From: mrkeller@eclipse.net
Date: Wed, 26 Jan 2000 18:13:28 -0500 (EST)
Subject: "Anath" (2/6) by Mary Ruth Keller
Source: direct

Reply To: mrkeller@eclipse.net

=====o================================================o=====

"Anath" by Mary Ruth Keller

E-mail: mrkeller@eclipse.net

=====o================================================o=====

Part II - "Baal-Hadaad" (Disclaimed in Part I)

-----o------------------------------------------o-----

Then Anat went to and fro and scoured 
   every mountain to the heart of the earth,
   every hill to the heart of the fields. 
She reached the pleasure pasture land,
   the beautiful fields of shlmmt.
She came upon Baal, fallen to the earth,
She covered her loins with sackcloth;
...
   she scraped her skin with a stone.
She incised with a razor;
   she gashed her cheeks and chin.
She raked her arms with a reed;
   she plowed her chest like a garden,
   like a valley she raked her back.
"Baal is dead - what of the peoples;
    Dagan's son - what of the multitudes?
After Baal we will descend into the earth!" 
Shapsh, the luminary of the gods, came 
   down to her,
   as she satiated herself with weeping,
   as she drank tears like wine.
She raised her voice to Shapsh, the luminary 
   of the gods,
   "Hoist upon me Puissant Baal!"
Shapsh, the luminary of the gods, obeyed. 
She lifted Puissant Baal;
   indeed, she placed him on the shoulders 
   of Anat.
Anat carried him up to the heights of Sapon.
She wept for him and buried him; 
   she placed him in a grave of the earth gods. 
She slaughtered seventy wild oxen,
   as a funerary sacrifice for Puissant Baal.
...
Then she set her face
   towards El, at the source of the rivers,
   amid the sprints of the double Deep.
She went into the pavilion of El;
   she entered the precinct of the King, the 
   Father of Years.
At the feet of El she fell and did homage,
   she prostrated herself and honored him.
She raised her voice and cried, 
"Let Athirat and her sons rejoice,
   the goddess and the troops of her kin,
for Puissant Baal is dead,
   for the Prince, Lord of the earth, 
   has perished!"

       "The Cycle of Baal and Anat"
        translated by Neal H. Walls

-----o------------------------------------------o-----

Akrotiri Ruins
Santorini, Greece
Wednesday, May 6, 1998
10:07 am

Scully smoothed her hair, which had been tangled from the bay-side
trip in the open air. She and Mulder had curled into the back seat
of Max's other convertible, an Alfa-Romeo. Or, rather, she had
curled. Mulder had spent the short ride with his knees under his
chin, taking the excuse of needing the leverage to sprawl his arm
behind her. Caroline had apologized profusely, but her partner was
in his mood Scully liked to think of as carefree teenager. 

Which was a striking contrast to her own, but not because she was
depressed or unhappy with their situation. She was simply, as she
had concluded yesterday, exhausted. She had no better way to
explain what had happened when they had attempted to vanquish
their suspect, which had only served to reinforce Mulder's
conviction that she needed a longer vacation than a week or two.
The fatigue left her completely void of emotions, but unable to
concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes at a time,
which worried her. If it were possible to be any more numb, she
suspected it would have involved chemicals. 

Yet now, they were here. Mulder had flung himself out of the back
seat and was trotting around the trunk when she heard him let out
an 'oof,' which had her scrambling free instantly. His next
exclamation, "Hey there, big guy!" let her sag against the side of
the convertible. She stepped around to see a boy no older than
three, his wide blue eyes bulging like balloons, sitting on her
partner's stomach as if he were a cowboy on a very recalcitrant
horse. 

"I'm so sorry!" The apology emerged from a harried blonde woman as
she bent to retrieve her son. A boxy plastic toy bag decorated
with smiling purple dinosaurs alternating with equally impossible
pink and green rainbows slid off one shoulder and onto the ground.

Only Rickie had more to say on the matter, so he crossed his arms
and scowled childishly at his mother. "But, he's a dangerous
alien, Mom! I got-ta *scoot* him." With that, he lifted his
plastic ray gun, pressed the tip against Mulder's nose, and
emitted high-pitched buzzing sounds. 

The agent chose to surrender without a fight. "Agh!" he shouted,
feigning terror. "I'm melting. You got me, Captain Kirk." 

The child scrambled off the dark-haired man's chest. "Eew, not
Kirk. I wan-na be the bald one. With the ears! Mom!" That last was
spoken as he was tucked under his mother's right arm, while her
left hand clutched at the bag. 

"I'm so sorry," she offered a final time, before she carried her
charge away. 

But Scully spotted a stuffed flannel horse, fallen in the
conflict, and felt a twinge of remorse as she wondered if John-
John had a similar one. She trotted after the woman. A man in a
black leather jacket and dark jeans had stepped in line behind the
pair, so Scully tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me," she
requested, holding up the toy by way of apology. 

The man looked down at her hand to glare at the horse, then back
down to her face. "And you are?" he asked harshly. 

Scully began to feel uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "Excuse
me," she repeated, more forcefully this time. 

He yielded to her grudgingly, but the mother and child had moved
on, so the agent found herself trotting to catch up with them.
Scully was frowning at the man's unusual behavior when she arrived
at the woman's side. "You dropped this," she explained, then
waited while the blonde took the toy without comment. 

By the time Scully returned to her partner's side, he was on his
feet. "You okay, Mulder?" 

Caroline and Max laughed at his theatrical grimace. 

"Sure, Scully. Have my *alien* brains zapped on a daily basis.
Some partner you turned out to be." His generous lips quirked as
he tucked her fingers over his arm, and the four turned to enter
the subterranean ruins. 

"Looks like we've found Atlantis, Mulder." She pointed to the tour
guide.

"Ha, ha, Doctor." Neither of them paid attention to the man in
grey and black still tagging along at the back of the group that
was assembling.

                            --o-0-o--

When Scully touched his wrist, Mulder straightened from his hunch
over one of the few in-situ amphorae remaining. He sent her a lop-
sided grin as she pointed to the black-haired guide, who was
gathering a little group around her. "Didn't think I was paying
attention, did you?" 

After she led him up the ramp to the tourist overlook, she tossed
her head. "No, I thought you'd finally found that entrance to the
underworld." She pressed back against him as the woman with the
child stepped in front of the assembled visitors.

"And that," the tour guide explained as she pointed over the
railing to a red clay circle, "is a remnant of the plumbing system
laid down for the city. Just like the Minoans at Knossos, these
houses were kept clean and fresh-smelling in a manner that London
wouldn't be until the early Twentieth Century." 

The dark-haired agent bent over his partner. "She's not counting
the Romans." 

Scully stretched up to whisper, "A true sign of civilization." 

Conscious of the glances around them, he dropped his face to
within millimeters of her ear to quip voicelessly, "Or of the
importance of women in the society." 

As she nodded, the black-haired guide stared over at them. "I'm
sorry, did you have a question?" 

The agents shook their heads. 

The small woman pointed along the balcony to the exit with bright
light streaming through it. "Stay and feel free to explore the
ruins. Just don't go into any of the active excavation areas,
which are clearly marked. The archaeologists have work to do." 

Scully tipped her head at her partner. "Shall we?" 

He swiveled to check with his mother, who smiled encouragement,
and with Max, who held his arm toward the ramp. When Mulder turned
back to answer, his sternum met the solid edge of his partner's
shoulder. 

A quick smile. "Sorry." She moved away slightly. 

Mulder shook his head and pushed her forward gently. "No problem."
As they walked, he glanced down at her, tracing, with his eyes,
the rigid shoulders and stiff strides that kept her just bare
inches in front of his left hip. He wondered when she had begun
walking that close to him, then let his thoughts flow backwards
through their winding trip among the dusty subterranean ruins. He
realized that, despite her usual independence and self-assurance,
she had been bumping and brushing against him repeatedly for most
of the tour. 

With unexpected pleasure, he skimmed his fingertips along her
waist at this surprising conclusion that she had been sticking to
him like glue. He struggled to place the emotions he felt. Relief,
certainly, that she was by his side again, not trapped under a
building across a distant ocean. Her constant physical closeness
told him, as no words could, that she was taking him up on his
offer of support while she recuperated. In the wake of his
father's and her sister's deaths, he would never have tendered it,
and she would never had accepted it if he had, so wound were each
in their own griefs. But, he had changed as well. The self-
assurance that had been with him since finding the D'Amato papers
remained. It had not, as he had feared, fled during the dark days
when he had believed Samantha was dead. 

He searched around the group for his mother and stepfather, whom
he eventually located at the far side of the group. Caroline had
been watching for him, nodding once as his gaze met hers. It
occurred to him, then, what he was experiencing. He felt *wanted*,
not as the remaining child alternately desperately clutched or
flung away, nor, as the ace profiler who could always puzzle his
way through the maze of a killer's psyche. Instead, he was a
beloved and admired son, a friend whose company was savored. He
smiled at his mother, then focused down on the head of the woman
in front of him. He was relishing his new-found ease, while at the
same time, startled to realized that there were white threads in
the ocher crown under his nose. 

A slight shift of her shoulders, and two green-blue eyes flicked
up to meet his. In the semi-darkness of the tourist overlook, the
wide pupils seemed almost liquid, deep and turbulent. Stumbling
slightly as they shifted along the overlook into the full glow
from a skylight, she caught the railing before Mulder touched her
elbow. 

"Sorry," she whispered.

He shook his head again. "Hey." He waited while she faced him. "Is
this too..." 

Scully set her chin firmly. "No. It's just the light. Let's check
these artifacts out." Moving purposely away from him, she trotted
to descend ahead of most of the tourists. 

Mulder scanned over his shoulder for two white heads. "Mom?" 

Caroline, who, with Max, had been behind them both, grasped his
arm. "We're right here, Fox." She patted his back. "Keep up with
Dana." 

Once the younger man had moved away from them, Max whispered to
his wife, "Dana's worried about something." 

Caroline nodded. "I hope it isn't what I think it is." 

"Hum. We'll have to see." Max offered Caroline his elbow.

"Stop! That's my bag! Help! Rickie! Don't take my son!" 

The partners spun towards the voice, now lost in the wail of a
toddler. Mulder turned to look up behind them. Scully began to
force their way through the confused group with the guide, all
hovering around the top landing of the narrow access way. As she
was shouting over her shoulder, she collided with the thin man in
dark jeans and a black leather jacket she had run into earlier.
She caught a quick glimpse of pink and green rainbows as the
plastic contacted her nose before she closed her arms around the
bag to yank it free. 

"He has my son," came the shout from in front of her. 

Having threaded his way through frightened tourists, some running
back up the ramp and some down, Mulder reached over his partner to
grasp the toddler under the armpits. Scully dove for the man's
waist. The would-be kidnapper, desperate to keep his balance,
released the child to flail his arms wildly. Mulder pulled the boy
close, then regretted his decision as two short limbs snapped
tightly around his neck and a flannel horse slapped heavily
against his cheek. 

"Rickie, Rickie, you're okay," he gasped, stepping away from his
partner and the erstwhile kidnapper. The two were struggling at
the edge of the ramp, Scully locking her legs around the man's. 

"I'm an officer of the Law, cease resisting arrest, Sir!" The only
answer Scully received was a palm in her face, so she grasped the
arm, attempting to twist it behind the man's back. 

The child was wailing helplessly now, despite Mulder's repeated
reassurances. He sank to his knees, rocking the boy as he sobbed.
"It's okay, Rickie, it's all over now." He found himself reduced
to patting the small back in silence. 

A shout from one of the tourists brought Mulder's attention back
to his partner. Locked in a tangle of limbs with the assailant,
she was rolling down the now-empty ramp, grunting as her torso
contacted edges and stones. In his gathering horror, her descent
slowed in his mind into some silent, macabre ballet, Scully
wrapped around a man almost as short as she. He watched her hip
contact the corner of a riser, then heard her grunt as the full
weight of the kidnapper slammed her down harder. The ramp was
flexing under the impacts, sending some of the group out the
entrance in a flat run. The resilient wood impelled the pair
further down the walkway's length, Scully's right shoulder
landing, then sliding them both until they nearly flipped through
the uneven rails. Lost in his moments outside time, Mulder
wondered if this had been what her struggle with Donnie Phaster
had been like. At each twist, each collision, she was always under
the dark man, absorbing the shocks into her already-gaunt frame. 

He was only vaguely aware of the woman, while offering profuse
gratitude, tugging the toddler free of his neck. Finally, one last
bounce, that time on his partner's left knee, then Scully and the
man landed in the sand of the excavation floor. In a cruel irony,
this time she was sprawled on top of him. But she was unmoving,
her auburn hair a halo around her temples, covering her quarry's
face. The kidnapper twisted free of her ankles, which were locked
together around his calves, before he shoved the limp agent off
his chest onto the packed dirt of the path. Once disengaged, he
pulled himself to his feet, then, after a single upward glance,
ran out the entrance to the ruins. 

Once Mulder found he could hear and move again, he flung himself
down the ramp. He knelt by his partner, his hands fluttering over
her still form, calling her name urgently. She began moving as she
heard him speaking, so he whispered, "I guess I'll have to do all
the talking here, partner." A grim smile trembled on his lips.
"You always accuse me of doing that anyway." Since she was in her
shorts and polo shirt, he could scan her arms and legs quickly,
cataloging the cuts and bruises there. "Scully," he chided, "don't
take this the wrong way, but I need - " He slid the tail of her
shirt free to track his hand over her spine and ribs. "You feel
okay back here, but, then, I'm not the Doctor." He gingerly ran
his fingers through her curls, relieved that no blood seeped from
the back of her skull. "Nothing wrong with that marvelous brain of
yours, is there, partner? You'd tell me, right?" His attempt at
humor was met with a moan.

He sat back on his heels for a moment to search for more damage.
"Anytime you want to help me out, great, Scully." One of her hands
was tucked up under her body, the other extended towards the
departed man, but none of the limbs were cocked at unnatural
angles. He let out a shaky sigh as he rolled her carefully onto
her back. A quick survey, then he bent down to whisper, "The front
of you looks good, too, Doctor, but then, it always has." He
turned his attention to her head, where he could see a darkening
spot on one cheek. "Scully," he whispered urgently, "talk to me."
There was no response, so he grasped her shoulder. "Scully, I'm
here." He began probing her ribs gently. "Please?" 

"Oh..." She twisted away from his fingers. 

His attention snapped back her face. "Scully?" 

She was blinking up at him. "Mulder?" With a sudden jerk, she sat
up to stare into the shadows for their suspect. "Where?" She made
a hoarse gagging sound, then dropped her head to her knees, her
hands on her temples. "Too fast." 

Mulder wrapped his arms around her, clutching legs and torso in
one anxious embrace. "It's okay, Scully. The kid's safe. Where do
you hurt?" 

She took a quick inventory. "I can sit up and wiggle my toes, so I
don't think there's damage to my spine." Relaxing against his
support, she concluded, "It's mainly my head. My sides ache, but
not like the ribs would if they were broken. I couldn't forget how
that felt even if I were abducted again." She flexed her spine.
"Ow. Make that most of me aches." 

The dark-haired agent had released her to massage her neck
carefully. "That hurts too?" 

"Just stiff." She crossed her arms over her stomach. "I suspect
most of me will stiffen up here soon." She eased herself down onto
her side. "This feels better." 

"Mulder, let me call for some help." Max had made his way down the
stairs to stand behind his stepson. "Athens is only an hour away." 

The agent nodded, but said nothing, all his attention focused on
the woman in front of him. 

                            --o-0-o--

along Scholar's Drive South
University of California at San Diego
San Diego, California
Friday, May 1, 1998
10:46 am

Jerry Donato's fingers drummed nervously on the steering wheel.
Visiting a campus, any campus, brought up old memories, old fears,
and old triumphs. College would, forever in his mind, be
associated with final exams and endless review.

He glanced at the map on the passenger seat. According to the
records provided by the registrar, Sandra's class would be
finishing about now. Although, if she were still catching up for
the missed two days of classes, she might not be through for quite
some time. 

After parking, he trotted up the hill to a grey, flat building.
Through the wide banks of windows, he spotted a student looking
out at him as intently as he was checking inside. Then he caught a
glimpse of the professor, so knew he had the right building. He
had taken an introductory fluid dynamics class as a science
elective, more as a lark than to fill any gaps in his education.
Now, it looked to have come in handy. He reached for the door. 

Once inside, he was almost convinced that if he concentrated, he
could hear Sandra's voice in the quiet, "...radial pressure
gradient is balanced by the Coriolis force associated with
azimuthal motion." That *was* she, he realized as he moved
silently across the marble-floored entrance hall. "The axially
oriented pump moves water out of the apparatus and provides the
relative flow between the body of the fluid and an obstacle fixed
in the tank." Jerry eased himself into the seat closest to the
open classroom door.

A hand shot up which he recognized as belonging to the student he
had seen daydreaming earlier. "But what is the 'relative flow?'"
The man sounded peeved, a tone Jerry found all too familiar. 

Sandra's long curls had fallen over her shoulders as she paced.
"The specifics of a problem arise from each individual case. If
we're discussing pilings in a bridge or pier, built at a bend in a
river, then the relative flow is on either side of that piling,
although, for the most part, currents in a river at shallow depths
are slow but turbulent, rather than laminar." She turned to draw a
cross-section on the board. "This would be an idealized case, you
must understand, one that neglects the effects of particulate
suspensions in the water itself." 

"But," began the student, who continued to feigned confusion.
Jerry snorted at the obvious ploy.

With more patience than he had been willing to credit her for,
Sandra held up her hand. "Dave, that's all we have time to cover
today. Read carefully pages 219 through 226 in Tritton and stop by
during my office hours." She rested a stub of white chalk in the
tray, then began distributing packets of paper. "Lee, Chan,
Philpot, Ramakandran..." Once the assignments were returned, she
paused by the door to the room. "As usual, you can consult with
each other freely about this final homework assignment, which is
stapled to the back of those I just returned to you. But, please,
write up your own answers." As the students filed out, she smiled
warmly down at the thick-chested detective.

"He wasn't paying attention earlier, you know," Jerry commented
once the room had cleared. 

She sighed. "I'm very aware of that. But rotating fluids are
difficult to develop an intuition to understand. There are others
who were confused as well. I don't blame them, at all. Fluid
dynamics is like no other physical science, neither physics nor
applied math, but some often overwhelming combination of the two." 

Donato climbed to his feet. "I know. I wish my class had a decent
text." 

Her hazel eyes sparkled. "Oh? Whom did you have?" 

He pursed his lips. "Batchelor. Very complicated, very tedious,
and nearly impossible to understand."

She bit her lower lip momentarily, then queried, "That's an
introductory graduate level text, usually. If I might be so bold?" 

He shrugged. "I took it as a senior science elective. I thought I
could learn something about waves." His arm flapped in a vague
approximation of the topic at hand. "You know, the ocean?" 

She smiled. "I do indeed. But instead, you ended up learning about
boundary layers and potential vorticity, I'll bet." She began
walking down to the front of the classroom. "Detective." Her eyes
still bright, she checked back over her shoulder to make certain
he was following along. "You obviously didn't stop by to talk
about your sojourn in the hallowed halls of academe. You have more
questions for me?" 

Jerry studied her slender back as they moved. Whatever this woman
was, her forthright directness was bound to make even the least
insecure man ill-at-ease. But, for him, it was a blessed breath of
fresh air. 

"Detective?" She had collected her papers and was ready to leave. 

Jerry nodded. "Yes. Yes, I do have more questions for you. I need
more information on your funding situation, yours and Tom's." 

She waved him ahead of her. "Then, please, come to my office. I
keep my records there, not," she explained with a lop-sided grin
and a tap of her temple, "in a non-existent eidetic memory, like
Tom claims to have." 

After a quick glance at the woman beside him, he extended a hand.
"May I?" 

She chuckled, as deep and throaty as he hoped her full laugh would
turn out to be. "Carry the professor's books?" She shook her head.
"It wouldn't be right to play favorites, now would it?" She
pointed to the stairwell. "We're up three flights." 

Jerry nodded. "You *are* tenured, aren't you?" 

She smiled. "Yes, I am. So, you're wondering, why am I still
teaching introductory-level classes?" She stuck out her slight
chin. "It's important that beginning students learn from those who
have mastered a discipline, not from the graduate students who may
still be struggling with specific topics. That way poor thinking
about the subject is corrected early, rather than late." Her
forehead crinkled. "Before I was tenured, I didn't teach much at
all. I fought off all the excess load they wanted to drop on me so
I could publish enough, and then some." She slanted her eyes at
him. "Now that they're stuck with me and I have my own secured
funding, I'll teach. There's nothing the Administration can do
about it." 

He held the stairwell door for her. "Odd that what we expected as
students is considered an academic idiosyncrasy." He watched her
pass, wondering how much else she responded to with acts of
defiance. 

Once on the second level, Sandra jiggled her keys out of her
pocket. "This way, Detective. I don't have a secretary. Please
pardon the mess." 

Donato flipped a hand at the unstable stacks. "No problem." 

Sandra dropped her notes on the floor, then collapsed into her
tall desk chair to gesture vaguely to the stool by the door.
"Sorry. My other chair is in Tom's office under three weeks of
newspapers, no doubt." 

Jerry propped himself against a wall. "I was concerned about your
overhead expenses, Doctor Miller." 

She rested one elbow on the desk as she dug in one of the stacks.
"Oh?" 

He waved a hand. "Not so much yours, but Doctor Wilton's. Three
hundred percent above student costs?" 

Ignoring the papers cascading to the floor, she pulled loose a
green cloth ledger book to flap at him triumphantly. "I realize
that it sounds high, but we have to deal with those messy
realities of modern university life, unfortunately. One of them is
that successful programs become riders for the department head to
tack on the students of less, shall we say, fortunate colleagues."
She flipped through pages. "Ah! Here." She waved him into the
seat. "You see this?" Her hair falling onto his back as she bent
over, she pointed, then turned to a different part of the book.
"We keep two sets of records, Tom and I, because it makes us so
angry. The first details the expenses, which, according to the
administration, we're supposed to inform our sponsors of. The
second is for us, telling us what we've actually been able to
accomplish, funding-wise, and what we haven't." She stepped away
from the desk. "Check through them both. I have to clean up this
mess." 

He grunted. "Not because I'm here." 

She shrugged. "I'm really a very neat person. Not like your
typical academic." She began collecting the papers off the floor. 

Donato rested his note pad beside the book, then began scribbling
figures at odd angles on the lined pages. They continued in
silence, he reading while she filed. When he looked up, the
assembled stacks of documents were missing. "Doctor Miller?" he
queried.

She pulled her head out of a small cabinet, a grey smudge marking
her forehead. "Sorry," she offered again. "Tom's a worse pack-rat
than I am. We were working on a grant proposal just last weekend,
but this is my first chance to clear things away." Frowning, she
rubbed at the mark, succeeding only in turning most of her face
dark. 

Jerry leaned back in the chair. "Do you have the keys for Doctor
Wilton's office?" 

She jingled her bulging ring at him. "Let's go. Although, I'm
warning you, we might need to bring Judy in to wade through it
all. Tom loved to collect information, but once he had looked at
it, he just tossed it aside and moved on. Things just lie where
they fall until something new lands on top." She led him down the
hall, stopping in front of a door with Wilton's full name and
title on the top line, and the numbers 4326 underneath. 

"But their home was neat as a pin, even his office." 

Sandra shook her head. "You're right, that is odd. Judy went
through a succession of maids before she found a service which
would clean to her satisfaction, but Tom's home office was usually
only slightly better than it is here. With the accident, then his
death, I didn't really notice." She slipped the key in the lock,
but before she opened the door, she leaned against it and shoved. 

Donato took a step back as papers spilled out onto the floor.
"Doctor Miller, I was assuming you were exaggerating, but this..."
He waved his hand at the heaps. "You're telling me there's a desk
in there?" 

Climbing over the piles, she thunked the toe of her walking shoe
against something solid. "Good Eastern Oak. He had it built custom
to accommodate his knees. When we get to it, you'll see. He had
developed arthritis in them prematurely, so there's a shelf under
the top for him to rest his feet on when he needs his legs out
straight. I keep telling him he needs to see a specialist. Oh."
She covered her mouth with her hand. 

Donato watched her face darken. "Sandra, it's all right if you
need a moment." 

Her jaw flexed. "No. We need to do this as soon as possible."
Stepping unerringly over the clutter, she reached for a phone. "I
hate to bother Judy, with the arrangements and all, so let me try
Jeannette. This is usually her day off, but..." She tapped out a
sequence of numbers, then chatted briefly with the woman at the
other end of the line. Once she was finished, she turned to Jerry,
who was cautiously moving a stack of reprints. "She's only a
quarter of a mile away, so she can be here in fifteen minutes."

The detective frowned at the accumulated mess. "I don't see how
anyone could work like this." He stuck his hands in his pockets.
"Fifteen minutes, you say?" He watched her nod. "Then is there a
faculty lounge where I can buy some coffee?" 

She pointed down the hall. "It'll be a long afternoon, so let me
show you the way." 

                            --o-0-o--

Athens Hospital
Athens, Greece
Wednesday, May 6, 1998
3:29 pm

Dana Scully twisted against cocooning warmth, forcing her mind to
place the faint sounds she heard around her. It wasn't like it had
been before. Then, she remembered some deep rumble and much
vibration. She had pulled herself awake, a fraction of a second
later, she had thought, to find she was clutched in her partner's
arms, he soothing her, offering her water. Only the air had been
chilled and dry, so she had drained the styrofoam cup eagerly; her
thighs had been cold against hard plastic, so she had shifted
closer to him. Moments earlier, it seemed, she had been lying in
the dust at Akrotiri, Mulder irritating her awake with a stream of
his half-joking comments. In the instant before that, she had been
struggling to subdue... She coughed once, then reached out to
clutch at empty air even before opening her eyes.

"Dana. Dana!" Max leaned forward to grasp her flailing hands
firmly. "Dana, can you hear me?" 

She shifted on the thin hospital mattress. "Of course." She
blinked down at him. "Max?" 

He released her, then settled into the metal chair. "You're back
in Athens, Dana. We checked you into a hospital here." 

She brought her hand to the bruise on her cheek. "Who was that
kidnapper? He wasn't the same man we found at Thira. Mulder said
the boy is safe?" 

Max nodded. "As far as I know. His mother took him back from
Mulder." Leaning forward, he sighed. "But that's not what you
should be worrying about right now."

Scully shook her head. "What was he after? A simple purse-
snatching I could understand, but, grabbing a child in front of
all those - "

"Dana!" 

Surprised at the sharp command in his voice, she stared at the
white-haired man. "Max?" 

"Dana, let it go. You're in Athens Hospital." 

She bit her lip for a moment. "What was it, a concussion?" 

He sighed. "No, not that. You've been run through a battery of
tests, the *first* of which was an MRI. Mulder was very, very
insistent on that. He and Caroline are with the doctor right now,
hearing the results." Max shifted his chair closer to the bed.
"But we wanted to have any question of brain injury cleared up
immediately." 

Scully took a moment to study the layout of spare quarters in
which she found herself. Her eyes widened as she realized there
was a single bed, a separate bathroom fully equipped with both
shower and tub, and several windows looking out over modern, urban
Athens. "You've arranged a private room for me? That must be
horrendously expensive, Max. I'm sorry, I don't mean to put you
and Caroline out."

The white haired man shook his head. "You aren't." 

She pulled herself upright. "Blue Cross will cover a regular room,
but not the added expenses of this." 

Max stared pointedly out the window.

She began pushing aside the sheets. "He shouldn't touch his
inheritance, not for something like this. Once they're finished
with the doctor, I'll be fine in a regular room, really, or even
at the apartment in Omonia."

The white-haired man grasped her by both shoulders. The sudden
twist of his white eyebrows told her he was surprised at how
little resistance she offered as he guided her back into the bed.
"Dana, have you ever known Mulder to address the issue of your
well-being with anything approaching rationality?" 

Defeated, she slumped against the pillows. "He shouldn't do this.
He needs to go see Sam." 

Max slid his chair closer to her head. "He told me about this
earlier, but he obviously didn't tell you. What you don't
understand, Dana, is that he needs you to be there with him." 

Scully stared at the seated man as if he were a three-headed,
fire-breathing dragon. "He asked me for that, but it was only in
the terror he has following a nightmare. Mulder doesn't need
anyone," she explained slowly, "but Sam." Closing her eyes, she
added, "It may be that he only needs to know she's safe and well.
Anything else is insignificant." She pulled the sheets and blanket
up to her chin before crossing her arms over them. "Anyone else is
baggage." Meeting the other man's gaze, she stated carefully,
"Mulder's a sleek hunting falcon when it comes to the pursuit of
his Truth. I won't be dead weight when he needs to soar free, Max.
I couldn't do that to him." 

Max stood to cross to the windows. Clasping his hand behind his
back, he stared out over the haze. After a long moment, he spoke
without looking back at her. "Dana, I'm about to tell you a
parable." His white moustache twitched. "I'd like to claim it came
from a rabbi in Hungary, but I can't. It's Bahai, you see." He
turned his twinkling hazel eyes on her. "It's about men and women
in general, but, in this case, I mean it to be more specific." 

She stared down at her toes. "Oh." 

He advanced on her. "It's about that sleek hunting falcon of
yours. It needs two wings to fly, wouldn't you say?" 

She narrowed her green-blue eyes at him. "And you're saying Mulder
and I are the two wings of the falcon?"

"Yes." He took her hand gently. "That's exactly what I'm saying. A
man, or a woman, needs friends as well as family to thrive. He has
that with you, Dana." 

She shook her head. "Perhaps as a professional bond, Max, but, as
a personal one, I don't think so."

"If that's how you feel, you don't know him as well as you think
you do." He released her fingers to return to his chair. 

"How well can we ever know anyone?" she asked softly, her mind
puzzling over the strange dreams at Fordyce, a year and more
behind them. She crossed her arms. "Mulder's not a child; he's a
responsible, intelligent, capable officer of the law. But part of
him was always in check, held back by the loss of his sister. Now
that barrier has been removed. He needs to become the man he has
the potential to be." She rested her head against the pillows.
"I'm a part of his past. I respect him too much to hold him back
as well."

With a nod, he finished quietly, "Perhaps you and he need to talk
about this, before you decide everything yourself." 

Frustrated, Scully rubbed the bridge of her nose, but said
nothing. 

                            --o-0-o--

Mayer Hall 4326
University of California at San Diego
San Diego, California
Friday, May 1, 1998
11:36 am

Sandra, Jerry, and Jeanette had arrayed themselves in a loose
equilateral triangle among the piles in Tom Wilton's office. 

The chestnut-haired professor paused in her sorting of the flotsam
in the bottom drawer of the sole filing cabinet she had convinced
Tom to acquire. Biting her lip, she remembered all those times she
had scolded him for being a horizontal organizer. Her fervent wish
that he was still here to shrug off her comments left a twisting
pain in her heart. Fiercely reminding herself she had performed
intricate experiments, faced down the University Provost over
availability of the wind tunnel, and driven one of the emeritus
faculty to the emergency room after he fell and broke a leg at
last year's commencement, she shunted the emotions aside. This
ought not to bother her as much as it did. Lifting out a thick
stack of photographs, she settled back on the carpet to leaf
through them. 

The secretary looked over at the stifled cry. "Doctor Miller?" She
was surprised to see the chestnut-haired woman weeping silently.
"What is it?" 

Sandra chewed on her lower lip. "It's silly. I just found the
snapshots of last year's faculty retreat. You were there,
Jeanette, remember?" She held out the top photograph. 

Donato rose to stand behind the two women. It was important he pay
attention here, either to gain the trust of the professor who was
leading him through the maze of Tom Wilton's convoluted life, or
to bring him closer to... He blinked at the thought. Closer to
what? he found himself wondering.  To the solution of this case,
he sternly warned himself, then shook his head and focussed down
on Sandra Miller again. 

She had turned to the next image. "Oh, look, there are Tom and
Judy." She smiled at the memories. "They look so happy together." 

The secretary nodded. "They were always happy together, Sandra.
That's more than most of us can say." 

Jerry bent down to point. "Who's the man in the corner watching
them?" 

Sandra pulled the print closer to her nose. "I don't remember. Do
you?"

The secretary frowned. "He was invited because he's a
representative of the Whittaker Foundation. Poor man. Didn't know
anyone and didn't say more than two words." She turned to Sandra.
"Did he ever get back to you and Tom about those grants you were
discussing?" 

A pair of dark eyebrows drew together. "Oh, yes, now I remember. I
didn't think he was serious. Why would a pair of Fluid Dynamicists
take funding from a drug company? What could we do for them? Study
blood flow?" 

Jeanette and Donato exchanged a glance, then continued with their
excavations. 

"Hello?" came a querulous voice from the hall.

The secretary looked up. "Judy? You shouldn't be here." 

Sandra was beside the blonde in a nimble instant. "Judy?" 

A wan smile. "I finally got your message, Sandra. Why are you
doing this?" 

Jerry Donato made his way around the piles. "I'm afraid it was my
request, Ma'am. We were looking into - " 

Judy Seymour-Wilton drew herself up to her full five foot four.
"You don't have a search warrant!" Her normally cool soprano was
screechy, strained. "I want you out of here, now!" She rounded on
the secretary. "Jeanette, how *could* you! Tom's been dead for,
for..." She bit her lip, then glared at the chestnut-haired
professor. "Sandra, I want Tom's office key, *now*." She stuck out
her hand, palm up, fingers wide. 

"Judy," Sandra began.

The blonde flexed her jaw. 

With reluctance, Sandra nodded, unclipped the key, then dropped it
in the supine palm. 

"I'm sorry," Jerry offered. 

Livid, Judy glared over at him. "You, Detective, your Sergeant
will hear from my lawyer. Now, go!" Once the three were outside,
she locked the door and planted herself, arms crossed, outside of
it. 

Pointedly ignoring the stares from up and down the hall, Jerry
hurried to catch up with Sandra and Jeanette, who were waiting for
him outside her office. "We won't learn anymore today," the
professor offered wearily. 

                            --o-0-o--

Athens Hospital
Athens, Greece
Wednesday, May 6, 1998
3:51 pm

Mulder and Caroline were seated in a pair of steel and canvas
chairs across a metal desk from a tiny man with sparkling eyes.
The doctor behind the desk was examining several pages of notes in
silence, while the dark-haired man fidgeted. 

Finally, the agent could stand it no longer. "Well, what's wrong
with her? Is it serious? Tell me!" When his mother rested her hand
on his wrist, he canted his eyes towards her, but continued to
twist in his chair.

The doctor folded his reading glasses, slid them into his coat
pocket, then looked from mother to son before he responded,
"According to the records Doctor Anderson sent me, Ms. Scully - " 

Mulder leaned forward. "Doctor Scully. That's Doctor Scully. She's
an MD with a specialty in forensic pathology." 

"Very well," the older man sighed. "Doctor Scully has consistently
postponed her semi-annual post-operative check-up since November
1996." 

The dark-haired agent frowned. "What? She shouldn't - " He began
pacing in the brightly-lit space. 

"Fox," Caroline commanded, "come sit down." 

Mulder stopped, crossed his arms, and set his jaw, but refused to
return.

The doctor leaned back in his chair. "Of course, I can see why she
did." He leaned towards Caroline. "What do you know about the
post-operative complications following a total hysterectomy, Mrs.
Lowenberg?" 

Caroline straightened. "But Dana didn't have - " 

The agent edged between the desk and his Mother. "With her ovaries
shutting down, in effect, that's what she's had. Is that what
you're attempting to tell us, Doctor Nicholas?" 

The older man sighed. "Are there any family members I can talk
this over with? I know you're listed as her next of kin in the
Living Will she gave Doctor Anderson, but this is rather, ah,
delicate." 

Propping himself up with both hands as he bent over the surface,
Mulder growled, "Tell me."

The doctor stood to walk around the desk, but his sleek black hair
was only level with the younger man's shoulders. Even so, he
stared up at the agent with an easy sense of authority. "You don't
make this simple, Mister Mulder. What, exactly, *is* your
relationship with my patient? What entitles *you* to know these
things?" 

Mulder reeled, wondering why he had to continually rehash this
subject. Crossing his arms, he glared down at the physician.
"We're partners at the FBI. Doctor Scully was, no, *is* working
with me on several ongoing cases of a unique and exceptional
nature here in Greece. You want to know how I know about her
health problems." He bit his lip momentarily. "It's because there
are no secrets between us when it comes to matters which would
affect our work together." Blinking, he took a step back. "And,
truth be told, our work's the reason Scully's here today."
Grasping the older man's elbow, Mulder pleaded, "Tell me what we
can do, what *I* can do, to help her be well. Please." He dropped
his arm to his side.

The Doctor nodded. "Very well, then Mister Mulder, Mrs.
Lowenberg." He settled behind the desk. "I'm afraid it's not what
you can do, but it's what you must encourage Doctor Scully to do." 

"Rest," offered Caroline. 

He raised his eyes to meet hers. "Yes, for a start. And several
weeks of it." Doctor Nicholas slid the folder around, then pushed
it across the desk top to tap a number on one of the sheets. "Here
are the T-score and the Z-score from her last visit to Doctor
Anderson, a year and a half ago." He flipped over to another,
nearly identical, page. "These are the numbers we measured with
DEXA today." He looked from Caroline to Mulder. "Do you understand
what these mean?" 

Mulder crossed his arms over his stomach. "Minus 1.5. Osteopenia.
That means hormone replacement therapy, doesn't it? We've talked
about this possibility often enough that you don't have to explain
much more to me." He covered his face with both hands. "You want
her to begin immediately, don't you?" 

Lifting his reading glasses out of his jacket pocket to set them
on his nose, the Doctor sighed. "Do I need to spell it out for
you?" Shaking his head, he turned the folder so he could read.
"August through November 1994, kidnapped by a person or persons
unknown, comatose upon return. November 1994, patient checked
herself out of hospital against advice of attending physician.
January 1995, severe soft tissue trauma from an automobile
accident and a fall while apprehending a suspect. April 1995,
gunshot wound to the scalp. February 1996, partial hysterectomy,
multiple rib fractures, severe soft tissue trauma. Checked herself
out of hospital against advice of attending physician."

"But she told me it was safe for her to leave," Mulder protested
from behind his fingers. 

"Fox," Caroline reminded as she turned to face him, "a
hysterectomy is no simple procedure. It involves the removal of
major organs. I took months to recover from mine, after I had
Samantha." 

Dropping his hands, Mulder simply stared at the white-haired woman
for a moment before he protested, "Mom, I didn't know." 

Doctor Nicholas rattled the folder, returning their attention to
him. "March 1996, exploratory abdominal surgery. December 1996,
hospitalized for exposure and soft tissue trauma resulting from an
automotive accident. Again, patient checked herself out against
advice of attending physician. January 1997, treated for gunshot
wounds and multiple lacerations due to an assault by canines,
exact number unknown. July 1997, hospitalized suffering from
multiple rib fractures and exposure." He looked over the top of
his lenses. "And, although it doesn't say so here, you told me she
was injured badly enough in an explosion this past month to
require stitches for contusions on the forehead and a deep
puncture to the back. I'm betting also, if she had checked into a
hospital, there would be yet another entry for severe soft tissue
trauma here." He arched one grey brow. "I'm afraid I've had to add
another entry for those just yesterday."

Mulder shook his head. "I, I don't know what to tell you, Sir."

Caroline, her hand over her mouth, began shaking her head.

The physician slid his glasses off his ears. "Would it surprise
you to know that, on top of it all, she's underweight, even for a
woman of her height, and suffering from mild anemia?" He tapped a
different set of numbers. "I'm also advising a megavitamin
supplement, iron capsules, a calcium replacement regimen, and a
strict diet." 

Mulder grimaced. "She hasn't been eating red meat for several
years now. She'd put herself on a rigorous exercise schedule. She
won't like it." 

Doctor Nicholas scribbled on a square pad as he explained, "That's
not what I'm talking about. Exercise, in normal cases, could be
adequate. And, a  proper combination of plant sources, in
sufficient quantity, would be more efficacious than a high meat
diet." He put his pen down. "It's the quantity that I want to see
increase. You're both FBI agents?" He watched Mulder nod. "It's a
job you both love, I'm certain, but there *is* a good deal of
stress, wouldn't you say?"

Mulder stared at the Doctor for a moment before he commented
levelly, "You want her to step down as a Field Agent, to take a
desk job." He shook his head. "She'll never agree to that." 

The physician shook his head. "No, it's a poor physician who
doesn't understand that there are some for whom inaction is most
stressful. But we need to somehow decrease this frequency of what
are, you must admit, serious physical traumas. What she *needs* is
a reduction in injury, not to vegetate behind piles of paper. And
there, I believe, you can help." He rested both hands on the
desktop and leaned towards them. "Am I correct, Mister Mulder?" 

The dark-haired man nodded. 

                            --o-0-o--

Mayer Hall 4132
University of California at San Diego
Friday, May 1, 1998 
2:33 pm

Sandra Miller forced herself to sit down. Pacing like a caged
animal would do her absolutely no good whatsoever. She had been
doing this, she suddenly realized, since the night of Tom's death.
Was it a delayed reaction to her grief, or some new bad habit for
her to break?

"Professor Miller?" 

She turned to smile at the slight man hovering in the doorway.
"Anwar, thank you for stopping by. Come in." 

He sank gratefully into her new office chair. "Do you have any
news about Doctor Wilton's murder?" 

Properly settled behind her desk now, she shook her head. "No, I
don't, which is why I asked you here this afternoon. I know you
work late, so I was wondering if you or another of the other
graduate students has seen anyone in Doctor Wilton's office
lately." 

He cocked his head while he thought, a posture she recognized from
any one of his oral presentations or exams. Then, with a sigh, he
answered, "No. Sometimes he would be here late, but I don't
remember anyone else, outside of you or Mrs. Wilton, of course." 

She leaned back. That, although not unexpected for academic
couples, was a complete surprise for Tom and Judy. Usually Judy
would spend her late hours in her own office across campus, or
painting at her studio. There were several other artists who
rented the building with her, so perhaps some disagreement was
keeping her from going down to the building north of Balboa Park.
She would have to remember to ask Judy about it when she saw her
next. 

"Professor Miller?" 

Sandra grinned at the creases in the Pakistani man's forehead.
"Anwar, don't frown. You've just told me something very important.
Thank you." 

He leaned forward. "Oh? Do you think it will help?" 

She shrugged as she rose. "It may. It was something I should have
mentioned to Detective Donato, but it didn't occur to me to check
it out further until you gave me your information just now." She
waited until the student was outside before she turned and locked
her door.

                            --o-0-o--

Studio, north of Balboa Park 
San Diego, California
Friday, May 1, 1998 
8:53 pm

Sandra knocked hesitantly on the glass of the main door. Knowing
how much she valued quiet and her privacy when she was working on
a problem, she hated to interrupt the people inside in what might
be a moment of inspiration, or at their most creative time of day.
But, she had to talk to Judy, who had not been home when she
called. Grief could not get in the way of justice. 

"Yes?" Terry O'Connors, who regularly described himself as the
next great undiscovered Renaissance man, stuck his head outside.
"Hello, Sandra, come on in! If you wanted to visit Judy, well, I'm
afraid you're out of luck, but if you came for some witty and
incisive conversation, well," he joked as he held out both arms,
"here I am!"

She found it hard not to laugh, so simply offered, "Thanks. I
didn't know where she would be right now, and she wasn't in her
office at the University." 

He stepped back to allow her to enter. "Come on in. You're here to
pose nude for me, finally? One day, people will wonder about the
beautiful woman O'Connors captured so perfectly. It ought to be
you, Sandie." 

She followed him down the hall to his studio. He could be
remarkably single-minded on this subject. She even had to
confiscate his film when she caught him surreptitiously sneaking
shots of her at one of Judy's solo shows. Tossing her head, she
retorted, "You paying?" 

"I couldn't afford you," he quipped back. 

As they entered his studio, Sandra pointed to his latest statue, a
flat steel rendering of Mary Magdalene, or so the plaque on the
base pronounced. She would have found it hard to identify a flesh
and blood woman in such a random assemblage of plates. "Not if you
make me look like that." 

He shook his head. "If you posed, it would be fine Italian marble,
all the way." She watched something mysterious grow and die in his
gaze. "Promise." 

She circled the studio twice before she asked, "Has Judy been gone
a lot recently?" 

He nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. She and Liz had some sort of an
argument, Liz hasn't been back, and we've seen very little of
Judy. Odd day, that." 

Sandra wondered briefly which Liz it was he meant, since there
were three who rented studios at the office. Elizabeth Knight, a
soft-sculptor, had the largest space available, since she needed
it for her over-sized cloth composite pieces. Sandra had attended
an exhibition of hers once, where she had spent time examining her
'masterwork,' a sixty-foot length of polyester that had various
broken buttons, pieces of glass, and other odds and ends glued to
it. Knight had entitled the piece 'Camelot II,' but it was
definitely not something that would sell to the tourists down at
Spanish Village. 

Elizabeth Williams was the wife of one of the professors in her
department, an elderly dilettante who spent her time doing
landscapes and still lifes in oils and watercolors. Those, at
least, Sandra could understand. In fact, she had one of them in
her living room. 

The last, Elizabeth Goerges, worked in charcoals, drawing deeply
layered, grey on black sketches that Sandra couldn't begin to
comprehend. 

But, she admired them all for their creativity. Not the least of
which belonged to the man smiling down at her expectantly.
"Sorry," she demurred, "I must have zoned out there for a minute." 

O'Connors shook his head. "It wasn't that important." 

She found her feet. "No, tell me. It may have something to do with
Tom's death." 

He began fiddling with the protective goggles he had been wearing
when he opened the door. "Oh, I doubt that. I was just passing
judgement on human nature, that's all." 

"Tell me." 

A shrug. "I was only saying that it's no good to have two artists
producing the same types of work at a studio. There's jealousy,
you see, which isn't productive for the rest of us."

She blinked at him. "But their joint show went so well! Tom told
me they paid for the hall and all expenses, then had a good sum
left over." 

"Hum." Terry lifted the goggles off to rest them on a workbench.
"That's odd. That's part of what they fought over. Judy? That
you?" He ran out into the hall, Sandra on his heels. 

The blonde spun to face them both. "Oh, sorry. I just needed to be
somewhere familiar that wasn't filled with reminders of Tom.
Sorry. Glad you finally got Sandra to pose for you." 

He leaned down to peck her on the cheek. "No such luck, I'm
afraid. She was here looking for you." 

"Me?" Judy faced the chestnut-haired woman squarely. "Why? It's
just been very rough these past few days. Sorry about earlier." 

Sandra waved the apology aside to hug her friend tightly. "Why
don't we go inside and you can tell me all about it?" 

Judy rubbed her forehead tiredly. "Thanks. I'd appreciate that."

                            --o-0-o--

From her perch on a battered Ottoman, Sandra watched Judy wander
aimlessly around her canvases. She would lift, then discard, a
brush, straighten a half-finished portrait where it rested on an
easel, or just stare up at the tiny skylight on the north wall.
With a sigh, she extracted an Exacto knife from  her pocket to
trim the end of a piece of canvas which had been stretched over a
frame. 

"I feel like this, you know," the blonde commented without
preamble. 

Sandra shifted her gaze from her friend's fingers to her eyes.
"Like what?" If she kept silent, Judy might let her in on what was
really bothering her, provided she was ready for it. 

"Like this canvas. Pulled all these different directions. Made to
fit something I'm not." She snapped the blade back into the handle
and crossed her arms. "I tried to keep Mom away, but she instisted
on coming. She's made a mess of everything." Judy's pale face
began to color.

Sandra crossed the room to hug her from behind. "I'm sorry I
haven't been much help with the arrangements. I've been trying - "

Judy nodded. "I know. You've been looking into Tom's death." She
pushed herself free of Sandra's long arms. "That detective who was
going through Tom's office with you. Do you think you can trust
him? Does he care about this case? Or is it just another murder
for him?" 

Sandra stood in front of her. "He's a good officer, Judy, he
cares. I trust him." She held the blonde's slight shoulders. "When
things are a little easier, you'll understand." 

"Will I?" Blue eyes glared up at hazel. "I'm not hysterical here,
Sandra. Tom's gone, and with his family and my family all fussing
and arguing amongst themselves, well, I have no one to turn to. Do
you understand what that feels like? Do you?" 

The chestnut-haired woman nodded. "I understand. Believe me, I
do." She waited while the events of her life registered with the
blonde. 

Judy turned away again. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that." 

"That's okay," Sandra soothed as she hugged her again. "I know how
much Tom meant to me. It's going to be so hard with him gone now.
I can't imagine how you feel, Judy." 

"Thank you." The blonde turned and hugged her back. 

They held each other for a few moments before Sandra asked,
"Judy?" 

She stepped back. "Yes?"

The chestnut-haired woman guided her to the Ottoman and waited
until her friend was seated to kneel in front of her. "There's
something you need to tell me about, if you can." 

The blonde rubbed her eyes. "What?" 

"Terry mentioned that you and Elizabeth - "

"That woman!" Judy had clenched both fists. "She's insufferable! I
have to be kind to her for your and Tom's sakes, but she's, she's
such a fraud. Always fluttering around, pretending to be so
perfect. She accused me of stealing from her, you know." She
leaned down into Sandra's face. "Now, I'm not that good with
numbers, so when she came to me initially, I thought, all right,
maybe I did make a mistake. So, I asked Tom to look into my
records. He took them home and worked on them there."

Sandra sat down on the concrete to cross her legs. "Do you think
he took them to his office, too?" 

Judy gazed up at the skylight again. "I don't know." She looked
down at the chestnut-haired woman. "But you know him, Sandie,
things just dribbled behind him wherever he went. He may have had
them there in Mayer Hall, I don't know. But he didn't - " 

"I want in my studio, now!" The querulous voice belonged to
Elizabeth Williams, who punctuated her demand with a slam of the
outer door. 

When the two women stepped into the hall, all the other artists
had emerged, to see the older Elizabeth beet-faced under her white
hair, confronting the middle-aged, and quite heavy-set, Elizabeth
Knight. 

"Elizabeth," Knight argued, "You hadn't been in your studio for
weeks, and I needed the space for a new shipment of cloth. I
haven't touched any of your things. I can have them moved out into
the hall in an hour or so."

"But it's *my* space!" Williams simpered. "What are you doing in
my space?" 

Terry O'Connors stepped forward. "It's okay, Elizabeth. We'll all
help, won't we?" He looked to the others, who nodded. 

Placated, Williams stepped back, calming until she saw Judy
Wilton. "But not her!" she shrieked as she pointed. "I don't want
her in my studio. Ever! You understand?" With a final toss of her
head, she stalked back into the sunlight. 

Judy sighed. "I can't do anything right, can I?" 

With a final hug, Sandra stepped forward to help with the bolts of
cloth.

Terry eyed the blonde's receding back sadly. "What did I tell you,
Sandra, you can't have two so alike together. You just can't."

                            --o-0-o--

Athens Hospital
Athens, Greece
Wednesday, May 6, 1998
4:02 pm

Dana Scully was enjoying a wonderful dream. It was the summer of
1975, the year her Father was stationed in Jacksonville. He had
piled them all into the family station wagon on a hot, lazy Sunday
afternoon to go tubing on one of the polysyllabic tributaries of
the St. John's River. If she thought about it, she could pronounce
the name, but she didn't want to break the mood. The rest of her
family was as quiet, as distant, as lost in their thoughts as she. 

Instead, she concentrated on feeling the sun on her face,
surprised that the black rubber of the confining tube didn't burn
as she shifted her shoulders. Even odder, the rubber against her
cheek was prickly. It yielded when she pressed her ear against it.
That wasn't right. She'd hate to think she had punctured on a root
as she drifted. Moving her hands along the surface of the tube,
she sensed it was hard in places, soft in others. 

"Ooh, Doctor, I'd hate to think I'm so out of practice I can only
have that effect on women when they're unconscious." 

Jumping slightly, she opened her eyes. Before them were two pearl
buttons, one smaller than the other. Under her chin was the soft
grey cotton of a man's button-down shirt, under her cheek, the
roughness of a day's growth, and in her nose, the unmistakable
scent of a worried Fox Mulder. She puzzled for a moment how she
could tell his mental state with a sniff, then decided not to
think about it too long. He had shifted his arms until she was
tucked more firmly in his embrace and was whispering her name, in
and amongst several other all-too-familiar phrases. 

"It's not a concussion, Mulder. I'll be fine. Have you followed up
on that man, or the woman and the child?" 

There was a long silence. 

Scully tried again. "Mulder?" 

What she had thought was an inner tube rumbled beneath her cheek.
"That's my Scully. Always fine." He tipped his head to whisper in
her ear, "Yet not, if we accept the marvels of modern medicine."
Releasing her at last, he studied her face as she settled against
the pillows, his eyes alternately amused and anxious. "Doctor
Anderson sent over his records. Why didn't you keep your
appointments, Scully?" 

She stared over at him. "There simply wasn't time, Mulder. You
know how much work there was to do." 

He pressed a hand into the pillow on either side of her head, his
nose bare fractions of an inch from hers. "Minus 1.5, Scully, they
measured it. Doctor Nicholas wants you to begin HRT immediately.
And iron supplements. And calcium replacements. And megavitamins.
Did you have any idea that was what your bone density is down to?" 

Her eyes narrowed. "What are you saying, Mulder? That I'm falling
apart here?" She ducked under his hands to head to the window,
where she glared out at the afternoon smog to keep from looking
into his deeply troubled eyes. "If I had thought I was
jeopardizing the work, I would have taken myself off the cases.
You ought to know me well enough to know that by now." She glanced
to her left when she felt something cool cover her back. 

"No fair having me at a disadvantage while we argue, Doctor." He
waited until she had shrugged into her familiar terry cloth
bathrobe and cinched the sash tightly at her waist. He grasped her
now-covered shoulders from behind. "It wasn't the cases I was
worried about." Before she could protest, he stepped around her
and tucked her tightly under his chin. "Do we have to do this
right now?" he whispered. "Can't we just hit fast-forward and
assume I've convinced you that you were right to take a breather
for a while?" 

She pushed against his chest until he freed her. "Can't we just
hit fast-forward and assume you've acquiesced to my decision to
resign from the Bureau?" 

Mulder staggered away from her, stopping only when he backed into
the wall behind him. "No." He held out both hands to her. "Scully,
you can't. Just because your brothers..." 

Crossing her arms, she drew herself up straight. "My brothers have
nothing to do with this. I have to, Mulder. It's only a matter of
time, don't you see?" Ignoring the chill the concrete sent into
her bare feet, she took a step toward him. "I'm grateful for your
offer of a haven while I recover, but I don't think it will ever
be enough. I won't be a useless burden to someone I care about. I
don't want to be a damsel in distress, ever." 

His long arms dropped to his sides. "But you'd never - "

She shook her head, silencing him. "Don't you understand, I wasn't
trying to fail, back there on Santorini." When his eyebrows
twitched in his momentary confusion, she offered, "At Ancient
Thira. A simple bring-down of a suspect should have been nothing;
it *was* nothing at one time. That I couldn't do them tells me - "

"That you're tired," he replied, his tone flat and firm. "And
throwing yourself down the ramp at Akrotiri after a fleeing
criminal didn't help matters any." He took a step toward her.
"That you need to not push yourself so hard so soon. After your
Father died, after you were returned you tried - "

Her jaw set. "That one day, at just the wrong time, I'd fail you.
We would be pursuing some flesh-eating mutant, or maybe, fighting
for our lives against the Consortium. And I'd break down, just
like I did then. We'd be - " She tucked her chin. "You'd be dead.
We'd never find the whole truth. You'd never know the Truth. If I
survived, I couldn't live with that." 

Mulder took two strides toward her. "But we aren't alone anymore.
We have allies; there's - " 

She nodded, and the gleam in his eyes to her he found himself
believing he'd won. If there was one thing about him she would
miss, it was his boundless optimism, his certainty that, through
it all, he would prevail.

But she took a step away from him. "All the more reason I should
move aside now, Mulder. So you can bond with the others like
you've bonded with me." 

"No!" He crossed the distance between them in a rush. "No, not
like with you." Grasping both wrists, he continued, "Skinner,
Rosen, Nichols, they're not like you. They don't know me the way
you do. They haven't been through what we have; they don't *think*
like you do." 

She held him away from her with both hands on his waist. "But
you've had other partners and worked well with them; you had
Jerry." 

Mulder was shaking his head. "No, no, no. There's no comparison
with how Jerry and I worked together and how you and I do. Jerry
and I, we, we overlapped, but, for all the time we spent together,
he never really took me seriously. You and I," he whispered, "you
and I." He took a step backwards, out of her hands. "You see what
I don't, think the problem from the other side, find the missing
piece that holds up my theories, or," he explained as he hugged
himself, "tear them into the shreds they were meant to be. But you
never tear *me* into shreds. You may not believe my theories, but
you've always believed in me." His eyes glistened. "There was only
Sam who believed in me and she was gone. Then there was you. I'm
getting Sam back. Are you going to be gone for twenty-five years
now?" 

Scully forced his arms apart and burrowed her way underneath them.
"Mulder." She rubbed his back with both palms. "You're a kind,
decent man. I'd hoped that over the past year, you had come to
accept that about yourself." She stepped back to hold his cheeks
in her hands. "Never doubt yourself. I never have. At least you
know all the times I've told you that *you* were crazy, it was
only your ideas that were nuts, never you." 

"Then don't make me choose, Scully. I don't want to choose." 

As she remembered his dream, she dropped her arms to her sides.
"There are some things we have no choice in. You were the one who
told me that, Mulder." 

He bent over her. "But I have been known to be wrong." 

She grasped his wrist. "Really? I'd never tell. Promise." One
cheek twitched at her joke.

A relieved sniffle. He tucked her under his chin to hold her for a
few moments, the silence broken only by his hand, rubbing the
terry cloth from her shoulder to her waist, over and over. He
whispered, "Will you do this one thing for me then, Scully?" 

"Hum?" 

"Will you wait to make the decision final for a while? Just a
little while? Two weeks?" 

She smiled against his shirt. "Tell you what, G-man, I give you
fighting odds. Four weeks. How's that?" She tipped her head back,
only to discover she was talking to his throat. "Four weeks?" 

Stepping away from her, he scrubbed his face with the back of his
hand. "A lifetime, Doctor. Four weeks is a lifetime."

                            --o-0-o--

Northern Division
San Diego Police Department
San Diego, California
Saturday, May 2, 1998
9:32 am

Sandra Miller dropped the bar onto the end of her bike lock, then
snapped it down. She had been referred to this station by the
department's information office, so she hoped to be here for a
short while. With her bulging backpack slung over her shoulder,
she pushed through the double doors into the bullpen. 

A uniformed officer stopped her. "Ma'am? May I help you?" 

She narrowed her hazel eyes at him. "Where may I find Detective
Jerry Donato's desk?" She followed the direction the officer's
finger indicated with her eyes. Just visible over the row of
battered filing cabinets, she spotted what she thought were
Jerry's black curls. With a nod of thanks, she trotted towards
them. "Detective?" she queried. 

As she caught a glimpse of a green screen with rows of cards
bouncing off the bottom, the man rolled the keyboard tray under
the monitor, then turned. "Yes?" he responded. As his brown eyes
fell on her neon green bike helmet, he frowned. "Yes?" he offered
again. "How may I help you?"

Her eyebrows were dancing worriedly on her forehead. "I was
looking for Detective Jerry Donato." 

The plain clothes officer grinned as he extended his hand. "Sorry,
Ma'am, he's with the Sergeant right now. I'm Richard Gonzales, and
I've been assigned as his temporary partner. How may I help you?" 

She set her back pack on the floor. "I have some information on
the Wilton murder I wanted to pass on to him." 

Richard waved to the chair in front of his desk, then pointed to
the steel box just beyond. "You always know where Jerry sits. Just
look for the typewriter." 

She chuckled at the black Smith-Corona. "Oh? He uses that old
thing?" 

Gonzales laughed. "And all the carbon-paper forms. With the older
guys you understand. But, when he's not working late on the job,
he's surfing the Web and arguing that LINUX thing with the
rookies. So, you'd think he'd have no trouble making the switch.
But," he explained as he pointed to an HP ScanJet on a cart beside
his desk, "he says it's faster to use that. How Maria had the
patience to put up with his quirks I'll never know." 

Sandra's eyes were dancing. "Oh? Let me guess, he thinks computers
should be used to process numbers, not words." 

"Yeah, that's probably it." Gonzales' gaze canted toward the
Sergeant's glassed-in office. "He should be out soon. Would you
like a cup of coffee?"

"No." She was fidgeting in her seat. "I've had enough caffeine for
the morning." As she looked around the desk, her eye fell on a
framed image. "Who's that?" she asked as she pointed. "One of them
looks like Jerry, under all that make-up. Is the other - " 

"Maria Hernandez." The Latino detective walked around his desk to
lift the photo off the flat surface. "This was taken at the
Departmental Halloween party, the month before she was killed. The
pair of them had been nicknamed Morticia and Gomez, for obvious
reasons." He tapped the slicked-down black hair of Jerry's, which
was level with Maria's shoulder. 

Sandra nodded. "It began as a pejorative, I'll bet. But, after a
while, it stuck, right?" 

Gonzales smiled down at her. "Yeah, exactly. They were together so
much, and all. So, they decided, what the hey, just go with it.
I've never seen Jerry look happier than he did that night. You
know that arm-kissing thing Astin would do on the show?" 

Sandra tossed out a lop-sided grin. "He did it every chance he
could. And she was ready to die of embarrassment." 

"Oh, yeah," Gonzales sighed. "But they took home the prize for
best outfit. Thanks." 

She frowned. 

"It's good to remember her like that. Not like at the end." His
gaze dropped to his feet, then he repositioned the image before
returning to his seat. 

She eyed him carefully, then slid out the latest volume of the
Journal of Fluid Mechanics to read.

                            --o-0-o--


Northern Division
San Diego Police Department
San Diego, California
Saturday, May 2, 1998
9:49 am

Drained of all energy, Donato emerged from Johnson's office. Judy
Wilton had made good on her threat of yesterday, so he had just
finished enduring another lecture from his Sergeant about
following standard police procedures. When he turned past the
coffee counter to spy Sandra's long curls curtaining her face as
she bent over a thick journal, he sighed. After wondering briefly
how long the next diatribe would be, he headed back to his desk
and the waiting professor. 

She smiled up as he approached. "Detective!" The delight in her
voice had heads, however surreptitiously, bobbing around them. 

Donato flinched. "Hello, Doctor Miller," he replied cautiously. 

She cocked an eyebrow at his tone, but refrained from commenting,
merely reaching into the pack to retrieve a spiral-bound notebook
with brown rings linked in a random chain across the cover.
"Jeanette and I - "

Jerry held up both hands. "Doctor Miller, my Sergeant just boxed
my ears for at least an hour for violating police procedure. If -
"

Frowning, she dropped the notebook on the desk. "Detective! I have
evidence here related to the murder of Tom Wilton." She rose. "If
your Sergeant is a problem, I'll go speak to him." She pointed to
the central office, where Johnson was hunched with the receiver on
his ear. "Is that he?" Notebook in hand, she began marching
stiffly past him. 

Donato grabbed her elbow. "Professor, my hands are - "

She whirled on him. "Tied? Somehow I very much doubt that." 

His dark eyes met hers imploringly. 

She crossed her arms, tucking the binder safely under them. 

With a sigh, he bent over his desk, scribbled on a blank page in
his note pad, tore the sheet free, then held it out to her. 

She glanced at the words, shoved the paper in her pocket, then
zipped the notebook back in her canvas pack. She left the station
without a word, or a backward glance, ignoring the stares in her
wake. 

Gonzales was still watching the swinging doors as he asked, "So,
what was that about?" 

Jerry sagged into the chair she had just occupied, then rubbed the
back of his neck. "Intellectuals. Don't ask." 

Richard laughed. "Then let me offer you some mundane procedural
results to distract you." He passed over a folder. "There were
hair and fibers found imbedded in the carpet under Wilton's
chair." 

Donato read through the report disinterestedly, until a line had
him frowning. "Cat hairs?" 

Gonzales nodded. "I thought that would perk you up."

Jerry shook his head. "But the Wiltons didn't have a cat, not that
I saw, anyway." Another stare at the page. "And it isn't hers. Too
long, and the wrong color." He leaned back. "Could it be that
Wilton was fooling them both the whole time?" 

"What?"

Donato focussed on his partner for the first time since emerging
from Johnson's office. "Both Doctors Seymour-Wilton and Miller
were adamant that Tom Wilton was a paragon of fidelity. I just
wonder if - "

Gonzales chuckled. "I see. Well, the analysis suggests the hair
came from a Turkish Angora, or a Turkish Van type. That at least
narrows the search down a bit." He pushed a list across his desk.
"Here's a list of the area breeders for you to call. I'll start
checking through pet licenses."

Donato turned to his phone. "Okay. Not all cats are registered,
but it's a start." He peered at the first name, then pulled out
his glasses. "You write like Maria, Rich, all swirls and too
small." 

"Right, old man," Gonzales teased as he slid out the keyboard
drawer.

                            --o-0-o--

Athens Hospital
Athens, Greece
Thursday, May 14, 1998
2:21 pm

Pacing in the rising elevator car, Walter Skinner barely noticed
the other occupants pressing themselves against the back wall to
stay out of the way of the prowling, angry American. Finally,
there was a jerk, the ascent ceased, and he pushed his way through
the half-open doors. In his haste, he barely avoided colliding
with a tall, lean man who had been waiting without. 

"Sir!" Mulder blinked at his superior. "Hello! What are you doing
here?" 

Skinner latched onto the younger man's elbow to drag him down the
hall. "I might ask you the same question, Agent Mulder. Where is
Agent Scully?" 

Mulder waved vaguely at the left side of the corridor before
planting himself firmly in the Assistant Director's path. "Sir!
What's going on here?"

Skinner flexed his jaw, then growled, "I had Agent Scully come out
here to place her out of harm's way, to give her the chance to
recover from her injuries, then you call to tell me she's in the
hospital, recovering from a failed arrest." He moved until he was
nose to nose with his dark-haired agent. "So, tell me, what *did*
happen to her?" 

"Sir," Mulder whispered. He stared down at the floor before
crossing his arms and meeting the older man's gaze. "We *were*
relaxing. We were touring the Akrotiri ruins when an attempt was
made to kidnap a child. Agent Scully went in pursuit of the
suspect, but was injured apprehending him." Mulder backed off a
half-step. "She struck her head and was unconscious for a few
minutes. Given the nature of her previous injuries, I had her
brought here. There aren't any hospitals on Santorini." Mulder
turned away to shove his hands in his pockets. 

Skinner nodded. "So, why is she still here? May I speak with her?" 

Mulder looked over his shoulder at his boss. "I should have worked
harder on persuading her to check into a hospital when she first
arrived, Sir. But there was so much that we needed to deal with
first." 

Skinner noticed the several day's growth on the younger man's chin
for the first time. "There always is, Agent Mulder." He watched
his subordinate sag slightly, so softened his tone to ask again,
"So, why is she still here?" 

Mulder closed his eyes momentarily. "Her doctor has placed her on
hormone replacement therapy. He's also trying several calcium
retention regimens. He'd like her to stay here until they have the
correct dosages worked out." He faced the Assistant Director. "The
MRI revealed no brain injury. We..." Flashing a mirthless grin, he
continued, "I had them perform *that* exam first thing." The
haunted cast lifted slightly.

Skinner nodded. "A wise precaution, Agent Mulder." 

Turning away, Mulder led Skinner past the hospital rooms to a
small terrace. Once through the glass doors, he called, "Hey,
Scully, it's Dad here to make sure we haven't broken his power
tools!" 

Dana Scully, dressed in decidedly non-hospital-issued grey
sweatpants, light blue button-down shirt and white jogging shoes,
smiled at the bald man behind her partner. "Sir." After she rose,
she placed her book on the seat cushion and stepped over to them.
"I'm surprised to see you here." She extended her hand to him. 

He grasped her fingers between both palms, astonished, yet again,
to realize how small his agent really was. "I have some news we
need to discuss in private." 

Touching a hand to each of their backs, Mulder guided them to a
table at the far end of the terrace. 

                            --o-0-o--

Casa de Pico
San Diego, California
Saturday, May 2, 1998
7:12 pm

Jerry Donato shifted his glass anxiously. If Sandra was planning
on meeting him here, she was very, very late. It was unfair of him
to seek the advantage like this, moving their meetings from her
turf to his, but he had to placate his superiors. They might, for
all he knew, have an officer from Internal Affairs watching him,
even now. He studied the other patrons in the noisy room
surreptitiously, looking for anyone who was too quiet, or two men
who were avoiding his eyes. 

But, his search ended when he spotted Sandra, who had brushed past
the host with a nod, making her way toward his stool by the bar.
She had changed from her casual clothes of this morning to a
simple blue shift, sleeveless and beltless, over an uncreased pair
of patent-leather, sky-blue, low-heeled pumps. He suspected the
plain ensemble was chosen only partly to allow her long limbs that
free range of motion to which they were accustomed. It also
appeared she wasn't one for uncomfortable shoes, this being the
closest she was willing to compromise. Her long curls had been
wrestled into a single braid, which had caught under the strap of
a black shoulder bag. Well, Jerry thought to himself, the
Professor has a point to make. By the turning of heads and quick
glances as she strode up to him, it seems she was perfectly
capable of making it. 

He patted the plastic seat cover beside him. "I see you found the
place." 

"Sorry," she offered breathlessly. "There's a restaurant in Old
Town with a similar name. I had to hail a second cab to arrive
here. Mineral water," she responded to the hovering barkeeper's
unasked question as she settled in.

He mentally chastised himself for forgetting she didn't drive.
"I'm sorry about earlier, at the precinct. It's just that..." He
shrugged.

A quick sip of the clear fluid. "You have regulations and
procedure. I'm just used to getting things done." She glanced up
and down the long surface. "If there's somewhere else we can talk,
I'd appreciate it. I'm really not a bar person." Her nose
wrinkled. "There's probably nothing vegetarian here."

He grinned. "They have decent vegetarian entrees available in the
dining room." He pointed toward a terraced, glass-sided space,
full of light, but nearly empty of customers. "If you'd like to
join me for dinner." 

She clucked at him, a gesture he was coming to recognize as a
repressed jibe, then picked up her glass. "Sure. I think you know
what's in the bag." She waggled the burdened shoulder. 

Nodding, he slid off the stool, then stepped back so she could
proceed first. "This way, please." He held out his arm. As they
walked, he allowed himself the pleasure of being someone he never
could be with Maria, a man escorting a woman of off-beat, yet
undeniable, beauty for an evening. 

                            --o-0-o--

Athens Hospital
Athens, Greece
Thursday, May 14, 1998
2:53 pm

"Sir, should we prepare to return to the States?" Scully asked.
She was, as always, Walter Skinner noted, perfectly poised in her
seat, giving no physical sign of her debility. 

Both men eyed her carefully before exchanging a glance. Skinner
read anxious hesitation in the cant of the younger man's lips,
then, the reason for his concern was verified when the light
struck the dark patch on her cheek. The Assistant Director
interlaced his fingers on the table before he answered, "No." 

There were two explosions of breath before Scully exclaimed, "Sir,
if there are matters related to the X-Files that need our
attention, I would hope at this late juncture that..." 

The older man held up both hands. "I said, no, agents. There are
two pieces of information I wanted to convey to both of you, but I
had to do this in person." He looked from one face to the other.
"Lindhauer and McConnell are dead. When Lindhauer failed to appear
in court, I was alerted. Senator Randall also contacted the Bureau
when McConnell failed to appear for work after three days
unexpected absence. I had both their residences searched." 

Scully cocked her head. "And?" 

Skinner crossed his arms. "Lindhauer's was clean, but McConnell's
had been sanitized, hastily I might add, after someone, or rather
two someones, were killed there. The blood and tissue samples
matched Lindhauer and McConnell." 

Mulder rubbed his chin. "McConnell's father is a prominent
minister down in Texas. I'm surprised we haven't heard it on CNN." 

Skinner shook his head. "You won't hear about it, at least not
soon. The Reverend has asked the Bureau to investigate the matter,
without fanfare." 

Scully pushed herself to her feet. "We can be packed and ready to
go within the day, Sir." 

The bald Director was standing as well. "No." 

"Sir!" Mulder rose, then clamped his lips shut when Scully,
gesturing with her head to the other patients on the terrace,
rested her hand on his arm. 

"There's a doctor's lounge down the hall where we can speak in
private," she explained. Once through the passage and safely
ensconced behind a frosted glass door, she, with her arms crossed,
her back rigid, stood toe to toe with their boss. "Sir," she
growled, "I am fine." The three words came out like bullets. "I
can return to the States at any time." 

Grasping her by both shoulders, Skinner leaned into her glare.
"I'm certain you would make those words true, Agent Scully." He
looked to Mulder for support, only to see the younger man's jaw
was set. He lifted her slightly before he continued, "This is to
be a low-profile investigation, but that, Agents, is exactly what
you two are *not* at this moment." 

Mulder grasped his partner's arms just beneath Skinner's hands to
guide her away from him. "He's right, Scully." 

Tugging at his tie, Skinner took the opening to move to a battered
couch. "I have called Nichols back from the West Coast to
supervise the operation. As of right now, he's putting together a
team to take over the case." 

Scully, still rigid, settled on the cushions beside their boss,
while Mulder slumped into a chair across from them both. "But
that's not all, is it, Sir?" she asked.

Skinner shook his head. "The Smoker has approached me personally.
I assumed from his overture that his ascension to power is
complete. The Organization is now back in his hands. We shall have
to secure all communications regarding your investigations, all of
them. We must prepare for the changes he will make." 

Mulder clenched both fists. "What? He's attempting to reel you
back in. Sir, is there anything in your past that..." 

Skinner shook his head. "No. Nothing. And if there was, I would
tell you both, here and now. But I wanted some recommendations for
more agents to work with us, to expand the X-Files. I was thinking
of Pendrell, for starters." 

Scully tucked her hair behind her ear. "Phillips. We could use her
expertise with forensics and chemical analyses. She's had some
time in the explosives unit, as I recall." 

Mulder reached across the space to touch her hand. "Is that wise,
Scully? Their relationship could be used against them. It already
has." 

Skinner flexed his jaw. "Whether she was inside the group or
outside of it, the personal costs would be the same." He looked,
first, into the steely blue, and then the hazel-grey, eyes before
he finished, "You should both be aware of that by now."

Scully nodded before she grasped her partner's arm. "Mulder? This
is your group we're discussing. If you have some reservations, or
if you have other candidates in mind, tell us." 

Skinner caught the emphasis on 'your' and made a mental note to
pursue the matter further with his agents.

The younger man slumped back in his chair. "Not really. Pendrell
and Phillips both understand the stakes here, Phillips especially.
With them at headquarters, Nichols can return to the West Coast
after the investigation in McConnell's and Lindhauer's deaths
finishes, to rejoin Rosen." 

Nodding, Skinner released a sigh. "We will need all the allies we
can get. I'll begin indoctrinating Pendrell and Phillips upon my
return." 

Scully glanced quickly at her partner before she offered, "Sir, I
regret my earlier outburst, but we would be more than willing to
return with you, should our expertise be required." 

Mulder was shaking his head. "Scully, you need the rest." 

She glared at him. "Mulder, I'll be fine. The soreness from the
fall is gone, mostly." She ignored his growl. "I can have Doctor
Nicholas send my medical records to Doctor Anderson. He can
continue working with me to determine the proper dosages." 

Watching the younger man's face set, Skinner hastened to state,
"No, that won't be necessary. As I said, the press inquiries are
still coming in about the events in Africa, and Senator Matheson
agrees that you two need to stay out of the limelight. If you're
too visible, you'll both become bigger targets than you already
are, and we're not ready to deal with those sorts of problems,
yet." He reached into his coat pocket. "Which brings me to the
final reason I'm here." He passed the younger man a manilla
packet. "Surveillance photos, Agent Mulder."

Scully waited while her partner turned the thick sheets over,
watching his unabashed delight grow with each image. She rose to
peer over his shoulder. "Mulder, if you'd like some time..." 

He held up one print that showed a woman on a bicycle, her long
brown hair flying under a red helmet. "I was the one who taught
her to ride, Scully." 

Skinner nodded. "Your sister doesn't drive. She uses that to get
everywhere, even to the grocery store." He tapped a tan,
perforated box strapped to the back. "The agents watching her
reported that she was on her way to the veterinarian's." 

Mulder peered at the faces in the next photograph. "Who's this?" 

Skinner checked the image before he answered, "That's Detective
Jerry Donato of the San Diego Police Department, who's the
official investigator on the murder she's looking into." 

Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance, each recalling conversation
in Miami, more than a year old, before Scully teased gently, "He'd
better be Chief of Police by the time Mulder meets him, Sir." 

Skinner looked from one to the other in confusion. "He's a fine
officer, Mulder. He has a degree in Criminal Justice
Administration from San Diego State University, graduating at the
top of his class. He made Detective in record time. As far as we
can tell, the only trouble he had was after he lost his partner
during a botched arrest." The older man held up his hand. "But
that wasn't either of their faults. Their informant set them up." 

Mulder shook his head. "That's all right, Sir. My sister has her
own life. Scully, look at this!" He handed one print to her. 

After examining the photo and carefully placing it on the stack
with the others, she rubbed his spine gently. "I see she took
something away with her from her time at the Kibbutz." 

Skinner leaned over to check the image. The chestnut-haired woman
was kneeling, one hand supporting an inverted plant while the
other lifted a green plastic pot off the roots. Tell-tale black
smudges streaked across a forehead bright with perspiration, over
an intense cant to dark eyebrows that Skinner found refreshingly
familiar. "Gardening?" 

Mulder took a moment to compose himself. "Yeah. She hated to get
dirty when she lived with us. But, she seemed to like it after she
was sent to Israel." 

Skinner rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I was informed that
transplanted test subjects would be given new personality traits,
just to thwart searches such as yours, Agent Mulder. But I didn't
think those were successful." 

The younger man passed the stack of photos to his partner, who
returned to her seat to reexamine them all. "Sir," he queried,
"may I call my Mother to come take a look at these? She's here in
Athens and could join us in a matter of minutes." 

Scully tucked the photos back in the envelope. "Better yet,
Mulder, why don't you deliver them to her? You can take some time
there." 

Mulder accepted the manilla packet from his partner. "Are you
sure, Scully?" 

Looking from one to the other, Skinner realized that something
more than partnerly concern was at stake. 

Scully nodded. "Yes. I promise not to go playing in any poppy
fields with my maidens if you go." She brushed the back of his
wrist with the tips of her fingers. "Besides, you'll have
Assistant Director Skinner to protect you." 

Mulder stared into Scully's eyes for a long moment before he
nodded. "Okay. I'll be back." 

She rose when he did. "I'll be here." 

Sending one long glance over his shoulder towards the red-haired
agent, Skinner waited for the younger man to join him. 

                            - o-0-o--

Casa de Pico
San Diego, California
Saturday, May 2, 1998
7:23 pm

"Thank you," Donato said to the waiter, who then turned to take
the adjacent table's order. In a fit of pique, he wondered, why,
in this nearly empty space, they had been seated next to the only
other couple in the dining area. He glanced across the linen at
Sandra, who was reaching under her chair. 

She pushed the notebook across the tiles to him. "Check pages 24
and 31." 

Donato flipped through, studied the entries, then commented, "It's
these lines labeled S&P which concerned you?" 

She nodded. "Yes. Those were his retirement funds. I don't know
why they were interspersed with the Federal grant money."

After leafing through a few more pages, Jerry observed, "It's
reverse fraud, if anything. It appears he's diverting funds from
his retirement account to your research budget, not vice versa."
As he closed the notebook, he checked her face. "You had no
inkling of this?" Her haunted hazel eyes were all the answer he
needed. "So, these entries tally with which of your books?" 

She retrieved her own green ledger book. "Our secret account, the
one where we 'knew' what we could spend. See?" 

He folded both books closed as the waiter approached with their
salads. Once they were alone, Jerry sighed. "And here I thought -
" 

She was leaning across the table toward him. "What? That Tom was
embezzling government funds? That you had an easy answer here?" 

He handed the books back to her. "No. Not really." Remembering the
tiresome hours on the phone, he asked, "So, whom do you know that
has a Turkish Angora cat?" 

She simply stared at him, then repeated the final few words of his
question in astonishment. "I have no idea." She poked her
radicchio experimentally. "Tom was slightly allergic to them,
which kept him from stopping by once I adopted Salazar from the
shelter. A cat, you say?" He watched her forehead contract in
surprise as she queried, "Why are you asking me this?" 

"There were cat hairs found embedded in the carpet under the
chair." Jerry wondered how much higher her brows could climb. 

Sandra rested her salad fork, with its tines down, on the edge of
the bowl. "Detective - " 

He held up both hands. "Jerry, please." 

"Jerry, this makes no sense at all!" She was fidgeting now, and he
speculated that decorum wouldn't keep her in her seat for long.
"None of the neighbors has a long-haired cat, which is the only
way I suspect you could find the hairs there." 

He chuckled. "Sandra, solving a murder is both like and unlike a
fluid dynamics problem. The pieces don't all approximate a
coherent mathematical theory." 

Her hazel eyes narrowed. "How *much* cat hair?" 

Fully having expected her to continue the argument, he opened his
mouth, then closed it, before he asked, "Hum?" 

She leaned forward. "I said, how much cat hair? A clump, one
strand, what? Were they ground into the carpet?" 

He began laughing out loud. It felt so good to have these kinds of
discussions again.

"Detective!" Her reprimand was sharp enough to command the
attention of the couple beside them. 

He took a long sip of his beer. "Just a few. No mats." He cocked
an eyebrow at her. "Mom had enough long-haired adoptees that I
know what those look like. Nor, from the distribution, did it
appear a cat had rolled around under the chair. It was as if they
had been brushed off the clothes of whoever had visited Wilton." 

She chewed in silence for a few moments. "So, you suspect the
perpetrator was a cat owner, or was around someone who had a
Turkish Van." She threw him a lop-sided grin. "Good. For a minute
there I thought we were trapped in another bad remake of 'Cat
People' or something."  

Jerry smiled back. "Yeah. The original, where you never saw the
monster, was better." He shook his head. "No. Nothing about this
case is simple." 

"Okay, what else did you find?" She was blinking at him
expectantly. 

"In the carpets, you mean?" 

She shrugged. "Or in the autopsy. If there were that many hairs,
you ought to have picked up corticosteroids in his blood, right?
That would have told you whether the person responsible for the
cat hairs had been there either before or after Tom's death." 

He rubbed the back of his neck. "It's difficult to say. There are
elevated levels of every steroid running through the bloodstream
in the case of violent death." He cocked his head at her. "Sorry."

She waved the concern away. "Even if the victim was unconscious at
the time. Autonomic responses fighting to keep the body alive."
She sipped her water. "So, the cat may mean nothing." 

"Or everything." She was retreating deeper into thought as he
watched. 

She eyed him, her gaze laser-tight. "Indeed."

                            --o-0-o--

Downtown Athens 
Athens, Greece
Thursday, May 14, 1998
3:33 pm

Walter Skinner's hands flew over the steering wheel as he spun his
rental into a traffic circle. He had been driving like this for
most of the journey from Omonia. He chuckled voicelessly as he
caught a glimpse of Mulder's knuckles, which were white as he
gripped the sides of his seat. "Agent," he offered as a
distraction, "your Mother is a formidable woman, intelligent and
undaunted. I see much of her in you." 

"Thank you, Sir," the younger man replied through clenched teeth.
"Although I'm not certain she'd want to know about your driving
habits." 

The bald Director spared his agent a glance. "This? I was
stationed here for a few months before Vietnam, Mulder. I
learned." 

"Ah." 

They screeched to a halt at a traffic light. "So, tell me about
Agent Scully's condition." 

Mulder met his superior's eyes for the first time since leaving
Omonia. "Sir, I'd really rather not say." 

Skinner's jaw set. "Oh? We're past the time when you should be
keeping secrets from me." He glanced down to see that the younger
man's hands were white still, but now they were clenching and
unclenching in his lap. "Agent." He let his voice slide into its
softest, yet most menacing, growl. "Tell me." 

Mulder shook his head. "Sir, she's thinking of leaving the
Bureau." 

A honk behind them distracted him until they were underway again.
"Oh? Why? How bad is it? And what is it?" 

The dark-haired man crossed his arms. "It's," he began, then
paused as he licked his lips, "it's osteopenia, Sir. The early
phases of osteoporosis. She's trying to halt its progress, maybe
even reverse the bone loss with - Sir? What are you doing?" 

Skinner had slammed the rental into a parking space. "Agent, do
you have any idea how serious this is? This is a life-threatening
disease!" 

Mulder nodded carefully. "I know that, Sir. I also know that with
proper medication, diet, exercise, and rest, Agent Scully will..."
He was shaking now. "She *will* recover." 

"Mulder!" the Director roared. "Listen to yourself!" 

The younger man raised his chin. "I believe in this, Sir. The
treatments will, no, *are* working. She *will* *not* have to take
early retirement. She *will* *not*."

Skinner watched the storm behind the younger man's hazel eyes
settle into certainty. "Very well, Agent. I simply wish you had
kept me informed of this." His gaze flicked to the rear-view
mirror. "You see that green sedan?"

Mulder leaned over. "You mean the one that just passed us?" 

The director nodded. "He's been following since we left your
parents' apartment. That way will take him to the hospital. I
suggest we keep a close watch on him." After a suitable distance
had been established, he blared the horn as he backed into
traffic. 

                            --o-0-o--

San Diego, California
Saturday, May 2, 1998
8:49 pm

Jerry Donato glanced over at his passenger, remembering. Their
conversation had drifted through other topics as the meal had
progressed, prolonging the illusion that they were a couple on a
date. But they were merely two people who needed each other's help
looking for answers, he to a murder case, she to the death of a
close friend. Or was it an illusion, he wondered, as a forbidden
thrill coursed through him. She had dressed up, certainly, but her
high-necked, loose-fitting shift was hardly the apparel of choice
for a woman seeking to entice with her physical attractiveness. At
the end of the meal, he had offered her a ride home, she had
accepted, so here they sat, waiting for a green arrow so they
could turn left. 

She had been silent for so long that he jumped slightly when she
commented, "You know, there was something not quite right about
Tom's office." 

He glanced over. To him, the place had been enough of a midden
that he never would have known, but this woman worked with Wilton
daily. "There's his normal messy mess, then there's sheer nuclear
annihilation?"

She chuckled. "Well, almost. If anything, it was like someone had
straightened up, actually." 

Now, he just stared at her. 

Her eyes dancing, she pointed out the front windshield. "Green
light," she chirped.

The two words unleashed a torrent of speculation in Jerry's mind
before he took her statement literally and stepped on the gas
pedal. "Ah," he replied once they were underway, "so you think
someone had gone through his office *before* you and I arrived
there?" 

She nodded. "Although, for what, I honestly can't say." She tapped
the black bag with her foot. "That's the only notebook he
maintained covertly, but it was right where he always kept it." 

"Hum." He passed a creaking station wagon. "Just so we don't chase
any red herrings, let me ask the obvious questions here. He *did*
clean up on occasion, didn't he?" 

She threw her head back to let out a long peal of laughter. It
was, as Jerry had hoped, full of richness and joy. She covered her
mouth, then answered, "Of course he did. But only when Judy and I
nagged him into it. Just before the semester began, as a matter of
fact."

"So, wasn't it about time?" 

Her response was more blessed merriment. "Oh, no. Tom could be
coerced only once a year, if that. We both pitched in, Judy and I.
When we were finished, he commented that he'd only have to work
that hard if he were moving offices."

They exchanged a significant glance. 

"Do you have sufficient cause to swear out a search warrant now?"
she asked finally. 

Donato shifted uneasily behind the wheel. "It's iffy. With this
being murder one, the medical examiner can claim priority over any
and all potential evidence related to the case. But, my department
won't like how this is proceeding. They'd rather have cooperation
than confrontation." 

"So, you need to get it out of your department first? Politics."
She blew out a long, angry breath before she simply crossed her
arms and stared out the window for a few blocks. "Look," she began
suddenly, making the detective jerk, "Judy's a reasonable woman.
She's just grieving right now. I'm having the staff and students
keep an eye on the office for me. Only she and the staff have
keys, and the students are there to all hours. They'll let me know
if they see anyone strange." 

"Okay," Jerry agreed as he pointed. "That's the turn?" 

She nodded. As he pulled into the driveway, she smiled over,
"Thanks for the ride." 

Reluctant to release her so suddenly, he blurted out, "When's the
funeral?" 

She had been working her hair free of the braid before she
answered, "It was supposed to have been tomorrow. I suspect part
of Judy's frustration yesterday was with the Medical Examiner, who
still retained control of Tom's body. I tried to tell her that
there may be questions remaining to be answered in what is, sad to
say, a murder investigation." 

Jerry blinked. "Oh? I wasn't informed of this. I thought with the
autopsy finished, there wasn't going to be any problem. How did
you find out?" 

She shrugged. "A long talk with Judy. She gave me a ride home last
night."

"So?" Jerry leaned toward her. 

"She didn't say. She's pretty rattled by all the relatives who
have appeared out of the woodwork. Tom's family didn't come to
their wedding, but they show up for his funeral? It's like they
blame her, or something. Besides, she can be astonishingly dense
about technical matters at times. What?" 

He narrowed his dark eyes at his passenger. "That's the first
negative thing I've heard you say about her."

She bit her lower lip momentarily before she replied, "Sorry, I
didn't mean it that way. She had different strengths, that's all.
She's immensely creative. She does oil painting." She met his gaze
squarely. "Did you know that? She had a couple of shows for her
works over the past year." 

"No, I didn't." He silently congratulated himself for following
his instincts and asking this woman to meet with him. Just such a
detail might never have come out during the course of a typical
police investigation, but, it provided a wider circle to
investigate for suspects. He licked his lips, then asked, "Tom had
no problem with that?" 

She eyed him curiously, then replied, "Of course not. He was
instrumental in getting the first show set up for her."

"Ah." Donato nodded. "I see." She was staring at him expectantly,
so he blurted out, "What?" then began studying his hands. 

She twisted her curls behind her shoulders. "If you have no
further questions, Detective, then I have a fussy feline waiting
for me inside. See?" She pointed to a round body pressed against
the glass. 

Jerry grinned. "No. Good night, Sandra."

"Night, Jerry," she called back, already half out of the car.

                            --o-0-o--

Athens Hospital
Athens, Greece
Thursday, May 14, 1998
4:14 pm

Her eyes closed, Scully caught the soft scrape of the latch
against the door-jam. Expecting it to be her partner, she lay
still for a few moments, listening for the rhythm of his
footfalls, the soft exhalation which would mask his concern. But
the steps were distinctly wrong. They belonged to someone shorter,
someone who was in a hurry, yet furtive. She knew whoever was
behind her expected she would be asleep, so prepared to take
advantage of the element of surprise. Cold in the air conditioning
earlier, she had draped a thin hospital blanket over the sheets
loosely. Now she slid her arm under it to grasp the satin edge.
The strides hesitated, so she made of great show of sighing deeply
and turning her back to the door. When she could smell her visitor
hovering over her, she threw the outer cover up and off, then
flipped onto her knees while releasing a quick punch to his
abdomen. 

"What the!" was about all the man got out before she threw herself
at him, sending them both sprawling on the floor. He was still
batting at the blanket when she saw the needle end of a hypodermic
poking through the open weave. 

It was loose, wiggling freely, so, with a final punch to her
assailant's jaw, she flung the cloth off him and into a far
corner. "Who are you?" she shouted. "What do you want with me?" 

"Hey, let me up!" His eyes uncovered now, the man was pushing at
her, but she, heedless of her sweats and bare feet, was sitting on
his chest. 

"You!" she shouted as she caught a clear glimpse of his face.
"It's you! Mulder was right about you!" 

She heard pounding feet coming down the hall. Her partner was
bellowing her name, amid calls for silence from the nurses and
doctors. 

The man's eyes widened as he realized he was trapped. Then, he
began fighting with her in earnest, grabbing at her breasts while
attempting to push her down past his hips. 

Undeterred, she jabbed his eyes with her thumbs, then, as he
howled in pain, aimed a knee into his groin and shifted all her
weight onto this single point of contact. The man tried to coil
around himself.

"Scully!" Mulder flew into the room. 

"Help me!" her assailant was sobbing now. "Get her off me!" 

His weapon drawn, Walter Skinner barrelled through the door, then
stutter-stepped to a halt. Mulder was helping Scully to her feet
while the driver he had spotted earlier was writhing on the tiles.
"Agents?" he queried. 

"Sir!" Scully pointed downward. "Arrest him! We think he's with
the Consortium." 

The Assistant Director placed the muzzle of his SIG against the
man's neck. "Hold still!" Once he was secured in handcuffs,
Skinner straightened. "Now, Agent Scully, talk to me." 

She was absolutely rigid, her partner standing as close to her
back as he could without touching her. "We encountered this man at
Ancient Thira, nearly ten days ago, Sir." She looked to Mulder for
confirmation, who nodded. 

Skinner saw her shoulders sag fractionally. "You think he was
shadowing you? For what purpose?" 

Mulder rested a custodial hand on her arm. "We're hoping you would
find that out, Sir. Now that he's attacked Agent Scully - " The
three looked down as their suspect emitted a particularly long
moan. " - he can be held and questioned. He had a passport under
the name Benner, but I doubt that's real." 

She crossed the room to the crumpled blanket. "He was carrying a
hypodermic, Sir, and I believe it was his intention to inject me
with it." After extracting the needle, she placed it carefully in
Skinner's outstretched palm. "I suggest you have the contents
examined." 

Mulder hauled the man upright. "What were you planning on doing to
Agent Scully?" He shook him, then twisted his bound arms
painfully. 

"Mulder!" the Assistant Director barked. "Let him go!" 

"Please," the putative assailant whimpered, "just take me away
from her."

"With pleasure." Skinner's dark eyes glinted. "Let me make some
calls." He stepped into the hall. 

Mulder shoved the prisoner into the wall, where he slumped to the
floor, then turned to his partner. "You okay, Scully?" 

"I think so." She arched both eyebrows. "What?" 

"No damsel in distress, right?" 

One cheek creased. "No. Not this time." She settled primly on the
edge of the mattress. 

He advanced on her to grasp both wrists. "See, no shakes. You
*are* getting better." 

She looked up, but their superior re-entered the small room at
that moment. "Sir?" she queried.

"One of the agents from the Athens office should be here
momentarily. I'll interrogate him further when we have arrived."
The three looked to the limp man in the corner. "Agent Mulder, if
I discover you have injured this suspect in your zeal, be certain
you will be hearing from me further on this matter." 

Scully slipped her feet to the floor, but as she crossed the room,
the bound man called out, "No, keep her away." 

She looked to her partner, who shook his head. "I *am* a
physician, Sir," she protested succinctly. 

"For who, the Marquis de Sade?" He slid further away from her.
"You'll both be hearing from my lawyer. This is brutality, plain
and simple." 

Mulder stalked across the room to tower over him. "You attacked a
Federal Agent in a hospital! What were you thinking?" He crouched.
"Tell us who your superiors are. The Smoking man? Who?" 

Scully rested her hand on his shoulder. "Mulder, that will be
enough. I'm certain Assistant Director Skinner can take care of
this." 

He snarled downward one last time, then rose. "Okay." 

"While we wait, Agents, I have news for you. Chief Blevins has
demanded an investigation into the deaths in the Courthouse
explosion." 

"What? But there was one already underway when I left. Oh." Scully
walked over to the Assistant Director. "Into the death *I* caused,
you mean. Well, he's within his right as a supervisor to initiate
one whenever a Special Agent - " 

Skinner took hold of one elbow. "Has to take a life in the line of
duty. I know. They took a statement from Jarred Stone in the
hospital."

She looked to her partner, then chuckled softly. "I'm certain
Elizabeth just *loved* that. But what I don't understand is why is
Blevins poking his nose into the X-Files now, after all these
years of having left us alone?" 

"Unless the Smoker is controlling him, I don't know, Scully."
Mulder had stepped up behind her to guide her away by grasping the
free arm.

She turned to him. "I should go back, Mulder. I don't like being
accused of something and not being there to defend myself. *We*
should go back." 

"No!" He pushed his hand against her spine. "There's no need." 

"But - " A quick glance at their superior, then she muffled her
protest.

Skinner flushed slightly, then explained, "I've pulled some
strings to have the proceedings suspended, Agent Scully. Jarred
Stone's testimony was sufficient to put off the dogs of Internal
Affairs, for the present." He softened his gaze as he looked down
at her. "The media refuse to let this go. I've been carrying a
pager because I've had to disconnect my phones at home."

"Oh." She was beginning to relax as Mulder's thumb worked
unconscious circles on her arm. "I didn't realize it was that bad.
I thought it would be our usual one-day wonder event, then back to
anonymity." 

Mulder grunted. "Senator Matheson's doing his best to make it that
way." 

Scully's left cheek creased. "Next you'll be telling me that MUFON
is convinced it was a UFO." 

The three laughed together softly at the irony, before Mulder
commented, "No, not really. They've discounted it because it was
so obviously an earth-built rocket. It's the conventional press
who are wondering about a new world power that's been unveiled.
With the unrest in the Congo, they're all speculating that one of
the factions has bought a Soviet rocket." He felt a twinge of
guilt at the fading scars running down her arm. "The Russians are
denying the whole thing, of course, which just makes the press
*more* suspicious." 

She cocked her head to look back at him. "What have we started,
Mulder?" 

He grinned. "Would you believe..." 

"Yes, Eighty-Six?" She laughed out loud, her green-blue eyes
dancing when both men joined her.

Mulder's tongue stuck out slightly before he teased, "That for
once, I haven't a clue?" 

They turned as the door opened to admit a blond man in a grey
suit. The Bureau badge he held up identified him as John Curtis,
as he quickly assessed the situation, then walked up to the bald
man. "We're ready to leave, Director." 

Skinner nodded. "I'll see that I work on helping you back at the
field office." With a glance, he took his leave of the partners. 

                            --o-0-o--
Athens Hospital
Athens, Greece
Thursday, May 14, 1998
6:23 pm 

Mulder slipped into his partner's room. When he saw her bed was
empty, he called out, "Scully?" His panic from earlier rose
suddenly.

"I'm here, Mulder." Her voice rattled from the bathroom. 

As a cover for his unexpected fear, he slid onto the bed and
interlaced his fingers behind his head. "You okay?" 

She pulled the door open. "What do you think?" She cocked her head
when she saw him sprawled out. "Agent Mulder, there is only *one*
of those in this room." 

Fully relieved now, he wiggled on the mattress. The bad news he
had could keep for a little. "I don't see a problem with that." 

She curled up at his hip, holding her left wrist in her right hand
in front of her bare ankles. "Mulder. What *am* I going to do with
you?" She smiled gently as his eyes glinted. "No jokes about
playing Doctor, either." She tapped his chest with a knuckle.
"What's on your mind?" 

He sighed. Now was as good a time as any. "Your assailant is dead,
Scully." 

She stood. "What? Was he injured while we struggled?" 

After rising, he walked around the bed to tower over her. "You
mean while you were so diligently deflating his manhood, Doctor?"
He sobered. "No. He had a cyanide capsule, Scully. When Skinner
confined him to check the contents of that hypo, he swallowed it." 

Scully took a step back. "What? The Consortium has never asked
that of their agents before. What could he possibly know that
would require extreme measures of that nature? They could have
made him disappear with a simple call from an attorney!" 

Mulder grasped her arm. "I think the escape of the shape-shifters
and our exposure of their activities has them running scared. They
can't afford another Saunders. That's all I can figure." 

She studied his shifting hazel eyes for a moment. "So, what was in
the hypo?" 

"Just what you thought. Poison. Someone wanted you out of the way,
Scully. Whatever you think of yourself, you're still a threat to
them." 

She dropped her forehead to his chest, then walked over to the
bed. "Am I? They've never tried something so blatant before. Or
was it just a diversionary tactic while they pursue something
else?" 

He slid behind her. "They're desperate, like I said. You *have* to
stay. You *must* see that now." 

She shook her head. "I'm just being honest with you, Mulder. I'm
making progress, certainly, but I can't guarantee a full recovery.
Not now." She turned to look up at him again. 

"Who can certify anything?" He arched both dark brows at her.
"There's more." 

She crossed her arms. "What?" 

"Since the death happened here in Athens, the Bureau can't take
control of the investigation the way we could in the States. It's
been turned over to Greek officials to pursue." 

"Mulder!" She began prowling the room. "How can we? They don't
know what they have!" 

He sighed. "I know, Scully, but it's the best we can do. Skinner's
not letting go of it. He's taking half the evidence to have the
Bureau work with it, in parallel to the officials here. He got
them to agree to letting us return to Santorini when you're
feeling better. But, we can't leave the country without letting
them know." 

She leaned against the wall. "I'm sorry, Mulder. This happened at
just the wrong time." 

He walked over to grasp her arm. "No. Look at it this way. The
Shadows can't control two separate investigations. One way or
another, we'll run them to ground." 

She looked up at him. "I hope you're right." 

As he guided back to her bed, he whispered, "But aren't I always?"

                            --o-0-o--

Northern Division
San Diego Police Department
San Diego, California
Sunday, May 3, 1998 
8:21 am

Jerry Donato drummed his fingers nervously as he waited in
Johnson's office. After a long night lying in bed, he realized the
only way to move the investigation forward was to follow Sandra's
suggestion, have the medical examiner obtain a search warrant, and
apply the talents of the department to excavating Tom Wilton's
office. After three short phone calls, he had instigated the
meeting which would commence with the African-American's arrival.
He glanced to his left, where his temporary partner was biting
crescents out of the rim of a stained styrofoam cup. He thought to
check to his right, but he knew the seat was empty. Sandra Miller
had abandoned it a few minutes earlier to prowl along the glass
like a caged lioness. 

Johnson entered behind the three, closed the door, then released a
prolonged sigh. "Good morning, Detectives. I'm certain the people
of the city of San Diego appreciate this level of dedication that
has you at work bright and early on Sunday, but I was looking
forward to an uninterrupted night's rest." He turned to the woman
fidgeting in the corner of the room. "And you must be?" 

"Doctor Sandra Ann Miller." She closed the distance between them
to grasp his hand firmly. "We need a search warrant for Tom
Wilton's office." She crossed her arms. 

Jerry sighed. Although he knew Johnson appreciated directness, now
was not the time for the Professor's distinct predilection for
cutting to the chase. 

Johnson waved her to the remaining vacant chair as he settled
behind his desk. "So, I snap my fingers and out it comes." He
shook his head. "I wish it were that simple, Doctor Miller. I know
you just want this case solved, but - " He held out a narrow white
folder. 

Sandra glanced at the contents quickly, then tossed the papers
back on his desk. "No, Judy, don't do this." 

Donato leaned forward to identify the document. "So, she did it."
He looked up at his sergeant. "This is grief talking, nothing
more." 

Johnson nodded. "Grief talking with the backing of the law. So
far, I've been able to keep this out of Creighton's purview, but I
may not be able to do so much longer. Unless there's evidence
already in your possession you can bring us, Doctor Miller, our
hands are tied. I have to speak with the Department's counsel on
this lawsuit, and the warrant will have to come through the
Medical Examiner."

She eyed Donato before she replied, "My personal and professional
papers are entirely at your disposal. I have some of Tom's notes,
which are also yours. If I can sneak any more out, I will."

Johnson rose to stand in front of her. "Doctor, don't you
understand. The Medical Examiner will have to take matters from
here. Despite all your good intentions, if he discovers you have
removed material evidence in a murder investigation, we, as
officers of the law, *will* have to come after you?" 

She was on her feet as well. "No, Sergeant, *you* understand. This
is my friend, my colleague, who was killed. I won't let anything
stand in the way of finding out who did it." 

Johnson glared at her. "But, I presume you want this individual
convicted for his crime?" Donato recognized his tone as the calm
before the storm. 

Sandra glared back. "There are ways, Sergeant, there are always
ways." 

He held up one long finger. "But ours are the legal ones, not
yours." 

She charged out without another word. 

Johnson watched her go, her long hair swaying as she stalked down
the corridor flanked by aging desks. "From the back, she does look
like Maria. If only her hair were darker."

Donato's gaze dropped to his right hand, which was clenching the
arm of his chair. "Not that much darker, Sir." 

Gonzales cleared his throat. "So, it's back to tried and true
detective work, talking to suspects, those mundane procedural
efforts? Time to go to the Medical Examiner, as you tried to tell
her?" He glanced quickly at Donato. 

Johnson, his eyes still on the swinging double doors, nodded.
"Indeed. Did you have any luck with the cat breeders?" 

Jerry heaved a sigh. "No. The Turkish Van is rare, which narrowed
the list down considerably. The one pet owner I reached had no
connections with Scripps, or the university." He licked his lips
nervously. "Sir, I'd like to interview the staff there, if I may.
As background checks." 

Johnson nodded. "I concur, Detective. It would be necessary as a
part of the case, and, as long as you stay away from Wilton's
office, won't get you into any trouble with his widow, yet. This
lawsuit is a nuisance, but it won't stop the investigation from
proceeding, whatever Professor Miller thinks of our abilities." A
flash of humor glinted in his eyes. "Besides, it will let you keep
an eye on what the resourceful Doctor has uncovered now." He
rubbed his face. "Before you go, stop by the morgue and pass on
our request." He pointed to a summons. "They should be releasing
the body to the family by the end of the day." 

Gonzales bumped Donato's shoulder with his fist. "Buy you some
breakfast before we hit the road, partner?" 

Donato nodded gratefully. 

                            --o-0-o--

Athens Hospital
Athens, Greece
Monday, May 18, 1998
10:23 am 

Doctor Nicholas sighed at the two visitor's chairs across from
him, which were presently unoccupied. He had enjoyed his years as
an obstetrician, delivering new lives into the welcoming arms of
parents and grandparents. But, as he had aged, he had chosen to
restrict his practice to the gynecological side of his training,
while a younger partner suffered through the frantic midnight
calls and long hours. Even then, most of the women he had treated
were surrounded by family and children, and were willing to accept
his authority without question.

Not these two. He knew doctors made the worst patients, but, these
Americans! Demanding full disclosure, then controlling exactly
which drugs, and how much, should be dosed. Always there was that
dark-haired man, Mulder, hovering so intently over his patient
that his staff was in an barely-restrained uproar over his near-
constant presence. Yet, here he sat, having just called the tiny
woman in, to discharge her, not into the shelter of her husband,
mother, or brothers. She, and it astonished him that such was the
case for so attractive a patient, lacked either spouse or lover.
Her blood family, in what must be yet another American
peculiarity, was perfectly willing to leave her far away,
unattended and not inquired after. So, here he was, preparing to
deliver her into the care of an unceasingly attentive colleague,
and his family. 

Had he not taken this case on as a favor for a friend in the
government, he would have sent the woman, who was now opening the
door, packing across the Atlantic without a second thought. 'I'm
simply relieving my staff of two problems,' he reminded himself as
he cleared his desk of all folders but those labelled 'Scully, D.'
He rose while his patient, who was lightly grasping the elbow of
her dark-haired companion, approached and seated herself. 

"Doctor Scully, Mister Mulder, thank you for your promptness."
Whatever flaws Americans had, they all seemed to be the most time-
conscious of persons. He cleared his mind, as he had his desk, of
everything but what mattered to the patient waiting on him. As he
sat, he continued, "Dana, you've been coming along nicely." He
watched as her eyes narrowed slightly at his choice of a name,
then chose to forge ahead. This genial manner worked with the
others, but she had probably interpreted his words as an insult.
So be it, he consoled himself. Soon she would be someone else's
problem. 

"Yes," she replied, "the hot flashes and mood swings appear to
have subsided, at least for now." 

The clipped words and slightly elevated chin verified his
suspicions. He noted silently that if her ability to present a
stoic mask to those who saw her on a day-to-day basis was somehow
diminished, he would have hated to negotiate with this woman when
she was healthy. He forced himself to return to the matters at
hand. "I think it's safe for you to continue your recovery at
home." Wherever that may be, he added to himself as he scribbled
on a prescription pad. "These are an extra set of hormone
medication and vitamins, just as a reserve." He waited through the
expected exchange of glances between the pair, then tore the paper
off the gummed back. 

"That's all? Just medication?" Mulder shifted to the edge of his
seat.

Nicholas leaned back in his chair. Soon, he knew, the dark-haired
man would be prowling the confines of his office.

"Mulder," the woman beside him began softly, "All I need now is
rest and exercise." 

Nicholas felt compelled to add, "But, not too much of the latter
at first. No marathons, just yet." His advice was met with an
emphatic nod from the man and a slight stiffening of the woman's
jaw. 

"How soon do you advise I can return to my work in the States?"
she asked. "My energy levels are much higher than when I was first
admitted." 

There was a gasp from the man, whether it reflected frustration or
surprise, Nicholas couldn't say. Apparently, this had been some
point of disagreement between them. 

The senior physician chose to don his glasses at this juncture. It
usually lent an air of authority to his words. With these two, he
needed all of that he could muster. "I want to see you put on at
least ten pounds, Dana. Not necessarily muscle, either. You need
some reserves, all right?" He glanced at the lanky man beside her,
whose dancing hazel eyes were broadcasting their agreement. "Your
bone index never fell to dangerously low levels, so I won't be
imposing strength-building exercises on your recovery time,
initially." He suspected that she would rather have chosen the
latter than the former as a recommendation.

Nicholas passed the sheet to her. "I'll want to check you over in
about a month, before I give my approval for you to return to
work." He caught the silent agitation, he fidgeting and she going
absolutely rigid, at the length of time he specified, but pressed
ahead, "Have that filled at the hospital pharmacy before you
leave. It'll be cheaper." He dropped his eyes to the wood, given
the pair the space to depart. 

                            --o-0-o--

Medical Examiner's Office
County Operations Center
Sunday, May 3, 1998
9:27 am

Donato handed the slim folder to the technician wordlessly. 

He nodded. "That'll be 145. This way." He led them along a bank of
doors, finally stopping just before the next wall. "It's this one.
Stand back." He rolled the shelf out. 

Donato frowned. "Hunh." 

Gonzales cocked an eyebrow. "What is it?" 

Jerry pointed to the arms, which were raised into fists. "This
isn't typical rigor. When we found the body, the arms were limp
and straight. Now, he looks like he's ready to go six rounds with
somebody." 

The technician sighed. "Hang on. I'll have to pass this along." 

Donato found his eyes drawn to the discolorations on the corpse's
palms. He was concentrating so intently that he was unaware of the
others returning. An abrupt rattle in the throat of the man behind
him sent him spinning. 

An older man, whom Jerry recognized as Doctor James Hitchens, the
department's senior pathologist, stood behind him. 

"Now," the white-haired man commanded as he crossed his arms and
glared down his hooded, raptor-like nose, "Mister Humphries tells
me you have problems with this case, Detective. A recalcitrant
widow with a guilty conscience, perhaps, hum?" 

Jerry's discomfort at being the object of the pathologist's
intense stare only grew as the doctor brought his age-lengthened
face close to his own still-rounded features. "Yes. You'll have to
obtain a warrant to get into Wilton's office." 

Hitchens shook his head. "I can obtain one for any reason. You
know that. Tell me what seems to be troubling you, Mister Donato."
He waited. 

With a deep breath, Jerry launched into a recap of the initial
days of the investigation, Gonzales nodding his support by his
side. When he had reached the present, he stopped with the
question, "What happened to Wilton's body? The arms were straight
at the scene."

Hitchens simply narrowed his eyes, stalked back to his office,
then returned with a folder of his own. "I keep photographs of my
work." He eyed them both before dropping the binder on the table,
then flipping through the mylar-encased pages. "Here." He pointed.
"You see?" The arms are flat here, just as you reported." He
closed the book." 

Jerry rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, I don't mean to make - "

The white-haired man raised his chin. "Speak your mind,
Detective!" 

"But did you notice these, these discolorations on the palms?" 

Hitchens flipped through the sheets. "The hands were unblemished
at that time." Shutting the folder, he concluded, "I had no
question as to the cause of death. Blood loss was a sufficient
explanation." He crossed his arms again. 

"Then, Sir, why have you not released the body to the family?"
Gonzales piped up. 

Hitchens favored them both with a lightning-quick grin. "Ah! I had
some questions about some of the endorphin levels in the blood."
Slipping on his reading glasses, he opened the notebook to tap a
page. "I was waiting for results from tests of the hair samples to
give me a background level, then I would know how the results from
the muscle sections compared. I wanted to keep the body here in
case I needed to run more tests." 

Gonzales stared at the heels of the cadaver. "I don't think you'll
find anything now." He waited while both men looked over at him,
then he caught Donato's gaze. "I've seen this before. A strong
electric current was applied to a corpse in a previous case to
conceal evidence stored in the tissues. I think something similar
has happened here." 

The response from Hitchens was immediate and dramatic. He began
shouting down the hall for his assistants, who had taken the
opportunity of their boss's engagement with the detectives for a
break. "Rogers, get in here! Get Anderson on the phone! If this
office has been compromised, I want to get to the bottom of it!"
He whirled to face the detectives. "Thank you, both, for stopping
by. We'll review the surveillance tapes to solve this. Be certain
you'll have a search warrant in your hands by the end of the
shift. Be certain!" 

Knowing they were dismissed, Gonzales turned to Donato to offer,
"What say we go for that breakfast, partner?" 

His eyes on Wilton's slack features, Jerry nodded. "Give me a
moment here, Richard." 

Reading the expression on Donato's face, Gonzales sighed and
stepped outside. 

"So," Jerry began, "tell me who did it, Tom." He shook his head.
He was supposed to be professional, to see each death
dispassionately, to look for cause and effect with detachment. But
this one, so soon after Maria, struck too close to home. He looked
down again. "Like you could just wake up and tell me, hum?" Donato
began pacing. "Was it your loving wife, Judy? Had she found you
with a pretty young thing and was she enraged, plotting her
revenge? Or was it a colleague? A friend?" He rubbed the back of
his neck as he thought of all the distraught young men and women
he had interviewed. "A graduate student whose thesis you had
demanded be rewritten one too many times?" He shoved his hands in
his pockets as he studied the blond hair and slender nose. "I wish
I had your looks." He bent over the ashen face. "Who is Sandra
Miller, Tom? What was she to you? You certainly meant more to her
than I think you realized. Do you know how much furor and pain
you've left behind?" He stopped, as if waiting for an answer from
the dead man. 

Donato squared his shoulders, then turned to the door. "Ah, time
to go do my job, Tom." He had caught Gonzales's quizzical gaze
through the glass. 

Alarmed, Gonzales tapped Jerry on the arm when he reached his
side. "Let's go, partner. We have witnesses to interview."

With a sigh, the thick-chested detective nodded, then they left.

                            --o-0-o--

Athens Hospital
Athens, Greece
Monday, May 18, 1998
10:49 am

As they waited by the elevator, Mulder glanced down at his
partner. Her fingers were still hooked tightly over his arm.
Although he relished the contact, he was curious as to its
persistence. That she was more worn that she was willing to admit
verbally was the most likely cause. But, it was equally possible
that she was attempting, however obliquely, to apologize, again,
for her outbursts of emotion during her stay here. It was odd that
what she accepted without question or complaint from him she
refused to tolerate in herself. His focus shifted from her thumb,
rubbing circles on his arm, to her eyebrows, arched in curiosity.

She was studying the letters on the paper. "No wonder he suggested
I have this filled here. These are so new I've only read about
them in journals. I didn't know they were available to clinicians
yet." 

Since the doors were sliding open, he freed himself to touch her
spine. "Nothing but the best, that's what I told them, Scully." 

She walked to lean against the back of the elevator without
acknowledging his jibe. Once he had positioned himself by the
control panel, she responded to his quizzical eyebrow with,
"Five," then lapsed back to introversion. 

He bent over her to note that her jaw was stiffened slightly, that
her eyes were focused beyond the painted steel of the car. She
was, no doubt, working her way through some concern, possibly over
the length and expense of her stay here in Athens. She was
probably considering the risks involved in a return to the States,
but he knew it was not the ones to her personally that weighed
most heavily upon her. After a few moments of silent ascent,
whatever it was, she had resolved it in her own mind, since she
was turning her sapphire-sharp gaze upwards. 

"Mulder," she began, "I have to pay you back for all of this." She
waved her arm at the walls of the rising box. 

He simply blinked at her for a moment. If she meant the money he
had removed from his rarely-touched trust fund, he would flatly
refuse her offer. He would gladly drain the entirety of the
account if it would restore a fraction of what had been taken from
her. It was his father's legacy, after all, and a few months
earlier it would have been a relief to be divested of what he
could only consider blood money. But, he had learned much, both
from and about Christina Knox. He felt, for the first time, that
he had his father's tacit approval for his quest, even if it was
from beyond the grave. Perhaps this was what Bill Mulder had been
attempting to tell him in that dark, fateful living room a
lifetime ago.  

But, he knew that was not what the flame-haired woman reaching for
his wrist wanted to hear. Further, he would use any opening, any
advantage, to keep her by his side. He leaned over to whisper,
"Then, stay." 

She nodded. 

He felt tears prick his eyes. Was it really that simple? She was
drawing herself up straight, so obviously not. 

"It's only fair," she replied. "I owe you that, at least until
we've found you a new partner."

He shook his head. "I don't *want* a new partner, Scully, I want
you." He let the spareness of his response unsettle her. 

After a moment's hesitation, she walked over to the control panel,
leaving her back to him as she lapsed into reticence. 

He waited. They had been at this impasse for over a week now. In a
moment, he knew, she would turn and attempt to convince him that
he needed to be in San Diego, and as soon as possible. She would
at least do him the courtesy of not telling him she was fine, or
any variation thereof. After all, if she was, then she didn't need
to leave the X-Files, or him. 

He stepped up behind her, hoping to forestall any protest. He
wanted to remind her of all the things he admired about her: her
integrity, her loyalty, her honesty, and her ability to admit when
she didn't know, when she didn't have an answer. She would, in
turn, use those words to remind him that she *was* being honest
with him when she said she felt the physical demands of their work
were beyond her present abilities. 

But, he also knew, *knew*, to the core of his being, that her
disability was *temporary*. When she was rested, healed, when
those sharp angles on her face had rounded over, she would feel
differently about her fears and her failings. Yet, mere words
would no longer suffice. They were trapped in a tangled knot of
sentences, needing a clean cut to set them free, to put matters
right between them. Neither of them was good at persuasion, only
at uncovering the truth. 

Mulder was humbled and honored that Scully was willing to lay
aside that which mattered most to her, her career and future with
the FBI, to guarantee the success of the X-Files and his continued
well-being and personal happiness. But, he needed some way to
convince her that such a sacrifice was unreasonably great and
totally unnecessary. Without being aware of it, he stretched out
his hand to touch her, a glancing brush of fingertips across her
back. 

She shifted uneasily, then turned to look up at him. "Mulder." She
shook her head, then dropped her gaze to her leather-clad toes. 

He closed the distance between them again. He only hoped he could
find another way to make her understand the depth of his
admiration for her intellect, the sincerity of his respect for her
abilities, his abiding affection for her personally. 

She reached behind her, unerringly closing her fingers around his
palm, as if she knew where he was by instinct. "Mulder," she began
again softly. But then the elevator chime sounded, a large black-
haired family thrust themselves upon them, so she met his eyes,
then dropped his hand.

He nodded once before guiding her out the door with a gentle push.
They would return to this later, he knew, with a profound sense of
relief. He still had time to persuade her, or for the truth to
make itself known to his partner. 

                            --o-0-o--

Scripps Institute of Oceanography
La Jolla, California
Sunday, May 3, 1998
10:21 am

Gonzales pointed toward a tree-obscured side-street. "There?" 

"Yes," Donato replied. "The facility's just beyond the parking
lot. Good thing we stopped by the lab, or we would never have seen
what had happened to the decedent's remains."

Gonzales eased the plain black Ford into the closest available
space, stepped out, then waited for Donato to collect the
documents and join him. He pointed to a turbaned man who was
waving from the doorway. "Looks like you have a fan club." 

Jerry juggled the papers to wave back. "That's Anwar, one of
either Doctor Miller's or Doctor Wilton's graduate students. I
couldn't tell which when I questioned him earlier." 

Beaming broadly, the Pakistani student was holding the door for
them. "Detective! Have you had any luck with the fingerprints?" 

Gonzales chuckled. "You *do* have a fan club." 

The turban-wearing man studied the younger officer intensely, then
stopped. "Well?" 

Jerry shook his head. "We're here because we found something odd
in the body, Anwar." 

"Ah." The graduate student nodded seriously. "And you think it has
something to do with the wind tunnel. So, you wish to collect more
evidence. This is also good. I will unlock the doors for you,
Detectives." Once the three were inside the control room, he
paused by the phone. "I shall call Doctor Miller for you, yes? She
is here today, as am I." 

Donato smiled. "That would be much appreciated, Anwar." 

As the student tapped out the number, Gonzales leaned over to
comment, "Getting doors opened for you, having a professor hand-
carry evidence for you. With all this assistance, even Evans could
solve this case." 

Donato just chuckled.

                            --o-0-o--

                    End - Anath - Baal-Hadaad
 
=====o======================================================o=====
Mary Ruth Keller "Is it possible disdain should die while she hath 
Alexandria, VA    such meet food to feed it, as Signior Benedick?"
mrkeller@eclipse.net                     Much Ado About Nothing
http://www.eclipse.net/~mrkeller/stories.html
=====o======================================================o=====