From: mrkeller@eclipse.net
Date: Wed, 26 Jan 2000 18:15:29 -0500 (EST)
Subject: "Anath" (3/6) 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 III - "Mot" (Disclaimed in Part I)

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

A day, days passed,
   and the Damsel Anat sought him.
Like the heart of a cow for her calf,
   like the heart of a ewe for her lamb,
   such was the heart of Anat after Baal.
She seized Mot by the hem of his garment;
   she grasped him by the edge of his robe.
She raised her voice and cried,
   "You, Mot, give me my brother!"
And Mot the divine answered,
   "What do you want from me, O Maiden
   Anat?
I was going about to and fro, scouring
   every mount to the heart of the earth,
   every hill to the heart of the fields.
My appetite was deprived of humans,
   my appetite of the multitudes of the earth.
I reached the pleasant place, the pasture,
   the lovely field of shlmmt.
It was I who confronted Puissant Baal;
   I who made him a lamb in my mouth;
   Like a kid in my jaws he was crushed."
The Lamp of the gods, Shapsh, blazed hot;
   the heavens were wearied by the hand of
   divine Mot.
A day, days passed;
   from days, to months.
The Damsel Anat sought him.
Like the heart of a cow for her calf,
   like the heart of a ewe for her lamb,
   such was the heart of Anat after Baal.
She seized divine Mot,
   with a blade she split him,
   with a sieve she winnowed him,
   with a fire she burned him,
   with millstones she ground him,
   in the field she sowed him.
His flesh the birds did eat,
   his limbs the sparrows did consume.

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

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

Atlantis, Athinios City
Santorini, Greece
Tuesday, May 19, 1998
1:02 am

Dana Scully sighed at the quiet click of the door latch. As she
expected, she heard the slight shuffle of bare soles brushing the
slate, then felt one corner of the mattress depress by her feet.
She schooled herself for the worried contact she knew was coming.
A weight landed gently on her ankles, by the shape, a hand. She
had, she knew, one of three options. She could ignore the fact
that her partner had slipped into her room on yet another night,
then awaken in sunlight to find him curled up by her feet. A few
days ago, she would have been inordinately grateful for his
presence, as achy and exhausted as she had been at the time. She
was still thankful for his concern, but she was healing, and
needed a gentle way to let him know she needed her own space. 

Perhaps that was all she had been asking for when she had proposed
leaving the X-Files: a little space. She had been surprised by the
intensity of Mulder's reaction to her request. He had been with
her almost constantly at the hospital, as if their prolonged
separation had been responsible for her decision, so his mere
presence might sway her mind. But, to compare her voluntary
departure to the involuntary, and incomprehensibly cruel, loss of
his sister, was a shock. She thought they had settled that issue
last year, that for all their closeness, their bond was other than
that of brother and sister. 

She smiled down at the dark head, pillowed on his long hands. It
had been another surprise, waking up to find him here nightly,
knees tucked up to his chest. Her reaction was not at finding him
sleeping near her, after all, there had been the red-eyes and the
stake-outs and the sudden departures to cases. The only time they
had to catch a few hours of rest had been while exhausted,
strapped down, and leaning up against each other. There had been
the inevitable hotel room cancellations, where he, or she, had
wrapped themselves in a blanket and dropped into a chair. They had
an odd alternating schedule for that, her sense of fairness
winning out over his off-beat chivalry. 

Or, there would be no chair. So, one of them would curl up under
the sheets, while he, and it was usually he, if she thought about
it, pressed the bedspread into service as a cramped sleeping bag.
Having her tall partner collapsed at her feet was not nearly the
same problem in this king-sized Tyrolean bed with its carved head
and foot boards. In fact, with his back pressed against walnut, it
was more like his futon in Arlington than any undersized hotel
mattress would have been.

This, however, was different. He was attempting to drive home
their connection, only words no longer sufficed. He had, in
desperation, fallen back on the silent tools they used with each
other, the little touches that joined and anchored them. She knew
he was concerned for her health, just as she would have been had
he been injured in the line of duty. But, his nightly presence
indicated more than that. She found herself reminiscing over the
years of their partnership, her mind trailing back over his
father's death, his non-sister's mysterious appearance, her
abduction, the deaths of Reggie Purdue and Jerry Lamana. 

At last, she considered the first time she had stood in their old
basement office, he projecting a cultivated air of suspicion about
her. His words to her in Athens Hospital began shaping the
disconnected scenes, until a unifying pattern became clear to her.
Their being thrown together had been a calculated move on the part
of Blevins and the Smoker, but what they could not control was the
sense of loyalty and fairness deeply rooted in her. So, despite
the attempt to use her as a tool, their partnership, however
unusual, had been the first long-term relationship built on mutual
trust and respect in his adult life. 

There had been his mother, who loved him, but who had proven
incapable, while he had been a child, of dealing with all the
losses her life had seen. Then there was his father. She had no
mental framework to deal with what that man had done to his
children, despite his efforts to protect Samantha and provide for
his son. And, there was his sister. Two of their years together
had passed while she matured from infancy to a rudimentary
awareness of her surroundings. Certainly they had been close, but
with her removal at the age of eight from his life, their
association as children had been nearly the same length as the law
enforcement partnership he and she had shared as adults.

That eliminated option number two: to fuss at him until he left.
In fact, it made her almost abandon her decision to depart from
the X-Files, regardless of her debility. That she was so utterly
vital to any one person was a new experience for her. Her parents
had loved her, without a doubt; her father treated her as his
special pet. She had been valued as dependable, relied upon, given
an inordinate amount of responsibility in the Scully family, but
that had been all. One thing the Smoker had gotten right about her
and her family, she mused, remembering a desperate confrontation
in her living room, was how Roman they all were. Her brothers
measured their successes against Ahab's: better grades at the
Naval Academy, promoted sooner and higher, or more children
faster. Although he protested to Margaret that such was not the
case, Bill bragged on his *three* sons in *two* births more than
she cared to remember.

With two sons and an older daughter, she had never been, she knew
then, essential. Nor had she had that with Jack Willis. There had
been his work, then the case which obsessed him almost to the
point of insanity, until it finally took his life. He had become
so focused on the 'operatic love affair' of Warren Dupre and Lula
Phelps that he had abandoned her. In a way, it was a relief they
had never had sex. They had parted before becoming so emotionally
entangled with each other there could be no separation.

But not so for her and her partner, apparently. Their work
entwined them, more tightly than she had been with Jack, or Mulder
with any of the lithesome women who seemed to cross his path. He
depended on her, and, truth be told, she on him. Was she being
selfish by withdrawing now, she wondered. The Quest for his sister
was finished, but there were new challenges to be faced in the X-
Files. How would he prepare for the ever-shifting tactics of the
secret Organization that opposed them? Could he foresee, and
deflect, any new stratagems the Smoker would devise against him? 

She reminded herself sternly that had they not been willing to
work together, hand in glove, the revelations in the D'Amato
papers would never have seen the light of day. Would it be
sufficient for him that he had all the others around him? There
was a tension between Nichols and Skinner - that she knew. Would
he pick up on it? Would he be able to negotiate the mine field of
politics that Director Skinner and Senator Matheson sailed through
with such ease? Was she the vital piece of the puzzle that held
everything together? She found herself being forced to agree with
his anguished statements at the hospital. For all the strengths of
the team they had assembled, she had specific skills that the
others lacked. But, was she up to the job? Her various aches, the
line of pills she took over a day, argued that she was not. 

With a quiet sigh, she closed her eyes. Now was not the time to
make that decision. Now was the time to console the man at her
feet. With a silent creasing of one cheek, she pushed the past
behind her to select option number three: gently teasing him into
understanding. Her lids still lowered, she called out softly,
"There's something wrong here." 

A smooth shift, a quick flexing of biceps, and she was nestled
against his bare chest. "What, Scully, tell me," he requested, the
softness of his tone only enhancing the concern she knew he felt.

She twisted on her hips until her cheek and shoulders rested
against him comfortably. "There's a man in my bed." She grasped
one wrist behind his back to keep him from taking offense. 

She could feel him pulling away, hunching his back to look into
her eyes, but she kept them tightly closed, her forehead on his
shoulder. A long hand gently smoothed the curls away from one
cheek. "Ah. A strange man, no doubt," he whispered. It seemed he
recognized the purpose of the game, but was more than willing to
play to its conclusion.

She cautioned herself to keep from laughing. "Stranger than anyone
could imagine." 

He leaned in to breathe in her ear, "And what should we do about
this strange man in your bed? Would it be the Lady's wish that he
should leave?" 

She rubbed his sides. "That would depend." She shifted forward to
hold him again. "If this strange man is leaving to go mourn that
he is unwanted, then the Lady wishes that he remain." 

He hugged her tightly in turn. "Hum." 

She rotated her skull to rest her forehead against his throat. "If
this strange man is leaving to go chase some phantom dragon, so
the Lady will have to mount her palfrey to go to his rescue, then
the Lady definitely wishes that he should remain." 

The soft thud of his heartbeat was drowned out by a snort. "Ah. So
there is no contingency that will allow the strange man to take
his leave?" 

She nodded. "There is one. If the strange man is planning on
bringing the Lady some refreshment, then he may go." She shifted
away from him. "As long as he returns forthwith." 

After rising, he bowed. "The Lady is a harsh mistress." 

She settled the covers around her. "The strange man cossets her
incessantly." 

Shaking his head, he turned to the door. "Slave driver." 

"Worrywart!" She smiled after his departing form. Whether she
stayed or left, this was how they always connected, she supposed,
using levity to remind them of their bond.

                            --o-0-o--

Scully padded to the door. Unless her partner was stealing fruit
off the trees lining the road, he should have been able to pour
lemonade into a glass by now. She slipped into the hallway. 

"Thank you for informing me, Sir. I'll look forward to hearing
from them." His soft voice echoed in the darkness. 

She made certain to scuff her bare heels on the hall carpet as she
stepped into the kitchen. "Mulder?" she whispered. 

Turning in his seat at the plain pine table, he smiled wanly.
"That was the Assistant Director." 

As she crossed the room to rest her hand on his bare shoulder, she
nodded. "I gathered that. Tell me what's wrong."

He pulled out a chair for her and slid the full tumbler across the
wood, leaving a wet track behind it. "Nothing, really. Skinner's
not certain he can trust the results he's getting, so he's going
through unofficial channels." 

After a sip, she commented dryly, "Well, that will make Langly
happy." 

Mulder snorted. "Yeah. It'll be safer." 

She cocked her head. "Certainly. If this guy was with the
Consortium, a good pathologist could develop a chemical signature
for the cyanide in the capsule that killed him. It'll tell us
something about who manufactured it." 

He eyed her carefully. "You think this might tie back to Broadway
Pharmaceuticals? Maybe even to Nora Samuelson's death?" 

She shook her head. "I don't think it'll lead directly to them.
They're too intelligent. If they could put together a scheme to
sample the homeless, they're prepared to cast the blame on a
subsidiary. What?" 

He had covered the back of her hand, which was resting on the
table, with his palm. "And whom will I have these discussions with
when you leave, Doctor Scully?" His eyes were like smoke-colored
diamonds, impenetrable, unyielding. 

She said nothing, merely turning her palm upwards and clasping his
hand tightly.

                            --o-0-o--

Fluid Dynamics Lab
Scripps Institute of Oceanography 
La Jolla, California
Sunday, May 3, 1998
10:56 am

Richard Gonzales had stuck his hands in his pockets as he waited
by the wind tunnel. His temporary partner was still in the control
room, where he was deep in conversation with the chestnut-haired
professor who seemed to be central to this case. He smiled to
himself. Jerry Donato's immensely productive partnership with
Maria Hernandez had been one of the few bright spots in the
interactions of Latinos and Caucasians on the force. Her death had
been a shock to them all, but, most especially to the thick-
chested man who was now emerging into this high space. If Gonzales
thought about it, that hooded expression Jerry had worn since
returning from the Emergency Room, his white shirt stained with
red splotches of Maria's blood, was barely noticeable now. 

He sighed. He had been elated when Johnson had asked him to take
over for Evans. Donato had an outstanding reputation as a deeply
capable, highly ethical peace officer. Jerry's lack of prejudice
toward his fellow Latino and African-American officers had been a
welcome change in an often-tense work environment. However, it
seemed the thick-chested detective had made his own choice of
partner. Gonzales would have to speak to Johnson at the conclusion
of this case, but, for now, there was an investigation to be
conducted. 

Sandra Miller, still all nervous fidgets, smiled quickly at the
Latino officer. "I understand there's something unusual about
Tom's body. But I've found something that may bear on the matter.
This way." She stepped forward with dispatch.

Gonzales glanced over at Donato. "She never wears down, does she?" 

Jerry shook his head. "That's not fair. You didn't see her at the
scene." 

Gonzales stopped. "What? She's not the hysterical type, is she?"

Donato glared at him, then trotted up to join the chestnut-haired
woman just before she turned around the end of the tunnel. "Care
to give us a hint?" 

Her hazel eyes flashed at him, then she stopped by a workbench
positioned against the wall farthest from the control room. "If
you gentlemen would be so kind." She tugged at one end, while
Gonzales pulled at the other. 

Jerry peered over the back. "These ropes and pulleys?" 

She scrambled over the bench to point to a worn spot near one end.
"It looks like mountain-climbing gear. But, why stash it here,
except as a decoy?" 

Gonzales and Donato exchanged a glance, before the Latino queried,
"Decoy?" 

She slid off the bench to cross her arms. "Of course. I thought
initially that this was evidence. But, if it were it would mean
that whoever had sabotaged the wind tunnel had used the door in
the roof at the blower end of the wind tunnel to enter. Once he
was inside, he had time to pull down the rope, coil it up, commit
the damage, then hide himself." She shook her head. "The only
thing I can't understand is why decoy an entrance when he planned
on slashing the screens in the blower room?"

Gonzales was wiggling his fingers into a pair of latex gloves.
"But, suppose that's exactly what happened? Suppose our suspect
hid out while your friend was trapped in the tunnel? He could have
been a psychopath who enjoyed experiencing his victim's suffering,
or, he could have waited until the excitement died down to make
his escape." He met Sandra's gaze squarely. "I'm guessing you were
more concerned with looking after Tom than with searching the
place. I'm also guessing this room stays unlocked for most of the
day, or night."

Donato nodded. "I'm inclined to agree with him, Sandra." 

Gozales watched her glare at his temporary partner, she obviously
considering his stance some form of betrayal. 

Jerry rubbed the back of his neck. "Most criminals aren't as smart
as the ones in detective novels." He sent her what Gonzales knew
was a placating grin. "One of the cases Maria and I worked on was
essentially handed to us by one of the ex-cons who did it." 

The Latino detective nodded. "The Old Town bank heist?" 

Donato glanced at him. "Exactly. The crime was actually one of the
most elaborate I had seen, with the thieves impersonating food
vendors to get inside just as the bank opened. They killed the
power to the bank so they could disable the surveillance camera
system. One of the robbers had stolen a customer's laptop, purely
on a whim. When the batteries ran down - " 

Sandra sighed. "He threw it in the trash outside the bank, you had
the unit finger-printed, then you had him, and them?"

"Not exactly," Donato chuckled. "As I was saying, when the
batteries ran out, the thief, who could tell from the date of
production that the unit was still under warranty, wrote the
manufacturer, supplying serial number and all. He demanded a
replacement battery charger, claiming the *charger* had been
stolen in a mugging." 

"A lie is best hidden between two truths." Sandra frowned as she
finished the statement. 

Gonzales took her look of surprise to mean she hadn't been certain
where she'd heard that comment before. 

"But," Jerry continued, "the thief gave the manufacturer a bad
credit card number, so the company planned to charge the original
owner's, which they had on file. They called to check with him
first, though. One of those gold-card holders, as it turned out.
When they explained why they were calling, he immediately
contacted the main office, who sent him on to Maria. The guy was
at least bright enough to make the return address a P.O. box, but,
all we had to do was stake it out, wait for the package from the
manufacturer to arrive, and, that was it." 

She chewed her lower lip for a moment, before she commented,
"Okay, I see your point." The three turned as the phone in the
control room buzzed. She nodded a parting as she finished, "I'll
leave you gentlemen to your work. For now."

Gonzales watched her hold Donato's gaze for an instant before she
stepped away.

                            --o-0-o--

Atlantis, Athinios City
Santorini, Greece
Wednesday, May 20, 1998
8:17 am

'Two weeks, I have two weeks left,' Mulder thought as he tapped
the Return key, dispatching his latest E-mail to Frohike. The
little man had been almost as devastated by his partner's
ultimatum as he himself had been. 'You'd never let me down,
Scully,' he commented mentally to the woman he hoped was still
sleeping in her room. He'd been on the verge of voicing his
conclusion to her several times over the past few days, but, after
their repeated rounds in the hospital, knew there was so little he
could accomplish with words. 

"Celebrity Skin finally have its own web-site?" Scully had been
watching him with amusement from the doorway. 

Through his reading glasses, Mulder studied her. Since their
arrival at the hospital, she was taking Nicholas' dietary regimen
seriously, as well as consuming the estrogen tablets on schedule.
He didn't believe he was deluding himself that she was sleeping
through the night, was not as pale as before, and was moving less
stiffly. Rising, he waved at the seat. "Would you like to check
out the distaff offerings?" 

Shaking her head, she settled on the divan across from the oak
desk. "So, what's this I hear about vampires, Mulder?" 

Walking to the front of the highly-ornamented box to lean against
it, he crossed his arms. "Ooh, bored in Paradise, are we?" 

Patting the red velvet on the back cushion, she sighed. "Something
like that. Also," she explained as she looked up at him, "fair's
fair. You took me to Akrotiri; I'll take you for a walk on your
side of town." Holding his gaze unblinkingly, she hoped to convey
a second, more significant bargain.

Closing the space between them, he reached down for her hand. "Ia
awaits. We'll take the convertible. Back before it's dark." 

As they walked to the door, Scully looked up at her partner. "So,
do you know much about the legends?" 

"No," he responded as he glanced down at her. "Not stories
specific to this island. But, I have a general idea of what to
expect."  

"Hum." She reached for the dead bolt lever. "Thera is the last
place I'd think to find them." 

As he searched in his pocket, he tossed out the query, "What,
think they'd flee from all the bright Mediterranean light?" Once
he'd guided his designer sunglasses onto his nose, he leaned over
to whisper in her ear, "Maybe it's the nightlife which attracts
them, Doctor. Think of that?" 

She tucked her chin, then twisted the knob. "So we stop at the
first Taverna we see, order some lemonade, and ask the proprietor
for the latest straight skinny from the World of the Undead?"

Reaching over her, Mulder grasped the top of the steel door,
smirking as he retorted, "Sounds like a plan." 

Shaking her head, Scully turned to step out into the sunlight, but
froze. A middle-aged Greek in a police uniform had raised his fist
to knock just before she unbarred the entrance. After a three-way
exchange of astonished glances, she offered, "How may we help you,
Sir?" 

He attempted to peer around the tall agent into the darkness of
the house. "Is Maximillian at home?" 

Mulder hesitated. "Is there a problem, Sir?" 

The officer pointed first to Scully, then to Mulder. "Might you
two be the FBI Agents who were visiting the island?" 

Now Mulder pushed his way in front of his partner. "Who wants to
know?" 

A gulp, followed by a twisting of his black wool cap. "Erm, with
it being the start of the tourist season, there's a matter I'd
rather clear up as quickly as possible." 

Mulder grasped the knob even more firmly. "And what might that
be?" 

More bobbing to glimpse the interior. "Well, we've had a murder,
or, at least I *think* it might be a murder, and I'd rather not
have to call back to Athens for assistance, you see." He waved the
cap. "Keep it out of the papers. I had heard that one of the
Agents was a forensic pathologist, and..." 

Scully pulled the door aside to extend her hand. "Doctor Dana
Scully. How may I be of assistance?" 

Mulder stared down at the top of her head. "Sculleee," he hissed.

Ignoring him, she stepped back. "Please, come in." 

"Here are the second set of - " Max stopped when he spied the
third man in the hall. "Andreas? What's the problem?" 

"Ah, something I'd rather talk about inside, if you don't mind." 

Nodding, Max stepped back so the four could retire to the living
room.

                            --o-0-o--

Fluid Dynamics Lab
Scripps Institute of Oceanography
La Jolla, California
Sunday, May 3, 1998
11:12 am

Gonzales chuckled as Jerry Donato hopped to check over the wind
tunnel into the control room. "She's still there, don't worry. How
does your half of the rope look?" 

He held up one of the pulleys. "So far, this is the only one I've
found, and only a partial thumbprint." The light flashed off the
tape holding down the carbon black. 

"You've had better luck than I." He held up one corner of the
thick jute cord. "Maybe the lab can pull something off the rope
itself, but... For now, I think that's all we'll be able to do
here." 

Donato nodded. "Yeah, I agree." They turned as the control room
door closed. 

Sandra, a plastic garbage bag crinkling between her fingers,
appeared from around the far end of the tunnel. "Gentlemen, I
figured you'd be needing this." 

Gonzales waited for her to stand beside them before he commented,
"Gentlemen. There's so much worse we've been called than that,"
and began feeding the frayed end into the bag she was holding
open. "You've been more than helpful, Professor."

A shake of falling chestnut waves. "I just want to see this
solved, Detective. Tom deserves it." 

"Hey," Donato called, "May I ask?" 

She sent him a lop-sided grin. "Anytime. It was Jeannette. There's
more information in the Departmental records she thinks would be
of interest to us. It wasn't locked up in Tom's office, so there
isn't much Judy can object to about it." 

Feeling very much the odd wheel, Gonzales sighed at the exchange.
"I'll stay at the precinct to see what the lab turns up, all
right?" 

Donato sent his gratitude with a quick glance.

Sandra nodded. "I'll just hop on the next shuttle." Donato began
to protest, but she held up one hand. "No, I have some paperwork I
need to dig into, and the trip will give me the time to do it. See
you there." She began leading the partners from the high space.

                            --o-0-o--

Atlantis, Athinios City
Santorini, Greece
Wednesday, May 20, 1998
8:33 am

Caroline and Max had settled into the love-seat, leaving the
longer sofa for Mulder and Scully, where he had sunk into the
cushions, while she was perched primly on the edge. Andreas
Patikopolis, now properly introduced and somewhat more at ease,
had taken over an ottoman. 

After a brief glance towards her partner, Scully began, "What
preliminaries can you give us, Officer Patikopolis?" 

The policeman hung his cap on his knee. "Well, the call came in
around six fifteen this morning, that a jogger had found a body on
the beach." 

"Oh?" Mulder leaned forward to query blandly, "Which beach?" 

"Red Beach, just south of Akrotiri."

Scully nodded encouragement. "We were there just a couple of weeks
ago." Her lips twitched momentarily into an upward curve. 

Mulder studied first, his partner, then, their guest. She had,
almost instinctively, assumed her cool, analytical investigator
persona and, as usual, it was producing the desired effect.

Andreas leaned forward. "The deceased was a Caucasian male,
approximately thirty-five, and clothed only in a bathing suit when
he was found." He spread his hands. "I've checked with the other
police and First Aid stations for missing persons reports. There
were two listed up at Ia, but none for someone matching this
description. Before you ask, he had no ID. He looked like either
an American or a European. As I said, with tourist season and
all..."

"Yes," Scully prompted. "This wasn't an accidental drowning? He
hadn't just gone for a late-night swim?" 

"No, that was what we thought initially. But there were details
that didn't add up. His hair was singed, for instance, and there
were second degree burns on his abdomen, right palm, and covering
both legs up to his knee." 

Scully tucked her hair behind her ear. "Ah. Lightning then? That
would explain the burns." 

The officer shook his head. "We haven't had storms on the island
for a week. From the lack of rigor in the corpse, he'd been dead
for a few hours at the most." 

Mulder tapped Scully on the shoulder, then pointed into the
hallway. "May we?" 

After excusing themselves, he led her into the kitchen, where she
stated, "I want to look into this." 

He was standing in front of her, toe to toe. "And I think we
should let this one go. I think *you* should let this one go,
Scully. Let the locals take care of it." 

She reached for his wrist. "Mulder, between you and Max and
Caroline, I haven't been as pampered since I passed my medical
boards." 

His lips pulled into a grimace as he remembered Margaret Scully's
story of a bed-ridden Dana enduring a week-long migraine, but he
said nothing. 

She released his arm. "I'm feeling better than I've felt in a
long, long time, thanks to the three of you. I feel like I need to
do something to show my gratitude. Even if it's just a cursory
exam, not a full-blown autopsy, it might turn up something that
would be of help." 

Mulder edged away from her to begin prowling the darkened room.
"It's too soon, Scully, you need to rest." 

She stepped up to block his path. "All right. I'll make this deal
with you. One trip to examine the body, that's all. A hour or so,
then I'll come back here, put my feet up in one of Max's
delightful chaise lounges, and let you give me another of those
massages you're so good at. Fair enough?" 

A shrug, then he offered his acquiescence with the jibe, "Would
the red Speedo or black leather meet with the Lady's pleasure?" 

Turning, she tossed her head. "I was rather thinking without
either, myself."

                            --o-0-o--

along Expedition Way
University of California at San Diego
San Diego, California
Sunday, May 3, 1998
11:43 am

With a sigh, Donato stepped on the brake pedal. He had been
crawling in a line of traffic from the lab warehouse to Sandra's
department building, and they had almost reached North Torrey
Pines Road, where there seemed to be some cluster of people. If it
were freshman check-in or commencement, the stoppages wouldn't
have surprised him. But this was a normal Sunday morning a couple
of weeks before exams. He should have been able to breeze around
the campus with impunity. Squinting at the line of cars in front
of him, he could make out the back of a dingy grey van, with
letters spelling out 'Scripps Shuttle' adhering across the rear
window. Actually, the first word was missing an 'i,' the second a
't,'but he knew what it was, all the same. He wondered if this was
the shuttle Sandra was on, then frowned at the thin line up ahead.
The side doors had opened to permit its passengers to disembark.
When he spotted her chestnut curls, he stuck his arm out the
window to wave at her, and shouted jokingly, "Doctor Miller, I
presume!" His grin faded in horror at the reaction of the
protestors. 

"Killer Miller!" One of the group, who had been waving a poster of
puppies in a cage, began scanning the passengers for her. "Killer
Miller is here!" Protesters and passengers tangled up placards and
book bags, as Sandra scanned around for him. He shoved the car
into park, pulled on the emergency brake, than ran down the
sidewalk to grab her by the arm. "This way!" 

She jogged beside him easily, but one glance over her shoulder had
her pulling slightly ahead. "They're coming!" she offered by way
of explanation. 

Jerry hustled her inside the car, then repaired to the driver's
side just as the group arrived. As he waved his badge in the face
of the bearded man who had threatened Sandra earlier, he called
out, "What's the protest about?" 

Sandra threw her arms over her head as the sedan was rocked from
side to side. "It's the usual group that hangs around outside the
Department of Biosciences. They're against testing on animals and
using them as teaching aides. I know they have a permit and all,
but this has gotten out of hand." 

Jerry began gunning the engine, hoping to back a few away. "Why
are they after you? Killer Miller?" 

"Blood Money!" the man was shouting. "You take money from killers!
You're a killer!" A hairline crack appeared in the glass.

When the bearded man began pounding on the windshield, she doubled
over, her forehead on her knees. "I don't know! It's not like we
took money from any of the groups they would be concerned with."

"That's it!" Jerry slammed his portable siren light on the
dashboard, then flipped a switch after he warned Sandra, "Cover
your ears!" 

The assembled crowd began shouting more forcefully, but the tight
gathering of protestors around the unmarked police vehicle had
removed the blockage stopping traffic. The students and faculty
trapped in the Weiss Forum and Theatre made a dash for their cars,
and the van had long since disappeared. Since the way was clear
for Donato to go, he gunned the engine again and took it. 

After being chased for a block or two, the protesters went back to
the circling rally, so Donato took the break to roll the car to a
halt. He'd have to have the department's mechanics look at the
windshield. He left the car to peer at the crack, only to turn
when the passenger door opened. "You sure you're okay, Sandra?" 

Nodding, she sank to the curb. "Yes. Just shaken and confused. Our
building occasionally sees some anti-nuclear protesters, but
nothing like this." 

He dropped a hand to her back. "Okay. I'll talk around the
precinct and see what this is about. You ready?" 

Rising, she pulled her hair behind her shoulders. "Yes. Let's go."

                            --o-0-o--

outside Mayer Hall
University of California at San Diego
San Diego, California
Sunday, May 3, 1998
12:11 pm

Donato pointed up the parking lot. "That way?" He waited for
Sandra, who had been slumped on one of the benches that ringed the
lot, to step out ahead of him. But, she was leaning against the
car, so he hurried to her side. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" 

Wearing a tense look he hadn't seen from her before, she shook her
head. "I just have an odd feeling about all this, that's all.
We're close to something, I only wish I knew what." She squared
her shoulders, then headed for the building at the top of the
hill.

Jeannette met then at the door. "I'm glad Doctor Williams isn't
here today. I don't know what to make of his papers." 

"Whose papers?" Donato leaned over her shoulder. "If you've been
into Tom Wilton's office, I'm afraid we're wasting our time here." 

Jeannette shook her head impatiently. "No, I mean the Departmental
funding records. Remember those photos you found, Sandie?" 

The chestnut-haired professor glanced over at Donato before she
answered, "Yes? What about them?" 

"I was thinking of that potential sponsor at the faculty retreat.
It seems he was giving money to the university, after all." She
handed a folder to Sandra, who let out a gasp after she opened it. 

"He *was* funding Tom and me, or so he thought. But, we were never
seeing any of the money. Unlike what those nut cases were
shouting." She turned the pages. "I know that for a fact." 

Donato peered over her shoulder. "As do I. With his pulling money
out of his retirement funds..." 

Jeannette frowned. "What? Doctor Wilton was keeping - " 

Sandra nodded. "I didn't know, Jeannie. I thought everything was
all right. We had the wind tunnel paid for, and there were extra
students we were carrying, at least according to the departmental
books." 

The secretary blinked. "But, that's fraud! If Stanford couldn't
get away with it, how did Doctor - "

"How did Doctor what?" An older man, whom Donato took, by Sandra
and Jeanette's reactions, to be the Department Head, was standing
in the doorway. "I just came in to finish up a speech this
afternoon, and I find the two of you here. And who," he demanded,
pointing at Jerry, "are you?" 

The detective flipped open his police ID. 

The older man crossed his arms. "I presume you have a warrant?" 

Donato dug in his jacket pocket, then lifted a slender folder
free. His eyes canted toward Sandra, who had only deepened her
stare at the Department Head. She must have been all the Furies
combined in faculty meetings, he realized. No wonder Williams was
perfectly happy to leave them hanging financially. Or was there
another reason for the white-haired man's animosity? A guilty
conscience, perhaps?

"All right, so you know." Williams waved the offending papers
away, giving Jerry the excuse he needed to tuck them out of sight
with alacrity. "But, there's technically no wrong-doing here. You
two were so stand-offish with the fellow, and he seemed so eager
to give money away, that I convinced him to contribute to the
department at large instead. I gave him the understanding that the
money would be available to you both, should you be needing it,
which you obviously didn't."

"What!" Sandra stalked right up into his face. "John, Tom was
dipping into his retirement fund! Were you aware of that?" 

His watery brown eyes met her hazel ones squarely. "Why should I
be? You two were notoriously unforthcoming on your own. I may have
opposed your wind tunnel initially, but the last thing I want is
for one of the most successful programs in the department to go
under, Sandra." 

"'Scuse, me, Doctor Williams." A janitor, pushing a mop bucket
ahead of him, grasped the beaten aluminum handle. "I'd like to get
into your office, if you don't mind. With how busy and important
you always are, this is my only chance to get those imported
marble tiles of yours really, really clean." He flashed a smile at
Sandra. "Hello, Doctor Miller," he called shyly. 

Donato wondered if the chestnut-haired woman was at all aware of
the effect she seemed to have on the men of the department. 

"Hello, Andy," she smiled back. "Thanks for your help with the
breaker box." 

He bustled past them. "No problem. I still haven't figured out
what happened, though. I keep thinkin' about it, too." 

Donato watched the three wait until the little man in coveralls
had closed the door behind him before resuming their discussion. 

Sandra crossed her arms. "Well, John? What do you know about Tom's
death?" 

"Just what I read in the newspapers, Sandra." He glanced at the
detective. "I'm assuming that's why you're here?" 

Donato rested a hand on Sandra's shoulder momentarily, an old
gesture he had used to give Maria the all-clear. He was relieved
to feel her muscles relax under his touch. "Yes, Sir, it is. And,
funding seems to be at the heart of this case, so I'd like you to
answer a few questions for me." 

Doctor Johnson glared down at Donato. "What? Am I a suspect here?"
He pointed at Sandra. "Why isn't she? Does your Sergeant know
you're here? I doubt that warrant gives you the authority to
impound Departmental files." 

Donato's thumb popped the leather catch off his SIG. "Yes, he
does. As does my partner, whom I'm expecting will call momentarily
with lab results." As he had hoped, Sandra nodded a furious
agreement. 

"There were fingerprints found at the scene, John, and his
partner's having them typed now. Or would you like to save us the
trouble and confess?" 

"What?" Williams was roaring in his confused anger. "You'll be
hearing from my lawyer, all three of you. Jeanette! I don't want
to see you here tomorrow!" He pointed to her desk. "Clean that
out, now!"

"No!" Sandra grabbed his arm. "That's not fair!" 

Williams yanked his wrist free. "What, haven't you learned yet,
Professor Miller? Life isn't fair!" He snarled at the three, then
headed out the door.

Jeannette was sobbing uncontrollably, gulping as she stammered
out, "Doctor Miller, I need this job! Jennifer's medical bills are
too much for Bill's salary alone." 

Sandra rubbed her shoulder. "You won't lose your job, Jeannie."
She glared at the front door. "This can still turn out all right.
You'll see." 

Donato sighed. "Maybe we've seen enough here, Sandra. I need to
interview the staff, but that will have to wait, at least until
tomorrow." 

The chestnut-haired woman nodded. "Perhaps we have. Williams isn't
well-liked, Detective, which should give you an in to ask
questions." She rested her hand on Jeannette's shoulder.
"Jeannie?" 

The secretary looked up from the desk. "Yes?" 

Sandra was rubbing her friend's back gently. "Would you do us a
favor and spread the word about what happened here today among the
staff? A few phone calls, that sort of thing?"

She dabbed at her eyes. "Why, yes, of course. Do you think that
would help?" 

Sandra smiled. "With both your problem and mine." She turned as
the inner office door opened. 

The janitor's eyes were bulging. "That's not fair!" 

Donato leaned back, watching the drama unfold through the eyes of
a well-trained detective. It seemed the chestnut-haired professor
would do most of his work for him. 

Sandra shook her head solemnly. "No, it isn't. Which is why we
need to find out what happened to Tom, Andy." 

"Oh." The janitor swished the mop around in the dark water.

Donato eyed the other man curiously. Was this a hint of jealousy?

Sandra had walked over to him. "If you'd pass the word along, too,
it would help out Jeannette, and Tom." 

Andy flushed, the rest of his face reddening to match his nose.
"Yes, Ma'am, I will." 

Donato smiled as he left. "I'd better head back to check on what
Richard's turned up. You'll be all right, Sandra?" 

She nodded. "Jeannie can run me home."

                            --o-0-o--

Police Building
Phira, Santorini, Greece
Wednesday, May 20, 1998
10:03 am

"I'm sorry," Officer Patikopolis apologized as he waved at the
room, "but this is the best we have for a morgue." A single window
air conditioner was protesting the hours set to maximum with
occasional whines and rumbles, but the tiny back room was suitably
cooled. 

Wearing only a thin polo shirt and khakis, Mulder crossed his
arms. "We've been in odder places than this." 

Ignoring the complaint, Scully pulled back the sheet. "Mulder,
take a look at this guy."

With a grimace, he studied the face. "You recognize him too?" 

She nodded, then turned to the policeman. "I don't know if you've
found out anything about who he is, but I can tell you that he is,
or was, a suspect in a crime." She rolled the sheet back to expose
the corpse down to its waist. "I had failed to apprehend him a few
weeks ago while he was attempting to kidnap a young boy." 

Patikopolis was scratching on a note pad. "Can you tell me the
name of the woman?" 

Mulder shook his head. "We only know her son was named Richard."
He waved at the body. "This guy tried to grab the kid." 

The officer nodded. "That's good. I'll go check the log, see if
anyone reported the attempted theft." 

Mulder shrugged. "Probably not. It's the sort of thing vacationers
would rather forget."

Scully glanced at her partner before she offered, "If no one did,
then check with the tour guides for Akrotiri. The guy ran through
a group while we were there. I suspect anyone else who was
visiting the ruins at the time has probably finished with vacation
and returned home." Her gaze settled on the body. "I thought you
said rigor hadn't set in?" 

Andreas stepped up beside her. "I didn't leave him this way. His
arms and legs were straight." 

Scully attempted to move one of the clenched hands. "This isn't
natural. Occasionally muscles contract as if activated by static
discharge, moving limbs into new positions, but the displacement
is usually in translation only, not in rotation."

A grimacing Mulder joined them. "So, one of your deputies thought
it would be cute to cross his arms as if this were a mummy. What?" 

His partner was sniffing the clenched hands. "No. Not perfume."
Turning for her bag, she wiggled her fingers into a pair of latex
gloves. "I'd like..." Lifting out a scalpel, she slid it against
the palm and scraped away flakes of blue powder. "Mulder, if you
wouldn't mind. Thanks." 

He was holding open a bag for her. "Blue? What do you think? A
painter?" 

She shook her head, then eased the scalpel into the other palm to
extract several yellow grains. After staring at both bags for a
moment, she flipped the corpse onto its side. "There are no red
grains on the shoulders, or," she offered as she eased down the
suit, "on the lining here." 

Mulder glanced at the back of the stiff legs. "Or down here." He
looked over at Patikopolis. "You said he was found on the beach? I
know the sand on Red Beach is coarse, but there should have been
some clinging - Hey, Scully, take a look at this." His nose was
nearly touching the back of the victim's knees. 

She crouched under his head. "Those triangular punctures, here,
and here?" Pushing on the skin around the marks, she let out a
soft "Oh" as clear fluids eased out, then wrinkled her nose.
"Sulfurous. Lymph fluid shouldn't have an aroma, nor should there
be oozing this many hours after death. It may be salt water, but
that should be salty, not like this." 

Mulder stepped back. "There's more going on here than we thought,
Scully." 

She turned to look up at him. "We should talk to the jogger who
found the body. Maybe that will help clear this up." 

Pointing his chin at the body, Mulder offered, "I'll take care of
the jogger. See you in a few." 

With a wave, she turned to her bag for a tape recorder and
surgical tools. 

                            --o-0-o--

Mayer Hall 4123
University of California at San Diego
Sunday, May 3, 1998
10:17 pm

When she heard a noise from the corridor, Sandra hauled her head
out from the bottom shelf of her bookcase. 

"Hello, Doctor Miller." He used that same reticent whisper he
always used around her. 

She smiled at the man pushing the mop bucket. "Hello, Andy." After
a glance at her watch, she asked, "Why are you still here?" 

As he began working on the tiles in the hallway, he shrugged. "Oh,
two of the maintenance workers called in sick, so I helped out
with fixing up the gardens around the building. But, there are
still all these floors to do." His speech fell into rhythm with
the wide sweeps of his mop. 

She sat back on her haunches. "You shouldn't be working so hard,
Andy." 

He stopped to lean on the handle. "Neither should you, Doctor
Miller. At least I get paid for it when I do. Are you working on
another proposal?" 

She shook her head. "I'm just trying to rectify Tom's and my
accounting records. Even with the funds he was transferring from
his retirement, there's still something that just doesn't add up." 

He resumed cleaning. "Oh, money. I'll never be able to keep
numbers straight like you guys can." He reddened visibly. "You're
all so smart."

"Andy, what's wrong?" 

A loud metallic clang sounded in the nearly empty hallway as the
aluminum handle hit the floor. 

Sandra ran to the janitor's side, where he was crouched and
sobbing. "Andy?" 

He tried to wave her away.

She bent over him, then knelt beside him. "What's wrong, tell me."

"I've done a terrible thing, Doctor Miller," he hiccuped. As he
covered his head with his hands, his checkbook fell from his lapel
pocket. 

Sandra picked it up, expecting to just hand it back to him, but it
was open at the register sheets, which, she realized at a glance,
were blank. "Andy?" She grasped his shoulder. "Are you overdrawn
at the bank? Why didn't you tell someone?" 

His tears abating, he looked over at her. "I, I don't know. Doctor
Wilton used to help me with that." 

She thumbed through the earlier pages until she found Tom's
numbers, tiny and round, in the right column. "You've entered in
everything properly, just not tallied it all up. Here, let me."
Taking his arm, she led him into her office, where she settled him
in her new visitor's chair. "Wait here while I take care of this
for you." 

He folded onto the cushions as he watched and waited. 

Once finished, she looked up and smiled. "See, you're okay. You
actually have several hundred dollars to your credit." As she
handed the black folder back to him, she added, "You might want to
consider investing some of that in your retirement fund. I can
help you with the paperwork, if you like." 

He sent her a shy grin in thanks, then found his feet. "I'll do
that, Doctor Miller. Doctor Wilton would always tell me that,
too." 

After he resumed mopping, she returned to her search, but felt an
odd twinge in the back of her neck. "Oh." Then she felt nothing
more.

                            --o-0-o--

Residence of Jerry Donato
105 Enders Avenue, Apartment 2B
San Diego, California
Monday, May 4, 1998
1:03 am

Donato groaned as his pager, cel, and bedside phones all shrilled
simultaneously. "Okay, okay, I'm up." He fumbled with the cel,
dropped it, then pressed the grey receiver on his face. "Donato.
Go." He was swaying on still-numb feet as he waited. 

"Jerry, it's Rich. I thought you'd want to know. Sandra Miller was
assaulted in her office late last night. Dispatch just called me.
You must sleep like the dead, or something. They couldn't rouse
you." 

The thick-chested detective rubbed the back of his neck. "Which
hospital?" he forced out, still feeling like his mouth was
carpeted with lint.

"Scripps Memorial." 

"What's her condition?" He was tugging up a pair of khakis he had
worn the day before with one hand. The comforting weight of his
wallet and ID reminded him that he had simply dropped these
clothes on the floor before he fell into bed the previous evening.

"Don't know. There's a black and white handling the routine
questioning at the University. I'm on my way over. Meet you at the
hospital?" 

"Yeah. Thanks." Donato fished a clean pair of socks out of his top
drawer, threw a shirt over his shoulders, clipped on his SIG,
then, socks and running shoes dangling from his fingers, headed
out his front door.

                            --o-0-o--

Police Building
Phira, Santorini, Greece
Wednesday, May 20, 1998
3:29 pm

Scully barely looked up from the opened chest cavity as Mulder
reentered the room. "I can tell you the cause of death: severe
head trauma. From the damage to the skull, I'd say he took five or
six blows, as least. So, anything?" 

Mulder stepped to her side. "Nothing substantial. The jogger was
an overweight accountant from Toledo on a second honeymoon. Just
to eliminate any extreme possibilities, I've sent the witness's
name to the Gunmen to check out. If there's anything left of him,
we'll take a photo of the stiff here for them to run through their
systems as well. You?" 

When she felt cloth brush her elbow, she glanced back at her
partner. "Jacket, Mulder? Or should I say Thomas?" 

He cocked his head. "I knew I was coming back here. So?" 

She peeled back the lips to reveal several broken teeth. "You
think this was someone attempting to conceal his identity?" 

Mulder's lip curled. "Then why leave the face or fingertips
undamaged? It might have happened during a struggle, or a fall." 

"Perhaps." She slit open the left lung. "Notice anything unusual?" 

Mulder shook his head. "Not if he breathes fire as an occupation.
I presume the right lung is seared like that as well?" He bent
closer to her ear. "Could it be that my skeptical lady partner has
brought me a case of incipient spontaneous human combustion?" 

Ignoring the challenge, she walked to the other side of the
examining table. "Does spontaneous human combustion explain this?"
She held up the stomach, still intact, with forceps pinching off
the esophagus and duodenum. Turning the organ on end over a
beaker, she opened the esophagus, then waited until the stomach
contents emptied into the glass container. 

Mulder grimaced at the strong sulfur odor, then his eyes glinted.
"Well, Scully, I think the oddities of this case have a rational,
if extreme explanation." He bounced on his toes. 

Scully balanced the stomach on the beaker. "I may not want to hear
this, but, okay, I'm listening." 

He danced around the corpse to drape an arm over her shoulders.
"This is a resident of the lost Continent of Atlantis, which is
why no one reported him missing. As an Atlantean, he could both
breath air and water. He was here to steal children because his
people have lost the ability to reproduce. But, since his land
sunk underwater, the air has become far, far more polluted and his
delicate lungs began to burn. So, he took the time to change into
a bathing suit, take a ferry to Nea Kamini, and jump in the hot
springs, in an effort to return to his home. But, overcome, he
expired, and the currents carried him around the island to Red
Beach." He blinked innocently at her.

She cocked her head. "Mulder, now we're back to the usual level of
insanity I've come to expect from you. But you are right about one
thing. Nea and Palea Kamini have the only hot springs I know of."
She gestured at the corpse. "I'm almost through here. You want to
hang around?" 

He shook his head. "I'll give Mom a call to let her know what's
happened." He moved to the door. 

Snapping on a clean pair of latex gloves, she called after him,
"Looks like the massage will have to wait." 

"Scully, you *wound* me. Some things should never wait." He
flashed a grin over his shoulder just before he disappeared. 

                            --o-0-o--

Third Floor
Scripps Memorial Hospital
La Jolla, California
Monday, May 4, 1998
1:49 am

Jerry Donato held up his badge as he approached the nurse's
station. "I'm looking for Sandra Miller's room. She's a material
witness in a murder investigation." 

The nurse glanced over at the waiting area before she responded,
"She's in Room 304, just down the hall. Last door on your left." 

He raced down the corridor, spun into the doorway, then pulled
himself to a halt. Judy Wilton glanced up at him, but refused to
relinquish the fierce clutch she had caught of her unconscious
friend's hand.

"It's not fair, Detective. I can't lose both of them so soon." She
dropped her gaze to Sandra's still face.

Jerry stepped over beside her. "What did the physicians tell you?" 

Judy rubbed her eye. "A severe concussion. Sandra's lucky to be
alive. Do you know who did this, Detective?"

He shrugged. "My partner's at the scene now, Ma'am. He'll be
heading over here when he's finished, but I just wanted to check
on her before then. If I may ask?" 

Judy nodded. "Jeannette called me. Sandra had wanted to finish up
some new grant applications, but she needed someone to feed
Salazar. He *knows* me, you see, so he'd eat." She smiled wanly.
"Tom and I had argued with her about working so late on a regular
basis, even though she only lives in University City. Neither of
us liked to think about her cycling home in the dark. I waited for
her to call, but when she didn't, I drove over to Mayer Hall to
check on her." 

"You found her?" Jerry rested his hand on her shoulder. 

"Yes, I did. Her doctor said there were two blows, low on the back
of the head. They're worried about paralysis, even though she
twitches her feet when they tickle them." A quiet sob escaped her.
"I've been so hard on her, and all she wanted to do was find out
who killed Tom." 

"Don't feel like that, Doctor Seymour-Wilton. Grief makes people
do strange things." He moved to the opposite side of the bed to
take Sandra's free hand. "But, other than that, no further
injuries? What about the bruise on her forehead?" 

Judy sighed. "It happened when she slumped over onto the floor.
They're monitoring her for, for, I can't remember the exact
terminology." 

"The words don't matter. What it is, is swelling of the brain. If
it's too bad, they'll have to operate. For now, they're just
administering drugs intravenously." 

Surprised, Judy looked over. "How do you know?" 

He shook his head, old tears stinging his eyes. 

"It's what happened to your Maria, isn't it? Sandra told me what
little she knew when she tried to talk me out of the lawsuit
against your department. I'm sorry, Detective." 

He shrugged. "I'd better be on my way, Ma'am." He smoothed
Sandra's fingers out flat on the sheets, stroked the back of her
hand once, then turned to the door. He was down the hall, then the
stairs, almost to the front entrance when he was stopped by a hand
on his left shoulder. 

Gonzales continued to grip him. "Jerry? We need your help at the
scene. You've interviewed some of the people who were there
before." At his partner's somber expression, he jerked his head
toward the interior. "Catch me up on the medical details once
we're in the car, all right?"

                            --o-0-o--

Police Building
Phira, Santorini, Greece
Wednesday, May 20, 1998
4:08 pm  

Scully was just tying off the Y incision when Mulder reappeared.
No matter how long he had been away from them, his queasiness
remained unvanquished, so he was perfectly willing to leave his
partner to finish on her own.

"They've found the tour guide," he announced without preamble. 

She dropped a pair of forceps onto a metal tray. "Good. Does she
remember us?" 

Mulder shrugged. "I waited to talk to her until you were done." He
arched both eyebrows at her surgical garb. 

She cocked a finger at him, then stepped into the closet-sized
bathroom. Smoothing down her hair as she emerged, she asked, "So,
what did Caroline say?" 

Mulder opened the door for her. "Just that she'll have something
ready for us when we get back." 

As the partners proceeded to the witness room, Scully nodded.
"She's right. The last ferry to Nea left over an hour ago. We'll
have to pick this up tomorrow." 

Mulder grasped her side to halt her progress. "She's in there." 

Scully nodded to the black-haired woman she barely remembered. 

But the guide gasped and rose at the diminutive agent's sudden
appearance. "It's you! Are you all right?" 

Scully waved the question away. "Miss," she began as she studied
the papers on the battered table, "Androkiri, I'm certain the
officer who escorted you here has informed you, but let me
reiterate, you are not a suspect in any crime. We just want to ask
you a few questions for an on-going police investigation." 

The woman nodded. "Andreas told me the dead man is the one who
attacked you, Agent Scully." 

Scully arched a disapproving eyebrow at the Greek officer before
she asked, "Do you remember seeing him hanging around the ruins,
either in the time before or after the attempt on the woman and
her son?" 

The guide shook her head. "We try to keep an eye out for
suspicious types, loners like he was." She glanced at her hands,
which were clutching her purse in her lap. "Tourism is the
island's life's blood." 

From his arms-crossed slouch against the wall, Mulder continued
the interrogation, "Then the mother and child. Had they been there
before?" 

The guide shook her head. "But..." She bit her lip. 

Scully leaned forward. "Yes?" 

The woman licked her lips. "My brother runs a shop in Akrotiri
Town. I help out there sometimes, when I'm off-duty, you
understand." 

Mulder began pacing. "And?" 

"The mother and the toddler came through, with a man who looked
considerably older than she, just the day after." The black-haired
woman frowned. "I remember, because I asked her if she and the boy
were all right, and the woman told me she didn't know what I was
talking about."

Scully shifted on her seat. "Didn't know, or didn't want the man
with her to be aware of the problem? Did she seem uncomfortable in
the presence of her companion?" 

The guide shook her head. "Not at all. The three were joking and
laughing, and the man was carrying the toddler around. The boy
kept calling the man his grandfather. Gampy, or something. You
know what trouble children that age have with long words." 

Mulder bit his lip, then turned to the officer. "They were
Americans, or at least she was, from the accent. Does your airport
keep video records that far back?" 

The officer shook his head. "We're not that efficient here. This
isn't your country. Besides..." 

"There are many different ways off the island," Scully finished
for him. 

The officer offered her a shaky smile of gratitude. 

Mulder sighed. "Then, there's not much we can follow up on along
that line of inquiry." He offered the black-haired woman his most
disarming smile. "Thank you for your time, Ma'am. If you remember
anything else, no matter how insignificant, please call the
officers here, or stop by this address." He handed her a card.
"Someone should be there to talk to you." 

As the four of them left the small office, Scully turned to
Patikopolis. "I presume you have cold-storage for short-term use?"
At his nod, she finished, "Then keep the body here for a few days.
I doubt anyone will be along to claim it, and I may need to
reexamine it." 

He nodded, then escorted the guide to his police cruiser, while
Mulder and Scully headed for Max's convertible. 

                            --o-0-o--

Phira Port
Santorini, Greece
Thursday, May 21, 1998
8:37 am

Mulder stared at the short queue of tourists waiting for the next
cruise boat. "What makes you think he left from here, Scully?" 

Wondering if this was his usual queasiness at going afloat
talking, Scully flicked her eyes at his whine. "I don't, Mulder."
She met his downward glance with a shrug. "This is just the
closest port, and the easiest way to start."

Suddenly resolute, he nodded. "At least the ticketing agent
*thought* he recognized the stiff." 

She cocked her head. "Mulderrr, the dead all deserve - " 

He grasped her waist. "Scully, not all of them throw my partner
down a ramp and nearly break her neck while they were still alive.
If we were back in DC, you know Skinner would yank this one out of
our hands like the hounds of hell were on his tail." 

One cheek creased. "Or would he?" He was checking her face in
confusion as she concluded, "DC may have its share of odd
characters, but it's a safe bet that none of them are Atlanteans."
Since the rest of the passengers had loaded, she, holding aloft a
pale Polaroid, stepped up to the Captain. "I'm Agent Dana Scully
with the FBI, and this is my partner, Agent Mulder. We're
investigating the death of this individual, but we must first
determine his identity." She waited while he took the photo and
scanned it. 

The Captain nodded, then handed the thick print back to her. "I
remember him. That double dimple, one depression above the other,
is fairly distinctive."

Mulder leaned over his partner. "Do you remember when you last saw
him? Did he take the full Volcano Tour?" 

A quick nod as the uniformed man waved the boat underway. "Yes, it
was about a week ago. He had paid for the full day tour, but got
off at Thirasia. He did not return aboard my boat." He pointed to
the benches. "If you would be so kind." 

The partners nodded their thanks, handed over their tickets, and
settled in for the short voyage. 

                            --o-0-o--

Mayer Hall
University of California at San Diego
San Diego, California
Monday, May 4, 1998
3:21 am

"I didn't think there would be many here at this time of morning,"
Jerry sighed.

Gonzales chuckled. "I think you'd be surprised." He pulled up to
the front access for the building. When the partners were inside,
the Latino detective pointed toward the Department Head's spacious
office. "We'd gathered them all together in there." 

Jerry glanced over as they entered. "So, do you have the same
feeling I do, Richard?" 

The Latino detective eyed the six people, all waiting
uncomfortably in the Director's oversized chairs. "Like we're in
that murder mystery after all? Yup, sure do." He pointed to the
white-haired man Jerry recognized from that afternoon. "Professor
John Williams, Department Head." 

The older man crossed his arms. "We've met." 

Sergeant Johnson straightened by the door. "We'll need to talk,
Detective." 

Donato suspected, by the smug look on William's face, that the
subject of his warrant, or lack of one, had already been broached.
He nodded to Anwar and the Chinese woman whom he remembered from
the first night of interviews. "Why are you two here so late?" 

Ming-son whispered, "We have to give presentations on thesis
today. For other students." 

Anwar nodded. "We had finished speaking with Doctor Miller not
more than an hour before, Detective Donato. She was very
apologetic she hadn't been able to help us more, given the past
few days." 

"Let me explain." An African-American rose from the couch closest
to the Department Head's desk. "I'm Professor Nigel Wilson." He
stuck out his hand. "My specialty's magnetohydrodynamics. Ming-
son's working for me." He smiled gently at the tiny woman, who
began studying her hands shyly. "Every Monday afternoon, two of
the students present current results to their peers. It's
mandatory for the others to attend and ask questions. It's good
experience giving presentations and fielding comments."

Donato had been flipping through his pad. "But I thought..." 

Ming-soon volunteered, "I go to work for Doctor Wilson once, erm,
Doctor Wilton..." 

The thick-chested detective nodded. "I see." He looked up at
Wilson. "And you?" 

Wilson sighed. "Working on grants, just like Sandra. I'm on a
different floor, but I didn't leave my office from the time I
arrived around eight until the time I heard the first police
sirens." He shook his head. "And, before you ask, I don't have any
witnesses to verify that." 

An outburst of Spanish had all heads turning to the remaining two
witnesses, an Hispanic man and woman, both dressed in the
coveralls Donato recognized as belonging to the janitorial staff.

Gonzales initiated a rapid-fire interrogation in the couple's
preferred language. 

Donato shifted uncomfortably. Despite his years with Maria, he'd
never bothered to pick up more than a rudimentary fluency with
this second tongue. He'd always just assumed she'd be there to
handle things for them both. As he watched, the three were
gesturing, answers beginning sometimes before the question
finished. The woman's high-pitched voice rang in the stillness of
their surroundings. 

A concluding nod, then Gonzales turned. "Well, they can vouch for
Wilson. She cleaned the bathrooms on his floor around eleven, he
mopped about an hour later. That was just before Doctor Miller was
attacked." He waited through another flurry of commentary from the
woman. "The elevators are shut down at that time of night, so
anyone would have had to use the stairs." 

"Then how?" Jerry pointed to the oversized mop buckets. 

The man held up one member of a ring of keys. "Service Elevator,"
he explained succinctly. 

Johnson stepped forward. "Then, that's all I think we need from
you. Please keep yourselves available for any further questions my
detectives may need to put to you." He waited for the six to file
out before he rounded on Donato. "What did you think you were
doing, trying to bluff a Department Head like that?" 

The thick-chested detective shrugged. "He never asked to see the
warrant, just accepted that it was real. He's guilty of something.
I know it." 

Johnson rubbed his chin. "Perhaps. But, we need proof, Detectives.
Stop by his home later today and see what you can find. With what
you told me yesterday afternoon about his behavior and the money,
it makes him our prime suspect."

The partners exchanged a glance, then nodded.

                            --o-0-o--

Santorini Bay
Santorini, Greece
Thursday, May 21, 1998
10:21 am

"So, if you were to leave the Bureau, what would you do, Scully?"
The partners were standing at the bow of the small cruise boat
ferrying them to Nea Kameni. 

Scully pushed her hair off her face and sighed. "I don't know,
Mulder." 

He shifted until he was as close to her as he could stand without
touching her. "I don't see you as a county pathologist, not
anymore."

She lowered her gaze from the dark island growing in front of them
to the blue and white striped railing she was grasping. "Neither
do I," she whispered. Focusing on the gold flecks in his eyes, she
bit her lip before she explained, "I've always just assumed I'd be
working the X-Files with you until we both retired."

Mulder sent her a hollow glance. "I'd like to assume that, too."
He covered her fingers with his palm. "Then, since we've both
assumed it, just stay."

She closed her eyes. "I wish it were that easy. I can't let you
down. There's so much that remains to be completed in our work."

He nodded. "And so much that only you can do." 

She leaned out over the water. "You give me too much credit,
Mulder."

He eased his chest against her shoulder. "That's because you don't
give yourself enough, Scully." 

There was silence for a long moment. 

Mulder rested his elbows on the railing, taking the opportunity to
check his partner's face. She had been blinking rapidly, but,
under his scrutiny, set her expression into a stoic mask. 

He cocked his head. "Could we at least keep in touch?" 

She inhaled deeply. "I'd like th - " She turned to him. "No. That
wouldn't work. If we talked, I'd find myself wanting to work with
you, offering my advice. And I'd be putting you in danger of
suffering because of my failings all over again." 

Suddenly angry, he grasped her elbow. "So, it's okay for me to put
your life in danger, every day we work together, but the same
doesn't hold for you, Agent Scully?" 

She blinked at him uncomprehendingly. "Mulder? What do you mean?" 

He crossed his arms, then turned his back to her. "Never mind.
It's something that happened long ago. Ancient history." 

She moved in front of him, only to find he was staring at his
Nikes. "Mulder? Tell me." 

He shook his head. 

Grasping both of his wrists, she tried to bring her face under
his. "What? When?" 

He simply gazed at her, blinking away tears before he answered,
"It was while you were gone." 

She nodded once. "Go on." 

He glanced out at the island. "Skinner asked me - " He bit his
lip. "Skinner *told* me to let you go. That you were an officer of
the law, that you knew the risks of the job when you took the
badge. I asked him what if, what if I hadn't told you all the
risks before you came to work with me?"

She stepped closer to him. "But, Mulder, Skinner was right. I
*did* know the risks." As his eyes flashed a surprised protest,
she nodded. "I never told you all that Blevins briefed me on
before I joined you. I know it was strongly hinted to you that I
was a spy, sent to debunk your work. But, you know me better by
now; I'm not the sort of person who takes delight in destruction.
I'm a doctor. I want to heal, to protect. Blevins told me there
were powerful men who wanted to see you fail, Mulder. He appealed
to me, as your fellow agent, and an officer of the law, to use
reason to find the truth about your work. He knew I would expose a
fraud, or protect someone wrongly accused."

He stepped away from her. "That's all well and good, Scully, but,
*he* was there, pulling strings, wasn't he?" 

She shook her head. "Not always. I noticed Blevins would clam up
whenever the Smoker appeared. It was as if there were two
different agenda at work."

Mulder blinked at the water. "I never knew." 

She leaned against his arm. "It was better for you, for the work,
if you hadn't. I realized that on our first case. If the men
opposing us suspected we were collaborating against them, they
would have seen to it we were separated sooner than we were,
before we developed a working partnership."

He assumed that haunted expression he always wore when he
remembered the events of her abduction.

She reached out to rub his elbow. "Tell me, what did Skinner say?" 

Mulder found he could only whisper, "He said, that in that case, I
was as responsible for your disappearance as the men who took
you." 

"No!" 

He looked up in surprise as she hugged him quickly, then released
him. "Scully?" 

"That's *not* fair, Mulder. He should never have told you that.
You should never have had to carry that around in silence all this
time. If we were partners investigating organized crime or in drug
interdiction, the risk of disclosure and death would have been the
same." She shook her head. "No, it would have been less than it is
now, or even then. And the stakes, for everyone, are so much
higher. Let it go, here, now. Don't hold onto that pain anymore." 

He shifted close to her again. "Then, stay. If I'm willing to
accept the risks of working with a human being, made of flesh and
bone, who gets tired or needs to step away occasionally, then why
can't you?" 

She turned to face the fast-approaching dock. "When you put it
like that, I don't know what to say, Mulder." 

He grasped her waist, flashing a hesitant smile at the curls
whipping in the breeze. "Good. Then there's hope." 

She tucked her chin. "Hope."

                            --o-0-o--

Williams Residence
San Diego, California
Monday, May 4, 1998
7:03 pm

Jerry Donato rubbed his eyes. 

"Not enough sleep, old man?" Gonzales sent the gibe with a grin. 

The thick-chested detective in the driver's seat snorted. "Yeah.
I've never been able to catch up after an early morning stint." He
cocked an eyebrow at his partner. "Even in my salad days. So," he
asked as he pointed, "is that the place?" 

The Latino detective checked his note pad, then the address by the
front door of the rambler, which was just visible through stands
of pine. "Looks like it. You'd think a department head would have
a bigger house than this." 

Donato turned off the engine. "Sandra explained that the job
rotates among the full professors every two years. She could
hardly wait for this one's term to be over." 

Gonzales shrugged out of his seat belt. "I'll bet." 

Donato waited for his partner to join him before he pressed the
ornate brass doorbell. They had their ID's at the ready when one
of the double doors was unlocked. 

"Yes?" The voice belonged to a tiny, white-haired woman. "May I
help you?" 

Jerry mused that she looked exactly as he expected a successful
professor's wife should, serious, ordered, well-kept. He drew on
his best peace officer's smile. "Yes, Ma'am. Is Doctor Williams at
home?" 

She stepped back as she waved them in. "Yes, he's in his study.
Let me show you the way." 

As they walked, Donato noted that the walls were chock-a-block
with canvases of all shapes and sizes. He admired the high level
of craft in the lighting of the scenes, either seascapes or
careful studies of interiors. Surprised to note that each lacked a
human figure for either scale or subject, he trotted up beside
her. "Pardon me, Ma'am, but who's the art collector in the
family?" 

She tittered. "Not collector. Painter. These are pieces I couldn't
sell at my last show."

"Oh?" He glanced at the densely layered oils. "Sandra told me that
Judy Wilton paints. Do you know anything about her work?" 

All pretense of conviviality fell from her face. "A little." She
hurried ahead of them to a set of panelled oak doors. Once
standing in the hall, with an antique grandfather clock clicking
away the minutes, she called out, "John, there are two detectives
here to see you."

He looked up from his paper-bound, turquoise and white journal.
"Ah, yes, we met this morning." He waved them to a claw-footed
sofa along one wall. "What may I do for you this evening? I have
no wish to hide anything from the police." 

Donato mentally contrasted this genial host with the angry
professor he had met twice before as his partner replied, "We
appreciate that, Sir." 

"But," Williams continued with a glare for the interruption, "I do
*not* tolerate false accusations. Tom Wilton was a rising star in
the Department. I tell you, honestly, that it would have been in
all our worst interests for anything to happen to him." 

"And why is that?" Donato asked mildly.

Williams set his reading glasses on his desk, then crossed to
stand by the window. After staring out at the rose garden that
covered his back yard for a moment, he replied, "There was talk of
making him our permanent department head." He glanced over his
shoulder. "A decision I would have heartily endorsed, I might
add." He resumed gazing out the window, where his wife, who was
wearing a broad-brimmed white hat, was pruning. After a quick wave
to her, he continued, "At the very least, the sponsor whom he and
Sandra were so studiously ignoring wanted to endow a chair, for
*both* of them, in case you were curious. With Tom's death, all
those plans will need to be reexamined." 

"But surely Doctor Miller," Donato began.

Williams settled across from them. "Surely Doctor Miller..." He
shook his head. "She is a truth-seeker, par excellence, Gentlemen.
It makes her an outstanding researcher, and a miserable
politician. She's tremendously loyal to those whom she feels she
can trust and who share compatible goals to her own. The rest of
us, well..." He waved dismissively. "She never fails to speak her
mind, even when keeping silent would be most beneficial." 

Donato could feel Gonzales' eyes on him as the Latino detective
commented, "I gathered that." 

Williams resumed pacing again. "But, she is a wonderful teacher.
The undergraduate classes she taught were always full, and the
students come away with a uniformly good appreciation for the
subject material." 

Donato smiled, remembering his visit to her classes. 

The older man continued, "Her graduate students usually go on to
full-employment in academia, or to responsible positions in
industry. I only hope she chooses to stay with the university once
all this has blown over." He stopped in front of Donato. "Will
that be all, Gentlemen?" 

Gonzales glanced at the senior detective before he queried, "Do
you know why anyone would purposely sabotage the wind tunnel?" 

Williams glared. "Why should I? It was a feather in the
Department's cap to get that built. There's an existing, if older,
facility at UC Irvine and a wind-wave tank at Scripps. Had it not
been for the outside money Wilton and Miller provided, the State
would never have given its approval for the construction of a
third facility, especially one devoted to near-supersonic
experimentation and flow visualization." He returned to his desk.
"Now, I'm afraid that I'm a very busy man, and that's all the time
I can spare you." He resumed scribbling on a pad of paper.

Donato shook his head. He recognized when a question was being
dodged. With a glance through the picture window, he asked, "Were
you attracted to Doctor Miller, sexually, I mean?" 

Beet-faced, Williams stalked over to him. "What? Detective Donato,
I've been happily married for thirty-seven years to my lovely
wife. Of course not. Sandra Miller is a beautiful woman, if
untidily thin, but, certainly not." He looked out the window. "You
see, you've upset my wife. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to
leave, immediately." 

After unlocking the glass door from the garden, the tiny woman
rushed into the study. "John, dear, are you all right?" 

Williams nodded. "Yes, my Sweet. These detectives were just
leaving." 

She took him firmly by the arm. "Now, John, remember your blood
pressure. Have a seat by the window." 

Gonzales and Donato exchanged a glance. It seemed they were being
double-teamed. 

"Look," the wife was continuing with forced cheer, "here's Mister
Tuggles to keep you company." She disappeared down the hall,
returning with a bundle that set both men gasping with surprise. 

"Ma'am," Donato began, "How long have you had that cat?" He
watched as she deposited an oyster-colored feline with a tail like
an ostrich feather in her husband's lap. 

"Why," she blinked as she replied, "just years. We got Tuggies
when we were in Turkey on your last sabbatical, oh, in 1987, was
it, John?" 

He was dutifully stroking the long arched back, smiling at the
mis-matched green and blue eyes. "Ah yes, I think so." 

Gonzales cleared his throat. "Doctor Williams, have you ever
visited the Wilton residence, especially in the past two weeks?" 

The cat tucked under his arm, the white-haired man climbed to his
feet. "Now, see here. I've answered quite enough questions for one
evening." 

Donato nodded to his partner. "Well, I don't know about you, but I
think we can go back to the station and get a warrant. Don't you?" 

The little woman retrieved the cat. "Oh, dear, this is very
serious. I'll contact the firm immediately, John." She ran to the
phone as Donato and Gonzales made their way toward the front door.

                            --o-0-o--

Nea Kamini
Santorini, Greece
Thursday, May 21, 1998
12:32 pm

Mulder stared out at the steaming rubble field. "Jeez, do we
really need to do this?" 

Scully cocked an eyebrow at her partner, but said nothing, as the
tirade was continuing unabated. 

"We know he disembarked at Thirasia. There's only one hotel he
could have stayed at." He waved his arms at the black blocks.
"This, I don't know, Scully." 

Stepping out carefully, she called back, "If you'd brought your
good hiking boots today, instead of those running shoes, this
wouldn't be a problem." Her green-blue eyes sparkled as she turned
around to tease, "Really, Mulder, and here I thought you wanted us
to look for the way to subterranean Atlantis and all." She hurried
forward as steam vented suddenly.

Finding himself bested, Mulder opened and closed his mouth.
"Sculleee," he complained as he hopped after her, "I was thinking,
sun, salt air, waves, beach." 

She passed him a glass tube topped by a valve. "Instead, you have
lava, methane, rocks, volcano." Using a pair of surgical forceps,
she dropped a black shard in an evidence bag, then tucked it in
her pack. "We have to do this again, over on Palea Kamini, so,
buck up, there, Chief." 

Waving the device around, he asked, "How do I use this thing
again?" 

She pointed to one steaming pile. "Just hold it over the vent and
press the button. The seal will turn red when the chamber is
full." She moved in ever- widening circles over the fractured
boulders. "Given the number of tourists who walk here every day, I
don't expect to find any physical evidence of his presence." 

Mulder nodded. "But, with the Bureau office in Athens, we won't
have to ship the samples back to the States for testing." 

Scully dropped more black flakes into a plexiglass tube. "And, I
can stop off at the Hospital to meet with Androkiri." 

He held the vial directly over the flume. "Ow!" 

"Mulder!" She shaded her eyes to peer intently at his waving hand.
"I said over, not in. We only want to compare the trace elements
from the gases with those in the deceased's lung tissues." 

He feigned a pout, then moved on to take a sample successfully.
"But your autopsy only revealed asphyxiation as the cause of
death. The stiff would have to have been unconscious, and he would
have had to have been held over one of these vents for a length of
time, if these gases were to have killed him." Straightening, he
turned to her. "See? I can handle this science stuff of yours."

"I know, but what other explanation is there?" She tossed her head
at the gleam in his eyes. "That was *rhetorical*, Mulder," she
added quickly. She pushed her hair off her face. "I'm done. We
just have time to return to the boat. You think we should plan on
staying on Thirasia for the night?" 

He waited for her to step in front of him. "Yeah. Since I didn't
pack my suit, we'll need to check out the beaches, too." He swung
his hips twice for emphasis.

She sent him a playful glare. "Hotel, yes. *Those* beaches, no. I
wouldn't be able to carry my weapon to defend your honor." 

"Scully!" He feigned offense as they walked. "Are you implying I
couldn't handle a horde of naked women on my own?" 

She tucked her chin. "It wasn't the women I was thinking of." At
his theatrically prolonged gasp, she temporized, "But you still
owe me a massage?" 

Since the other passengers were gathering, he waggled his
eyebrows, but kept silent.

                            --o-0-o--

Cave Mare Hotel
Manolas, Thirasia
Santorini, Greece
Thursday, May 21, 1998
3:54 pm

Scully glanced around the lobby as she and Mulder entered. The
tour books she had read on and off since finding out there was a
possibility of visiting the island referred to this establishment
as 'custom designed.' It certainly looked it. Once they reached
the front desk, Mulder touched her spine to bring her attention
back to the case at hand. She lifted the print from one pocket of
her backpack in preparation, even though the registration counter
was unmanned. 

Or, more properly, unwomanned. A tiny matron, beginning to go
grey, entered from the back area a few moments later. "We don't
have the rooms ready yet, but I'll take your names if you like." 

After flashing her badge and introducing herself and her partner,
Scully smiled gently. "That's not necessary, Ma'am." She pushed
the Polaroid across the counter. "We're investigating the death of
this man, but we need to establish his identity first. We believe
he may have stayed at your hotel sometime in the past couple of
weeks. Do you remember him? Or are there other hotel employees to
whom we could show this photograph?" 

The proprietress slid on her reading glasses, taking a few moments
to study the face. "Why, yes, I do recognize him. He left without
settling his bill, or taking his belongings with him. He stayed
two nights, then didn't return on the third." 

The partners exchanged a glance before Mulder asked, "Could we
take a look at his effects, Ma'am?" 

She cocked her head, taking in the appearance of the agents, then
explained, "Well, there's this matter of his bill, you see..." 

Mulder dug in his pocket for his wallet. "Okay, you said two
nights? And how much for storing his possessions?" 

After a suitable number of bills were placed on the woman's supine
palm, she disappeared into the back again, returning with a lumpy
duffle bag. "These were his." She shoved the luggage under the
counter and into the lobby with her foot. "Since he's dead, we
won't be hanging onto them." 

Mulder favored her with his broadest grin. "Thanks for your
cooperation, Ma'am." 

She watched them unzip the bag, then asked, "So, will you be
requiring a room yourselves?" 

Mulder eyed Scully, then lifted out his credit card. "Yes. Two,
please." He looked down when his partner grasped his wrist. 

"I'll pay for this." She took his American Express card and tucked
it in her jeans pocket, then placed her MasterCard on the counter. 

He touched her shoulder. "Scully, you don't have to." 

She tossed her hair. "Just returning favor. You paid for my very
expensive accommodations in Athens." 

The woman behind the counter eyed them both before reaching for
her imprint reader. "I have 104 and 105 free. They're right across
the hall from each other. 104 looks out over the Caldera." 

Scully nodded. "Is there somewhere we can work while we wait for
the rooms?" 

"Breakfast room." The woman waved vaguely at the other end of the
lobby. 

Mulder had closed the duffle and hoisted it over his shoulder by
the time Scully returned. "Through there?" he asked, pointing to a
set of knobless double doors. At the woman's nod, the partners
stepped away.

                            --o-0-o--

Witness Interrogation Room
Northern Division
San Diego Police Department
Monday, May 4, 1998
10:14 pm

Jerry Donato sighed. "Look, Doctor Williams, we know you were
holding out funds on the deceased. You and he had had your share
of disagreements in the past. There were white cat hairs found at
the scene of the crime. You alone, among all the likely suspects,
have a white Turkish Van."

"You're accusing me because I have a cat?" Williams roared.

"John," his lawyer soothed as he rested a restraining hand on his
client's arm. Glaring across the battered metal table, he
cautioned, "If you have no more material evidence than that, I'll
have very little trouble seeing that this case is thrown out of
court, Detective."

Donato narrowed his dark eyes at the older man. After having
worked this side of the fence for this long, he was immensely
relieved he failed to put together the funds to get through law
school. He hated lawyers. He hated their two thousand dollar suits
and their Gucchi shoes and their perfect haircuts. Most of all, he
hated the way they always assumed the police were a bunch of
bumbling fools. "Now that we have hair and skin samples from
Doctor Williams, we can compare them against those found at the
scene, and I'm certain we'll find a match." He glanced down as a
note was slipped under his hand. After reading it, he tapped his
partner on the shoulder, then the two stepped outside. 

"What?" Gonzales asked as he watched the pair conversing through
the one-way glass. 

"Sandra's awake," Jerry explained simply. 

"Okay, old man," the Latino detective agreed as he clapped Donato
on the shoulder. "I'll keep grilling the suit while you see if she
remembers who attacked her?" 

Donato smiled. "Thanks." He knew he and Richard Gonzales had the
makings of an exceptionally perceptive partnership.

                            --o-0-o--

Breakfast Room
Cave Mare Hotel
Manolas, Thirasia
Santorini, Greece
Thursday, May 21, 1998
4:44 pm

"I wonder how many more of these we'll find?" Mulder asked as he
placed yet another driver's license on the pile in the center of
the table. 

Scully sighed. "So, who is this guy? We have yet to find anything
that will explain all this. He doesn't have anything here that
would tell us he was a government agent, or even a PI. So, we're
talking petty con artist, hit man, what?" 

"Jim Rockford?" Smirking, Mulder pushed his hair off his forehead.
"Not hit man. No boxes of ammunition, or even gun oil or rags for
cleaning his weapon." 

She rubbed her forehead. "No extra cash, or even traveler's
checks." 

The dark-haired agent pointed to a separate pile of plastic. "He
gives new meaning to the phrase, 'Don't leave home without it.'"

She frowned. "But all those bills come due eventually. Who would
be willing to bankroll that level of debt for so removed an
operative?" 

Mulder snorted. "Scully, not everyone pays off his cards every
month like a certain FBI agent I know."

She shook her head. "But, he's obviously more than just a
spendthrift bachelor on holiday." 

Mulder arched an eyebrow, but only offered, "I know. At least we
have more data to give the guys. Let's see what any of this
means." He reached across the table for his cel. 

Scully rose to stretch. "I'll go check on our rooms." 

                            --o-0-o--

Cave Mare Hotel
Manolas, Thirasia
Santorini, Greece
Friday, May 22, 1998
1:42 am

The rust-colored stones pulling the warmth from his bare soles,
Mulder padded across the hall to his partner's room. Once he had
turned to the rough door, he paused. The space within was
suspiciously quiet. "Scully?" Given the hour, the query was
whispered, rather than voiced. 

Silence. 

After unlocking the door, he waited for a protest from the
darkness. 

More silence. 

"Scully?" he whispered with more force. Blinking, he waited for
his eyes to adjust. The covers were turned back, the sheets in a
tangle, but the bed was empty. The faint illumination from a
shell-shaped night light in the bathroom filtered through the open
door to show him she was not up to her neck in soapsuds, soaking
out the kinks in her shoulders. 

"Sir?" 

The agent spun to face the younger of the two daughters of the
woman who had checked them in the day before. "Yes?" 

A black-haired girl, barely into her teens and slender as a reed,
pointed toward the courtyard they had passed on the way to their
rooms. "Your friend is out there. She's been staring at the bay
for an hour or so now." She held out a black wool blanket, then
bit her lower lip before she explained, "The breeze picked up
overnight, so I was giving extra blankets to the guests staying in
the rooms on the Caldera side of the hotel. You might want to take
it to her." 

As he took the thick coverlet, Mulder nodded. "Thanks." He started
down the hall, then, when he reached the glass exit door, turned
to ask the girl a further question, but she was already knocking
timidly at the next room. As he stepped outside, he took a deep
breath. The tang of salt set him coughing. 

The auburn head, just visible over the high back of the granite
bench, turned at the sound. "Hey, Mulder." 

He stepped up behind her, resting both hands on the rounded rim.
"Hey." 

Scully pushed her hair off her face. "You didn't have to get up.
Everything looks different from this little island. Wilder,
somehow." She clucked with surprise as the black cloth descended
over her bare legs and arms. 

Mulder smirked. "Special delivery, Doctor. Don't argue with the
owners, or we'll be sleeping out on all that lava." One hand still
hooked over the top, he stepped around the bench to settle into
the corner behind his partner, who was turned sideways, clutching
her knees to her chest. 

Once the dark-haired man was seated, she adjusted the blanket over
herself, sliding backwards until she was tucked against his side.
"Won't be the first time. But, thanks." She tugged on the coverlet
until she could throw half of it over his own bare legs.

Surprised at the physical contact, he glanced at the back of her
neck, finding his gaze falling where it usually landed, on the
small scar between her shoulder blades. "No problem." His breath
hitched, then he frowned. His partner was carefully tucking her
back and shoulders in the curve of his body. Were it any other
woman, he would read this as a subtle advance, but with her, he
knew it was the last thing he should consider. 

Back in Athens, she had put her head down, almost like a bull,
marching straight up to him, to push him away. But, it wasn't like
her to strike out when hurting, or, he reminded himself, it hadn't
been like her for quite some time. Instead, like a wounded little
wild thing, she had taken to settling close to a source of warmth
and nurture until she was well. He was heartened at the thought
that he provided her the comfort and security of a fireplace.
Perhaps that would make him just as vitally important. Shifting
slightly, he curled his shoulders around hers and waited. He left
one arm lying along the granite edge, the other limp across his
legs, since, like any untamed creature, she would struggle if
trapped. 

His chin close to her cheek, he stared up at black velvet. The
stars were scattered across the dark dome as if the sea had
splashed a mighty wave against it, leaving the water to evaporate,
the grains of salt remaining, stuck there. They sat like that,
listening to the waves, watching the sky change to a deep midnight
blue, the crystals falling slowly into the ocean from which they
had come.

When the glaze on the bowl had turned jade-like, green and
luminous, she began without turning, "I dreamed I killed my
father, Mulder." 

He cocked his head, staring at the bumps where her knees were,
waiting. 

Her forehead dropped until it nearly rested on those twin knobs.
"You had said your psychologist's skills were at my disposal. So,
what would Herr Doktor Sigmund say about that?" 

He shrugged, taking the excuse to bring more of his torso in
contact with her back. "That wasn't one of the secrets he
whispered to me. What do *you* think it means?" He felt, rather
than heard, her snort.

She raised her head, the curls brushing against the shoulder
behind her. "Ah, you're for real, then. I don't know. The setting
was strange. Ahab was all swathed in furs, paddling a kayak, of
all things, and I was hanging onto the back, calling him. He never
responded to me, but, instead, kept trying to shove me away with
the oar. It was white, like it was a carved whale-bone.
Eventually, I let go of the kayak to grab the handle." Both her
arms shifted free of the wool, her gestures copying and amplifying
her words. "I *pulled* the paddle free, but in so doing, I
capsized the kayak. When it righted, he was gone, and I was alone
in a sea of ice." She shifted around to look up at him, her
shoulder pressing into his side, her green-blue eyes inches from
his own. "I think I put together my grief over losing him with
that myth of Sedna, but I don't understand it. I don't understand
*any* of it, Mulder. I've grieved for my Father. I love him and
miss him, but he's gone, after a full and happy life." 

He nodded. "One that would make any daughter proud." He gently
guided one arm back under the blanket. "Let me suggest something
to you, Scully." 

Her eyes narrowed. "This is where you bring up Karl Jung and
archetypal images, don't you?"

He threw her a lopsided-grin. "The Fox Mulder variation." He
waited for a snort or a return jibe, but she was silent, so he
continued, "Jung worked from the myths of our earlier days." 

She blinked. 

He bit his lower lip momentarily. "But the roles for women in the
past were limited, restricted to mothers, daughters, or whores."
He shrugged. "Sorry." 

Lifting one corner of her mouth, she swiveled around, sitting
cross-legged on the bench. "I know. None of those fit me, really."
She adjusted the blanket, making certain his long legs, which were
bare under the knit shorts, were still covered against the chill.
"If it were the Middle Ages, I could always retire to a nunnery, I
suppose." 

Mulder blinked, remembering Margaret Scully's words, which were
spoken while sitting beside a completely different ocean.   
          

Scully rested her shoulder lightly against his side. "But that was
then. Nuns don't run double convents and control vast tracts of
land, or settle disputes between cardinals. So what does that make
me?" 

Somber, he bent over her. "Someone who doesn't fit into a neat
little box, and shouldn't try." 

She tossed her head. "Spoken with the voice of experience." 

He nodded. "That theory of mine?"

She arched one brow. "I knew we'd get back to it sometime." 

"These dreams? You've been searching for who you are, running
through every archetype held up for women, trying each out and
tossing them aside." He shifted closer. "Don't be afraid to make
your own rules, Scully. The old ones don't work. Give you any
physical adversity, any intellectual challenge, and you won't
shrink away from it. You'll stride out and beat it back, with your
bare hands if that's all you have. Don't shy away now, from
claiming yourself for *you*, not for who your parents or your
family wants you to be." 

Staring out at the sea, she inhaled deeply. "Brave New World
again?" 

He set her a lopsided grin. "Like everything else we do." He
reached around her, making certain she was still covered. "And,
Scully?" 

She pulled the wool more tightly around her shoulders. "Hum?" 

His eyes were black in the growing light. "Never forget, you're
worth it." 

She shook her head. "Mulder." 

He grasped her shoulder. "I mean it. We've worked together too
long. I know you. You think you're damaged goods, don't you?" 

The sharp hiss of her breath and the slight narrowing of her eyes
told him he had struck home. 

Heedless of her slight shift away from him, he plunged on ahead.
"You think that because of the uncertainty about your abduction,
because of Mel, because of the hysterectomy, that no one would
want you. You told me that, back after Fordyce." As she slid
further away along the stone, he grasped her shoulder to keep her
still. "And you've internalized that to the point where you don't
trust yourself." 

She turned to stare back at him. "How can I? All those clues I
missed. Jarred was very nearly killed because of me, Mulder. I'm a
trained law enforcement agent. I should have known. I might not be
able to prevent the same thing from happening to you one day." 

"Jarred *lived* because of you. Saunders *lived* because of you."
He slid over beside her. "I'm alive because of you. All because
you try as hard as you can, all the time, to do the right thing,
to serve justice. Back at the rest home, you told me not to worry,
because we'd done all that humanly could be done." He stood in
front of her. "Now, I'm telling you the same thing. You did all
you could. Of that, I have no doubt." 

Hugging the blanket around her, she curled into as small a space
as she could manage. "But if I fail in this quest for the truth,
because of what I am, because of my weaknesses..." She fell silent
as she blinked back tears. "I couldn't live with that." 

He raised her chin with the tip of his finger. "So that makes you
hate yourself? That you *could* fail?" He knelt before her.
"You're worse than I am, you know?" 

Still wrapped in the blanket, she slid past him to walk to the far
edge of the yard. "Is this when I get to hear how you're a failure
because you lost your sister, Mulder?" Staring out at the sea
birds whirling and diving, she tugged the wool more tightly around
her. "You aren't a failure, you never have been. You had some
unspeakably terrible things happen to you as a child, but you
managed to grow into one of the most moral, centered men I know."
She waited, but heard nothing, so she turned.

He had been standing behind her. "I know I'm not a failure. I
haven't felt that way for quite some time. Thanks to you." He
grasped her wool-covered shoulder. "I've found her. Because I
worked with you, trusted you, let you in, I've found my mother,
found a friend, found her. I couldn't do it alone. Once I realized
that, everything fell into place." 

She stalked angrily to the stone bench. "So, you're telling me
that if I find someone to let into my life, I'll find myself?" She
plopped down with a grunt. "Thanks. I thought you didn't want me
to be a damsel in distress, looking for a man to make her whole." 

From the edge of the yard, he called softly, "I don't." He walked
back to stand in front of her. "And anyone who is happy you feel
broken isn't worthy to have you, Scully. You need to love
yourself, to accept yourself as worthwhile, in spite of those
minuscule flaws you keep training a microscope on." He grasped
both shoulders. "For you. Not for or because of anyone or anything
else. For you." He sat back on his heels, wondering whether
anyone, her deeply beloved father, or her ever-devoted mother, had
said that to her before. 

As he watched, her eyes filled with tears. He realized, with
endless regret, that they had not. He might have been ignored and
excoriated in his childhood, but hers had been no less easy. She
had been pushed, both by her own desires and by her parents, to
make herself better, to always seek to improve. But, he realized
now, that for her, it was as much a running from as a journeying
to. 

She scrubbed angrily at her face. "I'm sorry, Mulder." 

As she settled back on the bench, he shook his head. "Why? You
hurt because you're human." If she could come to realize that to
rest was not failure, to appreciate where she stood was not
defeat, then their time together would not have been wasted for
her.

She twisted until she was against the stone slab of the side.
"I'll be okay, Mulder, I just need to think for a while." 

With a sigh, he rose. "If you want to talk, Scully, I'll be
waiting." Stretching both arms over his head, he twisted his
shoulders as he walked away, only to call out lightly, "Don't stay
out here on this thing too long, or it'll take more than a massage
to get your muscles working again." His face twisted into a grin
at the soft snort of agreement he heard from the other side of the
stone bench.

                            --o-0-o--

outside Room 304
Scripps Memorial Hospital
La Holla, California
Monday, May 4, 1998
10:46 pm

Jerry Donato had barely slowed down as he waved his badge at the
nurse behind the desk. "Police business," he had shouted to the
orderly who attempted to block his way. He began to spin into the
same room he remembered from earlier, then stopped. This time,
instead of quiet sobbing, he heard two alto voices, both
apologizing as they talked. 

"Sandra, I can't tell you how terrible I feel. I've been so awful
to everyone who cares about me, especially you." Jerry heard cloth
rustling. 

"It's okay, Judy, really. Tom's gone. We'll never meet anybody
else like him as long as we live, and it hurts." 

"But, I didn't need to hurt you! That's not fair." With a sigh,
Donato shuffled into the room. 

"Judy, I'm sorry I didn't - Detective!" Sandra was beaming broadly
at him as she released the blonde. "Good to see you here so soon!
Judy tells me you have him in custody." 

He stepped up next to the pillows. "Yes, we do, and you were
right, the cat was everything."

If anything, the smile stretched her slightly-full lips even
further. "I told you it would."

"Did you see him?" 

Now the expression faltered. "See him? What?" 

"In your office, did you see who attacked you? Is that how you
know?" 

She shook her head. "No, my memory's kind of fuzzy. I remember I
was searching in the back of my cabinet for some funding notes
when he showed up. I needed it to compare them with Tom's
records." She stuck out her chin. "I worked it out through a
process of elimination. I just can't figure out why?" 

He brushed the back of her hand lightly with his fingertips. "It
was the money, Sandra, it had to be." 

She frowned. "Money? What do you mean? What would he do with
money? The University took care of all his needs." 

Thinking of the spacious house and the rose garden, Donato nodded.
"It certainly did. Could it have been some mis-guided attempt to
keep power? He talked about Wilton taking over as Department
Head." 

"He?" Sandra shook her head. "How would Andy be aware of something
like that?" 

Donato stared down at her. "Andy? Don't you mean Professor
Williams?" 

She blinked up at him. "Williams? John Williams? You're kidding
me. We didn't always agree on everything, but to sabotage the
tunnel and kill Tom? " 

"No, I'm not," he explained. "He has a Turkish Angora cat, you
know." 

Sandra slid out from under the sheets. "No, you have the wrong
man." She turned to Judy, who was agape at the exchange. "Judy,
where are my clothes?" 

The blonde rose lithely. "Sandra, you can't! You just woke up. The
doctor still needs to check you over." 

Sandra half-staggered for the small chest of drawers set in the
wall. "Never mind. Detective?" 

"Yes?" Jerry hurried to her side. "Sandra, you should - " 

She cut him off with a wave. "We have to get to Andy before he
realizes we're onto him." She bent over, totally unconcerned with
the gap in her gown. "I know this all sounds like a cliche, but
I'm concerned that he might do an injury to himself once he hears
the police are coming for him. He's borderline, you see, and he's
already said he'd rather die than return to an institution." 

Jerry took a deep breath. "But, the cat hairs, how - " 

"He worked in the evenings at an animal shelter. He was one of the
few people who would have been in the building last night, and who
could have approached Tom at home without Tom being concerned
about it." 

Judy nodded. "We tried to look out for Andy, took him places, had
him in our home for Christmas and Thanksgiving, that sort of
thing." 

"Then why?" Jerry asked. "Why kill him?" 

As Sandra, jeans, shirt, and shoes in hand, stepped toward the
small bathroom, she called back, "We'll let you ask him that, all
right?" 

                            --o-0-o--

Beach, Korfos Port
Thirasia, Santorini, Greece
Friday, May 22, 1998
11:42 am

After sliding on his Ray-Bans, Mulder settled back in the canvas
lounge. "Feel better?" 

"Hum. Much." Scully, who had donned her usual sensible black
one-piece, was prone on a beach towel at his side. She shifted on
the gravel, then rested her cheek on her crossed arms to smile
over at him. "Magic fingers, as always." 

He stretched up to adjust the over-sized umbrella, setting it
fully upright to shade more of his partner. "All part of the
service, Ma'am."

A single word floated up to him, "Thanks." 

Startled, he leaned over her. "For what?" 

She twisted onto her side, then sat up to cross her legs. "For
making me take a break. For this," she explained, waving at the
water, "and for this time away from the States. I think we both
needed it. I certainly did." 

He lifted off his sunglasses to chew one earpiece idly. "No
problem, Scully." He held her gaze for a long moment. 

Finally, she broke contact to twist back onto her stomach. "So,
what will you do?" 

"Hum?" Settling back in the chair, he donned the Ray-Bans for a
modicum of privacy with his thoughts. 

"After you and Samantha get back together. You could move out to
San Diego if you want to." 

From behind the darkened lenses, he studied her body language
carefully. She was at ease, he could tell, or as relaxed as
someone lying on rocks could be. She had twined her legs at the
ankles and was letting her curls float gently about her shoulders.
After considering how to answer all the different questions
implied in her query, he settled on the direct approach. "That
depends on you, Scully." 

She rolled onto her back, lifting her hips slightly to pull down
the bathing suit. "On me?" She crossed her arms as she looked up
at him. "Why?" 

He shrugged. "If you stay in the Bureau, we can move forward on
expanding the Section. I'd want to spend some time with Sam, but,
we're strangers now." He dropped his fingers to her shoulder. "I
wouldn't want to smother her, at least not right away." 

One corner of her lips twitched at the self-deprecating joke. "And
if I leave?" She crossed her legs again. "What will you do then?" 

He shook his head, then pushed the dark hair out of his eyes. "I
don't know. I wish I did. I only see a void." He slid off the
glasses to pinch at his eyes. "Sorry. I know why you think you
should leave, Scully, and I'll respect your judgement, whatever it
is. You know why I think you should stay." He leaned into her
face. "But, I find it hard to be as dispassionate about this as
you are." He gasped softly when her fingers curled over his wrist. 

"Then put it out of your mind, Mulder. I'm enjoying working," she
explained, her voice low and gentle, "and playing with you. I'm
beginning to feel like myself again, not some staggering wounded
thing. When I arrived at Athens Airport, I felt like I was still
trapped under the weight of the world." She offered a tiny smile.
"Now, I'm just relishing the challenge of this case."

His eyebrows settled into jagged steps as he placed his hand on
hers. "So am I. I've always enjoyed the challenge of working with
you, you know." He was surprised and saddened at the darkening of
her expression.  

She sat up to wrap her arms around her knees. "I never meant to be
difficult. I just wanted - What?" 

He had grasped her shoulder to silence her. "You aren't, Scully.
Not all that is difficult is bad. Jerry just wanted to use our
cases to push himself up the ladder of advancement at the Bureau.
You just want to solve our cases, as rigorously as they can be.
And that's not a bad thing *at* *all*."

She shook her head. "No, Mulder, I didn't mean on the Files. We
need that rigor so we don't look like bumbling idiots. I meant on
the personal level."

He blinked at her. 

She stared out at the water. "These past few weeks I've been a
terrible burden to you and your family."

"Oh, yes, just horrible." 

Now it was her turn to look up at him in surprise. 

He was grinning down at her. 

She shook her head. "Mulder, you need to expend your energy on
Sam, not on me." 

Wondering how many times they would have to have this
conversation, he rubbed her shoulder. "Let me decide what I want
to expend my energy on, all right?" 

Exasperated, she rose. "Okay. These rocks are impossible. I'm
renting one of those chairs like yours." 

Standing, he pointed at his. "Here, I'll be right back." 

She crossed her arms. "No." 

He grasped both shoulders. "Let me." 

They locked eyes. Finally, a long-forgotten resolution rose in
Scully's mind, and she settled down. "Just this once." 

"Of course." The dark-haired agent began trotting up towards the
gaudily decorated rental stand. 

                            --o-0-o--

Room 105
Cave Mare Hotel
Manolas, Thirasia
Santorini, Greece
Saturday, May 23, 1998
2:51 am

Mulder grunted at the buzz of his cel phone. After a bleary
attempt to check his watch, he rested the black plastic on his
cheek. "Mulder."

"You alone?" 

He frowned at Frohike's question. "Yeah, sure. Why?" 

"Nothing. This guy of yours, the one who attacked Dana?" 

Mulder sat up. "Yes?" 

"None of his credit cards or driver's licenses match with anything
in the data banks we hacked into, but one." 

The dark-haired agent was on his feet and headed for the door.
"Oh?" He wondered why the Gunman was drawing this out. 

"And that's a no-go. The name doesn't fit, either. We traced it
back to a detective in the San Diego PD. Further, it was used
once, only to reserve that room in Santorini where they found his
belongings." 

Mulder tapped once, just beneath the ivory 4 on the door across
the hall from his. "Any matches on the face itself?" 

"Not yet. We're still working on the prints, too. Oh, and Mulder,
thanks." 

"For what?" He waggled his fingers at the sleepy face of his
partner leaning against the door frame. 

"Coming to us with this." 

The tall agent frowned down at the flagstones. "No problem. What
makes you think we wouldn't?" 

"Dana, as much as I worship every flame-colored hair on her head,
relies entirely too much on the Bureau at times like this." After
a beat, he asked, "Do you think she would stay if I asked her to -
"

Mulder groaned. 

Frohike's voice was strained in a failed attempt conceal his
exasperation as he asked, "Well, what about *you*, G-man? From
what you told us, she's considering taking up permanent residence
on the other side of the wardrobe."

The tall agent wondered briefly if his friend's desperation had
anything to do with a certain other red-haired agent as he frowned
down at the slate. "That plan won't fly either, Fro. My legs
aren't *that* hairy, are they?" 

A snort. "Mulder, trust me, when you two drop by, *yours* aren't
the gams I'm ogling. You *can* keep straight who's who around
here, can't you?" 

But, rather than throw out a jibe that might upset his present
equilibrium with his now semi-alert partner, he simply sighed.
"Just get back to us as soon as you know anything, okay?" 

"Sure," Frohike agreed before he offered his farewells. 

Once the cel was closed, Scully stepped back to yield Mulder
entrance to her room. "So, what did the guys have?" 

Mulder settled into the sole chair in the space. "Not much. All
those cards, but one, were meaningless. And the one was used only
to reserve the room here."                           

Scully climbed back under the covers. "So, where does that leave
us? Could he be part of the Consortium?" 

He shrugged. "But he wasn't after us, just that woman and child.
They would have had to have been as well. Whoever they are." He
rubbed his eyes. "I should have let you sleep. I just thought - " 

She was patting the mattress. "No, I'm awake. So, we've shown the
photo around here on Thirasia and come up empty. Back to the main
island?" 

After he slid onto the bed, he stretched his legs out over the
covers. "Yeah. We'll check in with Patikopolis, then head back to
Mom's." 
                                   
"Hum. Sounds good." Scully's voice was soft and distant. 

Mulder smiled as her head dropped gently against his arm. He took
a moment to check her appearance, noting that her cheeks had some
color and a few freckles from their days in the sun. He remembered
that she had raced him up not a few of the endless flights of
stairs they had encountered. He crossed his legs at the ankles to
settle in. Like this, he could relax and turn over possibilities
to run past his partner after she awoke. Even if this
investigation went nowhere, it seemed to be exactly what she, and
if he were to be honest, he, had needed. 

                            --o-0-o--

Darkened Road
San Diego, California
Tuesday, May 5, 1998
1:14 am

"There's a light still on," Jerry commented to the chestnut-haired
woman in the passenger seat. "Rich and the others are waiting just
up the street." 

"Sandra, I really think you should let the professionals handle
this," Judy Wilton worried from the back seat. 

"No." The hazel was hard as flint. "He killed Tom, and I have to
know why." 

The car rolled to a stop at the curb, then the three proceeded
cautiously up the lawn toward the front door. When they reached
it, they were surprised to see that it was standing ajar. 

"Hello, Doctor Miller." 

At her name, she glanced around the room, her eyes settling on the
darkest corner. "Andy, it's okay, we're here to help." 

Donato stiffened at the revolver in the man's hand. 

Judy covered her mouth, but said nothing. 

"No, it isn't okay. I did two terrible things, and now I have to
be punished." 

Sandra, one long, graceful arm extended, stepped toward the seated
man. "No, Andy, you don't have to be punished like this. Tell us
what you did. You'll feel better if you tell us what you did." 

"Don't you know?" He was on his feet, brandishing the gun. "I let
them in, not thinking that they really wanted to hurt anybody,
then Doctor Wilton got trapped in the tunnel, and there was
nowhere to go, and he was hurt, and he wouldn't get better. I
didn't want him to end up just like me. I'll never get better." He
lifted the revolver to his temple. 

"No!" Judy shouted. "You can get better, Andy, you can!" 

He slumped to the floor, the weapon dangling loosely between his
ankles. "No, I'll never get better. Just like Doctor Wilton. He
was bleeding and bleeding, and there was so much blood, and he was
so pale, I knew he couldn't live. It's like, like the animals we
get in the shelter, the ones that are hurt or sick and we can't
help. It's better that way. That's what they tell me. It was
better for Doctor Wilton. It was, wasn't it?" He looked up to
Sandra for the first time. 

She knelt to touch his knee momentarily. "Andy, it's very
important. Tell us what you saw in Doctor Wilton's study that
night. You didn't shoot him?" 

"No!" Andy dropped the gun, but pulled his knees together
protectively. "He was slumped over his computer desk, moaning. Low
and soft. There was so much blood. I knew he wasn't - " 

"Andy," Sandra commanded evenly, "tell us, why you were going to
Doctor Wilton's that night. It wasn't time for a visit, was it?" 

Fresh tears rolled down his face. "I, I wanted to apologize for my
friends. They were the ones who broke into your tunnel, Doctor
Miller. They said something about a drug company who was funding
you, that it tested on animals, that you shouldn't benefit from
the animals' suffering. They wanted to shut you down. But, when I
got there, he was already, already... So, I, I hit him." He
grabbed the gun and tapped the back of his neck. "Right there, I
hit him twice." 

Judy stared at the revolver. "Andy, where did you get that gun?" 

He blinked up at her. "It was my grandpa's. He had it on his farm.
When he died, he left it to me. We had the same name. Mom would
never let me have it, but, when she died, it was mine." He smiled
shyly. "Thanks for the card. You three were the only ones who said
anything about it."

"Why do you have the gun here, Andy?" Sandra eased slightly closer
to him. 

He sighed. "For protection, Doctor Miller. This isn't the best
neighborhood, you know." He lifted the weapon off the floorboards.
"But, now, I've been very bad, Doctor Miller. I have to be
punished." He put the gun to his temple. 

"Andy, no!" Both women shouted. 

"Don't look," he whispered. "You're both such nice ladies. Please
don't look." 

                            --o-0-o--

A single gunshot rang down the street, setting the waiting squad
cars in motion. In mere moments, the street was cordoned off, and
police vehicles had pulled onto the lawn. 

Gonzales and Johnson jumped from the back of an unmarked sedan,
then pushed through the door together, all concern for procedure
gone. They aimed at all the corners of the room, but lowered their
weapons at Jerry Donato's tired comment, "It's over." 

It was. Andy was slumped to the floor in one corner. Judy Wilton
was weeping in Sandra Miller's arms, and Jerry Donato was rubbing
his face while crouching by them both.

Johnson stepped over beside his detective. "What happened here?"

Donato closed his eyes momentarily before he replied, "What it
looks like. The resident of this domicile, Andy?" He looked to
Sandra. 

"Nixon," she whispered, almost inaudibly.

"Andy Nixon, had just confessed to striking two blows that were
fatal to a critically injured Tom Wilton." He leaned toward his
sergeant. "I don't suspect he was the one who attacked Sandra
Miller. In his frame of mind he would have admitted to it." 

Johnson holstered his weapon. "Okay. We'll talk about this further
down at the police station. For now, let's see to all this." He
turned to call the other officers in. 

A policewoman escorted Judy Wilton out, but when a second reached
for Sandra's arm, the brunette waved her away. 

Donato sighed. "Sandra, you need to be in the hospital. I should
never have agreed to bring you here in the first place." 

Her jaw set. "I'm fine, Detective. But this isn't the whole
answer, you know." 

Gonzales had just stepped up to join them. "What?" 

Sandra nodded. "If Andy is telling the truth, and I have no reason
to discount what he said, then we have to ask who shot Tom in the
first place. That's who's really responsible for his death, not
Andy." She regarded Donato levelly. "I owe you an apology,
Detective. I think you were right about Doctor Williams." 

The three men just stared at her, before Johnson growled, "That's
quite enough, Doctor Miller. Let us do our work." 

"Sir!" It was an African-American uniformed officer. "There's
trouble back at the station house! It's the other suspect in this
case!" 

                            --o-0-o--

Police Building
Phira, Santorini, Greece
Saturday, May 23, 1998
11:16 am

As they approached the low white building, Scully remembered how
much of the success of their case in Fordyce was owed to the
efficient Wallace Fortner. She found herself hoping the man they
were about to see was his peer.

Patikopolis beamed at the two agents as they entered. "Ah, good,
I'd left a message with Max, but here!" He held a credit card slip
towards Mulder. 

Scully lifted it out of his hand, then, after a glance, passed it
to her partner. "The woman or the man paid at the Androkiri's shop
with a card?" 

The officer nodded. "Now, I don't have the resources the Bureau
does, but..." 

Mulder lifted out his cel. "Not a problem. We should know
something about those three here soon." He frowned at the static,
then, with a glance at his partner, took the yellow sheet with him
as he stepped outside.

Scully explained to the confused man behind the desk. "We have
other avenues outside the Bureau we'd like - "

A upraised hand. "Say no more." 

                            --o-0-o--

A click of the door latch brought both their attentions to the
tall man now entering. 

"Good news," Scully commented as she stepped up to her partner. 

Mulder nodded. "The woman's in the State Department. Byers is
talking to Vickie about her right now. And that other number we
traced?" 

Scully crossed her arms. "There's no record of the hotel
transaction, is there?" 

Mulder grinned. 

"What?" Patikopolis was on his feet. "What have you found out?" 

She turned to explain, "The deceased had a stack of credit cards
thicker than a hand's span among his possessions. By the time we
traced them, there was a record of only one purchase, that of the
hotel room."

Patikopolis frowned. "Which is now gone. So, who is this guy?" 

Mulder shrugged. "The question of the hour." He reached for his
partner's arm. "We'll be at Max's, waiting for an update. If
there's news?"

Patikopolis extended a card. "Call me. This is my home, and my
family's home for generations." 

Scully tucked the stiff paper in her pocket. "We will." 

                            --o-0-o--

Northern Division
San Diego Police Station
San Diego, California
Tuesday, May 5, 1998
2:09 am

Jerry Donato slammed on the brakes just before a private ambulance
raced out of the station. 

"What was that?" his passenger shouted. 

His eyes canted towards Sandra Miller, who was pale but still
alert. "I suspect that's our other suspect. Stay here." 

"But, Detective - "

"Stay. Here." His teeth were gritted as he pointed to the
ambulance. "I don't want to see another one of those for quite
some time." He ran into the precinct room, where he grabbed the
first arm he encountered. "What's happened?" he demanded. 

"It's that f**king egghead suspect of yours!" Evans shouted back.
"Keeled over right in his cell, in front of his perfect little
wife and his s**t in a suit lawyer." 

Jerry shook the thickened arm. "Will he make it?" 

"What the f**k do I care? He was unconscious when he went out of
here, oxygen mask and all. Ask the suit." Evans pointed. 

Jerry raced toward the attorney, but was blocked by a crush of
reporters and officers. He watched from the back of the room as
the lawyer, with Williams's white-haired wife clutching his elbow,
disappeared out the double doors. Once they were gone, he sighed,
then turned to head back to the car. But his chestnut-haired
passenger had been waiting just behind him. "Sandra," he scolded,
"I thought I told you - "

She shook her head sadly. "Since when have I ever done what I was
told?" She rubbed her face. "I guess tragedy just seems to follow
me. Two sets of parents, Tom, Andy, now this. Maybe it's spared my
real family, whoever they are." 

He eyed her, then tucked his hand under her elbow. "I'm sure it
has, Sandra. But, for now, I think you need to go make a deal with
some doctors." 

She sighed. "Yeah, I guess I should." 

                            --o-0-o--

Atlantis, Athinios City
Santorini, Greece
Saturday, May 23, 1998
12:43 pm 

"Mom! We're home!" Mulder held the door for his partner. 

Scully tapped on his shoulder. "You like being able to say that,"
she whispered to his lowered ear. 

He grinned down at her, thinking that there were many things he
liked being able to do in this place.

"Out here!" came the reply from the back deck. 

When they entered, he saw his white-haired stepfather was setting
two more places out on one of the glass tables. "Phillipa left us
some of her good roasted lamb for the weekend, which I know you
will like, Mulder. There's a plate of falafel Caroline's bringing
from the kitchen for you, Dana." He held up a pitcher of red
liquid. "Juice?" 

Scully nodded. "I'll never get used to drinking watermelon. But,"
she explained as she accepted the glass, "it is good." 

Caroline stepped out after him, carrying a tray of the Fava bean
dumplings in one hand, a bowl of tabboleh in the other, two loaves
of seeded breads balanced on the rims of both. Once Max had helped
her with the remainder of the preparations, he pulled out his
wife's chair. After most of the meal had been consumed, he looked
up at his stepson to ask, "Mulder, did you have any luck today?" 

As he dropped two thick chunks of savory meat on a slice of the
bread, the agent shrugged. "We have a handle on the woman and
child, but none on the dead man. His identity seems to disappear
right before our eyes." 

Scully leaned back in her chair. "We have some samples from Nea
Kamini we'll need to send back to Athens for testing tomorrow, as
well as the man's clothing." 

"I'll see to that," Max offered. "You and Mulder have enough on
your hands as it is." He resumed working through the leaves of
romaine in his salad, Caroline smiling at his efforts.

"The DNA tests should be finished by the time they arrive," Scully
concluded, her lips settling into an unhappy pinch. 

Mulder nodded his thanks, then eyed his partner. "What?" 

She glanced over at him. "What do you mean, what?" 

He spread some mustard over the lamb, then scooped up the brown
grains that fell off with his finger. "It's just that you don't
sound thrilled about the DNA evidence. Is there something you've
been mulling over from the autopsy?" 

She tucked her hair behind her ear. "No, just that the correctness
of DNA testing depends, to a large extent, on the skill of the
technician performing the analysis." 

He smirked. "Ah. An art, not necessarily a rigorous science?" he
teased, his voice dropping a half an octave on the adjective.

She stuck her tongue out slightly, then answered, "A *skill*, not
an idiot-proof technique." 

Caroline and Max smiled at the exchange.

Scully spooned out more of the green and brown salad onto her
plate. "I look forward to having Pendrell and Phillips in the
section. I've worked with them both, so I know they know what
they're doing."

The thick sandwich halfway to his mouth, Mulder froze at her
words. He found it hard to stop grinning, then took a huge bite to
hide his glee. It was the first time his partner had given any
verbal indication as to her decision about her future. He
concluded silently that this investigation had definitely been
good for them. 

                            --o-0-o--

                        End - Anath - Mot

=====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=====