From: syntax6 Date: 7 Jul 2003 15:41:52 -0700 Subject: New: Split the Lark 0/14 by syntax6 Source: atxc "Split the Lark" is rated NC-17 for sexual situations and adult subject matter. The violence here is muted. However, StL is also rated SA, for Super Angsty. StL departs from canon after "Je Souhaite." It is set summer of 2001. This story is not a WIP. It is a beta in progress. Chapters will be posted accordingly. Feedback: always welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com More notes at the end. ~~~~~ SPLIT THE LARK ~~~~~~~ by syntax6 (syn_tax6@yahoo.com) XxXxXxXxXxX Chapter One XxXxXxXxXxX This time, she left her gun at home. Mulder had called after three days away testifying at a retrial in Oregon -- an old monster threatening to escape the box again -- and said he was back and she should come over. Phone curled to her ear, she'd heard the sound of his bag hitting the floor, barely home. She imagined him like the last reel of a John Wayne movie, where the dusty but victorious hero bursts through the saloon doors, lit like the blazes from behind, and sweeps his beloved into his arms. Or, in Mulder's case, his cell phone. "Come over," he'd said, his voice rich with invitation. "You're not tired?" "Not yet," he'd said, and she'd shivered. He didn't mention files or folders or bogeymen, so Scully left them at home too. She left the gun in its holster on her dresser, next to her badge. She bypassed the line of black suits in her closet in favor of a long wrap-around skirt that she hadn't worn since college. It still fit, she realized with a pleased smile as she ran her hands over the soft cotton that hugged her hips, like it had been waiting for her all these years. She pinned her hair off her neck and slipped on some sandals and left with nothing more than her wallet, her keys, and a tingle of anticipation. The night heat wilted her shower- fresh skin, leaving Scully to perform emergency resuscitation with a blast of AC in the car. She checked her progress in the rearview mirror at a red light. Eyes bright and cheeks pink, she blew out a long breath and gave up. Mulder would take one look at her and know she was hot. A car honked behind her. It was silly to be nervous, she thought. She'd come over before. She had brought her trench coat and her files, and he had ordered the pizza. But somehow "Let me help you off with that coat, Scully" had melted into "Let me help you off with that bra, Scully," while the files and pizza grew cold together on the table. Then, just the week before, he'd asked her to come over and help him with his crashed computer, so she'd brought her manuals to tackle the problem. Together they'd managed some manual relief, but as far as she knew, Mulder's computer still remained broken. His low voice from the phone echoed in her head and warmed her ears anew. Come over, he'd said, without pretext this time. No books. No files. Just come. She got as far as Duke Street before she lost her nerve and stopped for Chinese. Mulder would be hungry, she told herself. And if she showed up with an armful of takeout boxes, she might not look so... expectant. Decision made, Scully drove to Ming's Delight, their favorite hole-in-the- wall Chinese joint from Mulder's end of town. Ming's shared a block of brick buildings with other small shops, so street parking was often a problem. Scully eyed the line of cars out front and turned down the narrow alley to the tiny parking lot in back. No neat white lines and smooth tar for Ming's -- their lot featured crumbling pavement, a large dumpster and a chain-link fence. The only light came from the open back door at Ming's, which poured out steamy air and a long string of loud Chinese. At the back, an urban jungle had sprung up from neglect, as saplings took root and brambly bushes spilled out onto the gravel. Scully stuck the nose of her car in the leafy thicket and went in search of food. Jun, the young man at the counter, recognized her and his eyes crinkled up in welcome. Scully ordered their usual black pepper beef and Kung Pao chicken. "And some of the ginger pork noodles," she added. "Oh, and an order of spring rolls." Jun's eyebrows lifted. "You are hungry tonight!" Scully felt her cheeks flush. "I guess so." He boxed the food and tossed in double their allotted fortune cookies. "For luck," he told her with a wink. Scully thanked him and returned to her car. Awkwardly, she tried to balance the food between her hip and the car door as she fumbled with her keys. Then her phone rang. She set the keys on the roof to answer it. "Scully." "You're not here." His impatience made her smile. The good thing about Chinese food was that it reheated well. "I'm five blocks away." "Ming's?" "The very same." "Fantastic. I could use something to supplement my plane peanuts." "I figured as much." The heat from the food burned through her skirt. "I'll be right there." "Scully?" "Yes?" "You aren't going to make me dress up for dinner, are you?" "Why, Mulder? What are you wearing?" As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized she'd been set up. "Right now? Nothing." Scully shook her head a bit, letting him enjoy his moment. "Well, then," she answered, voice pitched low as she hefted the food, "I guess my fortune cookie came true." She hung up at his delightedly shocked silence. Groping for the keys with her two free fingers, she missed and the keys slid from the roof. "Dammit." She cradled the bag to her side and crouched down in the dark. A breeze ruffled the leaves. She managed to hook the key ring with her pinky and stood up again, face to face with a man in a stocking mask. He knocked the keys and the phone from her hand with a sharp blow. Scully sucked in a breath as he advanced. "My wallet is on the roof," she said. "Shut up." His mouth curled beneath the pantyhose. She saw now that he clutched a knife. "Lose the food." Scully set the bag on the ground. "Take whatever you want," she told him. He grabbed her bare upper arm and yanked her further into the darkness. The knife grazed her neck. Behind her, she felt him fumbling, and he thrust a small roll of black tape into her hand. "Tear it off," he breathed near her ear, "and cover your mouth. Do it now." Cold fear dripped down her spine. "Please, no--" The knifepoint bit into her neck. "Now." Scully complied with shaking fingers. When she was done, he turned her roughly around. She stared at his mashed features -- the blunt nose, the slitted eyes, and his wet, open mouth. Her knees threatened to give way. "Down on the ground," he ordered. He followed her down, knife coming to rest at her jugular. Her skirt gaped open and he pried her legs apart. "That's it," he said. "You're a hot little bitch." Scully closed her eyes and turned her head away. He smelled like beer and sweat. Silent tears streamed down her face into the dirt as he yanked off her underwear and unzipped his pants. She tensed but he pushed himself inside her anyway. "You like this, huh?" Scully struggled for breath, panting through her nose. She heard the cheerful shouts from Ming's kitchen, smelled the feast she'd bought for Mulder. Her attacker grunted. Abruptly, she felt the heat of his body leave her. Sweat glued her T-shirt to her chest. She burned between her legs. He rustled around not far away and she made herself look. He was cleaning up, tucking in his shirt. "You tell anyone, you're dead." He pointed the knife at her. She watched as he thrashed his way back into the bushes. Her heart thudded in her throat but she lay perfectly still, listening. His noises faded away. With a small, choked sound, Scully rose to her hands and knees. Her muscles were stiff and uncooperative. She crawled out from behind her car and located her phone. Her hair had come undone, falling in her eyes, sticking to her teary face. She pushed it aside and ripped off the tape. After several shuddering breaths, she leaned back against the rear tire of her car and opened her phone. Her hand shook so hard she could barely hit the buttons. "Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?" "I--I've been assaulted in a parking lot. I need help." She gave the requisite information and curled up to listen for the sirens. With every twitch of a leaf, she was sure he was coming through the bushes again. Dirt clung to her hair. Her underwear was gone. Scully shivered in the muggy night air. She wanted to go home and stand in the hot shower until she felt clean again, but she did not move. She was an investigator, and this was her crime scene. XxX Scully sat alone, her back to the car, with her cell phone cradled to her breast. She swiped at her cheeks with one hand as the first black-and-white appeared on the scene. The ambulance followed, squeezing through the narrow alley, red lights spinning circles in the trees. She heard radios squawk when the heavy car doors opened and the officers approached. The clump of their boots on the pavement made her nervous. She should stand up, organize the facts, but she couldn't seem to move. "Ma'am?" The larger man peered down at her. "We're from the Alexandria Police Department. Are you the one who called?" "Yes." She looked behind him at the darkened bushes. "Yes, I called." They asked her name and she told them. The smaller man crouched down next to her, eyes dark behind his round glasses. "Can you tell us what happened?" She could remember every second but not in any order. The bits zoomed in and out of focus in her mind: his breath on her cheek, the blade at her neck, the food getting cold as he ground her into the dirt. Her hand went to her throat. "He came from there," she said, indicating the bushes. "A man, about six feet tall, twenty-five to thirty-five years old. He wore jeans and he had a -- a stocking over his face. No gloves." "Race?" She pictured him and her throat seized up. She shook her head. "Too dark." Scully gave the details as though she were recording autopsy data; how he had knocked her keys and phone away, had cut her throat, had forced her down and raped her. Two of the officers, armed with guns and flashlights, set out into the trees after him. A third, the gentle giant who'd first found her huddled against the car, stayed with her while the EMTs began treating her wounds. "Officer Lou Paulson, Ma'am," he said, his knees cracking as he bent. "You say he knocked your phone out of your hands?" Scully still had it clutched close. "Yes." "We should have it checked for prints." He turned without getting up. "Carlos?" he yelled at the other man back near the car. "Can you bring me a bag?" Scully's heart bumped against her ribs. "I don't think he touched it," she said tightly. "He hit my wrist, not the phone." "Can't be too sure." He held out a gloved hand, his expression softening at her hesitation. "We'll have it back to you real soon, I promise." Wordlessly, Scully stretched out the phone for him. If he noticed her tremor, he didn't comment. The phone rang inside the paper bag, and Paulson peered in like schoolboy at lunchtime. Scully already knew what name glowed inside. "Fox Mulder," Paulson read off. Scully nodded, hugging herself. "He's expecting me for dinner." Paulson's thick brows knit together, and he reached for his back pocket. "Here," he said, handing her his cell. "You can call him if you like." The foreign phone felt like lead in her hands. She licked dried lips and stared at the buttons. "Thanks," she replied, but made no move to dial. Mulder. Tears threatened to overwhelm her again. She didn't want to have to call. She wanted him to appear magically without having to say the words. One of the EMTs appeared with a stretcher. "We should get her to the hospital now," he told Paulson. Paulson stood as the two other officers returned from their mission in the trees. "No sign of the guy," said one. Brubrek, she thought his name was. "We found your keys but not your wallet," he told Scully. She rose on shaky legs. Her driver's license, her business cards -- he had everything. "He'll know where I live," she said, "where I work." "Give us your address," the Brubrek said. "We'll make sure he's not headed over there. Where do you work?" Scully faltered. She knew what was coming. "The FBI." "You're a Fed?" He looked up from his notes for her nod. She could feel the other men resisting the urge to look too. He raked her once from head to toe and returned his eyes to his pad. "Don't think you'll have to worry about this guy bothering you on the job then." "Dana?" said the closet EMT. "We should go get you checked out now." Scully nodded, numb. She moved stiffly to climb onto the stretcher, but Brubrek had one last question. "Did he take anything else?" he asked. "Any jewelry?" Scully swallowed. "My underwear." The EMT covered her with a blanket and avoided her eyes. Officer Paulson occupied himself with the trees, and Brubrek cleared his throat. "Okay, that's it for now. We'll talk to you again at the hospital, okay?" Scully realized she still had Paulson's phone. "You keep it," he told her. "Call your friend. I'll get it back at the hospital." As they wheeled her to the back of the ambulance, Scully saw that the Ming family had filed out from the kitchen to watch the commotion. They stood in silent, sad formation -- Jun the tallest, with his tiny father and two teenage sisters at his side -- all still wearing their neat white aprons. Scully looked away. She knew she would never come back there again. XxX Mulder used two fingers to scissor an opening in his blinds and peered down at the street for the fourth time. Still, no Scully. He chewed his lip and hit her number on his speed dial, but again, her voice mail answered. It should not take her over half an hour to travel five blocks. He fished his keys from the desk and started for the front door, when the phone rang in his hand. "Scully," he said with relief. "Where are you?" There was silence on the other end, and he noticed for the first time that the caller ID read "Paulson" not "Scully." "Hello?" he tried again. "Mulder?" She sounded small and far away. "Scully," he said, exhaling once more as he sank onto his sofa. "What's going on? Where are you?" He heard muffled voices in the background. "I'm okay," she said, and his blood went cold. He lurched forward on the couch. "Scully?" "There was a man in the parking lot," she said, "at Ming's. He--he... He held me up and took my wallet. He got away, but the police came and now I'm on my way to the hospital. Can you meet me there?" "Of course," he said, already moving. His heart stuck like peanut butter to the back of his throat. "Are you okay, Scully?" He stopped at the door, silent for her answer. "I'm fine, Mulder." Her flat affect did not make him feel better. "'kay," he said. "I'm on my way out the door now." "Okay." He listened to her breathe for a moment. "Mulder?" "Yeah? "Please hurry." Mulder got the name of the hospital and tripped over his feet getting to the car. He slammed through the city at high speed, and it hit back with a fiery summer temper, red sirens and crowds of restless people slowing him down at every corner. He cursed and banged the steering wheel. "Come *on*," he hollered at the lumbering cars in front of him. His tires squealed as Mulder passed a Buick on the right -- a make-believe lane between the side mirror and the sidewalk. She's okay, he told himself. You know she is. She's all right. He parked and yanked the key out of the ignition, jogging towards the emergency room. The glass doors slid open to chaos -- bandaged people lined three deep, children crying, and two admitting nurses trying to keep a lid on it all. Mulder sifted through the wounded, moving them bodily if he had to, but found no sign of Scully. He cut to the front of the line. "Dana Scully?" he asked. For once, they were too distracted to give him any flack. "Room three. Through those doors and on the left." A round-bodied sentry caught him on the other side. "May I help you?" she asked, planting herself between him and Room 3. "I'm looking for Room 3. Dana Scully." At Scully's name, the set of her jaw relaxed. "Ah," she replied softly. "Let me show you the way then. It's right down here." Mulder's heart hammered as he followed her down the hall. The instant access made him more nervous than the refusals he usually got. "Is she okay?" "This way," she said over her shoulder. "Just let me knock once, all right? The doctor is with her now." Mulder hovered behind her as she stuck her head in the door. He tried but he couldn't see Scully. The woman emerged again and the door widened to disgorge a second woman, this one with longer hair and thinner hips. "Anne Lehne," she said to Mulder as she shook his hand. "I'm taking care of Dana." "She's okay?" "She's doing just fine, considering what she's been through." A thousand terrible images filled his head. "Can I see her?" "Of course. She's been waiting to talk to you, so you can go right in. I'll just be back in a few minutes." Mulder nodded, barely listening. His heart sped up as he pushed the door open with the flat of his hand. "Scully?" She came into view and Mulder's pulse relaxed. Fine. She looked just fine. No mugger had beaten her to a pulp. There were no tubes coming out of her or machines to help her breathe. She sat on the exam table in a pink cotton gown, looking perfectly whole. He could see a small bandage on the side of her neck and that was about it. "Hey," he said. "How are you doing?" "You're here," she said, and her chin trembled. She reached for him. "I'm here." He stroked her hair as she pressed herself into his squishy middle parts. She held him with a fierce grip. He rubbed her shoulders gently but she did not let go. "Scully?" "There was a man in the parking lot," she said into his shirt, not looking at him. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He knew. All of a sudden he knew. "Don't," he blurted, but she kept talking. "He had a knife, Mulder. I was on the phone with you and he came out from the trees before I knew what was happening. He forced me down on the ground..." She touched the bandage at her neck. "He said he would kill me. I--I had no choice." "God, Scully." His hands roamed over her back. "I'm so sorry." "I had no choice," she repeated, angry. "Of course not. Of course you didn't." "He was going to kill me." Mulder reeled. He had never imagined this. "You're safe now," he said, his voice hollow in the empty room. "You're okay." She snuffled and he felt her hot breath through his tee shirt. "I don't know how this happened. I had the food, I was leaving, and then suddenly he was there. He held the knife to my throat and forced me down. Everything was so fast. I can't think--I can't think how it happened." He rocked her, helpless. He couldn't think either. "I'm so sorry, Scully." He kissed the warm crown of her head over and over and tried to fold her into him. "Are you hurt anywhere? Did he hurt you?" "No." She quivered, sounding uncertain. There was a knock at the door and Scully jerked in his arms. She pulled away a bit, sniffing hard in quick succession as Dr. Lehne reentered the room. Mulder left one hand resting awkwardly on Scully's knee, gnawed his lip and watched her out of the corner of his eye as she answered the doctor's questions. She sat stone still. Her blue eyes were wet, lashes glued with tears, and her new smattering of summer freckles stood out against her stark white skin. The gown was too big, yawning open at the neck and sleeves and revealing the fine slope and bones of her. So much violence, and yet there was barely a mark to show it. Scully had absorbed it all inside. "We need to complete the exam now," Dr. Lehne was saying. "Kristi here is going to help me check you out and collect any evidence that might be useful for later prosecution. Agent Mulder can stay here if you like, or we can have him come back in when we're done." Mulder took his hand from her knee, preparing to go. Scully conducted all her medical treatments behind closed doors, like a feral cat licking her wounds in private. "I'll just be outside." She grabbed his arm. "Mulder?" "What?" He stopped and looked at her. "You want me to stay?" "Is that all right?" "Of course." So he sat in a squeaky, rolling chair by Scully's head while Dr. Lehne did the exam. Scully mashed his fingers in her hand but did not move, barely breathing, and so he made himself hold still too, until his muscles ached from the effort. The peach walls blurred around him as he tried not to watch what they were doing to her. He noticed a tray with shiny silver tools on it that reminded him of the dentist, and he held Scully's hand a little tighter. Scully stared straight up at the ceiling. She answered all their questions in a calm, unwavering voice, but every so often, he saw a tear slide from the corner of her eye into her hair. He knew the doctor wasn't hurting her, but he wanted to knock the woman out of the way and run out the door with Scully and never look back. "Okay?" he asked Scully unsteadily. She didn't look at him. "Yes." Dr. Lehne glanced up. "You're doing great, Dana. We're almost done." "Almost done," Mulder repeated to Scully, and she nodded at the ceiling. He lapsed into silence, a little desperate and totally tongue-tied, the only man in a room full of women. I'm five blocks away, she'd said. They had been around the world together but five blocks turned out to be the only distance that mattered. He couldn't think what he'd been doing when the man came out of the bushes. Did that even happen anymore? The man with the knife in the bushes -- that man was a punch line, a spook story, like the guy with the hook for an arm and the albino alligators in the sewer. Wheel of Fortune. That's what he'd been doing. I'd like to solve the puzzle, Pat. HANS CHRISTEN ANDERSEN Ming's restaurant, he'd been there dozens of times, had asked Scully to stop there for food on her way over more than he could remember. God, if he'd known... His empty stomach flipped and growled. Mulder clenched his gut to try to shut it up. Scully turned her head and looked at him. She'd heard. She knew. They were supposed to be eating dinner. "Sorry," he tried to say, but she turned her head back before he got the words out. XxX Continued 1b... XxX Dr. Lehne sat back in her chair. "We're all done," she said, and Scully let out a long, controlled breath. "You can sit up now, Dana. You did fine. Kristi will get you some clothes, okay? And then we can talk for a bit. I'll answer any questions that you have, and I want to write you a couple of prescriptions before you leave." Mulder got to stay while Scully changed, but she kicked him out for the final talk. Escaping into the hallway, he leaned his back against the cool white wall and covered his face with his hands to stop them from shaking. His heart felt like a baker had pounded it, swollen and bruised inside his chest. "Agent Mulder?" He jerked his hands down and looked in the direction of the voice. Detective Ruben Savioshy was walking towards him down the hall with another suited man following behind. Mulder straightened and prepared for the onslaught he knew was coming. "Agent Mulder, tell me I got this information wrong." "Detective." He couldn't say it was nice to see him again, so he left it at that. The last time they'd met, Philip Padget had been dead in Mulder's basement and Scully'd been drenched in her own blood. Mulder took a deep breath. "I wish I could tell you it was wrong." Detective Savioshy nodded heavily. "Okay, then. Tell me what happened." "I don't really know any of the details. I--I wasn't there. She was at Ming's restaurant, in the parking lot, and a man attacked her. That's all I know." Savioshy gestured at the door with his pen. "She's in there?" Mulder looked at the smooth gray door, at the light shining from under it. "Yeah. She's talking to the doctor." Savioshy turned and said something in a low voice to his companion, who nodded. "This is Chris Clark with the DA's office," Savioshy said. Mulder's handshake was harder than he intended. "You have someone in custody?" "No," Clark said, easing his hand away. He looked at Savioshy, who looked at the floor. It was clear they'd been through this routine before. "No, I'm sorry. We're trying, believe me. We're doing everything we can. That's really why I'm here, to make sure we don't miss anything that could be useful down the road at prosecution." A layperson might have been confused, or grateful, that a clean-cut, broad-shouldered man from the DA's office was looking after the case personally, but Mulder had spent too many years in law enforcement not to know what Clark's presence really signaled. "There are others," he said. "He's done this before." "Yes." Savioshy cleared his throat. "We don't know for sure yet until we talk to Agent Scully, but the case as the earmarks--" "How many?" "Nine, that we know of." He paused. "Now maybe ten." "Ten?" "The attacks cover a broad area through three counties. It took us a while to realize we were all looking for one man." The door opened and Dr. Lehne appeared. She and Detective Savioshy spoke in low voices about sample collection, and Mulder felt his legs stabilize beneath him. This part he knew. The law -- the investigation -- he could handle that. Then Scully came out, wearing foreign sweats and an oversized white T-shirt that made her seem even paler. Her hair was down flat and tucked behind her ears, and she'd scrubbed her face clean of makeup. Her toes curled in her sandals as she hung back against the doorjamb. It wasn't a version of herself she let many people see, usually not even him, and Mulder felt a sharp stab of protectiveness. "Scully?" he asked, and she jerked her attention from Savioshy to him. "You okay?" Savioshy joined them before she could answer him, approaching Scully the same careful way that he had when she'd been soaked in blood. "Agent Scully, hello. Sorry to hear about what you've been through tonight. Are you up to answering a few questions?" "Of course," she answered, drawing herself up. She handed Mulder several slips of white paper. "Mulder, could you take these to the pharmacy and wait there for me? I'll be along in a few minutes." He looked down at the prescriptions and then at her. "Um, sure, Scully. Whatever you want." "Thank you." He waited a beat but she didn't say anything further, both she and Savioshy clearly waiting for him to leave before they got on with their business, so he started a slow amble down the hall. He peeked back once and saw Clark nodding at something Scully was saying. Savioshy had his notepad out. Mulder hit the button for the elevator and looked away. Here -- discussion of how to get the sick bastard -- here was where he could be of some use. Fuck all Savioshy seemed to be doing about the problem anyway. Mulder had worked rape cases before, some with Scully. She knew what he could do. You profile one sick sonofabitch, you'd profiled them all. The elevator dinged and Mulder took a last glance down the hall before he stepped inside. In line at the pharmacy, he flipped through the prescriptions, which told Scully's horror in an entirely different language: amoxicillin, alprazolam, D-norgestrel, and Tylenol 3. The sharp slips of paper sliced up his heart and he found himself trying not to cry in a room full of people. He handed the rape victims' cocktail to the man behind the counter, who took one look at the list and nodded. He could read between the lines. "It'll be about twenty minutes," he said gently. "If you'll just have a seat over there." Mulder sat in the hard, narrow chair and rested a magazine in his lap without looking at it. Scully appeared about fifteen minutes later. He stood at the sight of her, only to sit back down as she took the chair next to him. She sat like an old woman, slow and careful, and he pretended not to know why. "Everything go okay with Savioshy?" he asked. "Yes. I guess I'm glad it was him, all things considered." "He's very professional," Mulder offered lamely, and Scully nodded. She didn't comment further so he didn't press. "Dana Scully?" the man at the pharmacy window called. Scully stiffened. "I don't have any money. He took my wallet." "It's okay. I've got it," Mulder said, reaching for his wallet, but Scully looked near tears again. "Scully?" He cupped the back of her head and slid his thumb behind her ear in a tender caress. "It's no big deal, okay?" She squared her shoulders, nodding again. "I'll pay you back," she said and moved from under his touch. He got up and fished for his car keys while she picked up the prescriptions. For the second time that night, Scully left with a large bag of take-out food, this kind in capsule form. She cradled her parcels to her side and regarded him with tired eyes. "Home?" he asked. "Please." She hunched down in the shadows of his car. He drove with extra care, as one might with a new baby on board. The car glided to a halt outside her apartment, but Scully made no move to get out. He took the key from the ignition and waited. "Mulder?" "Yeah?" She looked at him, small face bathed in the half-light from outside. "I'm sorry about dinner." "Oh, Scully." He reached over and pulled her to him until their heads rested together. "Me too. Me too." He kissed her cheek, her eye. She was so tense he thought she might snap in two. "It's okay now. It's going to be okay." "Yes," she said, sounding like she was trying to believe it. He rewarded her with more kisses. She squeezed his leg and pulled away. "Do you want me to come in?" he asked as she opened her door. She halted and peered back over her shoulder. "Do you want to?" Before he could say anything, she continued in a rush, "I have things for sandwiches, if you want. Maybe a bag of chips. It's not much." He smiled. "Sandwiches it is." Inside, she stopped and stared at her living room like she's walked into the wrong apartment. Mulder stood behind her, looking down at the top of her head. "Scully?" She turned, nearly bumping into him. "Can you find you way around the kitchen?" she asked "I--I'd like to take a shower." This last confession she made quietly to his shoes, as if he might think her too cliche. He pressed a kiss to the part in her hair. "Go," he said. "I'll make food." "Make what you want. I'm not hungry." He let her go without argument, and base though he felt, he went and inhaled two roast beef sandwiches. The last thing he needed was his belly grumbling in bed with Scully tonight. Bed, he thought, and stopped chewing with a lump of bread stuck in his throat. Did she want him there? Maybe he should offer to stay on the couch. He had never slept in Scully's bed with her in it, and he wasn't sure she'd welcome him tonight. It was still her space. He finished his food and cleaned up the plates, but Scully had still not come out of the bathroom. Pacing the soft carpet in front of the door, he listened but heard only the sound of rushing water. Steam curled out from the cracks. Mulder stroked the smooth wood instead of the woman inside. The pipes groaned as the water stopped. Mulder backed a few steps away so she wouldn't think he was hovering. She emerged a few minutes later, wrapped in a fluffy white robe, her skin pinked up from all the hot water. He noticed her eyes were red too. "Hi," he said softly. She shuddered. "Did you get something to eat?" "I'm fine. Don't worry about me. How are you? Any better?" She opened her mouth but couldn't seem to get any words out. He held out his arm to her. "Come here." She went willingly and he tucked her wet head under his chin, crooning her name near her ear. Her fingernails pricked his back as her shoulders hitched under his hands. "Anything you need, Scully, okay? Anything." She nodded, mute, and clutched him tighter. "Thank you for coming to get me." "Always." He kissed the line of her hair, shower water sweet on his lips. "Are you hungry? Do you want anything?" "No." She pulled back a bit. "I think I'm just going to go to bed." "Okay." He let his arms fall away, but Scully didn't move. She stood with her head tipped forward, eyes focused on the floor, until a heavy lock of hair slipped down over her face. He felt like he should say something further, but he hadn't the slightest idea what. Even his breathing sounded huge, magnified off her silence. "Scully?" Her head snapped up. "Do you want me to go?" "You're going?" "Not if you don't want." "What I want," she repeated to herself strangely. "Yes." He tucked the hair back behind her ear, and she closed her eyes, leaning into his hand. "How about I stay?" he whispered. "All right?" She nodded and led the way to her bedroom. Scully's sleeping quarters were so different from his, full of mirrors and giant wooden furniture. He spotted the loaned hospital clothes folded neatly on a delicate chair. She left him to go blow dry her hair, and he sat on the high, firm mattress. The light bedspread was white with tiny indigo flowers embroidered on it. Mulder stroked one with his thumb as he listened to the roar from the bathroom. He had no things here, no toothbrush or sleeping clothes. Scully returned, all business as she prepared for bed, and Mulder turned away. He bit his lip and looked down at his jeans. After a moment's indecision, he decided to strip to his boxers and leave the T-shirt on. It seemed more respectful. When he turned again he saw the expanse of Scully's naked back flash before she huddled beneath the covers. Naked. Okay. Mild shock dulled his brain, and he stood rooted to the carpet with the top sheet bunched in his hand. "Are you coming?" she asked, and he reached over his head and yanked off his shirt in one smooth motion. He kept the boxers on. The bedside lamp on her side blazed away, and Scully made no move to turn it off. Mulder refrained from comment. She lay on her stomach but facing him, so he rolled until he matched her position. One wide blue eye stared at him from the pillow. "Think you can sleep?" he asked. "I'm so tired." "Yeah." He reached over and stroked her from the top of her head down to the small of her back. Her eye slipped closed so he repeated the slow caress. She didn't move and he thought she had fallen asleep. His hand rested near her hip. She grabbed it suddenly and tucked it under her, between her breasts, and he startled at the feel of her heart beating like a trapped bird. He looked closer and saw that her eyes were screwed shut. "Scully, what...?" She cut him off with a choked sob, curling into herself under the covers. Horror flooded through him and he shifted closer. He drew her against him, her elbows to his ribs, and pressed his face down into her neck. Hot tears leaked onto his chest as she shook in his arms. His throat ached. He rubbed her, rocked her, but there was nothing he could do to get at the pain inside her. "It's okay, it's okay," he repeated as she cried. He wanted to say she was beautiful. He wanted to say he loved her. But they didn't say these things, and he feared if he said them now she would hate him forever. He gave her his hands, his lips, his tears. He laid her on his chest and let her listen to his broken heart as it said her name over and over until they slept. XxXxXxXxX End chapter one. XxXxXxXxXxXxX Chapter Two XxXxXxXxXxXxX Fear made her open her eyes like a jungle cat sensing a predator. She clawed the edge of the mattress and did not breathe. Her heart thundered wildly as the room came into focus, full of gray light and the sound of rain slapping against the windows. Her room. It was okay. She relaxed one centimeter at a time, squeezing her eyes closed again. Her body hurt in places she didn't want to name, and her head was heavy with an odd combination of terror and drug-induced fuzz, an iron spike wrapped in cotton. She didn't remember falling asleep. She turned with a jerk and found Mulder dead to the world on the other side of the bed, his jaw slack and his porcupine hair spread out on her pillow. The noise inside her hadn't woken him. She gave him a sad half-smile and reached out to touch the hard slope of his cheekbone and the scratchy Braille covering his chin. He rubbed his face against her fingers but did not awake. Scully withdrew and slipped out of bed into her robe. The bright bathroom light flickered on and Scully stared at her wan reflection in the mirror. Her hair had flattened overnight, making her face seem pale and puffy. She drew her hair back into a tight ponytail at the base of her neck. Turning, she fingered the bandage on her throat. One quick yank revealed pink skin and an angry scab shaped like a knifepoint. Scully made herself look. Next she tugged open her robe and regarded the wide bruise darkening on her ribcage where his left elbow had pinned her down. Inch by inch, she catalogued her new body. Prognosis: she would live. She sighed and swallowed her pills one by one before hiding the bottles in the medicine cabinet again. The metal shower rings clattered along the rod as she drew back the curtain. She turned the water on to heat and let her robe fall to the ground. Her sore muscles protested as she climbed into the high tub. A bath would have been better to ease them, but she wanted the feel of rushing water on her skin. She stood under the bracing hot spray, steam rising, and scrubbed the exfoliating cloth over her arms, her breasts, her belly. She turned slowly, rinsing the soap clean, and watched the layers of herself swirl away down the drain. When she emerged many minutes later, Mulder wasn't in bed. She heard the TV going in the living room. Hand on the door, she hesitated about whether to go greet him, but decided she wasn't ready to face him just yet. She sealed herself inside her room and began a careful dressing procedure that featured soft knit pants and long sleeves that hid the finger marks on her arm. Her hand shook when she tried to put on mascara so she left that step out. She rubbed her palms over her hips and contemplated the door again. It's just Mulder, she told herself. With a deep breath, she turned the knob and went down the hall to find him. The earthy smell of strong coffee tickled her nose before she reached the kitchen, where Mulder stood - -completely dressed save for his shoes -- leaning against her counter. She stopped in the doorway. Mulder had a sheaf of papers in his hand that he shoved aside at her entrance, as though she'd caught him sneaking treats from the cookie jar. She recognized the pamphlet on top as the one that Dr. Lehne had given her. "It's okay," she told him, moving into the room. "You can look. It's not anything you haven't seen before, I'm sure." "Actually," he said, and cleared his throat, "actually, I've never read one all the way through before." She nodded. "I guess you wouldn't have had reason to." "I didn't mean to pry." "You weren't." They held themselves away from each other, stiff like strangers. "I made some coffee," he said, "if you want." She let him pour her a mug, which she wrapped in her cold fingers instead of drinking. He sipped his coffee and studied a crayon drawing from Matthew that she had taped to her fridge. "A cow?" he asked eventually. "A Dalmatian. Matthew saw the movie last month, and he says if he doesn't get a dog right away, he will die." He nodded sagely. "Death by lack of canine it's a silent but vicious killer. That's how I lost my best friend Kenny in third grade." "Mulder," she said. But she shook her head, amused, and he smiled, really looking at her for the first time since she'd entered the room. He held out an arm in invitation, and she pressed against his side, cheek resting on his soft T-shirt. Mulder squeezed her lightly around the shoulders. "Feeling any better?" he asked. She closed her eyes and took inventory. The truth was she didn't feel much of anything. Maybe it was the drugs. "I'm all right." They lapsed into silence, Mulder drinking his coffee over her head and Scully listening to it slide down inside him. A TV commercial sang in the other room. "I was thinking," he said, just as the TV switched back to news. "Maybe I could--" She didn't hear what he could do because the morning anchor started recapping last night's big stories in a loud, clear voice: "Police are continuing their search for a serial rapist after another woman was attacked last night in Alexandria. This is the fourth attack in the city inside of three months, and police are saying they believe they are looking for one man. WRC reporter Sabrina Kimbrough is live in Alexandria with the story." Scully pulled away, drawn to the sound. Mulder caught her hand. "Scully..." She kept walking until footage of Ming's parking lot stopped her dead in her tracks. A woman in a dark raincoat and red umbrella stood not three feet from where Scully had been forced down into the dirt. "...believed to be at least the fourth in a series of related attacks that have occurred in the area over the last few months. All of the attacks have followed the same basic pattern, a pattern that repeated itself here last night. The woman had just been to order takeout from Ming's Chinese Restaurant and was returning to her car when a man came out from these bushes." The camera zoomed in on the thick, wet leaves. "He held a knife to her throat and forcibly raped her while dozens of people were just a few yards away. So far, no witnesses have come forward." The story cut to a tape of Jun's mournful face. "I talk to her, yes. She come in before many times, very nice. I didn't see or hear anything after she leave." Sabrina, still in the parking lot, continued the tale. "As in the other attacks, the man wore a stocking mask that has made it difficult to get a physical description. This morning I spoke to Detective Savioshy about what is being done to stop these brutal crimes." On tape, Savioshy looked gray and wan. "We're still exploring a number of angles right now. Each new attack, terrible as it is, brings new evidence and new possible witnesses. We've got men and women working round the clock, and we will find this guy. In the meantime, the Chief has stepped up patrol to try to minimize the chances of this happening again." "Four women in two months," Sabrina's voice said from off camera, "and you still have no suspects." "No lead suspects," Savioshy said. "As I mentioned, we're interviewing a number of people who might have information pertinent to this case." "WRC news has learned that you have linked attacks from last year to this same man. Can you comment on that, Detective?" "We have looked at older open cases, yes. That's all that I am prepared to say at this time." "What would you say to the women out there? How can they protect themselves?" "Avoid walking alone in isolated areas when you can, especially at night. Be vigilant. If you see or hear anyone behaving in a suspicious manner, call the police right away." It wasn't meant as a slap, but Scully flinched. She had failed to protect herself. She stood frozen two feet from the TV, devastated. And Sabrina wasn't done. "I carry mace and pepper spray," said one woman she interviewed. A second woman looked defiantly at the camera. "I've got a gun and I know how to use it. He tries anything with me, and I'll shoot his off." Sabrina closed from Ming's parking lot: "Indeed, the rapist may have caught a fortunate break last night. A source close to the investigation informs me that the latest victim is a trained FBI agent, a fact the rapist probably wasn't aware of when he attacked her. The source says, and I quote, 'Too bad she wasn't carrying last night, or it could have all been over right here.'" The news switched over to a possible bacteria outbreak in a YMCA swimming pool, but Scully remained transfixed, awash in flickering light. Tears smeared the images in front of her. When she still hadn't moved as the breakfast commercial blared into song, Mulder touched her shoulder. She shook him off. "Scully, please." "Don't." She swiped at her eyes and hurried out of the room. Behind her, his footsteps fell hard on her bare floor. She kept going until she could put a door between them. Mulder knocked as she made up the bed with quick, furious movements. "I don't want to talk about it," she yelled through the door. His voice came back hollow and muffled. "I won't make you. I just... I just want to make sure you're okay." Her face crumpled again, pillow hanging from one limp arm as she tried to hold in the sobs so he wouldn't hear. "I'm okay," she called when she could get her breath again. The watery words sounded completely unconvincing. "Scully?" She dragged the pillow with her to the door. Sniffing hard, she opened it and looked him the eyes. He looked scared and sad, the way he always did when she cried, no matter how many doors she tried to put between them. "I'm okay," she repeated. She went back to work on the bed, and Mulder followed her into the room, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He watched her go back and forth from her side to his side until the bedspread was smooth again. He was waiting, she knew, for her to give him some further cues, but perversely she withheld any. A basket of laundry sat by the chair, from before, so she set about putting it away while Mulder started a slow patrol of her bedroom. "I can stay as long as you like," he said at last, "but I need to get some things." She poked her head out from the closet. "That won't be necessary." He stumbled over his words, surprised; she'd made a hit. "Not to move in, not permanently. I was just thinking a couple of days, the weekend at least, Scully--" She returned to her closet, snatching hangers along the rail. Mulder kept talking. "All right. All right, if that's what you want I won't argue with you. I just thought after last night--" Scully froze. Her face flushed hot remembering how she'd washed him in tears. How long before she could look at him again not remember? Outside, she heard him heave a sigh. "Okay. Should I just go now, then? Would that be better?" He didn't sound angry, just resigned, as if he'd been waiting for this eventuality. The weight of his disappointment bowed her head, but she didn't come out of the closet. "I have to leave soon anyway," she said. "I have to go down to the station and make a formal statement. They also want me to look at some pictures." He appeared behind her, blocking out the light. "They have a suspect?" "No." She glanced over her shoulder. "I got the feeling this is just procedure, covering the bases. It will be the usual lineup of local sex-offenders, and I won't recognize any of them because it was dark and the guy had a stocking over his head, but I have to go look anyway so that Savioshy can tell the reporters that he is doing everything he can." She emphasized her last words with a jerk of the hanger. Mulder went still. "You have other channels available to you," he said, low and serious. "If you want." She turned so fast the hangers clattered. "What's that supposed to mean?" "The FBI has resources Savioshy only dreams about, Scully. Maybe the others have to rely on him for information, but you don't." Her skin tingled with possibility. In the slanted light, the narrow alley of her closet, he was one of their shadow men offering a way around the law. "Mulder... no." She sounded horrified and breathless and tempted. "Scully," he protested, and she shook her head. "No." She pushed past him into the open air, glad it was over, relieved he'd been the one to say the words. What Mulder argued, she argued the opposite. She could say "no" now with a clear conscience. "No one would have to know," Mulder said as she sat on the bed to put on her shoes. "I'd know." She looked up at him. "And you'd know, and if we did what you're suggesting, maybe we'd catch the guy, Mulder. Maybe we would. But maybe we wouldn't. And either way, it would always be between us." Mulder turned his head away. "Savioshy is out of his league." "Maybe," she conceded. "But it's not our call." When he didn't say anything, she reached out and grabbed his hand. "Mulder... promise me you'll leave this alone." He sighed. "Promise me." "Of course I promise." She looked at him, skeptical, and he sighed again as he squeezed her hand. "I think you're wrong, Scully -- it is your call. But you've made it, and I respect that." Will you, she wondered? She imagined him in front of the camera with Sabrina: "It's too bad Scully wouldn't investigate this guy, or it could have all been over right here." There was safety in numbers. She was one of many, the burden somehow lessened. You're not like the others, Mulder had said, but it wasn't true. He was ready to crusade with the weight of her and nine other women on his back; she could barely stand on her own two feet. "I have to go," she said, pulling her hand from his. He went for his shoes. "I'll give you a lift." "Mulder--" "Scully, you're going two blocks from my apartment, which coincidentally happens to be my destination. Besides," he said, and broke off. "What?" "Your car. It's, um, still there." Scully closed her eyes. She'd forgotten that her car was still parked in Ming's lot. "I'll pick it up if you want," he offered, "while you're talking to Savioshy." "No." She set her jaw and stood up. "Just drop me off there and I'll drive it over." They set out in the rain, fat tears streaking down the windows of Mulder's car as he drove the same streets that she had the night before. She watched the passing familiar landmarks -- old buildings and tall trees, the river bouncing raindrops, the long stretch of bridge that took her to the other side. The memory began in her stomach, and viciously she shoved it back down. Mulder fiddled with the radio -- no news this time -- while she forced herself to look at the shops outside. He drove slowly, to ease the way, but the steady, inexorable progress was somehow worse. She knew what was waiting at the end. Mulder kept glancing at her. She couldn't look back. "Okay?" he asked. "Yes." They had reached the street where it happened. The vibrations from the car engine threatened to make her sick. Her fingers bit into the edge of the plush seat as Mulder made the hard right into the claustrophobic parking lot. Her car, beaded in rain, was the only one in sight. Mulder pulled up close next to the driver's side. She would only have to hop out one door and into another. "So," he said as they idled with the windshield wipers still running. They were parked right on top of where it happened. She looked at her lap. Even so, she could see the dark maw of the bushes waiting outside. "So," she said. "Thanks for the ride, Mulder. And everything else. You've been a big help." He said nothing for a moment, and then reached over and rested one hand on the top of her head. "You did everything right, Scully. You lived. Anyone can come back here with a camera crew and make up a story about what should have happened." She nodded and his thumb slid behind her ear. "Yeah." "I'll be home watching the Yankees make the Twins squeal like schoolgirls," he said, "if you need anything. Call, okay?" She looked up and out at the bushes. "I should go. I'll call you later." His hand fell away as she opened the car door into the windy rain. Two steps later she was safe in her own car. She gripped the wheel, breathing hard. The heavy, waving branches reached out and slapped her hood. Scully swallowed and started her engine. Mulder watched, blurry through two panes of rain-mottled glass, waiting to see that she was all right. XxXxX Even after all her years on the job, some part of Scully always registered the fact that walking into a law- enforcement building meant walking into a room full of men. She was used to the approach. She slipped around them in hallways -- small spaces they couldn't occupy -- and surprised them with her serious presence over and over until they stopped being surprised and grudgingly accepted that she was there to stay. So she took her badge and gun and entered the Alexandria Police Department to see what she could do to help Savioshy with his case. They had the AC off and the old windows open, muggy summer air mixing with the close scent of human bodies that had just come in from the rain. Scully shook the water from her umbrella and eyed the desk sergeant, whom she thankfully did not recognize. He pointed her to the back, where Savioshy was working rape cases from a battered desk piled high with his children's photographs. His glasses had worn deep red marks on the sides of his nose, and he had paper cups stained with coffee lined up in front of him. At Scully's appearance, he smoothed his tie over his paunch and pulled a stack of files off the nearest chair. "Agent Scully, thanks for coming in," he said as she sat. "Sorry about this god-awful mess." She took in the faxes, the folders, and the mess of memos he had taped to every viable surface. The one stuck on his desk lamp was from the Mayor and marked "urgent." "I saw you on the news this morning," she said. Savioshy stopped shuffling papers. They stared at one another for a moment, and then he shook his head. "You want my advice? Don't watch that crap. I wouldn't watch it myself except that the brass hauls me in for regular quizzes so I have to know every word they're saying." "They said this man has been attacking women for over a year now. Is that true?" Savioshy's chair creaked as he leaned back. "Yeah. I hate to say it, but yeah. It took us a while to pick up on the pattern because we're talking at least three different counties involved now. There's a detective in Metro and another one in Fairfax with a desk that looks just like mine." "But no leads," Scully said. The top folder on his pile had a fresh tab with her name on it. She assumed the stack under her represented all the others. Nine, she counted. Hers was the skinniest. Savioshy caught her looking and cleared his throat. "Tell you what," he said. "Come with me. You want anything? A coffee or a soda?" Caffeine sounded perfect, but with the humid air, coffee was out. "A soda would be great, thanks." He stopped and pulled a Coke out of the fridge. Scully popped the top and followed him down a hall into a windowless room, which featured a large map of the city and surrounding area tacked on the wall. Nearby, a dry-erase board listed the dates and locations of the attack, which were marked on the map with orange pushpins. To Scully, the pattern formed a snake through the cities. She was the belly. "I have a theory," Savioshy said as they stood next to the map. The soda can sweat in Scully's palms. "See the dates of the attacks?" Scully looked. The first one was just over a year ago, near the end of May, and the second took place five weeks after that. They occurred more frequently as the summer progressed -- two more in July, three in August -- but in September, they stopped cold for eight months, only to start again in May. "I think he's in college," Savioshy said, "and not in the area or he would have kept at it during the school year." DC had a lot of college-age kids walking the streets. Occasionally she would pass an intern in the Hoover building and wonder if she had ever looked that young. "No prints?" she asked. "Actually, yes. In the third case, he got sloppy and put his hand down on the woman's car. But when we ran the prints, we came up with nothing. That's another reason I think this guy's got to be young: no adult record." The stocking face flashed in her memory, features half-human under the nylon, and her heartbeat doubled. Her attacker was just a kid. Scully sipped her soda to give her time to think. She knew very well that none of the others had been allowed to see the facts spelled out like this. Savioshy wanted her informed, professional opinion. Any hint of panic and he would have her back out front, looking through mug shots while a uniformed cop patted her hand. "You could contact schools," she said at last. "Find out which ones have a schedule that matches the timeline of the attacks. See if they have had any trouble with sexual assaults on campus." Savioshy nodded. "We're doing that, but it's a slow process. There are thousands of colleges to cover, and we don't have any way of narrowing the search at this point." She looked at the board again, the names written in messy block letters next to the dates: CHAMIAN, DESANTO, WEBER, and so on, until the very bottom, where it said "SCULLY." With no one else to pin it on, the victims got to own the cases. "Does he--does he follow a particular strike pattern?" Scully asked. "He's hit every day but Sunday. Who knows? Maybe he's too busy confessing his sins that day to go out and commit any new ones." Tomorrow was Sunday. She had not planned to go to church. Scully drew a long breath and swirled the last of the soda in her can. "There's your search factor then." Off his look, she explained, "Start with the religious universities." XxXxX Continued in part 2b XxX Mulder sat with his recycling in front of the TV. Sure enough, when he looked for it, it was there in black and white: two articles within the last week about the search for the rapist. He could have known, if he'd bothered to look past the front page and the sports section. In Mulder's world, the important news always came to him. There were coded emails and files under the door, meetings in darkened cars and anonymous faxes in the night. When aliens were hatching in the Antarctic, the local police blotter seemed like a bunch of kindergarten cops. He fanned the large sheets like cloth and gathered what few facts he could. Head in hands, he bent over the news. No one told me, he thought, that it could happen like this. It was nearing two hours since he'd dropped Scully off at the station. He paced often to his thin, rattling windows, to see if her car might be pulling up. The streets and the gray sky looked suddenly threatening, danger lurking on the naked sidewalks. He checked his phone to make sure it was working and kept his cell in one hand. But Scully didn't call. XxX The flat, unsmiling faces in the mug books stared up at her - - class pictures from the school of hard knocks -- and Scully made herself look at each one for any glimmer of recognition. She braced anew at every page but no one seemed familiar. Her neck ached, her eyes dried around the rims, and her nerves grew increasingly jittery. Each menacing eye seemed equally familiar, equally possible. None of the men was her rapist, but they all could have been. Just as Scully declared defeat and closed the last book, there was a knock at the door and Christopher Clark poked his head in the room. "Hey," he greeted her with a smile. He was dressed in jeans and a faded T-shirt that read, "1998 Boston Marathon." His dark hair was curled over his forehead, either from a shower or the rain, and Scully blinked at the casual attire for a moment before she remembered it was Saturday. Her rape was less than twenty- four hours old. "Savioshy told me you were back here," Clark said. "How goes the search?" She shook her head and pushed the books away. "I didn't see his face well enough to make an ID." "Yeah." Clark took the seat next to her, flipping it around so he could rest his arms across the back like a little kid. "That's par for the course at this point, but thanks for trying. Every little bit of information we can get on this guy helps." "I wish I could be of more help." "You can be. That's part of why I'm here." He rapped his knuckles lightly on the table in front of her. "Listen, have you eaten? Because there is a great little bakery about two blocks from here that makes the best chicken salad sandwich you will ever eat." He was good, Scully realized as her frustration ebbed under his relaxed posture and conversational tone. He had guileless gray eyes she was sure played well with a jury. She had seen that look somewhere before... "I know you," she said suddenly. "That airline pilot who murdered his wife -- Aaron Henderson -- that was your case." "Guilty." He flashed her a grin. "And so was he. So what do you say? Can I buy you lunch?" "Why?" He patted his middle. "Because it's half past two and my stomach is threatening to secede from the union?" "You don't need me to eat." She was tired. She was hungry too, but this man was a stranger and she wasn't sure she could keep her game face on for another hour while he talked about chicken salad sandwiches. "No." He sobered. "But I will need you in court." She hesitated, and he nodded at the door. "Just hear me out, Agent Scully. Any time you want to leave, it's okay by me." Her stomach, empty since before the attack, gave a feeble growl as though it didn't expect her to listen. "One sandwich," she said finally. "I guess that would be all right." She spoke to Savioshy before leaving and set out with Christopher Clark towards the bakery. The rain had shifted to mist, which floated under her umbrella and curled her hair. Clark walked beside her, heedless of the elements. "So, Mr. Clark," she asked, "do you always invest this much time in cases you're not even trying?" He laughed. "Not trying *yet*. And call me Chris." "Chris," she said, "I think I picked the wrong career if you guys in the DA's office really have this much free time." He chuckled again and pulled a large wet leaf from a nearby tree. "My daddy was a southern trial lawyer, the kind that comes straight out of the pages of a Harper Lee novel. It didn't make any difference to him that we lived in New York. He learned his law in old time Alabama, and he preached it with a passion I didn't see anywhere else but church on Sunday. Mama let him thunder on at her while she did her cooking, but what he really wanted was someone to argue back. She gave him me, and her kitchen finally saw some peace. Daddy was the defense, and I--" He stopped and spread his arms. "I became the prosecution." "I see," she said. Scully understood about fathers who were larger than life. "So I don't really know any other way." He shrugged and tossed his leaf into the rain-soaked gutter. "Work is what I sleep, what I breathe, what I eat." "Except," Scully said as they reached the bakery door, "for the chicken salad sandwiches." "These sandwiches are always an exception." They ate at a small table near the window, plates piled high with thick sandwiches and crispy chips. Once Scully started eating she realized how starved she'd been, and she did her best not to wolf down the meal in front of ADA Clark. As her blood sugar rose, she felt almost human again. For five straight minutes she was just another patron in a sandwich shop and not the woman who had been shoved down in the dirt and raped. That changed as soon as Clark opened his mouth. "How are you holding up so far?" Scully put her sandwich down and looked at her plate. "Fine" would sound absurd. Anything else was too personal to share. "I'm sorry," he said, reading her silence. "I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. Forget I said anything." She took a deep breath. "No, it's okay. I'm managing." "I'm really glad to hear that." After an awkward pause, he continued, "Agent Scully, I know you must have seen these kinds of cases before, so I figure I can just be straight with you: the trial, if there is one, will be hard." "I realize that." "I'd love to tell you that we're all enlightened here in the twenty-first century, but the dirty truth is, when it comes to rape trials, we're not much better than my father's day. Blaming it on the victim might be not be PC, but it works often enough that some defense attorneys will still try it." Scully swallowed and looked out at the wet streets. Having her life ripped open for everyone to see was a kind of hell she didn't want to contemplate. She believes in aliens, they'd say. Perhaps little green men came down and probed her. She likes trouble; just look at her record. She's had sex with a married man. Maybe they could even get Ed released long enough to testify: "She certainly liked it rough with me!" If she'd fuck a psychotic killer, what else might she do? "Agent Scully?" She turned her head back and looked him in the eyes. "He held a knife to my throat, forced me down in the parking lot, and he raped me. Nothing I've done, ever, gives him the right to do that." "No, and given the chance, I will say that loud and often. I just want you to know what we're up against." "But there are others," Scully protested. "Surely that would work in our favor. One woman can be dismissed, but ten are harder to overlook." "That's assuming he stands trial for ten counts at once, and that all ten agree to testify. I can tell you right now that isn't looking too likely." "They won't testify?" "Well, things could change. We haven't even nailed the bastard yet, so any trial would be months off." "How many?" "How many?" Her hands clenched. "How many would testify?" "Right now?" He sighed. "You and one other. But I'm working on a third woman, and I think she'll come around. Others could change their minds when we have the guy in custody, and with forensics, I may be able to proceed in some cases without the victim's testimony." Scully stared at her half-eaten lunch. Suddenly it was clear why her participation was so necessary. "Hey," Clark said softly, and she jerked her attention back to him. "Savioshy finds this asshole, and I will nail him to the wall. You have my word. I just need to know that you're with me." Her phone chirped, and it took her a moment to recognize the foreign ring. She fished out her old cellular, now bulky and heavy in her hand. Mulder's number glowed at her from the tiny screen. Irritation flashed through her; she'd told him she would call later. "Hey, Scully," he said when she answered. "Are you still at the station?" "No, I'm having lunch. What do you need?" "Lunch? It's like three o'clock, Scully." "Mulder--" "I just wondered how you were doing." "I'm fine." Scully looked across the table at Clark. "Mulder, now's not really a good time. Can I call you back later?" Just then, the girl behind the counter dropped a china plate, startling everyone. Clark's knees bumped their small table and Scully reached out a hand to steady it. "You're not at home?" Mulder asked at all the noise. "No, I'm with ADA Clark." "Oh, okay." Mulder sounded the way he did whenever she got called into Kersh's office without him. "I'll let you go. I just wanted to say..." She half-turned, distracted by the scrape of broken china on the ceramic floor. A trio of laughing women walked past on their way out the door. "What?" she demanded, when Mulder didn't get to the point. "I thought, if you want, since you're still in the area, if you're not too tired or anything, that maybe you would want to get pizza and a video tonight. Something with no redeeming social value." Scully froze, suddenly choked, and the bakery noises faded to a dull buzz. She blinked furiously to keep the tears away. She wanted to find Mulder and wrap herself around him. Every so often, he said the exact right thing. "Scully?" "Yeah," she said, ducking her head so her face hid behind a curtain of hair. "That sounds good." "Yeah?" he repeated, brightening. "Just come over when you're done there. I've got to run out for a bit, so just let yourself in, okay? I'll be back in an hour." Scully hung up with Mulder and tucked her hair back behind her ear as she faced Clark again. "I'm sorry for the interruption," she said. "The answer is yes. Whatever I need to do, I'll do it." He nodded, and his gaze slid to her phone, which she had placed next to her plate. "I met Agent Mulder last night, and Savioshy says good things about him. How long have you two been together?" "We've been partners for over six years." She tucked the phone away. "And the other?" Scully narrowed her eyes at him and reached for her water. "Does it matter?" "Not to me." He leaned across the table. "But what I am saying, Dana, is the questions only get tougher from here on out." XxX Mulder's shadowed apartment was draped in thistledown quiet, the windows shut tight from the swishing cars outside. It smelled like dust and clean laundry. Scully slipped her off her shoes by the door and crossed the room without turning on the light. On the coffee table, she could just make out a note in Mulder's scrawl: Back soon -- M. Sore and tired, she took her gun out of its holster and sank into the sofa. The well-worn leather cradled her bones and she felt some of the day's tension ebb away. As an afterthought, she pulled the old Indian blanket around her, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. His fish tank burbled a gentle song near her head. Scully slept. XxX He crept in the door before knowing she was asleep, walking soft the way one did in the wake of tragedy, and squinted in the direction of his couch. Scully lay half-hidden by a cliff of blankets. The plastic bags rustled as he stepped closer, so he hushed them up in the kitchen before returning to where she slept. Her mouth slightly parted, one arm flung free of the blanket, Scully looked like she'd passed out hard. He stroked her hip and she snuggled deeper into his sofa. Mulder sat down in the nearest chair, feet on the table, and that's when he noticed the gun. He turned on a lamp. The revolver lay with its butt facing Scully, mere inches from her hand, close enough to dream it. He stretched for it slowly, stomach muscles clenching as he reached over his toes. The barrel glinted at his fingertips. Scully sat bolt upright, eyes wide with horror. Mulder froze. "Scully?" "They're coming again," she told him. "Who's coming?" In answer, she clawed the whole blanket into lap. He moved to the couch. "Scully? Who's coming?" She looked confused. He could see the pulse thrumming at her neck. "Mulder?" "It's me." He stroked the back of her head. "What happened? You okay?" "I don't remember," she said. "It was a dream." She was shaking so he drew her against him, smoothing his hand over the sharp planes of her back. "It's all right now, Scully." Her voice quivered into his neck. "It must have been a dream." XxXxXxX End Chapter Two. XxXxXxXxXxXxX Chapter Three XxXxXxXxXxXxX Just after sunset on the third day, right about the time it happened, Mulder went back to the parking lot. He already felt a little guilty, slinking down the narrow alley to the back, but no one was there to witness his transgression. Even the back door to Ming's kitchen was shut up tight. Mulder stood at the mouth of the alley and surveyed the lonely yellow street lamp, the rusted dumpster, and the cracked, weed-infested pavement. The smell of wet dirt wafted from the dense thicket of trees and bushes. He imagined her car back where it had been, glinting in the shadows, and prickles broke out across his skin. The dark trees waved from across the lot, beckoning him, and Mulder pushed into their leafy fold. Branches snapped and rebounded, slapping his arms and face. Mulder switched on his flashlight and the beam quivered across the roof of leaves. He turned, breathing hard, and peered out through a break in the vegetation. It was a perfect view of Scully's spot. Mulder shone the light at the soft ground; had he stood here? She would have been only five feet away, lit well, talking on the phone while she juggled the food. Mulder could call up the picture easily. He had seen her this way a million times -- knew how her voice would sound bouncing off the far brick walls, heard the low jangle of her keys, felt the hot surge of lust when she bent over in front of him. Bile roiled up from his stomach, and Mulder staggered back, swallowing convulsively. He had not been sick at a crime scene since he was twenty-five years old; she would never forgive him if he did it here. Gulping in air, he steadied himself against a tree. He cast the light around as he calmed. Crumpled Dunkin' Donuts cups mixed with dead leaves and other random garbage. He found a rusted bike wheel and a wet sock. Cigarette butts littered the makeshift path between the weeds. Mulder followed the trail out, his heart still pounding. This was the way he had gone after it happened. Mulder stumbled along over roots and saplings until he reached the back of the thicket, where a sagging chain-link fence separated it from yet another parking lot. A jagged hole provided a way through to the other side. Mulder emerged as if from the jungle, wild and sweaty, his flashlight clutched like a weapon. He looked left and right, chasing a phantom, and slowly made his way between the parked cars. Loose bits of gravel crunched under his sneakers. He could hear the street traffic on the other side of the buildings, but there was not a soul in sight. Mulder tapped the hood of the nearest car. He would have parked here, he thought, and began looking around. The lot was similar to the one behind Ming's, with only one narrow entrance/exit. Mulder followed it out to the bright street and whizzing cars. He saw no sign to indicate the availability of parking in the rear, suggesting that the rapist must either be familiar with the area or have scoped it out ahead of time. How easy it would have been to just disappear into the crowd. A group of college-aged kids jostled past him, pushing each other around and laughing. One bumped Mulder, and Mulder reflexively grabbed the kid's arm. They stared at each other, while the friends' laughter died away. Were you here? Mulder wanted to ask. Did you see him? The boy grinned at Mulder and shrugged free. "Sorry, man. Didn't see you standing there. Sorry." Mulder stood, shell-shocked, as they drifted down the street. Cars rushed past and vibrated the sidewalk beneath him. Nearby, a shaggy black dog that had been tied to a lamppost lifted his huge head from the ground and looked up at Mulder with wet eyes. Mulder sighed, glanced around one last time, and walked back down the alley to the crumbling lot. Back in the trees, it was quiet enough that he heard his own breathing. He shrugged one shoulder to wipe the trickle of sweat that slid down his neck. The jittery beam from his flashlight gave an otherworldly, underwater feeling to the dark tunnel. He stopped again where the man had stood and peered through the leaves. His phone rang. Startled, Mulder thrashed in the bushes and dropped his flashlight. "Shit!" He left it lying there as he fumbled for his phone. Scully's name appeared on the screen. "It's me," she said. "Hey, Scully," he answered, sounding too cheery by half. He winced at himself and dialed it back down. "I was, um, just thinking about you." He began carefully working his way through the bramble to retrieve his flashlight. "Where are you, Mulder? I tried your apartment and you weren't there." Mulder halted in an awkward half-bent position. "Uh, no. I went out for..." A branch caught him across the cheek. "I went out for a run. Just cooling down now. Is everything okay?" "Fine. I just wanted to let you know that I won't be at work tomorrow morning until after eleven. I have a doctor's appointment." He stood up. "You're working tomorrow?" "Is there some reason I shouldn't?" "I, uh, I just wasn't sure if you were, that's all." "I'll be in before lunch." Her tone had the ring of finality to it. "See you then, okay?" "Scully--" "What?" He sighed. "Take as much time as you need." "Before lunch," she repeated. "I'll bring sandwiches." She paused. "Good night, Mulder." "Night." He punched the "end" button and fetched his flashlight, switching it off as he climbed out of the bushes. Just as he emerged from the trees, the back door to Ming's opened and Jun ran out with a bag of garbage. He gasped when he saw Mulder move in the shadows. "It's okay," Mulder called across the lot. "It's just me." But Jun said nothing. He threw the sack into the dumpster and hurried back inside>, shutting the door tight behind him. XxXxX The story did not get easier with repeated telling, so Scully kept the details of her attack to a minimum when she went to her regular doctor for the follow-up exam. "Healing nicely," was the pronouncement, but Dr. Putney also urged her to talk to a woman named Evelyn Wheeler in mental health services who specialized in rape trauma. "I called over there," Dr. Putney said, "and she's free right now if you'd like to meet her. No commitment necessary." Scully took an internal inventory. The tears had left her withered. She felt coiled and tense, her body ready for an attack that had already happened, and a heavy sadness had lodged in her ribs like oatmeal. Can't hurt to go one time, Scully reasoned, since she had gotten all of her other parts examined by experts. Now she could check the box marked "not crazy" and get on with her life. "Okay," she said. "I'll meet her." Dr. Wheeler's office was in the building across the street, in a suite she apparently shared with other mental health professionals. Scully could hear but not see the receptionist, who was hidden behind closed mottled glass. She looked around at the other people in the room -- two women and one elderly man -- but no one would make eye contact. Scully finally noticed a row of names with buzzers next to them, and she hit the one marked "Evelyn Wheeler." Scully waited there in the too-cold lavender room with its silk plants and unpadded chairs, listening to the sound of the others flipping through their magazines. Strains of piped-in classical music wafted from the ceiling. Scully checked her watch three times in two minutes. In between, she wondered about the other patients. They didn't look particularly troubled. They're probably worried that I'm the crazy one, she thought. She stood up, prepared to leave, and they all looked at her. Scully grabbed her purse. Just then, the door to the inner offices opened and a woman with smooth white hair and a long purple skirt came out. "Dana Scully?" The other patients were still watching. "Yes," Scully admitted. "I'm Evelyn Wheeler. Won't you come in?" She had smooth skin for someone with such white hair, and thin black eyebrows. Scully gripped her purse with both hands and walked across the room. Dr. Wheeler led her down the hall to an office lined with mahogany bookshelves. Green Venetian blinds barely held back the strong summer sun, and a large Oriental rug covered the floor. There were two loveseats, an armchair and a beanbag. Scully noted that, like herself, Dr. Wheeler did not seem to own a proper desk. "Sit where you like," Dr. Wheeler said as she selected the armchair. Scully picked the loveseat that allowed her to face the door. Dr. Wheeler reached for a mug and sipped from it. "So," she said. "Welcome. Linda Putney mentioned that she'd told you a little about me, but I'm happy to answer any questions you might have." When the woman paused and waited, Scully cleared her throat and tried to think of something. "I don't know. I don't know that I even need to be here." "What made you decide to come?" "Dr. Putney recommended you. She said you'd helped a lot of women, and I thought maybe I should just come and see..." "See what?" Scully hesitated. "Well, I thought it was usual to speak to a counselor afterward." "Many women do, but not all." Scully's head snapped up. "And they're all right?" Dr. Wheeler smiled gently. "Contrary to what the Lifetime network would like you to believe, yes. There is no predetermined recipe for healing. How are you holding up, generally?" "Okay, I think." Scully took a deep breath. "I mean, I'll live. I'm going back to work today." "Dr. Putney said you're an FBI agent?" Scully nodded even as the sting of the news broadcast came back to her. She looked at her lap. "The cops think I should have been able to stop him." "What do you think?" Scully thought a long time, trying to imagine anything she could have done differently. "He had a knife to my throat. I wasn't armed. I think--I think if I had resisted he truly would have killed me." "But still you feel guilty?" "I feel..." Scully searched for the words. "I feel like I let everyone down. Even myself." "I see." Dr. Wheeler ducked her head, trying to meet Scully's eyes. "Would it surprise you to learn that's normal?" "No. I've worked rape cases. Everyone always thinks they should have been able to stop it from happening. It doesn't make the reality any easier to accept." "I think it may go deeper than that." Dr. Wheeler set her mug aside. "Let me ask you something: did you know about rape in high school?" "Of course." "Junior high? Elementary school?" "Yes. I had an older cousin who was raped when I was eight. I can still remember my mother and my aunt talking about it on the phone." "Do you remember what your mother said?" Scully thought. "That Allison would never be the same again." The power of the words hit her as she said them aloud. "And how is Allison doing today?" "She's married with three kids. Happy, as far as I know." Dr. Wheeler nodded and sat forward in her chair. "Rape is such a horrible thing, and such a horribly common thing, that we start warning our girls early: 'Watch out at night! Check the back seat of your car! Don't go anywhere alone!' It's not bad advice as it goes. Certainly one should always take precautions. But I've found that it also has the peculiar effect of creating a generation of women who feel like part of their mission in life is not to get raped. If it does happen, they feel like they've failed. All that training was for nothing! And then, like your mom said, there is the sense that life will never be the same." "Won't it?" Scully's voice was rough with tears. "Maybe not. But maybe it will be. And it will certainly be good again." They talked for a while longer, and Scully decided that, at the moment, she did not need regular meetings, but she took Dr. Wheeler's card in case she wanted an appointment in the future. As Dr. Wheeler walked her back down the hall she said, "I also facilitate a group discussion on Wednesday nights at eight. You're welcome to join us any time." Scully had a flash of the MUFON women and their haunted eyes. "No," she said quickly. "Thank you all the same." XxX Monday morning the basement was so quiet that the dust particles sat suspended motionless in the air, visible to Mulder only because of the piercing sunbeam that split the office in two. He looked beyond the light to Scully's shadowed corner, to her silent table and the fat textbooks with brains on the cover that lined the shelf above. The wall clock read after eleven; she was fifteen minutes late. Mulder shifted, chair squeaking, and forced his attention back to the folders on his desk. The clock ticked as the words blurred in front of him. When the phone rang, he jumped on it. "Mulder," he said, and held his breath for her voice on the other end. Instead, there was a strange pause, followed by Skinner: "Agent Mulder, I'd like to see you in my office." "Sir?" "At your convenience." Mulder sent the chair rolling backward as he lurched to his feet. Skinner never wanted to see him at his convenience. In the elevator, he tried to imagine the possible reasons for his summons, but kept coming up blank. The last time Skinner had sounded that strangled on the phone, Mulder had accidentally exploded a water main in downtown Philadelphia. But that conversation had not been at his convenience and had definitely involved a lot more expletives. "Come," Skinner called when he knocked. Mulder entered and found Skinner not at his desk, but squinting out the window. He glanced once at Mulder and then returned his attention to the outside. Mulder caressed the brass tacks at the edge of his usual chair but did not sit down. Skinner sighed. "I've been debating for an hour whether to even have this conversation with you." "Oh, a debate. I'm afraid I left my rebuttal notes at home." Skinner did not turn around from the window. "Agent Scully didn't come in this morning." "That's right. I believe she had an appointment. If you want to talk to her, I can--" "You read the newspaper, Agent Mulder? Watch the news?" Mulder stopped fidgeting with the chair, suddenly afraid where this was leading. "Sure," he said at length, "I follow the news." Skinner nodded as if to himself. "There's a serial rapist loose in the area. He hit again this weekend." "I, uh, I'd heard that, yes." "Sources say it was an FBI agent who was attacked. I was down in the bullpen earlier, and they were speculating who it might have been." Mulder's heart broke a little more. He could keep her in the basement with him today, he thought, and maybe by tomorrow everyone would have forgotten. "I wouldn't think that it's anyone's business who it was," he said stiffly. "And I agree." Skinner turned around at last, his forehead creased. "I didn't think too much of it myself until I saw this." He reached over and pulled the newspaper from his desk. "Ming's restaurant. It's where the woman... where she was attacked." Mulder felt Skinner watching him as he took the newspaper. He had memorized the story that morning, of course, but he made a show of looking it over again. "So?" He tossed the paper back on Skinner's desk. "Isn't that down in your neighborhood, Agent Mulder?" "What, you think I'm a suspect?" Skinner scowled. "For Chrissake, Mulder." Mulder tapped his fingers lightly on the smooth wood of Skinner's desk and looked at the floor. "I wasn't there," he said quietly. He risked looking up at Skinner again, and the AD narrowed his eyes behind his glasses, searching Mulder for the truth. When he got it, Skinner blew out a long breath and scratched the back of his head. "Well, then," he said gruffly, "if you weren't there, you couldn't know anything, could you?" He tossed the newspaper in the garbage can by Mulder's leg. "No, sir." Skinner took his seat and began shuffling papers. "That will be all, Agent." Mulder started toward the door, when Skinner stopped him. "Mulder?" Mulder turned. "Is she in yet?" The clock said Scully was now half an hour past due. Mulder bit his lip. "No, Sir. Not yet." "When she gets here, tell her--" "Tell her what?" Skinner dropped his chin. "Her report on the Speigelmen case: it was a good job. The Director was extremely pleased." Mulder's hand tightened on the door handle. "I'll tell her." He left then, past the secretary and down the hall, and in the elevator, he remembered, finally, to breathe. XxXxX When he got back to the basement, Mulder found Scully seated at her table, chewing thoughtfully on a tuna sandwich as she read some journal article spread out in front of her. "You're back," he blurted, and she looked up. "Hi," she said, in that easy open way she did when it was just the two of them in the basement. "I got you roast beef. I hope that's okay." He didn't make a move toward the sandwich on his desk. "I thought you were supposed to be here ages ago." "It took longer than I thought." This bit of information derailed him a moment. "Everything..." The shiny dentist tools came back to him and he stopped. He didn't have the vocabulary for this conversation. "Everything okay?" "Fine." Scully resumed reading and chewing. He looked at her, with her pressed suit and her perfect, smooth hair, and felt stupid for having worried. His cheeks flushed hot. "You could have called," he told her as he went to his desk. She blinked at him, not answering. "When you were late," he clarified. "I wasn't that late." He shrugged and didn't look at her. Self-righteous anger was the first familiar emotion he'd had in three days, and he wasn't about to let it go that easily. "Mulder," she said, sounding annoyed, "I was a half-hour late." "Forty-five minutes." Which, as he recalled, was more than late enough. He tore open the paper around his sandwich. Scully let him rustle for a minute before saying anything. "You were just upstairs?" she asked. "With Skinner." Go ahead, he thought, ask me why. "What did he want?" Her tight little words punctured the balloon in his chest. Mulder leaned back in his seat, swiveling until he faced her. "He said..." Mulder stopped, searched for words, and then shook his head. "It was nothing. Just paperwork." She held his gaze for a minute longer. "Glad I missed it then," she said at last. She went back to reading, her head bowed, while Mulder chewed the lie in his mouth and swallowed it down with a side of roast beef. XxX One of the curious things about the Hoover building was its placement of women's restrooms. It had been constructed during a time when no one could fathom females running around with guns, and the amount of space allocated for women's bathrooms reflected this fact. They had been added later, an afterthought, and thus tended to appear not with their male counterparts but around odd corners or down long halls. The basement did not have a women's restroom at all. Once, out of desperation, she had ducked into the tiny room Mulder used and found a lone urinal and a stall with no paper in it. Never again. The main floor's facilities were large and bright, with a high ceiling. Someone had ordered them new porcelain sinks just a few months before. Women's voices bounced hard and echoed hollow off the walls. Scully couldn't help but hear. "Do you think it was really an *agent*, though? Probably it was just someone from accounting and they blew it up on the news." "Guess we'll find out if they catch the guy. They try to keep the names secret at a rape trial, but you know it will come out eventually especially in this joint." Scully leaned her forehead on the cold door. Her neighbor flushed the toilet and shouted over the noise. "The woman who got attacked week before last was shopping at the grocery near me. My sister won't go there anymore." "I don't blame her. Ten women and they don't even have a suspect." "I'm not worried. I've got this baby right here. Any guy tries to get the drop on me, and he'll be eating the end of my gun." "God, Nora. You're so butch." "Laugh if you want. Women know he's coming now. One of these days he's going to pick the wrong one." They left, door sliding shut into blessed silence. Scully shuddered and pressed clammy palms to her face. Her stomach quivered. You're okay, she told herself over and over. You're okay. Then she turned around and threw up. XxXxX That first night back, he asked her if he could walk her to her car, and she said no. He did not ask again. Mulder found himself locking doors he hadn't before, eyeing every moving shadow. Once, when he had come home late at night, something had rattled the bushes near his door, and Mrs. Korloff's tabby "Mittens" had ended up staring down the business end of Mulder's SIG. Mittens had calmly licked her paw while he lowered his shaking arms. XxXxX In his fantasy, Scully always wore the navy skirt with the side slit and her blouse unbuttoned halfway down to her waist. She was round and young, the way she'd looked when the fantasy was first born, with pinky white skin and full lips that loved to tell him he was wrong. That was how it started, too -- in the basement, arguing. "God, Mulder," she'd say, and it would sound so sexual despite the haughty look on her face. "God, Mulder, that's ridiculous!" Anger made him hot. Hot to grab her, shake her. "You know I'm right." The details were never important. It could have been a hundred different cases or none of them at all. All that mattered was that he was right and she was wrong and for once he wanted to hear her say it. He pushed closer, crowding her up against the wall. "Say it, Scully. Admit it." "No." Her nostrils flared, breasts swelling with each shaky breath; her arms came up between them in self-defense. "I want to hear it. 'You were right, Mulder.'" "Stop it!" She struggled and his chair crashed to the ground. No one was around to hear. Sometimes, she tried to slap him, and he'd grab her wrist, feel her pulse pounding. She was angry too. He felt her anger like a current, a force warring with his own, and he battled her back against the wall. His erection poked at the front of his pants as he pinned her arms above her head. "I'll make you," he breathed in her face. "No." The word fired him, sizzling nerve endings, and he put his hot mouth on her neck. She hissed in his ear as her body went rigid. Twisting, panting, she tried to break free but he held her tight to the wall. His knee wriggled between her legs. He kissed her mouth and felt her sharp little teeth. Her tongue tried to push his away, sliding wetly, and her deep moan vibrated his ears. He opened her blouse and fondled her breasts while they kissed. Scully pulled away, gasping, her neck arched and her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "Had enough?" he said as his hand found her naked knee. Her leg jerked into his touch but she did not reply. He kept her pinned as he raised her skirt, letting the fabric scrape against the tender skin on her thighs as he pulled it to her waist. Mulder lowered his face down to hers, smelled her breath and her powdered skin. "I think," he said against her swollen mouth, "you want it." "No," she whispered, but her eyes glittered. She gripped his thigh with her leg. He felt the heat of her through their clothes. Rocking her against him, he took her mouth again and set up a matching rhythm with his tongue until she was shaking with raw need. His leg came away wet, her eyes clenched shut as his hands tugged her underwear off. He stroked the dark, humid place between her thighs. She bit her lip and held her breath when he carefully pushed one finger inside. He thrust it slowly in and out as Scully turned her head away, lashes swept down across her cheeks as she fought what he was doing to her. Proper, buttoned-up Scully, with her skirt up around her waist and her legs spread for him right in the office, but still he wanted to push her further. He wanted to push her all the way. With fumbling fingers, he yanked down his zipper and took out his cock. It trailed along her thigh, and Scully dragged open her eyes to look at him, challenge still glinting in her gaze. He let down her arms and lifted her from under her ass instead. His penis slipped between her thighs, teasing them both as Scully nails pricked him through his dress shirt. They stared at one other, breathing hard. Do it, he willed her silently. She glared at him. Do it. At last, her hand slipped down between them and put him inside. Mulder bared his teeth as his cock pushed in slow and deep. "Now," he told her. "You'll come." She snorted as if he was telling her about lights in the sky, and he answered with a forceful thrust that made her gasp. Her eyes slid closed as he began moving inside her. She panted but would not look at him. C'mon, he thought. Come. If nothing else, he could convince her of this. Mulder fucked her slow and steady until she leaned her head back on the wall. Her mouth parted and he could feel the tension coiling in her. "Yeah," he told her, speeding up, and she shook her head. Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades. His muscles bulged and burned. All the while, she milked his cock with steady clenches. He was going to make her come. "C'mon, Scully," he yelled at her, thrusting roughly. She answered with a protesting wail and he redoubled his efforts. Her legs locked. Her hands clawed in his hair. "No no no..." "Yes!" She cried out again, going rigid in his arms. The back of her head clonked against the wall and he felt the ripples on his cock. Victorious, he put his teeth to her collarbone and screwed his eyes shut against the impending wave. He jerked inside her again and again and again, spent. It was just a fantasy. He had others. But even now, after everything, it still made him hard. XxX By Thursday, Scully had caught up on her backlog of email, read and photocopied six journal articles, and reviewed her notes on the Spiegelman case in the event that she had to testify in court. Mulder was writing an article on Donnie Pfaster for Criminal Psychology, though he was careful to keep the photographs hidden on his desk. "Hey, Scully," he said, turning his chair to look at her. He had his glasses on and his shirtsleeves rolled up. "How do you spell 'conscience' again?" She smiled fondly. The man with the most overdeveloped superego in the world still couldn't spell its name. Somehow, she restrained herself from going over and ruffling his hair. "C-O-N-S-C-I-E-N-C-E," she told him. "Thanks." He turned around again, and she sat back and contemplated his hunched shoulders. "Mulder," she asked eventually, "are we ever going to leave the office again?" "Hmm? Oh, sure. It's just been a busy week for paperwork." He couldn't quite look her in the eye as he spoke. Scully sighed, got up from her chair, and went to lean against his desk. "It's okay, you know." She tried to catch his eyes. "I'm ready to work. I want to work." "Of course, Scully." He smiled at her. "I never thought otherwise. I just haven't found the right case is all." Oh, god. It was the Mulder-Scully version of the "It's not you, it's me" speech. She picked up a stack of folders marked "X." "What about this one?" she said, pulling off the top folder. He grabbed it from her. "Witness recanted," he said. "The sea nymph turned out to be a frolicking golden retriever named Sven." "I see." Scully pulled out the next file and flipped it open. "A troop of boy scouts disappears into a giant sinkhole in Acadia national park?" "In 1943," Mulder said, taking the file away. "It hardly seems pressing." "Okay, then," Scully said as she tried the next folder in the pile. "A pet psychic in Baltimore? Mulder--" "She interviews animals that witnessed crimes, Scully. I talked to a guy at the Baltimore PD who said they busted a guy for murder after this woman got a parakeet to give them the killer's description." "Fine." She held her tongue and handed him back the folder. "It's an X-file, it's local, and it's not sixty years old. I say we check it out." Mulder sat up straight. "Scully, I have this manuscript to write and--" He was cut off by his phone ringing. "Mulder," he said. Scully watched him openly for signs of a juicy case. "Yeah, this is he. Uh-huh. Yeah. When did this happen?" He sat up and began jotting down some notes. "You say you talked to the police already? Uh-huh. Okay. Yes, I have an idea of where to start." Scully folded her arms and waited for him to hang up the phone. "Well?" she asked as he rocked back in his chair. "That was Chet Appleby from Beabout, Texas. He says his sister was abducted by a UFO cult and the local cops won't do anything about it." Scully's internal organs did "The Wave" but she managed not to show it. "MUFON?" "Maybe. Seems a little radical for them." "We should check it out." He tilted his head, studying her. She held his gaze. At last, he snapped forward and put his feet on the floor. "I'll book the tickets," he said, excitement creeping into his voice. Scully went back to her desk and picked up a journal, already mentally packing as she listened to him plan their future. XxXxXxX End chapter three. XxXxXxXxXxX Chapter Four XxXxXxXxXxX Asleep against the side of the plane, Scully had been shifting like sand since take-off, so it took him longer than usual to notice her distress. She yelped, twitching under the blanket, and Mulder lowered the journal he'd been reading. It did not occur to him right away to wake her. He stared at the fine tremor of her hand, the wrinkle of her brow. The painful, private vision held him captive. She'd been pulled away again, back to that awful place, and this was as close as he was ever going to get. The magazine pages crinkled in his grip. Scully let out a small, choked sob, and the sound jolted him from his stasis. He reached out and stroked her cheek with his fingers, surprised to find her skin damp. "Scully," he murmured, leaning towards her. "Wake up." She shot bolt upright, gulping in air, one hand stretched outward as if to steady herself. The blanket slipped to the floor. "Easy," he told her as she twisted in her seat, looking wildly around the plane. "You're okay." She let out a long breath. "What time is it?" "Uh, almost five. We'll be landing soon." She groped for her blanket, ducking away from him, and he leaned back to watch her struggle in the narrow space between the seats. When she surfaced with pinkened cheeks and hair askew, he detected a faint quiver as she placed the cover primly across her knees and settled back in her chair. "Stop looking at me like that." She smoothed her hair behind her ears with both hands. He didn't turn his head away. "Like what?" "I'm fine, Mulder." When he didn't say anything, she looked at him, defiant. "I am. It's just a dream." The strong sun coming in the windows showed the tear stains on her cheeks. He reached out and traced one trail. "I just want to know that you're okay." "I said I was." "Okay," he said gently, agreeing with her. This only seemed to make her more upset. "I don't know what you want me to say, Mulder. You've already decided that I'm not okay, and I don't know how to prove otherwise. I know you think it's horrible. I know that. But women--" She stopped and started over. "It happens every day all over the world, and women just go on. I think it's all you can do." He looked at her for a long moment. "You don't have to prove anything to me, Scully." "Quit waiting for me to fall apart." "I'm not." She glared at him, and then jerked a magazine free from the pouch in front of her and flipped it open. Dismissed, Mulder turned away and sighed. He wondered if he had any Tylenol in his carryon. Scully angrily turned pages to his right. Mulder closed his eyes. "It happened," she said after some time. "But it doesn't have to mean everything." He still didn't look at her. "No. But it doesn't mean nothing, either." Scully did not reply. She went back to reading, turning her pages quietly now giving him his answer louder than words ever could. A storm brewing over Houston rocked their plane as it made its descent into the clouds. Harried flight attendants took their seats early, and the passengers gripped their armrests as the planed bumped and pitched. At last, the pilot brought them down safely, to scattered applause, and Mulder watched Scully release her breath. They fetched their bags with everyone else, picked up their rental car, and drove off under the dark, rolling sky. Beabout, Texas, was a three-hour drive from the city, but Mulder and Scully stopped for dinner after two. Their choices right off the exit consisted of fast food, the dining room of the Palmer Inn, and a Bar & Grill with three motorcycles parked out front. "Inn?" Mulder asked, and jerked his thumb at the drive-thru burger joint. "Or out?" Scully squinted out the windshield at the Bar & Grill. "I could really use a beer," she said, and so she and Mulder joined the motorcycle brigade. Inside, the place was dark but not as smoky as he had expected. The low-ceilinged room was divided between a dining room filled with black-lacquered furniture and a bar with a dozen or so stools, most of which were occupied. Baseball played on the TV, and Mulder answered its siren call while Scully saw about a table. "Mulder, come on," she called. "Yeah, just a sec." He watched as The Big Unit struck out the batter swinging. Ambling back across, he paused at the refrigerator-sized jukebox. There was some room for dancing, but no one was on the floor. Mulder rattled the change in his pocket but did not make a selection. Scully already had her menu and water glass in front of her. He took his seat and scanned the beer list. Their waiter let them sit there for a good five minutes before he showed up, scratchpad in hand. "You know what you want?" Mulder did a double take. Bald head. Wire-rimmed glasses. The man was in his mid-forties and could have been Skinner's long-lost brother. "Mulder?" Scully prompted him. He ordered a burger and a pint of Guinness. "Scully... Scully..." He leaned across the table as the Skinner wannabe walked away. Scully was busy rummaging though her purse and did not look up. "Scully!" "What?" "Does our waiter remind you of anyone?" She stopped rummaging and looked in the direction the waiter had gone. "No. Why?" "C'mon. When he asked what I was having, I wanted to say 'a stack of 302s, medium rare.'" She pulled out a tissue and used it to wipe her fork. "What are you talking about, Mulder?" He leaned back in his seat, exasperated. "Just look closer when he comes back. You'll see." The man returned with the beer. "Here you go," he said, low and gruff. Mulder looked meaningfully at Scully, who looked confused. Then her eyes widened. "Mulder!" she said as the waiter walked away. "See? Skinner in an apron!" She laughed and sneaked another look across the room. "God, Mulder. I feel... I feel..." "Yes?" he asked, deepening his voice. "Like I've been caught out past curfew by my father." Mulder did his best Skinner impression. "Agent Scully, could I please see you in my kitchen? I have some questions about the Speigelman barbecue report." "Stop," she said, but she was still smiling. "Behave." He grinned and nudged her under the table. "The victim was a small ground fowl weighing about six pounds. Head and feet were removed, possibly to avoid identification--" "Mulder!" When the man returned with their food, Scully wouldn't look at him or Mulder. She kept her eyes focused in front of her as the waiter put her burger down. "Medium?" he asked, and Scully answered with a tiny nod. Her mouth twitched but she did not break. "Yes, thank you," she managed. Mulder could practically hear her swallow "Sir." He grinned and she kicked him under the table. The waiter did not crack a smile. "Well done," he said as he set Mulder's food down. He pulled a ketchup bottle out of his apron pocket, put it on the table between them, and went on his way. Scully began silent, mirthful convulsions as soon as the waiter's back was turned. Mulder leaned across the table and egged her on in a barely- controlled whisper. "Well done," he said. "Words I never thought I would hear from that mouth." Scully leaned forward. "Mulder, you're terrible." "Ah," he said, "now *that* would be more typical." She shook her head as she tapped the end of the ketchup bottle. "Skinner must like you more than you think if he authorized this trip." Mulder sobered, remembering his conversation with Skinner about their latest 302. Skinner had spent much longer looking at the file than the scant information required while Mulder stood in front of him awaiting judgment. "Texas," he'd said at last. "That's pretty far away." "Maybe that's a good thing," Mulder had answered, and Skinner had signed off without another word. "We've pursued cases on less," he told Scully now. "Yes, and that is why -- to borrow your analogy -- in Skinner's eyes, we will always be 'medium rare.'" "I prefer just 'rare,'" he said, and that earned him another smile. As they ate, the volume went up on the jukebox. The Stones wailed about the Devil, and a few people gathered around to study other selections. Dire Straits did the "Walk of Life'; Fleetwood Mac would never break the chain. The lights dimmed and some more people got up to dance, including one youngster in a cowboy hat who just made circles around the floor. Couples paired off, heat rising in the room from the sudden increase in bodies. Mulder felt the tingle of beer in his veins. He eyed Scully across the table, but she was watching the shadowed twist of dancers. "It's a marvelous night for a moon dance," Van Morrison sang, vibrating the air with invitation. Mulder looked at Scully again. "Scully?" "Hmm?" She turned her attention to him. He wiped his palms on his pants. "You, um, want to?" he asked as he jerked his head towards the makeshift dance floor. "Oh!" She blinked and then looked back at the dancers. "Mulder, we can't." He wiggled in his seat. "Speak for yourself, G-woman." Scully gave him a wistful look and shook her head. "Mulder, no. Who knows if we might end up having to question one of those people tomorrow?" His pulse slackened, losing the beat, and he leaned back in his chair. "Yeah," he said eventually, "Yeah, I guess you're right." "It's a marvelous night to make romance," Van Morrison crooned. Scully set her napkin on her plate, the sign that she was ready to go. "It's your turn to pay," she said. "Make sure to get the receipt this time." Mulder dug out his credit card. Just remember, he thought, that I asked. XxX The road to rural Beabout was a straight shot through the middle of absolutely nothing. Electricity gathered in the air, quivering the trees as they flashed by in the glare of the Taurus's headlights. If either had believed in the power of omens, they might have turned back: thunder cracked open the sky, releasing a torrential downpour, just as Mulder drove over a nail in the road and shot out their rear right tire. He cursed as the car wobbled to the side of the road. Scully already had the dome light on and was digging in the glove compartment. "There might be a number in here to call for assistance." "Yeah, I'm sure they're going to hurry out to help us in this mess." Rain beat down against the roof. "We'll be out here all night. I'll just change the damn thing and be done with it." "Mulder, it's pitch black and pouring." "So come hold the umbrella and the flashlight." This was how they ended up stopped along a muddy shoulder, crouched by their grimy car as rain blew sideways under Scully's umbrella. Mulder changed the tire in less than fifteen minutes, but it was long enough for their clothes to stick like second skin. Despite his experiences wrestling in bile and being digested by a giant fungus, walking around in wet underwear still ranked in Mulder's top five most uncomfortable sensations. Bow-legged, he trooped back to the car and ignored the water that oozed from his shoe as he stepped on the accelerator again. Scully blotted ineffectually at her neck with a Dairy Queen napkin. At the motel, they both stumbled into the room on the first floor. Ownership could be decided later. First, there were towels. Scully tossed him two large ones and disappeared with her bag into the bathroom. Mulder stripped off his wet clothes, rubbed the terry cloth over his clammy skin, and put on some dry sweats. Behind the closed door, Scully's hair dryer whirred to life. Mulder sat on the hard mattress and began toweling off his naked feet. Scully emerged a few minutes later dressed in white pajamas, the damp ends of her red hair tickling her shoulders. Behind her, he could see pantyhose dangling from the shower bar and figured this meant Scully had staked out her territory. She fixed him with her serious Dr. Scully look. "Mulder, you're still wet." It was true. Water trickled down behind his ear. "I'm dry where it counts," he replied, and picked up the towel to rub his head. "Here," she said, and fetched her blow dryer from the bathroom. She plugged it in the wall and stretched the curly-Q cord across the room. Standing between his legs, she switched the dryer on and went to work on his hair. The shock of hot air tightened his scalp and warmed the tips of his ears. Scully's lips parted as she concentrated. When she assessed her progress by running small, strong fingers through his hair, it was all he could do not to squirm with pleasure. She leaned forward, and he could see down her pajama top to the feathered shadow between her breasts. She smelled like satin and powder and rain. At last, she switched off the dryer. "Better," she pronounced as the roar still rang in his ears. She rested her hand on his head and smiled a little. "Better," he agreed. "Thank you." She didn't move away, so he tentatively stroked her hip through her pajamas. Her fingers toyed in his hair as they stared at one another. Scully's eyes darkened, the color of his fantasy, but his arousal mixed with fear. It can't be, he thought. Not this soon. "Scully-" "Shhh." Her hand slid down so that her fingers stilled his lips. She caressed his cheek with her thumb, and his protest died away. Scully leaned down so their mouths brushed, their first real kiss since it happened, and Mulder had to grab her waist to keep from trembling. He was a Japanese lantern, lit up and warm inside but fragile at the skin. She kissed him lingeringly, her full mouth persuading his into a gentle dance. The wet ends of her hair tickled his face and he was lost. Mulder held her with both hands, stroking her back as she pressed even closer. Her tongue was in his mouth and her hand did a slow rub across his shoulder. Just a little more, he thought through the haze. I can still stop. He touched his tongue to hers and was rewarded with a muffled snort against his cheek. She tasted the same, like warm mint. He felt a corresponding flare of heat in his pants. Scully wiggled closer, bumping the bed as she tried to feel him, but Mulder kept her away from his erection. He didn't want her to feel obligated in any way. Scully broke the kiss, breathless. "Mulder," she said against his hairline. "I have to tell you something." His hands roamed her back. "It's okay, Scully." He could stop with kissing. He could. "We... we have to use a condom." Mulder tensed. "What?" She had stiffened too, but she gripped him tight. "Just to be safe. The first tests came back clean, but I have to repeat the one for HIV at least one more time to be sure. I know it's not ideal, but until I know that everything's okay, I don't want to put you at any risk." His mind was still absorbing this new information, but his first instinct was to soothe her. "Shh, Scully," he said, hugging her. "It's all right. It's not a big deal. We can pick some up later." She kissed his head. "I have. I mean I did." "Already?" She pulled back and searched his face. "Is that okay?" Truthfully, he was a little unnerved. In between the bouts of tears and the nightmares, she had been shopping for condoms? "Um, of course. Of course it's okay." He kissed her collarbone and felt her heart pounding. "Good." She relaxed some in his arms. Her hands stroked his ribs and her lips found his again. Mulder held her close and kissed her with all the reassurance he could muster. I love you, Scully. I'm so sorry this happened to you, Scully. But Scully didn't want comfort. She wanted him on his back on the bed. Mulder ignored his anxiety and went along, allowing her to push him down and crawl up next to him. She sighed into his mouth, pointed little tongue making it hard for him to think. One silky leg slipped between his. "Scully," he said when he could talk, "are you sure?" He stroked the hair off her face. "It's not too soon?" She frowned. "I'm fine, Mulder." His skin rippled from head to toe as she rubbed her thigh on his leg. Okay, he thought, if she is fine then it must be all right. He kissed her forehead, her eye, her nose, but Scully took his head between her hands and guided him back to her mouth. While they kissed, she stroked his ears until he was humming into her mouth. His heart thudded erratically, excited the way it sometimes was just before he threw up, but his erection strained against his cotton sweatpants. He felt dizzy, out of control. Scully was grinding her lower body against him. "Mulder, please," she whispered. He bore down on her, tried to give her what she wanted. Scully tugged his shirt over his head, and he cooperated. The sudden cool air made goose bumps break out across his back. Touch her, his brain commanded, and somehow he worked his hand beneath her top to her breasts. Soft, familiar and new at the same time, Mulder's tension eased a bit as he caressed one swollen peak. She was hot, hard; she wanted this. He could give it to her. He focused on the tender nipple between his fingers. Scully panted, squirming beneath him. She reached into his pants and he jerked his hips back as if burned. "Mulder?" He kissed her again, slow and deep. Her legs wrapped around him. When she pulled her mouth from his and looked up at him, her face was flushed, lips parted and red. Her eyes had gone from blue to black. He had her pinned with his full weight. *I can make you.* "Mulder," she said again, pleading this time. He couldn't breathe. He saw her trapped with her legs spread, eyes dark with fear. Gasping, he rolled off her and scrambled from the bed. Scully sat up. "Mulder, what's wrong?" "I can't," he said shaking his head. Her expression went from puzzled to bruised. "Oh." She hugged herself. "No, it's not like that. It's not." "You don't have to explain, Mulder." She got up from the bed and headed for the bathroom. Horror and panic chased each other around in his head. "It's not you, Scully. Wait, listen." "Mulder, I said it was fine," she said over her shoulder. He watched her gather up her wet clothes. "I just think about what happened to you, and even though I know this is different, I just--" He broke off as she pushed by him with her clothes still dripping on the carpet. "Where are you going?" "To my room." Her voice was tight and controlled. "This is your room." He walked to her, touched her arms from behind, but she shrugged him off and continued packing viciously. "No, this is your room," she told him. "Please don't go. Not like this. I--I... We can try again." She shot him a look that chilled his spine. Her suitcase refastened, she grabbed the other room key and walked to the door. Mulder felt like a toad. He'd hurt her, and now she was going out in the dark, rainy night wearing just her pajamas. "Scully," he said, his voice thick as he blocked her exit. "Please let me explain." She looked at the floor. "You have. You're not ready. It's fine, Mulder. Really. Just let me go." He slumped. "At least let me be the one to go. You can stay here." "I don't want to stay another minute in this room," she whispered. Mulder stepped aside. What could he say to that? Rain swept in when she opened the door. He stood at the threshold, getting wet all over again as he watched her march down the path to the stairs. He stood there even after he heard the upstairs door slam. When at last he shut himself again inside the dull, quiet room, there was no one there to dry his tears. XxXxXxXxX From: syntax6 Date: 14 Jul 2003 13:22:38 -0700 Subject: New: Split the Lark 5/14 by syntax6 Source: atxc Keywords: None Header: in part 0 http://www.omniscribe.com/inprogress.html XxXxXxXxXxX Chapter Five XxXxXxXxXxX She was too mortified even to cry. Scully spent the night curled in a ball under the starched motel sheet, blinking in the darkness. She hugged the pillow and tried to squeeze away the sound of Mulder's rejection. Of course he would be disgusted. Another man had forced her down on the ground and shoved his way inside her. She was disgusted when she thought about it. So she didn't. Think about it. But Mulder would never be able to follow suit; he thought about everything, all the time, perseverated on injustices great and small. And now, when he looked at her, he only thought about one thing. As long as he remembered, so would she. Scully hid in her bed while the dawn crept up to her window, brightening the cracks. By six she could no longer deny the sun. She dragged her stiff body from beneath the sheets and dressed tiredly with just the light from the bathroom. A quick look at her cell phone told her she'd received three new messages during the night. She left the room without listening to a single one. Outside, muggy morning air promised a scorcher of a day. Already the rain puddles were evaporating back into the sky. It was still quiet, road traffic infrequent and birds flitting in the trees. Scully squinted as she walked down the stairs to the lower level. At the bottom, the sight of Mulder's door stopped her in her tracks. She would have to pass in front of it to get to the lobby, where coffee awaited. Her anxious heart buried itself between her ribs, but her head throbbed for caffeine. Caffeine won out. Scully held her breath, kept her head down, and marched past room 134 without a backward glance. Their motel fee included a continental breakfast, which was self-served in the alcove next to the check-in desk, right between the pay phone and a rack of tourist pamphlets. Scully skipped the lackluster pastries and poured herself a Styrofoam cup's worth of black coffee. She got approximately five minutes of silence before a round, bland-faced couple and their three young children entered to raid the donuts. Scully shifted to stand near the front desk, where the young woman with a ponytail gave her a wide, friendly smile. "Hello," she said. "Is the coffee all right for you this morning?" Scully raised her eyebrows as she sipped. "Yes, it's fine. Thank you." "Y'all down for the Garden Grove square dance competition?" Scully managed to swallow the coffee without choking. "Uh, no." "Oh." The smile didn't fade. "Folks come from all over this time of year, and I just assumed when the two of you checked in last night together that's what you were here for. Leastways, that's true for most of our couples." "No, we're here to see--" Scully searched her memory for the man supposedly in charge of the UFO cult. "Jared Rentham. Do you know him?" The smile faltered and then reappeared. "Jared? Sure, everyone around here knows him. He runs that group out at the old army compound. I see him every now and then at the farmer's market buying corn. My mom said that he moved here from New Orleans, that he used to be a fortune teller there." She lowered her voice and leaned toward Scully. "His wife was murdered. That's why he came out here." "Do you know how she died?" The girl looked to make sure the vacationing family wasn't listening. "I heard she burned to death." "What about Tina Appleby? Do you know her?" "Never met her. Saw her in the papers, though, when she joined up with Jared's group. Her family wasn't too happy about it, on account of Tina had two little kids." "Why did Tina join?" The girl again cast a look over at the family before answering. "Jared, he believes in UFOs. He says that the aliens come and take people for experiments, and that the government knows about it but doesn't protect people. Supposedly..." She stopped and fiddled with the cord coming out of the computer keyboard. "Supposedly what?" The girl sighed. "I don't know if I believe it, but some folks say he can tell by looking at you whether you've been tested by the aliens." "Excuse me?" She pointed at the sky. "You know, probed...or whatever." The hairs stood up on the back of Scully's neck, right about where she'd been probed, and the coffee sloshed in her cup. "And Tina, uh, she'd been tested?" "That's what the paper said." The girl shrugged. "But it also said she's failed out of AA three times, so who can know for sure if it's true? Jared looks harmless enough to me, but I don't go out of my way to talk to him, if you know what I mean. My boyfriend Jimmy's a cop, and he told me Jared checked out okay, but then he said to stay away from him just the same. So I do. Maybe Jared's not dangerous or anything, but he sure is crazy." "What makes you say that?" The girl rolled her eyes. "He believes in aliens, doesn't he?" As if on cue, the front bell tinkled and Mulder came through the door. He stopped, feet still on the mat, and all heads except Scully's turned to stare. She looked at her cup. "Good morning," the girl behind the counter said. "Help yourself to coffee and pastries right over there." "Yeah, thanks," Mulder said. Scully could feel him looking at her, felt herself shrinking inside. She watched his shadow move towards her across the floor until it disappeared into her own. Mulder breathed down on her. "Morning," he murmured, and she nodded to her coffee. She wasn't sure how this was going to work if she could never look him in the eyes again. "I called you last night," he told her, his voice still low. "Did you?" "I left you messages." "I haven't checked." She took a deep breath and met his gaze. There were dark smudges under his eyes, and she could see a nick on his jaw where he had cut himself shaving. Mulder studied her a minute before nodding sadly. "Okay. Scully, I just wanted to say--" The vacationing family trooped out behind him, forcing Mulder to crowd closer to Scully. He bumped her and she jerked back against the counter. "Sorry," he said, reaching out a hand to steady her. "Mulder, please." She squeezed from between him and the counter. "I can't do this now." "Of course not," he said quickly, and she felt her cheeks warm. The girl behind the counter listened in with the deliberate casualness of a seasoned gossip. Scully cleared her throat. "Mulder, this is..." She stopped when she realized she didn't know the girl's name. "Sharon Loeing," the girl filled in for her. "Ms. Loeing was telling me what she knew about Jared Rentham," Scully explained. It took Mulder a minute to focus enough to respond. "Rentham," he said, turning to the girl at last. "Right. You know him?" "Oh, not really. Just passing on what all I've heard." "It seems that Mr. Rentham is running a retreat of sorts for alien abductees," Scully said. "This was the reason for Tina Appleby's involvement." "She was abducted? Her brother didn't mention that part." "Maybe because it didn't really happen," Scully countered. "From what I've heard, it's Jared Rentham who determines whether someone had been abducted or not. Tina Appleby was a single mother with two kids and a history of alcohol abuse. It wouldn't surprise me to find that Jared Rentham takes advantage of people who are down on their luck and sways them into joining his... organization." "Wait, you're saying he picks the women and not the other way around?" "Supposedly," Scully said, "he can tell by looking at you if you were abducted." "Oh." Mulder stared hard at Scully. She refused to blink. So far, she hadn't heard any evidence that Jared Rentham was anything other than a charlatan who preyed on vulnerable people. "I suppose the only way to know is to find Tina and ask her," Mulder said. Sharon Loeing's eyes widened. "Y'all are going out to the compound?" "You know of a reason why we shouldn't?" Scully asked. "Well, it's just they don't welcome many visitors. There's barbed wire around the whole property." Mulder looked speculatively at Scully. "Somehow, I think he'll let us in." XxXxXxX They stopped at Chet Appleby's first. In the car on the way, Scully looked out the window the whole time so Mulder would not be tempted to start up a conversation. The landscape mirrored her feelings -- flat and empty -- and Mulder wisely kept his mouth shut. She heard him working over a seed between his teeth, a sure sign that his brain was marking double time. Scully clutched the file folders on her lap and studied the passing bramble. "Worried he'll recognize you?" Mulder asked at length. "Appleby?" "No, Rentham." She turned in her seat. "Mulder, don't tell me you believe that story." "I don't know. I'm wondering if you believe it." "I can't believe you even have to ask." "Right. It would be a neat trick, though, don't you think? If it's true." He paused. "Of course, you might not be the best person to test his apparent ability." "What does that mean?" He shrugged. "I've known you for seven years, Scully, and I still can't tell one thing just by looking at you." "I see. So if you don't find what you're hoping for in Jared Rentham, it's my fault." "I didn't say that." "What, then?" He glanced at her. "Scully, you're not always the easiest person to read," he answered mildly. "This can't come as a surprise." It did. Hurt burst inside her like a balloon. She blinked back hot tears and returned to staring out the window. I don't get you, he might have said, the one person she'd thought had understood. "I don't know what to tell you," she managed at last. "I know," said Mulder sadly. "I think that's the problem." He turned the car off the main road into Chet Appleby's neighborhood, where the grass went from dry and unkempt to green and manicured. Evenly spaced white houses lined the wide street, while the sun beat down on the treeless ground. Appleby's house turned out to be the one with the bluebird mailbox and a tricycle parked in the drive. Mulder and Scully did not speak to each other upon approach. Scully lifted the brass knocker as Mulder peeked in the column of windows that framed the front door. Appleby answered promptly and ushered them into a spotless living room that still bore vacuum tracks on the beige carpet. He was a nebbish of a man, with too-short hair and a white, short-sleeved button down shirt. He moved a floppy stuffed dog off the armchair before he sat down. "I never wanted kids," he said. "Myra didn't either. But it was either take in Tina's daughters or have them put into foster care, and we couldn't abide that. We kept thinking that Tina would come to her senses and want them back. As you might have guessed from our phone call earlier, it hasn't turned out that way." "How long has Tina been gone?" Mulder asked from his seat on the floral sofa. "Eight months now. Tina met Rentham at the grocery and she moved out to the compound that night. She dropped her kids off here and that was that. I've talked to the Sheriff's office almost every week since Tina took up with that horrible man, but they keep telling me there is nothing they can do. She's not being held against her will. Brainwashed, maybe, but they don't use force to get her to stay." "Have you talked to Tina at all since she joined the group?" Scully asked. "She sends letters, sometimes with a few dollars to help out with the children. I can barely bring myself to read them because they are all full of UFO crap." "I'd like to see them, if you have them," Mulder said. "Of course." He rose and went to the desk in the corner, where he retrieved a small bundle of envelopes. Mulder started reading while Scully asked more questions. "Did Tina tell you why she decided to join Jared Rentham's group?" He pursed thin lips and brushed invisible lint from his pants. "Tina's had a problem with alcohol off and on for ten years now, but about six years ago was the lowest point. This was before she had the kids and before Dan died. I give that man credit for turning her around when none of us could. If he was alive today, Tina would never have fallen into Rentham's hands. Anyway, around that time, it wasn't unusual for us to go weeks without hearing from Tina. When she did show up, usually it was asking for money." "Says here that Tina remembers being abducted from a local farm," Mulder said, looking at the letters. Appleby nodded wearily. "That's what Rentham told her. More likely she just blacked out for a day." Scully looked at Mulder, but his attention had returned to Tina's letters. "Mr. Appleby," she said, "I'm not sure what you hope to get out of our involvement. The Sheriff is absolutely correct that we can't forcibly remove Tina from Rentham's compound. If he hasn't broken any laws, if she is there peaceably, then our hands are tied." "Talk to him," pleaded Appleby. "See for yourself what kind of monster he is. If Tina were thinking clearly, she would want to be home, with her daughters. She was just getting her life back and that man came and took it from her again." "But--" "If you can prove he's a fraud, she might listen to you. Please." Mulder stood up. "We'll talk to him. Agent Scully's right, though: we can't make you any promises about your sister." Appleby bit his lip. "If she just knew how much the girls needed her..." "We'll see what we can do," Mulder assured him. Scully had a hard time looking the desperate man in the eye, knowing that they were probably not going to be able to give him what he wanted. "You're going now?" Appleby asked. "Let me go with you." "I don't think that's such a good idea," Mulder said. "Please. The compound is difficult to find, but I know how to get there. I'll wait in the car if you like." Mulder sighed and relented. "You do exactly what we say." "Oh, thank you. Let me just get my things and telephone Myra to tell her where I'll be." He left the room and Scully nodded at the letters still in Mulder's hand. "Well?" she asked. "She says Rentham has seen the aliens, that they killed his wife. He says they're coming back." "Terrific. Does he give a date and location?" "No, but Tina does. The date she was abducted: August 9, 1994." Two days after Duane Barry and Skyland mountain. Scully felt like she was back playing tug-of-war with Bill and his big friends, heels sliding into the mud pit even as she held on for dear life. She swallowed with effort. "And you think this means we were riding around in a spaceship together?" she asked Mulder, more sharply than she intended. He looked down at her with compassionate eyes. "I don't know what it means, Scully, but here may be one chance to find out." Nononono. She screwed her eyes shut and gripped the back of Appleby's armchair. "Scully? Are you okay?" "I'm ready," Appleby announced as he returned to the room. Scully sucked in a breath and released the chair. "Then let's go." XxX Appleby sat in the back, twisting his wedding band around his finger and giving directions to Mulder. As promised, finding the compound involved a number of tricky turns down unmarked roads. Thirty minutes later, Mulder rolled the car to a stop in front of a high fence topped with barbed wire. "That sure as hell isn't to keep any aliens out," Mulder muttered. "Rentham says it's to keep out the nonbelievers," Appleby replied. "So we can't distract the others from their 'work.'" All three got out of the car, and when Mulder saw Appleby was following them, he stopped. "I thought you were going to wait in the car." Appleby's small face took on a look of determination. "If Rentham doesn't want me there, I will. Otherwise, I feel I have the right to be present." Mulder looked at Scully, who shrugged. "We do the talking," he warned Appleby. "Absolutely." They walked up the dirt road to the gate, where a camera tracked their arrival. Mulder hit the buzzer on the intercom. "FBI," he said when asked. "We're here to talk to Jared Rentham." "Mr. Rentham is not available," came the crackling reply. "He's there," hissed Appleby over Mulder's shoulder. "I know he is." "We've come a long way," Mulder said into the speaker. "If we could just talk to Mr. Rentham for a few minutes." "I'm sorry, but Mr. Rentham--" The voice broke off, and they heard nothing for several long seconds. When the speaker came back on, the voice had changed to a deep, mellow tone. "Welcome to Sanctuary House, agents. Do come in." The door gave a long buzz, and Mulder pushed it open. Inside was a small courtyard with the same dusty dirt floor, but it contained several small trees whose delicate branches suggested they might have originated in Asia. There was a stone birdbath, and two long benches that faced one another. Everything was quiet. They walked up the flagstone path to the main building -- a short, wide structure built with aging concrete. Scully almost expected to be met by a bald man in a flowing robe. She was half right. Jared Rentham emerged from a door at the end of the entry hall wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt with a Celtic clan symbol on the front. He had a long face with a long, thin nose to match, and when he got closer, Scully saw he wasn't quite bald -- there was a ring of pale, fine hair circling his head just above his ears. Scully hung back a bit as he approached. "Agents," he said. "Welcome again. I am Jared Rentham, and I'll be happy to answer any questions you might have." "What have you done with my sister?" Appleby demanded. Mulder elbowed him. "I'm Fox Mulder, and this is my partner, Dana Scully. You may already know Chet Appleby." "By reputation only," Rentham demurred. He offered his hand to Appleby, who refused it, and then shook Mulder and Scully's hands in turn. When Scully tried to pull away, Rentham held on. "I noticed you outside," he said, fingers tracing lightly over the skin of her wrist. "Have we met before?" "No, I don't think so." "I could swear it." His eyes crinkled at the corners as he tried to place her. "Oh!" he said suddenly, and Scully felt a spark against her hand. She jerked free. Rentham smiled at her. "You've been among them," he said. "You will understand how important our work is." "What the hell is he talking about?" Appleby asked suspiciously. Mulder moved himself between Rentham and Scully. "Just what sort of 'work' do you do here, Mr. Rentham?" "Information gathering, mainly," he said, his eyes still on Scully. Her breathing grew shallow, sweat breaking out across the back of her neck. She let Mulder take the lead. "Information about what?" "Them." He nodded at Scully. "If you need explanation, your partner can fill you in." "I don't know what you're talking about," Scully whispered. Rentham made a tsk-tsk sound at the back of his throat. "Denying it won't stop them. You have to understand what happened to you in order to fight." "What is this?" Appleby began backing away. "What the hell is he talking about, she's one of them?" "Calm down, Mr. Appleby," Mulder said. "We're asking the questions, okay?" "No, it's not okay! I want to see my sister, and I want to see her now." He was shaking from head to toe. Mulder gave the high sign to Scully, and she agreed: time to get Appleby off the premises. "Why don't we go outside for a minute," she suggested, touching his arm. Appleby shook her off. "Get away from me! I don't know what your connection is to this place, but just stay the hell away. Bring me my sister," he hollered at Rentham. "I want to see her NOW!" "I'm afraid that's not possible," Rentham said. "I say it is." Appleby pulled out a gun and aimed it at Rentham. "Take me to Tina." Scully's pulse tripped over itself. Mulder's jaw tensed, his eyes gone black. "Hold on a second, Chet," he said. "Let's work this out." "I want to see Tina. I want her to come home with me." The gun wavered in the air, three feet from Scully. Rentham was the only one who did not look worried. "I can take you to her," he said, "but she won't leave. I have explained before that everyone who is here stays here willingly. I exert no force. We have no weapons." He eyed Appleby's trembling gun. "Your sister is happy here. I believe she's told you before that she does not wish to leave." "You did this to her!" Appleby sobbed. "It was you!" "I did nothing to Tina," Rentham answered calmly. "It was Them." The shot split Scully's head open; at least that's how it felt. Her ears hurt and the terrible noise reverberated in her skull. When she opened her eyes, she saw Rentham lying dead on the ground. She didn't even need to take his pulse. Appleby's shot had gone through Rentham's left eye and blown apart his brain. Her mouth hung open in horror so long the back of her throat dried out. When at last the noise cleared, she became aware of wracking sobs from behind her. She turned and saw Mulder restraining Appleby. "She's free now," he said over and over. "She can go home." XxXxX At the Sheriff's station, they were alone in a room with the woman who had caused more heartache than Helen of Troy. Tina Appleby was small like her brother but rounder and less edgy. Where Chet had vibrated with anger, Tina wept quietly at the interrogation table, dabbing her eyes with a wrinkled Kleenex. "What will we do now?" she asked of Mulder and Scully. "Jared was the one who brought us together. He was the one who knew what was happening. He said if we didn't prepare for Them to return, we would end up a slave race. Chet didn't understand. He didn't see that I was doing this for my children and for their children's children." "When did you first meet Jared Rentham?" Mulder asked. Scully, still rattled, leaned against the wall near the corner. She looked at this woman with her bad dye job and chewed-off fingernails. This is not me, she thought. "He was really friendly-like," Tina was saying. "Asked me about my baby, Charlene, and told me I seemed real familiar. I had seen him before. Everyone said he was kind of a freak, but when you talked to him, it was like... like talking to God. He could see right inside me. He knew right away that I'd been through a tough time, what with Dan getting sick and passing on, but when he mentioned the lights from the Hartman farm, I just felt a chill go through me. I'd never told anyone about that night before." "Which night?" Mulder asked. Scully folded her arms. "About six years ago, before I knew Dan or anything like that. I--I was drinking a lot back then. Me and Rudy Hartman were down at Jimmy Z's bar until around closing, hitting the Jack and Cokes pretty good. When Jimmy kicked us out, Rudy said he had a six-pack back at his place, if I wanted to go back with him. I said sure. We drank and fooled around a bit, you know. I don't remember much after that, except I think I went outside to get some air. I remember looking up at the stars and thinking they were brighter than I'd ever seen before, like when the sun glints off the water. Then the lights started moving. I felt myself being lifted in the air. The next thing I know--" she broke off and looked at her lap. "The next thing you know, what?" Mulder prodded. "I know this sounds stupid. But I was on a train." Scully felt a chill go through her. She backed further into the wall. "I don't know how I knew this. Maybe someone told me. Maybe I heard the whistle, I don't know. But I was on this table, under a sheet, and I didn't have any clothes on. The whole room kind of glowed with this eerie blue light. I wasn't tied down but I couldn't move my arms or legs. Men in masks, like surgeons, came in and out. Sometimes they would talk to me but usually not. I was so cold that I couldn't feel my toes." "What did these men want with you?" Mulder asked. "I don't know. They hooked me up to machines and poked me with cold metal instruments. I couldn't speak to ask what was going on, but I don't remember being very afraid at the time." "How long were you on this train?" She sniffled. "I couldn't say. It felt like forever but also not long at all. I can't describe it. But I remember this one man, an Asian man, who came in near the end. He was gentler than the others. He stroked my cheek and he talked to me." "What did he say?" Mulder asked, leaning forward. "It makes no sense," Tina replied. "It was like a saying or something." "What?" She took a deep breath. "He said, 'Even the smallest ant--" "--can destroy the dam," Scully finished with her in a murmur. Only when Mulder turned did she realize she'd spoken aloud. "Yeah, that's right," Tina agreed. "Scully?" Mulder asked, looking at her with concern. She felt the floor shift under her, the room suddenly airless. "I'll be back," she said, heading for the door. She barreled through it to the cool, dark corridor on the other side. Gulping air, she went to the rest room and washed cold water over her enflamed skin. Her hands still trembled when she held them out in front of her, so she paced the length of the room slowly, talking herself down. You're okay. It's all right. Just get control and go back in there. Her phone made her jump when it rang. "Scully," she said crisply, hiding her weak limbs with a sharp voice. "Dana, this is Chris Clark with the DA's office." She let out a long breath. "Mr. Clark, of course. What can I do for you?" "I have some potentially good news. Detective Savioshy arrested a suspect this evening. He's in custody as we speak." XxXxX End Chapter Five. XxXxXxXxXxX Chapter Six XxXxXxXxXxX When Scully fled the interrogation room, Mulder did not follow. Tina Appleby was there, still talking, and on the other side of the one-way mirror Sheriff Seaver watched her and Mulder equally, waiting for a satisfactory explanation as to why Jared Rentham had ended up decorating Sanctuary House with his brains on Mulder's watch. "This is not how we do things around here, son," had been Seaver's words on the topic. "What the hell did you bring Chet on up there for, anyway?" Mulder forced his attention back to Tina's narrative. "Damned if I know," she was saying. "I could have been gone two weeks or two hours. Rudy said he woke up and I was just gone." Mulder glanced at the door and made a humming noise in his throat. Scully didn't reappear. Tina continued, "I came to in the park across the street from my apartment. My legs were all wobbly, like when you've been on a boat drinking, and I couldn't remember much at first." Mulder turned his attention back to her, really seeing her for the first time since they had brought her down to the station. Her nails were down to the quick but still she chewed at them. She wore baggy pants and an over-sized T- shirt that hid most of her body. No makeup. Tears streaked her round, smooth face, and she hunched in her chair as though she were the guilty criminal. Wet, haunted eyes looked around the room, everywhere at once. Fuck, Mulder thought. He raised his fist as though to slam it on the table, but caught the fear in Tina's eyes and brought it down gently instead. "Excuse me," he said. He threaded his way through the narrow hall, dodging officers, feeling sweaty and cold at the same time. Adrenaline was wearing off. He could find her in the ladies' bathroom, he knew, but he stopped outside without knocking. Leaning his head on the door, he closed his eyes and let his ragged breath steam the peeling paint. Scully was more like him than most people knew. She, too, carried her pain forward, refusing to diminish it by letting go. But whereas he waved his around like a red flag in front of the bull, Scully scrunched hers into a silent, heavy mass. He ran head-forward while she ran straight away, but really, they were chasing the same thing. Mulder found this thought both unsettling and oddly comforting. The door jerked open and he righted himself, blinking as Scully appeared in front of him. Like Tina, her face had been wiped clean, but her hair was combed and her eyes were clear. "Mulder," she said with a frown. "What's going on? Where's Tina Appleby?" "Still in interrogation." He noticed she had her cellular phone in her hand. "Everything okay?" "I have to go back to D.C. Savioshy needs me for a lineup." He leaned in, pulse spiking again. "They got the guy?" "Apparently red-handed." She looked at his chest as she spoke. "They arrested him in a parking lot with a knife." "That's great, Scully," he said, and then realized how that had sounded. "I mean, I'm glad they got him." "Yeah." She hesitated, smoothing her jacket with her palms. "Anyway, I have to get back as soon as possible. They want to do the lineup before he's arraigned." "You're leaving now?" "My flight's in four hours." "What about Tina Appleby?" "What about her, Mulder? We came out here to investigate her brother's claim that she had been abducted by Jared Rentham. Clearly, there was no abduction; she was with him of her own volition. As for any cult that Rentham may or may not have been involved in, well, it seems rather moot now, doesn't it?" "Because he's dead." It came out as an accusation, against whom he wasn't sure. "And that's..." Scully stumbled. "Unfortunate. But it doesn't change the fact that our involvement in this case is finished. Rentham's dead. Chet Appleby is in jail, and Tina Appleby is a free woman. What more do you hope to accomplish here?" "Her story, Scully, didn't it sound familiar?" "Actually, it sounded fragmented and incoherent. I'll grant you that there were elements in her narrative that we've heard before." "And that doesn't mean anything to you?" "What do you want it to mean, Mulder? Suppose you're right. Let's just agree for the sake of argument that everything Tina Appleby said was true: that she was abducted by extraterrestrials, experimented on by men on a train, and returned some uncertain amount of time later. How does this help us? What have we learned?" "You're saying you believe her." "I'm saying it doesn't make a difference whether I believe her." He shook his head. "How can you think that?" he asked softly, searching her face. Scully looked at the floor for a long minute before answering. "She's a victim, Mulder. She's confused; she's scared. Tina Appleby has no more insight into what happened to her or who is behind it than the cows in the field from which she vanished." "But you agreed," he said, "that we've heard this story before." "Yes. And where has it gotten us?" When he didn't answer, she sighed. "Take her statement, Mulder. Tell her we'll try our best. Then tell her--" "What?" "Tell her to get on with her life." She walked away, heels clicking briskly, not waiting for him to follow. XxXxX Even at two in the morning, Scully's plane faced delays. They sat at the gate endlessly while the airport cleared an obstruction from the runway. Scully pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers and was glad for the stillness. She hunkered down in the shadows at the rear of the cabin, away from the others. Her clothes smelled of cigarette smoke, of desperation and dead things. The explosive gunshot still echoed in her head, but when she closed her eyes it was Tina Appleby's pale face she saw. Too tired to read, too wired to sleep, Scully dug out her cell phone, intending to switch it off for the duration of the flight. Mulder's unread messages glowed back at her from the tiny screen. Scully selected the button to play them and hesitantly put the phone to her ear. The first message was brief: "Hey, Scully, it's me. I know it's late, but call me if you get this, okay?" He sounded more tired by the second one. "I guess your phone must be off. I feel terrible about what happened, Scully. Please call me." Scully's eyes welled from the day's unrelenting tension. She covered her mouth with her hand as Mulder's final message played. "I know you're not answering. I just wanted to say..." Silence stretched for several seconds. "I thought I could handle it, but I guess it's obvious by now that I couldn't. I kept thinking about what happened, what you must have been through." She flashed on parking lot, the hard ground, the man shoving himself inside her. It took her breath away. "I'm sorry about everything," Mulder finished hoarsely. "It's my fault, and I'm so sorry." Scully gulped in air as she snapped the phone shut. Fuck you, she thought, tears escaping the corner of her eyes. What the fuck have you got to be sorry about? The captain told them to turn off all electronic devices as the plane started rolling toward the runway. Soon the roar of the engines obliterated everything, Scully thrown back against the seat under their power as she was lifted away, away, the world disappearing beneath the clouds. XxXxX Scully had consumed two cups of coffee, stared the print off the newspaper, and dissected out the rims of the Styrofoam cups using just her thumbnail when at last Detective Savioshy came through the door again. "Sorry to keep you waiting so long," he said as he wedged himself into the small, windowless room. "The kid's family hired an expensive lawyer who's been busting our chops all afternoon. We should be set to go in just a few minutes." "That's what ADA Clark said two hours ago." The conference table wobbled as Savioshy lowered himself onto one corner. "Bellamy -- that's the lawyer -- has been questioning every step of the lineup, from the lighting to the people who get to be in the observation room. But the delay is really for your benefit." "How do you mean?" "They want you to get nervous while you wait, maybe even change your mind. It's happened before. Witnesses get a little too much time to think about things, and they get spooked." "I don't spook that easily," Scully told him. "No, ma'am, I don't imagine you do." He smiled and shoved off from the table. Scully took a deep breath. "But I didn't see much," she said. "It was dark and he had the stocking over his face. I don't know how much help I can be." "You're here," he said. "That counts for a lot. Just go in, take a look, and tell us if anyone stands out." "But you have enough to hold him without me, right?" "Caught the sonofabitch red-handed," Savioshy said. "He ain't going nowhere. Just sit tight for another few minutes, okay?" He left, closing the door behind him, and a few minutes later, Christopher Clark stuck his head in the room. "Dana, thanks for waiting. We're ready for you now." Scully stood and wiped her hands on her hips. She hadn't, until that very moment, considered the fact that the man from the parking lot was in the same building with her. Barely a man. A kid. He had a family, Savioshy had said. Parents who had probably kissed his little cheeks and bought him footy pajamas, and who now disbelieved their son could hide with a knife in the bushes or rape ten unsuspecting women. Outside the door to the viewing room, Scully halted. Clark touched his hand to the small of her back. "You okay?" She nodded, determined. "Let's do it." Clark opened the door for her, and Scully stepped inside a small, tense room filled with grim people. Savioshy stood near the one-way mirror. He had one of his younger officers with him as well. Lining the back wall were two women and one man, all dressed in suits. "Agent Scully, this is Armand Davis from the King County DA's office," Clark said of the first man. "He's just here to observe in case they end up trying some of the cases up there." Scully could have guessed his role from the grateful look in his eyes. "Pleased to meet you, Agent Scully," he said. "Thank you for coming." She wondered if any of the King's County victims had decided to testify. "And this," Clark continued, "is Nora Bellamy." The rapist's lawyer stepped forward on high heels that rivaled Scully's own. She was older, with papery skin and a mess of hair that was somewhere between blonde and gray. It had been pinned on top her head but was threatening to break free. She had the look of someone who had been around the block and then moved in: this was her turf and she knew it. "Ms. Scully," she said, her voice pitched low and Southern, "it's lovely to meet you. Thank you for your patience this afternoon." She gave Scully's hand a quick, firm shake. "This is my associate, Fiona Hamill." "If you'll just come over here to the window," Clark said, "we'll bring them in." Scully allowed him to lead her over to where Savioshy stood with his hand already poised at the intercom. The room on the other side of the glass was well lit and empty. "Send 'em in," Savioshy said into the speaker. Scully braced herself on the hard wooden ledge as the door opened and a line of young men paraded in front of her. Her heart beat high in her throat. The men stopped on their marks, facing forward, and seemed to stare right through the glass. All white and dark-haired, they wore jeans and T- shirts and harmless, blank expressions. "Take your time," Savioshy said gently. Scully nodded without looking at him. Her eyes were glued to the five men on the other side of the window, seeing all of them and none of them at the same time. She couldn't focus. A dark eye here; a big shoulder there. Her gaze raced up and down the men like fingers over piano keys. Which one? Which one? She felt the pressure of the room bearing down on her. "Can they turn?" she whispered, buying time. "Face right," Savioshy said through the speaker. The sound of heavy feet on the floor echoed back as they complied. Four's chin seemed too pointed. Five wasn't tall enough? Or maybe her memory was wrong. Put stockings on their heads, she wanted to say. Then I'd know for sure. The mashed angry features from her dreams were not visible in the light of day. If her rapist was one of the men in the other room, she could have passed him on the street and never known. "I think we've got our answer," Nora Bellamy said shortly. "Give her time," Savioshy shot back. "No," Scully replied, shaking her head. She shuddered with her drawn breath. "I can't tell. I'm sorry." "Thank you for your time, Ms. Scully. Clark, I'll be in touch." Bellamy flashed a smile and disappeared with her associate out the door. "That's it," Savioshy said wearily into the speaker. The men filed through the exit and the lights went out on the other side. "I'm sorry," Scully repeated, and Savioshy waved her off. "You tried. That's all that counts. We knew going in it was a long shot. If you'll excuse me, I have to make sure his ass goes back to jail and not out the front door." "He won't be freed?" Scully asked Clark. "Not yet. But I am sure Bellamy will ask for bail on Monday." "But he was arrested with the knife and mask," Scully said. "Surely that counts for something." "It does. But he wasn't arrested in the process of committing a crime. We have no witnesses. Bellamy will argue that he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time." "And that will work?" "I'll do everything I can to see that it doesn't." He touched her arm. "You okay for a minute? I want to catch her before she leaves." "Sure, sure." She jerked at the hard slap of the door, left alone in the shadowed room. Darkness yawned where the men had stood, and she began to feel him watching her from the black void, felt a creeping sense of danger she had missed at the time. She stared at the window, saw her own pale features reflected there, and backed up slowly until she hit the far wall. He'd been inside her and she didn't even know his face. Shaking, she held her hands out in front of her, palms up, and began sinking down to the floor. It was real. It happened. It could never be undone. "Dana?" Clark reappeared, and instantly he was at her side. "My God, are you okay?" "Yes," she said, struggling to her feet. He took her arm and helped her up. "I'm sorry." "It's okay. Take it easy. I'm the one who's sorry. We shouldn't have left you alone like that." "No." She swiped at her watery eyes. "I've done lineups before. It's all right." He fumbled a wadded up tissue at her. "Do you want some water? Maybe some place to sit?" "No, no. I'm fine. It's just been a long day." She sniffed, hiding herself behind the tissue. "Yeah," he said softly. She saw him look at the door. "You're sure there's nothing I can get for you? No one I can call?" "Really, no." "What about Mulder?" She folded the tissue in half and in half again before answering. "Mulder's still in Texas." "Oh, right. Your case." She felt him studying her. "Would I be correct in assuming it's a rough one?" "You could say that." Less than twenty-four hours ago, she'd been wearing Jared Rentham's blood spatter in her hair. Mulder hadn't called all day. She had no idea when he planned to return. "We owe you a greater debt, then," Clark said, "for leaving your work to come help us with this." "I wasn't any help." "You were. You showed up. That's more than some of the other women have done." Scully looked up. "Did any of them ID him?" "Not yet. But we are just beginning to mount our case. Savioshy pulled his computer, his date book - they even took his car down to the CS labs." Scully asked the one question she had wanted to ask since his call yesterday evening: "How did you catch him?" "Savioshy's taskforce has been running with the idea that this guy was a college student at a university with religious affiliation, most probably a Christian college. They've been contacting these schools and asking them about their recently reported sexual assaults. Saint Joseph's University in Philadelphia kicked out the name Gregory Watts. Watts had a complaint filed against him for rape by a fellow student, but she later withdrew the allegation. Turned out this guy Watts lives down here during the summer months. His parents have a house in Fairfax. A little more digging, and we found out that the Philly PD has a couple of unsolved rape cases from this past fall that bear an uncanny resemblance to the attacks in the DC area. Savioshy went to find Watts, saw him leave the house, and followed him." "To a parking lot," Scully said. That much she knew already. "That's right. When he saw Watts put the stocking cap on, he busted his ass right then." Scully nodded, letting it sink in. "So he's definitely the guy." "Oh, he's the guy, all right. And we will put him away for a long, long time. I promise you." She chuffed and he looked at her curiously. "I've made that promise myself over the years," Scully told him. "The victim looks to you for assurance. They want to believe in justice." "You don't?" "Does that shock you?" she asked, meeting his eyes. He stared at her unblinking. "Nothing shocks me. But I don't believe you." "You don't know me," she countered. "I know that you're here," he said. "That has to mean something." She smiled a bit. "Yes, well, I do believe in prisons," she said, and he smiled with her. "Fair enough." They stood there awkwardly for a moment until Scully tried to walk past him toward the door. "I should get going," she said. "Oh, of course." He shifted at the same time she did and ended up blocking her path again. "Sorry," he said, but he didn't move further. She looked up at him, expectant. "Have dinner with me." Scully had not thought of food all day. Her fridge probably held a carton of expired low-fat milk and a few limp vegetables. And now he was asking her out? "Oh, no. I couldn't." "Not like that," he cut her off swiftly. "I mean, you've been here all afternoon. You must be starving. You said Mulder wasn't around, so I just figured..." "You figured what?" Her guard was still up. "Maybe you would like some company." "I'm fine." "Of course you are." She hugged her arms close to her chest, and he said nothing for a moment. "Okay, it's me. I hate eating in restaurants alone." She gave him a look of disbelief. "It's true. The waitresses, they come over and want to talk." "Oh, I'm sure that must be so painful for you," she said, but she was beginning to smile again. "I end up with three bread baskets." He patted his middle. "Please, you'd be doing my waistline a favor." It was either this or go home to her silent apartment. Still, she hesitated. "I don't know..." "We don't have to talk about the case," he said gently. "What will we talk about?" He considered. "Our misspent youth tipping cows in Farmer Mcgillicuddy's pasture." "I don't believe I've ever tipped a single cow." "Oh." He heaved a dramatic sigh as he pulled the door open for her. "Looks like I'll have to start the conversation then." XxXxX Mulder came of age skulking in the basement with a flashlight, so the bunker-style rooms beneath Sanctuary House felt instantly familiar. He hadn't realized, however, how accustomed he'd grown to the second lance of light that usually played along side his. It seemed too dark without her. Dust and lack of sleep had dried his eyes. He walked alone down the hall until he reached the record room, where earlier he had spread Jared Rentham's files across the floor. Computer printouts from an old dot-matrix printer told each person's story. Where possible, Rentham had photographed the site of the abduction. Mulder had spent the afternoon staring at cornfields, duck ponds, stretches of empty highway, and, in the case of one Emmett Lincoln, a Wal-Mart parking lot. He remembered Skyland Mountain, with its clean pine air and sharp white stars, the way the wind had stolen breath from his body and whisked it into the night. This is the way the world ends, they'd told him: one small redhead at a time. Rentham had included photographs of the abductees as well - black and white close-ups of unsmiling faces, young and old. They reminded Mulder of growing up in Massachusetts surrounded by images of Revolutionary War soldiers, who had fought the enemy with nothing more than grim determination and a musket from the basement. We've seen you now, their eyes seemed to say. Just try to take us again. This was his biggest worry for her, that all the denial equaled unpreparedness, that she would never see them coming. Mulder leaned back against the hard wall, his spine scraping the concrete as he rubbed his tired eyes. Until then he would keep looking for the both of them. XxXxX They ended up sharing a bottle of Chianti and a giant thin- crust pizza topped with proscuitto, capers, olives and fresh mozzarella. The candle was fake but the food was delicious. "I begin to understand why the city is in a budget crisis," Scully said, "if you take all your witnesses out to dinner." "Yes, thanks to the tax cuts, the Tiramisu is out. The best I can offer is one of those mints at the door." She smiled and shook her head. "I'll remember this at election time." "Actually," he said, "I confess my motives were not entirely pure." Scully felt her stomach lurch. "Oh?" she managed. "Savioshy told me a little bit about the kind of work you do. Now, the man can spin a fish story like you wouldn't believe, but he swore up and down this was the God's honest truth: you investigate aliens?" Scully put down her wine glass. "Reports of extraterrestrial activity, yes. Among other things. The X-Files division handles a wide variety of cases." "Division? How many agents are assigned to this kind of work?" "Just--just two." "Oh," he said, and Scully squirmed inwardly at the implication. She knew it was a cliche to most people, male and female partners falling into bed together, but it was the most unconventional relationship of her life. She wasn't about to justify it to this man. "So these reports," he asked, "is there anything to them? Are we truly not alone?" You've been among them, Rentham had said. She could still feel the slide of his cold fingers over her skin. "I've seen things I can't explain any other way," she said, watching for Chris's reaction. If there were a trial, he would hear all the gory details. He stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth. "Really?" She nodded. "Huh," he said, and put the fork down. "That's it?" "Well, you know how I was telling you about Farmer Mcgillicuddy's field? One night I was out there with some friends of mine, back in high school this was, and we were just hanging and drinking beer when all of a sudden this light flew over us. It was bright blue, not white like the stars, and it disappeared down behind the mountains. As it passed over us, all our hair stood up on end." She raised her eyebrows. "And you think it was a UFO?" "Like you said, I can't explain it any other way." He smiled. "I don't usually tell that story to most of my dinner dates." "What do you tell them?" she asked, grasping for a change of subject. "Oh, um." He looked chagrined. "The word 'usually' implies a certain amount of frequency, doesn't it? Well, let's see. The last time I was out with a woman I spent the entire evening regaling her with my lawyerly prowess. She was polite enough to listen the whole time, but when I called her for a second date she declined, saying she thought perhaps I had too much of myself invested in my work right now." "Ouch," Scully said. "Yeah, but she was right." He finished off his wine. "I guess that's good for me, then." "Yes." He smiled at her again. "Unlike that poor woman, you're stuck with me for a while." "How soon until trial, do you think?" "Months." He leaned back in his seat with a sigh. "Bellamy does not move quickly, but a lot will depend on whether she fights us on our decision to try the cases jointly." "Is that likely?" He took his time in answering. "I would make a motion to sever, if I were her. We don't have the same level of evidence against Watts in every case." "I see." "Hey, don't worry about it, okay?" He scooted in his chair until his knees bumped her under the table. "That's my problem, if and when it happens." Instead of one rape, he'd gotten ten by proxy. She wondered how many he had already lived through. "So you still believe, then," she said, "in justice." He drummed his fingers on the tablecloth and looked at her. "Have you got a bit more time?" "Why?" "I want to show you something." He took her out of the city, over dark hills and vales, where a pregnant moon hung low in the sky. Thick summer trees waved in the wind, and the air from the open windows grew cool and sweet. He turned off the main road into blackness and rolled the car to a stop on some grass. "Here we are," he announced. The slam of their car door broke the perfect silence. "And where is that, exactly?" Scully squinted at her murky surroundings. They were in the middle of nowhere, as far as she could tell. Her heart sped up, and she held her bag with the gun in it a little bit closer. You're fine, she told herself, but she jerked a bit when Clark spoke. "This way. Watch your step." He led her down a path through the trees to a clearing with some sort of building on it. His keys jangled in the darkness. "I only rent half of it," he said as she followed him closer. "The rest belongs to the guy whose farm it's on." He unlocked the door and hit the lights. Scully blinked as her eyes adjusted. "It's a greenhouse." "Yeah, come on inside." He rubbed his hands together and moved aside so she could enter. The concrete floor was wet beneath her feet. Cautiously, she ducked a seven-foot plant with great hanging leaves. Exotic tangles of greenery stretched from floor to ceiling; beds of riotous color spread over the tables, flowers split open like the sun. Beautiful, yes, but Scully felt a little like a bug before the Venus Flytrap. She stood hunched in, careful not to touch anything. Chris sucked in a deep breath and smiled at her. "All the oxygen concentrated in here," he said. "Gives me a rush." Scully breathed a bit deeper, taking in the primal scent of dirt and water and life. She forced a smile even though she hadn't the slightest clue what she was doing there. "It's-- quite something." "Let me give you the tour." He disappeared behind a sweep of fern and she hurried to keep up. "This one here," he said, "is an Apache Plume." The bush-like plant had long stems with pink, feathered ends. "It's actually a member of the rose family, if you can believe it, but the name comes from the fact that the plumes look like old Apache war bonnets. Go ahead -- touch." "I have a black thumb," she warned him, and he smiled. "Really, it's okay. You won't hurt it, see?" Tentatively, Scully reached out and stroked the downy tufts. They tickled like a laugh through her fingers. "These are a kind of salvia," he told her as they moved down the narrow aisle. Scully stooped to admire the delicate indigo flowers. "They look sort of like wind chimes." "Oh, check this one out," he said, waving a new stem at her from farther down the row. It was long and sleek, with a giant teardrop-shaped bud at the end. She could see from the buds that had bloomed already that it would become a medusa- like flower -- a cloud of green snakes with tiny purple heads. "This one always reminds me of 'Aliens'" Chris said as he twisted the fat bud around so she could see the other side. Sure enough, it had split at the stomach and the snakes were starting to pop out. Scully smiled and shook her head. "You are very strange, you know that?" He shrugged and let the flower bounce back into position. "You know how I told you about my dad, how we argued law all the time?" She nodded. "Well, we made a lot of noise. Mom let us raise the roof because she spent all her time out in the yard taking care of her garden." "Ahh," Scully said. She fingered the pouched blossom on a pocket book plant. "So that's where you get it from." "In a way." He leaned against the table, folding his arms so his dress shirt stretched across his chest. "Mom got sick when I was in high school. Cancer. She was too sick during treatment to keep up with the garden. Dad was spending sixty hours a week at work, and it fell on me to help her out." "I'm sorry." "Yeah," he said softly. "I miss her, but she sure taught me well." He smiled. "Some of these plants belonged to her." "Really?" Scully looked at the surrounding jungle with new eyes. "Yeah. The small Japanese Maple over there in the corner is one. Oh, and this too." He showed her a bucket full of branches with strange red flowers drooping from them. "Feel," he suggested. "Oh." Scully marveled as she rubbed the velvety flower between her finger and thumb. "What is that?" "Like it? It's called Kangaroo Paw." "It's fabulous." She gave him her first genuine smile in days. "Thank you for showing me all this." "Happy to." He bopped her on the arm with a lily. "But I don't understand what it has to do with justice," she said. "Nothing. Sometimes it just helps to dig around in the dirt." He waggled his eyebrows at her until she laughed. "C'mere. I need some help transferring these seedlings." Chris was already rolling up his sleeves, expecting her to follow. "I can't," she protested. "I'm, um, I'm not good with living things." He grinned and handed her a clump of dirt with a tiny, tender green sprout. "Here," he said. "Start small." XxXxXxX In his black motel room, the clock glowed eight fifty-two -- nearly eleven back in DC. Mulder lay on the bed with his arm across his eyes and the phone to his ear. Two thousand miles away in Scully's apartment, hers rang on and on, unanswered. XxXxX End chapter six. XxXxXxXxXxXxX Chapter Seven XxXxXxXxXxXxX A pair of sedatives got her through the night, but Scully awoke on Monday morning with her hair mashed to her cheek and eyes that wouldn't quite open. She made coffee by motor memory alone and stumbled to the front door to pick up her paper. She brought it to the kitchen table, where she sat with her cup and her uneaten bagel, hoping she could find the energy to put on some clothes. Hot tails of steam rose from her coffee as she focused bleary eyes on the headlines. President in China. Bombing in Israel. Rapist Arraigned Today. The story was beneath the fold, a single column running alongside the teasers for the stories in other sections. Scully flattened it with her palm and squinted at the tiny print. She was not wearing her glasses. "St. Joseph's University student Gregory Alan Watts will be arraigned in Arlington County Court today on charges of rape and assault. Police are now saying they believe Watts is responsible for a vicious series of rapes committed over the past year throughout three counties in the greater D.C. area. Watts, 20, is thought to be responsible for at least ten attacks, including one assault against an agent in the Federal Bureau of Investigation." It continued recapping the crimes. Savioshy was quoted as saying, "Our investigation of Gregory Watts is ongoing." And later: "We got the guy, all right." On page sixteen there was a photo, maybe taken on his college campus. Gregory Watts smiled big for the camera. Scully stared at him until a lump rose in her throat. Number two, she thought. He had been number two in the lineup. Near the end of the article, there was a quote from Chris Clark. "I think the detectives on this case have done a marvelous job. Watts has been caught. He will be tried, and he will be found guilty. The women of the city can finally feel safe again." In her bathrobe, with her cold hands around a coffee cup, Scully considered his words. She supposed for other women it might be true. XxXxX Mulder arrived at the office extra early, wearing his favorite suit. A fine layer of dust had settled over everything in just the few days they had been gone. Cracking the door was like breaking into a mummy's tomb. Back with his files, sitting in his chair, Mulder waited to feel comfortable again. He ran his fingers over the printouts from Texas like a blind man reading Braille. Every few seconds he glanced up, hummed a little anxious sound, and expected her to come through the door. He would say nothing first, he decided. He would wait to see how she played it, and he would just follow her lead. Maybe the Scully power of denial could work to his advantage and it would be like Nothing Ever Happened. He jerked upright when her heels sounded in the hallway. It wasn't until he felt the flood of relief that he realized he had been worried that she might not show at all. She stopped just inside the door, holding her briefcase in one hand and a small, feathery potted plant in the other. He leaned way back in his chair. "Good morning," he blurted. "Nice plant." "It's an asparagus fern," she replied, moving into the room. "I'm hoping not to kill it." "And you brought it here?" he asked with a smile. "Where even the bugs crawl down to die?" She stood on tiptoe to set the fern on top of a tall file cabinet near the windows. "I thought it might add a little color." Task finished, she dusted off her hands and cocked her head at him. "When did you get back?" "Late last night." "I see. You brought Rentham's files with you?" Her voice was steady but she was still standing ten feet away. "Yes." He shifted some around on his desk to illustrate. "Most of the data are straightforward, but Rentham kept his own handwritten notes in the personnel files. He used some sort of initial code that I can't decipher yet. I think maybe he was trying to find a pattern among the abductions. This woman here has a M23SCC-NK next to her name, and the numbers 32.3 and 90.2. This other woman has the same NK, but the other letters are different." Scully inched closer, eyeing the files. "Do either of them have children?" "Um." He pawed through to find the appropriate notes. "No." "Could stand for 'no kids.' Like DINKs -- double income, no kids." "Huh." Mulder shuffled some more papers until he found the records Rentham kept on Tina Appleby. "You may be onto something, Scully. Tina Appleby's code doesn't have the NK included." "What does it say?" She was close enough now that he could feel her breathing. Shoulder-to-shoulder, they stood over the mess of papers blanketing his desk. Mulder moved slowly, as if he might frighten her away. "Uh, Rentham wrote F3C, and the numbers 29.9 and 95.6." "We should enter all of them into a computer," she said, not looking at him. "Easier to see a pattern that way." "Yeah, that's what I was thinking." She touched the photograph of Tina Appleby. "How is she doing?" "She'll live." Mulder looked down at the top of her head, where her slightly crooked part was the only sign that anything was amiss. "How are you doing?" Scully nodded to herself. "I'll live." Neither of them spoke for a long minute. "I wasn't sure you'd come back," he said at last. "I wasn't sure either," she answered baldly, and his heart stopped. She met his gaze and held it. "But--but you did," he pointed out. She nodded. Don't ask, he thought, but couldn't stop himself. Mulder always asked questions he didn't really want the answers to. "Why?" Her shoulders rose and fell with a long breath. "It turns out," she said with some disgust, "that I still believe in justice." She scooped up a sheaf of papers, handed them to him, and switched on the computer. "You dictate," she said. "I'll enter." XxXxX Now that she had his face, the memory changed. Under the mask, she saw his dark, bushy eyebrows, prominent cheekbones, and flared nostrils. She felt his hot breath on her face, felt his fingers bite into her skin as he ripped off her underwear. She could see him now, see him doing these things, this boy with big hands and charming smile. Scully peeled herself from the back of the elevator and began walking briskly through the parking garage of the Hoover building. Just as inside, they had stuck her and Mulder as far away from everyone else as possible. The strange gray- green light of the parking lot never changed; like a casino, it was always removed from time, neither day nor night. Mulder was gone. So were most people. Scully picked up her pace. Her car chirped, a sharp, electronic echo that rattled her nerves even as she welcomed the familiar sound. She reached the door and yanked it open with trembling fingers. Tossing her briefcase in haphazardly, Scully scrambled in after it and yanked the door behind her. She leaned back and closed her eyes as her breathing returned to normal. The phone rang. Scully started her car even as she dug out the phone to answer it. She wasn't hanging around in the empty lot any longer than necessary. "Scully," she said. Her headlights lit up the grimy wall in front of her. "Dana, it's Chris." He sounded more subdued than usual. "I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time." "I was just heading home." He sighed. "I'm sure you know we were in court this afternoon with Gregory Watts. I'm afraid it didn't go as expected." "What?" Scully halted the car on the exit ramp. Chris did not say anything for a few seconds. "What happened?" "Watts made bail, Dana. The judge let him go." XxXxXxX Mulder threw open all his windows, blinds rattling as the restless air swirled inside. A front was coming through, not rain but wind, whipping up the trees and charging the air with electricity. Dressed in black, Mulder paced his living room like the famed panther. He felt the wind moving in him, urging him out onto the dark streets below. He wanted to get out, away, to take his anger and run it into the sea. Mulder grabbed his keys from the end table and yanked open his door. Scully stood in the hall, hugging herself. "Scully? What's going on?" He reached for her and she backed away. "How long have you been standing here?" "They let him go, Mulder." "What?" All the energy rushed out of him. "Watts. He made bail." "Come in," he said, holding the door for her. "Tell me." She brushed past him and went to stand in the middle of his breezy living room. "He knows where I live. He took my wallet with my license and my address, and now he's back on the streets." "You can stay here," he said immediately. The door slammed shut in the wind. "I don't want to stay here! I am not the prisoner! I want him gone, in jail, where I don't have to look at him or think about him. God, I am so tired of thinking about him." Mulder had seen the picture too. He tried not to think about it because when he did, it made him want to hit his fist against a wall until it was a bloody pulp. Scully's voice became rough with emotion. "It's like he's in me, like I can't get away even when I'm asleep. He has my thoughts, my feelings, my whole body tied up inside and it's like I can't even breathe." "Scully..." He stretched out a hand to her, but she inhaled sharply before he could touch her. "You ever just fuck someone, Mulder?" "What?" His heart hurt. "You know, a one night stand. You meet someone at a party, or a bar, and you just fuck them. Just sex, no consequences." She stared at him hard, but he could see her trying to contain her trembling. "Um, I guess I found there are always consequences." "But you've done it," she said steadily. He answered with a short nod. "And it's just sex. A person doesn't own you just because you have sex with them. It doesn't change your life forever." Her words grew increasingly desperate. "Scully, he didn't have sex with you. He raped you." "I know that!" she cried, covering her face with her hands. "Don't you think I know that? I just... I don't understand why it has to be this hard." He laid a hand on her shoulder, and this time she did not pull away. Hunched and tense, she let him pull her against him, her hands still over her face. He tucked her into his empty places. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his chin atop her head. "How could this happen?" she whispered brokenly, and he tightened his arms around her. "Why the hell did they let him go?" "They never found the items he took: the jewelry, the wallets, the clothes. Savioshy searched his parents' home and they searched his dorm at the university as well. Nothing." "He's got them stashed somewhere. They just have to keep looking." She nodded, relaxing a little. She laid her cheek against his heart. "Maybe--maybe now that he's been released, he'll lead them to it." "Sure." Mulder tried to sound encouraging as he rubbed her back. The wind slapped his blinds against the windows and Scully shuddered. "Cold?" She shook her head. "I'm just so tired." "You should lie down," he said. "Get some rest." Her voice quavered moist and hot against his shirt. "I need to go home." "But not tonight." She leaned back to look at him and he nodded to show he meant it. His apartment felt chilled clean, renewed, ready to offer peace. The night air tickled them both as Scully smoothed her fingers over his breastbone. "One night," she whispered, and he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Since I'm already here." He took her to his bedroom, where he did not even turn on the lights. They undressed by the light of the street lamp slanting through his blinds, turning Scully into a beautifully curved zebra before his eyes. She plucked his T- shirt from the floor where he discarded it and pulled it over her head. He watched in admiration as she slid her bra out through one armhole. She visited the bathroom while he shook out the sheets, lifting them high into the cool summer air. He climbed in and listened to the sounds of Scully moving around in his apartment. The floor creaked a different song for her; the tap ran a steady stream rather than the full blast he always used. He opened his eyes again when he felt the mattress shift under her weight. Mulder rolled to his side to look at her in black and white. "Find everything you need?" The pillow scratched with her nod. "Thank you," she said, reaching over for his hand. "For what it's worth," he told her softly, "I didn't think it would be this hard either." Her eyes slid shut as she held his hand between her breasts. "One day," she murmured, "it'll be over." "Yes." He felt the steady beat of her heart and the tide of her breathing against his hand. Her jaw slackened, mouth parting slightly as she found sleep. He gave her a few tiny fingertip caresses before extricating his hand to adjust the sheets up over her waist. Mulder lay down again so his position mirrored hers. He pretty much dwarfed her, legs stretching far beyond her toes, large hairy arm heavy and awkward next to her fine, delicate bones. She nearly disappeared in the hulking shadow of his shoulder. In his whole life, he had never felt so small. XxX He woke to shadow puppets around his room, as the wind had picked up again, Mother Nature putting on a show across his bare walls. Scully had hunkered down against him, submerged completely under the blankets with his arm trapped over her head. It was she who'd awoken him, he realized as she twitched again. Her knee jerked against his crotch. Mulder sucked in a painful breath and pulled away. She clawed his chest. "Scully," he said, searching for her under the covers. "Wake up." She fought him tooth and nail, panting like a trapped animal and crying out as he pinned her down. "Wake up!" he said, and her eyes shot open. He had her legs immobilized with his knees and both arms trapped above her head. "Help," she said, her eyes wild. "It's okay," he told her. "It's just a dream." "Mulder?" She went limp in his grasp and he let her up immediately. "It's okay now," he said. "It's all right." Her whole body started to shake, from cold or fright he did not know. Mulder gathered her against him again and tucked the covers around them. Her teeth chattered but she was not crying. "Sorry," she said as she slipped cold arms around his chest. He kissed the sweat from her brow. "Scully," he murmured near her ear. "What do you dream?" She had never told him everything that had happened that night. What few details he knew he'd gleaned from news reports. "He's on top of me," she said, voice small against his chest, "and I can't get up." Mulder stiffened and clutched her tighter. Details were bad. He didn't need details. "Shhh," he said, stroking her back as much to soothe himself as to calm her. "You're safe now. You okay? You want some water?" "I'm all right. I didn't mean to hurt you." She touched her lips to the scratch across his chest. "It's nothing," he told her as he lifted the damp hair from her neck. "You forget I've been mauled by a beast woman." She laughed gently into his neck and hugged him close. Mulder nuzzled her, extending her smile. He felt connected to her again, as though they had a shared experience among all her private pain. He wanted to taste her, feel her, bring her inside all his senses so they would never be separate again. Scully seemed to want the same thing. She tucked her leg between his, cuddling closer. "Scully," he murmured, filled with love. "Mmm?" He kissed her forehead and then her check. She answered with a soft sigh that tickled his face. Her hand crept up and combed through his hair over the back of his neck until he tingled from head to toe. He touched his lips to hers tentatively, almost an apology for the last time they had lain together like this. She froze for an instant, gripping his hair, and he gentled her with kisses until she relaxed into the pillow again. "It's okay," he breathed against her mouth. "Mulder," she whispered back, stroking the side of his face. "You don't have to--" He kissed her again, mouth soft and persuasive as he reached back to run his hand along her naked thigh. Her leg came up and over his, holding him in place. He hummed to her, letting her know it was all right, caressing her with splayed fingers until her skin quivered under his hand. He felt himself expanding, hardening in the cradle of her thighs as they kissed. Scully drew her fingers over the bumps of his spine and pulled her mouth from his. "We can't," she said in a tight whisper, even as her hips pressed for closer contact. He stroked her from breast to hip and kissed her nose. "Nothing you don't want." "No, it's not that. I--I don't have protection." "Oh." He settled more fully against her and her lips parted at the pressure. "It's okay, I've got it covered." Surprise colored her features, and she sounded uncertain. "You do?" "Yes, after you said we needed it. I thought just in case--" He broke off as she hugged him fiercely. "What?" "I'm so glad." He held her tightly and pressed his face into her clean- smelling hair. "I want you," he told her. "Always." She nodded but continued to burrow into him, as if she couldn't quite speak. He rubbed her head messily and placed occasional kisses on her shoulder, her arm, her temple. At last she squeezed him one final time and brought her face back to his. They kissed lingeringly, limbs and tongues sliding together in tandem. Mulder's toes curled as she stroked his ears. Gently, he worked his hand between their bodies, brushing the tender skin of her inner thighs. She pushed her hips against his fingers, sending his hand higher between her legs. Mulder watched her face as he touched her, but her expression gave nothing away; she had her head thrown back deep in the pillow, eyes closed, her breath coming in shallow pants. Mulder caressed her softly through her underwear for a minute or two before she wriggled away. She yanked down the offending garment and tossed it over the edge of the bed. Scully lay back down, still dressed in his T-shirt, with her legs spread slightly and her fingers digging into the mattress, as though she were bracing herself for some unpleasant task. Mulder hesitated, and when he didn't immediately climb back on top of her, Scully tensed visibly. "You're stopping?" "No," he told her. "No." He reached up and touched the smooth curve of her cheek. "Not if you don't want." She shook her head against his hand, and Mulder took a deep breath. The mattress bounced a bit as he moved up the bed and stretched his hand to the bedside drawer. Scully lay still as stone beneath him. He fumbled to get the box open one-handed, and the foil packet felt unfamiliar between his fingers. *You can do this* he coached himself even as his erection began to fade. He peeked down at Scully, who was looking back at him with wide, apprehensive eyes. She hadn't made a move to remove his boxers, and he knew it was because she was afraid of what she might find if she tried. "Is it okay?" she asked in a small voice, her gaze skittering away from his. Mulder sagged back down on the bed, palming the condom as he rolled to face her. Scully stared at the ceiling. "Come here," he said, urging her back against him. She was stiff but not resistant, like a life-sized action figure fresh from the box. "Like this," he whispered against her face as he ran his fingers through her hair. Facing her, on their sides, he didn't feel so oppressive. He stroked her and kissed her until her arms wound around him again. Her knee rested on his leg, and he welcomed it with slow caresses down the back of her thigh. Scully stroked her fingers along the hollows of his ribs and lifted her face for his kiss. The space between them grew warm and close. His brain fuzzed out again as his dick came back on line. He rubbed against her, felt her sharp intake of breath against his face. "Mulder, now," she whispered to his chin. He kissed her swiftly and pulled away. His erection bobbed as his underwear joined hers on the floor. Mulder's hands shook, Scully watching while he tried to open the slim packet. He felt about sixteen years old. "It's so dark. I can't see where I'm supposed to tear." "Let me try." He heard it rip neatly, her trim little nails getting the job done in nothing flat. Mulder lay facing her again and bit his lip. Scully fingered the opened packet as she stared as his penis. For a moment he thought she might finish the task herself. Wordlessly, she handed him the condom. She curled into a ball and watched him sheathe his cock. "Okay," he said, trying to sound confident. He scooted closer to her and she put her arms around him, hugging him convulsively. He kissed her neck. "All right?" She nodded and raised her leg over his hips so he could slip his penis between her thighs. They both jerked at the initial contact. "Tell me if this is okay." "It's okay." They held their breath as he eased his way inside her. Ah, Mulder thought, relaxing. There. He smiled into her hair and nuzzled her affectionately. Scully started to shake. "Scully?" He tried to pull back but she clutched him tight. "Scully, what is it?" She answered with a high, keening sob, and horror flooded through him. "Scully, talk to me. What is it?" He brushed sticky hair off from her face but she would not let go. She held him inside her with all her strength. "Don't leave," she choked out between awful sobs. "Please don't leave me." "No, I'm right here." He rocked her back and forth, holding her as tightly as he could while she seized and shuddered in his arms. "Please," she said again. Mulder was helpless against the tide, reassuring her with lips and hands that he was real and solid and not going anywhere. His erection softened and started to slip out of her, setting off a fresh round of wracking tears. "I'm here, I'm here, Scully." He repeated the words until he was hoarse, until he was crying himself from the sheer force of her anguish. "I'm right here." But Scully cried on, wrapped around every inch of him, and yet somehow unable to hear. XxXxXxX End Chapter Seven. XxXxXxXxXxXxX Chapter Eight XxXxXxXxXxXxX Pain, Scully remembered the minute she opened her eyes, was the one sensation you couldn't sleep through, the reason cuts and bruises in dreams never hurt. The sharp twinges in her lower belly woke her just as the sky was lightening outside Mulder's window. Mulder lay on his back next to her, one arm flung over his head, still deeply asleep. She eased from the covers without waking him and shivered her way into the living room, where she retrieved her purse. Her pupils contracted in the bright bathroom light. She set the purse on the sink and frowned into the mirror. Shadows smudged the tired skin under her eyes; her hair was matted on one side and stuck up on the other, and she had wrinkled Mulder's T-shirt with her tossing and turning overnight. Scully examined this other woman with a clinical, detached eye: she looked small and terrorized, a victim. That woman had been raped. It would never be untrue. Scully tore her attention from the mirror and fumbled with her purse. The tampon lay at the bottom. She took it out, put it in, cleaned herself up and washed down a pair of ibuprofen with Mulder's metallic-tasting water. She thought about how easy it was now to swallow pills and make everything go away. The cold porcelain sink touched her belly. Scully looked down at the hard edge, moved closer to it, watched it press deeper and deeper into her flesh until the pain made her gasp -- a shocked, breathy sound that flooded the tiny bathroom. No VD. No pregnancy. That left AIDS still spinning on the Russian roulette wheel. Even as the attack receded into the distance, her life was still not her own. She splashed water on her face, letting the cold drops trickle into her dry eyes. She combed her hair with short, angry strokes. Mulder's towels hung uneven behind her; his razor, his crumpled toothpaste tube, and his toothbrush -- a giant spray of bent bristles -- lay on the plastic shelf above the sink. Scully put her own toiletries back in her purse. On her way out, she straightened the towels and turned off the lights behind her. XxXxX Mulder awoke on a long inhale, eyes popping open, breath held in, as he froze and listened to his shadowed apartment. He didn't have to call her name to know she was gone. His time with Scully was defined as much by her absence as her presence, certain stillness that settled within him each time she disappeared. He released, let go, fingers flexing on the cool sheets. The pillow held the shape of her head. He remembered watching her wake up the morning after they had first made love, tense and waiting for her to bolt, only to have her smile and stroke his cheek. Then she had hidden her face in the pillow and giggled while he'd pinned her down and nibbled at her ear. This morning he was left with only gray walls and the echo of her tears. Mulder put bare feet to the floor and leaned his head into his hands. He felt cheated, robbed; he wanted to howl like an animal. Scully cried and he wanted to scream, to tear down buildings, to show the world what a terrible thing had happened. Aren't you angry? He wanted to yell at her. Don't you want him dead? Mulder's fingers curled with impotent rage. Trial was too good for men like Watts, too civilized an answer to such a savage crime. Jungle warfare. Mulder wanted blood. He wanted to hide in the bushes and watch his prey sweat in the summer heat. Watts would never see it coming. He would turn around and Mulder would be on him with a gun, with a knife, with his bare hands ready to rip him limb from limb. This is how it felt, you son of a bitch, Mulder would say. He heard the shot, felt the bones crack in his hands, saw the blood running on the ground. Justice, merciful and swift. XxX He looked up the address not intending to do anything with it. He just wanted to know. Watts had a name now, and a face, but Mulder wasn't satisfied. He wanted to know where he lived, how to get to him. Just as an insurance policy. Eleven Plumtree Lane, the computer spit out; a sweet fairytale place with big, white houses and monsters hiding inside. Watts would be there, eating toast and eggs in his mother's kitchen like nothing had ever happened. SUSPECTED RAPIST FREED, Mulder's paper said, though it was not front-page news. They had called his victims to tell them. Who would tell all the other women in the city? Mulder left the house late with his hair still wet and his tie in his hand. When the car engine roared to life with an angry snarl, Mulder jerked the shift into gear. He cruised the streets and watched the cars and people and trees flow by; they seemed curiously unreal, computer generated, like he could hit a button and make them all snap to black. His car became part of this videogame world, on a track he had to follow, where the end was predetermined. All Mulder could do was grip the wheel and hold on tight. XxXxX Arriving late herself, Scully paused and frowned at the locked office door. In seven years of basement-level investigation, she'd had to use her X-Files key perhaps four times. Mulder was always there first. She pushed open the door, flicked on the lights, and stood alone at the center of the quiet room. She looked at the disarray on his desk, as she had looked on the tangle of bedcovers of his bed earlier that morning. Heat colored her cheeks as she remembered her breakdown and the things she had said to him. Not even when she had been dying had she ever begged him like that. Scully hugged herself. Surely he must fear she was losing her mind. She sniffed twice and took a deep breath. Mulder wasn't here, but the work always was. She could handle that. She could hold Rentham's files in her hands and enter the cold, hard facts of their lives without giving anything more away. She could sit in Mulder's chair and wait for him to come wary through the door, show him she could hold up her end. Scully would zig. Mulder would zag. He said occult; she said occlusion. This was how it ever was, how it ever shall be, world without end. Because, deep down, they always feared the same thing. Amen. XxXxX Eleven Plumtree Lane was a corner lot, slate gray two-story colonial with white shutters and two chimneys. Mulder parked across the street, absently worrying a seed between his teeth as he studied his subject. The house revealed no secrets: windows shut, curtains drawn. Thick green grass coated the front yard, probably reborn every spring by someone named Pedro, and cheery pink and white petunias lined the front path. The driveway had been redone recently in fresh black asphalt. Either no one was home or the cars were all put away in the garage. The backyard showed a deck with a barbecue. No swing set, no toys; little Greggy was a big boy now. But Mulder saw the remnants of his childhood hidden among the branches of the towering old oak: a tree house, barely visible behind a waterfall of thick leaves, perfect for a young voyeur who loved to hide and watch. Mulder stared, almost trance-like, chewing and waiting. He imagined driving his car right through the front door. He'd come for noise, for release; the house just sat in stone silence, mocking him. A sharp rap on his passenger-side window jolted Mulder from his stupor. He turned to see Detective Savioshy peering in with an unfriendly frown. "Agent Mulder," he said as he opened the door. "Mind if I join you?" Mulder sighed and tossed away a seed. "I was just leaving." "That's not what my boys tell me." The leather seats of the Taurus creaked as Savioshy settled his considerable weight into a chair used to holding Scully. "Your boys?" "They're on mower detail today." Savioshy pointed two houses down where a lawn crew worked in the morning sun. Upon closer inspection, Mulder could see that a couple of the men were more interested in the Watts residence than in the house in front of them. "Meyer gave me a call a little bit ago and said you looked like you'd settled in for good." "Meyer should worry about his own job." "That's good advice," Savioshy agreed readily, and Mulder glared at him. "Meaning?" "Meaning your office is quite a ways away from here." Mulder shrugged. "So I took the scenic route in." "There's nothing for you to see here." Mulder squinted out at the house again, and Savioshy sighed. "Go home, Agent Mulder. We're handling this, I promise you." "Are you?" Mulder turned around in his seat again. "I caught the guy." "Yeah, and now look where he is." "I'm not any happier about that than you are," Savioshy shot back. "But it's out of our hands." Mulder's hands, wrapped around the wheel, felt more than capable. "They let him go," he said slowly, "because the prima fascia evidence was not sufficient to support remand. The DA makes his case with your evidence, Detective." "And that's why I'm here," Savioshy replied steadily. "Why are you here? This is still my case, Mulder. It's still an open investigation, and we will nail this bastard's balls to the wall. I hate like hell that he's out. As a man, as a father, it makes me sick. But as a detective, I know it gives me another shot at him. He led me to the goods once, and just maybe he'll do it again." "You mean his--" Mulder choked on the word. "His trophies." Savioshy gave a short, grim nod. "The nail in his coffin." Mulder clenched his hands and looked down at the steering wheel. "Could work," he admitted after a minute. "Not with your ass parked out front watching the joint, it won't." "Okay, okay. You've made your point." The leather groaned and released as Savioshy got out. He leaned back inside the car, half draped over the door. "Give my regards to Agent Scully." "I don't think it's your regards she's after." Savioshy's puffy cheeks tightened with a grimace. He nodded. "Just the same, you stay out of this. The last thing this case needs is the two of you deciding to administer a little back alley justice." "Scully doesn't even know I'm here!" "Yeah. That's what I'm afraid of." Savioshy patted Mulder's doorframe a few times. "Good-bye, Agent Mulder. You have a good day at work, okay?" The car shook when he slammed the door shut, shuddering around Mulder. He started the engine and idled a moment longer, one last look at the house. The curtain in the top window closed quickly, winking at him, and Mulder revved the engine to a threatening roar. You can't hide forever, you sonofabitch, he thought, and the tires peeled away. XxXxX Scully was so certain it was Mulder on the other end that she answered her cell phone without glancing at the caller ID. "Mulder, where are you?" "Dana?" "Oh, Chris." Scully deflated a bit in her chair. She pinched the beginnings of a headache between her eyes. "What can I do for you?" "I'm sorry to bother you at work like this, but we just got a court date for the preliminary hearing, and I need to go over your statement with you ASAP." "Now?" Scully glanced at the wall clock again and wondered one more time where the hell Mulder had gone. "Later today would be fine. You could drop by after work?" Scully eyed the precarious stacks of folders on Mulder's desk. She did not really have a time called "after work." "Okay," she said. "I'll be there." Just as she snapped off her phone, Mulder strolled through the door, chewing gum, with his jacket slung over one shoulder. "Hey," he offered. "Mulder, it's almost noon." "Is it?" "Where have you been?" "The dentist." No one left the dentist's office chewing gum. Scully leaned back in Mulder's chair and folded her arms. "Mulder?" "Hmm?" He stopped chewing and looked right at her, eyes wide and guileless. Clearly he did not expect her to call him on it. She opened her mouth and shut it again. "What?" he asked. "I, uh..." Her pulse went liquid as she accepted the lie; it was easier not to know. She sat forward. "I finished entering the data from Rentham's files." "Great." He came around the desk and leaned one arm on the chair behind her. The hair stood up on the back of her neck. "Anything jump out at you?" Scully cleared her throat and tried to focus. "Not from the numbers. But looking through all these files, Mulder, you've got to think Rentham had help gathering the data. He's got over a thousand folders here, and we found only twenty-seven people living inside the compound. Where did he get all this other information?" "We know there are underground networks and sources for people who have experienced alien abduction." "Exactly. And at this point, I'd say we know them all. How come we'd never heard of this guy before?" The phone rang and Mulder held up one finger at her. "Mulder," he said after he'd palmed the receiver. "Hi, Sheriff. Yeah, I was just talking about the case with Agent Scully now. Uh-huh. What? When?" He stood up from the corner of the desk, and Scully swiveled her chair around so she could see his face. He shook his head at her questioning look. "Yeah, I got that. What do you mean 'gone'? Uh-huh. What about Tina Appleby -- did you talk to her? Okay, how about the others?" He listened for a minute and then ran a hand through his hair. "No, I don't know. Yes. Yes. Yeah, you do that." He hung up the phone with a slam. "What?" Scully asked. "Jared Rentham's body disappeared from the morgue sometime over the weekend. The ME was backed up, and when he went to do the full autopsy this morning he found Rentham was gone." "Gone," Scully repeated, and Mulder made a disappearing "poof" gesture with his hands. "Just like that. The Sheriff says Tina Appleby is missing, too. All the members of Rentham's compound have apparently vanished into thin air." "Mulder, that's -- What is the Sheriff thinking, that the members of Rentham's group somehow absconded with the body?" "Don't know. Security cameras were no help, but the Sheriff is going to send us a copy anyway. In the meantime, no one saw anything; no one knows anything." Scully flipped open the closest file and let it fall shut again. "So it's back to Texas?" "Maybe." He did not sound any more enthused about the prospect. "I get the feeling the Sheriff won't be making this case his top priority. As far as they're concerned, the investigation is over. The cult has disbanded, Rentham is dead, and his killer is locked away in jail." "Without a body, Chet Appleby's trial might be more difficult." "Sheriff isn't too worried," Mulder informed her darkly. "Apparently they've got two federal agents as witnesses to the murder." Scully lifted her eyebrows in answer and tossed her pen onto the desk. "Mulder," she said, staring at the reams of files in front of her. "*Have* we ever run across Rentham before?" "In person? No way." "Maybe just a photo?" Mulder looked thoughtful. "I don't think so. Bony head, large eyes -- I think would have remembered this guy, wouldn't you?" "I guess." "What, you know him?" She had his full attention now. He locked eyes with her as she searched her memory one more time. Rentham's thin nose. Rentham's cool hand on hers. His calm, deadened voice. "No," she said abruptly. "Of course not." "You know," Mulder said as he moved some files aside so he could sit near her on the desk. "I think you might be onto something, Scully. Rentham is the place to start, not Texas. Why take the body? It doesn't help Chet." Scully sighed. "Maybe the members of Sanctuary House got tired of waiting to bury him." "Maybe. Or maybe someone didn't want that autopsy done." "Why?" Scully spread her hands. "Like you said, Mulder, there isn't any dispute about the cause of death in this case." "It isn't Rentham's death I'm interested in," he said, getting to his feet again. "It's his life." Scully protested as he pushed between her and the computer. "Jared Rentham was a failed fortune teller from New Orleans." "And what else? That's the question." Mulder started typing, hunting and pecking around his tie as he leaned down over the keyboard. A minute later, he tilted the screen so she could see it. "Check it out, Scully: Jared Rentham was seventy-one years old." "So he's Dick Clark." Scully rubbed her temples again. "So what?" Mulder hit some more keys. "Make that Dr. Rentham," he said. "He graduated from Harvard medical school in 1956." "License?" Scully asked, putting her hands down. "None. Doesn't look like he practiced anywhere." "So what did he do for almost fifty years? Shuffle Tarot cards?" "I don't know," Mulder said as he straightened again. "But I think we should head to New Orleans and check it out." He reached for the phone. "Skinner will sign off, no question - - we can be down there before sunset." "Mulder, wait." He halted in mid-dial. "I can't." "Scully, I know we haven't agreed on certain aspects of this case, but--" "Preliminary hearings start next week. Chris needs me to go over my statement." "Chris?" "ADA Clark. "Oh." The phone hung limp in his hand. "Of course you can't go, then." Sitting behind stacks and stacks of possible victims, Scully felt guilt hiss out of her like air from a punctured tire. "Maybe I can reschedule." "No, Scully. No." The tenderness in his voice clawed at her. For seven years, Mulder had marched them all over the globe with never a backward glance to make sure she was following. Melissa had died. Her father. Scully had not missed a moment of work. To put herself first now, after everything, and for Mulder to let that happen... "We'll both go tomorrow," he said, putting the phone aside. "That's soon enough. Today we can just chase it down from here." "Mulder, no." She stood up. "You go now and I'll just catch a later flight. It's not a problem." He shrugged and started sorting through the folders again. "So we both go later. There's plenty of work to do here." "And I'll do it. You go on ahead." He looked up, meeting her gaze for a second. "Scully," he said softly, shaking his head. "I can't." It was the same aching tone he had used the night before, when she had clung to him, choking on her own life, when she had cried and crumbled and... begged him not to leave her. The lump in her throat sprung up again as her fingers curled around the back of the chair. "Mulder," she began. "It's one night," he said to the floor. "And then one night becomes two, becomes ten. Where does it stop?" "He's out there, Scully. You said it yourself." "Yes, and that's exactly where I want to leave him. Out there, away from me. If I let him in here, let him affect my work, let him affect *your* work -- then, Mulder -- he's never going away." Mulder's mouth twitched downward. "What if he walks, have you thought about that?" "What if he does?" she parroted back. "You're saying you wouldn't care?" "Of course I'd care! But that's not the issue." "I think it is. I think until they get this animal off the streets, in a cage where he belongs, you can't be too careful." "Mulder-" "You know what he's thinking now, Scully? Because I do." He slapped the folders down viciously. "I've lived inside a dozen others like him, and let me tell you, the view from in there is one you don't forget. Watts isn't sorry for you. He *hates* you." "I--I know that," she whispered. "No." Mulder shook his head resolutely. "You don't know. He hates you, Scully, hates you and all the others for bringing the law down on him and tearing apart his perfect little life. He's thinking maybe if he'd killed you, things would be better for him right now. And he's restless. He hasn't been able to prowl the way he likes, hasn't found release. He's stuck in his momma's house with the white lace curtains and no new victims and he's been reliving his old conquests." "Mulder, please." "No!" He hit the desk with his fist, making her jump. "You need to hear this, Scully. You need to know so you can protect yourself." But he wouldn't look at her. "I can protect myself!" "No, apparently you can't!" She stiffened as if struck, and so did he, horror spreading over his features as they stared at one another. His mouth opened and closed several times. "Scully, I didn't mean--" he started, but she held up both hands. "Don't." "I didn't mean it." He'd ripped the band-aid off her giant wound. "Yes, you did," she replied, smarting over every inch of her skin. "No, not like that. I'm sorry. I--I just don't want anything to happen to you." "Well, it's too late for that, now, isn't it." He had no good answer to that one, and so he remained silent. She shuddered, defeated. "Go to New Orleans, Mulder. Please, just go." He nodded slowly, gathering his jacket and things like a shell-shocked solider. Scully did not move a muscle as he walked with heavy steps towards the door. He halted at the frame, half-turning over his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said. "I can't stop hating him for this." Scully said nothing, letting him go even as her eyes grew hot and liquid. She looked up at the ceiling, vision blurred, and listened to the sound of his footsteps fade down the hall. XxXxX At five, Scully arrived at Chris's office just as the secretary was leaving for the day. "Have a seat," the woman told her with a kind smile. "He's just finishing up another meeting right now, but he should be right with you." The waiting area boasted a coffee machine, a bright sunny window, a green leather couch and two wingback chairs with a table of magazines between them. Scully selected one of the chairs and a three-week old issue of Time, which she set on her lap but did not read. She left smudgy fingerprints all along the shiny blue cover as the minutes ticked past in total silence. At last, she heard a door open down the hall and Chris Clark's baritone echoed off the walls. "My nephew did the same thing when he was four," he was saying. "My sister didn't find the frog until she went to do the laundry." A woman's laugh answered, and a moment later both she and Chris entered the waiting area. "Dana, hi," Chris said. "Thank you for coming down." Scully nodded in reply. She hung back, waiting for the woman to leave, but Chris jerked his head to indicate she should join them. Scully smoothed her skirt and crossed the room. "Dana Scully, this is Gloria Raymond." Scully hesitated. There was only one reason to introduce them. She forced herself to look at this other woman, who smiled and extended her hand. She gave Scully's hand a hard shake. "Hi," she said. "Call me Glory." "Glory," Scully repeated. "It's nice to meet you." Maybe it was Chris's gardening influence, but the name Glory made Scully think of morning glories. The woman vaguely resembled a flower, too, with wisps of teased blond hair flowing out from around her face and bright cherry lips in the center. "Chris said it's just us two so far," Glory remarked. "Everyone else is still scared. Me, I did a dance in my kitchen when I heard they caught him. I say bring it on, and let's fry the bastard." "Not likely," Chris cautioned. "Think prison -- for a good long time." Glory shrugged. "That works. I've heard what they do to guys in prison, and it couldn't happen to a nicer fella." She looked Scully from head to toe. "Killer shoes," she said. "'Course they would do me in but good, seeing as how I stand on my feet eight hours at a time. You work in the city?" "Uh, yes. I do." "Me too! Willoughby's restaurant on Sixth Street. If you're ever in the neighborhood, stop by and say hi. Dinner's on the house." "Thank you," Scully managed. "I'll keep that in mind." "I mean it." Glory grabbed her hand again and squeezed. Scully tensed at the unexpected touch, pasting on a smile. "We've got to stick together through this, right?" "Right." Glory searched her face, as if trying to determine whether Scully truly felt the solidarity, and her expression softened. "We'll be okay," Glory said firmly, backing it up with a short nod. "You'll see." Speechless, Scully nodded with her. Chris put an arm to Glory's back. "Thanks for your help today. I really appreciate it." "No problem. I'd best be picking up the kids now. Call me if anything changes, okay?" "You know I will." "Good luck," Glory told Scully. "I'm sure I'll see you again soon." She grinned and waved as she left. Scully lifted her eyebrows and waved back. "Wow," she said when the other woman had gone. "She's, um, quite something." "I call her 'Hurricane Gloria'," Chris said. "She's been just absolutely terrific about everything since day one." "Have you known her long?" Scully asked as they walked the hall to his office. Chris understood the real question immediately. "Glory was attacked last summer," he said. "She's been waiting a long time for this day to get here." He opened his office door and let her enter first. "Welcome to the den of entropy." His office held a large desk with a computer monitor on it, which was decorated with a dozen post-it notes. Stacks of papers spread across the rest of the surface. Behind, there were floor-to-ceiling bookcases, with books flopping over every which way. There were two low-back metal armchairs in front of the desk, and a small couch in the corner. Chris steered her towards the couch. "I expected more greenery in here," Scully said as she sank into the leather. "I wish. This room gets so little light that only my rubber plant has thrived." Chris nodded at the five-foot potted plant with the large shiny leaves. "He's straight out of a Steven Segal movie." Scully gave him a questioning look. "Hard to kill." "Ah." Another time, she might have smiled at the joke. Instead she just leaned back against the cushions and rubbed her eyes. "Hard day?" Chris asked as he sat next to her. "You could say that." "I have just the cure," he said, and she rolled her head to look at him. "I'm not really up for more gardening." His knees cracked as he rose. "I'm thinking malt, not mulch." He went to a cabinet near the desk and withdrew a bottle of scotch. "Clock says it's officially after hours," he said. "What do you say?" She nodded and he poured them each a glass. He returned with the liquor in hand and a yellow legal pad tucked under his arm. Scully sipped as he repositioned himself next to her on the couch. "It's good," she said, letting the warm fire trickle down her throat. "Dad gave me the bottle when I graduated law school." "Mmm." Scully leaned her head back again, cradling the drink on her thigh. "That's nice. For graduation, my father gave me the cold shoulder." "You went to law school?" he asked, curious, and she snorted. "Med school." "You're kidding. And he wasn't over the moon?" "Oh, no. The doctor part was just fine; it was the FBI he couldn't stand." She stared at the particleboard ceiling. "Some days I can't stand it either." "What was his beef with the FBI?" Scully gave a short, dark laugh. "Too dangerous. I might get hurt!" She glanced at Chris to see if he was appreciating the irony, but he just looked uncomfortable. Scully took a liberal swallow of the expensive booze before sitting up. "Listen," she said, "I've got an eleven p.m. flight to New Orleans, so let's just do what we have to do and get out of here, okay?" Chris set the pad down and folded his hands. "I'm sorry you've had such a tough day. We can do this tomorrow or Thursday if that would be easier." She shook her head and drank some more. "I'm here," she said. "What do you need?" He produced a folder very similar to the ones she had been sifting through all day on Mulder's desk. This one had her name typed neatly on the label. "I have a copy of your statement to the police. I'd like to go over it with you now and make sure there isn't anything you left out, or anything you might have remembered in the meantime." "Fine," she said wearily, and Chris picked up the pen. For nearly an hour they went over the details of what she had said, and he explained to her the next few steps. "The earliest we'd be at trial would be August, but Bellamy will probably delay as much as possible. September or October is more likely." Heavy with alcohol, Scully took a minute to process. Months away, she concluded with a sigh. She stretched out and put the glass on the coffee table. "Will I have to testify?" "I'd say it's likely. We are proceeding on all counts right now, even without the victims' testimony, but the case is definitely stronger with your input." "My input," Scully repeated dully. "Right." Chris leaned back next to her, shifting the weight of the sofa so that their shoulders touched. "I know it's hard," he said gently. "You're doing great so far." She nodded without looking at him. "Mulder thinks," she said, taking a deep breath, "that it will all be over when Watts goes to prison." "What do you think?" She shrugged. "For him, maybe it will be." Chris's voice was soft near her ear. "What about for you?" Her shoulder rose and fell again, and she focused on her hands. "For me, it is over. It happened. It's done. Everything else is just...details." He appeared to think about this for a minute. "I can see that, I guess, if I squint real hard. I spend my life on those details." "Well, that's the difference between you and me," she told him as she sat up. "I refuse to spend my life there." XxXxXxX The scotch wore off before she even reached Reagan National, so Scully had another drink in the dark airport bar. She wore her work suit buttoned and her leave-me-the-fuck-alone expression, and the rogue businessmen kept right on moving. When her phone rang, she fished it out and stared at the glowing little screen. Mulder. She snapped it on just before the voicemail would have kicked in. "What?" she demanded. "Forget New Orleans, Scully," he told her, sounding as hollow as she felt. "The Sheriff just called from Texas. Tina Appleby is dead." XxXxXxXxX End Chapter Eight. XxXxXxXxXxXxX Chapter Nine XxXxXxXxXxXxX They stationed a uniformed cop outside the autopsy bay while Scully examined Tina Appleby's body. "Sorry, Ma'am," the young man said when Scully told him that his presence was not required. "But it's after hours and they had a body go missing earlier this week. I've got to keep an eye on things." Yes, Scully thought, because I am likely to smuggle out a corpse for recreational use. She slipped on some scrubs, tied her hair back, and went to work. Face up and nude on the exam table, Tina Appleby appeared denser, flatter, with tangled hair and colorless lips. Scully noted stretch marks on Tina's belly as she snapped the first pictures, and a jagged scar across her left knee. Under "cause of death," the local corner had written: drowning. Tina had been found in the creek behind Rudy Hartman's farm, just a hundred yards away from the spot she claimed the aliens had first found her. Scully documented some bruising on Tina's shins and her right cheek. Her fingernails had been eaten down to the quick, but Tina May Appleby wore glittery red nail polish on each of her ten toes. Scully remembered twelve year-old Melissa shutting their bedroom door and triumphantly revealing a bottle of nail color their father would have called, "Hooker Red." "He'll kill us," she'd told Melissa breathlessly, even as her sister twisted the cap off with glee. "We'll do our feet, silly. Dad will never know." They had huddled in the closet to do the application, Melissa shaky but Dana's hand steady under pressure even then. All week at school, Melissa had traded her shoes for sandals once they'd cleared the house, but Scully had kept her illicit feet hidden under thick socks and tennis shoes, wiggling her toes in secret while Mrs. Teleman droned on about fractions. Scully stared at Tina's naked feet, camera still in her limp grasp, and felt a tinge of sympathy she had not managed for the woman in life. She finished the photographs and began careful external study of the body. "Probable proximal cause of death," the corner had noted, "alcohol." He had smelled it, and so did Scully. Blood tests would no doubt confirm that Tina Appleby had consumed an unhealthy amount of alcohol before she'd died. Thus far, Scully saw nothing to indicate Tina's death was anything other than an unfortunate accident. She rolled the woman over on her side to get a good look at her back. No abrasions, no broken skin. Scully was about to roll her over again when something made her stop. *Even the smallest ant can destroy the dam.* Scully left Tina slumped on her side and moved so that she could get at the woman's neck. Her own breathing echoed in her ears as she lifted Tina's heavy mess of hair aside and exposed the tiny scar at Tina's nape. Biting her lip, Scully prodded at the wound with one gloved finger. The chip was still there, just under the skin. Maybe Tina hadn't known of its existence? But Jared Rentham, psychic from the stars, he would have known. Wouldn't he? XxXxX Mulder had creek mud caking his shoes and mosquito bites the size of walnuts on his arms. He was still wearing yesterday's suit when he went to visit Chet Appleby in prison. Appleby had shrunk a size in just one week, all the fight drained out of him, and he picked up the phone slowly to speak with Mulder on the other side of the glass. "Why have you come here?" "They told you about Tina?" Mulder asked. Chet closed his eyes. "I gave up my life and it still wasn't enough. That...animal had to come out from the grave and snatch Tina just one more time." He shook his head sadly. "I should have done it months ago. Maybe then she'd still be alive." "What makes you think Jared Rentham had anything to do with Tina's death?" Mulder asked, and Chet leveled him with a flat look. "They told me where they found her, back of the old Hartman place. Tina'd given up on that cock-and-bull story about the abduction until Rentham got ahold of her. He dragged her back to that farm sure enough as if he'd put a gun to her head." "Rentham wasn't the one with the gun," Mulder couldn't resist pointing out, still angry at being used. "You were." "If it were your sister, you'd have done the same thing." Appleby pushed his glasses up on his nose. Mulder heard the shot again, saw Rentham crumpled on the ground. He shook off the image and stared at the pale face on the other side of the barrier. "Someone stole the body," Mulder said into his phone. "Did you hear?" "Figures," Appleby replied with disgust. He squinted at Mulder. "Any suspects?" "I came to ask you about that." "Hell if I know. Ask those cult members of his." "No one can find them. It seems they all left town." Mulder watched Appleby's reaction, but the other man didn't blink. "Or maybe they're all dead, like Tina." "Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Tina?" "Besides the man who ruined her life? No." "Well, I think you pretty much crossed Rentham off the suspect list," Mulder said, and Appleby gave a tense shrug. Something about the way his gaze dropped made Mulder ask, "What's that supposed to mean?" "They haven't got a body now, have they?" Mulder sat forward. "You think he's alive?" Appleby leaned forward too. "Mr. Mulder," he said very seriously, "you can't shoot the devil and expect him just to disappear." XxXxXxX The muggy night air clung like thick perfume. Mulder wiped the sweat from his collarbone with a handkerchief as he checked in at the fleabag motel. "Room thirteen," the man told him. "Right next to the lady agent." Mulder accepted the big plastic key chain with a weary nod and trudged out into the damp heat again. With the bugs and the humidity and the dead bodies, Hell had come to Earth and parked its trailer square on Texas. Mulder calculated the sole advantage: they were over one thousand miles away from Washington D.C. and Gregory Watts. He halted, key dangling in his hand, and stared at the row of doors. Was Scully in room twelve or fourteen? The light in twelve was on so he decided to take a chance. Scully answered without a word. He hadn't seen her since their blowup in the office, and he wasn't quite sure what to say to her now. Sorry would just be a lie. She stared up at him, unsmiling, and then went back and laid on the bed. Her air conditioner was going full-blast. Mulder took the fact that she did not slam the door in his face as a sign to come in, and shut the door behind him. "Don't get too comfortable," Scully said, eyes closed, and Mulder halted with his ass hovering just above the armchair. "We're not staying." "What do you mean?" She sighed and opened her eyes to look at him. "Tina Appleby drowned, Mulder. Natural causes. There is nothing more to investigate here." Mulder sat. "I talked to Chet Appleby tonight." "And?" "He seems to think Jared Rentham might be alive." Scully raised herself up to glare at him. "Don't tell me you're actually entertaining this fantasy." Mulder said nothing. "Mulder, Rentham is dead. You and I both saw him take a bullet to the head, and I ended up wearing his brains all over my shirt." "That's right," Mulder said, becoming more animated. "You did." Scully looked wary at his excitement. "What?" "Done your dry cleaning yet, Scully?" "Mulder--" "The body disappeared before anyone ran tests." "Body," Scully said, swinging her legs over the bed. "So we both agree what we're dealing with here, right?" Mulder rubbed his eyes. "I don't know what we're dealing with. That's why I want to run the tests. Something has been off about this case from the beginning. I think when we figure out what Jared Rentham was really doing at Sanctuary House, we might have a chance at understanding what the hell is going on here." "Did you find out anything in New Orleans?" "Yeah," Mulder said into his hands. He slouched backwards with a sigh. "Jared Rentham was a lousy fortune teller. He could barely make his rent." "Mulder." Scully's voice was soft, sad. He looked at her. "Let's just go home." The resignation in her tone scared him. "Scully, about yesterday--" She stood up abruptly, cutting him off. "You know, you've never asked me about that night," she said as she walked to the dresser. "Not once." "I didn't think you wanted me to ask." She looked back at him in the mirror, removing one of her earrings. "Here's your chance, Mulder." He thought for a long, silent minute. "I don't know what to say." "How about the question you've been wanting to ask all this time?" He shook his head faintly. "Come on," she goaded. She put both hands on the dresser and narrowed her eyes at him in the mirror. "Ask it. I know you want to. I've seen it on your face." "You tell me, then," he replied quietly. "I want to hear you say it." Mulder shifted. "You're going to have to tell me first because I don't know what you want me to say." "How did this happen?" she said, whirling. Mulder's throat went dry. "That's it, isn't it? That's what you want to know?" "Things happen." His voice came out hoarse. "Not like this," she said, advancing on him. "Not to me. I carry a gun. I enforce the law. I've had the same hand-to- hand combat training that you've had." "You weren't carrying," he said, avoiding her eyes as he offered up the excuse. He'd said it to himself a million times already. "No, I wasn't. I was alone and unarmed and I just let him do it to me. That's what you think, isn't it?" Her words started the movie in his head again: Scully on the parking lot pavement. Watts sweating on top of her. Mulder squeezed his eyes shut to make the picture go away. "Scully," he said. "What do you want from me?" "The truth!" Mulder lurched to his feet. "I don't know the truth! I don't know anything, Scully. You're up, you're down, and I don't have one fucking clue what to say anymore. I want to help. I do." She shook her head, denying him. "Yes," he told her fiercely. "I do, Scully, but I feel like I just get it wrong every single time I open my mouth. I can't feel sad for you. I can't feel angry for you." "I don't want you to feel anything for me!" Mulder shut up. Her fury didn't fire him the way it usually did. He didn't have the energy to fight. "It's too late for that," he told her softly. She wrapped her arms around her chest and her eyes grew watery. "What do you want from me, Mulder? Maybe that's the real question." "I want--" He swallowed. "I want what you want." "And what is that?" "For things to be okay again." "For *me* to be okay again." He wasn't sure whether he was supposed to agree with that or not. "I love you," he said, but it felt like a guilty confession, like he'd been caught stealing cookies before dinner. "You hate him," she said. "You hate what happened." "Yes." "And that's what I feel. When you look at me, when you touch me, that's what I feel." Mulder looked down at his hands, suddenly poison. "I don't hate you, Scully." "No." She hugged herself tighter. "But maybe it's close enough." XxXxXxX Back on his home turf, Mulder puttered around the office and ignored the clock on the wall. Scully had not been in yet that morning, and it was nearly noon. Mulder hoped Savioshy's men hadn't run out of yard work to do in Watt's neighborhood. When the phone rang, Mulder lunged to answer it. "Mulder," he said, half leaning over his desk, expectant. "Agent Mulder?" came the unfamiliar voice on the other end. "This is Chris Clark from the DA's office. I'm trying to reach Agent Scully." "Oh." Mulder glanced around again, as if he might have somehow overlooked her in the room. "She's not here at the moment." "I tried her cell number and got no reply. Do you know how I might get in touch with her?" Mulder figured her phone was off for his benefit. "Uh, no, I don't know where she is right now, but I can take a message if you want." Even if Scully wasn't going to clue him in on what was happening with the case, maybe ADA Clark had looser lips. But no. "Just tell her I called." "About the case?" "She can reach me at the office for the next few hours. Thanks." He hung up before Mulder could say anything further. Mulder stared at the receiver a moment, dial tone still buzzing, and wondered what the newest development was. The case had dropped from the papers over the last few days, but at least there had not been any new attacks. Savioshy must be doing something right. Mulder shook his head and replaced the phone. He noticed Scully's fern drooping on top of the file cabinet, so he lifted it down to water it. The green wisps tickled his hand as the plant hungrily absorbed its drink. Watching it, Mulder forgot the door, and thus startled when Scully breezed through a minute later carrying her briefcase and what looked like a rolled up poster. Mulder feared she had a new motto to paste over "I want to believe." She stopped, eyeing him with the plant, but did not demand that he unhand her foliage. "It needed water," he explained for want of something better to say. Scully shrugged and took the giant piece of paper over to her table. "I solved part of Rentham's code," she said. "Really?" Curiosity overcame awkwardness and he joined her at the table as she spread out the poster she had brought; it turned out to be a US map. "Part of the numbers denote longitude and latitude," she explained. "The coordinates appear roughly to correspond with the locations of the reported abductions. I marked as many as I could." "That's where you've been this morning?" She nodded, not really looking at him. "The files on your desk haven't been added yet, of course. I can do that this afternoon." Just then, he remembered the phone call. "ADA Clark called here looking for you a little while ago," Mulder said. "He mentioned he tried your cell." Scully's cheeks colored. "Did he say what he wanted?" she asked as she fussed with the map. "No. I assume it's about your case." He waited for her to seize the opening, but Scully merely pulled out her cell phone and dialed. Mulder couldn't help noticing that she already knew the number. She turned her back to him, wandering over to the window to make her call. "Hi, Chris? It's Dana Scully," he heard her say. There was a pause as she listened. "Oh. Sure, that's possible. How soon do you... Yes, I can be there this afternoon. See you then." She snapped off the phone and turned to Mulder with a deep breath. "Got to run?" he asked, still lingering by her map. "Shouldn't take long." She began gathering her things as if she were alone in the room. Mulder hung back, tongue large and useless in his mouth. "Scully," he began, and she looked up at him, a casual, careless glance. I don't care what you think of me, the look said. Go to hell. "Hmm?" "I just want you to know I think it's great that you're doing this." "So glad to have your approval." She hefted her briefcase and started out. "No," he said, blocking her path. "I mean, it must be hard, putting yourself out there for a trial like this." She stopped and gave a half-shrug. "Anyone in my situation would." He encircled her wrist with his hand. "No, Scully," he told her in a low voice. "Most wouldn't." She looked down at where he held her, his thumb running lightly over the band of skin beneath the cuff. When she raised her head, her expression had softened into a small, wistful smile. "I've got to go," she whispered. "Yeah." He squeezed her. "But hurry back." XxXxXxX During work hours, Chris Clark's office building was crammed with people. They answered ringing phones. They pushed past Scully in the hall. One man was yelling, "I sent it to him last week!" In the waiting room, there was standing room only, and a toddler was ripping pages from a magazine in the middle of the pandemonium. "I'm here to see Chris Clark," Scully said, and the secretary on the phone waved her away. Scully sized up the waiting area, trying to imagine where she could fit, but Chris appeared from down the hallway. "Dana, thanks for coming over so quickly. The place is a total zoo right now, I know. Come on down to my office where we can talk." He shut out the noise with his heavy door and gestured for her to sit again on the small sofa. Unlike their previous meeting, he seemed tense and harried. "Ignore that," he said grimly when his phone rang. But neither of them could speak over the repeated trills. Chris made an annoyed huff and went to his desk to shut up the phone. "Voice mail will get it." The leather creaked as Scully shifted uncomfortably. "If this is a bad time..." "No, no," he replied in a rush as he returned to the seating area. He pulled over one of the arm chairs with him, taking his seat in that instead of on the couch next to her. "I'm glad you're here. Today has just been crazy busy." He forced a smile at her, which she awkwardly returned. "Okay," she said, taking a breath. "What's going on?" He thinned his lips, hesitating. "The motion to separate was successful," he said at last. "Bellamy is going to make us try Watts on each count individually." "That will take some time." "Yes." He hesitated again. "But that's not all. You remember how I indicated to you that we don't have the same amount of evidence against him for each attack?" He waited for Scully's nod. "The judge ruled that the M.O. Watts used is not unique enough to tie the cases together, especially since the detectives did not find the stolen items in Watts' possession. That means we can't use evidence from one attack as evidence in another. Without that connection, we simply don't have enough evidence to pursue some of the cases individually." Her heart slammed against her ribs, making her jerk in her seat. "Meaning?" she asked, though she could have guessed the answer from his face. "We can't prosecute your case at this time," he told her softly. "I'm sorry." "But the rape kit--" "Says that you were raped. No one is denying that. But there was no semen found and no hairs -- nothing that would conclusively prove that Gregory Watts was your attacker." Scully sat stone-still. Her voice was little more than a whisper. "So he gets away with it?" "No." Emphatic, Chris sat forward in his chair. "No, I promise you that is not going to happen. We have matching semen samples in two of the cases and hair from three others. Watts will be prosecuted, and he will go to prison." "But not for me." "No," he admitted with some reluctance. "I'm sorry." Scully nodded, feeling the ice begin to crack beneath her. She blinked rapidly and stood up. "So we're done here, then. I won't take up any more of your time." "Dana, please." He stood up as well, blocking her path to the door. "We can talk about this." "Can we?" She fixed him with a hard stare. "Can I sit here and tell you every horrible, degrading detail again? Is that going to change everything?" "I don't blame you for being angry." "I'm not angry. I'm merely--" She swallowed with difficulty. "Disappointed." Chris's face fell. "It's not totally over," he said. "If we get new evidence..." "Please spare me the Hail Mary pep talk. I've seen this play out a hundred times before, and so have you. We both know the ending." "He will pay," Chris said as Scully pushed past him. "Dana-- " She stopped with her hand on the knob. "I'll be sure to read about it in the papers," she said, and opened the door back into chaos and confusion. XxX Mulder tacked her map to the wall of the office. Where Scully had made delicate pencil marks to indicate the location of each alleged abduction, Mulder thrust in a pushpin. Scully only hypothesized; he committed. He marked off the Xs corresponding to the people who had lived inside Sanctuary House with red pins, and for the others he used blue. The reds formed a narrow band across the southern United States. "Hey, Scully," he said as she returned. "Check this out. It looks like Rentham was targeting abductees from a particular area." "Great," she answered dully, not even bothering to look at his work. She walked to her table and lowered herself into the high-backed chair. "I called a couple of MUFON groups down there," he continued, but Scully did not seem to be paying much attention. "You were right, Scully. Just like us, they've never heard of him. So where was he getting all his information?" "I don't know, Mulder. He's dead. At this point it hardly matters." "Of course it matters. C'mon Scully, even you have to admit there's something strange going on here, with the giant database of abductees we found in his basement, Rentham's body disappearing, and then the Sanctuary House members all vanishing overnight." "I don't have to admit anything," she snapped. "Um." He ducked his head, jostling loose pushpins around in his palm. "Okay." Scully sighed and leaned her head into her hands. "Whatever you want, Mulder, okay? If you think this case is still worth pursuing, then by all means, let's pursue it. But Rentham is dead. Tina Appleby is dead. The pattern of abductions, while interesting, is meaningless without either Rentham or the victims available to answer questions. I just don't know where you expect us to go from here." Mulder advanced another step, still jiggling the tacks. "I was thinking of going back to New Orleans and looking into Miriam Rentham's death some more." "Fine," Scully said, "When do you want to leave?" "You're through with Chris Clark for the time being? Because we can work around--" "Oh, no. We're through." "Oh. Well, anytime you need time off--" "It's over, Mulder, okay? They're not going forward with my case." "What? What are you talking about?" "Lack of evidence. They can prove Gregory Watts is a rapist. They just can't prove he is my rapist." "Ten women, same M.O." "Not admissible. They severed the cases. Clark is going forward with five of them, and the rest are on hold." "On hold?" "Indefinitely." She sighed again and seemed to drag herself back to the work in front of her. "I don't know why I ever expected anything different." "Scully--" "No. Mulder. I do *not* want to talk about this." She pushed back her chair and stood up. "I'll be back in a minute and we can figure out New Orleans." He stood, head bowed, in the center of the room as her heels echoed down the hall. Only when she was totally gone did he swallow his scream and hurl the tacks against the wall. XxXxX Night came thick and steamy. Mulder's air conditioning rattled the walls, but the old building could not pump enough cold to really make it worth the while. Mulder tried a cool shower instead. Afterward, he slipped on just a pair of boxers and headed to the living room with his wet hair spiked and a towel around his neck. He drowned his sorrow in iced tea while the evening news flickered on the TV screen. Mulder propped large, bare feet on his coffee table. "In local news tonight, a judge agreed with Nora Bellamy that there is not enough evidence to link 20 year old college student Gregory Watts to all ten rape cases. The camera shifted to outside the courthouse where Bellamy stood with Watts at her side. "Of course Judge Walker agreed," she was saying. "Greg has been made a scapegoat so that Arlington and Kings County police officers don't look as inept as they truly are. Greg is not a rapist. He is an honor student with no history of violence whatsoever. My heart goes out to those women who have been hurt, but stringing up my client is not the answer. Greg is as much a victim here as they are." "Oh, for fuck's sake," Mulder said, sitting up. "Hold your client/attorney meetings in a dark parking lot, and we'll see how you feel about poor little Greggy then." The camera turned on Watts then. He looked about fifteen years old, with his wide eyes and slicked-down hair parted in the middle. "I just want to say thanks to Nora for helping me, and to my mom and dad for standing by me through this mess. I didn't hurt those women, but I hope they catch who did really soon. Thanks." Most people would have missed it, but Mulder had spent years inside the box with sociopaths. Gregory Watts tried for solemn innocence, but at the very last minute, the corners of his mouth twitched up in a smile. He was ready to get away with it. Rage flew through Mulder like lightning to a rod. "You sonofabitch. You goddamn sonofa--" Mulder stormed through his apartment, pulling on clothes, simmering his anger. When he was done, Watts wasn't going to be smiling. He would never smile again. Mulder grabbed his keys and gun and went back to Plumtree Lane. XxXxX In the black of night even the loveliest neighborhood took on a seedy appearance with houses fading to gray and restless teenagers roaming the block. Mulder circled once, searching for Savioshy's men, and concluded that surveillance had been abandoned. The black hate grew stronger. You can rape ten women, but don't abuse the department's overtime. Mulder parked in the shadows and hunched down in the seat. Light shone from several windows in the Watts family home. He considered ringing the bell and holding a gun to the head of the first person who answered. Do you know what kind of monster your son is? He sat for some time, SIG heavy in his hand, watching the door. Watts hadn't been able to visit his stash or stage a strike in over a week. He was probably inside pacing the floor and sweating. As if on cue, the curtain on the top floor moved. Mulder slouched again, his pulse racing. Not five minutes later the front door opened and Watts trotted across the front lawn. He jangled keys to the Ford Explorer, a spring in his step, and soon the roar of the large engine filled the quiet night. Mulder held his breath as Watts drove right past. Hunting time. He started his car and followed. XxXxX From: syntax6 Date: 22 Jul 2003 10:22:17 -0700 Subject: New: Split the Lark 10/14 by syntax6 Source: atxc Keywords: None. Header: in part 0 XxXxXxXxXxX Chapter Ten XxXxXxXxXxX There were things he would never say aloud. One time at Oxford, stone cold sober, he'd climbed a tower and thought about stepping off the top just to see what would happen. Not suicide, no. Just for a split-second he'd believed that he could fly. The dirty names he had called his mother inside his head, because his father had left and she had stayed to take the blame. Sometimes Mulder thought she looked at him and knew everything anyway. He had hoped on and off for years that Samantha would be dead. Mulder and all the king's horses couldn't put her back together again, that bright-eyed button girl who would be forever turning cartwheels in the sky. Sometimes he just wanted someone else to be the hero. XxXxX They rolled through the streets at a leisurely pace, always within the speed limit. Mulder would have thought Watts was out cruising, but the car in front of him made a series of complicated turns that suggested Watts knew where he was going. Mulder followed the demon eyes of Watts' taillights through dark, tree-lined suburban streets and right out of town. Ten rapes and Watts had not committed a single one in his own backyard. As they drove, Mulder found himself sizing up potential targets. The strip mall at the center of town was too bright, too exposed. Watts didn't even slow down. A rinky- dink second-run movie theater had a parking lot with trees at the back, but too many cars had crammed in together, and everyone would pour out from the theater at once. The Wal- Mart was closed, its oceanic lot shadowed and bare. They continued on out from town, and Mulder spotted the white gleam of a Mom-and-Pop variety. Small lot. Many trees. No one around. Bingo, he thought, and in front of him Watts pulled an illegal U-turn and pulled into the lot. Pulse pounding, Mulder stopped his car by the curb and proceeded back on foot. He cut behind a narrow apartment building and through the wooded area to the rear of the store, where he could see Watts' Explorer parked nearby. Watts was still inside sitting at the wheel. C'mon, whip it out, Mulder urged him silently. I dare you. Watts just sat there not doing much of anything for a good five minutes. Leaves bobbed and waved in front of Mulder as he watched behind the branches. He wondered what he would do if Watts tried to crawl in there with him. Another car drove up and parked on the other side of the lot. Both Watts and Mulder watched a heavy set man get out, scratch himself, and go inside. A minute later, Watts did the same. He jangled his keys again as he walked, whistling. Mulder rested his finger on the trigger. The man lumbered out again with a six-pack in his hand, just as another car was pulling into the drive. This one held two young women, both slim and sporting matching ponytails. They wore tank tops and shorts and giggled to one another as they got out of the car. The man with the beer stopped to watch them walk away. He got into his car, old engine coming sluggishly to life, and backed out onto the street. Mulder slipped out from the trees, sweat on his brow. He switched his pocket light on and sneaked up alongside Watts' Explorer, all the while keeping one eye in the direction of the variety store. Mulder did a quick check of the front seat: empty. No knife, no stocking cap. Maybe Watts already had them with him. At the sound of the girls' voices, Mulder thrashed into the woods again. He kept his breath low and even as the young women returned to the parking lot. "I don't want to go to Amy's party," one was complaining as her companion paused to light up a cigarette. "Bobby is going to be there, and I just don't know if I can face him yet." "Half an hour, Em. Please?" Mulder missed her reply because a third shadow appeared across the parking lot, stretching long behind the girls. The leaves quivered with Mulder's sharp exhale. Watts ghosted around the corner, hunched shoulders, mouth parted. Backlit in the glow of the neon sign, he looked large and menacing. The girls didn't seem aware he was there. "If he's there with Keely," the one was saying as they reached their car. "I am *not* staying." Mulder moved closer to the edge of the woods, coiled to strike. Watts advanced towards the girls. "Fine, okay? If she's there we won't stay." They opened their car doors and got inside. Mulder held his breath as their engine roared to life. They peeled out of the driveway, nearly backing over Watts in the process. Watts clenched his hands and watched them drive away. In the bushes, Mulder's heart rate receded. Now what? Watts ambled back to his car with his head down, keys still loose in his hand. He seemed to hesitate at the door and scanned the woods in front of him. Mulder froze. This was it. They were just six feet apart, Mulder invisible, his prey carved from the shadows by artificial light. He looked at Watts' hands, imagined them holding a knife to Scully's throat, saw him forcing her down in the dirt and prying her legs apart. Oblivious, Watts began opening his car door. He was getting away. A hundred times defeated, Mulder wasn't going to let this one go. Watts was easy meat. His heart thrumming, he slipped from the trees and approached the man from behind as Watts inserted his key into the lock. It clicked in place just as Mulder cocked his trigger and placed the barrel on the back of Watts' head. "Move and I'll kill you. Isn't that how it goes?" Watts held up his hands without turning around. "I've got a hundred bucks in my wallet, man. It's all yours." "I don't want your fucking money." The gun barrel held steady at the base of Watts' skull. He thought of Chet Appleby, how easy it was for him to pull the trigger. Adrenaline surged again. "I want you down on your knees. Now." Quivering, Watts did as requested. "Who are you? What do you want from me?" "I'm the man who comes out of the bushes and changes your life forever. You know all about that, don't you Greg? You know about the man in the bushes?" "I don't know what you're talking about." "Sure you do. Your lawyer can fancy talk for the press all she wants, but you and I know the truth, don't we. We both know what you are." "You're crazy." Mulder licked his lips. "Maybe," he said softly, nudging Watts' head with the gun again. Watts flinched. "You want to test that theory, Greggy? You want to test it right now?" "What do you want, man? Just tell me!" "I want the trophies." "Wh-what?" "You know exactly what I mean. The things you stole from them, you sonofabitch. I want to know where you hid your stash." Watts turned his head to get a look at Mulder. "Who the fuck are you?" "Did I say you could move?" Mulder brought his foot down hard on the back of Watts' leg. "Your souvenirs, Greg. The wallets, the underwear. I want it all. Now." Watts didn't say anything for a few seconds. Mulder kept glancing at the street to make sure no one else was turning into the parking lot. "Now," he ordered again. "Or we can do this the hard way." "You a cop?" Watts asked, sounding less worried all of a sudden. "Is that it? You boys can't get me on honest charges so you're pulling this John Wayne bullshit instead?" "Shut up." "You must be a cop. They're the only ones who know what's missing. Unless..." He looked over his shoulder again. "You happen to know one of those bitches." Mulder planted his boot square in the middle of Watts' back, sending him forward against the SUV as the wind knocked out of him. "You have three seconds to tell me." Watts coughed. "Was she the blonde at the video store?" The gun shook as Mulder restrained himself. "Tell me," he gritted out. Let the bastard string his own noose. "Maybe the skinny Hispanic chick? Oh. No, wait." The funny, twitching smile appeared on his face. "You've got to be FBI." "Maybe I am. What's that to you?" Watts shrugged. "I read in the paper that one of those bitches was an FBI woman. You know the one I'm talking about?" Mulder heard Scully's sobs, felt her curled around him. "No. You tell me." "Would if I could." He sighed. "She must have really wanted it, though, or she'd have put up a fight." Mulder howled inside. "How do you know she didn't?" "Papers say she didn't get the guy. That's enough for me. I think she liked it." Mulder shoved the gun at him again. "You talk big, but I know what you are. You used to wet your bed all the time, didn't you? Couldn't leave mommy's house for the night because then everyone would know." "You leave my mother out of this." "Can't make it with girls. You probably stutter when they try to talk to you. But they do the stuttering when you pull out the knife, don't they? Then you can show them who's in charge." "Hey, I am always in charge!" "Not right now." Mulder was breathing hard. "Are you?" He grazed Watts' head with the gun barrel again. "One bullet, and it's all over but the crying." "You wouldn't," Greg said, but he sounded unsure. "Think of it this way -- I'd be sparing you the trials. Your mother would never know the truth about her dirty, dirty boy." "You can't shoot me." "I can." Mulder found he meant it. His finger hovered over the trigger. He would shoot. He would kill. He'd done it before and this was no different. He bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. Watts' hands were shaking. "I can," Mulder repeated. It would be over. He would be free. Scully would... Would... "I can," he said, determined. The gun wavered in his hand. Scully crying. Rentham bleeding on the floor. Chet in prison with his sad, pale face. *You'd have done the same thing if it were your sister.* Headlights suddenly flooded the parking lot, and Mulder jerked his arm back down by his side. "Get up," he told Watts as an old Honda rolled to a stop where the girls had parked. "I'll sue you," Watts said, defiant. There was blood on his lip. "Good luck with that." Mulder wiped his mouth with his arm. "I'll get off and sue the whole damn legal system from the chief on down. You bastards have the wrong guy." "You'd better run on home now, Greggy." Mulder still had the gun in hand. "Momma will be wondering where you are." Greg glowered and said nothing as he climbed into the SUV. "You'll be hearing from my attorney," he said through the open window. Mulder said nothing. His heart was still slamming against his chest at the thought of what he'd almost done. "You'll be hearing from the district attorney," he said as Watts started the engine. "The stuff is out there, and we will find it." Safe in his car, Watts' casual shrug returned. "Good luck with that," he said, tossing Mulder's words back at him. The weird little smile spread over his face. "And be sure and tell Agent Scully I said 'hi.'" The tires screeched in reverse, leaving dust in Mulder's sweaty face. He stared, still reeling, gun hanging in his hand, until Watts' taillights vanished from sight. Then Mulder faded into the brush again, back the way he had come. XxXxX The shrill ringing phone made Scully sit straight up in bed. It was dark, and sticky hair hung down over her face. She groped blindly for the receiver. "Hello?" "Dana? It's Chris Clark. I know it's late, but we have a problem." He sounded stressed and angry. Scully squinted at the clock, which read two thirty-seven in the morning. "What is it?" she asked as she switched on her light. "Your boyfriend is ruining my case." "Excuse me?" "Mulder. He attacked Gregory Watts tonight in a parking lot." Scully's stomach lurched forward. "He what?" "Bellamy rousted Savioshy at home and gave him quite an earful. They want to press charges against Mulder for assault. Dana, I understand where the guy is coming from, but this could mean serious trouble come trial." Scully sagged back against the pillows and closed her eyes. "I'll talk to Mulder." "Yes, do that. Explain to him this is not helping anyone, least of all not your case." "I thought you said I don't have a case," Scully snapped. "Well, Mulder playing night stalker vigilante isn't the way to go about getting one." "You think I put him up to it?" Chris sighed. "I don't care whose idea it was. I just want it to never happen again." "Not to mess up your case. I've got it." "You know what I mean." "Yes, I think I do." "Dana..." Chris's tone softened. "I'd like to pop the guy too. I would. But if we're going to put him away, we've got to play by the rules. All of us." The rules aren't getting it done for me, Scully thought. She wondered how badly Mulder had bloodied Watts. "I said I'll talk to him," she told Chris. "I suggest you try the County Jail. Savioshy booked him an hour ago." XxXxX County was a small jail, dating back to the early 1900s, and Scully had the credentials to get inside. Though it had been renovated several times over the last century, it still boasted the same heavy stone frame and sliding iron bars. The concrete floor looked relatively new, but one of the overhead fluorescent lights flickered in and out at a seizure-inducing rate. Lazy ceiling fans stirred the humid air. In the first holding cell, a drunk lay on a bench and mangled the Miranda warning. "You have the right to remain silent," he told the ceiling. "If you give up that right a lawyer will be given to you." Mulder sat on his bench in the next cell with his head in his hands. He looked up as Scully and the guard approached, and they stared at each other through the bars while the man unlocked Mulder's door. "You've got fifteen minutes," he told her. Scully entered the cell and the guard drew the bars shut behind her. She merely folded her arms and stood there. Mulder rubbed one hand over his stubbly face and neck. "I take it you heard." "Mulder." She shook her head. "I don't even know where to start." "Then don't." "What the hell were you thinking?" He pushed to his feet. "They'd called off surveillance. Did anyone tell you? Yeah, that's what I thought. Watts was footloose and fancy free tonight, Scully, and you know the first place he went? A parking lot. A dark parking lot with plenty of trees." Scully ignored the clammy chill that spread over her back. "Where you assaulted him." Mulder held her gaze, angry, but she did not back down. "What if he'd been going to your place?" Mulder asked. "What then?" "Then I would have called the cops," she said. "Like you should have if you anticipated trouble." "He knew your name." Scully swallowed. "What?" "He knows your name, Scully. He said to tell you 'hi.'" She backed up until she felt the bars hit her from behind. "My license," she whispered. "If we had that, we could prove Watts is the one. That's why I followed him, and *that's* why I questioned him." "Did he tell you anything?" she asked, holding her breath for the answer. Some of the fight left Mulder. "No," he admitted finally, turning away. "Nothing we could use in court." "Mulder, you're going to be the one in court. You could lose your job over this!" "Yeah, well maybe it'd be worth it," he said, turning on her again. She stared at him. "Fabulous," she said flatly. "And where would that leave me?" Mulder looked at the floor. "I did this for you." "The hell you did. You did this for yourself, Mulder. You did it to make you feel better. You've wanted to go after Watts from the beginning. The fact that he was back out there again was driving you crazy!" "Watts attacks ten women and they just let him go to do it again. Savioshy wasn't doing anything to stop him. The DA wasn't doing anything to stop him. Someone had to do something!" "And that someone had to be you." She covered her face with her hands and sighed. "Mulder, if this case gets thrown out now..." "It won't," he said steadily. "If it does..." She dropped her hands. "I don't know what to say, Mulder. You go out and do this tremendously foolish, dangerous thing, risking your life, your career, putting the whole case on the line for a few minutes of vigilantism, and then you stand here and say it's all for me. Am I supposed to be grateful?" Mulder didn't answer right away. "I hoped you'd be relieved," he said at length. Scully chuffed. "You're in jail, Mulder. What about this picture am I supposed to find especially reassuring?" "I didn't plan this part," he admitted. He sat down again on the low metal bench, knees forced up around his ribs. "You assaulted him, and what, you thought he wouldn't press charges?" Mulder gave her a long, hard look, and Scully realized with a jolt that the original plan hadn't allowed Watts to press charges. Watts was supposed to be dead. "You're kidding," she breathed, and he looked away. "Mulder..." "Tell me you haven't thought it." Scully said nothing. Mulder heaved a sigh. "Anyway," he said, "I didn't do go through with it. Obviously." Scully searched him wordlessly. "Why?" she asked at last. His gaze flickered over her. "You." She felt her eyes well up, and she shook her head. "And when they fire you, Mulder, and lock you up in prison for five years, is that going to be because of me, too?" "Scully..." He stood again and reached for her just as the guard reappeared. "Time's up." Scully sniffed and wiped at both eyes. "I'll get you out of here, Mulder," she said without looking at him. The heavy iron door slid open to let her out, and the guard clanked it shut when she was free. Mulder came up and wrapped both hands around the bars. "Scully, I'm sorry." "Time's up," the guard said again, and led her away. XxXxX Her favorite reporter, Sabrina Kimbrough, led the charge: "I'm here outside the sixth district county courthouse this morning, where once again accused rapist Gregory Watts is the order of the day. This time Watts' interests are represented on the other side of the table. We've learned that Watts has filed charges against FBI agent Fox Mulder for assault with a deadly weapon. Watts claims that Agent Mulder attacked him in a parking lot late Friday night and threatened him with a gun. Watts, who has been charged with four rapes in the area and suspected of at least six more, maintains his innocence and states that Agent Mulder's attack was completely unprovoked. The police have not commented as to motive, but a source inside the courthouse told WRC that Agent Mulder is a close associate of the FBI agent who was raped." Scully stood in front of the TV, unable to look away. There was a shot of Watts, wearing a Sunday school suit and looking like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. "He came from behind me," he told the camera. "All I felt was the gun barrel against my head. He said if I didn't do what he wanted, he would kill me." Scully grabbed the remote and shut off the TV. She was shaking from head to toe. *Do everything I say, or I will kill you right here.* At that moment, she wished Mulder had pulled the trigger. XxXxXxX Scully knew before she reached the office that it was empty. The hall was dark, everything still, no sounds of Mulder wrestling the slide projector or playing dartboard on the ceiling. He would be at home right now, polishing his shoes for court. Scully scraped the key in the lock and entered the office. She blinked as the lights came on, illuminating the mess of Rentham's files that they had strewn from one end of the room to the other. With a heavy heart and slow feet, Scully made her way to her table and set her briefcase down on the only spare rectangle of space. She surveyed the stacks of folders, the wall of file cabinets and the many trophy photos Mulder had tacked up behind his desk. She tried to imagine what she would do with it all, if it became hers alone. The phone rang. It was Skinner on the other end, with a tone that suggested someone had wound his BVDs too tight. "Agent Scully, could I see you upstairs in my office, please?" She considered saying "no." "Right now?" she asked instead. "If it's convenient," he replied, with an edge that indicated it had better be. In the elevator on the way up she met two male agents, only one of whom she vaguely recognized from her days in the bullpen. Pendelton? Pembleton? He was staring at her, so she acknowledged him with a short nod. He nodded back. Scully looked at the floor, but out of the corner of her eye she saw Pendelton/Pembleton elbow his colleague. That's the one, he seemed to say. Scully felt her cheeks burn hot. "I did it for you," Mulder had said, and now the whole world knew it. The elevator halted for her stop but Scully didn't get out when the doors slid open. "You guys have a question?" she asked, facing them. Pembleton's friend coughed. Pembleton went gray. Scully took a step closer, forcing them back against the wall. "Something you want to ask me?" "N-no," Pembleton managed. His companion focused his attention on the ceiling. "Really? Because you can go ahead and ask." They shook their heads vehemently. "No, no. Sorry." "Yeah," Scully said with disgust, dismissing them. "I didn't think so." She hit the button to stop the doors from closing and stalked off down the hall. Kim wished her good morning, but Scully didn't reply. She walked past her and opened Skinner's door. "You wanted to see me?" He said nothing but beckoned her inside. The slits in the blinds behind him cast a striped pattern across Skinner and his desk, reminding Scully of jail. From the deep crease on the AD's forehead, she had the distinct feeling that Skinner was having similar thoughts. "Agent Scully," he said when she had sat. She raised her eyebrows when he did not continue. His chair hissed as he leaned back again, frowning some more. "How are you doing?" "I'm fine, sir." He nodded. "I hadn't said anything before, but I want you to know the Bureau has resources available to you if you need them. Counselors, legal advisors, whatever you need, we can get it." "That won't be necessary." She sat stiffly, expressionless. He nodded some more. "You're, uh, not the first woman here to face this situation." "And what situation is that, sir?" Violated in a parking lot, rejected by the justice system, partner in jail... Skinner looked even more uncomfortable, if that were possible, and adjusted his glasses. "I just wanted you to know," he said. "I regret not saying something sooner." Scully looked at her lap and said nothing. Skinner cleared his throat and continued. "Mulder has been temporarily relieved of his duties," he said, and Scully's head snapped up. Skinner pursed his lips. "Suspended without pay pending trial." "What happened to 'innocent until proven guilty'?" "You're saying he's innocent?" Skinner squinted at her. Scully didn't reply, and he sat forward with a long sigh. "He's charged with a serious offense, one that the Bureau is forced not to take lightly." "Because it made the papers," Scully said bitterly. "Because we can't have agents going around stalking people and assaulting them in public!" "I saw Watts on television this morning, and he looked all right to me." "Mulder was out of line. You know it." "Maybe I understand his reasons." Skinner shook his head. "I think everyone understands his reasons. That doesn't make them right." "Today's just a preliminary hearing," Scully said. "It could take weeks or even months to come to trial. What am I supposed to do in the meantime? The X-Files office isn't exactly overstaffed." "That's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about," Skinner said, folding his hands. "We can't get another agent full time. I've already asked. I might be able to file for some part-time help, but I can't guarantee how reliable it would be." "Great." "There is another option," he said, and Scully looked at him. He handed her the morning paper, and tapped the small photograph under the fold. "Henry Eames struck a deal last night to keep him off the injection table for the six homicides in Atlanta. There were at least ten others, he claims, and he's willing to say where the bodies are buried. The Atlanta field office has requested a fulltime pathologist to aide in the investigation." "You want me to go to Atlanta?" "They asked for our best. Your record more than qualifies." His compliment barely registered. "If Mulder is suspended and I'm in Atlanta, what would happen to the X-Files?" "Nothing. The office would simply be closed until your return." Scully imagined a sign on the door: "Gone Grave Digging." "We fought so hard to get the X-Files back. I--I can't just leave." "It wouldn't be permanent." "Sir, if this is some way to punish Mulder..." "It's not a punishment. It's an opportunity for you to..." He gestured expansively. "Get away. For a while." Oh. So that's how it was. "I see." "It's your choice, obviously," he hurried to point out. "No one is trying to force you to leave. This assignment just happened to come across my desk at a time when I thought you might like a change of scenery. If I'm wrong, please just tell me." Scully said nothing. Skinner waited a beat and then sighed. "Take the day to think about it." In the hall on her way out, Scully kept her head down, thoughts blurred as she returned to the basement on autopilot. A pair of agents near the drinking fountain stopped talking as she walked past. They said nothing but tracked her progress all the way to the elevator. She could feel their eyes on her back as she waited. At last the ding signaled the elevator's arrival, and Scully escaped to the blissfully empty car. Down in the basement, the phone was ringing again. Mulder, she thought, rushing to answer. "Hello?" "Hello, is this Dana Scully?" "This is," Scully said, cautious. She recognized the woman's voice but couldn't place it. "Ms. Scully, my name is Sabrina Kimbrough and I work for WRC. I was hoping I could talk with you about Gregory Watts and Fox Mulder." "No." "Please, I won't take up much of your time." "No comment," Scully said, and slammed the phone down as if it had suddenly morphed into a snake. Shaken, she lowered herself into Mulder's chair and disappeared behind Mulder's orphaned files. When the phone rang again, she yanked out the cord with such violence that small plastic parts skittered across the room. Scully put her head down on the desk, where a wall of silent victims masked her tears. XxXxX Afternoon sun pounded the courthouse pavement, settling like lead on Mulder's dark suit. Cars glinted around him in the treeless parking lot. Mulder tugged his tie loose as his lawyer, Stan Serrano, imparted some last words of advice. "The injunction bars you from going within one mile of Greg Watts, his home or his family, Mulder, I strongly suggest you not tempt Judge Owens on this. He'll have your ass in jail again so fast your head will spin. Stay *away* from Watts." "But what if I'm out shopping for nylon stockings and we just happen to run into each other?" Serrano did not crack a smile. "Shop online. I mean it, Mulder. Your only chance of coming out of this unscathed is to keep your nose clean from now until the trial." Mulder pulled out his handkerchief and waved it at Serrano. "Message received, okay?" he said before wiping the sweat from his brow. Serrano hefted his briefcase. "Go home. Don't watch the news because it'll just make your blood boil. I'll be in touch." Mulder bade Serrano a half-hearted goodbye and climbed into the inferno that was his car. "Yow," he said, jerking his hand back from the steering wheel. He turned over the engine and set the A/C. to blast. For several minutes, he just sat there, eyes closed, letting the air stream over him as he replayed the hearing in his head. "Not guilty," he had said when asked, because that was what Serrano had advised. In their meeting beforehand, Mulder had wondered about the likelihood of that defense. "But I am guilty." "Watts doesn't have more than a tiny cut on his lip," Serrano had replied. "He was an accused rapist loose in a dark parking lot, stalking a potential victim. We'll argue your actions were not only justified, but that they probably saved some woman from a brutal rape that night." Justified, Mulder thought now. That's damned straight. The rest of the world could see he had a right to his anger. Why couldn't Scully? He reversed the car and maneuvered out onto the road. He drove it faster than he ought, curving hard left and right as the mirage puddles kept appearing and evaporating up ahead. If I'd found his stash, he thought, it would have been worth it. Mulder cruised back roads and city streets, staying away from the highway that would take him to Plumtree Lane if he let it. Stay away, they had told him, but that only applied to his body. Mulder didn't need to see Greg Watts to follow him. He drove to the drugstore where Watts had attacked the first victim. He drove past the Wal-Mart, the all-night Wendy's Restaurant, and the Store 24. He visited Ming's parking lot and recalled his time in the bushes. Each new crime scene gave him another adjective to add to his list. Careful (there was always an easy exit) Methodical (all scenes resembled one another) Dutiful (Watts didn't drag his dirty laundry home; he kept his nasty sexual crimes away from Mommy and Daddy) Extremely angry at women (Watts researched the sites but not the victims; he hated all the women equally) Voyeuristic (each hiding spot would have allowed extended, perhaps frequent, surveillance of potential targets) Mulder walked Watts' steps and thought his thoughts. He imagined the lust, the hate, the power, felt the anger sweating through his every pore. But there was shame, too. Dirty Greg, hiding in the bushes with his bulging erection. They made him feel small, worthless. It was their fault he had to hide. He would make them pay. Mulder's chest was tight, his hands clenched around the wheel as he drove through sprawling Virginia neighborhoods. Greg didn't live here, but he might have. The lawns sparkled. The houses gleamed. Expensive swing sets in the yard were two stories tall. The tires screeched as Mulder jerked to a halt in the middle of the road. He dug out his phone and dialed Savioshy at the station. "It's Mulder," he said when Savioshy answered. "I know where Watts hid his stuff." XxXxXxX End chapter ten. XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX Chapter Eleven XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX They looked like overgrown boys playing hooky on the dusty ball field, shirtsleeves rolled up, squinting in the summer sun. Mulder waited by home plate with a battered baseball in his hand. He tossed it into the air and caught it as Savioshy made his way across the field. From the street behind the chain link fence, two uniformed cops in sunglasses got out of their squad car to watch the showdown. "I would have met you at Watts' place," Mulder said when Savioshy came to a stop along the first baseline. "But thanks to you, I'm not allowed within a square mile." "No, that's thanks to you." Savioshy squinted as Mulder tossed the ball again. "After the stunt you pulled Friday night, I probably shouldn't even be talking to you." "So why are you?" Savioshy shrugged. "You worked all those years with the Bureau, chasing some pretty weird shit, and they haven't fired your ass yet. I figure there's got to be a reason." Mulder threw the baseball to him. "You play ball as a kid?" "Sure," Savioshy said, inspecting the worn stitching. "Didn't everybody?" "Fly kites? Climb trees?" "Yeah, I suppose," Savioshy replied with a touch of impatience. "What's that got to do with Watts?" "When was the last time you did any of that stuff?" "Huh?" "You know, tossed the ball around, or built a fort in your living room?" Savioshy looked at him like he was high. "Mulder, I don't know what you're getting at here, but--" "The tree house," Mulder told him. "In Watts' backyard. He's been too old for that thing for over ten years now but it hasn't been torn down. It has meaning for him somehow. Ten to one that's where you'll find his stash." Savioshy threw the ball back. "The tree house, huh?" Mulder nodded. "Probably hidden, but it's there." "We'll check it out," Savioshy said, already starting to jog away. "Thanks," he called over his shoulder. "Let me know!" Mulder yelled after him, and Savioshy waved an arm in the air to show he'd heard. Mulder watched through the backstop as both he and the uniformed cops went roaring away. Mulder pulled his arm back and flung the ball as hard as he could into the outfield, shielding his eyes to watch it arc and fall under the sun. It landed beyond the imaginary centerfielder on a patch of brown grass. Mulder kicked home plate with his dress shoe and then went to warm the home team's bench. And he waited. XxXxX The shrill ring of her telephone greeted her as she walked in the door. Scully made no move to answer it, but approached the phone table as if it were a dangerous animal. The red light on her machine flickered madly. She stared at it, transfixed, until the ringing stopped. Quickly, she unplugged it before the noise could start again. Then she went and did the same thing in the bedroom. Late afternoon light bathed her room, yellowing the walls and lengthening shadows across the carpet. Scully pulled her suitcase from the closet and bounced it open on top of the bed. It smelled like dust and airplanes and backwater mutants. She sprayed it with Lysol and went to stare at her rack of suits for a while. Ten years ago, it would have been a dream assignment, heading up an FBI forensic team, solving cold cases under a national spotlight. Now it was a punishment she felt obligated to accept. She kept thinking it was over, that the worst had happened, but somehow her life was still sliding away from her, an avalanche under her feet. Numb, she stood in front of her closet, unable to make even the smallest decision. At last she grabbed the first three suits from the rack and shoved them in her suitcase. She could sort it all out later, away from everything. Shoes, shirts, nylons -- she packed in a flurry, hardly noting what she threw into her luggage. Wait. She stopped, surveying her work. Something was missing. Scully went back to the closet in search of her white blouse, the one she took everywhere because it matched everything and she didn't have to think about it. She muttered a curse when she saw the empty hanger and remembered where the blouse had gone. Crossing the room, she fished it out of the garbage. The flecks of Rentham's blood had dried to brown. Scully fingered the silky edge and considered the piles of folders back at the office. Whatever those people had been seeking, Rentham hadn't been able to deliver it. She went to shove the blouse into the trash again, but hesitated at the last second. Scully took the blouse to the kitchen and wrapped it in a plastic sack, figuring she could drop it by the lab on her way out of town. It was as much of a goodbye note as Mulder was going to get from her. Maybe this way, he would have some answers. XxXxX Mulder took the steps to her apartment two at a time. Pounding on the door with the fleshy part of his fist, he crowded near the knob, eager to enter. "Scully? Scully, it's me." The door opened and Scully appeared, looking annoyed. "Mulder, what is it?" "I tried calling you but you weren't answering your phone," he said as he pushed inside. Scully stepped back, palms up. "Mulder, this really isn't a good--" "We found the stuff," he told her, and her eyes grew round. He nodded for emphasis. "Yeah, we did. Watts had it stashed in the old tree house at his parents' house. It's all there, Scully. All of it." She shook her head faintly. "I don't understand. You were supposed to stay away from Watts, Mulder." "I did! Savioshy and his men went in. I just told them where to look." She stared at him, and he smiled a bit, pleased he'd been able to do this one small thing for her. There would certainly be a trial now. Scully would get her day in court. He nodded some more, still smiling at this welcome piece of good fortune. "How did you know where to look?" Scully asked, and his smile faded. "Uh, it was a guess, really. A hunch." "You called Savioshy in on a hunch?" "A strong hunch." "Uh huh." She narrowed her eyes at him, and Mulder knew he'd been caught profiling again. The adrenaline from the hunt, the tension from waiting, it had all been worth it when he had gotten Savioshy's terse call. "We have the stuff." Mulder had seen it, too, briefly at the station as they'd brought it in and tagged it all as evidence: the wallets, the licenses, the rainbow of women's underwear. Mulder had looked, but he hadn't known which pair was hers. "The cops never would have found his stash," he told her now. "They were all giving up. Savioshy, Clark... even--" He stopped and her head snapped up. "Even what?" He looked at her hard for a second. "He'll go to trial on all counts, Scully. Isn't that what you wanted?" Scully's face fell, and she absently stroked the back of her sofa. "None of this is what I wanted," she said at last. "Well, then tell me what it is you want, because I sure as hell can't guess anymore." "No one asked to you guess! No wait, I did ask something of you, Mulder. I asked you to leave this alone, but that was the one thing you couldn't seem to do." "So you'd rather I sat on my hands and did nothing. You'd rather he just walked. Jesus, Scully. The cops were practically turning cartwheels when we brought the stuff in. Your friend Clark was over the moon. They're even talking about ways to drop the charges against me. I thought you'd be happy that the cases can go forward." "Oh, I am," she said, hugging herself. "I'll be happy right up until tomorrow morning when the papers come out with this latest riveting installment: FBI hero Fox Mulder defies law, charges to his partner's rescue. Maybe I should call Sabrina right now and offer her the exclusive." "I am sorry for that, Scully. I am. But I think the greater good outweighs a little uncomfortable publicity here, don't you?" She said nothing. Mulder gathered his words carefully. "You're not the only one this happened to. Scully, there were nine other victims hidden in that tree house." "And the men in their lives, where were they? I didn't see them hunting Watts." "Scully," he said, and waited until she looked at him. "I am here to tell you unequivocally: they would if they could." She searched his face, and he let her, let her see the truth in the new lines around his mouth, the sweat on his collar, the fatigue in his eyes. She nodded, resigned. "Maybe you're right," she said. "But thanks to you, they don't have to." "Thanks," he repeated ironically. This was some thanks he was getting. "Yes," she said with more conviction. "Thanks." She shuddered and squeezed the sofa back. "You're right. What you did, it was right. You're--you're a good man, Mulder." He gave her a wry smile. "Why does that sound like an epitaph?" Her eyes had watered but she worked to return his smile. "There are worse ways to sum up a life." "Certainly mine," he said, and took a step forward. "Just think of your other possibilities, Scully. Fox Mulder: man who never organized his computer desktop. Or, Fox Mulder: man who held the record for consecutive hours of grade B movie viewing. Fox Mulder: man who could burn water in a pan." He stood just inches in front of her now. She was focused intently on his shirt buttons. "No," she said, "it would probably read, 'Fox Mulder: man who regretted sticking his finger in that goo.'" His laugh caught in his throat. "Yes," he said, taking her by the shoulders, "it probably will." He rubbed her up and down until she softened. She did not resist when he pulled her to him, but neither did she hug him back. He put his lips to her hair. "It'll be okay, Scully. You'll see. By next week the papers will have--" He stopped short when he saw the suitcase sitting in the living room. "You're going somewhere?" She stiffened again under his hands, and he pushed her back a bit so he could see her face. She kept her lashes lowered, but the down-turned mouth, the slumped shoulders, and the heavy silence were all too familiar. He dropped his hands away from her. "Let me guess: Utah?" "Atlanta." She looked at him. "It's just temporary." "How long?" "Not that long." "How long?" "Six weeks to three months." "I see," he said. "And what? You were just planning to drop me a postcard with a peach on it? 'Toured the Coke Museum, Mulder! Wish you were here'?" Scully glared at him. "Yes, I could have sent it care of the county jail." Mulder glared back at her for a second before taking a deep breath and running both hands through his hair. "Okay, fine. I suppose I deserved that." "No," she sighed. "Look, Mulder, I realize this is unexpected, but I didn't know myself that I was going until a few hours ago. It wasn't my idea." He straightened at the news. "Then don't go." "What? I--I can't." "You can't," he repeated, as if it would make sense when he said it. "I already said I'd go, but more than that, I want to. I have to." "Scully--" "Mulder, I swore I wouldn't let what happened to me affect my life, but it's *become* my life. Worse yet, it's become yours." Her chin lifted in challenge, daring him to deny it. He scuffed his toe along the floorboard. "It'll be different now. The case is closed. The charges against me will certainly be reduced, if not outright dismissed, and Watts is a slam-dunk at trial." She was shaking her head even as he argued. Finally, he just stopped, deflating. "I am going for a lot of reasons. But mainly... I look at you," she whispered in a small voice, "and it's like I can't even see you any more. There's just too much in the way." His heart broke. "I'm right here, Scully. I've always been *right here*." "I know that." She swiped at her eyes. "I'm not blaming you. I'm not." "Then tell me what to do. Whatever you need, I'll do it." He was the Red Queen, running as fast as he could just to stay in place. Everything he'd been working so hard to save, it had been lost all along. He just hadn't noticed. "I need to go to Atlanta," she said, drawing herself up. "I need to help find those girls. I need to think about something other than my life for a while." "What about... what about the X-Files?" It sounded slightly less pathetic than, "What about me?" but he figured after seven years together, her answer would apply equally to both. Scully gave him a sad smile and went to her bedroom. When she returned, she was carrying something wrapped in a plastic trash bag. She placed it in his hands. "The truth is still out there, Mulder." A horn honked outside, and Scully turned toward the window. "That's my taxi." As she gathered her things and they walked to the door, Mulder scrambled frantically for something, anything, to halt the slide. Don't leave me, she'd said, and now she was the one disappearing down the hall. She stopped at the end, window ablaze with light behind her, and turned back to him. "Mulder?" "Yeah, I'm coming." Outside, the taxi driver shut her suitcase in the trunk with a very final-sounding slam. He climbed back behind the wheel while Scully lingered at the rear door. Mulder cradled his trash sack. "So, don't call you, you'll call me?" he joked. She took a step forward. "Two months," she said. "Maybe less." "What happens then?" The words felt tight in his throat. "Fall," she said, managing a wobbly smile, and she touched his cheek. Mulder hated fall. Hated to watch the leaves die and the darkness creep in. Under the orange summer sun, it felt a million years away. He took her hand and squeezed it hard. "October," he said, "a month for monsters, madness and Fox Mulder." This year he'd be forty, half his life gone, and that was if he were lucky. "It's a date," Scully replied, squeezing him back. She got into the taxi then, and he stood with exhaust curled around his feet, watching as she grew smaller and smaller in the distance. Scully escaped to a new shiny life, and Mulder was left holding the bag. XxXxX They found the first one, Emily Randall, buried in a field behind an abandoned factory, right where Henry Eames said he had left her. Low gray clouds hung in the sky, threatening rain, and periodic wind gusts blew the grasses flat. No one said much of anything. The factory looked on with its broken window gap-toothed smile as men and women in uniform reclaimed Emily's bones. Thirteen when she'd died, she would have been twenty-six now, in the ground as long as she'd been above it. Scully stood and watched the bones come up. They would go to her now, laid out on a shiny metal coffin under the bright lights of the big city. Scully's job was to do what Emily's parents no longer could: identify their little girl. She thought of herself at thirteen, with braces and glasses, riding her bike all afternoon and hunkering down under the covers with a flashlight and a book every night, and for the first time in many weeks, Scully felt grateful for her life. For the first time, she realized she was still breathing. The morgue was her oyster, and she was in control. Six other agents did exactly as she asked, and none of them whispered when her back was turned. Scully worked harder than all of them, up to her elbows in tiny bones that all told the same sad story. She filled herself with their lives and forgot about her own. XxXxX Stan Serrano was puffed up like a skinny peacock inside his gray suit. "Glad you came to your senses, Adleman," he said as the prosecuting attorney signed off on all charges against Mulder. Mulder had spruced up for the occasion, looking like a law-abiding citizen with his new haircut and buffed shoes. Adelman made a sweeping signature. "Don't thank me," he told Serrano even as he glared at Mulder. "I think it happened just like Watts said. I think your client went off half- cocked and attacked an unarmed man in a parking lot. But I can't *prove* he did it, not when my complainant in this case is about to go down for serial rape." Mulder clenched his clasped hands but said nothing. "You say nothing," Serrano had commanded before the meeting. Mulder figured the order left little room for interpretation. "Between you, me and the lamppost," Serrano said, "your victim is a viper. He should watch himself or someone else might decide to take a crack at him." "Off the record, I might agree. On the record, I remind Agent Mulder that the restraining order against him still stands. He is not to go within one mile of Gregory Watts, Watts' family, or his residence." Both men looked at Mulder, who sat forward. "Is this the part where I say, 'I do'?" Serrano swung his briefcase up onto the edge of Adelman's desk and began collecting the paperwork. "He agrees." And so Mulder slipped through the cracks once again. He had been in and out of jail more often than a two-bit hooker, but the justice system never managed to hold him. Privately, Mulder suspected that this was because justice recognized him as a fellow naf, running around with his blindfold and his scales, expecting that the truth would win out in the end. In the hall, Serrano clamped him on the shoulder. "Your life is your own again, Agent Mulder. Stay out of dark parking lots for a while, eh?" He was not going to jail, but he didn't have his job back and Scully was living in another state. If this was his life, Mulder did not recognize it. "Thanks," he told Serrano, as he shook his hand. "I appreciate it." Serrano strolled off whistling, and Mulder shook his head. It was four-thirty in the afternoon. If he hurried, he could make the Avengers rerun on at five. "Mulder!" He turned at the sound of his name and saw Christopher Clark coming down the hallway. Mulder rocked back on one heel, smoothing his tie over his stomach as he waited for the other man to catch up. Clark stopped, a bit winded, and slapped a folder against Mulder's back. "Heard you were in the building," he said. "How did it go with Adelman?" "All charges dismissed." Clark stuck out his hand to Mulder. "Fantastic news," he said as Mulder shook it. "But I can't say I'm surprised. Bob wasn't relishing the idea of taking this one to trial. He'd tell the story, and twelve men and women would wish they'd been the one to bloody Watts' lip." Mulder spread his hands and looked at them. "I'd line them all up to take turns." "Listen, I said this to Dana already, but I wanted to tell you too: I'm sorry for going off on you before about this whole thing with Watts. If I'd been in your position..." He shook his head. "You talked to Scully?" Mulder shifted. "Um, recently?" "Yeah, we spoke last week. She's going to testify at the trial in September." "Oh. Right, of course." Mulder had not talked to Scully since she had left for Atlanta. He'd glimpsed her on CNN once, shot with a telephoto lens from far away as she had worked the crime scene in her FBI windbreaker. POLICE LINE - - DO NOT CROSS, it had said in front of her, and Mulder was heeding the advice. He had not called. If she couldn't see him any more, it was a fair bet that she wouldn't be able to hear him either. Clark was still standing there, so Mulder kept talking. "How's that going?" he asked. "The trial?" "So far, so good. Bellamy sure has been quiet since you guys found all the stolen property Watts had stashed away. I expect Greg Watts will leave prison an old man, if he ever gets out at all." He slapped Mulder with the folder again. "I've got to run. Good to see you, Mulder. I'll make sure to save you a front row seat, huh? We can watch the bastard go down together." Mulder nodded and waved because Clark was already walking down the hall. He didn't bother to explain. The restraining order would keep him far away from any trial. XxXxX God clapping his erasers, Sister Mary Caroline used to say when it thundered, and He was smacking the clouds together with extra force as Scully made the hundred-meter dash from her car to the hotel. The ground rumbled and water fell in sheets, soaking her blouse to her skin. Inside her room, the A/C evaporated the warmth from the rain and sent her shivering into the bathroom for a thick white towel. She blotted her wet hair and wiped the moisture from her face. Her makeup looked like something from the "The Texas Chainsaw Mascara," and her bra stood out in stark relief against her now transparent blouse. She had it halfway unbuttoned when her phone rang. "Dana, it's Chris," came the voice on the other end. "I didn't catch you at a bad time, did I?" "No, no." Scully lay back with her towel against the pillows. "I just got in." "I saw on the news that you guys found another girl today." Tamara Jenkins, aged fourteen. Her mother had called her home from a friend's house for dinner eleven years ago and never seen her again. Eames had broken both of Tamara's legs before he'd crushed her skull. The shattered bones waited for Scully back at the lab. Scully pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. "Yes, although we haven't made a conclusive ID as yet. Her parents were there when we raised the body. I don't think they had seen each other in three years before today." "How are you holding up?" Scully's eyes snapped open. "Fine. This is what I was trained to do." "Of course," Chris said, backpedaling. "I just meant that it seems like a rough case, all those dead children." "They've been dead a long time." There was a hard silence on his end. "I've shocked you," she said. "No, no," he replied, perhaps too quickly. "You cry for all the victims in your cases?" "Not all." He paused. "Some." Scully raised her knees to her chest and took a deep breath. "The part with the parents, it never gets easier, but that's not why I'm here. This wasn't my case. I didn't search for the girls, never hoped to find them alive, never had to meet their killer. I just give them a name." "Closure," he said. "Of a sort." She leaned back against the pillows again. "But I'm sure that's not what you called to talk to me about." "Actually, in a way, it is. The trial is getting closer, and I'll need to go over your testimony in person. Any chance you'll be back up this way soon?" "Oh." Scully looked at the rain against her window, as if the outside would provide some answers. She hadn't allowed herself to think about going back. "Uh, I won't be finished here for at least another three weeks. I could come up sooner if it were really necessary... as soon as this Friday?" Her heart sped up and she held her breath for his answer. "Friday would be great. We could meet in the afternoon and you'd be home in time for dinner. Hey, you'll never guess who I ran into today in the hallway: Mulder." "Oh?" Mulder was another thing she hadn't allowed herself to think about. "Adelman dropped all the charges against him in the assault on Watts. He's free and clear now." "That's... that's really good news." She gripped the receiver tighter. He would get his job back, the files; he would be expecting her return. "Yeah, it is. Everything's falling into place now, Dana. You'll see." She could hear him smile. "I'll see you Friday, then. Around two?" "Two is fine." She hung up and wandered back into the bright bathroom, where she stared at her disheveled appearance. Her life was mending itself in her absence, she thought. Soon she would have to see if it still fit. XxXxX Mulder unlocked the door to the X-Files office, and it opened with an extended creak. Stacks of files lay just where he had left them. Scully's map was spread out on her table as though she would be returning at any moment. Dust had piled up the way it always did in government buildings cooled by industrial fans. He crossed the room and pulled Scully's plant down from the top of the file cabinet. Limp, feathered branches hung over the sides, tinged brown at the ends. Mulder bit his lip and held it out at arm's length for study. "Sorry, buddy," he said at last, "everything dries out in the basement." He pitched it into the garbage for two points just as his phone rang. "Mulder," he said, reclaiming his chair. "Agent Mulder, this is Len Sturvis from the lab. I have those results you asked about this morning." Rentham's shirt. Right. Mulder sat up. "Yeah?" "Agent Mulder, I think you might want to come take a look for yourself. I've never seen anything like this." XxXxXxX End chapter eleven. XxXxXxXxXxXxX Chapter Twelve XxXxXxXxXxXxX Mulder stalked the basement halls of Sanctuary House with Sheriff Seaver on his heels. Their flashlight beams crossed as they walked. "Explain to me again what the heck we're doing back here?" the Sheriff asked. "We're looking for evidence." "Evidence of what?" "Alien activity," Mulder said as he entered the room that had contained Rentham's files. The Sheriff stopped in the door. "You expect to find a UFO parked out back, Agent Mulder? Or how's about ET hiding in the closet?" Mulder barely listened. The jokes he'd heard before. He opened one empty file cabinet after another, slamming them shut again when he saw there was nothing inside. The Sheriff leaned against the doorjamb. "Only aliens we got around these parts are the wetbacks. You want to chase them, be my guest, but Jared Rentham was as white as they come." Mulder pushed past him back into the hall. He went to the next room, the one that had been Rentham's personal quarters. There was a bed, a dresser, a desk, and not much else. Mulder rifled through the drawers as the Sheriff looked on. "I'm beginning to think you're crazier than he was." "He wasn't crazy," Mulder said without halting his search. "He was a hybrid." "A what?" "Half human, half alien." "Pshaw. That's bullshit. Jared Rentham was a pissant little faggot who thought he saw lights in the sky. Chet Appleby did the world a favor when he shot him in the head." Mulder did not answer. He started feeling his way across the wall, looking for loose bricks. Plaster crumbled under his nimble fingers. "I repeat," said the Sheriff, "I don't know what you're really expecting to find here. No one has seen hide nor hair of Rentham since his body went missing from the morgue." "Medical records," Mulder said, pushing on another loose brick. "If he was conducting tests on these people, there would be evidence of it somewhere." "What tests?" The brick came out, and Mulder stuck his hand through the dark opening. His fingers brushed against what felt like a short stack of folders. He dragged them out. "What the hell is that?" the Sheriff demanded, coming into the room at last. The top one was the file Mulder really wanted: Miriam Rentham, his dead wife. Underneath, there were records on all the women who had lived at Sanctuary House. "You sonofabitch," Mulder whispered. "These people weren't your rapturous followers. They were your lab rats." XxXxX They used a stark conference room instead of Clark's homey office. He sat at the head of the long table, legal pad in front of him, while Scully sat to his right in a swiveling chair. The blinds were mostly drawn over the large windows to prevent the late afternoon sun from blinding her, but Scully felt the glare all the same. Clark was prepping her for questions that Nora Bellamy might ask. "And that's when you called 911 from your cellular phone, is that right?" "Yes," she said, fighting the urge to rub her head. They had been at this for three hours. "What happened next?" She took a breath. "Two officers arrived about five minutes after I made the call. One stayed with me while the other entered the wooded area in pursuit of my attacker." "Whom he never found, is that correct?" "No one was arrested that night, no." "You participated in a police lineup some days afterward, did you not? A group that included my client?" "Yes." "And did you identify him as your assailant?" "No." "Why is that?" Scully paused. "I never saw his face. The night I was attacked, I mean. He wore a mask." "Your assailant wore a mask the whole time?" "Yes." "Ms. Scully, why didn't you tell the 911 operator you'd been raped?" Her mouth went dry and she clutched the arms of her chair. "What?" "When you called you made no assertion that you'd been raped. Why is that?" "He held a knife to my throat, pinned me down and raped me. All three are covered under the definition of 'assault.'" Her words became more clipped as she continued. "I didn't mention the knife either, but that doesn't mean it didn't happen." "Hey, easy." He leaned toward her. "I'm still on your side here." "I know." She forced the word out: "Sorry." "Yeah," he acknowledged softly. He drummed his pen on the pad. "It's getting late, and we've been shut in here for ages. Why don't we stop for now?" Her heart sank at the words "for now." "You mean there's more?" "Fraid so. Bellamy's tough. We need to be ready for her." He started gathering his papers. "But we're done for the day. You're doing great so far, Dana." "Yeah," she said, lifting her fingers from the chair and letting them fall again. "Great." "No, I mean it. I wish all my witnesses were as collected and articulate as you." "I've testified before," she replied. He looked at her. "Not like this." "No." She looked at her lap. "I suppose not." He reached over and squeezed her hand. "You're going to do just fine." Scully relaxed back in her seat, exhaling away some of the tension of the past few hours. "I will just be relieved when it's over." "On that point, we agree." He smiled and they both rose. "Are you headed out now? Do you time for a drink or maybe a bite to eat? Somehow I missed lunch today." "I--" Mulder's apartment was only a few miles away. She could feel it radiating out to her like a homing signal. She imagined him drawing her in with a smile, imagined sitting with him on his low flat sofa as they talked about plants that lived to be a thousand years old and whether leprechauns brought good luck or bad. "I'd love to," she said to Chris. "But I have somewhere I have to be." XxX Scully knocked and bit her lip while she waited. No footfalls came from the other side. She rapped again and then used her key to enter. His apartment was warm and stale, no windows open and the A/C had been off for quite some time. The fish tank burbled in one corner but otherwise the room stood still. Scully walked in slowly, stopping to touch his wall, his coat rack, his smooth dining room table. The Washington Post spread out in front of the couch was dated three days ago. His leather couch heaved a sigh as she sat down. She stroked the scratchy Indian blanket and wondered where he'd gone. There had been no excited late night phone call this time, no slideshow of desiccated corpses or lights in the sky. She did not know whether to be dejected or relieved. Her stomach rumbled. Scully leaned way back against the couch and stared at the cracks in Mulder's ceiling. If she were lucky, he would have a Hot Pocket frozen to the floor of his freezer. She dug out her phone. "Hi, Chris?" she said a moment later. "It's Dana Scully. Are you still interested in that drink?" XxX They took thick gourmet sandwiches and a bottle of cheap wine to his greenhouse, where they ate sitting on over-turned crates with their bounty spread out on a towel in front of them. "You're sure this is okay?" he asked as he poured more wine into plastic cups. "We could always go somewhere more respectable." "This is fine." She looked around at the shoots and stalks, the hanging flowered vines, and the baby green leaves now at eye-level. "Are these the same ones we planted last time?" she asked with surprise. "Yeah, can you believe it? They change a lot in a few short weeks." He smiled and reached out to touch his glass to hers. "To growth." "To growth," she agreed. After a sip or two of wine, she asked, "So is this a working visit, or are we just here to admire the scenery?" "Depends." He gave her a lecherous grin. "On?" "If you feel like getting dirty." Scully felt her face warm. "Just what did you have in mind?" "Those gladioli by the door need to be repotted. Really, they needed it two weeks ago, but I haven't had much of a chance to get down here lately." He kept his words light, but Scully noticed for the first time the tired lines around his eyes. The weight of the case wore so heavily on her, she sometimes forgot it was not hers alone. "We shouldn't keep them waiting, then," she said, taking a final swig of wine. Dusting the crumbs off her pants, she began rolling up her sleeves. "You'd better lead. They'll scream if they see it's just me coming at them." Chris laughed and stood also. "Plant horror movies? 'It Came From the FBI!'" "Yes, well, Mulder and I nearly got eaten by a plant last year. These days I look at even my mother's geraniums with new suspicion." He handed her terracotta pot. "You're joking." "About the geraniums? Yes. About the other? Sadly not. Here's a tip: if you ever visit North Carolina, don't order anything with mushrooms." He laughed and asked her more about it, and over dirt and flowers she told him about some of their colorful cases. Chris put big band music on the radio, Sinatra belting out the occasional tune as they talked and worked. Scully's tension drained away with each clump of dirt she packed into the pots. She left her fingerprints in the dirt and fluffed up the leaves. Chris shared some of his trial stories and told her more about growing up with a southern lawyer father. "Instead of grace, he used to give opening arguments at dinner: why the turkey should be spared." Scully smiled at the right places and focused on the plants. She let his chatter fill her up like tiny bubbles. "All of Me" came on the radio, and Chris brushed the soil off his hands. "I love this song," he said. "We must dance." "I'm covered in dirt." "So am I," he said, taking her hands. "Who cares?" Rigid and self-conscious, Scully let him twirl her around in the narrow aisle. He hummed along with the song and pulled her to him again. His hand was warm at her waist. Scully gamely followed as he led them past a hibiscus plant. He kept smiling and humming and pretty soon she had no choice but to smile too. "I don't know that anyone has told you this," she said, "but you are a just little bit crazy." He grinned and dipped her. "Ever seen the movie?" he asked. "All of Me?" "No." "Oh, you should. It's quite funny. Steve Martin and Lily Tomlin trapped in one body." The song changed then, to an instrumental version of "Strangers in the Night." Chris slowed. "I feel that way sometimes. Like two people trapped in one body." "How do you mean?" He gave a half shrug. "I love what I do. I wouldn't trade it for the world. But in some ways, this is never how I pictured my life would turn out -- forty years old and still living alone in an apartment. By the time he was my age, my dad had a wife, two kids and a mortgage. Me? I have a cat and an excellent deal on renter's insurance." "You have a cat?" "Rusty. He probably weighs as much as you do. I have to work sixty hours a week just to keep him in Kibble." She smiled. "I hope he's properly appreciative." "No, he still feels entitled to play hockey off my bedroom door with his toys every morning. Despite intensive training, he has yet to grasp the concept of 'Saturday.'" "Probably a lost cause by this point," she agreed, and he squeezed her hand. He was staring down at her, and she felt her ears warm. "What?" she asked. He said nothing for a moment, still swaying them gently back and forth, and then he shook his head. "You know, it's probably not my place to say this, but Mulder is a fool." Her chest tightened. "Excuse me?" "Not to want to see you tonight." When she said nothing, he continued, "I mean, I assume that's the reason for my good fortune here, right?" "Mulder's away." "Oh, on a case?" She had no answer. Scully stopped dancing, and Chris sighed. "I'm sorry. Forget I said anything," he said. She tucked her hair behind her ear. "No, it's okay," she replied, when it obviously wasn't. Chris leaned against the closest table. "When I was in college, my girlfriend was raped." She looked at him, and he nodded. "Yeah. Sherry. It was finals week, and she wanted to go to this party, but I had a history exam in the morning. I said go without me. This guy we both sort of knew, Rob, he brought her drinks and hit on her. Sherry said no. When she went outside for a smoke, he followed her out there and raped her." "What happened?" "Sherry told me and I went and beat the shit out of him." He shrugged. "She never reported it. I begged her to, but she said no. We broke up after that. Sherry, well... she had a hard time, and I'm ashamed to say I didn't handle the whole thing very well. I dumped her right before Spring Break." Scully wrapped her arms around herself. "So this is what? Penance?" "No." He stood. "No, never that." "Then what?" "I just wanted to say I have some idea what it's like, and if Mulder is being a dick right now, it's certainly not your fault." She shook her head. "You don't understand." He hesitated and then held up his hands. "No, you're right. You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have butted my nose in where it doesn't belong. Forgive me?" She nodded, mute. They stood there awkwardly for another minute, and then she drew a deep breath. "I think you should take me home." "Yeah," he said quietly. She hung back, stroking one velvety leaf while he gathered up their picnic in silence. Neither of them said much in the car on the way home. "Well," he said when they reached her apartment. "Here we are." Scully looked at her hands in her lap. "It's not Mulder who's the problem," she said. "It's me." "What do you mean?" She shook her head, not looking at him, tears in her eyes. "You can't blame him. No one can blame him." "Dana..." He rubbed her arm gently. "No one is assigning blame." She looked at him, lips pursed to still their trembling. "He's a good person. Through everything, that is one thing I am still so sure of." "I believe you." He smiled sadly. "And I'm sorry if I upset you. It's the last thing I ever wanted to do." "No. I know." She sniffed, settling back. She took a breath and forced herself to give him a smile. "You're a good person too." He touched her cheek. "So are you. Don't forget that, okay?" "You don't even know me," she said ruefully. "I know enough." She searched his face. "Chris," she said. "You keep asking me to dinner. You keep taking me out. Why?" He shrugged. "You keep saying yes." XxXxXxXxX Mulder walked the lonely streets of New Orleans. On a Tuesday night, away from raucous Bourbon Street, the city was heavy, silent, and dark under a clouded sky. The pavement was wet but there was no rain, just impossibly humid air. He could smell the Mississippi. A film of sweat formed on the back of his neck as he walked out of the main city, past the cemeteries to where Miriam Rentham had died. Lit herself on fire, the police report had stated, but now Mulder had a better idea of what had happened that December night over four years ago. Memories of the Ruskin Dam flooded back, charred flesh and stark terror as he'd run through the bodies. There had been over a hundred people there. Why, he wanted to know, had Miriam died alone? The occasional passerby eyed him with suspicion. Mulder didn't know whether that was due to his out-of-town dress or the gun that bulged at his back. Each one stared at him a moment and then retreated into the shadows before Mulder could say a word. He felt them out there, though, still watching. It was a crawling feeling that rippled his skin and made him quicken his step. Mulder stopped at a street corner and squinted down the road in either direction. Scully teased him sometimes about his navigational intuition, but the truth was he never knew how he felt until first she offered her opinion. Without her, he was lost. He took a few tentative steps up one way, plunged in darkness. Something rustled in the alley. Mulder reversed direction swiftly and began walking up the road the other way. He passed doorstep after doorstep, until a hand shot out and pressed a knife to his ribs. "Wandered a bit far from home, have you," said a low voice behind his ear. "My wallet is in my back pocket," Mulder said, and the voice laughed. "You think I want your money, Agent Mulder? You think a few bills could help me out?" The creeping feeling intensified. "Rentham," Mulder said, identifying his assailant at last. The knife pressed in. "You don't sound surprised." "I've known your kind before." "You know nothing of my kind." "I know you're a collaborator, a willing slave to an alien race." The flat of the knife slid along his ribs. "You know nothing," Rentham repeated softly. "Even after all these years." Mulder jerked, and Rentham laughed. "That's right. I know you. I know you and your partner." "What do you know about Scully?" "I know..." He paused. "I know she's not here to save you." "You leave her alone." "Oh, spare me the grand gestures, Agent Mulder. I have no interest in your partner. You either, for that matter, but the problem is you won't seem to return the favor." "You hunted those women, you lied to them and took them in just to further your own monstrous agenda. If you know me as well as you claim, I think you'll understand my continued interest." "Fox Mulder, always looking in the wrong places for answers," Rentham said with disgust. "You can't split the lark to get the music." "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" A car roared past, headlights illuminating their dark stage. Rentham shoved him forward to the next opening between the buildings. "The gun," he said, breathing hard. "Give it now." Mulder handed back his weapon. The knife eased away. Slowly, Mulder turned and faced his opponent. He was bald and white as remembered, but there was a puckered scar over his left eye. Below the scar, the pale eye no longer saw. It sat fat and blank in the socket as its mate sized up Mulder from head to toe. "You're more trouble than you looked," he said. "You're less dead than you looked." Half of Rentham's mouth lifted in a wry twist. "Ah, were it but true." "Those women at Sanctuary House," Mulder said, "what were you doing to them?" "Exactly what I said: rescuing them from a terrible fate." "Which fate? Yours?" Rentham looked at the ground and shook his head. "Everything you think you know is wrong." "So enlighten me." "We're more alike than you believe." "I am nothing like you." "You hope so, don't you?" Rentham smiled. "I never misrepresented myself to those women. I was only trying to help them." "They're all missing now. Tina Appleby is dead. What do you have to say about that?" "Not my doing." Mulder snorted. "Convenient." "The truth often is." "What do you know about the truth?" His million dollar question. Rentham did not say anything for a stretch. "I loved my work," he began at last. "As you do. I fought as you do. I believed as you do." "Your DNA says otherwise." Rentham continued as if Mulder had not spoken. "I served my time. Miriam hers. But they wouldn't let us go. Let's just say I gambled everything and lost. Make no mistake, Agent Mulder, you're following a dead man. And if you don't back off, you'll end up just as dead." If Rentham meant to kill him, Mulder figured he would have been dead already. "Who?" "You know them. They killed Miriam. They probably killed all the other women too. My filxes are gone, all of them. My whole life..." "Who?" Mulder said more harshly. After seven fucking years, he wanted a name. "You know them," Rentham said again. "They're the ones who took Scully." Mulder rushed him, knocking the gun to the ground and pinning Rentham up against the building. Rentham sputtered and coughed. "What do you know about Scully?" Mulder demanded. Blood roared in his ears. "Answer me, you sonofabitch!" "Let me... let me go." He coughed again and blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. Mulder just crushed him tighter. "I... I can't help you. No one can." "She knew you," Mulder accused. "You were there." "Doesn't matter." He shook his head weakly. "All the data, lost..." Mulder relented a little. He stared at Rentham as the other man's head lolled back against the brick. "Not all," he said. Rentham's good eye glittered as he waited. "I found the ones hidden in your room," Mulder said finally. Rentham seized up with a sudden, fierce energy, startling Mulder and upsetting his balance. "You have my files? You have them here?" "Not on me," Mulder said, stating the obvious. "They're mine. I want them back." Rentham did a slow advance. "You don't have the knowledge required to interpret them anyway." "But you could give it to me." Rentham hesitated. "What are you proposing?" "I'll give you the originals back," Mulder said. "You'll tell me what they mean." His heart pounded. "And you'll tell me what they did to Scully." Rentham shook his head. "You don't want to know." "You'll tell me," Mulder said. "Or there is no deal." He had come full circle, bargain for Scully again. "What if I told you she would hate you for it?" Rentham said. "What then?" Mulder said nothing. Eventually Rentham sighed. "Meet me at Miriam's grave in two hours. You know where it is?" Mulder nodded. He'd been before. "Good. Bring the files, all of them." Rentham looked Mulder over one last time. "I'll tell you whatever you want to know." XxXxX Mulder sat on a crypt with the files in his lap. His eyes had long ago adjusted to the dark, but still he could make out only vague shapes. The moon hid behind thick, rolling clouds. Trees wafted around him, night creatures singing their song, and Mulder clutched his bounty closer. He chewed his nail. "What if she would hate you for it?" Rentham had asked. I'd never tell her, Mulder thought. But it didn't ease his mind. After what seemed like ages, Mulder heard someone coming through the cemetery. A flashlight came on about twenty yards away, and Mulder stood. The light shone in his eyes but did not advance farther. "I brought the files," Mulder said, and something hit him from behind. All went dark. XxXxX End chapter twelve. XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX Chapter Thirteen XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX Mulder opened his eyes to a boxed particleboard ceiling and a dull throbbing at the back of his head. His shoulder ached, and his left knee felt like someone had taken a lead pipe to it. He derived some comfort from the fact that, at least this time, there were no tubes coming out of him or machines turning his vital signs into electronic song. He gave his fingers and toes an experimental wiggle, and then turned his head to look for the bathroom. The sight of Scully stopped him cold. She sat in a chair a few feet away, dressed in tennis shoes and civilian clothes. There was a magazine in her lap and she didn't look like she had slept recently. She gave him an uncertain smile but did not say anything, so he did not say anything either. A month without talking to her, it was as long as they'd gone without speaking since her abduction, but he found he wasn't quite ready to break the silence. The days without her had been long but predictable; the minute she spoke, his world would go topsy-turvy again. "I'll admit," she said as she closed the magazine, "I've wondered on occasion who would win the contest between you and a brick wall, Mulder, but I never expected you to go out and perform the experiment." "Bricks?" he said. "They dug chunks of one out of your skull. You don't remember?" He shook his head and regretted it. "I know there was a CAT scan." "Which was clear, thankfully." Her brow wrinkled. "How are you feeling?" He closed his eyes and sunk further into the pillow. "Let's just say, for the record, that the wall won." "Mulder... what happened?" Rentham's words echoed inside his pain-filled skull: *what if she hates you for it?* "Brick meets head. Brick dents head in several places. It was a brief yet torrid affair, Scully. I think you've got the whole tragic story." "Mulder, they brought you in half-conscious from a cemetery. The police have been waiting to talk to you." "The police." He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Tell them I don't remember anything." "Is that the truth?" When he did not answer, she leaned forward. "Mulder?" He looked at her. "Rentham's alive." Scully seemed less surprised than he would have predicted. Her eyes narrowed. "You're saying Jared Rentham did this to you?" "Brick from behind, Scully. I don't know who did this to me." She was silent for a minute, picking at the corner of her magazine. "How did you find him?" "I didn't. He found me." Scully swallowed visibly. "What did he want?" "He wanted his files back." The originals had vanished with Mulder's attacker, of course, but Mulder had made copies ahead of time. He had learned a thing or two in seven years. "What files?" Scully asked. He could answer, he thought, could continue their volley as though they were back in the office discussing other people's lives instead of in a hospital room avoiding their own. Providence alone had stopped him from making the deal. He wasn't sure that was enough. "Why did you come here, Scully?" "What do you mean? They called and told me you were hurt." "Well, you can see now that I'm fine. It's just mild concussion and they'll let me out soon. There was no need for you to leave Atlanta and come all the way here." She stared at him. "Why, Mulder? Were you afraid what I'd find?" For a split second, he feared she knew everything. "No," he said at last, his voice hollow. "There's nothing here any more." XxX They released him with a prescription for painkillers and a warning to take it easy. Scully drove him in silence back to his motel, a run-down walk up with no parking lot and a drunk asleep on the sidewalk by the front door. Paint peeled from the walls in the narrow, humid stairway. The effort of climbing made Mulder's pulse pound, throbbing inside his skull. He trudged up the stairs to his room with Scully trailing after him. At the door, he dug out his key and turned it in the lock. It caught for a second before the tumblers slid into place, and when Mulder opened the door he found out why. His room had been tossed from top to bottom. Mulder stood and stared. He felt Scully behind him, waiting. "Mulder?" He bit back a curse and flung his keys on the bed. "They got the files," he said as he stepped into the room. Scully paused at the threshold to survey the mess. "Who did this, Mulder?" He lowered himself to the mattress and flung one arm over his eyes. "Does it matter?" He heard the door close and the sounds of Scully righting a chair. "Mulder, I'm worried about you. I'm worried what you've gotten yourself into here." "It's just another routine day on the X-Files," he replied from under his arm. "Things that go bump on the head and files that disappear in the night." "We could get a fingerprint team in here, maybe they--" He waved her off. "Well, then what? You didn't even mention Rentham to the police." He raised his arm and gave her a pointed look. She sighed. "Send them after a dead man? It would just be a waste of time," he said. "Either Rentham clocked me himself or the men after him finally caught up. I doubt whoever it was stuck around after the fact for another round of cat and mouse." "So what are you going to do?" She sat in the chair, surrounded by strewn pieces of his clothing. "Get some sleep. Get a plane. Go home." "I'll go with you." "That's not necessary." She frowned. "Mulder, I won't leave you one thousand miles from home with a head injury." So that's all it takes, he thought wearily. A head injury and a few hundred miles. "You're off the hook this time, okay, Scully? I made the mess and I'll clean it up." Scully said nothing for a moment. "Why do I get the feeling that I've been cut from the team?" she said finally. Mulder just shrugged. "If you want to punish me, fine. But don't do it at the expense of your health." "I'm not punishing you, Scully." God, he was tired. Too tired to fight. "Really," he added when she looked dubious. She crossed her arms. "I'm just giving you what you wanted." Hurt flashed across her features. "That's not fair." "My return ticket says Washington, Scully. What does yours say?" "I--I don't have a return ticket." He looked at her, expectant, and her chin stuck out. "Mulder, you know I have to finish out my term in Atlanta." He smiled sadly. "And that's what I'm trying to tell you, Scully. I won't stand in your way." XxXxX In her dream, he was on top of her, his breath on her face and his long legs mingling with hers. She wound around him, hot, needy, and urged him inside. His harsh pants rasped near her ear as he thrust again and again. The headboard pressed against the top of her head. The sheets grew damp with their efforts. She gripped his strong arms. His teeth bared. She could feel it building, coming. Mulder Mulder Mulder. Scully jerked herself awake, sweaty and disoriented in her hotel bed. Her heart was pounding, and her body throbbed in rhythm. She curled herself tight around the pillow to try to stop the ache. Phantom Mulder teased her senses, so close she could almost smell him. Scully shuddered and hid in her blankets. Guilt. Shame. Need. They twisted inside her like the sheets around her legs. She hugged the pillow closer, trying to squeeze everything away. Tears burned her eyes. Mulder, she thought. XxX It was late September before she came home again for good, just two days before the trial was set to begin. Her apartment smelled foreign, stagnant air settling heavily over possessions she had not touched in weeks. Scully set her suitcase down in the living room and took her stack of mail to the kitchen table. The sight of her plants gave her pause. All three of her pitiful pots sat in her kitchen sink, soaking their feet in an inch of water. Scully walked over and rubbed a leaf between her fingers, smiling down at them. In her hurry to leave, she'd forgotten all about her plants, but Mulder obviously had not. "He's better for you than I am," she told them. She poured herself a glass of water and sat down to contemplate her mail. Bills, bills, and more bills. Even when she wasn't living it, her life was expensive. She fished a letter from her travel agency out of the mess and slit the end. "Dear Ms. Scully: This is to remind you of your scheduled itinerary from October 13-14 of 2001." Scully let the paper fall aside as she slumped in her chair. Mulder's birthday present, she remembered. She had made the reservations months ago on a whim, after the first time they had slept together. It seemed like another lifetime. These days, she would be lucky if he agreed to go across the street with her, let alone across the country. She bit her lip and peeked at the letter again. There was a cancellation number posted at the bottom. Scully took the letter to the kitchen counter, where her phone sat. She picked up the receiver and leaned her hip against the counter as she dialed. Just as it rang through, she noticed the plants again. "Sullivan Travel, this is Linda speaking. How may I help you?" "Sorry," Scully said. "Wrong number." She hit the "off" button and pressed the phone to her middle. A few minutes later she dialed another number instead. XxXxXxX Scully sat in the easy chair and tried to make up her mind what to do with her hands. She put them first on her knee, then at her sides, before folding them tightly in her lap. No reason to be nervous, she thought. It's just your whole life on the line. Across the oriental rug, Dr. Wheeler gave her a relaxed smile. "It's good to see you again, Dana. How are you doing?" Scully had been programmed since birth that there was only one acceptable answer to this question: "I'm fine." "I see in the papers that the trial is set to start tomorrow." "Yes, but I won't be testifying for at least two days." "How do you feel about that? About testifying." Scully took a deep breath. "To be truthful, I haven't thought about it much. I don't expect it will be an enjoyable experience, but I am looking forward to having it over with. Watts will be there. I've thought about that aspect. I haven't been in the same room with him since... since it happened." "What have you thought about when you thought of seeing him?" Scully shook her head, unable to verbalize the constricting feeling inside her. Dr. Wheeler looked thoughtful. "Afraid?" she asked. "Nervous?" "Not afraid, no. I know he can't hurt me physically. He can't even talk to me." Dr. Wheeler shifted in her seat. "You say he can't hurt you 'physically.' Is there another way he can hurt you?" "I don't know what you mean." "Let's put it this way: you're coming into the courtroom, you're ready to take the stand, and you see Watts sitting at the defense table. What do you think at that moment?" Scully tried to visualize the encounter. "I think... I can't believe it's him. I can't believe that..." "That what?" Scully swallowed. "That he raped me." She opened her eyes but kept her gaze trained on her lap. "I guess part of me still can't believe it's real." "And the trial, that would make it real for you?" "I don't know. Maybe. I don't know why that should be. I've said the words out loud in front of doctors, in front of cops and lawyers. There's not really anyone left to tell." "No?" "Well, there's Mulder." She had never told him the details, and he had never asked. She wondered if he would come to the trial. "Mulder... he is your partner at the FBI?" Scully nodded and picked imaginary lint off her pants. "We've been seeing each other outside of work," she said. "I see. Since before the rape?" "Yes." Scully paused. "I don't know what's going to happen now, though. We haven't talked much lately." "Why is that?" Scully shrugged. "It just got so hard," she said in a small voice. "What got hard?" Not Mulder's dick, Scully thought suddenly. Her heart squeezed inside her chest. "I don't understand," she said, "why, if rape is about power and not sex, it should interfere with your sex life." Evelyn's forehead wrinkled. "My word, whoever told you that?" It was Scully's turn to be confused. "All the books say the same thing... rape is a crime about power, not sex. It's about forcing your will on someone and controlling them." "Well, yes. All that is true. But it's also about sex." Scully was almost relieved. If this were true, there was a possibility she was normal. "You're the first person to say that," she told Evelyn. "I think these days it's a somewhat radical viewpoint." "I've always been a radical." Evelyn smiled. "But in this, I speak only the truth." Scully hesitated, afraid to believe. Evelyn leaned forward. "Look, Dana," she said bluntly, "the man didn't hold you up and make you do his laundry, did he? He didn't make you wash his car or mow his lawn. He raped you." The words fell like bricks on her chest. "He--he raped me," she repeated, feeling lightheaded. "The books, the movies, the after-school programs and the academics -- they can't tell you why this happened to you. They can't tell you what will make it better." Her throat ached. "Who can?" "That's the hard part," Evelyn said with regret. "The part you have to figure out alone." XxXxX The day of the trial, Scully dressed with extra care, as though a pressed suit and perfect makeup would ward off Nora Bellamy. She very deliberately did not turn on the morning news. Passing on breakfast, Scully forced a half-cup of coffee into her balled up stomach before driving to the courthouse. Thankfully, the real action was inside and so no reporters mobbed her on the front steps. A court official showed her to a private lobby where she could wait until it was time to testify. There were benches on all four walls, sparsely populated. One man with slicked-back hair and wingtip shoes paced the floor. In the corner, under a window, someone waved at Scully. She squinted and recognized the woman she had met at Chris's office, Glory. Scully answered with a weak wave, but the woman kept beckoning. Head down, Scully propelled herself in Glory's direction. "Dana, hi! I wondered if I'd see you here today." She moved her huge purse so Scully could sit. "Are you nervous? You must have been here a hundred times, huh. The only other time I've been to court was when I was seventeen and trying to get out of a speeding ticket. Which one of us do you think they'll call first?" "Uh, I'm not sure," Scully said. "No offense, but I hope it's me. I've got butterflies dancing with clogs in my stomach." Scully hid a smile. "I think the anticipation is the worst part." "Maybe," Glory said, not sounding convinced. "That Bellamy lady scares the crap out of me. I saw her in the ladies' room earlier, and I swear she was putting on her makeup with a blow torch." Scully coughed as Glory rummaged through her purse. "Gum?" Glory said a minute later, offering a stick. "No, thank you." Glory chewed in silence for a minute. "You got family here today?" Scully shook her head. She had asked her mother please not to come. Mulder... she tried not to get her hopes up one way or the other. "My mom took off work," Glory said. "Like I was in the school play or something. It's a good thing they frisk you at the door for weapons, though, because otherwise she might have been packing." The court official reappeared and called Scully's name. Glory hugged her purse on her lap. "Looks like you won the coin toss," she said. "Good luck." "Thanks." Scully considered a moment. "Good luck to you, too." She smoothed her skirt down and followed the woman to the courtroom. It wasn't as large as she had imagined it would be for a trial of this magnitude. All was quiet as Scully entered the room. Greg Watts kept his eyes on the table in front of him. Chris gave her a quick smile as she took the stand. Her mouth was dry but she didn't want to reach for the water and make it obvious she was nervous. She looked but she did not see Mulder among the spectators. Chris wished her good morning. He then led her matter-of- factly through the events in Ming's parking lot, neither oozing sympathy nor playing up the horror. It was easier than she had expected to say the words. After an hour or so, he had no more questions. Scully tensed in her seat as he turned the floor over to Nora Bellamy. Bellamy had had her hair done for the occasion, Scully noticed as the woman rose and crossed the floor. She smiled at Scully but her eyes focused in like a cat's on its pretty. "Agent Scully, how are you doing? Would you like some water?" "No, thank you. I'm fine." "How long have you worked at the FBI?" "Twelve years," Scully replied. "Almost thirteen." "What sort of training do you have to complete to be an FBI field agent?" "There are many courses, covering everything from federal law to ballistics." "Any defense training?" "Yes, some." "How did you perform in these defense classes?" "Well enough to pass." Bellamy smiled again. "In the course of your work, have you ever had to disarm a criminal who was larger than you are?" "Yes." "Ever use your self defense knowledge to immobilize one of these attackers?" "Objection," Chris said. "Agent Scully's work history is not material to this case. She wasn't working the night of June eleventh." "Sustained," the judge agreed. Bellamy did not miss a beat. "You never saw the face of the man who attacked you, is that correct?" "Not very well, no. He wore a stocking mask." "In fact, my client participated in a police lineup after your attack and you failed to identify him. Isn't that right?" "Yes." "There was no hair, no fibers, and no semen recovered at the hospital. What do you make of that?" "I don't make anything of it. Sometimes they just get lucky." "Interesting choice of words," Bellamy observed. "Lucky. Let's talk about your luck for a second, shall we? This summer wasn't your first trip to the hospital this year, was it?" "No." "In fact, you've been to the emergency room seven times in the last two years alone. Isn't that true?" "That sounds about right." "Many of these visits have been the result of alleged violent attacks on you by another individual." "Objection," Chris said again. "Agent Scully's medical records are not at issue here." "Goes to credibility, Your Honor," Bellamy countered. "I'll confine my questions to the legal aspects of Agent Scully's many victimizations." "Objection!" Chris said. "Over-ruled," the Judge answered. "But you've got a short leash here, Counselor. Step wisely." Bellamy nodded and turned back to Scully. "Last year," she said, "you were involved in an incident just a few blocks away from Ming's restaurant, were you not? A death in your partner's apartment building?" "Yes." "You were attacked, isn't that right?" Scully kept her voice level despite the fact that she could see where the conversation was heading. "Yes, that's right." "By whom?" "That has never been determined." "Oh, the individual got away?" Scully did her best not to squirm. "He was never apprehended, no." "Huh," Bellamy said, as if stymied. Then she regrouped. "Isn't it true that the local police recorded that you had no injuries from this alleged attack despite being covered in blood?" "Yes, that's true." "Care to explain how that happened?" "I can't explain." Bellamy crossed for her notes. "I have the statements you and your partner gave to Detective Savioshy immediately afterward. You both mention some sort of phantom...?" The jury looked puzzled as Bellamy's question hung in the air. Scully shifted. "It was one theory." "A theory you believed in?" All the heads turned back to look at Scully. "As I said, that investigation was never completed. My assailant was never identified." "I see. What about the time you ended up half-burned to death on a dam in Pennsylvania? Was it an imaginary attacker who did that one, too?" "I--I don't remember much about that incident." "I heard it was some sort of mass suicide by a UFO cult," Bellamy said. "Is that true?" "No," Scully said definitively. "It was not a cult." "But the UFOs...?" "I told you," Scully said, struggling to remain calm. "I don't remember." "But you remember it's not a cult." Bellamy continued on that way for some time, hammering away at every public -- and some private -- aspect of Scully's life, making her seem like a chronic victim who was a few fries short of a Happy Meal. Scully figured by the time she was finished the jury would vote that was Watts innocent and was Scully guilty by reason of insanity. When at last Bellamy exhausted her questions, Chris got to his feet for the redirect. "Agent Scully, on the night of June eleventh, was it an invisible man who attacked you?" "No, it wasn't." "Was it an alien?" "No." "I show you again People's exhibits F and G, which were among the property recovered from Gregory Watts' home. Is this your wallet?" "Yes." "Are these your underwear?" Scully didn't waver. The jury was silent and still. "Yes," she said. "I have no more questions, Your Honor." XxXxX They broke for lunch with the conclusion of her testimony. Chris looked a little shaken but he put on a smile as she approached. "You came through that just great," he said. "Nora was left with nothing but smoke and mirrors. Her client is guilty as sin, and she knows it." His smile faltered. "That's some kind of work you do there at the FBI." "I told you my job was unusual." "Yeah, but I had this vision of you inspecting places like Roswell for fallen UFOs. This sounds, uh, rather darker." She shrugged. "Pays the rent," she said lightly. As they walked to the door, she cast one last glance around for Mulder. Despite everything, she had harbored hope that he would be there. But he wasn't, and the men and women looking back at her viewed her with vague distaste, as if her craziness might be catching. She was glad to escape to the freer hallway. "Heading out?" Chris asked. "I'll walk you." She noted he did not ask her to lunch. They walked out into the afternoon sunshine, where he guided her skillfully past the hungry reporters. "No comment, no comment, no comment." When they reached the cluster of trees by the edge of the property, they stopped. Breathless, Scully pushed back her hair. "Really," Chris said, "You did a fine job. Thank you." Scully was not listening. She had noticed a familiar figure across the street, loping toward them from the distance. He noticed her watching and stopped to wave. Scully smiled broadly. "Dana?" Chris touched her arm. "I've got to run. Will you be all right?" "Yes," Scully said, still focused across the street. "I believe I will." "Great. I'll catch up with you later, then." He disappeared, and Scully waited for the traffic to clear before crossing the street to Mulder. She kept going until she stood just inches in front of him. They smiled stupidly at one another. "Here," he said, handing her a giant purple daisy. "I heard you're into flora these days." She twirled the stem like it was a pinwheel. "You came," she said. "I promised I'd be here." He cast a furtive look up the street. "If Bellamy spots me, though, it's back to the chain gang for me. You want to go somewhere? Get something to eat?" She linked her arm through his. "No," she said. "Let's just go home." XxXxX End Chapter Thirteen. XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX Chapter Fourteen XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX They sat on Mulder's couch talking as the hour grew late and the sunshine dissolved in a sepia melt across the walls. Scully tucked her legs under her skirt, nyloned toes sticking out as Mulder lounged against the other end of the sofa. The Indian summer breeze wafted in through the open windows. Mulder served iced tea in tall glasses. He told her a little bit more about his adventure in New Orleans: "Rentham said the men in charge didn't want to let him go. I think... I think they may have murdered his wife." "Did he explain what his role was in the testing?" She waited, tense, remembering the tingle of Rentham's hand on hers. Mulder hesitated just a beat. "No. He didn't have a chance." Later, she told him about seven little girls whom she had reassembled like jigsaw puzzles: "Eames said he gave up the bodies so he will have a clean conscience. Mulder, I don't know how you could ever relieve the weight of all those bones." "At least now their families can have peace," he said. "That's something." "I guess," she said, trying to believe it. "I saw some of the families at the burial sites, Mulder. They looked anything but peaceful." "Peace will come later," he replied, and she wondered if he still saw Samantha every time he looked up at the stars. At dusk, Mulder fetched another round of tea from the kitchen and returned with a silver bowl full of pretzels. He set the bowl between them and propped his feet on the coffee table. "So," he said. "How did it go today?" "Okay." "Yeah?" "Well, the X-files have always made for good courtroom drama." He winced. "I was worried about that." "Don't," she said easily. "It wasn't that bad. Bellamy can mock me all she likes, but in the end, the evidence will speak for itself." She paused. "That's thanks to you." Mulder looked embarrassed as he studied the ice cubes in his glass. "I'm just sorry I couldn't have been there." The words needled at her, making her flush, and she searched herself to figure out why they bothered her so much. Mulder was just being kind. "I'm sorry about that," he mumbled again, and she had her answer: since the rape, Mulder had been apologizing to her almost every time he opened his mouth. "Mulder..." She shifted so her position mirrored his, shoulder-to-shoulder with their feet on the table. "You know what happened to me wasn't your fault, right?" "I know that," he said too quickly. "Because I would hate for you to think that." "I don't." She watched him sideways while he swallowed several gulps of tea. It occurred to her that, in four months, she had never once asked him how he felt about what had happened. The thought that she could ask him now, and worse, that he might answer her, made her pulse spike. Her arms and legs became rubbery. "Mulder, what do you think?" He froze with the glass at his lips. "Huh?" "About what happened." She steeled herself. "About the rape." "I think it's horrible, Scully. You know I would give anything to change what happened to you." "Yes, but I mean aside from that." Mulder looked at her as though she were laying a trap. "I don't know what you mean," he said carefully. Her heart slammed like one of those caged nightclub girls dancing her ribs. "You can tell me the truth," she said. "Really. I know the images you must have. I know it must be-" She faltered. "Off-putting. I can understand that, I can." "What? God, Scully. No." He set down his tea and faced her. "Mulder, please. You don't have to protect my feelings on this. I know we're supposed to be enlightened and modern about the whole ordeal, but truly, it's *not* just like being mugged or carjacked or whatever else, and I would prefer we just acknowledge that out loud." "Scully, you've got it all wrong." "Texas," she said, and shut him up fast. They stared at each other a moment, and then Scully took a deep breath. "I don't blame you, Mulder. If you feel weird, I think that's normal." He ducked his head. "You're wrong," he said again. "I don't associate you with what happened, Scully. I'm not... put off. Quite the opposite." The opposite. She turned her drink around and around between her hands and considered his words. If he wasn't put off, he was... turned on? As realization dawned, she looked over at him. He seemed like he was wishing the couch would suck him in like a sofa bed. "Mulder?" "It's, uh, not like that," he said in a rush. "No." He shook his head emphatically. "I hate what happened to you. I hate it so much I can't breathe when I think about it. But I went there, Scully. I stood where he stood, and god help me, when I think about what happened I associate with *him*." "You're not him, Mulder." "I'm not even talking profiler, here, Scully." He looked at her, dark eyes intense, his mouth set in a straight line. She forced herself to listen. "I mean, I know what it's like to watch you and want you. I know *exactly* what that guy was thinking when he was looking at you from the bushes. Seven years, god, the frustration -- sometimes I thought about just reaching out and... and..." He grabbed weakly at the air with both hands. "Taking me?" Mulder's hands fell. "Yes." "Well," she said. "Me too." He blinked. "What?" "You think you have the market cornered on sexual frustration, Mulder?" She smiled. "There was one time you came into my motel room after a shower and you flopped down on the bed all damp and, well, naked." "I was never in your motel room naked." "Near enough. I wanted to rip the towel right off of you." "It's not the same," he protested. "Scully, I wanted to do you up against the filing cabinet whether you wanted it or not." "I think we've established by now that I did want it, Mulder." "You don't understand," he said, sounding miserable. She stopped teasing. "Explain it to me," she said as she rubbed his arm. "Because I'm not hearing anything so far that would give me reason to doubt your good character." Mulder would not look at her. "Well, for one thing, I've had this fantasy." Haltingly, he told her of an explicit scenario that started with an argument in the basement and moved to forceful sex up against the wall. "You said no," he told her quietly. "I didn't even care." She leaned her cheek on his shoulder and hugged his arm. "It's a fantasy," she told him. "Fantasies aren't real. You know they're not." "But after everything--" "Mulder, I'm not afraid of you." She squeezed him again. "I'm not afraid of your fantasy, either." "It doesn't make you sick?" "No. It makes me want to get a file cabinet for my bedroom." He looked at her, and she smiled and cupped the side of his face. Her thumb grazed over his stubbly cheek. "Mulder, you're nothing like Gregory Watts. You never will be." "No," he murmured, looking into her eyes. He covered her hand with his own. The corner of his mouth twitched. "You wanted to rip off my towel, huh, Scully?" "More than once." They leaned foreheads together. "Whenever I flopped on your bed, I always thought you wanted to shoot me." "More than once." He laughed and hugged her tight. XxXxX The day of the verdict, Scully went back to court. Once again, Glory waved to her from the gallery. "Saved you a seat," she said as Scully approached. "Hey, this is my mom. Mom, this is the FBI agent I was telling you about." Glory's mom had tight jeans and long red fingernails. Her hair was tinted blonde like her daughter's. "Pleased to meet you," she said, giving Scully's arm a good workout. "I came to watch the bastard fry." "I'm afraid that's not going to be an option," Scully said as they sat. Glory rolled her eyes. "I keep telling her that. Maybe she'll listen to you." "Well, it ought to be an option," her mother retorted. "At the very least they ought to take his pants down and fry his little--" "Mom!" Glory slouched in her seat. "I apologize for my mother." "Not necessary," Scully said. She leaned across Glory to her mother. "I quite agree." The room quieted a bit as the judge entered. Scully could only see the back of Watts's head at the defense table, but the slump of his shoulders suggested that he was not optimistic about the outcome. Nora Bellamy was uncharacteristically subdued as the jury filed into the room. The judge read the verdict and handed it back to be read aloud. Glory grabbed her mother with one hand and Scully with the other. Scully squeezed back. The foreman read the verdict: "We find Gregory Thomas Watts guilty of ten counts of forcible rape," he said, and both Scully and Glory let out a breath. Scully barely heard as the jury found Watts guilty on a slew of lesser charges. "We did it," Glory whispered. Scully nodded. Behind the defense table, Greg Watts's parents looked quietly devastated. Scully wondered if it was because they had lost the case, or whether they finally realized they had raised a monster. To bring a child into this world, she thought, and have him go forth and do evil. Mrs. Watts put her hands over her face and wept. XxXxX On the first morning of his forty-first year, Mulder awoke and considered his brave new world. Forty, he thought, and feeling fine. He headed to the living with his toothbrush still sticking out of his mouth and stopped in front of the fish tank. Woodward and Bernstein swam to the top, eager for their breakfast. "Morning, boys," he said around the toothbrush. "I'm forty today." They did not pause from their eating. Mulder was about to start coffee when he noticed something on the floor by his front door. It was an envelope. Mulder looked around the room for anyone who might have put it there, and then ambled over to pick it up. There was no writing on the front. Shadowy informants sometimes slipped him newspaper clippings or phone numbers this way, but this felt a bit heavier. Maybe they had gone all out for his birthday at "Conspiracies R Us." Mulder lifted the flap and found an airline ticket inside. To Las Vegas. With his name on it. Still with the toothbrush in his mouth, he yanked open his front door and peered down the hallway. It was empty. He was in the process of checking the flight information on the ticket when his phone rang. "Hello?" "Happy birthday," Scully said from the other end. "Scully, you're not going to believe what I found under my door this morning. Some stranger just slipped me a ticket to Vegas." "What a coincidence," she replied, deadpan. "I seem to have a ticket for that exact same flight." "Really? But how do you know which flight..." He paused. "Scully?" "Howdy, stranger," she said, sounding pleased. He smiled and looked down at the ticket again. "Why Vegas?" "I figured our luck was due for a change." XxXxX They touched down in bright Vegas sunshine, desert dry and warm in the early fall. They could have been anybody, in their casual clothes and dark shades, but they weren't. They were Mulder and Scully, embarking on a tentative foray into happiness in a town where the lights in the sky came courtesy of the casinos and the only alien around was Wayne Newton. Scully checked them into the Bellagio hotel, which featured a marble desk that stretched for about a mile. A huge skylight covered with stained-glass flowers decorated the ceiling, and the air conditioning wafted the fragrant smell of the indoor garden throughout the lobby. Their room was done in peach and tan fabric, with thick carpet and a view that looked out over the front of the hotel. Mulder grinned when the fountains shot up thirty feet in the air. "I could do the backstroke in this tub," Scully called from the bathroom, and Mulder walked over hoping for a different kind of water show. But alas, she was just fixing her hair. He met her gaze in the mirror. "Well, Mulder," she said. "We're here. What do you want to see first?" He grinned. "Everything." XxXxX Scully knew she had made the right choice as they walked along the strip and Mulder pointed out one spectacle after another like a little kid in neon sign store. She mocked a woman wearing a T-shirt that read, "Kisses: 25 cents," and so Mulder promptly bought her one. She promised never to wear it. In revenge, she purchased him a baseball cap that had giant hands attached, which one could clap together by pulling on a string. Sadly, he wore it immediately. They wandered in and out of casinos, admiring the lions at MGM and the faux volcano at the Mirage. Mulder won ten dollars at video poker. "I know just what to do with it, too," he said as they walked on. The sun had disappeared and Vegas flickered to life. "What?" Scully asked, fearing another shirt. "That." He pointed at the enormous roller coaster that encircled the New York, New York casino. "Okay," Scully said. "Have fun!" "Scully..." He tugged on her hand. "It's Vegas. Live a little!" "Life, yes," she agreed. "That's my concern here, and I would like to hang on to mine." The track looked impossibly narrow, and at least part of the ride was spent upside down. "It's my birthday," he said. Scully hesitated. "I don't know..." He grinned, knowing he had her, and tugged her hand again. "Come on, Scully. I want to hear you scream." In line, she eyed the cars hurtling past while Mulder rubbed his hands together with glee. "You know, studies show that roller coasters are like the ultimate dating tool," he said. "Horror movies aren't bad either." "As long as we aren't mixing the two," she said, still watching the plummeting coaster warily. "Fear promotes attraction. The brain takes the intense emotion and interprets it as lust." Scully figured this explained some things about her life over the past seven years. At last it was their turn to climb on board. "I hate you," Scully said clearly as the car started forward. The wind tangled her hair. "See?" Mulder yelled. "Intense emotion! It's working already!" Anything else he said was lost in her scream as they hit the first drop. Scully gripped the rails and shut her eyes. She heard the metal wheels rattling along the tracks, the wind in her ears, and beside her, Mulder laughing the whole time. XxX They cleaned up for dinner. Because it was his birthday, not hers, Mulder did not wear a suit and tie. He dressed in dark pants and a crisp white shirt open at the collar. Because it was his birthday, not hers, Scully wore a short, skin-tight black dress with no back and her three-inch spike heels. His warm hand grazed down her bare spine as they walked to dinner, and Scully tingled. "Hungry?" he asked. "I think I left my stomach back on top of the Empire State Building." Mulder, it turned out, had no such problems. He put away a starting course of crab-stuffed mushrooms, a steak as big as his head, three glasses of wine, and over half of the breadbasket. Scully had a spinach salad with sugared pecans and crumbled bleu cheese, and a nice piece of fish. She did, however, manage to keep pace with him on the wine. "Is this the part where the waiters sing 'Happy Birthday'?" he asked, leaning across the table as one of the tuxedoed wait-staff whisked their dinner plates away. Scully regarded him over her wine glass. "If you wanted a birthday serenade, Mulder, you should have picked a restaurant with a clown on the outside." "I'll settle for a birthday dance then," he said, and held out his hand. Scully glanced at the dance floor and listened to the stringed music being piped in; it did not sound too fast. She guessed she could manage the mix of music, high heels and alcohol, at least for one dance. Mulder's strong hand caught hers and helped her to her feet. She followed him in silence across floor. The found a shadowed corner for themselves, and his palm once again pressed against her bare back. She placed her hand lightly over his bicep and tried not to flush. "Thank for this," he murmured as they swayed. "It's just a dance, Mulder." "No, the whole trip. I don't know what I did to deserve it, after everything that's happened, but I'm grateful nonetheless." "Mulder-" "Just listen for a sec, okay, Scully? I know these last four months have been absolute hell for you, and I know I didn't always do everything I could to make them easier. The fact that despite it all, despite the big mess we've made, you'd still want to be here with me, tonight..." He grinned. "Dressed in that outfit..." "Mulder." "It means the world," he said, sobering. "So thank you." Scully blinked rapidly and managed a wobbly smile. "Mulder," she said, "the fact that you still want to be here, with me, tonight, after everything that happened, is *exactly* what you've done to deserve this." He pulled her closer, and she kissed his neck. "So thank you," she whispered. XxX The door to their room swung open, and Mulder and Scully stumbled in, still attached at the mouth. Mulder did not so much carry her across the threshold as drag her there, with her shoes scraping the carpet the whole way. She backed him up against the wall, climbing him like he was her own personal jungle gym. Mulder's hand found its way under her dress to her ass to help her out. She felt his arm muscles, hard under his shirt, supporting her like she was nothing. His fingers splayed over her ribs, and she hugged his waist with her knees. Kissing. God, she'd missed kissing him. He smelled like cotton, like skin, like sweat. He tasted like wine. Scully ran her hands through his hair, feeling his warm scalp and the tender skin behind his ears. Mulder made agreeable noises against her mouth and kept her busy with his tongue. Breathless, she broke away and pressed tiny kisses along his throat. Mulder hugged her. Scully leaned back to smile at him, and found him staring back at her with huge dark eyes. He was smiling, yes, but he also looked a little bit scared. She placed her palms on the wall behind him. He licked his lips. "Mulder," she said softly, "you know we don't have to do anything you don't want to do." "That's supposed to be my line." She pushed some hair back from his forehead and smiled. "You can say it too, if you want." He thrust his hips at her. "Does that feel like I want to stop?" No, thank God. Scully grazed her lips along his cheek, his jaw. She remembered things could change. "Just... no pressure," she said into his neck. He rubbed the back of her head. "No pressure," he agreed. They held each other for a long minute, and then Scully eased herself to the floor. She took his hand and led him in the direction of the giant bed. He stood close, his breathing shallow, while she slipped off her sandals. When she was done, she stretched up and took his face in her hands, bringing him down to her mouth for another lingering kiss. "Happy birthday, Mulder," she murmured as they rested their foreheads together. His fingertips glided over her shoulders and down her arms. Her nerve endings sparked like the Vegas lights. They stood there, her arms loose around his waist, his hands stroking her. She placed her ear over his heart and listened to the erratic beat. He nudged the straps of her dress down. "I am dying to know what you're wearing under this thing," he whispered into her hair. "Not a whole lot." "So I am discovering." His thumbs slid up her ribs and glided over the swell of her breasts. Scully tugged his shirt free from his pants and giddily devoured the naked skin underneath. He kissed her. Scully's heart picked up speed with each article of clothing that they lost. Mulder stood mostly naked before her, erection obvious through his boxers. She was half afraid to touch it for fear of scaring it away. His hand reached around her ass again, fingers toying with the edge of her underwear. She could feel the tension in him. "Mulder?" "I, uh, I brought the condoms," he said. "They're in my bag." She kissed his chest. "It's okay." "Yeah?" It did not make for the most romantic chitchat, but she owed him the full truth. "Watts had to give a blood sample for the DNA test before trial, and they tested it for HIV. He's clean." "Scully, that's great." Mulder hugged her. "Really great." "Yeah," she said from where she was smushed against him. "So lose the boxers, G-man." "Yes, ma'am." And so Mulder took off his clothes. Scully followed suit and joined him on the down-turned covers. He gathered her into his arms for some more kissing, his thigh slipping lazily between hers. Her body felt hot and heavy with desire. She touched the smooth skin over his hips and the long plane of his back. Mulder put a couple of inches between them so he could stroke between her thighs. She jerked at the first contact. "Okay?" he asked, somewhat worried. "Yes," she hissed between gritted teeth. It was all she could do not to thrust down on his hand. She closed her eyes. She could feel him watching her as he worked, her nipples hardening. Her breath came high and fast. "Scully," he said, a whispered word over her mouth. She grabbed him and kissed him hard. More, more, more, she thought, dizzy and hot and almost, almost there. Mulder worked a couple of fingers in and out of her, his thumb on her clit and his tongue in her mouth. He was in her and on her and everywhere and she never wanted to leave him again. "Oh!" she gasped as the waves started. She clutched him tight, arm around his neck as she arched up from the bed. Mulder said something in her hair but she didn't understand him. "Oh," she sighed again a minute later, breathing hard as the world came back into focus. Mulder lay half on top of her, kissing her temple. His erection poked her belly. She stretched to kiss his lips. "Mmmm," she said, figuring that covered everything she was feeling right then. Mulder chuckled. "Liked that, did you?" "'S not even my birthday," she replied, hugging him. Mulder was quiet. "Well, at least this way you won't be disappointed, no matter what," he said at last. Scully drew back and looked in his eyes. "Mulder," she said, toying with his hair, "you have *never* disappointed me. Never." He smiled like he didn't quite believe her. "Never," she repeated, rolling him on top of her. She stroked his brow, his arms, his chest. He smiled down at her. "So, Scully, when people ask me if I got lucky in Las Vegas..." "Well, Mulder..." She smiled. "Let's just say luck is lady tonight." He held his breath as he pushed inside her. When he was fully in, they both relaxed. "Good?" he asked, still anxious. "Very." She ran her hands up and down his back. They kissed as he began to move. Scully caught his rhythm and lay back, enjoying the thick feel of him sliding in and out. Mulder's breathing accelerated. He got that faraway look in his eye that made her feel powerful and tender all at once. "Scully?" he said uncertainly. "I love you," she said near his ear, and he was lost. XxXxX At the end of October, Gregory Watts was sentenced to ninety years in prison. That night, snuggled against Mulder on his couch, Scully watched Watts on the news. He looked blank with terror, as if he might just pass out in the courtroom as the judge passed sentence, as if the enormity of the situation had dawned on him at last. "He's just sorry he got caught," Mulder said. "I hope they throw away the key." The judge had a few words about how vile the crimes were. Scully did not need to listen to that part; she had lived it. She eased away from Mulder. "The food will be ready by now," she said. "I'll go get it." They were trying a new Indian place on the other side of town. Mulder caught her hand and squeezed. "Scully, I can go. You stay here and relax." "No," she said firmly. She gave him a quick kiss and stood. "You set the table. I'll be back in a few." She grabbed her purse, her keys, and her glasses, humming to herself as she went out the door. This time, she took her gun. XxXxX ~End~ Author's notes: First, big chocolate-covered Mulders of thanks to my ace beta team: Amanda, bugs, Elizabeth and Tali. The story is stronger for your input, thank you! Bugs had to listen to me kvetch and moan on the phone about the story. She also served as my "read it in one gulp" beta. Tali and Elizabeth patiently went over it chapter by chapter, spotting my errors and offering encouragement. Amanda, however, gets the beta purple heart. She saw the story line by line and then reread it all at once. She was unflagging in her support for five very long, long months. Yay, Amanda! Mwah to all you! Thanks! Thanks also to those who have come along for the ride. I know this wasn't an easy story. If you made it to the end, I would love to know what you thought. I can be found at syn_tax6@yahoo.com Cheers, syn Split the Lark Feb 200e - July 2003