."

The detective nodded and sighed. "Whatever you 
think is best. Goodbye, Scully FBI."

"Bye, John. And thank you for rescuing us." She 
took his hand and gave it a squeeze before he 
proceeded down the hall.

Mulder was sitting up on the gurney, in his mouth 
was a plastic pipe attached to tubing and a hissing 
machine. From his less than happy expression, she 
could see he'd witnessed her conversation with 
Kresge -- and the kiss she'd bestowed on the 
detective. It was time to set a few things straight, 
again.

"Hi, partner," she said, leaning over and taking the 
pipe out of his mouth just long enough to give him a 
tender kiss. "How are you feeling?"

He grabbed the pipe out of his mouth to speak. "A 
little water-logged," he said before breaking into a 
chain reaction of coughs.

From where she stood next to him, she could hear 
the fluid still in his lungs. "I think the less you talk, 
the more medicine you'll get in you."

He poked her in the chest and glared at her. 

"Me? I'm fine. I'm so fine they haven't even come 
back to take my temperature. Now that I've found 
you I'll tell the nurse that I'll move over here to keep 
you in line."

He pulled the pipe out of his mouth again. "What 
did Kresge want?" he asked, his eyes narrowing a 
touch at the detective's name.

"Just to tell me that they caught Kocin and that he's 
being arraigned in the morning and that his last 
victim is alive, recovering and should be able to 
testify at the trial," she said with a smile. "Kresge 
neglected to give you credit for finding the bastard, 
but I'm sure that was just a small oversight."

He rolled his eyes just about the time the stream of 
'smoke' sputtered out of the end of the pipe. He 
sighed in relief as he pulled the mouthpiece out and 
licked his lips.

"Better?" she asked, taking the pipe from his hand 
and resting it on the top of the machine.

"A little, yeah," he rasped. "I saw you, um, you and 
. . ."

"You saw me kissing him goodbye?" she asked 
sweetly. "That is exactly what you saw. I told him 
in no uncertain terms that there is only room for one 
egotistical, insensitive, quick to run off, asshole in 
my life and I guess that would be you."

"Scully," he said, stifling a laugh with a pained grin. 
"I never knew you to be such a romantic!" The 
mirth ended quickly when he doubled over 
coughing.

"Well, Mr. Mulder, we're getting your room all set 
up on 6th floor, oh, hello?" the nurse said as she 
bustled in to check on Mulder. "Aren't you 
supposed to be across the hall?" she asked Scully 
with a raised eyebrow.

"Actually, there's nothing wrong with me," Scully 
said crossing her arms. "And I was getting cold 
sitting for so long in that gown," she added with a 
raised eyebrow of her own.

"Scully, I don't want to stay here tonight," Mulder 
rasped, leaning back against the pillows.

Scully looked over at the nurse. "May I speak to 
Agent Mulder's attending?"

It took some finagling and three phone calls but 
finally Scully reentered Mulder's exam room with a 
smile on her face. "OK, you're sprung -- but there 
are a few conditions."

He nodded happily.

"One, I arranged for another hotel room -- this time 
guaranteeing it is non-smoking."

He grinned like an idiot.

"Two, you are going straight to bed, no arguments, 
when we get there."

His idiotic grin took on a lecherous edge.

"Three, don't go getting any ideas, Mulder, because 
any strenuous exercise is liable to put you right 
back here before you could blink."

"Define 'strenuous'?" he asked softly, his eyes 
pleading.

She held back her smile. "I think bed-sharing, some 
cuddling and maybe breakfast in bed tomorrow 
would be non-strenuous enough. But no gymnastics 
until we get home. Understood?" she said sternly.

"Scully, just hearing you say 'gymnastics' turns me 
on," he whispered hoarsely and wiggled his 
eyebrows for effect.

She leaned over and kissed him deeply. When she 
finally drew back, letting him catch his breath, she 
smiled. "Just thinking about doing gymnastics with 
you turns _me_ on."

**

Doubletree San Diego - Mission Valley

Less than an hour later, the cab pulled up to the new 
hotel. Mulder tried to whistle but it came out a 
blowing sound followed by heavy coughing. Scully 
waited for him to get out of the cab and took his 
arm. Mulder looked down where her small hand 
rested on his elbow and wondered if it was a sign of 
affection or one of doctorly concern. When he 
looked into her eyes, the love shining back at him 
gave him all the reassurance he needed.

He was pleased to see that Tara or Maggie had 
brought their bags from the house. They rushed to 
change out of their still damp clothes into sweats. 
After that, Scully pointed to the bed and he happily 
complied; he was exhausted. He woke up a few 
hours later to find his partner snuggled up against 
him, fast asleep. He had to admit, strenuous 
exercise was out of the question for the next few 
days. But as he closed his eyes and drifted off to 
sleep again, he smiled as he thought of what 
awaited them when they got back home.

**

Two Weeks Later
San Diego, CA

"Hey, Mom, look at this." Bill shoved one of the 
two weeks' worth of newspapers he was reading 
under her nose.

Maggie screwed up her face in annoyance. Right in 
the middle of the story she was reading in her 
*current* newspaper, Bill thought nothing of 
obscuring her paper with his half-month-old news. 
"What?"

"That detective." He pointed out Detective Kresge's 
name in the article about the serial killer the media 
had dubbed 'The Magician.' "This says he caught 
the guy and saved the lives of two FBI agents at the 
same time." He looked up at her, his face creased 
with worry. "Was that Dana?"

Maggie nodded. "And Fox. Yes." That had been 
what they called "a bad scene," she remembered. 
Although Dana had called her from the hospital to 
tell her they'd been injured at the scene, she'd 
neglected to mention that they'd nearly been killed. 
Would have drowned if Detective Kresge hadn't 
shown up in the literal nick of time.

Dana had been upset that the whole story had been 
printed in the paper, and had been more concerned 
with who had leaked it than the actual content itself. 
Maggie had been concerned with the content -- and 
why Dana had kept the tiny detail of her near death 
from her mother.

It was then, in the heat of argument, that Dana let 
slip that she and Fox almost died on a regular basis. 
Maggie had been shaken to her very core. While 
she'd known that what Dana did for work was 
dangerous, she hadn't realized just *how* 
dangerous.

Dana's explaining that that was why she never 
provided details of their cases was no comfort, and 
Maggie told her so. It was at that point that Dana 
went so quiet that Maggie was afraid she'd gone too 
far.

Her daughter surprised the life out of her when, in a 
soft, sad voice, she offered an apology that her 
chosen career had given her mother cause to worry 
more about her daughter than about her sons. But 
she would not apologize for her choice of career on 
any other level.

Maggie accepted her apology and her account of the 
incident at the greenhouse in which she and Fox had 
been captured and imprisoned in a tank of water.

"I guess Dana was damned lucky that detective was 
on the ball, wasn't she?" Bill asked, bringing her 
back to the present day.

Maggie didn't say a word. Instead, she pulled out 
the next date's paper and opened it to page two. 
"Yes, it was lucky that Detective Kresge arrived 
when he did." She pointed to an article at the top of 
the page. "But before you submit his name for 
sainthood, perhaps you should read this."

Her son looked at her questioningly before he 
focused his gaze on the heading, "Detective sets 
record straight on Magician collar."

Maggie watched Bill's face as he read Detective 
Kresge's account of what -- and who -- lead him to 
the greenhouse in time to catch a killer and save 
three lives. She had actually been surprised that the 
man had credited Fox for identifying the killer -- 
and where he could be found. The detective's 
assertion that he had arrived in time to save the 
agents only because of Dana's phone call had given 
her chills. And the realization that Fox knowingly 
placed himself in danger to save her daughter made 
her angry and grateful at the same time.

"Well." Bill licked his lips. Maggie met his eyes. "It 
takes a big man to admit he was wrong." The 
admiration in Bill's voice was unmistakable, and 
Maggie stared at him in shock. Her son's face 
crinkled into a grin. "All right. Dana's partner did 
okay. For once," she heard him mutter under his 
breath.

Maggie waited. She knew he could never let it end 
there.

"But by sending her out there, he almost got her 
killed." Bill's eyes were blazing with accusation.

Maggie had already given this some thought, so she 
was ready for him. "Bill . . ." She waited until she 
had his attention once more. "If Fox was here, blind 
and sick, and Dana was out on a call with Detective 
Kresge, how did it turn out that Fox was with Dana, 
and Detective Kresge arrived after the fact?"

"Well -- "

"Let me tell you how. After I pressed her, Dana 
admitted that she'd had a falling out with Detective 
Kresge, and was headed back here in a cab. When 
Fox called her, she let him assume that she was 
going to that greenhouse with the detective. When 
Tara and I left to go shopping, Fox was going to lie 
down. How he ended up at that greenhouse, I'll 
never know, but Dana didn't sound in the least 
surprised. She joked about how his 'Scully radar' 
must have gone off -- except I don't really think she 
was joking."

Bill took a deep breath. "Yeah, well. . . Maybe it's 
not always his fault."

Maggie smiled. Baby steps. Her six-foot son always 
learned in baby steps.

But he did learn.

**

Six months later
X-Files Office

When Scully stiffened in her seat, looked at him, 
then looked back at her computer, Mulder feared 
the worst. Oh, God, who had died now? "What is it, 
Scully?" he asked, fearfully.

"My brother."

Mulder closed his eyes. Oh, Jesus. "Bill?" he asked, 
uncertain of which one she was speaking.

When she nodded, he noted the shock on her face.

Getting up, he walked over and laid a comforting 
hand on her back, rubbing soothingly. "What 
happened?" he asked softly.

"He . . ." She stopped, staring out into space, and 
Mulder's heart filled with sympathy for her.

"What?" he prodded, gently.

She looked up at him and pointed to the screen. 
Mulder held her gaze a moment before he looked 
down at the email. He read it, then read it again. 
Then he read it once more to make certain he hadn't 
misinterpreted it. "Does that say . . ." He couldn't go 
on.

She nodded slowly. "I think so."

Suddenly, he had a horrible thought. "Scully, would 
Bill have knowledge of an impending disaster?" 

She looked quickly at him, and he knew they were 
on the same page. Something earth shattering was 
about to occur. The world was going to blow up. 
The universe was on the verge of imploding. 

Something major was definitely in play.

Bill had just invited Scully -- and Mulder -- for 
Christmas.

The End